A is for Acts Of Worship

Continuing on into the A movies of my New Years Resolution, though the first 3 have thus far been a disappointment, I rented Acts of Worship. The subtitle of the movie read, "You never know what someones been through." Sounds interesting, and I do believe everyone has a story to tell, so maybe this one will be good, I thought as the librarian searched her cabinets for the DVD.
The case classified it as a winner of the Santa Barbara film festival. "..a mercilessly gritty portrait...scenes that are so real they hurt," read Stephen Holden, The New York Times.
Every once in a while you stumble upon something that is great, and opens your eyes to a new world. For me that moment was when I walked into Barnes and Noble one cold NYC evening in 1998 and bumped into The Alchemist. It was a book I never forgot. To this day it sits on my shelf, and is the top book I recommend when someone peers upon my bookshelf and asks me what I recommend.
Sadly, Acts of Worship is not one of those. It will never sit on my shelf or be a point of reference when someone talks to me about addiction.
But, Acts of Worship did teach me one thing, I like things to get to the point. I like a little bit of mystery, but only enough to draw me in. Once I'm drawn in I want the meat, with the juice on top of it. And I think most people do to. So, note to self, when writing my next great thing-keep it short, brief and get to the meat. Who cares about the details between, they can be your pepper at the end.

Give it Up

He bought a motorcycle....
She's learning Spanish....
The gig is up....
Give it up already.

More Than A Valentine's Day Calendar

Today Kelly gave Manny a Valentine's Day present...a calendar. But it wasn't just any calendar it was a 'tool' calendar.
If Manny was smart, which he clearly isn't, he might see the hidden meaning behind this calendar. First, it's a Valentine's Day gift..does she have to spell it out. Second, the gift is a 'tool' calendar, as in 'you're a tool for not asking me out yet.'
Do you think production will ever let Kelly and Manny reveal their behind-the-scenes romance? Or will Kelly have to go on annoyed and making underlining cracks, such as, "Oh the Hamline's are having a baby, good for them." If Manny can't sense the tension behind these words then a tool calendar is obviously what he deserves. I just hope the reality show displaying the on again/off again bedroom romps comes out soon. Now that Jersey Shore is over I'm once again, out of a good show.

Last Night In The Tub

"Face, Hands and Feet. All clean," I say, hanging the washcloth over the tray we once used, pre-children, to hold our soap.
"NO! My balls mommy."
"What," I say, my face frowning.
"Wash balls."
"Oh," I say, confused. "Okay."
I hand Nugget over the washcloth, his hand has been outstretched waiting patiently.
"My balls mommy, my balls."
Who taught him balls? My husband? Would he tell him he had balls?
"My balls, mommy!"
"Go ahead honey," I say, sitting on the side if the tub with Meatball wrapped in his towel, watching in horror as my son is about to 'wash his balls.'
"Mommy! My balls!"
"Go ahead honey, wash your balls."
Then I see it. The balls that he brought into the tub, that I placed in the sink so that Meatball wouldn't get plummeted while bathing.
"Oh," I smile. "You want to wash your balls."
"Yeah," he exclaims, bouncing in excitement as I ironically hand him his two balls.

