Treading Water

I thought that I would be excited to see Jack after a weekend away with friends in L.A., but I wasn't. I mean, I was for a few seconds. I was happy to see that he was happy to see me, happy to smell his boyish, yeasty smell, happy to see his little brown eyes and his big, apple-shaped head. But along with all of that came the panic and the hollow-chested feeling that makes breathing hard to do. Along with his sweet, musty smell came the despair of knowing that I am totally alone in the caregiving of this child, that I am responsible for his needs, that it will be only me who will change his every diaper, answer his every cry, take away every dangerous object out of his hand today. Like the plastic bag he just came into the room carrying.

I am overwhelmed by his needs and ashamed at how little I enjoy meeting them. I hate that I hate motherhood. I hate all of the books that say, "Ask your husband to do this or that when you are feeling overwhelmed and tired." I don't have a goddamn husband. I wish I did, but only because then I would have someone to shoulder the responsibility for this little being of light.

I don't know what to do or how to move forward. I need someone to come and take care of me as I take care of Jack, someone to say, "Okay, now, it's time to eat. Then it will be nap time until four and then you need to go grocery shopping and here's the list." I feel pressure to make a decision about my life, to decide what's best for me, but I honestly cannot figure that out. Every choice feels scary; I still have Jack wrapped around my ankles, tripping me up.

When I was training to be a lifeguard in high school, I was required to tread water for 10 minutes while holding two, one-gallon milk jugs filled with water above my head. This image comes to mind as I write, of me swimming wildly, my legs kicking and cramping and it's getting dark out here as I hold myself and Jack above my head, above the water. I can't set either one of us down, but if I hold on to both I'm bound to get tired.

Lost. Reward if Found.

Where did my enthusiasm go? It’s been missing for a while, and in its place sarcasm and despair have made themselves welcome, nestling into my life like an unwelcome houseguest that I feel too small to throw out. And now I’m considering abandoning my home just to be rid of its ugly presence, but I have a nagging feeling that it might just follow me wherever I go.



Exuberance is mirrored to me everywhere, people who are engaged in and excited about their lives, and instead of inspired I am filled with shame and deep sadness. I should be like that, I tell myself. I used to be like that. What is wrong with me?

Tonight, like the night before and the nights before that, I couldn’t wait to put Jack to bed. Oh, thank God it’s seven o’clock. Just a half hour to go. Just a half hour before I can numb out, watch TV, smoke a cigarette, eat several platefuls of food, read email. Just a half hour left before I don’t have to be conscious anymore, or pretend to be. Just a half hour left of keeping him busy, keeping him safe, keeping him out of my hair.

But as I am laying him down I am aware that I have not looked at him in the eyes, have not savored him, have not enjoyed him, have not engaged or embraced him today. He has been a nuisance,a bother, a thing to feed and distract and do. I know that I am missing out on him, missing out on my life with him,

missing out on something very, very precious that I will never get back. I am missing out on my life.

Where did my enthusiasm go? I don’t want to play, don’t want to get down on the floor and wrestle, don’t want to look for snails or get wet in the

sprinkler. I want to watch this episode of The Real World instead. I want to numb out.

The kids try to engage me, look for signs of life. I disappoint them every day, annoyed that they won’t just go play by themselves. Just go play over there, I say. Let me be.

They eventually stop trying. I have become a disengaged adult.


Disinvested.



Enthusiasm is all around me, like in the John Denver tribute I watched on TV, or in the conviction in which the Supernanny coaches the parents that look like me, in my brother and sister-in-law as they follow their dreams to distant lands, in the voice of my friend who calls to tell me that he has passed his licensing exam. It’s in the newly engaged and energetic couple I met at the party I went to just to pass the time, to swallow up the hours of a long Saturday afternoon.

And it’s in Jack. Jack, my little mirror, reflecting back to me what it looks like to live and to love living. Jack, whom I am afraid, hasalready learned not to expect me to dance when he dances, to squeal with him as he squeals, to be delighted with him by the water in the bathtub as it pours out from the faucet.

