"Miss Martha, you are so weird!" "I know . . . isn't it wonderful!?"

Archive for the ‘Kids’ Category

Most Delightful Treat

This morning, one of my moms at work came in with just her baby son (two older daughters were at camp or running amok in the streets or something).  For the first time since I’ve met him, he wasn’t in his stroller, and he was wide awake.  I reached to hold him, and mom was hesitant.  Apparently, he FREAKS out when just about anyone but her holds him.  Not only did he reach for me, but he nuzzled me, and would have gone to sleep if she hadn’t needed to leave.


He LOVED me!  He cuddled me, hugged me, played with my necklace and my hair, and smiled and smiled and smiled.


When I met him for the first time, he was asleep, and I told him that we were going to be best friends, and he didn’t even know it yet.


Today, he apparently remembered what I told him.  🙂


Oh Nicholas . . . you and me forever, baby.  🙂


“Martha and Nicholas.  Best friends for life.”



New favorite little kidism

During storytime last week, I asked the kids what the wolf says.  (Please note, I was NOT reading The Three Little Pigs or Little Red Riding Hood or any variation there of.)


Ben:  “Huff and puff.”




It’s hard to read out loud when you’re smiling as big as I was.

Reading Promotion?

So, I went to the elementary school today (and while there realized that there is a BAD typo, well, not bad, but a missing vowel, in my schedule) to do promotion for the Summer Reading Program.  The second to last group that I spoke to, the kindergarteners and preschoolers, were REALLY cute.  They asked all the typical little kid questions, and said all the normal little kid things.


Just before I was about to end, a little girl (preschool group), raised her hand.  I leaned in close, because the kiddies were starting to get restless, and I wanted to be able to hear her.


Little Girl:  “Do you know the book Fifty Shades of Grey?”


Me:  “Um, yeah, that’s a book.”


LG:  “My mommy loves to read that book a lot, all the time.”


Me:  “Books are fun, aren’t they?”




Yeah, so I had a preschooler doing promo for Fifty Shades.


As long as you’re reading, who cares what it is, right?  😉


I’m both horrified and delighted.

Frannie said there’d be days like this . . .

My guru has informed me that perhaps my time in therapy is not best spent bitching about specific situations.  Perhaps, she (not so?) gently suggested that I ask my therapist for techniques to learn to let things go in general.  The thought of doing this made my shoulders and jaw lock in anxiety.  Who does that?  How can I *not* take everything that is going on in my life now right personally?

Those around me are a reflection on me, whether they mean to be or not.  Whether I want them to be or not.  If *you* don’t do it, then I have to, because if it doesn’t get done, we’ll all look like shit, right?  In my mind, this is absolutely right.  Do I let those around me fall on their faces?  . . . but, then, me being me, would feel totally obligated to pick up the pieces for them, dust them off, finish whatever it was that they started, and allow them to take credit for it.  I want to protect those around me, because, in essence, I am protecting myself.  When “you are the company you keep” and, for whatever reason, you’re no longer in control of the choice of that company, how does one reconcile that separation?

I want to protect that which I view as “mine” even if, in reality, it isn’t.

I *AM* the mother fucking Big Fish.  The one that the little fish swim near to keep safe.  When did I forget this?  When did I let that part of me go?

I take such pride in what I do, in what I’ve accomplished, in who I am, in who I will be . . . why am I letting those around me pull me into such an abyss?  I haven’t forgotten how to swim, but the shore seems farther and farther away . . . especially when you’re pulling a boat full of other people with your teeth.

I have forgotten more things than most people will ever learn in their lifetime, yet I feel inadequate.  My mental MS hiccups, while perhaps minor to some people, I find frustrating beyond belief.  I was the walking dictionary, now I practically have to carry one in my purse to remember how to spell my own name.  I finish dinner with my husband, and I can’t remember what we ate, even before I’ve cleared the table.

And what a life that is for him . . . when we chose each other, I was a completely bi-lingual graduate student, who got a professional job before she even completed her degree.  Now there are days that I have no idea how I even got to work.  Scary doesn’t even begin to cover it.

My hyper-vigilance has been replaced by tubs of medication and self-help books that sit, collecting dust, next to my bed.

I’m attempting to rejuvinate myself and my career this year.  Don’t worry, I don’t plan on going anywhere . . . I just want to be *that much* better at what I do.  I want to be kinder.  Wiser.  Healthier.  Happier.  Happier would be very nice.  Relaxed . . . perhaps impossible . . . but it’s worth a shot.

I want to be able to view myself as the kids at work view me.  Good, bad, or otherwise . . . they always come to me.  Why?  Because, whether they know it of not, I *AM* the mother fucking Big Fish.

I told a kid today

that if you don’t listen to your Librarian (me), your brain will shrivel up and drain out your ear while you sleep.  It will be absorbed by your pillow, and you’ll be able to wring your pillow out, and get *some* of your brain back, but you’ll never be the same.


“I’ve seen it happen.”




I hope he didn’t really believe me.

but i kind of hope he did

The Little Red Hen

Once, when I was reading The Little Red Hen during storytime, I was interrupted by a very certain truth . . .

me:  “So, all by herself, she *did this and this and this* because no one would help her.”  (I’m paraphrasing, clearly.)

kid:  “Wait!  Sooo . . . she’s the mommy?”

me:  *pause*  “Yes, I guess she is.”


. . . from the mouths of babes.

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