When The Rats Are Away

Living in my bed

I'm on Christmas break and my kids are in Southern California. Yesterday I didn't get out of bed till 2pm. I spent most of that time looking at mansions on RedFin. After the boredom became painful, I rolled out of bed to go running. I was able to maintain my recluse status because I pulled the laundry off the treadmill, and stayed glued to my devices, watching First Wives Club while I ran. I had an epiphany; my mom is Glodie Hawn, my older sister is Bette Midler, my little sister is Diane Keaton, and I am Stockard Channing's lovely stationary.
After showering, I went to the movies and watched Disaster Artist, then picked up fettuccine alfredo and lemon raspberry cheesecake from the Cheesecake Factory, and climbed back in bed and ate it all while I watched ten episodes of Girlfriends Guide to Divorce.

I find myself texting their dad more frequently and cooking up stupid plans, that I regret suggesting moments after pushing send, like, "Hey, how about I meet you in LA and we take the kids to Disney?!" or "How about we pool our funds and buy a house that accommodates all of us, but provides separate space?!" He doesn't think they're great plans.

I probably wasn't a great wife, but whatever. I made my kids a priority, and I think that's something I should be proud of. I'm sorry I don't buy into all that bullshit about makeup and blow jobs to keep my man happy. He can fucking slog through it all like me, and I'm allowed to look as tired as he is.
I was definitely not a great girlfriend, because I wasn't fully committed. I even fell in love with someone else. Then it turned into this sad cliche, where I spent downtime skimming through social media sites to keep up to date. He became a thorn in my side, something I'd always contend as better, greener grass, without any basis.
I feel lucky to have married, I don't think I had the balls to be myself until I was bound to another. My husband is a great person, a good friend, he supported me in many ways, and taught me how to be level headed and kind, after growing up in a group of passionate hot-heads.
I'm not ruling out the possibility of marrying for a very selfish reason, oh my goodness did I want a baby like crazy when I hit 25. It's too bad this notion is perpetuated; First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the baby in the baby carriage. If women felt empowered to have kids when their ovaries start dropping eggs like a piñata splaying candy as it undulates from a tree branch, we'd only better ourselves.
Imagine the control we'd have if as a tradeoff to have children, we weren't conditioned to relinquish all our power; give up our name, give up our jobs, and most stupidly, reprioritize our goals to become self-obsessed, beauty-obsessed, image-obsessed, instead of thinking fuck all this bullshit, I'm just going to love my kid like crazy, and I'll support my partner in much more meaningful ways than staying pretty, acting subservient, or feeling obligated to provide pleasure and confidence boosts.

I reflected on what someone wrote recently about matriarchical societies, and how humans are like whales, and that makes sense. The child is raised within the female community, and yes, the father is critical for identity, but it is not necessary for rearing a newborn. Childrearing is not a man's game, so all this bullshit about A to B to get to that C, for Child, could be avoided. Some men are great parents for young babies, and can swoop up their child with the same type of energy as a mom, but not all. They can get to know the kid on a deeper level when the kid is over 5 and able to be amongst the grown ups.

All of this sounds like I took advantage of their dad, and I didn't. I was truly conditioned, and drank up all that twenty-something propaganda that marriage will bring happiness. I was depressed in my early twenties, and I think it was my baby knocking. I like to tell my kids, I missed you my whole life, and now I am so happy were together. I got the happiness, but I have an added step, going from C to D, for divorce.
When I look at these beautiful mansions on RedFin, I imagine my kids' dad having his own wing, or possibly a tiny home in the back yard. We can both have our own room and office, and share the gym. Ok, we need our own kitchen and bathrooms because he is sort of gross. We can be together in a different way than marriage entails, be a strong support system for our kids and each other.
This might be fear-based, I can't let him go, or I worry that I need him to be able to be my best self. He doesn't need me telling him his pee drips on the floor around the toilet, and I don't need him telling me to lay off the super burritos (yeah, that shit is annoying as fuck). I'm having a hard time letting go.

A lot of specialists frown upon devices and blame social media for the lack of connectivity in the world, but I completely disagree with it. I think it's the fault of our social structure which promotes the isolation of women, you can have the one thing you want most, after I lock you away (it sounds drastic, but it is so true). Look what is happening now that women seek each other out through social media, we've made huge strides this year, 2017. It could have been propelled by a president who sees our worth in terms of beauty and pussy grabbing, but we are able to find each other and tell these people to go fuck themselves, were not going to take it.

