February, 2013
Archive

  • Afraid Of Being Happy

    Sometimes when I get good news, or even the potential of good news, I am almost afraid to feel happy about it.  Like if I feel too excited, and things don’t end up working out, then I am going to be soooooooo disappointed so there is no point in letting myself feel too much joy.  Isn’t that kind of insane??  Whether I let myself feel delighted or not wont change the potential suffering if things collapse from underneath me.  Either way that will suck, so why not enjoy the high of possibility??

    That is the funny thing about being a “grown up.”  Always feeling the need to control my emotions.  It is not like The Munch ever tries to regulate what she is feeling.  She expresses each sentiment when it comes to her without abandon.  She doesn’t over analyze or over think of how feeling one way will effect how she feels in the future.  She just lets everything ride.  But the difference between a child and a adult is that kids let their feelings pass through them.  As we age we tend to hold on to emotions tighter… especially the negative ones.

    When I am feeling sad or depressed it is hard to remember that I am not going to feel this way forever.  That feelings are like the wind, or a river, or some other poetic shit like that.  Always moving, always changing, never the same.  The Munch doesn’t fear that she will be crying about having green grapes instead of purple until the end of time.  She is having an authentic reaction in the moment, and soon things will different.  When she gets mad at me because I won’t let her do what she wants, it just takes a little prodding and tickling and soon she is laughing in my arms again.  She doesn’t hang on to resentment or anger.

    And maybe it is the holding onto feelings that ages us.  That creates sickness.  That tightens our muscles and makes them sore.  Maybe we feel our body deteriorating because of how strongly we try to control our emotions and how hard  it then becomes to let then flow.

    So I am going to learn from The Munch. I am going to feel like I have never felt before.  Because I don’t want look all old.

    Ahhhh Munch… you are so wise… like a miniature Buddha.

    February 28, 2013 • 2 years old, Behavior, Musings, Relationships • Views: 88

  • The Internet is like a needy girlfriend

    The Internet is like a needy girlfriend.  It always wants to know what I am thinking (through Facebook status updates), what I am doing (through twitter,) who I am with (through Instragram), and where I am in Google maps.  Hey Internet, get off my nuts!

    And now the Internet is saying it wants to be close to me all the time and sit on my face!

    Introducing the new Google Glasses.  Glasses that you wear so the Internet is forever with you and always in your line of sight.  On these glasses are a little computer processer, battery, and screen for the ultimate web surfing experience.  A major step to what is called “ubiquitous computing” which is the idea that the Internet will be accessible from anywhere and we wouldn’t have to even lift a finger to access it.  Wow!! All this work my fingers have been doing is exhausting.  Using my body parts is so stupid.

    Maybe looking like a cyborg is a major advancement in technology and we will all be wearing these by the end of the year, or maybe it is a transhumanist nightmare?  Is this the beginning of a post-human existence? One where life is so embedded with technology that we couldn’t feel complete without it?

    I would consider myself to be interested in technology and its potential in the evolution of human consciousness, but at the same time I worry about the seduction of all these innovations.  Before I had an Iphone I was perfectly willing to wait for a train and think, but now that I have the option to do something else I will turn to the stimulus of my phone.  It is not the technology that is the problem in this equation, but my relationship to it.  I am not using my phone to save the world, but to save me from my boredom.

    I know there are applications of my phone and these social networking sites that could have profound implications for how the world operates.  Mass protests could be organized banning certain corporations and exposing political corruption to help empower citizens from this systemic oppression that is destroying the planet.  The Internet is a platform for truth and information to be disseminated beyond the compromised media sources, which is helping to create major potential for an effective movement.  And although all that is happening, people still spend most of their time taking pictures of their food and looking at porn.  It is not the technology’s fault that the majority of our time online is spent jerking off; both figuratively and literally.  We really only have ourselves to blame.

    Yet I have to realize that for 99.99% of our human history we have not had the exposure to these hi-tech inventions.  These gadgets are still so knew to us, and like kids in a candy store we want to consume it all with little attention paid to consequences.  Right now we may have an immature relationship to technology, but that is because it is still so novel.  Perhaps for the generations growing up with these devices as commonplace, they will also have a more mature adult relationship with technology and its functions.  So please children of the future, save me from myself because I am fucking up.

