He mocks me when I tell him he becomes self righteous and it just goes to proves my point. But he's too ignorant to see that. He can talk me into circles until I forget the orginal point of the discussion. Frustrated, I paddle in tears directionless. He thinks no one cares for him. I feel like I'm in the same spotlight. Are we both this selfish needing to feel more love and attention?

“You cry every day,” he said with such hostility.

What am I supposed to say to that? Give him my reasons?

He sits in the recliner and barks, No’s to every child that transgresses. “No!” to the 11 month old, while I scramble to stop her from flopping all of the books out of the bookcase again. “No!” to the dog who is attempting to chew the furniture. I hurry to give him a bone. “No!” to the 5 year old who is getting too hyper. I take pains to suggest things that will help calm her down. He huffs and puffs. I try and sooth things over before The Man blows a vocal chord. I need to keep him calm. He doesn’t get violent, he just gets to damn arrogantly upset. He makes things so much worse by adding salt, baking soda and vinegar to every situation. Meanwhile, I’m running mad. I’m cooking dinner, feeding the 11 month old, giving baths, doing dishes, taking the dog out because the man sitting in the recliner yells, “The Dog needs to got out!” It feels like I’m running non stop. I’m running in circles. Something I’ve just cleaned has become so messy again. I’m hot, messy and so frustrated. I’m about ready to scream.

The other recliner, that I’ve just cleaned off has toys on it. I bump them to the ground, look at The Man and say, “I can’t ever relax! I’m going crazy.” I start to cry. He snaps at attention and like a snake who is ready to bite-- he says, “Well you don’t have to cry!!” This makes me feel so much better. I sob. I start getting ready to feed the 11 month old and I process what he has said. I cannot take this schedule anymore. I cannot move my hands anymore to do all of this. Where is the time for me?

Then he says those words, “You cry every day.” I drop the baby spoon. “I cannot talk to you anymore. You feed the baby for once. “ And I go call my sister. It’s good to talk to someone who understands. He yells every day-- I cry. I’d rather cry than yell.

Random Acts of Journaling Entry. Use this phrase in a poem of your own:

where ________ wells like _________

I’ve thrown open my windows
And closed the front door.
The church bells have rung 4 times.
I stood on the porch
So I could be closer to the ringing.

What I experienced was that
The birds chirped louder,
flew higher.
Puppies joined in the chorus.

Where wind rushes and wells like a prosperous spirit.

This time last year I was rubbing my belly,
What was I bringing into this terror-full world?


I couldn’t believe the images I saw
Each headline was a blow, each item
A couldn’t believe, a what was next?


Some how there’s been a what next,
There’s been a little couldn’t believe
Who’s come out of my belly,
There’s been a million more headlines,
More items, a thousand images, church bells,
Prayers, and tears.

It’s been a year today.
Someday September 11th will come along

And it won’t mean much to my children
and their children.

That day will be good.

I was startled awake by a nightmere this morning. I stepped out of my front door and into a foggy morning. I placed my hand above my eyes trying to see, but the fog made it impossible. My mother stepped forward. She died 4 years ago from cancer. I grasped her hands and I said, "Happy 9/11." As soon as I said that there was a firey explosion accross the street and it blew us away.

This anniversary snuck up on me. It seems like it happened yesterday. Even though I am living in the middle of the country and the event didn't effect anyone I know, the event shook me to at my core as I'm sure it did many Americans. I don't know what I will do on Wednesday. my husband will be home, but he will be sleeping. I don't want to be alone that day. Many people I know want to see the images again-- they want the images to air on TV once more so people can remember and can be angry again and can be reminded as to why we are fighting this war on terrorism. I just can't do it. I don't need to see those images. They will forever be looping in my head. I was on bedrest when 9/11 happened. We counted over 35 channels that covered the tragedy. I couldn't do anything on bedrest but watch TV. The weeks following 9/11 I couldn't concentrate on reading books. I saw those planes hit the buildings over and over again. I imagined some of the people at their desks typing at their computer, or talking on their phones. Some of them were laughing. Some of them wouldn't have been able to point out Afghanistan on a map, but of them were living at the time the airplanes hit the tower. That's what I know everytime I see that footage. When I see the airplane strike? I know hundreds of people have just died.

Then there is the horror of being in the airplanes. I can't even begin to imagine looking out of a airplane window headed for a tall skyscraper. See? I do just fine torturing myself. I don't need all day newscoverage to help me out!

Yesterday I read this heartbreaking article about a nurse who was at ground zero. She calls it "the pile." She is going to be scarred the rest of her life. The article really brings home the nightmeres I have imagined that the "rescue workers" must endure day after day. My heart just breaks for them.

If my 11 month old behaves I think I will try to attend church on Wednesday at noon.

This week for the first time in five years I really truly felt like a mother. Sometimes, it has felt like I have been just playing mommy all of these years. The moment of truth came to me while I was packing a lunch for my five year old kindergartener. Motherhood hit me while I stood at the counter and made a sandwich, put chips in a bag, tucked in a snack cake, and poured juice in a thermos. I could have zippered up my tears in a Ziploc baggie.

The next moment came when the school rules said that parents could no longer drop their children inside the classroom. The children now have to play on the playground and wait for school to start. I actually had to drop my new kindergartener off at the curb by the playground. She thought nothing of it as she skipped happily towards the monkey bars. I stayed there at the curb and made sure she was safe. I dropped her off at the curb like she was some teenager or something! Even my 11 month old saw her big 5 year old sister walk away from the van and she started to cry.