One day women will get from A to C without having to do B. Damn, I could wrap this argument up nicely if the second letter of the alphabet was M. Women love babies, of course not all, but it's in our DNA, and so when were conditioned as children that in order to fulfill or natural instinct we need to literally give ourselves away, its robbery. We've been assaulted on a psychological level.

I am grateful for my partner, grateful for the thorn in my side, grateful for the prospect of now getting to see what step D has in store. Tonight, after I got out of bed at 5pm, I walked around the corner to eat dinner at a restaurant, and I thought of my grandpa and how he must have felt after my grandma died. I completely believe in partnership, it's wonderful and beautiful, but I don't believe it needs to be part of the baby making equation.

Unimpressed Impression

I saw Hamilton!

I randomly bought a Fingerling puppet today. It's the hot ticket item this holiday season. I was looking at beef jerky in Target and heard a woman on her walkie-talkie say, "We have six fingerling puppets."
I peeped my head out from the aisle, and all the employees stocking, heckled me. I approached the woman, and she said she could sell one per customer. I seized the opportunity, and then got G a couple power rangers action figures to balance the Christmas load.
Another woman approached her, unaware of the obscurity, it was dumb luck because the fingerling was number one on her kid's list. After getting the toy, she asked about LOL dolls, which was what I initially asked her. She wasn't so lucky with that request.

LOL dolls are the subject of ridiculous YouTube videos my kids will do just about anything so they can watch.  The dolls are an inch big and cost $2.99, but because of Christmas they're unavailable except on ebay for hundreds of dollars.
The lady shared with us her teenage daughter's Christmas list "Oh, no. You got to hear this..."
Below fingerlings, and LOL dolls, was a hoover board. A collective laugh followed. Then she said the next item, an iPhone, and we all doubled over. It was hysterical, and sad, laughing at this girl's expense.

The holidays have been good to me. I easily put on a 5 pound winter coat. It's a bit more enjoyable in conjunction with being on my own. I've stopped shaving regularly. My blonde friends regale me with stories of their ceasing to shave, and how they notice they're hairy within a month. I  point out that a month of not shaving on my end would be entering a state of chimpanzee. Note to self - stock up on razors for the apocalypse. But one pleasure in having zero concern for body hair beyond two weeks; pubes are actually quite slimming, offsetting the gain.

A couple nights ago I had a dream, I'm going to call it a nightmare, where my still-legal-husband, a friend from the past and I had a three some. I woke up and felt like a disgusting pig. That only made the dream flash back at me more. The night following I was able to replace the stain on my mind with a new dream I had about someone I fell for before I married. Whenever I dream of this man, it's always the same, I see him, and then I can't find him again.

I went to New York last weekend. It was a quick yet awesome trip. The first day was rough. My brother and I are not tight, and so it's always drama. I cried and blah. blah, blah, but we made up. The second day, I was able to brunch with an old friend, stroll through Brooklyn and then see Hamilton (!!!!) When I went to the ticket window the day before I asked the man, "Do you sell discount tickets day of?"
Then he had a nice laugh at my expense, and said, "No."
After we chatted a bit, he asked when I could see it, and I let him know it was either that day or the next, but I only need one ticket. He gave me this look, and the thought entered my mind, this guy is doing me a solid, and in my heart I sent him love beams like crazy.
He said he found a seat for me at the cheapest price, so I bought it. When I walked into the show, I was 8 rows back from the center stage! It was fucking amazing. The woman next to me was getting her buzz on, and I get it, but then she started singing along, and I had to give her a side eye that shouted, "Bitch! You are not qualified to be singing right now. These people have been training their whole lives for this shit."

Thank goodness, she was with her teenage daughter, whose heightened sense of social awareness, forced her to slap her mom on the arm and tell her to pipe down.

When I came back from NY and swooped my kids up, I told them I watched Hamilton, and said it was the best musical I've seen.  After I greeted my daughter in the morning by singing, "You knock me out, I fell apart.." she shook her head and said, "I don't feel like singing."
She burned out on my singing and high kicking through our day.

Tonight I saw their Christmas pageant. We scored unbelievable seats again because we came in the side door and beat the line, a scheisse way to go about it. It was for naught, because when my daughter went to perform she was blocked by the podium, so I had to stand in the aisle way to watch, and my heart melted. My son was amazing as well. I found them after the performance and said, " I change my mind... That was the best musical I've ever seen, and my world is on fire."

Of course, they were unimpressed. They knew it.

