George Clooney was just starting to make his move when I felt a cold nose snuffling at my neck, accompanied by an urgent soft growl. No, dammit, it wasn't George. Just my Russian Wolfhound, Gaia, suggesting with her usual subtlety that I should get the hell out of bed.
Okay, okay, I growled back at her, opening my eyes with some difficulty. I sat up, dislodging Gaia, who jumped off. I started to get up, then remembered I still had to do my affirmations. No telling what would happen if I skipped a day. How cool to create your own reality every morning -- what could be more powerful? But a tiny part of me expected to be crushed like a bug if I slipped up.
Prosperity, first of all, because being poor takes too much time and energy. "I enjoy my new-found prosperity," I said aloud, making sure to keep my tone clear and positive. Next: "I have all the money I need." No, wait... "I have more money than I need."
I reached for the dream bracelet my friend Sylvie had made me: tiny black and gray beads with M-O-N-E-Y spelled out in little white cubes. Money, or the lack of it, is an issue I've been dealing with for a long time. Universe, could we please move on?
I continued, making sure to keep the positive energy flowing: "I am a wonderful mother." Because raising a fifteen-year-old boy is too challenging to leave to chance. No bracelet for that. If he saw it, he'd smell weakness on my part, and I'd be toast.
I went downstairs to the kitchen to start the day with my usual healthy green drink, mixed in a martini shaker to distract me from its vile taste.
Feed the cat, feed the fish, feed the dog, make some organic Earl Gray and sprouted bread, slathered with organic, non-genetically-engineered butter substitute. If I get hit by a bus today, I will be an exquisitely healthy corpse.
While the tea is steeping, spin 33 times clockwise. It opens up all the chakras and has the added benefit of completely freaking out the rest of the household. Keeps them in line.
Then upstairs to wake the kid. I knocked and opened the door.
"Leonardo, time to get up."
"I'm up, I'm up," came a voice from way under the covers.
I walked across the room to open the blinds, risking life and limb as I dodged tripods and camera bags, electric guitars and amps of all sizes, with their accompanying cords.
"Ma, don't you dare open the blinds! You know I hate the light."
"Flirting with the Dark Side again, are we?"
I left quickly, before he could throw a pillow at me. Ten minutes later, we emerged from our respective rooms, both dressed in black from head to toe, the blackness relieved only by gold hoop earrings -- his and mine. And gray-green eyes. Also his and mine.
"Flirting with the Dark Side again, Ma?"
"Smartass."
Laundry is a breeze at our house. Leonardo dresses all in black because he's a Metalhead. I dress all in black because I'm lazy and black always looks chic, no matter how little thought and effort you put into it. Bliss, the cat, was color-coordinated to minimize shedding damage, but Gaia, with her white-and-red coat, had put a serious crimp in our personal grooming.
"Walk the dog before you go to school," I reminded Leonardo.
"I always do," he replied, in a voice that had the dog headed in the opposite direction.
'Have a nice day, honey."
"My name's not honey."
"I love you," I said sweetly.
"Grr," he said, slamming the door.
I am a wonderful mother.
I am a wonderful mother.
I am a wonderful mother.
And here's another sample from later in the book:
When I got home, I decided to listen to my new meditation CD. I lit my favorite jasmine and brown sugar-scented candle and stretched out on my bed with my headphones and a silk herbal pouch over my poor, bloodshot eyes.
This CD is designed to actiivate both sides of your brain while putting you into a profound meditative state. When it works, I fall asleep. When it doesn't work, I just worry more profoundly. Someday I hope to master the art of being awake and serene at the same time...
Whore? Right -- he would know how a whore dresses, wouldn't he? How dare he say I looked like a whore! And how patronizing could he get with that "Thank God I was there to rescue you" line. Just because I'd had a little too much to drink. Talk about the pot and the kettle!
He's just bloody lucky I've evolved. A few years ago, nothing would have saved him from getting a drink tossed in his face. Granted, this time i hadn't had a drink to throw.
