I can't write. I CAN'T WRITE!
It is too soon for me to have writer's block. It's unacceptable at this early stage, and it's kinda freaking me out. I'm thousands of words into my essay and I'm so stuck that merely launching the document makes me want to fire up the vacuum cleaner and go into my catatonic-dog-hair-sucking daily meditation.
The way I see it, my right brain is getting totally squashed by the left side. Really.
All the logical stuff that I need to ruminate on is encroaching on those creative channels that need space to breathe and to express. The finances of my house and the logistics of Ben's school and sports are jamming up the expansive, sentimental and not-at-all-linear brainwaves of the right hemisphere.
Damn you, left brain. Stay on your own bleep-bleep-bleep side.
"Impossible," left brain is telling me. "Because there's all this..."
(I know that my right brain is still in control, somewhat, because what you are about to read would be considered "stream of consciousness.")
Ben starts school in a week and a half. That's it? Summer's done? We never even went miniature golfing. Or to ExploreIt in Davis. God, we didn't even make it to Fairytale Town and now he's probably too old and I'll never get to set foot in that cute park with all its sweet memories again. I am the worst mother of all time.
But we did go to Six Flags and it sucked. My shoes were hurting my feet and I was tired and Ben wouldn't ride on anything that moved. Except the parking lot tram. I'm not kidding. Ask him. He'll tell you that we had fun but I know better. One giant bowl of Dippin' Dots on the way out and all he remembers are good times with Mom. And the fact that I had to literally sugar coat the event to make it OK makes me cringe all the more. It worries me that I'm not stepping up more on "fun mom" stuff. I'm great at the logistics of motherhood, but when it comes to fun, I'm not always on par with the expectations of my 7-year-old.
Ben's dad and I got some kind of email notification about Fall Ball. I deleted it. Worst mother of all time confirmed.
Golf lessons proved to be a fantastic investment, and what a bleep bleep bleep investment it was. Ben spent the first week with the "Wee Swingers" and quickly advanced to the 10 to 12 year old group by the second week. The coach suggested that we pursue year-round lessons next year for Ben. Of course that means something else needs to go and after three long, muddy years, I'm happy to say that it's soccer. And maybe Fall Ball if no one sees that email. No love lost there.
My beloved OAR released a new album this weekend but I streamed it all last week because it was so bleep bleep bleep great and I got all psyched about their Fall tour until I visited the band's web site and saw that there are no West Coast stops. How much does that suck? Quite a lot. Bleep bleep bleep. And for the record, yes, they are playing up and down the East Coast but repeat Florida trips are not even a remote possibility.
I dredged up a whole lot of BS known as "experience" and attempted to re-create my resume. Just in case the perfect "marketing/pilates/writing/wear all my cute clothes" gig presents itself. I even sent it out to twelve, yes twelve companies for positions that I am seriously not qualified for. Is it really possible that my big career re-entry might be in the form of an administrative assistant? Is it too much to ask for a cute boss at least?
I have a new girlfriend. But she's in Texas. Still, to me, she's "awesome Angie in Austin." We talk a couple of times a week and message each other daily. I love instant friendships but I wish I saw more of my local girlfriends. Why is everyone so busy? Or is it just that I'm not busy enough?
My longtime BFF is still moving to Boston. Her house sold in just three days so I guess it's official: she's really going. Bleep.
With school starting up again, it's time to start wondering how I will contribute to the Montessori school that my son attends. Will I get the lofty title of "Environmental Coordinator" again this year? It's a great title for my resume and this will be my second year in the position. I just hope I don't have to disclose the job description: "Clean the classroom at least once a week." I am so not kidding. I only volunteered because it gets me out of doing "jobs" with the kids. Unless you have a Montessori credential or you are a NASA engineer, those jobs will cause you to furrow your (normally smooth) brow, show your right brain ways, and hope to hell that a teacher will rescue you soon.
