Tag Archives: motherhood

5:59am

5:59am, 5:58am – these are the numbers I see every morning when the little Prince (aka Napoleon Bonaparte) wakes me up. What is up with that short dude? I put him to bed at 6pm – 5:59am wake time.  I put him to bed at 9pm – 5:58 wake time.  I put him to bed shackled in the closet hanging upside down – 5:59am wake time. (get it? ’cause he’s like the opposite of a vampire – whatever, i’m tired)

And these are the good days.  There’s always at least one morning a week where numbers like 4:32am and 4:28am greet my swollen, sleep-crusted eyes. Strangely, the loudness of my voice seems to directly coincide with the order of these numbers.

The point is, just once I’d like to see some different numbers in the morning. A 7? A 8?

Really, my little autocrat, let mama get some sleep. I’m aging so fast from this hard living I look about 49 going on 57.

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Oh No…Here I Go.

https://twitter.com/smaloha

All because a job that looks superduper-fragalistic wanted me to have a twitter. And then the doorbell rang. And Ma in her kerchief And I in my sweats, Had just settled down To a long winter’s nap – When out on the lawn There rose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. (this will make sense once you read my first tweet)

But seriously, what have I gotten myself into now?

#willwashwindowsforawesomejob

 

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Spring Sledding

Sam and I hauled the kids up to Big Bear on Sunday for a little spring sledding. My poor children have never seen snow (ah, life of a child from Southern California).  Ridden with guilt over their deprived upbringings, we packed up the snow clothes and set on our way. For $100, Snow Valley resort will put you on a chairlift, carry you to the top of a bunny run, lend you a sled, and….weeeeee!  It was awesome.  The kids were shell-shocked.  That is what sledding is?!  Who knew?

But then after the third time down, my daughter wanted to know when we could stop sledding and get on to the skiing part.  Talk about transient pleasure.  We explained that skiing involved rentals and a different lift ticket.  She explaining that sledding was fun and all, but next time, she wanted to ski.

After an arduous (and I mean arduous) drive home, we had Sunday Night Movie Night and went to bed.  This morning I asked my daughter if she was excited to tell her friends at school about her adventure.  She looked at me and cocked her head, “What adventure, Mama?”  The sledding adventure, I told her, surprised that she had forgotten.  “Oh yeah, sure.”  she agreed in a tone that sounded like, whatever.  I couldn’t believe it.  After all that work to get them  to see some snow.  To be in the outdoors.  To wear snow clothes and whiz down a mountain.  My city kids were showing their true colors.

Spring Sledding – a lasting impression.for all.

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The Lava Will Burn You

In my living room we have a small oriental rug.  Sam and I purchased it at a bazaar years ago.  It was one of our first big buys and it was exciting.  The rug is from Afghanistan and we are definitely not the first owners.  The color scheme is red and creme and two shades of blue and because the rug is positively ancient, the whole thing is faded six-ways to Sunday.  Plus, I have small children and a dog so the poor rug has been put to the test.  All of which of course, just makes it more beautiful.

Anyway, around the edges of the rug lies a complicated border.  The border, I have been told, is lava.  I first found out this startling news when I stepped on it and was told, “Mommy!  You’re burning in lava!”  Naturally, I jumped out of the border as fast as I could.  Soon, talk of the lava had reached far and wide and everyone began carefully stepping over the dangerous terrain.  What’s most alarming is that the lava flows around and around the border with no way to curtail its deadly path.  The poor dog is forever getting burnt to a crisp and even I have been known to walk right through it unawares.  How could I be so careless?

Little did Sam and I know when bought this rug that it would be such an important part of our family.  We knew we’d probably have it forever.  We didn’t know it would sprout its own lava train.

So be careful if you stop by, because the lava will burn you.

lava-flows

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Happy

I woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.  Grumpy and exasperated.  Short-tempered and growly.  I think my family would best describe me as not fun to be around in any way, sense or form.

