I have a blog post nearly finished, and every time I go to hit "publish," I can't. It doesn't feel right. There is another, larger thought in me I need to share, but until now, I've been unsure how to put my reaction to Friday's shooting to words.
I am like every parent. You want your children safe, healthy, happy and protected. The disbelief, anger, grief and helplessness with which I watched the news reports are emotions shared by us collectively, as a country of parents, teachers, and citizens, left to wonder how we can keep a tragedy such as this from happening again.
I don't know the answers because the questions are complex. I think there are situations that are too big to be attributed to any single factor; situations that are the result of access and opportunity meeting, fulfilling on a lifetime of rage. It's not just about gun control. It's not just about mental health. It's not just about how Adam Lanza lived and felt and did not feel. And yet, it's about all those things, mashed together in a mess.
Does that mean that Adam Lanza couldn't have been stopped? I don't know if that particular situation could have been prevented, but what could have changed over the course of his life? Hundreds of decisions made by a multitude of people could have made a difference. And that is what I have been stuck on. What can I do in my own community? I can't single handedly change gun legislation. I am not a mental health professional. But I am a parent. I have incredible influence over the three children who call me mom. That means I can move mountains.
I have come up with a list of actions I plan to take in my own family. Not because it will make any difference in a national way, but it will make a difference in the way all parents make a difference...one child, one family at a time.
Limit or Eliminate Exposure to Violence in my Home
I fully admit I have become too desensitized to the violence around me. On TV, in movies, in games. When the shooting at the Batman premier occurred, my mind was jolted back into the reality that the "fictional" violence we permit as a society does have a subconscious impact on what our children view as normal and what they will either tolerate or perpetuate as they age. I want my children to perpetuate peace and acceptance. I do not want them to ever tolerate violence in others or in themselves.
Limit the Use of Technology
As we move ever more toward an age where gadgets easily replace relationships, I want to strive with all my might to raise children who want to spend time with each other, with me and with their friends more than they want to hole up in their rooms, doors closed, with a smartphone. I fear that the ability to have a conversation where you talk about real feelings; the appreciation for spending time in quiet contemplation; and the notion that the natural world has more to teach us than any app are becoming antiquated beliefs. And the more we focus on things and not on people, the more we lose the ability to empathize and walk in another's shoes.
Reach out to Others
In all of the news reports I've watched and read about Adam Lanza's mother, she has been described as "trying to hold it together" or "putting up a good front." I can only imagine how she felt as a single mother, dealing with her son and the stresses he must have put on daily life. I hope that if I see people around me, seeming stressed or trying to hold it together, that I reach out. Ask if they're okay. Ask if I can take them for coffee. It might not make any difference. But it might make a big difference. You just have to believe that even the smallest of gestures matters.
Support Teachers
My sister is a teacher. The grief I felt as a parent was also coupled with the realization that my sister would have done exactly what those teachers did at Sandy Hook. She loves her students and takes her profession not as a job, but as a calling. And I believe that nearly all teachers feel this way. They are called to prepare the future through the education of our youth. I have a renewed focus on supporting my children's school and their teachers; to give them what they need to do their jobs and to let them know how much I appreciate their daily focus on the development and well being of my three most precious possessions.
Love
At the end, love is always what remains. And I hope that I can take on each day from a perspective of love. Love for my family; my friends; my community; my country and those I don't even know. And when I put my kids to bed each night, I will tell them I love them and that everything will be okay, even though I can't promise that. But, it's what kids deserve to hear. And, I will put myself to bed, and say to God, "I will hold on with all my might. Just promise me everything will be all right."
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Five Signs You're a Mom
In case having little children follow you around, calling you "mommy" or having food stains on your shirt or finding a DS game cartridge or odd barrette in your purse isn't enough to help you fully grasp your momhood, here are some other signs that typically highlight the fact that we aren't women living the footloose, fancy free, single life any longer.
You Adopt a New Way of Speaking
I'm not talking about the inevitable "baby talk" we do with our babies and toddlers, where everything takes on that high-pitched, saccharin tone and words all rhyme like a Wiggles song. I'm talking about that more sophisticated brand of momspeak, where we start our sentences with authoritative phrasology like, "We don't say words like that..." or "One. (long pause) Two. (long pause) Three..." or my all time favorite, "Stupid is a bad word." Okay, stupid is not a bad word. It's a very purposeful adjective that describes a wide array of people, situations, news stories, current events...the list goes on. I use the word stupid a lot when my kids are gone. That, as well as dumb, idiot, and moron. As you can see, I have a very broad vocabulary that has been put on a high shelf since becoming a mother.
You Go on Daytime Pilgrimages to Target
Target is Mecca for moms with even 30 minutes of free time during the day. There is a magnetic pull to Target, like a moth to the flame. It's as if $100 is saying to you, "spend me at Target. Go for diapers but buy a bunch more stuff." This is what happens. You are being a dutiful mother, going to Target, in your yoga pants and double layered tank tops, to buy snack baggies or some other very necessary household item, and you see that cute shirt for $10, those adorable striped tights for your daughter, that $8 Beyblade your son has been wanting. This happens in nearly every aisle. Inexpensive pet toys. Trendy jewelry. Home decor. And before you know it, you grab that final box of granola bars and your snack baggie trip has turned into $100 of merchandise you never knew you needed. It's the secret mom code of Target shopping. We're all there, between 9 a.m. and 3 p.m., knowingly nodding to each other with our carts full of crap and kids too young for school, asking if they can have a bag of popcorn to eat while you shop. Don't be ashamed of this. It's a badge of motherhood.
You Have Pets You May or May Not Want
I have as many pets as I do kids. That equals three of each. That is a lot of life to take care of, and that doesn't even count my husband. Don't get me wrong. I am a pet lover and all my pets are well taken care of. But, there are days, when my dog is sitting at my feet, slobber covered chew toy in mouth, just knowing she is going to win this competition of wills, and I ask myself, "how did I get talked into getting a dog?" You know the answer. My kids wanted a dog. My kids who are at school all day, at practice/activities/stuff all night and on the weekend, are playing with other kids in the neighborhood. My kids don't have a dog. I have a dog. And, she is laying next to me right now. See...here she is...
You Get Asked "Who's Babysitting?" if You're Wearing Makeup
I remember the days when putting on eyeliner was a part of my daily morning routine. My morning routine is now:
1. Get out of bed, put hair in knot.
2. Throw on yoga pants and double layered tank tops. Brush teeth.
3. Make cup of coffee in my Keurig. I love my Keurig.
4. Ensure backpacks are all ready, lunches packed, notes written.
5. Wake kids and get them ready.
6. Leave my house to make my daily trip to school. Go to Target. Spend $100.
Nowhere in this routine is makeup of any kind involved. It's freeing in a way; to be able to rub my eyes with abandon throughout the day and avoid looking like a raccoon. But, if I do ever put on makeup, my kids immediately take this as a cue that a babysitter will be coming over in 30 minutes or less. I always get asked,"Where are you going?" "Will other kids be there?" "Who is babysitting us?" If my answer is, "I'm not going anywhere," I get quizzical looks that say to me "I don't understand. Why do you look like that if you're not going out? Where is our mother? Where are your yoga pants?"
You Have An Opinion on Whether One Direction is Better than Justin Bieber
Or, generally, you know who these people are, along with every Disney star, Nickelodeon show and all words to all Taylor Swift songs. There are days I'll be driving in my car alone, and then realize I've been listening to Radio Disney for 30 minutes. And singing along. I remember when I listened to Nine Inch Nails in my car. Now I can't listen to that. I think they use the word "stupid".
 | |
| These are my three...they follow me around and call me mommy... |
You Adopt a New Way of Speaking
I'm not talking about the inevitable "baby talk" we do with our babies and toddlers, where everything takes on that high-pitched, saccharin tone and words all rhyme like a Wiggles song. I'm talking about that more sophisticated brand of momspeak, where we start our sentences with authoritative phrasology like, "We don't say words like that..." or "One. (long pause) Two. (long pause) Three..." or my all time favorite, "Stupid is a bad word." Okay, stupid is not a bad word. It's a very purposeful adjective that describes a wide array of people, situations, news stories, current events...the list goes on. I use the word stupid a lot when my kids are gone. That, as well as dumb, idiot, and moron. As you can see, I have a very broad vocabulary that has been put on a high shelf since becoming a mother.
