why can't we just look the other way?

Ah, human nature. We savor the drama, the salacious gossip. The more horrible the situation, the more we can't wait to tell our close friends. This sort of thing is so prevalent there is an entire cable channel devoted to it, and a billion dollar industry that compensates people handsomely for invading celebrity privacy. As my husband so eloquently put it, "we like watching people mess up."

I don't want to be like this anymore.

I started watching E! on a regular basis when Elise was a tiny baby, because I was up all hours nursing her and sometimes the only thing besides infomercials on at 4am was a True Hollywood Story or Entertainment News. I got sucked in. More recently, I've caught headlines about the family with 8 children who are splitting up. I keep thinking to myself, this is a real-life family we are talking about here! 8 children are now growing up in a broken home. It disgusts me that this is selling magazines and advertising slots.

I had my own share of drama recently, which has prompted me to re-evaluate whether or not I'm a disgusting person who thrives on other people's heartache and misfortune.

I don't think I am. I hear of unfortunate things, and my heart instantly goes out to that person. But, then I am first in line to tell whichever friend I happen to run into next.

Why do we(I) do this? Is it to discreetly pat ourselves on the back for managing to avoid a similar situation ourselves, because of our wise choices and clean living? I imagine I was the topic of much scandalous gossip a couple of years ago, when, within the course of a single year, I went from being desperately unhappy in a failing marriage to divorced to dating a younger man to pregnant to re-married. Juicy stuff! I grew tired of everyone knowing my business without me having the pleasure of sharing it with them myself, because after all--the juiciness of my situation were the greatest joys of my life (Elise! Danny!)

At any rate: I want to be a good friend. I want to build people up, to be someone people feel like they can trust. With a secret or anything. The fact that people think I was the source of some ugly gossip hurts me more than being the topic of ugly gossip. (It wasn't me! If you don't want people to speculate about the things you are doing, don't do visibly questionable things!) I hope this blows over without any permanent damage.

For My Dear Friend Paschal

I discovered the Shins around the time their album "Oh, Inverted World" came out. I found it because I had purchased some music on amazon.com--The Stills, I believe--and it provided me with the (genius marketing) tip "Other people who bought the Stills also bought the Shins." I gave them a listen--and was hooked right away. The primary songwriter, James Mercer, is a poet and an absolute magician with melodies. And the harmonies--oh, the harmonies!--so tight! Sometimes dissonant, always perfect. I devoured "Oh, Inverted World" and every subsequent album. They didn't tour much, and when they did, it was to small venues nowhere even close to where I lived at the time. Like Europe. I wondered if I'd ever get to see them in person.
I finally got my opportunity to see them in February 2007--at Liberty Hall, in my own city! If I remember right, the tickets were less than $20. Liberty Hall is an old theater that was restored a few years ago, it holds maybe 1200-1500 people(?) and is one of the few concert halls that still has general admission tickets, so a committed concertgoer can be in the front row without having to pay a mint. I waited in the cold rain with a group of high school kids to be the first in the hall when doors opened, and was rewarded with the pleasure of standing in the second row, center. I could see the whites of James Mercer's eyes.
They played every song I wanted to hear--and some I had been previously unenchanted by, but after hearing them live and hearing the story of the song or just being able to see it come to life, I rediscovered them. I loved the humble, shy demeanor of the band members (James, mostly.) He relayed to us that he had lived in Manhattan, KS until age 8 or so. I wanted to hang out, to have beers with them! I know we would be friends.
The played for two hours, and had 2 encores. I wished the night would never end (despite my company, as lamented in my previous blog.) I was lost in the strings and fingers and rhythms and poems of this beautiful band. The energy of the band and the crowd was magic--everyone was mesmerized. It was definitely a unifying show--me, a nearly 30-year old accountant, grooving with the hipster high school kid standing next to me.
And at the end of the show, happy fans wrapping scarves and buttoning coats, preparing to face the cold rain... and we realize with awe that the rain has turned into a down-pillow fight of snow. Several inches had already fallen, providing the city with that layer of insulation that makes a snowy night as silent as a sunrise. Few things are more beautiful than untouched, newly fallen snow, illuminated under streetlights as it continues to fall. I felt joy and love and art and thankfulness for life (music has such a profound impact on my spirits!)
I hope the Shins remember Lawrence for that fantastic night.