And then dear Pharrell Williams made an appearance at the dining room table.  The kids and I watched, danced, and sung along twice.

In case you’re in a bad mood too today and need to remember how to smile…

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It’s Hard Out There For a Pimp

Valentine’s came and went this year with all the usual fanfare.  The kids showed great enthusiasm for ye old day o’ love, which was sweet.  Sam treated me royally, which was also sweet.  And I didn’t get another ticket from Officer Friendly, which was super sweet.  Oh…did I not tell you about that?

Earlier last week, my 1.5 year-old caught his sister’s cold.  When Master Princeling catches a cold, sailors beware.  I drove to school on Monday morning amidst high decibel whining and shouting.  And by shouting, I mean the repeated screaming of a single word until I lose my mind.  Examples include, “Down!”  (he wants the window down), “Aqua!” (he’s dropped his water and wants me to climb back and get it for him while I’m driving), and “Mine” (usually refers to an object that he was holding, but has now lost to his sister).  It’s exhausting.

Quickly I pulled up to school in the yellow zone and handed off my daughter to some hapless parent who was walking in at the same time.  My darling older child gave me a hug and a kiss and marched in for all the world a woman of her own.  Yes, I nodded to myself, that one’s going to be just fine.  And then like a whirling dervish, I was off again.  The backseat was noisy.  Master Princeling wanted home.  I drove like the wind.  My one coherent thought in the insane chaos was simple: get baby to bed, get baby to bed.  And then Officer Friendly joined the circus.

Of course, the flashing lights and strobe party quieted the Princeling right down.  Please, Officer Friendly, I begged – a warning will suffice.  The Princeling has me losing my mind and I need to get home to take my tonic.  Two shots of wart hog makes the medicine go down, Guinness is brown, put that gun on the ground…

Officer Friendly was not swayed by the crazy in my eyes nor my melodious singing voice.  I am now the proud owner of my very own traffic citation.  Whoo Hoo!

It’s hard out there for a pimp.

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Death and Death and Death

There’s a lot of dying going around.  Famous celebrities shooting up too much heroin.  Fathers of our friends passing away on trips to Peru.  Our actual friends having cardiac arrests in the gym.  It’s senseless.  

If I was a betting woman I’d say this dying this is contagious.

I’m afraid of death.  The idea of this measly little life I have being OVER – it can’t be true.  I haven’t gone to Africa.  I never got published.  I am not blissfully happy, goddamnit.  And yet, around ever corner, I tiptoe carefully – sure that Mr. Reaper is waiting to snatch me from the shadows.  

What will I regret when I’m dead?  What will I be grateful for?

Last night I had a party to go to and I didn’t go.  Instead, I watched Austenland in bed with a bowl of M&M’s.  The light was off by 9.  Will I regret that?  Will I regret not being more social, more effervescent, more sparkly and superb?  Probably.  And what about the M&M’s?  Or watching a movie alone while Sam went out without me?  Or going to sleep at 9 instead of staying up and working on my opus?  Maybe, probably, I don’t know.

The point is, I spend much of my waking days thinking about death.  Thinking about what I should be doing so I don’t regret it when I’m dead.  And thinking some more about life and how short “it” is.  This transient state of consciousness trapped in a fragile little human shell.  And then I keep thinking about all of us here, scrambling about for fame and fortune and power – all these quicksilver lives.  These flashes in the pan.  All of us one dark corner away from crashing into death.

And then another day goes by and it looks pretty much the same for me as the day before.  It’s insane.  I’m insane.

But one thing I do know – when it comes to death, we all look the same.  

Good deeds, bad deeds, jewels, titles, money in the bank…

pictures in the paper, kids, dogs, smokers, drinkers, avaricious pursuits…

druggies, terrorists, rapists, environmentalists…

nurses, doctors, janitors, and black market organ salesmen…we all look the same to death.

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