The Shark has Officially Been Jumped (Alternately: How I almost killed myself at Barnes and Noble)

I'm going to share a secret with you guys: I've kind of always wanted to be a writer.  Like, for reals.  I even had a one time shining star moment in my single digit educational years when I pulled off some trophies and such for my "writing".  My creativity.  My unique je ne sais quoi - if you will.  Those days have clearly passed as my brain has been plundered by too much nonsense and filled with too many quotes from The Simpsons.  The only things I've managed to pull off in the realm of published work has been the world's most boring Master's Thesis (only quoted by a few poor students in China and likely an obligatory mention by the NPS), some articles for Jacksonville's Folio Weekly (thanks John for the opportunity! wave) and a rejection from Jane magazine (but only because they were closing their mag, holla! it's almost like I got published! They said they really liked my article... right?).  Even though I've had a rather blah writing existence, I still harbored hope that one day I'd have the fortitude and enough Vodka to pull off something that a few kindered spirits would read, come to love... and maybe purchase on their Kindle or something - or even just borrow from the library.  I harbor no delusions of NYTimes bestseller lists or any of that, really.  So I clung to my tiny hopes until an innocent trip to Barnes and Noble brought me to this:

What. The. Fuck.

Really?  REALLY?!  Hillary "songbird/actress/tween sensation" Freaking DUFF?!  Is now a published author?  Hello world?  Um, how is this fair?  Possible?  ARE YOU SHITTING ME?!  Now, don't get me wrong, I harbor no ill will towards the Duff.  I'm sure she's a very nice person, I mean that.  She's never made it onto my specific list of scorn or anything, but come on!   And the kicker?  The kicker is that it's apparent that Ms. Duff has found herself so inspired by the current (and hopefully flagging - because really?  if Hilary Duff is publishing in this theme, it's time for the literary world to MOVE ON.  Maybe compelling tales about secret Repbulican/Democrat lovers?  That's just about as likely as vampires, right?) paranormal/vampire/werewolf/things that go bump in the night - zeitgeist that she was so compelled to ink out her own tale.  I, of course, gathered this information from reading the cover only.  Now, not being a huge fan of the Twilight series (although I openly admit to having read them quickly while very pregnant and yearning for trashy escapism) I do not know this for sure, and do not want to risk infiltrating my computer and FBI traced cookie system to any websites that may likely contain what is probably thousands upon thousands of wannabe fanfiction excerpts - but a LOT of crap is getting penned.  There are THOUSANDS of people out there writing their little hearts out without a fly's chance in a honey factory of getting published.  I feel for them, and even though I have no interest in writing anything using somebody else's creations, I do give them credit for being inspired enough to actually put pixels to screen and write something.  Anything.  Even if it's crap.  Even if it's crap based on mind-boggling bad writing that somehow captured the imagination of much of the World's (mostly female) population.  *sigh.  Once again, I'm off an a tangent (hence the reason I am not a published author - although, James Joyce is the biggest tangential writer I've ever read, and yet somehow he continues to be considered brilliant... perhaps my deep loathing of his work is really a nefarious connection.  I am Joyce reincarnated! Or likely not).

So anyway, where am I going with all this.  Well, seeing the well meaning and likely hopeful budding author, Ms. Duff, with a stand at Barnes and Noble caused me great pause.  What the hell am I doing?  The thing is, I don't even know what kind of writing I'm even interested in putting out there.  I've got relative tomes on my laptop filled with craptastic prose.  At least Hilary actually DID something.  (I'm assuming she wrote this all by her self, of course, benefit of the doubt here...).  And, of course, being a celebrity, had no trouble finding someone to represent her.  Because, if you're a peon like moi, you will NEVER GET AN AGENT.  Just sayin'.  Even if you're Hemmingway.  But, I just like to whine about how I don't have time to get anything done, am too exhausted to finish the laundry and before I know it, it's ten o'clock and time for night night.

I read, A LOT.  Tons.  I'm really good at reading.  I should be a professional reader, I think.  I can speed read, retain a lot of information, and pass reading comprehension exams like I was the one who wrote it. I'm that good.  I'm a huge fan of Margaret Atwood, whose own brand of science fiction is chilling, disturbing, and highly engaging and thought provoking.  I love essayists like David Sedaris and I love me some trashy romance novels as well, (hellooooo Kindle!)  I love to read biographies about famous politicians wives.  I scour parenting books hoping for light bulbs to flash over my head with brilliant suggestions for not screwing up my kids.  I devour the Times and WSJ online, and I enjoy a good perusal through Tattler now and again, just to keep my hand in.  But how would I write?

