"ignore the story. see the soul. remember to love. you will never regret it" --- Seane Corn

"ignore the story. see the soul. remember to love. you will never regret it" --- Seane Corn
it's a jungle out there

Sunday, December 11, 2011

try try again

Do you know how many posts I've started today?

Three. Maybe four.

And they've all sucked. I've been trying to write just for the sake of writing.
It's not working so well for me. Maybe because I'm not a writer, I'm a storyteller.


So Let's Tell A Story.

Once Upon A Time there was a Woman-Girl named Michelle.
Towards the end of the first half century in her current body, when she found herself more Woman than Girl, she swore that she wanted to be ALONE.

Even when her Best Woman-Girlfriends said you want someone who is fully available to you you want someone to sit on the couch and watch movies and eat popcorn with your kids you deserve BETTER, she said

I. Do. Not.

Not that the Woman-Girl Michelle believed she didn't DESERVE better, she just didn't believe she wanted...


Why would she want some Man hanging out with her kids? That just sounded really complicated and tiring. Why would she want someone around all the time? Michelle was used to flying solo. Michelle did not want to share. Michelle did not want to compromise. Michelle did not want to consider or even think about someone else. Michelle did not want her life to be any more stressful than it already was.

Michelle just wanted to do her thing her own way and maybe have a little... umm... distraction... once or twice a week.

Hence her search on Match.com for The Male Equivalent to a Calgon Bath.

Well. After her Close Encounter With The Schizophrenic who was very nice and very smart but also very complicated, she almost gave up. And just when she was very easily resigning herself to her Solo Life, she got a wink. From a very smart, very funny, very talented, and super sweet Man.

His name was Calgon Jon. He took her on The Sweetest First Date Ever.

Very quickly, Calgon Jon was around way more than once or twice a week. He was kind of around all the time. He made yummy omelettes and told stories about growing up in Alaska. He was quiet and easy to be around. He let Mia read to him and was a super computer geek AND a musician and taught Ty all kinds of cool computer things. He knew about current events and could toss an f*bomb to rival Jack. And he was goofy and quirky and made Michelle laugh. And they all got junked out on Glee together.

It was so easy.

Calgon Jon said Michelle was beautiful even when her mustache was heavier than his.
Calgon Jon smoked a pipe and smelled really good.
Calgon Jon had a Magic Tongue.

WHAT??? there has to be a Magic something in a story. Right???

Until the weekend when his Job took him away. His Job had been a perk as far as Michelle was concerned. Sometimes he had to wake up at 5am. Sometimes he worked weird hours on weekends. Sometimes he had a random day off that coincided with Michelle's day off and that was just a goddamn treat. Michelle was very comfortable with the unpredictable hours. It made her feel safe. Because, you know, Michelle didn't want to get too used to someone being around all the time.

That's not how Michelle functions. Michelle is not good at depending on people.

So Calgon Jon was AWAY. And regular life happened on a regular Saturday and a regular Sunday and the Woman-Girl Michelle realized it was easier when Calgon Jon was around. Sure it was nice for someone else to make breakfast or entertain the kids. But Calgon Jon had some Magic Mojo along with his Magic Tongue. Calgon Jon's Magic Mojo made The Sanctuary a more peaceful place to be.

And life on this weekend without Calgon Jon was making Michelle the Woman-Girl sad and angry and lonely. She told the kids it was her goddamn ovaries. And that was not a lie. But it was also over-scheduling and unfolded laundry and being an "ex" and...


By Sunday Michelle was On the Verge of Tears.
Angry tears. Sad tears. Tired tears.
Progesterone tears god i hate progesterone tears

And then, Calgon Jon came home.

And all the Life Shit was still there, but now Michelle the Woman-Girl could breathe and smile. Because Calgon Jon was Home.

Fuck you Match.

