moth

its been so long since i've written. i've missed this.

not sure why i still get the urge to do this. not sure what the craving is, what the pull means to me--why i feel the need to get all of these thoughts out of my head and onto this site. there are plenty of good people walking this earth that don't have this fierce draw inside of them, and there are times that i wish i was one of them, because when i can't do this it hurts.

i'm still in the process of trying to figure out how the hell to carve out time for myself. this writing thing has become a luxury. its never at the top of my list. i find myself wrestling with the idea that i am due anything, other than an occasional bowl of nice cream. how can i possibly dig through this muck of schedule that is mine now and pull out an extra hour or two each day?

i've been trying to wake up in the hour of five, but my children have both been sleeping so shittily that i give up on the idea of going to the gym around 2 in the morning, when i calculate my hours and realize i've been screwed out of another full night of sleep. instead, i lay there hoping to find my way back to the dream that i was having, the one where i am younger, lighter, wittier; without children, responsibilities, homework.

that's a damn fine dream these days.

when i sit down to write i find it hard to go through with this if i don't have something monumental to say about myself or my life. if i don't have a funny anecdote to write about, i feel silly indulging in this blog-thing again. and truth be told, i don't know who the hell is actually reading this, since i'm off facebook again and there's no linked-in anymore.

so thank you, if you've sought this out. it really does mean a lot that you find me here.

sometimes i want to just play around on my computer's photo booth, and try to make myself laugh. i need to be okay with just fucking around these days, knowing that i am working my ass off most of the time, and i don't need to spend every single minute focused and constructive. i can goof off. i'm allowed. i can watch the red sox implode and not feel badly about myself.

there are moments in my life now that are like snapshots--these brief snippets of rays of light that show me another way to be--a way of peacefulness and acceptance and happiness. of pride about the woman i am becoming, and the one i hope to be someday. of security in knowing that i am on the path that i am meant for, and i don't need to know anymore than that.

brief, flickering, flighty moments that knock into my skull like a moth hitting a window.

they're not soothing, but they are hopeful. and a little bit pretty.

just like me.

balloon

the crickets are still awake here in the depths of early morning, and i'm sitting in my kitchen waiting for the rest of the world to wake up.

last night i watched my boy say goodbye to a balloon that he accidentally let go of, and saw the disappointment play out on his face like a movie. he argued with himself, saying it was not a big deal, but couldn't deny the tears leaking out the sides of his eyes.

"i don't know why i feel like this, mommy."

and all i can do is to tell him it all makes sense, and that there is nothing wrong with him, and that i know exactly how he feels. still, i can't help but think that i have doomed this lovely boy with the emotional weight of my genes.

sometimes it feels like there's nothing heavier.

today

it was ten years ago today that i watched the towers fall, just like you.

i had a baby in my gut ten years ago, and i clutched my taut stomach throughout the day as waves of nausea hit me. couldn't get the images or sounds of the city out of my stomach. still saw the people falling out of the sky, even as i took care of the kids at the preschool.

that day i randomly chose a book out of the shelf to read at circle time, and it was a little book about a mother finding a child, no matter where she might go. the author had written it after her own child had gone missing. in it, there was an illustration of nyc, and the towers loomed large and bright in the sunny expanse of the picture. i stared at it and choked back tears as i read to the kids, hoping they wouldn't notice.

later that day those same kids built towers and then let their airplanes knock them over.

tonight, as i lay nestled with my kids waiting for them to choose books, i let the feelings wash over me, thinking about this day. remembering ten years ago, desperately trying to reach kim and marshall in the city, then finding out that she was just coming out of the subway downtown when the first tower fell. she then jumped on a bus and sat with her fellow new yorkers, saying the rosary together, some in spanish, some in english. remembering thinking of all the people i'd lost touch with, wondering if they were anywhere near the tragedies. remembering how hollow i felt after i got home from work; that i cried for the entire drive home, that i felt like i couldn't bring a child into such a scary world, one that contained such hatred.

