Ty

"I can't find my DO NUTS!" the maniac screams as he runs wild around the house, looking under things, between things, around things as he searches for his powdered treasures. He starts to scream and cry and jump up and down. He's having a conniption fit and I'm desperately trying to hold it together as I pack lunches, make coffee and shove random bits of paper into designated backpacks. Those fucking green cards... "I'll find them baby" I say, even though I have no intention of looking for them. And besides, those donuts were from the day before? Why is he looking for them right now I wonder. I finish the lunches, inhale half a cup of coffee as a kitten whizzes by, causing me to trip and curse the entire feline species. I run out to the front door and start the car and Ty flies out of the house after me. I turn to him, the 3 year old and I yell, "Go get your brothers." He gives me a look that says, "Yeah okay mom," but he runs inside and stops at the bottom of the stairs and screams, "Thake (trouble with the J sound"), Nick, skooo" and amidst the mumbling and slamming doors and the muffled voices, "Where's my other shoe" and what not, I run inside to grab my coffee cup. No sense wasting perfectly good caffeine. I run back outside only to see Ty bent over, looking at the car and pointing. I'm watching him and I hear him say, "Moke mom, moke." I look over and sure enough, the car is smoking, tufts of black smoke. At this opportune moment, Nick and Jake come flying down the stairs, shoving each other, yelling. They almost run into me as I kind of freeze for a second and then, regaining some semblance of being the person in charge, I bolt over to the driver's side and turn off the car. Jake yells, "Hey mom, there's smoke coming out of the tailpipe!" Duh I think to myself. I walk to the tailpipe, bend down and then I stand up and look over, "Go get me the tongs" I tell Nick who still doesn't have a clue what the hell is going on, "The tongs, Nick, kitchen, go and get them" I start speaking like I'm talking to a deaf person and he gets it. A minute later he comes out with the scissors and I roll my eyes. "Jake?" and then it's Jake's turn to run inside. Meanwhile Ty is bent over, trying to stare at the origin of the black tufts. Jake comes bounding out, "Here" and he jabs me with the tongs. I grab them and mutter, "Thanks" as I walk over to the car. I bend down and wave the smoke away as I insert the metal calipers into the "hole." With three eager, curious boys behind me, I feel something and I slowly withdraw the object. I set it down on the ground and quirk one eyebrow as the 3 year old puts his arms around my neck and says, "Tanks Mommy, you found my Do Nuts!" I hang my head and sigh as the other two bust up laughing. And so, another day begins.

Today was Ty's second day of preschool and as I walked down the hall while the director of the preschool held him down inside of the classroom to keep him from running away, I could hear his voice. Everyone could hear his voice, "You can't leave me here!" amidst the screams and cries and, I kept walking... And, I felt badly. I did. For about an hour after that I felt badly. One of my friends gave me a pep talk and I felt better, but there was something inherently heartbreaking about your kid looking you in the face and begging you not to "Leave me here." I've read the books, listened to the psychologists and, for crying out loud, I have two other kids who've gone through this stage already. I should be a pro... WRONG! The other two just went. They weren't exactly happy about it, but they didn't scream and cry and throw a tantrum. There's always one in every class, but now, it's me and I'm the one feeling like I'm abandoning my kid with total strangers who I really don't know from Adam and I'm reassuring him that it's going to be okay and that I'll be back.

See, I think it's perfectly okay for a parent to feel like crap for leaving their kid and for however "normal" it is to just leave which every school and every teacher and every psychologist will tell you is the "best" thing that you can do because ultimately it's the best thing for your child; the best way to adjust; still, a huge part of me still thinks that unless you know yourself and your child, you shouldn't be commenting on anyone else's situation. And the logical part of my brain, the reasonable part, the common sense part tells me that they are all right and that he's fine once I leave, but the emotional part, the psychological part, the part that makes me want to curl up in the backseat and suck my thumb, crying real tears until it's time to pick him up, well, that part of me says fuck the Psych 101, that preschool is just like pacifiers, unneccessary and pointless. I mean, children have always stayed with their parents, well, in early times; they were schooled and taught by relatives and friends and neighbors and even now, for those of us who don't have to work full time or at all, why aren't we doing the schooling ourselves? The truth? It's easier on us, it's better for us, it makes us better parents. But, You know what? Children would survive just fine without the massively expensive system known as preschool... Society makes me feel obligated to pay almost 400 bucks a month to send my kid for a structured playdate with a snack...

So, why do you do it then? You ask and I answer, peer pressure... I, like every other parent in the world want my children to have the best opportunities and, if I can provide it, I want them to have every chance to "get ahead" and to be prepared for the messed up system that is public schools in California. Maybe the truth is, I secretly like the preschool, which I do and I like knowing that Ty is with people who are qualified to teach and care for my precious little monster. Not everyone has the makeup to do that, hell, I don't, that's for sure so, I will trust that the books and the teachers and the advice are right and, I walk away...
"He had a fantastic day today" his teacher said as I waited with the other parents at the end of the day, I smiled and then I laughed as Ty came flying, body and soul, crashing into me as I picked him up, "Hi Buddy" "Mommy, you came" he said. And, that pretty much says it all.

