Monthly Archives: August 2011

In a nod to one of my favorite blogs, Rants from Mommyland, here is one post they have yet to get to, bless their hearts….

I almost wrote of “Domestic Enemies of Teenage Moms” but then realized that would give this post a totally different meaning.  There are 15 years between my first two children.  That means I started this craziness at 21 and have a 19 year old, a 3 year old and am pregnant.  It also means I have a clue as to what is in store for me… and that I am clinging to every wonderful, exasperating and adorable moment with my toddler because I know that remembering how cute and precious he is now will help me resist the urge to strangle him one day. Read More


Restlessness and irritation.

It is like an itch that cannot be scratched.

There is no explanation and no stopping it.

Surroundings intrude on half formed thoughts, distracting me from the things I should be focused on.  But what are the things I should be focused on?  And, really, can you tell me – Why do they MATTER?? Read More

RemembeRED – Change

Written on August 16, 2011 by  in Remembe(red)

Your assignment this week was to write about a time when you knew something in your life had to change drastically. We asked you to describe the moment you realized you had to make the decision and to use this as an opportunity to work on “show not tell.”

One Sentence

It was that one sentence that stuck as hard as if she’d been slapped. Just one sentence and she did not know if she would ever forget or get over the sting. It was not even the worst thing he had said about her, but it struck to the heart of her and changed her perspective. Read More

The sauce bubbles on the stove.  Pasta boils in the pot.

I taste the sauce and add a bit more wine.

From the living room I hear Ezra’s three-year-old rendition of “Yellow Submarine.”  [“An da tiiiiime when I was bornnnn, lived a ma-a-an who sailed da seeees….”]  “Jay and Ezra sing it.  Sing wi’ me, Jay!” I listen to them sing together.  Funny, Jay always sings part of the first verse wrong.  I try to figure out Ezra’s pronunciation of “submarine” phonetically. Impossible.

The baby kicks and squirms hitting a rib and encroaching a bit more (!) on my lung capacity.

I taste the sauce and add some red pepper.

From the basement I hear a guy’s voice.  It has been going nonstop for probably half an hour now. Greta laughs and the sound of it bounces up the stairs.  I don’t know exactly who this new guy is – or even if he is a “new guy” – but I enjoy hearing her.  Especially when she laughs.

I check the bread.

Ezra and Jay have moved on to a back and forth game of “Yes, it is/No, it not.” Jay randomly switches his position and Ezra predictably switches his to stay in opposition to whatever Jay says.  Their laughs are so different – Ezra’s high pitched and squealing; Jay’s deep and rich. Just hearing them makes me laugh.

I get out the bowls.

Ezra comes in the kitchen to tell me that Jay will not let him do something.  He has become quite the little tattle tale.  I wonder how that is going to play out when it is a baby brother he is telling on instead of Jay.  I respond to his charge with a version of “whatever Jay says goes.” Ezra scowls.  Luckily, he has the attention span that comes with being 3, so I turn on the oven light so he can see the bread baking. He is sufficiently awed – and distracted. He asks three-year-old questions and I try to give him answers.  He runs back into the living room to tell Jay supper is almost ready and “Yellow Submarine” stars up again.  It is obviously his new favorite.

I drain the pasta.

The baby has the hiccups now.  He has just started getting them in the last week or so.  Ezra used to get them all the time when I was pregnant with him.  I try to remember if Greta did, but I really can’t.  You forget details like that in 19 years.  I wonder which things I will forget over time about Ezra and this baby.  It makes me sad to know it will happen.

I take the bread out of the oven and slice it.

Voices drift up from the basement. Greta should tell me if there will be company for dinner.  But it really doesn’t matter.  There is plenty.

Apparently, Jay has been paying attention and has interpreted sounds from the kitchen correctly.  He and Ezra come and start cleaning off the table.  Ezra informs me there are still some blueberries from this morning’s pancakes in the chair.  This is in no way surprising.  He probably wore more berries than he ingested.

I ladle sauce on top of pasta and grate out a generous topping of Parmesan.

Jay pours the drinks and gets the silverware.

I serve up the bowls of pasta.

Greta pops up out of the basement inquiring, “What smells good?”

Ezra asks for bread.

The baby squirms and rolls over.

We eat.

I have been mulling over men for going on 30 years now.  I don’t think I have made much headway.  My idea of writing these men v. women posts is really to ultimately point out that it is not men VERSUS women at all.  Life (speaking of a life together with another person of the opposite sex – not trying to leave anyone out here, but I have no same sex relationship experience to draw from) is a collaboration of two different kinds of people with two different sets of strengths and weaknesses coming together for their mutual benefit.  And that that is best done by playing to each others strengths, even when those strengths are stereotypical.  Also, I want to point out that saying that men (or women) are generally better at something does not mean women (or men) are incompetent, it just means men (or women) are more suited to that kind of thing – and we should work together, both doing what we are good at, to get the best out of our relationship and our life together. Read More