How do you grow
An inch everyday
My god my arms hurt
How much do you weigh
One year ago you were
Still in my belly
Now like a big girl
You’re eating toast and jelly
Wasn’t it yesterday
I rocked you to sleep
You laid in your swing
Without making a peep
Can I somehow stop time
Can’t I please press pause
Let’s just live in the moment
It’s for a good cause
I need every frame
To sink in and last
Because the way time flies
Right now is the past
Whether you crawl or walk
Whatever age you may be
I will always be mama
And you’re forever baby
Friday, January 13, 2006
Would It Kill Ya To Smile??
Names have been changed to protect the miserable.
"(garble garble)...This is Kristie McCrabby"
"Oh, I am so sorry, I must have dialed the wrong number."
Click.
Okaaaaaaaaaay. Have a nice day happy friendly dog face.
What is wrong with people? Everywhere I turn there is a grumpy expression, a rude response, and exasperated sighs. Is EVERYone miserable? I walk past a distant neighbor and smile. All I get in return is a scowl. I hold a door for a woman at the store, not even a thank you nod. If I need a door opened for me, forget it! Woman with a baby, come on, chivalry is not only dead it is decomposed and wreeking! Apparently so is common courtesy and simple friendliness.
Perhaps these people need to learn the effects of a smile. Smiling can actually produce endorphines that make you feel better. And it is clear that these people need SOMEthing to help them feel better. Smile or take a pill...do some freaking thing because you are bummin me out.
Not only that but it effects others as well....
... Gal A gets a smile from Guy B. Gal A decides to smile at Lady C. Lady C was having a really bad day. She was thinking all people were trolls. She was obviously on the phone with the insurance company all morning. Lady C starts to feel better. She puts a dollar in the MS jar at the store. Cashier D put that jar there in dedication to her sister's plight. This was the first dollar to make its way into the jar. Cashier D finally feels she may be able to make a difference. She goes on to start a local charity organization which will eventually bring in 250k each year to the MS Foundation. Guy B is later cured of his MS because of stem cell research that was made possible by Cashier D's organziation...
The ripples of making the slighest kind gesture can make waves down the shore.
So smile damnit.
"(garble garble)...This is Kristie McCrabby"
"Oh, I am so sorry, I must have dialed the wrong number."
Click.
Okaaaaaaaaaay. Have a nice day happy friendly dog face.
What is wrong with people? Everywhere I turn there is a grumpy expression, a rude response, and exasperated sighs. Is EVERYone miserable? I walk past a distant neighbor and smile. All I get in return is a scowl. I hold a door for a woman at the store, not even a thank you nod. If I need a door opened for me, forget it! Woman with a baby, come on, chivalry is not only dead it is decomposed and wreeking! Apparently so is common courtesy and simple friendliness.
Perhaps these people need to learn the effects of a smile. Smiling can actually produce endorphines that make you feel better. And it is clear that these people need SOMEthing to help them feel better. Smile or take a pill...do some freaking thing because you are bummin me out.
Not only that but it effects others as well....
... Gal A gets a smile from Guy B. Gal A decides to smile at Lady C. Lady C was having a really bad day. She was thinking all people were trolls. She was obviously on the phone with the insurance company all morning. Lady C starts to feel better. She puts a dollar in the MS jar at the store. Cashier D put that jar there in dedication to her sister's plight. This was the first dollar to make its way into the jar. Cashier D finally feels she may be able to make a difference. She goes on to start a local charity organization which will eventually bring in 250k each year to the MS Foundation. Guy B is later cured of his MS because of stem cell research that was made possible by Cashier D's organziation...
The ripples of making the slighest kind gesture can make waves down the shore.
So smile damnit.
Creative Starvation
It is like my body and mind are craving something that I cannot see. Something that I am not doing that I should be doing and my mind is retaliating with anxieties. I have these ideas that I never fulfill. Whether it is being lazy or a complete lack of knowledge, I just continue to sit here and WAIT for something to come to me.
I had the idea of creating a documentary about people who go to visit cemeteries. Or about graveyards in general. Nothing dark or scary, but more of a personal glimpse at the lives and motivations of the people who visit their loved ones, the people who work in cemeteries, and even a glimpse into the lives of the deceased. It would consist of interviews with these people (not the dead ones of course – they are usually pretty shy), backgrounds, shots of interesting or humorous headstones…stuff like that. I wanted to call it Epitaph.
