Best Bologna of 2012

Well, it's become an end of the year tradition now - third year in a row - ye olde Recap Post... wherein I reflect on the past year here at The Squashed Bologna and bring you my favorite posts from each month.

2012 has been a fairly intense, challenging year for me. My mother's fall in late May, and the radical change in her circumstances that rolled out from that being at the center of most of it.

It was hard to choose again this year...

The popular posts or the sleepers? The "big thoughts" or the quiet moments? Heavy posts about my mother or sweet ones about my kids? The challenges or the gifts of Jacob's autism? My best writing or the most interesting events?

Some months I couldn't pick just one, so there's a few doubles. And that's ok, because, well, my blog, my rules, right? Who says it HAS to be only one post per month? (Not me.)

So, without further ado...

Here are some of my favorite Squashed Mom posts from 2012:

January: Monday Listicles: 10 Things I Have Done to Make a Living {A funny annotated list of the many and sundry odd - and I jobs I have held in my long life}

February: A Full Moon for Susan {My goodbye to the wonderful Susan Niebur  - aka WhyMommy - who died of metastatic inflammatory breast cancer, celebrating her life and work} 

and 10 years ago today... {Looking back at my then pregnant self, realizing I had NO CLUE how much and in what ways my life was going to change}

March: Planets {Taking a walk with Ethan and reflecting on my children's distant, fratious relationship.}

April: Words {Reflecting on the power of words in our lives. Especially destructive ones - like "Retard"} 

May: The Dress {Cleaning out my closet, coming upon a dress I wore at a significant point in my life, and telling a tale from the beginning of my IVF pregnancy}

and Perspective {Sitting by my mother's side in the ICU puts everything else in my life into perspective.}

June: My Heart, Her Heart {Caring for my mother through her recovery, and adjusting - or not - to her new diminished circumstances}

July: The living and the dying {Reflections on my mother and my aunt: old women near the end of life.)

August: Full Circles {Dropping Jacob off for a week of SN Summer camp - at the same camp I attended as a 14 year old. Looking backwards and forwards in wonder.}

September: Picures and Stories {A smiling picture of Jake on a boat, and then the story of his horrific autistic meltdown five minutes later. The difference between pictures and stories.}

and Hunger {A funny memory of my last trip to LA while pregnant with the twins, when my access to food got compromised - my Yom Kippur post.}

October: Her way home {A poignant post about my fading mother and her struggles.}

November: Survivor Guilt {NYC got socked by a hurricane and my family suffered not one bit. And therefore I felt terrible.}

December: This is Jacob. This is autism. {My contribution to the wonderful "Autism Shines" campaign / Facebook page to counter the autism negativity fallout from Newtown.}

And that's the year that was!

Well... not entirely.  Looking over these posts, I realized there is much missing from this recap. Because I have chosen to go pretty much with the "best writing"  side of things, there are quite a few key events in my life not covered in here, as my posts regarding them were more reportage than literary, and thus didn't make it onto this list.

So I think I need yet another re-cap post about my LIFE in 2012 -- including things like my producing  the first annual New York City Listen to Your Mother Show, my reading as a Voice of the Year at BlogHer this past summer, the boys turning 10, etc., etc.

Tomorrow, peeps...

And until then?

Sending my wishes out to you all for the happiest of all possible New Years, and a 2013 that is wonderful and either wild or peaceful (depending on your preference), exceeding your wildest dreams.

Linking this post up at:

Photo credits: Spiral Galaxy by Calar Alto Observatory via NASA

10 years ago today...

10 years ago on this day, I was... 15 weeks pregnant with my babies. While other women might be just beginning to show at this point, I, carrying two, was quite past the "Is she pregnant or has she just been drinking a lot of beer?" look, and well into the strangers-rubbing-your-belly-without-asking phase of my pregnancy.

I was recently back from my last ever Sundance film festival, where I had encountered the delightful cumulative effects of "morning" and altitude sickness and thus nearly hurled on James Caan. But I had also had my pregnant belly rubbed for luck by charming actress Julie Benz (Darla of Buffy/Angel & Rita of Dexter) and yes, she asked first.

10 years ago today, I hadn't had my amnio yet, so I was sitting on tenterhooks, not knowing the gender of the two babies I was busy gestating. Boys? Girls? One of each? Waiting, waiting, waiting to find out.

I did know my life going to change, irrevocably and forever very shortly, and was working hard to study up and prepare for it. (Ha!)

One thing I would have been right in the thick of was planning a "minor" apartment renovation, mostly centered on the kitchen & bathroom, trying to make our small space livable with babies. That "3 week" renovation turned into a 3 month job, and nearly left me bringing my babies home from the hospital without a working kitchen.

10 years ago today, I was trying to work a little bit, but not too much, heeding the words of my very cautious, high-risk OB: "This may be your ONE shot at parenthood, don't blow it! Stop working at 25 weeks. Rest for a minimum of 2 hours each day on your left side. Rest. Rest. Rest. And drink plenty of fluids."