You Go on Daytime Pilgrimages to Target
Target is Mecca for moms with even 30 minutes of free time during the day. There is a magnetic pull to Target, like a moth to the flame. It's as if $100 is saying to you, "spend me at Target. Go for diapers but buy a bunch more stuff." This is what happens. You are being a dutiful mother, going to Target, in your yoga pants and double layered tank tops, to buy snack baggies or some other very necessary household item, and you see that cute shirt for $10, those adorable striped tights for your daughter, that $8 Beyblade your son has been wanting. This happens in nearly every aisle. Inexpensive pet toys. Trendy jewelry. Home decor. And before you know it, you grab that final box of granola bars and your snack baggie trip has turned into $100 of merchandise you never knew you needed. It's the secret mom code of Target shopping. We're all there, between 9 a.m. and 3 p.m., knowingly nodding to each other with our carts full of crap and kids too young for school, asking if they can have a bag of popcorn to eat while you shop. Don't be ashamed of this. It's a badge of motherhood.
 |
| The logo we all know and love. |
I have as many pets as I do kids. That equals three of each. That is a lot of life to take care of, and that doesn't even count my husband. Don't get me wrong. I am a pet lover and all my pets are well taken care of. But, there are days, when my dog is sitting at my feet, slobber covered chew toy in mouth, just knowing she is going to win this competition of wills, and I ask myself, "how did I get talked into getting a dog?" You know the answer. My kids wanted a dog. My kids who are at school all day, at practice/activities/stuff all night and on the weekend, are playing with other kids in the neighborhood. My kids don't have a dog. I have a dog. And, she is laying next to me right now. See...here she is...
 |
| Coco is a sweet dog. And she's mine! |
You Get Asked "Who's Babysitting?" if You're Wearing Makeup
I remember the days when putting on eyeliner was a part of my daily morning routine. My morning routine is now:
1. Get out of bed, put hair in knot.
2. Throw on yoga pants and double layered tank tops. Brush teeth.
3. Make cup of coffee in my Keurig. I love my Keurig.
4. Ensure backpacks are all ready, lunches packed, notes written.
5. Wake kids and get them ready.
6. Leave my house to make my daily trip to school. Go to Target. Spend $100.
Nowhere in this routine is makeup of any kind involved. It's freeing in a way; to be able to rub my eyes with abandon throughout the day and avoid looking like a raccoon. But, if I do ever put on makeup, my kids immediately take this as a cue that a babysitter will be coming over in 30 minutes or less. I always get asked,"Where are you going?" "Will other kids be there?" "Who is babysitting us?" If my answer is, "I'm not going anywhere," I get quizzical looks that say to me "I don't understand. Why do you look like that if you're not going out? Where is our mother? Where are your yoga pants?"
You Have An Opinion on Whether One Direction is Better than Justin Bieber
Or, generally, you know who these people are, along with every Disney star, Nickelodeon show and all words to all Taylor Swift songs. There are days I'll be driving in my car alone, and then realize I've been listening to Radio Disney for 30 minutes. And singing along. I remember when I listened to Nine Inch Nails in my car. Now I can't listen to that. I think they use the word "stupid".
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Who Needs Obama or Romney? We Have Channing Tatum!
Just when I was wondering what I was going to do with myself with all the campaign ads, calls and witty Facebook posts behind me, People magazine announced its Sexiest Man Alive for 2012. In case you missed it, it's Channing Tatum. In case you don't know who he is, he's that guy in Magic Mike. If you don't know that movie title, then, well, I just don't know...
Yes, the actor that first caught everyone's eye in the gripping dance epic, Step Up, has climbed to the top, in spite of 21 Jump Street, to be named the man we should most want to "be" with. I will fully admit that he's cute. And young enough to be emotionally pliable. I like that in a man.
But this annual naming of the "sexiest man" did get me wondering what real women, not a panel of editors at People, consider sexy. Is it a cute guy with no shirt, and pants that he can rip off in one motion, all the while looking shiny and slick from copious amounts of oil he's slathered on himself? I guess in a pinch that works, but I think the average woman wants a little more in her sexy.
What woman doesn't love a man who contributes to basic domestic duties? I like a guy who takes out the trash, kills bugs, changes light bulbs, fixes things I can't (everything), rakes leaves, blows snow and can make his own cup of coffee. Can Channing do these things? All that dance training might have gotten in the way.
I also think women like men who aren't afraid of their softer side. There is nothing better than a man who will flip through the pages of Us Magazine with you and decide that weekly plaguing question, "who wore it best?"
And what woman doesn't like a man who is good with kids? Watching your husband have an imaginary tea party with your daughters or being extra nice to the neighborhood kids by buying all the wrapping paper, note cards, cookie dough and coupon books they're selling is the surest way for him to earn some extra "cuddling." A good baby daddy is a sexy daddy.
Most importantly, a sexy man is one who thinks his woman is sexy. A man who loves to look at you, even in your grandma robe and slippers, even when you're sick and snotty, even when you may or may not have showered that day, and even when you haven't lost the baby weight (and your kids are teenagers) is sexy. Does Channing think I'm sexy? I doubt it. Loser.
Does all this mean that Channing Tatum doesn't deserve to be the Sexiest Man Alive? After all my wondering, he is a strong contender if we think of past winners. He did hold his own against Matthew McConaughey, which would be hard to do. He was sexiest man alive too, and he doesn't even wear deodorant, according to himself. I think BO should disqualify any man from this award. Johnny Depp also won. And while I love all his wacky weirdness, he does smoke about five packs of cigarettes a day. I think he would smell too.
Okay, Channing can keep is title. But just for one year. Then, the women of America will be submitting our nominations for the 2013 winner.
 |
| This scene pretty much sums up all of Magic Mike. If you missed it, here is the movie in one, majestic image. |
Yes, the actor that first caught everyone's eye in the gripping dance epic, Step Up, has climbed to the top, in spite of 21 Jump Street, to be named the man we should most want to "be" with. I will fully admit that he's cute. And young enough to be emotionally pliable. I like that in a man.
But this annual naming of the "sexiest man" did get me wondering what real women, not a panel of editors at People, consider sexy. Is it a cute guy with no shirt, and pants that he can rip off in one motion, all the while looking shiny and slick from copious amounts of oil he's slathered on himself? I guess in a pinch that works, but I think the average woman wants a little more in her sexy.
What woman doesn't love a man who contributes to basic domestic duties? I like a guy who takes out the trash, kills bugs, changes light bulbs, fixes things I can't (everything), rakes leaves, blows snow and can make his own cup of coffee. Can Channing do these things? All that dance training might have gotten in the way.
 |
| He is no Channing Tatum but he did just change a light bulb. Hot, right? |
And what woman doesn't like a man who is good with kids? Watching your husband have an imaginary tea party with your daughters or being extra nice to the neighborhood kids by buying all the wrapping paper, note cards, cookie dough and coupon books they're selling is the surest way for him to earn some extra "cuddling." A good baby daddy is a sexy daddy.
 |
| There are baby daddies and then there are baby daddies, you know? |
Most importantly, a sexy man is one who thinks his woman is sexy. A man who loves to look at you, even in your grandma robe and slippers, even when you're sick and snotty, even when you may or may not have showered that day, and even when you haven't lost the baby weight (and your kids are teenagers) is sexy. Does Channing think I'm sexy? I doubt it. Loser.
Does all this mean that Channing Tatum doesn't deserve to be the Sexiest Man Alive? After all my wondering, he is a strong contender if we think of past winners. He did hold his own against Matthew McConaughey, which would be hard to do. He was sexiest man alive too, and he doesn't even wear deodorant, according to himself. I think BO should disqualify any man from this award. Johnny Depp also won. And while I love all his wacky weirdness, he does smoke about five packs of cigarettes a day. I think he would smell too.
Okay, Channing can keep is title. But just for one year. Then, the women of America will be submitting our nominations for the 2013 winner.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
My Thanksgiving Christmas List, Written before Halloween in my Easter Dress
In case you missed it, we just wrapped up Halloween 2012. It was cold. It was wet. It was windy. I ate the leftover candy.
But the bigger story that unfolded before my eyes, as I slogged through Target throughout October, trying to find just the right balance of "cute-not-slutty" costumes for my girls and an "action-but-not-violent-yet-not wimpy" costume for Gabe, was that our national Holiday Split Personality Disorder is getting worse. We, my friends, are Halloween, Christmas and Thanksgiving (the lesser loved, not so cute, stepchild) all at the same time. We run from one themed retail area to the other, not really knowing what month we're in, what holiday we should be spending our money on next or how to get ahead of the tidal wave of holiday "spirit' washing us away. Sounds great, right?
