oh man.

i have so many half-written posts for this blog from the last two weeks, it’s ridiculous. can’t finish a single one. i keep running out of steam. 

life seems to be a blur all the time anymore, but April was especially hectic—in fact, i can’t believe today is the last day. birthdays, crazy deadlines, a wedding, parties, appointments, taxes, baseball games… i mean, who can keep up?

i really want to play catch up right now, but i am stupidly tired. i just sent an e-mail to a co-worker, in which i said i was attaching a file she needed to see. of course i forgot to attach the file (which i realized about 15 minutes after i sent the e-mail), so i wrote her again and said, “might help if i attach the attachment i promised to attach…!” — i hit send and saw an e-mail notification pop up on my screen.

i’d sent the damn e-mail to myself.

so—early to bed tonight, fresh brain tomorrow. i'll get May off to a promising start with more pithy, interesting copy for you.

if i remember.

mbm 

the f-word

so, confession: i created a new Facebook page a couple weeks ago. i have exactly one friend (the hubster) and that’s how it’s going to stay. i started over solely to make new pages for my blogs. (if you can create a “fan page” for something without having a personal account, i haven’t figured it out.)

anyway, despite just hiding out over here in the corner, i’m getting friend requests—and ignoring them. (if you’re among the people who’ve sent a request, my apologies.) i really don’t want to jump back into the deep end, if you know what i mean.

even though—warning: tangent ahead—i've realized i’m falling hopelessly out of touch with my friends the longer i'm away from the site. still, i refuse to stay connected via Facebook. yes, it’s quick and easy but, along the same lines as Ann Patchett’s point yesterday, quick and easy isn’t always good. in fact, it rarely is. so i am doing my best to stay in touch with people the old-fashioned way (which is now e-mail, sadly), but if it goes unreciprocated, i’ll just have to deal with that.

back to the matter at hand: if you’re reading this and still have a Facebook account, will you please click here and “like” this blog? i believe—if i’m remembering correctly—that will allow my blog posts to pop up in your newsfeed again.

i realize i’m reeking of hypocrisy right about now—relying on a site i renounce to boost the ol’ readership. 

but, hey, pobody’s nerfect.

mbm

a much more eloquent version of my rant from yesterday

Let me underscore the obvious here: Reading fiction is important. It is a vital means of imagining a life other than our own, which in turn makes us more empathetic beings. Following complex story lines stretches our brains beyond the 140 characters of sound-bite thinking, and staying within the world of a novel gives us the ability to be quiet and alone, two skills that are disappearing faster than the polar ice caps.

Unfortunately, the world of literature lacks the scandal, hype and pretty dresses that draw people to the Academy Awards, which, by the way, is not an institution devoted to choosing the best movie every year as much as it is an institution designed to get people excited about going to the movies. The Pulitzer Prize is our best chance as writers and readers and booksellers to celebrate fiction. This was the year we all lost.

—Ann Patchett, novelist and bookseller, writing in today's New York Times

mbm

whole love

my husband is a humble man, but let me toot his horn for him: he is brilliantly creative, extremely talented and an amazing, devoted, doting dad. he combined those traits and created the video below, in honor of Matthew's first birthday. (he had the idea months and months ago, visualized the entire thing in his head—then made it happen. like i said, brilliant.) thought you might like to see it. i've only watched it, like, 562 times so far. 

mbm

guardian angels

OK. i need you to tell me if i’m crazy.

occasionally—sometimes it feels more like ‘often’—when i’m playing with Matthew or he’s in his high chair and i’m feeding him, he’ll look over my shoulder, sometimes craning his neck to see around me. usually, he grins or even gives a little giggle. i would swear that someone is behind me, trying to entertain him, making a silly face, doing a funny dance. but no one ever is.

i got pregnant with this little gem of a boy about six weeks after Michael’s grandpa—the wonderful, incomparable, gold-hearted Angelo—passed away. we both took comfort in the fact that the child growing inside me would carry on Angelo’s spirit in one way or another. would carry on the spirit of all our grandparents, living and deceased. that’s the beautiful thing about the circle of life—no one is ever truly gone.

