Disappearing

The landmarks from my childhood are disappearing.

During college, I worked in a pet store in a little strip mall. The store was owned by a very nice couple. They were great people. I quit during my senior year of college to work for free (AKA - student teaching). Shortly after I left, the owner was forced to file bankruptcy. The shop closed. It broke my heart to see all of my friend lose their jobs. I never went to that strip mall again. When the pet store closed, my connection to that place and time were lost.

Shortly before John and I moved to NJ, the house I spent the majority of my teenage years in burned down. Although my family no longer rented that house, it was still sad to look at the charred remains. After the house was torn down, I often found myself driving past the vacant lot. Without my house on the block, nothing seemed the same. The neighborhood was suddenly foreign to me.

Yesterday I called my mother to wish her a happy Mother's Day. She told me that the elementary school I attended is closing permanently at the end of this month due to declining enrollment and budget cuts. I was shocked.

It feels like the time I spent in Kentucky is being erased. My house is gone, my work is gone, my school is gone. Pretty soon, all evidence of my childhood will disappear completely.

One of the many skeletons in my closet

I don't know my father. I have never seen his face. I don't know what his voice sounds like. I have never held his hand or kissed him goodnight. I have never known a father's love.

My father only lived 10 minutes away, but he never came to see me. My father paid child support for 18 years, but he never once requested a visitation. When I was a senior in high school, my mother sent my father a picture of me. He returned it and asked not to be contacted again.

By and large, his absence and unwillingness to love didn't bother me. I never knew what it was like to have a father, and it is hard to miss something you've never had. As a teenager, I likened it to being born without your eyesight. It is almost impossible to pine over something you've never experienced. The idea of a father sounded great, but it was just that - an idea. Not my reality.

Now that I am an adult, with my own children, I sometimes feel a simmering of emotions under the surface. As I watch my husband play with Porgie and Izzy, and I often feel a twinge of sadness. Why was I so easy to forget, to brush aside, to dismiss? John loves our children with every fiber of his being. Why didn't my father even want to see my picture?

Although I have no intentions of contacting my father (EVER), I do sometimes wonder what he thought about me. What were his motivations for ignoring my existence? Does he regret his actions? Has he told his other children about me?

I guess my curiosity stems from one simple question - How can a father not love his child?

The Old Ball and Chain: Part 3

The next day I woke up with a smile. It was our wedding day! Around noon, we walked down to the harbor to get married. We exchanged vows in front of the USS Constellation...The woman who preformed the ceremony was very sweet. Unfortunately, I got a horrible case of the giggles during the actual ceremony. Apparently getting married is HILARIOUS. I could not stop laughing. Especially when we had to recite words to one another. I think the poor minister thought I was slightly insane. And John was probably slightly embarrassed. I laughed my way through the whole thing. Despite my silly antics, when the ceremony was said and done, I was a legally married woman.

That afternoon, we walked through the city hand in hand. We ate at a little Indian restaurant for lunch (I LOVE Indian food. In real life, I talk about Indian food 95% of the day. I think I was Indian in a past life). After lunch, we headed back to the hotel for our wedding cake. I remember feeling head over heels in love with Johnny. I guess most people probably feel this way on their wedding day, but it was like I was seeing him through new eyes. I was going to spend the rest of my life with this man. We were going to start a family together. I suddenly realized that I was an incredibly lucky person. I had the privilege of marrying my very best friend. What an amazing and beautiful thing.

We were married, but our trip wasn't over yet. We rode the light rail (it smelled like a zoo), attempted to visit a wax museum in the ghetto (we didn't know it was in the ghetto until we got there), and we were even approached to buy meth from some guy on the street (um...no thank you). Good times, good times.

It really was an amazing trip. An amazing experience. I was so glad that I had John by my side. I wouldn't have done it with anyone else.

The Old Ball and Chain: Part 2

It was January, and we drove to the coast. Of course, it snowed during our entire road trip (just to piss John off). After much cursing and swerving on ice, we arrived in Baltimore. We stayed in a lovely hotel right in the inner harbor area. After getting settled, we walked to the court house to apply for a marriage license. Thankfully I looked marriage licenses up ahead of time. I was always under the impression that people could just run off and get married. But it turns out that you actually have to apply for a license to get married and then wait 48 hours for the city to process that license. Fun fact - you can marry your cousin in Maryland. Strange, but true.

After visiting the court house, we went on a walk through the city. We were trying to find the perfect spot to get married. We visited all of the shops, went to the local aquarium, and ate at an Afghan restaurant. It was great. We held hands and laughed and aimlessly explored the streets of an unfamiliar city. And we found the spot - the perfect place to have our wedding. We got back to our hotel that night, and confirmed the location with the minister. Our wedding date and time were selected. I remember retrieving the wedding bands from our luggage that night and staring at them. The whole experience just seemed surreal. Were we really going to get married in this strange city?

