Shut It, Fear. I Win.

Writing is therapeutic for me. And, I am in need of therapy.

Yesterday, I realized that I'm worn down. My body is tired. My mind is exhausted. Every ounce of creativity is being forced from some quiet, tired place within. My art room is in shambles. There is glitter on my keyboard. Paintbrushes are strewn about beside erasers that have been used as stamps. A large container of Christmas ornaments sits beside a Buddha head candle. Mod Podge is everywhere. UV-Resistant Clear Acrylic Coating is the neighbor of a baby monitor.

And fear was swirling...whipping its stupid, idiotic comet tail around my brain over and over and over...and I couldn't make it stop.

But, today I high-fived Beau out of pure surrender. I think the conversation went something like this:

Cari: "So, did that $1,000 check get taken out of our account, yet?"
Beau: "Oh, I think so."
Cari: "Really? I didn't see it go through. I think we think we have more money than we do."
Beau: "Well, shit. I thought it went through."
Cari: "Let me check."

(30 seconds pass)

Cari: "Nope. It didn't go through. We don't have as much money as we thought we had."
Beau: "Well, that's awesome. The money is dwindling and no more money is ever going to come to us." (This last line was said as a joke.)

Cari: "Well, here's to having absolutely no money! Hope we didn't make the worst decision of our entire life! We're awesome!"

*High-Five*

We then proceeded to laugh and laugh at our "no money," "high-five" and complete willingness to be in the moment of our fear.

This moment of clarity, surrender and laughter led to 5 interesting happenings:

1. At the grocery store, I saw the new O Magazine. I never read O Magazine. But, I was strangely attracted to this issue. I have no idea why. I stood in the check-out line, saw the cover and said, "I'm going to get that O Magazine. It's calling me, and I have no idea why." Beau said, "Then get it. It's a sign." I purchased it. More to come on that...

2. On the way to Charlie's Chicken (because groceries just weren't going to satisfy the incessant need for gravy), I decided that I needed to call our mutual friend, Jason, and sing "All I Wanna Do is Have Some Fun" while utilizing my best Sheryl Crow impersonation. But, then I couldn't remember the words, so I decided on "Hit Me Baby, One More Time" by Britney Spears. I can do a KILLER Britney Spears impersonation. I like to call people and leave voicemails because I don't like talking on the phone. I do this a lot. I'll even send a text beforehand, sometimes, that says, "I'm about to call you. Don't answer."

So, when I told Beau of my plan to call and leave the message, he said, "Yeah, but Jason ALWAYS answers his phone." So, I said, "Well, then...I'll just call him, start singing, and then hang up when I'm through." So, I did. And Jason laughed for as long as I was on the phone. I'm not sure if he kept laughing because I hung up on him. I did get a text about 20 seconds later that said, plainly, "Gross." That was all I needed from Jason. No talking. Just for him to listen to my song and then send "gross."

3. Directly after leaving the voicemail, Sheryl Crow's "All I Wanna Do" came on the radio. It was if God was giving me fuel for my next voicemail. Will you be the recipient? Who knows...

4. The Greatful Dead's "Touch of Grey" came on directly after Sheryl Crow. Beau decided that it would be our family's anthem. One, for obvious reasons, and two, because of the lines, "We will get by...doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo...we will survive..." Grey appreciated this, for more reasons than one.

5. I came home and read O Magazine. The main theme of the issue was facing fear. Really getting deep into the whys of your fear. Looking at the underlying issues. Asking yourself what's really going on inside when the fear rises. Asking yourself what you truly want and becoming extremely clear on the subject. Why are you starting this new business? What do you want from it? What do you want to feel? Who do you want to be? Why are you scared? It was all about Oprah dealing with the fear of starting her new network, etc. And, although Oprah's problems seem to be so very far from my own...they're not. They're the basic fears of anyone that deal with ego, failure, insecurity, depression...

It was all about new beginnings and going after what you know makes you happy...living your best life, blah, blah, blah. The point is this:

The simple act of standing in the moment of my fear, hearing Beau vocally express it (all of our money is going away, and no more is ever coming - hahaha! Makes me laugh just thinking of it), and then choosing to "high-five" each other instead of freak out...well, that led to one moment after another of tumbling towards clarity. It led to the songs, to the magazine, etc.

I find that it's kind of like this: When you let the Universe know that you are sitting right in the middle of your fear, and you haven't let it suffocate you - that you're literally laughing through it - well, the Universe (or God, as I see it, as well), puts the most amazing things in front of your face. You just have to be willing to look. I told God/Love/What-Have-You that I wanted to look, and so he/she/it opened up some avenues for me. Some avenues that I can now stroll and saunter down instead of hiding behind every corner of each, new, unexplored and daunting alley.

I think I've pinpointed my main fear...and it's always been my main fear. I just haven't wanted to admit it. It's this: WHAT WILL PEOPLE THINK OF ME?

Seriously.

That's it.

That's the only thing that has ever held me back from anything. Ever.

"What will people think of me? They might not like me. They may think I'm making a horrible decision. Those other people don't think I can do this. They don't think I'm good enough. They think what I do is 'cute.' They think I'm living in a dream world. What will they think if I fail? Then what will they say? There are already people that make snide remarks about what I'm doing. If I fail, THEN what will THOSE people think?" and it goes on and on and on until I talk myself out of whatever it is that I wanted to do.

The funny thing is that no one really cares what I do. These thoughts are all MY thoughts about myself. No one sits around thinking, "Cari Hollrah Adams is going to fail miserably. I want her to fail. She sucks. She's not good enough." In fact, it's quite the opposite. It's ME that thinks those things silently and secretively while putting on a "brave" face. And, you know what? If there ARE people out there that think those things about me...fuck off. See how easily I can say it to others that would say those things to me? Now, I must find a way to say it to my own brain. :)

I think that this entire process of starting the new business, going "against the grain," so to speak, if nothing else, is a huge, gigantic, enormous, gargantuan lesson in fear and/or the elimination of it. I've always been someone that didn't want to take the easy route, meaning, I didn't want to do what most people were doing. I didn't want to go to college. I didn't want to have a 9 to 5 job, etc. While those are all wonderful choices for many, many people...I knew in my heart that they weren't a part of my life's calling. And now the choices I have made in the past are creeping up on me once again, saying, "You did the 'husband has high-paying job where you got to buy whatever you wanted and feel 'safe' thing. Time to get back to business!"

And I think I'm finally coming to terms with the fact that I am someone who chooses to take risks. I am someone that values emotional safety over financial safety. I will have both again, someday soon. But, for now...I like the risks I'm taking. I'm proud of us. We take risks. We live life. The words, "We can't do that," don't exist in this house. We just go (somewhat) blindly into the cold, dark night knowing against all things "reasonable" that we will come out the other side even better for taking the risk in the first place. Seriously...just this one life on this planet. That's all we have here. Every time I really, REALLY get scared, and if I can tell that Beau is going to his freaked-out-about-what-we've-chosen place, I just say, "Dead tomorrow. You could be dead tomorrow. We're making the right decision." It's an extremely dramatic way to bring us back to the place of peace that we need, but it's true...plus, we're just dramatic people. :)

While typing this all out, I just had this thought:

"Jesus. No wonder Grey has already crawled out the doggy door with pure abandon, not even looking back once (or forward for that matter), and crying when we brought him back in from his 'adventure.'" No wonder I found him balancing at the very top of his collapsed stroller yesterday. No wonder he just goes and goes and goes and never stops moving and seems as if he can't get to the next "big thing" fast enough."

He's learning from us. He can do anything he puts his mind to. And he's learning that from us.

Thank God.

*High five, Grey Matthew. High five.*

Feeling Extremely...

grateful.

It's my birthday. Most past birthdays in my life were always accompanied by a sort of longing. A sense of uneasiness that something is missing...a knowing ache that I'm not fulfilled (even though I, in fact, may have been and just not known).

But, not this one.

For the first time in my 32 years, I feel as if everything is in its proper and rightful place within myself and outside of myself. I'd like to say that I came to this realization after long, contemplative walks, talks over coffee, or years of therapy. Although those things helped...it's not why I feel at peace.

Here is why I feel at peace:

I decided to be at peace.

Here is why I decided to feel at peace:

Because Grey is here.

Here is why Grey is here:

To be a constant reminder to get over myself and my past and my shit and my negative thoughts.

I know that I would've come to this realization at some point without him, but he sure did help shove it in my face.

For the first time in 32 years, I can look at myself in the mirror and say, "Hi, body. I like you. You've been a good body. I'm sorry I did all the crap I did to you over the years. Let's let that go. Want some cake? Me, too, body. Me, too. Let's go get some. If you get bigger, body, I'll still make sure you're healthy, ok? If you get smaller, I'll still make sure you're healthy, ok? Thank you, body. Thank you, Self."

For the first time in 32 years, I can look at the person next to me (Beau) and say to myself, "We don't have to be perfect. He is wonderful. We can't stand each other sometimes, and that's okay. We scream horrible things at each other and laugh 20 minutes later. We are doing the best we can. And I know he'll never leave me. I know this because I'll never leave him. When the 'work' of this marriage gets too hard, we remind each other that huge awareness and love is just over the hill. Even the hard parts are good."