Bride For Dishes

Only two bites have been taken. Twenty minutes have passed. Meatball is done, I'm done, yet Nugget still sits in his seat, singing, making funny faces and playing..with anything but the pancakes he begged me to make this morning.
"Eat."
"No eat. Play."
Sigh.
"Nugget, you need to eat so we can get ready."
"No eat. Play."
"Your friend is coming."
"No eat."
"Don't you like the pancakes."
"No. Fruit."
"No fruit until you eat your pancakes."
"Fruit."
Sigh. The frustration is creeping in. I need a new tactic.
"I'm going to change Meatball," I say, pulling his brother out of the highchair. "You can sit there and finish your pancakes."
Nugget protests asking to come with, but I stick to my guns, walk into the kids bedroom and start dressing Meatball. Does this work, you ask. Do I walk back into the kitchen, ten minutes later, to see a clean plate and a fed 2 year old? Nope. Nugget's as content as can be, sitting in his booster seat and singing. The pancakes have not been touched.
Sigh.
I have 30 minutes to get him dressed before my other little boy shows up for daycare, in case you're wondering I watch another little 2 year old through the week, and he's not budging. I have dishes piled up in the sink, a living room that needs to be straightened up and a foodless child who needs to get dressed. Inside I'm panicking. Taking Nugget away from the table without eating equals two things, he won his battle with mom and he'll have an early morning meltdown due to an empty tummy. Suddenly it hits me. The dishes. I need to do the dishes.
I put Meatball in his bouncy seat and walk over to the sink. I turn on the water, soap up my sponge and start washing. Any second now he'll...
"I do, I do."
"You do what," I ask surprised.
"I do dishes."
"You want to do dishes?"
"Yeah!"
I've hooked him, he's bouncy in his seat.
"As soon as you finish your pancakes you can help mommy do the dishes, okay," I say, looking away from him and going back to my dishes.
Out of the corner of my eye I see his hand rise to his mouth. One bite has went in. Then another. Another.
Three clean plates later Nugget is done.
"All done mommy," he proudly exclaims, raising his hands in excitement.
"Good job," I say. "Would you like to help me do the dishes."
"Yeah," he shouts.
I pull his sticky body out of the booster seat, remove his pj's and place him on the counter next to the sink.
"Need soap mommy."
I soap up an extra sponge and hand it to Nugget, along with a plastic bowl.
Ten minutes later my dishes are done, Nugget's belly is full and the sticky hands I would have had to scrap syrup off of have washed themselves clean in the soapy mess. I get Nugget ready, straighten up the books and toys in the living room, change another messy diaper from Meatball and open the door for my little daycare boy in the nick of time. All do to a sink of dirty dishes. Funny how this mom thing actually works to your advantage some times.

They All Can't Be Oscars

Movies have a way of teaching you something. A good movie leaves you walking away thinking about it, analyzing the characters, the situations, wondering what you would have done. Teaching and learning is all that I seem to be about lately. I'm not sure why. But there's this strong urge behind me, pushing me to awaken my artistic side again, to expose myself to the world, and to let go of the zombie mom mode I've been in tune with.
As part of this challenge I decided I'm going to treat/teach myself something in several ways, one of which is going through Long Beach library's movie collection. Starting with the letter A, I'm going to slowly enjoy my way through their movie collection, hoping to learn something along the way. Julia cooked her way through Julia Child's cookbook, an author spent a year living her life by what Oprah said, and I'm going to work my way through LB's movie library, one movie at a time.
So, starting with my one movie at a time, I grabbed my first 'A,' 'About A Boy,' and watched it Friday night. What did I learn?......I guess I learned a child's way of viewing family and how much they depend and need love, no matter who it's coming from. The next day I found myself thinking more about Nugget and Meatball and how much I wanted them to know that no matter what happens I will always be the strongest force behind them, even if inside I'm having the worst day and want to be left alone.
Saturday night I watched 'Yes man,' not because it was on my list, but because it was HBO's new movie. I thought it was cute. It brought up some good points and did make me wonder about all the things I've said no to in the past. Would they have led to something great? I'll never know, but it made me decide that the worst part about saying and attending a dinner, lunch, coffee, play date with the next person who asked might be just a drab conversation, but until I go I'll never know. After all I believe that every person has a story, maybe one of these people I'be been reluctant to hang out with is holds the key to the New York Magazine story I'm looking for.
And it was the 'Yes Man' that led me to renting my next movie from the library. "Absolute Zero" was just that, an absolute zero. I picked it up, the next A movie following 'About A Boy,' and read the info..a movie about what happens when Miami freezes over and everyone dies. Go to the next one, I said in my head, but the 'Yes Man' made me stop and rethink. If I was going to work my way through the library movie catalog I had to do it right. So I rented and watched. What did I learn? I'm not sure. But what the movie wanted me to learn, "Science is never wrong," definitely repeated itself as I went to bed and curled up with a good book. Hey, they all can't mean something right?

