Spin Me I Pulsate.

No one told me that the worst part about having kids is when YOU are sick.

Man oh man what I wouldn't give for a motel room by myself right now. And possibly a bottle of Mylanta.

For some unknown reason, I have a belly that revolts at the sight of food, and the capacity to sleep for three days straight, with a roaring headache to boot. No fever of course, so no point in going to see a doctor. I've missed two days work, which I can ill afford.

So having screaming kids around, especially one who wears a "Fire Chief" hat and has been taught by the Dorf to say "My ass is on fire!", is not cool right now. I just don't feel up to it.

Of course, the one good thing is having Vivian fall asleep on Mommy in the LazyBoy. Ah, warmth.

I never thought I'd long for the day when I could suffer alone, quietly. I can't even go to the bath room by myself.

So that's where I've been. Sick, and in the bathroom.

At least the windows are protected.

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I watched Crash the other night. I wasn't really prepared for the sheer depressiveness of the movie. (OK, going on a downward dog facing type of mood swing lately isn't helping but still)

I knew the scene would come. I just KNEW it. The entire movie was building up to it. Good father, moves to a better neighbourhood to protect sweet daughter, etc, etc.

And I fell for it like a sucker. I started bawling at that scene, for many reasons. (I'm not directly naming the scene in case you haven't seen it)

The idea that I wouldn't be able to protect my child, that there are some things I cannot prevent, or change-that is what always gets to me. I constantly worry about being hit by cars, people hurting them, etc. I cry all the time for these things, but this movie conveyed the thought so well. The pain on the father's face, the panic, the sheer panic.....

I started thinking about it when I watched this movie. I hurt so much over these things all the time because I have allowed myself to love my children. After losing my mother, I blocked out that feeling so hard that it seems foreign to have it back again. And it scares me to think that this is the result of feeling those things again. My heart hurts so much, be it from love exploding from my chest, or the fear the constricts it when I think of losing them. Go figure-2 kids I never wanted, who I love more than anything.

In a way, I cry and get sad sometimes because this is all so transient. Vivian standing next to me, panting like a dog as she dances on her tiptoes-how much longer will she do that? How much longer until I can't kiss and kiss and kiss her until she giggles? How much longer until someone breaks her giant heart? How much longer until Rosalyn can walk away from me?

My father repeats and repeats that it all goes so fast. And he's right. Only yesterday I was a scared first time Mom to be, staring at my husband on the back porch, asking each other "Are We Ready?"

Last night I watched a "Biography" of Gene Simmons, more because I was too lazy to change the channel than anything else. (He actually seems like a neat guy, and I have to respect anyone who has utter control of their life as he does) He said something very relevant, since he was a "no kids" guy as well. He said his kids were the best thing he ever did.

I couldn't agree more.

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"Can I jiggle your belly Mommy?"

"uh, ok."

jiggle. jigglejigglejiggle.

"Can I jiggle you breasts Mommy?"

"uh....NO. No you can't."

"Jiggle my breasts?"

"Yes. ABSOLUTELY. Go to town Vivian."


It's time to lose weight.

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As I may have mentioned, I had a haircut the other night, my first in over a year. (I'm one of THOSE people who finds it rather silly to pay 30.00 to have an inch of hair cut off so....)

Alright, I'll admit it. It was WONDERFUL, and the results, while not a huge change, makes my hair look a lot better. My split ends had split ends you see. I'm a pony tail girl, since I look moronic with short hair, and can't leave my hair down near grabby 12 month old Rosalyn.

Sitting in that chair though, with the stylist yanking and pulling and blowing, I suddenly, vividly, remembered my mother. The small hair shop downtown if the little town I grew up in. Sitting on a board in the chair because I was too little otherwise. The smell of perm solution, hair spray, apple conditioner.

I'm sitting in this chair having my hair blown out, trying my damndest not to cry when it hits me. I'm not just one of THOSE people. I avoid haircuts because in my mind, it's irrevocably linked with my mother. Sitting reading trashy magazines while I waited for her. The girlishness I didn't realize then, of having our hair done together, what she likely felt was a right of passage for me. I never thought of these things then.

For a brief moment, it was like she was standing next to me as this woman lopped of my dead hair, whispering, it's all right. It's ok. We're still right here. We're still just two women together, trying to figure this shit out.

I stared at my reflection to try and see if that little girl was still there, under the years and the fat and the time. And she was. Sad and lonely and holding the cotton up against her hairline there she was, waiting.

I never appreciated, or even realized what those trips to the hairdresser might mean later on. I never stopped to think that some day I'd look back and wonder what my mother talked about as I played, if she told them about her cancer, how they reacted the the hair that was so quickly falling out. How she explained why she couldn't make more appointments.

Ironically enough, for a woman who was extremely vain about her hair, she ended up with a wig. A wig that only mimiced her wonderful, steely grey hair, her strength.

I think I'll make an appointment for Vivian soon.

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Posted by thordora at 9:16 a.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

After an incredible pedicure and haircut (the nail polish which I managed to screw up on the way home, but anyway) I was set for a great weekend.

HA

I didn't factor in totally exhausted. Seems to be a normal state.