Monday, September 5, 2011

summer's almost over...YAY

it's been a summer of:

117 smelly 14 year old boys in my house
every day
every night

and lots
and lots

a million gazillion
friends who are sisters
sisters' kids
kids of friends who are like sisters
oldest friend from high school
who is like a sister
who was my date for
30th high school reunion

and lots
and lots

and lots
and lots
bags of ice
cuz my fridge lacks an ice maker
and margaritas need ice

lots of time swimming
I mean
the pool
shocking the pool
vacuuming the pool

on Memorial Day
I knew nothing about pools
lesson learned:

DO NOT PAY anyone to do anything
you can learn to do yourself
by checking out YouTube


summer's almost over

my feet are calloused from
working outside
my nails are broken
my legs are hairy
my eyebrows are
out of control
cuz some kid used
my tweezers
to feed crickets to
the turtle

I could not find
the dead skin heel scraper thing
I bought
to scrape my
dead heel skin
who knows what some kid used that for


Ty is such a good boy

Happy Labor Day Mamas

Sunday, August 21, 2011

If You Give Your Kid a Meat Muffin...

OK. Not really a Meat Muffin. Beef Stroganoff.

If your kid asks for Beef Stroganoff, even if it's in the middle of a New York heat wave, of course you'll say "Yes".

And then you'll have to buy meat. From BJ's. Because the Amish farmer is not delivering this week.

And then it will be so damn hot that you just can't imagine browning big chunks of industrial meat over a hot stove, let alone ladling up steaming bowls of stroganoff.

Even if the stroganoff is to be eaten with buttered egg noodles. Because everyone knows nothing beats buttered egg noodles.

So you'll put the 3lb package of industrial meat chunks in the refrigerator for a week.

And a week later it will still be too hot to cook.

So then you'll put the big package of meat in the freezer.

And wait for cooler weather.

Then after a few weeks cooler weather will come. And you'll be in the mood to cook.
And not only is the weather cooler, but the forecast is for rain all week.

And finally you can imagine standing over the stove and browning meat chunks.
And eating Beef Stroganoff.

So you take the giant package of frozen meat chunks out of the freezer and put it on top of the coffee maker. To thaw. Because the counter is covered with other stuff and the refrigerator is full.

And during the day, your 9yr old daughter will look at the giant meat chunks thawing atop the coffee maker and say "mommy... we're gonna get salmonella"

And you say, "that's silly, honey, we're not gonna get salmonella"

Then in the evening, after the meat has been thawed for hours, you get around to browning it. Cuz you were doing other stuff all day.

And you mix it with red wine and Lipton Onion Soup Mix and some water and throw it in the crock pot so the babysitter doesn't have to think about cooking the next day.

And it cooks on low all night and in the morning there is yummy oniony tender beef in the crock pot. And you add the sour cream and leave the egg noodles out. And that night the kids say "mommy the Beef Stroganoff was SO GOOD. Even the vegetarian babysitter ate it"

And two days later you'll notice a dried puddle of dark red stuff on the black granite counter, and you'll say "what the fuck?"

And you'll wipe it up with a washcloth and then sniff it. Because that's what moms do.

And you'll realize it's dried meat juice.

Then two days after that, you'll smell something like super rotten potatoes in your kitchen.

And you'll take out the garbage and check the refrigerator and clean out the sink drain and check the dishwasher and still not be able to locate the source of the stench.

Then two days after that, you'll be hosting the annual family reunion for your in-laws because that's what you do every summer.

And your in-laws will be so nice that they will stand in the kitchen chatting and
not mention the smell that reminds you of a Chinatown fish market in August.

But the One Who Made Them Your Inlaws will move around your kitchen preparing food, and because you are such good friends and can say anything to each other he will say "Michelle, what is that smell?"

And after the in-laws have left, and you've made dinner for the kids and had a margarita you'll decide to set a fresh pot of coffee for the morning.

And when you take the water holder thingy out of the coffee maker, you'll find that it's sitting in an inch and a half of 6 day old slimy red meat juice.

Then you will submerge the entire do not submerge coffee maker in the sink and scrub the whole thing with Cucumber Method Dish Soap. And you will curse.

