This is how much I’ve changed…
I really kinda wanna watch the Britney special.
Oh my god, who AM I??
I really kinda wanna watch the Britney special.
Oh my god, who AM I??
Too much running through my head (including an inane song from yo gabba gabba…this is my life now). I’m so tired my eyes are stinging, but my brain won’t shut off.
I’m angsty. I’m reaching far and casting wide nets and just…I’m trying too hard at life. I need to just live. Live and love and do the things that are important to me.
I just FB friended a person from my mom/tot class that I like. She’s really down to earth and funny and interesting. I don’t know her that well, or…well at all, really…but she seems like a person I could learn from.
She has three kids; her daughter is in the class with Georgia. On her FB page, she wrote a post/note which was a letter to her daughter. First thing she mentions is teaching her daughter to strive for the best and not be meek and stand back because that’s what girls are taught to do.
And I was like…huh. And I remembered my second to last post about teaching Georgia to….not……strive………for the best. Hmmm.
Is it so institutionalized in me that I didn’t realize the implication of what I was saying? I can tell you that I truly was coming from a place not of gender, but of self-deprecation, really. I believed I was “the best”. I wasn’t. The let down of that realization and the dreams that went out the window was effing sad. I don’t want Georgia to have that same feeling. It sounds depressing and I don’t mean it to be that, either. I want her to do her best, always, but not care so much about what that means in the grand scheme (other than it making her a good and hard-working person). It’s reality. The world doesn’t need yet another person walking around thinking they’re awesome. The world needs more people actually BEING awesome. The thinking about it takes away from the doing, somehow.
But thinking about it from a place of gender…well that changes it a bit. I never ever ever want my amazing, strong, smart, cautious, considerate, hilarious, joyous, beautiful daughter to feel as though she shouldn’t be the best she can be because girls mustn’t. Girls shouldn’t. Girls stand back. I didn’t realize my words and wish for her to not worry about being “the best” could be more institutionalized teaching. Had I a son, would I tell him the same thing? I could say now that I would, but maybe it’s so in me….it’s so unconsciously ingrained in my head…maybe I wouldn’t have.
Something to think about for sure. This is why blogs really can be great. Anything that makes you think and reevaluate and learn and grow…it’s so important.
In any event, it did make me think. And I will make sure that teaching G the realities of life includes teaching her the difference between humility and meekness. And that her voice can be kind and loud at the same time. And she should use it, should she choose to.
by: Mary Ruefle
I have become an orchid
washed in on the salt white beach.
what can I make of it now
that might please you—
this life, already wasted
and still strewn with
annaverity said: I really love your posts, as sporadic as they are, and I’m oddly (?) invested in your happiness as a mother/wife/homemaker because…I don’t know, more and more, that’s WHAT I WANT, even though Feminism says I should want “more.” xo
First, xo to you! And thank you!
Second, this is likely not going to come out right, but isn’t Feminism about wanting what you want and having that be your right and your choice and your life as YOU deem it? Be it as a homemaker/wife/mother/biker/pilot/doctor/congresswoman/stripper/lion tamer/etc. etc.? I’m totally baiting a backlash of “FEMINISM IS THIS AND YOU ARE NOT ONE OF US!!!!” (not like that many people read my blog anymore, really, so I’m prob okay), but my view of it is the beauty of choice.
That said, I’ve been thinking about the concept of wanting more lately. I’ve spent my whole life wanting more. Thinking I should have more/be more/want more. And I believe that is one of the reasons I can get unhappy sometimes. I think if I had lived thinking, life is just life…it’s what you make it…I might have been better off.
This sounds really stupid, but I feel like it may be worth it to not teach Georgia to strive for the best. I’ll teach her to do the best that SHE can do, but not to worry so much about being the best. She doesn’t need to be amazing or want more or do more or be more; she needs to be a nice and good person who works hard and plays hard and plans well and puts her mind and heart into most things she does. Yes, it may sound really stupid, but I kind of want to teach her to be okay with the middle.