Part of me has such a short attention span that I'm sure essays and short stories are the way to go.  But, the last thing I want to become is the poor man's David Sedaris.  You know, like Chelsea Handler (who, to be fair, can be pee your pants hilarious at times, but really, there's only so many tales of one woman's oft used vagina that I can take, you know?).  I've brewed up a few novellas, dabbling in weird Asimovian themes (much to my father's delight, I am sure), but they suck.  So, DELETE.  I've never been into poetry, so don't even suggest it.  Except for the occasional humorous Haiku, I'm pretty much the anti-poet.  I've considered children's books, but I use "like" and "fuck" too much.  I might accidentally slip something inappropriate in, and that would be tragic.  (Remember Carri Bradshaw suggesting her magic cigarette children's book to Big's ex wife?!  LMAO!)  I've considered screenplays and stage plays, but I'm too improv-oriented for that to be serious.  Plus, writing dialogue is a pain in the ass.

Where does this leave me?  Well, back where I am currently.  Sitting at my kitchen counter clacking away on my aging Macbook, sipping on some wine and squinting at the screen while thinking, "Jeez, I need to get some new glasses".  The Duffster's foray into tree murdering publications might have inspired this post, but really, this kind of thing is always on my mind.  What I'm not doing.  What I'm not doing that I wish I was doing.  And that, my four dear readers, is what this post is about.

So, well, I guess it just comes down to me, once again, doing what I do best.  Bitching about the world and not doing a damn thing to change it.

A Quiet Revolution

Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.

Margaret Mead
US anthropologist & popularizer of anthropology (1901 - 1978)

I was going to write about teething today, as Miss Isla is sprouting molars right and left and has decided she can't get enough nursing to ease the discomfort..., but I decided to be pissed off instead and write about something else.

It is no surprise to me that an anthropologist (well, not just any Anthropologist, but Margaret Mead, people!) would write two of the most enduring and truthful and meaningful sentences ever written.  As an anthropologist, it is sometimes hard for me to see things small scale anymore.  I see so many big things going wrong all over the world and their complexity and the very interrelatedness of almost all events and lives is often staggering.  Often, I find myself floundering by trying to choose what to become passionate about.  There's too much to choose from!  Maybe I shouldn't fight anything, but that's not me, and I know it.  But what do I do when I'm completely turned inside out with outrage and despair when I hear about something tragic?  Usually, like most people, I don't do anything, and eventually the indignation and anger and momentum falls away quietly like a tide.  So I've decided that maybe I need to start small.  Make a list.  A lot of things piss me off, and I need to get them off my chest and out of my heart, and maybe, just maybe I'll be bold enough to try to change something, however small, because I truly do believe that one small act can be felt around the world.

So.  My list.  And I am not going to explain anything, just use these as a springboard.  Perhaps for your own discussion.

THINGS THAT PISS ME OFF 

(and maybe you, as well)

Driving on Beaches

Unsustainable lifestyles

Too many birth interventions

Rampant consumerism

Child abuse and neglect

Animal abuse

Bigotry

Homophobia

Our apparent disregard for the Earth

Reality television that exploits children

Ignorance

People who think their beliefs are "right" and others are "wrong"

And oh, there is SO very much more.  So so much.  But what to do?  Bury my head in the sand and go drop $100 bucks at Target?  That's pretty much been my MO for the last several years.  Certainly I can make all sorts of excuses such as "my children are my priority now - I don't have time to help", but that's probably bullshit.  Simply because I am amazingly fortunate and grateful and totally in love with my life as a parent doesn't mean that I don't think about how f-cked up our world is.  Perhaps it eats at me even more simply because I find myself constantly asking, "what kind of world am I leaving for my children?"  Thoughts like that make me want to bury my head in the sand.  

Anyway, one thing that has me recently outraged is the story I linked about the four year old being killed by a car driving on the beach.  CARS HAVE NO PLACE ON THE BEACH.  Damn, on Hilton Head a few years ago a person was killed by an emergency vehicle driving on the beach.  Sheesh!  Now, I understand that emergency vehicles probably need to be able to come down, but THAT IS IT!  This poor baby boy was the second child in FOUR MONTHS in THIS COUNTY to be struck and killed by a car on the beach!

Now, I'm not blaming the people who drive on the beach, after all, it's allowed; the responsibility rests with the city.  Not enough beach parking they cry.  BUILD SOME.  Rip down some piece of shit, empty high rise and dilapidated mid-century hotel with hourly rates and BUILD SOME PARKING.  Sooo many beaches in this country are protected from beach driving these days, and yet, Florida has far too many.  And I've been on lots of them.  It's a lot of redneck posturing and people driving way too fast with radios blaring WAY too loud.  Am I stereotyping?  Um, not really.  There are a lot of normal beach going folks who just want to get out there, get their towels down and build a sand castle or whatnot.  You know what, even I have driven on the beach.   In Jacksonville.  And afterwards I thought about it.  "Hmm, that kind of sucked.  And we should leave now".  This beach has no other way to get out to it except by car, so in that regard I can kind of understand, but I also think, You know?  There are plenty of beaches, maybe this small strip should just be left in peace.  Besides, that park had PLENTY of other easily accessible entrances to other beach areas.  Why must we exploit every freaking inch?!?!?!?

