Binkytowne

PABLOg

I started blogging not long after I became a parent and I am by all accounts a mommy blogger. Parenting is my focus. Despite actively seeking blogs right now about other things written by other types of people different than myself, for many reasons. the majority of the other blogs I read are written by parenting bloggers. Because parenting interests me. Right now in life, it's my biggest challenge and source of frustration, while simultaneously my greatest joy. I like to see how other people do it and approach it and revel in it or muddle through it.

This year it seems I have read too many blogs by mothers and fathers who are trying to survive it, because even though they dedicated every single bit of themselves in the process, the ones they loved most did not survive.

Pablo Castelaz passed away a couple of weeks ago after bravely fighting a cancer battle. He was six. PABLOg is a chronicle written by his father of what has happened to them since Pablo was diagnosed in 2008.  

Despite the changes I have seen in the blogging world since I started, over and over the constant remains that I've witnessed bloggers connect in ways that are both unexpected and extremely powerful.

As a blogger I want you to read this blog because it's fucking brilliant, but as a parent I want you to read it because I want people to know who Pablo was. I want to provide support to this family that I don't really know in one of the only ways I can. So if you have a minute, stop by. Share some love. I know there are some super fine writers out there, but if you ask me, it's truly what mommy bloggers (or parenting bloggers, if you prefer) do best. 

 

Who's the bitch now?

Weeks ago, when there was much commentary about Jon and Kate plus eight, I kept quiet. I was never a fan of the show, really. I tried to watch it once, out of a desire to tune out after my kids went to bed and I found that SURPRISE turning on a television program about two people trying to raise that many children when I was trying to unwind after raising mine actually gave me a fair amount of anxiety.

I don't really view parenting as a spectator sport. More days than I care to admit, it takes all of my energy and then some to keep up with my two. In more ways than I care to admit, the more time I spend as a parent, I realize how little I know about doing it well. I realize that it changes you. It alters your views about life as well as everything and everyone in it. Maybe even the person you are parenting with.

I also know that what you see on television, call it reality or whatever-the-hell, is not always real. I assumed Kate probably wasn't as much of a big bitch as she was portrayed to be and that Jon was likely not as vacant as they made him seem. I gave them both the benefit of the doubt, but I have to say I felt like Kate got the bad rap. I could see how managing a household with eight kids and a husband and a film crew could make you a little TENSE. 

I confess that I got snagged. I didn't watch the show this season when it premiered among the hoopla and rumors of a split but I followed the online tidbits. When they announced they were separating I felt bad about even paying attention. It's a dissolution of a family. I get it that sometimes it's better for everybody, but okay, enough, game over.

When you know who died it seemed like their story retreated into the background, where I couldn't help wondering; Maybe not, but just maybe if it had gone there two or three seasons ago, it wouldn't be a story at all? Regardless. It was probably a better place for that story to be, given that it was self destructing and one day there could be eight sets of hands scouring the internet (or some not-yet-invented super cool tool) looking for glimpses of what happened to mom and dad.  

Then Jon showed up in pictures. Jon is showing up in lots of pictures holding hands with his new "girlfriend". Not even sneaky-paparazzi-shots-trying-to-run-out-of-the-service-entrance-of-a-hotel pictures, but French Riviera pictures. I'm ready for my close-up pictures. All dressed up in New York City pictures. 

What would be happening if it were the other way around? If Kate was photographed in L.A in a low cut dress on the arm of a man fifteen years her junior? Then globe-trotting on her days off in London or Madrid? What would people be saying about her? Her priorities? Her character?

I'm not saying he shouldn't do it or she shouldn't do it. I just find it perplexing that when he does it, nobody seems to be saying anything at all. 

Sunset

Tonight I watched the sunset from my bedroom window. The room was dark and with my older son and his dad occupied elsewhere, it was quiet. The baby and me were entwined and his hands sought strands of my hair to gently pull. For a change, I let him. Once again my thoughts turned to Maddie.

