something's wrong about today

something is just wrong about today. I don't know what it is. I just can't put my finger or any other part of my anatomy on it no matter how much iron and calcium and vitamins supplements I take to uncloud my thoughts. I feel like flubber. or like that slim thing in "Ghostbusters". like a completely flabby-minded child. I hate everything. and I mean everything. I hate my house. I hate my hair. I hate my body shape. I hate my shoes. everything and anything annoy me. the strap of my bra. my strap-less bra. pedestrians. other people's kids. the fact that I have to hold my breath to fit into my favorite jeans. that one really hurts. I don't know why this happens. but once in a while, I just want to change everything about my life. just like that. I even have an inward vision of how it could be perfected and reinvented. a house of our own. a new city perhaps. a new body. a little of fashion style wit. and a talent to dazzle my husband and to share with the world. is routine flattening me and my sanity to the ground? I exude insecurity and dissatisfaction.

somebody please kick me.

I know how to change a light bulb, I really do

you know you've spent too much time cheerleading your husband's professional achievements and boosting his male ego glorifying his once-a-month vacuum cleaning the house when you ask him to help you change the kitchen light bulb and he actually thinks it's because you cannot do it by yourself. what do you do then? I am just the tiniest bit resentful. after all, I knew it. since I've been publicly claiming that being a SAHM is a full-time job, my husband sometimes presumes my IQ equals the pink Hello Kitty apron I wear all day. I read People and Instyle magazines more feverishly than Le Monde newspaper, buy all my pants in junior's sections and 99% of the sustained conversations I have engaged in lately included the words pediatricians, diapers, grocery shopping, pimples and bikes. wait. I mean bikes for kids.

quai de Seine

it's over

everything went very well. and every minute of this day is printed in my memory with impeccable clarity. yet a two-day intensive search has failed to find appropriate words to relate it with complete authenticity and grace. I think I'm still digesting the whole experience. and of course, learning from it.

I remained so calm it was almost outrageous. pacing and tramping around the halls, I prayed for my son with an unsuspected ability to withstand fear and anxiety. and as he melted in my arms half an hour later, without any of the predicted and much dreaded anesthesia side effects -such as nose and ear bleeding and frequent vomiting- I could not find a proper and decent way to express my profound gratitude. it was as if nobody could touch his spirit. he was there. my little boy. and it was over.

in the evening, my hectic and energetic when-did-he-ever-have-an-adenoidectomy son was back and jauntily playing with his brother in the living-room. and just like that, the momster collapsed in the kitchen. exhausted. but blessed beyond belief. and thankful. so thankful.

Will's friend was allowed in during the adenoidectomy, not me

the momster's prayer

a lot of meaningless, minor, trivial and extraordinary things have been happening in my life lately. and I probably have a lot of things to write about besides the fact that if I ever win the lottery I'm so going to get my own Starbucks and that the highlight of my day has been the mere realization that maybe I am indeed wasting too much toilet paper.

but right now, I'm thinking of my son and nothing else matters. nothing. I am staring unblinking up at the ceiling trying to keep my head from wandering too far from rationality. he is going to be ok. everything's going to be ok. sitting on his toddler-size IKEA bed, I try to explain to my 3 year-old son that being with someone does not always imply physical presence. and I think. don't look too serious. you cannot lurch. you cannot scuttle his faith in you. and then here he is. glowing like a light bulb with enthusiasm because I just said the words "play with Mommy". time pauses as it hits me once again. is this really true? this little big boy is my son. my son. I start to recite to myself what seems to be a deliberately poignant and beautified monologue about how my life has changed since the day he's entered the world. but soon I can think of only one thing repeating in my head with comforting redundancy. "Dear God, I'm begging You, please, please, protect him, please, I love him so much, please, never ever take Your eyes off him."

children draw you closer to God.

do you think that means "a lot"?

Mom: "Sean, how much do you love Mommy?"

Sean: "2"

God, angels, karma, coincidence, luck.

today, I was supposed to complete another neurotic packing list. my husband was supposed to drive the kids to my mother's house and our dog to our good friends'. we were supposed to go to the airport, probably have a quick McDonald's lunch there and take a charter flight we've booked a couple of days ago. by 1pm we would have been patiently waiting in the boarding line treasuring every moment of our indecently romantic trip with great complacency and talking about what to eat at Wagamama's and how to get to our hotel located near King's Cross station. and at approximately 4 o'clock this afternoon, we would have been in London.

God, angels, karma, coincidence, luck. whatever it really is. I feel  immensely grateful. and I feel deeply sad.

public embarrassment

how did the miraculous testimony of God showering us with love turn into two obviously-on-amphetamines bundles of intemperate agitation? why do my boys lie down on the supermarket’s floor? why do they throw legos out the window? and why, oh why do they have to run into easily irritated old ladies and new mothers who definitely need vitamins and constrain Mommy to clumsily mumble apologies, like, a thousand times a day?

it is insanely disconcerting and humbling to watch your own sons publicly misbehave and disobey. especially when you've been openly condemning and disapproving passive parenting and eulogizing the importance of discipline with such arrogant confidence. last week, a woman told me that I should lower my own voice and teach my children what a decent and appropriate public library behavior is. what a slap in my face.

I'm telling you, the momster cannot take public embarrassment anymore.

wines have tears

it took us a couple of days to sober up. but it has been a good trip. a glorious journey with a prodigious combination of personalities: a photographer, two painters, a teacher, a reporter, a commercial film director, a model/actress, a writer, a producer and a blogging stay-at-home mother of two.

a road trip punctuated by bugs splashing on the windshield and typical manhood car talk. the unexpectedly agitated clouds. the waves of rain storms. the 100°F. the Burgundy (Bourgogne) wine road. Romanee Conti. the fine restaurants and the wines, Nuits-st-Georges, Pommard and Volnay.

the ramen noodles and cucumbers in improvised rest areas. the dirty jokes. my celebrity friend relishing anonymity like a rare entity. enchanting fog that seemed to wrap us like a magical spell in Harry Potter-esque woods. the sight of my husband being merely happy. and the endearing satisfaction of watching someone you've loved for 8 years and still learn new things about him. bundles of common sense. the shadow of a  full-of-my-blood-giant-belly mosquito. visiting a wine cave and learning about the preciousness of mould. and that wines have tears. the things you remember the most are rarely the most significant and meaningful ones.

going on this trip while my marriage was sagging has been redeeming. I've figured out a lot of things. and I've learned a lot. so I'm back. in many different ways.