For the first time in 32 years, I didn't make a big deal out of my birthday. It was usually in jest in the past. I would send out a mass email to my family on November 1st, announcing that it was my "Birthday Month," where to forward checks, details on the party to come, etc. It was funny at the time (and still), but this year I didn't do it. I didn't because I don't really have the time to do that with a 9 month-old, but I REALLY didn't do it because I just didn't feel the need.

I have had the least self-involved birthday of my entire life. I don't even think I've received a present today, and I don't care. Here's what I care about:

• I care that I get to spend TIME with Lindsey at 1:00.
• I care that TWO old friends stopped by this week.
• I care that Grey laughed the hardest I'd ever seen or heard any baby laugh...and he did because I crumpled some paper.
• I care that my parents are still alive.
• I care that my husband loves me beyond belief or what seems reasonably normal. :)
• I care that people have come out of the woodworks to help me with my business.
• I care that Gus is still alive and kicking (with sore hips, even).
• I care that it rained a lot yesterday because we needed it.
• I care that my sister and brother and two of my best friends.
• I care about creating a happy, warm and cozy home for the holidays.
• I care that everyone knows how much I love them.

So...as I sit here on my 32nd birthday, listening to "Music for Airports" by Brian Eno, I am awash with feelings of gratefulness.

I am in love with being happy. (and with trying to be happy on days when it goes away)

Thank you to everyone, past or present that got me to this place. And thanks to me! I'm pretty cool! :)

Just Goin' For It...

Just a note to say that I haven't forgotten about my blog. I've just been completely and totally busy with...

Starting my card business! Yes, folks. You will soon be able to order "50 of those" if you so choose. Right now I am starting with Christmas/Holiday cards. The other night I came up with 10 designs after Grey went to bed. After drawing them, I said, "Let's do this shizz. Life's short. I want to make some cash!"

Beauregard wholeheartedly agreed.

So...pics to come soon. I just went to the printer and approved the proofs. They're now being printed...2500 of them. Wow. It's a little scary and a LOT exciting to finally be doing this! The cards will come in packs of 10, sealed in biodegradable clear plastic bags. That was a MUST for me. I really didn't want to put more plastic out into the world, but I knew I needed some sort of protective covering, and I found some wonderful products at www.clearbags.com

I love it that you can compost the plastic sleeve! YAY!

Alrighty, have to go do stuff while my extremely fussy and teething human boy naps. I'm the most excited EVER! I shall write more entertaining blogs when I get a chance, but I just wanted to "put it out to the Universe" that yes...yes, I AM following/chasing/designing this dream for myself.

Anybody want to help me stuff bags full of cards? Because I'll need help with that. :)

p.s. $20 for a pack of 10 cards. Seems reasonable enough to me...especially since they're AWESOME.

To-Do List: September 16, 2010

Thought I'd share my actual to-do list that I just wrote out:

• fold laundry on table
• start loads of laundry
• get the fucking laundry done
• vacuum downstairs
• vaccuum upstairs
• learn how to spell vacuum
• mop hardwoods (actually mop...not just "magic shoes")
• clean/straighten Grey's room so that it appears that my child doesn't live in a sea of his own filth and clutter
• hang mobile
• make the bed
• clean kitchen
• dust
• organize some shit
• don't just sit here for 4 hours, staring into space bcuz Grey is gone, and you never get to sit for 4 hours, staring into space
• waste 20 minutes by blogging this

So far, I have the last one accomplished. Oh, and I also took the time to learn how to spell "vacuum" correctly.

Some Random Stuff That People Should Read

1. I have an irrational fear of "crunches" now. My lower back is killing me, and I know that if I bring my abdominal muscles back to their glory days of at least 200 crunches a day, this will be fixed. I cannot bring myself to even try to do 20. I blame my ruptured C-section incision for this. Crazy as it sounds...I just don't want to see my intestines again. Once was enough. Actually, once was too many times. No one should see their own intestines coming out of their mid-section. Ever. Maybe I'll try a "quiet movement forward" tomorrow as I'm horizontal. That's what I'll call it. A "quiet movement forward." See? I'm not doing a "crunch."

2. I think I have some diminished form of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I tear up every time an ambulance whizzes past me. It all comes rushing back. This too shall pass.

3. Beau has used the term "double duty" too many times this week. Is he 62? No. Does he use terms on a daily basis that a 62-year-old would say? Yes. Did Granddad actually say "double duty" on the radio today to prove my point that only 62-year-old men say that phrase? Yes. There is no need to describe things as "going double duty," "using double-duty," or "having double-duty." I get it. Two things are happening at once, or you're having to do two things at once. Just say that. :)

4. Grey is completely obsessed with "Super Why" on PBS. I "Super Don't Know Why" he is. He's only 7 months old. He smiles, stares, "talks," and squeals when "Super Why" comes on. I have a theory that is based on the large eyes of the characters. It has to be that. No other television show has this effect on him.

5. Um...Beerminton is the best family event to ever exist on the face of the planet. Combining the consumption of beer, along with playing Badminton...best. family. get-together. idea. EVER. Where else can you see a high school librarian give her entire family the finger? Or see an otherwise sensitive and loving English Professor show absolutely no mercy to his baby sister during the semi-finals? Nowhere else. Just Beerminton. It just keeps getting better every year.

6. I'm pretty amazed with how close my entire extended family is. And, it's a huge family. And we all love each other. It's quite beautiful, really.

7. One can never have too many "girl-fitting" OSU jersey/shirts.

8. The laundry will never get done.

9. Tonight I hacked into my mom's Facebook account (with her permission, of course) and perused family photos and such. It was enlightening. I learned that people are throwing baby kittens from cars in OKC, my uncle is a gifted poet, Lindsey had a great time salsa dancing the other night, Abbey is backing up her phone (so you should just use G-Chat while she's doing that), Shelley likes some picture of some hot guy that I don't know, and Teresa was listening to Leonard Cohen while drinking coffee earlier. DAMN YOU, FACEBOOK! I want to know these things and NOT have an account! How can I accomplish this? I feel as if I may need to just have people send their updates to my personal email account.

10. I would like to thank the boy that I made for helping me lose all of the baby weight PLUS 12 more pounds. Here's how he did it:

a. He sucks the life-force out of me, daily.

b. Breastfeeding (it's different than sucking the life-force out of me, daily)

c. He literally NEVER stops moving while awake. This makes ME constantly move, too. Thanks. Thanks a whole lot.

d. He requires 1-2 walks per day. When I say "requires," I mean it. You don't want to see what happens when he doesn't get to go on a walk.

e. He was born. That makes me need to stay alive. So I eat lots of vegetables.

11. I have no concept of how Fantasy Football works. Beau has tried to explain it to me, and I'm really quite interested, but I find myself just kind of staring off into the distance when the explanation comes. Much like when my father tried to teach me to change a tire 3 times in one summer. I just couldn't wrap my head around it. It's like how telephones work. Who knows? Who cares? They just work, and that's A-OK with me.

12. I'm starting to wonder if I'll ever wake up feeling "refreshed" again.

13. Lindsey and I are going to have a drink on Friday night (without children, of course) for the first time in...hell...years? If we don't bring up our children in conversation, we get a special prize. The special prize? Knowing that we can have a conversation and not bring up our children. It's never happened before. Because of the children. In the background. Always interrupting.

14. If I could make one thing happen in this crazy ol' life of mine (sick), I would somehow make it possible for my mom to retire YESTERDAY. Seriously...I am constantly thinking of ways that I could make this happen. She deserves it more than anyone I know.

15. I miss singing for adults. Today, I played the piano and sang Cyndi Lauper's "True Colors" for Grey. He stopped moving (okay, so he stops moving when I'm singing...sorry) for the 2 1/2 minutes that the song lasted, and then gave a little smile and then went back to moving. It was incredibly weird to be singing a song in my "real" voice instead of my usual "mommy-sing-songy" voice. But, he loved it. He also loves "Rainbow Connection" more than sweet potatoes. (He loves sweet potatoes a LOT.)

16. I fall asleep while taking baths on a weekly basis. I'll wake up, and it's 1:15a.m. My baths start at about 11:30p.m. (when I actually get to take one). This means that I have been sleeping in my own, watery filth for an hour and 45 minutes. There's something inherently wrong with sleeping in water.

17. I attended a wedding of a good friend last Saturday. I went by myself. It was weird to be by myself. Just driving along...by myself. Sitting at the wedding...by myself. Driving home...by myself. I had forgotten what that felt like. It was nice.

18. There's a scene in "Date Night" with Tina Fey and Steve Carrell that had to have been literally taken straight from a conversation Beau and I have had on more than one occasion. In fact, when the scene was playing, the Twilight Zone music should've been playing in the background.

Steve (Beau): Do you ever think about leaving me for someone else?

Tina (Cari): No. Never. Not once.

Steve (Beau): Really? Never?

Tina (Cari): Never. If I ever dream of anything like that, it's more like...wishing I could go be by myself. Like, get a hotel room and have even one, uninterrupted thought with no one touching me.

Steve (Beau): That sounds awful.

19. Okay, clouds! I said we needed "rain," not a monsoon.

20. The act of loving someone is so incredibly large (if you truly do love them). And wounds are so incredibly able to be healed (if you truly want to heal them). And some big ones were healed this week. And some little ones.

