The Family Bed
It is constantly amazing to me that there are so many people who will sneer at me when I say that Elijah, Isaiah and I all sleep together. Or when Jose gets home, he grabs the baby and heads to another room to get some sleep. The general opinion from the sneerers is that I must be raising some sort of mama’s boy – or keeping my son a baby – and that it’s not natural. And for all of them, I say poo poo on you.
First of all, I’m pretty sure if in the old days, people didn’t have to cuddle together for warmth they wouldn’t be sleeping on the same bed in the first place. And if that doesn’t suit you, then assume that I am reincarnated from british royalty in which my husband and I had separate chambers – and if that doesn’t work, how about in a past life, Jose was my pool boy who I had an illicit affair with, but could never spend the night with. There are many married couples who don’t sleep together. And let me tell you why: someone will snore (me and jose – first one asleep gets the best sleep) or talk in their sleep (me), or is hotter than the hubs of hell (jose) or wants the room to cold (me) or wants something that the other person doesn’t like. And honestly, after the first year of marriage, there really aren’t any massively meaningful conversations going on in the bed before sleep anyway.
With children, the family bed changes meaning. The first several months, it’s all about sleeping. I am the type of person who once awakened, is awake for a couple of hours. So, with both of my children, putting them in the bed to make nursing or feeding them more efficient, meant that I never had to wake up all the way to feed them, and I was able to sleep. Then as the child gets older, the bed time ritual is much easier when everyone takes part. Now, for those of you who stay up late, this won’t work. But I got to bed at the same time that my kids go to bed – so why not make the routine work for everyone. And when we all pile up in the bed (and most moms – even if they don’t sleep together will get in the bed with their toddler) and read a story or chat for a few minutes. As that usually knocks me right on out – so I pass out, Isaiah is passed out and Elijah watches t.v. for a while longer. And I have no doubt that because of this sleeping arrangement, the bond with my child is stronger. Not because we are asleep in the same bed, but because we share that extra time at night and in the morning. Because of this, I know that my son talks in his sleep. And I fight the urge to talk back to him to see what’s going on in his dreams. Though he did ask me for a cookie once, and complained about it being his toy. And on the very rare occasion that he had a nightmare, then I was right there to comfort him. And as to when he’ll decide to leave my bed and sleep on his own, well the answer to that is when he’s ready. Which will no doubt be before I’m ready.
Saturday, September 24, 2005
Coupling
Coupling
Now, I know that I’ve already talked about how difficult it has been for me to make friends. It’s just not been something that I’ve done well. However, I’ve had the opportunity to meet a couple who might just be working their way into that new friend category. They are the parents of a little boy on Elijah’s soccer team. And, Jose and I went to their house for dinner a couple of weeks ago and I didn’t get one “I’m ready to leave look from my husband” Which as you wives know is an amazing feat. And t hen Elijah and I had a play date yesterday, which turned into an almost all nighter. This leads me to this blog.
Now, in my youth – when I stalked people I wanted to get to know better, I always felt that there was some mystical bond between myself and a prospective friend. Of course at the time, those “friends” were always male and I was desperate for any type of bond I could find. Hell I’d have looked for an umbilical cord to snatch onto if I could have. And I didn’t have very many women friends. Or actually girl friends. There’s a big difference between the two. Girlfriends – well they care about boys, what they look like, if their ass is big in a pair of jeans, shopping, nail polish, soap operas, blah blah blah – mostly stuff that I didn’t bother too much about. Women friends, who are really women with children friends, they just don’t give a damn about any of that. We are all united in the quest for enough money to pay for a maid and a day to ourselves which will most likely be squandered reading trashy romance novels, giving ourselves a facial, watching a romantic comedy on television and taking a long nap (I’d say bath but they aren’t my favorite.)
