Wednesday, September 21, 2011

The One Where I Lose My Sh** Over Facebook

This rant has been building up in me, and today, I've finally gone over the edge. I've tried to hold this back, tried to not be so petty - but I'm so freaking DONE with this crap that I don't even care if I'm nutty or petty.

I'm so sick of the way people spew all kinds of inane, boring, and utterly-inappropriate-for-a- public-forum crap on FB. It's gotten to the point where I am honestly baffled and incredulous at the utter lack of self-filtering people do.

I've got on my newsfeed people who are constant, perpetual whiners, who have nothing positive or interesting or fun to say, and all they ever post is complaint after complaint after complaint. These folks post every single day about how exhausted they are, how sick they are, how slowly the day is moving, how sucky their day is (and always over the most minor things, like, because, oh no, their sink is clogged!), etc. It's "FML" all over the place - and yes, eff your life for being stuck in traffic or having a long day or having to do something unpleasant or inconvenient. Eff it, indeed.

Then there are the ones who reek of desperation, posting status and check-ins for the sole purpose, it seems, of eliciting reactions. Not to sincerely share or express whatever genuine emotion is attached to what they're sharing, but mainly to present themselves in a certain light that I guess they think is alluring, but which in reality is not. It's desperate and silly. These can either be the fake-modest boastful posts, or the uber-mysterious ones, where someone has constant drama or intrigue, but what exactly it is, no one knows. How many times does one really need to post super-vague, semi-ominous things before they feel satisfied? How many times does one need to have people going, "omg, are you ok?", "hang in there!", "whatever it is, you can beat it!!", "please tell us what's going on??" before their self-esteem is boosted (and let's not get started on how bad things are for you if you need a social media site to boost you in any way)? From the outside, it just looks... sad. People you know in another context, whom you generally like, behaving like this.... it's just sad.

As FB has evolved and become the cultural phenom it has, my feelings about it have, too. However much I enjoy using it, it remains to me a superficial diversion. Maybe this is a key point here, the reason why I this stuff has pushed too many buttons for me. I feel like it's a place where I can post what I think are interesting, funny, thought-provoking or silly things, and where I can chat with people I've known at different times in my life and stay up-to-date on their lives. And while this last part really matters to me, I nonetheless resist giving it any real significance - no matter how *important* it is from a cultural, social or political standpoint, it is not important to me from a personal one. It is not the proper place to pour my personal issues and dramas (though have I posted the seemingly requisite vague posts? A few times, yes), it is not the place I am compelled to rush to to post the inane shit that makes up my day - "uugghhh, work :-(", "time to shower!", "it's raining!!" - nor to expose my unhappiness at whatever thing has gone wrong with my day, nor to post impulsively, without thought or consideration to what exactly it is I'm putting out there.

Can I expect anyone else to feel as I do? No, but I also feel very strongly that there has to be some kind of limit to what is acceptable. I hate how the fact that the newsfeed is a de facto audience, it's given people the (deluded) notion that every aspect of their lives is of interest to anyone but themselves.

It's not.

I want to know what my friends are up to, but not when what they're up to is the same boring nonsense I'm up to. I don't care that you're stuck in traffic, that you have to go to the dentist, that the whole world is against you and you're a helpless victim. I only care about these things if there's a funny or surprising or quirky or interesting story attached to it. I also don't care that you're at Taco Bell, or at the gas station, or at the grocery store, or at home, unless you were in the hospital and you're letting everyone know you're not anymore. If your newsfeed is indeed your audience, can you at least make it worth everyone's time?

And you know where I especially don't care that you're at? A funeral home or cemetery. Because if anything convinces me that social media has obliterated a certain portion of our humanity, if not personal relationships and personal interactions, it's this, this image of someone at a funeral or burial who, instead of at least being respectful, is on their phone, dicking around on a social media site.

Have people forgotten that? That in the end, FB and the like are flippin' websites that can't possibly matter more than the actual people around you? That the way you use these sites speaks volumes about you, sometimes to your own detriment? That you post stuff like this and it's virtually impossible to feel good about it, because really, what am I supposed to do with this? That living your life through the site, or attached to your phone while you post update after update after photo after check-in, isn't living much?

Of course, it begs the question: when so many people do it (and to be fair, the majority of my FB friends are not like this, just a small handful. But I hear from others about their FB friends, and I visit sites like Lamebook, so these people, they're out there in abundance), despite my own feelings about it, does it automatically make it acceptable? Am I too rigid? I can't seem to agree with this. I want to share in my friends' news and lives; I delight when I see them doing something they clearly enjoy or are excited about, when then they share a restaurant or shop or item or link that they enjoyed, when I can see them sharing with no real strings attached. But in the end, we're all mundane to a degree, and I want to be spared that mundaneness (and the melodrama). It's not interesting; it's not fun; it has zero value. And I don't want to be dragged, by virtue of having agreed to *friend* you, into your melodramas, or be forced to feel... something... or have a reaction of some kind because you're posting from a burial. A burial!!

I know we've all been lame in one way or another on FB. Hell, I sure have. I mean, that divorce I went through? My god, did it make me morbid and vague and sometimes ridiculous on FB! I cringe when I think back to that time. But my use of FB has changed as the site's grown in popularity and ubiquity, and as I've been more conscious about reigning my shit in. Because that's the thing: this stuff I'm complaining about, it's rooted in an appalling lack of self-awareness, self-filtering and perspective on the perpetrators' parts. And I guess I have no patience for that anymore.

/rant

Now go enjoy my non-inanity (I save that crap for Twitter) on Facebook.