Then your 9 year old smart ass daughter will walk into the kitchen, clap her hand over her nose and mouth, and say "see mommy, I told you... salmonella"

And your 14 year old who is 2 rooms away will mutter "what smells like ass?"

And you'll spend the next 20 minutes cleaning and sniffing and cleaning and sniffing every crack and crevice of your coffee maker until it no longer smells like a Chinatown fish market in August.

And you'll set your coffee for the morning.

And then you'll tuck your 11 yr old in, because he still likes to be tucked in by his mommy, and he'll say "mom, when can you make Beef Stroganoff again?"

Saturday, August 13, 2011

what he's good for...

It's been one crazy summer.

My new sanctuary has become The Sanctuary For Many.

Sister Adrienne deemed it The House of Wayward Souls.

And so it has been.

Many a wayward soul, teenaged boy, high school best friend, separated at birth never met before maternal aunt, random neighborhood kids, and very pregnant friends, have spent time in this Beacon Satellite Chapel of the Batshit Crazy.

There are always at least 3 of Jack's friends here all the time. Like 24/7 all the time.
It's like I live with Beevus and Butthead.

Total. Chaos.

It's like Neverland Lord of the Flies. And I'm Wendy.

No rules. except don't break my house

They've existed on pizza, toaster strudel, and microwavable cheeseburgers from BJs.

No fruit.

Nothing green except gatorade

Lots of Coke. Lots of XBox. Lots of time in the pool.

And they ALWAYS eat standing up. Or walking around.

The only time they SIT and eat is when they're huddled around a computer screen.

It's all good. They've been happy.


This week we've iv'e had a bit of a reprieve.

Bruce has taken the boys to San Francisco.

No XBox. No computers. Lots of good food and lots of new experience.

And lots of time with their Dad

I got this email today

Subject: Your Boys

I took the boys to a very nice Northern Italian restaurant. Not TOO fancy, but very nice, very good food and very grown up. I taught them how read a menu like that, and how to decide what to order.

We learned about putting ones napkin on ones lap, and about puting bread on a bread plate. Also about putting butter on your butter plate, NOT just reaching over your dinner companion, and then buttering your bread. We lerned about sitting up straight and not cramming food into one's mouth.

We learned about how to get a server's attention without waving one's arms in the air or calling out loud for the waiter. Ty ordered the ricotta stuffed raviolis ( homemade) with veal Bolognese.

Jack ordered the lemon-scented risotto with Monterey prawns stuffed with crab in a delicate lemon butter sauce. We learned about the differences between Northern and Southern Italian cuisine.

They learned about when you finish your meal to place your silverware diagonally across the top of your plate.

They BOTH loved it and felt so grown-up. I was so proud of them, as you surely would have been

How awesome is that?

Saturday, July 16, 2011

Who's The Man?

What happened to this lady?

OK. Fine. I wouldn't click on the links either...

What happened to the grow our own food local farmer's market raw milk contraband meat grind my own wheat make my own bread no fast food no soda no sugar make it from scratch mama who only ate eggs from her very own chickens?

Where the fuck is she?

She's vamoosed.


Last week Ty said to me mom you're like The Man AND The Woman.
You do all the Man Things** and you also do all the Woman Things.

Tonight I made spaghetti and frozen meatballs no msg first ingredient beef second ingredient pork because tacos required TOO MUCH damn EFFORT.

I said half to Jack and half to myself it's ok if i don't cook i work full time and take care of 3 kids and i'm The Man so i don't have to cook

Jack said mom you are so not the man you can't bitch about your period and have no balls when it comes to mia and call yourself The Man.

He's got a point.
I talk about my period A LOT.
Jack advises ibuprofen and a lot of water.
Ty looks at me like I have two heads and says mom didnt you JUST HAVE your period?

poor things

And he's right. I have no balls with Mia.

So. Back to claiming my manhood in the presence of my adolescent son.

Mom, you're not gonna go all lesbian on us are you? i mean it's ok if you do but you won't... right?

No honey. I like men

How many of you are thinking omg how inappropriate?
how many of you are thinking I wish I could be that open with my kid?

