12/29

One of the best presents I received this Christmas was an unintended gift from my friend Andre-ah (true spelling of the name has been altered to protect the innocent pronunciation of a beautiful name). We went out to lunch before Christmas and she was telling me about the new healthy-living hypnosis cds that she had loaded onto her MP3 player. She liked to listen to them at night before she went to sleep, although she doubted whether they were working or not because she didn't think that she was open to suggestion very easily, especially subconsciously.

I grew up as the youngest child with a very smart, clever older sister. I know exactly how easily suggestable I am. Growing up, I would have jumped off the nearest cliff if my sister had told me to. My best friend, Jenny Evenson, used to torment me by telling me long, complex stories about the dead guy that was found behind the woods of our elementary school. I listened in wide-eyed horror, believing every word she said. We used to go into the woods behind the school on long summer days and get lost in the tangling underbrush. The school has since built a wire, chain-link fence around the school playground to specifically keep highly suspectible to suggestion kids like me from getting lost and accidentally finding a dead person lying around.

Gullible should be my middle name (please reference all posts under the category, "FOB Sucks" for further proof). I knew that I would be highly susceptible to suggestion and I asked her for a copy of the cd. She happily obliged me and left her house with a copy.

You're supposed to listed to the hypnosis while in a relaxed state. I don't have too many relaxed states, so I started listening to it in the car on the way to and from my parents' house. Clearly, it is single Mom multi-tasking at its best (read: worst) to listen to a relaxing hypnosis cd while driving in Houston rush hour traffic. The irony didn't really strike me until my friend A. mentioned that it might be a little...I don't know...dangerous to try and subconsciously change your life while driving.

The cd is amazing, whether I'm listening to it in the car or before I go to sleep. The producers of the cd layered tracks of the therapist's (I'm going to call him that because the phrase, "disembodied voice telling me what to do" sounds disconcerting) voice over each other. So the whole thing is a patchwork of his voice. It sounds something like this:

"You are now letting your mind drift *peeeacefully* to the place where you are warm *safe*, comfortable *secure* to allow yourself time to make permanent *safe, natural* change for a healthier lifestyle"

My favorite part is when the therapist validates that you may actually NOT be getting relaxed and that, "It's OK." While one version of his voice says: "You may find one side of your body getting heavier and relaxing into a deep state of awareness and unconsciousness," the other version of the layered track pipes up with the occasional "or not". As in, "You are drifting further and further *or not* just as the snow falls over a flat plain you can relax and begin to embrace your deep desire to live a healthier *happier* more fulfilled life *or not*."

Seriously, I can't get that kind of validation from anywhere else. Not only am I a perfectly-formed creature with a fundamental human right to be physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually healthy *and happy*, he even tells me that it's ok to NOT be feeling like that. It's even ok to think that the whole hypnosis, relaxation thing is a bunch of crap.

I for one, think that everyone should be hypnotizing themselves *or not* everytime they leave the house *or not*.

12/28

In between my three hour naps and pumpkin pie-filled afternoons, I had a lot of time to reflect about how I'm currently living my life.

All and all, I like myself. I'm kind to others, good to my son, treat animals with compassion, and enjoy most home improvement projects.

With the wonderful gift of a digital camera for my birthday and the knowledge that Christmas would be spent in a haze of flash bulbs and phrases like, "Get Zac to turn this way. I can't see what he's holding!" and, "Why is it that this kid always smiles after I've taken the picture?" I started thinking about my relationship to the camera. Much like every other person that has gained and lost weight, I shy away from group photos and rarely let someone capture a candid shot of me. When potential internet daters ask to see more pictures of me, they end up getting photo after photo of Zac smiling up at camera with my arm around him or the reassurance that, "I'm the person in the back. You can see my foot between those big columns."

I got dressed up for Christmas Eve and decided that Zac and I were going to pose for some pictures together. My Dad took this shot:

I love it because if you were to visit Zac and I on any given day, that's what you would see. You would see a little boy playing with his Mom's necklace and his Mom smiling at him.

What I don't love is the woman in the photo. By not looking at pictures of myself, I can somehow convince myself that the weight loss hasn't really stopped. That I haven't really regained 10 of the 15 pounds I lost. That somehow I don't mind being the weight that I am.