The next day was January 20th - inauguration day. We decided to hop on a train and go to Washington DC to heckle George W. Bush. This was quite an experience. DC was packed with tourists. Every street was filled with mobs of people. We waited in line for hours, just to go through security. When we were finally allowed onto the parade route, we waited patiently with all of the other anti-Bush people. I don't remember much from the parade, but I do recall that it was freezing outside. At one point, I was certain that I had hypothermia. After much waiting and shivering, our moment finally arrived. As Bush passed by, we booed and cursed and I even flipped him the bird (my grandmother asked me to).

After the parade, we attempted to get on the subway and head over to DuPont Circle. My husband had heard about a vegan bakery in that area, and he wanted to check it out. The subway was packed. People were pushing and shoving to get on the overcrowded trains. It was insanity. I was certain that someone was going to get trampled. We had to wait as several trains came and went, because there were so many people. When we finally managed to push our way onto a train, I was sandwiched between unfamiliar people, unable to move for the entire ride. If there were seats on that train, I never saw them. All I saw were people packed into every square inch of space. I held onto John's hand for dear life. I was convinced that we were going to get separated in all the commotion. Despite my doubts, we made it out alive. And in the right location too!

This was an interesting day to visit Washington DC, because demonstrations and protests were being held all over the city. Right out side of the train station, we watched a group of anarchists demonstrating. Interesting stuff. We walked for a few blocks, and finally found the bakery. I thought we were just going there to get a delicious vegan treat, but it turned out that my husband had actually ordered us a wedding cake. It was adorable - a small two tiered vegan carrot cake. It was such a sweet gesture, that I almost cried. John can be such a sweet heart sometimes.

We purchased our cake and two slices of cheesecake. By this time, it was getting late, so we headed back to the train station. We got there a little early. While waiting for the train to depart back to Baltimore, we decided to eat the cheesecake. It was AMAZING. I have never had cheesecake so delicious in my entire life. I remember eating the cake, sitting next to the man I loved, thinking that my life couldn't get much better.

When we got back to Baltimore, we went straight to bed. We were completely and totally exhausted. I am glad we got a good night's sleep, because the next day was...

The Old Ball and Chain: Part 1

In January of 2005, John and I decided to go on vacation. For years we had been talking about moving out of state. We thought that visiting cities up and down the east coast would be a great way to decide which area we wanted to live in. First on the list was Baltimore (My husband got this notion in his head that Maryland would be a great place to live. Since we had never actually stepped foot in Maryland, I made it a priority to go there first, with the hope that he would stop talking about it.)

A few days before our departure, we decided to throw caution to the wind and get married (because we are spontaneous like that). I really liked the idea of running off to get married. It made the whole thing seem special and intimate and romantic. We looked into getting a marriage license and contacted a minister who agreed to meet us at the location of our choosing. All we needed were rings. John and I are not fancy people. We don't place much value on things like jewelry. However, I still wanted a ring. We decided to stop in a little shop in our hometown. I had passed by this jewelry store a million times in my life, but I had never actually been inside.

It was a small store. A couple of jewelry cases lined the walls. After browsing for a few minutes, the owner of the shop came up to introduce himself. And finally, it all made sense. The store was called Jewel King Jewelers and the man who was introducing himself looked suspiciously like THE KING OF ROCK N' ROLL. You know, Elvis. Thank you, thank you very much. I started looking around the room, and noticed that the walls were decorated with pictures of Elvis. There was a life size cut-out of Elvis. And there was a picture of our jeweler dressed up as Elvis. That is right - our salesman was an Elvis impersonator. AWESOME! I decided right then and there that I was buying my wedding ring from The King. How many times in your life do you get to buy jewelry from an Elvis impersonator? We picked out our rings that night. And I am happy to report that The King was nothing but courteous and helpful. My only regret is that we didn't get a picture with Elvis. He was pretty awesome.

Armed with love and cheap wedding rings from Elvis, we headed off to Baltimore...

Appreciative

In 2005, my husband took a job with a national company. This business has offices located across the United States. When John accepted the job, he was informed that he would be traveling often and that he could possibly be relocated to the east coast. I found the idea of relocating very exciting. I was desperate for change. I didn't want to live my entire life in the same podunk town in Kentucky. For as far back as anyone can remember, my family has always lived in Kentucky. My grandmother, mother, aunts, uncles, brothers, and cousins all currently live in Kentucky (in the same town even). And they always will.

In the Fall of 2005, John's company approached him about moving to New Jersey. We JUMPED at the chance. They told him in October, and by January we were already living in New Jersey. We made the move when I was 20 weeks pregnant. And although my family was a little bitter about the whole thing, I was elated. We were less than an hour from the beach! Twenty minutes from Philadelphia! Forty-five minutes from Atlantic City! An hour and half from New York! WOW!

