Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Thanks for the Giving....

Yes, it's that time of year when everyone starts foaming at the mouth for stuffing and for thanking. It's also that time of year when everyone claims, "I'm not just thankful on Thanksgiving, but everyday!"

I think that, yes, we're all guilty of becoming quite vociferous about what we are grateful for in the weeks prior to Thanksgiving and up until the day. I also think that most of us, if not all, truly are thankful all year long even if we don't always talk about it as much as we do during this time of year.

While I've been feeling awfully down and out these days, seeming to complain A LOT, (even if not to others so much as I do to myself), I really do try to continue to remind myself of the gifts I am most thankful for, (Fourteen and Ten the absolute most, natch...) and that any and all bullshit needs to fall to the wayside; the way, WAYside. Of course, the "wayside" seems to have relocated itself to my lap so it's not as easy to escape said bullshit. But I'm going to try to expound upon my appreciations in life in my "2nd Annual Thanks Blog." (Who am I kidding? I'm sure I will forget to do this next year and the year after, so maybe I should take out "Annual" and just keep it at "2nd (and probably final) Thanks" blog.

Thanks for the Giving....

Thank you to those who have given me opportunities: whether it be an employment opportunity, one to speak my mind, or just an opportunity to try something new - Thank you.

Thank you to those who have given me support. I probably wouldn't crumble completely without it, but I'm glad to have it so that I don't have to find out.

Thank you to my family and my very, VERY select few friends for yelling at me all the truths I hate to hear, for listening to me vomit out my problems without hanging up the phone or punching me in the face. That alone takes restraint (the not punching me) and I appreciate it. If you do ever decide to punch me, just don't break my nose. It may be the one thing on me that I half-way like and also that is NOT big on me at the moment, or has ever been, for that matter.

Thanks for the Receiving...

Thank you to those who have received me into your lives completely. You are my truest, most beloved friends. By receiving me into your lives, that also means you have taken on not only me, but my hypochodria, my horrifyingly low self-esteem, my big mouth, my love for large belches, my sporadic neediness, my self-doubting monologues, and the occasional hyperventilating-from-crying-too-hard phone call and/or visit to your home at any hour (or a sickly combo of both. Sorry "D" but you're the best at keeping me calm.)

And as an extension of that, thank you for receiving me and my family into the circle of your families. Thank you, too, for receiving my whole-hearted efforts of being just as good to all of you as you all are to me. I may not be perfect and I may not always succeed at everything, but thanks for allowing me the chance to give you, or try to give you, something I want you to have; my love, my heart and my all.

Thanks for the Loving...

Again, this is another extension of the previous friends and family shout out. Sometimes it can be difficult to love someone when they are experiencing tough times, so I thank those who have loved me no matter what. You have continued giving your unwavering support and shared with me your strength, wisdom and advice, whether I have taken it or not. It seems I should actually take the advice, rather than just listen to it.

Thanks for the Loving, Fourteen and Ten. My babies have shown me love through their strength and maturity. I admire them even if they don't know it, or even if I don't always show it. Blessed, I surely am.

A special thank you to a person whose love has meant more to me than they know, who, especially during this year, has re-defined to me what love is. No easy feat since you have raised that bar quite high - maybe even to unattainable levels.

Thanks for the Leaving...

And to those who have removed themselves from my life, truly, I thank you. (and NO, this is not referring to my divorce at ALL. Just clearing THAT up just in case. Moving on...)I am thankful that I no longer need to put up with drama, nor do I want to. I have all the drama that attaches itself to simply living the life as a single, working mom. I have learned from those people who have detached themselves from me that they're not worth my efforts and that I am worth more than those people made me feel. So thank you again, but most importantly, FUCK you, too. (For the record, feeling worth more doesn't mean flipping people off in my blog is beneath me or that I am better than that. I'm still working on some shit, people. :)

So, to all I say, Thanks for the Everything and please remember to consume human amounts of food on Thursday.

Sunday, July 31, 2011

The Story of My iPod....

I guess I didn't have "What it Takes." "Things Just Ain't the Same" anymore but "Who Knew?" All I wanted was "A Little Respect" but "Enough is Enough." You can "Go Your Own Way" now.

They say to "Play at Your Own Risk," which I did, but you were too "Caught Up" in your "Control." You can't have it "Any Way You Want It" all the time. "I Don't Wanna Be" with "Someone Like You" - "I'd Rather" take my "Freedom" over bullshit any day.

"Sorry Seems to Be The Hardest Word" but I think it's a nearly impossible one. "You Say My Eyes are Beautiful" and that you're "Amazed" but that's all "Wordplay." No more "Clockwatching" or "Hangin' By a Moment" for me anymore. "One Day in Your Life" you will be "Sorry," "American Boy," but right now, just take your "Saturday Night" and stay "Away From Me." Ya know, "It Takes Two" but you just want to "Do Your Thing." I am no longer "Seventeen" and won't stay "Caught Up in You." You can be "Mr. Lonely" for all I care.

