Wife/mother/woman crap: January 2010 Archives

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There was something seriously wrong with me when I was a teenager because I ran varsity track and cross-country, all as I studied classical ballet and I was never ever very rarely sore! I LOVED running! Loved pushing my tendons to the point of snapping! Love that burn!

The other day Chris and I did something that I as a human being, have never done before: we joined a gym.

I have an insanely high metabolism thanks to which I've never had to worry so much about what I ate, despite my mother's threats that one day I'd wake up with a third butt cheek. Before you envy me for this, having a high metabolism has its downsides, namely being that I am a complete and total fidget. It's hard for me to unplug, to relax, to go without a task for any length of time. If Multitasking were a page on Facebook I would fan it. That's how serious.

The other day I decided to start running again. I tried this once a couple of months after I had Liam and when I was done screaming while pushing a stroller after being chased all over my neighborhood by dogs (whose owners should be reported to the ASPCA for their lack of care towards their animals) I thought SCREW THIS, who just like, RUNS? FOR FUN? I'm done

There's an attraction to running, though. Even if you're running with others you're still battling it out inside your head, pushing yourself ever farther. Running has always provided to me a moment of clarity. I sometimes feel like I'm mentally and physically working things out all at once. I started running again for that reason and to build up my physical endurance. There is no excuse for me to not be as healthy as I can be and I think that it will help me in the long run as I'm constantly getting hit with cold after cold or strep throat.

I retrieved a pair of Nikes that I had in the back of my closet, ones I purchased several years ago for this purpose but put away when I gave up. I put on my jogging pants and hit the track with Queen and Missing Persons playing in my headphones. I probably pushed myself a bit too much my first day back (I did a workout as well) but I knew that if I didn't get that mile under my belt it would be harder to talk myself back into doing it another day. I like results, they keep me moving.

When I crossed the mark for my first mile back it felt glorious. Sure, my legs hurt and my feet ached a bit but they were results that I could immediately feel. Next I'll hone the time on my mile and work up to two miles ... soon as I can walk down the stairs.
I'm up late finishing a draft of a script, freelance work as a favor to a friend, and I started thinking about boots.

- I would like a pair of riding boots in every color. I always say that I can't dress myself, in reality I can dress myself, it just sounds better to say that I can't because then people won't think I'm trying to be haute goth by wearing black all the time. Black goes with so much.

- I want more of these little brownies from Costco. I don't know about you, but I simply relish adding padding to my backside by having a brownie at 1:19, oh, nope, now 1:20 in the morning.

- A nice support bra that doesn't look like something my grandma had hanging over her dresser mirror. I have this no-underwire one from Victoria's Secret - oh, crap, sorry, I just forgot dudes also read this site, MY BAD - and believe me when I tell you it's like angels are providing the support.

- Prairie Farms chocolate milk. I like to purchase my chocolate milk (for the children) at the store, already chocolate, because it tastes so much richer than what I can stir up at home. And chocolate whole milk? OMGBBQ it's amazing and I have prohibited myself from buying it because I will drink nothing else.

- More time. I have a ton of emails to answer and I'm an awful person because it takes me awhile. I signed up for this mailbox-helper service thing and then I realized how much I hate mailbox-helper things because I hate the little form emails they send out:
"Hello! You're not important enough for me to answer back with an actual, from my mind email, so lo, you shalt have the form and thou willst be content until thy can answer at (crap. What's Old Times-speak for "mine?"), er, my earliest convenience."
OK. I'm being dramatic, but I always feel bad for folks who get those and I just want all the people who email me for the first time, like Publisher's Clearinghouse, if they wanted to give me money, to know they are just as special as Tina, who sends me every animated .gif email of angels and sparkles that she finds on the Internet.  (Love you Tina!)

It's now 1:29. 

A New Year

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It seemed like 2009 was dragging forever on and then, right there in the holiday season, the timeline scrunched itself up and flung everyone one on it straight into the new year. 

Sometimes I look back at the last two years and seriously just go WTF HAPPENED? I'm on a path that I never expected for myself but oddly feel as though I've prepared all my life for it. Sadly, this hasn't extended to me finding it any easier to knit socks. I reverted back to baby items because those things are small and babies don't care if their stuff looks slightly off. 

