Friday, January 28, 2011
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
It Could Always Be Worse
Last time I wrote I was nervous --nay, I believe I said terrified-- of the long days alone at home with the kids that I was about to experience. Well, as it turns out, I didn't have to worry about that. This last week has turned out a little different than I expected.
Anyone remember the Yiddish folktale It Could Always Be Worse? This guy visits his rabbi to complain about his crazy, overcrowded house and the rabbi tells him to move all his farm animals in with him one by one. In the end he kicks out all the animals and the same house he complained about at the start of the story suddenly seems calm, quiet and peaceful.
If weeks came with titles, I'd be plagiarizing a fable for mine.
My sister came to town to help with the kids, so I thought it would be nice for all of us to swing by my job and check in. They're working on our mid-year program report and I had planned to stop in at the end of the month and assist with reflections on our data anyway. I figured my son could play in the toddler classroom with my sister while I held the baby, glanced over what they'd done so far, and banged out a few e-mails.
Instead, it became very clear how loved and appreciated I am by my coworkers when I was overrun with a million immediate requests for assistance. And as much as I didn't particularly want to put in the time to help rightatthisparticularmomentthankyouverymuch, it's a small program with a lot of new staff and there is no one else who can help them. And they were doing their very best with some very challenging tasks. Upon which our continued funding depends. And I love them all dearly. So. I spent a couple days stopping in at work to help out, toting one or both kids, caring for my children and my colleagues simultaneously, which was sometimes fun, and other times manageable, and still others one very small step shy of feeling as if my brain was about to burst into bits and explode all over the walls from the constant and contradictory needs approaching me from every direction and at every. single. moment.
Then I spent an early morning googling projectile spit-up in infants and urinary tract infections in toddlers. And a midmorning --in just above single digit temperatures-- pulling the windshield wiper blade off the passenger side of my car, where the windshield wiper doesn't work, and putting it onto the driver's side, which works, but the wiper blade decided to do a kamikaze leap from the car to the road last time I drove. And these kids need to get to the doctor and it's snowing. And an early afternoon dragging both children down a snowy street in a stroller not designed for blizzard treks on unshoveled sidewalks where I forgot to even ask the doctor about the projectile spitter-upper because holding a screaming toddler while he is catheterized after failing to pee in a cup on command is far too traumatic an experience to leave room in the brain for projectile vomiting. And a late afternoon waiting for the drive thru pharmacy to finish my son's goddamn prescription already, please, and we'd better go ahead and fill that one for the blocked tear duct that I've been carrying around in my purse while we're at it, because suddenly it looks like my daughter's eye is getting worse after all. I see this through my own tears because we're both sobbing but she's shedding more slime than tears from one eye. (She cries when the car sits still too long; I cry when my children have medical procedures that seem more like torture than treatment, and although it was necessary, it was quite possibly the worst thing I've ever experienced, and I say that without any hint of hyperbole. It really fucking was.)
And then my husband was home for the weekend, and my sister had to leave town, and groceries were purchased, and weekly menus planned, and weekend chores tended to, and my mom drove into town, and --look!-- it's the end of the month already and now it's that time I was originally planning to go into work to help write the reflections for that report, so I was back at work, baby at my breast while typing one handed at my desk, and holding meetings where she's passed around the conference table to give my sore upper back a break and my hands a quick chance to jot down the million and one things I don't want to forget. And I'm still not entirely done with this seemingly ever-expanding task I agreed to, but I'm hoping my husband can download the program I need to access our database from home to finish up, because my mom leaves tomorrow and suddenly:
The life I feared would overwhelm me a week ago? The long days alone at home with my two kids? How calm, quiet, and peaceful it sounds now. If I could manage all this chaos with the help of my (admittedly very helpful) sister and mother, I think I'll be able to manage the three of us at home with nothing to do and nowhere to go.
I will finish that report late at night when the rest of the house is asleep. It's due at the end of the month. My children will be finished with their various prescriptions by that time. I can't tell you how glad I'll be when the last of these damn farm animals is gone.
