MEAN MOMS

Words to remember on those days when you are feeling like a particularly bitchy maternal figure...

Someday when my children are old enough to understand the logic that motivates a parent, I will tell them, as my Mean Mom told me:

I loved you enough to ask where you were going, with whom, and what time you would be home.

I loved you enough to be silent and let you discover that your new best friend was a creep.

I loved you enough to stand over you for two hours while you cleaned your room, a job that should have taken 15 minutes.

I loved you enough to let you see anger, disappointment, and tears in my eyes. Children must learn that their parents aren't perfect.

I loved you enough to let you assume the responsibility for your actions even when the penalties were so harsh they almost broke my heart.

But most of all, I loved you enough to say NO when I knew you would hate me for it.

Those were the most difficult battles of all. I'm glad I won them, because in the end you won, too.

And someday when your children are old enough to understand the logic that motivates parents, you will tell them. Was your Mom mean? I know mine was. We had the meanest mother in the whole world!

While other kids ate candy for breakfast, we had to have cereal, eggs, and toast. When others had a Pepsi and a Twinkie for lunch, we had to eat sandwiches. And you can guess our mother fixed us a dinner that was different from what other kids had, too.

Mother insisted on knowing where we were at all times. You'd think we were convicts in a prison.

She had to know who our friends were and what we were doing with them. She insisted that if we said we would be gone for an hour, we would be gone for an hour, or less.

We were ashamed to admit it, but she had the nerve to break the Child Labor Laws by making us work. We had to wash the dishes, make the beds, learn to cook, vacuum the floor, do laundry, empty the trash, and all sorts of cruel jobs. I think she would lie awake at night thinking of more things for us to do.

She always insisted on us telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

By the time we were teenagers, she could read our minds and had eyes in the back of her head. Then life was really tough!

Mother wouldn't let our friends just honk the horn when they drove up, They had to come up to the door so she could meet them.

While everyone else could date when they were 12 or 13, we had to wait until we were 16.

Because of our mother we missed out on lots of things other kids experienced.

None of us have ever been caught shoplifting, vandalizing other's property or arrested for any crime.


It was all her fault. Now that we have left home, we are all educated, honest adults. We are doing our best to be mean parents just like Mom was. I think that is what's wrong with the world today. It just doesn't have enough mean moms...

Or maybe not bitchy enough...

SPRING AHEAD...STAND STILL

I know for some of you this past weekend was just another indicator of old man winter's icy, arthritic fingers grabbing on for dear life. But for those of us in California it was a glorious sign of days to come. Southern California is often criticized for many things, including it's lack of seasons. Not true. Admittedly, our seasons are mild, but we do experience and appreciate changes. Summer is similar to the season elsewhere minus the humidity. Fall, while not brilliant as in other northern locations, does turn our leaves to subtle shades of orange and red before their death descent. Winter, though we don't usually have snow (Malibu 2007), the air does get chilled and warm coats are necessary. And Spring, ahh Spring. Even in a locale famous for it's comfortable climate, Spring still awakens the senses from hibernation.

I walk the same route 4-5 times a week. Saturday I followed my usual path but right away, it was clear, this day was different. And not just clear to me; everyone I passed shared with me an unspoken enthusiasm. As fresh breaths of wind blew the last of the dead leaves off the trees making room for new, neighbors tended to their gardens watering, mulching, and planting. Dogs greeted each other frisky and flirtatious. A cantankerous, old neighbor who regularly gestures and yells at cars as they speed by, laughs and chats as he hoses down the spot where my dog peed on his lawn. Birds sing, flowers bloom, even the music emanating from the home sites under construction blends rather than intrudes. Kids erect rickety lemonade stands with homemade signs and advertise, "LEMONADE! 25 CENTS! LEMONADE!"

So to those of you who spurn those of us living in Southern California because, "Sure the weather's nice but you have no seasons," I say, "Take your snow, your ice, your wind and your rain. Enjoy. I'll be here in sunny California basking in our own variation on the theme. I'll be standing still, breathing it all in, while you wait for old man winter to loosen his craggy, gray digits from your neighborhood."

