Book Report: Yes Please

Yes Please - Amy Poehler

I don't watch Parks and Rec. I only casually watch(ed) SNL.(It's either past my bedtime, or before it was, I'd be out getting drunk in bars like a cool 20 something year old).  Upright Citizens Brigade often played in the background at friends' apartments in college, but I was usually too stoned to pay any attention. 

Amy Poehler always seemed like a cool funny gal to hang out with, but I knew she'd never hang out with me. I knew she had kids, and I have a kid. But other than that, I think that's where our common interests end. Despite this, many of my girlfriends love Amy. They think she is quite a clever lady. And I think they are all quite clever ladies, and I needed something to read. So I gave this a spin. Spoiler alert: Amy Poehler has had a cooler life than me and you and probably most of your friends. She writes about it, and guess what? Like any female on the planet, she admits to having self doubts about her appearance or life or whatever. And she writes about it. And I realize she and Seth Myers are probably secretly in love, despite her relationship with Nick Krohl. 

But really, why do I care? I don't, really, so I don't think I'd necessarily recommend this to anyone who's not a fan of Amy. If you are, I'm sure you'll love it. She's clever and quirky. But if you're not? Then it's just a bunch of insider goop on her personal life and SNL that I didn't really care about. I'd rate it a 5/10, but I'll be the first to admit I'm not really a fan. Nor am I not a fan, I'm just a person reading a book about another person, I don't know anything about. Until now. And my opinion still hasn't really changed. Except that she did make me feel good about myself when I want to put my hand up to solicitors on the street and I'm not a horrible human for despising contact with people. 

Book Report: Ocean at the End of the Lane

The Ocean at the End of the Lane - Neil Gaiman

This was the most recent of many Neil Gaiman books I recently raced through. Whenever I stumble upon a writer I dig, I binge on their past works, and Gaiman was my latest victim. I don't know why I always steered away from him - several of my friends would recommend him from time to time, namely American Gods, (which I also read, but that's another post), but for some reason I always shrugged off the recommendation. Too nerdy. Didn't he do comics? (Or something, I'm ignorant, I know). But I'll admit I was a sucker, because once I flipped through Neverwhere, (the first of many in said binge), I was hooked. And I still have some more to flip my way through. 

I haven't done any research on Gaiman, so I can't spout out any trivial facts about him as a person, or his inspirations, or anything like that. I know he married Amanda Palmer and they're having a kid. I have music from Palmer and The Dresden Dolls, and despite my lack of interest and annoyance/resentment/borderline hatred in her begging for freebies to support her art despite having money herself and being married to a well established author, I for the most part support and enjoy their eccentric styles and art. But other than that, I know Zilch about Gaiman. But I don't think any of that matters. Because the other thing I know about him, from first-hand experience, is that he can tell a story. Good stories. This, being one of them. If not my favorite (thus far). 

This particular tale is a short one. It's one of his easier reads, but personally, I enjoy his books so much that they're all pretty easy reads. I don't say easy read in this sense of 'anyone can get through this, avid reader or not,' but easy in the sense of once you're hooked you're baited, and you don't need to invest too many hours to be reeled into the end. 

The story is comparable to his other pieces of work in the sense that there is still magic and surrealism, although this selection is particularly likely (or at least way more obvious than others) to be interpreted as symbolic reality, with elements of surprise and imagination so often found in children. Mystery, magic, no boundaries on what is 'real' or not. If I read this in an educational/analytical sense, I'm sure I could spout out several examples of underlying themes. Or even in a book club. But that's not my case - I'm a mom to a one year old boy, and my free time to devour literature is sparse, so I chug and binge as fast as I can, sometimes turning off my brain and taking the literal meaning at its literal sense. Someday,however, I'd like to give this a re-read and try to read between the lines. It could be a lot of fun.

The story follows a man who is back home for a funeral. Of whom, it's never really disclosed, nor does it matter, but it insinuates a parent or other older relative. The man is led to an old farm, off a beaten road. And from that point, memories flash back of an experience in his childhood - one of magic and friendship of an old childhood friend. I won't give anything else away, but the story's definitely worth a read, and quite possibly is my favorite read of 2015. 

I will say this though, when reading this story, I was particularly susceptible to a bunch of insect bites. Centipedes, most likely. (GROSS, i know). And my flesh has always been super tasty to asshole bugs, and will usually swell up 10 fold the normal human being. My ankle had gotten bitten, and the bite wasn't quite infected, but definitely appeared to have some sort of large hole in its center. This story has a similar incident, which goes into some detail - and leads to a greater tale. This hit me close to home, and super grossed me out. This doesn't really have much to do with anything, but it really creeped me out, and made the story even more relatable. So if you do read this, and you get to this part, just be grateful you don't have a centipede hole in your ankle. Because, ew.

I definitely would recommend this book to anyone looking for a fun read. If you're not super into surrealism or fantasy, I still think it's worth a spin, but if you're def not into it, then Gaiman probably isn't for you, and you may just not 'get it.' But are you really supposed to? I think that's two thirds the fun in reading his shit. The 'how do I piece this together into sense' aspect of it all. I'd rate this a 9/10. Or a 10/10. But I'm thinking a 9 - because my only complaint is that it left me wanting more, and I was sad when it was over. But then again, I could argue a 10, because it's comparable to how I feel about any successful pop song - keep it 2 minutes or less, because that's how you keep the listener/readers hooked - always craving more. And I want more.

