Say Whhaaattt?

We are not exempt from certain rules in life. We must do our homework, eat our vegetables, get a job, pay our mortgage, etc.

We can't vote never to get into a car accident or break our leg. These are accidents. Random chance exists in the world, I believe, even if certain events might happen for a reason.

I am a little bit terrified of bad storms. Ask Eric. Ask my former therapists. Shortly after moving to Atlanta, I was faced with the unpleasant discovery that sometimes we get tornadoes. Yikes! Say whhaaatttt??? Thus, a cyclone of weather-anxiety was born.

This past Wednesday, we were threatened with the worst tornadoes ever to visit the Southeast. Wizard of Oz tornadoes, ones that shouldn't exist in the sleepy, slow south. Again..whhhaaattt? Sheer horror is how I would describe my reaction to watching news coverage of the destruction in Alabama. We won't even discuss the size of the tornadoes they showed either. Footage one who is anticipating such storms heading in her general direction should not be allowed to witness.

In short, Atlanta was spared any real storm damage, unlike so many of our northern, western, and southern neighbors. A sense of guilty relief washed over me in the wee early hours of Thursday morning, when this reality was made clear. Heavy black clouds ceased circling round my head.

How does one cope with such unpredictable tragedy? Well...last night, I was reminded by a silly film with a surprising message: embrace the chaos. No one can pretend that tornadoes don't exist, that planes don't crash, or that relationships don't shatter. Life is a thrill. But the ride can be turbulent.

I have a long road ahead of me to be fully Ok with this knowledge. Embracing my own chaos is perhaps where it starts.

Open Sesame

Sometimes, we all need a new look. No, I haven't died (not an intentional misspelling, but I like it) my hair blond yet, but yes, I am thinking about it. Instead, my blog is the one who got some new color. This was a much cheaper option.

However, during this makeover, I realized how much time I was wasting on....what? On perusing templates, those ready-made ones that come with Blogger. Like the screen savers allotted to your personal computer. Fairly blah, but so much fun to see your options.

What am I looking for in that experience? What are you? Is there one exact template that sums up our personality? If you choose a hobby, such as reading, you might select a pile of books. But, if you choose the pile of books, are you then saying to the world, my love of reading supersedes my marriage and my child? And my love of music, yoga, and Seinfeld?

Brief summation...it seems what summarizes me right now is a laundromat. Only, it's not what you're thinking. It's Sesame Street. Yes, Sesame Street. The kids' show. A character on this show runs a laundromat which looks very much like this - and every other laundromat for that matter. 

My life is strikingly similar to Sesame Street. I've given up my imaginary Snuffaluffagus (sp?) for a real elephant. I spend much of my time trying to teach things like up vs. down, inside vs. outside, open vs. close, and so on. Oscar the Grouch still makes appearances to remind everyone he still likes to be miserable. And, the first thing Asher and I do in the morning is wave hello to the owls on the wall and talk to the elephants and zebras hanging from his mobile. 

So, it's official. I play a character on my own private kids' show. And the commute is amazing.

Base Camp

I am not a perfect mom, as shocking as this might sound. Despite this ground-breaking discovery, I like to fancy myself the embodiment of all that is good and calm- the peaceful, all-knowing mother goddess. Whoa. Is that over the top, or what? It's true, though. I like to think I am always keeping cool and acting appropriately. (My husband, the keeper of all my dark secrets, would be laughing out loud if he were reading over my shoulder.)

For a blurry amount of time, my son has been waking up as soon as his head hits his peaceful crib, particularly when it's nap time. Now, if you are a mom, you understand the gravity of this situation. Ain't no mountain high enough to keep a momma away from trying to get her child to nap. (Clearing throat noise) Except that your dear, sweet, wonderful child can scale Mount Everest, laughing disdainfully as his pick axe digs into your lullaby's rock.

There you are. Left weeping on your knees, your love monster staring down from above, smiling with glee.

A Mother Goddess would smile cheerily, no matter how much she had been counting on that nap. She would do this each and every time, day after day. See where I am going?

Grumble, grumble...I have no tidy way to end this one. After putting the stuffing back in and sewing myself together, I reflect upon how untidy it all is. How OK a parent can become with rose petals from her wedding, a bottle of unopened Elmer's glue, an abandoned blue pacifier, four aimlessly stacked nursery rhymes, a bottle of aspirin, a sprinkling of pennies, a month-old water bottle, a roll of toilet paper, etc, etc.. littering her dresser top day after day. Mommy-hood at its best.

Love is messy. Seeking perfection is crazy-making.

Not in the Plan

I am going to write about something not all of you want to read, particularly for any men who might read this. But, doesn't that make you want to read even more? :)

Many women struggle to lose weight or get their shape back after giving birth, but "I never thought I'd be one of them," said a good friend of mine yesterday. I second this emotion. Just last week, the doctor told me I have a separation of the abdomen muscles, which occurs during most pregnancies; however, sometimes this separation doesn't mend on its own, as is in my case.

The result...I have to work extra hard to have any resemblance of my former belly. It was a nice belly too, belly ring status during its glory days, which weren't too long ago.

First of all, how could this happen? I was never going to have to work hard at losing weight or at getting in shape. That was the plan. The expectation. The agreement. Right?

Sadly, no.

So...what does one do when feeling an invasion of the body snatchers? Can you help me track those guys down? I have some serious words for them.

Meanwhile...I laugh. I cook. I do mom things. I try and still do sweet wife things. And, I make small attempts, when able to summon the energy, at being pretty again (according to society's standards). That's about all I can do most of the time.

"Be patient," I said to my ten-month old son this morning, knowing full well he had no idea what I meant. Perhaps, these words were meant for me.