I don't "Love the Way You Lie" at all. "If You Don't Want to Love Me" I can't "Make You Feel My Love" nor are you worth it. "I Don't Know Why" I refused to see this but I suppose I'm "Lucky" I did now. I guess "Heaven Must Have Sent You" so I could learn a lesson but of course if "Falls On Me" to do your dirty work. "I'll Be" totally fine, as always. "Never Again," though...

"Hurt?" yes. But "Big Girls Don't Cry" "Because of You."

So, "Fuck You."

And that, my friends, is the story of my iPod.

Friday, July 22, 2011

Man-Child, How I Love Thee....

I think the last time Thirteen listened to direction or offered me unforced affection was probably when he was still in the single digits. I loved when he would call me Mama and when he actually enjoyed sitting with me. When I smothered him with, “I love yous” he always happily returned the love and sentiment. Long gone are the days when I didn't have to wrestle him just to get a smooch. Anything that began with, "Could you please..." was met with very little resistance (if any at all). And when we were together and I started a discussion, his little lispy self eagerly participated. We talked about Spider Man and the Green Goblin, or which suit jacket he wanted to wear with which costume, who his friends were and what they did together or whether he wanted liverwurst or fried bologna for lunch (back when he still ate on his plastic superheroes plates. Awww....).

These days, there are maybe three things he says to me, and two of them are requests: "Jill, can we go to GameStop?" or, "Can you make me Ramen?" (And, um, yeah, I don't know what's with the "Jill" thing. Apparently, he thinks he is now an adult conversing with someone other than the person who dragged around an extra 70 pounds to carry, nourish and give birth to his large-ass baby self). And the third thing - his favorite thing - is to say no to anything and everything I request or say like, “Please brush your teeth, boy.” He makes no bones about his answer: no hesitance before compliance, no annoyed look - simply, NO. And that's written in capitals because if the words took shape as they left his mouth, they would be in capitals (36 point font, bolded and italicized, too).

Once in awhile I try to put that fucker into place, but he's been testing out his man-voice and his man-size on me and, unfortunately, I can't set him straight that easily. He's got about 7 inches in height on me and about 60 pounds of weight and even though he's still my kid, he manages to use that to his advantage. I think he thinks he can at the least shut me up but shutting me up ain’t ever gonna happen (for the record, it's nearly impossible).

But I, Ol' Forty-One, have always been a softie no matter how hard I try to lay down the law. I usually (and stupidly) relent and just do things myself. I also grudgingly accepted that the love he gave so freely as a little boy would never be given freely again.

A few weeks ago, right before he turned "Fourteen," my tough-ass boy surprised me. I had just gotten home with Princess Nine and he called out to me.

Fourteen: "Mommy!"

Concerned that he wasn’t referring to me by name, as was his newest preference, I stopped in my tracks. And it wasn’t “MA!” either. It was a sweet, mommy.

Ol’ Forty-One: "What do you want?"

Fourteen: "Come watch Harry Potter with me."

I am typically banned from his man-child cave unless bearing food or money, so the shock of the invitation (and the delivery of said invitation), and the fact that I had neither viddles nor green on my person, sent me running with a fire under my feet. He was on his bed getting ready to watch one of the HP movies and when I went to him, he made room for me on his bed.

Now the moment the blur of my racing body passed Princess Nine, quick footsteps followed me into his room.

Nine: “Mama, I waaaaaant you.”

She's not one to stand for any inattentiveness on my part.

Forty-One: “Sorry, kid. Brother has beckoned.”

Arguing, appeasing, and bribing moments later, we three were settled. Nine with one of her girly fashion books, me next to Fourteen and Almost Four even got in on the act and tried to fit her puppy self on the bed, too.

But the love didn’t end there.

Imagine my disbelief when Fourteen held my hand and kind of cuddled up next to his little old Ma. By the look of death in her eyes, I knew Nine wasn’t thrilled , but I was. For all his tough-boy, hormonal bullshit, for all his bad-ass non-compliance, for all his whatever elses, it made me realize that no matter what happens, he still loves Ol’ Forty One and needs to show it once in awhile.

And oh, Man-Child, how I love thee, too.

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Ol’ Forty - God Bless My Mess

Have you ever met those types of people that are so put together all the time - not a hair out of place, always wearing cleaned, crisply-pressed clothing, make-up never smeared, house always spotless with a place for everything? Yeah, well, I have and I am definitely NOT one of them.

I probably shouldn’t admit this, (although I have in other blogs) but I think nothing of rolling out of bed, (and yes, I have actually rolled and fallen out of bed) and going as is to the deli/friend’s house/Home Depot/pick-up-my-kids-wherever-they-may-be. I have gone out of the house with the previous night’s mascara smudged all over my eyes and I enjoy wearing my leopard slippers to 7-11. It’s just me; I can’t help it. Ninety-nine percent of the time, I just accept that I’m sloppy; it’s too much of a hassle gettin’ coiffed all the damn time. Let me add that my house suffers from that same state of disarray that I suffer from, too. And because of that, I don’t want anyone coming over. (Well, only my very closest besties who know me, understand me and who still love me for some mysterious reason).