I also had an idea about writing a book about this man in Wisconsin, Steven Avery. He was in prison for something like 18 years for a rape before evidenced proved his innocence of the crime and he was set free. There were then stories in the media about how this poor man lived in a small ice fishing shack because he had no money and his life was taken away. I remember seeing these stories and feeling so badly for him. Today, he is being charged with the rape and murder of a young Wisconsin woman. Tell me there isn’t an interesting story here.
Someone else mentioned something to me about making a documentary about the loads of people trying to save the show Arrested Development, a show about a parody documentary. I know this could be very funny and challenging.
But I look at these ideas and doubts fill my mind. Reality fills my mind. Lack of education, no disposable money what so ever, lack of free time, no movie making skills or equipment…there see…mind is now flooded with reasons to continue sitting on my ass.
Maybe, just maybe someday something will kick me – will give me that jolt I need to go out there and do what my spirit is calling for. Maybe I already am. Perhaps I was MEANT to simply be a mother and a wife..a cook and a cleaner..a person with ideas and no ambition. Maybe just maybe I am SUPPOSE to be bored and anxious. Ya think?
I had the idea of creating a documentary about people who go to visit cemeteries. Or about graveyards in general. Nothing dark or scary, but more of a personal glimpse at the lives and motivations of the people who visit their loved ones, the people who work in cemeteries, and even a glimpse into the lives of the deceased. It would consist of interviews with these people (not the dead ones of course – they are usually pretty shy), backgrounds, shots of interesting or humorous headstones…stuff like that. I wanted to call it Epitaph.
I also had an idea about writing a book about this man in Wisconsin, Steven Avery. He was in prison for something like 18 years for a rape before evidenced proved his innocence of the crime and he was set free. There were then stories in the media about how this poor man lived in a small ice fishing shack because he had no money and his life was taken away. I remember seeing these stories and feeling so badly for him. Today, he is being charged with the rape and murder of a young Wisconsin woman. Tell me there isn’t an interesting story here.
Someone else mentioned something to me about making a documentary about the loads of people trying to save the show Arrested Development, a show about a parody documentary. I know this could be very funny and challenging.
But I look at these ideas and doubts fill my mind. Reality fills my mind. Lack of education, no disposable money what so ever, lack of free time, no movie making skills or equipment…there see…mind is now flooded with reasons to continue sitting on my ass.
Maybe, just maybe someday something will kick me – will give me that jolt I need to go out there and do what my spirit is calling for. Maybe I already am. Perhaps I was MEANT to simply be a mother and a wife..a cook and a cleaner..a person with ideas and no ambition. Maybe just maybe I am SUPPOSE to be bored and anxious. Ya think?
Authentically You
Oh to be one. When you want something you scream. When you are frustrated you yell. When you poop you cry. When you don’t want anymore you throw a Cheerio at someone’s head. Oh to be one. That straight up sincerity. That bold honesty afraid of nothing and no one. What I wouldn’t give to scream, yell, cry, and throw a bagel at someone. Pure authenticity.
Have you ever imagined what it would be like to say exactly what you want whenever you want? Have you ever imagined a world that would allow for such expression, such honestly?
But we cannot be this way in a society. We need to be civil at all times. Politically correct, reserved, and mainstream. We need to be aware and considerate of the feelings of others. Can authenticity exist with consideration and a caution for other’s feelings? I propose it can.
If you have something to say, say it to that person. If you have a true criticism, it would be best served addressing it directly, would it not? Do not gossip.
If you don’t want to attend a party, just say so. Don’t just not show up. Be honest.
If you feel someone has been mean or disrespectful to you, let them know that you deserve more than that. Let them know you will not quietly bow your head and shuffle away. Speak up.
When you speak to someone, do it with respect and dignity. Speak to them as though you are speaking to yourself. And speak to yourself with that same thoughtfulness. They are no more important than you. And you, no more important than them.
Offer a hand when it is needed. Apologize when you have done wrong. Show gratitude for all you have been given. Cry when you are sad. Laugh when you are happy. Dance when you hear music. Enjoy silence. And sing when the world gets a little too quiet.
Be you. We are all a work in progress. Just make sure that there is always progress being made.
Be authentic. Be one. And watch out for those Cheerios.