After school I pick her up. She’s so excited. She usually has most of her lunch in her Scooby Doo lunch box. She tells me she doesn’t eat it at school because she wants to hurry up and get to recess. She then wolfs it down at home.

I can’t believe I’m a mother. I can’t believe it hasn’t hit me until now.

Random Acts of Journaling August Entry
I wish that everyone could...
I want to believe that...
I would like to go to

First Licks of Ice Cream

I wish that everyone could go back and taste their first icy lick of ice cream.

We hopped into the mini van yesterday and went to the little outdoor ice cream place that was built with brown logs. My five year old chose a picnic table under a tree and announced that we were now in the shade, even though the sun wasn’t out at all yesterday. We ordered our favorite, mint chip ice cream cones, and had just enough quarters to pay for it.

My 10 month old baby sat in her stroller and ignored us. She seemed to watch the cars roll by on their Wednesday noon drive. She didn’t give us a second glance until we got our green speckled cones.

She leaned forward in her stroller and touched my leg. I gave my cone it’s first lick around it’s edges (so it wouldn‘t start to drip right away), and then poked the top of the cone onto the baby’s lips.

At full tilt the taste hit into her. She instantly started waving her arms back and forth. She squealed a full scale , grinned, leaned in for more and growled “Mama!”

I can’t even imagine what that first lick of cold minty ice cream tasted like to her. By the time I got her home, she was all pink and pastel green with speckled chocolate chips all over her.

I would like to go back to my first ice cream cone. While we sat at our prime spot picnic table I told my 5 year old how “when I was your age” my oldest sister worked at an ice cream store. We would go pick her up after she closed up the store… funny thing was… We were always a little early so we could sample the ice cream. I could have a plastic spoon full of any flavor I wished for. There was pina colada, bubble gum, chocolate chip, butter pecan, chocolate, and so many more. And The funny thing? I always wanted mint chocolate chip.

My 10 month old kept nodding her head up and down as I let her sample my ice cream cone. What makes them so certain so young? I want to believe that I will be that certain again someday.

Locksmith Master:: I had another real adventure in mothering last week. I attempted to take the kids and the new puppy outside to take a walk. I asked the 5 year old to go upstairs to get a plastic bag so I could pick up the dog poop. As usual I had the garage door opener, but I didn't have the house keys (or car keys.) That's usually what I have, because I don't lock the door in between the house and the garage. Well, when she came back down from getting a bag, she locked the door... I have no c lue why. She never locks the door. We were locked out.

My husband was sleeping... of course. He works third shift. He's always sleeping, or so it seems. I didn't even try to ring the doorbell. That wouldn't wake him up. I got some pieces of the oldest's sidewalk chalk and I threw it at our bedroom window hoping to wake him up. I broke several pieces of chalk doing this. Nope, I I didn't wake him.

I graduated from that to throwing a roll of duct tape at the bedroom window. Surely that would wake him up!! Frustrated at trying over and over with no result I had to think of something else.

Next, I spied my husband's golf clubs in the garage. No, they wouldn't reach up to the window, unless I got out the step ladder! Which of course I did. I then proceeded to knock on the bedroom window with a golf club, a snow shovel, and then a broom. I finally came to the conclusion that my husband must be dead. I had been knocking at the window for about an hour and a half and still he had not arose to see what all of the racket was about!

I was so incredibly frustrated, not to mention embarassed. What if a nieghbor looked out their window to see me on a step ladder with a golf club rapping on my own window?? I didn't think I had too many options. I didn't have any money to use a payphone with and if knocking on the window for an hour wouldn't wake my deaf spouse up why would a phone call? We didn't have a lot of money to pay a locksmith with. Our landlord lives about an hour and a half away. Perhaps I wasn't thinking logically because I was so stressed out-- but I didn't think I had any options.

I put away the step ladder with a lot of cussing words. I was really lucky that our 10-month-old was in such a good mood. The new puppy was also just lying on the garage floor and looking at me like, "What kind of family have I gotten myself involved with?" My oldest was the only one freaking out. She cried and said, "We aren't going to be able to get inside until night time when daddy wakes up. I have to go potty!!!"

I got paper clips from a bowl in the garage. My husband always steals a bunch from work. It makes him feel better that he's taking something from the state of Wisconsin since he hasn't had a raise in 2 years. The paperclips in the lock didn't work. We keep all of our tools in the garage.

I can't tell you how I did it. I took some thingamabob and twisted it around the doorknob and pulled it towards me. Then I put a screwdriver into the doorknob and pounded on the screwdriver with a hammer until I had some room to fiddle. I moved the screwdriver around until I could jimmy the lock. I opened the door-- FREEDOM!!

We'll never be able to lock that door again though because the doorknob is ruined!

I gathered the kids and went upstairs. I burst into our bedroom, saw that jerk of a husband all curled up in bed sleeping soundly and yelled, "ARE YOU DEAD?!?!?!" Unlucky for him, he wasn't.

I just don't understand how he couldn't hear all of that racket! The head of our bed is right under our window! There are chalk marks on our window now. We were outside for more than 2 hours. I know it's more or less my fault, but why does crap like this always happen to me?? I can always find a logical way to blame it on my spouse. If he didn't work third shift this wouldn't have happened like this! I just know it!