My childhood memories are a pretty mixed bag. As with most memories, it's not entirely clear to me which of them are actual recollections and which are fabrications--either from a story I heard, or a dream I had... Very few of them are from the days before my sister was born, but there is a memory that I swear is true from when I was a toddler, maybe two years old, that haunts me from time to time. I was at a party, and it was dark outside. I think the dress I was wearing was white and ruffly (but that might be imposed from a photograph of me taken around the same time). I just remember walking around, weaving between grown-ups' legs, and feeling happy. In another memory, I remember sitting in my living room with my parents and my brand new sister who they had just brought home from the hospital. I was not yet three. The only thing that is clear to me is the color yellow. Maybe her outfit? A blanket? The furniture? The sun shining through the windows? Or is that the color of what I felt? My parents' relationship was already on the rocks, and I'm sure the tension in our house was palpable. Yet I'm comforted by these two memories. I'm pretty sure I was a happy kid.
Whenever I realize that my kids' lives are still too young for lasting memories, at least in their conscious, grown-up minds, I feel a mixture of sadness and relief. I'm sad that they won't remember the fun days their father and I shared with them. All the cool places they've been, and the people they've met. Then there are days I'm glad they'll forget. Grouchy Sundays or exasperated bed times or days when I just didn't have much to give. Now that we're separating, I'm even more afraid of what their minds are processing, storing, re-visiting. Do they feel abandoned when it's Jeremy's night and I drop them off at our old house? I have no idea.
For better or worse, I've braved the world alone with my twins from day one. And that makes me feel like a Super Badass. How silly I think it is when moms have a second child and suddenly feel like they can't leave the house. Other days, I go to bed with a heavy heart thinking about the ways in which I lost my temper over the spilled water, or the public tantrum, or bedtime power struggle. And, on those days, I feel like a Big Fat Jerk.
My mom had a really bad temper when we were little. I remember seething after a spanking, swearing that I would never hit my kids. I understood very clearly then that the spanking did not teach me anything about why what I did was wrong. All it did was make me angry and afraid. And now I'm the mom, and mine are the buttons pushed, and mine's the big hand popping a little bottom, and I recognize the anger bubbling behind the hurt and wounded eyes. And I want so much to be the mom I thought I'd be.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Monday, June 1, 2009
Toddlerisms
The Itsy Bitsy Spider (According to Isa and Manu)
bitsy bitsy 'pider went up & bonked his head
down came the rain and the doctor said
mama and the sun and the monkey on the bed
no more 'pider jumping on the bed
Ring Around the Rosie
ring around the rosie
parker posie
ashes ashes
we all fall DOWN!
Reinterpretation of a Joke
Q: What did the lifeguard say to the hippie?
Real A: You're too far out, man!
I&M A: You far away, hippieeeeee.
bitsy bitsy 'pider went up & bonked his head
down came the rain and the doctor said
mama and the sun and the monkey on the bed
no more 'pider jumping on the bed
Ring Around the Rosie
ring around the rosie
parker posie
ashes ashes
we all fall DOWN!
Reinterpretation of a Joke
Q: What did the lifeguard say to the hippie?
Real A: You're too far out, man!
I&M A: You far away, hippieeeeee.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
the writing on the playground walls
My monkey brain has been on overdrive for the last few months. My kids are old enough to go to pre-school, and I am ready (crawling-up-the-walls ready) to get back to work. But what should I do? My skill set belongs in an office, yet that is exactly the kind of environment that starts to eat away at my soul. Watching pretty days go by from a fluorescent lit cube, the obligatory co-worker birthday celebrations, office gossip, clock watching, boss trashing.... I want none of that. Yet, in some ways, I really love the nature of the work. Nothing makes me happier than tackling a neatly handwritten to do list. Few things are more satisfying than the deconstruction of the seemingly unmanageable into palatable bite-size portions. And being busy! How I miss being busy--work busy, brain busy, people busy! I'm so good at it. Now I need to find the next "it".
I know I need to brainstorm, think, write, plan....make lists of what I want and what I dream and how to get from here to there. But that's just it. I feel lost.