    “Seriously Mom? That is your plan?”

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

    February 27, 2013 • 2 years old, Current Events, Musings • Views: 331

  • Only Room For One Drama Queen

    I used to have a lot of drama in my life.  It was like my life was an off Broadway play, or performance art piece.  There was always a lot going on, too many characters, the message wasn’t exactly clear, and I was often wearing a hot dog suit with Minnie Mouse ears.

    It is said that we attract the type of energy that we are putting out in the world.  So I guess there was a manic, insecure element to my past self.  I wanted too much from existence and didn’t know how to get it.  I wanted to consume everything, to be everywhere, to try it all.  So I think my inner turmoil was like a magnet for people that would cause spectacle in my life.

    For example, there was this choreographer I met who wanted to put on a dance performance in Barbados to raise money for a children’s arts program in his homeland.  Sounds like a good idea right? So I got involved, helped him get a grant for $5,000, and traveled to the island for this concert that was supposed to involve his good friend India Arie.  Turns out he didn’t know India, embezzled the grant, then came back to the states with me to stay in my house with 3 of his dancer friends as his entourage.  My boyfriend and I lived in a one-bedroom apartment and had no idea how to tell these people to leave, so we ended up moving just so they would go away.

    It was like my life was always teetering on the edge of pandemonium, with some shady participant pushing me over the ledge towards my own demise.  I would like to think my intentions were good, but the result was that there was always something chaotic going on.

    Eventually I started to see that the drama in my life, although exciting and entertaining, was addictive because of its distractive quality.  As long as I was occupied with the commotion, I wasn’t dealing with the core issues of who I was and who I wanted to be.  The production of life was so seductive because it was diverting me from facing myself in the mirror.  If I wanted to really deal with the human I had become and figure out my path for the future, I had to take a moment to step off the stage.

    And in many ways having a child forced me to commit to calming my existence.  Being a mom has grounded me not only because I want the best life for my kid, but I also want to be someone she can look up to even when she is taller than me.  Every decision I make now travels through the filter of “how will this affect my daughter,” and that has helped me be less impulsive and more responsible.  She inspires me to realize what is important and put my focus there.  And there is also the fact that The Munch is the biggest drama queen put on planet earth and there really is only room for one per family.

    (Practicing her pout…)

    February 26, 2013 • 2 years old, Baby Brain, Behavior, Mommy Mind, Musings, Relationships • Views: 54

  • Seriously Mom, What is Wrong With You?

    My mom is a lovely woman… just delightful.  But when it comes to parenting, we don’t always see eye to eye.  It is more like I am seeing into her closed eyes, or maybe a winking eye?

    Now I don’t really see myself as an uptight mom, but I may have developed an excessive fear of germs.  Considering I grew up in Boston and lived in New York City for 13 years you would think that I would be pretty comfortable with microbes… and I used to be.  I would walk my dog all over the puke-infested streets of the East Village and then let her sleep in my bed no problem.  I had come to terms with breathing in the skin cells of my fellow citizens on the train, and never showered more than twice a week allowing the filth of the city to burrow deep into my pores.  But since I have been living isolated in the woods I have not only become slightly agoraphobic, but also unreasonably grossed out by communal spaces.  Every time I go out in public I have to scrub myself raw before I get into my pristine bed that has only ever been dusted by the dandruff of wood nymphs.

    So this weekend I went out to dinner with my family in Boston for my brother’s birthday.  It was snowing out, and I decided I would get the car to pick up The Munch so she wouldn’t get all wet.  I had this grand plan to get her in her pajamas before we left so if she fell asleep on the drive, I wouldn’t have to change her later.

    Toni: “Okay so I am going go get the car…”

    Mom: “Do you want me to put her pajamas on for you?”

    Toni: “Well…. I was thinking I would just do it over their in the corner of the restaurant when I get back.”