*sigh.  So, I am going to be a vocal opposition to beach driving.  Slowly but hopefully surely, I will fight to eliminate beach driving from Volusia County.  That's one thing I can try to do.

Are you happy?

I'm not sure what my obsession with Babble.com is, lately, but I am finding much of the articles written by parents to be quite thought provoking, and, in my opinion, worth sharing with my legion of fans.  *cough.  Kidding.  (thanks for reading, mom.  Mom?  Hello?).

Anyway, THIS article talks about the recent New York Magazine story discussing, basically, how parenting makes us miserable.  Or, at least, sucks away the happy.  I don't know, something like that, read it yourself, I'm no good at synopsis.

So, this did get me thinking.  I've waxed on about my devotion, love, amazement of my children.  I've also complained about them too!  (uh, see last post).  Now, I'm definitely a major supporter of making of the babies.  If someone says to me, "well, we're thinking of trying for a baby", seriously, I squeal with delight. I wonder why?   I mean, my days are not filled with rainbows, sunshine, perpetual ease.  Of course I'm not living a difficult life, either, by NO means.  But, you know, I don't just go off at the drop of a hat to do whatever I want, whenever I want with whomever I want.  Even the most mundane tasks such as grocery shopping or dental appointments require planning.  Often, major planning weeks in advance.  I don't stay out late on weekends drinking and having heavy conversations with my friends.  No more dance parties to our favorite musicals and carefree cook outs where I can sit in a lawn chair and talk for a full hour about adult topics.  Nope.  But do I miss that?  Well, sometimes.  But usually not.

And I was thinking about all this.  Am I happier now that much of my freedom has been scrapped in favor of finding perfect playdates and scoping the right preschools?  I guess the answer is yes and no.

The day I found out I was pregnant with my son, my entire worldview shifted.  Life was no longer about me.  Now, granted, I wanted to get pregnant.  We were trying, so I can see that that experience might not be shared by every woman who's ever seen the two little lines.  But for me, almost thirty years old, married for over five years, and READY (I guess?), it was what I had wanted to happen.  Well, I remember the extreme joy.  EXTREME joy.  I've never felt like that before in my life.  Then, my first ultrasound.  No heartbeat, abnormal yolk sack.  I was told I was either too early, or about to miscarry.  Just like that.  Did they not know that this had shaken my world?  I was no longer me.  I was "me + someone else".   I was in emotional agony for two weeks, basically waiting for the blood to show up.  It never did, and my second ultrasound, shaking and hoping and terrified, there he was, blinking away.  SUCH happiness.  Elation.  Joy.  Like the Babble article's author describes, never in my life have I experienced these highs and lows of emotion.

After my son was born, I felt a simple peace and contentment that I had never known.  Suddenly I wasn't looking for the way to make my mark on the world anymore.  I felt as if I already had.  I stopped the perpetual seeking that I had previously carried with me my whole life.  I was continuing on the simple and awesome tract of life by giving life to someone new.  Now, I am not suggesting that all that was "me", and all the things I liked to do, thought about, aspired to, simply disappeared.  I was still there, but my life was suddenly different.  The small stuff actually became small stuff, and the big stuff was my family.  And for now, this seems to be the holding pattern.

When we tried again for number two, it was no less amazing to find out I was pregnant.  The "me + she" that followed was no less special or unique.  The joy of adding another child to our family added to the completeness of our little family.  Of course, two children meant a LOT more insanity, less time for me to do what I want, but I knew that this was only temporary.  All too fast they are becoming more self sufficient, needing me less.

But, back to happiness.  When I see my children experience life in a new way, watch that joy cross their face for the first time, it is hard to match that feeling.  On the flip side, I've also never felt so much fear and worry over the possibility of losing them, that sometimes it has been hard for me to dig myself out of a vortex of negative and fearful thoughts.

Truly, for me, having children has been the most intense experience of my life so far.  Life is harder and better at the same time.  It's not the easiest feeling to explain.  I am sure that if I never had children, either by choice, or not, I would surely find great joy and happiness in the experience of whatever that life would have held for me.  I enjoy my children.  Moments after they piss me off to no end, I am enjoying them, their smile, their smell, their curiosity, their happiness.  When I think about the possibility of a third (and last) baby, I literally well up with emotion.  I feel the clench in my heart at the happy thought of a new baby.  Another sibling for my children to squeal with, run around the house with, fight with and lean on as they become older and begin to find their own happiness and place in the world.