I spend so much time, so much wasted time, regretting, worrying, second guessing things that I said or did or how my actions have fucked up my kids even more than before the incident happened and then, magically, they hug me or smile at me or look me in the eyes and say, "Mommy you came" and everything is okay again; at least in that moment. I wonder if all of the time that parents spent second guessing themselves was instead directed toward just accepting the simple fact that sometimes we screw up and we do so royally. We joke that those little buggers don't come with an instruction manual and they don't, but what they do come with is an innate resilience that allows us to fall asleep and know that we, like them, can try again tomorrow. Yes, they're going to hate us, they're going to want to sever all ties with us at some point, but I wanted the same thing when I was growing up. I wanted my parents to leave me alone, but, they didn't because, yes, you guessed it, they're parents. Some people don't take a hint well and they don't know when to back off. I think this is more common than we realize and I see it a lot in youth sports. In fact, I've been guilty of it in coaching my sons. But the more I watch and the more I listen, I accept that sometimes I am NOT what's best for my kids and in certain situations, I have to have the strength and self confidence to allow others to participate in the rearing of my children. I accept that they will not always like me nor will they seek my advice first. At the rate I'm going, I will be closer to the bottom of the list than the top, but, at least my children know that I am here; to find the donuts, to help them do their homework, to be in their corner and they know that regardless of what anyone says to them or thinks about them, that they are good human beings and that they are very much loved. And really, isn't that all anyone can say about being a parent? You will fuck up, guaranteed, but, they will still love you, guaranteed...

Ty has been in preschool for two weeks now and yesterday, he hugged me goodbye and handed me my keys and said, "Okay, bye Mom" and then he went to the open arms of his teacher who hugged him and smiled and he never looked back. And as I walked down the hall, I felt a little heartbroken and a lot content at the same time. Because I love him, it's about him. He will turn 4 next week and for just a second, I am reminded of how quickly time is passing. Well, I think about it for more than just a second, but the realization hits me that I have just experienced the last time that I will have to introduce a child to school, well, preschool and just like all of the firsts that I've gotten to enjoy, I now begin to enjoy the lasts...

Lu

You know, little girls and teenagers talk about their "BFF's" and they have little necklaces and friendship bracelets and they text each other all the time and they get mad when someone else comes along and tries to steal their "BFF"; this kind of nonsense cracks me up. It's silly in its own right, but I suppose it does have a place, somewhere.

I just got done chatting with my BFF via Facebook. Impersonal sometimes, but highly practical given that we both have three children and part time jobs and issues that pervade our forty something year old lives that we didn't have 10 years ago; some that make us laugh and many that make us sigh and wish we were just a little bit younger. I wanted to give her something back by grasping her hand and taking her for a stroll down friendship lane with me. So Lu, this one is for you.

She met my husband before I did; she introduced us actually, but that begs the question, "Why didn't she date him first?" Still wondering about that one. She took care of me when I blacked out from doing too many shots of Tequila, after I vomited in the cab on the way home from the club, kindly paying the cab driver when he asked for money to "clean up his cab." She made a Karaoke tape with me of that infamous song "Lean on Me" which I still have and which is so horrible that I cannot even stand listening to it except when I need to laugh hysterically, but I hold on to it, mainly for future blackmail purposes. She held me back and didn't let me get into the van with the bartender who I would have ended up flat on my back with (damn it!) and she assured me that it would be okay when I did something stupid or dumb which, incidentally, I did often. She went on vacation with me and she laughed when I drove through a puddle with the window open and the water splashed the entire left side of my face. She took me dancing and she was in the limo on the way to the senior prom. She taught me humility and dignity and she always made sure that I was okay even if I didn't want to be and she is my biggest cheerleader...
She puts up with my mood swings and she lets me stay at her house. She eats pie with me, even when we haven't first eaten anything else and she always, always, encouraged me to do whatever the hell it is I wanted. She taught me to see the world with bigger eyes and to listen to my heart rather than to my defined upbringing that clouded my vision and she has always shown a "blindness" to the race, sex, creed, politics or to any other "label" that people use to deny acceptance of one human being from another and I admire her for that; I respect her for that.

I don't have a lot of friends and I'm okay with that. Like I've said, not everyone gets me nor do they want to and that's fine. But the few friends that I do have, the ones who I care about, are some of the finest human beings that you could ever know. And, I could hold up any one of these people, faults and all and they'd still be 1000 times better on their worst day than I am on my best day.

What I think is the most fascinating thing about our 25+ year friendship is that we don't see eye to eye on many things. But she makes we want to understand the other point of view and I never could see that before. She makes me want to challenge myself and to ask the questions that I don't want to ask and she forces me to look my beliefs in the mirror and evaluate their worth. I like that about her. I like that she doesn't give in easily and I love that she'll tell you off to your face, but in such a way that sometimes you don't even realize that it's happening. She's diplomatic and stubborn, intelligent and educated, she's serious and fun. And she understands me. Not an easy thing to do. I can't actually remember the first time that I met her, but I know it was in junior high because we all used to play little league softball at the same place and we all kind of "knew" each other then, but it was in high school when we really got the chance to know each other and to share those moments that are both worth sharing and some that you'd like to forget. Many you'd like to forget...

Where we used to talk about clothes and vacations and boys, our conversation just ended with how we should be eating pie and the use of Viagra, along with a side helping of MRI's and arthritis. But that's what a good friendship is; a buffet. You start with all you can eat and then you work your way through the unnecessary time wasting stuff and you finish with the luscious, the frivolous. And no matter what we discuss or what is going on in our lives, we always laugh; the dessert of the relationship. She is the whipped cream and I am definitely the nuts...

