After being scared out of my ever loving mind watching Pontypool (a movie that took a page from the book Snow Crash where the zombie virus is spread by words), I sought the comfort of a nice, safe, good old fashioned, non-infections, no zombies here chat with my dear husband.


DH: Wasn't that a good movie?

Me: Yes, but I'm never sleeping again.

DH: Come on, it wasn't that bad.

Me: Have you read Memoirs of a Geisha? It's a really good book. You'd love it.

DH: Does it have zombies in it?

Me: Yes.

DH: But are they ninja zombies?

Me: Yes.

DH: You're lying to me aren't you?

Me: No, they're just at the end of the book.

DH: Then I'll just skip to the end of the book.

Me: It doesn't work like that, you have to read the whole thing or you won't understand.

DH: Do you have a simple sample? Just a simple sample? Simple sample...Simple sample...

Me: *face palm*


I'm on day 2 of crazy dreams! I'm not sure why I've been having all these super psycho dreams lately, except that perhaps it's because my son has been sleeping extra longer than usual so I've actually been getting a full nights rest for the first time since he was born! Well, here's last nights:


I was in a college dorm room where the sink kept dripping and leaving puddles on the floor. I was concerned that they would try to put carpet down and then it would milder and we’d all get sick. I had to do *something* don’t remember what anymore, but it caused me to go on this long journey.

There were weather issues on this journey and there were sand storms that made us (there was someone else randomly with me) get lost. We ran into a very large woman who offered to be our “guide”. We knew she was going to try to sell us as slaves and she was not to be trusted but we needed her help to get out of the desert.

She took us to a sort of villa where the staff was preparing a feast. My traveling companion and I went off exploring while our “guide” (the fat woman) was being pampered by the chef. I had a bad feeling about it, but went away rather than staying and watching. When I came back, I saw the fat woman’s legs were cut off at mid thigh but she didn’t seem to notice. She had been stuffed naked into a roasting pan and was ladling “gravy” into her mouth with both hands cooing about how delicious it was. It was actually her own blood. When I left with my traveling companion, she tipped herself out of the pan and on bloody stumps tried to chase after us.

As we wandered the desert again, we came to a valley where I saw a hiker. I knew if we followed him, he’d be able to get us home. He agreed to help, and I had to convince my companion that he was an “okay” guy. He led us up the side of a steep mountain that turned out to be a volcano. We had to travel along the rim to get to safety. On one side was a river of molten lava, sputtering and spitting as it flowed away. On the other side of us was a sheer drop.

Zander was with me now along with the traveling companion. I had to keep my 2 yr old son from certain death but he didn’t want to hold my hand or be carried, and when I would try to carry him, his struggles would throw me off balance and I would risk getting both of us killed. If I reached for his hand, he’d dart away careless of where he was running. I had to just watch him toddle along the path.

I guess we made it back safe and sound because we all wound up back at the dorm with the leaky pipe. Pretty crazy.

Today's crazy dream: I was wearing a multicolored pea coat (cirque de Collin Baker) and on a school bus in Thailand with Mom, sis, and my entire graduating HS class. We were allowed to stop and go our own way for several hours. Mom and Michelle came with me to play tourist. I didn’t speak Thai but apparently I spoke enough Japanese to get around.

Michelle started arguing with me telling me that I couldn’t speak Japanese and to stop pretending. No matter what proof she was presented with, she still wouldn’t believe me and continued to yell. Even as we entered a beautiful Buddhist temple (whose fountain of water flowing down steps with lilies and orchids floating on top still stick in my mind as being one of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever “seen”) where people were meditating and I begged her to be quiet, she refused. People got upset with us and disgusted with our appalling behavior and I was embarrassed. Mom and Michelle told me I was being ridiculous for being embarrassed and then Mom yelled at me for arguing with my sister and causing a scene. Finally, it was time and we got back on the bus.

We got stuck in a traffic jam and everyone rushed to the windows to see what was causing such an uproar. The entire planet was under attack by giant vampire bats and everyone in Thailand was fleeing the city (which apparently bordered San Francisco and Galveston Texas). Huge bat people tried to peal off the top of the bus to "get us". While I was filming the bat attack, a smaller bat got in the bus and flew up my sleeve. After a heart pounding struggle, we managed to take the coat off and kill the chompy batty thing before it gnawed my arm to pieces.

There was a big argument on the bus over how to properly dispose of the batty body. Some insisted that this interstellar event was all just a big misunderstanding and we needed to dispose of the body with all the dignity and respect it deserved. That argument seemed to win, so we set about with an arts and crafts project of making crosses and epitaphs. Mine read “Dear bat, if you hadn’t tried to kill me, I wouldn’t have killed you. Hope you’re happy. The end.” It was toted as being inappropriate and disrespectful by my classmates. I gave them the finger and used it anyway.