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Posted by Tere @ 9/21/2011   | | | links to this post

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

**Sigh** Blah and the Rest of It

I'm trying really hard not to feel overwhelmed and slightly panicky, but this is a losing battle. I suffer from that condition (wha? surely, it's a condition!) where, if the overwhelmedness is too much, I just shut down. That means nothing gets done and shit piles up, and that just makes it all worse because I end up digging myself into a hole I can't possibly get out of.

ACK.

I live on lists. Every day, I write a list of things I must get done that day. This is on top of my list of reminders, that run the gamut from things like, "pay aftercare" (which I forgot to do anyway) and "fix room" (which room? who knows?! I knew when I wrote it, but of course, I've forgotten which room I was referring to, and anyway, it applies to all the rooms) to "Dermatologist" (which has been on the list for so long now I'm pretty sure the skin cancer has reached stage 4). Then there are other lists - "Things to Buy for the House in the Next Few Months," "Max," "Things to Get Rid Of," "Download These Songs," "Read these Books," "Research" - which basically leaving me drowning in a sea of lists. I feel like I have to much to do and remember and my brain is basically like, not having it.

Sigh.

This feeling is inevitable. I started classes three weeks ago, at the same time that my boy is adjusting to a new school with new rules (oh, go on and guess how many he's broken! Hint: many!), at the same time that I'm short-staffed at work and loaded with assignments, at the same time that Jevo and I are planning THE MOVE, at the same time that I have all this parenting to attend to, not to mention certain obligations to my loved ones.

I know what will help: how about if I break it down into a list of "Things that Are Stressing Me Out"?!

School:
It's just effing hard to be all intellectual and a critical thinker when I have so much on my plate. This was supposed to be my *job* while I was unemployed and/or working part-time. Instead, it's something I love (I've taken some really cool classes, and I'm continually surprised at my ability to *get* subject matter that is completely new to me), but that I don't have the time to properly focus on and dive into. I already feel like my online class is a total chore (don't even get me started on online classes; the profs load you up with this ridiculous amount of work - the equivalent of sitting in an actual class every day for two hours - that is impossible to keep up with, and discussions are lame and completely fake), and because it's so disjointed I have little interest in it. I'm already two chapters behind in my reading, which I hate. Thankfully, my in-person class is great and useful and the reading and workload are realistic. So there's that, I guess. Oh, and g-d willing, I graduate next semester. Whooo.

Monkey in Kindergarten:
Oh my hell. This child. Is killing me. He is adapting well to his new school and really likes his teacher and is making friends and all that nice stuff, but still. There are issues. There's nothing you could consider abnormal as far as a kid getting used to a school that's very, very different from his old one, but I feel the stress of making sure that he transitions well and that I establish a good rapport with his teacher. If he has a bad day, it's hell for me to set him straight in a way that will be effective and impress upon him the importance of following the new rules, which isn't something I'm necessarily great at. I'm also getting used to a new routine, to the way this school operates, to staying on top of homework and messages from the school about events, reminders, etc. It's like I'm in school, too, I swear.

Work:
Sorry, I don't blog about work. It's enough to say that my department has a monster workload, and I'm short-staffed, and it's overwhelming right now.

THE MOVE:
Where to begin with this one? This is actually a wonderful thing that is overwhelming mainly because of all the to-do's. We have to figure out what he's bringing vs. what he's ditching; what I'm keeping vs. what I'm ditching (a process I've begun and so my house is total hell right now with piles of stuff that I need to get out of here ASAP); what bank to go with for our joint accounts (a decision made suddenly harder by the discovery that both our banks officially suck); what to do about limited closet space (though we did buy some lovely antique dressers, but I fear they might not be enough). There's more, I'm sure. I have a list I'm too lazy to go check.

All this Parenting I Have to Attend To:
Come on, do I really need to say anything about this?

Certain Obligations to My Loved Ones:
Namely, my BFF's baby shower in NYC in a few weeks, Thanksgiving in NC with Jevo's dad, and planning my sister's baby shower (oh yeah, I have a niece on the way! Wheee!). Plus, I have a couple of relatives whom I love very much who are very sick, and it's worrisome. I hate seeing them like this, I hate my inability to do anything to make it better, I hate the pain this brings us all.

Whew. I hate sounding like a whiner. I don't feel whiny about it, just so damn overwhelmed. I didn't even get into the part about how by the time I've put Max to bed, I am so freaking exhausted that I can barely get anything done. I consider it a stellar evening if I manage to leave everything ready for the next morning (clothes, lunchboxes, backpack, my bags, etc.). Getting to the laundry and the clutter? Ha! I have zero energy to get to that until he's back with his dad. And so it piles up. Ugh.

All right, so now that I feel like an utter failure, let's see how many chores I can zip through before crashing for the night. I'll be lucky if I get to two.

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Posted by Tere @ 9/13/2011   | | | links to this post

Sunday, September 11, 2011

Six, or Pulling Away

Friday morning as we walked toward your school, you let my hand go and told me you didn't need to hold it. I saw you look at some of the older kids - two girls standing by the gates - when you asked me for your bookbag and lunchbox. You slipped one on and took the other in your hand, you who usually complain that they're too heavy and can't I please just hold them for you?

You will not remember this moment, but I will. It's the first time you pull away from me, the first time ever that you don't want to hold my hand. I say nothing. I go along with this as if it's all perfectly o.k., when really, my heart is deflating.

As we near the school building, you reach over and grab my hand. Again, I say nothing, but you smile up at me when I give it a little squeeze. Oh, I realize that very moment, he's not quite ready to let go.

But the point's been made: you've turned a corner, and the desire to pull away from me has been sparked.