Lu knows me better than anyone else, better than my husband, my kids, even my parents and yet, she still talks to me. Surprising, at least to me, but then again, maybe I fulfill some kind of "helping the less fortunate" quota where she's concerned and, if not, I'll just count my blessings that I have someone in my life who is a grounded part of my past and who helps me live in the present and who will always be a part of my future. Blondie!

I love you Lu...

Faith

As I was given the gift of time this morning, to catch up with an "old" friend, my day began on a note of renewal and with that, a desire to examine something bigger. As the day progressed, I was surprised by how easily the universe merged events to make that happen. I'm once again struck by the nature of people who have to deal with the unimaginable and I am awestruck by their ability to grieve and even accept what is happening to them, both while it is happening and after the fact. Their strength gives me hope and their hardships, maybe even ironically, give me faith.

I haven't had to suffer hardships. I am the product of middle class parents and I was fortunate enough to grow up in a good neighborhood where it was typical to stay out until "the streetlights" came on and not have to have your parents checking on you to make sure that you weren't kidnapped or that some crazy ass pedophile had dragged you into their basement. My parents paid for me to go to college and I was taken to church, to girl scouts, to grandparents' houses. Incidentally, I still have three grandparents and I'm 41. Unusual to say the least. I grew up with aunts and uncles and cousins around and even today, I run into people all the time who I grew up with or who I played soccer with; hell, the mayor of Torrance was one of my all time favorite AYSO coaches when I was a kid and I am friends with his daughter! Sometimes my upbringing makes me think of that Waltonesque kind of small town existence and although Torrance has certainly changed, it is still not without that small town feel and today was no exception. I am fortunate, I know that and I try very hard to not take things for granted. But, as I was speaking with a woman tonight, who has become a close friend (again, I am lucky), I was reminded that sometimes I have to make a conscious effort to not take those I love for granted and to step back and forgive those who take me for granted. Today and tonight, with two different stories of two completely different people, one who I've met and one who I haven't, I am forced to consider my faith once again; in myself, in people and in God.

Being without hardships growing up does not a better person make, but, if one has perspective or if one gains it as she grows and learns, then I think that she will develop the empathy that could potentially propel her to a level of understanding where her own personal experiences don't matter as much as HOW she reacts to others and the struggles that they are facing. It is a conscious choice that one makes; are you sorry? Or, do you actually feel sorrow; when you walk away after hearing the story, does it make you want to help, does it make you want to care, does it make you wish that you could close your eyes, put your hands together and pray them back to themselves? Maybe it doesn't do any of those things and maybe you just walk away, glad that it isn't you, but still feeling "bad" for what the family is going through. Does that make you a superficial person? Does it make you without empathy? Or, does it just make you human? I'm inclined to believe that it could be all of them.

I was raised a Catholic, which, meaning "universal" doesn't do much for me, just as a definition. I mean, we're all human. Hence, "universal"; doesn't really do anything for me to bind me to the person next door you know? But what my parents gave me and what the church has given me, through Mass and through the Sacraments and through the steadfast hands of teachers, coaches and religious education and, most importantly, through a crisis of faith in my early adult years, I've arrived at a place where I understand how my faith serves me and how it serves those who know me. I used to think that everyone who wasn't a Catholic was taking the express elevator straight to hell. I mean, we are the chosen people, are we not? But, after years of listening and talking and reading and research, I now understand that it isn't the institution, it's the message and, more than that, it's the person sending the message. If you had nuns beating your hands with rulers or priests who were taking you into the rectory without your consent, then the message certainly was something altogether different and, it goes without saying, unspeakable. But, if you had someone who handed you a Bible when you were 7 and who told you that it was okay to question things that you'd read and to ask when something didn't make sense or if you had a priest tell you, when you were 20 and weeping in the confessional about how you were starting to lose your faith and that you didn't know where to turn, that it was good to question your faith, that it would make you stronger in the end, when you needed it the most, because when you accepted it, if you did, that it would then matter. To have people like that to guide you, well, let's just say, faith is renewed in the examples of those people. One of my favorite neighbors, who was my eighth grade CCD teacher, Mr. Ben Aranda who passed away several years ago, gave us report cards. He gave us actual grades for a once a week religion class and he told us to remember why we'd gotten the grade that we had and I learned more from that man about the power of faith, just by his example than anything he ever read from a book. I miss him, as do many of those in my community these days, especially his family and those kids he helped to learn about God.
I remember making a decision to accept that there are many kinds of faith and that it isn't about a building; a synagogue and a church are the same to me. Even, currently the debate over the construction of the Mosque so close to the 9/11 site. Not all is one and one is not all. I guess, because faith is not religion to me, religion does not then define my faith; it is simply a piece of the puzzle that connects me to the God I believe in and to the beliefs that define me. I've been taught many things that I'd like to forget. I've learned how to hate, how to hold a grudge, how to be cruel, spiteful, racist and vain. And while I'm not proud of any of those things, I am proud of the fact that I recognize them as weaknesses and I make a conscious effort to try not to be or to do them. Sometimes I fail and then I pray or I ask for forgiveness or I kiss my children, but I remind myself that to believe in something, is to simply believe that something is possible.

