AZ Unlock

I think you and I need to have a talk. You came into my life 9 months ago after my painful breakup with PC. We had a complicated, long-term relationship that left me heartbroken. After years of laughter, games, and late night chatting, he just stopped loving me. Out of nowhere, shut me out completely.

Then you showed up. All sleek, handsome and completely foreign. Oh, how your software makings drew my intrigue. All of my friends warned me about you. They said we would be too different for each another. You too complicated, and me on the rebound. But it all just made me want you more.

Now 9 months have passed and I’m afraid that my feelings for you may be changing. I’m sure you can sense it when I ignore your updates, press aggressively on your keys, or when I don’t even bother shutting you down. But you’re starting to…well…suffocate me!

By this time in my relationship with PC, he began slowing down and not attending to my needs like he did in the beginning. But you, you haven’t budged. You still rock my world! But maybe just a little too much. I mean, I’m with you all. day. long. You stand next to me while I’m cooking, lay with me in bed, and sometimes, you even follow me into the bathroom! Not to mention that one time you made my hair look like a lump of seaweed on the webcam.

Honestly, I think we need some space. Your constant email alerts are starting to make me twitch a little. How about an afternoon or two away from each another to do our own thang? Or better yet, we both go into sleep mode for more than 5 hours straight?

Don’t worry, your half bitten logo still lights my fire. I love me some forbidden fruit. But please, let me tinkle in peace.

Love,

Me

P.S. Thank you so much for all the comments and suggestions in yesterdays post. I promise to reply or visit some of your blogs today. Mondays always seem to keep me painfully distracted from the blogosphere.

Once upon a time, there was a girl name Lotus. She was clever, kind, and very sarcastic. One day while taking a walk to clear her clouded mind, she discovered the unsightly, havoc that humans had left behind to disgrace the Mother Nature around her. Trash and litter was scattered everywhere (Read about it here).

With a kind heart, she retraced her steps armed with trash bags. Taking her purpose one step further, she’s challenged all of her readers to do the same and post on February 11th the many ways we make a difference in our daily lives to help preserve Mother Nature, or just tips on how to go “Green.”

As much as I would love to say I wash my laundry with Seventh Generation detergent ($13/bottle), grow my own tomatoes on my apartment balcony, and toss leftovers into a compost heap beside them,… I don’t. In fact, I’m one of those who shamelessly left all the lights on in unoccupied rooms, cranked up the air conditioning, and drove with a lead foot while living as a single gal. But like Lotus, over time, the world around me grew out of focus, and I felt driven to make a change, even if I was merely 1 person making an effort.

Trust me. I searched high and low for any. other. picture. suitable for today’s theme. I’ve been staring at this picture in “write post” mode for over 2 hours, and I haven’t found the courage to press “publish” just yet. I’ve even considered posting a shot of my car. But this picture of me pregnant at 36 weeks still seems heavier.

This is the heaviest I’ve ever been. NO, I was not carrying twins. And NO, this isn’t my best impression of Shamu.

Whenever hubby asks why I’m not ready to have another child, this photo surfaces.

My husband rarely ever picks up a camera, so during my pregnancy I promised myself I would document my belly growth each week in a photo (even while on bedrest for 4 months). I have over 30 photos of me standing in this exact same spot since there was only 1 piece of furniture high enough to prop my camera on top of.

I’m sure I’ll regret this, and may possibly even pull it post down later.

Take it in my friends!

Here lies the best form of birth control…

Besides peeling myself out from beneath my soft, warm blankets, the entire process of getting everyone and myself ready for the day is quite unpleasant.

I am NOT a morning person. at. all. I’ve spent the greater part of my adult-life arriving home from work and eating dinner at 8 am, and now I find myself still adjusting to the more human sleep/wake cycle. As a result, I can barely utter a word before a cup of coffee, and on weekends, I can shuffle around like an 80-year old man in Pj’s for a good few hours.

Unfortunately, my weekdays don’t allow that. My recent alarm clock has been our 2-year old tugging at my arm saying “Mommyyyyy! Wake…UP!”

So I have two choices:

1) Get out of bed and shower so I can drive my husband to work on time and get my daughter out of the house to socialize.

Or

2) Let my husband watch her for 10 more minutes so I can continue to be in a half-sleep/awake state.

Today, I chose option 2. Which meant shower time was going to be tight. I did my usual bathroom routine- brushed my pearly whites, washed my tired face, and then stepped into a steaming shower.

Everything was typical,…until I realized I needed to shave.

*looks down*

Yup, definitely need to shave.

I turned around and looked for my razor on the tub ledge. It wasn’t there. I pushed aside the wet shower curtain to check the counter. Not there either!

It must have made it into the trash somehow. This was an emergency! I needed a shaving device- STAT!

