For Christmas Eve, BB got a pretty rocking telescope.   His “uncle” Ben got him this telescope that, honestly speaking, is too much telescope for me much less a nearly seven year old boy.  It even has an  on board navigation type system that, when you input your location and zip code, will zoom into any object in the sky you ask it to.  Unfortunately, that feature seemed to not be working the other night (I think we need to change the batteries), but Hubby was able to manually focus on Venus and the moon. 

I’ve never been much into astronomy, but I have to admit it was pretty cool to look through our telescope and actually see the craters on the moon.  Venus was a bit less impressive (It looked like any other star in the sky), but it was neat just the same to see something so far away.

And what about the inflatable snowmen?  Well, our neighbors still have theirs up.  I really didn’t have a point to the snowmen; I just wanted something off kilter to add as the third object in my title.  I know, I know.  I totally cheated.

Dear Hubby,

Please, for the love of Ben and Jerry, DO NOT keep putting things I use nearly every day on the very top cupboard shelf!  I appreciate that you unload the dishwasher, and I appreciate that you’re 6,000 feet tall.  I also appreciate that maybe you don’t like the way it looks to have a giant bowl on top of the little dessert plates.  I get all of that.  But when you take that bowl and put it out of my reach, it really annoys me!  I’m not 6,000 feet tall, I’m 5″2′ in heels.  I don’t want to have to climb on the counter to reach the bowl.  I don’t want to go traipsing through the house looking for a step stool so I can safely reach it.  I want it left where I put it.  It’s not out of laziness that I put the bowl there.  It’s because I can’t reach it when I need it if it’s where you put it.  Since I do 99% of the cooking and 95% of the dishes, please just let me keep the giant polka dot bowl on top of those rarely used plates. 

Love,
Your Wife

You know, days where you wonder what the hell you were thinking when you decided being a parent was a good idea. One of those days where the cat pees on the floor and walks in circles crying for hours on end. One of those days where, even though it’s not a super full load, the washer bangs and clangs and threatens to overflow. I’m having one of those days today, and right now I want nothing more than to just go back to bed, rewind time and start again.

BB and I got into a thing today. He was throwing a tantrum and then threw a box of tissue at my face. The corner hit my cheek bone and hurt like crazy. While I may not have been the very model of cool and collected parenting before then, after getting hit by a tissue box I pretty much lost my top. I took his toys out of his room and told him that unless he wanted to be screamed at, he had better stay in his room with the door closed. He cried that he’s not a bad kid and I told him I know that, but he was certainly not acting nicely so he better stay in his room. I admit that I yelled. I’ll even admit that when he threw the box at me, I tossed the action figure I was holding at him. It did not hit him. I did not hit him. But I lost control. Or that’s how it feels. I didn’t tell him I hate him, I didn’t tell him he’s a rotten child, I didn’t verbally or physically abuse him, but I didn’t hold up to my own standards and that really hurts me.

It really pisses me off that I had no parents. It pisses me off that nobody was there to raise me-I had to raise them instead-so I have no road map for good parenting. Oh, I have a road map for rotten parenting, a road map that is crystal clear and punctuated with all sorts of nasty details. I wish, more than anything in the world, that I could take that horrible map and throw it to the bottom of a lake because, dammit, no matter how hard I try to make my own bleeping map, that awful one keeps coming back. I’m so scared that no matter how hard I try to be better than my parents, to do things differently and with more thoughtfulness, I’m destined to become what they were. I can feel it in me. It’s fuzzy, spinning and out of control-fighting to get out. When my mother was like that she was literally like a tornado and it scared the shit out of me. I don’t want my own kid to ever feel afraid of me. I don’t want him to think that my anger is a force of nature. I want him to feel safe with me. Safe in loving me and safe in the knowledge that he is loved.

In the end, I think this whole “thing” was worse for me than for him. He doesn’t have my baggage and he certainly doesn’t have my childhood. He knows he is loved regardless of his behavior and I’m 99% certain that he doesn’t see me as either scary or a force of nature. I know that it’s appropriate for me to get angry at him. I get that-with my brain, anyway. Deep inside, though, is another story. I fight so hard to keep down what I’m afraid to become, that I fear if I let any anger show it’ll take over and I’ll never be able to control it again.

