Brain Dump.

Let me state up front that this post is not guaranteed to make any sort of cohesive sense whatsoever. (Not that they usually do, but - you know - this one might be even more disjointed than usual. You have been warned.)

It's hot this morning.  This is East Coast heat, though, so it's really the humidity that grabs you and wraps you in sticky cobwebs.  The cloying damp of the air clings to your skin and gives your face that "dewy" glow that was all the rage with Hollywood not so long ago, before getting pregnant became the newest fashion-of-the-moment.  My clothes - such as they are on a muggy Wednesday morning, consisting entirely of a "Singapore: It's a Fine City" T-shirt and a pair of yellow maternity underwear with a rubber ducky on them - stick to my soft frame and look like claustrophobia.  

I reheated a mug of yesterday's coffee, which isn't so bad when you drown it in as much Creme Brulee-flavored creamer as I tend to.  The meagre caffeine wasn't enough to sufficiently lift the fog before I had to vacuum up an entire package of saltine crackers stomped into the carpet by my 3-year-old.  Why isn't the vacuum picking up?  Oh.  I turned off the agitator bar again.  Fixed.  There, now the room is only as messy as it was before the kids got to it this morning.  That's not so bad, really.  There's too much furniture in here, though.  

Why do my eyes feel so funny? ... Oh, right.  I went on a date with my husband last night.  We hired our first honest-to-god babysitter, a darling girl who leaves for college in a week.  She's going to nursing school. I wonder what that must be like, being young and knowing what you want to do with your life.  Really? You want to be a labor and delivery nurse? That's what I want (wanted?) to do.  Well, before pregnancy and layoffs and working two jobs got in the way.  No, it's okay. I can go back later if I want to.  No, I haven't decided for sure yet.  For now I'm making cakes.  We'll take the baby with us tonight, so it's just the older two.

The baby made it through the previews and about 10 minutes of the movie.  He's always done great at theaters before, but not this time.  We fed him sweet potatoes.  That bought a few minutes. I tried nursing him again, safe in the darkened theater.  He bit me. Hard.  So much for that.  Then he cried, so my husband took him outside.  That was the last I saw of them for the rest of the movie.  So much for a date.  I might have cried a little on the way home.  I might have cried a lot.  I might be PMS'ing, though, so don't read into it.  No, Baby, it's okay. I'm happy - I really am.  I'm just... working through it.  "IT". You know. All of it.  I'm sorry you're stuck with me.  Ok. I'll shush, I promise.  No, I won't say that any more.  

So that's why my eyes feel funny.  Now I remember.  Oh, look. The dog found a jumping beatle.  Every time he paws at it, it starts leaping around in the air.  What IS that thing? It jumps and clicks.  Google? ... Ah! A click beetle.  Cool.  I mean, not cool that it's in my living room, but cool that it can jump like that.  The dog is freaking out.  Here, I'll get rid of it.  I think we'll take the dog to the dog park today.  How did I just find out about the dog park?  Well, we'll take him.  As long as this humidity dissipates soon, anyway.  Is it supposed to storm today or something? ... Oh.  Yeah. Forecast for today: Thunderstorms, 100% chance of precipitation.  So much for that idea.

Thunderstorms out here in the sticks are unlike the ones I have experienced anywhere else.  Even out west, amongst the Rockies and the Wasatch, where the thunder would echo off the mountains and ricochet around your head like a subway tunnel.  Out here it's the wind that scares you.  It howls and moans as it shears off the mountain and dips down over the Shenandoah river. It whips between the houses, peeling off vinyl siding like  candy-bar wrappers, and litters the sidewalk with orphan roof shingles.  And then there's the rain.  Even with our insulated roof the rain can be marbles falling on tin.  At the best of times, though, it's the sound of the shower against the sliding door. Who needs an ambiance fountain when you have rain like that?  Of course, when the thunder does crack too nearby, it's a slamming iron door. Makes you wonder what the gods could be arguing over, and whether they'll make up or just end the world.

