angst & poetry

i’ve been really distracted working on my comic…starting school…wrestling the minions into submission…avoiding passes from the dh who is lately amorously making me uncomfortable…i was thinking about putting some of my writing on this blog.

i have my other blog for my comic (apocalypticmama.com)…but i have a lot of fiction, stuff i put on other sites like wiki & yahoo & crap like that.  i want to share it here…but i don’t want a third blog just for fiction.  this blog is about me–so maybe my writings could find a home here when i have nothing noteworthy to journal?

let’s try it out.

here’s an oldie & a never-seen-by-anyone about a dreadlocked hula-hooping creature that ruined my life when i lived in a cooperative house with her.  i call it “horrible dreadful you” because she has dreadlocks & is a whore.  a little light poetry by me:

dreadful horrible you

 

you moved into my house

you liked what you saw

you looked into my life

you liked what you saw

dreadful horrible you

 

dreadful horrible you

you started to worm your way

into everything i knew

you wanted everything you saw

even things i held dear

dreadful horrible you

 

dreadful horrible you

one night you said to me,

hysterical and unintelligible

you wished my life away and asked me

what i would do

dreadful horrible you

 

dreadful horrible you

i told you

without my life

i would have less to worry about

you took my words

and you told him i didn’t love him

dreadful horrible you

 

dreadful horrible you

you sought to take my life for your own

you tried to make him hate me

how do you sleep at night?

dreadful horrible you

i almost got thrown out of the cooperative house for posting an abridged version of that poem on my door.  i thought it was funny at first, and then it really hurt that i could be so misunderstood & so disliked by people i considered to be my family.

i still hate that chick.

and hula hoops.

my kids don’t go to school…but i do.

i had my first class of my second level writer’s workshop today.  i had mixed feelings on it.  mostly good, but it is always weird for me to have my peers be people i am old enough to be the mom of…except i don’t feel like i am.  they feel like peers.  except now that i am older i am more confident & don’t give a rat’s ass about fitting in or being liked.  in fact, i think it’s funny & entertaining when i don’t fit in or am not liked.  that’s probably more of a problem for other people…now that i think of it…i enjoy being contrary.  i enjoy making other people uncomfortable.  i enjoy a good argument.  not in a mean way.  really…i’m not mean…or i don’t mean to be….

i looooove writing.  i so so so really do.  essay tests, questionnaires, school papers, short stories, screen plays, comics, i love it all….i just love it so much.  words are awesome.  i know that makes me some kind of geek & some people think i talk funny–but even if my unschooled kids are a little behind on the math & the more boring sciences–their vocabulary is spectacular.

i also love taking classes.  i love learning.  i have a 3.9 gpa & am not afraid to randomly bring that up.  i am totally a geek.

my therapist has noticed that i am more sane when i am in class.  do i feel like i have purpose when i am in school vs. being just a mom as i am afraid society views me?  i also like being in a position to show off my strengths.  even if i am good at being a mom–most of it goes unseen.  and the one audience member i regularly have will not throw me a bone.  when i am in school i have professors telling me how awesome i am.  i like having people with ph.d’s tell me i am awesome.  does that make me shallow?  sylvia plath put her head in an oven because of the conflicting nature of the writer mother.  i think of that often.  too often sometimes.  sometimes it keeps me going–weird, right?  i mean if i can one up sylvia plath by not putting my head in the oven–that would be something, right?  school helps me to focus.  my comics–my art & writing–help me to breathe.  being a mom…i would never leave my kids…& some days it isn’t something i even think about–but, fuck me, being a mom is hard.

my toddler is diabolical

she has a “666″ in her social security number even.

seriously.

i tried to have it changed.  i went into the social security office at least three different times and filed to have it changed.  you can do that.  if you have a religious or cultural reason, you can request a new social security number.  three times i filed.  three times the social security office did not reply…ever.