Having A Cow

Don't Have A Cow

Im leaving tomorrow for NYC, and because I didn't read the fine print on my budget ticket, I have to pack everything I need for the weekend in a backpack. I'm staying with my brother, thank goodness, so I can just use their face wash and hair care.
I meant to loose 5 pounds this week, but I ate a cheeseburger and curly fries for lunch, and then as I started organizing the laundry tonight, while talking with my mom, I said, "I think it's just too late to worry about it."
Then she told me everything she ate this week.
I ripped my house in more pieces looking for my skinny black jeans. I can see them in my freaking hands after I folded them, the other day, pulling them down from the shower rod where they dried. But they are gone. My initial instinct is, "BECKY!"
I was talking with my kids, "Do you think my sister actually stole my skinny black jeans when she left this weekend? That's the thank you I get, after I babysat her child army Saturday night so she could get her party pants on (she really needed some time away!) when I had the first weekend free in 5 weeks!"
They didn't seem to care.
We finished reading The Little Prince tonight. G fell asleep before we got to the snake part, and Kiki became anxious. "Let's not finish it tonight!" She demanded.
Then I read, "It was six years ago..."
And she said, "Did the snake bite him yet?"
"Yeah, girl! So stop stressing out. It wasn't even bad."
Earlier today she told me about two people who made her shit list. The first kid told her that she needed to eat her sandwich at lunch, and as she likes to remind EVERY single evening in a psychotic groan, She doesn't like sandwiches!
The other kid told her that she was better at drawing dresses.
Then I had to remind Kiki that she needs to be vocal about her grievances to the source, to let them know they are incorrect, and for what reasons. I didn't want to do this too much in the first instance, because she really should eat her sandwich.
When I asked her what she said, she told me she went and told her teacher, who then agreed with her, that she would not like it if someone said they could draw better dresses.
Her extension teacher, Mary Poppins, is the nicest woman, and of course Kiki and her are the best of friends.
My son's teacher, I can't really get a pulse on. This morning, when I walked him into class, I said to the aide, off hand, he mentioned a tummy ache but he was playful and joking and without a fever, so I  figured he was fine. A couple hours later, I got an email from his teacher, who said, He complained of a stomach ache, and she'd email if he was sick.
Then I wrote her back, saying I don't think he was actually sick, but for her to call me if he gets sick. I should have told her I made him cinnamon sugar toast, and it probably had too much sugar.
Anyways, a few minutes later, she sent an email to the entire class thanking the parents who don't send their kids to school who are sick.
Then I almost got sick.
On my drive to pick them up, I told my dad the story, and he laughed and laughed. Then he told me I should have called her and asked if G barfed on her.
I went on a rant about the social structure of schools, and how I am intertwined in this extension of high school and its fucking pissing me off.
Yeah, I was my kid, and he was me. He had to tell me, it's water off the back. Don't get caught up in the dramatics, or you just become part of the structure. Be fringe, be an observer, and don't let it bother you.

My upstairs neighbor came out of her apartment the other day, coughed up a lung and then told me she was dying of a hangover and going to McDonalds for her and her friend. She said she was going to a cookie exchange later, and asked if I wanted cookies for the kids. Of course, I said yes, and I ate 80% of the feast she left us in a ziplock bag. The most delectable was a giant chocolate chip cookie, with a mint Oreo inside of it, like a hidden treasure. Like the Little Prince says, "The most beautiful things in life cannot be seen..."

Now I am going to call my sister, who is probably asleep, or feeding a baby, and ask her if she stole my pants, pants I probably couldn't fit in my backpack suitcase anyways. I should just let her keep the freaking pants. After this week, the 5 potlucks I crashed, and cookie exchange, I doubt I'd be able to zip them up.

Hey Boo Boo, Where's the Potluck

Actual bear

Tomorrow Im going to a potluck. Potlucks in the middle of the week are like soooo much work. I was unlucky enough to be last name A-H, so I am appetizer category. The next slot gets to bring wine, and the final one brings dessert.
The last potluck my mom went to she brought a can of bean dip and a bag of Fritos. I was making fun of her, and she quickly shot me down by saying, "Well, they were the first thing to be eaten, thank you very much!"
I don't even know why I got so uppity on her, the last potluck I went to I showed up empty handed. It was an unexpected potluck. I hit yes on the evite, and then got an automatic reply that said, bring an appetizer or dessert. This was on Halloween night, already a clusterfuck. I planned for us to show up to the party, not eat, but trick-or-treat around the block and then go home. My kids aren't yet trick-or-treating for the long haul. One block will suffice.
So I supported my lazy decision to not bring anything to the potluck by resounding to my kids, "We aren't going to eat ANYTHING while were there!"
What's that they say about the best of plans? Right when we got in the house, both of them were overcome with dehydration and then asked for a piece of pizza from the spread. I just had to take in a breath, and say, "Fuck it, We're assholes who showed up to a potluck empty handed."