I was pregnant when we arrived, so we didn't really go anywhere because I was fat and tired and cranky. We did go to the beach a few times right before Porgie was born, but it was still too cold to swim. After she was born in June, we didn't go back to the beach for an entire year. The next summer I had a 1 year old, and I was 20 weeks pregnant with Izzy. We went to the ocean a few times, but after I fell in the ocean with my baby girl, I decided that a clumsy pregnant woman should definitely NOT be romping around in the ocean. The next summer, Izzy was only 8 months old, and I wasn't really too keen on lugging my immobile baby around the beach for hours on end.

But this year? OH MY GOD, the beach is soooooo fun. My kids love it. I love it. John loves it. Today was the best. We headed down to the beach after nap time. We left at 3:00, arrived at 3:50, and were playing in the ocean by 4:00. Porgie loved running into the ocean, splashing and kicking her feet. Izzy loved digging in the sand and hunting for seashells. And mommy loved watching her babies have fun. John and I took turns going out into the ocean to swim. After 2 1/2 hours of fun, we decided to go get some pizza for dinner. And then we drove home. We got back around 7:30 and the kids were asleep in their own beds by 8:30. AMAZING!

Today I am feeling grateful for my simple little life here in New Jersey. Life is good friends.

Being honest

I often find myself thinking about the future. What direction will my life take in the next few years? Do I want to return to teaching? Do I want to go back to college and pursue a different career? This line of thinking inevitably makes me think about the past, and the choices I have made.

When I was a little girl, I dreamed of being a teacher. Throughout my entire adolescences, I often talked about teaching. When I entered college, selecting a career path was easy. I major in Elementary Education, and I minored in English. I distinctly remember my first practicum experience. It was in a 3rd grade classroom. I remember how those little 9 year-old students made me incredibly nervous. I remember the anxiety I felt when I was being observed. I remember the panic I felt when I gave directions and no one followed them. After that first semester in the classroom, I started to rethink my previous goals. Did I really enjoy teaching?

I dismissed my doubts. Surely I would enjoy teaching more in the next year or two. I told myself that it is always difficult to adjust to new situations. However, my next practicum was a disaster. My cooperating teacher was a BITCH. It was obvious that she didn't like me, although I had no idea why. The teacher didn't respect me, and her students didn't either. It was a rough 12 weeks, but I managed to survive. Once again, I questioned my motives. Was teaching really the career for me? Why was I stubbornly sticking to this career path, when I clearly wasn't enjoying my experiences? But by this point, I felt like I had already invested too much time, money, and energy into my teaching career. As I entered into my senior year of college, I was miserable.

Student teaching was brutal. I gained 30 pounds. THIRTY POUNDS. I cried during one of my observation reviews. I admitted to my university supervisor that I hated teaching kindergarten. And yet I trudged on, determined to graduate with my little teaching degree. And I did. I graduated in December. As expected, there weren't many teaching positions available. I decided to start substitute teaching. I was getting called in 3 to 4 times per week, and I was finally starting to feel like teaching might not be so bad after all. After a month or so of substituting, I was offered a long term position in the special education department. Although I wasn't certified in special education, I took the position. I thought it would be a great way to get my foot in the door.

This was really a huge mistake. There is A LOT of paperwork involved in special education. I was clueless. There are A LOT of parent meetings in special education. I was nervous as hell. I basically spent the entire 4 months being confused and overwhelmed. And the worst part was, I interviewed for a 4th grade teaching position at that school, and I didn't get it. It was embarrassing. By the time my substitute position ended, I was bitter.

I spent that summer interviewing for teaching positions. I went on 3 or 4 interviews per week. And teaching interviews are tough. They usually consist of a committee containing 4 or 5 members. So if you say something goofy or cannot answer a question adequately, you have FIVE people staring at you. Just thinking about it gives me a panic attack.

After going on 813 interviews, I was finally offered a position in 3rd grade (my favorite grade). Although I would love to tell you that teaching turned out to be the best career EVER, I cannot. I was pretty miserable. I was working in a very poor district. The parents were not supportive or involved in the classroom. The principal was a dickhead. And my students were bad. They were mean little kids, who liked to fight and argue all day. I loved them, but they were wearing me down - mentally, emotionally, and physically.

On more than one occasion, I came home crying. I am not an emotional person. I rarely ever cry. But when I was teaching, I cried a lot. I cried when a child told me her dad sold drugs. I cried when a little boy's mother was sent to prison. I cried when my kids came to school in the snow with no winter coats. I cried because their problems felt like my problems. I wanted to fix their lives and make everything okay. But I couldn't. Maybe I would have hardened over the years, and it would have been easier. I doubt it.

I was truly and utterly overwhelmed. It wasn't the actual teaching that bothered me - it was everything else. Regardless of the reasons, I was tired and weary and sad. And when I left my teaching position to move to NJ, the weight of the world was lifted off of my shoulders. I could breathe again. I could feel happy again.

I left teaching in 2005. In the past 4 years, I haven't really had the desire to return to the classroom. But when I think about the future, I often try to convince myself that teaching would be a great career. My schedule would match my kids' schedule, and that would be very convenient. But in all honesty, I don't want to return to teaching. What do I want to do? If I am being completely honest with myself, I want to stay home and have more babies. But for some reason, this seems shameful. I should have bigger goals and ambition.