Today, I watched a gathering of people, who were trying to raise money for a boy, now a man, with a family of his own, who suffers needlessly from a disease that will take his life early and, you know, it's unfair. When you hear his story, you immediately want to ask, "Why him?" or you want to say, "God, that poor guy" but then, you read his blog or you meet him or you talk to his friends or family and, it's like an answer has been revealed. Jason will die, just like we all will and he knows from what and maybe even when and yes, he will leave behind his wife and his young son and many, many people who love him. And, it's completely unfair; it just is. But listening to people talk about him today and reading his words as he's chronicled his life with ALS and remembering him as a kid, I'm learning from him, even though I haven't seen him or spoken to him in many years. And through his suffering and through his eventual death, I've learned that some people are chosen because of their abilities to exemplify dignity, decency, promise, hope and, faith. Jason is a man of substance and his struggle binds us all together and makes us realize that life is fleeting and passing by so quickly. And,that maybe, if we just stopped, and looked around, that those days of staying out until dark would somehow bring us back to that place of worship that we all long for; a desire to connect with one another and to be a part of something bigger. Through Jason's journey, he's brought people and lives together that might have never been re-connected and the courage that he has displayed in his physical, emotional and mental struggle is no less than astounding. For me, he both personifies and humanizes faith. He's made me believe that it all counts, every second and there is never a moment when you have to say, "I can't take it back or I don't want to apologize"; you can always take it back, you can always apologize. It's never too late. It means something to me to write it down because he means something to me; his whole family does. I pray for Jason and his family and I pray not that he won't die, but, instead, I pray that he finds some peace knowing that his journey has changed many lives and that his son, through all of the people who know and love his father, will learn what a wonderful human being Jason is... I pray that Jason has faith in the moments when he doubts it the most and I pray that his family does too.

Maybe faith isn't something that comes from what you've learned, but instead from what you haven't. It's like swinging on a vine and then reaching for the next one, knowing it's there, within reach, but then, not really sure if you're going to catch it. By repeating the process, as the vines continue to be there, pretty soon you just swing without looking, that is, until one is missing or broken or isn't where it's supposed to be, maybe shorter or old or longer than it should have been, then your faith is tested once again, hopefully until the day that you reach again and your hand clasps a strong, green, vibrant vine... maybe it really is that simple. But maybe, if it were that simple, then there would be no reason to believe at all. Maybe it has to be difficult and challenging and painful in order for it to have meaning and, really, couldn't we say that about anything worthwhile in life?

Lastly, a friend and I had a conversation about children and love and God today. And, it wasn't a long talk, but listening to her and watching her face as she told me a heart-wrenching story and how very personal it was, I was once again humbled by the strength of people who are thrust into unimaginable situations and who deal with them with the kind of grace and dignity that you wish for, that you pray for when you will need them the most and, in this case, it is my friend who displays these qualities; it is her willingness to help and to give of herself that moves me. The selflessness of people who have to watch their friends suffer and who then, willingly offer their shoulders and their tears as comfort without any knowledge that it will help at all? It is incredible and astounding and it is those moments and those people who define my faith, who make me know, in my heart and in my mind that God exists; that prayers and unity and worship unite us, even those who weren't taught to believe in a "formal" setting. Religion might just be the opiate of the masses, but faith is not. Faith is the rehab that keeps us wanting to try to be better; keeps us coming back, despite it all.

Tonight I will pray for Jason and for a mother who lost a child, but I will also pray for those wonderful people who support them, who love them and who will grieve with them and for them, despite the un-fairness, despite the pain, despite the fear. I pray that when I am faced with a hardship that I will remember what I just wrote and that I will not waver when it matters the most...

Vacation

As we were walking back to our car yesterday, a man and his wife smiled at us and then the man said, "Thanks, you guys were the entertainment on board today!" Tim and I laughed, knowing that was exactly the case. Take 3 boys, 13, 10 and 3, add a catamarran, sprinkle in a 2 1/2 hour sail and top with nothing to do but lay in the sun? A disaster cocktail I'm inclined to think and that's not even mentioning the small, purple plastic hippo that flew overboard somewhere on the way back, much to the chagrin of the 3 year old who hysterically screamed "Hippo can't swim, hippo can't swim." We assured him that hippo would make it back to shore just fine. Ah, the lies parents deign to tell. At one point, Jake had Nick pinned down on the deck pillows and Ty was doing some kind of flying kami-kazee jumping thing as Nick screamed and other people laughed. This went on for some time, at least until someone cried and then Tim or I took turns stepping in. Where were we during the melee? You know where we were; standing off to the side of the deck, drinking and pretending that they were someone else's kids.