The Fight

"Do you have socks on," he says, snuggling next to me in bed.
"No, why?"
"You don't?! Those are your feet?"
"What?" I say, pulling my feet from underneath his.
"You ever use that foot scrubber in the shower," he giggles.
My eyes cross in furry.
"Oh, you must mean on the days that I actually get to shower."
"Don't get cross," he laughs. "I'm just teasing."
"Maybe if I could get a pedicure once in a while my feet wouldn't be so rough."
"Go get a pedicure," he teases. "I'll pay for it myself if it means softer feet."
He's roaring in laughter, steam is seeping out of my ears and eyes.
"And what," I whip the blankets back in hysterics, sitting up. "Have two children sitting on my lap while they scrape the layers of obvious repulsion off my feet? Or, no maybe I should go on the days you're off, wait, I can't do that, that would mean I'd have to drive to Pennsylvania with you, or maybe I should get up at 5 am before you go to work. Which one would you like, Huh?!"
His laughter gets even harder.
"That's it," I cry. "I can't take it anymore."
"What," through hysterics.
And then I said something that showed me just how crazy I was.
"I can't help how I look!"
More laughter as I throw my body back down on the bed and pull the covers over my head.
"Isn't that the line the girl said on Jersey Shore?"
So I'd been busted. But still it was true. My feet were gross, my eyes were tired, and I no longer look like my pretty self. And mentioning something about my rough cracked feet only reinforced the fact that I no longer feel pretty. The small statement hurt my feelings. Unfortunately for me, this is something a man will never get.
I fell asleep to the bed jiggling from all the shaking his uncontrollable laughter created.
Hmm, maybe tonight I'll paint my toes.

The Naked Truth

When I was younger I used to admire my mother. She would walk out of the shower, wash her face, blow dry her hair, apply her make-up, and walk into her bedroom to get dressed, all while being naked. Today I can visualize her naked. She was beautiful. Her breasts, much larger than mine or my sister, even to this day, were beautiful. They weren't these large droopy breasts you see on old ladies, they were nice, full and...beautiful.
As I grew older, entering the self-conscious teenage years, I used to cover my eyes and cry out, "Mom!" when she strolled around the house naked, but secretly I still peeked. As my twenties came around and she still strutted around the house in her birthday suit my jealousy grew larger. I realized what made my mothers body so beautiful was her carefree nature about it. It was if she didn't realize she was naked, as if we weren't looking. And here I was, towel wrapped around my body, running from the bathroom into my bedroom when I forgot one and positioned in all sorts of strange positions, so you couldn't see all my goods, when my mother or sister happened to walk in. I never told my mother this, or let on that I was shy about my body, but years later, after I was married, I was still conscious of my movements. If my husband was around when I was dressing or coming out of the shower I would suck my stomach in, lift my arms up in the air, angling them in a way in which he thought I was fixing my hair when I was really trying to make my breast look superbly perky and great, and casually (put quickly) cover myself back up.
Now, my mother's in her sixties, and still naked, I spent our last holiday having a conversation with her while she did her hair and make-up, in the nude, and I sat on the floor sipping coffee and enjoying the only minute alone with my mother while my children napped, I recognize her nakedness. I don't mean 'her' nakedness, I guess I mean the nature of her 'nakedness.' In all my body hiding, and body obsessing years, somewhere along my children baring line I started frolicking in the nakedness too. Now, my body has seen the likes of two children, my breasts have surrendered to hungry mouths, and I'm no where as tight and perky as I was in my twenties, yet clothes seem to elude me. I too now get out of the shower and stand around naked. I leave my towel in the bathroom and walk, nakedly, into the bedroom and stand around while I lay out my clothes and get dressed. My husband stares, my children cry out for mommy to hold them, yet I take my time, leave my arms down at my sides and bend over to kick up things, all in my nakedness. And even my husband has noticed and started to call attention to it.
"For crying out loud, will you put some clothes on. These kids are getting to old for you to walk around naked all the time."
Maybe it's a motherhood thing, or a grown up thing, but whatever it is I'm sure not about to cover up just yet. I've spent to many years behind the towel.

Gender Differences

So there's all this controversy over gender behavior. Does a boy prefer trucks to dolls on instinct or does he prefer them because those are the toys he's given? Every mom has her own opinion, and, as the mother of two boys, I can see both sides. Up until Nugget turned 1 I would have argued that his toys weren't gender specific at all, but when we went to older children's homes he gravitated towards the trucks and cars on what seemed to be instinct. After he turned one I can say that his toy selections changed. No longer was he given alphabet magnets for the frig or balls that swirled around and around while lighting up. His gifts started becoming more 'boy' specific if you will. Basketball hoops, golf clubs, baseball stands, etc. flooded under the colored wrapping paper and now dominate my living room. So is he surrounded with 'boy' toys? Yes. But did I do this intentionally? No. As a matter of fact my son loves to imitate me and play in his friends toy kitchen 'cook it'(aka cooking)dinner and cookies.
But something that caught me off guard yesterday happened over lunch. While Nugget and his friend (a boy) were sitting at the kitchen table eating chicken nuggets I noticed a strange grunting noise followed by and uproar of laughter. When I turned away from Meatball, my 7 month old who was currently spitting out the green beans I was struggling to feed him, to watch what my 2 year old and his friend were doing I caught them in the middle of a 'pooping' act. The two boys were taking turns scrunching their face as hard as they could and pretending to poop. Each poop act followed with a roar of hysterical laughter from the boys. Here's where I wondered about gender differences. I surely didn't teach my 2 year old to think pooping was funny, and as a girl I thought this behavior was gross and something I couldn't relate to. I didn't stop it however. I let them grunt and giggle until their little bodies died down in exhaustion and I put them down for their afternoon nap. But as I walked away from the room I heard Nugget call out to his friend, "I pooped." A few more giggles were heard from behind the door and then silence fell for a few hours. But I have to wonder, would a girl their age have thought this 'pooping' act was funny, or like the gender differences every one likes to discuss, would it just be a 'boy' thing. Hmm. I might have to test this one out.