Here is the truth, though: I do mind. I feel tired and lethargic most days. I haven't had much success with "changing my eating patterns" or stopping when I feel full. I will just eat and eat until I feel sick.

I want to feel better about myself. I want to feel healthy, centered, and content. These past two days have shown me what it's like to take care of myself, again. I've flossed more this week than I have in the past year. It isn't Zac's absence that I want to celebrate, it's his presence. I want to be around to see this guy grow up and I need to find a way to balance his needs with mine:

12/27

So...um...hi.

I didn't really mean to take that long of break from blogging. I'm not really sure what happened. One moment, it was Thursday and I was working from home in the morning (read: napping) and then running around like a madwoman trying to get my apartment ready for Mr. Tugboat and little J-man's arrival and the next moment it was Wednesday and I had to go back to work.

Christmas started on Thursday night when Mr. Tugboat and I exchanged Christmas presents (after I had returned the watch to Watch World, I bought him the coolest salt and pepper shakers known to man. It just so happens that they also resemble a larger version of these, (or perhaps this although I swear that thought never crossed my mind when I bought them).

So since I am pure of mind and heart, I saw no problem with giving him the salt and pepper shakers in front of his five year-old son. Honestly, I just thought they were great because they wobble, but they never fall down! He however, took one look at those things and burst out laughing, wondering if he should really let little J-man play with them (note: he loved them more than his Dad).

Segue into Friday, then Saturday, then Christmas Eve, which quickly moved to Christmas, the day after Christmas, and *blink* and suddenly I'm back at work. I actually tried to blog at work all day today, but Blogger (or my work server) wasn't having it. I tried to read other people's blogs, but it felt like I was the only chump that had to go back to work today. Everyone is still on vacation, except Aunt Jen and K, who worked straight through the holiday.

On the other hand, I'm sitting here tonight, complete kid-less and petless. My parents are watching Zac for the rest of the week and my cat Honey went along for the ride. I came home from work today and finally understood what it's like to feel an incredible lightness of being. I can do anything! Go anywhere! I could go to Mexico for the evening, as long as I'm back at work at 8am tomorrow morning.

I can see now why people don't want to give up this kid-less, footloose and fancy free lifestyle. The only damper on my temporary, dependentless existence is that I actually miss my little guy. It's nice not having to clean up messy diapers and vomit for couple of days, but it's even better to know that I wouldn't be the same if he wasn't in my life.

12/21

I must be doing something right with this whole parenthood thing.

Last night I was sitting on the toilet pooping, wishing I could close the door, but knowing that if I did the toddler on the bed would go ballastic in 8 nanoseconds. So, he and I are "talking" to each other. I'm asking where his eye, nose, mouth, ears, and head is. He dutifully points at the various body parts and tries to say the word. When we get to his head, he starts smacking himself as hard as he can, laughing. This also makes me laugh, which I think is why he does it.

Growing bored with the "Where's your _____?" game, we move on to my second favorite game to play while incapacitated, the "Tell Mommy you love her" game. Actually, I'm just trying to get him to say, "I love you". Whenever I tell him to say, "I love you", he looks at me like I just ate a bug. I try to simplify the process by saying each word slowly and asking him to repeat after me.

Me: Zac, say, "I"

Zac: Points to his eye and yells, "Eye!"

Me: *laughing* Now say, "Love"

Zac: blank stare

Me: Zac, say, "Love"

Zac: blank stare

Me: Ok, say, "You. I love you!"

Zac: Starts frantically waving his arm shouting, "Bye, bye Momma. Bye, bye!"

____
Apparently he really can understand what I'm saying whenever I drop him off at daycare.

12/20

I think the worst of Christmas is over for me. Yesterday my shoulder and right arm started cramping up from handwriting notes and addresses onto holiday cards for my friends and family. During lunch, I wrapped all of the FOB's family's gifts and addressed the packages to them. Right after work I sped to the downtown Houston postoffice where I spent 45 minutes in line, dreaming about how I would completely restructure the United States Postal Service if given even a small opportunity.

