Smackdown in the cul-de-sac

My 13 year old son, Matthew has grown taller and bigger than me in recent months; not to mention has developed a physical strength comparable to that of Superman. Granted, I am only 5’ 6 but I am no skinny-minny. I have curves, a small inner tube of sorts around my waist which surprises me everyday even though I know its there and boobs that enter a room before I do.  And even though I consider myself tough, I am a girl and pride myself on, not being necessarily fragile or delicate but definitely a girly girl. I like pretty shoes. I like the color pink. I like to wear makeup and at nearly 41, I pride myself on not being a frumpy mom, even if the trendy clothes I buy are found at Walmart or Target.

When Matthew was younger, he was obsessed with WWE, Wrestlemania, Smackdown, Raw or anything that had to do with this sport (if that’s what we are calling it). I obliged him by taking him to wrestling events (I even got to touch Batista’s flat, chiseled stomach once which was kinda enjoyable), buying him all the little figures of John Cena, Ray Mysteria, Triple H, Big Show and about 100 others, wrestling rings, posters, etc…I figured it was harmless. But what we would also do is have our own wrestling matches. Yup, just me and Mattie, Of course at ages 7-10, all I would really have to do was flip him on the couch, sit on him and tickle him until he gave up. It was simple. This wrestling tradition has never ceased in our house. Ever. Not even now, that he stands taller than me and nearly outweighs me. He now thinks this ritual is hysterical. My bruised and battered body no longer finds the humor in this activity. Nevertheless, it continues. Short of he and I rehearsing a “money in the bank ladder match”, there are bodies (mine) being thrown onto the couch or the floor (whichever I hit first) arms being twisted (mine). He now sits on me and “tickles” me. I use this term loosely.  It is more like big, long, very strong sticks being pressed into your flesh at mock speed. I surely wouldn’t call this tickling of any kind. But I, being a tough, girly girl will not give in nor will I give up. I fight him until I am banged up and bruised. You know I used to shout to the kids rough housing, “Knock that crap off. Somebody is going to get hurt”. Well that somebody that is rough housing and getting hurt is now ME.

I know he doesn’t hurt me on purpose. He merely has no concept of how strong he truly is. All I have to do is “tap out” and he will stop; which of course, I refuse to do. I may like pink and pretty things but I am still a mom and I have to show this kid whose boss. But just like there is no crying in baseball, there is NO crying is wrestling either. There is a bunch of whining going on and “ow” (s)  and/or “crap” (s) that echo through the house but for all the words I utter or scream, he shows me absolutely no mercy. So to end the torture, I must act truly hurt. Another kind of mother may feel guilty in lying or pretending to be hurt, but another kind of mother may not have a 140 pound kid holding them down and twisting their body like a contortionist. After about 20 minutes or so, he finally lets me up and as I catch my breath, he taunts and teases me for losing, for being weak, etc. for which I truly want to kick his ass. But I will let it ride this time. After all, he won fair and square and to be honest, I cannot take him “taking” me again. There will be no ass kicking tonight. I will retreat to my corner, head held low, praying that the wine and the Advil will soon kick in. Mattie shouts, “That was great Mom. Sorry I kicked your butt. Better luck next time.” He laughs that deep laugh that I love and walks out of the room. Yea, I am thinking, there shouldn’t be a next time but I know full well when the boy challenges me again, I shall try with all my might to take him down. It’s a connection we have; a “fun” that only he and I share. My only hope is that when he reaches 6’3 and 185 pounds, he will turn in his heavy middle-weight championship wrestling belt and leave his mother out of the Smackdown in the cul-de-sac.

Signs

Most everyone is familiar with the old adage, something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. This saying can be dated all the way back to the Victorian Era. It was English culture that believed each line of this poem represented good luck tokens for the bride. If the bride wore these tokens throughout the day, it was a sign that her marriage was to be a happy one.

I have always believed in signs. Sometimes I look for them and find none and then other times, I am not looking and one smacks me square in the face. Some signs are obvious, some, not so much. As I look back on my wedding(s) (yup, that would be both of them) there is one similarity. I wore my Nana’s blue chalcedony brooch which I always loved as a little girl. It was given to me after my Nana passed away. It holds really no value except for what it means to me. It was a piece of her and now it was a piece of me. Since she died when I was 13, I knew she would never see me walk down the aisle so wearing the brooch made me feel closer to her, as if somehow she was there with me. Looking back at the 2 years since my second wedding, I wonder if she might have been trying to tell me something.

