St. Patricks Day and the drink-fest that happens in the days before it were fun this year. We went to see The Pogues at Roseland Ballroom in Manhattan. Tom is friends with the singer-guitar/tin whistle/beer tray player Spider and he was kind enough to put us on the list. It was a sea of mostly guys, which holds true for most live concerts (unless you are seeing Avril Levine) And there was, I can safely say a lot of beer drunk that night. By the end of the show one is singing yelling the words with some strangers arm over your shoulder singing along with you, sloshing beers in multiple cheers. Tom has said to Spider that it seems like bands usually have an audience sing along to them, but with the Pogues, it seems as if the band is sometimes playing along with the audience. They are definitely songs to be sung along to and Tom’s voice was in sorry shape the next day. Shane MacGowan was amazingly alive and his liver really must be put in the Mutter Museum when he dies after all of that abuse. They were really good and we had a lot of fun. There were quite a few people who had overdone it, at one point a kid staggered toward the side of the crowd and stopped to fall asleep on Tom’s back. Tom woke him up, pushed him on his way where he took two steps and fell flat on his face. Many a big Irish man was looking a little over-sauced in the peripherals. I drove, so no $8 MGDs in a can for me. The Pogues got their name from the Irish “póg mo thóin” meaning “Kiss my arse”.
The next day we watched our local parade. The parade lasts about 10 minutes but the Irish Bar up in Windsor Terrace, Brooklyn had a crowd outside all night long. Jack and Marlowe watched the pipers and the drummers and got to see horses with green tails. Jack’s eyes grew so big when he watched the drummers walking by. Tom called his brother in Boulder and talked to him about what he had planned. Bill said that in Boulder their local parade starts at the pub, walks two blocks then turns around and marches right back to the bar. I said “why mess around?”.
Tom left the house at 10am on Patty’s Day to met a bunch a friends at the K-Rose (aka The Kilarney), a small Irish bar at the bottom of Manhattan where Noel the bartender remembers Tom from when he was a teenager killing time until the next ferry (Staten Island Ferry). I loaded the kids in the car and dropped Ruby of at her Dad’s and drove into the city. We met Tom and friends at Swift’s, but the doorman wouldn’t let us in with the kids. I told him what the law was in NY, but he hadn’t ever worked the door at an Irish pub/restaurant before only nightclubs (I told him to do some research when he got home and learn the law, then to visit some Irish Bars that serve food during the day) so we went to another Irish pub/restaurant where the doorman was welcoming and even held a table for us. I had my one and only St. Patty’s Day pint while Jack pushed a chair around and flirted with the girls, I think he liked their long green necklaces (he insisted on wearing one around Target the other day). Marlowe doesn’t walk as well and I didn’t want her to crawl on the floor so she was buckled in a high chair and made faces at our friends. She has a new face where she looks like she is skeptical of something…like she should be saying “What you talkin’ about Willis?” Our friends who have kids a similar age were amazed at her personality showing through at 13 months. “You are going to have to keep an eye on this one.” We hear it all the time. I dunno’ , Marlowe is a handful, but is still a very sweet kid. She is just understands irony and comedy at a very young age. So we extracted Tom from the city and drove him and our friend Jim home where they talked about the day. I wish I could have made it to the parade in the city with everyone, I am a sucker for men in tassles, but was glad that I was there to take people home. I have been there, drunk as a skunk, standing in the fluorescent lights waiting forever for the subway to come. You have to be careful driving at this time of year. Not just the drunks but the hungoverds too, they are almost worse.
I have been in a bad mood all day. I was allowed to sleep in this morning and slept better than I have slept in weeks, but still I was unable to be anything but grouchy all day. I woke up to Marlowe crying because she was having her diaper changed and to the sound of garbage trucks screeching down my block while the garbage men threw off the lids off the pails and then threw the empty pails one by one. So, I thought I would focus on the sound of the wind and the windchimes in front of my neighbor’s house and meditate. Mrs. Healey decided that it was time to go wherever she goes at 10am and back her ber’luddy Volvo out of her driveway, high pitched breaks squeaking it an irritable tone. My dog was in her crate whining, and when I yelled at her she just whined softly which is just as irritating. I knew that I was incredibly lucky to wake up to two beautiful healthy kids and an amazing husband, but still I lay amongst my many pillows and under the feather quilt and brooded. I suffer from terrible insomnia, and because I fell asleep fairly easily the night before, I wondered if this was reverse insomnia. That you either sort through your shit the night before or leave it until morning. If I get to choose, ill take the night-time, mornings are difficult enough. I am usually not a morning person, but I have gotten better over time and am able to shake off the grouchiness fairly quickly. I thought some good stiff coffee might help but it just made it worse. Tom got the hint and stayed out of my way which was the best thing to do, but the silence made me feel angry and I snapped at him but it was really me that I was angry at. I was a dark cloud on the house and the fun and games took on a lighter volume and Tom scooped up whichever kid started heading my way. Everything made me annoyed. The dishes in the sink, the music playing on the babies toys, my clothes felt constrictive and I was unable to talk without sounding like a total downer. After about two hours, I apologized for being in a foul mood but then started to cry. I realized what my problem was. I needed a break from the babies that wasn’t filled with cleaning, running errands or sleeping. I had gone too many days in a row and needed a mental break and it needed to be something that fueled me. Tom’s vacation was almost over and I hadn’t had any time away from the babies other than a couple of appointments and some time after they go to bed and we have 2 days of visiting family ahead of us. Although one would think that when visiting family I would get a break and will be around people who can help with the child-care, but it ends up being more work for me as there is not a baby-proofed area, and the babies are off-schedule and become a crabby handful. Its also a collective 7 hours of driving over the next two days. I was also frustrated because I felt ashamed to ask for a break and therefore resentful. I have a hard time asking for one, I always feel guilty and most of the time I don’t enjoy i the time I get because I feel that I have to hurry up and can never fully relax. I wish I could just be automatically transported somewhere that allowed me to just fully check out for an hour. No, I don’t think ill start a drug habit now, I was thinking more like being transported like Spock like he did on an episode where he was beamed down to a planet that was like paradise. Actually I would be happy with an hour at the library. True, I did just get back from a week in Brazil with Ruby, but that was a few weeks ago and traveling has its stresses too. Ruby has already been in tears about how she is under so much pressure at school and at home, being away often gives you perspective on what your stress level really is. I need to start taking time for myself where I do not try and be uber-mom. Where I don’t do anything but decompress; no writing, no exercising, no cleaning, no shopping…just walk or read or meditate or do yoga or space out at a cafe or whatever. It seems strange to put this in your calendar but that is what I have to do at this point or it will never happen. My bad mood could have been avoided if I had such a thing in place that I could count on. Unfortunately my husband works on-call and it is impossible to plan anything. We will have to just do a plan A and a plan B & C.
So we are off for 2 days of Easter festivities, day 1 at Tom’s parents and day two at mine…a moveable feast. We dyed Easter eggs with Ruby last night which was fun. We all got into it like it was a science experiment. I had a great talk with Ruby about how Catholics banned the Pagan celebration of the Spring Equinox but then stole the Pagan symbolism of the rabbit and eggs and incorporating it into the Easter holiday. The rabbit and eggs referred to fertility and the pagan fertility goddess Eoestre. But what does that have to do with the resurrection of Christ and chocolate? Not much. Just that the holidays were close on the calendar and the Catholics wanted it all to themselves and well, hot cross buns and treats may have been the part of the celebration that over time turned into a basket of candy. She doesn’t care…she likes all holidays that have chocolate involved.
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