Of course I always love my children, every day. Today was different. I loved them more deeply. More fiercely. More completely. Tonight I let the dirty dishes sit and I drank in the details that get easily overlooked. I whispered to them and watched them when they fell asleep.

There is no reason to this, to losing a child. Usually stories like these tend to make me want to turn away and protect my heart from what I imagine to be the ultimate grief. Not this time, there was no turning away from that little girl.

While I don't know why this happened, I know today, there was more love than maybe there was the day before. People everywhere held their loved ones closer and I hope this provide some comfort to her parents in the days to come. Love is a beautiful legacy for such a beautiful child.

Donations can be made in Maddie's name at the March of Dimes website.

SATC

Sex and the .....Crap I still hate this movie.

I was quiet about this when the movie hit the theaters because I was weeks away from having a baby and I couldn't be bothered. Unless someone asked me, and then I would tell you, I thought it was crap.

Spoiler alert: If you haven't seen the movie and think you might, look away and go about your business.

Still here? CRAP! I can't believe I held out this long.

At first I thought just the happy ending was bullshit. Really. Did anyone watch the series? Did everyone forget what that guy did to her over the span of ten years? Anyone? Just me? Apparently so.

But wait. Forget the end, let's start with the beginning: Message: You must be married. Or else you are unhappy and unfulfilled.

Hang on, I'm just getting started.

Charlotte: Clearly had a labotomy. She didn't have one intelligent line in the whole flick. She just acted like a fifteen year old pollyana. How many times did she scream in this movie? AAIIAAAHHHH!

Carrie: Yeah. We all wear pearls to bed. Whatever.

Miranda: Nice earings.

Samantha: Why would she dump Smith? WHY?

Product placement? Shameless.

Dialouge: Weak "We get it. You like to color."

Then there was the middle: Message: Friends are everything. Unless they make one off hand comment to your fiancee that makes him question your ten year relationship and chicken out of your very big, very well publicized wedding. Then you are already-chewed gum stuck to the bottom of a Jimmy Choo. LAME.

Back to the end: It's totally the right move to marry someone who left you at the alter because, you know, you love him.

And throw in a baby, because you know, every woman should have a baby. Isn't that what they are for? Oh, no, they are also here to plug Vivienne Westwood. I forgot.

I am not a hater. I loved the series, I really did. Because it was real. Because these women had depth. They had good fortune and bad breakups and hot sex and not-hot sex and they worked it all out at the diner, not some fancy-shmancy hot spot in a dress. With a belt.

I forgot the belts. Who can even afford one of those belts? Come on.

I'm sorry, I really tried. Watching back on cable was more painful than sitting in the theater. I hear a sequel is in the works. What was that about not wanting to stay at the party too long? I guess those Manolo's aren't cheap.

But if Carrie has a marital crisis and then a reconcilliation and then a baby at age 43 without reproductive assistance? I'm totally done.

Like I have time to read

Read about Buddhism for Mothers over at Milk Bank today

http://milkbank.com/2009/03/this-mom-recommends/

Not everything tastes like chicken

At bedtime, he sat as usual, with a book open in his lap.

For as wild as his behavior can be, he has the mildest palette on the planet. Anything with a strong flavour or weird texture completely shuts him down. Vanilla is his favorite thing. Plain old, boring, white, vanilla everything.

He gave me the play by play of everything that was happening in the story, as he likes to do. He started to point to the faces of the children that were depicted in the book. The children in the book were from various different races and places. He pointed to the one that looked most like him. This one has skin like vanilla, he said, not all that surprising, really, considering the source.

But then something wonderful happened. He kept going.

This one has cinnamon skin and this one, he has chocolate skin. 

I watched him, in awe a little bit, maybe a lot because, well, he was right.

Up until that moment I had never seen the world quite like that before and maybe never will see it any other way again.