Away, not apart.

I say this more for myself, so that I don't completely lose it.

I'm not wholly surprised; I believe a big part of my job as your mother is to help you grow away from me as confidently as possible, and I've been working on that for years now, all those moments when I help you learn something or push you to figure it out for yourself or tell you you can do it, it's o.k., and hold you to it, refusing to rescue you. But still, that first sign from you that the shift I knew would come is glimmering in you, and - wow. A mom can't ever fully prepare for that, I guess.

Sweet boy, you're so bright and quirky and stubborn and chatty and sensitive and full of laughter. I love the way your sense of humor is growing, and that you want so badly to be good and helpful. I love how free you are with your affection, and the way your face betrays you when you do something you're not supposed to.

You drive me nuts with your constant challenging, with the way I have to repeat things like 3,000 times, with the moments where you make dumb choices and I have to let you feel the consequences of your actions.

You are maddening and the source of so much worry and frustration and wonder and elation. And every day my love for you deepens, and the jolt of that truth when it hits me never fails to startle me, because I thought I already loved you more than humanly possible.

And so, with you turning six today, I understand that I must help guide you through this new phase of your growth toward independence. I have to be o.k. with you pulling away, encourage you sometimes, even. I have to show you in whatever way I can that you can do it and that I believe in you, so you should believe in yourself, too.

But no matter what, I'll always be ready and willing to hold your hand, and yes, I'm going to give it a little squeeze.

Happy Birthday, my monkey.



*************************************************

Five
Four
Three
Two
One

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Posted by Tere @ 9/11/2011   | | | links to this post

Tuesday, September 06, 2011

Joy (and Guilt) Amid Tragedy

9/11 looms large before us. It's not just the annual remembrance, it's that we're marking a decade since the day our nation was forever changed.

I've shared here how and why 9/11 affected me, though I don't think I've ever mentioned that at the time, I was a federal employee, working in a large complex that housed other federal offices, and that we were in essence evacuated and sent home. I remember all of us huddled around the TV in the conference room, with my boss on the line from DC assuring us he was fine but telling us no one knew what to expect next, and that we needed to get out. There was this dread at that unknown, in seeing the planes slamming into buildings (and a field) in different parts of the country and not knowing where the next one would hit.

I remember leaving and looking up at the sky, almost waiting for the plane(s). I remember the eerie silence in the streets as I made my way home. I remember sitting on my couch the rest of the day, crying and crying, transfixed by the images on my TV. I remember obsessively reading about the victims, wanting to know who they were, and how my thoughts of them would leave me sobbing in the shower; as I cooked dinner; lying in bed at night, too terrified to sleep; as I sat at my desk after we returned to work. I remember the fallout in my own personal life.

I don't think many of us will ever forget the personal ways we were affected by the tragedy, no matter how removed from it we may have been.

But in recent years, 9/11 has come to have a different meaning in my life, one of joy that inevitably makes me feel somewhat ashamed, as if such joy is just plain wrong on a day like this.

I became a mother on 9/11. I birthed a tiny, frog-like baby boy in the wee hours of that day, and from the moment he was coming out, when I glimpsed down and saw that hairy head and my midwife said, "touch your baby," and my fingers felt the hair, the head, the forehead, I have been a different person. The experience transformed me. Seeing and holding that dear thing transformed me. The pure hell of those first three months transformed me. His smile, his smell, his sweet breath, his laughter transformed me.

Every single day of the last almost-six years has had at least one moment that has transformed or opened or devastated me. I have had my eyes opened many times over; I've felt terrible fear; I've been slayed, elated, turned upside-down and inside-out. I am who I am in my core, and yet, I'm nowhere near the person I used to be.

So 9/11 leaves me with very mixed feelings: the lingering sadness, the crazy joy, the guilt at this duality. I think about that day and the victims throughout the day, even as I cover my boy in kisses and sing to him and surround him with gifts. I celebrate him - my light, my all - even as I, in a moment alone as the festivities die down, get a lump in my throat and my eyes well with tears at the thought of all the mothers who can't do what I'm doing, who mourn and die again at the very moment that I thank God for my son and his life.

When I was pregnant, I was due on the 12th, and everyone would say, "Oh, watch, he'll be born on 9/11!" And I'd launch into a (pregnancy hormone-fueled, I'm sure) tirade about, "Hell, no, he will not! He better not! I'll die if this kid is born on the 11th!" So, of course, he was born on the 11th and I immediately felt stupid for my words, because all that mattered was that he was born healthy and was here and he was mine and he was tiny and soft and heartbreakingly awesome. And what's more, he was a sign of hope and joy on a day marred by tragedy.

And that is what I ultimately hold in my heart: that this tragedy marked us all and its sense of loss and sadness remains, will remain. But that despite this tragedy, joy persists. Joy is born and reborn and we celebrate it - we must celebrate it - and feel the guilt and fragility of it all, and carry on despite it. Or because of it.

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Posted by Tere @ 9/06/2011   | | | links to this post

Saturday, September 03, 2011

Two Years

It's our anniversary weekend.

Two years ago, my friend and I had recently shared a very unexpected evening of awesomeness that we vowed would not get in the way of what had become a very good, very solid friendship. In the three weeks since that night, we'd done a really good job of making good on that vow. We'd instantly gone back to our old dynamic, with no weirdness, no hard feelings, none of that stuff.

Two years ago, my friend realized his feelings for me had changed after that night, as mine had. But we'd spoken honestly about all we'd each been through that year, and how vital the friendship had become, and how it was best to continue as we'd had. So for me, that was that. My feelings for him were my issue to deal with privately.