In a state of desperation, I looked left. I looked right. And then I looked up and found this…

No, that is not a woman’s razor.

On the contrary, it is one of those Mach XXXII, or what ever they’re called. The ones with a few dozen blades, because beards and mustaches have somehow evolved into dense forests that require instruments like these to whack them down.

I’ve felt my husband’s beard before. Okay, so maybe I can see the justification- But for my soft legs?

I was a bit skeptical, but I had no time to debate the issue. I lathered up, and began to pull the razor up my leg.

To my surprise, it felt kind of nice.

Really nice.

Hey! My razor doesn’t feel this nice! Like a gentle mower, and not the weed-whacker I expected.

Maybe there really is something to the hoard of blades…

*Gasp!*

The bathroom door peeked open. “We have to leave soon!”

I stood frozen, but my right arm stealthily tucked the paraphernalia behind a shampoo bottle.

“Okay! I’m almost done”

*Whew*

I think he would die if he knew I used it to shave “there.”

Dear readers,

Please allow me to thank ALL of you who stopped by and commented on yesterday’s post. I never imagined I would get a response like I did. Some of you even de-lurked! While pacing back and forth in a panic yesterday, my MacBook pinged every few moments with your comments as a reminder of how sweet and helpful all of you are. YOU. ALL. ROCK! I cannot thank you enough for keeping me afloat throughout this turbulent time (In case you missed it, I posted an update on yesterday’s post regarding our loan).

In lieu of all your support, I want to pass this lovely bouquet of flowers LaskiGal awarded me with to everyone who came out and left a comment yesterday.

Your responses were so incredible, that it is currently 1:00am and I have still not been able to catch up with everyone’s posts.

So this brings me to today’s topic. I noticed Grandy posted about wanting to know how to respond to blog comments yesterday. And when I came to think of it, I have no idea! When I began blogging a few months ago, I wrestled with this same question throughout the day as kind readers dropped their pearls of wisdom or well wishes at the end of my posts. Should I leave replies on my blog within the comments page? Then I checked my Feedburner stats, and find that a whole 2 people are signed up for my comment feeds. Scratch that idea. So instead I send most of you a personal reply via email (since my host sends me individual email notifications when you comment). But what I try to do most of all is run over to your blog and read up on your latest post so that I can return the comment love.

I’ve been trying to do this for about 3 months now, and it’s still a bit of a conumdrum. Am I doing it right? Am I annoying you? Do I make you feel unloved?…

I’m feeling a bit naked standing here confessing my behind the scenes blog habits to you.

What is proper blog comment etiquette? How do you treat the comments and traffic on your blog? Do you respond on your own comment page? In an email? Do you return the comment love? Are you completely bored by this post and wish I would just shut up and just post more pictures of me with my head buried in my hands? Well it’s past 1 am and I must socialize the toddler in a few hours.

Please leave a comment and share your comment habits and tips. And if you do so, please take this award that Baby-Amore gave to me as a thank you for Spreading The Love!

May I please redeem myself from my episode earlier this week?
In case you missed my sob-fest, feel free to dive head first into my misery here.

I vaguely mentioned in that post about my traumatic trip down memory lane sparked by some older entries. Allow me to clear the smoke and say that it was ALL about my Ex’s. Yes, my mind frequents that black hole in my brain that lingers on the “what-ifs” and “whys.” Not a healthy habit, but at least I am being honest.

So for today’s Thursday Thirteen, I am briefly opening my vault for everyone to peek into my Ex-files, documenting precisely why I am in much need of some therapy.

1) My first crush was on a boy name Max in kindergarten. I still remember his big brown eyes and cute little cheeks. During recess one day he played dead on the school lawn after someone shot him during a make-believe western shootout. I kneeled down and snuck in a kiss when he wasn’t looking. Sadly, he rode into the sunset on his trike with my best friend. *sobs*

2) In 3rd grade my crush was a foot shorter than me and barely spoke English (but he was hot!). One day while sitting beside me in class, I had a sneeze attack consisting of many, many sneezes in a row. Most of them landed directly on top of him.

3) The first guy I labeled as “going-out” with was in sixth grade. We were officially boyfriend/girlfriend for 6.5 days. We kissed once behind the school. I’ve mentioned this before, but he is now serving time in prison for murder. He could be writing love letters to a friend of mine on the “outside” and I just don’t know it.

4) In junior high I had secret crush on a guy for 3 long pubescent years. I made attempts to be friends with him during that time, but he never even gave me a second look. Just five years ago I caught wind that he now prefers men.

5) During my freshman year in high school, I had my first “real” boyfriend. He did not attend my high school, and my parents HATED him. I dated him behind my parents back for 6 months. And when I tried to break up, he snuck into my high school and threatened suicide (sanity was clearly not a trait I had an eye for).