I know this is the creation of Wal-Mart and other retailers whose goal is to convince us that we must be shopping for something every single waking moment of our lives. What happens if we don't start Christmas layaway in August? Will we get the best Halloween costumes if we don't get them the day after July 4? And this is a moot question, because everyone knows the best costumes are homemade. But I digress...
I remember when we were shocked that Christmas decorations came out November 1. We could not wrap our heads around the fact that we were seeing trees in stores, tinsel in the aisles, jingle bells at the check out, and it wasn't even Thanksgiving.
This year, the decorations came out earlier than I ever remember, convincing my children that they need to start asking me for Christmas presents in September. If I were retired, or my mother, I may be buying Christmas gifts in September. But, sadly for my kids, I am me. Which means no one gets gifts purchased for them until about December 15. And, while I can blame this on being busy, I think that deep down, there is the sentimental part of me that puts off Christmas as long as I can because I have a soft spot for Thanksgiving. You remember Thanksgiving. It's the one squished between Halloween and Christmas.
Give me three glasses of wine, and I will give you my impassioned speech about why Thanksgiving doesn't matter in our culture. It's because Thanksgiving is the only holiday we haven't turned into a buying opportunity. There's no box of chocolate. No present under the tree. No pillowcase full of cheap candy. No Easter Basket. It's just about being thankful and the precise reason it has always been, and always will be, my favorite of all holidays.
So instead of the typical Christmas List, which I love - don't get me wrong - I am writing a Thanksgiving List. My list of wishes for this Thanksgiving. (Imagine glass of wine in hand, lots of hand motions and me putting my arm around you as I read this to you as if you can't read by yourself).
1. I wish Thanksgiving could be celebrated in its own lovely right and not sandwiched between Halloween and Christmas. Give Thanksgiving some breathing room, people!
2. I wish everyone could eat my Aunt Donna's pumpkin pie.
3. I hope that no one makes ambrosia salad.
4. I hope the turkey isn't dry.
5. I hope that there are good football games that day.
6. I hope that I can take the traditional Thanksgiving nap.
7. I hope my kids feel thankful for all they have.
8. I hope I feel thankful for all I have.
9. I hope that families everywhere can take a minute, between basting the turkey and fluffing the stuffing, to look around and realize that the simple act of being and eating together is fundamental to our well being.
10. I hope that my kids carry on the traditions of my family Thanksgivings because they are part of the fabric of us. And that is a beautiful thing.
11. I hope we never turn Thanksgiving into a shopping opportunity because it would change the very meaning of the day.
12. I hope that while everyone starts to get caught up in the spirit of Christmas, deciding where to hide the Elf on the Shelf and what cookies to make, that they'll postpone it a few weeks and enjoy their blessings.
13. I hope that you know, since you're reading this, that I'm thankful for you. All your comments and encouragement as I've started this writing endeavor have helped me immensely and mean a lot.
14. And as the first Thanksgiving turkey probably said all those years ago, Gobble Gobble.
 |
| I might have eaten this much. Or maybe a little more. |
But the bigger story that unfolded before my eyes, as I slogged through Target throughout October, trying to find just the right balance of "cute-not-slutty" costumes for my girls and an "action-but-not-violent-yet-not wimpy" costume for Gabe, was that our national Holiday Split Personality Disorder is getting worse. We, my friends, are Halloween, Christmas and Thanksgiving (the lesser loved, not so cute, stepchild) all at the same time. We run from one themed retail area to the other, not really knowing what month we're in, what holiday we should be spending our money on next or how to get ahead of the tidal wave of holiday "spirit' washing us away. Sounds great, right?
 |
| This was the general look I was avoiding for my kids... |
I know this is the creation of Wal-Mart and other retailers whose goal is to convince us that we must be shopping for something every single waking moment of our lives. What happens if we don't start Christmas layaway in August? Will we get the best Halloween costumes if we don't get them the day after July 4? And this is a moot question, because everyone knows the best costumes are homemade. But I digress...
I remember when we were shocked that Christmas decorations came out November 1. We could not wrap our heads around the fact that we were seeing trees in stores, tinsel in the aisles, jingle bells at the check out, and it wasn't even Thanksgiving.
This year, the decorations came out earlier than I ever remember, convincing my children that they need to start asking me for Christmas presents in September. If I were retired, or my mother, I may be buying Christmas gifts in September. But, sadly for my kids, I am me. Which means no one gets gifts purchased for them until about December 15. And, while I can blame this on being busy, I think that deep down, there is the sentimental part of me that puts off Christmas as long as I can because I have a soft spot for Thanksgiving. You remember Thanksgiving. It's the one squished between Halloween and Christmas.
 |
| I do believe, but I just want to postpone all the crap! |
Give me three glasses of wine, and I will give you my impassioned speech about why Thanksgiving doesn't matter in our culture. It's because Thanksgiving is the only holiday we haven't turned into a buying opportunity. There's no box of chocolate. No present under the tree. No pillowcase full of cheap candy. No Easter Basket. It's just about being thankful and the precise reason it has always been, and always will be, my favorite of all holidays.
So instead of the typical Christmas List, which I love - don't get me wrong - I am writing a Thanksgiving List. My list of wishes for this Thanksgiving. (Imagine glass of wine in hand, lots of hand motions and me putting my arm around you as I read this to you as if you can't read by yourself).
1. I wish Thanksgiving could be celebrated in its own lovely right and not sandwiched between Halloween and Christmas. Give Thanksgiving some breathing room, people!
2. I wish everyone could eat my Aunt Donna's pumpkin pie.
3. I hope that no one makes ambrosia salad.
4. I hope the turkey isn't dry.
5. I hope that there are good football games that day.
6. I hope that I can take the traditional Thanksgiving nap.
7. I hope my kids feel thankful for all they have.
8. I hope I feel thankful for all I have.
9. I hope that families everywhere can take a minute, between basting the turkey and fluffing the stuffing, to look around and realize that the simple act of being and eating together is fundamental to our well being.
10. I hope that my kids carry on the traditions of my family Thanksgivings because they are part of the fabric of us. And that is a beautiful thing.
11. I hope we never turn Thanksgiving into a shopping opportunity because it would change the very meaning of the day.
12. I hope that while everyone starts to get caught up in the spirit of Christmas, deciding where to hide the Elf on the Shelf and what cookies to make, that they'll postpone it a few weeks and enjoy their blessings.
13. I hope that you know, since you're reading this, that I'm thankful for you. All your comments and encouragement as I've started this writing endeavor have helped me immensely and mean a lot.
14. And as the first Thanksgiving turkey probably said all those years ago, Gobble Gobble.
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
My Birth Father and Me
This week I went to my birth father's funeral. He died quietly, alone, just days before his 78th birthday. I went, not really knowing what I was feeling or what I would do
when I got there. I just knew I needed to go. To say goodbye. To say I
understand. To say I bear you no ill will. To say I'm sorry that I don't
feel sorry for all that was not.
Everyone who knows me knows that I am adopted. It has never been anything I've been shy about discussing. But this post isn't about being adopted or about growing up with my family. It's about Duke, the man who fathered me and the man I met at 24, already an adult myself.
Meeting Duke had a deep impact on me. For my 24 years of living, I had dismissed the debate of nature versus nurture, convinced that all that we are is through nurture. Environment builds us. The people we live with, interact with and learn from build us. Case closed. Next question, please.
Then my birth parents found me. Both of them, working together, set out on a quest of sorts, to find out if they had made the right choice, if I had a good life, if I turned out okay. The same questions every parent asks about the choices they make, whether you raise your children or not. Well according to modern conventional thinking, I was okay. I had turned out alright. I had a good life.
That left Duke and me staring at each other, from across the bar in the restaurant he owned for more than 30 years, wondering what was next.
I never really knew him in the way I know my parents. That type of understanding and insight only comes from time and trial, working through the issues and hardships of life. And just as I only really knew the basic details of how he died - I don't even know what he died from - I really only knew the basic details of his life. And they are these:
"Debbie (my birth mother) and I are very interested in our child's well being. We definitely do not want to hinder anything. We just would like to see if she is alright and if she is doing fine. I pray to God she is. I hope she had an education, a nice mother and father, a good religious background and most of all, drug free. I would be the happiest person in the world if she acquired the talent to write."
I read those words and realize all parents are the same. You hope for the best and want to see the most worthy parts of yourself reflected in your children. It's how you leave a legacy and how you carry on, into a future you won't see.
