Poetry-Blasphemy

They call you LORD.
The way I see it is
You mock me mercilessly
Like a second-balcony heckler.

Too far away to understand
The garbled epithets you hurl
But close enough to hear
The audience's laughter.

So many people try to tell me
How great you are, how loving
But why create me impermeable
And so prone to blasphemy?

I try to be a good girl
And in all ways be worth your boon,
But in my way I'm born to sin
And in my descent gather following.

They call you God Almighty
And mighty your judgment falls.
But good or ill, I'm on my own
In discerning what fickle fate holds.

It would feel good to trust you
To just let go and let you.
But I have had a hard daughter's day
And don't need another father.

Why not "God the Lover"?
At least that I understand
For divine fingers hooking my heart
Might make me a believer.

And in the cushioned nightfall
When you've got me godly gravid,
Heavy-seeded, I could forgive
And call you my immortal beloved.

(c) Stacie Ferrante
11-10-08

Parenting: The Straight Poop

Normally I don't talk much about my parenting. For so many years (a decade plus), I had been actively longing for a child, so once I got one I figured I would just count my blessings and keep quiet. I had wanted to be a mother ever since I could remember. I did tons of babysitting as soon as I was old enough, and as a foster parent I even received dozens of hours of actual training about parenting. I had read about attachment theory. We baby-proofed our house. In short, I felt prepared.

Hah!

Once our (then 2 1/2 year old) bundle of joy moved in, I found out just how unprepared we were. Now, maybe some of that has to do with the fact that Little A is a foster child and came to us with certain special needs. But I have talked to friends and family with new babies and I am finding the experiences at least a little similar.

There are some things that have been unexpected and some suspicions I had about parenting that were confirmed. Since today marks the one year since we met Little A for the first time, I thought I would share a few. I'm still keeping A's details confidential, but this more about parenting in general.

• The Culture Shock: Even with lots of advance preparation, being suddenly responsible for the safety of a small person who would surely lick the light socket without your eagle eye on them at all times is jarring. It is something that drains you even when the little one is sleeping. Getting used to that is hard. So much harder than anyone ever told me.
  
• The "Mommy Club": And to a certain extent, the "daddy club". I always suspected that becoming a parent was a rite of passage, and that parents had a sort of clique that I was missing out on when I was not a parent. That part really is true. I find I bond pretty easily with and am accepted by other mothers very readily. It is trippy. Now that I am a parent, I can see how "clueless" some people without children can be. Not everyone, mind, but some people just say lame things, usually that begin with "Why don't you just...?". Those comments always make parents roll their eyes at each other behind your back.
• Feeling OLD: Maybe this one just is because I AM old. But I notice that my friends who are childless, or child-free by choice, seem so much younger in attitude to me. They still can run away for the weekend or off to the movies on the spur of the moment. I have to meticulously plan everything. That and even Little A, at 3 1/2, already talks to me sometimes like I am terminally uncool. That is a little hard on the ego.
• Everything takes so much longer: Oh my gosh, going anywhere becomes an exercise in "how much of a pain in the ass is this gonna be?" math. And babies and kids always have so much dang STUFF. Holy hell. And most of it lives in my handbag when she gets tired of carrying it. Nothing like going out to dinner for once with my husband only to find out that there is a squirmy, squishy rubber gecko in my purse.
• The bodily functions: Having kids is really messy business. There is nothing that shows a mother's love more than not freaking out when a kid barfs in your hair. You know you love them when all you care about is making them comfortable again. I wish I could tell you that it stops at barf. Every body fluid you can imagine and a few combinations you would rather not imagine WILL come out of your kid. On you, on your furniture, your carpet, and even on your pets. Buy a carpet cleaner now if you are even contemplating having a kid. And for god's sake, wash your hands like there is no tomorrow, all the time.
  