I know I need to brainstorm, think, write, plan....make lists of what I want and what I dream and how to get from here to there. But that's just it. I feel lost.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Vacation
I've been looking at RVs on Craig's List, and Jeremy's looking at me like I'm crazy. I don't get it. What's so crazy about wanting an RV? Airplane tickets for a family of four are not cheap, and road trips with screaming toddlers is not my idea of a vacation. Driving around the country in a motor home, on the other hand, sounds dreamy. Am I delusional, or do I just really really need a vacation?
Monday, February 16, 2009
que horror! que horror!
December 4, 2008
que horror! que horror!
Un dia paseando iba una vieja
Y una guagua de pronto la arrollo
La llevaron al Centro de Socorro
Y el Doctor Sotolongo la atendio--que horror! que horror!
Y el Doctor Sotolongo la atendio
Del buche le sacaron a la vieja
La retranca, los muelles, y el motor
La cabeza y los pies del motorista
La cabeza y los pies del conductor--que horror! que horror!
La cabeza y los pies del conductor
Caballero la cosa esta en candela
Cada dia poniendose peor
Los barrenderos no barren ya las calles
Y las cloacas despiden mal olor--que horror! que horror!
Las cloacas despiden mal olor
My grandfather sang this to my mom when she was little (early 60s Cuba), so she sang it to us, and now I sing it to my kids. I tried looking it up online to see if there are more verses that I don't remember, but I can't find it. Anyone else know this song (and who wrote it)?
que horror! que horror!
Un dia paseando iba una vieja
Y una guagua de pronto la arrollo
La llevaron al Centro de Socorro
Y el Doctor Sotolongo la atendio--que horror! que horror!
Y el Doctor Sotolongo la atendio
Del buche le sacaron a la vieja
La retranca, los muelles, y el motor
La cabeza y los pies del motorista
La cabeza y los pies del conductor--que horror! que horror!
La cabeza y los pies del conductor
Caballero la cosa esta en candela
Cada dia poniendose peor
Los barrenderos no barren ya las calles
Y las cloacas despiden mal olor--que horror! que horror!
Las cloacas despiden mal olor
My grandfather sang this to my mom when she was little (early 60s Cuba), so she sang it to us, and now I sing it to my kids. I tried looking it up online to see if there are more verses that I don't remember, but I can't find it. Anyone else know this song (and who wrote it)?
Dear Santa
November 24, 2008
1) I want to wake up in the morning on my own terms, at an hour of my choosing.
2) I want to feel driven and passionate about my occupation.
3) I want to figure out what that occupation will be.
4) I want to travel to Australia, Cuba, Spain, California, Brazil, Italy, New York....in that order.
5) I want a neighborhood park and a neighborhood coffee shop, both within walking distance.
6) I want some new earrings.
7) I want a new tattoo.
8) I want my kids to feel Cuban.
9) I want my friends to love my kids.
10) I want my family to visit me.
11) I want you to burn me your favorite playlist.
12) I want to learn to play the drums.
13) I want to kiss Eddie Vedder, for old time's sake.
14) I want to play piano with my grandmother.
15) I want something delicious.
1) I want to wake up in the morning on my own terms, at an hour of my choosing.
2) I want to feel driven and passionate about my occupation.
3) I want to figure out what that occupation will be.
4) I want to travel to Australia, Cuba, Spain, California, Brazil, Italy, New York....in that order.
5) I want a neighborhood park and a neighborhood coffee shop, both within walking distance.
6) I want some new earrings.
7) I want a new tattoo.
8) I want my kids to feel Cuban.
9) I want my friends to love my kids.
10) I want my family to visit me.
11) I want you to burn me your favorite playlist.
12) I want to learn to play the drums.
13) I want to kiss Eddie Vedder, for old time's sake.
14) I want to play piano with my grandmother.
