As Ella is approaching the tween years, I bought her a book about feelings since things will start changing for her. I placed it on the kitchen counter as I poured a glass of wine. I went to pick the book up again and while doing so, I accidentally knocked over my glass and the wine spilled all over the book. Of course this is also the exact moment that Adam walks into the room. “Babe! What are you doing?” he yells. Well, gee, besides the obvious of fumbling around to get paper towels before the book got totally soaked - Adam follows up his stupid question with “oh that's great…give her a book about feelings and it smells like wine.” This actually sounded fine to me – wine helps me deal with my feelings – not a bad thing to learn early. Ha!
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Adam and I met with a relator to see what might be possible for us sometime in this lifetime. The woman was a spitfire – cool outfit, lotsa bling, trendy sunglasses, her very own billboard. (!!!!!) It is evident she has passion for what she does. During our meeting, she began telling us about common issues in the business. So common, they even happened to her and to ward off stress, she laughed about having a vodka on the rocks everyday for nearly two weeks. After she left, I mentioned to my little family how much I liked her and how even if nothing worked out, I would really want to hang out with her. Ella then said – “oh she is totally our type. Did you hear what she said about the vodka? She can party.” I didn’t know whether to agree or be mortified at that my 9-year-old knows that being a drinker is required friend criteria. Cheers to friendship!
At nearly 5’8, I was a pretty big mass while pregnant and carrying an extra 75 pounds on my already large frame. With the big ass, and (finally!) big boobs, I also had very large feet. This was most obvious to me when I was commuting to work in winter in NYC and stepped in a huge puddle and couldn’t bear the thought of going through the entire day with totally soaked feet. Loving the convenience of the city, I was able to stop off at the first store I saw to get a new pair of shoes. After trying on several pairs of women’s shoes, I found nothing would fit. The salesperson offered to help me and returned with men’s galoshes. I was trading in high-heeled boots (that I refused to give up and stuffed my hoofs into daily) to buy giant, rubbery, black, shoes -- for a man. Stretch marks, hemorrhoids, alarmingly odd body transformations and now this. Um, I can officially say the “glow” of pregnancy was dull.
The other day I was driving past a church in our town. I was moved by the sign out front that read “A candle doesn’t lose anything by lighting another candle.” I turned to Ella in the front seat beside me and said “I think we should go to church.” I strained my eyes to see what time it said that services began: Sunday, 10am. Thinking about how I am often hung-over on a Sunday morning I quickly retracted the thought saying “Never mind. It starts too early.” Talk about teaching the opposite of making sacrifices for the Lord. I drove away watching out for lighting strikes.
Me and the girls went to see a mammal show at a local environmental center. Vanessa sat on my lap, while Ella sat beside me. The zoo guy was really great - he was an obvious expert and kept the kids laughing and engaged with his jokes about his work with the creatures. As he was holding a skunk, he was talking about the way they lift their tail to spray their smell to protect themselves (I think that is why they do it, I don't know, i zoned out for a bit during the lesson and was instead focused on a fellow mom's wedge sandals). But he certainly got my attention when just as he mentioned how the spray comes out like a stream, he lifted up the skunk’s tail and something wet shot out at the three of us. Ella screamed, I hid behind Vanessa pretty much pushing her directly into the stream to protect myself. While it was just a prank with a water bottle under the skunk's tail to emulate a spray, I couldn't help but question the fact that I basically put my child in harm’s way to shield myself. Clearly I will be keeping me and my kids away from anything that might expose us to animals with attitude. From now on, we hit the mall, the movies or if it has to be a learning thing - a museum with stuffed animals only.
I was very pregnant at a birthday party where the parents had hired a clown for entertaining the kids. When the rented joker asked me what we planned to name the baby in my belly, I told her we were looking for a name that started with a “V” and a middle name that began with “L”. She quickly replied, "what about Vanessa Love” -- and I just stared at her. I then looked at Adam and said “Babe, I think a clown just named our baby,” And in fact, she did - a few months later - our Vanessa Love Marino arrived. I still can't believe an adult woman, wearing a polka-dotted onesie, a red nose and big shoes came up with the name for our child. I guess it is fitting - Vanessa is pretty much a clown herself. Although I do think we should wait until after her teen years to tell her this story ...she'll have plenty of other reasons to hate us, no need for her to hate her perfect name too.
