Thanks Mommy

Today is the day we remember to appreciate our moms. I like most, don’t do the justice of appreciating my mother every moment of every hour of every day.  Appreciate the sacrifices, refereeing abilities of the fights between me & my brother, her ability to love me after telling her I hate her on that one Christmas Day, the endless knock knock jokes and putting up with the whining without coming into my room at night and smothering me lovingly with a pillow.  Not that I think about doing that with my own little treasure of a child, not at all.

Today I sit back and think of the amazingly patient loving woman my mother is and also a very large pain in my ass. But the good kind.

It was almost 4 years ago I was 7.5 months pregnant and was fired from my job at a prestigious parochial school. For reasons I firmly believe revolved around me being pregnant with zero desire to get married, but that is a post for another time. So there I was almost ready to pop, no job, no security in a studio apartment in Portland. I had two decisions. One, stay in Portland live on welfare in that tiny studio with a brand new baby and whole new level of stress. Or I could ask my mother if I could come home.

After I went off to college my mother and I have had an amazing friendship/relationship, but going home for me was the absolute last thing in the world I ever wanted to do. I swore I would NEVER move back to Ohio. But this was a decision I needed to make b/c I believed a baby being born into a stressful situation is no way to start a life. It wasn’t fair to her and it was my goal to provide the most kick ass environment of security any little babe could want. I asked and my mother agreed. One month to the day before I gave birth I flew cross country with a cat and all my belongings trying to stay sane.

What was intended to be a temporary arrangement ended up being the way things were for the next few years. I shared a home with my mother. Sharing expenses, but she was still my mom. Imagine being 30 and living with your mother. While in real time is was not bad at all, but severely looked bad on paper.  The paper you keep in your head as a tally of where you are and where you’re going.   Sure she bugged me, but we both benefited from the situation. I got help with being a new mom and we both saved financially due to our “roommate” status.

As I’m always trying to be a ridiculously independent person I knew I had to go. The day I moved out I cried. B/c I realized no matter how much I complained about my mom, I would miss living with her.

On this first mother’s day outside of that home, I cherish even more what a wonderful mother I have and how tremendously lucky I am.

Thanks mommy.

Eh, Doctor shmocter

Once we become parents we really do try to be fair and balanced when it comes to other children and judgment but the truth is we judge them and we judge the parents too. If you say you don’t, you’re a filthy liar. That’s right FILTHY!!! Although over time I think I’ve gained more understanding (or is it maturity) and a little more fairness especially since I know my child is ridiculously annoying and it’s totally my genetic fault.

A friend of mine and I like to chat about our kids who are roughly the same age, except my friend has a boy. The difference between the behavior of little boys and girls are tremendous and her stories are priceless. After hearing stories and spending the morning with my daughter’s preschool class at the library, I realized that preschool boys (some not all) are frightening and incredibly naughty. Pee in your front yard, all sentences & jokes ending in poop naughty.

So the other day my friend was waking her little boy up from his nap and as he was still half sleep she began to ask him questions like what he was dreaming about. His response involved trains and boy things. Then she asked him “what do you want to be when you grow up?” When I ask Maggie this same questions she tells me she wants to be a Vet, a Doctor or Spiderman. When my friend asked this age old question to her son, he matter of factly states “I want to be a penis”.

I laughed so hard, I had to stop before I fell over because that my friends sums up a whole gender. By the age of three his priorities and ambitions are in place. I must admit, I appreciate his honesty.

Perfect Love Song

For someone who isn’t sure that you love them.

I Go To the Barn Because I Like The

Band of Horses,

Everything all the Time, 2006

Well i’d like to think i’m the mess you’d wear with pride.
like some empty dress on the bed you’ve layed out for tonight.
maybe i’ll tell you sometime.

time.sometime.

and you were right.

right.

you were right
outside by your doorstep
in a worn out suit and tie
i’ll wait
for you to come down
where you’ll find me
where we’ll shine

oh

*sigh*

Go here to listen to this little gem. Make sure to play it outside at night under the stars and have a margarita on me.

Dudes, the words in this post were out of wack and looked funky for a good solid 5 or so hours, why didn’t you tell me?  It’s the internet equivalent of walking into a room with your zipper down.

Which one of these things just don’t belong….

Living Room

Originally uploaded by mehannon

The moving process is complete. Boxes are everywhere, last minute thises and thats have are being addressed and slow, we’re settling. I dig our new place so much b/c it’s how I dreamed my apartment would be only the location was London, not Ohio. My fantasies are so very vivid, I guess I should’ve concentrated on the location just as much as the set up. Everywhere we end up is on purpose, I firmly believe.

Never in all my years did I imagine myself a “suburb” type woman, mother, gal. But taking a walk after dinner with Mags I saw things in my life that quite frankly freaked me out.

I saw two teenage girls riding a tandem bike (which I could not see myself as a teenager doing), I saw kids playing at a school playground without parental supervision, I see kids walking to school by themselves, and riding their bikes in the street. Kids do this sort of thing?! It was freakin’ Pleasantville, only without the poodle skirts and greased back hair. Where we live Maggie will be able to walk to her elementary and middle school every day. That school thing is pretty cool and very old school traditional. I’m not old school traditional or at least I didn’t think I was. I’m all badass and punk rock, right?! Right?!

