Will you remember how we all snuggled on the couch and watched WipeOut, and made each other laugh until it almost got obnoxious?

Will you remember how you would ask me to hold you, even though you are all gangly limbs and wiggly bottoms and giant head that barely fits against my chest anymore?  And how I would do it anyway, and even though it was like rocking an octopus in my arms, it was still as sweet as when you actually fit in my lap.

Will you remember daddy’s patient cooking lessons?  How he let you sit on the counter to stir the batter before eventually graduating you knife handling skills?  Will you be able to recall the smell of the corn bread baking that you made together, from scratch?

When you are grown, and have your own children, will you continue the tradition of Sunday morning pancakes shaped like snowmen, cats or penguins?  Will you tell your kids how your daddy made them for you?

Will you feel comforted by memories of mommy singing lullaby every single night?  Will you smile when you think of how even when mommy was tired and cranky, all you had to do is say “please?” and I would lie down next to you and croak out the same song you’d heard a thousand nights before?

Will these memories manage to outshine others?  Will you think back to your childhood and feel happy?  Or will you struggle to pull these memories up from beneath the ones of these recent years?  These crazy days full of doubt, stress and near-constant anger and yelling.  I ask because today was a good day.  A very good day.  You swam and played and sang and danced.  You got a lot of love and attention from daddy.  You got a surprising amount of patience and tolerance from mommy.  And these are the days from which I want the fabric of your memories to be woven.  I only wish there were more like them.

Will you forgive me for worrying more about the dirty clothes on the floor than in how excited you are to have a new friend over?  Will you someday get your wish that mommy would stop worrying about how nice the yard looked and how clean the floors are and just stop and truly listen to your endless stories or watch your latest dance routine?  Will you be able to forget about how I got easily frustrated and angry about things that weren’t even your fault and took it out on you?  Will you forgive daddy for having to work so much, missing out on things that were important to you?  Will you understand that he truly hated having to do that?  That this crazy schedule and frantic phone calls and trips to Charlotte and whispered “discussions” with mommy were all so we could someday achieve our dream for ourselves, for you girls?  That even though we seem so tense and angry lately, it has nothing to do with you?  Will you be strong enough to realize that, and forgive us for not making it abundantly clear?  Will you trust the memory of us hugging you more than we yelled at you?

At the end of the day, when the darkness fills the space that had just been host to another screaming match over your messy room, will you forgive me once I gather you up in my arms?  Will that somehow melt the ugly memories and cement the good ones in your mind?  Can you then accept my lullaby and believe only those last words you hear before you drift off to sleep:

I love you.  I love you to the moon and back.

When my voice itself becomes nothing but a memory to you, will those be the words you remember?

While my landlord was busy being a major loser, and forcing me and my family to make some stressful decisions, everyday life has not taken a vacation unfortunately.  My kids are still on their vacation, and therefore, my whirly swirl of brain hornets have to be fogged out so I can focus on the little brats darlings and their needs.  Apparently, to my 11 year old, one of those needs is, as she puts it, to have “a facebook”.  Aside from my irritation at her syntactical choices, I am agog over this desire of hers.  For the past several months, she has bugged, nagged, begged, pleaded, and invoked the dreaded “but so-and-so’s mom lets her!” in a futile attempt to break me of my NO FACEBOOK FOR YOU rule.  Thus far, I have managed to comfortably hold my ground, without even resorting to “WELL, if so-and-so’s mom told her she could skateboard down the PA Turnpike would you ask to do that too?!” 

I am adamantly against my pre-teen using these social networking sites.  Nevermind the fact that Facebook’s User Agreement specifically states that members must be over age 14.  I would just prefer to see my child socializing in age-appropriate ways that involve real social settings, not virtual ones.  I believe that kids of this generation already have enough screentime distractions that are discouraging proper social development (not to mention creating attention deficit disorders of epidemic proportions).  The hours of tv watching, video game playing, texting and instant messaging are bad enough, in my opinion.  I try to limit screentime for my kids, but my 11 year old tends to co-opt the computer for her instant messaging habits on a frequent basis.  She chooses to communicate with her friends this way, as opposed to that dinosaur-aged convenience known as the “telephone”.  “But maaahhm,” she says, rolling her eyes, “I can’t talk to 5 people at the same time on the telephone.”  I’m not sure how you can do it online either, but hey, my addled, old lady brain can’t even figure out how to program the DVR.  Holding multiple conversations at once would surely cause grey matter to seep from my ears.  But somehow these kids manage it.  Unfortunately, this led to  the day my daughter began speaking to me using “Text” speech (“JK mom!  LOL”).  I knew then, it was time to curb the computer usage. 