Do you think I am weird?

I thought John's post was pretty hilarious. I wanted to clarify a few things he mentioned in his story.

1. I really was unusually happy when I was younger. I liked everyone and everything. Something happened over the past 12 years, because I am a moody bitch now. Everyone and everything gets on my nerves.

2. After we started dating, John gave me the ring from the 50 cent machine. I still have it...
3. John mentioned that I cheeked him several times. I am the QUEEN of cheeking. To this day, I still cheek him A LOT. I am just not really that into kissing. Is that weird?

4. Yes, I did have a doll hanging from a noose on my canopy bed. But it was a porcelain doll, not a baby doll. Because I was cool like that. Or disturbing like that? I am not really sure which one. For the record, I was not a preppy cheerleader type of girl back then. I was more of an alternative rock kid. I was really into grunge music. I think the doll hanging from a noose was inspired by the song Doll Parts.

5. I found it very interesting that John was distracted by the music situation in his bedroom that fateful night 12 years ago. Because I have very little recollection of the music.

Well, this was fun. I highly recommend you and your husband give it a try. I think it reveals a lot about your personality. I feel like you guys know me a lot better now.

How to snag a lady: Part John

I actually convinced my husband to write his version of how we started dating! If you need to read my version, go here. John is a pretty funny guy, and I think this comes through in his writing. Enjoy...

Back in my early twenties I was living the good life. I just moved in with my Dad, I had a sweet Ford Escort hatchback that was in the shop once a month, and I had just quit my temp job assembling conveyor belts. I couldn’t ask for anything better. Being a person that turns lemons into lemonade (sans sugar) I decided to turn my part time job of delivering pizza into a full time gig.

There was this unusually happy girl that I worked with every once in a while, but now that I was working at Mio’s Pizzeria 7 days a week, we were seeing a lot more of each other. Our encounters usually went like this. Boy makes fun of girl, girl pummels boy with fists. One time she asked to see one of my skull rings I got out of a 50 cent machine and she wouldn’t give it back. Instead of forcibly taking it back and risk a beating, I decided to go with the whine, stomp my feet, and tell her I hate her approach. And just two hours later, my method proved successful.

One night however, things started to change. She was cooking up orders and I said “Hey Christy”. When she turned around, I threw a handful of flour in her face. She proceeded to chase me out the back door of the kitchen and into the parking lot. I turned around and grabbed her by the wrists to restrain her fury. It was at that moment that I almost leaned in and kissed her. I told her I’d let her go if she didn’t punch me and she agreed. Then she punched me.

Things went on this way for a while longer and one night Jason, the tubby stoner that usually gave her a ride home, was not working and I agreed to give her a ride. I was borrowing one of my friend’s cars because my baby was getting a new engine or transmission or something fucking important that shouldn’t have needed to be replaced. God I miss that car. Anyway, she was pretty disgusted because as she was getting in, I said “Wait, there’s puke all over that seat” and being the gentleman that I was, I threw another flannel shirt over top of it.

Shortly after that (I think the next weekend) I went home after work, got drunk, and headed back to Mio’s to act like I was casually stopping in because I was bored. In reality, I went back to ask her if she needed a ride home. Jason was working that night and as closing time drew near, I asked her if she needed a ride home. It was kind of awkward because Jason was right there and I thought that he liked her, but I thought fuck that tubby bitch and asked anyway. What made it even more awkward, for Jason, was when she said yes.

In retrospect, I probably shouldn’t have gotten loaded before I picked up a girl I was starting to like because I was looking over at her and talking and I almost went straight at a bend and ran into a telephone poll. Whatever I was saying must have been pretty funny because she didn’t seem to mind that I almost killed her. Once we got back to her house she asked me if I wanted to come in. I remember her room was a little creepy because, if my memory serves me correct, she had a baby doll hanging from a noose off of her canopy bed. We were sitting on her bed and I made my move and she cheeked me. Normally I would take that as a sign of disinterest and move along, but I was drunk so I asked her if she wanted to go see my puppy, Puppy. Girls like puppies, right?

When we got back to my pad (my dad’s basement) I promptly said I was tired and wanted to go to sleep. I thought, okay she’s lying in bed with me in the dark. She has to like me somewhat. So I went to kiss her and…she cheeked me. Son of a bitch. Then I figured out what I was doing wrong. No music. Every movie I’ve ever seen there was music playing while people were getting it on. What this make out session needed was a soundtrack. For some reason I put on Grateful Dead. I guess that makes sense. Hippies…free love? That was the trick. After one of two more cheekings she submitted and we got it going on. There was one flaw in the soundtrack theory. My stereo sucked and it didn’t replay disks, so every time the music stopped I had to get up and hit play again. After the first round of The Dead, I put in some Dookie by Green Day. You know, because I wanted an album that’s even shorter so I had to get up even more. In the bed, things progressed faster than I thought they would. I was rounding third, but there were two problems. I kept getting interrupted by having to restart the fucking CD and when I’m drunk my biologicals don’t work like they should. I tried to focus, but the embarrassment was too much to bear and I couldn’t get the fact that I was limp as a gimp out of my mind. So I decided it would be best to give up and just go to sleep.