Totally Worth It.

It started happening again.  I thought I was too old for this crazy hormone skin craptastrophe (my word).  But apparently not.  As a *ahem* thirtysomething woman, mother of two, with a major cross country move in, oh, four days, my skin began to freak out.  In fact, I think it was direct 'brain-to-skin' communication: my brain - crazy, frazzled, stressed, blah... my skin - crazy, frazzled, stressed, blah.  There was a problem.

So, a few weeks back, about a month after all this began and my usual skin care regime was clearly not cutting the mustard - or, purifying the pores, what have you, I dragged my sorry epidermis to the local skin care source.  Sephora.  I meandered around with my little silver and black mesh basket.  Casually nodded to a few black clad "beauty experts" (um...hmmmm) and basically had no idea what to try.  Which $30 -$60 SLS free cleanser?  "They're probably all the same", I told myself.  It's all a gimmick.  I'm just as well off using Dial.  *boo hoo.  Woe is me*.   But then, there it was.  The Clarisonic Mia.  Just resting on the shelf, silently, yet urgently calling to me.  "Give me a try...you've read all the reviews...I'm worth it...".

I pondered.  I stood in front of it for quite some time (well, not too much time, my mother was feeding my kids soft pretzels just outside the shop, so I had to decide somewhat quickly).
Was this ridiculously expensive device that I had scoffed at for so long actually worth it?  Several weeks of craptastrophe skin basically decided for me.  It was worth a shot.  I was seriously desperate.  I put it in my little basket and collected my Beauty Insider points...

The first week...not much happened.  In fact, I actually noticed a few rather unsightly pimples form (but go away quickly - thank you two rounds of Accutane in HS!  Spots last only a few days if I get any! Woo!)  But the cloudy, lifeless texture of my skin began to transform.  One morning, after a minute of delightful washing with the Clarisonic... I noticed my skin looked "brighter".  Sort of like when I use a highlighting cream.  I smiled at my complexion for the first time in weeks.  "This is nice", I thought.  And since then, slowly, but surely, my skin is looking better and better.  The sand papery stressed out texture is becoming smoother.  The color, more even.

Now, I do sort of feel like a total sell out for basically reviewing a beauty product on my blog.  And trust me, no one is paying me.  But as someone who has rapidly allowed her personal care to nosedive from regular haircuts, pedicures, waxing, exercise, and the like, to usually remembering to floss, I think this is worth a mention in all things mom, and definitely a "favorite thing".  So yeah, I know it's actually Father's Day this weekend, but you know, while you're out, get yourself a little something nice too, you know?

Slightly crazy. In survival mode. Will prevail.

   There I am nursing Miss I, in what is, God-willing, our new bedroom come Wednesday. (None of the furniture is ours)

We're only a little bit nuts right now with insanity of trying to keep everything together these last few weeks before our impending move.  Currently we're in Florida, finishing up home details, B's got work obligations, and the "getting to know you!" thrill of scoping out your new town.  And what a town it is.  Ah yes..., dear readers, there's much fodder for the blog a comin'.  Nothing bad, just different.  The gentle haiku of life that has been the last year, with the soft pats of like-minded parenting, delectable culinary delights abounding, and the warm, nurturing atmosphere of a sophisticated collegiate hub is giving way to a different clime that, trust me, will yield to me.  I will crack this nut.  There might not be a mom's group here now... but there will be.   Happily, everyone we have met so far has been affable and helpful.  Liking that a LOT.  Oh, and the street we are moving to, has THE most beautiful trees I've ever seen in my life.  Like, literally, the show pony's of Live Oaks.  That alone is worth it for me.  Look for a series on these trees to come later this summer!


So, aside from the stress of a house closing that, until the ink is dry, I'm still all, "let's just be hopeful, heh heh", but really I'm like, "Oh shit, I hope I didn't totally screw up this whole transaction because I bought that dress from Anthropologie!", living in a hotel room with two toddlers (one of whom is turning ONE this week!) and not having a clue where you are going at any given time (oh, don't worry, we've already been to Target, Barnes and Noble and all the Starbucks', I am bionic in my ability to sniff out those places) we're doing okay.  The impending move from our nice little life in Madison where I can easily envision my children growing up with the five+ kids THE EXACT SAME AGE AS THEY ARE all on the same block, to the place where our neighbor behind us has died (but hey, that means we might be able to buy the adjacent empty lot!) and his house creepily stands empty (but yet, his pool is still filled), is pulling on all the available cells left in my creative coffer to turn this into the grand adventure I know it can be.

All will be well.