I think I'll just mop the floors today, and then run the vacuum again.  The kids sheets need changing, and I swore I'd check out the 30-day-shred on on-demand.  I can't believe I'm still fitting into some size 18's.  What happened to that size 8 figure?  Oh. Yeah. 3 kids in 5 years, that's what.  Sorry, Body.  I don't mean to be so hard on you, especially since I'm the one who keeps feeding you those cupcakes.  

Maybe one of these days I'll really get to open that bakery.  Somehow it seems like it would be easier to resist the charms of cheesecake-filled chocolate cupcakes with lemon chiffon frosting if I could only see other people enjoy them.  I do love the baking.  Or rather, I love when it's done.  The cakes especially; they're like childbirth.  Miserable in the moment, sometimes, but then it's done and look! Look what I made!  Of course, the cakes go off into the world and done is done - the kids not so much.  They're  a work in progress, of course.  How do perfectionists parent? How can I be a perfectionist and still have so much dirty laundry?  

There's no manual for all this, is there.  I'm great with manuals; I am the Ikea master.  Why is there no allen wrench for life?  Insert tab A into slot B, use screw Q and don't over-tighten.  But I don't know anyone who has built my life before; I feel like an ottoman in a room full of arm chairs.  Also, I use entirely too many metaphors.  I know you don't mind; you're understanding like that.

A Year Without Fear.

Dear Friends, Family, and Peoples of the Internets... Stay at Aum Mom is about to be forever changed. (Both the site and myself.)  And this is going to be big.  

Ready? * Deep Breath * Here goes...

On April 5 I will be 30 years old.  

In the last decade I have been through many transformations.  I have gone through the painful process of fleshing out who I am, what I believe, and where I want to be.  I have spent the last several years (and many dollars in therapy) identifying and acknowledging that I am, in many ways, controlled by my fears.  I inherited an oft-crippling anxiety from my mother, and a compulsive perfectionism from my father.  That's not a judgment on them, but rather an objective observation.

I have never given myself permission to fail.  If failure seemed a likely possibility, I have simply refused to try.  When I have tried, I have been dogged by the constant anxiety that I might make a mistake.  When I have made mistakes or failed at anything I have engaged in the most brutal mental self-flagellation imaginable.

Yes, on April 5 I will be 30 years old.  

For one entire year I am going to wake up every day and look at my life from a new perspective.  I am going to say "yes" to some things I would have said no to before, and I will say "no" to some things I would have agreed to in the past.

I am going to embrace new challenges, and I am not going to let myself quit out of fear of failure.  

I hereby declare this year my Year Without Fear.  In ways big and small, I am going to change my life.  I am going to change my self.  I am going to make an action out of my motto - "Live Life On Purpose".

So what does this all mean? (You and Big Daddy are asking the same question, believe me.)

To begin with, it doesn't mean anything too drastic.  I'm going to start with small things.  I'm going to maybe sometimes wear lipstick.  Did you know I don't really wear lipstick? I wear lip gloss in sheer shades, or lip balm.  Why? I suppose because I have always equated lipstick (especially bright lipstick) with confidence.  It always strikes me as a "look at me" sort of thing to do.  As if a nose ring and occasionally technicolor hair don't make the same statement.  See? I know that it's a silly thing.  It's a small thing.  But for me, it's a big thing.  It's something I have not allowed myself to do.  So I'm going to do it. 

I'm going to stop screening my phone calls, stop fearing the phone in general. I'm going to start wearing high heels again -- something I have stopped doing almost entirely since having babies. 

The idea is to start small, but to face every day with the attitude that I will not allow fear or anxiety to overrule reason in making any decision, no matter how small or insignificant it may seem.

I'm also giving myself permission to screw this up from time to time.  Because I am human (rumors to the contrary have been greatly exaggerated) and because another of my great, irrational fears comes from the knee-jerk response of blaming myself for everything that goes wrong.  

So this year I'm going to be more forgiving of myself.  I'm going to work harder, be braver, and laugh louder.