I have become his unwelcome houseguest, living off of his energy, sucking it in like a gaping black hole.

Where did my enthusiasm go? Where are you, free spirit? Where are you, joy? Where are you, spontaneity, glee? Have you seen my positive outlook? Have you seen my good friend, laughter? She’s been missing for a while. If you see her, tell her I’d like her to
come back home.

Dear Diary...

Another juicy excerpt from my junior high diaries.

(I strongly urge you to read every one of them... they're heavenly.)

January 19, 1989 (12 years old)

Today at school Amber (note to reader: my best friend in junior high was a girl named Amber Rady. We were "the Ambers," or "Amber ditto" as we liked to call ourselves. Uggh. Doesn't this just make you hate junior higher even more?) did a pretty stupid thing. I'll start from the beginning. Jayme Shephard has been having some friend problems like Michelle Tadeo and Leeanna Miller have really left her out and haven't been treating her very well. Well one day Jayme and I were kind of talking about her problems and some of mine. Melissa Maddux had just called her an A. She was crying and I told Amber about it, which was pretty stupid of me. Amber went out and talked to Miss Arend (today) or first she said to Miss A that she wanted to talk to her about it. I wrote Amber a note saying that I thought it was none of her business and she should just leave Jayme alone. If she wants help, she can get it herself. She got really mad and later Jenny Sipp told me that she went down the halls saying "I hate Amber Rice." I tried to persuade her but she went to Miss Arend anyways. Miss Arend came out and talked to Jayme. I asked Jayme what she said and she said that she mostly just said, "if you ever need help then you can come to me" and so on. But Jayme has really changed. She says that she feels God is leading her away from Michelle and Leeanna and God is working in her life. It's really neat to hear her saying things like that. I'm glad she's changed. I hope to become her friend.

January 26, 1989 (seven days later)

Me and Amber made up either yesterday or the day before, I can't remember. It was kind of lame because the thing with Amber is that she always wins. When we talk to each other about the fights we had she always has something good to say and I don't. So I sit there after she has made a really smart remark, waiting for her to say more. By the way - the reason I'm writing so sloppy is because I'm up in the tree in the front yard. Today was twins day and I was twins with Shay Nelson. We looked pretty good. Mrs. Ross and her daughter, Kristen won, though. We were second. I got my hair cut and it looks pretty good. Shay was cool about not winning, but truely I wanted to win. I thought we were real good and we should have won. My goal is to be more like Shay: not drawing attention, calm, nice to everyone, and so on. I know, this doesn't have to do with much but I think Amber thinks I'm teacher's pet for Miss Arend. She thought that way for Shay because Shay passed out papers and other stuff. Amber looks at me funny and stuff. She probably thinks I'm a trator. The thing is that I think I'm teacher's pet also. Not a lot, but a little. Miss Arend is really strict and not very nice but can give you a 1000 watt smile that just makes you feel like Miss Arend loves you!

Why I Hate Japan

My brother is leaving for Japan. In a few days, both he and his wife will be gone. I can't even begin to describe how much this hurts to write. But I write because I need to write about it, need to give this grief a voice, need to get it outside of me.

I don't want to think about how empty my life will feel without them in it. I don't want to imagine the times when I will want to walk next door to their apartment and realize that they aren't there. I don't want to deal with reality that they have made living here tolerable.

And I really don't want to think about them not being here to love Jack with me. This is, absolutely, the most painful aspect of their departure.

They are leaving to create a new life together in Japan, to spend the first year of their marriage in adventure, to get a start that is fresh and exciting. And I get excited for them when I think about this. It took them a lot of hard work to get to this place, the day after their wedding, two weeks before Japan. My support for them has been unwavering, and it still is.

But I am left here in my own life without them, without the adventure, without the new marriage, without the excitement. I have dirty dishes in my sink and a shitty job to go to. I am sickeningly aware of my jealousy of their companionship, of their new start, and of their courage to follow their dreams and suddenly my life feels empty and sallow, like a white washed photo. I hate my job, I hate where I live, I hate being broke, I hate being alone. There, I said it.

