Right, so I know Saturday was supposed to be the end of the Summer of Love here at 2HT. And it would have been. Except today is, well, still technically August. And I have been begging for Crystal to write me a guest post from within the first 60 minutes of meeting her in Chicago last month. And she finally got around to sending me one just before midnight last night.
And it’s Crystal.
From Boobs, Injuries, and Dr. Pepper. If you think I’m not posting something from HER, you’re insane. She rocks my socks. So now I leave you with the REAL last guest post from the Summer of Love
Back to regular programming tomorrow (and the regular 2HT banner). -Karl
I took my toddler, Harmony, to the park today.
At 5:30 am, she stood motionless and unblinking near my face as I slept. My arm was hanging off and I’m sure there was drool.
Kids have the spooky ability to remain that way for an indefinite period of time so that they can scare the bejeezly shit out of you. When you’re somewhere that requires any form of reverence, however, you can tranq them and superglue their ass to the seat and their remaining that way for longer than 23 seconds is a statistical impossibility.
It typically only takes about a minute or so until I sense, somewhere in my psyche, that there is a face in my personal bubble. Before coherent thought can form, I am up in the middle of the bed shrieking like a pantywaist and piddling all over my husband, Chris. This happens at least five times a year, with each child. If I have a nervous tic and I don’t like sudden movements, I think it’s fucking justified.
No matter how disconcerting my screams or the hysteria that ensues, Harmony finds this uproariously funny – so much so that as I’m gasping for air and clutching my chest, she is doing the same, but for much different reasons. She will be doubled over, her chubby fists balled up on her knees and tears rolling down her cheeks as I struggle to make sense of what has just happened.
After the shock had worn off, she quietly asked for a ‘pop dart’ and I rolled out of bed to begin our day, trying to let Chris get some much-needed sleep. I denied her repeated requests for a pop dart and we compromised with cereal and juice. I watched her eat and marveled, for the thousandth time, at her beautiful, natural ringlets and her methodical destruction of her pajamas as she independently scooped big, sloppy spoonfuls of cereal into her mouth, the milk dripping over the sides and down her clothes.
At 8 am, we were watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse when I sat up and told her to find her shoes. “We’re going to the park.” I have been housebound for almost a week and the despair and anxiety I had been suffering as a result of some very poor choices and necessary lifestyle changes was beginning to lift.
She looked at me in disbelief, her huge, blue eyes confused. “We go to da park? Da park, Momma? We go to da playground?”
My heart ached as I nodded and watched her face erupt into an ear-splitting smile. She went in search of her sneakers and I counted in my head the number of times I have taken her to the park. I counted less than five. My job, a job that I’m grateful for, especially in today’s economy, is no longer a job. It is a life. It is one that I alternately hate and fear. It is one that has caused me such stress and anxiety that it has played a huge part in my medicated, hospitalized, destructive life as of late. It is one that has forced me to compromise my morals and the very person I’ve worked so hard to become. As a result, my family has suffered.
We took stale bread and fed the ducks. I heeded her demands of, “Higher, Momma!”, and I watched her climb and explore and learn and live. After a while, I urged her that we needed to go and eat lunch. I couldn’t stand the disappointment on her face, so I chose to take her to a restaurant that has a huge children’s area. “It’s a better playground,” I assured her. She was satisfied with that, so we went. I spent the next hour fishing her out of giant tubes when she was convinced that she had climbed into another universe and began wailing in fright. But we also played with all the toys and I didn’t’ give a damn when she declared, “You’re too big for dat toy, Momma,” indicating said tubes. “I’m little.” I grimaced in horror when I saw the color of the bottom of her bare feet and I fretted over the trillions of germs, but her joy was worth the risk.
At home in the afternoon, I put her in bed for a nap, pushed her curls off her forehead and kissed her mouth. She smelled like kool-aid. “I love you, Momma.”
“I love you. You’re my little guy.”
“I’m not a guy, Momma. I’m a guwull.”