Okay, seriously, I hope it warms up soon for all of you in the Midwest and the Northeast but I had to defend Los Angeles. (And me! I'm a New Yawkah!) We get so much crap about our slick, patina of perfection but in reality, most of us, are just neighbors, appreciating the beauty in a glorious, Spring day.

A BIT OF FUN; A BIT OF INSPIRATION

A funny quote from Charles M. Schulz:

Sometimes I lie awake at night and I ask, "Where have I gone wrong?" Then a voice says to me, "This is going to take more than one night."




An illuminating and inspirational message from George Carlin, the same man who wrote and performed, "Seven Words You Can't Say on Television" - written after the death of his wife.

The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings but shorter tempers, wider Freeways , but narrower viewpoints. We spend more, but have less, we buy more, but enjoy less. We have bigger houses and smaller families, more conveniences, but less time. We have more degrees but less sense, more knowledge, but less judgment, more experts, yet more problems, more medicine, but less wellness.

We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too little, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom.

We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often.

We've learned how to make a living, but not a life. We've added years to life not life to years. We've been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet a new neighbor. We conquered outer space but not inner space. We've done larger things, but not better things.

We've cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul. We've conquered the atom, but not our prejudice. We write more, but learn less. We plan more, but accomplish less. We've learned to rush, but not to wait. We build mo re computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever, but we communicate less and less.

These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion, big men and small character, steep profits and shallow relationships. These are the days of two incomes but more divorce, fancier houses, but broken homes. These are days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throwaway morality, one night stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything from cheer, to quiet, to kill. It is a time when there is much in the showroom window and nothing in the stockroom. A time when technology can bring this letter to you, and a time when you can choose either to share this insight, or to just hit delete...

Remember; spend some time with your loved ones, because they are not going to be around forever.

Remember, say a kind word to someone who looks up to you in awe, because that little person soon will grow up and leave your side.

Remember, to give a warm hug to the one next to you, because that is the only treasure you can give with your heart and it doesn't cost a cent

Remember, to say, "I love you" to your partner and your loved ones, but most of all mean it. A kiss and an embrace will mend hurt when it comes from deep inside of you.

Remember to hold hands and cherish the moment for someday that person will not be there again.

Give time to love, give time to speak! And give time to share the precious thoughts in your mind.

AND ALWAYS REMEMBER:

Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.

If you don't send this to at least 8 people....Who cares?

George Carlin



courtesy of Fun (and occasionally inspirational) Friday

LOVE, THE WIFE

I read somewhere in blogland that today is "Love Thursday". This fits right in with what I wanted to write about and that is...I can't believe I'm going to say this out loud, to other people... I LOVE MY HUSBAND. Hubby, are you sitting down? Ugh, that's even hard for me to write. That may not seem like a big deal to any of you, but that was BIG.

I am not one to publicly, or even privately, profess my love for anyone, other than my kids and dog (they're SAFE don't you know) but after this past week's blogs I figure he deserves it. Don't get me wrong, he still acts like a petulant child, gets on my nerves, pisses me off, oh wait, I was saying why I loved him. Right. Despite all his husband-ly behavior, he's a damn good guy with a damn big heart. And G-d knows he takes my shit, and, trust me, that makes him a good man because I am excellent at slinging the shit. That doesn't mean you shouldn't want to strangle him when he does the next idiotic, insensitive thing (check back tomorrow), I just wanted to go on the record.

I'm sure hubby is alternately blushing, confused, and basking in this right now. We are not the type for PDA's, we rarely treat each other to romantic gifts or cards, we often bicker. But as I watch many of our seemingly compatible peers split up, I realize that whatever we are, it works for us.

As we get older, it is ever more apparent, that couples are rarely what they seem to the outside world. I have stopped comparing ourselves to the facades, badgering for perfection, and making both of us miserable. Marriage is hard work and it's for freaking ever. Sometimes we're best friends, sometimes we're enemies, and other times, we're strangers asleep in the same bed. But when push comes to shove, we enjoy the same things: wine, travel, wine and travel, good food, wine and travel, honest friendships (remember we live in LA), and, of course, our children and our dog. On those rare weekend getaways, I recall why we got together in the first place (easily forgotten in the hustle and bustle we call home). We laugh.