When your friend doesn't want to be your friend

I received an email from an old friend. By old friend I mean a real-life high school friend, someone I used to hang with daily and whom I felt close to. Like a lot of close high school friends we parted ways in college- she moved west and I stayed put and we gradually drifted apart. I haven't actually spoken to her in probably twenty years but I have a lingering affection for her and many fond memories that came flooding back when I saw she found me on Facebook and wanted to be friends.

I think she did it once before. After we became friends (and when I cared enough to check these things) I saw she disappeared from my list of friends. Strange, I thought, and sent a request to her which she accepted. Naively, I thought it was a mistake. There were obvious differences, she lists herself as a Republican and a Christian and I am neither. I don't think she has kids and I have two that I talk about a lot.

I have un-friended two people on Facebook. One was my twenty-year-old cousin who was posting wild pics of parties and underage drinking and make-out sessions and things I thought better for me to not be aware of, at least in such vivid detail. She noticed and re-friended me and I accepted, because she's a kid and that's what kids do. I just try and stay away from her profile page. The other was someone from high school that I never really knew and I admit I did remove him partly because of his political affiliation- not because it was different than mine, but because he didn't play fair- he searched for and posted extreme articles trying to discredit the current administration and wrote disparaging comments to go along with them. It bummed me out so away he went. He sent me a wacky email after the fact asking me why I had done it since "liberals were supposed to be so open minded".  That was my reason right there and so I never responded, I didn't feel the need.

But this was different. Today's message said:

"Amy, I don't think we have anything in common anymore.  I wish you all the best. "

I think I know what did it. I have made my support for Obama known and that's probably why she removed me the first time but I think my link to this put her over the edge.

I shut my computer and tried to move on but this continued to bother me. Let it go, I thought. I couldn't. I can't help it. "I wish you all the best." Really? If that's true, then why are we not 'friends' anymore?  It would have better had she said I think you are one crazy bitch. I'm out of here. That, I could live with.

Her message felt very personal and it made me sad that someone who used to be a part of my life had the opportunity to do so once more and chose to reject it. Based on what I said or did not say. On Facebook. 

Who I am on my Facebook page is not a reflection of all of me, of all my parts, my quirks, my beliefs. I do support Obama and I do think gay people should be allowed to marry but does that change the person I was, I am, who still likes '80's music and cracks jokes to cheer people up or buys peanut m&ms and leaves them in your car just because I know you like them. The woman who always brings soft tissues to school when her kids have colds and the person who always forgets birthdays but makes up for it later.

I contemplated a number of responses:

I'm sorry you feel that way. Cheers.

I'm sorry you feel that way. Your loss baby.

What?????

Thanks for the message. Now don't let the door hit you on the ass.

I settled on this:

I'm sorry you feel that way. I think if you would have stuck around you would have found that maybe we do.

I guess now we'll never know, will we? AJ

Balance

Transition, for most people is hard. For my little man it is especially difficult. It has been a long (my god has it been long) winter and clothes are a touchy thing for my child. He has spent many months rotating in and out of his same five long-sleeved tee shirts. He has become somewhat (very) attached and I have grown tired of looking at them with their dark blue hues and faded grays (not to mention with the sleeves that have wound up around two inches above his wrist like Frankenstein.) Spring is oh so slowly appearing and even though I have picked up a number of new short sleeved tee shirts in bright happy colors, every time I pull one out he recoils in horror.

I purchased new pajamas for him in the next size up- blue and white. A three piece set with a tee, long pants and shorts. Amazingly he agreed to wear the tee shirt to bed the other night. Last night, in the warmth of his bedroom on a spring night, throwing caution to the wind I offered to pull out the shorts for him to wear after he was tucked in bed. Are they blue or purple? he asked. As I pulled them from the drawer I said oh my gosh are you going to be excited- they are both. They were a deep blue color (which we call purple for the sake of not having another argument) with light blue panel down the sides. I held them up and he lifted up his little legs so we could slide them on. He rushed out of bed this morning to show his father, who had yet to see them. White tee, blue shorts, white socks. Isn't he adorable? I said when he disappeared out of earshot. He looks like a little gymnast.   

