Breaking Ice & Making Nice

I Have a Saving Grace

Tonight was book club night. In typical procrastinator fashion, I picked up the book on Monday, then crammed to finish the book today, reading for 90 minutes this afternoon as the kids napped, and then as Mo read "Freight Train" and "The Foot Book" beside me while I rushed through the last 25 pages.

Our babysitter arrived a little late this evening, so I jumped in the car, plugged in the address to the GPS, and drove safely-but-quickly toward our host's house. I missed my big turn into her neighborhood, but thanked God for my GPS, because it immediately re-routed me.

Ten minutes later, I cursed the GPS to hell for sending me into the other side of her neighborhood, straight into an imposing black gate with a large "private property / no trespassing" sign" attached. So I turned around and raced back down the hill toward my original turn. Finally, almost 30 minutes late, I pulled in behind the mass of cars, ran down the driveway, rang the bell, and exclaimed breathlessly as a woman answered the door, "I'm so sorry I'm late! Has book club started yet?"

A brief pause, a blank stare, then... "Book club? I think you may be at the wrong house."

"...Oh," I stammered. "Um, do you by chance know where Corri lives?"

After the kindly woman glanced through her neighborhood directory, I learned that the house up the hill was actually my target. So I doubled back, but felt an impending sense of dread settle on my shoulders as I trudged up the empty driveway toward the dark house. One ring, two rings of the doorbell... Nothing.

I pulled out my cell phone and called information, then gave them the name of the only person from book club whose last name and town I could remember. A few seconds later, I was leaving a message on her answering machine.

"Liz? Hi, this is Christine. I'm trying to get to book club and I'm confused, because I think I'm at the right house but no one..."

"Christine?" She picked up mid-message.

"Liz?"

"Honey, I may be wrong, but I'm pretty sure book club is next weekend."

And that's when I lost it.

"F*&#!" I cursed, then, "Sorry, Liz." (This book club is a group of women from my church.) The tears began to fall, hard and fast, and I couldn't speak.

"Christine, here's what I want you to do. I want you to drive back down to the mall, and I'll meet you there in 30 minutes. Can you make it?"

I managed to eek out a pathetic, whimpering "yes" through my tears.

Twenty minutes later, I had calmed myself enough to drive, wiped away the twin mascara rivers that wound randomly down my cheeks, and tucked into an upscale baby store to buy this luxurious picnic blanket I've been eyeing for more than a year.

Then I met Liz. She walked me into a restaurant, and told me to order the most delicious girly drink on the menu. For almost two hours, I poured out my heart, welcomed in a new friendship, and sucked down a Pomegranate Martini.

When I climbed back into the minivan, I looked up and whispered, "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

I have a saving grace. Her name is Liz.

"I marry you again"

So you may not be as into poetry as I am, and that's okay. But here's the thing: If you're not a "poetry person" but you are married, I think you may like "Marry Me," a senryu sequence by Veronica Patterson.

(I am not enough of a poetry person to know what that is, so I'll tell you what I learned: Senryu is a Japanese form, like haiku, but it is about people instead of nature.)

I found this poem today in my local paper... Okay, it was actually yesterday's paper. I'm always behind.

Anyway, "Marry Me" is part of the American Life in Poetry series, a program of the Poetry Foundation. I hope you like it.

And tonight, when you go to bed, marry your beloved again... if only because you can.

http://www.americanlifeinpoetry.org/columns/172.html

The Juicing Room

"She has to be squeezed immediately before she explodes."      --Gene Wilder as Willy Wonka

One of my favorite scenes from the 1971 Roald Dahl adapation, Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory**, is the infamous "Violet, you're turning Violet, Violet!" scene, when Violet Beauregarde impulsively snags a piece of fancy new chewing gum from Willy Wonka's "revolutionary, non-pollutionary mechanical wonder" and promptly turns into a giant blueberry. Wonka whistles to the Oompa-Loompas, who roll Violet off to the juicing room before she explodes.

These days I feel quite a lot like Violet the Giant Blueberry Girl. With the CDR gone until mid-October, and the boys acting out as a result, and me watching So You Think You Can Dance? over and over on my TiVo because I'm bored and lonely, the emotions start welling up inside me until I feel like I'm about to explode.

Under normal circumstances, the CDR is my juicing room, so to speak. He is a compassionate, attentive listener, and he (usually) knows when to give advice and when to just shut up and hold me while I cry.

Before he left, my husband encouraged me to write him anytime, about anything, without worrying about how it might make him feel. He wanted to continue being my juicing room, even from so far away. A noble request, to be sure, but I'm not sure it's the healthiest choice for either of us.

Why? First, my emotions are more volatile than ever, and therefore hard to express via email. I am 100 percent extrovert, and living alone in a community where I don't have many friends. I don't like small children, yet I cohabitate with and solo-parent a preschooler and a toddler. Turns out these personality traits make for an explosive combination in a long-term deployment situation.

Second, what is the point of bemoaning my existence to a person who cannot do anything about it? What I really need, in my lowest moments, is to be held. And writing a message to the person from whom I want holding, but who cannot give it to me, makes a really bad situation even worse.

Third, the CDR is in a high-pressure environment on his ship and has a gazillion other concerns to address on any given day. I know how sensitive he is, and how guilty he still feels about this unexpected assignment, so I don't want to make his life miserable when he has so many other critical responsibilities.

