Dirty Little Secret

20 years ago yesterday, my first boyfriend died. He was no longer my boyfriend, in fact he was in love with and the boyfriend of someone else, but I was still shattered. Not only because he was dead, but because everyone around me was shattered too.

I had just dug myself out of a deep depression that plagued my freshman year of college and I became obsessed with figuring out why he had died. I felt like knowing whether he’d done it on purpose or by accident would make the grief easier to bear. It wasn’t that we’d talked, away at our separate colleges before cell phones and Facebook. It was just him not being there, him not being a possibility in my future, him not off doing amazing things, that I couldn’t handle.

Now my friend has been gone longer than he was here.

There’s a tiny part of me that’s still shattered. Not for myself, but for his parents, his girlfriend, his best friends and all the people who didn’t get to know him. And for him, most of all.

That’s the thing no one ever told me about grief. It shrinks, yes, but it also morphs. Maybe into a grief that’s more bearable, maybe into art or anger or whatever. But I guess I’d always thought that someday it would shrink so much that I couldn’t feel it anymore. But on the 20th anniversary of my friend’s wake, I know that’s not true.

So, as usual, I am way, way, way behind on my blog reading. I am sorry that I haven’t read your blog, because, believe me, I LOVE your blog. I also love Aunt Becky’s blog - and really, all things Aunt Becky – so when she suggested I write about something, I had to do it.

Plus, it’s hard to come up with topics when I’m home with sick kids for days on end. Unless you want to hear about how much I already love those crazy bitches on Real Housewives of D.C.

Why Blogging is Important

Let’s just suppose, for a moment, that all the ancient old media types are right to dismiss the connections and communities blogging has developed, the news stories it has broken and the launch of many wonderful writers. Let’s even blame blogging for the popularity of The Jersey Shore, while we’re at it.

Still, blogging is important. I doubt very many members of the old media – or any media, really – were history majors. But I was. And while I would never dismiss the importance of newspapers in historical record keeping, you know what came before newspapers?

Letters. Reading old letters, from Presidents or writers or regular people, has given historians invaluable information about the past. Though, because many people were illiterate or enslaved or whatnot, historical information has always been rather skewed towards a relatively small percentage of the population. Still, reading  the conversations between people like Thomas Jefferson and George Washington has given us so much insight into that era.

Certain kinds of people lament that we don’t write letters anymore, that there will be no tangible record or our time. Obviously, those people don’t read blogs. Blogs are the letters of our time, a tangible record of how regular people lived and felt and worked and collected weird dolls and studied calculus and interacted with each other.

Someday 200 years from now, expectant mothers can look fondly at their womb machines while they read about what it’s like to actually carry a baby. Someday, historians will really be able to see how “the common people” felt about the economy and the war and the best way to potty train. Someday blog records will show kids that history is way more than just a dry study of dates and politics.

Important as the historical aspect is, though, I would never agree with the old media types. Blogging saved me from going stir crazy when I first stayed home with a 2 year old and a 1 year old. It’s taught me so much about writing and parenting. It’s introduced me – even if only virtually – to some completely amazing people. You can’t dismiss writers like Jen Lancaster, the craziness of Rielle Hunter and the amazing support groups that have developed to help people through tragedies.

On a final note, you know who doesn’t like blogging? Tyrants like the Iranian and Chinese governments. So, hey, if you want to align yourself with them, go ahead and put down blogs.

I feel like I’ve been busy, even though I don’t seem to have accomplished anything lately. Well, the kids are alive – I suppose that’s something, right? Anyway, here are the thoughts I’ve been too busy (or lazy) to turn into posts lately. . .

1. Even though I hate the character Tinkerbell in Peter Pan, I’m so glad Ironflower is now into the whole Disney Fairies thing, instead of the whole Disney Princess thing. The fairies actually do things and have talents, whereas those princesses just wait around to be rescued. I would totally rather have magic powers than beauty.

2. Yesterday’s soft, misty rain made me miss the Pacific Northwest. Today’s steady downpour makes me want to kick things. Also, what the hell, weather? Why am I wearing long pants in August?