I went to dispose of the bat’s body and was attacked by a pack of dogs. Luckily my classmates came to my rescue which actually kind of surprised me since the Giant bats were still trying to rip the top of the bus off like a sardine can and the smaller bats were swarming everywhere like a fleet of carriers during a Protos invasion (video game reference to my non-gamer friends). I distinctly remember thinking that if I were in their position, I would just leave my sorry ass and they were really dumb for risking everyone to help me. Yet I was relieved (if not grateful) that they came back to rescue me (after all, if they hadn’t insisted on the damn proper burial, I would never have been in that situation). They were actually debating going back to finish the disposal of the bat that I had killed when I was finally able to reason with them “F the dead bat! It was a stupid idea anyway! Get back on the Fing buss and let’s the the F out of Dodge!!!” (hrm…apparently post apocalyptic dreams make me use bad language).

So, we get back on the bus and make our way out of Thailand and into Texas. We’re marginally safer now. We discover that being bitten by one of the big vampire bat things turns you into a sort of Zombie slave that shares a collective conscious, so it’s really important not to be seen by any of the bats or bitten people. In other words, you mess with one bean, you get the whole burrito. We pick up a native American father and son. I was vastly disappointed when the father, who I suspected was supposed to fulfill the role of spiritual guide on our journey died at the first gas station we stopped at to refuel (incidentally, the gas station was run by the bridge troll for the Golden Gate bridge—doesn’t every bridge have a troll?). We knew we just needed to make it across the Golden Gate Bridge and we’d be fine. We were going to make a madcap run for it, and that’s about the time I woke up from the dulcet tones of my son screaming that he was “All done! All done! ALL DONE!!!!!” with bedtime.

The last couple of weeks with my son have been difficult. To say he’s mommy-centric would be an understatement. It seems like every activity needs to be done from my lap. When he’s playing on his own, he howls like a crazed wolf child and when it’s time for bed or naps, he shrieks like a banshee in death throws. I can’t do any activity without seeing his little outstretched arms saying “Up? Up?” and if I refuse, he dissolves into an apoplectic fit before my very eyes. 22 months is hell.

Coupled with each little scream and whimper is my unreasonable resentment that his father is out having fun. This isn’t really the case. He’s working 12 -14 hr days, unable to even get a reprieve during dinner (which seems to be a synonym for meeting when he’s in the field). But this is what my mind’s eye imagines…my husband getting his free first class upgrades, drinking vodka tonics with a flight attendant hanging off each arm captivated by his every word. He gets to his hotel where they know him by name and open up the pool just for him, even though it’s after hours. During dinner, it’s a feast of merlot and filet mignon while his co-workers toast his cleverness and slap him on the back. When the day is finally done, he goes back to the hotel, works out, relaxes, and calls his wife for a minute or two before going to sleep.

When he’s home, I still feel like a walking human jungle gym with my son pulling on my legs or hands and crawling all over me when I sit down for a few minutes. He’s thrilled to death that Daddy’s home, and so am I, and the good Lord knows my husband is supportive. Still, my little shoulder devil can’t help but interject between the lines...No, no, honey, let me make lunch (from behind the safety of a child gate). I’ll do the dishes (so I don’t have to deal with Mr. Cranky Pants). You just relax (and take care of our son while I’m busy doing fun things). Heaven forbid I should even think about taking a shower because Z will sit out side, banging on the bathroom door, bleating his little head off while Daddy is blissfully snoozing on the sofa.

Then today, I get a message from my husband. He has a present for me. It comes in a little blue box tied with a white satin bow. You know, come to think of it, my husband did spend an awful lot of time with Z last weekend. He took him to get his hair cut, took him to the playground, tossed him in the air, wrestled with him. And he did make me breakfast in bed last Sunday, and let me sleep in on Saturday. And, you know, when I got up Saturday morning, all the dishes that were in the sink from the night before (where I collapsed in a fit of exhaustion just from looking at them) were in the dishwasher getting clean. And, you know, he does text me several times throughout the day and call me every night, which has to be difficult on him since he works so hard and doesn’t have a lot of time while he’s in the field.

…I hope they’re taking good care of him at that hotel where he’s staying. I hope he’s getting enough to eat…Man, my husband works hard. I’ll make him all his favorite meals and snacks when he’s home this weekend. And what’s that sweetie? You want up? You want to snuggle with mommy? How sweet! It’s important to hold on to these moments while you can, they’ll be over all too soon, you know. What a precious and amazing family!