• The cooties: When you send your kid to day care or school for the first time, prepare to be sick (yourself, your spouse, and your kid) for about six months. Oh, the humanity. I am talking "kill me now" levels of sick. Colds and flu and coughs and vomiting for endless months. I started thinking I would never, ever be well again. And parenting while ill is no picnic. Your patience goes right out the window.
• The Love: Ok, people did tell me that I would love Little A. But articulating the depth of feeling there is very difficult. It goes aginst reason, really. In a lot of ways, becoming a parent has matured me in good ways that involve a deeper compassion for all people. I'm a better person for having her in my life, no doubt.
  
• The Killing Urge: It is hard to explain how you can adore someone to the depth of your soul and still get frustrated with them to the point where you have to remove yourself from the room or you are sure something bad will happen. This is one of those things that parents understand that non-parents just don't get. Even if you are the most abiding, patient soul in the world, your kid will test your limits. It is kinda their job.
• Feeling like a failure: Because I am a foster parent, my parenting is actually supervised to a degree by a number of "specialists". I am gratified to hear from social workers and therapists that I am not just a good mom, but a great mom in their opinion. That's nice. I still feel like a total failure sometimes. The thing is is that every parent feels this way, and apparently we were all sworn to secrecy about it.
• The Uber-Parents: Or as I like to call them, Assholes. There are always driver-driver, overacheiving parents who read all the latest theories and buy all the funky developmental toys that will look at whatever you are doing and sneer. They are jerks. They were probably jerks before they became parents. You only know them now because they are parents like you are and it is all about the "Mommy Club". Whatever.
• Feeling like a genius: On the flipside of feeling like a failure is the feeling you get when your kid masters something they have been trying and trying so hard to learn. Parental pride is like heroin. It feels great when they do something that will prepare them to be productive adults one day. All because of you. Yay!
• Tiny kisses and that first real hug: Totally priceless. Having the love and trust of a child is a lot of responsibility, but the reward of having that little one say "I love you mom" just makes your heart jump out of your chest and dance for joy. It is pretty damn good stuff. Sorry if that sounds sappy, but it is true nonetheless.

So, have a kid if you want. Don't say I didn't warn you. :)

What's Up, Bill Clinton?

You might be wondering how this title and photo go together. If you have known me a long time,you already know. Back during Bill Clinton's first election run, I had a dream. This is nothing like the dream Dr. King had. This one was about tacos.

I dreamed that I had made some fish tacos, and Bill Clinton stopped by and we ate them. Only we were in a hurry to get somewhere, so we didn't have time to sit down to eat them. So we stood side by side over the kitchen sink and ate. It was a very friendly and comfortable situation. When I woke up, I knew he was going to win the white house, and he did.

Bill Clinton is going to be on my campus today. That means that I had to come to school early to get a damn parking spot. I did get one, but if I showed up 10 minutes later, I'll bet I wouldn't have.

The part that sucks is that he is going to be speaking right when I will be taking my nursing miderm, so I will miss it. If I am going to be inconvenienced by Bill Clinton, I should at least get the chance to meet him or something.

Tony asked me if I was going to get in the queue to ask him a question. I replied that I didn't really have anything to ask. He said "You could ask him if he likes fish tacos." *snicker* All these years later, that still sounds dirty.

Bill Clinton has been the only President of the United States that I have ever written a letter to. I got an official form letter response from the White House, too. Pretty cool, even if a copy of that letter is probably sitting in my FBI file or something.

What did I write to him about? Why my dream, of course. That and a few other items of political concern to me at the time. Probably reproductive freedom of choice, or something. But the fact remains that I once wrote a letter to the President about eating fish tacos over the sink.

I Disapprove-Reno Edition

I feel like bagging on Reno today. I mean, I live here and have for a while now, so there must be SOME redeeming things about it, but today is not the day to talk about that. Let's trash talk!

• You have to water trees here: every damn thing has to be hooked up to a drip system because it is the desert. Not much in the way of rain.
• Tumbleweeds hitting my car: This is the time of year when this happens a lot because it is extra windy.
• Too damn hot in the summer: I just wilt like a damn gardenia. Yeah, I know. Then why did I buy a black car? I blame hormones. I was trying to get pregnant when I bought that car. I should have been able to use some kind of progesterone defense and get my money back.
• The Yee-Haw factor: Yeah, the whole red state thing gets me down.
• Taggers: I know every city has those. But ours don't even have much imagination. Lame graffiti is extra dumb.
• Casinos: I don't bother unless I go to Vegas. But if I want to play a slot machine I need go no further than my local grocery store. Who cares?
  