So, their leaving is like a double whammy. First of all, I am losing my companions, my immediate support, my friends, my family. I am losing two individuals who stand with me in my life and love it with me. I am losing the comfort of a good neighbor, the person I can drop in on anytime, day or night, and who is happy to see me. I am losing two of Jack's most favorite people, people who he lights up around. God, that is so hard to write.

Secondly, their leaving forces me to recognize the lack of energy I have for my own life, how little I am enjoying it, and how ready I am for a change. And this isn't so hard to write. In fact, I'm really glad to put a label on the lethargic, dissociative way that I've been moving through my days. It's time for a shift; it's time for a change.

I helped Corey pack today. I hated it. But I just want to soak up every minute that I have left with him. The grief and the fear of not having him nearby came in waves as I placed his dishes into boxes, each wave just as hard as the last. There seems to be no reprieve in sight. And right now I cannot imagine ever being okay with their absence, cannot imagine thinking of them without that painful lump clogging my throat.

But I know better. I know that one day I will think of them and I will not have to wipe away tears or clear my throat. I know that I will learn to live without them and their absence won't feel like a gaping, black hole. I've done this before, with ex-boyfriends and roommates and pets. It always feels like death, those first few days, weeks, months. Everything hurts, as if I'm walking around with no skin.

So, I'm going to go do what I always do in times of deep emotional turmoil: read Harry Potter. Lumous to me.

Happy Birthday, Jack!

July 10th was Jack's first birthday. He is now officially a toddler, although the United States government failed to acknowledge this with a letter or some other form of notification. I'm sure it was just an oversight.

Anywho, I made these little videos as a gift to Jack, a way of looking back at his first year and remembering it. Be prepared to cry... some of them are total tear-jerkers.

This first one is Jack's first day of life... grab the kleenex.



A little video about Jack's love affair with water. Caution: this video contains nudity.



Uncle Corey is Jack's favorite person in the whole wide world. Jack gets so excited when Corey walks through the door! If Jack were a cocker spaniel, he would pee on the floor every time. Here's a little video that shows how cute these two are together.



If you made this video, entitled Jack & Co., you know you are kind of a big deal.



This last one is a letter that I wrote to Jack on his birthday. Get more kleenex.

WWJD

I’m going through another phase, as I often do. It's a phase in my thinking, one that I will think will change my life forever- once I figure it out. But I said that last week about about a diet program I saw on TV. Anyways, this current life-changing phase revolves around these two suffixes: –ish and –less.

When placed behind the word self, two new words are created that have very different meanings. Due to my Sunday School teachings and various after school specials, I learned that selfish = bad, while selfless = good. I mean, let’s face it. Jesus was the epitome of self-less: went through hell, was tortured and crucified for the world, etc. And we’re all supposed to try to be like him, right? Isn’t that what it means when it says, “Deny yourself, pick up your cross and follow Jesus?”

I heard a lot of stuff about selfish vs. selfless. Selfless people were always revered on Sunday mornings at church. There would be a slide presentation about the Walsh family in Peru who were living amongst the aborigines who would daily threaten the Walsh children’s lives by putting deadly snakes in their cribs and dragging them down to the river to be eaten by the crocodiles. And yet the Walsh family continued to be of service to the Lord and to the Tichian tribe of Peru by spreading the good gospel. And would you consider sending $20.00 – just the cost of a cup of coffee a day – to the Walsh family so that they can buy the necessary vaccines and snake venom antidotes that they need to continue their ministry?

They never did a slide show on the Stewart family that took a rejuvenating vacation to Cabo that summer after a long year of being a soccer mom and VP of sales at Qualcom. They didn’t talk about how great it was that the Stewarts flew first class and ate at five-star dining establishments in an effort to enjoy themselves and the beauty of the world around them. (Unless, of course, the Stewarts spent their time in Cabo passing out tracks and reciting the sinner’s prayer with other beach goers on vacation. Then they might get a nod from the pastor).