on that note, i have convinced myself that what prompts little Matty to seem so delighted during those instances when he’s looking over my shoulder, beyond me, is that he’s actually seeing someone. namely, Angelo. or my beloved, gone-too-soon grandpa Harry.

i’m not talking “seeing” in a Haley Joel Osment kind of way. it’s more of a Mark-Ruffalo-in-that-Reese-Witherspoon-movie-that’s-on-TBS sometimes kind of way. in other words, not creepy—more comical. i truly imagine those two old birds holding up rabbit ears behind my head or doing a little jig to make Matty laugh.

and it sort of comforts me.

do you think i’m crazy?

maybe it’s the book i’m reading—11-22-63 by Stephen King. i hadn’t read one of his novels since the sixth grade, but after raves from both my dad and Michael (and after reading the first page and being unexpectedly impressed by SK’s writing) i gave it a go. and it’s awesome. it’s also got me contemplating what’s actually possible in the universe. i’m thinking about coincidences and consequences and the timing of things.

and somehow it now seems even more plausible that my one-year old can—and does—see his dead great-grandpas.

i think i’ve mentioned here before that i sometimes “talk” to my grandma Beverly—who passed away when i was just on the cusp of puberty (i had no idea how to mourn back then, or what i truly lost at the time—now i can’t begin to describe the knot of pain i feel when i think about the kind of relationship we would have had all these years if she hadn’t died). anyway, i talk to her in my mind, i ask her for advice, i share my worries. it makes me feel better. and sometimes—you know how you could’ve sworn someone put their hand on your back or tapped you or brushed past you, yet there’s no one around? when that happens to me i wonder if it was her, just letting me know she hears me.

maybe what Matty’s experiencing is sort of the same? maybe in a few years when we’re able to carry on a deeper conversation, he’ll tell me about those two happy, kooky, silly old men who used to blow raspberries at him and make funny faces.  

and i’ll tell him—yes, i’m pretty sure i’ll go ahead and tell him—“those are your great-grandpas, Bubs. they’ve been keeping an eye on you since the moment you were born. no kid could ever have better guardian angels, believe you me.”

mbm

this makes me sad

from an L.A. Times article this morning:

The 96th annual Pulitzer announcements at Columbia University were also notable for the prizes not given: no award this year for editorial writing and, more surprisingly, none for fiction writing. It's been 35 years since the Pulitzer board chose not to present a fiction prize.

i actually gasped out loud when i read that last bit, though i can’t say i’m truly all that shocked. we’re living in a world right now where extremely poorly written fan fiction (50 Shades of Grey) is atop the New York Times Best Seller list (i'm sorry, i don't usually do this, but if you're reading that "book," i'm 100 percent judging you), and books meant for teenagers (Hunger Games, Twilight) are on everyone’s must-read lists. there's got to be very little for the Pulitzer board to choose from. 

not to be a book snob—though i’m totally guilty as charged—but i think there’s too much crap on the bookshelves. it’s the equivalent of reality TV. whatever’s quickest, easiest and cheapest to publish wins. and in the process, readers are being dumbed down, trained to expect mindless drivel between the covers.

i mean, who wants to be challenged by a book anymore?

i do, I DO! i hope there are similar-minded folks out there (i know there are at least a few of you!), because we can’t let the smut-peddlers and crap-writers prevail.

that would just crush me.

mbm

happy birthday, mama!

it’s my mama’s birthday today and this (see below) sums up her attitude about life:

she’s been through a lot in her [number redacted] years and though she’s probably in possession of more anti-aging creams than any beauty supply store in the tri-state area, she never complains about aging—because she’s beaten the odds several times now. she’s just happy to be here.

and we’re happy to have her here. especially Matty.

love you, mom! have a great day!

mbm

hey, guess what?