Call me a curmudgeon, but I fear this generation is losing its ability to interact on a personal level.  I see it everyday.  My daughter has friends over and they inevitably end up either watching tv or playing on the computer.  I fear that their small talk or friendly conversation (actual speaking that is) is not stunted simply because they are surly preteens, but because they don’t know how to do it!  Give them a keyboard and they can chat for hours with someone across town.  Put those same kids in a room TOGETHER and they are at a loss for words.  Sure they might take 12 seconds to discuss where they got that cute pair of shoes, but within minutes, Emma is asking me if she can use the computer so her and her friend can “look stuff up”.  It’s like they are incapable of human interaction unless they have some sort of electronic apparatus in their hands.  Maybe I should count my blessings.  This could be a safe rehearsal for their adult years, when instead of a computer screen, they will require a beer before they can feel comfortable making conversation (it used to just be a personality trait, not a consequence of too much texting.  still is for some of us. ahem).  But hell’s bells man, those future frat parties are going to have a lot of “shit, where’s my beer?  I had to put it down so I could text Jessica” moments.

Seriously though, I truly feel that our children are slowly losing the ability to socially interact without some sort of plug-in crutch.  Kids today (oh my god did I just use that phrase?!) no longer know how to address adults or answer a phone properly.  They also have trouble waiting for anything.  It’s not an issue of manners—my children were indoctrinated with “please” and “thank you” from the time they could speak.  It’s a lack of experience!   They barely recognize a phone that doesn’t have a keyboard on it.  They are growing up in a world where shortcuts and instant gratification are the normal ways of communicating and living day to day.  Actually, I think it is affecting all of us these days, as far as the “quicker, better, now now now” expectation we have from living in a technologically advanced world.  Our kids though, are growing up without knowing any other way.  This worries me.

This is why, when my daughter asked me if she could “get a facebook”, I told her to get outside and play with her friends.  She whined and stomped, but she went.  Ten minutes later she returned.

“What’s wrong Emma?” 

“No one else is outside.”

“Really?  On such a beautiful day?  Maybe they are busy or out somewhere.”

And Emma’s response?

“They’re probably all inside, ON FACEBOOK!”

I can see that I will have to keep sticking to my guns. 

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I admit to being a Facebook junkie myself.  I do however recognize what an incredible time-suck it is, and that is one reason I forbid Emma from joining.  My brain is already down legions of  brain cells.  Hers is still growing though, and I want it to continually expand, not get stunted.

For me, Facebook  has been a wonderful tool for networking.  Oh and there’s that little matter of helping me find some long-lost friends that I never would have spoken to otherwise.  Facebook is fun.  I love peeking into my friend’s lives and their psyches (status updates can be an interesting window into some heretofore secretly deranged minds!)  It seems almost miraculous when I can click on an old friend’s profile and see photos of their children, who are currently the same age as I was when I knew their mom.  Getting in touch with people I haven’t seen or spoken to since college, but who have never left my thoughts, is an amazing gift.  Of course, there’s also all of those silly little apps, like Scramble or Useless Quiz DuJour that do nothing more than contribute to my neglectful parenting/homemaking.   Those are other reasons however, that I think Facebook is inappropriate for nonadults.  I don’t really relish the thought of my young daughter stumbling across “Which Sexual Position most reflects who you are?”

That is really my bottom line argument against kids using Facebook.  It is designed for adults.  Its purpose, content, ads, apps and so forth are aimed toward the presumed demographic—ADULTS.   It is clearly an adult forum, and as such, I feel strongly that my child has no place in that world. 

