Today I was able to slip into a pair of pants from my “used to fit but doesn’t now but I’m not giving up hope that they will someday fit again” pile.  Yea!  They even zippered and buttoned with no extra-long exhales or wiggling on my part!  Ok, yeah, the massive amounts of vomiting and lack of eating on Saturday may have a little to do with this.  But I like to think it’s the new diet eating plan Mr. W and I are trying.  It’s the “Flat Belly Diet” featured in Prevention Magazine and on The Rachel Ray Show.  I downloaded the pocket-guide to my Kindle a couple weeks ago and was enamoured by the ease of this diet.  Seriously.  It’s basically 28-days of eating 4 400 calorie meals a day, incorporating a MUFA (mono-unsaturated something or another…you know, the good fat) in each meal.  (Think avocado, olives, dark chocolate…mmmm…)  The thing I like most (besides the ample amounts of guac and choc) is that it spells out a weekly shopping list, to the ounce, and gives a meal plan, with 20-30 minute recipes, that will use up all the shopping-list items for the week.  Easy-peasy!  Lack of need to think is a huge selling point for me right now!  Starting yesterday, we are on this 4 day “jump-start” which is essentially a very low sodium, reduced calorie, low carb, low fat diet designed to cleanse and eliminate bloat.  Yeah, not really loving it, but it’s only 4 days (it’s only 4 days, it’s only 4 days…).  The meals aren’t horrible, but a pint of grape tomatoes, with no salt, dressing, or anything proves to be a little hard to swallow (pun intended).  But, I fit into my pants this morning, so the next 2 1/2 days will be a tad bit easier to get through with that in mind!

Of course, Mr. W and I were famished last night after our dinner of 4-oz of broiled tilapia, 1/2 cup brown rice (no butter, no salt), and 1 (full) cup of steamed green beans (no butter, no salt).  Yeah, a cup of green beans is a lot of freakin green beans!  We normally eat twice the amount of calories a day that this “eating plan” calls for.  Hmmm…wonder why we are getting a little thick in the  middle…  Mr. W also had the brilliant idea of quitting smoking at the same time…yeah, not happening.  So after dinner, we agreed to cheat on the smoking rather than our diet and went out to buy some cigs. 

After that, the evening was nice.  We watched AVP with my step-daughter and her friend before calling it an early night…for more…*ahem*…adult activities.  Post “snuggle-time” we chatted like we used-to-but-haven’t-in-a-while about literature, spirituality, theology,…and Jedis.    So we didn’t get to sleep as early as planned, but the nice convo in the arms of my love was definately worth it!  No stress, no pressure, no interruptions, just ease and peace and love.  Wonderful! 

It is truly sad how much soul is lost in our world today.  We, as a whole, are so wrapped up in all the things that aren’t important in our worlds, that we have let true joy fall to the wayside.  Of course, being a sometimes-artsy type, I tend to equivocate joy with more soulful endeavors like art, writing, music, the kinds of creations which are made beautiful, not simply by their existence, but by their creators’ heart and soul as it is put into bringing them about.  Unfortunately, it seems with our (again the collective here) longer working hours, greater demands on our time and energy, and in some ways our money, with our technological advances, we have lost sight of the natural beauty of the world, created or even just nature itself.