3. Shrek the Musical really is awesome. We listened to the soundtrack yesterday – I forgot how truly good a lot of the songs are. The whole thing is so, so much better than the movie. I wish we could take the kids again.

4. Whoever put up the Twitter link that led me to Ebay deserves to be slapped. I am not to be trusted on Ebay. I’m not buying things, I just keeping looking at stuff I could be buying. I won’t bid more than $2, except for the Tinkerbell costume that got me there in the first place. Because otherwise outfitting Ironflower in her desired Halloween costume will cost like $60. Still, it’s hard not bidding $60 for 4 Yankees tickets.

5. Signed Ironflower and Lovebug up for classes at the Y. Instead of doing it online or whenever, there is a huge gathering where people get numbers and then you wait anxiously for your turn, hoping classes are still available. I was warned that I should go early. I got there an hour early and ran into our former neighbor. She had gotten there 3 hours early and had gotten number 3. I was 87. The whole process took 2 hours. Reminded me of my first college registration back in the dark ages. And by the time I’d graduated in 1993 we were registering by phone, at least.

6. My kids seem really hyper and crazy unless I’ve forced them to go outside (in which case they are mellow and quiet) or let them watch TV. Thinking of putting a tent over the patio and putting a TV out there until school starts. Seriously. If my boys don’t stop shrieking and yelling about every little thing I’m going to start wearing ear plugs.

7. I feel kinda sorry for Danielle Staub, even though she is a loony bitch who would never talk to me. (If you don’t know who I’m talking about, uh, don’t worry about it. Your TV viewing tastes are more highbrow than mine). I feel more sorry for her daughters, of course. But she’s just so obviously crazy and you can just see how badly she wanted to be accepted by the “popular girls”. And if she thinks the Manzos are bad, she should totally go hang out with Jill Zarin and Kelly Bensimon. Or that British chick on D.C.

Yesterday Hot Guy and I loaded our brood into the car and drove into NYC. We should do this more often, as proximity to NYC is one of the perks of living here, but generally we don’t bring ChunkyMonkey. Because he’s not yet 2. And he’s really, really loud.

We brought him yesterday though, because we went to the Imagination Playground and I would have felt guilty leaving him at home. I also feel a bit guilty about how loud he was yesterday, but you can’t have everything.

You are probably thinking, why would someone who lives in the suburbs bring her kids into the city to go to a freaking playground?

A. I was invited there by the awesome Role Mommy and the fantastic Mom in the City for an Imagination Playground Family Blogger event. So, you know, that automatically made it cooler.

B. The Imagination Playground is not like your typical suburban playground. The one next to South Street Seaport has a ship’s feel, with rigging to climb on, hammocks to swing in and a crow’s next. There is a sand/water area and a water area perfect for wading and splashing. Kids can build with sand or with huge foam shapes. Ironflower spent most of her time climbing, though she did manage to soak herself in one of the fountains. Lovebug went straight for the blocks, though he played in the sand as well. ChunkyMonkey just enjoyed running around holding a shovel. He did not enjoy the fountain that soaked Ironflower, but he got over it pretty quickly.

C. We also got to tour a 100 year old sailing ship with a guide from the South Street Seaport Museum. This was definitely geared more towards kids Ironflower’s age and above, including Hot Guy. I highly recommend it for school-aged kids, as the ship we visited, the Peking, has restored crew cabins and the like. The kids also got to lower the sails (older kids got to raise the sails) and see some sea creatures. Sorry I don’t have more details on that part, but it was my turn with ChunkyMonkey then and he was not very interested in the tour. Or the ship. Or really anything except being really, really loud. And running away from me. I left the tour early to get his stroller from the museum. And to let other people hear the tour guide.

D. There was even a lunch catered by Tom Colicchio’s  ‘wichcraft (seriously the best sandwich I have ever tasted in my life, plus cupcakes described by Ironflower as “paradise”) and Stew Leonard’s (very yummy ice cream sandwiches).

E. The possibility of meeting other bloggers. I definitely chatted with some lovely women, but my kids so distracted me that I neglected to ask anybody anything relevant like, “What’s your blog’s name?” or “Do you have a card?” Hell, I was barely able to get my own name out. So I would like to apologize to the other attendees for being more socially awkward than I usually am. Which is saying something.