15) I want something delicious.
the power of fiction
August 8, 2008
The headline story on this morning's CNN.com homepage read "Family Vows Suicide After Daughter's Rape". Underneath the bold typeface was a photo of a distraught teenage Afghani girl shamefully shielding her face with her hand. On any other day, I would have quickly scanned the story, shaken my head at the atrocity of it all, and clicked on the story about the Brangelina twins (about whom I know way too much already). But since I am in the last few chapters of The Kite Runner, a story set in pre- and post-war Afghanistan, I read the whole article, understood the general meaning of words like sharia--Islamic law--and noor--honor, and almost wept for this family whose whole world has been irreparably shattered.
More than likely, we will not get the "Shamed Afghan Family Commits Suicide" follow up story because some celebrity piece will trump the human interest story. Because we follow the stories of the rich and famous with more interest and attention to detail than we follow almost anything else in the media. I can tell you that Brad and Angelina's kids are named Maddox, Zahara, Pax Thien, Shiloh, Vivienne Marcheline and Knox Leon. But the president of Afghanistan? Something Karzai, I think?
As a child, I was a voracious reader, and an indiscriminate one at that. I read anything from Danielle Steele to Judy Blume to V.C. Andrews to R.L Stein to Christopher Pike to Charles Dickens to the Bronte sisters. Whatever. I just wanted to read. The internet didn't exist, and I didn't like my family that much. I didn't have a TV in my room so reading was my ticket to ride. It was my escape.
I spent 9 years in Catholic school but learned more about the sons of Isaac from The Red Tent. I've never been to Russia but have been haunted for years by the images of St. Petersburg in Dostoevsky's "Dream of a Ridiculous Man". And we've been at war for almost 7 years but this is the first time that words like "Taliban" and "jihad" evoke more than just (a) frustration with the Bush administration's oil thirst, and (b) fear of getting on an airplane. I wonder how things would be different if there was a reality show on Bravo about life in Baghdad.
I guess I can go to the library and check out any number of books on the conflict between Israel and Palestine. I can do a quick google search and get a detailed outline of the key players in this senseless war. But I'd much rather have someone tell me a story about it. Because then I would know what it smells like when "US Puts Violent Iraqi Prisoners In Crates".
The headline story on this morning's CNN.com homepage read "Family Vows Suicide After Daughter's Rape". Underneath the bold typeface was a photo of a distraught teenage Afghani girl shamefully shielding her face with her hand. On any other day, I would have quickly scanned the story, shaken my head at the atrocity of it all, and clicked on the story about the Brangelina twins (about whom I know way too much already). But since I am in the last few chapters of The Kite Runner, a story set in pre- and post-war Afghanistan, I read the whole article, understood the general meaning of words like sharia--Islamic law--and noor--honor, and almost wept for this family whose whole world has been irreparably shattered.
More than likely, we will not get the "Shamed Afghan Family Commits Suicide" follow up story because some celebrity piece will trump the human interest story. Because we follow the stories of the rich and famous with more interest and attention to detail than we follow almost anything else in the media. I can tell you that Brad and Angelina's kids are named Maddox, Zahara, Pax Thien, Shiloh, Vivienne Marcheline and Knox Leon. But the president of Afghanistan? Something Karzai, I think?
As a child, I was a voracious reader, and an indiscriminate one at that. I read anything from Danielle Steele to Judy Blume to V.C. Andrews to R.L Stein to Christopher Pike to Charles Dickens to the Bronte sisters. Whatever. I just wanted to read. The internet didn't exist, and I didn't like my family that much. I didn't have a TV in my room so reading was my ticket to ride. It was my escape.
I spent 9 years in Catholic school but learned more about the sons of Isaac from The Red Tent. I've never been to Russia but have been haunted for years by the images of St. Petersburg in Dostoevsky's "Dream of a Ridiculous Man". And we've been at war for almost 7 years but this is the first time that words like "Taliban" and "jihad" evoke more than just (a) frustration with the Bush administration's oil thirst, and (b) fear of getting on an airplane. I wonder how things would be different if there was a reality show on Bravo about life in Baghdad.
I guess I can go to the library and check out any number of books on the conflict between Israel and Palestine. I can do a quick google search and get a detailed outline of the key players in this senseless war. But I'd much rather have someone tell me a story about it. Because then I would know what it smells like when "US Puts Violent Iraqi Prisoners In Crates".
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