So...if wounds develop scars and scars then slightly fade (but still give you a little reminder of what to look out for/what happened in the past) and everything is able to be put back together again (in a new and improved array with "75% more knowledge this time!"), then maybe...just maybe...

I could try a "crunch" or two, after all.

Doesn't Feel Like a Year...

Just wanted to take a moment to remember my Papa. It was one year ago, today, that he passed. He made so many things possible for my family this year, and I just wanted to say thank you.

He never got to meet Grey Matthew, which makes me sad.

BUT...I know in my heart that he really DID get to meet Grey Matthew. I will tell stories to Grey to let him know how wonderful his "Grandpa the Great" was as often as I remember.

There is also a cool breeze blowing outside right now that distinctly reminds me of my other Grandpa, Tom. There's something about the promise of fall (most likely, the oncoming football season) that puts a little bit of nostalgia, appreciation, love, respect and that ol' Cowboy pride in my heart. I could really use a Hershey's Kiss right now. And a "fish and van." And a hug.

I miss both of my grandpas more than I can describe.

Why can't Grandpas stick around a little longer?

All of my love to both of you amazing men. You made my family stronger. You've put a whole lot of yourselves into who I am today, whether you know it or not, and I will always, ALWAYS remember that.

Love to all "Grandpas," "Poppys" "Grandpa Bobs," "Granddads," and especially "Papas" today.

:)

P.S.

I also learned today that if you pretend like you didn't know that you couldn't take your baby into the liquor store (while your husband is on a business trip to Chicago), that they just let you take your baby into the liquor store if you, and I quote, "hurry."

Ahh...cold, cold wine. :)

Lifting the Vail

Yes, I know "veil" is spelled wrong. Just read the damn blog.

Two days ago, I returned from Vail, Colorado. It was absolutely beautiful. One day the high temperature was 53 degrees. I was in heaven. But, something was wrong...

Mostly Unimportant (yet, kind of important) Stuff:

Grey did so well. Out of 4 days, he probably had 10 total minutes of complete "freakout." One instance was because he really didn't appreciate the fact that we didn't have a plan and just leisurely decided to drive for longer than he (and we) had anticipated. The other moment was the first 5 minutes of the plane ride home. He screamed his head off, and we became the parents with "that baby," which brings me to this question-y statement:

Um, hey people that give bad looks or roll their eyes or are complete and total assholes to people with crying babies on planes?

You might want to go f*&$ yourselves. Do you truly believe that I have some special way of making my baby NOT cry, and I've decided to not utilize this gift just to annoy the hell out of everyone on the plane? Do you think that maybe my insides and nervous system have completely freaked out as much as or actually MORE than yours, as well? Or, maybe you think that babies aren't supposed to cry when they've never been 30,000 feet in the air, trapped on my lap, ears popping, tired as hell, etc.?

Yeeeeaaahhh, so...if you'd like to be an actual HUMAN BEING and maybe give a knowing nod, ask if there's anything you could do to help (there's not, but that would be nice), or just say, "I'm so sorry. It's so hard, isn't it?" Well...that would be great. Who ARE these people, by the way? People that hate babies/children are completely sad. They're just really sad people. Sorry to ruin your first 5 minutes on the plane, Sad People. I guess I'm never supposed to go on trips or let my child experience anything. I'd like to say, "I hope someone rolls their eyes at how stupid you are someday." But, that's not my style. I hope people are extremely nice to you in the future, Sad People. Maybe it will rub off a little, and you'll see how wonderful life can be.

Anyway. He cried for 5 minutes. It felt like hours. He then slept for the rest of the hour and a half trip. That's my Greybie Baby.

(Thank you to the wonderfully kind man in his early 50's who, upon landing, approached Beau and me and said, "He did so well." I responded, exhausted, "Yeah...I guess." And, then he said, "NO. He did REALLY well." And then he smiled. That man was an angel for one tired family.

There are people in Vail that have nannies. Lots of them. That's how they get to go do fun stuff at night. We do not have a nanny. We will never have a nanny. That is why we were stuck in our suite at Beaver Creek Lodge every night at 6:30pm. It would have been nice to have a glass of wine together at some point. Or dinner. Or just any time alone, really. But, you know what? I wouldn't trade anything for the look on Grey's face when he rolled around on the faux bearskin blanket. Or his first swing ride. Or even just traveling on the trams at the Denver airport. At one point, I texted my mom and said, "So...when babies go to sleep at night, you don't take them out, right? You just let them sleep and you have to stay in your room?" She said, "Yep. Don't want to wake a tired boy when he's down for the count."

I responded, "Being a parent is really hard."

Her response, "Yep. It sure is, sweetie. So, so hard."

Stuff That's Really Important:

Believe it or not, I hadn't been to Colorado in 9 years. That's so strange to even type. I have no idea why I hadn't been back in so long. I loved it the first time. Quick synopsis of first trip:

First husband and I decide to take a trip to Vail a month before our wedding. We (pretty randomly) decide to get a marriage license in Colorado. We drive to Rocky Mountain National Park and get married on top of a mountain. (You don't have to have a minister or official in Colorado.) We have "fake" wedding a month later with friends and family. I was 22.

Some months ago, Beau decided we should go to Beaver Creek. It is about a mile west of Vail. It's breathtakingly beautiful. Nan and Granddad had gone several times over the past couple years, and so we just decided this would be a great first family trip. Beau had also never been to this part of Colorado, and I was trying to describe how wonderful the trip west on I-70 from Denver to Vail is. He got to see for himself.

Our rental car had satellite radio in it, and we set it on "Coffeehouse," an acoustic station that usually has pretty good music on it. Not too loud for Grey. No kids' songs to drive us insane. As we got closer and closer to Vail, I started to feel uneasy. I couldn't put my finger on what was wrong with me.

Old David Gray songs kept coming on Coffeehouse. Then a cover of "Sittin' on the Dock of the Bay." When Martin Sexton played next, I let out a silent, "You've got to be effing kidding me," in my own brain. It was literally one song after another of songs that either:

1. My ex-husband and I used to sing together over and over and over (or)

2. My ex-husband and I used to listen to together over and over and over

As we continued down I-70, we drove past Georgetown. That's where I got my marriage license. The sinking feeling continued, and I tried to suppress it as best I could, while still trying to smile and point at "pretty stuff" and sing to Grey Matthew.

But, the uneasiness wouldn't go away. As the days went on, we visited the garden where I had taken a picture of my hand next to my ex-husband's hand with our rings on. It was a silly, 22 year-old thing to do. We drove past the condos we stayed in. We went past the town where we tried, unsuccessfully, to get our license the first time (I forgot my license...a sign? Just kidding).

I kept trying to reason with myself. I would say, "Really, Cari. It's been 9 years since all of that. What is going on? Why is this bothering you so much??" So, I asked myself questions while Beau probably wondered why the hell I wasn't talking very much:

Are you sad because of what happened?

No. Not anymore, anyway.

Do you feel like you have "unfinished business" with him?

Not really. I feel really okay with us now.

Do you miss him? Does this place make you miss him?

Not exactly. I miss him as one would miss a best friend that they've lost. But, that's not quite it. I can't really put my finger on what this feeling is...

What is it, Cari? Why are you so sad? WHAT IS IT?

I miss myself.

You're not happy? Yourself how??

I miss my SELF then. I miss who I was. No, no. Not the drinking, dramatic, unhealthy, self-degrading self....but...

Then WHAT?

I miss the self that hadn't been through all that crap, yet. I miss the self that wasn't jaded and was open to everything possible, and didn't feel old or run down and loved so freely and openly and hung on to their partner's every word because they didn't know that it would end or that relationships sometimes don't survive.

Oh. That self.

Yep. That one. That girl. I miss that girl. I miss how that girl was until it all fell apart. And, I wouldn't change a thing, and I wouldn't want to go back, and I'm thankful that it all happened, and I'm happy where I am, but I STILL MISS THE INNOCENCE.

So, 3 days into the trip, I finally decide to tell Beau all of this after we got into a completely stupid fight. You know the kind....the kind of fight that is the most important fight in the entire world, and 3 months later you can't remember what the hell the fight was about. But, you remember that you fought. And it was bad.

And, after I told him that I missed my own innocence, he admitted that he missed his, too. And, then we admitted to each other that we kind of felt old and worn down. And, then we admitted to each other that we never want to feel this way again. I think the line, "I feel as if our marriage is hanging on by a thread," was mentioned. And then, "What is wrong with us? I don't want to feel like your business partner." And then, "I miss being in love." And finally, "Let's be in love again no matter what it takes." And then, "I'm never going to leave you." And then, "Marriage is hard." And then, "We're both so emotional that we put everything we are into that baby. We're losing each other." And then, "Let's decide to be young and happy for the rest of our lives." And then we cried, and Beau called it, "Cryday Friday," and so we laughed through tears.

And, then we decided to just have the one child. :)

I think sometimes it's good to go back to places that meant something very special to you at one point...just to see how it's changed and how it's changed you and how you've changed in its absence. It's good to remember those you loved deeply and courageously and blindly. It's good to listen to songs that remind you of them and how you were and what love meant then and what love means now and how much you've changed and wonder how they're doing and then smile at the man across from you and let yourself cry for as long as you need.

And then it's good to take a deep breath, turn off the radio...and go home.

