What's Cialis?

Recently I took the kids to the doctor. I don't like this new doctor, though I thought I would at first. We'd had brief interaction with him before we moved four or five years ago. When we returned, I thought he'd be good, and after the first appointment, I felt confident. He explained things.

After a few trips I realized he doesn't just explain things, he condescends.

One of the things I hated about our last pediatrician was that, while a nice lady, she seemed to always be on the lookout for sins. One time she gave my son the once over and said,

"Bruises look normal."

Awesome. I've been working on that.

This new doctor does the same thing, just in a different boat. "So, how much TV does he watch?"

After some years on the WIC program, I've learned how to answer this question.

"Too much."

I'm tired of feeling like a bad mom because my kids drool in front of the TV every now and...ok, more than they should. When we lived in a 900 square foot apartment...among other issues, the TV was awesome.

Squirrel!
I hate having to defend myself to a pediatrician who knows nothing about me. I hate the "he's a cute kid. Great kid. Aren't you a great kid?"

The new doc condescends to my kids, most recently it was Jason.

People, I make a concerted effort to not condescend to my kids, so when someone else does, they always have this "WTF?" look on their face.



But anyway. Do they watch too much TV? While most times it's just on for noise and they're off emptying entire bottles of baby powder or shampoo on a freshly cleaned bathroom floor...Yeah. They probably watch more than they should.

Here's how I know:

One time we were at the store. I needed aluminum foil. I reached for the cheap stuff, but Abbie stopped me:

"No! You need Reynolds Wrap, Mom!"

It doesn't happen on a regular basis, but every now and again they'll stop me dead in my tracks. The most frightening thing is when they tell me I need something because a commercial told them so.

That's usually when I snap out of it, turn off the TV, and tell them to go dump a bottle of baby powder on the freshly cleaned bathroom floor.

Then there are the "ED" commercials. You know. Erectile Dysfunction. These commercials are on all the frickin' time. I wince every time one of these commercials comes on. I get little visions of what may be coming our of our childrens' mouths:

"What's 'ED,' Mom?"

"Why does he look so happy?"

"Daddy, you need that."

They're just bad commercials, cheesy, stupid. Not that I don't think they're doing some men a service, but all. the. time.

So far, though, so good. Until the other day. You know these commercials are ridiculous, and sometimes in the spirit of mockery, I repeat lines from things - commercials, tv shows, etc. Without thinking, I repeated one of the lines from a Cialis commercial.

Abbie wastes no time. "What's Cialis?"

Where's a lamp to rub when you need one, anyway?

I am seriously considering taking a photography class.

Really, if I took all the classes I wanted, I'd never graduate. Right now I want to delve more into history (international and national), political science, English, English, English, French, Spanish, photography, etc.

I still want next to nothing to do with math and science. Some math sparks my interest, but for the most part it still makes my thoughts writhe into dyslexia. I'll leave the math up to Eric when the kids want to know what the hell they're supposed to be doing.

Take last night. Eric was showing off the stuff he wanted to do with the kids in class today, and part of it was identifying a problem as "associative or dissociative." While I recognized the terms, I couldn't remember for the life of me what they meant, even though it's a pre-Algebra concept, even though I've gotten as far as Algebra II (er, well, that "liberal arts math" class, which was, actually, rather interesting once you finished making all the jokes).

Yeah. I'll leave the math up to him. I may have to take Trig or something, but even then I'd probably have to retake (again) Algebra II just to remind myself what was what.

And science. It's not that I find it useless, I just don't particularly care for it. I think it's law that if you're a language person, you're immediately not a science person. Must be in the genes. Someone scientific ought to look into that.

But anyway, I want to go back to school. Sometimes I wonder why after seeing Eric want to wither away and just be done with it already, but I miss it. I think I owe it to myself and my kids to go back, because they deserve to know even Mom finds it important enough. I know, I know. I have an A.A. in General Studies (I'll allow you a moment to recover from your "awe").

As much as I want to be selfless, as much as the guilt kicks in and tells me I ought to throw everything away for them, I know I can't live that way. I know all of that selfless crap is a lie, because sometimes, sometimes, you need to be selfish to make sufficient space for selfless. I've lived too long giving up everything, and it doesn't work. I've seen and experienced what it does to those around you, to you. Sometimes selfless isn't enough. It does. not. (always) work.

I have to remind myself almost minute-by-minute some days that the grass isn't greener on the other side, but I still let it shade my complexion. It looks good. It smells good. Sounds amazing. I'm just glad I can't taste it because what I have I could never ever give up. In my right mind, I wouldn't want to.

Back to wishes, though, and that A.A. I couldn't even bother getting an A.A. in anything...decent. I'm still two classes short of being able to transfer to a university without having to retake a bunch of crap. And let's face it: an A.A. degree is hardly a college degree. It's a glorified high school diploma.

In dreamland, I'd actually like to get my master's degree in English. Whether this will happen is completely up to me, and my reasons may or may not be good. Either way, its one possibility for me. Something my thoughts paw at like a ball of yarn.

The fact is that other dreams might take its place, like getting my rogue novel finished and published. The master's can come when I will, when I can. I just want one dream to come true in my own time, now. One selfish dream.

I know I'd rather write, though. If I can't get my degree now, I can get it later. Much as it sounds like a poetic hyperbole, it's true: writing is as much a part of me as is breathing. I have to make time for what I can, and I don't have time right now for much. Kids, house, Eric, and something for me. I worry sometimes that it's either school or writing, and right now, writing matters more. I also know writing is somehow easier, and I'm afraid that's what would make me choose it. Committing to a degree is frightening, but I'm afraid my brain and my wit will atrophy if I don't do something. There's something about diapers full of crap and hearing nothing but "Abbie hit me!" all day that makes me want something more.

Because, let's face it: people will tell a stay-at-home mom all day long that she's doing something amazing, but they don't act like it. I get asked how the kids are, the faux laughs when I make a lame joke about how tired I am, but I can never express it enough because I don't get the chance to. I tuck myself back into my quiet world because I don't know if I'm alone. It's like some kind of shame to let someone know you understand. Instead, it seems everyone wants to ignore it with a sweeping I know what you mean chuckle...and yet, there's nothing to follow it up. No hug. Nothing to really show that camraderie (sp?) that only other stay-at-home moms know. I've tried for months to figure out what exactly it is that isn't quite right, and I think I've got it.

Ask me what I think about something. Don't pretend to care about what I do. Ask me what I think, and know that I will still respect you in the morning should we disagree. I just hope you will respect me too.

For Eric, there is actual conversation, the kind that all too often reminds me that there's a world out there I'm not a part of - and I want to be. I'm just in the background, wiping up chins and making lunches and telling someone to please stop jumping on the couch. There are the moments that make it *so* worth it, but mostly I just feel like the background. The Mom.

I know it's supposed to be horrible to say, but there's more to me than that. So much more. The problem is, I've forgotten just what that all is, but I know its there. I just have to rediscover it - and not just for myself - for my kids, too. They need to know just as much as I do.

While I'm at it, I'd also like to travel...Europe. Canada. The East Coast. Colorado. Anywhere cold and near the ocean. Anywhere full of history, culture, and fog. I miss culture. I really feel there was more culture in Chico, and I wish I had had the chance to take advantage of it.

I will now redirect you to entry #1.