    Mom: “Don’t be silly.  Give me her pajamas and I will take her down stairs to the bathroom.  There is a changing table down there and she can go pee before you get in the car.”

    Now I agreed to this plan, but only because it was my brother’s birthday and I didn’t want to make a scene.  Yet as I was walking to the car I started to have paranoid fantasies that were making me break out in hives.  All I could think about was how revolting a restaurant’s changing table is.  I started to envision the poo particles and pee atoms coating the place where I knew my mom would be placing my child’s naked back.  And then came the intense fear that my Mom let The Munch sit on the toilet seat to pee and didn’t create a crown of toilet paper to shield her thighs from having direct contact with fecal microorganisms.  When I finally got back to collect my child I had worked myself into a frenzy.

    Toni: “Hey Mom, did you actually put her down on top of the changing table?”

    Mom: “Of course I did Toni.”

    Toni: “And did she go pee?

    Mom: “Yes she did.”

    Toni: “And did you line the seat with toilet paper to protect her pristine skin?”

    Mom: “Are you out of your mind? Why would I do such a thing?”

    Toni: “But Mom, public bathrooms are gross and the toilets are covered in pee!”

    Mom: “Toni don’t be ridiculous.  And besides, urine is sterile.”

    Toni: “Mom!!!”

    Mom: “Toni you need to relax!  And speaking of needing to relax, when you come back on the 9th I am taking her to the Children’s Museum in a taxi I don’t care what you say.”

    Toni: “But Mom, there are no car-seats in Taxi’s!?”

    Mom: “Toni you and your brother used to ride in the back of a pick up truck on the highway.  You really need to take a chill pill.”

    Sigh. At least now I know where my life long fear of pick up trucks and this persistent rash on my ass came from.

    (Moments before The Munch was defiled…)

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

    February 25, 2013 • 2 years old, Adventures, Mommy Mind, Musings, Parenting • Views: 72

  • I Know You Are But What am I?

    Only the best picture of all time!!!!!!

    February 22, 2013 • 2 years old • Views: 44

  • Cuddle Bunny

    According to this article, a woman is making a living by selling cuddles.  She invites people to her home to snuggle while taking a nap with her, and she sometimes even reads them stories!  Although sex is not part of the package, and there is no touching of the private parts, people criticize her saying what she is doing is prostitution and monetizing love.  Yet despite the naysayers, she is so successful that she has hired an apprentice who is not yet trained enough to cuddle on her own, but has participated in many double cuddles as she learns the proper technique.

    Okayyyyyyy.  So there is a lot here.

    For one, this is testament to how meaningful touch is and demonstrates the primal need for intimacy that we all have.  There are countless studies of how baby animals without enough physical contact and affection often die even if they have plenty of food and water.  I am not sure who these sociopaths are that are conducting this research, but the conclusion extends to humans as well.  Tenderness is just as relevant to our survival as basic sustenance.

    It is also highlighting the obvious tragedy of our modern lives of just how lonely and isolated we can all feel.  The main clients in search for these cuddles are often between relationships, in problematic relationships, or veterans of war.  It is not like they are feral humans who were raised by wolves.  Because wolves are very affectionate when they are not biting your face.  Even when we are around people, the feeling of loneliness can prevail.  Solitude isn’t a state of being, but a state of mind.  An existential awareness that no matter who you are around, no one can every truly understand you.  We are all alone wandering through our thoughts like lost babes in the woods.  (Ummm… do sexy ladies have a bad sense of direction or something?)

    So what is it that these people get by being in the arms of this professional cuddler?  It seems to me that what this woman is doing with her cuddling business is re-enacting the nostalgic feeling of comfort that we felt as children being mothered.  Her clients are both women and men, and all assert there is nothing sexual about their experience.  The sensation of being held in a non sexual way mostly did happen in the arms of our mommies.  I for one don’t have a lot of memories being with men who just wanted to hug me, and not also have my vagina hug their penis. As we get older it is rare to have that pure sensation of security where there is no other agenda on the table.  So perhaps being held by this woman is like being enveloped by the embodiment of the idea of The Mother.

