this mel's life ~ diary of a mod housewife?

Now Playing - the news.
Now Eating - nothing. Dinner was shrimp tacos.
Now Feeling - bittersweet.
Now Tweeting - Melanie

I came home to an interesting grouping of items on my kitchen table.

~ a jar of black bean dip
~ a bag of basmati rice
~ a bag of Israeli couscous
~ two cans of Progresso soup
~ a jar of Ragu Robusto pasta sauce
~ a box of spaghetti
~ a box of Knorr Broccoli Au Gratin Risotto

I began preparing my argument. "Honey, most of that stuff really doesn't "go bad" per se...I mean, the worst that can happen to the rice and pasta is that it gets bugs and then we throw it out. And I do plan on cooking that couscous, I just haven't found the right sauce yet. And we haven't even tried the bean dip!"

Then I saw the card. A couple of days ago, we received notice of a food drive being conducted by the Postal Service. They asked for non-perishable food items to be left for pickup by our mail carrier tomorrow, May 10. Huz went through the cupboards and picked out food for them. I love that man.

I vocally overextended myself a bit during the first act last night. It's a lot of screaming, and sometimes you just don't think to hold back. And I hate "marking" (not singing full-out) in rehearsal because if you do, how do you build up the stamina to get through a performance? At the end of the act, I felt tired. Not in pain, because I'm never in pain, but...tired. Like my cords were wagging a figurative finger at me, saying "You were pushing it a bit there, and you'd better ease off now." So I did. I drank my Vitamin Water and didn't talk while on break, and took it easier in the second act (which is the easier act for me anyway). With finals and tech week and PMS all about to coincide, I'd better be careful and not run myself ragged. Especially with 9 a.m. rehearsals the next two days.

Huz's evening show on Sunday was cancelled, so we're going out with my parents for Mother's Day. That'll be nice, and give them their "child fix" for a couple of weeks. Mom had sent me a link to a site the other day. One of those mother-daughter poems. Either it wasn�t as glurgey as the stuff she usually sends, or I�m waxing hormonally nostalgic, because it actually didn�t make me retch. Here's the link. Not the best poem, but I was more concerned with the vignettes.

How to explain the memories from my childhood? They�re almost piecemeal in a way.

My little girl, where did you go
Wasn't it just yesterday
I held you in my arms

My mother wasn't very physically affectionate. She told me Dad's family was always more demonstrative - she had to "learn it" from him. Her father wasn't above whacking her if she got out of line. I'm a very huggy person, and she would always pull away if I hugged her too long. She's much more physically affectionate now.

Or when you got hurt
Only Mommy could kiss the tears away

I don�t remember my mother kissing away my tears. I remember her sitting with me as she put me to bed, telling me stories of her childhood � trips to Coney Island, summer vacations on Martha�s Vineyard. Russian Jews on the Vineyard? Didn't they belong in a Catskills bungalow colony? I don't think she was ready to become a mother. In a way, I'm not even sure she should have had children. They found out I had been born almost a year to the day after she miscarried. Six days later, they were on a plane with me, flying home from Florida. Poof, you're a parent. I can't imagine they were emotionally prepared for it. I saw in my adoption file a letter from their liaison in Florida, mentioning their decision to wait for a girl baby rather than take whichever baby became available first. I know they wanted me. I know they love me. But I�m not sure they ever knew what to make of me, what to do with me.

You climbed up into my lap
to read stories together

My dad said I�d never sit still on his lap long enough to be hugged. I guess that's why they took me to a therapist when I was six. I didn't like it because it made me miss Happy Days. The doctor said I was hyperactive, and put me on Ritalin, which my parents weaned me off of because they said it made me too "docile."

So you treasure every minute
you have with your own little ones
When they are covered with mud
from head to toe

Mom says she thinks she should have let me make mud pies as a kid. Dad told me once after bathing me in the sink as a baby, he went to dry my feet and I yelled, "No!" Took the towel from him and dried between each of my toes, individually. I threw a temper tantrum one night, insisting I stay up because "I wanna watch Abe Lincoln in Illinois!"

If it's not too laughable an understatement, I was not an easy child. That's just the tip of the iceberg. But they weren't exactly easy parents. And sometimes that comes of loving your children too much. But at least I know that they do love me, and are proud of me, and are happy that I'm happy. I don't think I'd go back and "change" my childhood if I could. It's made me who I am. But I think I'd try to remember more of the good things. So I could be nostalgic this Mother's Day. Like she is.

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