Minor Irritations

Me: I think I’ve got Irritable Bowel Syndrome like Adriana
Ever Lovin’: You know that’s a fictional show, right?
Me: Yeah but it’s a real condition. They used to have ads for some kind of medication on television.
Ever Lovin’: I think it’s just that unripe avocado we ate yesterday.

In fact, I probably don’t have IBS. I’ve never, thank God, really had digestive issues in the past, and I’m fairly certain my mild discomfort is a passing thing. I was, however, really fascinated by the fact that Sopranos writers had Adriana diagnosed with IBS right before Silvio took her out in the woods and shot her. (Experiencing a big old Sopranos jones whilst waiting for Season 6 to come in to the library). Got me thinking about those super annoying (but irritatingly memorable) ads for Zelnorm that were on when I was still an occasional television viewer (you know, the ones with a bunch off women showing off scribbles on their midsections). It turns out Zelnorm (which is apparently some kind of serotonin booster) was banned from the US market a couple years ago because of deadly cardiovascular side effects.

IBS, according to Google health, is a “complex” disorder of the lower intestinal tract characterized by alternating bouts of constipation and diarrhea. It has no known physical cause but is apparently aggravated by emotional stress. Most of the afflicted are, of course, women.

Anyway, no plans to call the gastroenterologist just yet. I’ll just take a probiotic, hang out in downward dog for a few minutes and hope I feel better in the morning.

Dropoff Drama

Ahhhh preschool enfin! We seem to be starting up excruciatingly late this year. I think we must live in the only jurisdiction on the planet that still starts school after Labor Day. My niece in a nearby city started like two weeks ago. But the blessed day has finally arrived.

Was a little worried because Hank had somehow developed a fixation with Ms. Annemarie, the other four-year-old teacher, and had a fit every time I tried to gently get him used to the idea that he was not going to be in her class. The situation is made worse by the fact that his oldest friend (they go waaay back—like 3 years) is, in fact, in Annemarie’s class. He seemed to forget about it during this morning’s open house and enjoyed discovering his new classroom but started talking about her again on the way home. Hoping it’s not going to be an issue and that occasionally admiring la belle Annemarie on the playground will be enough.

And of course we’ll have to get back into the groove with the whole drop off, pick up and playground socializing thing. For you non-parents, there’s so much more to it than just dropping your kid off for preschool. For a bunch of women with nowhere else to go,it’s time to see and be seen and connect with other mothers (or not). I always wonder how much (or how little) grooming is acceptable before drop off. I don’t really care all that much how I come off, but I don’t want to show up looking like a total hag either. Fortunately, the rest of us slobs will no longer have to encounter the perfectly made up blond from last year who always showed up in workout clothes and never failed to park her Range Rover in the fire lane. Her kid has moved on to kindergarten this year. As has my prom date’s kid so don’t have to worry about running into him. Unlikely I’ve seen the last of him though…there’s always elementary, middle and high school to think about. Good lord.

When it comes down to it, I’m not the greatest preschool mommy. I try to avoid coming off as aloof but I guess I’m just not that warm/friendly/approachable. And when I’ve tried to reach out to parents of classmates, it hasn’t really seemed to work. Everyone seems so busy and like they already have all the friends they need. I’ve had more success meeting interesting parents at other venues, notably at parties thrown by mutual friends. (Meeting other moms is a lot like dating, and I think in both cases, having a common connection bodes well for the relationship.) There’s also the fact that my house is always a bloody mess, which makes it difficult to organize playdates. There are a few laid back mamas I don’t mind letting into my chaos, but I really think some of the tightly wound gals from the playground would flip if they got a glimpse of the scene around here.

In case you were wondering, this does not in any way mean I will be facebooking and reading magazines for hours on end. I still have a rowdy toddler to contend with, of course. But managing one kid for a few hours after a summer of handling two full time is like taking the training weight off your baseball bat. Feels kind of effortless. We can do some yoga, have tea parties and read Polar Bear, Polar Bear a zillion times.