The next morning I was driving her home and for some reason I told her that I didn’t want a girlfriend or anything. Don’t get me wrong, I liked her and everything, but I just wasn’t sure if I was ready to be flaccid with just one girl. She told me not to worry because she didn’t want a boyfriend. I was off the hook, but she sounded a little pissed when she said it. I think she just didn’t want a boyfriend that couldn’t get it up. Understood. Needless to say the ride home was a bit awkward. I pulled up in front of her house, we said our goodbyes, and I never saw her again. Until the next night…and practically every night for the next 12 years.

A little more

I was hesitant to tell the story of how John and I started dating. I feared that the story made me sound like a whore and made John sound like an impotent asshole. None of which is true. I hope you were able to find humor in our boring little tale. It is not really a story I can tell people face to face, because it is just kind of...weird. And a little too much information for people who aren't good friends. But I find it amusing.

Other facts about Johnny and me...
1. John is 7 years older than me.
2. When we first started dating, I told my mother that John was my gay friend, so she would stop pressing me for details about our relationship.
3. John quit working at the pizza place a few months after we started dating. I worked there for two more years, until the little hole-in-the-wall restaurant closed down. It is now a Starbucks.
4. When we moved in together in 2000, we actually bought a house.
5. In January of 2005, we were taking a trip to Baltimore. At the last minute, we decided to get married. Just the two of us - no family, no friends. It was a wonderful experience. I highly recommend it.
6. We were married on the inner harbor, right in front of the USS Constellation...7. The following summer, we decided to start trying for a baby. We started in June. I got pregnant in September. Porgie was born the following June.

And I think you guys know the rest of the story.

I am trying to get John to write his own version of how we started dating. I stole this idea from Kate. I think it would be really neat to read the story from his perspective. But he is lazy, and will probably never get around to it.

How to snag a lady: Part 1

It was the winter of 1997. I was working at a little pizza place called Mio's Pizzeria. I had been working there for about a year, and had become friends with most of the people who worked there. I didn't have a car and my mother was unreliable, so I frequently asked my coworkers for a ride home. Usually a guy named Jason would drive me home. We would smoke a joint and drive around town for a few hours. Good times, good times.

One Saturday night, one of the delivery drivers was hanging out in the restaurant. His name was John. He had blue hair. For that fact alone, I thought he was awesome. He was a funny guy - always making offhanded comments about other people. He had given me a ride home a few times, and I remember thinking that he was very cool because he listened to punk music. But other than that, I really didn't know him.

He was chatting with all of the waitresses, and he appeared to be drunk. We were laughing at his silly antics, while closing up the restaurant. I have to admit, I always liked John. He was much older than me, but he was so fun to be around. I always looked forward to working with him, because I knew I would spend half of the night laughing.

When my chores were finished, I went to the register to clock out. John and Jason were both standing at the front counter. Somehow, both of them offered to drive me home. I awkwardly agreed to go with John. I was obviously a very dumb girl, because I knowingly agreed to go home with the DRUNK guy. But the other guy smoked pot, so I am not sure which is better.

John drove me home. And we almost wrecked into a telephone pole. When we finally made it to my house, I asked if he wanted to come inside for a few minutes. My mother was asleep, so we tiptoed up to my bedroom. We were listening to music and talking. This was 12 years ago, so some of the details are fuzzy, but I remember that he tried to kiss me and I turned my head just in the nick of time. After the awkwardness faded, he started talking about his dog. He asked if I wanted to go back to his house to see his puppy. AND I AGREED. That is right, I got back in the car with a DRUNK man. On the drive, we agreed that I would spend the night at his house, since it was already past midnight.

When we arrived, I met his adorable and cuddly dog. She was a sweet little puppy, and I liked her instantly. But our meeting was short-lived, because John insisted that he was tired and wanted to go to bed. We all know where this story is headed. We slept together. Well, almost. We tried to sleep together, but John was really drunk and couldn't keep his erection. So we both went to bed frustrated.

The next morning, we woke up early. John drove me home. It was a really awkward experience. I didn't know what to say to him. When we were about halfway to my house, John decided to explain that he "didn't want a girlfriend right now." It was laughable. This jerk invited me to his house, couldn't get an erection, and was worried that I wanted to be his girlfriend. HA! Funny guy. I kindly explained that I didn't want to be his girlfriend.

When I got out of his car, I had absolutely no intentions of EVER dating this guy. I just wanted to pretend our night together never happened.

And that is how I became romantically involved with my husband. Quite the love story - right? HA!

I am one of THOSE people

I grew up in the ghetto. We were dirt poor. Although my childhood experiences have helped to shape me into the person I am today, I look back on those times with anger and disgust. I hated never having money to buy new clothes. I hated babysitting my little brothers every night while my mother was at work. I hated using food stamps at the grocery store. I hated taking public transportation. But more than anything, I hated being judged by other people because of what I didn't have.