Except that, two years ago, my friend decided he couldn't be without me. I was too amazing (hey, his words!) to be just a friend. So the Saturday of that Labor Day weekend, in an unexpected private moment at a friend's pool party, my friend made his move and changed our destiny (I learned later that the night before he'd decided to stop fighting his feelings for me and to pursue me).

Two years ago, my friend became my love.

Two years later, I'm so thankful that he was so bold and ballsy, so happy with the love we've found and the life we're building. This has been the sweetest, most wonderful surprise I could have ever hoped for.

We celebrated today by going furniture shopping, buying two dressers for the bedroom. He moves in next month.

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Posted by Tere @ 9/03/2011   | | | links to this post

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Hair Hate

I had no choice but to get my hair cut over the weekend. I'd let it go too long - six months, to be exact - and the split ends were heinous.

My stylist did the same great job she always does, but given my own neglect, she had to cut a lot to get all the split ends, so that now I have hair that's right above my shoulders.

I'm so appalled by how short my hair is that I can barely stand it. I love me with long hair! I feel it's part of my beauty (whatever, take that lightly. I'm no great beauty, but whatever I am, my hair helps achieve it!). I feel so feminine with long hair. I am me with long hair.

And yet, I'm caught by my own words as I review recent history:

1998:
(yeah, don't ask)


2002:


2004:


2006:


I swear I don't even remember my hair being this short this consistently. I had hair like that first picture for about three years, 96-99, and in mid-2001 I did a chin-length bob (given that this was before I started using digital cameras, barely any of these are scanned), which I repeated in mid-2006, and I remember the haircuts that led to these lengths, but in my mind I've had long hair for ages. I don't remember maintaining these cuts. Looking at these pics, though, it seems like the opposite it true: I've had above-the-shoulder hair more than I've had halfway-down-my-back hair.

WTF. I'm stunned.

Don't be fooled by how non-offensive those haircuts look. In two of those pics (first and last) my hair's been professionally styled, and in the others, I don't look that great. I also hate my hair short because the maintenance is a pure bitch. My hair is thick and wavy (if not outright curly, it depends on its mood) and therefore benefits from the weight of long hair. I get frizzies no matter what, but with shorter hair, I look like a clown. And sure, I could blow-dry or straight-iron it, but I so don't have the patience for that (or interest, as I prefer wavy hair over straight, and let's not speak of the damage that would cause).

The current cut is longer than any of these, and seeing this evidence, I have no argument left. This cut isn't so bad, I guess. I'll keep a stiff upper lip until it gets past my shoulders.

And I swear I'll be better about getting regular trims. Maybe.

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Posted by Tere @ 8/16/2011   | | | links to this post

Friday, August 05, 2011

Part 1: You Say That Everything Is Different

There are supposed to be some ground rules. We have never outright laid these rules out, but they are understood. I am not to write about him here. That's it, that's the rule. He has more than clearly expressed his feelings about this blog, about being a topic in this blog, many times over the last few years (hint, he's not a fan).

I understand his feelings and respect that rule. Hell, I got to a point where I myself didn't want to write about him/the marriage anymore. It gave me all kinds of terrible feelings. It hindered my own healing and ability to move forward. And over the course of the last couple of years, I've thought long and hard about that line (a line I know I've blurred) between my need to process things here, things that include him in some way, and his right to privacy and not looking like a dick in a public forum over which he has no control.

But I don't know that I can follow this rule anymore. If I am to write about my life and be honest about it, I have to include him, too. Because while his role is different, my ex-husband is still a part of my life. And it's silly and untrue to pretend otherwise.

We hit a turning point last year. His own personal journey took him to a place where he could view me and the last few years of his life with more clarity and perspective. And in that clarity he saw a lot of, in his words, "really bad choices" that he'd made, and... (yadda, yadda, yadda) he wanted to turn a new leaf, in his life and with me and how we would move forward as co-parents.

I was open to whatever he had to say to me. I have for a long time wanted to reach someplace good with my son's father. But it's hard to reach *good* when *bad* was so pervasive for so long. We essentially are, in the end, the same two people who couldn't make a marriage work, who are forever misunderstanding each other (though less so now that we're not in each other's faces all the time). So how do we get to good? And more importantly, how do we stay there?

This past year has been the beginning of a journey from a place of anger, hurt, tension and negativity to a place of... something better. There have been really difficult and painful conversations and others that have been closer to healing. There have been a lot of revelations and a very marked change in how we regard and communicate with each other. It's been heartbreaking and eye-opening and ultimately necessary in the great scheme of the years that lie ahead.

It's hard to put in words what it's like to receive answers and reasons long after I had accepted those would never come. I understand why he did it, his own personal needs and thoughts and feelings that motivated him to make some radical changes, including opening up to me. I'm grateful that he did something to cut the b.s. between us, to put things on the right track. Honestly, a move like that, for a whole lot of reasons, had to come from him, and I understand that he had to go through his own process to be able to do it. Whatever the reasons and impetus, the point is, he did it.

I've had much to think about and absorb this last year. Somewhere along the way I realized that the redefinition of my relationship with my ex-husband was a thing unto its own that called for some space to grow, or become. It's required as much attention and care as anything. It's been new territory, and we've both treaded carefully, a sign that it might mean as much to him as it does to me that this be done right, respectfully. We've had to do this as individuals and as co-parents, and I suppose we'll continue to do so for a long while to come.