i’m officially the mama of a one-year old. can you believe it? you can read a little about the big day here. i’m hoping to have a more detailed account (including the part where the hubster and i almost filed for divorce because of helium balloons) by the end of the week.

mbm

cheers to a year

what. a. year.

i was reading an article last week about a single mom who was paid a compliment by friends of hers—married—who had just brought home their first baby. “we don’t know how you do it alone,” they said. “you’re amazing!” this mom was very touched to receive a compliment, as she does go it alone and there’s no one there to reassure her or offer praise every so often.

my opinion is that pretty much all moms go without reassurance, praise or compliments. moms are usually taken for granted—it’s in the job description, right? i mean, i want Matty to take me for granted—to assume that i’ll always be there for him, that i’m always ready to listen, to offer a snack, give a hug, to laugh with, to apply Band-Aids, etc.

however, just because we moms love being moms and don’t need positive reinforcement all the time doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be nice once in a while. the fact of the matter is, though, we need to give it to ourselves.

so, since i’m just about officially one year into this stellar new gig of mine, i decided to go ahead and pat myself on the back. in doing so, i hope i’m encouraging my fellow moms—especially the relative newbies—to do the same. it’s called giving credit where credit is due!

let’s start at the beginning. 

a year ago i’d been carrying a human being inside myself for nearly 40 weeks. that involved: nausea, weight gain, the purchase of a new, elasticized wardrobe, multiple doctor’s appointments (which includes all that time spent waiting to actually see the doctor), achy back, achy hips, compromised lung capacity, not-so-gentle kicking by the mini tenant, a few weeks of not being able to raise my right arm above my shoulder, and hard-core heartburn.

then: labor. i probably got off easy in the grand scheme of things, but any woman who has pushed a baby out the old-fashioned way knows it ain’t a picnic, no matter how many hours she did or did not spend enduring contractions.

in between Matthew's birth day and today i:

• endured returning to work (which included using the lactation room—not fun)
• learned how to balance being a mom, a wife and a responsible and productive employee
• figured out that the dust will always be there for me to clean (and, i mean always), but my little boy is growing up every single second
• trained myself to get by on less sleep (i run on Dunkin’)
• came to terms with the fact that my body did something amazing and to hold it to its pre-pregnancy standards is unfair and a total waste of time
• mastered the art of speed-commuting (which involves dodging slow-poke pedestrians and walking to and from the PATH instead of waiting for the erratic shuttle service)
• realized how much one can accomplish between the hours of five-thirty and eight-thirty in the morning (including showering, getting dressed, doing hair, applying make-up, changing an infant, feeding an infant, playing with an infant, putting away clean laundry, emptying the dishwasher, preparing lunch, making coffee, taking out the trash and vacuuming as required)
• managed to remember birthdays, send condolence cards, write e-mails to friends, actually socialize now and then, spend time with family, maintain two blogs and plan a kick-ass birthday party for my kiddo all while (mostly) keeping my wits about me

i’m probably forgetting some things—because the one thing i couldn’t manage to do over the last year was maintain much brain power—but i think, at the risk of being a braggart, i did pretty damn well for a first-timer.

so happy (almost) first birthday to my beautiful boy and cheers to me (and his daddy!) for surviving year one with aplomb—and all limbs in tact.

mbm

the barometric pressure of my heart: an ode to Chris Cimino

let's start here:

i love my husband

and i'm sure you love your wife.

but if we met in an alternate

universe, say,

and you wanted to show me your green screen,

wanted to let me try your clicker,

i would not say no.

every morning i drink my coffee with you.

you share the day's forecast about every four minutes

and even though i know what you'll say

(cold front here, chance of a late day sprinkle there)

i am a captive audience 

every single time.

what is it about you, silver fox,  

that makes my heat index soar?

is it your sharp suits?

your goofy jokes?

your unfailing cheeriness even before the sun is up?

whatever it is, it's working.

i am caught in your jet stream, weatherman

and there i'll stay,

content to start my weekdays with your

wholly speculative

but irresistibly delivered

seven-day forecast.

chance of a crush?