F. Gift bags! Each kid got a fun gift bag with a note book (Ironflower’s favorite), a ship craft (Lovebug’s favorite), a ball (ChunkyMonkey’s favorite), a telescope, crayons, a book and a spade. There might have been more, but I won’t be sure what until we clean up the living room later.

G. Momentary envy. There was a coupon in the bags from something called MaxDirect. Apparently they deliver groceries, toiletries and DVDs anywhere in lower Manhattan in an hour. If lived in Tribeca I would never, ever, have to take the kids to the grocery store. Of course, I might want to since I can’t imagine stuffing my 3 kids into a city apartment.

Yes, the event/food/gift bags were free for us. But if any of them had sucked I would have told you, promise. Also, we had to pay for parking and that totally sucked, let me tell ya.

*Photos by myself, Hot Guy, Mom in the City and RoleMommy. For pictures of the kiddos at the event, go to the photos section on my Facebook page.

I watched Jersey Shore last night. Yes, I’m pretty sure I lost some IQ points, not to mention some self-respect. Also? I’m so, so glad that no one ever filmed me while I was drunk. Sure, I probably wouldn’t have spent so much of my youth drunk if I’d known I was being filmed, but still.

The true problem here, of course, is that most of the shows I’m proud to watch are in hiatus right now or off the air completely. I long for the day when I can design my own TV channels so that I never wind up watching Jersey Shore again. Wouldn’t it be awesome to be able to program your own channels, like some merger of Hulu and a cool video game?

I’ve been pondering this in the hours that I’ve been scrubbing the house (the rest of the family comes home tonight to a spotless house that I’m sure they will demolish within 3 hours) and I’ve come up with 3 channel ideas:

Great Drama: The West Wing, The Sopranos, Friday Night Lights, Homicide, Oz, Mercy, the first few seasons of ER, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Cold Feet, Fringe

Great Comedy: Sex and the City, Desperate Housewives, Modern Family, Friends, Arrested Development, Glee, Absolutely Fabulous, selected seasons and sketches of Saturday Night Live,

Great Trash: The Real Housewives, Real Sex, House Hunters, Bridezillas, Project Runway, Degrassi, Top Chef

I feel like I’ve forgotten some great shows, so please leave suggestions in the comments. What would your ideal channel show all day? What kind of channel have I forgotten?

Also, if you could please, please, please like my page on Facebook or follow my blog (or both) I promise I’ll reward you when I win Powerball.

So Hot Guy has taken Ironflower and Lovebug to Kansas to stay with their grandparents. For a week. Initially, I had a lot of anxiety about this. I’ve never been so far away from them, never been without them for so many nights. And yet, now that they are safely there, I feel at peace.

Because taking care of one toddler? It’s cake.

An endless supply of snacks and occasional trips in the car (his favorite phrase these days is “Go car!”, which can be amended to screams of “Car go!” if you don’t respond quickly enough) and he’s pretty happy. Plus, he doesn’t care what shows we watch when the TV is on.

So yeah, parents of only children? You have it easy.

Not that there’s anything in the world that would make me give up any of my 3 in 4 years, but still. This is just so much easier.

Of course, I didn’t think so when I (briefly) had only 1 kid. Then I thought having a kid was so much work.  And it was, compared to my life of having no kids.

So I think what I need to do when the big kids come back is borrow a few more kids. So that I’ll have 5 or 6 to manage. Then I’ll send the extras back to their (well-rested) parents and having 3 will seem easy.

In fact, I think that’s what all of us who feel overwhelmed should do – borrow some extra kids. Your kid is tiring you out? Handle 3 for a week. Three kids driving you crazy? Try 5. Five kids stressing you out? Have 7. And those of you that have more than 5 kids? Send them to whiners like me and have some time off. Because you? You don’t need to be reminded of how much more difficult things can be.

Sure, “time off” isn’t quite the same when you have kids. You spend your time cleaning their closets and rearranging their rooms while they’re gone, like I have (amazingly, though, I still haven’t gotten around to cleaning their bathroom.). You worry about what they’re doing and how they’re feeling and whether their father is remembering to put sun block on them. You miss their hugs and their commentary, though maybe not their love of the Disney Channel.