Institutionalized

My recent polygamy-themed dream and immersion in Season 5 of the Sopranos have me contemplating the institution of marriage lately. Tony and Carmela are on the outs as the old man and I slog through the usual (painfully dull but somehow impossibly incendiary) stuff: cashflow, childrearing, division of household labor. It occurred to me that the ever lovin’ definitely has a southern boy Tony Soprano thing going on: the swaggering alpha male with a short fuse and a sweet side. Minus the binge drinking and violent tendencies, that is. As for me, I’ve been feeling a lot more like Livia than Carmela these days. One of the flashback episodes (I think it was in season 2) hit a little too close to home when 1950s Livia tells young Tony if he doesn’t leave her alone she’s going to stick a fork in his eye. Brought to mind one of the low points of my life as a parent: when I told Hank if he didn’t stop sucking his thumb I was going to cut it off. Still can’t believe I actually said that to my preschooler. He didn’t seem particularly traumatized, but who knows when it’ll resurface…

Anyway, when you think about it, the whole institution of marriage just seems kind of bizarre. You attach yourself to some (hopefully) non-related person and try to work it out so you can stand to live together for the rest of your lives. This, of course, involves dealing full-time with another person’s shortcomings on top of your own. Which, depending on who that other person is, can be a lot to take on. The upside, I guess, is a kind of mutual shoring-up. It’s certainly something I’ve experienced in my own marriage at its best moments. And when things are going well, it certainly makes up for most of those frustrations. We all know that, until pretty recently, marriage was really more of a business transaction than a romantic notion. I suppose there’s still an element of that in the whole thing. Don’t we see, in many modern marriages, traces of a financial arrangement designed to allow people to support themselves and raise children? Obviously, that’s far from all there is to it. I have numerous friends/relations who have satisfying marital relationships and no interest in reproducing. I’m all for love, companionship and, if you’re lucky, health insurance.

Anyway, I’ve described my own marriage as pretty raucous but fundamentally sound overall. There’s a lot of cussing and carrying on around here but also a foundation of truthfulness and trust which I count on to see us through. As I’ve written before, I find being married to Christian infinitely rewarding but not at all easy. The truth is, if I hadn’t taken a religious vow/signed a legal contract and if we didn’t have these amazing children, I would have, on too many occasions to count, been tempted to bail on this relationship as I have on quite a few others. Not because I don’t love my husband (I do, deeply) but because it’s just so damn hard. But we’re determined to hang in there. If only they had remedial classes in the art of compromise…

Big Lovetown?

Had a dream last night that Christian was planning on bringing home another wife for some kind polygamous arrangement. The thing was, in the dream I was happy about it because she had a full time job…Not that any woman in her right mind would be able to put up with either of us. And both of us? Forget about it.

Black and Bluegrass

Hank’s back from a weekender with the grandparents. I certainly missed his enthusiastic stomping and hilarious commentary. But man was it peaceful around here this weekend. Felt a little guilty about how much I was enjoying it.

He’s a sweet kid--smart (of course) and funny, but a little pesky these days. He’s been throwing a lot of four-year-old attitude my way lately (I’m still of in disbelief that my firstborn is already four) giving me plenty of lip and instructions on how to conduct my life. And spending a lot of time in his room (smacking little sis around, not listening to mama etc). He’s always had kind of a Dennis the Menace thing going on, into everything with a nose for trouble.

He’s a Leo (Mick Jagger’s birthday—God help us) loves attention and is a bit of a show off. It seems like in the past few months, he’s gone from a little kid to a full on scrappy little boy. We’ve been to a couple of gatherings recently at which there were some boys in the 6-8 year old range. He had a blast and seemed to keep right up with them. He requested a light saber for his birthday and told me he’s looking forward to watching Star Wars next year (he’s determined that 5 is the appropriate age for that material).

Summer reading list includes a bunch of Richard Scarry books (including a 1970 first edition belonging to the old mama), Milne’s (as opposed to Disney’s) Winnie the Pooh and the Railway Series (where all the Thomas merchandise originated). We’ve sort of entered the dinosaur phase but it hasn’t yet become an obsession.

Lately I’ve been letting him watch one or two videos a day (Bob the Builder, Charlie and Lola, Sesame Street). Still no commercial television tho (easy to manage since we don’t have any reception). Anyway for the most part, he’s happiest at the playground running around and hollering. Got quite a shiner this morning falling off a piece of equipment. He was tough about the whole thing. He can be as whiny as the next kid but in the face of adversity, he knows how to suck it up. Kind of like his dad now that I think about it….