Okay, I'm Back.

Apparently, all you need is a beer, and you can come up with some (hopefully) interesting things to say. I only have 23 minutes to type this blog because, sadly, I am addicted to not one, but THREE Real Housewives shows (NYC, Bethenny's spin-off, and New Jersey), and New Jersey is about to come on. I can't believe I just admitted that to the world. Let's never speak of it again, okay? Okay.

So, when I can't think of anything to write, I usually make lists. Here we go!

1. I will never re-create my now defunct Facebook account, so everyone who is asking me to "get back on" will just have to live in their own little hopeful world. And, then they can take that glimmer of hope and watch me squish it. I think an 80 year-old woman that my cousin Lindsey heard on NPR put it best when she said, "That sounds like an incredible waste of time." Yes, 80 year-old woman NOT on Facebook...it IS an incredible waste of time. So is watching The Real Housewives of New Jersey.

2. Everything in my life is being recalled. My dishwasher. Some random part of my car? I have no clue what part it is, but I got a letter about it, and it needs to be fixed. I'm ignoring the letter at the current moment. Beau was right. I should've gotten the BMW station wagon. Damn you, feeling-of-not-wanting-to-drive-a-station-wagon-and-be-a-mom-type-person-who-drives-a-station-wagon! Now, I sit sadly while Beau speeds around in his little BMW (not a station wagon), and my cute compact SUV gets recalled. I don't even want to discuss the dishwasher.

3. I would like to thank Grey Matthew Adams for being the prettiest boy this side of the MIssissippi. Yes, people mistake you for a girl on a weekly basis, (even while wearing blue) but I PROMISE your good looks will work out for you in the end. Damn those eye lashes!

4. I'm pretty positive that the producers who find people to go on "Who Wants to be a Millionaire" find people that have absolutely no chance of winning the million dollars. Today someone used a lifeline on the first question. I am tired of yelling at the contestants. I shall either:

a. Go on Who Wants to be a Millionaire (or)
b. Stop watching

p.s. Neither of those two things will happen, and I will continue to be completely annoyed with every contestant on the show. By the way, contestant today...Lennie. The answer was Lennie. The guy in "Of Mice and Men" is named Lennie. There. Don't use your lifeline. Just ask me next time. Also..."Expert Used for the Ask An Expert Section": The answer was...the Grammys. The Junos in Canada are what the GRAMMYS are to America. Way to be the "expert" and tell the girl the wrong answer.

5. Louis C.K.'s new show is pretty effing great.

6. Yes, I have mentioned 12 different TV shows in this blog. Can't. Stop. Watching. TV. In. The. Background. Of. Raising. My. Child.

7. My Corona Light sits half empty on the table to my right. Some would say it's half full. It's not. When you want more of something, the sadness grows as it dwindles. Therefore, it's half empty.

8. I have no class when it comes to red wine, anymore. I swear it's been over 100 degrees in Tulsa for the past two weeks. Therefore, red wine is to be chilled. Then, when you consume it on the porch after your 6-month old finally falls asleep, it is dubbed, "Cold, cold wine."

Example:

"I'd like some cold, cold wine now that my child is asleep."

"Oh, you mean white wine?"

"No. I hate white wine with a passion."

"Well, red isn't supposed to be chilled."

"Eff off. It's 500 degrees outside."

And, that's how you get yourself a glass of cold, cold wine, my friends.

9. My father-in-law continues to dash any hopes of OSU football being any good this year. I hope to God he's wrong. I know he's not. I'm ignoring his talk radio show for now.

10. New Jersey is on. Unfortunately, the New Jersey Housewives take precedent over everything ever created at this given time.

Good night.

Emails and Video Chats and Phone Calls, Oh My!

I get it, family and friends. I haven't written a blog in over a month. There are quite a few excuses for this. My favorite one is:

I couldn't think of anything about which to write. Which is kind of true. And kind of not.

I received 2 emails, a video "call" and a phone call about the fact that I haven't written in over a month. It made me smile. Look! I have "readers"!! I have a fan base! Granted, my fan base consists of various family members strewn about the country and a few friends that say things like, "Dude. Write some stuff. I'm bored." But, still. Fans. It gives me hope that I'm not writing all of this in vain.

Right now, I'm listening to the new Arcade Fire album for the 8 millionth time. It is glorious, and there are certain songs that give me that, "I'm going to run down Main Street in Stillwater, Oklahoma as fast as I can with my arms outstretched while looking up and screaming, 'Nothing besides this moment matters!!!'" I'm not quite sure why I always have this vision of myself when I hear a really wonderful song. I suppose it's because so much of my life happened in Stillwater. A lot of really good stuff. And, a lot of really not good stuff. But, it was STUFF. And it mattered.

I went back to Stillwater on Sunday. I told Beau that it seemed incredibly foreign to me. It's like remembering a dream you may or may not have had. Something familiar. The old football stadium where you wore way too much make-up to try to impress boys in high school. The coffee shop that still has the best coffee in all of America...okay...it's actually tied with Topeca Coffee in Tulsa. If you haven't had it, you're seriously missing out. It's called "Seed-to-Cup" because it comes straight from El Salvador...right to your cup. I always mess up the term and call it "Hand-to-Mouth." Then Beau reminds me that that term is dangerously close to being a term used in porn. Ass-to-mouth, Seed-to-cup, Hand-to-mouth...who can keep these things straight? All I know is that it's the best damn coffee ever. Except Aspen. Tied with Aspen.

Can you all see why I haven't written in awhile? Look at what I'm writing! This is BS. I have a lot of really important things I want to talk about. Realizations I've had in the past couple weeks. The fact that my son (still sounds weird to say) is 6 months old, and that scares the shit out of me. It's going too fast.

I'm going to go outside for a second and think about some things. I feel really frazzled, and I can't figure out why...just really scattered, and I can't seem to wrap my head around any one thing right now. When I come back, I will try my very hardest to have something of substance for you to enjoy.

I WILL have a "good" blog before I leave for Colorado on Wednesday. Maybe it's the heat that has completely fried my brain.

You can sing this little song to yourselves while you wait for my next poetic greatness:

Bor-ing, Bor-ing,
Cari's Blog is Bor-ing.
Can't she write about friends and foes?
Can't she write about her cobra toes?
(She has a toe that looks like a co-bra, co-bra.)

The last line is whispered, by the way.

Check ya on the flip side. See ya on the check side. Flip out. Peace.

Correction...

Because I am a perfectionist, I sometimes read over my blogs two or three times, days after writing them.

Please note that in the previous blog, I said that if you were facing west on a farm just east of Enid in October, you would see fields of golden wheat. This is wrong. Wheat harvest is in early June, making it impossible to see fields of golden wheat.

Now that I have made this correction, I feel the need to also say that "Fields of turned up soil," would not have sounded as poetic as "fields of golden wheat." But, alas, that's what you would see. Churned dirt.

And now Papa is no longer rolling in his grave from the fact that I appeared to not understand the wheat cycle of Western Oklahoma.

Thank you. Good night.

An Interview with Cari Adams

*This interview was conducted by Cari Elaine Adams. She decided to interview herself on the rare occasion that she was able to consume 4 small glasses of wine on June 29th, 2010.

So, Cari, we hear that you're a mom now. What is the best part of being a mom?

Well, let's see. Besides having my son sometimes look at me as if I am the love of his life, I would have to say that the best part of being a mom is the fact that I am being forced to "get over myself" on a daily basis. I used to think it was extremely uncool to wear clothes that were indicative of a certain occasion or holiday. This idea has been discarded. Grey Matthew now owns a "Daddy's Caddy in Training" onesie (courtesy of Father's Day), and a "My First Halloween" onesie, that WILL be worn on Halloween. On the 4th of July, he will be wearing his new cap, a white onesie and his red, white and blue madras shorts. It's cute. Deal with it, self.

I also have pretty much ZERO time for myself now, which is a blessing in disguise. Man, I could make a petty argument into such a big deal when given the time to ponder and obsess. Yeah...don't really have time to care, anymore.

What is the worst part about being a mother?

I have pretty much ZERO time for myself now. The other day I realized that I couldn't remember when I had showered last. I'm not kidding. It had been that long. I also constantly worry about the unheard of amount of "life decisions" that I have to make for another human being. It's weird. The fact that I named another human being is weird. I find myself wondering if the music that I subject him to is "intelligent" enough. He doesn't care, of course. He just likes me no matter what I do or who I portray myself to be...which is also hard to comprehend. He's making me try to like myself. Damn you, baby!

What kick-ass music are you listening to now? You know...because you're a musician and a songwriter?

I've come up with a few hits lately. If you're 4 1/2 months old, you're TOTALLY going to love them. They're called:

"Please Stop Screaming While I Put Pajamas on Your Lotion-y Skin" (Beau co-wrote this one.)

"Don't Worry, I'm Not Going to Leave You in That Jumparoo for Much Longer"

"The Inward Facing Carrier is Just as Good as the Front Facing Carrier, So Like It"

"Bumbos are for Big Boys...Try to Stay in Yours for More than 2 Minutes"

and my personal favorite:

"How in the Hell Did I Ever Exist Without You Because You're Pretty Much the Best Thing Ever to Come into Existence?"

You're a big reader. What books are you enjoying right now?