    I think of how much The Munch wants to be touched.  It can be overwhelming the days she wants to sit on my lap while she eats, while we read, and while I poop.  Sometimes she wants me to carry her from room to room, or plays a game where she crawls on top of me, then gets off, then crawls on me again, and then slides off, and this repeats until I almost lose my mind.  It is rare that she is still enough for us to have an extended cuddle moment because she is a toddler and in a constant state of motion.  Kind of like an electron on speed.  But even though The Munch’s style of cuddle is intense, these moments of contact are priceless.

     

     

     

     

    February 21, 2013 • 2 years old, Current Events, Musings, Relationships • Views: 123

  • Trying Too Hard

    The least attractive you will ever be is when someone can tell you are trying too hard.  There is nothing less sexy, less appealing, less impressive then being able to detect effort.  Whether you are watching someone play sports, dance, act, sing, or nestled between your legs, you don’t want to be able to notice their exertion.

    Excellence is embodied by the ability to make something look effortless.  I am most awestruck by another person when they make what they are doing look easy even though I know it is not.  Being in the flow is the essence of beauty.  It is almost magical when you witness someone so comfortable with their craft that it is like they are acting from a place of subconscious divine intelligence.

    I think most adults innately know this, and that is why trying something new is so hard.  I don’t want to look all awkward being a beginner.  It is embarrassing to learn something.  Pronouncing a new language, attempting a new art form, struggling through unchartered physical challenges, all make me feel vulnerable and shy.  I am convinced that is why so few guys do yoga.  An activity where women wear skin-tight clothes and thrust their asses in the air while breathing like they are about to climax.  The fear of looking silly must be pretty profound to miss out on that.

    Sometimes my apprehension holds me back, and sometimes I have been able to push through the hymen of my self-consciousness.  For example, when I was in college, I ended up at a school that was all artsty fartsty.  I had always played sports in high school and wanted to be involved in something active, so I signed up for the dance program.  I had never taken a dance class before, but knew I was really good at shaking my ass and boobs around, so figured I would be fine.  But then I was around all these girls who had been dancing their whole lives, and I didn’t even know what a plié was.  It was kind of humiliating.  Committing to looking flailing around for a few years was hard on my ego, especially when everything smelled like flatulence at that school… you know, because of all the art.  But eventually I figured out what was going on, and started to feel confident in what I was doing.

    Being around The Munch has awakened this idea that I need to become a novice in something again.  Kids, by the way, are totally exempt from looking like tools when they are doing new things.  In fact, their effort is insanely endearing; their little grunts and uncoordinated limbs.  That is half the entertainment of having a child.  Observing the process of their learning and development, which they do with no shame. So I think it is time for me to challenge myself and learn a new skill, even if I risk looking like a dork.

    (Here I am trying too hard to look candid)

    February 20, 2013 • 2 years old, Behavior, Education, Musings • Views: 66

  • You are not pretty

    I know evolved people are not supposed to look outside themselves for gratification or approval.  My self-esteem is my own responsibility.  Emotionally mature people gaze inside their being, appreciate their uniqueness, and love themselves fully no matter what other people think.  They know that inner beauty and purity of essence is by far more meaningful and significant than external vanity.  I don’t need anyone else to be the architect of my worth, because I am a self-actualized woman who knows her value.

    Yes… that was what I believed, until this fateful conversation…

    Toni: “Hey Munch, the bath is pretty full so I am going to turn off the water.”

    Munch: “You are not pretty.”

    Toni: “What?”

     

    I was like… Ummmmmmm did my child actually just tell me that I wasn’t pretty? Is she right? Am I looking old? Do I have excessive wrinkles on my forehead from making too many facial expressions?  Is my face not youthful, or symmetrical?  Am I not hot?

    Then The Munch said…

    Munch: “The bath is not pretty full.”

     

    So then I was all…. Oh phew.  She was just confused by the use of the word pretty. She misunderstood me and was talking about the bath, not my face.  Duh.  But just to be safe I am going to ask her.

     

    Toni: “Oh right, the bath is not pretty full.  Okay fine.  But do you think Mamma is pretty?”

