…parenting ruins everything

I did make an unrealistic promise to myself when I started writing again. I promised my bad self that I wouldn’t make this a mommy blog. I find myself unable to keep that promise so I can only say that I will limit the mommy jabber as best as possible.

Early this morning, my FecesBook feed was filled with comments about a little girl named Skylar who lives in my old stomping grounds. Within less than a day, the little girl went from playing outside to being abducted and murdered. As a rule, I would find this incredibly upsetting. Being a parent only magnifies the horror and pain.

One of the more peculiar aspects of parenting that I have found is how dramatically your frame of reference is altered and how much more profoundly you feel things. It’s as if the little baby takes all of your ambivalence with him/her when he/she leaves the womb. You’re left with nothing but a bundle of raw nerves and feelings.

I have always been an extreme worrier – so much so that I end up physically ill. It has been said that I’m Worst Case Scenario girl. I will envision the absolute worst outcome of any situation and plan backwards to prevent it from happening. It’s a great talent and wonderful ability, if you’re my employer. It’s tedious and exhausting if you have to live with me.

My propensity for constant worrying has been changed since Milkface was born. There are certain things that I can flippantly dismiss with the wave of a hand – things which I would agonize over before Milky. Then there are new issues which are so considerably troubling that I become paralyzed with fear.

I could very well say the same about sadness. That which would reduce me to tears in my previous life seems mostly irrelevant. Show me a child that has been mistreated, a parent who is grieving or the impact of illness on a family and I’m a blubbering, non-functioning mess. Outside of the terrible two-tantrum, watching my own child cry is something I cannot bear. I consider myself very fortunate that our experiences, thus far, have been easily solved by a snuggle, hug and a kiss. Let’s hope it stays that way.

On the opposite end of the emotional spectrum, parenting has brought me joy unlike anything I have ever experienced. There is no better sound in the world than the genuine belly laugh of a pleased toddler. No psychotropic medication can elevate your spirits quite like the smile of a child. Nothing makes you feel as if your troubles have melted away quite like a hug and drooly kiss.

For someone who has spent the past eleven or so years carefully analyzing every emotion, every response – the dramatic shift in outlook is mindboggling. I had long thought that I was hypersensitive. I had long tried to manage that. Now that I’m a parent, I realize it’s all go-with-the-flow. If you’re blessed with a child, the intensity of feelings defies description. You shift from pessimist to optimist at the drop of a hat. You fear things you previously thought impossible. You fall in love a million times a day.

…one day

I digress.

I had an entire post scribbled about Mother’s Day. When writing about things that hit really close to home for yours truly, I like to have someone edit it to make sure the rambling nonsense is kept to a minimum. Naturally, that didn’t happen. For my mere post was tabled in lieu of guitar forums and Facebook.

I woke up to a nice shower of kisses from my darling Milkfaced boy. We had some quality time in the big bed where I answered a lot of “What’s that?” questions and sneaked in a random snuggle here and there. So far, pretty good.

Then comes chaos.

When you’re married to the least organized man in the universe, things can wear on your nerves pretty quickly. When you’re married to someone who travels for a living, all patience is tested by having to run a household by yourself. I don’t care for Mother’s Day, as a rule, but I certainly welcome one day out of the year where I can let down my guard, not have to think about what to plan for meals, not have to think about a day’s activities and not have to think about the laundry list of shit that never seems to get done.

Alas, my sans souci day lasted all of 2.5 hours. One iPod disappeared and the entire world had to come to a screeching halt. My ever constant coaching, my unending pleas for organization unanswered – I sneaked out to the deck while the house was being upended in pursuit of whatever has gone missing at this particular moment in time.

At the risk of sounding entirely frustrated and ungrateful, can a girl not catch a break? Particularly a working mom who has to go it alone more than she cares. Like many, I feel like I’m juggling way too many balls than I’m qualified to juggle. It wears one down very rapidly and doesn’t do much for the overall carriage and demeanor. Maybe if there was just one day a year that someone could recharge without interruptions, life would be a little more manageable.

As solutions normally lie at my feet, next year I vow to have everything organized and within arm’s reach. I will draw up a list of nifty ideas well in advance. Then I’m going to round up a few of my other mommy friends and run away for the weekend. Kids welcome. Husbands, not so much.

Domain Change

It would appear that we have legitimized this bastard. That said, please do not ask who the babydaddy is. Truth be told, we had a bit too much to drink one weekend and there’s no telling. So much for child support, eh?