So as I stood there at Duke's funeral, a stranger among people I am related to, I said my own goodbye to a man I really didn't know but feel connected to because of all of him that is in me.
And the fact that I am a writer is not one that is lost on me.
Everyone who knows me knows that I am adopted. It has never been anything I've been shy about discussing. But this post isn't about being adopted or about growing up with my family. It's about Duke, the man who fathered me and the man I met at 24, already an adult myself.
Meeting Duke had a deep impact on me. For my 24 years of living, I had dismissed the debate of nature versus nurture, convinced that all that we are is through nurture. Environment builds us. The people we live with, interact with and learn from build us. Case closed. Next question, please.
Then my birth parents found me. Both of them, working together, set out on a quest of sorts, to find out if they had made the right choice, if I had a good life, if I turned out okay. The same questions every parent asks about the choices they make, whether you raise your children or not. Well according to modern conventional thinking, I was okay. I had turned out alright. I had a good life.
That left Duke and me staring at each other, from across the bar in the restaurant he owned for more than 30 years, wondering what was next.
I never really knew him in the way I know my parents. That type of understanding and insight only comes from time and trial, working through the issues and hardships of life. And just as I only really knew the basic details of how he died - I don't even know what he died from - I really only knew the basic details of his life. And they are these:
- He loved food, cooking and owned a restaurant
- He was a writer
- He was a force to be reckoned with
- He had a larger than life personality and enjoyed being the center of attention
- He had a physicality to him that I respected and many people feared
- He was a decorated soldier in the Army and a machine gunner in the Korean War
- He had been shot nine times and stabbed even more
- He had killed people
- He was an alcoholic
- He drove away the people who loved him
- He was a romantic
- He was a poet
- He was complicated
- He was a part of me, whether I really wanted to admit it or not
"Debbie (my birth mother) and I are very interested in our child's well being. We definitely do not want to hinder anything. We just would like to see if she is alright and if she is doing fine. I pray to God she is. I hope she had an education, a nice mother and father, a good religious background and most of all, drug free. I would be the happiest person in the world if she acquired the talent to write."
I read those words and realize all parents are the same. You hope for the best and want to see the most worthy parts of yourself reflected in your children. It's how you leave a legacy and how you carry on, into a future you won't see.
So as I stood there at Duke's funeral, a stranger among people I am related to, I said my own goodbye to a man I really didn't know but feel connected to because of all of him that is in me.
And the fact that I am a writer is not one that is lost on me.
Friday, September 28, 2012
School Dances, Making Lunch and Flat Irons
I woke up last week and realized that I am living with a daughter who is growing up. It started with her coming downstairs after getting ready for school, hair flat ironed, lip gloss applied, asking for a cup of coffee (with about three cups of added flavored creamer because she doesn't actually like coffee, but all mature people drink coffee, so why not??)
I looked at her, as she swilled her Starbucks K-Cup, and thought, how did this happen? Where is my little girl, who watches Dora and has an American Girl doll collection? In my mind, I am still buying her adorable outfits at Baby Gap.
This is the classic story all mothers tell...time goes too fast...they grow up so quickly...where do the years go...you know the drill. But, what I am really asking, is where the hell did all my time go?
More important than my daughter getting older, I am getting older. Old. And, I think I can safely say that as you age, the years go by on what feels like an exponential scale, versus linear. We adopt our own middle aged version of dog years. One year of adolescence is like 7 adult years. Woof.
I am struggling with aging, because in my mind, I am still in my 20's. I have relevant conversations with my college age babysitters. I dress well. I read Us magazine. I know all the latest pop stars (I think just saying "pop star" made me seem really old).
But despite my best efforts to stay young, it just can't happen. You age, become less relevant to the younger generation and start using inevitable phrases like "when I was your age..." and "back before there were cell phones..." In the eyes of youth, no good story ever starts out that way. What's an old girl to do?
I've decided that instead of fretting about my downward spiral toward 50, I am going to embrace it. After all, I've invested 16 years in my marriage and 12 years in my parenting career that have made me happier than anything else I've ever done.
I don't put the pressure on myself I did in my 20's to be the best, look the best, have the most friends and be in on the best social scene. I am content to make popcorn with my kids as we watch a family movie on a lazy Friday night after we've all talked about our week.
I know who I am. (In my mind, the best gift of maturing) And once you know who you are, you can help your kids figure out who they are. Self awareness is the key to not letting people, situations and life in general ruin your day.
So even though part of me is sad to see Sophie getting older because it means that I am too, I am eager with the anticipation of who she'll become and the life she'll lead. She's off to school dances and packing her own lunch. She asks me if I need help with anything and she is starting to babysit. She does her own homework and is begging for a cell phone. She is taking the baby steps toward maturity. And while it gives me a bittersweet pang to know she'll need me less and less, I hold her up, like a bubble, let her go and whisper, "float..."
 |
| My favorite coffee from my favorite coffee brand in my favorite delivery device...the K-Cup |
I looked at her, as she swilled her Starbucks K-Cup, and thought, how did this happen? Where is my little girl, who watches Dora and has an American Girl doll collection? In my mind, I am still buying her adorable outfits at Baby Gap.
This is the classic story all mothers tell...time goes too fast...they grow up so quickly...where do the years go...you know the drill. But, what I am really asking, is where the hell did all my time go?
More important than my daughter getting older, I am getting older. Old. And, I think I can safely say that as you age, the years go by on what feels like an exponential scale, versus linear. We adopt our own middle aged version of dog years. One year of adolescence is like 7 adult years. Woof.
I am struggling with aging, because in my mind, I am still in my 20's. I have relevant conversations with my college age babysitters. I dress well. I read Us magazine. I know all the latest pop stars (I think just saying "pop star" made me seem really old).
 |
| In case you aren't as young and hip as I am, this is Nicki Minaj. She is a pop star. |
But despite my best efforts to stay young, it just can't happen. You age, become less relevant to the younger generation and start using inevitable phrases like "when I was your age..." and "back before there were cell phones..." In the eyes of youth, no good story ever starts out that way. What's an old girl to do?
I've decided that instead of fretting about my downward spiral toward 50, I am going to embrace it. After all, I've invested 16 years in my marriage and 12 years in my parenting career that have made me happier than anything else I've ever done.
I don't put the pressure on myself I did in my 20's to be the best, look the best, have the most friends and be in on the best social scene. I am content to make popcorn with my kids as we watch a family movie on a lazy Friday night after we've all talked about our week.
I know who I am. (In my mind, the best gift of maturing) And once you know who you are, you can help your kids figure out who they are. Self awareness is the key to not letting people, situations and life in general ruin your day.
So even though part of me is sad to see Sophie getting older because it means that I am too, I am eager with the anticipation of who she'll become and the life she'll lead. She's off to school dances and packing her own lunch. She asks me if I need help with anything and she is starting to babysit. She does her own homework and is begging for a cell phone. She is taking the baby steps toward maturity. And while it gives me a bittersweet pang to know she'll need me less and less, I hold her up, like a bubble, let her go and whisper, "float..."
 |
| This is my Sophie, 12 years ago. The years do go by... |
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Loss, Life and the Ties that Bind
This week, my family suffered a tragic loss. My brother-in-law, only 29 years old, unexpectedly died. Once whole, we are a family minus one. A family that lost a limb but can always feel it, like it is still a part of our body.
Grief affects us on many levels. I feel the loss as a sister; I feel the pain as a wife watching her husband grapple with no longer having his brother; and I struggle as a mother to watch my in-laws deal with the worst type of loss, the loss of your child. There are truly no words to put to it.
It's as if our family has been saddled with a collective heaviness, taking us down like a stone into black water, no bottom in sight.
This very personal loss was made all the more painful because we learned of his death on the eve of September 11...a day already part of our national consciousness that binds us together by a shared suffering. Even 11 years later, we watch old footage of that day and remember where we were, who we were with and what we were doing down to the most insignificant details. It marks a dividing line in life. Life before September 11 and life after it. Now, I will remember life before September 10 and life after it.
If September 11 taught me anything, it taught me the connectedness of humanity. When we strip away every negative thing we can do to or feel toward one another, we are all connected by love. What other explanation could there be for the rescue work, the volunteers and the outpouring of human decency that outshone the terrible acts that befell us? Watching neighborhood streets lined with American flags filled me with the promise that we are united. Yes, united in grief, but united in the bigger hope that grief lessens because love gets larger. And I believe that for my family. We are united in grief, but our love is larger.
