Sunday, February 28, 2010

17 Hours

Hey there! Hi there! Ho there! HiiiiIIIIIIiii! We're back! And guess what! It's 5 AM! And I've already made 3 breakfasts! And watched 2 episodes of Sesame Street! And Zoey is sick again! And so am I! And Demetri is out of town!

This is actually the first time I have been alone with Zoey over night. Yes, I know that you are often home alone for many days at a time with your kid/s. No big deal, you're thinking. And maybe it isn't. For you -- a strong goddess-like being that possesses super mothering powers. I, on the other hand, am a wimp.

So Zoey and I got home last night after two long plane rides. Technically, the flights weren't long -- only an hour each. But it felt like . . . longer. Much, much longer. Sir, I'm sorry again about spilling Goldfish in your lap after knocking you in the head with my daughter's foot. Apologies also to everyone in rows 1 - 20. It is annoying to be knocked in the head/shoulder with a fellow passenger's bag as they go down the isle, isn't it? And to our seat mate in 21 F -- I'm pretty sure the snot and cream cheese stain will come out of your shirt. One of those stain-stick thingies might do the trick . . .

So yeah. We got home. Which is good. And Zoey was perhaps the merest bit tired and hungry and cranky. And sick. Low fever. Lots of snot. Cough. But I finally got her to go to sleep. And I was feeling pretty gosh darn pleased with myself. Which lasted about 35 minutes. Which, coincidently, was when Zoey began yelling, "Mamiiiiiiiiii! Boogahhhh! Nose!" This translation is just approximate but I believe the gist is, Mami I have boogers in my nose and can't sleep! So we read books. Drank some "cow". Sung some songs. And slept fitfully. Until the totally reasonable hour of 2:30 AM.

Now here we are. Zoey is sitting on her trike watching Sesame Street. I am gathering my patience and sanity . . . and counting the hours until Demetri gets home. (See title).

Thursday, February 18, 2010

In Which I Make a Hard Decision and the Most Un-Sexy Purchase Ever

It's come to this: I am now a person that owns a weekly pill organizer. You know, the plastic boxes that are divided into 7 compartments, one for each day of the week. Except mine has 14 compartments. That's right: FOURTEEN. For morning and night. Apparently, I'm that sickly. And let me tell you, this pill box isn't doing much for my self esteem. Not much at all. I'm going to have to hide it from Demetri. If he sees it, all romance will be gone from our mariage. Next thing you know, we'll be hitting the early bird dinner buffetts, rubbing medicated ointment on each other before sundown, and calling it a night. In separate twin beds. Awesome.

It doesn't help that I just canceled a 5 day trip with Demetri to San Francisco. He's going for a conference and I was going to tag along. But I've been under the weather for 3 weeks and I've been straddling the line that separates depression from, uh, not-depression. It's an exhausting place to be. I was looking forward to meeting Demetri's west coast fam . . . but I just can't do it. I can't make the long flight. I can't stay in an unfamiliar place. I can't be alone for 9 hours a day in a new city. So I'm not going. Instead, Zoey and I are making the short flight to my parents' home in South Carolina. Zoey will have a blast with The Grandparents and I will sleep and rest . . . and then sleep and rest some more. And I'll probably eat a lot of good food too -- coconut shrimp, key lime pie, curried chicken salad. I'll sit in the sun. Read on the porch. Walk on the beach. And I'll feel like a kid again -- safe and cared for in my parents' home. I'll have to hide the pill box from them too -- I don't want them to think I'm all grown up. Not yet.

This is my pouty-face . . . in case you weren't sure.

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Cool Moms Care: Lies, Bribes, and Parenting

This week's Cool Moms Care post is up. Click here to read all about my new life of crime.

