A blog is a great place to hide what a
I am this week.
With my carefully constructed cyber facade you don’t get to see that I’m
Disoriented. Panicked. Anxious.
My hands are tingly; almost numb.
I’m making a whole lot of typos.
For once, I’m grateful for spellcheck. I normally never use it. I actually didn’t know it was even up there, until about a week ago.
Clueless. Yeah. I’m like that.
I was accused this week of being a liar.
Everyone who knows me knows that I suck at lying.
“Mom, what’s gay sex?”
“It’s when two men insert their penises in each other.”
“Wherever they can.”
I am, however, guilty of lying by omission.
What I present to you here is funny, cool, snarky, New York tough, great mom, wild Samara.
Sometimes I just SUCK.
Sometimes I’m close to CRAZY.
Sometimes I’m MEAN.
Let’s start with this “You’re such a great mother” thing.
This blog post my kid did. Yes, he was awesome.
But by 10:30 last night? Two hours past his bedtime?
I was ready to beat him over the head with my laptop.
But since this is the yelling generation, not the hitting generation, I said,
“Dude, I’m exhausted.
He wanted to look for more kraken pictures.
He needed just the right kraken picture, because nothing is worse than a bad KRAKEN picture in a blog post.
“You have GOT TO GET TO SLEEP ALREADY!”
“Mama, scroll back –
‘But there were –
“Seriously. GO the FUCK to sleep!”
Dropped an F bomb. BOOM.
Yeah. I’m like that.
We have a lot of fun. I am definitely a “fun” mom.
Just last week, I made him run around the car at a red light at a very busy intersection.
It’s not fun around here if he brings home a “B” on a test.
I don’t stick toothpicks under his fingernails, but I don’t say, “That’s great! Maybe you’ll get an “A next time.”
I say, “What did you get wrong? Let’s look at it right now.”
As in, right now.
This is called Tiger Mom-ing.
Yeah. I’m like that.
I once heard him tell his friend, “I like to do well in school so I can eventually compete in a global economy.”
I make my kid do homework all summer.
Yes, you read that sentence right.
He gets to have fun. Go to camp. Romp in the dirt, pick dingleberries out of his ass, collect farts in a jar – whatever it is boys his age do all day.
He also has to do homework. Every day. 30 minutes.
Because I’m the mom, and I say so. That line of reasoning.
Also, because there is a documented loss of retention in school age children over the summer months.
Even during the summer, we visit the library every week to take out books.
You know who’s in the library in August? Me, Little Dude, and 6 Chinese families.
It’s not just school work I torture him with.
I’m like that about everything.
He studies Tae Kwondo.
When he competes, I make sure he trains hard.
“Master B says, as long as we all have fun, we all win.”
I HATE that “everyone’s a winner/give everyone a trophy/ let’s just cut the balls off society” attitude.
“Oh really? Well, if winning isn’t the point, why don’t you all just hang out and spar at the dojo all day? Why even bother to compete?”
Once, at a competition they paired him with a kid who was several inches taller.
When the match began, my kid instinctively took 2 steps back.
Oh, HELL NO.
Afterwards, I said, “Don’t you EVER back away from an opponent during a match. EVER.
When that match starts, the first thing your opponent should see is YOUR HEEL coming at HIS FACE. You got me?”
Yeah. I said that.
He brings home a trophy every time. But still.
Should I be saving for his college education? Or his therapy?
MY New York BFF said the Polar Vortex Collapse is responsible for a whole bunch of shitty things converging in a horrible way for me.
Sickness. Death. Financial problems. Huge domestic blow ups. Work related crises.
When everything falls apart at once, so do I.
I don’t do multiple crises well.
I can only hold it together to make a pretense of sanity for my kid.
I’m not sleeping.
I wish I drank or smoked weed. Perhaps that would take the edge off.
I don’t like alcohol. I get drunk off of 1/4 glass of wine.
Can you imagine me getting sloppy drunk, alone? That image would make a carefree person suicidal.