Right now he is watching Peter Pan. I have apologized to him and he apologized to me. I think I’m going to fix lunch and then maybe we’ll go to a museum or a park. I know rewinding the day and starting over is impossible, but I do have the power to make the rest of this day better.

Okay, for about 10 seconds I thought about writing an actual ode to my pajamas, but decided I’m just too damned lazy right now to even consider it.  Maybe I’ll read Neruda tonight instead. Seriously, though, I’ve reached a point in my life where I regularly don’t get out of my pajamas until 11 and I put them back on as soon as seems acceptable. Sometimes by 5:00 or so. And I wonder why BB prefers to walk around in his all day? The truth is, I envy the kid. I don’t mind if he goes out in the world wearing his jammies, and while some people my look at him slightly askance, they are all tolerating of his rubber duckie or sock monkey bedtime attire. If I could go shopping at Target in my Pjs I would too! And honestly, I don’t think it’s a big deal that I love my pajamas so much. Life is stressful and my jeans are frequently a bit too tight. I love the comfort of being all snug in my lavender jersey jammies. I may be broke, overwhelmed, exhausted and stressed, but at least I’m comfortable! Viva la pajamas!

Let me just say right now that I am most definitely not a cat person.  I don’t like the litter, don’t like the cat hair, don’t like the smell of cat food and don’t get all ga-ga over kitten whiskers.  However, I have three of them.  Not exactly without choice, because I did know that Hubby had three cats when he was still Hubby-to-be.  I married into a cat loving household because, well, love can make you do pretty much anything!  The cats are now 10, 11 and 12, so they’re getting on in years, but could still have about 5 or so left in them.

Shady, the middle cat has always been a little off, but after a trip to the vet where he received his vaccinations for the first time in half a decade (He was sick I couldn’t make him well at home, so I don’t regret taking him to the vet, but I totally regret vaxing him) he was broken.  I don’t know if the vaccinations gave him something like feline autism or if he was just so traumatized that he went crazy, but our kitty is now just broken and gone.    For about a week after his shots he walked around crying and screaming at the top of his lungs and he couldn’t find the litter box.  He lost his balance and couldn’t jump or even back his way out of a corner.  Then we found a holistic vet who did some acupressure and gave us some tinctures to counter the effects of the vaccines and he seemed to be improving a little.  But he worse again and we just don’t think Shady will ever come back or if we should maybe consider putting him down.  Although I’m not a cat person, it’s hard to see him walking in tight circles until he gets dizzy and falls and it’s frustrating to have to pull him out from under the couch because he’s lost and can’t get out.  He doesn’t seem like he’s in pain, but his quality of life is diminished, and we are at a loss as to what we, as responsible pet owners, should do.  Taking him back to the holistic vet isn’t really a financially viable option-especially since we’ve spent close to $500 on him already.

BB had some friends over recently and while watching Shady do circles one of his friends said “He’s a loopy cat”  and that’s his nickname now.  It stuck because it fits.  Not cat person that I am, I do love Loopy and I hope we can all find some way to make this decision and a way to live with it, regardless of what we choose.

Miracle on 34th Street has been an exhausting experience for all three of us, but it’s really taken it’s toll on BB.  It’s been a blast for him, hands down, but we are all so tired.  As of today, we have two shows left and he expressed last night (at 10pm as we were getting in the car after the show) that he was ready to be done with it.  I’m sure this isn’t going to be the end of acting and performing for him, though.  In fact, he has expressed an interest in wanting to do some film work.  I feel very conflicted about that, though.  Of course I’m happy that he has found something that he enjoys and that he is good at doing, but on the other hand, I want to keep him protected.  I don’t want to be one of those moms who has an agent for their kid and who frets over headshot pictures.  I don’t even want to get a headshot picture!  But he says he really wants to try it and I feel like I should be supportive of that as well.  Honestly, I’m not worried about what’ll happen to him or how he’ll feel if he auditions for something and doesn’t get cast.  He’ll be fine.  I’m more worried about what will happen if he auditions for something and he does get cast.  As far as “nearly seven” year olds who have never had any real theatrical or acting training goes, he’s pretty good.  But what if he turns out to be really good?  Talented even?  What if he’s cast as an extra in a movie and the director likes him and casts him again in something else?  Okay, I know it doesn’t even make sense.  I can’t really make sense of it myself, but I’m worried that the more he acts (either for film or community theatre) the more his childhood will be lost.  I don’t want him to grow up resenting me for not stepping in and saying “Sorry, kid.  This is your one shot to be a child and being on stage or in front of a camera all the time is too taxing for you”.  But I also don’t want him to grow up resenting that I didn’t encourage his interest.