Monday, February 15, 2010


I'm at home on the couch with a sinus infection. Ugh. Zoey is attending her first birthday party at The Jump Zone. With Demetri. Not me. And yes, I am jealous and I'm feeling sorry for myself. I like to be there for Zoey's firsts. The first time she goes to the zoo. The first time she sees the ocean. The first time she tastes a lemon. Tonight, I'm missing it. I'm not even sure exactly what I'm missing. But I know it involves my daughter and, most likely, cake. Two of my favorite things. Plus, Zoey is in this new phase where she loves holding hands with her friends. It kills me. In a good way. I can just imagine -- Zoey and her little friends in their stocking feet at The Jump Zone. They are moving carefully holding hands in a chain. They look at each other, laughing, squealing, gently bumping shoulders. If I was there I would be holding my hand over my heart, momentarily awed by seeing my daughter so loved by others. It's a big deal to have hand-holding friends. And to have more than one . . . well, that's just icing on the cake.

Happy Birthday Madison!!!

Friday, February 12, 2010

Don't Worry, I Really Am Loved. I Think . . .

Last night I did something one should never do. Never. Ever. I went on WebMD and used the 'symptom checker'. Apparently I have appendicitis, cancer, or an intestinal blockage. Awesome. Demetri made a go of being sincere and supportive. But he broke down during dinner and couldn't seem to stop giggling. Or smirking. At ME. I asked him if my stomach seemed swollen. He promptly answered, "No. No, no." And he shook his head for emphasis. Now, it's true, I have been working with my kind husband on The Quick Response. For example, when I ask Do you love me? it's best for all concerned if he answers without a lengthy pause. In fact, it should go something like this: "Do you love m-" "YES! Yes I do! I LOOOOOOOVEEEE YOU!" And then he throws himself into my arms and allows me to pat his perfect butt. So, in theory, his answer about my swollen stomach was good. At least in terms of timing. But here's the problem: I was seated at a table and I was wearing a ginormous fleece and a bathrobe. So there's no way in hell he could see my stomach.

I didn't feel well. I was being laughed at -- mocked, if you will. So I did what any respectable person would do. I cried. Not full out bawling. More like tearful sniffling. Demetri got up to get more wine. I mumbled something about Yeah, I guess you need more wine to deal with your incredibly whiny wife. And my husband? He grumbles, Yeeaaahhh.

So then I call my BFF to get some real sympathy. And I feel all cared for and worried about . . . until we hang up. I say, "Don't worry, I'll call you if any of my organs explode during the night." And my BFF? She says, "Um, yeah, don't call after 10." HUMPH!

Clearly I need to work with some people on The Empathetic Response. Like, "Oh homey-bunny-boo-boo-head I am so sorry you feel sick." Or "I will duct tape my phone to my head and never ever sleep so you can call me any time." It's also possible that perhaps I need to work on telling myself it's going to be OK. And believing it.

Thursday, February 11, 2010


Dear Amiee,

I’m feeling a little down. Next time I’m awake at 3am I’m calling you. I’ll be tearful about losing people and things and moments – my voice will be a little ragged. I’ll be calling to talk about this bruised thing inside me that aches and pulses with loss for things I still have. I’m calling just so I can hear your wooly, knitted voice murmur things like god and love and . . . what else will you say? Faith? Joy? Pain? I’ll listen to your words and the spaces between them trying to find my way back to something. Trying to find a pinprick of light. I will tell you how sometimes at night I sit in the hallway and listen to my daughter breathing. How in the middle of night I reach out in a panic to touch my husband’s warm back. And maybe you will whisper, ‘Me too. Me too’.

So, I’m feeling a little down and a little lost and a little in need of your light. I need to hear about the funny things, the crazy things, the things that are not so harsh and so real. Whisper to me about hamburgers and chocolate cake. Or the secret life of sororities. Or grandchildren with honey tangled in their hair. Or friends. Let’s talk about friends. Let’s talk about strong women. Pass the tissues for happy tears. Because I really just can’t stand seeing all these people I love in a moment of imagined pain. I’m on my second box of Girl Scout cookies and I need a little help.



Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Cool Moms Care: Dear World

In which I am a tad bit cheesy and perhaps a wee bit sentimental. This week's Cool Moms Care post is up -- click here.