• Smoking: I can't get over how many people smoke here. Gross. And forget going to a bar. You will smell nasty when you get home from the secondhand smoke.
• The whole methamphetamine/trailer park/white trash factor: Do I really need to explain this one?
• The lack of cultural diversity: I really lament that there isn't a better mix here. Reno is such a white folk's town. I grew up in one of those in Ohio and look at how it warped me.
• Crap schools: Nevada rates very low for education. That is starting to really bother me now that I have a kid.
• The barest handful of good restaurants: Believe me, I worked as a food critic for both newspapers here, and you run out of awesome restaurants in about 2 minutes.
• Brown hills year round: Except when they are covered with snow. God, my eyes just STARVE for green sometimes.
• Weird concert choices: There are always some strange acts in town. Reno just isn't a good venue for the concerts I would be interested in seeing.
• Everyone thinks it is lame: I have some friends who totally won't visit. Even my mother won't come often-even to see her grandchild.
  

Why am I trashing Reno today? Mostly because I am contractually obligated to stay here for a few more years. I don't have the choice. That and Tony and I have recently been to San Francisco and got reminded of how much we miss it. That and I am thinking about the future, and I can see myself outgrowing this town, if I haven't already.

That is all.

Doggie Jekyll/Sasha Hyde

How is a lab/sheltie mix like a refrigerator light?

Oh, how I wish that was the beginning of a really funny joke, but this dog is driving me batty.

It is probably because I am at home a lot more often during the day now while Tony is at work. Sasha is a total Daddy's girl and has been from the moment I (yes, me) brought her home as a gift to him. She LOVES him. Unfortunately, she also is very neurotic and nervous when he is not around.

Honestly, it is like she is two different dogs. When Tony is at home she is mostly chill and just hangs out by him. When he is gone she barks CONSTANTLY. Worse, when she wants food, or to go out or some other thing, She chases me around near my heels and barks at ME! First thing in the morning when I haven't yet had my coffee that is really annoying.

No amount of obedience training has ever made an impression on this dog that I am above her in the pack hierarchy. She drinks out of the toilet, gets food off the counter in the kitchen, and even tries to steal food from Little A. Mama Ferrante is not bloody amused.

I used to say I was a dog person. Now I would say that I do not love all dogs. Just some dogs. Oh, Sasha is okay. She's very friendly and cute-to Tony. But to me she has been a giant pain in the ass lately.

Okay, not just lately. We are talking about the dog that jumped on the bed one time and peed on my head. We are talking about the dog that has gotten into the garbage and eaten the bones of a roasted chicken, and then barfed ALL OVER the house. We are talking about a dog who has eaten more loaves of bread than I can count, including a festive loaf of homemade braided apple bread that I made from scratch.

I want a divorce...from this dog.

Before you get all uppity on me, please know that I am mostly just venting here. I love all my pets, and Sasha is a good dog for the most part. It is just that when she chooses to act up, it isn't while Tony is home, and that seems highly unfair to me.

And to think that I saved her life when she was a puppy. Thankless dog. She got Parvo and I was going to have her euthanized so Tony wouldn't have to do it, but she looked up at me with those liquid brown eyes and licked my nose and suckered me into paying the vet a huge sum of cash to try and pull her through. It worked and we rejoiced.

But she is getting old and senile now and has mistaken me for a 24-hour food dispenser. I swear, she would eat round the clock if we allowed it. I have actually taken my books and left the house just so I didn't have to listen to her. That's right. I allowed the dog to chase me out of my own home. She is whining at me as we speak, even though I fed her an hour ago. *pulls hair out*

Tony will be home in an hour, then she will mellow out. In the meantime, I can listen to Sasha whine and Little A beg for innapropriate snacks, also in a whiny voice. By the time he gets home I am going to be whining, too.

Calgon take me away?