So anyway, the dilemma. In my youth, surrounded and cuddled by the belief that I, and the new person that I met must have known each other in a previous life, I thought that spending every waking moment with them was wonderful. However, like most cancer born people, such idealistic beliefs would only last for a short while. That person would show themselves to be imperfect and god-forbid human in some way and come crashing off their pedestal and that would be the end of it. Last night, while I was having a really good time with Ashlee, my new soccer mom friend, as the evening wore on, I kept waiting for her to tell me it was time for me to go. I had no idea if I was outstaying my welcome. Sure the boys were still playing on high steam (with some minor arguments about which toy was whose) but Ashlee and I were having a grand conversation in the kitchen. So finally, I decided it was time to leave, and there was a relatively smooth exit to the car (including a few minutes of bribing my son so that he wouldn’t take Grayson’s toy). And as I was leaving, I thought -- they must have been waiting for me to leave and I missed the cue – social ineptness at work. The last time I really did any socializing was w hen I was in college and if you weren’t puking it wasn’t really time for you to go home yet. The other part that I worry about is over-inviting. Like my son, I am usually so happy to find someone to do stuff with (i.e. someone who has a child about Elijah’s age and doesn’t hate babies) that I immediately begin to plan all sorts of things that we could do. And then I begin to hurl suggestions lat them like an auctioneer (wecangoswimming, do I have swimming, what about the circus, circus here, circus there, no no no no, park park is good, park is fun, park is free, going once, going twice, sold” And the part of me that still cares what other people think (and it’s very small) goes ‘’ you idiot – they are going to think you are a desperate boob who has no friends – at which point the rest of me goes – yeah, and it’s the truth. So, any of my friends who are reading this, if I’m at your house and you know you want to be by yourself with your family at 7:30 – please tell me when I get there – and I’ll make sure that I comply – because I don’t have the skills to pick up on small clues (like sweetie will you run my bath.” Because, like my father, my grandfather and I’m sure his father – t here is little that I like more than telling my stories to someone who hasn’t heard them before (and you wonder why I have a blog) – and I can do it for a long time. So, I would rather be told to leave than be talked about when I finally do --
Now, I know that I’ve already talked about how difficult it has been for me to make friends. It’s just not been something that I’ve done well. However, I’ve had the opportunity to meet a couple who might just be working their way into that new friend category. They are the parents of a little boy on Elijah’s soccer team. And, Jose and I went to their house for dinner a couple of weeks ago and I didn’t get one “I’m ready to leave look from my husband” Which as you wives know is an amazing feat. And t hen Elijah and I had a play date yesterday, which turned into an almost all nighter. This leads me to this blog.
Now, in my youth – when I stalked people I wanted to get to know better, I always felt that there was some mystical bond between myself and a prospective friend. Of course at the time, those “friends” were always male and I was desperate for any type of bond I could find. Hell I’d have looked for an umbilical cord to snatch onto if I could have. And I didn’t have very many women friends. Or actually girl friends. There’s a big difference between the two. Girlfriends – well they care about boys, what they look like, if their ass is big in a pair of jeans, shopping, nail polish, soap operas, blah blah blah – mostly stuff that I didn’t bother too much about. Women friends, who are really women with children friends, they just don’t give a damn about any of that. We are all united in the quest for enough money to pay for a maid and a day to ourselves which will most likely be squandered reading trashy romance novels, giving ourselves a facial, watching a romantic comedy on television and taking a long nap (I’d say bath but they aren’t my favorite.)
So anyway, the dilemma. In my youth, surrounded and cuddled by the belief that I, and the new person that I met must have known each other in a previous life, I thought that spending every waking moment with them was wonderful. However, like most cancer born people, such idealistic beliefs would only last for a short while. That person would show themselves to be imperfect and god-forbid human in some way and come crashing off their pedestal and that would be the end of it. Last night, while I was having a really good time with Ashlee, my new soccer mom friend, as the evening wore on, I kept waiting for her to tell me it was time for me to go. I had no idea if I was outstaying my welcome. Sure the boys were still playing on high steam (with some minor arguments about which toy was whose) but Ashlee and I were having a grand conversation in the kitchen. So finally, I decided it was time to leave, and there was a relatively smooth exit to the car (including a few minutes of bribing my son so that he wouldn’t take Grayson’s toy). And as I was leaving, I thought -- they must have been waiting for me to leave and I missed the cue – social ineptness at work. The last time I really did any socializing was w hen I was in college and if you weren’t puking it wasn’t really time for you to go home yet. The other part that I worry about is over-inviting. Like my son, I am usually so happy to find someone to do stuff with (i.e. someone who has a child about Elijah’s age and doesn’t hate babies) that I immediately begin to plan all sorts of things that we could do. And then I begin to hurl suggestions lat them like an auctioneer (wecangoswimming, do I have swimming, what about the circus, circus here, circus there, no no no no, park park is good, park is fun, park is free, going once, going twice, sold” And the part of me that still cares what other people think (and it’s very small) goes ‘’ you idiot – they are going to think you are a desperate boob who has no friends – at which point the rest of me goes – yeah, and it’s the truth. So, any of my friends who are reading this, if I’m at your house and you know you want to be by yourself with your family at 7:30 – please tell me when I get there – and I’ll make sure that I comply – because I don’t have the skills to pick up on small clues (like sweetie will you run my bath.” Because, like my father, my grandfather and I’m sure his father – t here is little that I like more than telling my stories to someone who hasn’t heard them before (and you wonder why I have a blog) – and I can do it for a long time. So, I would rather be told to leave than be talked about when I finally do --
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
Response to Friendship
Apparently there is a country western song that has the lyrics to the effect Work like you don't need money, Love like you've never been hurt, And dance like no one's watching. Taking that a step further, there’s a book called If I found a Wistful Unicorn, and one of the lines in that book is something along the lines if I danced alone would you watch me. And the dancing point of both of these really hit me – because dancing is both an expression of pure joy and one of the most embarrassing things someone can do – especially when someone is less than lithe, sprite, and coordinated.