Anyone remember the Yiddish folktale It Could Always Be Worse? This guy visits his rabbi to complain about his crazy, overcrowded house and the rabbi tells him to move all his farm animals in with him one by one. In the end he kicks out all the animals and the same house he complained about at the start of the story suddenly seems calm, quiet and peaceful.
If weeks came with titles, I'd be plagiarizing a fable for mine.
My sister came to town to help with the kids, so I thought it would be nice for all of us to swing by my job and check in. They're working on our mid-year program report and I had planned to stop in at the end of the month and assist with reflections on our data anyway. I figured my son could play in the toddler classroom with my sister while I held the baby, glanced over what they'd done so far, and banged out a few e-mails.
Instead, it became very clear how loved and appreciated I am by my coworkers when I was overrun with a million immediate requests for assistance. And as much as I didn't particularly want to put in the time to help rightatthisparticularmomentthankyouverymuch, it's a small program with a lot of new staff and there is no one else who can help them. And they were doing their very best with some very challenging tasks. Upon which our continued funding depends. And I love them all dearly. So. I spent a couple days stopping in at work to help out, toting one or both kids, caring for my children and my colleagues simultaneously, which was sometimes fun, and other times manageable, and still others one very small step shy of feeling as if my brain was about to burst into bits and explode all over the walls from the constant and contradictory needs approaching me from every direction and at every. single. moment.
Then I spent an early morning googling projectile spit-up in infants and urinary tract infections in toddlers. And a midmorning --in just above single digit temperatures-- pulling the windshield wiper blade off the passenger side of my car, where the windshield wiper doesn't work, and putting it onto the driver's side, which works, but the wiper blade decided to do a kamikaze leap from the car to the road last time I drove. And these kids need to get to the doctor and it's snowing. And an early afternoon dragging both children down a snowy street in a stroller not designed for blizzard treks on unshoveled sidewalks where I forgot to even ask the doctor about the projectile spitter-upper because holding a screaming toddler while he is catheterized after failing to pee in a cup on command is far too traumatic an experience to leave room in the brain for projectile vomiting. And a late afternoon waiting for the drive thru pharmacy to finish my son's goddamn prescription already, please, and we'd better go ahead and fill that one for the blocked tear duct that I've been carrying around in my purse while we're at it, because suddenly it looks like my daughter's eye is getting worse after all. I see this through my own tears because we're both sobbing but she's shedding more slime than tears from one eye. (She cries when the car sits still too long; I cry when my children have medical procedures that seem more like torture than treatment, and although it was necessary, it was quite possibly the worst thing I've ever experienced, and I say that without any hint of hyperbole. It really fucking was.)
And then my husband was home for the weekend, and my sister had to leave town, and groceries were purchased, and weekly menus planned, and weekend chores tended to, and my mom drove into town, and --look!-- it's the end of the month already and now it's that time I was originally planning to go into work to help write the reflections for that report, so I was back at work, baby at my breast while typing one handed at my desk, and holding meetings where she's passed around the conference table to give my sore upper back a break and my hands a quick chance to jot down the million and one things I don't want to forget. And I'm still not entirely done with this seemingly ever-expanding task I agreed to, but I'm hoping my husband can download the program I need to access our database from home to finish up, because my mom leaves tomorrow and suddenly:
The life I feared would overwhelm me a week ago? The long days alone at home with my two kids? How calm, quiet, and peaceful it sounds now. If I could manage all this chaos with the help of my (admittedly very helpful) sister and mother, I think I'll be able to manage the three of us at home with nothing to do and nowhere to go.
I will finish that report late at night when the rest of the house is asleep. It's due at the end of the month. My children will be finished with their various prescriptions by that time. I can't tell you how glad I'll be when the last of these damn farm animals is gone.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Slowly Scrambling for Balance
I feel as if I have stories to tell, or something to talk about buried somewhere in my brain, but I haven't left the house in days now, and yesterday I held my daughter for six hours straight and my shoulders are sore, and the couch and rocking chair are likely both molded to the shape of my spine. I breathed her in (the smell of a baby's head is divine) while my son slept in the late afternoon for the first time in what felt like forever, but was probably only weeks.