Family vacations are an absolute rite of passage and, if, you didn't get to take them as a kid, you relish all of the moments that you get to share with your kids; even the ones out in the middle of Lake Tahoe. Tim and I always managed to agree on this very simple axiom: "Family vacations are a necessity." A made up axiom to be sure, but if you really think about what is being said here without actually being said then you'll understand what I'm talking about. There needs to be a weekend or a week or two weeks or however amount of time you can tell your boss that you're "working from home" and then when you can actually get on the freeway or hightail it to the airport and get the hell out of dodge. I digress for a moment here; I'm hoping that I might have a shot of staying out of hell after I pass on, but in the event that I end up there, I'm thinking that it couldn't possibly be worse than driving on the fucking, hair-pulling, crazy ass lane changing, traffic jambed hellish passage that we call the 405 freeway, which, incidentally, just turns into the 5 freeway (all previous adjectives applicable). Driving that piece of shit highway while trying to placate the ten year old, answer the 13 year old's inane questions and, simultaneously, find the Dora the Explorer DVD for the 3 year year old; I tell you, it's Road Rage defined. And that's before I took the wheel and refused to continue to play cat and mouse with the Ford Focus that apparantly thought my 85 mph wasn't enough and who, for about 25 miles or so, continued to pull up next to me and then cut me off, sliding right in front of me as if to dare me to do something. And, quality parenting aside, I did what any road raged, incensed mother of 3 did, I honked my horn at him for about a minute and then I flipped him off, screaming every obscenity I could think of, to the complete amusement of the two older boys who began to whisper and point at me, "Did you hear what mom just said?" "What does that word mean?" mixed in with the 3 year old's screams of "I can't hear Dora! I can't hear it!" In these moments, I usually turn to Tim as a meter of sanity to see just where I read on the gauge at any given moment in our daily lives. I glance over at him and he sighs and says, "Pull over at the next exit. I'm driving." Well, no need to get all upset, I think. Then again, he's used to it.
9 hours, almost two tanks of gas, one meal at IHOP, two rest stops to pee and one drive through a McDonald's for ice cream cones and WE ARE THERE! For those of you who feel compelled to ask that age old question, "Are we there yet?" Fuck you. So, we roll on into the parking lot of the hotel and the 3 year old is beside himself. He LOVES hotowels; everything about them: the elevator, the card key, the beds, the windows, even the bathroom. He turns to me every once in awhile when we are at home and he says, "Mom, I go to the hotowel?" I'm not sure that he's even referring to a particular place so much as a building where someone makes the beds every day and brings fresh towels and where, after you place a phone call, food arrives at your door. Pretty shrewd for a 3 year old... Nonetheless, we've arrived and are unpacked in minutes, as wardrobe is not a major concern of boys. "Let's go, let's go" they start shouting, even though they have no idea where they want to go, but after having been trapped in a car for 9 hours with Mom behind the wheel most of the time, they are ready for something.
It's interesting I think, the dynamic of being on vacation. There really are opportunities for very different types of bonding amongst family members. Normally, siblings who wouldn't give one another the time of day are suddenly BFF's due to the simple fact that there is no one else for them to play with or to talk with. Parents who never seem to have a moment to talk, get the chance to sit and look out at the scenery once the children are engaged or they might even get to hold hands or even kiss, but, of course to the shouts and groans of the two obnoxious boys who are standing on the beach, disgusted by their parents' "improper" behavior in public. But overall, without the daily stresses that exist, the family vacation is an opportunity to get to know your family again and to really listen to one another without a constant stream of interruptions. The fighting goes on and the disagreements and the occasional "I hate you" comes out or the 3 year old becomes a Flying Walenda in the hotel room and lands on the head of one of his brothers, but in general, it's more of a healing process than an injury. Strange that I'd put it that way, considering the fact that it took us 10 hours to get back home. Quirks and all, vacations are filled with moments of pure enthusiasm and joy and the chance to become someone else for a little while; someone who doesn't answer to anyone or anything other than to the people who they love most in the world; floating hippos and all. Good lord, I sound like a fucking Hallmark card.
I will say this one last thing; we've been on many family vacations these past 13 years, visited different places, tried new sports, swam with dolphins, but what I hope that my children remember the most, the one thing that I want them to take with them and to share with their kids is that desire to want to be together; even amidst the chaos. I want them to look forward to the experience and to then later laugh about all of the ridiculous and smile at all of the lovely and maybe even curse at all of the angry things that occurred on said vacation. It's not about the photo ops or the souvenirs or the pricy boat rides; it really is about that moment when you look up and you see your three sons laughing and diving and swimming in the lake while you sit at the water's edge, breathing in the mountain air and wishing that summer would never end...

Self doubt

Self doubt is like the craving that you have for the substance that you just spent 90 days in rehab trying to forget...she never quite knows when to quit. A fickle mistress I suppose. Having other people share their criticisms and doubts about what you are doing or thinking is bad enough, but when you start or continue to do it to yourself? Might as well call Dr. Drew right now.

I was playing futsol last week (indoor soccer) for the football challenged and I almost got into a fight toward the end of the match. Now, it would seem that I was the instigator because... I was. I shoved one of the girls on the other team and really, I make no excuses for it. It's a rough game and I had gotten knocked around a bit and I was pissed off. Most of the time when this sort of rough play happens, I let it go. But not this time; this time, I was pissed off and it showed in how I responded. Next thing I know, she's all in an uproar, even though the ref had blown his whistle and called a foul. But she was pissed too and I heard her say, "What was that?" and I mouthed under my breath, "Payback." Well, that was probably the wrong thing to say because then "IT WAS ON" and she was coming at me. Of course, I didn't help the situation by flapping my arms and shouting, "Bring it on!" But then, her teammate stepped in front of her and mine in front of me and I thought the whole thing was kind of funny because, what? Was I really going to fight a girl from the opposing team in the futsol league, in front of my children who were watching the game? Of course not, but, I was going to irritate her nonetheless, so I taunted her by smiling and waving at her behind my teammate's back until I just kind of gave up and subbed out for the last couple of minutes of the match. When it was over, we all shook hands, but when I held mine out to her she just looked at it and said, "Yeah right." Understandable I guess, but then again, we're adults and while you can be pissed off on the field, best just to let it go after the game is over. At least that's what I thought. But now, my mistress having had time to consider her next move and to slide into the latent guilt ridden part of my temporal lobe, I am doubting myself and I feel compelled to apologize to her for my actions. I justify this by saying that it is for my children's benefit, but really I know that deep down, it's to quell the rising urge, that feeling that I am to blame - that I did something wrong.