More Proof

In today's Valentine's Day special, Manny bought Kelly a Valentine's Day gift. Proof again that Manny is secretly in love with Kelly. Why doesn't he just tell her already? I mean, it's obvious she's in love with him. She's always around, has the tools he needs...come on. You can't say "I'm In Love With You," louder than that.
I wonder....if Manny took Kelly out on a date and later they moved in together, how long do you think it would be before Kelly said, "What now" when Manny needed help getting supplies again. Now that's a show.

I Don't Need A Reminder

It's true my mind has slipped since I've had two children. I have to leave myself notes, post post-its all around my house and even have my phone send me alerts for important dates, because even though they're written down in bold marker on my calendar I still seem to miss them, but I in no way need a reminder that I've had two children.
As if the first surprise pink strip and the second surprise call from my doctor, seven months after I just had my first surprise, I mean son, wasn't enough, I now get the pleasure of going for a walk, or standing by the kitchen sink washing dishes, just long enough for my body to send me a not so pleasant surprise. Do I honestly need to go to the bathroom to remind myself that I'm a bit gross now.
Was the damage to my breast, I breastfed one son for four and a half months, he preferred one breast particular, the markings on my thighs, Stri-vectin my ass, the beautiful thick scar left on my belly and the last 11 pounds my body seems to want to hold on to for dear life, not enough? I see myself, I feel the sleepless pain, I feel the throbbing headaches from my colic baby cries. Why do I need to be punished more? What about my husband? He took part in this too. Why do I have to bare all the disgusting residuals from having a baby? Where's his share? His gray hair?
I guess he'll never know, nor will I tell him, all the gross things my body stills go through. I'll just let him come home, fling the boys up in the air, play with them until they've fallen on their faces from exhaustion and then bring him a cold beer to sip on the couch while I run to the bathroom and re-check my grossness. He doesn't need to know everything, even if I have to.

New Years Resolutions

"So..," my husband smiles at me. "Any New Years Resolutions this year?"
"A few," I smirk back. "Want to hear them?"
"Shoot."
"Well," I begin, turning to face him while pulling my legs underneath me as my excitement flows, I've been thinking about these resolutions since the Christmas season began. "I want to learn new things this year. I want to make 2010 a year of discovery, openness, excitement, knowledge. I want to de-clutter the house and finally get organized. I want to take all my half finished projects and make them complete. I want to go through all the recipes I cut out from my magazines and start making them. Only one a week," I say as my husbands face begins to frown, I've tried to many Martha Stewart gone dry recipes on him. "And I want to learn more about where we live. We've been in Long Beach for 5 years this February and I still don't know where Hempstead is. I'm going to go to the library and start checking out books about Long Island. I want to learn it's history and begin teaching it to our children. You moved here for the beach and I moved here for the city, but how often are we even doing that since we've had kids? Why not explore the island. I've never even seen the light houses, the Roosevelt Estates, Grey Gardens. I want to check out the Long Beach Museum. I want to know where the first house in Long Beach was built, is it still standing, what parts of the beach really existed and what parts are man-made, you know. And I want to watch more movies. I want to start going to the library and working my way through the movie section, starting with the A's and working my way down. I wonder how far I can get in the year?"
I look over my husband's head and stare at a plane flying overhead (one of my son's favorite afternoon activities on an indoor day)and think about the rows of movies I could discover.
"So, what about yours," I say as the plane creeps past our window.
"Well,....I just planned on calling my grandmother and your mother more this year."
"Oh..." I say with a smile.