I never went to see my OB without having to wait at least an hour, maybe 2, occasionally even 3. She was always apologetic, but I was sanguine. My age, twin pregnancy and fertility status (these were IVF babies) we're what put me into her hands, while so many of her other patients had much more fragile, stressful, troubled pregnancies than I.

She would always say "Sorry, but there was an emergency." And I would always answer "That's OK, I'm just glad that *I* wasn't your emergency." And I always, genuinely, was.

Because me? I was one of the lucky ones: Never put on bed rest. Only developed a host of uncomfortable side effects of pregnancy, none of the dangerous complications. Delivered a pair of healthy seven pound boys at 39 weeks.

10 years ago, I was probably working on the plans for my father's 85th birthday party. My parents were still robustly enjoying an active retirement in Florida back then.

Five years earlier, I had gone down to Sarasota for my Dad's blow-out 80th birthday bash. But March 25th was into my no-fly zone, so my folks were coming up to my home, New York City, for this one and I wanted it to be wonderful. Memorable.

And it was. I rented the Hungarian House social hall for a Sunday brunch. Surprise guests flew in. There was a jazz band. Lots of hugs and laughter. And lox and bagels galore. Perfect.

10 years ago today, I was almost halfway through my pregnancy, poised on the precipice of the biggest game-changing event of my life. Everyone always tells you: "It will never be the same after you have kids."

Some mean that in a kindly way, citing the love and joy that come with creating a family. Others are more cautionary, thinking of years of lost sleep, the further losses of freedom, self, center, intimacy that can happen.

And like every blissfully ignorant pregnant woman I, would nod my head and say, "Yes, I know, I know."  Thinking my observations of my friends families and my mental projections of myself into motherhood had me well prepared.

But you know? (And if you are a parent you DO know, are smiling at my innocent folly.) I hadn't a fucking clue.

10 years ago today, I knew next to nothing about autism or ADD or special needs parenting or neurobiology. When I looked at our families trees, I had no idea these apples would be falling from them.

But that's OK, because if I had known, I don't think I would have had the courage to have children. Blissful ignorance is necessary, if a pregnant lady is to stop worrying and get any sleep at all.

10 years ago today, I probably fell asleep kicked back in the hideous blue rocker-recliner that I had sworn was ONLY in our house until the boys no longer needed to be rocked to sleep, but still squats in the living room to this day.

I dreamed of oceans often during my pregnancy, of waves and seashores and creatures of the deep, swimming and undulating beneath the sparkly blue surface.

10 years ago today, I placed my hands on either side of my rounding belly and thought great things about the tiny twin beings, slowly becoming human inside of me.

Tonight I kiss the sweet, damp, vanilla-shampoo scented heads of my nine year-old sons as I tuck them into their beds, and they drift off to sleep, dreaming their own dreams, and growing into lives of their own shaping.

I'm linking up with Mama Kat who prompted us to start a post with the phrase “Ten years ago on this day, I was…”

I'm also linking up to Maxabella's I'm grateful for... because I am so grateful for my wonderful boys.

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Twenty Two Things

I am 51 years old.

I have done a lot in my life.

But there are things I haven't done.

(Some, thankfully, some, regretfully.)

Here are 22 of them...

(Why 22? No idea. Ask Ree, The Pioneer Woman, who Mama Kat nicked this idea from.)

I have never: 

1.  Sung Karaoke. 

2.  Ridden a camel.

3.  Broken a bone (pinkie toes don’t count).

4.  Been to Australia.

5.  Seen Mount Rushmore.

6.  Gone to Disney (working a conference at the Swan doesn’t count).

7.  Flown to the moon and swung among the stars.

8.  Taken the coast to coast train across Canada.

9.  Taken a photograph of a celebrity.

10.  Faked an orgasm.

11.  Fired a gun.

12.  Eaten Fugu.

13.  Been able to walk in heels without falling on my face.

14.  Seen a purple cow.

15.  Straightened my hair.

16.  Gotten a bikini wax (ouch).

17.  Been on time to any significant event in my life.

18.  Had a “regular” job with benefits.

19.  Dug a ditch.

20.  Seen the green flash of a sunrise on the open sea.

21.  Been as deeply sleep-deprived as I am right now.

22.  Regretted having children, in spite of the above.

I'm linking up with Mama Kat who prompted us to write a post listing 22 things we’ve never done.


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Not Their 52nd Anniversary

My parents in 2009, just before the big slide

Today, March 1st, 2011 would have been my parents 52nd anniversary.

I do not have to call my mother to know how sad she is today.  I will visit her, take her out, provide distraction, a shoulder to cry on.

I am sure I will have to rouse her when I arrive, in spite of my having called her yesterday, last night, again this morning to confirm that I am coming by.  Sleep is the great drug, and my mother will have drunk its draught in full.

My mother tells me she wakes up some mornings forgetting, reaches out a hand towards the other side of the bed, feeling for my father, her husband, partner, lover, best friend of fifty one years.  She finds instead Willie, the cat; a piss poor substitute, but he will have to do.