Book Report: Station Eleven

Station Eleven - Emily St. John Mandel

I read through this book pretty quickly, on the recommendation of a friend. I've also since read two other books, back to back following this one, so my memory isn't as detailed or fresh as I'd like it to be to write a fair take on what I thought of this story. The general plot is as follows: it's the end of the world (as we know it, (sorry)), a flu strain has wiped out 95%+ of the world's population. Without going into spoiler territory, the tale follows a handful of characters with different origins/story lines, and their path of/to survival. Warding off predators, the illness itself, and the difficulties that exist in dystopia without the modern comforts or electricity, running water, shelter, etc. There are some underlying themes of modern technology and what they must be doing to our society as a whole, but I was too tired to really think about them. 

I've read a lot of books about the end of the world. I've read some with more of a surreal take (along the lines of Neil Gaiman, Haruki Murakami, etc.), and some more gritty/realistic ones (The Road - Cormack McCarthy). This is more like the latter. The book is an easy read, but I'll admit I heaved a big sigh of 'oh, this again,' once I figured out what the story was about. (Apocalypse, etc.). 

The opening segment of the novel is what hooked me in, and I'm not disappointed I kept going. There are interesting elements, in how the separate journeys interweave throughout the book, and the novel's gotten a lot of positive praise and attention, as well as the piece being well written. So it is a worthy read in that sense. But if you're looking for something new, this isn't really it, sadly, (as much as I wanted it to be). In my humble opinion, you read one end of the world story, (or 5-8, such as my case), you've read them all. Bleak, sad, BEWARE READER - IF YOU AND YOUR FELLOW EARTHLINGS DON'T WISEN UP AND TAKE HEED OF YOUR CARELESS WAYS, THIS TOO, COULD BE YOU, SOONER THAN YOU THINK. JUST WAIT. ok, yeah, i get it. But I'm still going to probably use plastic bags at the grocery store, and my husband is still going to leave the water on as he brushes his teeth, and we'll probably run our air conditioners with our bedroom inadvertently cracked open. And we probably will never learn to properly recycle every electronic device we own. It's a generation thing, the yeah, yeah, I know, take care of our natural resources, but we're not going to live forever so we'll still pretty much take everything for granted, generation. I'm not proud of it, but at least I'm self aware, right? And guess what, reading this story didn't change my stance on any of that. 

I'd still recommend this book to a pal looking for an easy read, with the caveat of 'it's another end of the world story.' My rating? 7-7/10. Because I liked some of the characters and the writer hooked me into almost giving a shit for their shot at happiness.

Book Report: Hausfrau

Hausfrau - Jill Alexander Essbaum

I read this book based on a recommendation from the Chicago Public Library's staff picks on their website. And it had a pretty cover that reminded me of Sleater-Kinney's latest album cover. (I know, I know).  And I had nothing else to read, and had some recent good luck picking random books on whim based on the CPL website or friend recommendations. 

Hausfrau is German for House Wife. It follows a depressed and bored housewife, American born, living in Switzerland. She is married, has three children, no job. She suffers from depression. And feeds her emptiness by having multiple marital affairs. The novel follows her struggles in the present day, flashbacks to the early days of her marriage, an earlier affair (leading to the consummation of her third child), and sessions with her psychiatrist. And I stuck it out for the 300+ pages thinking - ok, this has got to be going somewhere, right? No. Bitch gets more and more annoying, digs herself a deeper and deeper hole, the shrink talk gets more and more boring, and there's nothing interesting about the book at all - although the writer is talented enough to lead the reader on to thinking that it might be. You eventually realize you hate the protagonist, (although  I'm pretty certain that's not the writer's intent), and you want the bitch to hurry up and kill herself. And then she does. And the book is over. 
And you feel dirty and upset that you wasted several hours you could have been playing Candy Crush on your phone reading this stupid depressing garbage. 

Let me be clear, I'm not against this book because the protagonist is not a saint and has self-identity issues. I can almost relate to some of the feelings she experiences in some ways from a motherhood perspective. (For example, if I was a stay at home mother with three children in a foreign country who's language I don't speak - I'd be pretty fucking depressed and lonely, too! In my three months of maternity leave and even on some days alone with the kiddo, I can and have felt emotions of uncertainty and emptiness, but I cough it up to fatigue). But this bitch is just empty and annoying. And full of all sorts of woe is me, but never does anything about it. No self empowerment. Fucking dudes just because they ask her, but never any self admittance of nymphomania tendencies. But there's never any trigger - or circumstance - or depth revealed as to why the character is set upon this deep spiral of destruction. Not that there necessarily needs to be a tangible incident, but still - if you're going to interweave all these sessions with the shrink - have them lead somewhere, not just fill pages to lull the reader to sleep and mislead them on. So yeah, skip this one. This book sucked ass. I've never been so grateful for a character to off themself. 

I rate this book, 1/10. 1 for the pretty cover. 

Book Report: Finders Keepers

Finders Keepers - Stephen King

In high school, I was a Stephen King fanatic. I don't know if it was a result of my confinement to small town Wisconsin and the sheer boredom that often resulted, or my never ending hunger to be terrified (I was a weird kid), or the fact that I fancied myself a 'writer' and many of King's stories centered around authors,  but whatever King put out, I consumed. Religiously. Then came college, and eventually adulthood, and if I was gifted a more recent King release, I'd look over both shoulders, make sure no one was looking and judging me, and dive right in - reluctantly, at first, because, *scoff*, Stephen King? C'mon. So not intellectual. Or 'too contemporary' and not obscure/hip enough. Or lame. Or whatever. Yet I finished every King piece of work I always picked up, with the exception of the Gunslinger series. (I just couldn't get into that, don't know why). The stigma followed me into modern days, and only by the mere addiction of my recently acquired Kindle this year and a loss of ideas on what to add to my Chicago Public Library Hold Queue did I decide to revisit Mr. King. And this was the first thing I randomly selected. 