September 11 also taught me to not take the people I love for granted, as much as that is possible. As humans, we are not capable of treating everyone everyday like it is the last chance we may have to be with them. But, this week, I was reminded again that we never know the hour or the place or the circumstances.
This week has been bleak. It has been grim. It has been dark from all sides. Two days that mean nothing but loss and ache. But, because we are human, we know in the deepest part of ourselves that life is for the living, so we go on.
The saying "the whole is bigger than the sum of its parts" is true of family. We are all made better by the family members that surround us, even the ones no longer with us. They are the ones that pull us up from the black waters, fixing our eyes on the horizon that lies ahead and calling us forth, into life.
Grief affects us on many levels. I feel the loss as a sister; I feel the pain as a wife watching her husband grapple with no longer having his brother; and I struggle as a mother to watch my in-laws deal with the worst type of loss, the loss of your child. There are truly no words to put to it.
It's as if our family has been saddled with a collective heaviness, taking us down like a stone into black water, no bottom in sight.
This very personal loss was made all the more painful because we learned of his death on the eve of September 11...a day already part of our national consciousness that binds us together by a shared suffering. Even 11 years later, we watch old footage of that day and remember where we were, who we were with and what we were doing down to the most insignificant details. It marks a dividing line in life. Life before September 11 and life after it. Now, I will remember life before September 10 and life after it.
If September 11 taught me anything, it taught me the connectedness of humanity. When we strip away every negative thing we can do to or feel toward one another, we are all connected by love. What other explanation could there be for the rescue work, the volunteers and the outpouring of human decency that outshone the terrible acts that befell us? Watching neighborhood streets lined with American flags filled me with the promise that we are united. Yes, united in grief, but united in the bigger hope that grief lessens because love gets larger. And I believe that for my family. We are united in grief, but our love is larger.
September 11 also taught me to not take the people I love for granted, as much as that is possible. As humans, we are not capable of treating everyone everyday like it is the last chance we may have to be with them. But, this week, I was reminded again that we never know the hour or the place or the circumstances.
This week has been bleak. It has been grim. It has been dark from all sides. Two days that mean nothing but loss and ache. But, because we are human, we know in the deepest part of ourselves that life is for the living, so we go on.
The saying "the whole is bigger than the sum of its parts" is true of family. We are all made better by the family members that surround us, even the ones no longer with us. They are the ones that pull us up from the black waters, fixing our eyes on the horizon that lies ahead and calling us forth, into life.
Monday, August 20, 2012
Alcohol Should Be on the School Supply List. For Mommy.
On Tuesday, my kids go back to school. Let me repeat that so you understand. ON TUESDAY, MY KIDS GO BACK TO SCHOOL!!!!! Can you tell that I'm excited?
Don't get me wrong. I love summer break. Treating poison ivy and bug bites is one of my favorite past times. And what mom doesn't love the back door continually opening and then slamming shut every 30 seconds? "I need to go to the bathroom. I need a drink of water. I forgot my this. I want my that. I scraped my knee. It's hot outside. There are bees out there. Can I come in?" It's like music to my ears.
I know that I am speaking for everyone here when I say that the bestest, best part of summer vacation is the activity that truly highlights the end of it: the annual purchasing of school supplies.
I look back fondly to when I had just one child in school. The list of supplies needed to forge ahead one grade level was so streamlined; so easy. Now, with three children, the lists have multiplied and taken me over. I can't organize them in my head. As I stood at Target last week, amid a sea of other mothers with the same dazed look on their faces as I had on my own, I realized something. School supply shopping sucks. And here's why.
You have to take your children.
There is nothing worse than shopping for at least 75 items in a store packed with other people while you have your children with you. It's chaotic, loud and not for the weak of spirit, bringing out that nagging question mothers often ask themselves in times like these..."what would my life be like without kids?" Fantasies of meandering down a beach, or walking the streets of New York in really great shoes come to mind. You look skinny and put together; you have a great bag that does not contain headbands, goldfish and the random DS game; and you don't even know what a composition notebook is. Then, some child in Target runs a cart into your heels and you're painfully shocked back into reality. You brush off your 30 second fantasy life and are dropped back into the never ending aisle of #2 pencils.
I would love nothing more than to leave my kids home while I shop for three-subject notebooks, protractors, binders and scientific calculators, but I can't because my kids are fashion oriented and must pick out folders and notebooks and pencils that all coordinate and fall into whatever theme they have designated as appropriate for this year. So they go with me.
Teachers Intentionally Try to Torture Us with Supplies that Don't Exist.
If I had a dollar (or really even a nickel) for every time the supply list specified "five yellow highlighters" only to go to the store to find out they are sold in packs of four, I would be rich. And then, I could pay some poor underling to shop for me.
Why does this happen? Do teachers not ever shop for these items and understand the quantities that Crayola, Rose Art and Mead deem appropriate? Why do we need 12 markers when they come in packs of 8 or 10? Why does the expandable folder need to have seven pockets when most have 5 or 6? Is the goal to make me go slowly insane? To break me down? To make me cry like a baby and have everyone at Target stare at me with pity and disgust all at the same time? If I were in charge of the world (that would be fun), I would shorten supply lists to be something like this:
Baby wipes, Clorox wipes, tissues, papertowels, dry erase markers, dry erasers, stickers, baggies, aluminum foil, plastic wrap. Need I say more?
As I get ready for the big first day of school, I am filled with anticipation. The house to myself, coffee in the quiet. Maybe even a sneak peak at daytime Bravo programming, which is off limits all summer long. And, of course, the loose supplies that are sent back home with my kids because they were one or two more than what was needed for the classroom.
Don't get me wrong. I love summer break. Treating poison ivy and bug bites is one of my favorite past times. And what mom doesn't love the back door continually opening and then slamming shut every 30 seconds? "I need to go to the bathroom. I need a drink of water. I forgot my this. I want my that. I scraped my knee. It's hot outside. There are bees out there. Can I come in?" It's like music to my ears.
 |
| My kids should be doing things like this but they are too busy coming in and out of the house to actually do this. |
I know that I am speaking for everyone here when I say that the bestest, best part of summer vacation is the activity that truly highlights the end of it: the annual purchasing of school supplies.
I look back fondly to when I had just one child in school. The list of supplies needed to forge ahead one grade level was so streamlined; so easy. Now, with three children, the lists have multiplied and taken me over. I can't organize them in my head. As I stood at Target last week, amid a sea of other mothers with the same dazed look on their faces as I had on my own, I realized something. School supply shopping sucks. And here's why.
 |
| I would like to propose that a school supply fairy be invented by whoever invented all the other fairies. |
You have to take your children.
There is nothing worse than shopping for at least 75 items in a store packed with other people while you have your children with you. It's chaotic, loud and not for the weak of spirit, bringing out that nagging question mothers often ask themselves in times like these..."what would my life be like without kids?" Fantasies of meandering down a beach, or walking the streets of New York in really great shoes come to mind. You look skinny and put together; you have a great bag that does not contain headbands, goldfish and the random DS game; and you don't even know what a composition notebook is. Then, some child in Target runs a cart into your heels and you're painfully shocked back into reality. You brush off your 30 second fantasy life and are dropped back into the never ending aisle of #2 pencils.
 | ||
| Here I am living my NYC life. Oh, wait. That's Bethenny Frankel. My NYC life would be more like this... |
 |
| Image from Rob Lang Images |
Teachers Intentionally Try to Torture Us with Supplies that Don't Exist.
If I had a dollar (or really even a nickel) for every time the supply list specified "five yellow highlighters" only to go to the store to find out they are sold in packs of four, I would be rich. And then, I could pay some poor underling to shop for me.
Why does this happen? Do teachers not ever shop for these items and understand the quantities that Crayola, Rose Art and Mead deem appropriate? Why do we need 12 markers when they come in packs of 8 or 10? Why does the expandable folder need to have seven pockets when most have 5 or 6? Is the goal to make me go slowly insane? To break me down? To make me cry like a baby and have everyone at Target stare at me with pity and disgust all at the same time? If I were in charge of the world (that would be fun), I would shorten supply lists to be something like this:
- Pencils
- Pens (any color; they can be retractable; go crazy)
- Colored pencils
- Markers
- Scissors, glue and tape
- Ruler (it does not have to be transparent)
- As many notebooks as you have subjects (we trust you learned to count in your previous grades at this fine school)
- some large containment device for papers and other stuff (and yes, you can buy a Trapper Keeper)
- Wine or other cocktail of choice for the adult purchasing the specified supplies
Baby wipes, Clorox wipes, tissues, papertowels, dry erase markers, dry erasers, stickers, baggies, aluminum foil, plastic wrap. Need I say more?