First of all, it must be said, that I was always close with my Nana, even years after her death, I have always felt her love and guidance all around me. I feel as if she has given me a multitude of signs over the years. There have been unexplained things, items moved in my house, things falling off shelves, things rolling on the floor and an overall feeling that she was with me. At times, she has scared the crap out of me. Like the time that the beautiful Buddha she made in her ceramic shop sudden lost its head and rolled on the floor in front of me. No one was touching it or even near it. To me that was her way of saying “Buddha doesn’t belong here. So MOVE him!” To which, I quickly did, without hesitation. Since then, Buddha has found an appropriate home every time I have moved him and subsequently has kept his head attached to his body.

My first wedding went off without a hitch. It was a beautiful service, a beautiful reception all the while wearing my Nana’s brooch pinned safely on my garter belt. Unfortunately the marriage did not work out but I know my Nana was there blessing my day. My second wedding, although beautiful, has undoubtedly taken a detour I hadn’t expected. Things are not working between us and the harder I try to make things better, the worse everything becomes. I feel as if I no longer know the man I married.  Nevertheless, the day of my wedding, I was so incredibly happy and looking forward to a life with someone that I had loved for so many years.  I once again attached the beautiful brooch to my garter. Without my knowledge, in the chaos of getting ready along with 7 bridesmaids, 1 junior bridesmaid and 1 flower girl, the brooch fell off onto my sister in laws floor. I heard a noise but didn’t stop to look down to see if I dropped anything. We all continued getting dressed and were then packed like sardines into the limo. Half way between my house and the venue, I realized my Nana was no longer with me. Her brooch must have been the “thing” I heard hit to floor. I was devastated at the thought of not having it with me….Plus, God help me if I was missing the “something old, something blue” token. I was near tears in the back of the limo when my future sister in law gave me her sapphire ring to wear for the wedding. I was grateful to her, allowing me to continue this wedding tradition but for awhile I was inconsolable in the limo. I was soon reminded by my girls that I needed to pull it together. After all I was getting married to the man I had waited so long for. My Nana would surely understand, of this I knew.

Fast forward nearly 2 years, and I can’t help but wonder if my Nana chose not to be present at my wedding. Did she know something I didn’t? Could she see this man that I loved so much turn into someone that I would no longer recognize? Could she sense the sadness and loneliness that was to befall my life? Did she know that he would change and become a selfish and angry person? Did she see him, before God promising to love and watch out for Mattie only to have him abandon those promises? Did she see it all, watching me from heaven? Of this, I do not know. I am not sure I ever will. It saddens me even more that she may have tried to tell me and I simply ignored her. Maybe she was giving me signs all along and because I loved him so much and could not imagine a life without him, I ignored all her pleas.

I still love my husband and I wish so much that he was once again, the person I fell in love with all those years ago but as I have stated, I don’t know where he has gone and I certainly don’t know how to get him back.  He lives in a world very different than mine, a world of mistrust, unhappiness and anger, everyday. And nothing I do or say can bring him to love and trust me. My spirit is broken and I feel as if I have been “duped”. I feel more defeated than I have ever felt in my life. I try to look for the positives in any situation. (That is my glass half full mentality that I simply can’t abandon.) I know that I was blessed with an amazing child, a wonderful family and adoring friends all for which I am incredibly thankful and seldom take for granted. They have been my rock. They have been my soft place to fall when I feel as if I cannot take anymore. They have uplifted and encouraged me. They remind me regardless of how my husband feels or how he behaves, that I am a vibrant, intelligent, beautiful, caring woman that deserves the best that life has to offer. I try to remember their words as I soul search about what to do with my life.

The funny thing is when I feel my worst, I look to my Nana to give me a sign, and I simply don’t see one. I want her to tell me if each decision I make is the right one or the wrong one; to give me something tangible, to help guide me. Maybe she did what she could and now I have to start the work of cleaning up my own mess, learning how to once again, take care of myself and Mattie. I look at the Buddha comfortably atop my living room shelf, I look to the stars, I pray to the moon for her guidance but to no avail. I have never felt abandoned by her despite her absence. Knowing her, it is simply her way of telling me there are some things in life where signs are obvious and cosmic, even deliberate and not even I need someone to show me what I already know.

The Bear Scare

Living in upstate NY, it is very common to see a black bear roaming in your neighborhood or your yard for that matter. My home/neighborhood is no exception. We have had a visitor lately; a 250 pound; I assume, hungry black bear attempting with all his might to break open our garbage bin. He was not successful. So he did a little bit of damage to the structure, checked out the garage door and went moseying on down my driveway towards the road.