6) After leaving ex #5, I pursued a senior who was incredibly hot in the dorkiest way. We dated on and off for over 4 years, during which he became a drug addict and aided in selling paraphernalia. He also tried dating my best friend.

7) Towards the end of my relationship with ex #6, I grew feelings for one of his acquaintances, but he was dating my best friend.

8 ) During college, I loved taking dance classes on campus. Waiting outside for me each week was sort of handsome, older (24 yr old) man. After a month he finally approached me and asked me out. We went out for coffee. By the end of the date I wasn’t sure if I wanted to gouge out my eyes or lapse into a coma. After a few weeks he began dating a friend of mine from dance class.

9) My senior year in college, I finally dated an intelligent, handsome, and tall fellow (6’4” and pre-med). Too bad he cheated on me after a few months.

10) Guy #9 ended up proposing to me. Twice. Once with a ring, the other with a spearmint gum wrapper folded origami-like into a ring. Sweetest. proposal. ever (sorry hubby). Had he not cheated, I may have said “yes.”

11) One year later, ex #7 suddenly showed up at my doorstep and proposed (had not heard from him in 4 years). I said no. He moved 5,000 miles away.

12) I met someone one night in Miami during my mid 20’s. I fell madly, deeply in love. He was a doctor. I was a nurse. He was moving 3000 miles away for residency and we had 9 months left to be together. We didn’t care. We loved. We cried. I wore my heart on my sleeve for the first time. He later asked me to follow him. I did. My plane landed…He changed his mind.

I was 3000 miles away from home. No friends. No family. No car. And contracted by work to stay put for 3 long months after the love of my life changed his mind. I had nothing but 3 suitcases and a laptop.

13) As my 3-month contracted stay came to an end, a sweet stranger began messaging with me online. We dated. I extended my contract for 3 more months. And then another 3 months. And then another 3 months. After extending for over 3 years, we finally tied the knot.

My best friend since 3rd grade is still single. And my husband better not be interested.

I’m beginning to struggle with something as a new blogger. I once read somewhere that it’s a bad idea to go back and read older entries. So do I listen? Of course not.

A recent meme post sent me wading through my shallow Archives. While doing so I stumbled upon a handful of personal writings. Entries I posted before I began self-hosting Momisodes, and published on my blog when I had zero visitors or traffic. In retrospect, I probably published them because of that level of anonymity. And when I transferred my files over to this new site, I sort of…forgot. Or maybe I assumed that no one would really care to dig back into my older entries. Either way, I guess I imagined them buried for good from readers.

Yesterday I began sifting through those older posts. I nearly took a chainsaw and hacked them off the site completely, but decided to delete some and edit the others instead (probably not a good idea). One of them I edited to remove some personal information and then saved the changes. Unknowingly, this sent an instant Tweet on Twitter with a URL to the old edited post for everyone to read.

*Heart begins to race. Lungs grow short on oxygen*

I guess what I’m trying to come to terms with is where do I draw the line? Do I share the thoughts that often send me hiding in my bathroom to sit on my cold, dingy floor; shielding my salty tears from anyone’s view? As a hovering tear dangles from my lower lid, do I reach for my usual pencil and journal with the new intent of sharing it with the world?

Because last night, was one of those nights. When the tiniest hint from the past sends my mind reeling. Memories that often consume my mind and body with regret and sorrow, so much that I often sit worn, hovered over my journal. Just for a little while.

How do you cope?

Where do you draw the line in sharing your life, emotions, and thoughts before you’ve practically stripped yourself down naked?

Do you compromise?

Do you fear scrutiny?

Maybe I’m just being self-conscious, or suffering from “Bloggers Remorse” (totally just made that up).

Is this normal?

Sorry so sappy today. I promise to be better tomorrow.

…is often where I find myself. More often than not, I’m dragging my feet closely behind an intimidating crowd who’ve already been there and done that. Even now as a blogger. I peek at other people’s archives and feel dwarfed from the magnitude of posts. But I still continue to write and hope that no one will poke and make fun of my immaturity (or peek at my Archives. Don’t do it. There’s probably an echo in there).

Being an afterthought has been a recurring theme in my life. My “fresh off the boat” parents blinded themselves with their intense work ethic, and never understood the social norms of being a kid, or just wanting some form of a social life. They were pretty much un-cool with anything outside the realm of school or books. As a result, I never had sleepovers, learned how to drive well after high school, never wore make-up until college, and was never allowed to date, “officially”. Heck, I never knew what the world outside felt like after 12pm until I moved out of my parent’s house during college. And even then, it took me a while to see that geeking it out at the library past 2am, was not very cool.