To top off my adventure, next year -- just before my 31st Birthday -- I will participate in St. Baldrick's Day, 2010.  I'm going to attend an official event and shave my head to raise funds to help cure childhood cancers.  I've always wanted to wear cute hats, but always been too self-conscious to go for it.  It looks like I'm going to have my chance.  (When the time comes a few months down the road for me to start collecting sponsors, I will post the link.  Prepare to click and donate, peoples.  I'll post plenty of photos for you to see the fruits of your labor after the deed is done.)

They say it takes 30 days to establish a habit.  I'm thinking that 365 days will make this one stick.

I'm hoping you'll come along with me for the journey.

The Balance Myth.

This is why you love me: Because I will rear my head in your airspace to drop a rant on a random Friday morning.

Today's myth to be busted: "Mothering Balance"

It's dangled out there in front of us as the epitome of "doing it right".  Find that balance! The elusive "work-life-mothering" balance.

Allow me to pose to you a radical and revolutionary idea for our time: There Is NO Such Thing As Balance.

Life is not balanced, and whenever I attempt to ponder this mythical "balance" I find that the hours in my day are spent in the planning and pondering instead of the actual living.

Instead of running ourselves ragged attempting to live up to some sort of balance, let's just admit that - most of us? - we muddle through as best we can.  Some days we do too much work, some days too much playing with legos and too few dishes.  The only balance I expect to achieve is to get to the end of the day and not feel like I've screwed anything up too badly.

So, please, Oprah? Regis and Kelly? GMA Ladies? STOP with the deluge of "experts" telling me how to find Balance.  It doesn't exist.  Like unicorns or decent laundry stain remover, I believe it's a pretty legend that exists only in the minds of the believers.  

I hereby declare that I will no longer concern myself with finding the Balance.  I'm going to concentrate on completing the essential tasks of the day and using whatever time is left in whatever way I see fit.  

And what do you know, so far it's working out pretty well.  Apparently when you stop trying to figure out how to find something and just start Living your life On Purpose... the balance will take care of itself.

*Disclaimer: The above was written by a mother of 3 while holding her six-week-old infant. She got 4 hours of sleep last night.  She hasn't finished the laundry but she vacuumed her whole house yesterday, fed her family, packed a school lunch, cleaned the toy room, nursed the baby a dozen or so times, and she may or may not be typing this at her kitchen table while pantless.  Which is to say she's doing pretty well in her assessment, and has not wasted a moment of her precious time wondering if she is "balancing" all of her responsibilities and goals well.  Later today she plans to go to the playground with her toddler and perhaps lay a new floor in her living room.  This is Life: Lived On Purpose, but not necessarily As Planned.

BLOW Me.

First off, quick aside.  I had every intention of posting this yesterday, but then our power flicked off and on and the wireless router died for the dozenth time this year and then refused to come back.  And so I was without internet, because I refused to sit down like a normal person and plug into the ethernet cable.  Because - WIRES! The weight of it all, the tied-down-ness.  It was all more than I could bear.  Also I was somewhat busy digging my way out of the pit of despair our house descended into over the course of the busy weekend.

So now things are back to normal, the house is no longer in danger of being condemned, and Big Daddy picked up a spankin' new wireless router, thus restoring my faith in the internets. All is mostly right with the world.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled insanity.

I may have mentioned once or twice or eleventy-billion times that I have a small problem with phone anxiety.  

Talking to strangers or even acquaintances over the phone has been known to give me heart palpitations, sweaty palms, and halitosis.

So it was a big step for me to spend an hour chatting with Pete of Fiddley Gomme for his Blogger Love On Wednesdays podcast.

Pete is an incredibly personable guy, and I have a feeling he'd be great to set with over a couple of beers.  Not that lightweight Utah stuff, where they water the beer down to like 4 percent.  I'm talking good, New England Lager beers.  

That said, I'm also fairly sure that I talked too much, talked too fast, and meandered down Tangent Lane a few too many times.  I mentioned to him (off recording) that I have been living happily in my little bubble of relative anonymity, and I'm somewhat ambivalent about venturing out into new territory. I've never received hate mail, nor have I had to deal with trolls and other lower life forms.  It's like the Garden of Eden -- all naively exuberant exploration without any real consequences.