eventually i gave up trying.  my toddler was out of danger.  i was no longer freaked out about the “666.”  then, recently, the dh told me that he prayed to anyone who would listen to help the toddler when she was a baby.  (she had had a really rough birth & ended up in the neonatal ward of the hospital with seizures & brain damage.)  he told me this in relation to the social security number as well as the seeming “666″ she recently doodled on my arm.angler catfish 018   that kind of freaked me out.  yes, i am superstitious.  i was raised catholic.  although i, today, tell myself there is no such thing as the devil…i still have that catholic installation of gods & demons in my brain.

anyhoo.  the toddler is diabolical.  she is the cutest thing on this planet.  though an mri will show she has brain damage–there is nothing slow or off about her.  she is very intelligent and very passionate and can take down either of her big brother’s with a pinch or the pulling of their hair–& then win them back over with a smile & a kiss.  and, like any toddler, she is in to everything–experimenting with the world around her.  dumping water on the floor to see what will happen.  peeing in the middle of the room to see what will happen.  smacking the newborn in the face to see what will happen. like any other toddler, she is diabolical.

i love my, but she really can put me in fits.  then i feel bad for not handling it better.  today i professed, as i often will, that the toddler age is my least favorite.  the dh was complaining about babies–but our newborn is so much easier than the toddler!  of course, i have a boob i can latch him onto if he gives me any trouble.  the dh often laments his inability to work that magic on babies.  pacifying a toddler is a horse of a different color.  it usually consists of me just screaming, “give her whatever she wants!  just make her stop shrieking!”

my toddler is diabolical.

today didn’t suck.

yay!

i made bread & cookies & irish stew. i hugged my kids & listened to my kids. there was minimal fighting. the toddler was on a bit of a crime spree, but without her brothers fighting as well, it was much more manageable. and we drew pictures. my artist crew.

torn between two titles…

i have a habit of thinking of titles as well as fb statuses throughout the day.  weird, sad maybe, but true.  so i first was going to call this post “i make a mean frickin’ chicken noodle soup”  but then i thought a more apt title might be “i just took two placenta pills & washed them down with a beer–hope to god i feel better soon!”  okay, that second on is a little long.  but i think we can all assume that this post might be all over the place.

i made chicken noodle soup with homemade noodles & it is kickass soup.  i played around with having a bonified mommyblog with recipes & helpful tips & crap like that…but my personality does not lend itself to being that kind of mommy…whenever i tried, i took a quick left turn into uncomfortable land…which is one reason why i titled this blog the lost mama blog.  but i am a good cook.  a great baker.  and sometimes a good mom.  at least they will have something to complain about when they are grown–their memoirs will be interesting.  i’m inconsistent at best.  not a real structured person or mom.  they don’t seem to mind.  they forgive me my shortcomings…so far.  but the dh does not.  he keeps tabs and creates an even darker & more fucked up image of me than i create of myself.  i feel i cannot do anything right.  sometimes i think i’m getting it right–but he is quick to let me know that i am an asshole & probably always will be.

i think i might be too hard on the dh.  or am i?  if i see his socks on the floor, i think, “i hate you.”  if he stays at work late…if he leaves a sink full of dirty dishes…if he leaves coffee grounds on the cutting board…if he spends his day playing video games, i think, “my god, i hate you.”  kind of rough of me, right?  but the thing is…i would forgive all this, if he was nice to me…if he pretended to care…if he asked me every once in awhile what he could do to help…if he told me every once in awhile that i was doing a good job….

but that doesn’t happen, & i have sunk to a level of being unable to forgive him anything.  hair in my hairbrush…using my conditioner to whack off in the shower…making passes at me when he feels generous….