It's different with this baby. I give her what she needs, but I'm racing between the two of them, and if he's awake all day he seems to need me all day. Part of that is change, the arrival of his sister and departure of his daily routine, part of it is being stuck indoors so much, and part if it is that since he's not napping, he's getting overtired in the evenings, and therefore more demanding.
I feel as if I get so little of the time I got with my firstborn with this baby: sitting, rocking, nursing, in no hurry at all. He napped for hours yesterday and I just held her while she ate and slept her day away, and even though my arms and shoulders were all cramped up by the end of the evening, it was nice. Breathing in the scent of a baby's head is calming, meditative.
And my son was so easygoing after his nap, a pleasant reminder of how he used to act every night when he napped religiously! I'm going to try and return naptime to the schedule, but I think I have to think of it as quiet time and be willing to end it after an hour if he doesn't fall asleep. He seems somewhere in the middle of needing and outgrowing it, and I think I'll need to be flexible.
Tomorrow my husband goes back to work; paternity leave is over. One of my sisters is coming for a few days, so I will still have some help for a few days, and then I'll be on my own. I'll be honest: I'm a little terrified. When I only had one and I heard things like: Motherhood is the hardest job in the world, I always thought: Really? It doesn't seem that bad!
I felt easy, breezy, confident, at least, much of the time. With two to manage, I get glimpses of how this job might knock you to your knees, or break your heart in half. But I've been practicing my breathing, doing a little bit of yoga with my boy, having an afternoon cup of tea, breathing in the scent of my girl's scalp, and keeping the clutter up off of the floor. Amidst these little things, I attempt to find my footing.
It's different with this baby. I give her what she needs, but I'm racing between the two of them, and if he's awake all day he seems to need me all day. Part of that is change, the arrival of his sister and departure of his daily routine, part of it is being stuck indoors so much, and part if it is that since he's not napping, he's getting overtired in the evenings, and therefore more demanding.
I feel as if I get so little of the time I got with my firstborn with this baby: sitting, rocking, nursing, in no hurry at all. He napped for hours yesterday and I just held her while she ate and slept her day away, and even though my arms and shoulders were all cramped up by the end of the evening, it was nice. Breathing in the scent of a baby's head is calming, meditative.
And my son was so easygoing after his nap, a pleasant reminder of how he used to act every night when he napped religiously! I'm going to try and return naptime to the schedule, but I think I have to think of it as quiet time and be willing to end it after an hour if he doesn't fall asleep. He seems somewhere in the middle of needing and outgrowing it, and I think I'll need to be flexible.
Tomorrow my husband goes back to work; paternity leave is over. One of my sisters is coming for a few days, so I will still have some help for a few days, and then I'll be on my own. I'll be honest: I'm a little terrified. When I only had one and I heard things like: Motherhood is the hardest job in the world, I always thought: Really? It doesn't seem that bad!
I felt easy, breezy, confident, at least, much of the time. With two to manage, I get glimpses of how this job might knock you to your knees, or break your heart in half. But I've been practicing my breathing, doing a little bit of yoga with my boy, having an afternoon cup of tea, breathing in the scent of my girl's scalp, and keeping the clutter up off of the floor. Amidst these little things, I attempt to find my footing.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Winter: You do not get the last word. This is my blog.
What's harder: A summer baby or a winter one? And going from none to one, or one to two?
In the interest of killing two birds with one stone, I can simply answer: this time. Harder. Much harder.
Count me firmly in the camp of those who say it's more difficult to go from one child to two than it was to go from none to one. I was afraid this would be the case, but crossed my fingers hopefully every time I heard: Well, it's a lot easier to adapt to a second kid than it was to adapt to the first one!
My first kid, though? He was easy. And in fact, this second one? She's easy too. On her own. Luckily, my babies have been easy ones. And my toddler is easy(ish) for me to handle when I can give him my full attention. It's the balancing act on the high wire of their vastly differing needs that's got me desperately seeking my footing, and often failing to find it until after a crash or three on the circus floor of sulking, tears and tantrums (the toddler's, the baby's, my own or my husband's; it's hard to say some days who'll fall apart first!).
And this whole living in your house, like, nonstop, round the clock, with your immediate family all up in your grill at every conceivable moment? Intense.
In. Tense.