Tomorrow is my last class before finals. I'll be cart wheeling into class. I only have one class tomorrow, the class that meets every day. They're so funny, they often ask me if I'm ever going to bring in some breakfast items for them. I always tell them it's unlikely.  I usually look like a proper mess, with my hair greasy and underneath my regular clothes, I am prepped to whisk it all off, and go running, with full blown running fit underneath.
You know what they say about best of plans though. I can almost guarantee when I wear a sports bra and tank top under my work clothes, so I can just take off the button up shirt and change into sweats, I end up having a billion things to do.
This happened Tuesday, and I even put off showering because it seemed like a terrible waste of time to shower if I was going to go running a couple hours later. But when I got home at 6 after spending all day grading tests, I looked like I needed to be dropped in a vat of fragrant soapy water.

Tonight is the last of my "long days" where I have to lecture from 9-4:20pm. Im a bit of a mess by the end of the day. I will be saying the number thirty-two, but my hand writes "47." I don't get it, but everyone starts to holler, and we get the entire wrong righted.
This afternoon, my student left her purse in class. I was supposed to jet out to prepare for tomorrow's potluck, but I needed to track her down. I found out her number and called her twice, sent her an email, hoping to reach her. If I brought it to campus police, they'd close, and then she wouldn't be able to get to her purse, that most likely had her car keys. What a fucking pain in the ass that would be.
After she answered, we met up in front of the room, and she was crying. She thought she lost her purse in the bathroom. I was taken aback, and was full of good cheer, "Look at this!! Crisis averted! I'm so happy for you!" But she was still panicked and because of a language barrier, I'm not sure if I looked like some idiot smiling American.

I have this brilliant idea to bring donuts tomorrow morning for my favorite class. And I am also planning to go running after class. I can picture it now, I will look decent-enough, have my second outfit under my first, and a selection of 24 fresh donuts. It's a great plan.
Uh oh! I'll probably show up in my pajamas with 24 Egg McMuffins. At least I have my appetizer for the potluck. I picked it up on the way home tonight!

Yin Yoga and Kids

Uber Relaxing Day

I read a depressing quote on Instagram, "My mother gave up her dreams, so I could live mine." It made me gag a bit. I heard Shonda Rhimes on Oprah, and she was brilliant. She said women are always told it's admirable to sacrifice themselves for others, and actually thats the worst example to set for your children. Teach your kids to go for it, teach your kids to achieve, through example. And if you think about time with your children, well it's much more important to spend an hour of top quality time with them, then days on end of demonstrative dream abandonment.

Speaking of dreams and holding on to them, this week I had the strangest dream, I can't make sense of it. I was inseminated with sperm to have a baby for these old friends of mine, and then I did it again, soon after for another couple, but I didn't recognize them. I looked at the sperm before it went in, and I could see the life inside it. After I realized I was being inseminated for a second time, and would not know whose baby I had in me, I apologized, and they seemed to be OK.

Last week I went to Yin Yoga. I didn't know what to expect because I usually do Vinyasa. Yin yoga is a lot of laying around. In the usual class I attend, the temperature is soaring, and I drip with sweat. It puddles around me. There is maybe one man who sweats more than me. I get out of class feeling like a rock. After Yin, I think I burned 20 calories, tops, and it was probably due to my not consuming food for an hour and a half, but my mind was on fire.

What did I think about as the instructor reminded us to clear our minds? Well I thought of my kids. George has been doing great this past month in school, but the last couple days I've been approached when I pick them up at extension because he wont keep his hands off his junk. In addition to that, he has been really intent on showing "it" to people after he goes pee. So we have talks, "After you finish going, you pull up your trousers. Theeeen you can walk away from the urinal."

Monday I am giving a test in all my classes, so I have to grade over 100 exams before Wednesday, when we have a review session before finals. One of the classes I teach is a pre-set curriculum, created by one of those foundations you hear after most NPR shows. The idea is to combine algebra and statistics for students who want to  cram it all into one year, and have the aptitude and commitment. We meet every morning for an entire school year! At this point, I am feeling really fond of these students and were only midway through. I gain a deeper understanding from the classes I teach; I see how people are misplaced below their intellect because they aren't vocal, or become frustrated by time, or not understand how practice is critical to mastery.