(This is still how I envision my family)

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Zander woke up crying and asked to "Wok? Wok?" (rock in the glider). While snuggling with his "mankie" I sang him a lullaby. When it was over he took his thumb out of his mouth, touched my face, and very quietly started to sing some unintelligible toddler tune that was none the less the most beautiful song I've ever heard.

There is a spider that lives inside my head. He’s a mechanical thing of shiny surgical instruments and dull gray gunmetal. Each of his eight needle sharp legs is barbed with razor thorns instead of the fuzz of steel wool. He casts a black web where he treds across my brain, dredging up dark dreams and distorted visions. Each tiny little pinprick of its pointy little leg sinks into my frontal lobe and causes an explosion of pain while white and black flecks dance across eyes. He steps on this neuron then that and tricks my nostrils into thinking they’re filled with the odor of rotten oranges or feral cats. It can take days to snap free from his black web, the mechanical machination is elusive. There is a spider that lives inside my head. His name is Migraine.

Oh the drama of being almost two! The constant frustration and disappointment! My son has pretty much been screaming and crying since Sunday. Mostly, he’s frustrated because he can’t do what he wants to do. His motor skills need of fine tuning and he has suicidal toddler tendencies (like cat walking on the window ledge while I’m trying to shovel the drive) that send Mommy’s heart into palpitations while visions of the ER dance through her head. It’s been frustrating for all parties concerned.

As the week progressed, I went from being good mommy to a taxed mommy to a Dear God give me the patience to endure and keep my son alive and also a nice strong margarita mommy. It hasn’t helped that my son has been exposed to some new emotions this week that he’s previously been unable to express. Fear. I inadvertently scared the crap out of him when I took the car through the automated wash. He covered his eyes and made worried moaning noises the entire time making the 5 minute car wash seem like 5 hours.

Also, humiliation. It was not my intent. My intent was a simple time out for emptying his bath water one cup at a time onto the bathroom floor. I didn’t think it could possibly matter to him that he happened to be naked since that seems to be his preferred state these days. So he went in the time out chair completely in the buff. For two minutes (the duration of a time out) he screamed “Diaper! Diaper!” and covered his bottom with his hands. Now, in my defense, it would have taken two minutes to put a diaper on him and I was busy cleaning the water up off the floor, so I didn’t realize he was feeling embarrassed and vulnerable until the timer went off and I came to get him out of time out.

Now there have also been two nights in a row where he’s been up every hour with bad dreams, a tummy ache, a dirty diaper, a kitty hair on his finger, a little toe uncovered, his head too close to the top or bottom of the crib, wants a drink of water, wants a song, wants a story, his 5th chakra out of alignment, and his lay lines running parallel to his tantrum blocker. Yes, this is one frazzled mommy and one cranky little boy. One very cranky little boy who tries so hard to be good but temptation is just too much.

This morning, as he was practicing his high wire walk on the arm of a wing-back, I hollered at him to get down. Out of frustration he grabbed a glass, which is only accessable if he stands on the arm of the wing back and probably explains what he was doing there in the first place, and threw it to the ground. Of course it shattered into a million pieces and as my son scrambled to get down and make a run for it (from the loud noise as much as the trouble he was about to be in), I completely lost my temper. I yelled at him for putting himself in a dangerous situation, for the possibility that he could have fallen and broken a bone, I yelled at him for getting into things he wasn’t supposed to, I yelled at him for throwing things, I yelled at him for the glass breaking.

I must have been so scary with my pointy finger and my voice louder than I’d ever heard it. My poor son covered his eyes in fear and I realized that he was scared of me. It was a horrible feeling. He’s so tiny and little and vulnerable and he’s supposed to never ever be afraid of Mommy! Afraid of getting in trouble, yes, afraid of Mommy, absolutely not! I picked him up and hugged him and tried to make amends but the whole time I just kept thinking…do over…there should be a do over.



The waves, frozen in ripples, cascade in a white velvety blanket of twinkling stars. The moon reflects off the breaks like so many shimmering diamonds as we drive along the shore of Lake Michigan. The wind blows spray turned to snow in curtains across the frozen landscape while off in the distance a light house winks. Home, it says, memories. Each revolution of light brings up a host of kind faces, but one more than any other. One face, one smile, one golden memory from a life long past. And for one moment, as brief and glittering as the frozen spray, I am a child again with a smile I can hardly contain, practicing at being a woman.

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It is always the way; words will answer as long as it is only a person's neighbor who is in trouble, but when that person gets into trouble himself, it is time that the King rise up and do something.
- Personal Reflections of Joan of Arc

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