That's all I'm going to say about that.
Except: Can I plead extenuating circumstances?
Yes, I can (being judge, jury and executioner in these here proceedings, I vote yes, I may proceed with the plea). Let me lay out my case for you, dear reader. Perhaps you can serve as my witness.
Extenuating Circumstance Number One: Winter. This could easily equal case closed, not guilty by reason of insanity, right here, with that one word. But there's more..
Extenuating Circumstance Letter B: My husband threw his back out the day after I was released from the hospital. Did we let this slow us down? No, we did not. I shared my Percocet prescription (shhh...) and we rearranged all the furniture in the house, including moving three dressers and a queen sized bed that had to be sawed in half and then repaired up a flight of stairs into the attic, aka our new bedroom. Bad back and healing abdomen be damned!
Excruciating Circumstances 1.0 and 2.0: Mastitis (1.0). Followed by a regiment of antibiotics. Followed by a recurrence of mastitis (2.0). No, I did not share my Augmentin with my husband, in case you were suspicious. I'm midway through a second prescription and just now beginning to nurse without feeling like ground glass is being sucked through my mammary glands.
Dietary Bylaw Breakage 2,011: I abandoned the diabetic diet that sustained me through my pregnancy, and promptly began forgetting to eat. Until all of a sudden I find myself starving, dizzy, headachey, and in dire need of large quantities of the closest available convenience food. Bad habit to get into. Still trying to break it. My dinner tonight? The crusts of two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, the rest of which were consumed by the toddler. I still have some work to do in breaking this habit.
Exclamation Oh-Fuck-No! Number Zed: The sudden death of the afternoon nap. That's right. The boy has chosen NOW to abandon his long held practice of sleeping away a good portion of each afternoon. It took us over a week to realize we could put him to bed hours earlier instead of spending those evening hours in the presence of His Royal Highness Mister Meltdown Extraordinaire. Quick thinking appears not to be a hallmark of the post-partum period.
Strange-But-True Happenstance Letter K: I seem to have morphed into Mrs. Martha Stewart Kiddie Home Living. Which means there are four of us living in a home we haven't managed to organize in the two plus years we've been living here, and suddenly I find it unacceptable when the wooden toys aren't arranged just so or the alphabet puzzle is no longer in alphabetic order on the floor. I think I have uttered the phrase: A place for everything and everything in it's place more often in the past weeks than ever before --cumulatively-- in my entire life. I may not have eaten since breakfast, but goddammit, you could eat off my son's truck rug (freshly vaccuumed!) if I remembered to offer you something. Which I wouldn't. Unless you're a toddler desiring crust-free sandwiches. Or you have a breastmilk fetish. So help me God, if you don't take your shoes off when you enter my house, though. No breastmilk for you! I can abide a pervert, but don't you dare go tracking snow up in here after I just cleaned the hardwoods, motherfucker.
Final Closing Argument, Gavel Pounding in Agreement: IT'S WINTER! Seriously, what's a mama (of two) supposed to do? IF it were summer (or spring, or fall) I could take my offspring into the great outdoors and allow nature to work it's magic, running my boy's energy off like he's entered a marathon, providing my daughter the Vitamin D she must resort to a dropper to get in this wintery clime, burning baby weight like the fiery sun while I pushed my younger child and chased my older one. Winter, it's not the first time I've said it, and it likely won't be the last. I don't care how pretty you are in pictures, dude. You, my friend (and when I say friend, that's a polite way of saying enemy, you know, like they do in Congress): are an asshole.
Case closed.
In the interest of killing two birds with one stone, I can simply answer: this time. Harder. Much harder.
Count me firmly in the camp of those who say it's more difficult to go from one child to two than it was to go from none to one. I was afraid this would be the case, but crossed my fingers hopefully every time I heard: Well, it's a lot easier to adapt to a second kid than it was to adapt to the first one!
My first kid, though? He was easy. And in fact, this second one? She's easy too. On her own. Luckily, my babies have been easy ones. And my toddler is easy(ish) for me to handle when I can give him my full attention. It's the balancing act on the high wire of their vastly differing needs that's got me desperately seeking my footing, and often failing to find it until after a crash or three on the circus floor of sulking, tears and tantrums (the toddler's, the baby's, my own or my husband's; it's hard to say some days who'll fall apart first!).