“Have a good nap.”
I sat outside for a while. The afternoon was passing and a blessedly cool breeze was coming around the corner of the house. I watched some kids down the street playing basketball in the cove and I thought about the last time I really noticed what my kids were doing. I tried to remember the last date I had with my husband. I struggled to put even a tentative time frame on the last real kiss we had shared. I couldn’t remember what peace and contentment had ever felt like.
I picked up crayolas off the floor and training panties from the bathroom. There was a struggle going on inside me, one that had been raging and gnashing to be born, to be resolved. I dealt with it accordingly; I pushed it away.
When I wrestled Harmony into bed for the night, I tried to reason with her. “Ok, little guy, it’s been a long day. You need to sleep. You have a big day tomorrow.” I was referring to daycare.
She grabbed my face and pulled it in close. “We go feed da ducks. And den we go to da playground,” she chirped. “And den we go to da betta playground!”
It was at that moment when the struggle was laid to rest. I’m quitting my job tomorrow and looking for a life that doesn’t begin and end with a time clock. I’m going to the park.
Crystal. Yet again you have me just riveted to your writing. Wonderful post and a beautiful end to Karl’s Summer of Love! I’ve been staying at home with my three littles for almost four years and, I must say, it’s the most difficult job I’ve ever held down. The pay is shitty, but the pay-offs are amazing. Good luck with the new path you’re taking and I love you, darlin’!
I’ve never read Crystal before, but I completely get where she’s coming from, and I cannot believe the people making their snide comments – especially the ones without a web address. Seriously?
I really don’t give a shit if Crystal’s writing metaphorically or not – the point is, if you can’t say something without being an insulting asshole, then maybe you need to just shut up. It is possible to disagree with someone without the obvious insulting tone. I realize that self absorbed, holier- than- thou types think their opinions simply MUST be heard, but I assure you, they don’t need to be. THAT, coming from an incredibly opinionated person. However, I HAVE learned not to be a judgmental prick, and if that means rewording my concerns about someone’s well – being, then so be it. If it means not saying anything at all – fine. Opinions really are like assholes – and some people have nothing but a festering, hemorrhoid -al mind to spout off, as witnessed here.
Regardless – Crystal – I wish you the best of luck in whatever it is you and your family want/ need.
Zoe Right Reply:
September 2nd, 2009 at 12:45 pm
@Sybil Law, Here, here! Beautiful Analogy. I don’t think I’m going to get that out of my head anytime soon. You, my dear, have a lovely way with words.
Awesome post:
“you can tranq them and superglue their ass to the seat”
made me laugh my ass off.
Crystal, I love you girl. And I’m jealous because I haven’t had the chance to meet you IRL. Oh, btw, my birdie finger is up to all the commenting trolls.
Karl, you rock. First, Tanis… now Crystal. You totally fucking rock! I’m so gonna have to add you to my blogroll now, because, yeah, that whole rockin’ business.
I found Boobs, Injuries, and Dr. Pepper about a year and a half ago. I loved Crystals sense of humor and sarcasm (and often in the face of the shit her life was doling out), that I went through the archives and read every. single. post. Well worth the reading I think. What comes through is someone who is very intelligent and funny, but is also very sensitive and tender. Both with her feelings, and how people around here are treated/can be helped. I read her blog still because I love the very human touch she gives to everything she writes, be it a fart joke, or something touching like deciding to quit her job because it makes her unhappy. If I hated it, I wouldn’t read it. Sometimes I disagree with things she says (v. infrequent), but all the same, I respect that she has the right to her opinion, just as I have the right to think her opinion is either awesome or shit. I have only commented one time on her blog, I guess I’m more the anonymous subscriber sort, but I think she’s doing some good things with her work. I love reading her very personal posts, because many of the emotional things she says strike a chord within me – I can relate. Good for her for having the bollocks to say “screw it” and post her life for others to see. That takes guts, and while some people hate it, I know that for me personally, sometimes it helps to know that there are others out there who feel like I do sometimes. I think she’s brave for putting these things out there, and I salute her for that. People can get all up in arms about things she says/her personal dramas/the charities she is helping, but I agree with so many other people on here. If you don’t like it, WALK AWAY. You can piss and moan and bitch and call everyone stupid, a bitch, a cunt, short-sighted, etc, but no one has ever changed anyone’s minds by name-calling…just created more animosity. If you hate it, don’t read it. It’s just that simple. Me, I love it, and I love how tender-hearted Crystal is. All you haters should just find a different blog to shit on.