In fact, as a child I was often able to detect a hint of disdain from the pulpit for families like the Stewart’s. It seemed that I was warned against this kind of hedonism, this blatant soothing of the flesh that has no reward in heaven. “Do not build up your treasures here on earth,” “do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit,” “no one should seek out his own good but the good of others,” etc. I was groomed to be a martyr, to care more about others than myself, to feel guilty every time I walked past a homeless man without offering him my last silver coins. I was taught that by choosing a cup of coffee instead of sending my allowance to Peru, I was choosing to let children die.

So, fast forward 10, 20 years and here I am, still wrestling with my guilt over buying my venti iced coffee instead of sending $29.99 to end genocide in Darfur. And I’m serious, folks. I feel like I am choosing to let children die every time I enjoy that sweet, milky coffee that seems to switch me from off to on every morning. How could I be so selfish, the preacher’s voice inside my head asks? How could you deny Jesus in this way? How could you care more about your own comfort over the lives of dying women and children in Darfur?

I used to listen to this voice religiously. Out of a tremendous sense of responsibility for the world’s poor and sick and hungry, I sent my money to Compassion and Amnesty and the Red Cross. I ate a completely vegan diet for two years when I realized how the raising of farm animals devastated the earth and its resources. I’ve lobbied congress, sent letter to my senators, complained on the White House comment line. I became a social worker and a foster parent to rescue abused children. I only buy clothing made in the US in order to prevent the proliferation of sweat shops… but I still feel guilty. I still feel guilty for the amount of water I waste every day, for spending $25.00 on a pretty shower curtain, for wanting to give birth to another child instead of preferring to adopt one. I feel guilty for having what I have and for wanting more. I feel guilty for taking up space on the planet at all.

I’m tired of feeling bad for enjoying a cup of coffee. I want to be done with the anxiety that comes along with this tremendous sense of over-responsibility and I am ready to embrace the beauty of the world around me without apologizing for my first-class plane ticket. But I don’t know how yet.

Perhaps there is a clue to this issue of suffixes in the question written on the slap bracelet I used to wear so proudly: What Would Jesus Do? This always seemed like an easy question: give your stuff away, die for each other, turn the other cheek, become a doormat, etc. But maybe this isn’t accurate at all. Perhaps I had Jesus all wrong. As I recall, he did put Judas in his place when Judas chastised the woman for “wasting” expensive perfume on Jesus’s feet. Judas argued that the money could have been used for the poor, but Jesus told him, “There will always be poor, but I won’t be around long. Enjoy me while I’m here.”

So, what would Jesus do? Seems to me that he might just order the venti iced coffee, and add a blueberry scone to go with it. He might even have done so in designer sandals. Maybe there is a way to enjoy the bounty and beauty of this life without feeling guilty, without feeling as if I’m stealing from the poor. Maybe.

The A List

The must-haves Amber thinks are just great:

1. Little brothers who mop your kitchen floor while he babysits your child. Thanks, Corey!
2. The VW billboards. As a beetle owner, I beam with pride when I see the fabulous VW billboards urging us to "Dare to be happy." Jaded is overrated, Misery has enough company..." I could start a religion based on this stuff. In fact, I will. Services at 11:00pm.
3. Cathy Griffin, My Life On the D-List. Love love lovety love love love her. Love.
4. Shutterfly.com. I'm going to admit something to all of you but you have to promise to still like me. I like to scrapbook. Oh god, I hate admitting that. I was never a crop-till-you-drop-diehard, but I do own a paper-cutter and a punch, or two. Shutterfly is excellent because of the amazing photobooks that you can create online. They're simple, cute, and they don't require adding on a spare bedroom for your craft supplies.
5. Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. A smart, quick paced show that takes lots of shots at the religious right. And Chnandler Bong is in it!
6. The Glamazons. I found myself inspired by these ladies, although their lead singer could use a pitch corrector for performances. Yikes. OH, and watch to the end of the video for the Hoff's reactions. Fab.
7. Hey Paula. Oh.My.God. An hour of pure crazy. L-O-V-E. Straight up.
8. This photo of Jack eating a lime