Despite the odds, I lifted myself out of poverty. I graduated from college, married a great guy, worked as an elementary teacher, moved to a decent neighborhood, and gave birth to two beautiful babies. And I have to say, the grass is definitely greener over here. I love my life. But now, in my head, I often find myself stuck between two worlds. I used to be poor, so I can certainly relate to the problems/prejudices these people face. Yet at the same time, I watched my mother squander away her welfare money, with little regard for bettering herself or her children. But despite my mother's actions, I find myself stubbornly sticking up for the trashy people down the street. Maybe their 14 children are playing outside unattended because mom and dad had to work all night? Maybe their roof looks like it is getting ready to cave in because mom and dad can barely afford to put food on the table?

A few days ago, our electricity went out. I wasn't sure if a fuse had blown or if the entire neighborhood's electricity went out. I took the kids to a neighbor's house to ask. The elderly man invited us inside, while he explained what had happened. A squirrel had chewed on an electrical line. Damn squirrels! Anyways, our neighbor began telling me about a borough hall meeting he had attended the night before. Apparently, our city is tearing down a vacant shopping center in the middle of our town. In its place, they are going to build low-income housing. Our neighbor was very upset about this news. And although I hate to admit it, my first reaction was, "uh oh."

Where was this feeling of dread coming from? Trust me - I do not think that I am better than a person with less money. And we are not rich by any means. We clip coupons and skip the name-brand products. We can only afford to eat out once or twice a week. I shop almost exclusively off of clearance racks. But we certainly don't struggle to get by either. We can comfortably afford our mortgage, while still shopping at Whole Foods and Target every week.

Perhaps the "uh ho" feeling regarding the low-income housing is tied to my desire to distance myself from my childhood experiences? Or perhaps I am turning into a pretentious asshole. I don't want to be a pompous jerk, and I do not want to judge other people based on what they have. So Mr. or Mrs. low-income housing, I am officially welcoming you to my neighborhood.

Ugh - another post about my mom

There is a lot of information about my relationship with my mother, that I choose not to share on this blog. So when I write a post complaining about her, I feel like many of you will not understand the significance of the issue at hand. And this post is one of them. I am sorry that I am unburdening myself on you, but I know that you will be a source of support, my dear internet friends.

My mother and I haven't been talking much lately. She checks our family blog a few times per week, and she emails me occasionally, but we don't actually speak to one another. And this is fine. She is busy. I am busy.

Recently, my mother sent an email that really caught me off guard. Apparently, she has befriended a young woman from work. The girl is getting married and has asked my mother to be her Maid of Honor. Being the good, dutiful friend that she is, my mother is throwing the girl a bridal shower. In her email, my mother rambled on and on about how much fun they have had together. And instead of being happy for her and the bride, I find myself a little angry.

My mother has put no energy or effort into repairing our broken relationship, yet she takes joy in fostering this new relationship? My mother didn't even give me a wedding gift, yet she is throwing a bridal shower for her friend? And finally, my mother has time to plan a fucking party, yet she can't pick up the phone and call me?

I am feeling a little bitter. A little cheated.

Let's talk about something else.

Inspired by Bon's comment on Thursday's post, I wrote a post containing more information about my past. I published the post, and instantly felt uncomfortable about it. For two hours, I couldn't concentrate on anything except that post. So for my peace of mind, I had to take it down. Sorry about the confusion.

I am not really sure why I felt so uncomfortable with the post. But it left me feeling exposed and vulnerable. And sick to my stomach. The worst part is, I didn't even share some of the more traumatic things that have happened in my lifetime. Ugh.

I ended the post by stating that I am "acknowledging what happened in the past and moving on with my life." I guess I lied.

Now, let's talk about rainbows and unicorns and big fluffy clouds.

I say it is about the kids, but it is really about me

Do you ever go back and read your archives? It is pretty interesting stuff. I never kept a diary or journal while growing up, so I am fascinated with the ability to go back to read about my life last year.

Although many mommies start their blogs to record their children's milestones, I started my blog primarily because I was bored. Living 10 hours away from my nearest family member or friend was quite lonesome. Fortunately, you guys came to the rescue. SERIOUSLY. What would I do without you, dear internet friends?

So although I know I am a "mommy blogger," my blog was not created solely to document my children's lives. This is a place for me to share my personality, my interests, and my life. And because I am feeling talkative today, I have decided to share some more information about my past with you. I am alway hesitant to share information from my childhood, for fear that others will judge me. But since I trust must of you, I will share a few tidbits. Here goes...

1. My mother had me when she was 17. She dropped out of high school and started waitressing. To this today, she still works as a waitress.

2. I have never met my father. He lived about 10 minutes away, yet he never made an effort to contact me. Nor I him.

3. I was a very chubby child. I was often teased in school and at home. Although I like to pretend that it didn't affect my self esteem, it really did. I cannot look in the mirror without uttering some self-deprecating remark.