The only aspect of my life where I feel I’ve managed to pull away from the pack was starting a family (oh, and in 6th grade when the powers that be granted me the gift of ovulation earlier than the rest, while wearing white shorts of course). Among all of my close friends, I was the first to get married and start a family. As many of you who have single friends may already know, this always presents for some interesting conversation. Or lack thereof.

Although I would never trade in my current life as a mother for anything in the world, boy what I wouldn’t do for just a fraction of the spare time I had while single. I’m constantly reading on IM with my “still single, thin and in-shape” friends how they are going to stop by the gym, went for a long run, or took a fun spinning class.

*sigh*

“Excuse me, hot guy with the glowing tan and must-have-a-few-girlfriends kind of face. Can you please watch my 2- year old while I squeeze myself into a pair of Lycra pants, in a sad attempt to smooth out and hide the lumps of cottage cheese sagging along my backside? I need to walk on the treadmill on the lowest setting possible for 25 minutes, thanks. Oh, and don’t worry, she doesn’t scream, often. The local dogs will let you know if there’s a problem.”

There I was, convinced that my workout free life was all a result of my dedicated time as a mother. But then I stopped by Bill Gathen’s blog to discover that he makes daily 6am trips to the gym before his two kids and wife are even awake. Then he leaps tall buildings in a single bound to get to work. I stood there in a pile of dust. Defeated, and behind the curve again.

Before I hear any “Awww’s,” please take a closer look. Can you spot what this sweet, innocent face has distracted your attention from that is out of place? If you guessed blanket, you are correct.

Why-does-my-child-refuse-to-use-a-blanket (properly)?!

That balled up rag beneath her porcelain face has been her “blankie” since the day she was born. What was once a soft, fuzzy, luxurious pink baby blanket is now a perpetually gray, odoriffic, floor mop/ lovey/ pillow. After two years, this blanket has seen over a dozen cities, aircrafts, hotel rooms, department stores, stroller rides, living room picnics, you name it, it’s been there. I should have known that after all this I’d have a Linus on my hands. I even purchased an exact replica (same brand, color, everything) early on in her life as a back up. I ran it through the washer a few dozen times to give it that faded, disheveled look too.

Nope, denied.

Ella is now 27 months old, and she still refuses to wear covers when she sleeps. Even her beloved blankie cannot lie upon her contorted body while she’s asleep. Granted, she was born during the summer in Southern California, but come on. We live in Massachusetts now! It is eternally colder in our heated apartment than it ever was in San Diego in the dead of winter. I’m wearing a parka while I make my bowl of Chex in the mornings, so I know she must be cold.

Due to her constant protest for any hint of blanket material to touch her hypersensitive, discerning skin, we’ve been forced to dress her in nearly ski attire for her bedtime. This was cute for about a year, but now I’m really beginning to worry.

Is this normal behavior? Are the Academy of Pediatrics recommendations to remove all quilts, blankets, and comforters from cribs just a cover-up for a large nation-wide plan to put baby blanket manufacturers out of business? Or parents out of their minds?

I’m feeling a bit scatterbrained today. You know when you’ve consumed unsafe levels of caffeine and your fingers begin twitching, making you inadvertently type in-between letters on the keyboard, forcing you to Backspace for every word? Yea, Dunkin Donuts clearly scooped too many beans into the grinder today. I look like I could possibly be seizing over here.

Anyhow, despite my jittery state beneath my behemoth list of To-do’s, something wonderful has happened today! I mention in a previous post that we spent the past weekend in New Jersey with my brother, sister-in-law, and 3-year old niece Alex…who is… potty-trained. *heavenly light shining above her head*

We attempted to board the potty train with our daughter several months ago. Nothing too serious, but when we realized our daughter was holding her poop for full days until we returned home, we thought it was our ticket to a diaper-free promise land. Bzzzt! Wrong.

She is 100% poop trained now. Amidst her mid-afternoon playtime in our living room, her running in circle spells will suddenly halt, her expression will freeze, facial color becomes pastey, and I’ll hear a faint, “…mummy…poo-poo”. A mad dash for the bathroom quickly ensues as she clenches her tiny behind with all her might. A 2-year old Charlie Chaplin thrusting hips forward while hotfooting it the loo if you will.

In the poop department, we’re good. It’s the pee we’re having issues with. Although I would love to devote 20 minutes of every hour propping her onto the potty, mimicking sounds of waterfalls, my day does not allow time for this. I’m lucky if I have a chance to pee once during the day myself!

To my surprise, Ella halted her running in circle spell today to yell, “Pee!” A mad dash for the bathroom quickly ensued, but this time with knees bent and glued together with torso lurched forward while running. She’s managed to hold her pee until she’s fully propped onto the potty, stares at me with concentration, smiles, then pees. I find it amusing how her urinary forewarning is a string of facial expressions, always in the same order.