Whatever. I fall somewhere in the space between.


The point is, I've decided to cut myself some slack.

I work.
I work hard.
I work long hours.
I bring home my share of the bacon.

Ty fries it up in a pan. He's a much better cook than I.

I juggle my kids. And all their friends.

I'm the Cool Mom.

My home is the place they all choose to be.
They'd all rather be here than anywhere else.
That's pretty neat.

So what if I don't cook from scratch?
So what if BJ's is my new favorite place to shop?
I buy industrial meat patties in bulk and the boys know how to fire up the bar b q and they live on hamburgers and hot dogs and toaster strudel and oreos.
And Coke.

They all eat standing up and on the move and never at the dining room table.
They don't even use plates.
Who gives a shit?
Not me. I have my own plate and there's plenty on it.

I'll ignore the voice in my head reminding me about the importance of family dinner, cooking for loved ones, communion, and you are what you eat.

The kids are way happier with me not cooking.
I come home with a trunkful of frozen ready to microwave food and they throw their arms around me and say we love you mom you're the best mom in the world all this food we're set for LIFE.

And I count up the 4 or 5 14 yr olds and the 2 or 3 10 yr olds and a couple a 9 yr olds and random neighborhood kids and if we're lucky some cousins and I say we're set for the weekend. Maybe.


I pulled the wrong way out of a parking spot today leaving Ty's cello concert and ripped the bumper off my new car.
But dammit if I didn't get down on my hands and knees in my dress and yank that fucker out from underneath the car so I could drive my broken car home.
I don't need no stinkin tow truck.
I don't need no stinkin help.
I don't need no stinkin man.
Though it did cross my mind to call roadside assistance.
I can do it myself. Just like a 2 year old.

Though it is kinda funny how many men will offer their assistance and experience and help when they realize I'm a "single mom"
the tree guy
the fence guy
the mover guy
the painter guy
the electrical guy
sometimes I pull the smile bat my lashes and play dumb act
most times it doesn't feel like an act

So who's the man?

**Never fear. Bruce is no Dead Beat Dad. And he's a good friend. As he always has been.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

match this

I put myself on Match


Yes. Match.





What else am I supposed to do?
Either I'm at work or I'm at home. Which is fine. I actually LIKE my life the way it is.
But it leaves no possibility for meeting an Eligible Bachelor.
though I was asked to dinner by Fred Sanford's twin while on line at Rite Aid

I hate parties. I hate bars. I don't dance.
I'm 47 goddammit.
When I was 27 I had already been hating that shit for a decade.

I'm anti-social. I like being by myself. I don't want to talk to anyone.

But you already know that about me.

I also like MEN. I like being the object of someone's desire.
I like kissing.
I like that tingly feeling.
I like realizing that I'm 47 and I can still feel the way I felt a decade before I was 27 when I was am making out with a boy man in a parked car.

But alas that's
all I like want.
I don't want to play house with anyone.
I don't want anyone around my kids.
I don't want to compromise or adjust or negotiate or sacrifice dammit.

Life has been UnBloggable for a while now. I've been distracted.
Sister Adrienne is shocked that there is actually stuff I won't blog about.
But I need to Protect the Innocent.

The Unbloggable was wrapped up in every breath I took.
It was in my head my first and last minutes of consciousness day and night.
It couldn't be extricated from any thought or any moment of my day.
It colored all my waking hours.

Jordana said Write about the kids. Write about current events.

I couldn't write about anything without the haloed head of The Unbloggable rising up and blinding my ability to think straight.

Now The Unbloggable is No More.
It's fine.
It was wonderful while it lasted and it was never gonna be anything other than short and sweet. And that's what it was.

Hence my foray into Internet Dating.


I set up my profile about 2 weeks ago.
It's deliberately weird and wacky to scare away the straights as Bruce would say.
The question What are you looking for? got the answer I'm looking for the male equivalent to a Calgon Bath.
Jordana and Shannon Did Not Approve. I guess I sounded like a hootch.
I just wanted to be clear that I'm not looking for a LTR long term relationship.
All the blah blah blah about walks in the park and perfect matches and the rest of our lives made me want to vomit.