A lot of times when I did something wrong as a kid and then I apologized to my mom, she'd say, "You're not sorry" and while I didn't really understand why she wouldn't accept my apology, I understand it now; in a skewered kind of way. The seeds of self-doubt are planted inside of those who feel or have the need to be accepted or loved by someone else, to the point where said person cares very deeply about what that other person thinks of them. In this example, it is my mother. In the thousands of other examples that come to mind, I can name everyone from the priest who gave me my first Holy Communion to the dog that we had when we were kids. What I've come to learn though, through my trials and in my journey is that the reason why I still feel self doubt sometimes is because I never told myself or gave myself permission to fuck up. Even though I regularly did, I've never allowed myself the freedom to say, "You made a mistake or you did something stupid, now, let it go." Instead, it's some kind of incessant need to hold onto all of the things that I've done where someone else was judging me. I don't like to be judged, clearly and although I am certainly guilty of judging people, I think it also fair to say that I am probably one of the most accepting people that you will ever meet. Don't believe in God? Okay... Republican? Um, okay... Like to have sex with chickens? Hmmm, wear a condom? Anyway, I digress, but the self doubt thing... she's a bitch and I'd like to see her disappear altogether.

When I was in high school, and I use those four years as an example here only because I changed a great deal during that time and right after as well. But, it was in those years that I began to formulate my own ideas about the world and issues that were going to be important to me and which, still are; I made a lot of mistakes. I also made some of my lifelong friends during that period and it has been interesting and hilarious to be a part of their lives as all of ours have changed over the years. Popularity fades as does beauty and even sentimentality for many, but memories, dear God, some of the memories still make me laugh and cry, even to this day. So, from 14-18, I learned about tolerance and freedom and experimentation and politics and allegory and I learned about having doubts. So, I suppose that in this time, a crucial learning time, one would have to fight against the very thing that most teenagers desperately want - acceptance, in order to ward off the vicious bitch known as self doubt. Because the conclusion that I've come to and I'm not sure when it happened, but it did, is that the only way to not doubt yourself is to not give a flying fuck what other people think about you and what you're doing; at least to the point where their opinions and/or criticisms begin to alter your belief system.

Am I a Catholic because I was raised one? Am I a Democrat because I wasn't raised one? Am I a feminist because I didn't want my place to be "just in the kitchen?" Am I a humanist because I'm so tired of all the nonsense that is perpetuated by the ridiculous simpletons who daily claim that they know what's "best" for this country because they belong to "THE" organization whatever the hell that happens to be? Or, am I a humanist because it sickens me to think that there are children dying every single day in the world and yet the rate of obesity in this country alone is so staggering that people are going on television shows to try to "win" the help that they need to manage it? Am I a hypocrite because I believe in God and in Jesus Christ but that I have my doubts about religious institutions?

You know what, I'm going to recant a bit here; maybe it's good to doubt something that in your mind and your heart you have reservations about, but maybe it's not good to doubt your own brain or heart when it comes to passing judgement on why you feel that way. Because sometimes, there is no explanation; sometimes you just do feel that way. I liken it to being a parent. If needed, you would do whatever you had to, to protect or save them from harm or danger and you wouldn't care what anyone thought or said about it, either good or bad. You'd do it because it was the right thing to do, for you, in that moment, with that child. And there it is. Be yourself and make mistakes and sometimes, apologize and sometimes feel bad or guilty or shameful or whatever, but don't doubt yourself because that just leads to late night blogging and everyone knows that no good can come of that...

All I know is that I don't know a whole hell of a lot and it makes for some interesting moments... BRING IT ON!

Just a thought

I don't know what's going on lately; the universe that I've known seems to have shifted and what was once comprehensible is now something misshapen and somewhat distorted. I saw a photo of a Stop sign in a middle eastern country and it was red and octagon shaped so my brain understood that it signified Stop even though I didn't and can't read the language. That's how I'm seeing my life right now I guess. I recognize the shapes: people, places, events but the language and the intent and even the meanings are not always what I think they are. And this both confuses and irritates me. I'm highly irritable anyway, easily annoyed, often frustrated... I thought for a long time that I was just "moody," which I am, but I'm beginning to understand that it's much more than that. Terms like depressed, anxious, bipolar, attention deficit have come into the analysis that most likely will result in a diagnosis of some kind. But more than that, they are helping me to understand that I don't think the way that you or you or you do because my brain doesn't function like yours does. Until I come to grips with that and until you do too, there's no sense pursuing any kind of relationship. It's a lost cause.

I mention or ramble here because recently I had an encounter with a friend who has been a friend for most of my life, some 30 years and, we had a misunderstanding. And although I didn't see the situation in the way that she did and vice versa, I thought about both of our reactions and I apologized. At first I thought that I apologized because it was the "right" thing to do; you hurt someone's feelings, you say you're sorry. Very elementary school. But now, after the fact, I realize that it was more than that; it is more than that. It wasn't about hurt feelings. It was about my lack of understanding where she was coming from and her lack of understanding from where I spoke. Common enough I think. And our friendship, although lengthy, some 30 years has waned to more of a acquaintance type relationship. We see each other once in awhile and seemingly pick up where we left off and this is how it's been. We don't plan things, we don't vacation together, our children don't know each other. But there is a history there; a very important one, at least for me. She was a vital part of a time in my life when most of my ideas about life, love and friendship were formed. Her support and humor and drive helped me to often be better, to have more fun, to not take shit from anyone. Her zest to live in the moment has stayed with me through the years and, without consciously realizing it, has prompted me to take on things that I might never have considered before. And most of all, best of all, my teenage years are wrapped up in memories of experiences that we shared together. So, regardless of the years that have gone on since and all of the time that has passed, I always think of her as a friend and she would be there for me if I needed her to be. I still think that.