Okay, this wasn't working. I tossed the headphones and the pouch, got up and started prowling around the house, getting more and more pissed. Some women like to clean when they're mad - unfortunately I'm not one of them. I like to bake, instead, which makes my house even more of a mess.
I tied on an apron with a big map of Sicily on it and got out the organic flour, baking powder, sea salt, cane juice, butter and a big jar of organic strawberry jam. I would make strawberry tarts - lots of them - and when I was finished beating and rolling and cutting and crimping, all my rage and hurt would be gone.
This was one of my Sicilian grandmother's recipes, and I started to put on some Italian music to get in the mood, then changed my mind. This wasn't about cooking, this was primal therapy, so I put on AC/DC instead. By the time Back in Black was over and I'd beaten the dough into submission with my heaviest rolling pin and banged the cupboards a little harder than necessary, I was in a much better place.
After all, Danny was just being protective, right? That's a good thing, no? Of course, when we were dating, he didn't have a problem with me wearing sexy clothes. Now we're married (well, sort of), and suddenly I look like a whore. Marriage sucks. That's why I'm getting a divorce.
I slid the first batch of tarts into the oven and attacked the rest of the dough. There was more flour on me than in the bowl. Clean up was going to be a bitch, but I was living in the moment, so who cares?
I heard the front door slam shut, even over the music. I hoped that the aroma coming out of the kitchen, with its promise of strawberry tarts, would magically transform this new, hostile version of Leonardo into the sweet, loving kid he used to be. "I hope you're hungry, honey," I called out. "I made tarts!"
"Oh, I'm hungry, all right," Danny said, and the next thing I knew, his arms were around me, pressing me up against the sink as something else hard pressed into me from behind.
"Am I under arrest, or are you just happy to see me?" I asked, doing my best Mae West imitation. He didn't reply, but that was okay because I already knew the answer. He always did get off on watching me at the sink, and some of our best lovemaking had taken place in the kitchen.
He was nuzzling my neck as he rubbed up against me. The trouble with almost-ex-husbands is that they know all your vulnerable spots. By the time he'd worked his way down to my shoulder, I was putty in his hands, and when he turned me around to face him, I melted into his kiss. He eased off a strap of the silk camisole I had on under my apron and descended on my breast like a man who didn't know where his next meal was coming from. I moaned with pleasure, as I wound my fingers through his hair.
He picked me up and carried me toward the table. With one big hand he swept aside rolling pin and measuring cups and backed me onto the floury surface. I was frantic to have him inside me, and Danny, too, was out of patience, but the Universe had other plans.
"That's it - I am so getting a tattoo!" Leonardo said from the doorway.
Danny and I jumped apart as if we were the teenagers caught making out by our parents. And what a picture we made - both of us streaked with flour, and with our clothes rumpled up. I was mortified, but when I looked at Danny I couldn't help myself - I started laughing and couldn't stop. It took Danny a few seconds longer, but then he was cracking up, too.
"You're both crazy!" Leonardo said disgustedly, and ran up the stairs to his room, slamming the door extra hard, as if it were an exclamation point.
When we finally stopped laughing, Danny closed the distance between us and cupped my face in his hands. "I love you madly, kid." He leaned in to kiss me, and this time his kiss was tender and fierce at the same time.
The front door slammed, again. "Leo?" Danny called out. No answer. Danny ran up the stairs to Leonardo's room and opened the door without bothering to knock. I threw some tarts in a bag and went to wait for Danny at the foot of the stairs.
"He's gone," Danny said when he came back down.
"Go look for him."
"He probably went to a friend's house. Why don't we try calling around?"
"Please, Danny. I have a feeling..."
"You mean a normal feeling, or one of those feelings?" He looked at me, and I handed him the bag of tarts.
"Okay, I'm on it," he said. "You stay here and call me if he comes home."
"When he comes home."