The Baby Book by Dr. Sears

The Vaccine Book by Dr. Sears (his son, actually)

Gabe's blog

Beau's blog

I skim emails.

I occasionally peruse www.perezhilton.com

Nice. I once read 7 books in one month when I was 27. They were all classics. Yes, I was trying to ignore the fact that my first marriage was imploding, but STILL. Seven classics in one month. I'm now excited if I get to see 9 minutes of the Fourth Hour of the Today Show with Kathie Lee and Hoda. So gross.

How were those 4 small glasses of wine tonight?

Liquid heaven.

What is the most surprising thing about motherhood?

I have a new understanding of my own mother and what she must have felt, seen, been worried about, NOT understood, been scared by, loved, and experienced. This knowledge that she went through all of this (at 23, 26 and 29, mind you) is incredible. I feel a connection that I didn't know existed, and I am so grateful for her advice.

Example:

Cari: "Hey, Mom. Do you think that Grey will be okay on the plane ride to Colorado in August? I don't want him to get sick. He won't have had his pertussis shots by then. Do you think he'll get sick?"

Mom: "No, he won't get sick."

Cari: "Okay, good."

(I truly believe that if my mom says something won't happen, it won't.)

What did you have for dinner tonight?

6 pieces of sushi left over from lunch and a large peanut butter pop. (Scoop of peanut butter on a spoon.)

Have you always eaten such strange combinations of food?

Yes.

What is your most favorite song EVER?

Sweet Thing by Van Morrison

Why?

Because of the lines:

"And I will walk and talk in gardens all wet with rain,"

"And I will never, ever, ever grow so old again,"

"And I shall drive my chariot down your streets and cry, 'Hey it's me, I'm dynamite, and I don't know why,'"

AND...

"Just to dig it all and not to wonder, that's just fine."

BEST. LYRICS. EVER.

Why are you strangely attracted to some famous men that are not perceived as being particularly "handsome"???

Because they are either:

1. Funny

2. Funny, or

3. Funny

Who would those men be?

1. Conan O'Brien

2. Zach Galifianakis

3. Jason Segel

Will you have a nervous breakdown when Gus dies?

Pretty much.

Will you only have it in the bathroom with the door closed, by yourself and quietly because you now have to think about how your actions affect another human being?

Yes.

Why does a dog mean so much to you?

Because he stood by me when no one else did. (Except for Andrew, of course.)

So, you're now comparing a dog to your best guy friend?

Everyone I know would agree that Gus and Andrew are very much alike. :)

Some people say, "I have no regrets." How do you feel about that statement?

I think it's a wonderful sentiment because wouldn't we all love to take the position of, "Everything I did or was is why I am where I am now..."

BUT...

I just don't find it to be a completely honest statement of what I truly believe. There are many, many things I wish I could "do over." I have hurt people beyond belief, I have misused power, I have taken more than I gave...many things.

What are you talking about? You're a really good person.

Thanks, self. You always pull through for me. But, really, though. I wish that I could sit down with a couple people and look them in the eye and tell them how sorry I am. These people would brush off my apology and think that I was living in the past. But, I'm not, these people! I'm just trying to be accountable for my actions! You know what? EFF YOU, THESE PEOPLE! YOU DON'T DESERVE MY APOLOGY! (Just kidding.)

Why are you so funny, Cari? WHY?

Bob Hollrah.

Do you have any advice?

Trust your gut instincts. Every, single time I have had an instinct about something or someone, it has turned out to be true. Whether it be, "I really don't want to adopt this little homeless, neighborhood dog. He looks like trouble," and I do it anyway, or "I don't trust this man," or "Dying my hair brown is probably not the best decision," they always turn out to be true. Every. Single. Time.

Do you have any pet peeves?

Yes. People that talk badly about Oklahoma. If you don't like it, leave. Or else just don't say anything. I love my state. I truly do. Yes, it's backwards, and the people are backwards, and the roads are bad, and the government is ridiculous, and it's HOT, and there are no mountains and no ocean and hardly any money for education, etc. I get it.

But, there is a quiet beauty to this land. Have you ever stood facing west at dusk on a farm just east of Enid looking over fields of golden wheat with a slight breeze coming from the north and a glimpse of your Grandma cooking something wonderful in your peripheral vision through the kitchen window in October?

That's Oklahoma.

What is the weirdest thing you've said in the past week?

?I can't find the right review! So, there's a DIFFERENT kind of Jumparoo? Oh, wait. There it is. We got the Precious Planet one in 'khaki sands,' right?"

Do you feel like a mom?

No. I feel like I'm pretending to be a mom. It's very weird.

What's the most amazing thing about moms?

Hmm...probably the fact that they just keep going. You haven't showered in days, you woke up 3 times in the middle of the night to feed and console, you don't remember how to apply eye make up, you have folded 26 onesies in 2 minutes while singing about it in hopes that your baby doesn't get bored, you point and talk and explain and explore and laugh and cry and you haven't slept for 8 straight hours in more than a year, and you use your "down time" to finally wipe down the kitchen counter instead of taking a nap, and you don't brush your teeth because your son hates where you laid him down for 2 seconds, and you don't TRULY finish a blog because you just heard your baby cough...

And you just. keep. going. Because you have to. Because you want to. Because that's what moms do.

So, you really did hear your son just cough?

Yes.

So, you should probably go?

Yes.

Are you happy now? Happy with the way things turned out?

God, yes.

What was truly, TRULY important 5 years ago?

Making sure everyone knew how cool and deep I was.

What is truly, TRULY important TODAY?

Finding a new way to make him laugh.

What will be important in 5 years?

Finding a new way to make him laugh.

Lord Knows...

It's really hot outside. To dissuade myself from killing myself, I decided to take a drive today.

Grey and I went on a little trip to Stillwater, Oklahoma to visit Aunt Deresa at the Beadery (I want everything in there), Mimi (Mom), Uncle Drew and Great-Grandma Turvey (she'd never seen him!). As we were cruising along in our air-conditioned compact SUV (as if reminding everyone that it's "compact" makes the gas mileage get any better), I approached a small bus. On the back of the bus, there was a message.

It read:

"We're following Jesus. Are you?"

This is the kind of shit for which I live. I thought about the question in-depth. After much deliberation, I decided that they were being literal.

"No. No, I am not following Jesus, tiny bus. I am following you. Your bus is in front of me. But, if you are truly following Jesus, then this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for my child and myself to see Christ up close and personal."

Oh, the pedal hit the METAL, my friends.

I immediately sped up to pass the bus. I think I may have seen a sliver of light descend from the heavens. My heart was racing. I knew that in a few short moments, I would see the face of God. Unfortunately, Jesus speeds like a Mofo, and I couldn't put my child in jeopardy by accelerating to 90mph, which is far, far slower than the speed Jesus was driving in what appeared as only a flash of silver whizzing down a long and winding road. I couldn't believe that Jesus would be so reckless behind the wheel, but hey...he's Jesus. It's "how he do."

My only solace was that I could still ascertain the make and model of the silver flash that Jesus drove. And, here I have the evidence for you now...

What, my friends...what would Jesus drive?

A silver Pontiac Vibe.

Which was instantaneously strange...

because my best friend AND my brother and sister-in-law ALSO drive silver Pontiac Vibes. And that propels me further to these conclusions from my Spiritual Speeding Speculation:

God (or what you know to be true in this world) is everywhere, all of the time.

(And so are Pontiac Vibes, apparently.)

Whatever you have made to be true, whether that be positive or negative, real or imaginary, love, hate, sickness, health, etc., is everywhere...ALL of the time...in your life. If you love what your truth is...you made that. If you hate what your truth is...you made it. Your life is exactly the way it is because you made it that way. You are unhappy because you choose it. You are happy because you choose it.

So own up to it.

I am trying to, daily.

So, yes, intrusive, personal-question-asking bus...if you MUST know...

I guess I am following Jesus if you take my interpretation of "Jesus" to be everything that does and does not encompass the entire Universe.

Who knew?

(Probably Jesus)

Insane Fears and Conclusions: Happiness is a Right

There is an overwhelming fear inside of my body right now. I can't put my finger on what it is, really. I think it has something to do with the fact that I know I want to start my own business, and I am SCARED SHITLESS. It needs to have something to do with making things with my hands. Art, greeting cards, typing words, constructing words out of thoughts, thoughts into things, feeling something concrete in my hands that I then, in turn, ship to someone. I want to give little parts of myself away.

I have always known my hands to do the greatest work of my life, thus far. I used them to play Sonatas on the cello. I used them to draw. I used them to massage for 5 years. They have strummed guitars, plunked on the piano...held a baby.

Once, I asked my sister to try to define "me" by using a body part. She said, "hands." Thank God she didn't say "ass." :)

So, this fear. This underlying fear that I am incapable of following through with something. I am not afraid of trying. I am not afraid of the actual physicality of making the objects. I am afraid of sending them off to people. I'm paralyzed at the thought that someone might say, "Yes! I'll take 50 of those!" Then I have to make 50 of those. Which is what I wanted to do in the first place. But, now I really have to do it. What if they don't like my 50 of those?

You know what? As I've been writing this blog, I just realized how completely ridiculous this fear is. I'm scared that someone might actually like what I make.