So to get back to the original point…wanting more. Believe me, my dear, I. Hear. That. It’s constantly running through my brain. Not from a Feminist standpoint, really…though I get it…it’s from my crazy artist standpoint (or rather, the wannabe crazy artist standpoint). But I think….just be who you want to be. Whoever and however that is. And if you’re not doing that, then try, a little every day, to make it more a reality. But seriously, lay off yourself! Fight the good fight of feminism, of course, but also live by it…really and truly…and do what will make you happiest in life. And answer to mother-fuckin’ no one who balks at it, because THAT is the way to choose your choice.
I received an email from the good folks at Tumblr telling me my blog turns five today. Pretty crazy. It prompted me to write.
I think it’s safe to say that my blogging days might be behind me. I think of stuff to write almost every day, but like everything else on my list of to-dos, it falls to the bottom underneath all the other shit that gets piled up that needs more taking care of. I mean, it’s a job, really, this motherhood/housewife thing. But I’ll tell ya, I had a lot easier of a time dicking around on the internet and in general when I was actually “working.” Yeah, I might be making runs to Target and having play dates and what have you, but it. is. work. And it’s non-stop.
This is a Georgia Report that is more about me. Me and her, I guess. My life as a mom.
I’m going to repeat a lot of shit I’ve already said on here, but I have a new point at the end of it, I promise…You see, I spent a good portion of my teenage and young-adult life thinking I was “special” and “different.” I was “meant for more” than a “normal” life. I had so much potential. I could do anything I set my mind to. I was gifted.
Blah. Blah. Blah.
I didn’t do any of it. I didn’t “become” anything. I am exactly who I said I’d never be. Again, blah blah blah, we’ve all heard me say this. I’ve discussed this so many times on this blog because sometimes I just really can’t even believe it. I still struggle almost daily with the feeling that I didn’t do what I was supposed to do with my life, that my potential was totally unmet. (Yes, I read that article that went around a month or so ago around about Gen Y and yes, it’s basically me. Except…I don’t think I’m so special anymore. That’s the difference. I’m not looking at all the stuff in my past and all the stuff in my present and thinking I’m still this special snowflake of a person. Quite the contrary. I’m annoyed at how insanely obnoxious I was, thinking that way. I had no business acting like I was better than anyone. I wasn’t. I’m not.) But here’s the interesting thing about all this…the thing that both surprised me and didn’t surprise me at all…and this is the new point…
I am damn good at this. I am better at this than any other job I’ve ever had. I am succeeding at this in a way I never did when I was working.
I’m not the best at follow through. I’m a major procrastinator, I am a last-minute kind of gal, my desks at school and all my jobs were always messy, I always created a lot more anxiety for myself and others than necessary because everyone always wondered…will I get my shit together or not? And I always did. And I always did a good job. But it was always harrowing. There is only one other thing I’ve taken super seriously and that was my wearing a back brace for scoliosis for basically all of my teenaged life. And I equate my taking motherhood seriously to my brace because both, if I failed…if I was, well, me…the consequences are/were dire. So yeah. I’m glad to know that when it really comes down to it, I rise to the occasion. I haven’t let myself or Georgia down.
And that’s not to say that I am the best mother on earth. I’m not. I have “mother of the year” moments daily wherein I do something incredibly stupid or selfish or just plain wrong (example: I cracked her head on the top of the car while putting her in the carseat today. She didn’t cry, luckily, just gave me a what the fuck look. Whoops.). I’m just saying that I am getting things done and I am keeping this house clean and nice and I am keeping my child alive and not just alive, she is thriving. She is learning. She is so smart. And I’m not taking credit for how she is, but I’m taking credit for allowing her to be and do and become. And she is, in the best way possible. It’s incredible to witness.
She’s a good kid. Maybe I will take a little bit of credit for that. Just a little.
For the Georgia Report record, she is doing most everything a little toddler should be doing. She’s walking, running, dancing, playing. She’s talking so much—putting two-word sentences together and telling us “stories.” She laughs so much. After having only her two bottom teeth for what seemed like forever, she’s getting one tooth after the other after the other, making for really fun nighttime wake-ups. Apropos of the last point, she is still the worst fucking sleeper EVER. But she is still (a few mini-tantrums aside) a glorious little person to be around day in and day out. She’s smart and strong and funny as hell. I’ve dubbed her the Great Imitator, as she does, inflection for inflection, repeat pretty much everything I say. She’s also an incredible love…hugs and kisses and “I yuv you”s all over the place. There is a lot of love in this house at all times.