@jeninfishers
I’m not kissing anyone’s ass by asking polite questions. I like to have all the information before I say “good for you” or “you’re a total dumbass”
@jeninfishers, It’s only disrespectful when IT’S RUDE. I’ll use your comment as an example.
1. You insulted my intelligence. What the hell does it mean when someone “Laminates” on and on about money? Pick up a dictionary, or a book, hell, anything with the written word. Learn.
2. I have great kids and my toddler is just that, you troglodyte, a TODDLER. They learn independence by seeing what lines they can cross, and guess what? She doesn’t get to cross many lines. We don’t condone the cursing and she is appropriately directed on how to better express herself, but you wouldn’t know that BECAUSE YOU DON’T KNOW ME.
3. Never, not once, did I say I was going to be a SAHM or an author. You made that assumption. I said I was going to find a life that didn’t begin and end with a timeclock and that could mean a host of things, including a job that doesn’t leave me dead or a heart attack or stroke at age 50.
4. Mare wasn’t rude or disrespectful, nor was she kissing my ass. I applaud people who are able to be polite, even when their opinion differs. I always have. ALWAYS, and it shows in my comments. I do not, however, have any tolerance for the ignorance of people like you who wave their holier-than-thou flags around and judge someone else for the decisions they make, the ones they share, ON THE INTERNET. Grow up. Furthermore, I could give a shit if you read me, hate me, have a doll in my likeness and you shove pins up it’s ass every night. You can’t even convey an intelligent thought using words like “laminate” in place of what I assume was “lament”. Yes, your opinion just slays me. Go back to pooponpeeps with the rest of those bitter, envious, talentless hacks.
@jeninfishers, Really? Is that your best attempt at a save for misusing the word ‘laminate’? Wow. It must be painful to talk to you.
You’re funny.
You haven’t called me on anything, dear. And you don’t pay attention. My house is brand new. My entire neighborhood is brand new.
Furthermore, I feel sorry for YOUR children (should you have any). Anyone who criticizes those who live in trailers as less than ideal parents or people in general is a sad role model, indeed.
Now, Pooponpeeps is calling. They need their head bitch, back.
Wow I have been reading all of these comments and am disturbed at the ammount of venom being spewed forth.
This is Karl’s blog and Crystal was a welcomed guest here.Insulting Crystal is insulting Karl and although I’m quite sure he can stand up for himself and verbally pummel all of you into submission,it still is rude and pointless to continue this verbal onslaught.
Obviously some of you think Crystal made bad choices,who among us has not? Ok so you read her blog,you think she is a disaster,so don’t read it. OR you read her blog you love it,love her and want to give her advice, or tell her she is a asshole but you still love her.If you are going to invest the time and energy to totally chastise someone why not provide a little constuctive criticism as well?
I don’t have a website hence no web address but I would be more than happy to provide my email to anyone that asks.
Why not for the smallest of moments put yourself in Crystals shoes. Feel what she is feeling,experience her hurt and maybe say to her what you would want someone to say to you.
Or if you don’t have anything nice to say don’t say anything at all.
@jeninfishers, Just a question. Do you have children?
@jeninfishers, Well, thank you! Parent of the Year. I appreciate it, Jeninfishers! I thought while Harmony was napping I would entertain your mindless drivel and obviously you have come over to the lighter side. Do you have a badge for me?