As I get ready for the big first day of school, I am filled with anticipation. The house to myself, coffee in the quiet. Maybe even a sneak peak at daytime Bravo programming, which is off limits all summer long. And, of course, the loose supplies that are sent back home with my kids because they were one or two more than what was needed for the classroom.
Monday, August 6, 2012
Believe Me, You'll Want to Pin This. And Read It.
Places I Can't Wait to Visit.
Puppies are so Cute!
Braids and Sexy Updos.
Party Pleasing Recipes.
Parenting Ideas for Starting the School Year off Right.
Quotes to Live By.
If statements like these make sense to you, then you, my friend, are a pinner.
Yes, you have the same disease I do. Pinterestisis. It is a fast-moving virus, quickly taking over key parts of your body, like your fingers, your eyes and your brain. You are compulsed to search categories like, "images of Channing Tatum," "slow cooker recipes," "fall decorations," and the highly addictive "funny sayings on ecards."
Then, despite all the time you've already wasted, you can't turn your eyes away, even when they are bleary with tears and fatigue, unable to focus on the really cute picture of two kittens laying together on a heart-shaped rug. You think to yourself, "If I could only get to the bottom of this page...". Then, you'll find something really interesting.
It affects your brain, too, making you think that all this typing and searching and laughing to yourself and saying things like "that is soooo true..." isn't a monumental waste of time. But, alas, it is.
So to save you time, because I care, I thought I would dive into the Pinterest categories that I find to be the most helpful, relevant and inspirational for my day-to-day life.
1. Tattoos
2. Nail polish as art
3. Animals that I am pretty sure are not real
4. How to make my own clothes out of oversized t-shirts
5. Parenting for people with a lot of extra time
1. Tattoos. I really never knew how many tattoos were out there in the big wide world until I fired up my Pinterest account. You can tattoo your face to look just like a skull. This is good for Halloween but bad for job interviews. I don't know this based on any actual study or science, but I am pretty sure that what I am asserting here is correct. You can get delicate, lady-like white ink inspirational tattoos with words like "believe" "faith" "pray" or "never give up" tattooed on your wrist or just below your breast. You can also get feathers, cupcakes, guns, puppies, maps, chains, and just about any other object tattooed on yourself. And, in case you are on the fence and wondering, "will this look really silly on me when I'm older?" Here is your answer. Yes. You will look silly.
2. Nail polish. I remember the good old days when it was an accomplishment to just get a manicure. You were really put together if you had a french manicure. And, if you had a pedi too, well then, you really, really had it together. You were the envy of women far and wide. Now, you need nails that are painted like owls, cows, watermelons, chevrons and the ever enduring Hello Kitty. There should be a website dedicated entirely to photos people take of their nails after attempting one of these recommended manicures. I am sure that 99.9 percent of these paint jobs look nothing like the inspiration. It would be sort of like this:
3. Animals. Far be it from me to criticize a cute puppy, kitten, giraffe or any other fuzzy mammal that has made its way onto Pinterest. However, I am sure there exists a sub-set of these animals known as "photoshopped creatures." We want them to be real, yet, alas, they are not. They are too small, too cute, their eyes are too glassy to be of actual flesh and blood. But, we love them anyway. Why not, right? This is the modern day version of the posters we grew up with in the 70's where little kittens were playing poker, around a table, wearing hats and smoking cigarettes.
4. Clothing you can make yourself out of your man's t-shirts. I think this category is sort of like, "how to live in a post-apocalyptic society". I am pretty sure I won't start making my own clothing out of Bryan's XL shirts unless I am also hunting for my own food and figuring out how to give myself a strawberry manicure without electricity.
5. Parenting for people I don't really believe are parents. If you are the parent of a small brood, as I am, you really don't have time to make annual growth charts or posters that capture their favorites in everything at the start of every school year. You don't have time to make cakes that have all the colors of the rainbow. You can't possibly arrange the Elf on the Shelf every day in a different creative scenario, like playing a game with Barbie, getting into the flour (bad elf) or getting stuck in the open toothpaste tube. And, you can't do all these things because you're too busy actually parenting. But, nonetheless, we pin and pin and pin ideas that make us feel better about the possibility of parenthood.
After all, isn't that the basic appeal of Pinterest? Creating the aspirational version of ourselves for everyone to see online? People who follow me (and yet are complete strangers) must think my house is very stylish and that I wear a lot of skinny jeans and cool boots. Or that I make great dinners every day and read a lot. My Pinterest self is more interesting than my actual self. My actual self is in yoga pants and a tank top searching Pinterest. Maybe if I start investing as much time in this realm, I can start living up to the realm I've created online. Or maybe I just need to find more really cool stuff on Pinterest...
Puppies are so Cute!
Braids and Sexy Updos.
Party Pleasing Recipes.
Parenting Ideas for Starting the School Year off Right.
Quotes to Live By.
If statements like these make sense to you, then you, my friend, are a pinner.
Yes, you have the same disease I do. Pinterestisis. It is a fast-moving virus, quickly taking over key parts of your body, like your fingers, your eyes and your brain. You are compulsed to search categories like, "images of Channing Tatum," "slow cooker recipes," "fall decorations," and the highly addictive "funny sayings on ecards."
Then, despite all the time you've already wasted, you can't turn your eyes away, even when they are bleary with tears and fatigue, unable to focus on the really cute picture of two kittens laying together on a heart-shaped rug. You think to yourself, "If I could only get to the bottom of this page...". Then, you'll find something really interesting.
It affects your brain, too, making you think that all this typing and searching and laughing to yourself and saying things like "that is soooo true..." isn't a monumental waste of time. But, alas, it is.
So to save you time, because I care, I thought I would dive into the Pinterest categories that I find to be the most helpful, relevant and inspirational for my day-to-day life.
1. Tattoos
2. Nail polish as art
3. Animals that I am pretty sure are not real
4. How to make my own clothes out of oversized t-shirts
5. Parenting for people with a lot of extra time
1. Tattoos. I really never knew how many tattoos were out there in the big wide world until I fired up my Pinterest account. You can tattoo your face to look just like a skull. This is good for Halloween but bad for job interviews. I don't know this based on any actual study or science, but I am pretty sure that what I am asserting here is correct. You can get delicate, lady-like white ink inspirational tattoos with words like "believe" "faith" "pray" or "never give up" tattooed on your wrist or just below your breast. You can also get feathers, cupcakes, guns, puppies, maps, chains, and just about any other object tattooed on yourself. And, in case you are on the fence and wondering, "will this look really silly on me when I'm older?" Here is your answer. Yes. You will look silly.
 |
| I can't really think of anything else to say about this...Thanks to The Danja Zone for the awesome pic |
2. Nail polish. I remember the good old days when it was an accomplishment to just get a manicure. You were really put together if you had a french manicure. And, if you had a pedi too, well then, you really, really had it together. You were the envy of women far and wide. Now, you need nails that are painted like owls, cows, watermelons, chevrons and the ever enduring Hello Kitty. There should be a website dedicated entirely to photos people take of their nails after attempting one of these recommended manicures. I am sure that 99.9 percent of these paint jobs look nothing like the inspiration. It would be sort of like this:
 | |||
| Oh this is so cute. I am going to Pin this and try it at home. |
 | ||
| Is this close? I think it looks sort of the same...my nails aren't as long, but other than that, it looks good, right? |
3. Animals. Far be it from me to criticize a cute puppy, kitten, giraffe or any other fuzzy mammal that has made its way onto Pinterest. However, I am sure there exists a sub-set of these animals known as "photoshopped creatures." We want them to be real, yet, alas, they are not. They are too small, too cute, their eyes are too glassy to be of actual flesh and blood. But, we love them anyway. Why not, right? This is the modern day version of the posters we grew up with in the 70's where little kittens were playing poker, around a table, wearing hats and smoking cigarettes.
 |
| Who doesn't love the feline version of Leo and Kate on the Titanic deck, feeling like they are kings of the world? |
5. Parenting for people I don't really believe are parents. If you are the parent of a small brood, as I am, you really don't have time to make annual growth charts or posters that capture their favorites in everything at the start of every school year. You don't have time to make cakes that have all the colors of the rainbow. You can't possibly arrange the Elf on the Shelf every day in a different creative scenario, like playing a game with Barbie, getting into the flour (bad elf) or getting stuck in the open toothpaste tube. And, you can't do all these things because you're too busy actually parenting. But, nonetheless, we pin and pin and pin ideas that make us feel better about the possibility of parenthood.