Things I don't approve of-Road Trip Edition

We took a family trip down to the Bay Area this last weekend to visit my mother in Santa Rosa. Normally I am all for a road trip, but I usually take mine solo, and travel with Little A makes things much more complicated. It seems like everything takes twice as long with a kid. Before I dwell on the negatives, here's a list of the weekend's redeeming factors:

• Little A got some quality "grandma time"
• Highly gratifying cupcakes purchased at Dean & Deluca.
• Shopping for Little A's fall wardrobe
• Cool wildlife in the protected marshland next to mom's beautiful new house.
• Lovely scenery around the wine country, as pictured above

Now for the not so great stuff

• Little A gets bored in the car and keeps trying to get us to turn around and look at her, and gets cranky when the driver can't do it because they are, like, driving.
• Long drives and sightseeing schedule throw off nap/sleep schedules, making for a cranky kiddo overall. Various headbutting ensues. Adults get snappish. Kiddo engages in various acts of not so civil disobedience. Luckily no major public meltdowns, but every little thing was a battle of wills.
• Noisy geese among cool wildlife in protected marshland decide to honk up a storm at about 6 A.M. resulting in everyone getting up. I was the only one not really on board with getting out of bed that early on a Saturday.
• Possible food poisoning incident causes Tony to need the car pulled over by a busy freeway so that he could violently vomit on the side of the road, all over the lovely scenery. Then Little A started crying that SHE wanted to throw up. It took several hours longer than usual to get home.
• Roadkill-big dead deer edition. Bummer.
• Almost road kill-People edition. Big traffic backup and trying to assure Little A that despite the man on the stretcher and the crunched pileup of cars and the 4 ambulances and the fire truck, that everything was fine. She wasn't buying it.
• Getting home and needing to launch into massive loads of laundry.

That is all.

Things I don't approve of-domestic edition

I am not a happy housewife, by any stretch of the imagination. I like the house to be tidy and stuff, but I really hate doing housework. Here's a list of chores I disapprove of:

• Ironing: I consider it a mark of my feminism that I don't iron unless it is really important. Almost nothing is that damn important, and if it is, I get Tony to iron it. He's a whiz at ironing, and I just dissolve into cursing when I iron in more wrinkles than I take out. I will cook a Thanksgiving dinner for 15 without breaking a sweat over it, but burst into tears over ironing the tablecloth.
  
• Vacuuming: I really hate the vacuum. I will do it under duress, but if I can trade for cleaning the bathroom, I totally will.
  
• Windows: Is that smear on the inside or the outside? After 2-3 passes on each, I will blow it off. But it will really bug me if I can't get it totally clean. And that is just one window. It is just too frustrating.
  
• Cleaning off my desk: Oh my god, my desk at home is a disaster right now. I tore it apart last week to look for something, and still haven't fixed it. I just don't have the space for all that paper! Gah! In fact, by writing this blog right now I am staring at my monitor and not all the paper that I need to sort through that is on the side of it. Yay, blogging!
• Dusting collectible crap: I solve this one by not collecting stuff. Oh, I have had a few half-hearted attempts to collect various things, but as soon as they start collecting dust and I have to clean them, I pack them in a box. There are a lot of boxes in my garage. I used to collect kitchen gadgets, but I can argue that that stuff is like, totally useful. Especially that giant hook I use once a year to lift the turkey out of the roasting pan. But that goes in the dishwasher and I don't have to dust it.

There are surely more chores I don't like, but those are the ones that, ironically, need to be done now. Feh. I guess I had better do this stuff before school starts.

What I need

As a 39 year old new mother, it is pretty safe to say that I have special needs. Combining new parent insomnia with peri-menopausal symptoms and graying hair would be enough to drive anyone batty. Trying to smear differrent creams on my nascent crow's feet and potty training a recalcitrant toddler just don't go together. How am I supposed to conduct my midlife crisis properly under these conditions?

People who care about my already delicate mental health keep asking me what I need. Other than a pile of cash and about 6 more hours of waking life and 12 more hours of sleep, I never know what to say. So here is my semi-serious list of things I need. Some are practical and some are more existential.