my kids brought me their book choices. selkie had a charlie and lola, and milo had randomly picked "between the towers", a book about philippe petit--the man who walked between the two world trade center towers back in 1974. again the towers were alive in the illustrations. this time the baby i carried was next to me, able to talk about the attacks, able to process in his own way what had happened.

ten years passed. just like that.

calling out

is this what its going to be like every night for the next three years? am i going to dissolve into hysterical tears while my daughter wails for me in the background and i sit at my crappy little desk in the chair with a hole in it (so that i have to have two pillows on top of it)? am i going to try and focus on answering questions about the state of california's public schools and specifically what teaching training is needed to address the issues for low-income families while my children beg for my attention?

what should my focus be here?

why the fuck am i doing this to myself?

i feel so low right now, so very fucking low, dear readers. i know this will pass and this is, after all, the first week of the great graduate school experiment but sweet jesus, i am in a giant clusterfuck of fear right now.

i am wayoverwhelmed.

bunny

i lost it tonight.

i'm feeling the stress of starting college again, especially since my financial aid and registration are all fucked up. i'm trying to just go forward with my assignments and do the work. i'm trying to keep it all together, knowing that my dedication to 8-hours of sleep a night is not long for this world. knowing that if i want to keep exercising i'm going to have to wake up at 5:15 to do so. knowing that i have even less time to spend with the people i love the most.

tonight i was furiously typing a response to my online assignment as my kids were struggling to go to sleep in the other room. they decided to have a sleepover, milo in selkie's bed, but for various reasons it wasn't working. finally milo came out and was red-eyed, trying not to cry, but obviously upset, wanting to go back into his room.

i told him he could, and asked him what was wrong, and he started to cry but said, "i don't want to tell you, okay? don't ask me, okay?" and i said i wouldn't but asked if i could walk him back to his room, and maybe then he would tell me.

which he did. sometimes its easier in the dark.

"i need a stuffed animal. i don't have any stuffed animals anymore." this is what he tearfully told me. i reminded him that he had given selkie a few of his animals, including his beloved bunny that he'd had since he was three weeks old. he broke down even more when i suggested he take it back (having no problem with it at all, since his greedy little sister has ridiculous numbers of stuffed animals, and she played on his kindness in order to get bunny--whom she immediately dressed up in a skirt, which was so wrong--anyway, i digress), telling me that he didn't want bunny, that he had given it to selkie, and that he needed new stuffed animals.

i said, "buddy, can i ask you a question? do you think that maybe you don't want bunny anymore because he seems a little bit too young for you? is that what it is?"

and he said, breaking my heart a little bit, "yeah, that's kind of it."

this is where i was glad it was dark, because i didn't want him to see that i was crying, too.

i asked him if he had any money saved, and he said he had about $22 dollars, so i told him we could go online tomorrow and do a little research. i asked him what animal he'd be interested in. "a snake, a long one. and next would be a dragon, but not a cute one."

i could tell he wanted the conversation to be over, just like so many of our talks lately. before i left, i told him that he could definitely have bunny back, and that i didn't think bunny was too cute at all.

"he's more scruffy, i think. don't you?" milo said. i told him that was exactly it. and then i tried one more time, and said that i would go and get bunny for him for tonight, so that he could get some comfort from him. "NO. please mommy, i just want to go to sleep," he said, starting to cry again.

i kissed him, told him goodnight, and he said, "sleep well," just like he does every single night, just like he has done ever since he could say it to me.

then i went out to the living room and cried onto my keyboard. i immediately hid my essay and started searching for snakes and dragons online, soft ones to sleep with but not babyish ones that would embarrass my 9 and a half year old boy.

i found some. there is a little hope.

later on i went into selkie's room again, her fourth time calling me, ready to ream the kid for all the interruptions and the complaining, when milo came in to check on what was going on. i softened my tone when i saw him, asked him if he was okay, told him selkie wanted him to sleep with her again, and he agreed to try one more time.

and that's when i noticed that he had bunny in his arms.

"hey, you got bunny back?"

he nodded his head and cuddled up with selkie. she said, "i gave bunny back to milo." "that was really nice of you, selkie. thanks for doing that."

seriously. thanks so much. you'll never know how grateful i am that bunny is back where he belongs.