Let’s start with the man-made stuff.  When one thinks of the “greats” in art, the majority lie in our long lost history:  Michelangelo, Van Gogh, Di Vinci, Rembrandt, Picasso.  Sure, we have some fantastic artist in our midst today, but can you name one?  Can you recognize their work by sight?  Composers/musicians:  Mozart, Beethoven, Brahms, Bach, Vivaldi.  Even if you want to step forward into more modern times, who can deny Miles Davis, Louis Armstrong, or Aretha Franklin?  That quality of music doesn’t exist anymore.  The heart and soul poured into the piece or song can be feltby the listener in a way that some lyrics may induce from today’s pop/rock ballads, but it’s just not at the same depth as the old stuff.  In writing, what happened to the Dickens, Shakespeares, Vernes, Austins, and Hemingways of the world.  Their language, their imagery, their formation of thought and prose (or poetry) is something that can’t be found in modern writers.  I do love modern writers, but the unbridled exploration of language and its infinite possibilities just doesn’t make its way into print anymore.  In architecture, the sometimes ornate, always stunning works of art that are wrapped around old buildings are giving way to new, sometimes beautiful, but always functional and cost-effective facades.  Even the most minimal pieces of our past (think zen-ish temples and even the pyramids) have more character and simplistic beauty than that $10,000 sideboard from Pottery Barn could ever hope for. 

I think it all comes down to heart.  For centuries, great masterpieces in art, architecture, music, woodworking, writing, whatever were created by hand and by heart.  The creators had the gift and the almost primal need to create and share their creation with the world, not for fame or fortune, simply because they could.  They heard the music in the air, saw the sculpture before ever touching chisel to stone, knew the story and had the words to explain every depth of it, felt the draw of paint to canvas and obliged to bring them together in the poetry that they are meant to create.  These gifted among us (or the past us) weren’t looking for ways to get rich or get a bigger house or marry a prettier girl.  They were there, in their moments of creation, completely surrounded by, I’m not going to go so far as to say peace, because really, I’m sure some of them were those tormented-soul types, but they were surrounded by thier ”now,” embracing it, rolling in it, holding tight and creating something magnificent. 

These prodigies often manifested talent at a young age, and were provided (usually) the means to explore their talent.  Imagine for a moment that Mozart grew up in today’s society.  Most of us don’t have a piano in our homes.  Most of us will never touch a piano except maybe in passing in a music store at the mall in our lifetime.  If this was the world he grew up in, this world would be robbed of some of the most inspirational and inspiring works in history. 

Even when that pure, soulful talent arises in someone amongst us, there is little chance for them in our world.  Mozart began when he was 5.  I can’t fathom my son doing much of anything phenomenal like that at his age.  Not that he isn’t the most wonderful, smartest, sweetest, most talented boy in the world.  Of course, all our kids are.  But in seriousness, what Mozart could do is unthinkable.  Strip away the kids who are bragged on and put on pedestals for their perceived (by-rose-colored-glasses-wearing-parents) talents and find the true anomalies in our society.  Then add the reality that most won’t discover their talent, and if they do, will not have the ability or means to sink into it without scorn (or starving…why do you think they call it starving artist…).  I mean, really.  Editing and publishing costs money.  Paint and canvases cost money.  Pianos and other instruments cost money.  Woodworking tools and wood cost money.  (Yes, there were probably money issues back then, but back then they could also just go cut down a tree for wood instead of going to Lowes, they could mix a palette of colors from nature and stretch out the hide of a newly slaughtered goat or something instead of heading to Michael’s.)  Add to that the competition created by the machines of this world that can do it all faster and more “perfect,” including all that computer-aided music we listen to.  What’s left for the true, soul-filled beauty of our world?

Granted, some make it…usually, it seems, in the music world where there is still some appreciation for talent.  But even then, it isn’t recognized in nearly the same way.  Take that expiriment in the DC Metro back in 2007.  They put Joshua Bell, a world renowned, highly talented violinist in the subway with a $3.5 million Stradivari violin for 43 minutes, just to see what would happen.  This 30-something man, who coincidentally began at age 4, who gets paid $1000′s per minute to play worldwide, made $32.17 that day for his trouble.  A handful of people paused and tossed him some change.  One man stopped for 3 minutes to listen.  Most didn’t even seem to notice.  One woman actually recognized him, having attended one of his concerts earlier in the year and was shocked by the response of her fellow Washingtonians.  We don’t even recognize recognized talent when it’s right there in front of us, wailing away on a $3.5 million instrument!  One thing that was observed, however, was that every child that came through stopped (or at least tried to) and looked and listened to Bell play.  So what does that say?