I'll admit, when it comes to my eBooks on hold with the library, when it rains, it pours, so even though this was the first book to come off hold of three within a 4 day succession, this was the last work I read of the cluster. And it was the most addicting. The biggest page turner. Maybe not at first, but you better believe I devoured up the last 150 pages with minimal breaks. Candy Crush, Facebook, Instagram, and all my other usual Internet perusings went on the back burner until I finished this bad boy. It's typical King style/fashion. The protagonist (maybe both of them, depending on how you look at it) and some background characters, even, are writers. In fact, the whole tale revolves around a series of writings that were 'lost'/stolen, etc., and unpublished from a 'genius' writer. Pretty much King's comparison of J. D. Salinger and the breakout piece following a sarcastic young male in the peak of his adolescence, rejecting the inevitability of adulthood (i.e. Holden Caulfield, anyone?). The comparisons are so obvious, it's like any episode of Law and Order SVU mimicking whatever pop culture reference is hot that week. 

The characters are likeable enough, and you end up becoming invested in their outcomes. The last quarter of the book is a non-stop nail biter. And leave it to King to end the tale on a cliffhanger of sorts, leading an opportunity for a sequel/prequel of sorts on a spin-off tale, (which I believe he has since published, called Mr. Mercedes, already added to my queue). 

The story is not going to win any awards. And it's not the best book I've read this year. There's nothing new in it. But the thing with Stephen King is, if you've read one to three of his stories, you pretty much know what you've got in store when you pick up a cover. Entertainment, amusement, and King's wise cracky/clever style and voice. And that's not a bad thing. In fact, after my queue opens up,(which already includes another of his works), I'm very likely to add even more. And next time somebody asks me what I'm reading, I won't be embarrassed to tell them. Because it's fun, and I'm a grown-up, goddamn it. I can read whatever I want. 

I'd rate this book a 7/10, based on entertainment value, over originality.

Book Report: An Experiment

When my in-laws gave me a gracious Christmas gift of an Amazon gift card with instructions to 'use it for yourself,' I struggled. This should go towards diapers, I told myself. Or a toy for Holden. Or clothes for Holden. Or something for the house. Unlike my birthday Amazon gift card (which went straight to cleaning supplies, a new litter box system, and other necessities for our upcoming move), I listened to my mother in law's advice, and treated myself. On a new swimming suit, which has come in mighty handy this summer, taking my little guy to the public pool for his new fave activity of splashing around like a little water bug, but also a Kindle Fire. I had always been against the idea of Kindles and tablets. I figured it was just another electronic device I didn't really need. I have a laptop. A work laptop. An iPhone. Why would I need anything else? Well, it turns out that not only are Kindles great in the kitchen (seriously, it's bigger than a cellphone for recipe looks ups, making it easier to read, and you're less likely to get pasta sauce all over your cellphone), but the reading feature is also a major plus for three main reasons. 

1) I'm a mom now. So our bookshelf has officially run out of real estate. Our beautiful Ikea bookshelf is now Holdie's toy box. Only the very top shelf, which he cannot reach (yet), is reserved for literature, and my husband and I are both avid readers, so we no longer have any room for more. (Although apparently my husband never got that memo, as he's still busy hoarding away). Purchasing a Kindle helped resolve (ok, not fully, but sort of) our physical space issue. 

2) The Kindle takes up smaller space on the go. When I read, I read. So slipping a 7 inch electronic device in my purse is much easier than a super thick hard cover brick of 900 pages, leaving more space for my hoarded collection of lip balms/glosses/sticks and random baby gear. 

3) No more library overdue fees! No more hassle of returning books in the midst of having a crazy kid life schedule! You place your eBooks on hold on the library website (at least in Chicago), you get an email when the book is ready to download, and with a couple clicks, voila! You have your book! And after your given period of three weeks or whatever the loan is, it will automatically delete off your appliance. So you don't have to worry about getting your fat lazy ass off the couch down the block to return your books. And you don't get a hold on your account because you owe 30 cents. It's amazing. I love it. 

So that being said, I'm sold. I get to read all I want for free. The only downside, I suppose, is having to wait for the books to become available to download, but I'm a patient lady. Mom life made me patient. And I won't lie - I get a bit of a rush when magically all 3-5 of my books on hold suddenly become available within a 3 day period and I have a clock ticking to rush through all my goodies at once. Makes me feel accomplished. 

So anyway, I realized I've read a lot this year. And I want to try and write brief synopses of my thoughts of what I read going forward. I just sped through three books recently, so was able to jot down my thoughts of those selections, and I may try to go back further, but if I'm not able to - I'll just list the books I have read this year and whether or not I think I'd recommend any of 'em. Because just like a record store, whenever it's time for me to purchase/rent a book or record, my mind always comes up blank, and I know I thrive off my pals' recommendations, so maybe this will help any of you? Or at least we can have a conversation. Or this can just take up space on the world wide web. I don't care, it's fun to read and write. Here goes, nothin'. 

summertime. (an update).