************************************************************************

There are babies being born all over the place. The day care teacher and my neighbor down the street within the past couple of days alone. I still have six weeks and some days until my due date but the baby's arrival feels very much less speculative and much more real. My thoughts are frequently railroaded with visions of being in the hospital bed with a monitor strapped around my water buffalo middle. Epidural needles. Nurses. You really do forget, until you consciously remember. It's like my body is starting to prepare in more ways than one.

I have a crib set, jungle animals, very neutral, almost like new that I can set up for number two. I tell myself, it's silly to spend money on a new crib set when this one is perfectly fine. But I can't stop looking. Today I found one, deeply discounted, with dinosaurs. I think I have to buy it. We are repainting and updating the nursery and this is not the same child and I don't feel the same as I did the last time.

I shouldn't have to preface this, but I feel like I need to: Without implying that I love my little man any less, loved him any less, I am looking so forward to meeting this child. That anticipation, that vision of a baby in the crib was heavily clouded the first time with such uncertainty and for me, the steepest divide to climb between my old life and the new.   

I know I am in for some hard days and nights. I know my little man is going to have a terrible time with this. I know my patience is going to be tested again and again and I will do things or say things that I wish I had not. But I feel mostly ready. More ready than I thought I would have six months ago.

Today. Ask me again in six weeks.

Balance

Transition, for most people is hard. For my little man it is especially difficult. It has been a long (my god has it been long) winter and clothes are a touchy thing for my child. He has spent many months rotating in and out of his same five long-sleeved tee shirts. He has become somewhat (very) attached and I have grown tired of looking at them with their dark blue hues and faded grays (not to mention with the sleeves that have wound up around two inches above his wrist like Frankenstein.) Spring is oh so slowly appearing and even though I have picked up a number of new short sleeved tee shirts in bright happy colors, every time I pull one out he recoils in horror.

I purchased new pajamas for him in the next size up- blue and white. A three piece set with a tee, long pants and shorts. Amazingly he agreed to wear the tee shirt to bed the other night. Last night, in the warmth of his bedroom on a spring night, throwing caution to the wind I offered to pull out the shorts for him to wear after he was tucked in bed. Are they blue or purple? he asked. As I pulled them from the drawer I said oh my gosh are you going to be excited- they are both. They were a deep blue color (which we call purple for the sake of not having another argument) with light blue panel down the sides. I held them up and he lifted up his little legs so we could slide them on. He rushed out of bed this morning to show his father, who had yet to see them. White tee, blue shorts, white socks. Isn't he adorable? I said when he disappeared out of earshot. He looks like a little gymnast.   

************************************************************************

There are babies being born all over the place. The day care teacher and my neighbor down the street within the past couple of days alone. I still have six weeks and some days until my due date but the baby's arrival feels very much less speculative and much more real. My thoughts are frequently railroaded with visions of being in the hospital bed with a monitor strapped around my water buffalo middle. Epidural needles. Nurses. You really do forget, until you consciously remember. It's like my body is starting to prepare in more ways than one.

I have a crib set, jungle animals, very neutral, almost like new that I can set up for number two. I tell myself, it's silly to spend money on a new crib set when this one is perfectly fine. But I can't stop looking. Today I found one, deeply discounted, with dinosaurs. I think I have to buy it. We are repainting and updating the nursery and this is not the same child and I don't feel the same as I did the last time.

I shouldn't have to preface this, but I feel like I need to: Without implying that I love my little man any less, loved him any less, I am looking so forward to meeting this child. That anticipation, that vision of a baby in the crib was heavily clouded the first time with such uncertainty and for me, the steepest divide to climb between my old life and the new.   

I know I am in for some hard days and nights. I know my little man is going to have a terrible time with this. I know my patience is going to be tested again and again and I will do things or say things that I wish I had not. But I feel mostly ready. More ready than I thought I would have six months ago.

Today. Ask me again in six weeks.