I think our world of too busy, too much, not enough is a learned adult phenomenon.  I think we are all born the same, 100 years ago, 1000 years ago, or today.  I think that innate connection with nature and purity and the soul and all their beauties is there from birth, but it’s our lives that push it out of us.  Of course in the end it’s up to us, isn’t it.  We can go on with our “musts” and our “needs” and all the other illusions that drive us through life, or we can stop and listen to the music, see the beauty, feel the soulfulness, and find the words to describe it all with perfect descriptive clarity.  And if we aren’t lucky enough to be born with that gift of natural talent, at the very least can we stop and appreciate and support and stand behind the ones that are, for they are the last of a dying breed, the last of their kind, the last to bring that true, soulful beauty to us.  (Go hug a band-geek today!) 

I should totally be doing hon mework right now, but, eh, y’all know me.  I actually slept last night (yea,  melatonin!), but that means I can’t use tired as an excuse.  At least everyone can rest easy that 2am wasn’t killed last night in a fit of rage…  I’m just not getting my homework at all.  Discrete math…whatever that is…sucks.  You know, I totally love math and all it’s predictability and hard-core logic.  (yeah, I just referred to math as hard-core.  What of it?  So what if I may possibly be a slight nerd!)  But the discrete part seems to mean that the actual function, formula, makes-sense-ed-ness is sitting on the down low so the user (me) is totally clueless.  But I got 100s on my last two assignments, so apparently I’m hiding my cluelessness pretty damn well.

I bought (acquired) Dave Matthew’s new album when it first came out, Big Whiskey and the GrooGrux King…whatever…  Anyway, I finally got around to listening to it, and it’s pretty damn good.  I’ve been looking for things that speak to me lately, music, books, movies, and have been floundering miserably.  I pick up a book, or more accurately download a sample to my Kindle…the greatest invention ever (Sorry Girly!), and read it but nothing really grabs me like I want it to.  Same with music.  I’ve been picking up music here and there, hoping for something that I can just sit and listen to over and over.  The last I found was Maroon 5, Songs About Jane…love that album!  It just felt right.  But, alas, the 5 was played out (it’s been like 2 years or something since it came out!) and I’ve been trying to move on but with nothing to move on to…until I found Dave. 

I’ve had a hot and cold relationship with Mr. Matthews and his merry band.  I know, I know.  He has quite the following, kind of like The Dead in their day.  But I just didn’t really feel him.  I did like the first album, and Crash Into Me will always hold a special place in my heart, but on the whole I’m kind of like eh.  Something about this new album gets me though.  Maybe it’s just the place I am right now.  Maybe I’ve matured, musically.  Whatever the reason, I’m really digging it! 

And never fear, I still have thoughts of mah man when I listen…occasionally.    You and Me may just make an appearance at our wedding (if I get my way) because it just fits.  Anything, baby!  You and me, together.  We can get through it all!  (And maybe we can teach our kids to fly!)

I’ve found a new fav author.  Christopher Moore.  Well, I’ve only actually read one of his books, so far, Fool.  I saw the book in an airport bookstore during our recent va-ca, and something about the cover drew me in.  This is often the case, I find books by their covers and usually end up loving the content.  Maybe it’s the hidden artist in me.  But, really, I like the way he writes. 

It’s kind of an intelligent but informal style that had me literally laughing out loud as I sped through the easy to read text.  My favorite excerpt from the book:

Pocket is a court Jester for King Lear (yes, that King Lear) and is discussing finding comfort in God with one of Lear’s daughters…

“What comfort? I’m a duchess, Pocket, a princess, perhaps a queen. You can’t rule in Christ. Are you daft? You have to ask Christ to leave the room. Your very first war or execution and you’re right fucked for forgiveness, aren’t you? There’s Jesusy disapproval and scowling at least and you have to act like you don’t see it.”