    Munch: “No. You are not pretty.”

    Toni: “Well are you pretty?”

    Munch: “No…”

     

    Oh… I see she doesn’t understand what the word pretty means….

     

    Munch: “I am not pretty I am cute!”

    Toni: “Am I cute?”

    Munch: “No, you are not cute either.”

    So, do you guys know a good therapist or plastic surgeon?  Thanks.

     

    February 19, 2013 • 2 years old, Mommy Body, Mommy Mind, Talking and Not Talking • Views: 79

  • Those Eastern Europeans Aren’t Fucking Around

    When it comes to gymnastics, those Eastern Europeans are serious as fuck!  I can say that, because I am Hungarian.  On Saturday, I was invited to bring The Munch to a gymnastics class in New Ipswich New Hampshire where there for some reason is a huge population of Eastern Europeans.  I usually bring Munch to baby Gymnastics in my area where she does such complicated moves as running under a rainbow sheet, chasing foam balls, and crawling through a tunnel, so I figured she would be up to par.  It never occurred to me I would be entering into Olympic Training grounds.

    When I first entered the facility the first thing I noticed was the overwhelming smell.  It was like I was nuzzling my face into a jock strap and deeply inhaling the scent of sweaty balls.  Yet the offenders of this odor were tiny little girls.  Flipping across the room, swinging from bars, and flying from rings.

    I ushered The Munch to the back of the room, dodging the airborne limbs of 30-pound nine year olds.  The sound of coaches yelling at their little prodigies in their native tongue was deafening.  All the little gymnasts were in their leotards with ponytails so tight their eyes were tilted vertical, and then here was The Munch, in a party dress with her mullet blowing in the wind.

    The Munch started off on the trampoline, which I thought she was quite good at until a kid half her size but with the body of Arnold Schwarzenegger circa 1986 did a front flip and landed on his feet.  I then brought her over the pit of foam blocks and encouraged her to jump in.  It was about a two-foot jump, but she did it quite happily holding onto my hands.  I was impressed by her bravery until a mother and her daughter came over and this little girl jumped from a 6-foot platform barely holding on to one of her mom’s pinkies.   She went to do it again, but mini Arnold scaled up like Spiderman and did a perfect swan dive with flawless form.

    I couldn’t help it.  My competitive nature, my ego, my pride, I wanted my kid to jump this death defying leap.

    Toni: “Munch, do you want to try?”

    Munch: “Okay.”

    So I lifted her up and she looked over the edge.

    Munch: “I want to hold your hands.”

    Toni: “Munch, you can’t hold both hands because my arms aren’t long enough.  You can hold one hand, but you have to let go in the air because I don’t have Go-Go-Gadget arms okay?”

    Munch: “I want to hold two hands.”

    Toni: “Munch it won’t work that way, you have to only hold one.”

    Munch: “I want to get down.”

    It is not even that I want my child to spend her entire life at the gym working out, but when you are in that environment it is hard not to get swept away.  Everywhere I looked there were pictures of Gold Medal champions and here was my kid carefully doing a crooked somersault.  I started to feel that even though she is only 2 ½ The Munch is getting a really late start on her athletic career!

    We got in the car and I was decided to give her a pep talk to start emotionally preparing her for her life as a competitor.

    Toni: “Did you like gymnastics class?”

    Munch: “Yeah!!! It was so fun. I jumped on the trampoline. And I ran so fast.  And I wasn’t shy.”

    Toni: “Munch, you know, you didn’t have to hold my hands every time you jumped into the foam blocks. You saw that other little boy and he didn’t hold Mamma’s hand.”

    Munch: “He jumped from so high all by himself!”

    Toni: “Munch did you want to jump by yourself?”

    Munch: “No I wanted to hold your hands.”

    Toni: “So maybe next time you will try jumping by yourself?”

    Munch: “No.  Maybe next time you try jumping by yourself.”

    Toni: “Touché my friend…. Touché.”

     

     

     

     

    February 18, 2013 • 2 years old, Adventures, Baby Body, Playing • Views: 123