The notion that I continue to have a relationship, a pretty significant one, with my ex-husband is something that's affected me in ways I did not anticipate. I mean, I have to raise a child with this person but must do so with the weight of more than a dozen years between us. And I don't mean to imply that this equals tension or anything like that; it's quite the opposite, which is the part that mystifies me. To start life over - alone, as co-parents, with a new partner - requires (yes, requires) a sort-of stripping of emotions and history, for the sake of peace, of moving forward. And so we've done that somehow and those years are like a hole between us, even as we each make an effort to move forward in a positive, cooperative way.

All this is predicated on the kind of parents we've chosen to be. We are not two parents who hand our son off without words, nor do we make decisions independently, nor do we deal with each other only when something is too big not to.

We've chosen a way of parenting that we believe will make life more stable for our son. We want him to feel that although he must go back and forth between two homes, the differences in each are negligible. We want him to flow easily between the two. But to make this real for him, it requires us to speak every day, to coordinate a great deal, to be a united front even as we maintain two different homes and two different lives. It's not easy. Not just from a logistical point of view (which has been somewhat easy, but I can see how it can all get pretty hairy at any moment), but also from an emotional one. I'm learning to see how we're all affected by this, and that despite everything, we are a family still. In a very real way. It's just that this family includes two dads, one mom, one child and two homes.

This is a work-in-progress. But I know, and here I can speak for him as well as for myself, that we each want this. We each want Max to have parents who can work well together and continue to make life stable and peaceful; we each want to get past the past and make something positive of this, whatever "this" ultimately is.

As I tend to do whenever big changes loom ahead for me, I'm looking back. And in looking back over the last year, I see all this, the beginning of this part of the story and my learning to understand it all and find my place in it. Perhaps this is an admission that a new chapter truly has begun, and that I'm hoping it all turns out o.k.


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Posted by Tere @ 8/05/2011   | | | links to this post

Sunday, July 31, 2011

Birthday Addendum

He's known all along that I'm a shoe fiend. He's known that for my birthday I want things that I covet but would never get for myself. He's known that shoes are always a great option, and that sometimes, a purse if I'm in need of one or know of one that I love.

And yet, he's refused. He's flat-out told me numerous times that, no, no way could he gift me stuff like purses and shoes.

Sorry, darling, I can't bring myself to do it.

And all this time I've been like, seriously?!? Because all I want are shoes!! And purses sometimes.

Why the aversion to these things, I have no clue. He's tried to explain but over here, does not compute. The best I could gather was that he felt weird about it. I'm not even sure what that means. It's not like he'd have to walk into Macy's and feel purses and shoes up and sniff them and whisper to a sales associate that he'll take the slouchy black hobo or green strappy wedge sandals.

So I'd chalked it up to one of his (um, many) quirks and left it at that. Until he asked me to send him a birthday wish list so he could get some ideas, and I thought it'd be great fun to send him a list with links to nothing but purses and shoes. heh.

But if you scroll just a few posts down, you'll see that this year I didn't really want anything except the Gucci purse I've been (shamefully, self-loathingly) coveting for years now and will never get (he knows I'll smack him with that purse if he dares spend that much money on what is essentially a pit for all my crap) and these spectacular wedge heels that were sooooo pretty but impractical and out of my price range. Even on sale, they were too much for me to spend on myself, and anyway, my size had run out.

But they were pretty, oh, so pretty. And sexy and fun and.... and.... sigh.

I just figured he'd go through my Amazon wish list or wing it, and whatever. I knew I'd love his gift no matter what and then at Christmas I could once again ask for shoes or a purse.

And then he went and did this:




Oh my lord. Oh my. OH MY.

Sooooo pretty.

He got me good.

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Posted by Tere @ 7/31/2011   | | | links to this post

Thursday, July 28, 2011

Oh Look, a Birthday

Happy Birthday to me.

It's the wee hours of my 34th birthday. I've been dreading this day simply because it's the first time I feel old, or what I presume to be "old." I technically am not old, nor do I look old; in fact, despite some recent weight gain as I've figured out and set out to fix a doozy of a health issue, this is the best I feel in ages. And yet, age has been heavy on my mind.

The weight gain (not the most I've experienced, thankfully, but enough) bums me out, mainly because two years ago I was super skinny and thought I had battled high blood sugar and won, when in fact, my HBS was a symptom of something bigger (which also included a bout of hyperthyroidism), and the weight loss I experienced then was actually the result of strong meds plus a spazzing thyroid. I've been grappling with that, with how great I looked while my body was suffering - and I thought I was on the road to wellness! It's now, two years after that, that I finally understand what's been up with my body and have been taking care of it (in essence, Leaky Gut Syndrome, which whacked out my immune system, compromising my blood sugar, thyroid, joints and digestive system.), and I'm really only at the beginning of this process. The huge dietary changes have been slow-going, though it's getting easier, but at the very least, the vitamin/supplement regimen I've had to get on has really turned things around for me.

Still, I understand that age can make it harder to maintain an ideal weight, and being a year older really doesn't help my feelings. While part of me feels curvy and sensual and hot, another part of me is like, "come on, woman, you have 10 lbs of pudge to drop!" So this crap is weighing on me, plus that wretched biological clock of mine, and so, I'm feeling this 34 a little harder than I would like to.

Ay. Anyway. I'm being way too angsty on my special day. I have to work today, though I'm hoping for an easy day (that I may have totally just jinxed). Tonight, dinner with the family, and then I have a few days of Jevo-planned festivities. Max already gave me an awesome painting he did for me, and he's been wishing me a Happy Birthday for days now.

Really, if I stop being so morose for two minutes, I can see that 34 has already gotten off to a good start.


Max Birthday Love, mixed media, 2011

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Posted by Tere @ 7/28/2011   | | | links to this post

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Pura Vida

I'm back from a wonderful week in Costa Rica.

