Today I am writing on my laptop from the discomfort of my mother-in-laws hospital room (she'll be fine). It's been a long day and I'm tired. And hungry. But neither exhaustion nor starvation nor dry contacts shall keep this writer from her appointed writing prompt, once again courtesy of Lisa Romeo.
Prompt: Money, Money, Money
Ka-ching. That is the exact sound I heard when my 8-year-old bumped his face while going UP the playground slide and broke his front tooth exactly in half. You might have expected me to hear a thump or his cry, but all I heard was the sound of how much it's going to cost me to have that tooth fixed. He couldn't have done this last summer when he still had baby-teeth up front. No. He had to break off his brand new shiny white permanent tooth -- the one right in front.
I heard ka-ching again last Friday when his older brother accidentally threw away his retainer. We were eating at one of those disgusting all you can eat buffet places (his birthday choice). Apparently, he wrapped the damn retainer in a napkin and the waitress cleared it with the dishes on one of the 23 or so trips he took to the buffet. That boy can eat!
We pawed through six bags of disgusting garbage before finally waving the white flag and giving up. Called the orthodontist the next day. Now he needs another impression taken and a new retainer. Do you hear that sound? It's the sound of my tiny little bank account leaking like a sieve.
Ka-ching went back tire of the mini-van as it blew running over our the remnants of the of the set design workshop my daughter and her theater groupies had erected behind the garage. I backed out over nails and whatnot left on the drive and that was that for my tire. It was only six months old and still had a lot of miles left in it.
This is the story of my life. Money bleeding from every pore. Money escaping through every door. I'd call in a specialist to stop the hemorrhaging, but I'm out of money.
Time: 10 minutes
Time to check out. Good night, folks.
Showing posts with label motherhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label motherhood. Show all posts
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Day #21 — Free
This prompt strikes me as more than just a little ironic, given that I have spent the last couple of hours trying to figure out financial aid information for my daughter who will be heading off to college in the fall. Right this minute, it doesn't feel like there is much in life that is free. We'll see where the prompt (once again from Lisa Romeo) takes me.
Prompt: Free
Ezra escaped today. Ever since he started walking, he has turned into a regular Houdini. Trying to change his diaper is like trying to do a Rubic's cube with your hands tied behind your back. He is just so wiggly! I won't even try to change him on the changing table or bed, for fear he'll land right on his head.
So this morning I spread the changing pad on the floor and managed to wrestle him flat. With my forearm pinning down his chest, I managed to remove his dirty diaper and clean him up reasonably well with one hand until he twisted away, jumped up and ran around the room laughing … at me! My beautiful baby boy was pointing and laughing at me.
I struggled to my feet, then slipped on the changing pad and landed flat on my butt, which set Ezra into a fit of giggles. He started running around in circles saying: "Boom … damn! Boom … damn!" For the first time since he was born, I was furious. Just furious. My tailbone was killing me, I let out a epithet when I fell and now this little traitor was going to rat me out. Unbelievable. I thought we were a team.
At this point, I turned into a crazy woman, chasing him around the room and barking orders like a drill sergeant: "Ezra Michael Stern, you come here right this minute. I mean it now. Stop running and come here. If you don't come here right now …"
I have absolutely no idea how that threat would have ended, because before I could finish it, my socks slid on our newly buffed hardwood floor and I fell — again — this time doing the splits before rolling out of them in complete agony.
I pulled myself to a sitting position, trying to determine whether anything was broken, besides my spirit. This little one-year-old alien monster had brought me to my knees in less than 8 minutes after waking from his morning nap. I burst into tears. If I couldn't handle him as a toddler, what on earth was I going to do when he was a teenager and bigger and stronger than me? I rolled back onto my side in the fetal position and wept.
I was in such a state of self pity that it didn't even occur to me that the baby might have gotten into real trouble. Suddenly, if felt his wet, sloppy lips on my forehead and opened my eyes to see his worried face pressed close to mine. "OK Mama? Awbetter Mama?"