“Jesusy disapproval and scowling…” Freaking fantastic!!

It was the first book I read on my new Kindle 2 (thank you Mr. W!), which I absolutely love btw!  I’ve downloaded samples of two more of Moore’s books (a fantastic free feature on the Kindle) and will probably end up buying them as well.  It’s not often I find an author that I enjoy enough to read multiple books, but Moore has promise.  My next stop:

It’s a vampire book who’s first line reads: “You bitch, you killed me!  You suck!”  Seriously shows promise!  I have a morbid fetish obsession fascination with vampires.  Anne Rice?  Read them all.  Twilight books?  Yep those too.  Loved them!  The movies and shows?  Yep, watch every one I can get my hands (eyes) on.  I’m always on the lookout for new vampire series, in book or movie/show form.  I’m picky though.  I don’t dig mystery/crime books, a la Laura K. Hamilton.  And I don’t dig anything that makes vampires look like crazed, bloodthirsty animals with no emotion or substance, a la a lot of those vampire-horror flicks.  If Moore writes all his books in the same tone, I think I will enjoy this one though.  I’ll keep y’all posted.  (Yes, I just said typed y’all, what of it?)

Back to the Kindle.  Seriously, folks, its fabulous!  I’ve already filled two pages of books, and it will hold something like 1500, or you can hold MP3′s, pictures, documents of all sorts…it’s endless.  It’s easy to transport.  And if you are like me and tend to read 2 or 3 (or 4 or 5) books at the same time, it’s a hell of a lot easier to 1) transport, and 2) swap between books.  Yeah, it’s a little pricey, but totally worth it.  And to the nay-sayers who say, nay because it’s not actually a book, and I like the feeling of holding a book and smelling (ok…weird) it’s pages…I too thought this (the holding, not the smelling part…yeah, that’s just weird), but seriously, the Kindles many pros wayoutweigh the con of not actually holding a book.  Plus, the screen looks a hell of a lot like a paperback screen (without the grainy feel) so you aren’t missing much (except for the smelling thing…still, ew, weird).

Yea!  I finished my book…well, not my book, but the book I purchased and was reading, and have now finished: Rockabye, by blogger Rebecca Woolfe (of (This) Girls Gone Child and Straight From the Bottle fame).  It was great.  Maybe not great in the sense that literary masterpieces like War and Peace, or A Tale of Two Cities is great (two books I have not read, nor have much of an interest in…although I’m sure they are great…), but great in the sense that it made me feel so much less of a freak-of-a-mom.  Alone is a terrible place to be! 

Hmmm, reading that post from almost a year ago, I haven’t gotten very far have I?  Still thinking about/working on that book.  Still struggling through single-mommyhood and toddlers alone.  Still waiting for my divorce to be final.  That’s just all-together depressing!

Anyway, the book.  It’s nice to know I’m not the only one floundering in my mother’s perceived shadow, wondering why I can’t seem to find the time/energy/desire to wash the dishes, vacuum the floor, make the beds, help with homework, cook a healthy dinner, grocery shop, do laundry (including taking laundry out of the dryer, folding, ironing, and putting away laundry), pay bills, keep appointments organized, actually make appointments, make phone calls, write letters (send emails), participate in school stuff, get enough sleep, look decent for work everyday, never let my child out of the house with too-short pants or underwear-with-holes, do what I’m supposed to do, and do it well…the list goes on and on.  I’m lucky if I can get one or two of those things done in a day, let alone all of them. 

Most days I look around my house, look at the clutter of dirty dishes, stacked paperwork/bills, and overflowing laundry hampers, look at my son playing video games, look at my daughter’s picture when she’s at her dad’s or look at her playing quietly by herself, and I feel like a complete and total failure as a mother and a person.

