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And another year

by Myg on March 16, 2011

Myg and Mr. Myg play Maxwell's in Hoboken NJ, 3/12/11 Photo by our pal Jesse Sheppard

This is what it feels like to be 42.

That photo is me, with Alex (aka Mr. Myg) playing  set at Maxwell’s the Saturday before my birthday, which was Monday. I chose this photo because it’s the only one taken of me that night that I can look at and not cringe. All the other photos of me (and there are far too many) don’t hide the extra 30 pounds I’ve been carrying since the kids were born. I wish I could tell you I no longer care – that I’m okay in my body as it is, but it’s not true. Silly at it is, I still want to look like I did when I was in my 20s. Problem is I can’t seem to stop eating like I’m a teenager.

I wasn’t going to dedicate this post to my constant battle with my deteriorating self-image, something that is so familiar to me I almost want to name it, like Helga or Cadbury or something. I was just going to reflect on what it feels like to be the age I am, which feels nothing like I expected it would feel twenty or even ten years ago.

Self-esteem issues and all, I still feel very much like me, only better. Meaning, there’s some hard-won prize I feel like I’ve won at this point in my life. I’m still young enough to be able to dream big dreams and believe I can make them come true, and old enough to feel like the world beneath my feet is solid enough to support them. It’s like you get to a certain age and you learn to stop fretting about all the bad shit that can happen to you, because you know bad shit is going to happen to you. There’s no real escaping it. But somehow you learn to live with it, and you learn to appreciate the periods in life that are calm. And you also figure out that you’re not going to live forever, so if it’s playing in a loud rock band that makes your heart happy, then it doesn’t matter that you have a job and two kids and that you’re now 42 with a mortgage. You have to find a way to make it happen.

Because that’s the whole point, right?

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Year 2

by Myg on January 22, 2011

Doot and Bing my darlings,

I’m waiting for your Second Birthday slideshow to export and thinking, wow, could it really be two whole years, already? Really? No… really?

I won’t ever forget this night in 2009. Right about now, Dad and I were trying to get a little rest before waiting for you guys to arrive. We were really excited since we knew you were on your way. Okay, terrified too, but mostly excited.

The day you were born I was so sleep deprived and on so many different meds I felt a lot like I was on Mars. So I don’t remember a whole lot about it except that you were so wonderful and you smelled so good and you were so beautiful and so tiny and so perfect. And so very, very mine.

I guess growing up is about you guys gradually becoming less mine and more your own and I’ve decided that’s okay, which is good I think since I have no choice. Every day you learn something new, like how to draw a circle or what yellow is and how it’s different from scratchy or tiny, or that you like puffed rice more than Kix, or how to operate the remote control helicopter. Well, not quite, but impressively close for boys your age. And each new little thing like this stacks up on all those other little things you know and remember and pretty soon, you’re saying things like, “miss Mommy,” when I come home from work and haven’t played with you all day or doing things like sneaking the masking tape out of the junk drawer when I’m around the corner and proudly pronouncing it, “Circle.”

All these little feats of magic add up to one incredible, continuous transformation over time, from being that spark in my heart to that zygote in the petri dish to that fetus in my belly, to those helpless little newborns Dad and I held in our arms, so shakily but so proudly that day two years ago, and now in only two years all the way to this–my big, beautiful boys.

Some tell me I can call you my babies forever, and I probably will. In my heart, I’ll always hang onto the tiny, helpless memory of what you came from, the one that will forever need me, will always be mine. But know too that at the same time, I’ll hold the deepest, most profound gratitude in my heart as I watch you become the boys and in time, the men you were born to be.

Go get ‘em, boys.

Love you forever and always and no matter what,

Mama

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Happy Holidays!

by Myg on December 22, 2010

I have a confession: I used to hate Christmas.

That’s right, and I won’t go into all the reasons why, but let’s just say that when I was a kid, Christmas was the time of year that reminded me most of all the things in the world I wanted that weren’t mine, and I’m not talking barbies and ponies and bikes, because I had those things in spades. I’m talking about those things you feel like you’ve lost when you’re a kid and your family falls apart in several different ways at once and you have no idea of what the future holds.

But now I think I know what the future holds.

No, wait. I meant this.

And a little of this:

What I mean to say is, I think the future holds hope for us all.

Love,
Myg

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Eff You, Econopocalypse. I’ve got Mr. Myg and the Myglets.

by Myg on August 10, 2010

Hey there!

A few things, but first, this:

Why no matter what the hell else fucks up in my life, I am the luckiest woman on the planet.

Aaannnddd shit. Hope that didn’t break my layout.

So, you all know I’ve been gone awhile, deep in the middle of my obsessive writing of a Twilight Fan Fiction. I can almost type that without grimacing, almost, not quite. I cannot say it in person without grimacing, only because for those who aren’t in the know, it just sounds so, what? You’re doing what? Writing what? Twilight? Don’t you know that book sucks ass? Well, yes. Yes, I do and I don’t know that. I’m not going to talk about Twilight here. Not. Going. To. Talk. About Twilight.