Ahhh...that felt good. Perhaps I'll share more on another day.

Blogging keeps me sane.

I have been blogging for a whole year! Can you believe it? To celebrate my special day, I am going to tell you how I started blogging...

On January 19, 2006, we moved to New Jersey. During the first several months, I was feeling a little isolated and lonely. I was pregnant with Porgie and of course, I was a total nut case. One morning, I hadn't felt the baby move in several hours. I started to panic. I did some random google search on fetal movement, and I clicked on a link for Aliza's blog, Babyfruit. Aliza was pregnant with NG, and she was experiencing a similar episode. I started reading some of her entries, and I was hooked. Her daughter was due around the same time as Porgie, so I felt an instant connection to her.

After reading Aliza's blog for several days, I began exploring. I found DooneyBug, who was also due around the same time. Then I found Cagey, who already had an adorable little baby boy. And finally, I found Cecily who was pregnant with her little girl.

Although I didn't read many blogs, I faithfully followed these four women. I NEVER commented on their blogs, because I didn't understand the importance of comments. We all ended up having healthy babies within weeks of one another (Cecily and I had our babies on the same day!).

After Porgie was born, I stopped reading blogs for awhile. I was overwhelmed by the responsibility of a newborn, and she consumed every second of my day. However, when Porgie was about 3 months old, she started taking a long morning nap in her swing. Not wanting to wake her, I retreated to the office and started reading blogs again.

When Porgie turned 6 months old, I decided to start my own blog. I was a little hesitant, because I didn't want my family or friends to know about my blog - not even John. I wanted my blog to be my own private little space, where I could write about anything and everything. If people in my real life were reading, I knew I would hold back on my true feelings and thoughts. So, in secrecy, Cakerwakers was born.

On January 19, 2007, I finally started writing. Of course, no one knew I existed because I NEVER commented on anyone's blog. Then one day, I got a comment!!! Oh my god! I was super duper excited.

Eva was my first commenter. I quickly went over to her blog, and fell in love with her. She is a great person and a fabulous writer (now go read her blog!). Eva's comments made me recognize the importance of communication. This is really what blogging is all about. In turn, I started leaving comments and developing relationships with other bloggers.

Blogging is now officially my hobby. It is the one thing that I do, regardless of all the hectic things in my life. I always find time to blog, because it makes me happy. So, how did you discover blogging?

co-sleeping

When I was pregnant with Porgie, I bought a cute bassinet. John assembled it, and I lovingly placed the little white slip cover over the frame. I put the bassinet next to my bed, and patiently waited for my little baby to sleep in it.

Then I actually gave birth, and reality began to sink in. After a few short weeks, I realized that Porgie didn't like sleeping in the bassinet. She wanted human contact. She wanted to be cuddled. She wanted to be right next to her mommy. Without much thought, I just started letting her sleep in our bed.

When I told other people about our sleeping arrangement, I began to realize how narrow-minded other people can be. People would make comments about me rolling on top of her, which would NEVER happen. I was always aware of her, even when I was sleeping. People would make comments about the risk of suffocation, which was very unlikely. I banned all comforters from the bed - we only used sheets. Additionally, I placed Porgie at level with my stomach, so pillows weren't really an issue either. People would also make comments about how I would never be able to get her out of our bed. This comment was the most ridiculous, because Porgie has been sleeping in her crib for about 9 months now.

I quickly learned to ignore other people's comments. I was doing what worked for me and my baby. Frankly, it was none of their damn business. With Izzy, I plan on trying the bassinet again, but I am not opposed to co-sleeping. I already know that Izzy will end up in our bed, at least some of the time. The bedrail is in the corner of our bedroom, ready to be installed.

This little light of mine

Guess what? My baby is one year old today. I just can't believe it. She is still so small. How can she possibly be a year old? I just don't understand how time can pass so quickly. MY BABY IS A YEAR OLD!

Although this year has zipped by, it also seems like Porgie was born ages ago. I barely remember those early days with her, but I do know that they were incredibly hard. Shortly after bringing her home, I distinctly remember wishing that I was still pregnancy. Yet at the same time, I also remember being so thankful that she was in my arms, safe and sound. As you can see, the newborn phase was a confusing time. Porgie and I both cried a lot during this time.

Fortunately, things really began to look up when Porgie turned three months old. She was more alert and more adorable and less cranky. This is around the time when I finally started venturing out of the house again. We started taking Porgie everywhere with us - restaurants, grocery stores, doctor's appointments, etc. I distinctly remember the first time we took her out to eat with us. I remember feeling so liberated and free. I could finally rejoin the world of the living. It was an awesome feeling.

By six months, Porgie was sitting up independently, playing with toys, and stealing everyone's heart with her smile. Her personality really started to shine through. This was also the month that I stopped pumping, and Porgie began drinking formula exclusively. Although I was very upset about this new development, Porgie took everything in stride. She is such a good and easy-going little girl. We traveled to Kentucky to visit family during Porgie's six month, and she was a mash hit. Of course, everyone went crazy over her. I remember feeling so proud of my baby.