Most days, 30 seconds into my yelling like a banshee because the kids won’t get out of bed, won’t eat their dinner, won’t clean up their toys, won’t stop whining/fighting/running in the house, I feel like the worst mother in the world…but I can’t stop then…I’ve already started and they will think they have the control…so I make silent promises to them that it won’t ever happen again…until it does.  Vicious circle. 

Most days I make plans on how I’m going to get organized, get motivated, get involved, be a good example for my kids, not yell, not smoke, not eat/drink junk, be creative, be fun, be healthy, and then I get home and flop on the couch, remote in hand until it’s time for bed.  Just too tired.

I fight with my own rebellion, refusing to put my daughter in pink, frilly dresses, yet scolding my son for wearing Hello, Kitty socks, refusing to let them watch Barney and learn those annoying kid songs, opting instead for Foo Fighters and The Beatles, but let them watch SpongeBob Squarepants when I just can’t deal, teaching them things like “dude, you’re a crack-head” or “that’s just crap,” but forcing them to have proper table manners. 

I hate followers.  I hate clones.  I hate “everyone else is doing it/has it/knows it, so I should too” mentalities…but is there really any room in this world for standing up for what you feel/want/whatever?  Is there really any room left for open expression and exploration and personal growth after all the “you shoulds” have been pushed upon you?  You should teach your child that.  You should know this.  You should get an iPod.  You should sit up straight, comb your hair, say please and thank-you.  And what about all the “you shouldn’ts?”  There just doesn’t seem to be any room left for the “I wants and I feels.”

I recently discovered Rebecca Woolf of (This) Girls Gone Child in my stumblings around the internet and subsequently ordered her book Rockabye from Amazon.  It arrived Friday, and I’m halfway through it already.  I am not a fast reader.  Well, I am a fast reader, but not when it comes to books.  I can do maybe a chapter a week, but that is only because I just don’t have the time.  About 10 minutes before bed is all my constantly sleep-deprived head will let me do…and even that is a stretch most nights.  But Rockabye has me up later than normal at night, as it’s one of those can’t-possibly-put-it-down-must-read-one-more-page/section/chapter books.  Dammit! 

It reads like a very intimate conversation with a close friend.  So far I’ve gotten through finding out, pregnancy, and Archer was born last night at about 1045pm, when I should have been sleeping.  But her all out honest retelling of her feelings and fears of those times is something right out of (I’m sure) every woman’s heart.  The part of the heart that we lock tight and never, ever talk about…at least not with other people.  This brave woman has broken all the rules and spoken our fears out loud (well, at least put in on paper for the masses to read) and I love it!

I’m sure I’ll find other favorite parts, but so far her recollection of the baby books is up there.  I remember buying every one of the books at Borders that my doctor recommended.  I remember three other girls at work were pregnant and reading all these same books, so I figure, hey, they must be the books to read when one is pregnant.  I remember how much I hated them!  Ok, What to Expect… and Your Pregnancy: Week by Week  have their place in the whole school-house version of being pregnant…but really, who 1) has the time or patience to sit through that kind of lecture, and 2) do those books actually provide any useful information to anyone?  I can’t remember a single thing from those books except possibly the weekly fetus pictures (Your Pregnancy: Week by Week) which were all together kind of disturbing to me. 

What I do remember is finding the one book that I read over and over, for both pregnancies, and got the most helpful information from.  The Girlfriend’s Guide to Pregnancy.  It was great.  Basically marketed as containing all the stuff your doctors/mothers/those books don’t tell you, it held true to claim.  Vicki Iovine, author, and her “girlfriends” capture most of those not-so-pleasant things about pregnancy and lay them out there in a frank, but still supportive manner, much the way a girlfriend would do.  (I’ve heard Jenny McCarthy’s book, Belly Laughs is also quite frank, funny, and fabulous…although I haven’t read it myself.  And with little likelihood of another pregnancy, it probably won’t be on my must-read list…unless of course my friend D is serious about her wanting another baby and me to surrogate…but that’s another post.)