What’s the point? A friend of mine responded to this blog with the comment that I make friends like I’ve never been hurt and she wished she could be more like that. And it brought to mind both the quote from the song and the book. And for those of you reading this, be prepared, because it leads in many different directions and as I don’t edit what I write, it’s going to be a bit scattered.
First, let me say that such an observation I take as a huge compliment. To me it denotes that within me is the fool who jumps in where the angel fears to tread. And that can be a bad thing, or a good thing. The attitude is a fundamental difference between me and my husband. It’s the 5 year old in me whose scraping through piles of horseshit looking for the pony that must be nearby. And if you’ve ever read Linda Goodman’s love signs – you’ll know that she proposes that Cancer people tend to put everyone on a pedastel – everyone is wonderful, perfect, great, terrific – and woe is he that turns out to be human. Case in point, when I was in 8th grade and had a crush on Stacey Gardner (life guard who I believe I learned later was gay – really the story of my life there) I was utterly shocked when I saw him one summer day at the pool go into the boys restroom. Oh my god! He had to pee! He pees! How can the demigod that was Stacey Gardner have to pee?! And immediately, we had something in common. To Mr. Gardner’s credit, as I was stalking him (calling all the time, conducting several call and hang-ups thank god for no *69 or caller ID) (and another aside, this is the same technique – I kid you not – that I used to stalk my husband) he was always very kind and patient. Though I knew there was no interest, and he never encouraged my attentions, he never called me a fat cow and told me not to call either. Perhaps he saw my future potential as a fag hag and didn’t want to burn his bridges. In fact, most of the boys that I had bizarre crushes on were never mean or hateful to my face (and I am unaware of anything said behind my back – and ignorance is bliss – believe it). I think inherently that boys are better about that sort of thing. Girls would make a point of hurting someone’s feelings, or using them if for no other reason than they could. And because I’ve never been a really girly girl, I never had girl friends. In fact, for the most part, I don’t really like girls that much. I don’t have a lot in common with them. I don’t like to shop, I don’t do make-up, hair, shopping, purses, shoes, soap operas, or anything like that. And the women who have come into my life and been my friends, well they aren’t those prissy, sororiety types either – (please note that I am aware of the stereotype that I’m presenting but you get the idea). So when my friend wrote that I make friends like I’ve never been hurt, well she’s right. I have never been hurt by a friend that I’ve had. I may sometimes be disappointed. I often look at my life and the people in it and wonder why no one is beating a path to my door and wanting to spend time with me. But then I step back and say to myself “you know you don’t want to spend all that time with someone else anyway. You know that you’ll get on each other’s nerves. And if you like people who are like you, then you should expect them to behave like you – and that means no one is Courtney Cox, Jennifer Anisten, Sarah Jessica Parker or the rest.” The other part of it comes with my tendency to try to figure out who kicked their cat. The kicked the cat thing was the only useful thing I learned the summer I sold books door to door for Southwest Book Company. And the point they made was that you are going to knock on someone’s door and they are going to be in a bad mood. And you have to realize that it’s a chain of events that created that not you. The head of the company chewed out the vice president, who chewed out the district manager, who chewed out the manager, who chewed out the employee, who went home and kicked his cat. So when someone is angry, or defensive, or aggressive, or remote, then I try to see what is making them that way – and sometimes, it’s not me – and sometimes if it is me, I don’t really care – because ultimately, their reaction is their choice.