Danny put his arms around me and I allowed myself the comfort of his strength. "It'll be okay, kid," he said, and I believed him. I don't know why, but I always do.
Okay, okay, I growled back at her, opening my eyes with some difficulty. I sat up, dislodging Gaia, who jumped off. I started to get up, then remembered I still had to do my affirmations. No telling what would happen if I skipped a day. How cool to create your own reality every morning -- what could be more powerful? But a tiny part of me expected to be crushed like a bug if I slipped up.
Prosperity, first of all, because being poor takes too much time and energy. "I enjoy my new-found prosperity," I said aloud, making sure to keep my tone clear and positive. Next: "I have all the money I need." No, wait... "I have more money than I need."
I reached for the dream bracelet my friend Sylvie had made me: tiny black and gray beads with M-O-N-E-Y spelled out in little white cubes. Money, or the lack of it, is an issue I've been dealing with for a long time. Universe, could we please move on?
I continued, making sure to keep the positive energy flowing: "I am a wonderful mother." Because raising a fifteen-year-old boy is too challenging to leave to chance. No bracelet for that. If he saw it, he'd smell weakness on my part, and I'd be toast.
I went downstairs to the kitchen to start the day with my usual healthy green drink, mixed in a martini shaker to distract me from its vile taste.
Feed the cat, feed the fish, feed the dog, make some organic Earl Gray and sprouted bread, slathered with organic, non-genetically-engineered butter substitute. If I get hit by a bus today, I will be an exquisitely healthy corpse.
While the tea is steeping, spin 33 times clockwise. It opens up all the chakras and has the added benefit of completely freaking out the rest of the household. Keeps them in line.
Then upstairs to wake the kid. I knocked and opened the door.
"Leonardo, time to get up."
"I'm up, I'm up," came a voice from way under the covers.
I walked across the room to open the blinds, risking life and limb as I dodged tripods and camera bags, electric guitars and amps of all sizes, with their accompanying cords.
"Ma, don't you dare open the blinds! You know I hate the light."
"Flirting with the Dark Side again, are we?"
I left quickly, before he could throw a pillow at me. Ten minutes later, we emerged from our respective rooms, both dressed in black from head to toe, the blackness relieved only by gold hoop earrings -- his and mine. And gray-green eyes. Also his and mine.
"Flirting with the Dark Side again, Ma?"
"Smartass."
Laundry is a breeze at our house. Leonardo dresses all in black because he's a Metalhead. I dress all in black because I'm lazy and black always looks chic, no matter how little thought and effort you put into it. Bliss, the cat, was color-coordinated to minimize shedding damage, but Gaia, with her white-and-red coat, had put a serious crimp in our personal grooming.
"Walk the dog before you go to school," I reminded Leonardo.
"I always do," he replied, in a voice that had the dog headed in the opposite direction.
'Have a nice day, honey."
"My name's not honey."
"I love you," I said sweetly.
"Grr," he said, slamming the door.
I am a wonderful mother.
I am a wonderful mother.
I am a wonderful mother.
And here's another sample from later in the book:
When I got home, I decided to listen to my new meditation CD. I lit my favorite jasmine and brown sugar-scented candle and stretched out on my bed with my headphones and a silk herbal pouch over my poor, bloodshot eyes.
This CD is designed to actiivate both sides of your brain while putting you into a profound meditative state. When it works, I fall asleep. When it doesn't work, I just worry more profoundly. Someday I hope to master the art of being awake and serene at the same time...
Whore? Right -- he would know how a whore dresses, wouldn't he? How dare he say I looked like a whore! And how patronizing could he get with that "Thank God I was there to rescue you" line. Just because I'd had a little too much to drink. Talk about the pot and the kettle!
He's just bloody lucky I've evolved. A few years ago, nothing would have saved him from getting a drink tossed in his face. Granted, this time i hadn't had a drink to throw.