Those were the days

A year or two after we were married, but before we had a child, my mate and I were living the high life. We purchased a duplex and rented the upstairs flat ($$), we deducted everything under the sun (totally related to the house of course) ($$), we had good jobs ($$) and disposable income ($$).

It must be noted that I was before, and am again, only buying things on sale and only when I can totally justify it. I grew up without money, have always been very frugal and had very little that was material or just plain fancy. I am hard on things, and as such, have never spent money on anything that is not easily replaced.

Around this time my husband decided to purchase a big ticket toy item, a bright yellow kayak with a hefty price tag. It cost as much as three months of day care does right now, so that's like chicken scratch in comparison today's expenses but back in those days, wow, that was a LOT. I was also working with a woman who appeared almost weekly with a new shiny bauble of some kind and had enough gold necklaces to choke an elephant. Gold necklaces=not my thing, but I kept thinking, do people really do this? Buy jewelry just because they can?

I started dropping hints that I'd like some earrings. As a gift. I knew we would move out of that duplex one day and double our mortgage payment, I knew a kid would probably arrive and diapers aren't cheap, so I thought this was my chance. It was now or never. I didn't want the ones basketball players wear that are as big as chocolate chip cookies, I was talking tasteful, little, diamond studs. I also figured if I didn't tell him he wouldn't figure it out, gifts were never big in his house growing up and he does fine, but he's not an over the top, I'm going to SO surprise you kind of guy who picks you up from work with a suitcase in the car and whisks you away to a spa. Not his style.

He mostly ignored me.  One night while watching TV a commercial came on for one of those chain jewelry stores advertising a sweetest day sale or some crap like that and I said, innocently enough, if you don't want to buy them for me I think I might buy those myself. He rolled his eyes and questioned why I would want to spend money on that. Well you bought a kayak, I observed, not because I was trying to guilt him into anything, for real, I just wanted to point out that I didn't stop him from doing that (Go ahead- ask me how many times he's used it in the past 5 years. Please.) so what was the big deal if I wanted something fun for myself?

Fast forward a couple of months. The mini obsession with the diamond earrings had faded and had been replaced by a little dog. We had a big dog and while what I really wanted was a baby, I was perfectly happy to satisfy that desire with a dog small enough to fit into my purse. I talked about it constantly. It wasn't realistic, and we decided not to do it, but I wanted it none the less.

Christmas arrived and we have a tradition. One big gift and a bunch of little miscellaneous goods wrapped up for fun. I unwrapped a stylish black leather clutch, a lovely Christmas gift and proceeded to unwrap my packages of gum, bendy straws and nail files. The last package was soft, you could squeeze it. Tearing off the paper I uncovered a teeny stuffed animal dog. Just like you wanted he said. My smile went from ear to ear. He got it, he got me, what I wanted. In his own way.

I started to pick up the paper scraps and clean up, tossing the dog lightly aside. He snatched it away quickly. What? I asked, puzzled by his attention to the pretend dog he had just thoughtfully given me.

Look again.

In the dogs ears were two pretty, delicate, stud earrings. Diamond earings.

Wow.

He totally blew me away.

I was surprised, I was touched and I was happy- in that way you get to be when someone gets you a gift that you really, really wanted but didn't expect. So clever, my man.

I have still have those earrings and wear them all the time. Except for the 5 week period in 2007 between Thanksgiving and Christmas when I left them on a shelf at my in laws house and had no idea I did that and searched frantically, all the time, for them (in drawers I never use, in the vacuum cleaner, in every pocket of everything I own) completely terrified of having to tell him that I lost them. Thank God I didn't have to. Not only because they were more costly than your average pair of earrings, but because that Christmas morning, and his creativity and thoughtfulness has yet to be outdone and I will never forget it.

The Parent Bloggers Network is collaborating with GetInHerHead.com, a free service for couples who want to get it right every time. Most men want to be better at giving, but they’re just not wired to listen as closely and remember details as well as your girlfriends do. Write your own, maybe you could win a gift certificate to your favorite spa for $250!

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