Reflections after getting sick

I was sick last week. (Suspected food poisoning - don't ask.) It was rough. But as they say, every cloud has a silver lining and due to being sick I worked out a couple of things.
First, since I was wiped out for 5 days, I figured out that slowing my life down was the only was I was going to get through each day with 3 children. I had someone wonderful walk the big boys home from school and when the going was really tough, my mother-in-law and best girlfriend saved our arses. The funny thing was that nothing in my house went to the pits in the process of me slowing down. For example, the kids ate, the kids were clean (mostly and thanks to that best girl friend the baby was extra clean), the laundry got done, (not as efficiently as my freakishness likes, but it got done!), and most importantly, I actually sat with the boys far more than usual. I sat and read with Kyler more. I sat and watched JP and Charlie's dodgy 30minutes kid shows and actually discovered that Phineas and Ferb is quite funny. (Don't ask about chowder though. That show is just plain crap.) I realized that before I got sick, everything was starting to feel a little out of control. I know I stay at home (and I don't know how my friends do it all who work) but fuck me, I cannot keep on top of everything that goes on! I wasn't on top of things last week, but i laughed more and enjoyed my boys a lot more.
Anyway, swearing aside, I guess having food poisoning was a good thing? (As much as it pains me to say it....)
Second, after being able to function on Gatorade (More than I ever wanted to drink - doctors orders for very low potassium), English crackers, and bananas, I also came to the conclusion that we all eat A Lot. For example, when I was feeling a bit better, I took the boys to Target and while we were there I thought I would try to eat a Starbucks blueberry scone. The damn thing was enormous! I ate a corner. And I just kept thinking....is this why we have a nation of obesity? (No offense Starbucks.) Because circular scones, that used to be about about 2 inches across, have morphed into a huge, dense triangle of dry anti-Britishness.
Unfortunately, I also realized that for me to run at my usual pace, with all the energy that I use up trying to keep up with my 3 boys, I have to eat a lot more than I did last week. But maybe I'll think twice before I tuck into a big Starbucks scone. (Unless it's the maple scones in the Fall. There's always room for those delicious babies....)

....on cheese.

I think I just discovered the best cheese. It's a triple cream, French soft cheese, like a brie combined with Gorgonzola. The name of this deliciousness? Cambozola. I bought it at Wholefoods where they were giving out samples and dollar off coupons. (Smart.) It worked on me because I fell in love with this cheese. It's soft, like brie, actually it was softer, so much so that when you put it in your mouth, it just melts. It reminded me of the consistency of perfectly warmed ice-cream or when chocolate reaches body temperature and just melts on your tongue. Then there is a kick from the Gorgonzola. It's. Just. Fantastic.

Yesterday morning, as I was driving downtown, I listened to The Story on NPR. For once my journey was longer than 10 minutes, so I actually got to listen to almost all of the segment - a miracle! The story featured an elderly British man, Malcolm Morris who had grown up in London during the blitz in World War 2. Mr. Morris was about 7 or 8 at the height of the war. His family lived in north London, where they decided to stay during the bombings, rather than go to safer parts of the country like many other Londoners did. Mr. Morris' home was about 500 yards from a bridge that joined the north part of England with London. The bridge was an essential link that the Germans constantly tried to bomb. He remembered how blase his family became about going down into the air raid shelter at night, so instead he would watch the bombs exploding from his window. He recalled how to the kids, shrapnel was a precious commodity that traded well between peers. Mr. Morris told all of this and more in a delightful, upbeat manner that exuded that British 'chin-up'-ness. The best story of all however was how he was thrown across a room by a land mine. These land mines were dropped from a specific kind of plane, attached to a parachute. When the parachute reached so many feet from the ground, the land mine exploded. Mr Morris just chuckled at the fact that he was so unaware of this landmine heading toward the vicinity that he was in, that his body was relaxed enough for little damage to be inflicted upon him when he did a body slam against a wall.
It all got me thinking. Got me thinking how easy my life is in comparison with these families that lived through London in World War 2. It got me thinking how spoiled our generation is, and the following generations are, that we really haven't had to live with the kind of fear that Europe felt from 1939-1945. (I mean, France at it's closest point to England is only around 20 miles away. Occupied France. With Germans intent on marching right on across the Channel to England....)
It also got me thinking about my family, and how recent all this sadness, anxiety, and fear really was in the grand scheme of things. For example - my grandfather had to leave his wife and son (my Dad), in east London to work on the army tanks in Germany. My grandmother refused to leave London and stayed with her 2 year old child while neighbouring streets were bombed. My great-grandmother, blown up by, if I remember correctly, a V2 rocket. The V2 was an exceptionally sinister type of bomb that was used in the later years of the war. It was the first sub-orbital rocket and was developed in response to the allies bombing German cities. As a kid, in history, we were told the V2 was silent - apart from the sonic-boom that some people heard over London- and that once you did hear the rocket it was too late.)
All of this stuff speaks for itself. It's a wonder to me that a whole generation actually made it. Not just physically, but mentally too. I wonder if they had/have more resilience? Or whether they appreciated the day-to-day grind because there was a strong chance it could all be taken away in an instant.
Everyone that was an adult during the war, back home, are gone now. And all these questions that I didn't have when I was a teenager will have to wait. Maybe I'll meet them again. And if I play my cards right, we'll have blissful eternity to discuss the answers.