I sat up, wiped my eyes and gave him a wobbly smile. "All better, Ezzy-man."
"Good," he said with a grin. "Get up!" Then he giggled and started running in circles around me, still naked, his arms flapping and his little penis bobbing as he chanted: "Get up, get up, get up!"
This time my smile was genuine. But I wonder, will I ever feel that free again?
Time: 12 minutes
I don't know a mom in the world who hasn't been brought to her knees by an infant or toddler. It's a completely overwhelming feeling. For me, the first time it dawned on my that my freedom was gone was when my twins were napping and I realized that I couldn't even walk the block and a half to White Hen. It's good to be able to tap into those feelings at such a primal, visceral level. Sort of like method acting. Using this scene in a kind of "method writing", I could help my character feel trapped, stuck, completely not free … a common obstacle to throw in the path of your hero.
Prompt: Free
Ezra escaped today. Ever since he started walking, he has turned into a regular Houdini. Trying to change his diaper is like trying to do a Rubic's cube with your hands tied behind your back. He is just so wiggly! I won't even try to change him on the changing table or bed, for fear he'll land right on his head.
So this morning I spread the changing pad on the floor and managed to wrestle him flat. With my forearm pinning down his chest, I managed to remove his dirty diaper and clean him up reasonably well with one hand until he twisted away, jumped up and ran around the room laughing … at me! My beautiful baby boy was pointing and laughing at me.
I struggled to my feet, then slipped on the changing pad and landed flat on my butt, which set Ezra into a fit of giggles. He started running around in circles saying: "Boom … damn! Boom … damn!" For the first time since he was born, I was furious. Just furious. My tailbone was killing me, I let out a epithet when I fell and now this little traitor was going to rat me out. Unbelievable. I thought we were a team.
At this point, I turned into a crazy woman, chasing him around the room and barking orders like a drill sergeant: "Ezra Michael Stern, you come here right this minute. I mean it now. Stop running and come here. If you don't come here right now …"
I have absolutely no idea how that threat would have ended, because before I could finish it, my socks slid on our newly buffed hardwood floor and I fell — again — this time doing the splits before rolling out of them in complete agony.
I pulled myself to a sitting position, trying to determine whether anything was broken, besides my spirit. This little one-year-old alien monster had brought me to my knees in less than 8 minutes after waking from his morning nap. I burst into tears. If I couldn't handle him as a toddler, what on earth was I going to do when he was a teenager and bigger and stronger than me? I rolled back onto my side in the fetal position and wept.
I was in such a state of self pity that it didn't even occur to me that the baby might have gotten into real trouble. Suddenly, if felt his wet, sloppy lips on my forehead and opened my eyes to see his worried face pressed close to mine. "OK Mama? Awbetter Mama?"
I sat up, wiped my eyes and gave him a wobbly smile. "All better, Ezzy-man."
"Good," he said with a grin. "Get up!" Then he giggled and started running in circles around me, still naked, his arms flapping and his little penis bobbing as he chanted: "Get up, get up, get up!"
This time my smile was genuine. But I wonder, will I ever feel that free again?
Time: 12 minutes
I don't know a mom in the world who hasn't been brought to her knees by an infant or toddler. It's a completely overwhelming feeling. For me, the first time it dawned on my that my freedom was gone was when my twins were napping and I realized that I couldn't even walk the block and a half to White Hen. It's good to be able to tap into those feelings at such a primal, visceral level. Sort of like method acting. Using this scene in a kind of "method writing", I could help my character feel trapped, stuck, completely not free … a common obstacle to throw in the path of your hero.
Day #20 — Just a Little Something …
Today is my 20th straight day of free writing to a prompt. That's more discipline than I've shown … well, ever. I'll see how long I can keep up the streak. Maybe I should find some lucky socks or something and wear them every day until the streak is broken. Today's prompt is one of the few remaining in Lisa Romeo's month of writing prompts. Your job — see if you can guess which parts are true and which are pure fiction.