dancing with the Shins

Elise and I "danced" to the Shins tonight. She's really into trying to mimic what we do these days, and she loves it when I clap my hands to music--she just bounces and sways and I'm thrilled that she's responding to it. Listening to the Shins reminded me of when I had the pleasure of seeing them in concert in early 2007. They played two sold out nights in Lawrence, at Liberty Hall, and my ridiculous ex-husband insisted on accompanying me to the show, despite his indifference to this wonderful band, claiming he just "liked going to shows." I allowed him to go, thinking what a waste it was that I had this highly coveted ticket and at least 5 friends who would love to have it, and was taking someone who didn't really care. But, I felt obligated.

I swear, its the sum of these little things that made me divorce him.

He was a huge stick in the mud the whole time. I, meanwhile, was so excited and wanted to share the excitement with someone else. Like, someone who knows when my favorite song is on, or knows any of the songs and can sing along. He was a smug butt the whole night.

As we were leaving, something magical happened: the day had been cold and rainy, and while we were in the concert, it turned to snow. Not just a little snow, a thick coat of snow, and enormous flakes were falling as we exited the venue, creating the softest, quietest, most beautiful denouement to an awesomely loud, epic rock concert. It took my breath away--and he refused to share it with me. Refused to acknowledge that he had any fun at all. Refused to let me revel in what was a magical night for me. He was the definition of a turd, and my joy melted as fast as a snowflake on a hotplate.

I don't miss him. I've heard some horrible stories of how he's treated friends lately, and the consequences of said actions, and it gives me a little bit of satisfaction that people are seeing the side of him that I saw (finally.) I feel like a disgusting person for feeling this way (the satisfaction, that is) but its very hard not to, in light of *everything.*

I wish I would have shared the show with Danny. I will re-write that in my memory right now.

Experiment

My bff Wendy got me the Tracy Anderson post-pregnancy dvd for my birthday. It is KILLER, and has received rave reviews. I swear, the first time I did it, my post-baby pooch held itself in a little more.
But, I've not been consistent with it.

I am going to see what this dvd can do, if I dedicate myself to it. So, in the next few weeks, I am going to do it 4 times a week, come hell or high water, and watch my sugar intake. I am going to eat healthier, and continue breastfeeding. I want to see if Tracy is full of BS when she says the skin will ALWAYS return to the muscle if you work smart enough. Right now, even though my stomach is not terrible, the skin is definitely stretched out and saggy. I'm going to take before and after pictures, and will post at the end of July.

If anyone has any additional tips, like creams to use or anything to help the skin get its tone back, I am ALL EARS!

letting go or letting myself go?

Last night I had the distinct pleasure of going to see Stevie Wonder at Starlight. Nana came to stay with Elise, so it was a rare treat for Danny and I to go somewhere together without her. Needless to say, I wanted to look pretty/special for our date. I thought I did an ok job with this... until we arrived at Starlight and I saw everyone dressed to the nine's, and realized that my standards for "working it" have really lowered. To wit: I wore a tan a-line skirt with a green, orange, and white floral pattern. I've always thought it was a cute skirt, and I still wear it all the time even thought its like 5 years old. I wore it with a brown sleeveless v-neck t-shirt that is a very thin, drapey fabric. I used to wear this breezy summer outfit with sandals all the time, and thought it looked very nice.
Here's the rub, though: my body has changed so much since pregnancy, that I really should have worn something else that fit my "new" body better. The t-shirt was way way way too tight across my chest (didn't realize it till I saw my reflection in the bathroom mirror at Starlight) and I've lost so much muscle that I have NO shape at all in my butt/legs, so the skirt just hung all limp around me. I've cut my hair recently, and with the humidity recently, I cannot get it to smooth down and be the sleek texture that my haircut really requires to look cute. So, lately I've just been putting it into a little stubby pony tail, which looks cute if I'm wearing shorts and a t-shirt, but not for a night out (but that is how I wore it.) Make up consists of mascara and a dusting of powder, and my tired eyes really need more these days, lest I look like a corpse.
I did not feel good about myself, and wished I had given my appearance more time. I realized that whereas it is liberating to not obsess over your body and your appearance because motherhood has placed other things in higher priority, it isn't ok (at least not for me) to not have the ability or desire to look great when the situation calls for it. I don't even look good for work anymore; I really need to work on that as well. It is not professional to go to work in clothes that are ill fitting or wrinkled, with unkempt hair and no make-up. Some days I don't even blow dry my hair OR wear make-up. This is not acceptable if I want to be anything more than I currently am at work (which is up for debate as well--not sure I want or can handle more responsibility with my attention and time divided like it is now.)

