Mumsaid

I am 40 years, 8 months, and 20 days old as of this post.  To everyone else, I am a grownup.  Adult.  Woman.  But somewhere inside of me I hold the belief that everyone knows better than I.  Everyone knows more.  Everyone knows How to Be.  This makes me feel very small, figuratively speaking.  When I was five, I wanted to be a veterinarian.  I loved animals, especially dogs and horses.  Somewhere in my growing up I stopped wanting to be a vet, but nothing else really replaced that aspiration. Except art. I loved art, all kinds, and would spend forever drawing my own comic books (where those are now I have no clue).  I remember my Crayola lazy-Susan style utopia of art supplies.  I sat at the yellow counter in my basement playroom and Made Stuff.  In high school, I took every art class St. Joseph's Academy had to offer.  I wouldn't say I was great, but I loved it. College came around and I went to Portfolio Days l...

It's back.  That dark cloud that follows me around.  That shadow of mine that drags me to the ground.  The thoughts.  The heavy weight on my chest.  It's back. I'd like to pretend it wasn't there.  I do a very good job of this while out of the house.  So good, in fact, that one day at work my entire body was taken over by shaking, tears, and dread as I told my boss and coworkers what a good job I had done so far.  That wasn't my Greatest Day.  That also wasn't my Last Day even though I really thought it ought to be. Lately I can't seem to figure out what to do with it so I get into bed.  That's where I am right now, actually, with Pattergirl on the floor watching videos and the lights off.  It puts me in pajama pants right after school.  It tucks me in at night as soon as it can after dinner.  And it wakes me up with panic in the middle of the night so I can check the clock and see how long until I have to get up and b...

I am a terrible mother. Here's why: 1)  Sometimes my children are up past 8pm. 2)  When feverish or teething, my children take children's acetaminophen.  And it's red.  And they like it. 3)  They have had all of their shots. 4)  My daughter goes topless at home. 5)  I don't shut the blinds OR the front door. 6)  We don't wind up the cords from the blinds either.  They dangle freely like vines in a jungle. 7)  My children have both painted before age 2.  And used crayons.  And markers.  And glue.  It tastes good. 8)  My children eat Happy Meals.  Chicken nuggets have white meat in them, never mind the percentage that is actual meat. 9)  Apple Dippers?  WTF??  I stopped asking if they'd like Apple Dippers.  They wanted fries.  And now Apple Dippers come in Happy Meals anyway. 10)  Our vegetables and fruits are not organic. 11)  Our meat may or may not b...

"I am a terrible mother." So very many of us mom-people freak out all to often and actually believe this statement. Until the Supermommies strike and piss us off. And here's how it happened: Pattergirl had a snotty nose, the tail end of what was a couple of weeks of germy HELL in my house, and was going out in public, which included playing with Other People's Children.  I called Pattergirl over so I could give her some decongestant.  As my little blonde-haired, blue-eyed, pigtailed Pattergirl bounced over to me, this "Person-I-Once-Liked-turned-Supermommy" looked at me with horror...the scene changed to a dramatic slow-motion...while I squirted what I thought was a relatively "safe" OTC cold remedy into my little girl's mouth...end of slow motion...and Supermommy began her interrogation. SM:  "Did you ask your pediatrician before you gave her that?" Me:  "No.  The dosage on the bottle for ages four to six says 2 teaspo...

Dear Self-Righteous Wench at the Library, As I stated in our brief conversation, thank you for telling me what you needed.  I will say this one more time: While I respect your right to quiet, I do not appreciate you telling me how to raise my children.  You are lucky I didn't bitch-slap you.  I am rather proud of myself for not even yelling. Allow me to elaborate: I brought my children to the library to offer them a developmentally appropriate educational experience while spending (please forgive the cliche) "quality time" with a parent.  We haven't been to the library as regularly as we used to, and were very excited to be able to make the trip on this particular evening.  My ten year old mildly autistic son requires help finding books because the number of choices on the shelves is completely overwhelming.  He reads at least at a twelfth grade level, yet possesses social understanding that is far below that of his peers.  This makes finding book...

Eeyah, GreenWarrior, The Boy...the Incredible Human I Get to Claim as My Son Note:  Ten years ago, in the chilly wee hours of a February morning, I gave birth to my firstborn, whom we refer to online (usually) as Green Warrior.  However, my second child, The Girl, affectionately named him "Eeyah" though I am fairly certain she is capable of correctly pronouncing his first name.  She is nearing two, he is ten.  I do not "get" the Green Warrior reference completely, so I, for ease of use, hereby declare the title of his persona in the World Wide Web...Eeyah.  I think I might type Eea for short. Just thought I'd clarify. Eea is amazing.  Incredible.  Unbelievable.  And sometimes just damn confusing.  His startling intelligence and loving disposition make up for the amount of frustration I feel when doing what I refer to as my "mom job."   I know most parents are supposedly biased and tout their own offspring as the smartest, cutest, s...