Thursday, February 4, 2010

Happy (Late) Anniversary!

I somehow missed the one year blogging anniversary of Zozo's Mom. As of January 23rd, I have been blogging for ONE YEAR!!! Yay for me! What started out as a new year's resolution is now a very important part of my life. Seriously. Blogging makes me feel proud, happy, and worthwhile. All things that are often hard to come by as a SAHM. And . . . what's that? You want to get me a present? Aw! How thoughtful! As a belated anniversary present to me please decloak/delurk and leave a comment. Who are you? How did you get here? And if I already know you please leave a comment anyway! Pleeeeaaaaase!!!!!!!

Also, my living room looks like this:

It's been a hard week (sniff sniff) what with all the sickness (sigh) and fatigue (yaaawn) and loneliness (wah!). And you know what would make me feel better? COMMENTS!

So . . . thanks for reading. For real. It means a lot to me.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010


Being around a toddler is a great way to build up one's self-esteem. Zoey can make me feel like the funniest, most beautiful, importantest person in the world. Hearing Zoey laugh at my jokes or having her reach for my hand is amazing. I love it when she climbs into my lap, nuzzles my neck, and pats my cheek. I feel like a rock star! A super hero! A (dare I say it?) good mom!

Then Demetri will get home. Or The Grandparents will come over. And I become The Devil. Lately Zoey has been screaming when I come downstairs in the morning. Her devil radar will lock on to me before I even get out the gate at the bottom of the stairs. There is a brief second of eye contact. I hope that this will be the day that my daughter doesn't scream in horror at my mere presence and Zoey takes a deep breath. Then, she screams. Or rather, she begins screaming. She runs away from me and towards Demetri, tears streaming, head shaking in the universal sign of Get away from me! If I approach her, she hurls her entire 25 pounds of toddler rage at me. Her little hands, the same hands that I love to hold, push and claw me away. All while screaming. And it goes on. If I sit too close to her on the couch. If I look at her during breakfast. If I enter a room that she is in.

Demetri eventually leaves for work. Zoey and I go through our day just fine. We are even usually in the same room. I can cuddle her and play with her and read to her. Until Demetri gets home. The screaming starts again.

And here's the thing I'm not supposed to say: It hurts my feelings. I know it's not supposed to. I know Zoey is not even two. I know that she has minimal (at best) control of her emotions. I know that she loves me. And I know, when Zoey is older, things will get worse. Like when she can talk in full sentences and yell things like I hate you! or You're not my real mother! But maybe by then she'll have a reason. Maybe it'll be because I won't let her go away with her 21 year old girlfriend to Vegas for the weekend. Or because I won't buy her a $300 pair of jeans. Or maybe she'll still be outraged by my very presence. Whatever the reason, I'm hoping it will hurt a little less.

I was talking to my mom about this the other night. She told me that it's a father-daughter thing. Apparently, when I was young I was all about being with my dad. I played soccer with him. Ran with him. Watched Star Trek with him. If the 3 of us went someplace I would get out of the car and go walking off with my dad. We would leave my mom behind. I apologized profusely (Again, sooooo sorry mom!) . . . and I encouraged her to blame my dad. While I was talking to my mom, my dad was hovering in the background shouting 'encouraging' things like "All daughters treat their mothers horribly!" When we were about to hang up my mom said she loved me and my dad yelled, "Tell her I love her too!" I told my mom that I love her more because she is my mom. My dad yelled, "That's OK! I'm used to being mistreated!"

I hung up knowing that my parents love me. Even my mom, who I often took for granted and ignored. I never once doubted her love. It is always there. Just like she is. And I think that may be the hardest thing about parenting -- to always love. And to always show it. So now I'm going to do what I think my mom would do - smother Zoey with hugs and kisses and tickles. Even when being pushed away.

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Cool Moms Care: Miss You

This weeks Cool Moms Care post is up. Click here to read all about how I became one of those moms. Yes, I became what I had previously mocked. Oh the horror!