So it's pretty safe to say that our Montessori children will likely grow up to do great, left brain things and it's very safe to say that they'll have colorful language skills to boot. Ben learned, in the K/1 class, some of my favorite, yet off-limits words in rapid succession last year. At the beginning of the year, the "S" word was "stupid" and the "F" word was "fart" and we didn't even discuss the "H" and the "B" words. All that has changed now as he has been schooled on every word in the book. To say I'm dismayed by this early learning is an understatement. The same kid who knows nothing about Justin Bieber or Miley Cyrus has way more words than I'd like, thanks to a few "bad apples" in the classroom. To that I say, "what the bleep?!?"
This child rearing stuff is keeping me up at night and so, caffeine is becoming more and more of a vice. These days, it's more common to see me with a Coke Zero can in my hand, than a water bottle. Case in point: I lost my Sigg and I never replaced it. I didn't peg myself as a 40-something, diet soda addict, until, at Six Flags, I actually inquired as to whether their diet soda product was Coke Zero or Diet Coke, or worse yet, Diet Pepsi. It was Coke Zero, thankfully, and I drank four. I have also discovered that Coke Zero is even better with Bacardi.
What's really bad is that the stuff doesn't really give you a decent jolt. I fell asleep on a conference call yesterday. Dead asleep. I woke up to very loud beeping from my phone, followed by a text: "Wasn't that speaker GREAT?" Clearly, I need stronger substances if I am to maintain a (conscious) presence on conference calls. Bleeping embarrassing.
Why are the tomatoes so slow this year? I didn't plan seven tomato plants to scamper off to the Farmer's Market each weekend.
We are off to Santa Cruz on Saturday. "We" meaning Ben, myself, my mom, my sister and my brother-in-law. Our accommodations might be questionable. My mom made the reservations. We'll blame it on her if things aren't on the up-and-up. And then I'll write about it here and she'll give me "the look."
I have an appointment with a dietitian - not a nutritionist - to figure out what is driving my cholesterol numbers up. I'm scared that the outcome will involve a bunch of pricey supplements (which I don't take much of anymore). Actually, I'm more afraid that she will tell me to eat oatmeal, almonds, salmon, fruit and vegetables and then I will have truly wasted my money. I have a mere two months to get those numbers down. Blllllleeeeeeeeep!
On Wednesday nights I teach yoga in my neighborhood. It's the one group class that I teach and we're up to 25, 26, even 30 people in our group fitness room. It's very, very difficult to receive compliments from the crowd that gathers each week when I know that I can't - and won't- be their instructor forever. I try and teach for the moment, and in the moment; and the time has become something that I covet and look forward to.
This evening, I was playing games with Ben. We played three rounds of Dominoes and we built two Jenga towers. I posted a picture of Ben with the leaning stack of Jenga blocks on Facebook and another parent texted me: "Being a single mom with one child must be like dying a slow death." Really? What the bleep? I often feel like I don't play with Ben nearly enough. I rue the day he hides in his room and mutters one-word answers to my questions. He still calls me Mommy and I wouldn't want it any other way. (And he doesn't know that popcorn isn't part of the typical movie experience or that his car bad is far too young for him. Don't out me on these!). I often think that the time I spend resting is gas in the tank, so to speak, for my time with Ben. I didn't think this was such a bad thing until this other parent inferred that I have no life. But I don't think I bleeping care.
My client/friend treated me to a great experience on Friday. She booked manis and pedis at the uber-swanky Pedicure Lounge downtown. We had wine and spent the afternoon getting seriously pampered. I sometimes wonder why I am so lucky to have such generous clients, whom I can easily call friends. The idea of not having my business is a tortured one, from that perspective. I am indeed very, very blessed.
On that note, I'll end with this comment. Life is so much easier when there's no complaining. I've made this huge and very concerted effort to reduce my whining, bitching, and overall bouts of verbal unhappiness lately. So while it was fun to write this post, after re-reading it, I realized how out of character it is for me. There are days when I can't think back to my last complaint. That's a good feeling; I like it.
But I'm still stuck on my article. And I may have to complain a bit more to unblock this case of writer's block!