Tonight I went dancing.  Not the "fellas at the club" type of dancing, but the "promenade and swing and try not to run into anyone and onetwothree onetwothree will the room ever stop spinning" type of dancing. It was amazing.  It was uplifting.  It was refreshing.  It smelled a bit, but I loved it.  I had no idea that my calves could sweat. One apple and some peanut butter later (how many days now without an Extra Value Meal?), I lay here in my bed, head throbbing, listening to GreenWarrior snoring, and experience, for the second Saturday in a row, the exhaustion that comes from pure exhilaration.  Pure, absolute-my abs hurt from laughing and my legs hurt from dancing-exhilaration. Why on God's Green Earth didn't I do this before?  I seriously need to go contra dancing again.  No one ever told me that I could feel this completely and utterly tired and yet happy at the same time.  I could completely pass out yet I am still high from all of...

Today I went to a well-known day spa in our fair city and had an aloe and herb body wrap.  I was scared, ashamed, scared, unsure, curious, excited, scared...you get the point. You may be wondering, "What's the big deal?  Why is Pattermomma so damn scared?"  Well... Two children and various stages of using food or the control of food as medicine have left my body in not the most attractive of states. I am the heaviest I have ever been (maybe...I think I might have dropped a couple pounds this summer), and had my youngest in November.  It takes some of us mommas a little longer than others to return to what is now the New Normal.  My belly is floppy, my breasts are suffering from gravity, and what the hell happened to my ass and thighs?  Since when did I start looking like...a Mother? I often thank the Fates that I am no longer the naive youngun' I was in my early twenties, but I also curse those same Fates for removing the physical perfection along...

Patterbaby was born November 3, 2010.  She is beautiful and perfect and healthy.  Everyone thinks she is so wonderful.  She is.  Everyone thinks GreenWarrior is the Best Big Brother Ever.  He is.  (My own personal Big Brother holds that title as well, but seriously?  GreenWarrior has helped us SURVIVE at times.  That necessitates the passing on of the title, doesn't it?)  I have fought the Darkness rather valiantly, I believe, and to most Outsiders (Dear Friends included) I am flourishing.  Doing Great.  Fantastic. But sometimes it's all I can do just to get up. Sometimes I am pretty damn proud of myself when I just Keep Going.

Post published 16 February 2010 on Patterville: Some weeks ago, when I was feeling antisocial, I went to UCity BreadCo for church.  I took my laptop with me, hoping to wax poetic about my battle with depression.  What I wrote was quite eloquent, I thought, and helped to soothe the demons raging within.  I went to save, and the Internet Nazis at said BreadCo had kicked me off without any warning.  All work was sucked into a black hole, never to be seen again.  I dug myself further into my Personal Pit of Despair as a result and have not written since.   I intended for this blog to have a lot more entries, and to be much more interesting.  Upon review, I have found it to be a rather accurate portrayal of what I do when I am depressed: nothing. I want nothing I feel like nothing I like nothing nothing nothing nothing. It is akin to a large corporation's hostile takeover on the Little Guy, only more oppressive.  I am currently on a Long Clim...

Post published on 3 January 2010 on Patterville: Today is the last day of my maternity leave.  Tomorrow is the beginning of second semester.  Feelings include: guilt, fear, apprehension, fear, worry, fear, guilt, a crushing sensation in my chest, fear, guilt, and sadness.  You get the picture.  I leave my baby in the capable hands of a babysitter, and then rush off to serve the social and political democracy in which I live.  Or something like that.   What I really want to do is cry. I am taking steps forward to do what I really want to do when I grow up, yet somehow I still feel stagnant.  The Whaddifs and Youllnevers come in and take over.  They drag my lifeless carcass to the Doldrums.  I put up a fight, but sometimes it's just not Enough.  Sometimes I need to fight harder.  And sometimes I just don't care.   I think I'll listen to the rain and snuggle my baby.  I can't teach with puffy eyes. 

I am spending the day doing small chores around the house and playing on the internet. I say "playing," but really I am doing some planning, reading, and renewing. Yesterday my Babydaddy came home telling me of a frightening, yet rather grand, idea: Paper Christmas. No decorations from the box. Paper and paper only. Handmade decorations. I am not sure about gifts. (I hope it doesn't include gifts because I have already started my Santa-ing.) My first reaction: I MUST have Christmas lights. The lights create warmth in a cold season of darkness. They are Pagan, Christian, AND Jewish in origin. Must. Have. Lights. He agreed. Lights and paper. I thought, "Now THERE'S a visit from Eureka Fire Department waiting to happen. We haven't had them over since the gas leak. I'll whip up some cookies and get ready." I have been researching "green" crafts, and I am not a fan of the Uber-commercialized Winter Holiday Season, so I a...

