Monthly Archives: March 2014

Sometimes your kids ask you questions that are completely reasonable bearing in mind that they are (in fact) small humans that are inquisitive and learning about the world. I try my best to be patient with these questions and answer with appropriate responses. But sometimes, the internal monologue in my head is not so nice.

Here are some examples of questions my kids have asked me that make my head want to fucking explode.

1. “Mommy, what’s your name?”
All right, I understand you’ve only been on this planet for three years, but you’ve known me literally the entire time you’ve been here. Are you fucking kidding me with this one? It’s mommy, okay? Or, if you want to get all technical, it’s Sarah. But we’ve gone over this shit several times.

2. “Mommy, he hit me.”
Yes, my kids fight. Usually I’ll tell the one who has been hit to say “I don’t like that.” or “Please stop.” But again, in the confines of my brain what I’m really thinking is “You turn around and tell your brother to stop being an asshole.”

3. “What’s that?”
Yes, we love to identify objects in this house. Labeling is how children learn. But I have told you what the light switch was 400 times. At this rate, you’re never going to keep a job, and I’m going to have to support your ass until your 40 and living in my basement. By the way, I’m not paying your student loans.

4. “Where are we going?”
Whoa! I thought I was bad with directions. Do I need to buy you a personal GPS? We have gone over this 30 times. We are going to the playground. You know the playground, we’ve been there before. This should be old hat for you.

5. “Mommy, where are my pants?”
There’s this thing called a dresser where clothes live. If you investigate this piece of furniture further, I can guarantee you will find exactly what you’re looking for. While we’re at it, “where’s my free time?” “What happened to my bank account?” and “Will I ever get to have sex uninterrupted again?”

6. Why?
Shut the fuck up.

For all you parents out there who are losing your minds with the repetitive nature of children’s questions…I have no consolation for you, because it just keeps going. My mind is broken, but not as broken as my wallet.

I’m a native New Yorker. I was born in 1979 and raised on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. I grew up taking the 1 train at 86th Street. I started religiously riding the train when I was 12-years-old and haven’t stopped since.

Over the years, the subway has changed a great deal, but there are some annoyances that we come across as New Yorkers that remain timeless. Today, I’d like to address some of the things that make taking the subway…interesting.

When I get on the train during rush hour I am praying for a seat. I know this isn’t likely, but I’m still hopeful nonetheless. So when I see a man sitting in a yellow seat on the train with his backpack sitting next to him in an adjoining seat, I have feelings of primal rage surge through my body. Your backpack does not need to sit down. Dude, look around for a pregnant woman and give that seat your backpack is in to her.

Here’s another charming thing I’ve come across on the train. When the doors open, that’s a physical cue for the people on the train to step aside and let the new passengers enter the train. However, what actually happens is that people stand there looking pissed off that there are new folks getting on “their train.”

Then there’s the guy who leans against the train doors with his gigantic headphones on so he can’t hear you when you’re attempting to ask him to move out of the way because your stop is coming up. You’re afraid to ask him to move because he looks angry to begin with. So you sheepishly walk over to another set of doors to try to get off the train peacefully.

Of course let’s not forget about the panhandlers, who come in a variety of forms. There’s the teenagers enter the train selling candy for their basketball team. I just want to clarify something: there is no basketball team. We’re onto you.

Speaking of people looking to make money on the subway, there are some entertaining ones. There are some bad ass break dancers who frequent the D train. The only trouble is, sometimes you don’t feel like listening to their music and no matter how loud your headphones are turned up, you can’t block out the sound of their jam while they’re jumping on the ceiling of the train.

Finally, my least favorite occurrence on the train. New York City in the summer time is brutal. You’re waiting underground on the hot stinky subway platform sweating your balls off (or your ovaries whatever the case may be) and when the train arrives, you’re psyched! Finally, some relief! There’s an air-conditioned car with your name on it. And look! There are seats.

The doors open and you get onto the train. Suddenly, your heart sinks. Not only is the air-conditioning broken on the train, but there is an intolerable urine smell emanating from the corner of the train where a homeless man is perched with 5000 bottles of recyclables that he’s ready to turn in to a supermarket for cash.

Some things never change in New York City, and these pet peeves of the subway remain timeless.

Anyone who knows me can attest to this part of my personality: I compulsively contact people I’m close to. It’s annoying, I’m sure, to the people I’m doing it to. It’s my way of showing the people that I love that I care about them. Not only do I want them to know that I love them, but I don’t want them to forget about me.