Have you ever imagined what it would be like to say exactly what you want whenever you want? Have you ever imagined a world that would allow for such expression, such honestly?
But we cannot be this way in a society. We need to be civil at all times. Politically correct, reserved, and mainstream. We need to be aware and considerate of the feelings of others. Can authenticity exist with consideration and a caution for other’s feelings? I propose it can.
If you have something to say, say it to that person. If you have a true criticism, it would be best served addressing it directly, would it not? Do not gossip.
If you don’t want to attend a party, just say so. Don’t just not show up. Be honest.
If you feel someone has been mean or disrespectful to you, let them know that you deserve more than that. Let them know you will not quietly bow your head and shuffle away. Speak up.
When you speak to someone, do it with respect and dignity. Speak to them as though you are speaking to yourself. And speak to yourself with that same thoughtfulness. They are no more important than you. And you, no more important than them.
Offer a hand when it is needed. Apologize when you have done wrong. Show gratitude for all you have been given. Cry when you are sad. Laugh when you are happy. Dance when you hear music. Enjoy silence. And sing when the world gets a little too quiet.
Be you. We are all a work in progress. Just make sure that there is always progress being made.
Be authentic. Be one. And watch out for those Cheerios.
Goodbye Daddy
He was born in 1952 to an alcoholic mother and father. He lived in Wisconsin for a while and then moved to Alaska with his family including 2 brothers and 2 sisters, though he was the oldest. His father died when he was only in his teens. When he was a young man, about 16 or so he hitchhiked his way back to Wisconsin to live with his aunt. A futile attempt at escape. In his young life he lived through family addiction, repeated surgeries (one of which leaving him in a body cast for months), the death of his father, and running away as far as he knew he could.
He married my mother at the age of 20. She was 18. I was born in 1974 and my brother in 1976. Back in Wisconsin, they did their best to create a family and a sense of normalcy. But my father's issues simply would not allow that to happen. He was anxiety ridden, depressed, a perpetual child. He hated work and would do almost anything to avoid it. He was a complete narcasist, self centered to the core. Though he loved his children and his wife, his own incapacity to grow kept him from what he wanted most. They divorced when I was about 7.
He remarried a few years later. We would see him off and on through the years. Sometimes entire years would go by with no word from him what so ever. Not a birthday card. Not a phone call. Then he'd pop back in for a while. And the whole time I would defend him to the tee. I would cry tears of joy when I finally saw him. And cry my eyes out when he'd drop us back off because I never knew if I'd see him again. There were nights waiting by the window. Sweating in my warn hooded winter coat. Watching the clock, watching the street, with a knot in my stomach everytime I heard a car approach. To this day, I hate waiting. Cannot tolerate it in the slightest. By the time I was about 16 I had had enough. I wasn't going to be yo-yo'd any longer. I avoided talking to him. I wouldn't see him, even on the holidays. Once in a while I'd answer a call or go for a visit, but not very often. After all, it took a long time to build that wall. Alot of energy went into protecting myself. There was no way I would allow anyone to infiltrate my shield, especially the person who made me build it in the first place.
My father always had an illness or injury of some sort. Countless surgeries for back problems, knee pain, heart blockages, diabetic amputations. You name it. This went on his entire life. It is almost as though he wanted to be saved. It was almost like he created his own illnesses. He certainly didn't take care of himself. He didn't take the doctor's advice. So he wasn't the one to save himself. Maybe he wanted to be rescued. Taken care of because he had never been taken care of as a child. To me, he seemed wounded yet coated in armor. He always thought he was dying, yet he never did. So obviously, in my mind, he never would. Until the day he actually did.
My stepmother called and told us he wasn't doing well. That perhaps we should come up to the hospital where he had been for the prior week or so. My brother, his girlfriend, and I decided to go. I hadn;t seen him in a long time and was very nervous. Not because I thought he was dying, but because of my guilt. It was 2 days after his 46th birthday. I had sent him a rose and a couple balloons. Not sure why, I hadn't sent anything previous years. They were still in his room when we arrived. He was certainly not well. He looked ghostly and he was not thinking completely clearly. He was able to eat his dinner and even complained there wasn't more. He and I were in the room alone as he drank his coffee and sat in the chair. A nurse or tech of some sort came in just to check his IV or something when I noticed he was breathing very strangly. I asked her, "Is something wrong?" She looked as confused as I was. I said kind of loudly, "Dad...Dad..." Something wasn't right. I could feel it. Fear and calm at the same time...is there such a thing? The next thing I knew I was wisked into the adjacent room. His nurse came in and told us that the doctors were doing their "final check". My step mom asked through tears, "Is he gone?" And the nurse simply said yes. I just remember repeating the word 'No' and crying. How did this happen? I want answers. I want reasons. But they are to never be heard.