These types of knowledge can be ingrained into students early on, but sometimes it happens later in life. I'm happy that right after splitting, I enrolled my kids in a school that will benefit them because  of the high standards and tight community. We might be living in our tiny apartment for longer than I aspire, but it's an advantage I want to give them. I love reading coaching, biographies, and self-help shit, and it's awesome to hear about successful people who remark on how their mother worked her ass off for them to go to a ritzy school (like Sonia Sotomayor) and thats why I think it's the greatest gift. Education, is what I afford my children.

I am not a great teacher at home, we don't practice writing or cutting. But in the words of my cousin, "I send my kids to school for that shit!" And my kids are at school a lot, they go from 8 to 5, most days. So when we are home, we do fun things, like tell stories, read books, sing songs, have cuddle-fest-2017.

That's the stupid thing about parenting, I don't live in a network. I don't live amongst a tribe, we are isolated people, and I am shooting from the hip. So I can read parenting books once in awhile, or talk with my friends who are elementary school teachers, but they are teachers, and understand the range, and so they are forgiving, everything is understandable. Because of this feeling of not not-too-certian-Im-doing-things-right, when a friend tells me they didn't know they couldn't use Tide laundry detergent or feed their baby eggs, I agree, How would they know!? Beyond the mommy blogs, that are too fucking extensive and jocular to use as a resource, where is a bullet point list of rules.

This morning, my son lost his TV privilege because he was being inappropriate with his potty jokes, so  he and I cooked pancakes while Kiki watched a cartoon on my computer. I found that to be the best punishment for him. He didn't care when it was - I'm taking away TV- because then he'd just play with his sister. They'd play Barbies; she'd direct him to be a variety of dolls, and he'd follow along up to a point, and then send her into hysterics by pretending a tornado is heading for Malibu and will destroy everything. However, when Kiki gets to watch TV without him, it burns him up.

This week I had to write my Cal Poly alumni newsletter update. The new dean and I are like this (I'm making the finger crossed!) He is a very nice man, and has written all my annoying letters of recommendation. When I wrote my update I said I am at a junction and I see three choices; commit to being an educator, go back to corporate data analysis, or pursue a PhD. There is a possibility of the universe dropping a different egg in my nest, but I can snuggle down for that one, with a time clock. There seems to always be a fork in the road, no matter where a person is in life.

My kids' school had a big fundraiser this weekend. And it included six hours of mandatory volunteering. "Mandatory volunteering" is a word combination that makes no sense to me. They should called it "forced unpaid work." It's a home tour, and my first three hours were spent working the gift shop. I loved it, working a cash register, and admiring people's thoughtful purchases, but then I spent three hours in the corner of some one's house where I told people fun facts about the hundred year old home, and had to remind them to keep their hands off shit, have booties on their feet, and stop taking pictures.

The school sends an email out to parents to remind them volunteering is mandatory because some people that send their kids here poop money. So it's not just a $300 fine they could incur but possibly loosing a spot for their child to attend. I don't feel bad sending my kids to palace where they might feel different. I think it will make them stronger. Drop off is a row of Land Rovers and a sea of hand bags that could add up to college education.

Have you ever heard of the saying "sandals to sandals?" Wealth lasts three generations. It even applies to the rich kids of instagram because of sustainability. If someone can make a mountain of cash, it will only deplenish, unless someone will be able to work hard enough to replenish. The earner, provides their children the greatest advantages, and they are then given a yellow brick road to success, their children are also given this yellow brick road, but have not witnessed the work required to attain, and have therefore been unable to show their children how it is attained. The grit has been lost. So the children born of them live without the stress of needing to earn, but at the same time  inadequate to earn. It's why Warren Buffet has to give all his money away, if he left it for his kids, he'd only leave a path of destruction.

When I told my dad I was thinking of getting a PhD, he was happy. But then I said, maybe I should look in New York, and he said, "Woah, Alicia, put on the brakes. You're going through so much! Wait a year." My kids have been through a looooot, and I think my dad is right. I can't do another big life-flop on them 1 year later. Plus letters of recommendation are a reeeeeeal son of a dick.

It's something to think about next time I stumble into to Yin Yoga. Today, a day I said I would't work, I spent all my time with my kids. We had such a wonderful evening. We did the conga around the apartment, our hands on our hips, singing, "shake your booty!" over and over. George was happy, he loved it! I just hope he doesn't do it at school tomorrow.

Highly recommend this book!