I called my husband because although common in these parts, it can still be a bit disheartening to have such a massive creature just feet from your deck and door. My husband is a police officer and works odd hours, leaving me and Mattie home alone at night, quite a bit of the time. My husband just kept repeating, “Do not go outside”. Um….DUH! I wasn’t planning on it. So not only is he nervous/scared for me, he is so protective that he calls a neighboring police agency to go check on his wife. WTF? Really? Oh and did I forget to mention that I have 2 very large, barking dogs that would not allow anyone or anything to get into the house to harm me or my child?? But nevertheless, the call was made to the police. To say I was mortified while 2 police officers were roaming my back yard with flashlights looking for said bear, is an understatement.  I mean really, the bear had been gone for nearly 20 minutes, most likely scared away by my 2 dogs constant (and I mean constant) barking and growling. I felt like a pathetic, scared woman that could not deal with a simple bear sighting (which may I remind you….HAPPENS ALL THE TIME IN UPSTATE NY) I was in my pajama shirt, knee hi socks and UGG boots with, of course, a glass of wine in hand, peering out the window, relieved when they finally agreed that the bear had left on its own accord. I poked my head out and kindly thanked them and apologized for wasting their time. Of course, they were polite and said, “No problem ma’am” which of course, to me, meant, “You’re stupid and ridiculous for being scared over something that happens everyday. And yes fool, you have wasted our time. Put your big girl panties on lady and suck it up. You live in the woods. Get used to it.”

I know my husband well so this is how I assume the phone call to his cop buddy went: “Yea man, can you just swing by my house when you get time. My wife called and was scared that there was a bear in the yard. I know dude, she’s overreacting but can you just go check on her for me? It will make her feel better”. The End.

I can’t help but laugh. I must assume he meant well and felt that in his absence, he did the only thing he could to look out for me and Mattie but dear Lord. I am a big girl and I know what to do in the event of a bear in the yard.

1.   Do Not Go Outside.

2.   Shut all windows. Not so much because the bear could get in, but because my one    dog, Max who is a 95 pound boxer/lab has been known to jump through a screen or two to check out what’s going on outside. Just ask the UPS man that dared come into my yard to deliver packages one day.
 

3.   Lock all doors. Women naturally think of this when anything whether bear, gremlin, ghost, serial killer, etc makes us nervous. It is our instinct to protect our offspring. Locking the door is a good place to start.

4.   Find a weapon. We have guns and ammunition in the home but I have not been taught how to fire these weapons, nor do I even know where they are in the home so I keep my bow close at hand in case I have to eff  this bear up, or anything else that poses a threat.

5.   Drink more wine.

Yup, I think that about wraps up my list of “what to do when a bear comes calling” instructions. It is informative and easy to follow so I have no doubt that in the future I will be able to once again, protect my family and my home. I try to explain to my hubby that I typically have liquid courage (more likely than not, Merlot) coursing through my body and that I am a big girl with my big girl panties on and that he needn’t bother his “brothers” anymore to assist his wife. The bear and I are cool. Until next time folks, drink up!

His Vacation, My Torment

Well it’s that time of year again…Mattie will be leaving this Saturday to go to Florida with his dad, stepmom and little sister. I am excited for him because he will get to bask in the sun, go swimming and do fun things with his other family but while he is off having fun, I will dive into a depression so big that it may just swallow me whole. I don’t know what it is about being away from him that I hate so much. As I have said in the past, he is 13 years old and even when he is home I don’t see him very much unless he ventures out of his room for meals, snacks or drinks. Regardless if he speaks to me or not, I still know he is there, close to me; a room away.

My anxiety has little to do with his fathers ability to care for him, keep him safe, etc…It’s just the times he is away from me, I am without the one person in this world that gives my life purpose; that makes my life make sense. The unfortunate thing about this depression is that Mattie knows about it. He knows that I cry without him and that I will struggle for the entire 8 days he is gone. And that is not something he should have to shoulder. But as I say, it is what it is. He knows that you can’t pick your parents! I tell him that he may not have picked me simply because of my anxieties and being somewhat of a helicopter mom but that he could never have been given another mother that would ever love him more than me. Somehow these words are not all that inviting or comforting to a 13 year old. Nevertheless, he rolls his eyes, hugs me and tells me I will be alright. He says he will try to remember to call or text me everyday to see how I am doing. I told him I would prefer phone calls so I can hear his voice. (Another eye roll and a “God Mom! Really?”) I laugh to myself and tell him a text will suffice.