And then I step back and think Wait just a minute here.  He’s six.  He’s going to find a lot of interests and have a lot of things he’s both good and not so go at.  So chill out and follow his lead.  I think that one of my issues as a parent is that I’m always thinking about his future and how what I say, do or imply now will impact him when he’s grown.  I have a very hard time living in the moment because I firmly believe that every action has a consequence and I’m a personal control freak.  I insist that every action I make as a parent have a positive impact on my son.  Of course, perfectionist control freak or not, I fall flat on my face often and make huge mistakes in my parenting.  Which makes me all that much more determined that next time I’ll choose better.  So I guess, when we get down to it, I’m terrified that I’ll make a mistake with this acting thing.  It’s not quite like joining a swim team or taking an art class.  If I allow him to persue opportunities outside of the community theatre circuit, then I am potentially setting him up for a lifelong love of  performance and all the hardships that are inherent with it.  

Look at this, I intended this to be a post about the end of the play and to showcase a few pictures and instead I’ve gone on a diatribe.  Sorry about that.  Back to the business at hand! 

   I have no idea why the thumbnail picture cut off his head.  If you click on it, you’ll see his full body.  Here he is dressed as “Tommy”, son of  the prosecuting attorney for the State of New York.

 Dad putting make up on him.  Ah, there’s nothing that bonds a father and son quite like doing each other’s make up!

 BB and a couple of good friends.  She is Little Red Riding Hood and he is Peter Pan.  The little guys is the brother of Red.

 Just being a silly kid before getting costumed.

   In the dressing room.

When I was a kid, I had big dreams.  Most kids do, though, don’t they?  This morning, as I was washing dishes that I was too tired to do last night, I realized that in some round about way, I have fulfilled many of those dreams.  Here is a list of dreams I had and how they have, in indirect ways, come to fruition. 

Bounty hunter- I thought I’d be the rockinest bounty hunter out there.  Who would ever suspect a skinny 9 year old girl?  While I don’t go around chasing unsavory characters and bring them, kicking and screaming to justice, I am quite good at finding that missing bed time toy or favorite shirt.

Tight rope walker- When I wasn’t out chasing thugs and delivering astonishing roundhouses, I imagined myself high above the world on a tight rope, doing flips and death defying stunts for the audience’s amazement.  Let’s just forget, for just a moment, that I can’t even do a cartwheel and that I get dizzy and fall over at Target.  I am still walking a tightrope.  Balancing the needs of my husband and child, figuring out where I fit in, and how I’m going to manage to take care of everything that needs attention: dishes, cat poop, history lessons, personal hygiene, shopping, cuddling, working, dinner, and time to sit down and blog.

Lawyer- I was going to be a defense attorney.  Yeah, I know, it doesn’t make one iota of sense that one minute I’d kick ass to bring the bad guys to justice, and the next I’d work hard to get them off.  I was a kid-inconsistent to the core.  Somehow I would just know when the bad guy in jail was really a good guy who got a bum rap, and I’d be the one to help justice be served and reunite him with his anxious loved ones.  Nope, I’m not an intuitive lawyer either.  But I do have an uncanny knack for knowing when BB is lying or when he’s getting a bum rap for something.  I also have astounding powers of persuasion and can usually reason a charging bull into complacency.  As proof positive of my own powers of persuasion, I managed, just this morning, to convince myself that all of my childhood dreams have come true.   

Writer- Move over Danielle Steele, Dean Koontz and Hemingway!  I was going to use their bestsellers to wipe my feet.  I would write about love and laughter and the power of being hopeful in hopelessl situations.  And I’d get rich doing it.  I’m sure you can guess I’m not a famous, world changing writer.  But I do have an active imagination that keeps me occupied as I stare out the window doing the dishes.  And in the end, isn’t keeping yourself from going mad from monotony one of the ultimate goals of being a parent? 