Oh, yeah. I flew. Twice. And survived. This was also my first *real* international trip, ever. I know, it took 33 years. Sad life.

It was a great time. The people were nice and hospitable. It's impossible not to relax even as you're hiking or sweating your butt off (you'd think, being from Miami, that humidity would be nothing to me, but no, this was humidity on a whole other level), because the views are just so inspiring and incredible. I've never seen anything like Costa Rica.

This trip has been more than a year in the making. My sister and BIL were celebrating their 20th wedding anniversary and really wanted to do a vow renewal ceremony in Costa Rica. We have some interesting ties to that country. For one, it's where they honeymooned and have returned a couple of times. My parents have also vacationed here. And in the early 80's, my father's family lived there for a few years after they fled Cuba. In this way the country is a part of us, and especially given the honeymoon factor, it was the right place to do a huge family trip.

For this was one huge group. Huge, as in, close to 50 people. We were a combination of family and my sister/BIL's closest friends. Like I said, plans began a year ago, so everyone had time to figure out if they could make it work with their schedules and budgets. My sister did an extraordinary job of coordinating this trip, from transportation to hotels to activity options. Really, she has a level of organization that is admirable and intense and exactly the kind I need for myself.

It was hard for me to be crazy excited about this trip, mainly because I never feel excited about anything until the moment it's happening. There've been too many times in my life where I've gotten ridiculously excited about something only to have it all go wrong. At the same time, I'm usually so anxious about stuff that pure excitement is hard. Between these two things, I don't feel, or allow myself to feel, too much before something is actually happening.

So with this trip, the planning and worrying about possible disasters kept me busy enough until the week before the trip. Don't get me wrong: I was very much looking forward to this, but I didn't give in to it until the plane landed and it seemed o.k. to loosen up.

We hit three parts of the country: Arenal (our hotel was at the base of the Arenal volcano, which yes, is active), Monteverde and Manuel Antonio. Each area was gorgeous in its own way, though I still can't tell what moved me more: the vivid green and peacefulness of the mountains and valleys in Monteverde, or the tropical lushness and sultriness of Manuel Antonio. Arenal, with the clouds coming and going over the giant volcano, was mysterious and ominous.

We spent our time in a perfect mix of adventure and relaxation. We luxuriated in the warm/hot thermal springs, ate (and drank!) to our hearts' content, hiked in a small forest as the sun set to catch glimpses of nocturnal animals, zip lined through a cloud forest, white-water rafted, snorkeled, played in the pool for hours on end and swam in the cool Pacific Ocean.

Of the activities, I'll say this: zip lining can kiss my ass. I hated it. Talk about effing terrifying! I'm such a wuss, I know, but seriously, there was nothing appealing about it to me. I did it for a couple of reasons: 1) to not be such a wuss and live a little; 2) because I knew it would be a good example for my son; 3) because no way was I going to stay behind while my itty bitty baby boy did this. I had to be near him and make sure he was o.k.; 4) to do it, period. It's a bucket list-type item, even if it wasn't on my list in particular. So, I did it, crossed it off the list, and that's that. I have no need or desire to do it ever again.


Not only am I flying across 1,000 feet, I'm also responsible for my niece's life!

That said, the views were amazing. Amazing. There were 13 lines, and the last one is half a mile long, the highest one of all, strung up way high over the trees. You're basically flying hundreds of feet above all the trees, nothing but a huge, wide open space all around. Terrifying. Amazing. I have no other words. Jevo and I did that last line together, which made it extra special (as I told him, "at least we'll die together."), and Max absolutely loved loved loved it. He was so excited about this and just did so great.


Bring on the zip lines!

Actually, Max was wonderful on this trip, except for the parts where he was so exhausted that he was a total pain in the butt. To be expected, I suppose, and he did nothing terrible or out of the ordinary. He proved himself once again to be quite an adventurer, open to everything we did, more or less listening or at least sticking with the bigger kids, and basically was just way too adorable in his excitement and wonder.

He was actually bummed at the stuff he missed out on, like white-water rafting (not old enough), though he loved our catamaran adventure: snorkeling and going down the big slide from the top of the huge cat and right into the ocean. His delight at the bright fish as the swam right in front of him was just too sweet.


We be snorkelin'.

Overall, an awesome vacation. Considering what a large group we were, it was very neat to have zero complications or issues come up (miraculous, actually). It was awesomer still that Jevo and I managed our own downtime, because, come on, how could we have done a place as wondrous and stunning as Costa Rica and not had some alone time? As usual, traveling with him was great, yet another chance for us to grow closer. I wasn't sure how we'd do a whole week in a foreign country with Max (and my relatives). But we were fine - a relief and a joy.

I've been home a few days and am already wishing I was back.


I mean, come on!!

Some other shots

Arenal Volcano:



Hiking in Manuel Antonio:


Monteverde (I know!):


Jevo showing M the crocodiles:


Monkey on the zip line:


Us:

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Posted by Tere @ 7/27/2011   | | | links to this post

Friday, July 15, 2011

Summerness

This was supposed to be the Summer of Tere Catching Up. It is, instead, turning out to be the Summer of Tere Almost-But-Not-Quite Catching Up, Kinda Sorta.

I've been pretty good about tackling the eternal mess that is my house, and I've been reading voraciously. I've got my bills and correspondence in order and no major issues to tackle (though I still have to tell y'all about the health odyssey I've been on). So I should be good, right?