so here’s why i am gulping placenta pills with dark beer…i am so so so stressed out.  i was proud of myself for making it through breakfast before losing my mind today.  my nerves are shot.  i am snipping at my kids.  so angry at them for the littlest thing.  it doesn’t feel little to me.  all i want to do is lock myself away and read a book or watch a movie…but i can’t without a baby crying or a toddler climbing all over me or a little boy demanding i pay attention to him.  to write this blog post i had to have a toddler in my lap, randomly hitting buttons, writing on me with a pen, demanding to nurse, and stomping her little foot if i took her off my lap and put her on the floor.  and i just want to cry.  i want time to myself.  am i an asshole to want some time?  to do some yoga?  to go for a walk?  i was thinking today that it will be maybe five years before i can take a walk by myself.  do art untethered.  write something without having my train of thought derailed in the most brutal ways….  i start spring semester this week.  i have one online course & one on campus course.  i am terrified.

(now she is stomping her foot & trying to unplug the internet…poor thing…why doesn’t her mama get off the computer & pay attention to her?  because her fucking mama is pissed off at her fucking father who should be home to play with her but he chose to go run an errand right now after i’ve been alone with them all day instead of waiting until morning when it would be more convenient for me & the kids….)

i read shutter island and that messed with my head.  mothers drowning children.  main character losing his mind.  i got way too deep into the story.  i do that.  and i’ve been watching the following late at night when i should be sleeping.  if i were smart i would be sleeping.  but i miss having the kind of life where i could do stuff & not be woken up at 5 am by an infant.  just five more years & things should settle down a bit.

so stress, right?  and postpartum crap too, i’m sure.  yay.  i’m going to go bake some bread & finish my beer & cuddle my toddler to sleep.

so much anger in this one….

sleep…dear sweet sleep….

this morning was brutal.  newborn goes to bed at 6pm.  he sleeps until midnight–then needs a diaper change & nurses back to sleep.  after that he wakes up every couple hours after that for a diaper change and to nurse.  he wakes up fully between 5 & 7.

i am a night person.  i loathe the morning.  my first baby was also a night person & would sleep in with me.  i thought, “this is so easy!”  then my next baby was a morning person.  bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at 7 am…no matter what time he went to bed.  that’s when my relationship with sleep deprivation began.  i eventually got me some postpartum anxiety and that’s when i started making an effort to get more sleep.

here’s the twist…the deeper darker nemesis to my sleep health…my father instilled in me that sleeping was slothful.  he made me feel like i was doing something wrong to sleep.  but i LOVE to sleep.  so i sleep–& i feel guilty about it.  the dh plays the same game.  he makes snide comments about my sleeping.  he criticizes me & behaves as if i am a negligent mother if i try to take a nap.  it began when i was pregnant for my first–working 40 plus hours as an animal caretaker/dog evaluator/humane officer at our local shelter.  i would come home & fall asleep on the couch only to be asked, “why do you sleep all the time?”

now i have four kids & a dh plotting against my sleep cycles.  seriously, kids are so adept at sleep torture.  this morning i am exhausted because the newborn was restless from before dawn well into the morning.  i take him & leave him with the dh and scuttle back to my room for some guilty sleep.  however, the 5 and a half (the highest energy morning person ever & who has been sleep torturing me since the very beginning of his existence) has some need to come into my room just as i fall asleep three separate times to ask me food related questions.  all while the dh stands in the kitchen–with the food.  granted i am somewhat of a control freak regarding food–but sleep trumps all.  if i could get some sleep, they could eat me out of house & home, chips…pickles…ice cream…marshmallows…i don’t care–just let me get some sleep…please!

just go to bed earlier, he tells me.  but my natural sleep cycles won’t tolerate that.  i just lay in bed obsessing.  plus, i want to live a little & the nighttime is the only time i get me time.

poo….

i can always sleep when i’m dead, so it’s said…which should be soon if i don’t start getting more sleep….