100 percent.

mbm

lucky

someone i work with just reminded me that when i was pregnant last year—and she was a relatively new employee—she thought i was a prime candidate for MTV’s “Teen Mom.” not because i was pregnant out of wedlock or trying to balance finishing my GED and attending  prenatal classes but because to her i looked that young!

and i promptly reminded her that because of her (egregious) confusion, she has my undying love, gratitude and admiration.

today i feel so lucky. don’t you love those days? i walked to the PATH with the sun on my face and without a jacket on my frame. twenty minutes later, i got off the R train at 59^th and Fifth, gazed at Central Park in all its vivid-green-grass-and-flowering-tree glory. today is my Thursday, as i’m taking Friday off to start my little boy’s birthday celebration early. life is just good right now, you know?

a year ago today—or, at least on the Wednesday of that week—the weather was not very spring like at all. there were hints of sunshine now and then, but overall it was overcast and cool. still, i insisted on getting fresh air. i must have sensed, somewhere in my brain, what was coming. “let’s find a park,” i said to Michael. “let’s be outside.”

we wound up at Liberty State Park, a short drive away (though i believe we got pretty lost en route). it’s typically a beautiful park, but on a gray day in early April it was fairly bleak. hardly anyone was there, the grass had not yet come back to life and the trees were buck naked. the wind was fierce, especially along the waterfront walkways, and i hadn’t dressed appropriately.

we wandered aimlessly and Michael took photos, but my mind was elsewhere. i knew i felt different. there were no imminent signs of labor—at least that i was aware of—but Bubba was definitely residing lower in my pelvis, suddenly, and walking required great effort on my part.

i was due the next day, but because i’d heard most first-time moms deliver well past their due dates, i was not expecting to give birth on time. little did i know my soon-to-be son had a proclivity for punctuality.

it’s such a weird thing to think about. i am sure a full year has not passed since that day. someone must have mistakenly flipped two or three pages on the cosmic calendar at once. and yet, being at Liberty State Park, waddling along the footpaths, feeling like the baby might just fall right on out of me, wondering if i was really ready to give birth, if i’d realized what i’d gotten myself into—that was another life.

that was the black and white part, before the house landed in Technicolor Oz.

mbm

introverts unite

saw this on Pinterest this morning. i love it. every parent of every “shy” kid in the world should follow these rules, to the letter. really, truly. we're not weirdos and we're not anti-social and we're definitely not stuck-up. we're just sensitive. and imaginative and creative and soulful. you have no idea the things going on in our heads. we're pretty damn awesome, actually. we're just content not to tell the world how awesome we actually are. 

so, yeah. follow these rules. 

mbm

in which i sound like a doofus talking about the Today show

i read an article on Friday about how everyone on the Today show hates Ann Curry as Matt Lauer’s co-host. i concur. my Today show viewings have decreased sharply since Meredith Vieira left. she was just more enjoyable in the mornings. i have a lot of respect for poor Ann, and i think she’s a fantastic journalist and was doing just fine behind the news desk, but she is not co-host material.

i left the show on this morning because they were teasing during the local morning news that a “legend” was returning with an announcement. they showed the legend in silhouette and i knew right away it was Meredith. (oh god, listen to me.) anyway, i turned the show off before the big announcement, but just read that she’ll be joining Matt in London for the Olympics this summer.

oh, please, TV gods, let this be NBC’s way of easing her back into the official co-host role whilst easing Ann back into foreign reporting, which is apparently her favorite thing to do.

it’s a small, silly thing, i know, but i really miss Meredith in the mornings. it was like getting the news from my good friend, pathetic as that may be to admit.

and, let’s face it, her return might be the only way to ensure Matt signs his new contract. not to mention the only way to redeem the show after it allows Sarah Palin to co-host this week. {shudder} 

mbm