When I come upon her in bed, my mother will wave me away, ask me to leave her alone, to sleep and wallow.  But I will not.  I will coax and cajole her, my third child to rouse this morning.

I am not trying to jolly her up, am not asking her to forget what day this is, but rather to let me join her in her sadness, in remembering him and their love. 

I will bring with me the book of photos I made, staying up all night the night before his memorial service, pulling all the pictures I could find out of their frames, stripping other albums, pawing through boxes upon boxes of photos; trying to sum up, contain his life in one album.

We will leaf through photo after photo of Dad from mewling babe to smart boy in short pants to handsome young man (all fathers I never knew) and then onto his first marriage, son and daughter. And after that comes my mom, then me and our many wonderful years together, flattened out, frozen in time.

Last March my father miraculously held out past their anniversary, although it was not a happy one. I wrote a post that day, Nearly Finished Business, fueled by love and sadness, looking towards the short horizon I clearly saw.

He made it thirteen more days, halfway to the 25th, his 93rd birthday that I sensed he was aiming for.  But, skeletal as a living corpse, strength that had held on past all reason for three long months finally gave out.

I think one of the reasons that zombies hold zero appeal for me, in spite of their recent, inexplicable popularity, is that I witnessed my father become one.  By the end he was a barely animated thing, his body a husk, his mind long freed.

Anyone who has gone through this process with a loved one?  I am sure, likewise, finds nothing amusing about the fictional walking dead.  We have lived with and cared for an actual one.

They are not scary-cute.  They are sadness beyond knowing.

I have been dreading the coming of this.  This month.  This March.  This explosive ending of our year of empty firsts, of sad anniversaries.

March is bracketed by my parents wedding anniversary and my father's birthday, and contains within it the date of his last drawn breath.

A month from now, April 1st will breeze in on spring's wet wings and I will run to embrace it.  It is also Autism Awareness Day, and that, too, shall be embraced with enthusiasm.

I apologize in advance for any dearth of cheer and mirth you may find in this coming month on my blog.

One year ago, today, I was engulfed in my father's long, protracted dying.

Today, this year, I will hug and tickle my children awake; kiss my husband a morning hello and goodbye; enfold my mother in love as we remember my father, her husband, together; embrace life.

In all honesty, I must admit that I was already writing this post when I got Mama Kat's latest writing prompts, so I can't truly say "inspired by" this week.

But when I read those prompts and got to number 3: "What were you blogging about last year at this time? What has changed?" I thought "Has Mama Kat been reading my mind?"  Because that is EXACTLY what I have been kind of obsessed with for a while.  This prompt seemed spookily tailor made to fit in with what's on my mind this week.

So even though it feels a tiny bit like cheating, I am linking up this post to Mama Kat's writers workshop.  Because it *is* OK for the universe to occasionally throw me a bone, right?




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Nice try, kid!

We have a great new babysitter, Amy, that has come into our life recently, as I needed some extra help in my post-surgical recovery period.  We all like her a lot, and she has now become one of our regular sometime sitters.

Amy is a graduate student: smart, cute, petite, 22, cute. 

Have I mentioned she is really cute?

As she only sits from time to time, and was mostly working afternoons to help out with Jacob when I was just out of my surgery and could not care for him at all physically, she had never put Ethan to bed.

Well, there's a first time for everything.

The other night my husband and I actually went out in the evening, a rather rare occurrence.  We braved the latest snowstorm to hear the wonderful Peggy Orenstein read from her marvelous new book, Cinderella Ate My Daughter, at our local bookstore.

(Full disclosure: Peggy is a facebook & twitter friend of mine, and has a "professional relationship" with my husband, having interviewed and quoted him in an article of hers on female superheros.)

Since we were actually already out of the house, alone & together, my husband and I decided to make a "real date" of it and have dinner out at a local diner before heading home.

This meant that Amy got to put Ethan to bed, and on this particular night he really needed a shower.

When we got home, we got this report from her:

Ethan in the bathroom, naked, about to get into the shower: “Amy, you have to take your clothes off, too.”

Amy: distractedly “Um, what?”

Ethan: “Amy, you have to take your clothes off.”

Amy: “WHAT? No.”

Ethan: “Yes, it’s the house rule. When I take a bath or shower and take my clothes off? You have to take your clothes off, too.”

Amy “Uh, no, I really don’t think so, kid… Why do you think I have to take off my clothes?”

Ethan: ”Well… I’ve never seen a naked woman before.”

(Have I mentioned she is really cute?)

Amy: “And you’re not going to see one tonight.  Now, get in the shower.”

Nice try, kid!

(And thank goodness Amy has a really good sense of humor.)

(And yes, Ethan and I had ourselves a little chat about concepts like "appropriate" and "respectful."  And yes I worked very hard to suppress my smirk during said conversation.)

This post was based on the prompt “Describe the last thing that made you laugh really hard.” from Mama Kat’s writers workshop.

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