Prompt: Just a Little Something to Take the Edge Off
"Are you going to the pool today?" Allie asked me at 6:45 in the morning, in what would be one of at least 10 calls for the day. We don't even bother with salutations anymore.
"Not now," I said. "Remember, it's Wednesday. Swim team day. The pool doesn't open until 1:30."
"Shit, that means I have to entertain the little darlings all morning. Any ideas?"
"Sorry, we're going to the dentist."
"All of you?"
"Yep — he's blocked out the whole morning for us. Then Cassie has gymnastics, so we won't be ready for the pool until at least 1:30 anyway."
"Be there at 1:30. And us bring a little something."
"What do you want?"
"You know, just a little something to take the edge off. I'm going to need it."
Two hours, five cleanings and $700 dollars later, we were done with the dentist. I dropped Cassie off at the gym and told her I would pick her up on the way to the pool.
"Bring my pink bikini — not the hot pink one, the other one with the butterflies," she ordered.
Generally speaking, I'm not the world's most organized mom, but after 10 years, I've got the whole pool thing down to a science. The mesh boating bag is packed with sunscreen, goggles, a few pool toys and Max's epi pen. Even at the pool somebody might have nuts. I keep the pool passes in a little zipper pocket on the outside of the bag. Woe to the child who fails to return his or her pass to the pocket.
We have a perfect size cooler that is unpacked immediately on returning home from the pool. The ice pack is returned to the freezer, the big zip lock bag is refilled with gold fish or pretzels, and the water bottles are rinsed. There's no glass allowed at the pool, but plastic bottles are fine. Sometimes I pack some grapes or cherries. I'm always astounded at how hungry everyone is after they cool off in the pool.
I was closing up the cooler when I remembered Allie's request. What on earth did she want? Chocolate? No, she's the only woman on earth who doesn't have a chocolate monkey on her back. Oooh, I know. I opened the cupboard with the water bottles and pulled out the only two left — red and blue teddie bears with flip tops. I forced a couple of ice cubes through the small openings and filled the sippy bottles with premade margarita mix. Smiling a guilty little smile, I stuck them into the cooler and headed for the pool.
Allie looked at me like I had lost my mind when I handed her the blue bear-shaped bottle. Then her eyes widened and she took a sip.
"That's it," she said. "I'm dumping Tom and eloping with you to Vegas."
Time: 13 minutes
So, can you figure it out? I like this scene. It could be exaggerated to be really funny.
Prompt: Just a Little Something to Take the Edge Off
"Are you going to the pool today?" Allie asked me at 6:45 in the morning, in what would be one of at least 10 calls for the day. We don't even bother with salutations anymore.
"Not now," I said. "Remember, it's Wednesday. Swim team day. The pool doesn't open until 1:30."
"Shit, that means I have to entertain the little darlings all morning. Any ideas?"
"Sorry, we're going to the dentist."
"All of you?"
"Yep — he's blocked out the whole morning for us. Then Cassie has gymnastics, so we won't be ready for the pool until at least 1:30 anyway."
"Be there at 1:30. And us bring a little something."
"What do you want?"
"You know, just a little something to take the edge off. I'm going to need it."
Two hours, five cleanings and $700 dollars later, we were done with the dentist. I dropped Cassie off at the gym and told her I would pick her up on the way to the pool.
"Bring my pink bikini — not the hot pink one, the other one with the butterflies," she ordered.
Generally speaking, I'm not the world's most organized mom, but after 10 years, I've got the whole pool thing down to a science. The mesh boating bag is packed with sunscreen, goggles, a few pool toys and Max's epi pen. Even at the pool somebody might have nuts. I keep the pool passes in a little zipper pocket on the outside of the bag. Woe to the child who fails to return his or her pass to the pocket.