Almost. I haven't been able to write here as much as I've wanted to, and my current draft pile is about a dozen posts deep (not counting the 70 others that have built up over the years), of which maybe four will see the light of day. I've been "too busy/exhausted to write" for like two years now, but this is a different kind of busy. I've got this long to-do list of things that must get done this summer and the looming deadline has me going going going at a time when I want to be relaxing relaxing relaxing (which includes writing).

I'm running against some big things: Max starts Kindergarten and a new school, and there's been prep work for that. And I don't just mean buying stuff and talking to him about "big boy school"; I've been running my home like a mix of camp and school, which means I drill him in math, spelling or reading every day. It's not about being Kindergarten-ready for me (because judging by the work we're doing with workbooks I have a feeling this kid is past the kindergarten level already), it's about keeping him in school mode and keeping that brain of his focused on these important things. Otherwise, our homelife is currently like a structured camp, where we do a lot of playing and staying up "late" but fill the time with activities. We've been in the pool so much this summer I'm about to start peeing chlorine.

There's also my own schooling. When Max starts Kinder, I go back to grad school, which will surely kick my ass. I love love love my field of study but this degree becomes ever more useless the closer I get to it. I had this awesome Plan B as layoff loomed two years ago, with me getting a graduate degree in a field I'm passionate (but not professionally knowledgeable) about and changing careers into something exciting and complex and I would kick ass and live happily ever after, and all was good until I got this great job (in my current field, not the new, totally unrelated one) that I love and have no intention of leaving. I'm getting that degree come hell or high water, though, and so it's just extra work for me (not just time and commitment-wise, but also, like, brain-wise, because this is a totally new area of study for me, and I have to work harder than all the other students who either have their BS in the field or work in it).

There are more things, changes afoot in my relationship (all good and magical) with Jevo, changes to the house. Etc. and all that.

All this to say, I'm being all kinds of active and non-lazy and my health is on track toward awesomeness, and yet, I fall short here. Which sucks because I love the stuff I've been working on and want to see it done and out here. But see, that's the thing about loving the stuff so much: it makes me ridiculously obsessive about the words I use, the phrases, paragraph structure. I don't just want to spew stuff out, people, I want to be lyrical about it.

So I'm just gonna keep riding this strangely productive wave I've got going because it feels really neat and is giving me results, and meanwhile, this is turning out to be a really cool summer and it's all good here, and I'm just gonna shut up now before I jinx myself and ruin everything.

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Posted by Tere @ 7/15/2011   | | | links to this post

Friday, July 08, 2011

Oh Birthday, My Birthday

It’s that very special time of the year: time for me to get myself some birthday presents!

There’s nothing specific I truly want (though you should see the obnoxious wish list I gave Jevo!), except for the ostentatious purse and these awesome shoes that are still not cheap enough for me to actually get (and just great, my size is sold out!). So, I'm left to wander the vast Internet, all lonely and confused.

Actually, for once I've not really been looking forward to my birthday. I don't know why, as there's no actual reason for me to feel this way. The best I can come up with is that I'm (finally?) feeling old, which is utterly ridiculous, but true. I think I'm beginning to age, and my biological clock is kicking my ass, and I haven't had time to play racquetball so I feel fat and gross, and.... wwwaaaahhhhhhhh.

I can't even muster the enthusiasm to shop, people! Or to covet pretty things! Is this what happens when you're truly getting old, you stop caring? You feel indifferent to whether or not you get a gift or if anyone remembers? You could care less if the day even comes?

I sound so gloomy about it, yet I know it'll be a lovely day and I'll be happy. What gives?

Sigh.

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Posted by Tere @ 7/08/2011   | | | links to this post

Sunday, June 19, 2011

A Dad in the Making

My son is on the floor, busy with an art project while Jevo and I sit on the couch, reading. It's Friday night, which for us is reserved as a time to unwind and relax. We usually order pizza, watch a bit of TV and overall keep it low-key.

The project Max is working on is a present for my dad for Father's Day. These projects of his are pretty much the same: he takes a large scrapbook page and writes a message on the blank side, then proceeds to cover it with stickers. He's found some stickers he didn't know he had and is pasting the hell out of my father's sheet. Soon enough, you can barely see the "I love you papi" he'd written on it. I tell him the piece looks complete, but he wants to continue creating. I suggest he think of someone else he wants to make something special for, and I see his eyes drift toward Jevo.

I go up to him and ask if he wants help finding more paper. As we rummage through the supplies, he whispers that he wants to make something for Jevo. I help him find the right sheet and as I do so, he whispers that he has some great superhero stickers that he wants to give him and will use those. "I'm going to give him all of them, mommy," he tells me.

He's stumped though, by what to write him. He whispers to me that Jevo is not his dad, so he can't write "Happy Father's Day." I nod, wondering how to address this, when he continues: "but if you marry him, he'll be my other dad." I acknowledge that he's right and he asks, "so when are you going to marry him?" This is heading somewhere pretty complicated for a relaxing Friday night, so I side-step the question and say, "You know, he helps take care of you. Remember how tomorrow it's just you guys in the morning? He'll play with you and be here with you and probably take you on an adventure."

He settles down to his work and calls me over once again. He knows what he wants to say but needs my help spelling it all out. I write what he whispers on a piece of scrap paper and leave him to it. During all this, Jevo is buried in his newspaper, and I have no clue if he's aware of what's going on.

He finishes and doesn't want to wait till Sunday to give it to him. He hurtles toward Jevo and shoves his project at him, kinda yelling at him to look look look. It's another sheet covered in stickers, this time the huge superhero ones he was so excited to find earlier. In-between the stickers he's written "thank you for taking care of me." He's proud of himself and Jevo, it seems, is moved.