Deep down, my biggest fear isn't: What if I'm not good enough? What if what I do isn't good enough? WHAT IF PEOPLE DON'T LIKE ME? What if they think I'm stupid because I did this wrong? What if they think my creations are simple or amateur?

My biggest fear is this: What if I actually believed that I'm good enough? What if all of my dreams come true?

WHAT IF I'M ACTUALLY WORTH SOMETHING?

Why am I afraid to succeed, you might ask? Why am I afraid to really and truly be happy? I think it's a combination of these things:

1. Everywhere you turn, people are unhappy. It's become the norm, and it's ridiculous.

2. Everywhere you turn, people are negative. About the price of gas. About their dog. About some drapes they got. About love. About our government. About themselves. When was the last time you heard someone say, "Damn! I look good!" Long time ago, right? Thought so.

3. Everywhere you turn, people are telling each other that they can't do things.

• "If I had a personal trainer and chef, I could look like that, too!" (Guess what? You can look like that, and you don't need a personal trainer or chef.)
• "Well, yeah...we'd all like to be a rockstar, but only so many people can do that." Anyone can do that. ANYONE. You don't even have to be able to sing anymore. I promise. Turn on the radios. You'll see. :)
• "You should go to college, get a degree, and get a stable job in this economy. " Uh...why? How is that in ANY way going to make someone more happy if they don't WANT to go to college? And who ever heard of a stable job, anyway? Especially in this economy...hee hee. See how easy it is to be negative?

4. We are taught from a very young age that we are supposed to know exactly what we want to do when we grow up. People even ask 4 year-olds, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" and they respond, "A veterinarian," when really they mean, "I want to pet animals all day long."

Some people are truly blessed to know what career they want to follow. My brother knew after watching Dead Poet's Society in high school that he wanted to be a college professor of English. So, what did he do? He got his bachelors, masters and doctorate all in a pretty little row. He is now a college professor of English, just like he always knew he wanted to be. I curse him every day. Just kidding.

But seriously? Who's to say that we need to have one career for our whole lives if we don't want one? Bor-ing. Bor-ing.

In conclusion:

What if we took one step after another towards an ultimate goal that seemed "crazy" or "too good to be true"??? What if we stopped saying stupid, derogatory shit about our bodies? What if you took ONE DAY to write down every, single negative thing you said? What if you TRULY looked at the crap you're saying to yourself every day? (All of these questions are directed at myself, by the way.)

I am just so tired of the negative shit. I'm so sick of listening to privileged people talk about how hard they have it. I'm tired of being scared.

I shall now ask myself this very pertinent question:

What's the worst that could happen if I followed my dream of making "50 of those" and sending them to people that would enjoy them?

Answer: The other people could hate them and return them, and then I would feel bad about myself for 20 minutes until someone else ordered them and loved them. Someone might say, "Those are neat, but I'm not interested." It could be really hard, and I could decide that I don't want to do that anymore, and then I would feel like I was giving up again. I could die on my way to shipping my 50 of those things.

Looking at the above list of possible outcomes, I really don't see any TRUE fears. Even the dying one would be okay because then I could see what's next, which is what is truly interesting to me in the first place. Dying isn't scary. Truly loving yourself is.

I can't believe my one TRUE FEAR is to be able to say how awesome I am out loud and truly believe it...or hear someone else say it and not look down at the floor with a whispered, "thanks."

That's the dumbest shit of which I've ever heard. I'm so sure. Scared of my own awesomeness. Thanks, brain. Thanks for another great, weirdly-shaped piece to the ol' jigsaw puzzle of life!

Gross.

Gonna go work on those 50 things that someone's going to buy soon. Love and DREAMS and PEACE and POSITIVITY to everyone. You are capable of anything and everything in this world. That's what it's here for.

And, don't let the bastards get ya down.

Concerning Mr. Holland's Opus

In my humble opinion, it is one of the worst movies of all time. Let's reflect:

1. Mr. Holland is a totally selfish asshole.

a. He is almost angry at the fact that his son is deaf. No, not because he's angry that his son will have to face numerous obstacles in life. Not anger directed toward a higher power when such things occur in life...no. He's angry because he's a musician, and now his son can't hear what is so important in his life...music. But, more importantly...he can't hear his stupid opus, which is horrible, by the way. We'll return to that shortly.

b. He doesn't learn sign language. Um...hello? Your son is deaf. You are stupid.

c. Mr. Holland doesn't think his son cares about John Lennon dying because he can't hear. Oh, that's right...I forgot that John Lennon only wrote music. He didn't ever paint or draw, or...I don't know...fight for peace or love...hmm...I can see why you would think that your deaf son wouldn't care about him. Idiot.

d. Mr. Holland almost, almost has an affair with one of his students. Actually, he does kiss her. She asks him to come to New York and follow his dreams.

We are led to believe that:

(my outline form is now about to be discarded)

1. Mr. Holland could actually make it as a composer/musician in the Big Apple.

2. That girl would actually ever fall for Mr. Holland...uh...it's Richard Dreyfus. Not exactly the type of guy that 18 year-old girls fall in love with and move to NYC with.

3. Mr. Holland has chosen right over wrong by NOT going to NYC.

This is false because of this fact:

Uh...Mr. Holland was about to commit statutory rape, people. He almost had an affair with an underaged student. He kissed her. He is MARRIED. He didn't choose his family. He dodged jail, that's what he did. GOD...I hate this movie so much.

Hmm, what else? Oh, yeah...

Mr. Holland spends years and years of his life not following his dreams and teaching high school students, which he never wanted to do in the first place. HE HATES IT at the beginning of the movie. He makes the clarinet girl cry. The clarinet girl then becomes the Governor of whatever state they're in, and she shows up to help play his Opus. I can't stand that part, either. The way she comes waltzing in and "saves the day"...so annoying.

How is being a gigantic martyr in any way portraying a "heroic" figure? Hey, I've got a great movie idea! It's called:

"Mr. Holland Actually Does What He Wants to Do Instead of Wasting Two Hours of My Life Acting Like a Selfish A-Hole and Then Getting a Huge Party Thrown For Him Because, Really People, He Stayed Sad and Did It For the Kids."

Jesus. So much more to say about this, but my human boy is waking up.

p.s. Electric guitar solo in your Opus, Mr. Holland? Really??

Good Day, Awkward Silence! I Said GOOD DAY!

I need television. I've decided that I actually need television.

For years, I have gone without it. I told myself that I didn't need it, want it or care about it. It was true for the time. I spent my days reading, painting, thinking, writing, drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes, working...basically everything you would be doing if you didn't have a television sucking the life-force from the empty shell you call your body. I held my non-televisionness as a badge of honor. Saying, "Oh, I don't watch TV," was one of my favorite conversation starters. Actually, I'm pretty sure it was a conversation ender because someone would say, "Did you see Dancing with the Stars last night?" and I would say, "No, I don't watch television," with a sense of pretention, and they would stop talking to me. It's kind of like when I take The New Yorker with me on flights, and I always, always end up buying a People at the newsstand before boarding the plane. I then read the People from cover to cover, lamenting to myself at how I had every intention of reading the short story that's single-spaced and 8 pages long.

Anyway...back to my point: You'd be amazed with how many times people will ask you if you've seen something on TV if you don't watch TV. This being said, I am still quite knowledgeable in the subject of all things "television" because I have the internets. I also have a special little internets program called Netflixes, so I can watch stuff on there. (I'm in the mood to make everything plural as a ploy for more laughs...bear with me.)

I blame my newly realized need for television on the human boy that I made. He takes up a lot of my time. Aka: all of it. The endless hours of bouncing and swaying sometimes seem to overwhelm me. I ocassionally think, "Is this what I do now? I just sway and bounce? How long do I do this? Will he ever get tired of swaying and bouncing? When will he not be so damn gassy? The fussiness has got to get better at some point, right?" Then the questions turn on me.

"Who have I become? Am I where I thought I'd be? Will I ever paint again? Do I even like who I am now? What happens when we die? What if everyone is right about everything and I am wrong? Am I a horrible mother because I'd rather be sleeping in an empty hotel room than bouncing my human boy right now? I have a deep need to be alone. Is that bad?"

I then realized that this constant questioning of my soul, mothering abilities, and entire life plan could all be easily fixed, and I have found the answer.

It's television.

I realized this today while swaying at Granddad and Nan's house. For some reason, the swaying didn't bother me. The endless bouncing wasn't so...endless. Each bounce didn't propel me towards a black hole of wondering about how life all fits together (or gets torn apart). I was happily rocking and dancing and lifting and comforting. Do you know why?

It's because I was watching the opening pitch of the Tulsa Drillers' season in their brand spankin' new stadium on a huge flatscreen. Tim McGraw was there. It was lovely. Then, after that was done (because who really watches an entire minor league baseball game on television?), there were TWO, count em' TWO hours of NBC Thursday night comedy. By the time Liz Lemon had figured out the answer to yet another relationship problem, it was time to go home, nurse and put my human boy to sleep!

Done and done, my friends. The night was over. And, it had all been made better by my ol' tried and true, trusted friend: TV.

Granddad said, "I don't know how you do it over at your house, watching that boy with no TV."

