Mother's Guilt Decoded

I woke up at 5:30-ish this morning due to immense sadness in my dream.  I had to go check on Livy it was so overwhelming.

I dreamed that I made a decision that I had to make. I had no choice. I had to make this decision. I have no idea what that is now, but I realize the decision was generic; could have been anything.

As a result me making this decision, I was turned into ash. I was still me, but made of ash and I was slowly blowing away in the wind.  I was also banished to just outside the boundaries of the regular world and because of my decision, Livy was turned into ash as well.  She, in real life, is 8, but in this dream she was 4.

I was heartbroken. She had no idea anything changed with us, but I could see her.  Small and made of ash, sitting on my lap. She was talking about how her friends had all this cool stuff and she wished she could too and why couldn't she play with them.

She hadn't started to blow away, but I was slowly disappearing. I was so sad. I was leaving her alone and I couldn't control it.

We stood up from where we were sitting and I started to place her on a staircase leading upwards.  As I did this, I blew away. I could still hear her tiny voice as I disappeared, arms reaching for her. She had started to walk up the stairs not looking back. I was overwhelmed with her not noticing I was disappearing and what if she turns around and I'm not there?  Will she be alone?  Who will take care of her?  How will she find her way?

I woke up and was overwhelmed with sadness. When I checked on her, Livy was of course safe and whole in her bed, but I couldn't shake the sadness and carried it around with me all day; like a hangover.

This dream was completely symbolic of me not feeling like a good mom. Me placing her on the stairs leading up is symbolic that I'm guiding her in the right direction and as I blew away she had her to back to me. She was moving forward.  Although she was affected by my decision, she was still moving forward; not worried about the past.  She was going to be OK without me.

It was a doozy of a dream and though I was stoked to be able to decipher what it all meant, because I love doing that, it was a reality check that I need to remember, I'm a good mom.  My decisions aren't so bad that she'll be scarred and in life, she really will be OK. A&E will not be creating a reality series on me...

I hope we both grow so old we look like sisters and maybe when she's older she'll understand my decisions.  And, maybe when she's older and really OK, I'll know my life decisions were OK and I'll be OK too.

Tampons, Tennis Balls and Affliction T-Shirts

I'm newly officially single. Sucks, but that's life, right? I need a break anyway. Having been the girl in junior high, high school and college who never had a boyfriend and then to be in 2 strong relationships over the last 13 years with not much of a break in-between, I need some "me" time.

So, here I am and no, I won't be doing the online dating thing. Did that during a brief break a few years back. Offered some decent blog worthy stories, but never again; see "Written Word Going to Hell! LOL!"

I'm feeling strong about being single, 39, and a single mom. I got this. I'm looking forward to meeting someone LATER, MUCH LATER and maybe seeing where that goes, but for now. I'm good.

This morning, I realize I'm out of tampons. Bad timing to say the least, but I find one and after I dropped Weez off at school I went to The Wal-Mart. I also needed to buy the dog a new tennis ball; she barfed on her's...lovely. I'm sure she didn't care, but I did.

I grabbed a multi-pack of tampons and yes, I needed mini pads too. I really am not sure how I ran out of BOTH at the same time, but I didn't have any coupons for either. I've been distracted from life for a while, apparently. I whistled a tune as I headed to the dog stuff isle and was in my own world; tampons under one arm and mini pads in the other hand.

"Cat food isle, cat stuff isle, dog stuff isle, ah ha!," I murmured to myself. I was aware there was someone else in the isle. I am not someone to greet strangers so I just get on with what I needed to do and I assumed  the other person would as well.

Nope.

"Hi. How are you?," he asked.

I looked up and its a dad from the Y I see repeatedly first thing in the AM when I'm in yoga pants, my blue fleece, and probably haven't brushed my hair. Thankfully, he looks like Zak from "Ghost Adventures," pushing 40 and still wearing "Affliction" t-shirts with more product in his hair than I've ever used in mine. He's a good looking man, but not my type at all.

Of course, what he meant by "Hi. How are you," was "I love you and want to marry you," right?  Right. Glad we're all on the same page... 


I stop twirling the mini pads in my hand and my face goes blank, "I'm doing good. How are you?" Good? How about "well," Lesh?  He says, "I'm good." I say, "Great," find the tennis balls and leave the isle.

It becomes very apparent to me that I am socially awkward. Not sure why this is apparent NOW as I've always known that. I'm a dork. A geek. BUT NOW I'M REALLY SINGLE. Sure, I was single before I met my now ex-husband and was pretty much single (divorce was already in process) when I met my now ex-boyfriend. But now? I'm SINGLE after 13 years of being dorks WITH someone. I feel completely unprepared for what lies ahead of me.