So it’s not the “time off” of yesteryear, which involved lots of booze, trashy television and complete relaxation. (That wasn’t just me, right?) But it’s still time where you don’t have to do a lot of the more annoying parenting tasks like settling arguments, cooking (ChunkyMonkey prefers meals of fruit, milk, peanut butter and crackers and who am I to argue?) and listening to Phineas and Ferb.

At least that’s how I’m looking at it.

I survived taking the kids to the pool again today. On the bright side, no one pooped. Though Lovebug let out a few screams (overtired+overexcited=Lovebug screams in response to any negative stimuli) that were loud enough to make me think someone had pooped.

But I suppose I’m the one who misbehaved today. Because today, folks, I read a magazine while my kids were in the pool. That’s right, not only did I let them go in by themselves, I dared to look away while they were in there.

Of course, they are 4 and 5 and they were in about 3 feet of water. Fenced into 3 feet of water, I should say. And there were like 6 other kids in the whole area.  While neither swims quite successfully, they do understand not breathing water. Oh, and they are very loud.

So, when I was not playing with them, feeding them or finding out why Lovebug was screaming (bumped his elbow on the fence, for example), I read. Not a novel, because I could get so engrossed in a novel I could miss them taking my wallet and handing it to the guy who sells ice cream and/or smacking that kid who was splashing everybody. Anyway, you should have seen the looks I got from the other moms.

Not all of them, but enough. Especially the one that I was NOT going to make fun of on this blog because she always seemed perfectly nice. I am trying to be a kinder, gentler me. But she glared at me, so clearly she started it and I can make fun of her freely.

Now let me say that a lot of moms around here still wear bikinis. Because they still look good in bikinis. And another percentage, while maybe not rocking the bikini, still looks cute at the pool. This mom is clearly trying to be in that category, because she doesn’t try the pregnant bikini thing, but her suit is very cute and she always does her hair.

And by does her hair, I mean that she invariable ties a grosgain ribbon around her ponytail. It’s always a different color, too.

What woman over 18. . .hell, what girl over 10 wears a ribbon in her hair? And who thinks, yeah, a ribbon is the perfect accessory for swimming?

And it’s in this loopy, lop-sided bow with long strings hanging down her neck. I mean, it would not have been a great style in 1986.

Ahem. So, yeah, ribbon lady and her friend glared at me today, as I sat with my magazine. I started to feel self-conscious. Because, you know, maybe I was being irresponsible by not watching them (along with the 2 lifeguards) in the 3 feet of water. And then I thought, maybe they’re just jealous because they had toddlers to follow around(this is why I avoid taking ChunkyMonkey to the pool. Also, he gets bored. And if I’m hauling a ton of gear and making a picnic, we are staying at the pool for more than an hour, dammit.) and I did not.

So then I thought, I’ll ask the internets. Well, the 4 of you not at BlogHer, anyway. Was I being irresponsible? Should ribbon lady have glared at me? Or would you have done the same thing?

A former contestant on Britain’s Got Talent is suing Simon Cowell because he humiliated her on the show. When I snorted while reading the article, Hot Guy wanted to know what was up.

I think it’s a testimony to our love that my snorts, instead of repelling him, make him interested in whatever I am reading.

So I explained about the suit. I may have also implied that this woman does not deserve several million pounds for getting humiliated on a Simon Cowell show, since by now even people who hate pop culture know what happens when you sing in front of Simon Cowell.

This is a man, after all, who does not appreciate Jennifer Hudson.

I expected Hot Guy to agree. I mean, the humiliation of others is half the reason people watch those shows. And while the other judges might dash dreams, Simon makes a sport of how nasty he can be. So anyone who does audition should know exactly what they’re in for, shouldn’t they?

Instead, I got to hear a little lecture about how dreadful it is that Simon Cowell makes so much money being mean to people and basically he deserves every frivolous law suit he gets.

I was a little taken aback. Hot Guy usually agrees with me about frivolous law suits AND he’s always said that he won’t watch any competition shows because of the annoying screams of the adolescent audience.