It's probably to be expected, then, that I'm feeling a little anxious about letting that go and moving on into the Big Bad World.

But moving on I am.  I started with getting my ticket to BlogHer for this year... and now everyone except my Mom can tune in to Pete's B.L.O.W. podcast this Wednesday to hear me interviewed.   He's too nice to tell you that I'm as awkward to talk to on the phone as you would imagine, but I suspect he required a stiff drink and perhaps a high colonic in order to recover from exposure to all hundred kinds of my crazy.  Anyway, be sure to give it a listen so that you, too, can hear me cackle like a hyena and possibly talk about conceiving my children under the influence of too much wine. 

Thanks, Pete.  You're a gentleman and a scholar. :)

Tweet Tweet.

Oh dear. I mean, I can already tell you that a medium that allows me to vent, in 140 characters or less, exactly what is on my mind at any given moment of the day - and with insane ease, no less - is probably not a good idea.

That said, I'm doing it anyway. Because I can. Leastways, until I get sick of the noises coming from my own brain.

So you can now continue to follow the minutiae of my deranged mind over at Twitter.

Caution: May cause sudden onset of narcolepsy. Not surprisingly, the little thoughts I have over the course of the day make for less-than-riveting entertainment. You have been warned.

Standing Still

I have 2 different posts already half-written and now filed away for another day. (Including the meme you tagged me with, sistah S. I'll get there, I promise.)

But at the moment, I am strangely caught up in a feeling of inertia.

My life has been a strange and constant parade of stops and starts, fits and spurts. My growing years consisted of a string of moves every two years or so. There were always siblings going off to college, getting married, having babies.

When I was 9 my dad helped put a bad man in jail, and maybe had a contract put out on his life by some mafia types who weren't happy about it. Police staked out our house and followed us everywhere for days. I only vaguely realized something was happening, and mostly pouted about not being allowed to go ride my bike around the neighborhood for a while.

When I was 13 my Mom's only sister lost her battle with cancer. I remember my last conversation with her; I was baking cookies in our old kitchen in Utah. We talked about her hummingbirds, and whether there were more or less this year than usual. I went to her funeral a few months later; hers was the first dead body I had ever seen. We moved again a few months later.

California was my first settle-down experience. We stayed there for all 4 years I was in high school. Of course, adolescence is hardly a period of stillness. There was puberty to go through, driving to learn, proms to attend, boys to kiss. I got my first real kiss on my eighteenth birthday, which I will forever associate with the preceding loss of 80 pounds. I did a lot of running in those days. It helped to clear my head.

This year marks my tenth year in the DC area. I've moved constantly in that time - as a single girl apartment and house hopping and then as half of a married couple going from a single-bedroom to a tw0-bedroom to make room for baby number one. Finally, as a family we moved to our house here in our country town.

Three and a half years have passed since we came here. We had another baby. We lost a baby. Now we're having another baby. But the big things in our own life have a sense of inevitability to them - a feeling that we're following our plan. Through the struggles here and the joys here, there is a feeling of... resting. A sense that we are standing still. Waiting. As though this is the quiet, sheltered time before life goes haywire once again.

Perhaps it's just that, as a child, the bumps in the road that shaped us unaware begin to get lost in the landscape as we cross the bumps of adulthood. We evolve, and we cope with the present.

Every once in a while, though, there's a moment of absolute stillness. There are moments when the storm of life rages around you, and you glory in it. There come moments in the life of a parent where you must surrender briefly to the chaos, and suddenly find yourself at peace.

When I was 11, we lived in Texas. I stood outside on a chilly early-spring afternoon as a rainstorm threatened the skies above me. The wind blasted in all directions around me, lashing whips of hair across my rosy-cold cheeks. Each gust felt closer to whipping me right up off the ground and spinning me off into the sky. The air was thick with the coming rain and the clouds overhead were dark and menacing in the green-tinted sky. No cars drove the streets and no other soul crossed the horizon in the empty field where I stood. I closed my eyes and raised my arms against the blast, ready to dissolve against the rush of the wind.