I was also fascinated (part of why I was up until almost 11 still reading) by Woolf laying out her fears of motherhood vs. womanhood.  The vagina vs. the p****.  The breasts vs. the tits.  She may possibly have stumbled upon the core problem in all these marriages these days who have kids and completely stop having sex.  The woman’s sexuality is threatened, which puts sex into hiding.   Men don’t know about this.  Men simply assume their wives don’t wantsex anymore.  It was all a ploy.  These previously sex-crazed vixens that were so great in the beginning were just faking it for fun.  Now that they have the men locked in with babies and a ring…no need to keep up appearances.  Uh…not quite, fellas.

Woolf puts it so much more eloquently than I ever could.  There is a whole identity crisis that goes on, not only with the roles that we are suddenly faced with (woman, mother, lover, wife, etc) but also the roles which our various body parts are faced with (man-toys and nutrition providers, pleasure bringers and life bringers, etc).  Add to that the uncertainty about our bodies, the bodies that have just gone through an extreme makeover gone wrong, the bodies that have changed so drastically in the last 10ish months, and often not in a traditionally positive way, the bodies that don’t feel anything like what we have been used to for the past 15-25 years (toddlerhood and puberty aside).  In all this change and insecurity and ambiguousness, is it any wonder we push you men away, afraid of ourselves, afraid of the physical and emotional pain of the act possibly gone wrong, afraid of your rejection?  After all, we would reject ourselves in that state, so why should you be any different.  And the men, bless their hearts, let us.  They let us push them away until they are sit permanently at arms reach, not content to stay there, simply accepting that this is just the way it goes.  Years go by and that wonderful sex-crazed woman you once knew simply fades away.  Uh…not quite fellas.  Did I mention we are scared?  Quick, whip out your incessant need to protect and make us feel better.  We will resist for a while, but trust me, it’s worth it in the end, for everyone.  Mommy will feel better about herself, figure out all that role juggling, and in return…you will get some.  See, win-win. 

Ok, I can see all you men out there in internet-land shaking your heads doubtfully.  I know.  You think your wife/significant other is different.  You think your wife/significant other really just doesn’t like sex.  One question…did you actually marry/commit to someone who didn’t like sex?  If the answer is yes, smack yourself in the head for your ignorance and deal with your choice in life.  If, on the other hand, the answer is no…why the hell would it change now?  Barring some horrendous event, people don’t just stop liking sex.  It just doesn’t happen.  How the hell would the human race survive if that was a possibility?

I had a guy friend once who didn’t have sex anymore, after two kids.  They were a young, good-looking couple and they used to, all the time.  Their whole story was pretty romantic bordering right up against nauseating.  His bitch?  She would only have sex in the shower and he didn’t like it.  He expressed this to her, and immediately assumed she continued to request shower sex only because she knew he would say no, which would make it his fault.  He was ready for divorce.  His wife, one of the previously sex-crazed vixens turned mother, was nursing their second born at the time.  Their kids were pretty close in age so she had nursed the first even after she was pregnant with the second.  So she had been pregnant/nursing for about 3 years straight.  For those of you who don’t know, when a woman is milk-laden and has sex, there tends to be some mild leakage to all out spraying.  This was an embarrassing thing for me, so I can imagine it is for at least a few other women in this world.  Hence, the shower.  Easy clean up at the least, and at best, he won’t notice with the rest of the water spray and won’t get freaked out.  They have since moved away, but from pictures (Myspace) I deduce 1) she’s stopped nursing, 2) they are actually holding and touching and smiling, which means 3) they are still together.  Hmmm…

Having written way more than I intended, I will end here with one last note:  It isn’t all the men’s fault.  We women shut up far too much for fear and/or pride and refuse to tell our man what’s really going on.  If we chose right, there should never be fear or too much pride to express our feelings to him.  I chose wrong at first, and my expressions led to hurt and divorce…but I learned and moved on and chose right.  No fear, no secrets, no holding back…and lots and lots of glorious sex.