Days before he is about to leave, I feel the anxiety building already. I feel the tears wanting to come but I hold off as long as possible. It will hit me hard when he doesn’t come home from school Friday because his dad is picking him up for their trip the next morning. As usual, during his absence, I will keep busy, find something to do, clean, read, cook, bake, organize, paint, write; anything to occupy my overly dramatic, anxiety ridden brain. I remind myself that I have friends to hang with, animals to care for, a husband to cook and clean for, a full time job and 2 part time jobs to keep me busy. Mattie is only one part of my life. There are so many other parts, just not ones that are remotely as important to me.

Hopefully for me, his vacation will fly by and I won’t miss him as much as I anticipate. Maybe I will learn to love the freedom his absence provides. A vacation from the eye rolling, the “God Mom’s”, the worrying about homework, bedtimes, excessive video game playing, etc…It’s simply a welcoming break from motherhood, right? Oh who am I kidding? I will cry, be sad and think about him constantly, wishing he were with me so I could yell at him for not cleaning his room or get irritated because he waits until 5 minutes before bed to do his homework. I will count the days until he returns, when I can look into those big blue eyes and throw my arms around his neck, welcoming him home. I will smile because deep down I know as I cling to him, he will be once again, rolling his eyes.

Why I will never buy a Kindle

In the age of explosive technology and ever changing times, I find myself wishing for a moment when everything wasn’t so advanced all the time. A time when some things we actually had to do for ourselves, wanted to do ourselves just for the mere pleasure of it rather than convenience. This is not to say that I don’t like electricity or hi def TV’s or advances in medicine. Many modern conveniences, I am quite happy with. I am thrilled about the invention of the computer and the steps it’s taken to make all of our lives easier, the iPod for which I love, when I walk or run and the video game systems that keep my child occupied for hours when I no longer have the wherewithal to speak in complete sentences. But the one gizmo or gadget that I cannot comprehend is the Kindle. I admit that I bought my kid a Kindle Fire for Christmas but don’t be mistaken. It was not so he could have a closer relationship with the fundamental joy of reading. No, no, that would have been the plain ole Kindle. The Kindle Fire was wanted/needed/desired more than life itself merely to fry some more brain cells; to surf the internet and download mindless apps (which have subsequently shown up as charges on my bank statement) and play yet more video games (which have also shown up as charges on my bank statement). Of course this is coming from a girl that grew up playing Pong (Yes, that one…Atari Pong).

Excuse me for a moment while I get sidetracked...

 Pong, for those of you who are too old or too young to remember was a two-dimensional tennis match of sorts. The little ball (which was ironically the shape of a square) would volley back and forth between two rectangles which were known as “paddles”. The object was to keep up with the ever increasing speed of the tennis ball square shaped thingy. You could play with 2 people (not hundreds of people as my son does on Xbox live) or you could simply play against the machine. But the fun part about Pong was that you COULD NEVER WIN against the machine! Ever! I could hardly ever win against my brothers, let alone something as savvy as a “computer” video game. It was incomprehensible. Today, my kid uses the internet, cheat codes, (for which they actually have cheat code books…that you can purchase for a nominal price), etc…to beat whatever game he is addicted to at the time. Now I ask you….what fun is that? The fun for me was always in the challenge of trying desperately wanting to win but knowing you never would. When I became so frustrated with losing, I simply stop playing. But inevitably I would take on the challenge yet again knowing full well, I wouldn’t win this time either. Maybe I am too old and I just don’t get it. Some things will always escape me.

Okay, now I’m back…

 The point of my story is the Kindle and my reason for never wanting it. My reason is very simple. I just love books too much! I love the feel and smell of books, especially an old book you find somewhere deep in the back of your local library. Nothing makes me happier than a leather-bound book with a spine that has seen better days. It means it has been somewhere, told its story a thousand times. It was loved and shared and appreciated. I browse through an old book, sniffing each page, feeling the sheets between my fingers. Whenever I go to NYC, I try to visit the New York City Library. I walk through this historic landmark and I am in awe. Slowly, I take it all in, wandering through the stacks, visiting each floor of the library. There are rows and rows of long, shelves that seem to go on forever. It holds hundreds of thousands of stories and adventures. In my opinion, it is one of the most amazing and beautiful libraries in the world. (Course I haven’t really been to many places in the world) But as I have mentioned in past blogs, I am a collector of books. Or rather, I will not throw out, give away or donate my books. I am obsessed with books. I will, however LEND a book out but it must be returned within a reasonable length of time or there will be a bounty placed upon their head. Books are very personal to me, special even and I’m not sure why. The truth is, I don’t really care why I have this love of books. I just do. I surround myself with books, paperback, hardcover, old, new, I don’t really care. So, the idea of reading a book on a 6” screen that I just downloaded from the internet is far too foreign to me. I like to go to the bookstores, the libraries and the yard sales to see what treasures I can unearth. Nothing against you Kindle users. Honest. Download away! But for now, I will stick with my good old fashioned, book! I suppose there could be worse things, right?