Vivian on the other hand has been, to put it mildly, full of piss and vinegar. Wall bouncing craziness. It's the weather. In one day it went from about 55F to about 5F. It was NUTS. So it being FRICKING FREEZING, we weren't able to do much.

So after I wasted my morning blowing a third of my paycheck on food, I sat down and said,

"You want to go to the mall Vivian? Just you and Mommy?"

I'm sure they heard the pure squeals of delight in Mongolia. The child became very quiet, calm and patient. There were no arguments, heck, even the gale winds outside didn't really bother her as we waited for the bus.

We spent the best 2 hours I've had lately at the mall. Why? Because it was just us. There was no "shopping agenda", no reason to hurry, just that sublime laziness that comes from freezing days, and the knowledge that right then, there is nothing better to do then watch my daughter charm the pants off Francine at Yves Rocher. Watching Vivian have an actual conversation with someone. Watching her call freckles "sparkles" and standing back to watch the women turn into mushy puddles of goo.

I've noticed that with two daughters, it's hard because they both want you desperately. So I find myself needing to make the extreme effort of blocking out time for each, which, in winter, can be hard. Rosalyn was meant to go with me in the morning, but it was just too cold. So next weekend shall be hers.

But I do know that it is so nice to have those solitary moments together, where it's JUST Mommy and Vivian, or Mommy and Rosalyn, where you get to appreciate those little things that make each kid themselves. Especially since lately, all they do it wack eachother with crap.

So it's tacky and lame, but the mall sometimes has it's uses. What does everyone else do for "special" time?

Posted by thordora at 9:17 a.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

....we interrupt this blog to bring thordora a 1.5 hour pedicure and a haircut. She'll be back later.

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I miss summer...

Posted by thordora at 7:59 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

So the Dorf and I, despite two days of bickering and general annoyance, ventured out into the wilds of this place last night. I needed to hit the dollar store for Nat's gift basket, and wanted to get out. It was a nice night anyway.

So we hit a few stores, and then we see flashing cherries in the distance. I wanted to wander up that way anyway, so up we go.

We get to the lights. We figure, oh, the way people drive around here, it's likely just a silly accident, broken lights, etc.

Then we see the firetrucks. Then we see the tarp draped over the Neon. We see the firefighters standing around, staring, not saying much, the photographer for the paper looking almost quilty that he must be so close. There's not much left of the Neon on the drivers side. It's crushed. It's obvious that the person died instantly, if not soon after the crash.

When I realize that someone has died there, I turn away, immediately saddened. Then I look around at the mass of people standing around, staring, for no better reason then they have nothing else to do.

SOMEONE DIED HERE. Is nothing sacred? I begin to go off, talking loudly about how I imagine that it's someone's son or daughter in that car, and how would they feel. No one listens. I almost get run over by someone driving through the detour. I yell and gesticulate at them. No one notices. Aside from the ghouls distasteful watching the proceeding, no one is really seeing anything. They stand and they stare and they talk about their day as someone's mangled body sits waiting in a crushed car.

I could feel bile rising in my throat. We left quickly.

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So....who wants to bet that I get nothing today? Other than excuses.

I'm so fucking depressed. I want my mommy.

Posted by thordora at 9:24 a.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

I want in to work this morning and the receptionist, who I thought was a twat but who is actually pretty damn cool, say

"I had a dream about you last night, but I don't remember it."

Now, for me, that's code for, "I had a weird, possible hostile, possibly sexual dream about you, and I need to tell you, but I don't REALLY want to tell you." I've had dreams like that before, and it's weird but hell, you spend all day around people, it happens.

Actually, I have pretty wacked out dreams all the time, or I don't dream at all. (I know I do, but since I don't remember them and I wake up even more tired, I consider it no dream) I dream about killing people. I dream about people killing me, people chasing me, people raping me, etc, etc, etc. It gets to be a bit much. I never wake up from nice dreams. I wake up, in a sweat, whimpering. It kinda sucks, but I'm used to it.

The earliest dream I remember was one where I was stuck in the corner of the tiny bathroom in the house I grew up in. I was slowly being suffocated by quilt batting (remember that old grey stuff with the colored threads?) and Bugs Bunny is sitting there laughing. He had FANGS.

I was maybe 4 years old. I didn't wake up screaming. Instead, I just sat there scared as all hell, staring at my ceiling until exhaustion overtook me.

Then there's the time that I dreampt I was in the living room of this same house, folding laundry on the couch, when this terrifying blackness began to develop in the doorway of the kitchen, and slowly came towards me. I've never been assured of something being evil more in my life. It's was ONLY evil, totally black, no light. In the dream I ran from the house, and watched it blow up. I woke up, unable to move I was so terrified, sweating, and moaning. I couldn't get out of bed until the sun came up and my father was awake. I was about 17.

Now granted, a lot of shit has happened in my life to cause/create bad dreams. But I mean REALLY. You would think that after awhile, they would lessen, become nice every so often.


And now I have to wonder if the receptionist has a secret crush on me....

Posted by thordora at 9:16 a.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

this post has been deleted since blogger is PISSING ME OFF.