“Oh, but I made sure my child friended me so I can see what they are doing” they tell me.  I’m sorry, but I disagree with that approach for a few reasons.  Aside from the reasons I just stated, I also think it’s a bit creepy to be “friends” with your child.  Yes, I understand the reasoning to a point—seeing what the child is doing is somehow keeping them “safe” and reassuring you that they are as well.  For me however, the creep factor comes in when I think about the child seeing what I’m doing!  Now all of sudden I have to censor myself.  I would have to carefully consider everything I post, for fear my kid will find out that I pole dance on weekends.  (JK! JK!!)  Not that I regularly post dirty status updates (just occasionally), but I know that if my child could see what I wrote,  it would completely change how I use Facebook.  No thanks.

I enjoy my adult “me time”.  When I socialize, whether it be hanging out with my girlfriends poolside, barside or virtually, on Facebook, I prefer to be sans children.  Just as I wouldn’t want my daughter hanging out with me at a cocktail party, I don’t need her joining my social circle online either.  I’m fairly certain she feels the same way.  I also don’t have any desire to know everything she talks about with her friends.  She is entitled to a bit of privacy as well.  I am not naïve.  I know what I need to know, and pry where I need to pry.  I ask questions and encourage her to confide in me.  But I also feel there are natural boundaries in adult/child relationships, and frankly, Facebook falls under the “adults only” side.

“But your child will figure out how to do it anyway, so you may as well let her do it with your supervision” is the other argument.  I am sorry, but I don’t buy that one either.  I know this will piss some people off, but whenever I hear that line with regards to giving in to kids, I can’t help but think of the mom in my old hometown who used it to justify giving her teenagers alcohol for a party in her home.  She was supervising alright.  Through her sleeping eyelids.  While she was dreaming, a boy was downstairs drinking himself into a coma.    The mom woke up, but the boy never did.

Before you get your panties in a wad, I have to say I know alcohol is not on par with online social networking.  I am simply pointing out that we cannot parent by good intentions.  If something is inappropriate for kids, whether by law (as in liquor) or common sense (watching Faces of Death) or just your own parenting values (Facebook, for me), then you must stand strong and protect your children by simply not allowing it!  Sure, they may go behind your back and try it anyway—that’s their job—but if you are doing yours, you will probably find them out.  And then you can kick their asses. 

But like alcohol, I do believe there are personal safety issues inherent in Facebook, that require me, as a parent, to protect my child from being exposed.  Even if I were to allow her on there, with me as a “friend/spy”, how am I to then prevent her other “friends” from posting harmful things about her?  Is she savvy enough to know how to use the privacy settings so pedophiles and perverts can’t see the photos she posts of herself and her buddies?  And even if I taught her about that, have her friends’ parents done the same?  In my mind, it’s just one more potential minefield that my daughter is not mature enough to handle yet.

Parenting is tricky.  It’s hard and oftentimes downright terrifying.  (I’m still waiting for it to be featured on Discovery Channel’s “Dirty Jobs”.  I mean, come on already!)  But I think one of, if not the, most important skills (art?) we can hone as newbie mommies and daddies, is being consistent.  Not just in our discipline tactics, but in teaching values and modeling these values ourselves.

It wouldn’t hurt to teach our kids the art of telephone manners though either.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go update my status….

My landlord called yesterday.  They have decided to move back here. Which means, when our lease ends in January, we have to MOVE AGAIN.  In light of my previous post, I guess that resolves some of my limbo issues. Unfortunately it introduces other ones.  

I have not yet absorbed the idea of leaving this house. Of packing again. Of dealing the financial and emotional crap that goes with relocating. The husband is busy wigging out enough for the both of us right now. I’m too busy trying to figure out how I will explain this to the girls.

Tonight, as I stood outside with my neighbor, watching my daughters chase fireflies with their posse of girlfriends, I couldn’t imagine taking them away from yet another home we have so fully embraced. Listening to them squeal in unison… that delightful sound mix of girly terror and pure glee…as they ran after bugs and ran away from the bats who were vying for their nights’ dinner, I couldn’t think of any place I’d rather be. I’m sure my kids were feeling the same way.

I figured as a parent I might be mending broken hearts on occasion. I never thought I’d be the one breaking them though.

Being a grownup sucks.

Well howdy stranger!  It’s been a while eh?  Yeah, I know, I haven’t been the best at keeping in touch.  But you haven’t done a very good job at guilting me into trying harder.  I am a Catholic, raised by a Jew.  I need guilt in order to get motivated, you know.  But I apologize nonetheless.  Sorry for being such a shitty friend.