You might be wondering how this plays out. If I feel close to you, I may text message you periodically throughout the day. It won’t be about important life things. It will mostly be silly things that pop into my brain that I just cannot wait to tell you, because I love you and I think you’ll appreciate them.

Thankfully, I have enough sense to do this to people who get me. If I did this to people who I wasn’t close to they would undoubtedly think I was crazy.

I’ve wondered if my compulsive contacting of friends is related to ADHD. I think it might be. It certainly seems to be behavioral in nature.

Thank goodness for modern technology though. In the late 1990′s and early 2000s this quality of mine was extremely embarrassing because I would call my friends at insanely early hours because I just had to tell them something. The friend in question receiving the 8am phone call would be tired but amused. They would also remind me that it was 8am and they weren’t up yet, because at that time none of my friends had children.

Now with the advent of social media, it’s much easier to send my friends random shit and the chances of them getting pissed off is lessened. The reason is that they can check their messages at their leisure.

The other thing that’s happened is that I’ve found other people who do the same thing! I don’t feel crazy anymore. Jess, you know you do this too. We periodically send cat stickers to each other on Facebook at random intervals during the day.

Still, it does make me feel uncomfortable when I’m compelled to contact a friend for no apparent reason. I worry about the person getting annoyed from too much contact. I worry about what they’re thinking about me in their mind.

The truth is, if they love me they’ll understand that this is just my way of showing them that I love them.

Do you compulsively contact your friends?

Forgive thyself.
For you are all you’ve got.
Sure, you have family and friends.
Yes, they love you.
But…people are moody. And one day your friend may get mad at you. But, guess what? You’re still here.

You make mistakes. Sure you do. After all, you’re human.
You hurt people with your words.
You hurt people with your actions.
That’s okay. We all do it. We’re human beings and we are flawed.
That’s what makes us humans.
If we were perfect we’d be mannequins or robots.
But even then my friends, even then…there is no perfect.

Mannequins are made of plastic and plastic can melt or break.
Robots are made of metal and they can malfunction.

You sure are lucky to be a human.
Even though it’s hard sometimes.
It feels badly when you hurt another person.
It feels awful when you make what your deem to be a “mistake.”

But in actuality, there are no mistakes.
We are here to trip and fall.
We are on this planet to skin our proverbial knees.
Humans are on this earth to fail and fail and fail until we succeed one day.

Our knees may be bloody by then, but nevertheless success has been achieved.

I support your failures.
They are one step closer to success.
I come back to the original concept.
Forgive thyself.
You’re good.
You’re a good human.
And that’s worth everything.

I awoke suddenly. I shot up in my bed. It was morning. I couldn’t be sure of the time. Six, maybe six thirty. I knew it was early. I curled my toes underneath the blanket. I breathed in and out slowly. I watched as my chest rose up and down. I felt the warmth of the down comforter on my body. I was immersed in it. I was in a cocoon.

As I put one foot on the floor, the other foot followed. I crept like a cat burglar to the kitchen. Tip toe, tip toe, one foot after the other. I entered the kitchen. I began to salivate. There it was: a black shiny beacon of hope.

I spotted it! The refrigerator and (more importantly) the freezer. I opened the freezer and took out the canister of tiny wondrous brown granules. I approached the glistening dark knight of salvation otherwise known as Mr. Coffee. I placed the filter into it’s head. I carefully poured the granules into the filter and pressed the glowing blue button.

The sounds of hot delicious liquid gold streaming through the filter could be heard from the heavens. As soon as the brown liquid courage was ready to be consumed, I eagerly grabbed my favorite mug that simply had the letter “S” on it. I poured the glorious beverage into my ceramic partner in crime with a smile on my face and love in my heart.

My hand reached without thinking for the refrigerator door. As it opened, I knew exactly what I was looking for. There it sat waiting for me. It was short and portly in a brown and white container. It said “half and half.”

I grabbed it without thinking. Just as I felt the container in my hand, I realized that something was very wrong. The short fat container was light as a feather. I began to shake with fear. My coffee was ready for its fiancé. But it had been stood up at the altar.

My grasp on the portly container loosened. The empty half and half container fell to the kitchen floor.

I stood there staring at the black liquid in my ceramic friend feeling empty inside.

There’s a hole in my heart that can only be filled by half and half.