But then there’s that teeny, tiny one percent of the time when something strange and unfamiliar comes over me. Sometimes it’s caused by something as simple as walking into someone else’s home and feeling envious of they’re organizational skills. Other times it’s only after I’ve tripped/slipped/banged up parts of my body which always results in deep, dark, painful bruises that I decide it’s time for a change. But the other day, it was when a friend wanted to come by (one who does not yet fully know me, one who does not yet completely understand me, and one who of course because of the previous two, can not yet love me), that I decided it's time. It still remains a mystery to me why I bother to try though. I'm way too long in the tooth to change but, shit, one more time wouldn't kill me.

Yesterday, my entire lunch hour was spent buying cleaning supplies and I went home armed with a plan. Damn it, I was going to be organized to some degree even if it was to the smallest degree ever. I would eventually open my rickety old door and welcome people in without turning even slightly pink with embarrassment. When someone asks me if I have a toothpick, I will know exactly where they are! (Note to self: buy toothpicks). If someone needs a fork, they will be in the drawer, cleaned, dried and with all its other little fork friends in its little fork-shaped space and not mixed up with the wrong crowd of sharp knives. Paper and pen, you say? In that drawer over there, and yes, the pen has ink AND a cap. That was the plan. WAS.

When I got home I lugged all my cleaning supplies into the house. After I banged myself on the box of stuff in the entryway (one day, I will call it the foy-yay), I felt the rush of excitement that only the thought of possible unclutteredness could bring. I was feelin' it.

First, I decided to get dinner done AND the dishes so I started to make meat sauce for my son and meatloaf for tomorrow with the extra bit of cow I have left over. Popped that into the oven while stirring the meat on the stove. I got out a pot to boil water for the ziti. Damn, I thought, I’m on a roll. I figured I'd make my brisket and get that done, as well. So, I grabbed my trusty old glass Pyrex dish and put it on the stove because I had no counter space. Shoulda known everything was going too smoothly....


The entire glass baking dish exploded all the fuck over, knocking my can of sauce (no comments, please. I’m a Jew and don’t make real ‘gravy,’ people. Baby steps......) Glass everywhere: in the meat sauce, in every crevice of the stove, all over the counters, floors, in the dining room carpet, and of course a piece had to take a chunk out of my foot.

Sauce everywhere, including my brand new, on-sale, light-colored capris, and blood just running out of the gaping fucking hole in the top of my foot. I tried to look at it but I thought I saw bone and decided outta sight, outta mind and covered it with 12 cotton balls.

Fast forward past the ex husband coming over to possibly take me for stitches, (but shrugging it off when I asked if he thought I needed a few); past my besties coming over to make sure I wasn’t gonna lose my foot or pass out from loss of blood, past my poor, usually-non-helpful-but-struggling-to-sweep-up-sauce son, past my daughter asking too many questions as usual.... I thanked God again that nobody lost an eye from flying glass (or a foot). When I finally hobbled off to bed all throbbing and full of bacitracin, my house was still a fuckin’ wreck.

All I can say is that one percent will always be a lost cause because I will always be a fucking disaster.

God Bless My Mess.

Thursday, April 28, 2011

Definition: Love

I never, ever stop analyzing - my mind turns everything over and examines things from every possible angle in order to find the meanings, reasons and purposes of everything I've experienced in my life. One of those things that I've been thinking deeply about has been the true definition of love.

It's probably safe to say that most of us are well-versed in the Corinthians passage, "Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy..." Ok, so...yeah, it's all that. But oh, there's so much more.

It was as I was contemplating where I am in my life and what it is that I want that I realized how much more there is to it. Everyone probably has their own definition of what love is and it's something we all want, we all need , but do we all have that kind of love as we each define it for ourselves? I recognized in that moment of thought that it's been through every experience and through every person I've met, whether they had a positive or a negative affect on me, that has helped me to understand what love is - and is most certainly not - to me. I suppose I've taken little pieces of each moment or experience with the people who've come into and gone out of my life and put them together to make sense of something so powerful and significant. While it can be difficult to define with words, I think I've finally come to what I believe is an accurate definition - again, to me. With all my thinking (and listening to a lot of Adele lately), this is what I feel:

Real love awakens the five senses: touch, taste, smell, sight, sound. It intensifies your sense of humor, your sense of self, your sense of all that surrounds you. It moves you in all ways -to tears, to laughter - it, encourages you, and it turns darkness into light. When you feel that love, it captivates you and nothing can change it, repress it or offend it. No argument can shrink or weaken it because with pure love, your heart is bigger and stronger than your pride.

You know it's always there. It awakens in the morning with you and sleeps with you at night. It runs through your veins no matter where you go and you feel its presence no matter what you're doing or who you're with. Physical distance doesn't dim it, illness doesn't deter it, and mistakes don't make you question it. It lives and dies with you. Your heart is always content, your soul infinitely full, warm and complete.

....and that, my 5 or less followers, is what it's all about.

Ol' Sappy Forty. ----> Take a listen.... Make You Feel My Love