Moments

Last night, with no power and rain streaming down, once again, my hands loosely grip an overdue glass of wine. All I wanted to do was unwind.  I had a long day. I did not want to listen. I did not want to speak. I did not want to pay attention to the constant babbling of my child. Being in the dark, with all the regular noises of the day, like TV, computer and video games, gone, I realize, I am his only audience but tonight, I am not up for the job of entertaining. As I put my hands to my face, I ask him to please find something to do. Something that does not require anything of me. To which he replies there is nothing to do without electric and he carries on about how bored he is. At this very moment, I am thoroughly enjoying being bored. My wine and my candle are keeping me company. I merely shake my head and take another sip. Some children are relentless. I have such a child.  As I turn away from the candle I have been staring at for far too long, I finally look in his direction. I was just about to ask him if he wanted to play cards because that requires little concentration and functioning of my brain cells and it will keep him occupied. Before I can open my mouth, he says, “I have an idea”. Great! I impatiently wait for the questions he has taunted me with since we got home. “Can we wrestle, Mom. What are you afraid? Are you a chicken? Don’t want your 12 year old to kick your butt?” But instead, this is what I hear. “Mom, would you like it if I would read to you”?  Sometimes little blessings creep in at the exact moment we need them most. I simply said, “Most definitely”.

Mattie, with candle in hand, runs to his bookshelf and brings back Ink heart, a book I bought him last Christmas and he settles on the couch to read to his mother. To be honest, I cannot tell you what the story was about but I was absolutely captivated by a 12 year old boy. I didn’t think it was possible to love my child any more but as I sat there, the words spilled out over each page, pouring life into me.  His voice was like liquid to me, soothing every part of my tired heart. I felt my sadness subside for a moment and for the first time in a long time, I felt joy. I don’t know if it was in my eyes but somehow this amazing child knew exactly what his mother needed. We have an unusual connection. This I know. I can’t explain it. I was a single mother for 8 years and for so long, all we knew was each other. And now, it was just me and him, me, listening and him, reading. The teacher of words and pronunciation was now the student and all I could do was smile from the inside out. We were the Two Musketeers again and nothing could have been more perfect. It seems in the busyness of our everyday lives, these special times are few and far between. And now, as the clock on the wall ticks by, I realize that soon this moment will be gone, so I drink it in and treasure every second of it. I sit quietly and simply watch him. He dives in to this book I long thought he had forgotten about. His voice is light and articulate as he tries his best to take me on this incredible adventure with him. As I close my eyes, all I can think is God, how I love this child. And how I love this moment.

Small but Beautiful Things

I love reading a great book, writing, playing the violin & the piano, dancing around the house, singing at the top of my lungs, dark chocolate, red wine, looking at the moon, picking lilacs, taking walks with Mattie, talking to my Nana, wishing on stars, secrets, shooting my bow, tiaras, playing in the garden,  Tinkerbell, my 2 doggies, shooting hoops with Matt, martinis with 4 olives, karaoke, summer bonfires, girls night out, snow ball fights, kissing, belting out Nickleback in the car, Harold & The Purple Crayon, whispering, scratches, laughing with pea pod, learning Italian, yard sales with Mom, The Zipper, Tucson,  my wonderful and loyal posse, my amazing family, taking the long way home, the beautiful little boy God blessed me with, playing Twister, "Arbor" nights with Lori, crosswords, Matthew's laughter, jogging until I can't breathe, Christmas morning, dragonflies, a cold beer, my kitties, apple trees, sunsets, my stuffed monkey, cool hats, pretty shoes, pasta, Harley’s, flying, Las Vegas, painting, eating popcorn and watching a great movie, Jaeger shots, Mimosa Sundays, West Palm Beach, thunderstorms, lying in a hammock, wearing a daisy in my hair, walking on the beach, the ballet, pickles, ice pops, cows, fresh cut grass & the smell of the earth right after it has rained. These are just a few of the things that I love or at the very least make my heart smile. They are small but beautiful things.