After all, isn't that the basic appeal of Pinterest? Creating the aspirational version of ourselves for everyone to see online? People who follow me (and yet are complete strangers) must think my house is very stylish and that I wear a lot of skinny jeans and cool boots. Or that I make great dinners every day and read a lot. My Pinterest self is more interesting than my actual self. My actual self is in yoga pants and a tank top searching Pinterest. Maybe if I start investing as much time in this realm, I can start living up to the realm I've created online. Or maybe I just need to find more really cool stuff on Pinterest...
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Ashes, Ashes We All Fall Down
I know that we are supposed to love people and not things, but I love my husband and he loves his grandparents' house. And, he found out today that it, as well as the 200-year-old trees on the property, are being torn down tomorrow, July 25, by the person who bought it to make way for a new, supposedly better house.
I have never been inside this house that I've heard so much about. It rests on the bank of the Susquehanna River in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania and by the time I met Bryan, it had been sold because his grandmother could not take care of it alone. I have driven by it, too many times to count, as we make the trip from Ohio to my in law's house in the mountains. It is stately and beautiful from the outside, but it has not been a home for a long time. Like many of the older homes on Front Street, once the premier residence in Harrisburg, it is now a business, bought by a company who saw the value in its size and what it could offer. It is built of mostly stone as many Pennsylvania houses are and was the home of Bryan's grandparents until his grandfather passed away. It is where his mother grew up and where he spent a lot of his childhood days.
I know stories of foot-deep window sills that made for the perfect reading spot. I know of the garden plot his grandfather started and let others plant in and how Bryan enjoyed the vegetables that were grown there. I have seen this house's contents, beautifully maintained in my in law's house, which is where Bryan's grandmother lived until she passed away a few years ago. When my in laws built their house that Mary Keller (Bryan's grandmother) called home for the last 20+ years of her life, the living room was built exactly to size to hold the area rug from her own home. All her antique furniture was there, too, and stories always unfolded about who did what in this room or that, sitting on this chair or couch, and it made the new home containing these family treasures feel not old, but worn in and familiar, like the Velveteen Rabbit who became real with love. I always felt other worldly sitting with her on a couch from the early 1900's, taken back in time to days that seemed long gone, slow paced and more peaceful than the lives we live now.
My heart aches that it is being demolished. I know that time marches on and stops for no one and that like the nursery rhyme, we all fall down. I know that the new owner of this address, 4415 North Front Street, has no idea what he is tearing down. I am sure what he builds will be lovely. But it won't be the home forged by the hard work, masonry and woodworking of true craftsmen from our grandparent's time. It won't have the details the old house contained because homes just don't anymore. It won't have the memories of a family who lived there and considered it their heart. And it won't be the place that made my husband into the man he is today.
Being in Ohio, I feel trapped. I want to drive there tomorrow, take pieces of this house from the rubble and turn them into something that can live on in my own home. A door, a window sill, a frame, pieces of stone. All the things that will be separate, disjointed and mangled tomorrow were for so many years the fabric of the people I love.
But, I can't do that. What I can do is realize that I am forging my own home for my family and that I can't know now what will be that one thing that for some reason, holds onto my children's heart strings the strongest. I am reminded of how little things matter. A tomato from a garden. A window seat that is cool in the summer. A chestnut tree in the yard to climb. And always a warm embrace to welcome you. These are the stuff of family; of my family.
Here is a link to the home at 4415 North Front Street. Good bye sweet girl.
http://goo.gl/maps/4Zvc
I have never been inside this house that I've heard so much about. It rests on the bank of the Susquehanna River in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania and by the time I met Bryan, it had been sold because his grandmother could not take care of it alone. I have driven by it, too many times to count, as we make the trip from Ohio to my in law's house in the mountains. It is stately and beautiful from the outside, but it has not been a home for a long time. Like many of the older homes on Front Street, once the premier residence in Harrisburg, it is now a business, bought by a company who saw the value in its size and what it could offer. It is built of mostly stone as many Pennsylvania houses are and was the home of Bryan's grandparents until his grandfather passed away. It is where his mother grew up and where he spent a lot of his childhood days.
I know stories of foot-deep window sills that made for the perfect reading spot. I know of the garden plot his grandfather started and let others plant in and how Bryan enjoyed the vegetables that were grown there. I have seen this house's contents, beautifully maintained in my in law's house, which is where Bryan's grandmother lived until she passed away a few years ago. When my in laws built their house that Mary Keller (Bryan's grandmother) called home for the last 20+ years of her life, the living room was built exactly to size to hold the area rug from her own home. All her antique furniture was there, too, and stories always unfolded about who did what in this room or that, sitting on this chair or couch, and it made the new home containing these family treasures feel not old, but worn in and familiar, like the Velveteen Rabbit who became real with love. I always felt other worldly sitting with her on a couch from the early 1900's, taken back in time to days that seemed long gone, slow paced and more peaceful than the lives we live now.
My heart aches that it is being demolished. I know that time marches on and stops for no one and that like the nursery rhyme, we all fall down. I know that the new owner of this address, 4415 North Front Street, has no idea what he is tearing down. I am sure what he builds will be lovely. But it won't be the home forged by the hard work, masonry and woodworking of true craftsmen from our grandparent's time. It won't have the details the old house contained because homes just don't anymore. It won't have the memories of a family who lived there and considered it their heart. And it won't be the place that made my husband into the man he is today.
Being in Ohio, I feel trapped. I want to drive there tomorrow, take pieces of this house from the rubble and turn them into something that can live on in my own home. A door, a window sill, a frame, pieces of stone. All the things that will be separate, disjointed and mangled tomorrow were for so many years the fabric of the people I love.
But, I can't do that. What I can do is realize that I am forging my own home for my family and that I can't know now what will be that one thing that for some reason, holds onto my children's heart strings the strongest. I am reminded of how little things matter. A tomato from a garden. A window seat that is cool in the summer. A chestnut tree in the yard to climb. And always a warm embrace to welcome you. These are the stuff of family; of my family.
Here is a link to the home at 4415 North Front Street. Good bye sweet girl.
http://goo.gl/maps/4Zvc
Thursday, July 12, 2012
My Online Soulmate...What eHarmony Can't Tell Me
It's one of my most plaguing questions....would eHarmony, the online matchmaking service that claims responsibility for five percent of U.S. marriages, match me with my husband of nearly 16 years? If the two of us completed their profile, based on 29 distinct "dimensions of compatibility", would we, in fact, be compatible?
Bryan and I have pondered this as we spend time with one of our top five dimensions of compatibility -- our television. Nothing brings us closer than assessing all the people on TV that have nothing to do with our actual lives, yet capture so much of our interest. This past weekend as we were wondering if Joe Giudice is as much of an ass in person as he seems on the RHONJ, we saw an ad for eHarmony that was advertising a weekend of free matches. This again, launched the question in my head...would online science prove that Bryan is my soul mate?
I investigated all the factors eHarmony takes into consideration -- sociability, self concept, family background, education, the list goes on and on. I firmly agree that all these things are important in meeting the right person and embarking on a relationship that has sticking power. But, after having ridden this ship for 16 years, I really think there are more probing "dimensions of compatibility" that keep you married.
Television (yes, I love TV)
The modern American household has four TVs (okay, I made that up but I know Americans have a lot of them). This means that TV is important, right? There needs to be a section in all online dating services where men answer questions like, "Will you, in fact, be willing to watch anything on Bravo, pretend that you actually know Bethenny Frankel, and talk about all of these people as if the choices they make impact your life?" "Will you be able to carry on engaging conversation about whether the RHONY is better with or without Jill Zarin?" And we women need to take a look in the mirror and honestly answer questions such as "Is it okay that, starting in late August every year of your married life when college football begins, your husband will start watching Sports Center in the early morning hours on Saturday and not leave the TV until midnight?" He may say things like, "Did you make chili? Can you bring me a beer? Can you do something with the kids to get them out of my way? The game is on." If two people can deal with these TV scenarios, then I give you at least one decade.