it's the thursday before independence day - which translates to a pretty dull day in the office. friday is the 'holiday' freebie day, so that leaves us with an early release day today. at a glance, i'd say that 60-75% of the regular staff is out on pto today, so that leaves 4 of us from my team of 7 in the office, blankly staring at our respective smart phones or computer screens, counting the minutes until go time. it's 9:37 am and i'm already pretty jazzed up on the large dunkin donuts iced coffee i have to my immediate right, only 15% consumed. (i did chug an iced coffee this morning at home, though, so i'm already pretty jittery). had to take a sick day, yesterday, so i'm sure the naps i snuck in throughout the day helped contribute to a more overall rested state. wasn't playing hooky, this time. just trust me when i say to steer clear of trader joe's microwavable whole wheat/veggie lasagna. no bueno. but maybe it was my body's way of just shutting down and saying 'JODI TAKE A DAY OFF. CMON.' either way, i got some extra shut eye, which is more valuable than gold in the sassana household. AND i copped a trip to the lush store off armitage to finally cash in my mother's day loot gift card. on what else? under eye cream and concealer to mask my sleepless perma-eye bags. so it goes.

i glanced back at my last posting on here, a few months ago. let's just say as a progress report: holden 1, mom 0 on the boob front. looks like not only did i meet my goal of breastfeeding for that first year, but i'm exceeding the requirement! go me! (NOT by choice). i'm convinced my son will be attached to my breast until my 40th birthday, at this rate. at least he'll have a healthy immune system? (here's to lookin' at the bright side - optimism, my friends, or i'll never survive).

it's hard to believe we're already into the month of july. seemed like yesterday i was stressing/planning holden's first birthday party - which was awesome, btw. i'm super lucky to have such a close knit group of super girlfriends. holdie scored massive loot, and super pics, thanks to his photo expert aunt staci. we actually snuck in an impromptu trip back home  to visit grandma joan, too, in may. we'll be heading back to argyle again, for an old classmate of mine's wedding next weekend. i'm super excited for a weekend back home. fresh country air. stars in the non-polluted sky. calm, peace. green fields, nostalgia lane. not to mention grandma at our disposal for a night out! (even if it is spent chugging cheap beers at a bar called 'good fellas'. i'm ready!) should be like a mini class reunion. while i've seen maybe 50-60% of my former classmates over the past 14 years since we bid adieu, i haven't seen a large group of the gang in one place/time, and even though vin will probably be grudging through it to appease me, i can say i'm sincerely excited to see a lot of faces, (even if they don't recognize me, which is generally the case). like extended family - that's not nearly as crazy.

hoping to also sneak in a trip to house on the rock, because why the hell not? holden is finally at the fun age where we're no longer (as) crippled to go do things. last night, for example, we took the luxury of checking out mash - (formerly bad dog), just another burger/craft beer overpriced patio joint in the neighborhood. had raw oysters. to you know, seem fancy and shit. (they were ok). holden loved sitting outside, shouting at the flowers, trees, dogs, etc. i never thought i'd see the day i could strap that kid to a high chair and he's stay seated! 

this weekend looks like a picnic in the park with pals at winnemac park for the fireworks. should be interesting, given h's usual bedtime of 6pm, but i'm confident we can finaggle the little dude out of his routine for the loud, bright shinies. 

this summer's been good to me. it's flying by a bit more quickly than i'd prefer, especially given we've got our long overdue move to a 2 bedroom place coming up on the 31st of this month. taking over my sister-in-law/bff's lease on a bigger pad, a little more north in the middle of nowhere, but we've got a car now and let's face it, vin and i aren't exactly social butterflies these days, so more real estate for h's TOY KINGDOM is unfortunately more of a priority than proximity to our favorite watering holes. we've discovered the public pool, and that the little man is one heck of a water bug. loves swimming. (as does his mom). so i'm hoping we get to sneak away into the river park a bit more into my extended weekend (fri-mon). 

other than that, haven't gotten as much running in as i'd like, but i still get around. take extended walks on my lunch breaks at work and have been reading like crazy. of course, i'll go months waiting for my chicago library ebooks to become available to download on my kindle - and then when i receive one, it's bam, bam, bam, and suddenly i have a 3 week window to cram in something like 1500 pages/4 books. (so far, i've knocked out 2.25 in a week). i'll def need more reading suggestions following this binge, as my hold selections will all open up again.

so that's a perk to slow corporate hostage days in the office like today. more reading time. quiet, reading time. (without a baby glued to my breast).

in the world of music, i'm still not super jodi like i used to be. casually listen to my old staples, here and there, finally seemed to have gotten my fix of the latest sleater-kinney to the point where i no longer need to listen on repeat 7 times a day. instead, i guess i have moved onto focus onto two other artists in their place - st. vincent, whose former catalogue i previously possessed, but never got into her latest 2014 s/t album until a couple weeks ago, and bully, who's ep i picked up a month or so back, but just copped the debut full-length as well. both chick centric rock albums in the alternate realm, but different in their own ways. 

i never bothered with st. v's latest, because i kinda figured (incorrectly), that once you heard one, you heard them all. her first two records were a showcase of talent, of course, but kinda got drippy and a little too quirky for my tastes. perfect dish washing/laundry folding music, but nothing that could wake my ass up on the el ride into the loop on a morning basis. queue her latest: even though the record's older than my son, it's my latest go to crutch. from the opening quivers of 'rattlesnake,' to the undeniably catchy 'psychopath,' or when she croons her undying love to you (said listener) over jeeee-suhusss, it's sinead o connoresque, but in the best guilty pleasure way possible. makes me wish i was that fancy model girlfriend of hers for a millisecond - not for any physical pleasures (st. v is too tiny for me, she'd snap in half with a hug), but just to hear someone belt their undying profession in such a melodramatic yet sugary sweet way. the record's non-stop awesome, without missing a single beat of filler track. i definitely dig.