And this whole living in your house, like, nonstop, round the clock, with your immediate family all up in your grill at every conceivable moment? Intense.
In. Tense.
That's all I'm going to say about that.
Except: Can I plead extenuating circumstances?
Yes, I can (being judge, jury and executioner in these here proceedings, I vote yes, I may proceed with the plea). Let me lay out my case for you, dear reader. Perhaps you can serve as my witness.
Extenuating Circumstance Number One: Winter. This could easily equal case closed, not guilty by reason of insanity, right here, with that one word. But there's more..
Extenuating Circumstance Letter B: My husband threw his back out the day after I was released from the hospital. Did we let this slow us down? No, we did not. I shared my Percocet prescription (shhh...) and we rearranged all the furniture in the house, including moving three dressers and a queen sized bed that had to be sawed in half and then repaired up a flight of stairs into the attic, aka our new bedroom. Bad back and healing abdomen be damned!
Excruciating Circumstances 1.0 and 2.0: Mastitis (1.0). Followed by a regiment of antibiotics. Followed by a recurrence of mastitis (2.0). No, I did not share my Augmentin with my husband, in case you were suspicious. I'm midway through a second prescription and just now beginning to nurse without feeling like ground glass is being sucked through my mammary glands.
Dietary Bylaw Breakage 2,011: I abandoned the diabetic diet that sustained me through my pregnancy, and promptly began forgetting to eat. Until all of a sudden I find myself starving, dizzy, headachey, and in dire need of large quantities of the closest available convenience food. Bad habit to get into. Still trying to break it. My dinner tonight? The crusts of two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, the rest of which were consumed by the toddler. I still have some work to do in breaking this habit.
Exclamation Oh-Fuck-No! Number Zed: The sudden death of the afternoon nap. That's right. The boy has chosen NOW to abandon his long held practice of sleeping away a good portion of each afternoon. It took us over a week to realize we could put him to bed hours earlier instead of spending those evening hours in the presence of His Royal Highness Mister Meltdown Extraordinaire. Quick thinking appears not to be a hallmark of the post-partum period.
Strange-But-True Happenstance Letter K: I seem to have morphed into Mrs. Martha Stewart Kiddie Home Living. Which means there are four of us living in a home we haven't managed to organize in the two plus years we've been living here, and suddenly I find it unacceptable when the wooden toys aren't arranged just so or the alphabet puzzle is no longer in alphabetic order on the floor. I think I have uttered the phrase: A place for everything and everything in it's place more often in the past weeks than ever before --cumulatively-- in my entire life. I may not have eaten since breakfast, but goddammit, you could eat off my son's truck rug (freshly vaccuumed!) if I remembered to offer you something. Which I wouldn't. Unless you're a toddler desiring crust-free sandwiches. Or you have a breastmilk fetish. So help me God, if you don't take your shoes off when you enter my house, though. No breastmilk for you! I can abide a pervert, but don't you dare go tracking snow up in here after I just cleaned the hardwoods, motherfucker.
Final Closing Argument, Gavel Pounding in Agreement: IT'S WINTER! Seriously, what's a mama (of two) supposed to do? IF it were summer (or spring, or fall) I could take my offspring into the great outdoors and allow nature to work it's magic, running my boy's energy off like he's entered a marathon, providing my daughter the Vitamin D she must resort to a dropper to get in this wintery clime, burning baby weight like the fiery sun while I pushed my younger child and chased my older one. Winter, it's not the first time I've said it, and it likely won't be the last. I don't care how pretty you are in pictures, dude. You, my friend (and when I say friend, that's a polite way of saying enemy, you know, like they do in Congress): are an asshole.
Case closed.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
ReRun: A Metaphor for Winter
Scene: My Inner Therapist's Office. Winter's in one chair; I'm in another. My Inner Therapist is gazing down her nose at us through cat frame eyeglasses. We all look uncomfortable.
My Inner Therapist: So we're here today because LazyBones *shuffling through intake paperwork* wrote some things on a blog? Is that correct? On the Internet? And Winter, that made you feel.....well, why don't you tell us? How did that make you feel?