In Laws
Ah, the true gift of marriage that keeps on giving. Your in laws. This is a very real consideration when determining how much success you can expect from a marriage. My firm belief is that every family is crazy in their own wacky, lovable way. It may be your great uncle who drinks too much beer and takes his false teeth out at parties. It may be your mother-in-law who likes to come over unannounced at 10 pm (when you are trying to watch Bravo). Regardless of what it is, couples need to be aware of the fact that when you marry someone, you are also marrying the entire line of crazy behind them. Online dating services need to work this into their profile matching with questions like, "If you have someone in your life who is constantly talking about how your cooking isn't as good as hers, is that okay or will you go nuts one day and slip a little something into her latte?" "Is it okay for you to be constantly emasculated by a man who insists he should be the one to fix everything in your house because you don't have the right pair of needle-nose pliers?"
Household Chores
Most people don't really talk about this before getting married. From most married couples I know and in my own life, it goes a little something like this: "Men, will you accept the fact that you are responsible for taking out the trash, changing the light bulbs, scooping dog poop, killing bugs and cleaning out the garage?" "Women, will you accept that you have to do everything else? Everyday, forever?"
Children
If you're like 98 percent of other married couples, you're going to have a few of the ankle biters. This is where many marriages get into trouble. Having kids is demanding work if you want to do it right. And, while online dating services do ask questions about children, I think this is what couples really need to consider: If neither of you (especially mom) doesn't shower for two or more days, is that okay? Are you fine with not being able to have an adult conversation for about 15 years? Can you watch the Disney channel and not feel sick? Can you view breasts as a food source? Are you offended by granny panties? Can you shop/eat/think/do everything with just one hand? Can you accept that you will always talk about your children, even when you swear you won't because you're on a date night? Child rearing is a marathon, people.
While this certainly isn't all inclusive, I think it paints a fairly good picture of what couples need to think about before embarking on marriage. And, what no dating site tells you because they can't turn this into a formula, is that the most important dimension of compatibility is finding that special person who loves you exactly the way you are and doesn't want to change anything about you. If you can find that person, everything else falls into place and you can watch TV, do your chores, raise your kids, love your in laws and be thankful every day for what you've got.
 |
| Cheri and Frank look happy, right? They must have matched at least 15 dimensions of compatibility |
Bryan and I have pondered this as we spend time with one of our top five dimensions of compatibility -- our television. Nothing brings us closer than assessing all the people on TV that have nothing to do with our actual lives, yet capture so much of our interest. This past weekend as we were wondering if Joe Giudice is as much of an ass in person as he seems on the RHONJ, we saw an ad for eHarmony that was advertising a weekend of free matches. This again, launched the question in my head...would online science prove that Bryan is my soul mate?
I investigated all the factors eHarmony takes into consideration -- sociability, self concept, family background, education, the list goes on and on. I firmly agree that all these things are important in meeting the right person and embarking on a relationship that has sticking power. But, after having ridden this ship for 16 years, I really think there are more probing "dimensions of compatibility" that keep you married.
Television (yes, I love TV)
The modern American household has four TVs (okay, I made that up but I know Americans have a lot of them). This means that TV is important, right? There needs to be a section in all online dating services where men answer questions like, "Will you, in fact, be willing to watch anything on Bravo, pretend that you actually know Bethenny Frankel, and talk about all of these people as if the choices they make impact your life?" "Will you be able to carry on engaging conversation about whether the RHONY is better with or without Jill Zarin?" And we women need to take a look in the mirror and honestly answer questions such as "Is it okay that, starting in late August every year of your married life when college football begins, your husband will start watching Sports Center in the early morning hours on Saturday and not leave the TV until midnight?" He may say things like, "Did you make chili? Can you bring me a beer? Can you do something with the kids to get them out of my way? The game is on." If two people can deal with these TV scenarios, then I give you at least one decade.
 |
| My favorite Skinny Girl, Bethenny |
In Laws
Ah, the true gift of marriage that keeps on giving. Your in laws. This is a very real consideration when determining how much success you can expect from a marriage. My firm belief is that every family is crazy in their own wacky, lovable way. It may be your great uncle who drinks too much beer and takes his false teeth out at parties. It may be your mother-in-law who likes to come over unannounced at 10 pm (when you are trying to watch Bravo). Regardless of what it is, couples need to be aware of the fact that when you marry someone, you are also marrying the entire line of crazy behind them. Online dating services need to work this into their profile matching with questions like, "If you have someone in your life who is constantly talking about how your cooking isn't as good as hers, is that okay or will you go nuts one day and slip a little something into her latte?" "Is it okay for you to be constantly emasculated by a man who insists he should be the one to fix everything in your house because you don't have the right pair of needle-nose pliers?"
Household Chores
Most people don't really talk about this before getting married. From most married couples I know and in my own life, it goes a little something like this: "Men, will you accept the fact that you are responsible for taking out the trash, changing the light bulbs, scooping dog poop, killing bugs and cleaning out the garage?" "Women, will you accept that you have to do everything else? Everyday, forever?"
Children
If you're like 98 percent of other married couples, you're going to have a few of the ankle biters. This is where many marriages get into trouble. Having kids is demanding work if you want to do it right. And, while online dating services do ask questions about children, I think this is what couples really need to consider: If neither of you (especially mom) doesn't shower for two or more days, is that okay? Are you fine with not being able to have an adult conversation for about 15 years? Can you watch the Disney channel and not feel sick? Can you view breasts as a food source? Are you offended by granny panties? Can you shop/eat/think/do everything with just one hand? Can you accept that you will always talk about your children, even when you swear you won't because you're on a date night? Child rearing is a marathon, people.
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| M I C (see you real soon) K E Y (why? because we like you!) M O U S E ! |
While this certainly isn't all inclusive, I think it paints a fairly good picture of what couples need to think about before embarking on marriage. And, what no dating site tells you because they can't turn this into a formula, is that the most important dimension of compatibility is finding that special person who loves you exactly the way you are and doesn't want to change anything about you. If you can find that person, everything else falls into place and you can watch TV, do your chores, raise your kids, love your in laws and be thankful every day for what you've got.
Saturday, July 7, 2012
Sleepless in Dayton, Ohio
Sleepless in Dayton, Ohio
As if I wasn't cranky enough, I opened my most recent issue of Oprah magazine to find out from Dr. Oz that out of the 10 worst things I can do for my health, number two is not getting enough sleep. Really? It's only topped by sitting all day. And, if you're sleep deprived, you are probably spending your waking hours on your ass, not wanting to move. Because you're tired. |
| This is not me. Because I don't sleep and am apparently slowly killing myself. |
According to Dr. Oz, not getting the recommended 7-8 hours of sleep every night (does anyone sleep that much?) is going to make me fat, increase my risk of heart problems, screw up my metabolism (hence aforementioned fatness), make me look older, ruin my mood (probably because I look older) and just generally make me a version of myself that no one really wants be around. All this from not getting seven hours of sleep?
I can rattle off the reasons I don't sleep....you've heard them before. I am a busy mother of three who juggles work, home life and Facebook/Pinterest/Twitter/Us Magazine. These things take time and focus. But, behind these very real factors that keep the Sandman at bay, there is more that I guess I need to come to terms with so that I can reverse these years of self-induced deterioration.
First of all, my kids are getting older and they now stay up late. I have always been a firm believer that I cannot be outlasted by children. They lack the years of experience that I have in staying up late looking for something completely mindless on TV. With my kids pushing at least 10 or 10:30 before they hit the sheets, what am I supposed to do? I need at least one hour or more to have quiet, to have the remote and to have the couch all to myself.
 |
| My real life, real kids. Who wouldn't want to stay up for them? |
I also challenge any couple with young-ish kids to tell me any time they get to "know" each other (as in Adam and Eve) that doesn't involve A) staying up later than you want to B) getting up earlier than you want to or C) going out of town. It's just a basic reality.
Lastly, despite my staying up late and having wine and trying to work in a little quality couple time, I still get up early. Why? Because when are we women supposed to work out? We need to get up at the butt crack of dawn, slog on our running shoes and head out so that we can be back, shower (okay maybe not shower), and get the day started before our hubbies leave for work and our kids get up. I have learned a hard fact of life....if I don't do this early, I don't do it. If you can work out at 3 in the afternoon, good for you!
 |
| My good friend Cab |
So where does this leave me? I just hope that because I do exercise and I do drink green smoothies for breakfast every morning and I do have strong social relationships and a happy marriage and all those other things that are good for you, that it will all balance itself out. Maybe my good habits will pull me from committing the second worst health sin to maybe the fifth or sixth. Because I still want to stay up late and watch Andy Cohen. The Housewives matter. I still want an hour of quiet with a glass of wine when my kids are asleep, my house is my own and my floors are free of toys to talk with my husband about our days, our tomorrows and when we might have sex next.
And, as they have always said, I can sleep when I'm six feet under.
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