BUT - as is the case with any album, anything can get old or worthy of taking a break after non-stop consumption for 3+ weeks. so when i heard bully finally dropped their debut full-length, i decided to pick up the cd. (because i have a car, you guys, with a CD PLAYER). i was reluctant at first to pick it up, because the full-length shares 3-4 tracks from the ep, and i think there's only like 10 songs total on the record, but what the hell. i had 7 bucks burning a hole in my pocket and needed something other than the collection of overplayed taylor swift, metric and pixies cds strewn all over my front passenger seat in the car. bully's pretty great. it's a chick, i forget her name. alicia something? if i was still a writer, i'd take the three seconds to google her, but instead i'll just keep this going before i lose my train of thought. she seems young. i think from nashville or somewhere similar. reminds me of the 90's. like, an upbeat, punk rock indie sugary sweet 90's star. think, juliana hatfield, or letters to cleo, but not annoying or too cavity inducing. a little grungier, but with clear, girly pop perfection vocals. guitar. up beat. punk rock. so good. tracks like 'milk man' and 'feels like' are what 18 year old jodi yearned for for decades before it came to existence. it's good stuff. def stoked to have more compact discs for the ole trek back to argyle come next weekend.

other than that, can't really complain about much. sure, the kiddo's still physically leashed onto me. sure, i'm still not sleeping through the night. but - the little dude's such a joy. sincerely. he's walking now! yesterday we went to the grandparent's house to pick him up, and out he tottered to greet us, smiling while crunching on croutons, reeking of gardettos. pointing to everything in the house to 'show me' the tour. we dance, on a daily basis, he and i. his favorite current jam is jenny lewis' 'just one of the guys,' (thank god t. swift's 'shake it off' is on the backburner, one can only handle so much). we play. he dances like an absolute spaz to cartoon theme songs (that then haunt mom and dad's head all day - google 'chuggington' and see if you can NOT get that ditty stuck in your head, i dare you). he understands things like - 'please get mama's cell phone and bring it to me,'. he no longer eats baby food. he makes me laugh. and laugh. (but still hates bedtime and refuses his crib, goddamn it). 

motherhood/parenthood - it's finally fun. 85% of the time, anyway. we still have our desperate, trying, 'getmethefuckouttahere ineed18drinks' moments of exhaustion, and i still question my parenting skills on a daily basis, but the fact that i question them i think means that i'm doing something right. because if i didn't doubt/question/second guess, that would mean i took it all for granted, and didn't put the effort into improving myself for the greater good of my little heartthrob. he's seriously the best, you guys.

so i think it's safe to say that the summer of 2015, at least to this point is def much more enjoyable of an experience than my inaugural summer of motherhood, as documented on this blog, in 2014. holy shit that was tiring. and he was just a little blob! but now, he's my dude. with such a big personality. 

sorry to bore anyone out there reading this with such trivial minute details of my bebe and motherhood - but let's face it, we all grow up sometime, whether we like it or not. at least i'm able to take pride in the fact that i'm rocking my new role as a mom, straight down to my momgear wardrobe and accessories, and haircut. i may no longer be interviewing rockstars and partying at shows multiple nights per week, but instead, i'm channeling my former expertise into sing alongs and impromptu kitchen dance parties. 

tonight's agenda? chocolate chip cookies and (at least one) bottle of Cabernet. 

because i can. 

here's to the summer of 2015. 

hooray for boobies. or: the eye twitch.

It seems that I’ve developed a bit of an eye twitch. Today is Thursday, and I am still tired. The twitch began its involuntary trickery with my left eyeball early Tuesday morning.  My child is still not letting me sleep. He has a dependency on my breast. As in, he won’t sleep. Unless it’s in his mouth.  All night long. He is sick this week, so I’m too weak and tired to fight him off, which means that when I’m tossing and turning, and not sleeping and exasperatedly asking my husband what time it is in the middle of the night, I find myself secretly hoping it’s closer to the 6:00 am wake up time than not. In the past I’d pray it was closer to midnight, so I’d have a chance to sneak in a few winks. These days, I know there’s no chance at sleeping, so I just hope it’s later. It’s always earlier. 1:00 am or so. The twitch, as my good friend Dr. Google tells me, is a sign of chronic sleep deprivation and stress. Imagine that! A year of sleep deprivation is all it takes, my friends, until your physical appearance takes on the inner insanity and craziness one feels internally due to a lack of quality z’s. 

So yesterday, I took a ‘me’ day. Monday, my head was killing with a migraine. Tuesday, the eye twitched. Wednesday, I handed off the kiddo to my in-laws without revealing my evil sinister plot of staying home in my pajamas, eating ice cream in bed, and SLEEPING. Which I fulfilled. I slept from 7:15-11:30 am. I hadn't looked at a time that late on my cellphone since I was gestating the little monster. I woke up, inhaled a Trader Joe’s salad, followed it up with some of my husband’s stashed mint chocolate chip ice cream, (it was the least I could do, seeing as how he gobbled up 50% of my chocolate stash I thought I had so cunningly hid on the bookshelf in the living room), and laid back down in bed for another hour or two. Sprawled, diagonally, even. The sleep was heavenly, but I did not wake up feeling like a miracle took place. Fully rested, it seems, will take more than one day of playing hooky. I think it was enough energy, however, to make it through the next day. The next week. Keep on trucking. But as soon as my husband and son walked through the front door of our apartment yesterday evening, the twitch came back. And another sleepless boob stolen night awaited me. So the twitch is in even more full force today.

I feel like a creep. Who does that? Twitches their eye? I wish I could turn it off. But it refuses.