The ninth month was extremely exciting. Porgie learned to crawl, pull herself up, and cruise around while holding onto the furniture. She also started feeding herself, laughing heartily at our silly antics, and exploring our cabinets and drawers. Although many moms dread having their babies mobile, I was overjoyed. Porgie was able to better entertain herself, and I was able to fnally take a break. Sometimes, I would just sit on the couch and watch her crawl back and forth across the livingroom exploring her world.

I seem to love each new phase more than the last one. I can't wait to see what the next year will bring. I already know it will be wonderful.

My dear internet friends, Porgie is a year old.

I love her more than life itself.

Moving on up, to the east side.

In October of 2005, John's company decided to relocate our little family to the east coast. We had to sell our house in Kentucky and find a new home in New Jersey. Because of our animals, renting wasn't even an option.

At the beginning of November, we put our home on the market. Before the realtor even put up the For Sale sign, we had an offer on our house. I was thrilled, elated, and relieved. My biggest fear was that our house in Kentucky wouldn't sell (we had a nice house, but it wasn't in the best neighborhood). We accepted the offer, and started making plans to visit New Jersey.

At the end of November, we traveled to New Jersey for a week to look at houses. John and I agreed that we needed to place an offer on a house before leaving NJ. We when arrived, we were shocked. Houses in New Jersey are expensive. EXPENSIVE. For $175,000 you basically get a fixer upper. I was so discouraged. Every house we looked at fell into one of two categories - nice & incredibly small or crappy & moderately sized.

We probably toured at least 50 houses during our trip, but we didn't find one house we really loved. However, by the end of the trip, we decided to place a bid on a cute little house, with a finished basement. Unfortunately, the house had received multiple offers - for more than the original asking price. We could barely afford the original price, so we lost that house. We inquired about a few other houses (none of which I really liked), but every house already had a bid for the full asking price. We left New Jersey, with no prospects of finding a new home.

A few weeks later, our realtor called with a listing for a small ranch style house. The room dimensions seemed to be large enough to accommodate our furniture. We asked her to go take some pictures of the house and email them to us. When we received the pictures, John was very excited. He thought the house was great. I thought the house was okay. Afraid we would lose the house before making it back to New Jersey, we put a bid on the house. I know what you're thinking - Are they insane? Basically, we didn't have a choice. We were doing the closing on our house in Kentucky at the end of December. If we didn't have a house, we would be homeless.

The next weekend, we drove back to New Jersey to look at the house and complete the paperwork. The house needed lots of work. The rooms were dingy and dirty, the floors were covered in navy blue carpet (gross), the kitchen was from another era, and there were holes in nearly every wall. John was still excited about the house. I was sick to my stomach. Were we actually going to buy this dump?

We bought the dump and are currently living in the dump. Our house's only redeeming quality, is that it is located in a great neighborhood, with a terrific school district. We have made some improvements to the house, but we still have a long way to go. We patched all the holes, painted every room, and replaced the carpet throughout the house. However, we need to remodel the kitchen, replace the roof, and install a new furnace.

Honestly, I hate this house. I can't wait to move.

Scary shit

I am extremely close to my cousin, who we'll call Bean. We are actually more like sisters than cousins. She calls me at least once a week, and we talk for hours. I love her to death.

Bean had twins when she was extremely young (we were still in high school). Despite her age, she was a great mommy. Her kids are awesome little people, who I love dearly. They are now 10 years old, and are so grown-up.

For years, Bean claimed that she didn't want any more children. Her husband even had a vasectomy. When I got pregnant with Porgie, Bean admitted that she secretly wanted to have another baby. She told me that she had been begging her husband to have his vasectomy reversed.

Unfortunately, her husband didn't want another baby. So, Bean bought a kitten instead. Of course, a kitten is no substitute for a baby.

Then something strange began happening. Bean started experiencing lots of abdominal pain. The week before her period, her stomach would swell up to twice it's normal size. My grandmother told me that before her period, Bean looks 5 months pregnant. Bean has also been extremely fatigued. She confessed that walking down her front steps is exhausting. So exhausting, that she usually just stays inside the house.

A few weeks ago, Bean went to her ob/gyn for a check-up. When performing the pelvic exam, her doctor noticed that her uterus was enlarged. He sent her to the hospital for an ultrasound. They discovered that she has 2 softball sized tumors growing in her uterus. She also has cysts covering both of her ovaries.

Next Thursday, Bean is going to have surgery to remove the tumors. They don't yet know if they cancerous. If they are cancerous, she will likely have a hysterectomy. Even if she doesn't have a hysterectomy, her doctor said that future children are unlikely.

I am scare to death that she might have cancer. I am also extremely sad that she can no longer have children.

I know that I am naive, but I never thought something like this could happen to a young, healthy woman. I never thought something like this could happen to my sister.