Hey! It’s my eight year anniversary with Alex! (aka Mr. Myg!). And you know what? He’s really hot, right? He’s even cuter in person. He’s so going to give me shit for posting a picture of him and calling him cute on the internet. Not that much shit.

That was a shot of him just this morning, after he’d had only 4 and a half hours of sleep, he was hanging out with the myglets, Doot (on the right) and Bing (on the left) and I snapped this photo and thought, hot damn. You know, 18 months after the boys were born I’m still a good 20lbs overweight, I just lost my job this week, our finances are really, oh GOD when I think about it, I get palpitations, no shit, they are so bad right now. Like, should we pay the mortgage or buy groceries, kind of bad.

So I’m writing this right from the center of my panic attack. Sometimes I think I could let all of the fear just eat me alive, you know? Like, what in the fucking fuck are we going to do now?

But then I look at that picture there, and I think, Christ. I’m lucky. I swear to you, I am lucky. Because money? It comes and goes. It doesn’t matter. Okay, that’s bullshit. But it doesn’t matter that much, is what I’m telling you.

Alex and the boys matter. We are all here. We are all okay.

The rest is incidental.

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Risen

by Myg on April 4, 2010

The real reason I’m posting this today is because she, my late step-sister and the “you” of “hey you” in my last blog post, would fucking hate that last post, would hate that it’s been at the top of my blog for over two weeks. She wasn’t dark and dreary like me. She was sunlight and hope and perseverance and a whole host of other sparkly and wonderful things that I miss like hell and will forever miss like hell. So I’m writing something, maybe a little less inspired since there was a painful dearth of sugar consumption today, given the day. Not nearly enough black jelly beans or peanut butter chocolate eggs.

I think the big news here is that my boys wore ties! They looked like little prep school applicants or mini bankers, but holy risen son of of a Christian God were they cute.

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They still don’t walk. They are 14 and a half months old, and I’m just beginning to think, huh, does it matter yet? When will it start to matter? It’s not like I want to rip my hair out chasing two toddling boys in different directions, but it’s got to happen at some point. And the whole not walking business does make Easter egg hunting a bit more of a chore, though they scored pretty well anyway.

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Sometimes I’m amazed at the tenacity of time. Humbled by it, even.

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One.

by Myg on January 22, 2010

Doot and Bing, my darlings,

Today you’ve officially ended your first turn around the sun. Good for you! That wasn’t so hard, was it?

Every time I think of you two being “one” and your time on this rock measured in the length of years, I just choke up.  I know deep down that the next twelve years will sneak by me as fast as the last twelve months did and all I’ll be able to say is, well, heck. That was fast, wasn’t it?

I wonder sometimes how it all looks from your perspective, this being born thing, this growing up business. For months you were tucked safely away inside me, then one day, BLAM! You were thrust into the blaring light of day amidst screaming and crying and adoration and elation. And then swept up in this constant rhythm of doing, first breathing, eating, pooing, sleeping, crying then cooing, smiling, laughing, rolling over, holding your bottle, sitting up, and then babbling, crawling, eating finger foods, standing, using a cup, climbing, talking. It’s all happened so fast, it seems to me. But probably not to you. Nor will the next 12 years. They’ll feel like a lifetime to you and you will do so much in those years. And it will be a breath, a blink, to me.

Guys, I really don’t even know what I’m trying to say here. All I know is that last night, nearly all day yesterday, I cried at the thought of this day. I know, I know, you’re probably wondering what’s wrong with your mother, and I don’t have a simple answer for that. Everyone tells me it’s normal for mothers to cry when their babies have a birthday. I guess it’s just part of being a mom.

I want you to know that the tears don’t mean anything bad, though. Nothing is wrong. Everything, in fact, is just as it ought to be. You’re here. We all survived the first year of your twindom, and I’m sorry but there were days during those first months of your life when I just didn’t know how we were going to make it. But we did, and here you are – growing, doing,  becoming the people you were born to be, right in front of my very eyes. At least, when I can get the tears out of them I can see that. And that is as it should be. I wouldn’t, couldn’t ask for anything else.

Except maybe this.

As you continue to grow and explore this crazy rock on which we dwell, never forget that no matter what you do or who you become, I love you. You won’t always be my babies. In fact, you’re almost not that now. But you will always be the center of my everything, my hope for humanity projected forward into time.

So go on then, grow up.

One. from Myg on Vimeo.

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Not so auld lang syne

by Myg on December 31, 2009

The Wisermom 2009 review in pictures.

January

2009 in review

February

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March

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April:

Overalls

May:

Four months.

June:

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July:

Seven Months

August:

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September:

8 months

October:

November:

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December:

Last day of the year. Doot and Bing ready to put 2009 to bed. Bring on 2010!

May all your New Years be happy.