I then wondered to myself, "How in the hell DO I do it?" Here's how:

1. Wake up. Feed. He looks at "fan" (We no longer call it "the fan" because it's a loved member of our household now...yes, we personified the ceiling fan. You make sacrifices, okay?)...anyway, he looks at "fan" for about 20 minutes while smiling and cooing. He really loves that damn fan.

2. Diaper change. Go downstairs. Place on Boppy Newborn Lounger. Lots of talking and description of what Mom is doing. Mom gets coffee so she can repeat this process for the next 9 hours.

3. Off to living room for "Breakfast with the Beatles." This is where I put on Beatles records, yes, records, and dance around singing while my human boy sits in his vibrating chair and watches me. He's quite fond of "Penny Lane" and "Hey Jude." Also, I'd like to remind everyone that The Beatles are freakin' geniuses, and most of their songs sound like childrens' songs. There's no need to go out and buy some crappy cartoon character CDs. The Beatles have it down. It's pretty amazing, actually. Grey loves this time. He looks at me like I'm crazy. He also smiles.

4. Diaper, feed, 30 minute nap...yes, a whole, whopping 30 minutes (have no clue why), blah, blah, blah...do it all over again 80 million more times...start getting bored, questions start to come, questions start to turn on me...

5. Rinse, repeat. Everything happens all over again. Blee-bloe-blue...bor-ing, bor-ing.

Seriously, how HAVE I done it? Think if I had a little "Real Housewives of New York" thrown in there!!?? Damn, a little Bravo thrown into my day could make a world of difference in my life. And then, when Grey is old enough...Sesame Street!! Hell, I love Mr. Rogers. I usually end up crying at least once during each episode. How does he make me feel so loved and accepted for being "just who I am" through a freakin' screen? Once, I remember actually talking back to him while tears streamed down my face and saying, "No, thank YOU, Mr. Rogers. Thank you for being exactly who YOU are." This was while I was having a nervous "b," though. You can also thank my husband for coming up with "nervous B" for nervous breakdown. The shortening of words to letters is getting slightly OOC at my house.

So, honestly...I need this for myself. Time to step down from my high horse and get on the...bandwagon? Rocking horse?

I can still be a good mother and watch a little television. I read to Grey every day, I show him effing French flashcards, we listen to the Beatles, I make him track his toys with his little tracking eyes, I sing to him constantly, I say the alphabet 12 times a day, I count endless strings of numbers, I talk about everything I'm doing all day long in infinite descriptions of tasks and sights...

Yes. It's decided. Yes, I do deserve 3 hours of HGTV a night.

Cox Communications, we're back in business, you a-holes!

Don't Worry...I'm Not Psychotic.

Just wanted to let everyone know that things are much, much better at my house. My devil baby is no longer a devil baby, and life is...well...easier.

I realized that from my last post, it could possibly seem as if I'm suffering from some sort of post-partum psychosis/depression. I'm not. Just sleep deprivation.

Some day I'll write a "real" blog, again. It's just that I can't think of anything to say that doesn't have to do with my baby, and I promised myself I wouldn't turn into one of those people that only talks about their damn baby. Those people are annoying.

I honestly have nothing to say right now. So sad. I don't even really know what's going on in the world except for the fact that my NCAA Basketball bracket is totally effed, and the health care thing passed.

See??? "Old Cari" would not have called it the "health care thing"!!! She would've known exactly the right name, place, time it was passed, who voted for what, what it all meant, etc. Now I just write "health care thing" and expect everyone to remember that I'm not an idiot.

It's as if my brain doesn't function in the manner that it once did, pre-baby. Now everything is breastfeeding, reading "Goodnight Moon," tickling a tummy and kisses.

A squeaky giraffe stands where a canvas used to be.

"Pony Boy" and "Old MacDonald" have replaced long nights of plunking away at the piano or guitar. I can barely remember the girl that sat in recording studios. The girl that sang in smoky bars. Where did she go?

She made a human boy. I love him to death, but he is also completely and totally draining. I sometimes wonder when Beau and I will get to eat at the same time again.

The other day, Beau turned to me and said, "Hey, Cari? Do you want to be 'one and done'? I don't know if I can do this again."

Seeing as Beau described a satin blanket to Grey as "the material that a whore's underwear is made of," and the fact that I say curse words in "baby talk" to him all the time, AND the fact that my made-up lullabies have references to marriage equality...I think Beau is onto something with the "one and done" thing.

We're wonderful parents. Grey is doomed to be a total freak. BUT...he'll be an intuitive, courageous, creative, unique human being. I still write songs. They're just not for me, anymore. Here is one of my most recent creations for bouncing a boy to sleep:

I can be whatever I want,

when I grow up like an elephant.

A football player, a ballet dancer,

an architect or a garbage man,

cuz my Mommy loves me no matter what I am.

Maybe I'll like boys,

maybe I'll like girls,

maybe I'll have straight hair,

maybe curls.

But, it doesn't matter,

I like pancake batter...

almost as much as my dad.

When I walk down the street,

I like to meet,

everyone I can cuz I'm a friendly man,

so if you're mean, please don't come out,

I really don't like to fuss or shout.

My name is Grey, and I'm here to say,

that I like milk in every single way.

I drink it all down and I spit it all up,

and somehow I still get full.

Guess what I like?

The fan! The fan!

I'm the biggest fan,

of the fan! The fan!

I look like The Thinker,

but I'm kind of a stinker,

when I'm staring at the fan.

Five wooden blades,

dark against light,

a pentagon shape,

what a beautiful sight.

There is nothing better,

I think I'll write a letter,

to the maker of the fan.

It'll say, "Dear Mrs. So-and-So,

How does your fan blow and blow?

I think I'd like to go and be with the fan.

I love the brand Hampton Bay,

I think I'd like to go and stay,

but that may be perceived as kind of strange."

Am I making myself clear?

I love the fan! THE FAN!

I'm the biggest fan!

Of the fan! The fan!

I look like The Thinker,

but I'm kind of a stinker,

when I'm staring at the fan.

My mom would really like me to go to sleep,

but when she puts me down,

I still make a peep,

I'm really tired, but I'm kind of wired,

cuz my mom can't give up her coooofffeeeee.

That's all I have right now. I add a new verse every time I bounce him to sleep. By the time he no longer needs to be bounced, I shall have written a masterpiece.

And now I have written yet another blog about my child. Wonderful.

A Three Hour Nap...

The title of this blog should be read while singing the melody from "Gilligan's Island," as in..."A Three Hour Tour..." because that's what I'm hoping for at this very moment for my son.

I have a blogging friend (I keep calling her a blogging friend), but really she's just a friend. Before I had Grey, she asked me to please be honest with her about being a mother/raising a child/having a baby, etc. I told her I would be extremely honest. So, here we go...and, because I am so fond of lists, everything shall be in list form:

1. This is the hardest thing I have ever done, tried to do, wanted to do, experienced, had to do, etc. The hardest thing I have ever done. Ever.

2. Every day I have the thought, "I am the worst mother of all time. I can't do this." Then, in about 15 minutes, I have the thought, "Okay, I get this. I can do this."

3. My baby has a total freakout that starts at about 4:00p.m. every day. It can last for 10 minutes or a couple hours depending on gassiness or overall misunderstanding of the world. I think he's extremely sensitive, and sometimes the world is just too much for him. His little system is trying to adjust ever so slowly, and it's heartbreaking to watch at times.

4. I have had to tell myself, "Sometimes babies just cry, and there's nothing I can do but sit here and hold him and tell him that he's going to be okay," about EIGHT MILLION TIMES.

5. There is nothing like a crying, screaming baby. I think my entire nervous system goes into overdrive. The helpless feeling of not being able to make it stop is what I imagine hell might be like. Except in hell, there's a reason to be upset. My baby cries when everything is seemingly perfectly fine. I have been told that other babies do this, as well. I remind myself of this every, single day.

6. I have no idea why I thought I would have one of those perfectly content and happy babies. I mean, look at his mother and father? A bit...uh...intense, one might say? Grey Matthew is a good, good baby. He just has to freak out every once in awhile. So does his mother and father, which leads me to...

7. I have no idea why any couple would have a baby to try to save their marriage. In fact, if Beau and I didn't have a really supportive, amazing relationship...well...I don't know if we'd make it through this first month of baby-ness. This baby had such a rough entry into this world, both physically and emotionally. His parents are TIRED. And, every day we get into some sort of argument (helpful ones...ones that help us heal) that eventually brings us closer together. I'm sure Grey would like his parents to get their shit together sometime soon.

8. I have been peed on (and projectile pooped on) more times than I can count.

9. I am tired of bouncing. You know how babies like to be rocked? Not mine. Bounced. He will only bounce. I have to sit on an exercise ball and bounce with him for at LEAST an hour each day while he stares contentedly at the ceiling fan. If I stop bouncing for two seconds, he cries. I have bounced more than a middle aged kangaroo at this point. My quads are going to be so toned by the end of this bouncing stage. Please tell me it's a stage...please. Sometimes I think that the constant bouncing is what leads to the arguments between Beau and I. One can only bounce so much...

10. At times I have had this fantasy, and please remember that I wish to do no harm to my own child: When Grey has been crying for 2 hours straight, with little reprieve, I sometimes imagine that I can take him like a football and punt him across the neighborhood, where he lands safely on a huge bed of pillows down the street. He is safe...but, he's far, far away from me. :) I don't feel bad for admitting this. It helps me not go insane.