So. I received a bunch of winks and a bunch of emails.
And one stood out.
Something in his profile made me laugh out loud at 7:30 in the morning.
10 points for an early a.m. laugh.
We emailed back and forth and he kept me laughing in a not trying too hard I'm just an idiot kinda way that was really charming.
He didn't seem to take himself too seriously. Creative. Smart.
Seemed like someone I could have fun with.
Even Sister Adrienne cracked up reading the email exchanges. Very funny guy.

There were only one or two red flags...

So we met one afternoon this week. A pre-date date.

Within 3 minutes I learned he has a SIGNIFICANT psychiatric disorder for which the doctors are having a hard time finding the right medication.

are you kidding me?


Well. Still a nice, funny, intelligent guy. He thinks if he finds the Right Woman he won't need medication at all because Love will solve his problem.

Bless His Heart as Ms. Moon would say. But I am NOT that woman.

I'm off Match.

Saturday, May 21, 2011

Rapture Smapture and Mother's Day Redemption

It's 6:02
The boys tell me The Rapture is coming at 6pm
Eastern or pacific?
Eastern cause America rules
Sarcastic brats
They booked a trip to Disney World
Just in case

Today was the first sunny day in what feels like forever ain't no sunshine when he's gone

I planted the Mother's Day Nervous Breakdown Geranium in its designated spot


Mother's Day sucked. Hard. Like it always does.
2 parts hormones 1 part grief 1 part self indulgence


Early that morning the texts started coming in.
Sisters, friends, my realtor, my student.
A Happy Mothers Day Michele from someone who is not a mother but holds a particularly special place in my heart.

Mid-day I thought about my mom and my eyes started leaking.
She was here last Mother's Day.
I don't remember what we did. I don't remember if I saw her. Or called her.
Sisters what did we do?

Then late in the day I see this on my porch.

And I have no idea who it's from

Let me tell you, this beautiful geranium wreaked havoc with my progesterone filled brain. Between who I wanted the damn thing to be from and who I was worried it was from I ended up a sobbing mess rescued by the strong mama arms of Yogini

Sobbing mess.
Like train wreck sobbing mess.

Damn ovaries. Damn Mother's Day.

Flash forward to this week.

Turns out the Nervous Breakdown Geranium was from Andrew's grandparents.
Andrew is my 4th child.
Best friend to Jack. Big Bro Pal to Ty.
Destined to be one of Mia's husbands. ssshhh... don't tell them I said that
He pretty much lives with us. He's awesome.
As are his grandparents.
They brought me flowers on Mother's Day and left them on the porch.

The flowers were not from whom I wanted nor from whom I feared.
They were, however, from those who truly appreciate my mama qualities.
And that's all it's really about.

So today, the first sunny day in forever, I planted the geraniums in my lovely garden.

I thought it appropriate to sprinkle some Ashes in the hole.
mix my ashes with daddy's and divide them up and sprinkle them in your gardens
one of the last things She said to us

That's what She wanted. That's what She got.

Fine powdery dust with some hard chunks kept in a jar She made when She took up pottery.

No ceremony. No ritual. Just my knowledge and remembrance of this particular Mother's Day mixed with the soil and ashes to feed the roots of the 2011 Mother's Day Nervous Breakdown Flowers.

I sprinkled the ashes.

I looked at the powdery dust on my hand.

I put my fingers to my face and took a deep breath IN.
I felt the dust on my lips and nose.
It tasted a little bit salty.

Then I called Ty

and Jack

and Mia

And made them all breathe in the ashes of their Grums and Gramps.


Your fairy is called Columbine Icedancer
She is a bone chilling bringer of justice for the vulnerable.
She lives in mushroom fields and quiet meadows.
She is only seen when the bees swarm and the crickets chirrup.
She wears lilac and purple like columbine flowers. She has icy blue butterfly wings.