Slow, Slow, Quick-Quick..sorta

Let's get the quick-quick out of the way first, shall we?

I am still sorta slacking. But not really. But I'll explain more after Thursday afternoon. No, I can't explain that statement further right now, but suffice it to say that after Thursday I will be back to blogging with regularity and I will explain everything then.

Ahem.

Second quickie? I am still sick. Yesterday I was feeling better. Today I am feeling worse. Also I think I might have blown my nose hard enough this morning to extrude a small piece of brain tissue. Chomp on THAT visual for a while. And then realize it was about 10 times more disgusting than you imagined it.

On to the slow. And the painful.

I am fairly ambivalent when it comes to football teams in general and the Patriots in particular... But, being married to a rabid Pats fan, I do my wifely duty and cheer them on. Last night we had a few friends over to watch the game and gorge on way too much good food (Hello Puerto Rican Meatballs, and where have you been all my life?).

And so it was that slowly, yet surely, my husband's soul was crushed last night. All his hopes and dreams, the incredible high of this past season, the anticipation of a "Nineteen games! Undefeated!".... these things were smashed to teeny-weeny-smithereeniez.

So, to get to the crux of my dilemma... I can't bring myself to really put more sincerity into it than a wistful "Oh, that's too bad, isn't it." How, then, dear internet, am I possibly supposed to cheer up poor T? What is the accepted protocol for this sort of thing. Is there a hallmark card for this scenario? Or do I just have to ride it out until the start of Soccer season? (When he can put all his hopes on his other team, the one I actually care enough to root for on my own, our beloved D.C. United). (Not that I actually watch all their games with him because.. hello!.. scripted television requires my attention, y'all.)

The only other competition that might be able to cheer him is the Super Tuesday race tomorrow. I usually don't get rabid about politics -- I try to be as measured as possible, keeping my mind open to new information, etc. But in this case, I'm actually getting hopeful, nay, excited at the possibility of the DNC actually getting my candidate on the ticket this year.

It all really came together for me after the South Carolina primary. It was the first time I had actually listened to a full speech by Barack Obama, and by the end of it I was nodding my head with enthusiasm and even occasionally pointing at the television and (okay, if I'm totally honest) also maybe I was yelling "Yes! Exactly!" like a bag lady talking to her cats.

But at that moment, I bought into it. Into the evangelizing, into the stirring words and the impassioned voice. At that moment I believed that my vote might actually count for something in this next election, that maybe this godawful war in Iraq won't really trail endlessly on into the next century, that maybe the economy doesn't have to stay in the crapper. Most importantly, I began to think it possible that the intolerance and the paranoia that have stripped away so many of the sacred civil liberties that should be protected in this country - the very things that give us something worth protecting and defending - could be restored.

In the frantic and rabid race to "go out and get our enemies and crush them where we find them" etc, etc, etc hawkishness of the recent-past, I have done some serious soul-searching. I honestly believe that if the US turns into a place where we justify the use of torture, where we spy on our own citizens without warrant or probable cause, where we detain people for months or years without the benefit of legal protection or counsel... if we continue further down the path that the current administration placed us on... well, in my mind, we become a country and a way of life no longer worth defending.

If you have to destroy it in order to defend it, you've already lost the battle.

And listening to Barack Obama, rereading some of his previous speeches and looking at the people who would be working with him and around him were he to become the next president...

I can't help but begin to hope that all the things I love most about this country - about the way of life we profess to protect, the ideals we hold as our foundation - might be restored and even magnified, after all.

Obama '08.

*Stepping carefully down from soapbox, because I am clumsy and fall down quite easily*

Okay, I promise, no more hot-buttons for a while. Just hot tea and a warm couch. SNIFFLE.

I like big "But"s

But! I neglected to mention? I have been writing.

It's just an outline right now, really, and likely it's crap... Something about Suicides and what happens to the people left behind to pick up the pieces. And? It's sort of a comedy. I know, screams hilarity, right?!

But I'm writing. And someday I might actually submit a manuscript somewhere.

Shortly to be followed, of course, by my first official rejection letter from a publisher.

So much to look forward to....