Posted by thordora at 4:29 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

ARGH! STUPID BLOGGER!

Posted by thordora at 4:29 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

looks like Nat will be having a C-Section sometime today. The baby is 4.5ilbs, so it's safe. SHE's the puffy one at risk!

She's kinda scared, and I'm preoccupied thinking about her-so SEND HAPPY THOUGHTS! Here's hoping it's a girl!

And yeah, this is kinda boring to everyone else, but SOMEONE has to make a fuss about her! :)

This is also to explain the lack of posts lately. Brain focus lost....

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So...my friend Nat, who is about 8 months preggers, is now on bedrest with preeclampsia. I talked to her last night, and she's already bored out of her gourd.

So I need:

1. Happy thoughts for Nat. I don't pray, but good thoughts are never wasted
2. Ideas for ways to help her NOT get bored. I'm bringing her books tonight and will likely go teach her to knit/crochet on the weekend. She doesn't seem to have many hobbies that are "doable" in the hospital.

I don't think she scared so much as annoyed. She's SUPERDUPER organized (to the point of anal retentiveness) and this is a definite wrench in her plans. Add to that the fact that she was VERY early when she was born, and I think she's not in the best of moods. Any suggestions on what to do/say to help? I also plan on making her favorite dessert that I make (Mint Chocolate Brownie Cupcakes) since really, if you can't eat some crap while on bedrest, what's the point?

Posted by thordora at 9:23 a.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

Go see "The Other Mother". I stole the idea from her.

Posted by thordora at 3:45 p.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

There is something cool about the thought that my girls will have eachother in the years to come. That they'll have these memories of their childhood separate from mine, colored by naivete, by joy and discovery, and in some ways, sadness.

I don't have that. My brother is 7 years senior, and we're adopted, so it's strained. Add to that the fact that my mother was sick and dying most of his teenage years, and there's a gulf. We've never had a sibling relationship, aside from the fact that after a day around him, I feel like killing him.

So as much as Rosalyn was debated, and a VERY big surprise, in the long run I'm glad they'll have eachother. I watch them playing together now, and already I can see the basic formings of a bond together, and at the same time I can see them as teenagers, arguing about their rooms, or the internet or friends. I can see them together as one, or both, becomes committed to another. I can see the joy in one having children, in sharing in being there.
I'm sure in some ways I'm seeing the "Hallmark" version of what "Sisters" could and should be. But since I have a half sister I didn't grow up with, who wanted a sister so badly, and I missed out on that, I do dream for them all the good things they SHOULD have.

Watch. They'll HATE eachother....

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I waver between the two, mostly because it gives me a reason to have flowers delivered to work, and then wander through the office with them, cooing about my lovely husband, while everyone other woman plans THEIR significant other's demise.

Yes, I am evil.

It's not even that I want stuff. I want to be shown that I'm loved. If the Dorf wrote me a song, a love letter, something, then I wouldn't want STUFF. But he doesn't. And I'm a BIG fan of effort.

An illustration in how UNromantic he is.

We're in the mall with the kids. We walk past the jewelry booth I love. There is this sparkly, pretty choker I want.

"Pretty...sparkly...it likes me...I like it....I wants to come home with me...."

"Valentine's Day isn't a jewelry day."

Excuse me?

The sidelong look didn't work as well as a punch in the arm. The Dorf then when off on some speil about how we can't spend tons of money on every holiday.

Yeah, cause we do THAT. And it's not like we get eachother a ton of stuff anyway. And again, all I want is a little EFFORT (is that clear yet?)

I decided that this year, I'll do something cute and romantic. A list of why I love him, buried in a jar of his favorite candies. It is hard to get a guy something. But I'll be making an EFFORT. I usually write poetry or something, or like a few years ago, got him a GIANT jar of kisses, labelled "A Kiss for Every Day of the Year"

I think he made it to August before conceeding defeat.

So I'd like a little perspective, since I might be crazy. Should we bother? Is it wrong to have a day FORCING a guy to show SOME love? While the Dorf is generally a good guy, giving back rubs when asked, and fetching me another glass of my cokecrack, when I ACTUALLY want some girlygirly loveydovey, I get nothing.

Am I expecting too much?

Posted by thordora at 11:45 a.m. | Permalink | Pulses Taken:

So a friend, Chas, lent me "Set Yourself on Fire" by Stars. I have been listening to this record nonstop since the other day, and it inspired me to write again! So I'm in the process of plotting out what may turn into a script. I've always wanted to write down the events of my adolescence, i.e. the drugs, finding my birth mother, coming to terms with my father's drinking, the loss of my mother, etc, etc, etc. This album is like the frickin soundtrack of certain moments in my life.

For those of you who write, and have suffered long term writers block beyond small pieces of prose, you'll KNOW this feeling. It's like I was constipated for years, and only just came clear. It's an incredible feeling to have this "thing" germinating in my head, and forming so clearly and well. I'm so excited, and THAT my friends, hasn't happened in forever.

So, I'm going to buy this record on Friday to support the band, and hopefully start writing this weekend. And go buy it-these guys kick ASS. And that's from a person who thought she'd hate the band!

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