11. I have a baby that hates being kissed. He also hates having his head touched. All I want to do is kiss him and touch his head. It makes complete sense. I have days where if someone touches me, I want to hit them. Beau is the exact opposite, so it's been a real learning experience for him...having two people that don't want to be touched a lot. Poor Beau. He's doing so well with us.

12. No one tells you how fucking hard breast feeding is. BREAST FEEDING IS FUCKING HARD. There. Now, no one can ever say I didn't tell you so. My boobs hurt. My nipples hurt. It takes constant "management" of them to get through a feeding. Creams, potions, my own milk, heat packs, cold packs, lotions, salves, drying them out, massaging, breast pads, gel packs...you name it. Besides chopping them off and buying some formula...I've tried everything. Everyone in the entire world says that the pain will just magically disappear at some point. I'm waiting for the blessed day to arrive, patiently. Okay, not patiently at all. I take 8 ibuprofen a day for this. It HURTS. I'm going to reiterate this one more time: My nipples FUCKING HURT. If any lactation consultant tells you that your nipples should stop hurting within a week, or that your nipples shouldn't hurt for more than a week...well, they're fucking lying to you. Every woman I've talked to said it took them WEEKS...some said up to two months...for the pain to go away. Your nipples will split and be raw, cracked, red, aching...I cannot speak about this enough. There are not enough...elipses...to describe how hard it is. And, yet...I keep going because it's the most important thing that I'm doing. My home birth was taken away from me, but I can still do THIS, damn it.

13. There are times when I don't like being a mom very much at all. There are times when I want to run away. There are times when I think, "Someone else would be much better at this than me." But, then...he'll stare at me with his dark, dark, dark navy blue eyes while I'm feeding him, and he has a look of total innocence and trust, and I think...he loves me. He wants me to be his mom.

He chose me. The least I can do is say "thank you."

So, I thank him. And, then the day goes on, and my thoughts become a tiny bit more rational, and I remember that in the quiet moments (and some loud, scary ones), I am a really good mom to this little boy.

He's teaching me to be more patient than I ever wanted to be. It's hard. This is so, SO hard.

And, it's worth it.

Was that honest enough for you? ;)

My Wife Has Guts...I've Seen 'Em

I have to type very quickly. I have a baby now. Here's a list of stuff that people need to know:

1. He is happy and healthy and beautiful.
2. He weighed 8lbs., 7oz. and was 20 1/2 inches long.
3. His name is Grey Matthew.
4. I did NOT get to have my beautiful home birth because I had "back labor" for 30 hours. It was excruciatingly painful. Grey was also in the wrong position, so we had to go to the hospital. It sucked.
5. On the night that I was released from the hospital, I turned over in bed to reach for my son, and my C-section incision burst open. Blood spilled out. I ran to the bathroom and got a mirror. I saw my own intestines coming out. I freaked out. My husband called 911. My baby started screaming to be fed. Now, what's a new mother to do? Try to breastfeed the baby while trying to hold her intestines inside of her? Yes. That's what a new mother does. At least, that's what I did. The ambulance came and raced me to the hospital. I got to have yet another major surgery within a span of 3 days. Fun times were had by all. There was a woman in the ER right next to me that sounded like a drowning cat. Her name was Beatrice. Beatrice Carter.
6. I hate not being able to describe this story in all its glory.
7. I am home now and dealing with a lot of very mixed emotions. Here are some of them:

I feel cheated, mutilated, happy, quite sad, grateful, beautiful, strong, lumpy, weepy, confused, down, loved, caring and exhausted.

This is going to be a long process of healing, I am sure. But, I have a new baby. And, he is beautiful. No, really...he's really, REALLY pretty. Everyone says so.

I love him. I also get really frustrated and scared. He screams bloody murder sometimes, and there's absolutely nothing I can do to make him feel better. I am coming to terms with the fact that babies do this. This "motherhood" thing is not for sissies.

Good thing I have the absolute best partner in the entire world. I don't know what I would've done without Beau through all of this. I thought about him a lot while I was in the ambulance. I just stared up at the little timer that tells you how long you've been in the ambulance and thought of Beau who was scared shitless at home with Grey all by himself. I thought about how bumpy the Tulsa roads were as I clutched my incision. I thought about how I always say, "Think good thoughts for that person," when I see an ambulance whizzing by. I thought about how I was that person this time. I thought about how two people came together to make this other little person and how scary and sad this birth experience had been. I thought about how we would have to mourn the birth plan that we had lost. I thought about how this man stood by me through everything. I thought about how I'd never felt more close to anyone in my whole life.

Right now he is fixing the shower while holding our baby in a sling. He has waited on me hand and foot, spent 5 days with me in the hospital...never leaving my side. He is amazing, and he deserves an award. I love him.

He said that he's going to make a t-shirt that says, "My Wife Has Guts...I've Seen 'Em."

I love you, Beau-y. I never knew your strength until this week. I never knew the strength of our relationship until this week. I never knew my own strength until this week.

No matter what...it's you and me.

The Purge Continues...

Every night...some weird/needed/sometimes disturbing/sometimes disheartening/sometimes healing/most of the time confusing dream about men from my past...I'm tired of it. I don't need to have questions raised about my past every, single morning when I wake up. I don't need confusion, and I don't want to wonder how people are. When I wake up, I instantly think, "Really? I'm STILL dealing with this issue on some level? He still has that effect on my subconscious? That's really dumb." Then, I just sort of let it go, scrunch closer to my sleeping husband and thank the Lord that I chose him and he chose me.

The dreams are really starting to get on my last nerve. Of course, everything is getting on my nerves these days. (I'll expand on that, shortly.)

The only really good dream I've had, lately, was one involving Ewan McGregor and a llama. He told me that he wanted me to go to the Oscars with him. I agreed. The "catch" was that I had to make sure his llama stayed in the basement bedroom of my childhood home while he did his press junkets. You'd think you could just close the door to my childhood bedroom, and the damn llama would stay in there, right? No. This was a smart llama. It kept escaping, and I had to keep reminding myself that it would all be worth it when I was walking down the red carpet at the Academy Awards with Ewan McGregor. I won, though. I actually convinced the llama to stay in there using some sort of telepathic awareness between the two of us. When I awoke, I analyzed my dream with the help of a dream dictionary website. I believe everything it says without question. I have no idea why.

Llamas apparently represent strength, endurance and trust. So, seeing that I'm about to go through something (birth) that needs all of those things, I realized that if I could just keep "corralling in" those three attributes, the frustration would all be worth it, and I would get to parade around with a special boy...my son...not Ewan McGregor. :)

Anyhoo...back to being annoyed with things that aren't usually annoying:

The other day I made a trip to Stillwater to eat lunch with my mom. I was feeling a bit "stir crazy" in my home. Even though Grey could come at any moment, I made the drive because I was dying of boredom. At lunch, I filled up my cup with ice and water and started to look for a lid. A woman came up next to me to get some ice.

"Oh, I loooove this ice!" she said with enthusiasm.
(I ignored her.)
"This is that pellet ice. It's my absolute favorite ice!"
(Continuing to ignore her.)
"It's so good," she repeated.

You would think after 3 comments about the ice, I would say something, anything, like, "Yeah. Good ice," or even, "Uh-huh," wouldn't you? I did not do this. I stared straight ahead while I put the lid on my cup and quietly thought to myself, "Good for you and your f**king ice." She walked away. Maybe she thought I was deaf. I really don't care.

At any other moment in my life, this would be a completely irrational response to someone's love of pellet ice. I love pellet ice, too, and I'm always happy when it's available. But, no...it was too much to deal with at this point.

My focus is solely on getting though the process of pushing something out of me that is probably around 7-8 pounds and has wide parts that are going to make it feel like my body is being ripped into two with no drugs, whatsoever. Have you seen my husband's shoulders? This is going to require my utmost concentration.

So, you can see why I don't care about your ice preference. At all.

In other news, Beau dreamt that we were friends with Toby Keith, and that we convinced him that our liberal views did not make us horrible people. Toby Keith then decided that we were good people, even though we believe that everyone should be able to get married, wars are dumb, and he's a shitface.

As he relayed the dream to me while I made coffee this morning, I felt as if Beau had awoken with a sense that Toby Keith "wasn't such a bad guy," much like when, in 7th grade, I had a dream that Axl Rose and Slash from Guns N' Roses were my long, lost cousins that lived in the back yard in a caboose. They were really nice to me. I never looked at them the same after that dream. I really hope that Beau doesn't start listening to Toby Keith now. I mean...he has a golf course that's called "I Love This Golf Course" much like "I Love This Bar and Grill." They serve Freedom Fries there. Beau might have even called him "TK" while describing the dream.

I started to get a really anxious feeling about the whole thing, so I looked it up on the same dream dictionary site. When you look up "Toby Keith," a big picture of an ass shows up, and the words "Nightmare! Nightmare!" start flashing on your screen. Then the "How Do You Like Me Now?" song comes on, and an American flag starts climbing out of your computer to strangle you. Lastly, you're seared with an OU brand on your forehead, your IQ drops 78 points, and your ability to use proper English is replaced by phrases such as "Git me some" and "Git 'er done.

And, that's all I have to say about that...