May have a bit to do with the fact that I can barely sit still long enough to wipe my own butt, nevermind put two coherent sentences together here.  We moved.  Again.  Ok, so it’s been 6 months now, and I probably should’ve checked in once or twice.  But this move has been taxing in ways that have less to do with unpacking boxes, and more with the emotional fallout that can emerge once you are done arranging the furniture.  Now we have to go about the business of living here.  And that my friend, is a whole different ball of packing tape…

Suffice it to say, however, that I am about as settled as one can get when they aren’t entirely sure how long they’ll actually get to live here.  At least the boxes are all unpacked and the furniture is arranged.  The kids survived intact, in spite of some minor bumps in the road (“I hate it heeeere!  I hate this school!  I hate you for making us move here!”)  They eventually found their groove and now seem to be enjoying their new surroundings and new friends.  We live in the “country” now, to speak colloquially.  We’ve never lived so far from a major city before, and while Philly is only an hour away, that is light years compared to what we’re used to.  We actually have farmers for neighbors.  Amish farmers.  It’s incredibly peaceful and beautiful, but I will wax poetic about it some other time. 

Anyway, at least the kids are happy now.  As for me and the dear husband, well, I’m not so sure we’ve found our groove yet, but I do indeed love it here.  I guess that’s why I’ve been sort of hiding from you, Dear Kitty.  This move has been our most extreme yet, for a myriad of reasons.  I have been using way too much of my mental energy just trying to come to terms with my new life here (not the least of which is getting used to having my parents and my in-laws close by once again–mostly a good thing, but there’s always a bit of the bad and the ugly where family is concerned)…and for reasons I am not yet ready to discuss here yet, I am also grappling with the fact that this new life here may be temporary.   One minute I am living and loving the ordinary, everyday moments, like driving Emma to dance, or sitting by the pool (oh yes, did I mention we have a lovely pool?  for now that is.  but it’s AWESOME).  The next, I am smacked by the reminder that this may only be temporary.  It’s hard to feel settled when I have to keep telling myself “HEY, don’t get too used to this now.”  “Don’t bother getting too comfy here.”  Why even make friends?  Also, I want to get a job (husband will 2nd that emotion), a venture that is scary enough when you haven’t been gainfully employed for the past 11 years or so.  Throw in the possibility that you’ll have to quit so you can move AGAIN, and it’s another “Why bother?” situation.

Limbo.  That’s where I live now.  And I totally get why that place between Hell and Heaven is called the same thing.

It’s 12:20 am. I am bleary-eyed and a bit depressed. Husband is away. Kids climbing walls all day. Me with a list of eleventy five thousand things to do so I just do zero. One of those list items is “Attend to your poor, neglected non-blog.” It’s right above “Attend to your poor, neglected children. They need breakfast.”
Well, at least I took care of one of those items…

It’s like entering the swimming pool for the first time after the long, cold spring ends. I need to delicately dip my big toe in first and test the water. I will probably pull it out quickly and then just stare at the pool for countless minutes. I will then perhaps put both feet in, but just for a second on the top step.  It’s cold.  I don’t know if I really want to jump in, if it’s even worth it. But give me some time. Something will remind me how refreshing it is, how good it feels in spite of the initial goosebumps.

And then? Then I will take a running start, and dive right in.
*splash*

the brain is bubbling…the monster may soon awake.

like whitney houston, with less of a druggie past (and far less celebrity), i am planning a come-back. i’m sure you can hardly contain yourself. me neither.

stay tuned. thanks.

But not really HERE, I guess. I’ve missed you Dear Kitty. I’ve been swallowed by the abyss of a new house, new town, new schools, kids with adjustment disorder, husband with new job stress, blahblahblah.

I get why “abyss” defines “abysmal”.

It’s not all bad. It’s just that its taking me awhile to climb out of the pit. It’s a bit shallower each day though, and I should be able to step out into the sunlight soon (though it will help when there are ACTUAL consecutive sunny days–I haven’t seen this much snow since I lived in upstate NY 25 years ago.) 

I’ll get there. I hope you’ll still be there when I get back.

umm…looks like i may have some catching up to do.

still unpacking boxes over here, so bear with me.