I’m not opposed to weed. It’s not a gateway to make me start banging dope.
But this urban dirt weed?
I used to know people from Northern CA. Near Humboldt County. Do you… know where I’m going with this?
They were purveyors of the Kind kind. If I could have THIS kind of clean, uplifting brain tingle, then perhaps.
But I’ll be damned if I’m going to call one of the cast members of The Jersey Shore to sell me some Swamp Grass.
So I can pollute my lungs with with paranoia-inducing chemicals, and reflect for hours upon all my conspiracy theories, convinced that the CIA is tapping my phone.
So, I just,
I had no patience for my students this week. A CRUCIAL week.
When a student didn’t know that “It was his 16th summer” meant he was 16 years old,
I rolled my eyes at her. A real visible hairy eyeball.
Yeah. I did that.
I wanted to tell her to forget going to college completely and suggest cosmetology school.
Except my hairdresser is very smart and that would have been an insult to her profession.
I almost suggested the pole. She’s very pretty.
I stopped short of that. I actually bit my upper lip so hard, it still hurts.
From 2 days ago.
Someone I know was recognized in a positive way this week. I’d felt wronged by him in the past.
And because I was hurting for a completely different person, who is suffering at the moment,
and because the two things HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH EACH OTHER,
except that they both dwell in MY head,
I bombarded the first person with horrible, scathing emails. Many of them.
Yeah. I did that.
My college BFF didn’t too so well on her first chemo. She’s supposed to have months of treatments.
She ended up in the hospital after her first.
I’m not sure why, but she didn’t call or text me. She posted on Facebook that she was in the hospital.
I don’t go on Facebook.
Facebook is a Whore.
I have a business to run. A child to tend do. Live people who I have to work in front of, every day, NOT a computer screen.
I can’t frolic and cavort on Facebook every day. If I could, I’d be on my company’s Facebook page.
Not my personal one. Which I haven’t been since 2011.
I don’t have time to gape at vacation albums; the cyber depiction of America’s Relationship with Credit.
Not my blogging one, which doesn’t exist, because of that pesky business/child thing.
My ex goes on Facebook. Of course he does! He texted me. “BFF is in the hospital.”
I was so freaked – and angry – at her for not letting me know.
Because it’s Samara’s World! And her cancer is all about ME, goddammit, me!!
Not about the fact that she may only be alive another 6 months.
I texted her, “What the FUCK is going on? You’re in the hospital? Why didn’t you text me? I don’t go on Facebook, how the FUCK am I supposed to know you’re in the hospital?
Yeah. I did that.
To my best friend with cancer.
I didn’t think about why she might have done it,
or even that, whatever she does, it has to be okay.
Because she’s probably dying.
What if, I died tomorrow, and this had been my last week on earth?
This would NOT be the way I want to go out.
It would be like, getting hit by a bus and dying just as you’ve been released from jail for stealing White Castle hamburgers.
Little Dude came over to practice his solo for temple tonight while I was writing this.
I had no idea what he was saying. I don’t know Hebrew.
Temple was a nice comfortable 55 degrees this evening. My vagina went numb.
Jews are nothing if not frugal.
I cried like a bitch, watching him up on the podium, cause in less than 3 years, he will be reading from the Torah.
And 5 years of Hebrew school and Friday night services will culminate in his Big Moment.
He led the Congregation on his page.
Was it a coincidence that his page from the prayer book was
“TO LOVE AND CARE”?
and we read the English back to him:
“We thank you for implanting within us a deep need for each other, and for giving us a capacity to love and care.
May we always be grateful that we have one another and are able to express our love and acts of kindness.
Keep us gentle in our speech.
May we waste no opportunity to speak words of sympathy, of appreciation, of praise.”
Maybe, It was my reminder to pray tonight. To be a better person.
I’m so glad I get another chance.
The person I can be. The friend I can be. The mom I can be.
It was a just nice to be somewhere where they serve a lot of cake.
We love cake.
Have you ever felt like you just screwed up really badly? With everything?
Talk to me. I’m listening.