Wow. It's been awhile since I posted. After two false alarms, gestational diabetes, and a serious stumble into SAD, I am being induced on Tuesday. I had such big plans for this blog. I guess I'm still not finished with it. Tim has created Patterville, our very own family site that will basically be my blog/craft adventure outlet, so what to do with Mumsaid? Hmmm... My purposes for this blog: 1) Mumsaid I am a Writer After an upset with my place of work, I hesitate to speak freely about anything, so my writing career will have to be put on hold until I actually quit working in "the social and political democracy in which we live." (This is a catch phrase from my college years. We were taught to be liberally-minded educators at the ready for when our country needed us. It turns out that our country is so completely litigious that freedom of speech isn't exactly guaranteed.) So, writing anything and having an actual following will have to wait. 2) Mu...

Pretty cool ticker from The Bump. Now to see if it actually keeps track over time. Either way, it's cute, and I certainly have my priorities....

During these lazy, hazy days of summer, my 8YO and I have traveled to as many of the St. Louis County Libraries as possible. (More on that later. Til then, browse here: http://www.slcl.org ) I have found two books thus far that are worthy of posting, as they have made me laugh out loud while lying my beached whale self on the couch. (Ok, I admit, that's all I have read so far, excepting the craft books that serve as eye candy while a certain neighbor a couple doors down isn't mowing his lawn with his shirt off.) In no particular order, might I recommend a couple books to the momma's out there? #1: Not Tonight Honey, wait til I'm a size 6 by Susan Reinhardt For any momma who understands the need for a little....ah....support. You momma's know what I mean. Pay particular attention to the chapter titled, "The Uterine Comptroller." I was laughing out loud at that one. Note: This author is southern through and through. Though not all of us worr...

A few weeks ago, my Patterfamily and I attended a diapering class at Cotton Babies. www.cottonbabies.com It was an introduction to cloth diapers and the variety of choices now available to those interested in an alternative to disposables. Two moms in attendance caught my attention, as they were just too perfect to be pregnant. I try not to judge others, but that night I don't think I tried hard enough. Where are their swollen feet? Their tired, puffy faces? Surely they put pillows under their shirts and came here for a laugh. I was near growling when one of them took out a notebook and began writing, in detail, the ins and outs of dealing with infant excrement. These creatures are the unfortunate product of parenting magazines, I thought. Newbie moms attempting to be Supermommies. They will make sure their offspring have everything their little hearts' desire, all the while scheduling playdates with neighborhood children, ensuring that said offspring remain in acce...

That for which I am grateful: a husband who cleans the bathroom in the middle of the night an 8 year old boy with a darling stitched up face and cheerful disposition the unfailing love of my family the gift of sharing other people's children (big and little) hugs and offers of help from said children just when I need them Saturday morning the little peach-sized baby in my belly new Birkenstocks the somewhat feral cat that calls this house "home" the little feet I hear coming back to see me on the computer I know there's more...if you, dear reader, care to add your own "Thank You's" by way of comments, please do.

I just got back from a weekend yoga retreat in Golconda, Illinois. (More info on that below. Great place.) My darling Sarah and I were the "pregnant girls" in the group. All weekend I felt high as a kite and yet was as sober as can be. It was fabulous. A yoga class and cookout on Friday, two yoga classes, one circle gathering, one philosophy class and a yoga nidra class on Saturday, one yoga class and one circle gathering on Sunday, fabulous meals, Christian Icons all over the place, Kentucky farmland across the Ohio River right outside my back door...it's no wonder that I am crashing upon my arrival home. I was snotty to my husband on the phone, snotty to my husband about the chaotic state of our home, and snotty to my husband while he baked us bread, grilled chicken to last a week, and grilled veggies. Why? What has happened? Where did the Om go? I was so certain that everything I was experiencing was "authentic" and everyone I came in contact with was ...

When I was very young, there was a phrase we used to mean, "You had better listen and obey, because Mom told you to." If a statement was preceded by "Mumsaid," it was immediately turned into a directive. For example, "Mumsaid to go change the laundry." That implied that the laundry was to be changed from washer to dryer, a new load started, and the clean clothes brought upstairs immediately. If you questioned any direction and heard "Mumsaid" as your answer, no further explanation was given or necessary...that word was Law. Self: "Why should I go change the laundry? I am reading/playing/drawing/watching TV." Sibling (usually older): "Mumsaid." Self: "Awwww....but I don't want..." Sibling: "Mum said ." Self: "Fine." And Self stomps downstairs to complete the chore, mimicking the sibling saying the Law. As the youngest, it was with pure spite that I enforced the "Mumsaid Law." Ord...