Bedtime comes along, and a very tired Max becomes a total pain in the ass. He's whiny, stalling, uncooperative. Worse, I'm frustrated by this seemingly from nowhere change and have zero patience for it. He wants to fight and I just want him to get in bed. Jevo knows it's been a rough couple of days on that front, with Max challenging every. single. thing. I. say. This meltdown is about to implode with my very own meltdown, when Jevo calls him over. He takes Max onto his lap and very quietly speaks to him. I catch some of what he says, that it's bedtime, that he needs to listen to mommy, that tomorrow will be lots of fun but only if he gets to bed, that he's so excited about all the fun things they'll be doing together. Max promptly settles down and gets in bed without another peep or fuss.

The next morning, I'm off on a couple of appointments and errands and it's just the two of them for a while. This is about the third or fourth time that they have one-on-one time. Jevo takes Max skating around the block. They pay my parents a visit, and then head back home, where Max tries to weasel a sugary snack that Jevo pronounces a no-go: he can have fruit, but no sweets. I return home a couple of hours later to find them alive, in one piece and doing a-o.k.

Later on, at a friend's pool party, I notice a seamlessness to how they interact. They play, Jevo warns for safety's sake, Max listens, they play again. They're each hesitating less around the other.

Jevo is well aware of the challenges I face as Max's mom. He's seen this kid at his worst and he's seen my embarrassment, my sense of not knowing what the hell to do. He knows I get extra tense and anxious in public, that I get less and less patient and more and more irritated when Max has a spate of challenging days and it seems like it'll never end.

And the thing is, he is unfazed by it, all of it, it seems. He is patient where I am not, calming when both Max and I need it, fun and active when Max's energy exceeds my own. He has insight into my son and never fails to offer me a perspective I can't conjure up on my own. Above all, he is kind. He is always unfailingly kind to my son.

It's been a while now since I feel like we're on trial, like he's watching the train wreck and any minute now will make the call - yeah, these two are insane - and book it out of here. Somewhere along the way, he became a part of us. It all hit me this weekend because all of it was so... normal.

So it's true: he's not a dad. But little by little, in subtle, simple ways, he is becoming one. And he's a pretty darn excellent dad in the making.

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Posted by Tere @ 6/19/2011   | | | links to this post

Thursday, June 16, 2011

If You "Like" Me, I Promise Not to Think You Actually LIKE Me

I don’t like amassing *friends* on Facebook. I reserve my FB profile for people I know in real life, the exception being some friends that I’ve met through blogging (as contributors to the same site), whom I *know* through our works and through emailing, but I don’t know know. You know?

Anyway. My FB is personal and private and that's that. Still, I’ve been thinking for a while about how I’d like a way to connect with folks who visit this site, and about how I sometimes want to have more immediate interaction with readers but this blog format is not suited for that.

It finally occurred to me (I know, like, 3,000 years too late) that the answer might lie in a FB page for this site. I have no idea if I’m on to something here or if this is a dumb idea, but whatev. I just created the page (no really, just created it as in, just right now) and am sharing the link here so that you, if you’re so inclined, may click and “like” and hopefully enjoy whatever it is I’ll be doing there.

Look at me, I’m on Facebook!

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Posted by Tere @ 6/16/2011   | | | links to this post

Friday, June 10, 2011

Forever 21 Wants Me to Die from the Horrible Stench of Their Clothes

Seems like bad smells will be the death of me this year.

After talking to folks at my local store and scouring teh interwebz for useful info and finding none, I'm here to see if anyone out there can solve this mystery for me: why do the clothes I order from Forever 21 smell like they were soaked in a vat of chemicals for approximately one month before being wrapped and sent to me?

My guess: because they are.

I know that clothing manufacturers treat clothes with chemicals (formaldehyde?) for various reasons, mainly to prevent mildew (if it's made of natural fibers and being shipped from far away, namely, Asia) and so they don't wrinkle and stay looking good. I habitually wash all new clothes before wearing them.

But man, the clothes from F21 beat everything - the smell is SO strong and terrible, unlike any I've smelled on any clothing, ever. I can't even identify it - petroleum? A pesticide? Acid? I have no clue. I've never noticed the smell in the stores, though I've read some blog posts where people have said they have. My problem is with the items I order online that arrive in plastic bags. I've had about three items arrive over the last year with this stench. This last order I placed last month contained one item (it's not even everything in the order) that's been by far the worst. It was sickening. I can't even describe what it felt like to touch that thing (the smell stayed on my hands for a few hours after touching it for a couple of minutes), much less smell it. Horror. Pure horror.

Oh, we should pause here. Because it just occurred to me that I should address something: why the hell am I buying clothes from Forever 21?!

Because some of their stuff is cute and cheap and trendy. And I'm a clotheswhore. That's pretty much it.

I should have returned it. Because oh yeah, I kept it. (What the hell is wrong with me?) I was going to return it, but the truth is, it's such a pretty shirt. That's dumb of me, right? To cling to the stinkerific shirt because it's so darn cute? I'm just so powerless in the face of cute cheap clothes...

But I did, I kept it. I devoted a whole 15 minutes to my dilemma - keep it or send it back - and was leaning toward "send it back," when my perverse, masochistic side kicked in, and I thought: I can beat this. I can find a way to get rid of this stench and enjoy my cute-ass sheer floral $17 shirt. I will conquer this poisonous smell and win!

I basically hung the shirt up and put it in the garage, far from human contact, to air out. Two weeks later, you can barely notice the smell! See? I'm winning! Forever 21 won't kill me yet!

Next up: a few dozen rounds in the washer.

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Posted by Tere @ 6/10/2011   | | | links to this post