When this misunderstanding took place, I was surprised and shocked by her immediate response and her note made me think that something wasn't quite right with how she reacted. Maybe that was my interpretation, but maybe, not. If friends can support, then they should be able to criticize as well, equally. And, since I'm not one to mince words and I'm very "direct" I would think that those who know me best, accept that about me. But therin lies the dig... she doesn't understand and either she didn't then or she thought that I wasn't worth the effort and it was THAT reaction that saddened me, still does. That reaction makes me wonder if she even considers me a friend anymore and if she does, what will our next interaction be like...

It's ironic because I'm very much a people person; I like to be around people, I like to have conversations, I like to do things... but, I have to be in the right frame of mind, or mood as most people would say. If I'm not, if I'm in the "state" that I often am, people don't understand me and they often read my reactions as something other than what they are. The thing is, I can't mask it. It's like trying to tone down rage; not anger or frustration, but full on, body clenching rage. Call it what it is, react, try to do damage control. I don't intentionally try to hurt people's feelings, maybe that's the point I'm trying to make. I say things, I think things, I react, I'm impulsive, but I'm honest and, I know, that the people who are in my life are honest with me too. And sometimes it hurts and sometimes I lose friends, but I guess in the end, it's better to be honest with yourself than to put on some kind of pretentious bullshit show that makes you seem like you are more enlightened than everyone around you; that you are happier than everyone when really, on some level, you know that it's all a lie. Because no one is that happy all the time. And if they are, I want some of what they are taking.

I go to therapy now and I really like it. I exercise more and I like that too. I try to do things that feed the part of my brain that wants to be positive and when I don't, I subdue it with chocolate or alcohol. It's 5:00 somewhere...
It's tough not knowing exactly what makes you tick because if you did, it would be much easier to "fix." A stepford Yvette maybe; what might she be like? Complacent, obedient, complimentary... I can't stand her already. Less wrinkles; that I would take. Wax on philosophical, that' what a blog is for, bitch about the bad, praise the good and shy away from the ugly. Then again, what would be the point of all of it if everything was sugar coated, without stress, or pain or disappointment? What if I didn't say what I thought in order not to hurt anyone's feelings, intentional or not, ever? What would that life look like?

In the end I guess, friendship is a reward and a consequence for someone like me, really, with someone like me. If you understand where I'm coming from, then you get it and, if not, maybe because you deign that I'm not worth the effort, I can accept that too. I don't have to like it and it's not that it won't hurt, but at least, we'll have been honest with one another. And, I may be many things, good and bad, but gladly I can say, I am an honest person. Lesson learned; never post a comment on facebook that someone may misread or take the wrong way. Hmmm... I guess I'm never posting anything again...

Riding the roller coaster

I spent the day at Magic Mountain today with my family. We were there for 9 hours and we got on 3 rides. Now, I'm not one to hold back when it comes to giving my opinion, but I tried very hard to temper my annoyance and ill will toward the park and the people there, at least for part of the day. But, by the end, I was done and so were the kids.

There is something depraved and deeply upsetting about having to wait almost 2 hours to ride on a roller coaster. Most of the time, I'd say fuck it and walk out of the park. Actually, backtracking, I normally don't subject myself or my children to the kind of abuse that occurs in an amusement park in Southern California on a summer day. I usually avoid that scenario like the plague. But, this morning, it seemed like a good idea; pack up the kids, take along a friend, go for a few hours. Big, fat, wrong. When there is a line to get into the park that rivals the one packed in for the wait for Colossus, you know you're in trouble. But, like the gluttons we are, we go in anyway.

I love roller coasters. I love that feeling that makes your stomach feel like it's now in the toes of your shoes and I love it when your head whips around so much that you are close to blacking out... I love that and, sadly, I also know that sometime, maybe in the not so distant future, that I will have to give up this pasttime because my body and my brain will no longer be able to handle the G force or the 17 loops that will exist in the coasters of the future. So, I sigh and wait my turn to experience it while I can and, even at 41, I have yet to meet a coaster that can tame me. The scarier the better.
So, when Nick and I got in line for Goliath, one of my two favorites at Magic Mountain,I was more than excited. I was ready to let that coaster kick my ass and to love every second of it...
An hour and forty-five minutes later and we are about to get on the ride and some of my enthusiasm has waned... Oh, I still loved it and screamed like a little kid and laughed and held my hands up and thought, "I'm going to die" as the car plummeted in an almost vertical line toward the ground, but after all that time in line, I kind of lost interest in why I was there and instead tried to think of reasons why I should stay. After we got off the ride though, looking at Nick's face was enough to tell me that it was worth it. And besides, if Nick can wait that long in "kid time," I mean an hour, forty-five is like a lifetime to that guy, then I guess I can too. He smiled at me as we walked out and said, "That was great mom." Yes it was.

I ditched the other kids early on because the 13 year was acting like the jackass that he is these days, as most teenagers will at some point in their "Let's make mom's life a veritable hell" days. So, once that happened, things quieted down. That is until we got to my other favorite ride in the park, Tatsu.