Okay, this wasn't working. I tossed the headphones and the pouch, got up and started prowling around the house, getting more and more pissed. Some women like to clean when they're mad - unfortunately I'm not one of them. I like to bake, instead, which makes my house even more of a mess.
I tied on an apron with a big map of Sicily on it and got out the organic flour, baking powder, sea salt, cane juice, butter and a big jar of organic strawberry jam. I would make strawberry tarts - lots of them - and when I was finished beating and rolling and cutting and crimping, all my rage and hurt would be gone.
This was one of my Sicilian grandmother's recipes, and I started to put on some Italian music to get in the mood, then changed my mind. This wasn't about cooking, this was primal therapy, so I put on AC/DC instead. By the time Back in Black was over and I'd beaten the dough into submission with my heaviest rolling pin and banged the cupboards a little harder than necessary, I was in a much better place.
After all, Danny was just being protective, right? That's a good thing, no? Of course, when we were dating, he didn't have a problem with me wearing sexy clothes. Now we're married (well, sort of), and suddenly I look like a whore. Marriage sucks. That's why I'm getting a divorce.
I slid the first batch of tarts into the oven and attacked the rest of the dough. There was more flour on me than in the bowl. Clean up was going to be a bitch, but I was living in the moment, so who cares?
I heard the front door slam shut, even over the music. I hoped that the aroma coming out of the kitchen, with its promise of strawberry tarts, would magically transform this new, hostile version of Leonardo into the sweet, loving kid he used to be. "I hope you're hungry, honey," I called out. "I made tarts!"
"Oh, I'm hungry, all right," Danny said, and the next thing I knew, his arms were around me, pressing me up against the sink as something else hard pressed into me from behind.
"Am I under arrest, or are you just happy to see me?" I asked, doing my best Mae West imitation. He didn't reply, but that was okay because I already knew the answer. He always did get off on watching me at the sink, and some of our best lovemaking had taken place in the kitchen.
He was nuzzling my neck as he rubbed up against me. The trouble with almost-ex-husbands is that they know all your vulnerable spots. By the time he'd worked his way down to my shoulder, I was putty in his hands, and when he turned me around to face him, I melted into his kiss. He eased off a strap of the silk camisole I had on under my apron and descended on my breast like a man who didn't know where his next meal was coming from. I moaned with pleasure, as I wound my fingers through his hair.
He picked me up and carried me toward the table. With one big hand he swept aside rolling pin and measuring cups and backed me onto the floury surface. I was frantic to have him inside me, and Danny, too, was out of patience, but the Universe had other plans.
"That's it - I am so getting a tattoo!" Leonardo said from the doorway.
Danny and I jumped apart as if we were the teenagers caught making out by our parents. And what a picture we made - both of us streaked with flour, and with our clothes rumpled up. I was mortified, but when I looked at Danny I couldn't help myself - I started laughing and couldn't stop. It took Danny a few seconds longer, but then he was cracking up, too.
"You're both crazy!" Leonardo said disgustedly, and ran up the stairs to his room, slamming the door extra hard, as if it were an exclamation point.
When we finally stopped laughing, Danny closed the distance between us and cupped my face in his hands. "I love you madly, kid." He leaned in to kiss me, and this time his kiss was tender and fierce at the same time.
The front door slammed, again. "Leo?" Danny called out. No answer. Danny ran up the stairs to Leonardo's room and opened the door without bothering to knock. I threw some tarts in a bag and went to wait for Danny at the foot of the stairs.
"He's gone," Danny said when he came back down.
"Go look for him."
"He probably went to a friend's house. Why don't we try calling around?"
"Please, Danny. I have a feeling..."
"You mean a normal feeling, or one of those feelings?" He looked at me, and I handed him the bag of tarts.
"Okay, I'm on it," he said. "You stay here and call me if he comes home."
"When he comes home."
Danny put his arms around me and I allowed myself the comfort of his strength. "It'll be okay, kid," he said, and I believed him. I don't know why, but I always do.