I love my kid. He’s my everything. But you guys already know that. Or at least anyone who reads this blog, follows me on Facebook or Instagram does. It’s all I ever post about. Or take photos of. It makes me feel really boring. But let’s face it, the kiddo’s cuter than me. And he’s more interesting (at least to me) than griping about boredom at work or my lack of social life. I can’t believe it’s already been a year. He turns one in 18 days. I really don’t know how I’ll survive the process of weaning from breastfeeding. The kid’s absolutely insane. He won’t sleep unless my breast is suctioned in his mouth. Not feeding, not drinking, just suctioning, or pinching. Like one of those plecostomus fish. Holding it hostage. Whining and crying if I dare remove myself to try and get some sleep. Another cool trick he’s taken up recently? Fingering my belly button. Have you ever had to bat away persistent tiny claws, hellbent on digging and scraping in your belly button? It’s absolutely terrifying. But is it worse than ‘changing the radio dial’? (aka titty twisting the nipple not in his mouth)? I don’t know. Both really, really suck. But it keeps him quiet and subdued. My husband doesn't always get it. He thinks the kiddo would need a bottle, and I’m just complaining about our son’s never ending appetite for milk and how tired I am. But the kid is not hungry. He is not even drinking! He’s just an asshole. But I love him. God how am I going to do this. But it’s time. My body is saying it’s time. My supply is going extinct. My eye is twitching. My body is changing. So, sorry, little guy, but your whole milk diet starts today. 

My hope is that I publish this post today, and can look back on it 4-6 weeks from now with a deep sigh of relief. A feeling of victor and accomplishment. The end of the road. The light at the end of the tunnel. We will all sleep through the night like restful little babies. My breasts will once again belong to me, instead of a mean, twisting and break dancing, masochist.

In addition to the goblin turning one in a couple weeks, I’ll celebrate my second mother’s day as a mom. The first, of course, being day 3 of induction, day 1 of his life. This year, we’ll host a Yo Gabba Gabba themed birthday party, as an excuse to give the boob sucker toys and cake. A couple weeks later, I’ll turn 32. That’s insane to believe, as I don’t ever recall turning 31. I think I was hiding in my in-laws living room with a tomato faced screaming alien, while the rest of the family ate BBQ. But I’m not sure. I just remember feeling very sad and invisible and not knowing what the hell to do. The last time I celebrated my birthday, I was hungover, freshly 30, on an airplane from Minneapolis to Chicago, following a weekend with my close pals in the Twin Cities. It was a fun weekend, sure not to be topped within the next decade. This year, I’ll be content sleeping. Maybe dancing. But that may be asking too much. Evening babysitters are hard to come by, especially when the usual round of volunteers would be guests at said night out.

Another aspect of craziness is that I always envisioned 32 being the designated mark of an adult or benchmark of ‘old’ or responsibility. Reason being, my mom gave birth to me when she was 32. So I always thought the years prior, (despite her having already been a mother since the age of 17), meant that that was her life, her time to experience adulthood without the heaviness and finality of being a grown up, grown up. And here I am, now. 32, just around the corner. 

Realizing nothing is different, yet everything’s changed. 

I’m married. A mother. Working a full-time job, downtown Chicago. A car owner. Wanting nothing more than to own my own home. Looks like I bought into the game of domestication. Settling down. I always thought I’d be a wild one, free spirit. Doing things differently. Chasing attention, fame even, something somewhere off the beaten path. Proving everyone and everything wrong – and right. But I’m here. Where I’m at. And I’m pleased. I’m happy. I’m proud.  And just so, so, tired.

I don’t want an eye twitch. I really don’t. But if it’s the trade-off for having bred and raised a kooky, cute kid, I’ll grin and bear it. The kid finally got a tooth. One. Everyone kept saying, 'oh, he still doesn't have a tooth? Just wait, when he gets one, they’ll all pop in at once.' Nope. Not the case. But that’s ok, I like his tooth. We named it Bobby. I only kind of feel it on my breast. Thanks, Bobby.

I’m at work right now. And I've had a mug of iced coffee. And a mandarin for breakfast. And I've done all the work that I can without input from others at the moment. It’s a real struggle, on days of corporate hostage, when I know there’s a million household errands that need to be completed, or a snug, warm bed waiting for me just a 45 minute train ride away.

I wish I had some sort of warm, meaningful theme or message to tie this post together. A conclusion. But I’m learning more and more, each and every day, that parenthood, adulthood, whatever this game is – it doesn't have a start and finish line. There is no feel-good lesson to have learned, like in some 30 minute sitcom, at the end. It just is. And keeps going. And you either have the strength to keep going, stay positive, or you don’t. but it doesn't define you. So I guess I shouldn't feel too badly for not having some enlightening boom factor to wrap up this post, either. But I do miss writing. It still comes naturally. Maybe someday, I’ll be able to come home and chase the passion. That is, when I’m not chasing a 20+ pound goblin around.  Til then, here’s to hoping my next post is a victory cheer. The end of an era. The freedom of my breasts.  The independence of the nips. Hooray for boobies. Ok, you get the picture. Til then. . . 

spring fever - an 11 month update on crazed motherhood.

one feels a certain sort of heaviness, when observing and/or snuggling their child when asleep. the exhaustion, the frustrations, the anxieties, they all seem to melt away and are magically replaced with this unspeakable bottomless channel of unfiltered admiration, adoration and deep love. a love like they've never known.

i say this now, because he's finally asleep. his tiny toes are curled up under my upper left thigh, his little arm curled up onto my torso. his messy blonde head laying just two inches from my elbow. who knows how long i have to attempt to type before he rises once again.