This was 8 years ago. Not a day goes by that I don't wish so much that I would have taken those phone calls. That I would have visited him, even when it seemed he didn't want me to. Though the guilt has faded in time, I doubt it will ever cease. I should have been the one to give him a reason to live. I should have tried to help him. I should have been the one to rescue him. Instead I was stubborn, angry, and full of self pity.
I would love so much to call my dad today. To introduce him to his wonderful granddaughter. To ask him about cooking secrets. To watch The Sopranos with him. So much lost. So many moments that could have been shared. He didn't even know me.
I am sorry Dad. I am sorry I wasn't there for you. I am sorry you were in so much pain for so long.
I forgive you Dad. I forgive you for abandoning me. I forgive you for thinking only of yourself. I forgive you for making me feel guilty when I was only a kid doing the best I knew how. I forgive you for leaving before I had a chance to really know you. I forgive you for leaving before you could know me. I forgive you for leaving a mess in my head. I forgive you for dying, Dad. I love you. Good bye.
Introducing Cassidy - A Birth Story
After about 2 hours of sleep tops, I dragged out of bed. There were jumping monkeys in my stomach and a boulder in my throat. My nerves were so high, the hairs were standing up on my arms. We didn't have to be to the hospital until about 9:00am, so we decided to get ready and head to Denny's for breakfast. That was to be my last meal for about 35 hours. I had one poached egg and nibbled at my toast. I wanted to eat, but my stomach wouldn't let me. Boy, would I regret that later.
Baby was 2 weeks late. Doctor decided to induce me on the September 15th. That was my Grandma Rose's birthday, so sounded like a good day. I didn't mind being pregnant and wasn't in all that much of a rush to deliver. She was very easy to take care of in there. No screaming. She let me sleep. And I ate all the M&Ms I wanted (another regret I would have in the future). But alas, the day had come. She had to come out whether we liked it or not.
We got to the hospital and had to wait in a small room as they prepared my labor and delivery room. We watched tv as I tried to calm myself. We walked the halls, hoping to spark some dialation which hadn't happened as of yet. We finally got all settled in the room where I would be for the next 29 hours. Right away they inserted (yes, inserted) a tablet called cytotec to begin the dialation. My mom and stepdad had arrived and we all played cards and watched tv. Charlie, my husband, ran home to get some things we had forgotten. Not quite 2 hours after the 'insertion' I started getting really bad cramps. Contractions I suppose they were. One right on top of another. They came fast and strong. By the time Charlie got back to the hospital I was asking for something for the pain. I was still not dialated worth a damn, so they didn't want to give me an epidural yet. Apparently they were too busy stirring the cauldren and cackeling at my severe pain. (Most of the staff were actually very nice...but a few in the beginning just seemed to refuse to believe how much pain I was in). They brewed up some stadol instead. I got pretty loopy, also pretty nauseated. It didn't touch the pain. I was begging for the epidural. Finally, my Doctor came to check on me. He demanded they give me the epidural and even seemed annoyed that they were refusing me. I finally got the jab in my spine and the relief was unspeakable. I was on cloud nine - hell, ninty nine. I sure thought it was going to be smooth sailing from there. Ha. The calm before the storm. The tease of a lifetime. A cruel joke from the Gods.