Well holy crap.  It’s about time I showed up here!  Man, I guess Nablopomo sucked me dry.  Thirty one  straight days of blogging, and I guess I thought I deserved a two-week vacation!  Yes, I’ve missed you Dear Kitty.  But I’ve been busy, and I figured I’d give my captive audience of 4 a break from the boring, mundane posts I was forced to write.  I’m glad I participated in Nablo…at least I proved to myself that I can stick to something even if it’s just writing a paragraph or two every day.  Now though, I’m ready to return to my regularly unscheduled schedule of posting only when I feel like I have something worthy of writing about.  Yes dear kitty, that means back to the bitching.

I use a radio alarm clock.  I hate waking to the shrill screams of a typical alarm, and prefer to instead wake up to music or the gentle banter of my favorite radio personalities.  I also find it amusing when the alarm comes on at a particular point in a song, thus making the lyrics sound like a directive, or some message meant just for me as I open my eyes to a new day.  It’s funny to hear the specific lyrics separately from the rest of the song–and I hit “snooze” pretty quickly– so I get 4, maybe 5 words at most on a given morning.  Today I woke up to this:  “It’s such a pity…”   Rather foreboding no?  I hate  mornings.  I never go to bed early enough to feel fully rested, and getting my butt out of bed is a dreadful task.  Anyone who knows me well can tell you that I am an asshole in the morning until I have digested at least two cups of coffee.  So I guess those lyrics simply fit my mood of “oh crap, I gotta get up.”

Anyway, I’m not sure why I’m telling you that.  If I had the readership of say, Dooce, or Sundry, then I could run a fun experiment where I ask everyone to set a clock radio alarm for the a.m. and then write down those first words you hear when you wake up.   I think it would be neat to read that.  But alas, no Dooce am I.  Whatever.  Maybe I’ll just log those wakeup lyrics myself for a week or so, and post them here anyway, just for shits and giggles.

Didn’t I just say that I would spare you from the mundane?  Apparently I lied.

I do want to write something serious actually.  It will take me a bit longer to organize my thoughts however, so I will have to come back to the laptop later.  I had a really great conversation with a girlfriend today, and together we made a pact to be better to ourselves this year.  Not a New Year’s Resolution per se, but a personal resolution that we want to put into action not because it’s a new year, but a new US.   A promise to cater less to our kids and more to ourselves.  Anyway…more on that later.  I need to figure out a way to write about it that doesn’t make me sound like a selfish, whiny bitch (although I never claim to be otherwise.)

So tell me my dear, tiny readership, what promises have you made to yourself lately?

It’s 10pm on the last day of 2008.  I suppose I could do the cliche thing and spend some time reflecting on the past year.  I’ve done a bit of that today, and I keep getting stuck on all the crappy stuff, the stuff that just reminds me that I should instead be looking forward, not back.  I also feel like it shouldn’t take a calendar to make me vow to improve my life or to spend some time in self-reflection.  It is coincidental however, that these past few weeks of great change in my life happened to be occurring at the end of one year and the beginning of another.  I can’t recall any previous year that I so looked forward to putting up the new calendar.  2009 is full of great promise and potential and I intend to fulfill more my own potential as well…

I don’t want to spend this last day of the year stewing in what has past.  In fact, today has been a perfect last day of the year.  I don’t need noisemakers (already got kids), or streamers or champagne.  (shoot, I had one beer and I was good to go.  The joys of being a total lightweight.)  I have here all I need to celebrate, because all that I celebrate is here–my husband,my children, my health, a roof over my head, and as a bonus, my best friend and her beautiful daughter.  It doesn’t matter to me that we’re all too tired to stay up til midnight.  (We celebrated the New Year,  London time–7 pm here–midnight in the UK– was greeted with joyous shouts of Happy New Year, spoken in sorry attempts at a British accent.)  Again, it’s not the party accoutrements that make for a joyous occasion worth celebrating.  I’m ending 2008 on a high note not because I am jumping around Times Square with a drink in my hand.  I have spent a beautiful day with all the people I love the most, and I can’t think of anything more worthy of a celebration or appreciation.

Happy New Year everyone.  May 2009 live up to its joyful promise for all of you.

Celebrating--if not with British class, at least it's British Time--it was midnight in the UK anyway.

Celebrating--if not with British class, at least it's British Time--it was midnight in the UK anyway.

Hasta La Vista 2008!

Hasta La Vista 2008!

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