Yesterday BB and I delivered fresh baked cookies to our immediate neighbors. Sometimes I wish it were still the 60′s where neighbors got together to have back yard bbqs and it was okay to go ask for a cup of  sugar.   I try and bring a little of that to my life by introducing myself to the neighbors whenever we move, by waving at them or chatting with them for a moment, and by bringing them cookies.  One of our neighbors has been in her house for nearly 50 years, and is the original owner.  She lives all alone and fiddles around in her yard all the time.  When we brought her the cookies she was so happy to have someone think of her that she brought us inside and made a huge production of lighting her tree and fireplace, and turning on every Christmas light she has.  We had other cookies to deliver, so we didn’t stay long, but while we were there, she and BB and I had a lovely conversation.  I was impressed by how well he could speak to a kind, lonely old lady, and how well behaved he was in her home.  She was curious about homeschooling and had some questions about what our days look like.  She said had always thought that homeschooled kids weren’t socialized and didn’t know how to interact with people outside of their families, but she could see that wasn’t the case with us at all.  It was neat to watch all of her misconceptions vanish.  After about twenty minutes we left, promising to to pay her another visit sometime soon.  “Next time,” I told her “We’ll bring some cars for BB to play with so that we can chat longer.”  As she hugged me she replied “I’ll provide the tea”. 

‘Tis the season for baking cookies and singing Christmas carols and decorating the house with pretty twinkling lights.  It’s time for gathering together with friends and family to share in the joy of each others company, for eating and cooking food that is as fattening as it is delicious.  This is the time of year where children pray for snow and everyone has that special spring in their steps.  But for many, this is also a time of extreme emotion, mood swings, fatigue and sadness. I’m one of those people this year.  I feel overwhelmed, exhausted and frequently on the edge of tears.  The holidays have always been hard, but it’s been worse since my dad’s death almost five years ago.  This year is the hardest since the first year without him.  Maybe it’s because I’m not speaking with my mother right now, so I feel orphaned.  Or maybe it’s because we’re coming up on the 5 year anniversary.   Half a decade.  That’s a long time.  Or maybe it’s because I’m stressed out over so many things.  I don’t know.  What I do know is that while I love to see the joy of the season in my child’s eyes, I wish I could do more than go through the motions and actually feel that joy for myself again.  I’m not sure how, though.   I hope that BB can’t tell how not into this whole season I am.  I don’t want him growing up and remembering that his mother was a depressed scrooge at Christmastime.  So I play Christmas music on the stereo, I tell him stories about when I used to wait up for Santa and I talk about making cookies for the neighbors (maybe next week I’ll actually make them) and I hope that BB is clueless about how I really feel.

But, I’m so angry with myself.  I have a wonderful family who loves me, a lot of really great friends, and I know that no matter how tight things may get, we’ll always have enough food to eat and a roof over our heads.  So what am I whining about?   I don’t want to feel like scrooge.  I want to feel like Tiny Tim.

I know, I’m a day late and a dollar short.  Or more like a week and a half late and a few hundred short.

Hubby’s parents came out for Thanksgiving and we had a lovely time.  I made a huge turkey with all the trimmings and everything was very yummy.  This year, instead of pumpkin pie, I tried my hand at a pumpkin cheesecake.  I don’t think I’ll ever go back to pie again.  It was so easy and soooo tasty!  BB was disappointed that I only let him lick the beater-he could have eaten a bowlful of the batter.  I also made my eggnog, which I think my in-laws liked quite a bit.  It makes me really happy to prepare food and drink that people genuinely enjoy.  What doesn’t make me happy is the dishes!  I think it took me two days to get caught up with all the dishes.

Miracle on 34th Street opened the day after Thanksgiving, and I took my MIL and FIL to see it.  Oh my goodness, it was amazing to see it finally come together.  And I have to admit, I didn’t bawl like I thought I would.  I only cried a tiny bit during curtain call.  BB was wonderful, and I heard comments all around me about how amazing it was that such a little guy could speak so loudly and clearly.  He was even asked for his autograph by a little girl after the show.  Coincidentally, he had decided about a month before the play that he needed to develop a “signature” after seeing me sign something.  So he had been practicing his own cursive looking signature for several weeks and was thrilled to be able to have a real reason to sign something.

I’m so glad MIL and FIL came out, not only for Thanksgiving, but for the play.  I think it made BB feel really good to know that his grandparents were there, cheering him on.  It meant a lot to me too.

All in all, it was a wonderful weekend, full of fun, food, family and love.