Winter: It made me feel terrible, just terrible. *Sniff* Can I have a tissue? I'm sorry, I just, this is very emotional for me. The holidays always bring up a lot of emotions, and then this...this attack! Out of nowhere! I just...this is difficult.
MIT: Take your time Winter, we're here.
Would you like to tell us more about these holiday emotions?
W: Everyone wants me around for Christmas, and New Year's, but then it's just Poof! Be Gone! Like I'm not good for anything else! It hurts! Every year I give it my all, I give everything, and in the end I just...*whispers*...I just feel so used.
MIT: LazyBones, how does it make you feel to hear what Winter is expressing here?
LazyBones: Well damn, Winter, I wasn't trying to bring up all that. I mean, it wasn't even personal! It's like, you're just a metaphor, Winter. A metaphor for the existential emptiness we all experience from time to time. I was just using you as a metaphor...
W: So you WERE using me! I knew it. I knew it.
LB: Not like that! I just wanted to express the melancholy and the rage I was feeling, and you seemed like a good symbol for that. I'm sorry Winter. I never meant to hurt you.
MIT: This is good, this is good, we're airing our feelings here. Winter, would you care to respond?
W: It's hard for me to accept the apology after yesterday's post. I was treated like a cheap floozy. It's hard to come back from that. LazyBones has proven that entertaining this...blog audience...comes before my feelings, and I don't think I'm ready to forgive that right now. I'm more than a metaphor! I am a season. I deserve more.
LB: More!? More!? You already get six months of the year, and Summer, Spring and Fall share the other six! How is that fair? When I lived in Arizona you barely got a month! Now we're in upstate New York, you get six months and you deserve more!? You take over half the year, and get all the major holidays and then you complain about being a metaphor? Winter, I'm sorry, but when you take up six months worth of my psychic space, you end up as a metaphor.
And yesterday? Okay, I came at you wrong. You're not a cheap floozy; I'm just not ready to commit to you and--you're right--I shouldn't have tried sweet-talking you that way. My Inner Playa came out as a metaphor for making up, and my metaphors got mixed. I didn't meant to hurt you.
Besides, it's an honor to be a metaphor. All the seasons have been metaphors for me.
W: Really? *dabs eyes* Even Summer?
LB: Yes, and I complain about Summer too. She's stifling; she has a forced cheerfulness about her, and her expectations are always too high.
MIT: How does this change things for you, Winter?
W: Well, I appreciate the apologies. I do. And now that I know Summer is a metaphor, I feel...better somehow. Like it's not as personal as I thought before. I've been told I tend to make things all about me.
I guess I do need to learn to detach. I've been working on that with my own therapist.
MIT: Good Winter, good. Keep that up. And LazyBones, how are you feeling about our session today?
LB: I want to get along with Winter, I really do, but we've had issues all my life, and.....at this point, all I can say is I'll try.
MIT: Alright, good work you two, I feel like we really started a dialogue here. We can continue this at our next session. We'll leave it at that for today.
My Inner Therapist: So we're here today because LazyBones *shuffling through intake paperwork* wrote some things on a blog? Is that correct? On the Internet? And Winter, that made you feel.....well, why don't you tell us? How did that make you feel?
Winter: It made me feel terrible, just terrible. *Sniff* Can I have a tissue? I'm sorry, I just, this is very emotional for me. The holidays always bring up a lot of emotions, and then this...this attack! Out of nowhere! I just...this is difficult.
MIT: Take your time Winter, we're here.
Would you like to tell us more about these holiday emotions?
W: Everyone wants me around for Christmas, and New Year's, but then it's just Poof! Be Gone! Like I'm not good for anything else! It hurts! Every year I give it my all, I give everything, and in the end I just...*whispers*...I just feel so used.
MIT: LazyBones, how does it make you feel to hear what Winter is expressing here?
LazyBones: Well damn, Winter, I wasn't trying to bring up all that. I mean, it wasn't even personal! It's like, you're just a metaphor, Winter. A metaphor for the existential emptiness we all experience from time to time. I was just using you as a metaphor...