Now my friend said that she tended to keep people at arms length, to have no expectations, no hope and therefore no chance of ever getting hurt. And that if she thought she was getting to close to someone, then she invariably did something that would put distance between herself and the other person. And to me, (right or wrong, and remember I’m no dr. phil) this speaks to a belief that she doesn’t deserve to really be happy – or that someone couldn’t really like or love her. And I’ve been there. I’ve held the belief that no one would ever find me worthy. Who would want to be my friend, my mate, my anything other than employer (cause I’m a good worker). And I finally let go of trying to determine what other people thought. It sort of stemmed from the movie Torch Song Trilogy where Anne Bancroft tells Harvey Firestein that he excluded her from his life and then blamed her for not being there. I realized that the reason that I wasn’t with anyone and didn’t really have the type of relationships that I wanted to have was because I wasn’t letting those things happen in my life. And once I realized that, well then (like the butterfly who will come and rest on your finger when you stop chasing it) everything just fell into place. But it was all about me and what I wanted and what I was o.k. with.
So, I’ve decided to just be me – and let that be enough. I am constantly surprised when people compliment me, or feel that I have some special talent or gift. Don’t get me wrong, I like the praise – and still feel very much the little child when someone pays me said compliment. And I still suspect that there will be several seats available at my funeral should I choose to have one – but that’s o.k too –
I am grateful for the acknowledgement and compliment given to me by my friend. And I’m glad that she trusted me enough to offer me this insight into her personality and her fears. It explained a lot (as having children has sucked my desire to observe and analyize others – I tend to spend that time now staring off into space or counting the hours until bed time). And she should know that those of us who love her (not her in-law who tries to make her feel bad about herself) we love her even when she’s antsy and nervous and scared and insecure – And she can be who she wants to be, believe what she wants to believe and act how she wants to act (as long as it isn’t like her sister) and we will love her anyway – and will give her space and time when she needs it.
And that’s all I got to say bout that
Friday, September 02, 2005
On Birthdays
I have spent my entire cognitive life in search of the perfect, ideal birthday party. It is my deep-rooted belief that on your birthday you should be king / queen for the day. All hail the birthday girl/boy. Unfortunately, such a party has been elusive in my years. I remember 2 birthday parties in my life. The first was when I was turning 7 or 8 at Greenfield, Mo. We had the party at the city park shelter. I don't remember if anyone came or not, but I remember that I got a tape recorder. And Jodi and I taped a fake interview on the way home. Jodi would later use the tape recorder to immortalize her great love for Kerry Esterline a.ka. Bubba... we need to call him because she really needs him, we need to call him because she really loves him. And there was my 13th birthday party in which i sent out invitations and no one came. There is really no greater joy than that.
I have tried to create for my son the type of parties that I would have liked for myself. This year will be the second real extravaganza. We've had a party every year, mostly just for close friends and family - and usually with a pinata - that el salvadoreno culture don't you know. Last year we had games. And this year, I'm hoping to take those games to the next level. So of course here it is September 2nd, and I'm planning a birthday part for October - which is two weeks earlier than Elijah's actual birthday. We do a family thing for his birthday -- so it's like he gets two birthdays. But with his birthday the day after halloween, i don't really want a halloween themed party.
Inane details aside, it is my hope that someday I'll have a production for my birthday. It is however my belief that it will never happen. Most likely because no one ever comes to my parties. Shoot, when I had a wedding shower, only 2 people came. On the flip side, most people will give me gifts anyway, so that's nice. Perhaps my friends don't like parties. And to be fair, in the summer, unless you're the poo at your school, no one's coming to your party anyway - especially during 4th of July week. I don't recall Jodi or Jason having an parties or what not for their birthday - and I can only assume, knowing myself, that they didn't have one, because I am quite sure that i would have carried that anger and jealousy with me for all eternity.
Anyway, my time runs short and my mind is blank.
I have tried to create for my son the type of parties that I would have liked for myself. This year will be the second real extravaganza. We've had a party every year, mostly just for close friends and family - and usually with a pinata - that el salvadoreno culture don't you know. Last year we had games. And this year, I'm hoping to take those games to the next level. So of course here it is September 2nd, and I'm planning a birthday part for October - which is two weeks earlier than Elijah's actual birthday. We do a family thing for his birthday -- so it's like he gets two birthdays. But with his birthday the day after halloween, i don't really want a halloween themed party.
Inane details aside, it is my hope that someday I'll have a production for my birthday. It is however my belief that it will never happen. Most likely because no one ever comes to my parties. Shoot, when I had a wedding shower, only 2 people came. On the flip side, most people will give me gifts anyway, so that's nice. Perhaps my friends don't like parties. And to be fair, in the summer, unless you're the poo at your school, no one's coming to your party anyway - especially during 4th of July week. I don't recall Jodi or Jason having an parties or what not for their birthday - and I can only assume, knowing myself, that they didn't have one, because I am quite sure that i would have carried that anger and jealousy with me for all eternity.
Anyway, my time runs short and my mind is blank.
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