Dating.

Kill me.

Like I said, for now, I'm good. I think. I'm feeling strong, remember? I got this, right? I'm an independent single mom. Self sufficient. Funny. When I wear make up and do my hair, I'm cute.  Oy vey, I have to do my hair and wear make up?

Maybe when I'm 40 I'll consider dating. I think I'll hide behind my sarcasm for a while.

Fun with Truck Tires: A Test of Nerves...Again, I Failed.

We were invited to a bonfire this past weekend.  I was excited to go. A friend of mine who is in a band hosts the gig and I was looking forward to music, meeting his family, being outside and hanging with Wook and Weez on a beautiful November evening in Florida.

We arrived and the sun was already down. The crowd was healthy.  A food table supported all sorts of delicious dishes and we brought plenty of Mich Ultra...thank God.

As we rounded the corner and the full layout of the backyard was presented to me, I was stopped dead in my tracks.

A tire swing in full range of motion hung from a 25 foot (total guess) limb of a tree.  We're talking big rig tire and chains supporting it while 3-4 kids rode it back and forth.

In my mind, the tire might as well have been covered in knives.  All I saw was carnage.  Yeah, I'm fun at parties.

Weez totally wanted a ride and sure, go ahead, um, yeah, I'm cool with it...  I looked at every other parent with searching eyes, "Are you freaking out like I am right now?!" Yes, I could see they were aware of this tire of death as it swung back and forth and spun the kids into a dizzying frenzy.  No one, however, was, well, ME: vocally alarmed at the potential danger while trying to smile and that was the fastest I've ever pounded a beer mostly because I wanted my hands free to protect the kids.  Again, loads of fun I am... 

I found myself talking with my friend's wife later in the evening, "Love the tire.  Does it come with a side of Xanax?"  She laughed.  I laughed.  I wasn't kidding.

Sure the adults were aware of the swinging side to side and stopping it when it went too high or off course or started to spin and rotate, but the bigger kids who wanted to push or the random thoughtless younger kids who darted unknowingly like squirrels on a busy road HAD NO IDEA what COULD happen.

Yes, I am forever preparing for the worst.  In my mind, there was at least 200 pounds of kid on the tire at any given time and with that thing swaying back and forth the speed added force and thus it makes contact with someone's dome and Good Night, Nurse. 

Thankfully, nothing horrible went wrong. Yes, a kid did get leveled and his parents were no where to be found. Lovely.  He was OK.  I was not and THEN and ONLY THEN did other parents start to talk about the danger and wow and yeah...  RIGHT HERE, FOLKS!  I might suck at fun, but I plan for the worst and am OK with letting everyone know... 

Remind me next time to close the blinds...

I sent Weez to her room to play her video game; she wanted the sound "on" and I didn't.  She walked into her room, shut the room and all Hell broke loose.  I hear in a somewhat excited tone, "Liza."  Liza is the cat.  The pitch and panic level of each "Liza" increased with less and less split seconds in-between each followed by screaming cat noises.  I'm "Dukes of Hazard across a car hood fast" off the couch thinking there's another cat in the room (somehow) and Liza's gone ghetto and is throwin' down; jewelry off...

Nope.  Liza, in her brilliance, has hung herself by the tail with the blinds' pull lines.  I can, in the fragment of time I had, only imagine how THAT happened.  My immediate concern was calming Weez down.  Technically, Liza was fine or at least would be physically for a few seconds while I figured out what to do. Livy is screaming and crying, "LIZA! LIZA! LIZA!"

"Liv, calm the fuck down!"  And here I thought my neighbors were bat shit crazy with the yelling.  Weez immediately calmed down.  Effective and I owe her an apology.

I size up Liza and she's completely puffed out, all legs stiff as boards, eyes the size of plates, screaming like like, well, a cat snagged by the tail hanging in the air as I approach.  I grab the lines and that cat grabbed my arm with all 20 razor sharp claws and teeth.  MOTHER OF GOD!  Not sure how I got her off my arm, but I did and she in turn latched and I mean LATCHED onto my leg.

HOLY SHIT THANK GOD I HAD ON JEANS!  She wasn't about to let go as I cussed her out, "Let go you fucking asshole cat!!!"  I was literally pulling her by the lines off my leg; attempting to peel her off my body.  She wasn't letting go. PULL!!  BITE!!  PULL!!  Both of us screaming.  Livy speechless on her bed. I should have had her video taping it...  Finally, Liza let go.  Holy smokes...  She's hanging there again.