W: So you WERE using me! I knew it. I knew it.
LB: Not like that! I just wanted to express the melancholy and the rage I was feeling, and you seemed like a good symbol for that. I'm sorry Winter. I never meant to hurt you.
MIT: This is good, this is good, we're airing our feelings here. Winter, would you care to respond?
W: It's hard for me to accept the apology after yesterday's post. I was treated like a cheap floozy. It's hard to come back from that. LazyBones has proven that entertaining this...blog audience...comes before my feelings, and I don't think I'm ready to forgive that right now. I'm more than a metaphor! I am a season. I deserve more.
LB: More!? More!? You already get six months of the year, and Summer, Spring and Fall share the other six! How is that fair? When I lived in Arizona you barely got a month! Now we're in upstate New York, you get six months and you deserve more!? You take over half the year, and get all the major holidays and then you complain about being a metaphor? Winter, I'm sorry, but when you take up six months worth of my psychic space, you end up as a metaphor.
And yesterday? Okay, I came at you wrong. You're not a cheap floozy; I'm just not ready to commit to you and--you're right--I shouldn't have tried sweet-talking you that way. My Inner Playa came out as a metaphor for making up, and my metaphors got mixed. I didn't meant to hurt you.
Besides, it's an honor to be a metaphor. All the seasons have been metaphors for me.
W: Really? *dabs eyes* Even Summer?
LB: Yes, and I complain about Summer too. She's stifling; she has a forced cheerfulness about her, and her expectations are always too high.
MIT: How does this change things for you, Winter?
W: Well, I appreciate the apologies. I do. And now that I know Summer is a metaphor, I feel...better somehow. Like it's not as personal as I thought before. I've been told I tend to make things all about me.
I guess I do need to learn to detach. I've been working on that with my own therapist.
MIT: Good Winter, good. Keep that up. And LazyBones, how are you feeling about our session today?
LB: I want to get along with Winter, I really do, but we've had issues all my life, and.....at this point, all I can say is I'll try.
MIT: Alright, good work you two, I feel like we really started a dialogue here. We can continue this at our next session. We'll leave it at that for today.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
ReRun: Wooing Winter
C' mon baby. It don't have to be like that. I know I said ... some things ... the other day ... that maybe I shouldn'ta said, but you know how I get sometimes. It didn't mean nothin'. I'm still here, you see me right here, don't you? You really think I'd spend 6 months outta every year with you, right here in CNY baby, if I didn't have feelings for you? I was just bloggin', baby, I was just tryin'a entertain, you feel me? You know how it gets out there.
But I'm here with you now, ain't I?
What, you need proof? Look around my house!!! What do you see? FLEECE! How much fleece I got up in my house, and you're gonna question my feelings for you just causa some shit on the Internet!? You know you ain't supposed to believe everything you read on the Internet, anyway. I got, I got...LAYERS! Look at this: non-cotton for next to the skin so I keep that heat in, I got blankets stacked up from ceilin' to floor, I got, I got...hoodies! How many hoodies I got right here in this room!? And these is just for inside the house!
Winter, I am HERE! I am here with you baby, right here, and I don't know what I gotta do to make you see that.
Okay, winter.....it's like that, then? It's like that? Okay, then. I'ma remember this. I'ma remember this, though, winter. This shit ain't over, winter. This ain't over. You'll be hearing from me again.
But I'm here with you now, ain't I?
What, you need proof? Look around my house!!! What do you see? FLEECE! How much fleece I got up in my house, and you're gonna question my feelings for you just causa some shit on the Internet!? You know you ain't supposed to believe everything you read on the Internet, anyway. I got, I got...LAYERS! Look at this: non-cotton for next to the skin so I keep that heat in, I got blankets stacked up from ceilin' to floor, I got, I got...hoodies! How many hoodies I got right here in this room!? And these is just for inside the house!
Winter, I am HERE! I am here with you baby, right here, and I don't know what I gotta do to make you see that.
Okay, winter.....it's like that, then? It's like that? Okay, then. I'ma remember this. I'ma remember this, though, winter. This shit ain't over, winter. This ain't over. You'll be hearing from me again.
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