Mar 302011
 

I found this piece of art in Tish’s school folder recently. When I asked her about it, she said, “My teacher told me to draw a picture of me and my mommy. But I didn’t know how. So I just drew a volcano.”

No further comment.

Go in peace, Monkees. May we all lie dormant today.


Love, G


Mar 262011
 

This blog, it’s sort of a living thing.

I never really decide what I want to write about. Ideas come to me instead of from me. Some story or subject taps me on the shoulder and doesn’t stop tapping until I write about it. Being a writer is like being a parent, actually. It’s like being pecked to death by merciless chickens.

Every once in a while I get post requests from readers. They usually say: Jeeeeesh Glennon- you’ve been pretty heavy lately…can we have some funny? Or Pleeease Glennon – I need some God stuff. And I know how they feel.But I don’t choose what to write about any more than I choose my kids’ moods. Something needs to get written so I sit down and get it done so I can relax already. And I just figure that some Monkee, somewhere, needed to read it. No matter how odd it was. And that’s how this little blog here runs. I just trust the system. So far, so good.

But there is one subject that has been tapping me on the shoulder for a long while now. I’ve ignored it out of fear – it’s a tricky subject – so it started pinching me instead. Yesterday it slapped me right across the face so I said ALL RIGHT. Tomorrow morning. I’ll write.

Sisterhood is important to me- you may have noticed. I believe…I know, that we are all more alike than different. That we are all connected. That one woman’s pain is our collective pain and one’s woman’s joy and success belongs to all of us. In short, I believe that We Belong To Each Other. And no matter how many episodes of Housewives Of Whatever I ogle at, I know that stuff is not True. I know the Truth is taking care of each other. Lightening each other’s loads. Recognizing ourselves in each other.Accepting and forgiving each other’s faults and weaknesses. Noticing strengths and celebrating them instead of being afraid of them. Trying our very, very hardest not to hurt each other. Loving each other. It’s hard, but it’s right.


Twenty one.


I have listened; either virtually or in real life, to twenty one sisters explain that their lives and hearts and families are shattered because their husbands had an affair with another woman. Included in these twenty-one have been women I’ve known for decades and women I’ve never met. But the pain is the same…it’s absolutely brutal. It’s indescribable. It’s impossible. It’s hell on earth.

And it always, always rocks me to my core. Because some pain on Earth is unavoidable, but this pain isn’t. Because I believe in marriage, and I believe in sisterhood. And I just can’t imagine being betrayed by both. Doesn’t leave a sister a whole lot to hang on to.

It’s a complicated issue. I choose not to discuss the husband’s role, because I’m not a husband.

I am a wife, and I am a Sister. And I just want to say this to my other sisters. I’d like to make this promise:

I believe in marriage, and I believe in sisterhood. And I will never, ever betray my belief in either one by becoming intimate – physically or emotionally – with another sister’s husband. I’d rather die.

If you have in the past, we forgive you. If you are right now, we forgive you. Just cut it out. Please. It hurts all of us. No matter what you are telling yourself, no matter what excuses you are offering yourself – the Truth is that you deserve better. We all do.

We Belong To Each Other.


Love You, sisters.



Mar 252011
 

 

So the fires. You’d like to know about the fires. Knew you would.


When Chase was a baby, I used to sterilize his bottles. I marvel at how different a mother can become in eight short years. Especially when considering that just a few months ago I walked into Chase’s room to find Amma on all fours next to Romeo’s cage… sucking on the guinea pig’s water bottle. Made sense, actually.Romeo’s really the only one around here who is consistently fed, because Craig is in charge of him. And Amma figured that out, at two. I mean, I could cry about my daughter breaking bread with rodents, or I could take pride in her resourcefulness. I choose the latter. Amma is like Survivor Baby. She has to be, really.

When I found her with Romeo, I screamed, ran downstairs and immediately Googled: “Can you get swine flu from a guinea pig?” Google has replaced 911 as my go-to-guy in parenting predicaments. EMTs everywhere are grateful.

While I waited for Google to work its magic… I realized with great stress that I had forgotten to tell Amma to stop. She was still up there chugging with Romeo. So I ran back upstairs, grabbed her, and ran back down the stairs. Of course, by the time I got back to the kitchen, Craig was sitting in front of the computer looking confused. About the google/guinea pig/swine flu business, obvi.

Craig doesn’t fully understand my relationship with Google. I Google everything. I figure it’s always worth a shot. I LOVE asking for help. I walk through life with a virtual HELP WANTED sign on my forehead. Craig’s different. This difference is always highlighted at the grocery store. If I ask Craig to go pick up peanut butter, it is an inevitability that the phone will ring an hour later. I will juggle the 49 children in my arms to find the phone and answer it. It will be Craig. He will say, “Hi, hon. I’m still at the store. I can’t find the peanut butter. Where is it?”

Instead of telling him where the peanut butter is, I will ask if he, perchance, sees any kind looking people wearing nametags milling about. He will pause and then say, yes, actually, there are several. And I will say: THEY’RE THE ONES WHO GET PAID TO KNOW WHERE THE PEANUT BUTTER IS, HUSBAND. THEY ARE THERE TO HELP YOU, HUSBAND. AAAAAAAAAAAAAASK OOOONE OF THEEEEEEEEM, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.

Sweet Jesus. This post was supposed to be about the fires, wasn’t it? I get distracted. Which is actually a pretty good summary of the fires story. More on that soon.

Oh, and the answer is no. You can’t get swine flu from a guinea pig. You can, however, contract several other scary sounding diseases. Don’t worry: we are observing Amma carefully.

More truthfully…when we find her we plan to observe her carefully. I know she’s around here somewhere.



Happy Weekend, Lovies.