4,000 miles

Sometimes, if I let myself think about it, I start to panic about the fact that my parents, sister, and her family are 4,000 miles away. You would think that after living here for almost 14 years that I would have grown used to that fact and that it wouldn't bother me. Ha. I guess this is where life is funny. It's more weird than funny, more complicated than amusingly simple, and there seems to be more conflicted feelings than I ever thought possible. In this instance with me living so far away from home, life is funny on many different levels. First, because I could hardly leave the house when I was 15/16 for fear of panic attacks. I now live part of continent and an ocean away from that house. Second, because I never thought I would not live by my sister. We used to have this dream that when we were older we would start a business together. It was going to be a quaint coffee shop (we both LOVE coffee) and we were going to sell our art. Admittedly these plans were formed before I was an adult. My sister is 7 years older than me, but despite that we have always been very close. Third, (and this is the funniest) I never wanted to even visit America. In college, I would sit in a sociology class, where all my fellow students talked of wanting to visit the States, and I just wanted to go to Africa or Russia. (Strangely now none of those places are at the top of my places-to-visit list.) And now America is the place I call home.
Life is complicated because I can desperately miss my family in England, the physical country and the culture yet I love living here, love the friends I have made, and the family I married into that I now call my own. But then again, I have these yearnings to see my boys in school uniform going to school, or to spy a red post box nestled in a wall (like the little one by my parents house), or hear the peal of church bells on a Sunday morning.
Most tragically it seems (in my head at least) I think about the time I am missing with them all. The days fly by, the months and years pass quickly. My children grow and change, and all the while my parents miss out on all the milestones and significant moments. They miss the day to day comings and goings that they get to witness and partake in with my sister and her family. when I think like this, I start to feel a weight crushing down on me. I feel suffocated. And the worse thought of all crosses my mind....that when they are gone, and I am old, I will feel like I wasted all this time apart from them. There. That's the conflict. Clearly, I am not wasting time. But I am terrified that I will never get this time back. The time when the boys were 2 and 4. Or 3 and 5. When Kyler was born, or when JP first played T-ball. When Charlie went to kindergarten and all the future events that we have yet to experience. It's so permanent. And of course it is. I can't turn time back. I can't relive everything but relive it with my parents and sister living down the road.
So, I will try to not to think too hard, miss them all too much, or speculate on future situations and their possible corresponding feelings. Right.....

I have been accused of over thinking. This is not news. So, I think I am over thinking this whole blog thing. Strangely I don't mind the idea of anyone being able to read it, but I become very upset when people I do know read it....especially since I don't actually think I can write that well. It begs the question, who should read it and why am I writing it? I am foggy on both answers.

I write for several reasons. One, it feels therapeutic (I know I could keep a paper diary, but I think I am not patient enough for the fine motor skill of writing. However, I do think I am going to try to revive the art of letter writing.) Two, I have a lot of thoughts and memories especially that I wish to express. And three, it saves my poor husband from being unloaded upon when he walks in the door after work. But I think I think the very act of blogging (n my case anyway) is completely narcissistic.

I have had two incidents where the blog got passed along, and I wasn't sure whether I wanted it to. Which is ridiculous 'cause it's out there....on the world wide web....for any Tom, Dick or Harriett to see. The people I know who read it (or pretend to) know all my warts, my endless, rambling thoughts, and my over-use of parenthesis. The strangers I don't care about. For example, when I was at University I was in a play (Steel Magnolias...a future blog since it was a hoot and a holler), and it ran for 4 nights. Two of those nights, I knew no one in the audience, and that was exactly how I liked it. The two nights where either my room mates were there or my family came, I was ready to have a heart attack on stage. I don't know what that says about me?

Maybe I should just make the blog into a memoir. Then, I wouldn't feel so chintzy about writing about myself. Who knows?