I was great for about 3 hours. I felt NOTHING. I watched tv, talked with family, had a few visitors, joked with nurses, and ate some popcicles. I even fell asleep. Charlie, my mom, and me were asleep in the room. Then BAM! The earth opened up and released the evil demons there to torture me. I woke up in the worst pain. It wouldnt stop. It was constant. The epidural stopped working. WHAT? How can this happen? They couldn't figure out why. They even tried giving me a new one. That didn't help. This went on for hours. The pain was so unbearable I think I may have left my body at one point...at least I tried to. They gave me more stadol, but that just made me puke. My water finally broke the next morning and I started pushing. She was stuck and I pushed for at least 6 hours. It was so hard. They kept telling me to do it a certain way. I was just thinking "Listen dog face...unless you wanna trade uteruses right now, shut the &*^%$ up!" I was certain, and I mean certain, that I was going to die. The doctor arrived. I looked him square in the eye and said "You get this out of me now and I mean NOW!" His eyes widened and he said okay. He got the vacuum and about 15 minutes after that she finally came out. She was born at 12:46pm September 16th. Remember, labor started about 11am on the 15th. It was no longer Grandma Rose's birthday, but it was now my Grandma Betty's birthday.
My placenta did not deliver as the pitocin machine quit working. Nice. Could THAT be why I was in labor so long? Who knows. I bled alot. But at that point I didn't care. The pain was over. I even felt the needle where he stitched me up and I didn't care. I had to wear a cathader for the 3 days I was in recovery because I was so traumatized 'down there'. It took a long, long time to heal. They gave me percocet and ibuprofin the whole time I was there. And prescriptions for when I left. All the nurses in recovery were amazed I hadn't had a C-Section. They just kept calling me 'poor thing'. But, it was indeed worth it. I won't do it again anytime soon let me tell ya, and if I did have another I would probably demand a C-Section..but it was worth it.
Baby was perfectly healthy. She didn't sleep much. Too busy crying. Her nose was all crooked and smooshed. And her hands were fisted and always waving. I called her Tyson. My Cassidy. A stubborn fighter from day one.
Happy birthday sweetie. I love you. But, prepare for the guilt.
Jarhead (2005) - A Review
I went to see this movie with great apprehension. Another shoot em up war movie, I thought. But it was the only one showing at the theatre we like that showed an ounce of promise. That ounce quickly flashed into pounds as I sat there fixated on the beautiful editing, the remarkable acting, and the unexplained imagery.
Much like the movie Three Kings, the desert scenes were shot with an endless ability to make sand and nothingness glaring art. Scenes of rolling white sands, gushing pools of black oil, and the distorted waves of heat all lifted the viewers from their cushioned theatre seats to the middle of the arid desert.
The acting by all the major characters was more than compelling, and aside from Peter Sarsgaard whom I was already a fan, also surprising. The shear anger portrayed by Gyllenhaal and the lonely loyalty portrayed by Sarsgaard were heartbreaking and so real. I truly believe that Sarsgaard and Jake Gyllenhaal both deserve Oscar nominations for these performances.
But the one aspect of this film that I find most intriguing and powerful was the absence of useless explanation. This movie went out of its way not to insult the intelligence of its audience. There was much left to our own discovery and introspection. That is what I appreciated most.
Regardless of one’s feelings about war in general or the Gulf Wars in particular, there were impacts made by this film that cannot be denied. The horrifying emotions of soldiers from yesterday and today will likely never be completely understood. But films like Jarhead provide the much needed shed of light on their emotional plights during war and for the rest of their lives. Being able to illuminate these dark realities with comedy and humanity is why I believe Jarhead is one of the best films I have seen in a long, long time.
Much like the movie Three Kings, the desert scenes were shot with an endless ability to make sand and nothingness glaring art. Scenes of rolling white sands, gushing pools of black oil, and the distorted waves of heat all lifted the viewers from their cushioned theatre seats to the middle of the arid desert.
The acting by all the major characters was more than compelling, and aside from Peter Sarsgaard whom I was already a fan, also surprising. The shear anger portrayed by Gyllenhaal and the lonely loyalty portrayed by Sarsgaard were heartbreaking and so real. I truly believe that Sarsgaard and Jake Gyllenhaal both deserve Oscar nominations for these performances.
But the one aspect of this film that I find most intriguing and powerful was the absence of useless explanation. This movie went out of its way not to insult the intelligence of its audience. There was much left to our own discovery and introspection. That is what I appreciated most.
Regardless of one’s feelings about war in general or the Gulf Wars in particular, there were impacts made by this film that cannot be denied. The horrifying emotions of soldiers from yesterday and today will likely never be completely understood. But films like Jarhead provide the much needed shed of light on their emotional plights during war and for the rest of their lives. Being able to illuminate these dark realities with comedy and humanity is why I believe Jarhead is one of the best films I have seen in a long, long time.
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