1. Dinner. I know as a former chef, everyone thinks I have the nightly dinner thing all wrapped up. Not so. I need a freezer full of casseroles or recipes of stuff to put into my crockpot or something. What A needs right now is me spending time with her, not me shooing her out of the kitchen so I can prepare some gourmet thing she probably won't eat anyway.

2. A cocktail. Or more specifically, the stars-in-alignment situation where I have a babysitter and friends that want to go out on the same night. I'd also like to have that cocktail in a bar that is not choked with smoke. Gah. Reno is so backwards on the chain-smoking bar thing. It is so gross.

3. A time turner. Yeah, I know they are only in the Potterverse, but I just want time to read a dang novel in peace. Or write one. Or whatever. Other Potter-related things I need: A spell that can give me shiny, bouncy hair.

4. A clean house. I just can't seem to get anywhere close to pre-child levels of housekeeping. I try, but again, A needs my attention more than the dust bunnies do.

5. A fine romance. Tony who? My poor husband I are still adjusting to the lack of privacy/lack of babysitters/lack of conversations that don't involve toddler issues. I miss him.

6. A massage. Or ten massages.

7. A jogging stroller or bike trailer that will convey my almost 40 pound kid. I always wondered why people don't just let their kids walk. Then I tried to cross a mall parking lot with mine, and it took forever! I don't need a stroller for the mall, but I need to get some fresh air and exercise. I can't burn calories at the rate that A can stroll, even if she runs beside me.

8. Cognitive Therapy. This is to control the negative self talk that makes me feel like a failure even though I do all the things I do. I need a therapist like that guy in the Metellica movie "Some Kind of Monster", only without the Cosby sweaters and vampiric hanging-on. Realistically, cognitve therapy costs about $85 an hour, not counting babysitting.

9. A room of my own. Or whatever it was that Virginia Woolfe says I need to be a writer of any small measure of success. I need to get in a groove so that I can still write things other than this blog. I'm mostly talking to myself here anyway. Hello? (listens for echo)

10. A good tailor. Seriously. Tony needs some pants hemmed and I just plain suck at sewing.

Image: http://www.toothpastefordinner.com/archives-sum03.php

Funny Stacie-isms

Translated for your convenience: Some original slang created by yours truly.

Hitchhiking to the moon: Male masturbation. Mimic the hand gesture and it makes sense.

Shut yer scone hole: Be quiet, please.

Geriatric Speedball: Laxative+Milk

Rebel Role Model: A trend follower who thinks they are edgy and original. See: Hot Topic Shopper

Chef's Manicure: When you cut your thumbnail off with a knife by accident.

Chef's Hair Removal Treatment: When you light your arm hair on fire.

Fossil Fuel: Old man farts. Usually after consuming Geriatric Speedball, above. Don't ask how I know this.

Shiny Object: Anything that distracts a person enough to change the topic of conversation.

Mean Drunk: My little girl after consuming too many Pez. Alternately, my dachshund.

Pinecones, spraypainted gold and covered with Elvis stickers: Any sort of craft project.

Name and Address: As in "her skirt is so short you can see her name and address".

Arrangement: Guy gear. Otherwise known as the package. As in "nice arrangement in that Calvin Klein underwear ad"

Apocalypse Cheerleader: Any radical religious fanatic that wants to bring about the end of the world. See: President Bush and Mike Huckabee


Am I missing any?

A Haircut Misadventure

Ok dude, this is so messed up.

As a foster parent to "A", I am not permitted to change her hairstyle in any way without her bio-parents' permission. But they want her bangs cut, so I am obliged to keep up with regular trimming of her bangs. Mind you, I have to take parenting direction on this issue from people who can't stay out of jail long enough to parent her.

A's former foster mother, let's call her "R", used to cut her bangs herself, and reported to me that A had no problems with haircuts and held very still for them.

I know that I can't even DRAW a straight line, so the idea of cutting the bangs of a wriggly 2 1/2 year old seemed a recipe for blinding my child. I can just see that conversation with her caseworker. "Um, yeah. You know that kid you removed from a neglectful home and gave to me for safe-keeping? Yeah, funny thing. She decided she wanted to be a pirate, so I made it so she can wear an eye patch for life. Cool, huh? I'm going to go for the peg-leg and hook-hand next." Thus, I elected to take her to the haircut place where Tony (my husband) gets his haircuts.