When I was pretty well into my pregnancy Adam came with me to one of the last ultrasound appointments. It just so happened that on this day, there was a covering doctor. She walked in and Adam almost passed out. I think she may have only been wearing her short white lab coat with high-heeled boots that laced up to her knees. Her hair was cascading down her back and her voice was soft. When she dimmed the lights so we could see the monitor better, Adam asked her if she could put on soft music. What the fuck? I gave him a smack on the back of his head and knocked him back into reality. Besides, what did he think she was turning out the lights to do? Make out with me…or him? Eye roll!! I can assure you that there is nothing like feeling like a beached whale and thinking that your husband has little interest in you or his unborn child, because he is ogling over some hot – super thin - doc. Seriously though, who hired her how does she not feel bad looking that way around large pregnant women? What a bitch. Sigh.
Ella stubbed her toe was totally freaking out about it. I tired to console her - anyone could agree that hurts like a bitch. But after a few minutes of hysterics, I couldn't take her anymore. I told her to get over it as she was continuing to go on and on. After a few more minutes of her sobbing, she was on my last nerve and I yelled to her “that she should be thankful that she even had feet and toes to stub”. She looked at me like "what the hell are you saying?" And I went on to dramatically impress my point -"Ella, there are people in this world who have had their feet cut off because of an illness or maybe they were born without feet. And they would give their right arm to stub a toe." She was silent for a sec and then said "no they wouldn't. I doubt they would want to have no feet and only one arm." Touché my smart ass.
The other day was my 14-year wedding anniversary with Adam. Unlike years past, we decided to go out as a family, instead of just a couple. We went to a nice local Italian joint for good food, good wine and a good time. Adam started the night with a beautiful toast and upon the cheers, I was feeling happy and loved. The place added to our special celebration by giving us a rose, two flutes of champagne and a cake with a candle for dessert. In between all of the loveliness and after the toast however, Adam began to suck down Guinness like he needed beer googles for the obligatory anniversary sex; Vanessa and Ella played hand games like “Rock, Paper, Scissors” at the table and got a little carried away knocking over a glass of water, sending it crashing to the floor and breaking into a million pieces. Ella began to laugh at this and accidentally farted so loud, the people at the table across the room looked over at us . Adam slurred something to her and I couldn't tell if it was a “way to go” comment (why are guys proud of gross stuff like that?) or if he was yelling at her for being rude. When we got home, Adam passed out and I put the kids to bed. I then poured a glass of wine, sat on the couch and put on a porn (some form of sex had to happen on an anniversary night!) After 3 minutes, I changed the channel to Lifetime and used my phone to shop around on Amazon for a new dress during commercials. I ate the dessert I took home from the restaurant. This was wedded bliss of a new kind. Here’s to another year of real life and real love and all the perfect imperfectness in between!
Yay! It’s Back-to-School time! And the first and probably last day that my kids will actually make the bus. From here on out, I will likely be the parent screeching through the parking lot at 60 miles an hour in order to get there before the bell rings. The scene will be awesome as I scream at the kids to unbuckle their seatbelts and get ready to get out of the car the second it stops. As they run to the doors, I will yell after them reminding them to go directly to the office without getting a late pass and to just tell the teachers that they were using the bathroom when the bell rang. I will get pissed when I see them walking towards the office. Argh! Why did I teach them to do the right thing? With the start of a new school year, I wonder if I will have to go back to bribing them to make the bus on time. Last year, it was only February when we got a letter from the principal about all of the accrued lates. We really had to start making real efforts to get the girls to school on time until the end of the year. And in keeping consistent with making some of the worst parenting decisions ever, I promised each of them $100 in cold, hard cash if they didn’t get one more late pass until June. And it worked! On the last day of school, I found myself at the bank asking the teller for 200 singles. Feeling like a stripper with a bunch of loose bills in my purse – and secretly liking it – I picked up the girls from school that day and handed them their reward. Yea, seeing it’s success I am so not above bribery. Since my girls weren't either, I should have anticipated that being at the bus stop today – the first day – it would present the perfect opportunity for my oldest to ask “So Mom, how much do we get this year for not getting any late passes?” Like finding out that the Tooth Fairy pays some kids more than others, let’s hope my girls don’t talk to your kids or we just might ourselves breaking up a juvenile ring of corruption.
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