On the other hand (isn't there always another damn hand?), I know that keeping my true emotions at bay is only going to make the situation worse for me, and for the boys. They have already heard more crying, and seen more sippy-cups thrown across the kitchen, in the past week than they have heard or seen in their entire little lives.

I also know that the CDR is not completely useless in such a circumstance. I believe in the power of prayer, and I know that my husband prays faithfully for me while he is underway. By letting him into my heart, even within the constraints of Arial 12 in his Outlook Inbox, he can pray more specifically for my day-to-day needs.

Okay, fine. Even from the Arctic, my husband should still be my juicing room. But I truly believe that I cannot share everything with him because that just wouldn't be fair. Anything I write can easily be misconstrued, and his tendency to worry could hinder the CDR's ability to effectively lead his crew.

So, every time I write my husband an email, I now think about the blueberry balance:

How much should I share, and how much should I keep inside, in order to support the CDR in his mission while keeping myself from exploding all over the children?

**Some movies should never be re-made, Tim Burton, thank you very much.

From the Mind of Mo, Vol. 2

This afternoon, while driving home from the grocery store, Mo suddenly announced that the brow was raised and the boat was out in the ocean.

"Yes, Mo," I replied, "that's true. Daddy's ship has raised the brow and sailed into the ocean."

"No, Mama," Mo corrected me. "MY ship raised the brow and went out in the ocean."

"Oh," I said. "Your ship?"

"Yes, I have to go work on a ship just like Daddy so I can make lots of money. Then we can buy lots of clothes..." (he paused thoughtfully) "...and new toys..." (another pause) "...and food."

"Mo, that's really nice of you, " I told him. "But if you go out on a ship, I'd really miss you, just like I really miss Daddy."

"Mama, it's okay. I won't be gone long. I'll make lots of money really, really fast."

I couldn't bear to tell him that, despite the many perks, military pay just isn't that great. But before I could decide on a more appropriate answer, he continued.

"Mama, I'm hungry. Can I please have a yogurt when we get home?"

Sure, Mo. You can have any flavor you want, even my favorite French Vanilla Bean. You are the family Sugar Daddy, after all.

One of Those Days

Today has been "one of those days." The boys woke up at 6:15 this morning (ugh) but in very good spirits, so we made pancakes for breakfast and played basketball in the garage while I reorganized some stuff. While Kel took his morning nap, Mo played Zingo on our bedroom floor while I took a shower. For the first week of solo parenting, it was a great morning, really.

Then we packed up and went to Newcastle Beach Park, a lovely and large park on Lake Washington, for a Fourth of July picnic. We had fun but it was REALLY hard to keep track of the boys all by myself. Mo was riding his tricycle along the path, which runs along the perimeter of the park. And Kel was totally hooked on the playground equipment. I was convinced that as Mo rode past the parking lot, I would turn my back and focus on Kel only to have someone grab Mo and run (I've already lost him in a shopping mall and let him fall into a pool because I turned my back to wipe Kel's nose - I assure you, my fear is based in reality). Needless to say, I was a little stressed and quite relieved to go home for naptime.

That was the beginning of the end. Mo wanted to nap on the rug just inside the garage; I was too tired to argue or try to figure out his logic. Five minutes later, he came upstairs to announce that he had an accident (both types). Lovely. He refused to nap after that, and was therefore cranky the rest of the day. He had a total meltdown when I suggested that we have a mini-bagel and cream cheese for snacktime (NO! I WANT A MINI-BAGEL AND CREAM CHEESE FOR BREAKFAST! NOT SNACK! . . . Mom, I'm hungry).

Dinner didn't get any easier. Kel decided that the small space just between my ankles was the perfect spot to take up temporary residence as I boiled the noodles, warmed the sauce, and cooked the meatballs. He also decided that the best noise to make while wrapped around my legs was an alternating dinosaur roar and fire engine siren. Ninety-nine percent of the time, I'm in favor of kids in the kitchen. Tonight, I was ready to put up our old tension-mount doggy gates to keep them out. Out. OUT.

Midway through dinner, Mo went running upstairs to go potty. Then he came back downstairs and wanted to snuggle. Five minutes later (anyone catching this theme?), he had another accident, worse than the first. Double the lovely. I hadn't finished dinner yet, but I didn't eat anything more. I started to get angry, but we've been dealing with this issue for awhile - conveniently enough, Mo's potty training regresses just after the CDR comes home and just after he departs. Coincidence? I think not. So I can't really "get up in his grill" about the accidents, because I have them, too... Although mine take the form of random emotional breakdowns and three extra pounds on the scale from all the ice cream I'm eating.

We finally made it through bathtime and the bedtime routine. Then we snuggled up on my bed to watch an episode of Thomas the Tank Engine for our Friday Family Date Night. Fortunately, both boys went to bed easily and fell asleep quickly.

So tonight I decided to relax and set up my Facebook profile. That website is fun fun fun! I immediately connected with a friend and fellow Coast Guard wife, then discovered that an old high school friend has some incriminating high school photos of me posted on his profile. Yuck yuck yuck. (But again, fun fun fun.)

The fireworks are exploding now in my town, but I'm uninterested. I could watch them on TV, I suppose, but I'd rather watch a Tivo-ed episode of "The Next Food Network Star." Or just watch last week's episode of "So You Think You Can Dance" (again).

Whichever I choose, it will likely be accompanied by some more of my favorite ice cream (Tillamook Creamery's "Udderly Chocolate" - white chocolate and milk chocolate swirled with chocolate chunks). It's been one of those days. Someone hide that bathroom scale!