I don't want to slowly let myself go. I want to always show that I value caring for myself as well as my family. I wouldn't allow Elise to not be well-rested, clean, and nicely dressed. I wouldn't not feed her healthy food and allow her to not get enough playtime/exercise--so I need to take care of myself to a similar degree. Its liberating, for sure, to not feel like I have to be as thin or pretty as possible, so I should adjust my standards--sure. But I need to make sure they are high enough for ME, so I can walk with my head held high and know that I'm doing the best I can in all areas of my life.

good news and bad

Good news first: my old dog Su, is fine. Got all her tests back, and she is healthy. Vet thinks that she is either traumatized by Elise or doesn't like her food. Maybe a bit of both. So that makes me happy.
Bad news: I am having a very strange reaction to the news of Michael Jackson's death. I LOVED him as a child. He became kind of a joke, unfortunately, as his adult life unraveled and was fraught with strange and childlike obsessions and scandal. Let us not forget what a remarkable talent he was, and how much joy he brought to the 80s with his amazing dance songs and dancing. I personally do not believe he actually molested those boys; I believe he didn't know the boundaries between adults and children because he was childlike himself. To that end, I was just remarking to my carpool buddy today that if you were robbed of your childhood, and similarly,your development arrested, and you were also fabulously wealthy, it would be very easy to fall into an existence such as Michael Jackson's, where the lines and limits of "normal" blurred. If money is no object, you don't find yourself accepting the limits that those of us non-fabulously wealthy people are subject to. His plastic surgery is an obvious outward example of this; as is his ranch, complete with circus animals and amusement park rides. The "normal" luxury seeker just doesn't put those things in their mansion. So, he is labeled eccentric and becomes tabloid fodder.
Anyway, I want to remember him for Thriller and Bad and Billie Jean and for the Jackson 5. I want to remember Wendy and I trying to learn the Beat It dance in our college apartment. I want to remember playing "don't stop till you get enough" with mirror balls blazing when I worked at the skating rink.
RIP, Michael.

A dog named Su

I had to take my ten year old hound dog, Suzy, to the vet today. In recent months, she has wasted away to nothing, despite a hearty appetite. Last week she vomited at least once a day, and lost even more weight--which prompted me to take her to the vet. It occurs to me that some tough decisions might need to be made soon; what if she has an illness that will cost thousands of dollars to treat? What if she has a terminal illness?
Not to be morbid, but the thought of her sad, trusting brown eyes as I let the vet know I agreed with the decision to do the humane thing levels me. Danny will have to be the one to take this action, if it comes to this.
She was my first baby and I admit, since Elise's birth, she has not received the same level of attention she used to. I just don't have time to walk her every day, and she can't come with Elise and I because she's too *much*. I realize this isn't fair. I hate it. I don't necessarily think I'm giving her the best life. She's comfortable and well fed, but her natural instincts are definitely thwarted.
We find out test results tomorrow, am really hoping the sound in her lungs was the echo of the music in her doggy heart...
The picture of her I'm posting really sums up the past 9 months for her: "I used to be the baby."
I hope the sound in her lungs wasn't the sound of a broken heart.