But now I see Hot Guy’s point. Simon’s mean just to be mean and it does seem rather unfair that he’s got more money that the queen because of it.

So now I’m wondering what song I should sing for my audition. I guarantee he will  be very nasty to me because I can’t carry a tune unless I think no one else is listening. Then I can sue him for several million dollars and finally buy a new dishwasher. And redo my basement. . .

Damn,  I’m too old for American Idol and I don’t think Simon’s on America’s Got Talent (I’m pretty sure David Hasselhoff is , but there’s no point in suing him. Better he saves his money for another trip to rehab). Which is understandable, because the truth is, I don’t think Simon Cowell yelling at me would make me feel humiliated like it would have at 20. It would just make me ask him if it’s true that his penis is only 3 inches long (c’mon, it must be – what other excuse for his bitterness is there?) and somehow I don’t think this would help me with the whole “poor humiliated woman” case.

So there go my dreams for suing Simon Cowell. But hey, at least I’ve come to agree with Hot Guy on the whole thing. Though I still say frivolous lawsuits are bad, they are not bad if they involve Simon Cowell. Like tequila is bad, unless it’s part of a margarita.

Today I ran into my neighbor at the grocery store. Not so strange, even though we were not at the grocery store located several blocks from our respective homes but at one several towns away which has lower prices. And is always SO. DAMN. CROWDED. Usually I just split the difference and go to the slightly closer, slightly cheaper and significantly less crowded one that’s located one town away. But what also had to buy Lovebug a boogie board, or as I used to call one, a kickboard. His sister has one and there were savage fights over it during our last trip to the pool.

Plus, it was only $5.

Which I probably saved shopping at the super crowded grocery store conveniently near 5 Below, aka, the shop where they sell cheap kick boards.

So I see my neighbor and she almost stops in her tracks. Which is dangerous at super crowded store, because those bitches will run you over. We smile and say hi and as we race in opposite directions, she calls, “You’re so brave!”

She was child-free – apparently I should have been friendlier with her so that maybe she would share her baby-sitter with me. Because I had all 3 kids with me.

You would think that because I had them all corralled in the genius contraption known as the car cart (that’s right, my kids are so close together in age that all 3 of them fit on a car cart) and that generally they are well-behaved kids, shopping with all 3 of them shouldn’t have been such a big deal.

I should, in fact, be using this post to scoff at being called brave for taking 3 kids to the grocery store. Because, I mean, really, it’s not like going to war. It’s not even like dealing with them for 2 weeks straight by yourself. Which I have done.

But I am not scoffing. Because I loathe unfamiliar grocery stores. Add in construction and rearrangement, aisles not meant for the super-size car cart and the fact that ChunkyMonkey was hungry and I”m surprised we all survived.

So, thank you, neighbor. And thank you for complimenting the kids’ behavior when we ran into you at the check-out. True, you may have been complimenting because the pinching fight Ironflower and Lovebug had just finished left no marks, but I don’t care. It’s your kind thought that counts.

Now how about sharing that baby-sitter?

This is a top search on my blog these days.

Even ignoring the weird Google statistical gymnastics that cause people searching for this to wind up here, what the hell, people?

I don’t know whether people want me to explain Playboy’s attractions or to commiserate about that weird attraction some people have for Playboy.

I hope it’s the former. So here’s my explanation:

Playboy has pictures and videos of pretty, naked girls. They are naughty without being smutty. They do not get mad, go on the rag or make guys hold their purses while they try on clothes. They are FANTASY women. And men like fantasies.

(Probably some lesbians do too. But I’ve never met a lesbian who’s told me that she liked Playboy. But I would really, really, love to and I would totally go out drinking with her even though I don’t really drink anymore. . .wait, my drinking fantasies aren’t the point here. . .)

Oh yeah, men are also visually stimulated. So, you know, Playboy. That’s the point. And let me tell you, Playboy is the cleanest, sweetest porn there is. So if your guy is all about Playboy? Be happy.

Anyone looking for commiseration has obviously gotten lost. My feelings on porn should make it clear.