All of this has taken me back a bit. Why? I’m not sure, mostly b/c I never imagined living in a place like this. What’s crazier, is we moved only 4 miles away from where we lived before. I’m waiting for the town to find me out, come to my door and steal my essence like invasion of the body snatchers.

I think I’ll throw a keg party.

My own personal hell

If I actually believed in hell, I know how I would spend the eternal hereafter of damnation. (B/c let’s face with the out of wedlock kid, premarital sex and other countless sins I’ve committed I would sooo be going to hell)

After a day of moving furniture, exhausted sitting in a car listening to a cat fahhhhreak out with his insesinant meowing and whining and a child in the backseat who asks “WHY?” after everything I say or ask. I’m not exagerating here, EVERYTHING!!!!! I actually told her after the 50th “why?” that if she asked me why one more time I would put her in time out.  Guess what her reply was….. “why?”

Never in my life did I imagine I would need a buffer between me and my own child.

Starting a trend

I’m horrible while driving.  The words “road rage” don’t even cover the vast range of anger I find when scolding and judging other drivers.  Did I happen to mention I bought my first car ever this past October? yeah, expert here.

Moving on,  the other day this person did a dumb driver move and instead of my usual cursing or not so parental language I called the person a “hobo”.  Maggie was in the car and asked me where the “hobo” was from.  I explained a hobo was non-courteous driver, someone who didn’t follow the very important driving rules.  “Oh” she replied and in the back of my head I really wondered if she caught on.  I was more proud of myself for keeping it under control.

Today stuck in traffic I witnessed a really not-so-smart driver and was providing personal commentary, “man that was a baaad move, whoa dude you’re gonna get hit” and suddenly I hear from the backseat, “were they hobos mommy?”  “Why yes they were dear, they certainly were hobos”.

Merci

Bonjour lecteurs de nourriture de poissons,

My NaBloPoMo letters month ends today and I am relieved, but pretty stoked that I posted everyday.  I actually finished something besides a sandwich or an expletive with a hand gesture.  Thanks to those who read, liked it and came back to read more.  Thanks to those who read, hated it, but kept coming back in hopes I would stop the insanity.

I must say this little experiment of writing letters was therapeutic.  I’m debating whether or not to continue in a personal notebook.  Then again that would require time and motivation both of which I so greatly lack.

The next two days I move into my crazy good, super white walls (I chose) and brand spanking clean home.  Should be interesting b/c the good thing about moving consecutively for the last 8 years is that you don’t accumulate anything large, but on the downside I have to buy EVERYTHING.  Well except a toaster oven, coffee maker, and a Wok.  If you have any unused furniture that hasn’t been thrown up, pee’d or you know on, let me know.  I’ll probably take it.

Thanks again for stopping by, I don’t nearly tell you enough how much I appreciate you reading.

Frank Black

Dear Frank Black,

Can I tell you how much I love you.

I found you in high school.  In college you brought me and a boyfriend to a new level of music love that we shared so deeply.  You effected how I thought about music and compared all musicians to you.  And today on a day wrought with deadlines, back and forth with designers, and the beginning phases of a panic attack, your music has manged to drown in my ears bringing my thoughts to a place that I forget about.  That place that engulfs me in waves of raw sexual happiness that only a good song (or in your case songs) can possibly inspire. I remember times of sunshine, laughing, pressing repeat, singing at the top of my lungs in a car, going to specific establishments b/c I knew they had you on their jukebox.  Frank (may I call you Frank?) you rock.   I want your big bald head in my lap talking about how you got to be so stinkin’ cool, gifted and flat out strange.

Frank Black, let’s hang.

Pick em up truck

Dear guy in the broke ass pickup truck who had two kids in the front with no seat belts on, who almost swirved into my lane and hit my car while trying to find his lighter to light his cigarette,

Dude!

Across from the BP

Dear Lady who pounded on the bathroom at the gas station today,

I’m very very sorry.  We drank wine last night, more then enough.  Then we spent 3 hours at IKEA and I had a veggie wrap and salad.  Let’s just say roughage and even the slightest, tiniest hangover never go well together.   We were driving back and it’s about an hour and half drive home and I knew, I just knew I couldn’t wait.  So we stopped.  The first gas station was so nasty you could smell the urine from the outside of the bathroom door.  Then we stopped again and at this point my stomach was in knots.  I finally got to take care of business and it took me a little longer then usual.  The real reason I want to apologize is b/c when I finished I realized the toilet was broke.  I then began to panic and you began to pound on the door.  I yelled about the toilet not working an you went for the attendant.  For some reason the gods were smiling on me b/c between the fiddling in the commode and using the plunger I got the toilet to flush enough, right as the attendant arrived.  Please know I did the best I could with what I had to work with.  But I ran out of that bathroom so fast b/c once you got in there, you would know.

I’m really sorry lady.