Please reset your bookmarks to reflect the new name and domain.

Many thanks for your patience and sincerest apologies about today’s spam. We now return to our regular tomfoolery.

…i spy

changes!

Can you tell me what’s different?

“USA! USA!” is the wrong response

By David Sirota via Salon

There is ample reason to feel relief that Osama bin Laden is no longer a threat to the world, and I say that not just because I was among the many congressional staffers told to flee the U.S. Capitol on 9/11. I say that because he was clearly an evil person who celebrated violence against all who he deemed “enemies” — and the world needs less of such zealotry, not more.

However, somber relief was not the dominant emotion presented to America when bin Laden’s death was announced. Instead, the Washington press corps — helped by a wild-eyed throng outside the White House — insisted that unbridled euphoria is the appropriate response. And in this we see bin Laden’s more enduring victory — a victory that will unfortunately last far beyond his passing.

For decades, we have held in contempt those who actively celebrate death. When we’ve seen video footage of foreigners cheering terrorist attacks against America, we have ignored their insistence that they are celebrating merely because we have occupied their nations and killed their people. Instead, we have been rightly disgusted — not only because they are lauding the death of our innocents, but because, more fundamentally, they are celebrating death itself. That latter part had been anathema to a nation built on the presumption that life is an “unalienable right.”

But in the years since 9/11, we have begun vaguely mimicking those we say we despise, sometimes celebrating bloodshed against those we see as Bad Guys just as vigorously as our enemies celebrate bloodshed against innocent Americans they (wrongly) deem as Bad Guys. Indeed, an America that once carefully refrained from flaunting gruesome pictures of our victims for fear of engaging in ugly death euphoria now ogles pictures of Uday and Qusay’s corpses, rejoices over images of Saddam Hussein’s hanging and throws a party at news that bin Laden was shot in the head.

…more…

…bin laden’s dirt nap

Hoo. Hah. Bin Laden is dead.

Oddly enough, it doesn’t seem to lessen the loss, horror and complete nightmare that is 09.11. It’s not revenge. There is no retribution. How could there be retribution for the worst attack against our country?

There are three things that bother me right now:

It took us over 10 years to do it.
A bullshit war that destroyed all credibility in the arena of American foreign policy is still going on.
Haters still gonna hate.

While the American attention span is not much greater than that of the ordinary house-fly, I have a distinct feeling that the blind hatred of Muslims will still be pervasive in our society. I fear that we will never move beyond our xenophobic ways and still target the innocent. I will be tremendously embarrassed by chest-thumping and flag waving of my fellow citizens as this is not an achievement. An achievement would be smiting him in 2001. An achievement would be getting our enemy without destroying other countries.

While it’s nice to see the evil dispatched to the gates of a non-existent hell, it is also nice to conduct oneself with a bit of humility. This admonishment is addressed directly towards the segment of American society that is now blasting Toby Keith at the top volume of its dated boombox.

Humility, folks. Humility. Think about it for a second before you rush to the streets screaming about our greatness.

…it’s not a crack house

It is a crack home.

Forgive the silence. We have had a lot of home improvement activity going on at the House o’ Dock and Kang for the past few weeks.

Years ago, when we first moved into the house, I had this wild idea of building in the deck and transforming it into another room. Like everyone else in the world, one more room is always needed in a home. Just. One. More. Due to budget constraints (ie: complete lack of money) and trepidation, we decided to table that initiative for a long time. The idea of someone removing walls, adding a foundation and rebuilding walls is just a wee too much for us right now.

We decided to stick our toes in the renovation pool by taking care of some things that we are incapable of doing ourselves due to lack of talent, patience and inclincation. The foyer and hallway (upstairs and downstairs) has needed a new coat of paint since we signed the closing papers back in 2004. The living room walls had been painted the week after we moved in. Dock promised to take care of the trim. Seven years later, it was still the same color.

Also in consideration, the hideous color of the exterior. It was (note: was) a lovely shade of brown with green shutters and cream trim. That needed to go away. Forever.

We had only hired a contractor once before and that was for a very small flooring job. Hiring someone to rip siding off your house and repaint was unchartered waters for us.

Everything had been humming right along until the tornado ate Raleigh. Very, very tragically, some of the crew was directly impacted so work stopped for a week. But now it’s back on and almost done.

One of the most peculiar things I have noticed is that the moment you make an improvement to one part of your home, the other areas become, well, painful to look at. Our home is now a happy shade of white with black shutters. Just the way any good Yankee would have it. It’s lovely. Incredibly lovely. Alas, the gardens look pitiful in comparison.