I warned the lady that I had no idea how A would react to getting a professional haircut. As I feared, A cried and thrashed around in my lap while the hairdresser attempted to cut her bangs. While it was still damp it looked fine, so I thanked them for their patience, paid and left.

Well, when it dried, I noticed that her bangs are TOTALLY crooked! Like, OH MY GOD crooked. Like "I could have done it better myself" crooked.

We have a visit with her bio-dad tomorrow. He likes to examine her appearance thoroughly and pick me apart if her nails are too long. He is going to have a field day with her hair.

I could try to straighten the line of her bangs by trimming the other side, but I am worried I am just going to make it worse. Tony is going to try. He at least can draw a straight line. His "daddy-fu" is strong.

Still, I actually have to call her case worker and report that I was a bad mommy and obtained a bad haircut for a child in my care, as if it wasn't embarrassing enough. I can't do like other parents and just put a hat on her until it grows out. I can't even blame it on her and say she did it to herself with the safety scissors.

Oh, and who the fuck decided it was a good idea to give a sucker to a girl with long hair who has just gotten a haircut? I now have to wash out the sticky sucker-drool out of the tendrils that fall into her face every freaking time she had a lookie-loo at the sucker. When I took the sucker away in the parking lot (so she wouldn't choke on it in the car seat) she had a nice, sugar-induced tantrum that caused a guy in the next car to give me one of THOSE looks. You know the look. The one that sums up my entire parenting and finds it lacking. He doesn't know she has only been living with me for 2 weeks. He just sees the out of control 2 minutes of a toddler who he then assumes is always like that, which isn't the case. I just became the poster child for birth control, and I have never given birth.

Nice.

Next stop, beauty supply for hair-cutting scissors and office supply for a protractor. Time to learn some new skills.

Welcome to my inner dialog!

I would say inner monologue, but we all know that I am too much of a multi-tasker for that.

I decided to start this blog with the dragon off of the Welsh flag. This is a nod to both my family heritage and my hopes that this little guy will watch my back while I write whatever I choose to post here. I might just use this space to get out all the cuss words I can no longer vocalize now that I am a parent.

Good, Lord. I miss saying FUCK. I miss saying it loud. I miss combining it with other cuss words in long, looping strings of profanity. Now that I have a toddler in my house (my foster-to-hopefully-adopt daughter, hereafter known as "A"), I feel like a raging hypocrite when I admonish her not to use the only cuss word she knows. She picked up the word "dammit" at her last foster home, and even says it in context when she does things like dropping her cheerios on the floor.

It is hard not to laugh, really.

It is really funny how as soon as I get her put to bed, I elect to watch the raunchiest, most violent, and most adult television I can get my hands on. The last thing I want is to become an Uber-Mommy, and so I feel I must inoculate myself against the viral earworms put forth from interminable viewings of the "Elmo's Potty Time" DVD. I get those damn songs from the Wiggles stuck in my head, and it makes me totally mental. That shit will kill more brain cells than all the tequila I drank in my twenties.

Expect random musings here. I wouldn't dare give my blog a theme, because I know I would never be able to adhere to it.

Some likely topics:
1. My experiences with the foster care system as a new parent of a toddler.
2. The occasional artistic outburst. I write poetry and prose when I can, so I'll post that stuff sometimes, or general artistic perspectives.
3. My inappropriate crushes on various celebrities and random people in my sphere of contact.
4. The Boy Wizard, and my squee fangirl obsession with Daniel Radcliffe. See comment about inappropriateness in #3 above.
5. Random rants about shit that bugs me.

Unlikely topics:
1. Fashion: I'm hopeless
2. Celebrity gossip, unless of course it is a celebrity I have an inappropriate crush on.
3. Tech gear.
4. Car parts.
5. Politics: Well. maybe sometimes. See random rants about shit that bugs me.

I'm a total attention whore, so, like, post comments and stuff. I mean, shit.