The first thing I would do would be to follow the trends of EVERY OTHER RETAILER in America around late December and increase the number of staff on the floor during peak times. There were only two cashiers weighing packages and distributing postage. The line was out the door by the time I made it over there. I think I literally started imagining killing someone when one of the cashiers decided to take a break promptly at 5:30pm. I'm sure it really was her breaktime and I'm sure that her union fought long and hard to get her that breaktime and I want her to have it. I just want someone else to come up front while she's gone. That's all I ask. Just more physical bodies looking bored and put-out when I tell them that I also need to buy a book of stamps with my boxes. And maybe some chairs to sit in while we wait. Like the DMV. They have plastic chairs and numbers. Maybe the number system would help the post office and eradicate my strong desire to beat someone over the head with a bubblewrapped envelope everytime I step foot in the building.

This is what Christmas does to me.

Once a year, I try and thank the FOB's family for their gifts to Zac. They send cards and small gifts or money at his birthday and major holidays. The FOB never sends anything and wouldn't even return my phone call when I called to verify HIS address. Nevertheless, I try to support his family's kindness and generosity to my son.

For the past two Christmases, though, it's been difficult for me to muster up enough holiday spirit to send them small gifts and photos of Zac. It almost feels like I'm sending them photos of Zac so they will keep sending us money. Zac isn't for sale and he's not part of the "Sponsor a Child" network (sorry Ms. Struthers). You don't get a picture and update of him for sending me an annualized total of $.80 a day!

See? Bah humbug and all that. As my therapist used to say: "You are being attacked by the 'should syndrome'". I know that I should send photos of Zac to the FOB's family because I want them to stay involved in Zac's life. They don't send money and gifts because they have to: they choose to. I should graciously thank them for that and encourage their generosity by sending a small token of my appreciation. I should keep them informed of Zac's development and not grit my teeth everytime I get a card that says, "I can't wait for you to bring my grandson up to see me again!"

It's unfortunate that moral and social expectations wrapped up in the word "should" don't always reflect how people truly feel. If I was being honest about the holiday season, I would acknowledge that any person, place, or thing that forces me to go to the post office during the month of December should understand why my left eye won't stop twitching until early February.

12/19-2

P. reminded me that even though I have spent way too much time figuring what to put on gift lists, I hadn't actually posted them. You'll find two gift lists over there on the right hand side of the blog, under the aptly titled header, "Holiday Gift Lists".

I think most of the items off there are way too expensive off Amazon, but it should give people (if you are so inclined) an idea of what Zac and I need or just covet.

Since I'm incredibly slow (and to be honest, relatively annoying around the holiday season) no one should feel any pressure to actually purchase anything or worry about it arriving by the winter solistice. I might just leave it up and occasionally edit it as the seasons change.

Or not. Happy New Year!

12/19

Another year older and not dead. That has to be a good thing. At least most days.

I've become one of those women that marks time by their child, even though I swore I would never do that. I was 23 when I got pregnant with Mr. Z, 24 when I gave birth, 25 at his first Christmas, and now 26 at his second. When I see all those numbers written out, I feel like he and I have been together for such a long time, yet I'm still unable to figure out why he likes dumping an entire bag of Cheerios out on his carseat.

I've been in one of those periods (hell, it could be a month or maybe year) where I need people to constantly remind me that parenting will get physically easier and emotionally harder. Cue in on the "physically easier" part because this Momma is tired. Zac was up two nights ago, teething furiously, from 2-4am. After not going to sleep until 9:30pm last night, he woke up at 3am for an unknown reason (perhaps because he was out of his beloved milk, which I finally started giving him again yesterday after the Pukapoolza Tour). I brought him in bed with me because I'm a tired idiot. He spent the rest of the early morning hours kicking me in the ribs and karate chopping my head. It was like sleeping next to a practicing self-defense coach.

It's the wrapping paper, scissors, tape, ribbon, photo frames, small glass ornaments and stockings hung by the chimney with care that make living with a toddler make me want to throw myself on the floor, kicking and screaming. He wants to be in EVERYTHING. CONSTANTLY. I now understand why women in previous generations would go into their bedrooms and work their mysterious gift-wrapping magic. It's not to keep it a secret. It's to keep the kids from unrolling that wrapping paper one more time, goddamnit!

The funny part is that I don't even like wrapping paper or bows. Put all of my gifts in recycled brown paper bags and I'll be happy. Better yet, just give me the bag. I'll put it over my head until January or so when all forms of tissue paper are out of the reach of my son.