it's been a rough week. last week everyone (minus me) in my household was sick. the flu. a stomach bug of sorts. dad caught it first, then the little guy. then my poor mother in law got it when it was her day with the little one. 7 loads of laundry in four days. (5 sets of bedding). it was fun. and then once everyone seemed to have a clean bill of health - the REAL teething began. i mean, homeboy has been teething since he was four months old (now 11 months next week), but now it's real deal, cry cry crying, awake ALL hours. i haven't had as many 1am/5am parties since i was 21 living in wisconsin dells. but these parties are sober. and pretty much suck. it's just part of being a parent, i suppose. but man, what i would do if i could trade places. me be the puker. me have the insane oral pain. i wish i could take all the discomfort and suck it up and just be in hell. but i can't. instead, all i can do is make WOOP WOOP sounds and leap hurdles over my kiddo's head to distract him into laughing fits. or have such insane dance parties to MGMT, like this morning's, where he doesn't bat an eye after bashing his cranium into mom's face, nearly resulting in a black eye for him and a fat, bloody lip for mom. (seriously. he didn't bat an eye. i nearly however, burst into tears). instead, we used frozen bags of milk to apply on our wounds, and quickly resumed the living room boogie session, this time to some britney, bitch. 

more yo gabba gabba. some gerber brand cheeto snacks. more dancing and tickle fests. mom checks her work email (because she is working remotely, after all). frequent son grabs mom's boob out of her shirt breaks. because, this kid of mine is no longer nursing, he's straight up treating me like a kegorator and is filling up his tapper on an on-demand basis. one more month. . . 

but today was a good day. i've been fortunate enough where the little bugger is on his second nap of the day, which is unheard of as i understand it, for the entire week. he's finally catching up on some z's. we even got to take the absurdly expensive luxury stroller out for our first mother/son jog this morning. let me tell you, that stroller is a goddamn cadillac. the BOBs are totally worth the hype. AND I got to run 3 miles. but dude, pushing a 20 pound stroller with a 20 pound human in it? either my endurance completely went to shit in the last week and a half i had to take off due to crumby weather, or it's a tougher workout. that's good, though. i need some training and to bust my ass a bit. my first 5k of the year is right around the corner here in ravenswood, with the older bro the last weekend of april. we'll see how it goes. following our run, we had a bath and then while chilling on the couch for another yo gabba gabba binge, holden promptly vomited all over my crotch. so, that was cool.

i'm just so fucking grateful spring is here. my kid is no longer a weird alien baby. he's this person. this full fledged, little boy. getting baby boners. having boogers on his face. constant dirty fingers. babbling full sentences, grunting and HEY'ing, pointing, waving. walking (albeit, still holding onto shit), all over the damn apartment. standing on his own. laughing. petting the cats. pulling their tails. mad drum solos on the pots and pans in the kitchen with dad. he's simply so much fun. (when he's not making me go goddamn crazy crying, screaming, whining and refusing to sleep). 

meanwhile, my life as an individual is going smoothly enough. my job is a job. any complaints i think in my head sound ridiculous when i try to say them out loud, so i keep myself in perspective and am grateful for the opportunity i currently have and am happy to be able to provide for my family. like this week, for example. i bought a mother fucking car. i've lived in chicago 9 years this july. 2 years in, my last car sputtered and croaked on hwy 90 coming back from wisconsin. when i learned the 89 camry required a new transmission, i said fuck it and never looked back on my days as a car owner. public transit, walking, biking all the way. fuck cars. rentals if necessary. but then an old acquaintance from highschool who sells cars for a living reached out with a reasonable deal. even offered to deliver it personally all the way from my hometown to chicago. the pricetag matched our tax return, and while we've been able to get by just fine bumming rides from whomever pities us, or zip carring it, or bundling the babe up like an immigrant in the colder weather - i finally sucked it up and admitted i'm an adult, a parent, and it's time i fucking suck it up. so i did. the car's nothing super fancy, it's 15 years old. very simple compact car. but aesthetically, there are no dings or scratches. only took a quarter of a tank of gas for the 3 hour drive from wisconsin, which is unheard of. and it'll suit our needs for groceries, doctor appointments and trips back to wisco just fine. other than that, we'll still be hoofing it up and relying on the ole cta. (gotta build up that babe's immune system somehow, amiright?)

but yeah. weird. i have a car. i'll admit, i still haven't driven it further than the half block drive from the bank parking lot down the street where it was dropped off and the baller parking spot i scored in front of our apartment. i guess tomorrow will be our first 'family spin.' man. am i a yuppie now or what? what's next? the suburbs? (ummmmm. shit).

now that it's spring, i'm elated that me and H will get some exercise in. strolls in the park, friday/saturday jogs. trips to the perfect cup - last summer's daily coffee jam. and if all works out, vin and i may even have a date tomorrow night. we haven't gone out for drinks together in MONTHS. for valentine's day, we did manage to sneak out to check out the new sushi joint in the neighborhood, but it was BYOB and i was a boob and forgot the wine. so yeah, looking forward to getting my tips on and remembering what it's like to be a wife, with a significant other, vs. a partner in crime chasing a little shawtie around. 

the handsome one is still softly snoozing beside me. we're all curled up under the super soft fuzzy comforter my mom gave me for christmas, surrounded by a mountain of pillows. the radiator is hissing (although unnecessary), and the wind is quietly howling outside the window. my work day is complete, and i'm still on an adrenaline high from our earlier run.