Now, if you haven't ridden on Tatsu, I'm not sure that I could begin to do it justice to even describe it, but, of course, I'm going to try. The experience of riding on it, well, I liken it to flying in an airplane for the first time, well, the first time that you can remember it. That sensation of lift off and of heart palpitations and wonder and freedom, all wrapped into one experience. Riding Tatsu is like that; it's intense.

Nick and I waited over an hour for this monster and she is worth every second. To better illustrate the intensity; when the car in front of us came to a stop, the girl closest to where we stood, ready to board was weeping. She wasn't crying, she was weeping. You could literally see the tears falling from her face onto the ground and when they clicked open the harness so that she could get out, she yelled, "I am never going on that ride ever again" and she pointed at the machine, as if it could hear her and somehow be sorry for causing her emotional distress. Nick and I looked at each other and then we busted up laughing and I thought to myself, "Now that's the sign of a kick ass roller coaster. Let's go." And so we did and, let me pause for a second to say, I now understand why the girl was weeping. I still think her reaction was hilarious, but I understand it better now.

We get into our seats and we pull our harnesses down and we wait for someone to come over and strap in our feet and check the safety switch. While we wait, I notice that the woman to the left of Nick is rather large. I'm being kind here. I don't know her so I can't judge her based on anything other than she was not going to fit into the harness. Any two year old with a shape sorter and the various shapes could understand this concept. You might want that circle to fit into the star shaped hole, but no matter how hard you shove it in, it ain't going in. I'm watching as two workers, teenage kids, maybe early college years, come over and attempt to shove and I do not use that word lightly because as one pulled down the harness, the other one pushed and pulled like she was attempting to do chest compressions on someone who couldn't breathe. And while this is happening, everyone is staring and the woman is grunting as the harness is clearly cutting into her chest and stomach. The kids push and pull and she grunts as the riders begin to get impatient. But the most bizarre thing of all is that this goes on for a full 3 or 4 minutes and NO ONE stops it; not the workers and not the passenger, who by this time, is starting to look pekid from all of the action that her windpipe and lungs are getting. Finally, someone comes over, a supervisor, I guess and tells the woman that she is going to have to exit the ride. And, I have to admit, the woman takes it pretty well. She gets out of the seat and makes her way down the stairs while her friend stays on the ride. Another couple of minutes and we're off, but before I begin to show you the brilliance that is Tatsu, let me digress and just say this, politically incorrect or not, there are limits on what people can do. We all have them, I have them and denial is one's best friend in situations like that. But, whatever your ailment is, I don't judge you for that, I don't care really. I do care though about the insanity that centers on the kind of person who doesn't see themselves for who and what they are. If you're a fat person or obese or you are genetically pre-disposed to be a size beyond that of the average human being, then maybe going to Magic Mountain should wait until you can fit yourself into the seat without embarrassment or self induced humiliation because you just can't understand why they don't make seats "bigger" for riders like you. Reality check...

Tatsu; even the name is poetic, like origami paper or a cherry blossom tree, Tatsu: elegant, graceful, majestic.... will kick your fucking ass upside down and then bitch slap you on the way back! Just like any good roller coaster will.
So, after the harness clicks into place and they give each other the green light, the harness and the seat tilt you into another position; imagine that you are suspended on all fours and the harness is what holds you in place. You are HANGING THERE! Your face looking down at the ground while your body weight is suspended against the harness. It's a weird image and the first time that you see people hanging there, it looks like some kind of new age torture device and I think again of the weeping girl. Most people start laughing and hollering and screaming at this point as the excitement builds. And then... you're off. Because the intent of the ride is to make you feel like you're flying, the tilt of the harness is such that for the entire ride, you not only feel like you're flying, but you feel like at any second that you're going to fly right out of the fucking thing and plummet to your death. Particularly when you're doing an inverted loop backward at 85 miles per hour. This must have been the point when the weeping started. But frankly, it's not the loops that freak me out, it's the beginning, those first few moments when the coaster is slowly ascending the 300 feet or so before it plunges you into oblivion. Because this coaster is suspended and the track is above you, it literally looks and feels as if there is nothing separating you and the plunge to your death. As you creep up the incline, you feel like a skydiver, harnessed to someone else's chest only instead of falling, you are climbing. People are waving from below but you are too terrified to let go of the grab bars, as if this would save your from flying out and then, you're there and all of a sudden, you're backward, flying through the air, your heart in your chest and your stomach in your shoes and you're laughing and screaming and maybe even crying a little and you're 13 again, pissing off your parents and wishing that you could spend every day of your summer vacation waiting in lines for rides like Tatsu.

But, you can't. You have responsibilities and you have that bitch of a drive home on the 405 which aptly should be named "Highway to Hell" at this point in its existence.
So, you settle for knowing that you love all those rides and soon you'll be back to conquer them again and to enjoy for just a bit longer, the zealous charge that we get when we take on something that frightens or excites us, something that brings us back for a few minutes to a time in our lives when things were good, just because we were there. It didn't have to be perfect or go according to a plan, it just had to happen.

And so, I think about another day that I got to share something with my kids, even the pain in the ass 13 year old, I'm still pissed off at him right now, something that is generational and that binds us together. But, the next time that we find an activity that accomplishes that ideal "bonding," I swear, it better not involve an hour and forty five minute wait...