Parenthood: July 2008 Archives

This morning as I got both the boys ready to go to their grandparents house my heart sank a little. They'll be with their grandparents tonight, during my awards reception, until Friday evening when Chris gets them after work. I won't see them until I get home from Blogher on Sunday. It's amazing how some days I feel so tired of their company, how some weekends I can't wait until they're at their grandparents' house so Chris and I can have dinner or go to a show. It's days like this that I feel bad for ever thinking it. The people who said that motherhood was hard weren't exactly honest. It's physically taxing, yes, and sleepless nights are the first thing new parents or childless people think of whenever they think about parenthood. No one tells you how emotionally difficult it is, how there's never one right way to feel, how everything, even something as simple as a three-day trip can turn into a heart-wrenching mindjob. Parenting exaggerates all emotions.

I rolled their little suitcases down the steps, each one carefully packed with coordinating outfits, pajamas, and extra socks. I gave them their breakfast and tried to ignore how this would be one of the longest stretches of time that I wouldn't see them. Liam is a trooper, always an optimist. His presence in my life has done away with a huge part of my cynicism. Ewan was good until it was time for Chris to take them, at which point he realized that I wasn't coming along. He didn't cry those mustered up "I didn't get my way" tears; he put his hand in front of his eyes and his little body heaved forward in one giant sob.

"I miss you," he cried.

I screwed my face up in an expression of determined happiness and beamed at him. I told him that I would miss him too, and that I will be back on Sunday, and how I was going to call him after he fished with his grandparents and ask him how many fish he caught. And I hugged both boys and with my head over Ewan's shoulder I mouthed to Liam "Take care of your brother," to which he nodded.

Then I waved at them as they drove away and when the garage door was safely closed the dam burst and I bawled standing there in my houseshoes and pajamas in the backyard. And I said a little prayer asking that we all be brought back together again safely on Sunday.

I admit now that I have a near-debilitating fear of flying. It's not for drama's sake: I break out into hives on my neck, chest, and upper arms; I get nauseous, and I have trouble sleeping the days building up to the flight. I researched plane crash survival rates and even practiced free-falling techniques. (SHUT UP.) I've always had Chris on the plane with me; last time en route to New Jersey Jaelithe and Lisa sat on either side of me and I was doped up on Dramamine and everything was cool, daddy-o. This time I'm alone. I get freaked out because, despite the laws of physics, it seems unfathomable that a giant metal bird can fly, but yet it does, people fly on them everyday. It's a combination of this, leaving the boys, and being around a herd of women I mostly don't know that have me out of my comfort zone and feeling on edge this morning. I'm sure I'll feel fine by this evening. I hope my guys will, too.

I won't update again until Monday, however I do plan to be active on Twitter and Flickr in the meantime. Now I have to pack.

Indie Day, a recap

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My mother picked up the boys on the afternoon of the Fourth and whisked them away to play with sparklers and watch neighborhood fireworks at her semi-rural homestead. It was the first Fourth of July Chris and I spent without our kids for which we've given ourselves a reprieve because we haven't had a vacation in six years. Not even a single day. I beat myself up for not having the boys at first but after we got together with some friends and our cousins and I got over it pretty quick.

On our way into the stadium one of our friends stopped to talk to someone he recognized and a woman (so I'm told; I didn't hear) point at Chris and remarked: "You're Dana Loesch's husband!" I feel like I should say something self-deprecating right now before the trolls accuse me of being too big for my britches. But I'm not. I read other bloggers doing this whenever anything cool happens to them and I always wonder why they feel the need to cut themselves down or pay some sort of due before fully accepting the aforementioned cool thing. Onward!

We spent the evening downtown at the Cards-Cubs game where Chris and I acted a fool and shouted at the field. I shouted so much that I blew my voice out, genius, I know, because I was on-air Sunday and as I type this I still have the vocal tonality of a razor-gargling barfly. I agree with Phoebe Bouffet in that I sound infinitely better and way tougher. We ordered 24-ounce beers and sat next to a nice elderly gentleman with slacks so tight they caused the worse case of camel tail I've ever had the misfortune of accidentally seeing.

Afterwards we trekked over to Mike Shannon's as did the rest of Busch Stadium, and alternately holed up in a booth inside and stood out on the patio drinking our beer and wondering if we were too old to be there and if not, what was the appeal of frat music, and why don't we walk to Hair of the Dog? They have METAL on the jukebox! I like Shannon's though' they've always been kind to us there and one time I accidentally struck up a conversation with the man himself before realizing who he was as I have a horrid inability to recognize, in real life, people from the television screen or from the photos on the Web.

We spilled back into our house at an hour way past out bedtimes and after I collapsed into bed Chris brought me up a slice of bacon and I half-remember eating it. 

Hope your holiday was Hallmark.

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