I don't think I've lowered my expectations, I think I've finally learned the real deal. So, hubby, sorry for being such a bitch lately.

Now can you fix the computer, move the printer, fix the door on the entertainment cabinet, and pick up your own damn underwear?!?

Love, the Wife.

GREY SKIES ARE GONNA CLEAR UP

Today I was in a good mood. I have zero idea where it came from, why it was here, it just was. These hormones are sneaky little fuckers. Their arrival always catches me (and my family) by surprise and whoops me in the ass. Their departure is always gentle as a lamb, as if the clouds suddenly lift leaving behind a fresh, spring day. I was myself today which makes me realize that the last few days I have been anything but.

This frightens me because in the midst of my estrogen rage, I am convinced my bitchiness is totally justified. The kids not listening, the constantly evolving mess everywhere, the husband being, well, the husband - it's all real, all true. But once the hormones settle and balance, I can see that though all the elements of my life remain the same, they just don't seem as offensive.

So, I ask you, my blog friends, what do you do/take to keep the monsters at bay? I know many of you are younger but to whomever has words of wisdom about remedies (preferably natural supplements or homeopathic) for the emotional roller coaster I am riding, please share. I will be forever grateful. I might even be nice.

RAMBLINGS OF A MAD WOMAN

I'll take a Bitch on rye. Extra cursing. Extra screaming. Hold the malaise.
These are the makings of the hormonal sub sandwich known as merlotmom.

Just look at me funny, just ask me a question, just BREATHE in my presence - and I ignite.
I can't stand myself but I have nowhere to hide.

And to top it all off, while I fall farther behind in my work, my blogging, my child-rearing, "Oops, that would have been a good life lesson. Oh well, maybe next time..." , my son's teacher sends home a week-long book report project with a special note for the parents. It seems we need to teach our kids - get this- time management!

Is she kidding?! I'm still rummaging through last weekend's suitcases to find bras and underwear. And she wants me to teach my kid how to organize his time? At least I got a laugh out of it.








Yesterday was my 50th post. Who knew?! Hooray for me. Now let's see if I can make it to 100.

THE LITTLE RED MONSTER

Riding the airport shuttle to the car park, I watched a boy of about 2 or 3 years cling to his mother on the crowded bus. His dad sat only a few seats away but to the boy it might as well have been an eternity. His mom attempted to soothe his anguished cries by deflecting the boy's attention. She pointed out airplanes waiting on the tarmac, a handsome red sports car in the adjacent lane, and tried playing familiar games. When those strategies failed, she reasoned with him in a comforting, assured tone, "They'd be off the bus soon," she said. "In their own car, just the three of them, going home." The boy finally turned away from his distant father and sunk into the security of his mother's lap. His arms clasped around her neck, his head rested on her heart. To fend off further doubt, the mother laid her head upon the boy's soft, blanket of hair, closing the circle, closing the wound.

I got my period twice in one week. Another sign that a phase of my life is coming to an end. (Or a new phase beginning, depending on my mood.) I felt a pang of envy as I watched this mother and child on the bus. Those moments are few and far between for me now; fewer every day. Most of the time I relish the thought of independence - my children's and my own - but at that moment, I mourned it.

I had a dream last night that I went to my hairstylist for a blow-out. As she stroked her fingers through my thick hair, the force of her hands and the dryer whipped chunks of strands onto the floor, their absence exposing irregular, vulnerable patches of scalp.

Isn't it funny how we spend most of our lives dreading our period? Before we get it, the notion of it is overwhelming and frightening. When we get it, we're curled up in tight, fetal positions wishing for the pain to go away. Only during the child-bearing years does it really sink in just what all the suffering is for, and even then, the arrival of the little red monster is still an unwelcome event. Until it's no longer shows up.

Like the schoolboy who had a crush on you, the one you dismissed, the one who became attractive as soon as he looked at someone else, you begin to desire the monster. Because you realize, suddenly, that the loss of it is the loss of a piece of yourself and maybe, if you'd paid more attention, things would have been different.