Coco and I had a nice, tranquil weekend (with Hank on his road trip and big daddy away working in another state). She is, for the most part, an absolute pleasure, with a twinkle in her eye and a smile on her lovely mouth. She’s also 20 months old: curious, demanding and exhausting. I’m always ready to spend a few hours out of her presence when naptime rolls around. And to be honest bedtime never seems to come to soon either. But in between, it’s a pretty good time.

For one thing, the kid has an amazing sense of humor. She always laughs right on cue. Our astrologer friend Colette (one of her namesakes) did her chart at birth and said she was destined for great things. I can believe it. She’s like some kind of Amazon princess: big, beautiful and brilliant. Some four-year-old twins were visiting us the other day, lovely little wispy girls. They had a few inches on her in height but I swear she weighed more than either of them (she’s not a fatty by the way—just healthy). She’s a joyful little thing who’s rarely been out of her mama’s sphere (I’m not necessarily sure that that’s a good thing but it seems to be working in her case).

She’s perfectly happy playing with trains, trucks and bulldozers, but I had to smile when I observed her pretend-feeding her doll the other day. I had heard about, but never experienced, that kind of toddler behavior. (Hank still sleeps with a grubby little lamb he’s had since birth but he’s never fed it.) Anyway, it was pretty damn cute.

When Coco was hanging out in my uterus, I was pretty positive she was going to be a girl, and I was a little apprehensive. The prospect of raising a girl is intimidating for a woman like me, overly conscious of my own inadequacy. But must admit, I’m loving the XX experience. I took her to one of my favorite country fairs on Sunday and she sat quietly and enjoyed some bluegrass with me. (Henry could never be counted to hold still for even ten seconds at this kind of event). It was a lovely breezy late August day. The music was uplifting and her smiles were radiant.
Bliss. Then we had barbecue.

Lucinda Rediscovered

Heard Mary Chapin Carpenter’s version of Passionate Kisses the other day while out and about. Never been much of a MCC fan, but it made me realize how much I miss Lucinda Williams (she wrote the song and won a grammy for it). So came home and got some of her stuff cranking on iTunes while I engaged in some household drudgery.

I played the shit out of Car Wheels on a Gravel Road during the tumultuous year that was 2001. That record helped get me through, let’s see, breakup with apathetic loft-dwelling photographer boyfriend, torrid affair and dramatic breakup with evil Bordeaux brat, 9/11, anthrax (the scare I mean—didn’t actually contract the illness), death of disabled half-sibling and meeting future spouse at funeral.

Loved Essence, too (have to dig that one up—somehow it didn’t get onto iTunes). I have mixed feelings about her more recent stuff (not sure how I feel about her foray into rap) but there are always at least a few great songs on every new record. I guess her work had more to say to me when I was a single girl on an emotional roller coaster, when loss and longing pretty much defined my state of mind. These days, it seems, I’m either fairly content or kind of pissed off. Maybe I should right write an alt-country song about that…

I was talking to an intelligent-seeming library mom at storytime a couple months ago and I told her she looked a little like Lucinda Williams. She had never heard of her. I mean really, who hasn’t heard of Lucinda Williams? I was completely stunned. One more example of why I’m convinced I’m in the wrong town.

The Latest from the Land of Nod

Not sure what’s going on around here this summer, but we’ve all been sleeping like fiends. It’s nice, if a little decadent, sleeping in, but it makes me a little uneasy. I am, for the most part, a morning person, but I’ve been staying up late (watching the Sopranos on dvd, reading ridiculous vampire stories, posting etc.) and waking up groggy and disoriented around 9 am. The ever lovin’ has been working late and snoozing right along with me. The kids have also gotten on this late to bed, late to rise train, which as we all know is just no damn good. Anticipating a rude awakening (so to speak) when preschool starts again in September, so I’ve decided to (gently) break the cycle. I’ve started setting an alarm (for 7:30) and spending some time with my uninspired thoughts before getting the kids up.

Have also been dying for coffee all week. Unfortunately, coffee makes me even more edgy/insane than usual so I try to save it for special occasions and the occasional (mild/ very rare) hangover. However, my mother makes fantastic coffee, and I couldn’t resist during our week at the beach. Wine in the evenings, coffee in the morning, tea in the afternoon. Lovely. Have reverted to my old tea drinking ways since we’ve been back but find myself craving a scalding black Americano every morning around 10:30. Must hold back though. I’m not much of a yogi these days, but I am trying to hang onto what little mental equilibrium I have left, and I know that stuff is way too rajasic for my little brain to handle on a regular basis.