his eyes are open, now. wide and baby blue. guess that means i best sign off before he starts contributing to the post. til next time - he's smiling at me now. heart - melting. 

snowstorms, sesame street & sleater-kinney

fifth largest snowstorm in the history of chicago. (monday). is this how i will recall this time in my life? the days blend into the weeks into the months into the hours into the i'm still not sleeping. my son - my baby. he is a miracle (my miracle). he's turned my life upside down into a tilt a whirl of sleepless nights and endless joys and stressful free time that's not really quite so free anymore. he steals my  heart, yet makes it clench. i nearly burst into tears last evening as i not quite but almost force fed him guava pears. the tears weren't from the food, which actually brought him some relief, but the impending pain from his captive uncut teeth. the tears in his eyes, the pitch in his cry - it was pain and i couldn't do anything about it. except join in. (which i almost did, but not quite).

instead, i tried to put him to bed nearly two hours too early. it didn't work.

so instead, we watched more yo gabba gabba. and danced to some juliana hatfield in the dark, unlit kitchen. sang him some grizzly bear softly in his ear. swayed and rocked. and went to bed, tears caught in our messy heads of hair and sank into deep exhaustion in the shared queen bed he's so subtly consumed in the past months.

this morning - the snow. it was still there. piled up, feet of it. in the streets, the sidewalks. my mother-in-law got stuck after picking up my son. her van stalled in the middle of the street. so mom (me) copped an unexpected extra two hours of sesame street, while continuously stealing glances at her iphone, wondering what time she'd finally have to depart to the office. two words of the day. fairy school. baby bear's dirty shirt. a couple milk breaks. and then it was time to go in - the office. again. even with a string of remote work from home days, the heaviness was still there.

trudging. tired. sesame streeted out. not looking forward to another day of corporate politics and meetings encouraged to 'collaborate creatively,' yet not really speak my mind (or what i at least think i'm supposed to say). work. not enough caffeine in the day. wondering what's next. coming home. it's snowing (again). heavily. my son didn't come home to me until an hour later than usual. then he nursed, and went straight to sleep. thankful, now, of the mini sesame binge we got to sneak in this morning, or we wouldn't have had anytime at all together today.

still so tired, though. some quiet time while my husband continues to work. at 7:19 pm. listening to music, shredded cheese residue stuck under my fingernails from the makeshift pita pizzas waiting in the turned off oven.

this week has been so hard. is it the seasonal blues? is it simple menstruation? i don't think so. am i just tired. the crashing of super woman - days and days. weeks and months. office hero. motherly duties. loss of me (or am i just hiding).

in two weeks, i will have a chance. to have a drink and wear some lipstick. feel pretty, and be a girl. go see a feminist rock show with some friends. sleater-kinney. the last time i listened to one of their records as regularly as i do now was the summer of 2005. i was in a new relationship, although we were long distance over the months of june-august. i listened to the woods in a tiny tin can bedroom, with a broken sliding piece of plywood, disguised as a door. in a makeshift trailer park. in the parking lot of a water ski show. i was in a relationship, without any of the perks of a partner, who was far away. my friends were long gone, graduated from the likes of trailer slumming, and i worked a job i had burnt out on years prior. i was a fresh twenty-two. 22 years old. too old for this shit. but the woods. it was the ideal summer soundtrack to an almost grown up former wild child, who preferred the company of her one hitter in the tin can bedroom than the swarms of horny 18 year olds who somehow managed to piss their beds on a nightly basis (mickeys), those who lived alongside me in the concrete jungle gym.

i did have one close friend, that summer. two, if you count the finnish girl. but jenny, who i knew for years from the summer job. never close until that year, and whenever i think of sleater kinney, i think of the woods, and i think of that one hitter and i think of cheap beers and i think of her, jenny. we suffered together, missed our significant others whom we were separated from for the summer. we loathed our employers, but laughed quite a bit anyway. the highlights of those three long months, so long ago, were the evenings she would spend the night in our campy lot, vs. driving the 18 miles back to where she was staying that summer. it meant we could act like assholes, always laughing at some inside joke, invisible to even us at the time. cut yo dick off. tapio. yr the best lil boi in the werld. (i'mnot). sprained ankles and black hard pizzas. drinking in hotel parking lots. sneak smoking pot at pirate's cove. never enough lil wayne. i was so sad, yet so content. that summer.

now here it is, 10 years later. who hit fast forward? so much has happened. so much has changed me. i'm not that lonely little stoner anymore, although sometimes i wish i was. i met so many. loved even more. hurt and cried and dusted myself off. drank too many. became my own person, my me, my own skin. and now i sit here - on my couch. in the midst of another snowstorm, listening to corin tucker yowl from sk's latest album, 'we win, we lose - only together til we break the rules,'  it's ironically cute, hearing this girly anthem, thinking on my friendship with jenny. because oddly enough, it's motherhood that's brought us back together, a decade forward. casual friendship strengthened by the bond of insanity and love. raising our families in different states, united through technology. god bless the text message. and sleater-kinney. and our goddang babies, as tired and insane as they make us - producing that little slurpy dirtball baby boy snoozing in the crib in the next room over was my greatest accomplishment to date.

and it's still snowing. but if two years down the line, someone mentions the mostly wild winter, with that huge snowstorm on super bowl sunday in 2015, i'm perfectly content, remembering my sleep deprived madness, monotony of the day to day details highlighted with the joy of my baby boy's goofy, lopsided smile, and my friendship with a girl named jenny. with sleater-kinney, banging around as the background soundtrack.

two weeks today, and a modern girl, i'll be.