We have a perfect size cooler that is unpacked immediately on returning home from the pool. The ice pack is returned to the freezer, the big zip lock bag is refilled with gold fish or pretzels, and the water bottles are rinsed. There's no glass allowed at the pool, but plastic bottles are fine. Sometimes I pack some grapes or cherries. I'm always astounded at how hungry everyone is after they cool off in the pool.
I was closing up the cooler when I remembered Allie's request. What on earth did she want? Chocolate? No, she's the only woman on earth who doesn't have a chocolate monkey on her back. Oooh, I know. I opened the cupboard with the water bottles and pulled out the only two left — red and blue teddie bears with flip tops. I forced a couple of ice cubes through the small openings and filled the sippy bottles with premade margarita mix. Smiling a guilty little smile, I stuck them into the cooler and headed for the pool.
Allie looked at me like I had lost my mind when I handed her the blue bear-shaped bottle. Then her eyes widened and she took a sip.
"That's it," she said. "I'm dumping Tom and eloping with you to Vegas."
Time: 13 minutes
So, can you figure it out? I like this scene. It could be exaggerated to be really funny.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Day #17 — Day After Day
I have not been feeling at all well today, but I don't want to break my string of consecutive free writing days. Funny how it was easier to give up my Friday walking date than it is to give up my date with this online journal. Clearly, I've managed to make writing more of a habit than exercise. Big surprise.
I've been watching the telethon for Haiti and my initial reaction to this prompt from Lisa Romeo was to talk about the relentlessness of the current tragedy, but I changed my mind. We'll see where it goes from here.
Prompt: Day After Day
Day after day, the sun refuses to shine. Like me, it seems barely able to haul its ass out of bed to get done the work that is absolutely necessary before its 12-hour shift is over and it can go back to sleep.
Laundry — done. Well, done enough. There are clean socks and underwear. I even put Peter's in his drawer so he won't bitch about having to pull them out of the laundry basket when he gets dressed for work tomorrow. Why does underwear need to be folded? Who invented dressers, anyway? What difference does it make as long as they're clean? What does he want from me.
The baby clothes are clean, too, at least most of them, although not put away. I just couldn't do it. Rachel came by for about an hour to stay with the babies so I could get to the grocery store. We had nothing. Now we have next to nothing, but enough to get us through the weekend — as long as Peter doesn't mind spaghetti for dinner again.
Jesus, why am I so tired? I wanted these babies for so long. I would have done anything to get them. I did do everything to get them — injections and hormones and harvesting and invitro and surgeries. God, it was so important to me. Now I look at them and think "Who are you and what are you doing in my house?" They can't possibly be my babies. They don't even look like me. They don't even look like people — just, I don't know, wrinkly red worms or something.
I'm so pissed at my mom. All those years she bugged me and bugged me about things she didn't understand — what I should wear (like she knew what teenagers were wearing), where I should go to school (she never even went to college), who I should marry (like my dad was such a prize). Now, when I really need her, when she could actually help me because she knew how to take care of babies, where is she? Dead.
Good and dead and I'm all alone with these people who want stuff from me all day long. They want my boobs, they want formula (because my two boobs aren't good enough for their two hungry mouths, even though I'm now a D-cup). They want to be changed and have their butts wiped and snot cleaned when the cry and it bubbles out of their nostrils. It's not anything like I imagined it would be. They aren't sweet and good smelling and happy to see me when I walk in the room. And every time I fall asleep (which could be any minute), one of them wails. They don't cry little baby cries — they wail loud sirens of misery and discontent. Day after day. Night after night.
I read all the books. I know "this too shall pass". But when? Will I make it? Will I ever feel like a mother, like I would do anything for them? Where did that feeling go? I can tell you this; I think I would do anything for them if I could just get one night's sleep. Just one.