I was going to write today about this cool article in Newsweek about women and the Catholic church. But I haven't finished it yet (major problem) and as I was getting ready to fold laundry (what fun I have) I heard on NPR, an interesting piece about Tiger Woods and his latest advertisement for Nike.
Here's a little background on what I know about Tiger Woods - brilliant golfer, father put a golf club in his hand at a ridiculously young age, role model for young athletes, wins ALL the time, Gatorade and Nike use him to sell their products...oh and he slept with all kinds of women, while his wife carried and gave birth to his two children. Call me irrational but I really have trouble separating the way a man conducts his private life and his status in our culture. I have this strange idea that, especially when you are considered a role model you would maybe, take a holistic point of view of your life and try to do the right thing, be a good and decent person, and keep it in your pants!!! (Oh and we won't even cover the fact that Tiger gets paid shit-load of money and this combined with raw talent, elevates him to some God-like status. What makes that worse is I know there are many, many people who do so much good in this world for so much less monetary reward and public recognition.)
So, I go to you-tube to see the Nike Ad, and it's ridiculous. The camera is on Tiger, it's shot in black and white, and he's looking all remorseful and childlike. Then, Tiger's Dad starts talking, from beyond the grave (and I know that man was not faithful either), and he asks questions like, "I want to know what you were thinking" (I'll tell you what he was thinking...) and "did you learn anything?" Yeah, Dad, I learned that you can have your cake and eat it! Dad, I learned that when you're me, you get to fuck who the heck you want to, take a few months out to go sex-addiction rehab (why they don't they just re-name that cheating rehab for famous men?), and then step right back up to play at the Masters and get all kinds of money from advertisements again. Oh, except I think his marriage broke up, (as did his truck) but what the heck did he expect?
I know that there are so many people who don't agree with me about personal choices and fame, but I guess they can put this blog down to another one of my "WB soap box" rants. I stand by my earlier thought: Tiger Woods + Nike = lower than a snakes balls.

I found out a few things about myself on this trip that we all took last week -

• I love Washington DC. (I already knew that, but every time I go, I am reminded what a fantastic city it is.)
• I do not care for 3 meals per day in restaurant type situations with 3 boys, one of whom is under 2. (See previous blog.)
• I find the landscape of Virginia to be breathtakingly beautiful, and I am sad that the Midwest is so FLAT. (Chicago is pretty rocking though...and the OP is home....)
• I still hate to fly. At one point on the way home, after the captain had warned us all it was going to be choppy as we drew nearer to Chicago, not just bumpy, but choppy, I turned to Kyle who was behind me, and as my head was swimming with vertigo and jumbled thoughts of trying to sing the Wheels on the Bus to Kyler/read a book/breath calmly and steadily, all I could say was "I am terrified". There is no reason now that I am not pregnant or nursing that I can't go get me some flying drugs!!
• I love my daft routine-ridden-stay-at-home-mum life. (Yes, I will change my mind on this by next week I am sure, but for now I am standing by my that statement.) I was so happy to come home and cook for my boys, nothing fancy, just a little pasta Saturday night, and a delicious part-Julia Child quiche for lunch on Sunday. Part because I did not make the pastry. Pillsbury's little dough boy did. Anyway, I guess I also like being my own boss. I say when the f'ing laundry gets done, and when and what we eat, and how I want to rearrange my furniture (sorry Kyle....). That autonomy is no small thing. Even if I do, at times, feel ruled by 3 little, blonde haired boys.
• I love History. I knew this already also, but it's a funny thing when you fall in love with the history of a country that basically grew out of a desire to be separated from the country that you grew up in. And that it is the history of a country that not only wanted the independence from your country, but also purposefully and with complete dedication, ensured that all the seemingly bad things about your country were not repeated or installed in that new one! (This may shed a whole new light on the prospect of my non-existent citizenship....?!) Oh, and I am always, completely and utterly blown away by the founding fathers. I still think it is truly amazing that a handful of men (too bad no girlie's, but I guess Abigail Adams plugged away at John to include us....), could dedicate their lives to establishing a whole new nation. Do you realize that that has never been done before? I mean, we all think this generation is pretty damn smart, but then you think about what those guys thought up, and pondered on, with an excruciating eye for detail, and then I think either all the smart people are hiding or we just ain't all that.

Motherhood

Today I don't like being a mother. I know we're not supposed to disclose that. Mothers aren't. It's some dark thought that shouldn't be shared with the world....but it's true. I am not enjoying it at all today. And it's not the big boys. It's the baby. Which makes me feel even more like a shitty mother.
We're in Charlottesville in a pleasant hotel, with fantastic weather, visiting one of my favorite people (Uncle Eric), and Kyler is spazing out on a regular basis which in turn is making me completely and utterly nuts. His latest thing when he has finished eating is to start knocking everything in his reach off of the table. Food, drink, plates, silverware...if Kyler can reach it then it's gone. All the while he shakes his head from side to side and screams. I can just about deal with this at home....but in a resturant 3 times a day for a week? Holy shit. I love my children but recently in the hotel, l find myself staring at adults without children and I wonder what it would be like to have no one but yourself to worry about? I mean I remember what it was like and Obviously I don't want to go back. And when I am by myself again (I guess when they all leave for college) I'll be completely beside myself with loneliness? Empty-nest syndrome? Older women (complete strangers at times) tell me, when they see me with my boys that these are the best times of my life, and that when all you want is 5 minutes to yourself now, when you do get 5 minutes or 5 hours or 5 days without the very beings that you felt you had to escape from for the afore mentioned 5 minutes, then you don't want it!!!! Well what does this say about the rest of my life? That's it's all downhill from now? Crap.
It's all so confusing. I love motherhood but I don't. I want time on my own, but then I feel guilty when I am on my own. Moreover, I will apparently want these crazy times back when they are gone. I guess the lesson is to live in the moment. Enjoy the now. And breath deeply and count to 10 when your baby chucks food everywhere.