Sleep. I’m asleep.
Deep down dark in dream country.
I’m wading through black water, which is quickly becoming thicker.
It morphs from water to a pudding-like consistency. I’m trying to walk through it, but I can’t move my legs well. I’m stuck.

See. Then I see it. It’s got green glowing eyes. It’s a big black amorphous creature. It’s behind me. It wants my blood. It can smell me. I smell like food. It lives in this black water or pudding whatever it is. It’s comfortable here. I don’t know this place. But I’ve got to get through. I’ve got to keep going. I have no choice. If I don’t keep moving, this thing will get me.

Feel. I can feel my heart racing in my chest. It’s trapped in a tiny cage, trying to escape. My heart wants out. But it can’t jump.

Jump. I’m startled by a sound. I can’t tell where it’s coming from.

Run. I want to run away, but I’m trapped. Trapped in a black gelatinous existence.

Trouble. The trouble is, I know it’s coming after me.

Sweat. I begin to sweat. I can feel the droplets on my face first. Slowly they drip down my forehead onto my neck. I’m breathing heavily and heart wants out of my chest. It’s bursting. My breath is shallow. I know it’s close.

Push. I can push through the blackness. I can get away. I’m drenched in sweat from the exertion. My whole body hurts.

Hurt. I hurt. I hurt all over. I’ll get through this. I’ll get away.

Eyes. I can see its eyes. They’re glowing. They know all about me.

Teeth. The black monster opens its mouth and reveals sharp fangs. It is hungry and I am food. I will get away. I will escape.

Escape. My leg muscles are burning. I’m trying to run, but I’m standing still.

Still. Stillness. I breathe. In and out. In and out. I’m here.

I’m still here.

Here. All I can do is be here in this moment.

Moment. It’s just one moment. It’s scary, but it won’t last forever. I can out run the fear. I may be alone, but I am strong.

Strong. Strength is knowing when you’re weak and still moving forward.

Forward. I will keep moving. I will not stop.

Stop.

Breathe.

Stop.

Don’t think.

Be strong.

You are not broken.
No matter what he says to you.
You are whole.
You are strong.
Hold on.
Even if it feels like no one is listening.
Despite the fact that it may appear like you are alone, you are not alone.
You are loved.
Even if it’s just you who loves you. That’s enough for now.
You’re beautiful, even if he says you’re ugly.
You’re strong, though he tells you you’re weak.
You’re steady and stable, even though he tells you that you’re crazy.
It’s not crazy to believe in being treated better.
It’s not insane to love yourself.
You are you.
He is him.
You’re not going to change him.
But you can make your life better.
You can stand up and say, I will not tolerate this.
You are able to voice the word “No.”
You can create a new life for yourself.
The world needs you.
You need you.
Don’t give up.
It’s going to be okay.
I’m holding you.
I’m embracing you.
Because I am you.

I was living underground in a dark well. It was dark and cold down there. I was starving. I tried to remember the last time I ate, but it escaped me. I learned to ignore the sounds of my stomach rumbling. There was no point in imagining food. There hadn’t been any in seven years. I couldn’t figure out how I was still alive.

I spent my days staring into the darkness of the well walls. If I stared long enough shapes would form out of them. I focused and unfocused my eyes. I saw squares and circles and triangles. They were everywhere.

One thought stayed with me. I would never leave this place. It was home. I tried to recall how I got here, but my mind was blank. So I just stared.

Blackness.

One day, I took a chance and instead of looking straight ahead, I turned my glance upward. Then I saw it. It was a sharp prism of light emanating from outside of the well. All at once I heard a thump! There it was: a rope clinging to the side of the dark well wall.

Was it real?
Should I touch it?

My hands quivered in fear. I was shaking from lack of sleep and nourishment.

But I took a chance. I reached out my hand and I grabbed that rope with my remaining strength; strength that I didn’t even realize I had. I clung to the rope and pulled myself upward with all my might. I was exhausted.

I didn’t know if I would ever reach that stream of light. But I would die trying.

I pulled and pulled. Sweat streamed down my face and skeletal body.

All at once, I reached the apex. The prism of light expanded and encompassed my whole body. I fell to the ground gasping for breath. I looked over and saw it. There it was, your hand.

It was you.
You gave me that rope.
You believed in me.
You allowed me to save myself.

I took your hand as tears streamed down my face and two words escaped my lips:

“Thank you.”