hulk smash

i am working on mindfulness…again…staying present and not losing my mind. looking at my anger triggers. wondering at my anger triggers. the other day one of my kids kept taking the blankets off of me & i was starting to get rabidly angry. then i blurted out–”stop doing that! i had a boyfriend who used to do that & i can’t stand people doing that!” and then i remembered. paul fucking valerio. he was an awful motherfucker who used to like to torture me. one thing he would do is take all of the blankets & refuse to give them back. it wasn’t funny. it wasn’t cute. it was abusive. my triggers are often ways i have been abused. my kids aren’t abusing me when they do it–they’re just kids that do annoying things without thinking…but my subconscious doesn’t know that. my subconscious just reacts. and i get angry. hulk angry.

there are so many ways i’ve been abused. so many triggers. being ignored is a trigger. having my hair pulled is a trigger. taunting is a trigger. lying is a trigger. calling me a liar is a trigger. behaving as if i don’t matter is a trigger.

i want to be a better mom. i see my anger in my oldest. i see him lose his mind like he sees me lose my mind. i don’t like feeling this way. i love it when i can be easy going mom. i want to teach him how to deal with his anger. i don’t want my anger to be my legacy to my kids.

The biggest baby in my home….

is the father of my children.

he’s not my “dh” unless “dh” means dickhead…but still, he is not “mine” as he likes to remind me.  we are not in a relationship.  we are not a couple.  if you are confused & call us that (as i often do) he is quick to let you know that we are not an us.  so we are not married.  we are not in a partnership.  he won’t even qualify us for a relationship.  for awhile i was trying–but he insisted, after eleven years, that he is actually a polygamist and wants to have sex with other people.  but he still wants to have me in his life.  & sexually.  like swinging & shit.  and i was willing to do it.  i told him i was willing to try, but i wanted to make sure we were solid first….i wanted to make sure i would feel safe in any swinging to be done….  but that wouldn’t fly with him.  that was too much work.  i think he was using his new found polygamist personality to rationalize cheating on me.  i think.  i can’t figure anything else out.  and he never tells me anything…so all i have is my guesses.  it’s so stupid.  why can’t we just talk.  in my head i think i should just talk to him & it is all rational and crap.  but then when i actually try to talk to him, it just doesn’t happen that way.  no matter how i formulate my thoughts, he reacts as if i am attacking him.  and he retaliates by saying things that make me think he is trying to convince me i am crazy.

so much fun!

why am i still doing this?  why do i still try?  or should i try harder?  what if it is me?  what if i am crazy?  what if i am not giving him a fair chance…okay, but i can’t be that crazy.

oy vey.

this morning he tried to throw me & the babes out of the bed so he could sleep longer.  and he got pissy when we wouldn’t leave.  as if he was up all night changing diapers, nursing the newborn, comforting the toddler, and checking on the peed bed situation of the oldest one.

poor baby.

dream blogger

so i blogged something as i was trying to fall asleep last night…but now i can’t remember what it was.  i’m sure it was brilliant though.

even though i can’t remember what i was going to brilliantly blog about, i feel obliged to write something as i now have one follower (hi katrina!)  i cannot tell you how many blogs i have started & then abandoned–mostly over on blogger.com.  this is my first wordpress blog.  i felt i should re-locate since i had left so many blog corpses over on blogger.  i also have a neglected & nearly dead website somewhere out there that i don’t even want to think about.

but here i am again.  trying to blog.

i feel like i have a lot to say.  and there might even be someone out there who wants to hear it…maybe someone who enjoys hearing my rambling rants…maybe someone who would benefit from hearing about my half-assed life experiences?  who knows….

so i blog on.

don’t fall in love with a man like your daddy

i whisper to my 2 year old daughter as i put her down to sleep for the night.  actually, i sing it.  over & over.  trying to weave a protective tapestry around her.  trying to keep her safe.  she isn’t talking yet.  not one bit.  so i don’t have to worry about her repeating my words.  i just want them to sink in on a subliminal level.

i lay next to her.  40 weeks pregnant with my fourth child.  i have made a lot of mistakes in my life.  protecting my daughter from falling in love with a man like the one i have made four children with…i don’t think that could be counted among my many fuck-ups.