If I had to identify one take-away from this particular exercise it would be – just leave your house looking like a dilapidated crack house. Sure – your neighbors will be very unhappy. Sure – you’ll lose any potential value you have in your home. But – you won’t have to sit there and look at part of your home and think “Gee…it’s so lovely. How unfortunate that (insert problem area here) sullies the improvement.”

…night-night ritual

Each night before bed, I go outside and look for the moon and stars. Living in a smaller city, we’re fortunate that we can enjoy the night sky without the meddlesome radiant lighting from tall buildings and businesses. Having grown up in suburban Philadelphia, a beautiful night sky is a treat for me; one that I will never tire of.

This evening, I wandered outside and felt a strong breeze. A warm, balmy, spring breeze that rustled the leaves. The air smells of spring-y goodness, a combination of rain and earth. The peepers (frogs) are in their peeper hiding places singing their lullabies.

Since December, whenever I go outside to look for the stars, I take a moment and think “which one is Kate?” Would Kate be the brightest star in the sky or the star that wasn’t as strong as the others but twinkled, instead? I lean towards the twinkling as Kate was never one to demand a lot of attention and did not care much for showboats and peacocks.

I grab the star charm on my bracelet, the one engraved with her initials, and a combination of sorrow and joy wraps itself around me like a fluffy blanket. Thinking about our friendship is bittersweet as the wound that is her loss is still all too fresh. The memories, fortunately, are so dear that they can manage to make me smile when I really want to cry.

On a balmy, breezy, spring night in The South, I think of how much Kate would be enjoying the weather. How much she relished the arrival of spring. How alive she felt after a long, dreary winter. How delighted the most simple things would make her – like riding around with the windows down or falling asleep with windows open and the sound of rain pattering outside.

While Kate is merely a star in my sky, I am able to shuffle off to bed knowing she’s still near me and still a presence. It’s not what I would ultimately like but I’m happy with what I have.

…oh just

shut the fuck up, already!

Honestly. I know some rambling motherfuckers and it’s all I can do to grit my teeth, smile and sit on my hands so I don’t reach for their necks and strangle the last breath of life out of them. These people come in all shapes and sizes, all walks of life and there is absolutely no escaping them. No matter what you do.

Not one to sugar coat things, I have tried all sorts of different tactics to silence the verbose. I have left the room in mid-sentence. I have pretended to be unwell. I have played up being partially deaf. I have (absolutely true) looked someone in the eye and excused myself by telling the gasbag that I had to go stick my head in the nearest oven. Granted, I’m not always Miss Sweetness and Light but even I, for all of my evil, understand when it’s time for silence.

After two meetings today with someone who loves to her herself jabber away, I’m left with little patience and an enormous amount of frustration. If only I could get away with deploying my absolute, most-favoritest STFU meme. Life would be so much easier.

And before you even ask – NO. I am not always a people person.

…faked ziti

From the “what the fuck should I cook for fucking dinner” files…

There were green peppers on the verge of spoiling in the fridge. We also had a mountain of meat, enough boxes of pasta to build a fortress to keep the birthers away, some yellow onions and mozzarella cheese. I started thinking of what to make for dinner and decided – fuck it. What if I put it all in a casserole and call it something? How bad can it be?

With that, I present Kang’s Faked Ziti

1 pound pasta (I’m partial to Rotini because it reminds me of my beautifully, springy curly hair)
2 jars Marinara sauce
1 pound ground meat or Italian sausage
2 green bell peppers, sliced and chunked
1 yellow onion, sliced
Fresh garlic
Mozzarella cheese

Brown meat, drain, set aside.
Cook pasta – remove from heat one or two minutes prior to instructed cooking time, reserve approximately 1 cup of pasta water, strain.
Sautee peppers, onions and garlic on low-ish heat in olive oil until onions are translucent.
Grab pasta pot and dump meat, veg and 1 jar of sauce. Blend with spoon of choice.
Add noodles and some of the reserved water, stir again.
Eyeball and sample. If necessary, add more sauce.
Open bag o’ shredded mozzarella, dump in pot, stir.
Dump in baking dish.
Dump more cheese on top.
Bake in preheated oven at 350 degrees until gooey and bubbly (25 – 30 minutes-ish)

It’s not a science. It’s not even proper baked ziti. It is, however, a great way to use up items that are nearing an expiration date, it’s damn easy to make and everyone loves stuff covered in a good marinara and cheese.