Time: 13 minutes
This was an odd thing to write because I never felt this way about my babies. I know many women who did, but babyhood never got to me like this. I have felt it since then, many times, but I don't think it's as overwhelming when they are not completely helpless. My mother didn't die, although she almost did on my wedding day and I remember being absolutely furious with her at the idea that she wouldn't be around right when I needed her again.
Today, with this weird virus and the relentlessness of winter and the tragic news on TV, I felt like all I wanted to do was sleep and shut out the world. And I did. I could, because most of my children were at school and the one who was home did not need constant care and attention, and he was not in danger being awake while I was asleep. I did drag myself out of bed this morning and again this afternoon to get the necessities done. That and no more. Tomorrow, the girl needs to be at school at 5:30 a.m., so I will go to sleep again now, and start over again in the morning. And the day after that. And the day after that.
I've been watching the telethon for Haiti and my initial reaction to this prompt from Lisa Romeo was to talk about the relentlessness of the current tragedy, but I changed my mind. We'll see where it goes from here.
Prompt: Day After Day
Day after day, the sun refuses to shine. Like me, it seems barely able to haul its ass out of bed to get done the work that is absolutely necessary before its 12-hour shift is over and it can go back to sleep.
Laundry — done. Well, done enough. There are clean socks and underwear. I even put Peter's in his drawer so he won't bitch about having to pull them out of the laundry basket when he gets dressed for work tomorrow. Why does underwear need to be folded? Who invented dressers, anyway? What difference does it make as long as they're clean? What does he want from me.
The baby clothes are clean, too, at least most of them, although not put away. I just couldn't do it. Rachel came by for about an hour to stay with the babies so I could get to the grocery store. We had nothing. Now we have next to nothing, but enough to get us through the weekend — as long as Peter doesn't mind spaghetti for dinner again.
Jesus, why am I so tired? I wanted these babies for so long. I would have done anything to get them. I did do everything to get them — injections and hormones and harvesting and invitro and surgeries. God, it was so important to me. Now I look at them and think "Who are you and what are you doing in my house?" They can't possibly be my babies. They don't even look like me. They don't even look like people — just, I don't know, wrinkly red worms or something.
I'm so pissed at my mom. All those years she bugged me and bugged me about things she didn't understand — what I should wear (like she knew what teenagers were wearing), where I should go to school (she never even went to college), who I should marry (like my dad was such a prize). Now, when I really need her, when she could actually help me because she knew how to take care of babies, where is she? Dead.
Good and dead and I'm all alone with these people who want stuff from me all day long. They want my boobs, they want formula (because my two boobs aren't good enough for their two hungry mouths, even though I'm now a D-cup). They want to be changed and have their butts wiped and snot cleaned when the cry and it bubbles out of their nostrils. It's not anything like I imagined it would be. They aren't sweet and good smelling and happy to see me when I walk in the room. And every time I fall asleep (which could be any minute), one of them wails. They don't cry little baby cries — they wail loud sirens of misery and discontent. Day after day. Night after night.
I read all the books. I know "this too shall pass". But when? Will I make it? Will I ever feel like a mother, like I would do anything for them? Where did that feeling go? I can tell you this; I think I would do anything for them if I could just get one night's sleep. Just one.
Time: 13 minutes
This was an odd thing to write because I never felt this way about my babies. I know many women who did, but babyhood never got to me like this. I have felt it since then, many times, but I don't think it's as overwhelming when they are not completely helpless. My mother didn't die, although she almost did on my wedding day and I remember being absolutely furious with her at the idea that she wouldn't be around right when I needed her again.
Today, with this weird virus and the relentlessness of winter and the tragic news on TV, I felt like all I wanted to do was sleep and shut out the world. And I did. I could, because most of my children were at school and the one who was home did not need constant care and attention, and he was not in danger being awake while I was asleep. I did drag myself out of bed this morning and again this afternoon to get the necessities done. That and no more. Tomorrow, the girl needs to be at school at 5:30 a.m., so I will go to sleep again now, and start over again in the morning. And the day after that. And the day after that.
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