Love,

wm

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In the path of dead dreams

by Myg on December 16, 2009

Well, you think those dreams are dead, anyway, and then one day you discover that they are very much alive in you. And you can’t say that’s good, and you can’t say it’s bad. It just IS. Like the fact that you have green eyes or a hot temper or a certain weakness for guys doing yard work.

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You thought it was over. Been there. Done that. You were Wrong. Very, very wrong.

Prosolar Mechanics, WE Fest Wilmington NC 2000

Prosolar Mechanics, WE Fest Wilmington NC 2000

It’s not over at all. But you have no idea what that means.

And that’s okay.

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And then, and then…

by Myg on November 30, 2009

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And then the next thing you know, WOOSH. They’re graduating from college and you’re out your retirement fund.

I should really be calling this post a placeholder. It’s holding the place for a lot of things I need to tell you about. Like, the fact that the boys turned 9 months old. And then, about 15 minutes after we ordered their 9 month old commemorative plates and matching cup set, they turned 10 months old. And then they had their first Thanksgiving and their first bath in the big bath tub together. And then I cried because they are too adorable and too sweet to believe and I’m still not home with them every day like I should be and I know, and you know, kindergarten is right around the corner and what then? What THEN?

I know there are women out there who are okay with being working mothers. I salute them. I’m just not one of them. Meaning, I am a working mother. In fact, I am the sole provider working mother right now. But I’m not okay with it, other than the fact that it is what is and I have to be okay, in the most general of terms.

I also have to tell you about the band. Oh lord, the band. That’d be my band, whose name shall not be mentioned here because I’m having interweb crossover identity issues. I went back into private practice a few months ago (I’m an LCSW therapist type for kids, yo) and I just do not want people I work with finding this blog. We’re playing in 26 days (crap pants here) and this is the first time we’ve played in 8 years, almost to the day.

Before I became a mom, and before I became a therapist, I was a musician. I was very serious about it. I never had the kind of financial or  commercial success I’d hoped for, but I did make all kinds of music with all sorts of fantastic people and it made my life better. And now I’m doing it again and it feels so strange and familiar and like I’m traveling back in time but yet not. Like straddling two decades when your straddler is a little out of alignment.

And that’s just the good stuff, but that’s what I’m trying to fill my head with these days. And yours too.

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Seven Months

by Myg on August 21, 2009

Bing and Doot, my darlings,

You’ve been on the outside for seven whole months now, which is nearly as long as you were on the inside. So if you think of it, from zygote to now you’ve probably gagoopled your size several times, not to mention your cute factor.  To be honest, I’d really love to credit myself with your good looks, but I don’t know how anyone could buy it. I think I’ll attribute some to your father, some to the innate bias inherent in parenting, and some to science.

Bing!

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Your excellent dispositions, however? All me.

Okay, maybe not ALL me. But a lot me. Or so I like to tell your family, friends and assorted admirers.

As of this week I’ve started to work a little more often, a little harder, outside of the house making some money to keep us all in diapers and dog biscuits. I won’t kid around, it’s been a strange thing to spend fewer hours a day with you. The strangest thing being that I leave you in the morning, am gone for many hours, come home for dinner and baths and you are both different. You are more here. More you. Less mommy appendage.

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In some ways this breaks me. In most ways, this is simply the coolest thing I have ever seen in my life.

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People who see pictures of you ask me, “Are they total opposites in their personalities?” I don’t know why they’d ask such a thing.

Happy Clown Sad Clown

To that I unilaterally answer No. What you are is individuals, close in temperament to myself and your father. I am hoping that since he and I have been compatible for oh, the last 22 years or so, that the two of you will get on similarly well, and perhaps with less bickering over guitar gear, but probably not.

Which brings me to some news. Your father and I have been asked to put the band back together for a special show celebrating the mid-90s music scene in New Brunswick. We, of course, jumped at the opportunity. Why? Because we are totally f*cking INSANE. Insane for sound, insanely eager for any opportunity to have our asses kicked (as your simultaneous appearance into our lives proves) and insanely committed to raising you both to never, ever forsake your dreams or those things that make you who you are.

Mom and dad bring the rock, 10 years ago

Mom and Dad bring the rock, 10 years ago

I have done a little too much of that lately, but it’s about to change.

Unfortunately, that means you’ll be having more babysitting. The good news? It’ll probably be your grandparents who will likely let you stay up late and eat ice cream behind our backs. Good for them.

At this point, I feel inclined to include some kind of poignant hand wringing about how fast it’s all going, how much I already miss those tiny helpless newborns you used to be, how precious every second with you is and has been, how my love for you seems to outpace the expansion of the universe and can hardly be contained by human physiology or explained in human language.

Sure, I can go there.

But my darlings, it’s 5pm Friday and instead, I think I’d like to rush home for dinner and bath time, where I can be in it instead of just describing it.

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Bing takes a bath.

May we spend the rest of our days together more inside the good feeling than outside, remembering how good it was.

All my love forever and ever,

Mama

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