I always thought that I had a thick skin but last August showed me that a thick skin can still be penetrated, especially when the weapon is pure and utter crazy and the mode is threats. That very dark period resulted in me shutting down comments on this website and closing the gates on my Flickr photo permissions - but within it I found something else I did not expect to find: a new dimension of confidence and a better understanding of exactly how powerful a motivator mother's rage really is. 

I also learned that some people liked me but only if I denied a part of myself while accepting all parts of everyone else. It's impossible to do, dishonest, and it sucks massive amounts of arse to both write in such a manner or read anything written specifically to toe the line. People either like me or don't, I can't do anything about it, nor do I care to, because doing something about it means morphing into vanilla and that's not who I am. God made me energetic, fidgety, and gave me insane hair and an inability to not speak plainly for a reason and I'm tired of fighting it here. I started this website as both an exercise in writing and as a way to remember all of the amazing things that happens in young parenthood that we often overlook due to stress and neurosis. It used to feel like "my" space. Then I got the hatemail from people who hate what I do professionally, I got mail from people telling me what I can or cannot write about on my personal website; mail from people who said I couldn't be both a "mommyblogger" and a political blogger OH NO don't cross the streams; I got mail from people threatening to never come back and read again once they found out that I was a GASP evil deadly conservative radio personality. I didn't even write about politics here but people would still say that they didn't like Mamalogues because of what I'd write elsewhere.

(The funny thing is that I wrote about politics online a couple years before I started writing about my children.)

For a while I went with it. I posted kittens and sunshine! Look! Here's a photo of my piano! Oh, er, bacon! I don't have an opinion on anything over here! 

I don't know what happened but it's 2010 and now my response to all the emails is, basically this:

S  F  W.

The acronym is easy. 

If what I do in my day job makes it impossible for another breeding female to relate to me as a mother via this website then there are problems, yes, but they ain't mine

I don't have to have everyone agree with every single one of my beliefs in order to have a good time or enjoy life. It's boring and too hive mind-esque to have no check and balance. There is too much to be both enjoyed and freaked out about in the world to worry about all the different ideas people have in order to get to THE SAME GOAL. 

SFW?

Actually, I do know what happened and it had nothing to do with the New Year. I was tired of hanging myself with the rope of vanilla writing in order not to inflame the hemorrhoids of the world. I read writers with whom I could not further disagree on matters political but I read them because they are damn good writers who tell an entertaining story. The whole quasi-analogous "keeping the bloodlines pure" approach is exactly why some folks today are still born inbred. 

I've some very wonderful friends who are liberal bloggers and liberal mom bloggers and they're of the same SFW? mentality. They know who they are. 

ANYWAY.

My point, which I am still formulating as I go along, this all started as a giant exhale, is not to say that I'm going to turn my site into a repository of political postings, not at all. I enjoy that it's different, a place where I can reconnect with the very craft that started me down whatever road I'm on in the first place. However, I'm not going to deny myself anymore in this space. I think to even expect such is, in a way, bigoted and some of it sexist, like women who raise children and are at home (or mostly at home) have no place in such affairs. I don't believe such things. I don't like middlemen butting into my relationship with God and I don't like middlemen trying to butt in the relationship between me and my employee, the government, by using the old snakeoil justification of elitism. 

SFW?

We can all read and understand the Constitution, mothers, daughters, grandmothers, and sisters alike. I'm going to say this: I'm not slighting men (and I don't have to preface every thing I say about women with "no offense to you men" because it's ridiculous) but women have a different, not greater, different, relationship with their children. When you birth or adopt a child, nurse him in his infancy, when you can literally discern your individual children's scents, when it's woven into your very DNA to protect, protect, protect, nurture, nurture, nurture that child, you're going to pay attention to an election, the winner of which who could decide whether or not that infant you raised and know so well is going to war or whether or not he or she will have a world left when they grow up. 

Being a mother is a political act and a gigantic leap of faith. 

Anyway again. 

I will be here with more frequency. As my children grow, my perspective in their affairs will slip to that of observance with respect to privacy because long ago I set boundaries on how much I was willing to share about them with respect to their privacy and I knew that this boundary was dynamic. Personally, I think that there is a difference between digital scrapbooking (or writing about my life from my perspective) and writing an biography of someone's life. That latter is not my story to write where my children are concerned. 

Another anyway. 

I had to get that off my chest.

Happy New Year.  :)

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