I knew Liza was scared shitless so I felt bad, but what in the freaking Hell was I going to do... She wouldn't let me near her without me losing a limb. The lines weren't long enough for her to reach the bed and have something solid underneath her and she was so flipped out all I could do was let her hang and hold the lines far enough away from me that she couldn't reach me.  Poor thing was looking at me like, "Bitch, help!"

"Liv, go get the scissors!" as Liza dangled by the lines like a pissed off pinata.

She runs back to the room with the scissors, held properly (good girl!) and I cut the God damned cat free.

Weez and I are standing in disbelief in her room.  Liza is gone; forever hiding somewhere, I'm sure.  The pain sets in on my arm and leg and Livy starts crying.  Back to my normal less psycho mom, "Weez, its OK.  I know Liza hurt you, but she was scared.  You were only trying to help. You're OK.  She'll be fine.  I am so glad I was wearing jeans..."

We hobbled to the bathroom. I wiped down Weez's arm and leg; Liza got her too, but thankfully only a few minor scrapes on her arm and leg.  "Hello Kitty" Band-Aids and Neosporin all around.  I washed off my arm and I didn't even want to take off my jeans to look at my leg as it pulses with radiating pain.  But I do...

%*#@+~!!!

There are matching puncture wounds on my inner thigh and also on my upper outer thigh.

Liza took refuge under my bed; she'll be there a while.  Livy's back to playing her game with the sound on and I HAD to share this.  DUH.

Can you tell how someone is in bed by the way they eat?

I've had this conversation with many a friend and now I throw it out to the public. What do you think?

Here's my scenario. I'm sitting at a bar last night with some girlfriends; we have full view of the entire place. A couple walks in and sits down across the bar from us. Now, they either look really tired or don't give a shit... Anyway. They order and shortly their salads are brought to them. She sits very tall on her bar stool, eating her food neatly and slowly (normally, I suppose) and is actually dancing a little in her seat; obviously happy in her place and time. Her man, on the other hand, ate as though he hadn't ever had food.

He couldn't have gotten his face any closer to that salad other than full out laying in it. He held his fork like a shovel (big no-no in the Wozniak house) and didn't seem to chew his food. Hunched over, eyes focused... Might as well have had on a feed bag.

Good Lord, if that's what he's like with food then...

People say you can tell a man by his shoes. If he takes care of his shoes then he takes care of himself (pays attention to the details). So, if a man is face down into a plate of food swallowing it whole does that mean he plows through a night's events? Or perhaps, he's ravenous and loves his food so much he can't get enough of it and the same holds true with his woman...

Yes, guys, I know the same can be questioned of women and I do have a case where this lady orders all of page 2 and proceeds to fill her pie hole without breathing. She is lonely, this I know, and I can imagine she is eating for comfort. I assume by the way she eats that when she has an "appetizer" in her bed that she inhales him as well because the one she really wants is having dinner with someone else.

So, friends. Let me hear it... What do you think? Can you tell how someone is in bed by the way they eat?

4 Year Old Anatomy Lesson

Originally written on December 3, 2008

She's smart. Really smart. And she's funny...

She's in the bath the other night and I'm washing her hair. She's busy playing as I lather, rinse and repeat. She's of course naked as the day she was born. I finish with her hair and sit on the toilet (lid down, people) and we have a little conversation.

"Mommy, I don't have any boobs," she says.

"No, but that's where they'll go," I say.

"Right here!," she exclaims laughing.

"Right there," I conclude.

"So, what are these," She questions.

I hesitate for fear of a new word being repeated at school, "Your nipples." I mean, is that what they're called on children? Is there another word? I felt weird saying it, but that's what they are.

"Nipples?"

"Yes, nipples." Seriously, say it again...

"I have a teacher named that."

Oh good Lord, what flashed through my mind. What conversation did she over hear at school? My mind searches for a solution to what she just said.

I ask, "You have a teacher named Nipples?" I hold my breath...

"No, Nicole. I have a teacher named Nicole."

Oh, THANK GOD!!!

"Why I Need My Mom" By Olivia Dysert

Originally written on December 19, 2008

This morning Weezy and I are driving in to school and work. She said from the backseat, "All I need for Christmas is you and my Daddy."

Pull over the car, call in sick and feed her cotton candy all day moment, right?

I said, "Well, all I need for Christmas is you."

"Well, you need your mom too, right?" she asked.

"Of course, but as far as kids, all I need is you," I confirmed.

"But you still need your mom, right?" she repeated.

"Yes, who doesn't need their mom! You need me, right?" I said as I smiled.

"Uh huh because I'm not allowed to use knives."