That sounded really cheesy and lame. It’s true, though.
So for me, being around her…it’s just good. Like any job, there are days I wish I could call in sick. Unlike most jobs, I cannot. Like any job, I’d love to zone out and let whatever’s going on around me just happen. Unlike most jobs, if I did that, a tiny person would likely eat all the coins in my wallet, fall down the stairs, go outside and get in the car or some other horrible result of irresponsible workmanship. Like any job, I sometimes have to deal with annoying behavior from people. Unlike most jobs, I have to stop said people from repeatedly flushing the toilet while I’m mid-pee.
I think you get the gist.
In any event, I’m doing okay. Suburban life depression aside, 35-year-old-what-do-I-want-to-be-when-I-grow-up (oops, I AM grown up) life crisis aside…just as a mom, I’m doing pretty well. I’ve rallied. I’ve become. I’ve taken it so motherfucking seriously.
And alas, my little five-year-old blog has suffered a bit. My (Jewish) New Year’s resolution was to write something…anything…every day. That lasted about two days in the journal next to my bed. Maybe it should come back to this forum I’ve loved so much for the last five years. Maybe I really will let this fizzle out. We’ll see, I guess.
In any event, thanks Tumblr, for giving me a place to get my crazy out. And thanks to you all for reading and sharing and experiencing this all with me. You’re all lovely.
Until next time…
I’m completely awake. I felt the shift happen from exhausted, having fallen asleep on the couch, to wide awake while reading Fiona Apple’s Wikipedia page. Like, really felt it. Oh well.
When I’m awake like this I often think about random things. Like how I’d love to sit down with a doctor and tell him or her every weird feeling I feel in my body and every stupid question that I have about my health, because there are a lot of each.
Because every doctor wants a patient who sits there and says, and this? This, doctor. What’s this about?
I’m hate-watching Les Mis on HBO right now.
Not to be a total naysayer, because I know everyone was all abuzz about how they’re singing live and it’s acting and blah blah but…this is awful. Awful!
Here’s why: it is a musical. It’s supposed to be about the singing. So if the singing is bad…and it is BAD…then you might as well have just made a non-musical. And there already is a non-musical movie of Les Mis. The world did not need this.
I mean it’s just awful! I know it’s, like, Anne Hathaway’s dream to do this and she almost had me during the beginning of I Dreamed a Dream, but really? Really. She kind of killed the beauty of that song. Because it’s a SONG. Not an Oscar consideration reel. Sing it for real. Sing it well.
Also? Russell Crowe? Laughable.
I might not be cut out for the burbs.
Try as I might, I can only take so many spiders, skunks, creepy crawlies, cobwebs, weird smells, grubs (google for gross insect stuff you never needed to know about), dead trees…the list goes on.
I miss the city. I miss noise. I miss street lights. I miss its smell (seriously, I do). I miss feeling simultaneously like you are alone and surrounded by people. I miss action past 8:30pm. I miss good restaurants. I miss big buildings. I miss most everything.
Maybe it’s just that I miss my life.
Nah, I don’t think I like it up here. Yes, I like the space and I like being 10 minutes away from where Jonny works (I especially like that after a no-nap day), but sometimes, every fiber in my being is screaming at me, saying “YOU DON’T BELONG HERE!!!!!!!!” And maybe I don’t. Or maybe I’m being stubborn and need to let go. Maybe.
Or maybe I just don’t belong here.
Well, be that as it may, I’m here and there’s nothing to do right now. These are the choices you make for yourself and your family. And they are the right ones…this move was the right move. Just sometimes, like right now, when I’m sitting in what seems like an endless stream of skunk spray seeping in through my windows, it’s hard to remember those reasons why you chose what you did.
Seriously, this skunk is just spraying on repeat. Just when I think the stink dissipates, he re-ups. I now have a headache.
Wah wah waaaaaaaaaah.
There’s something about Kelly Ripa that really creeps me out.