Rough Draft

Where Slippers Go To Die

We don't use regular slippers in this house because my mom (and my grandmother before her) would crochet these awesome slippers for us.  However, they don't typically last long...meaning: they get holes in them after awhile.

I guess if we didn't wear them that much, or hardly ever, they would last much longer but in the cold months from about September through at least April I have some sort of slipper/sock on my feet.

I  have learned, however, that my mother cannot "mend" the slippers as easily as someone without any crochet knowledge would assume.  That means she has to make a brand new pair every time.  The last time she made me slippers she sent me two pairs and I kept the one pair hidden in my drawer (so I could kinda pretend the second pair didn't exist.  I do sort of crazy stuff like that.  What? You are not surprised? Shut it.).

Both pairs now have holes (I apparently could not forget about that second pair for long).  Along with Larry's pair, Jennifer's pair, Harrison's pair, and I believe Josh's too.

I want to say that my grandmothers slippers lasted longer (I have mentioned this to my mother and she has poo-pooed me and my obvious lack of yarn knowledge.  I just think that maybe, like other things, yarn was made better THEN).  Is yarn today really not as good? Are there stronger stitches perhaps my mother could put to use on these slippers?  Are the floors and ground somehow rougher than a couple of decades ago?  These are questions in which I have no answers.

But, I need new slippers.  (Mooooommmmmm...)

In the meantime, all the slippers apparently have gone to the bottom of the laundry shoot to die a lonely and holey death.  Why they have all landed there I do not know.  I also do not know why they are so hard to throw away as if I am throwing away a piece of arm.  (Or, well, foot.)

  On a totally different side note: I realize that the wall of the laundry shoot has probably not been cleaned since we built this house in 2004.  Now if I try and get down there and clean that inner dirty wall I may never get back up again.  Maybe the slippers will keep me warm until someone finds me on all fours...

An Excuse To Party

I really don't need other people in my home to put out a spread (in this case for Super Bowl) and "celebrate".

Growing up, my parents were always entertaining with family and friends...celebrating birthdays, holidays, or any other random day in the middle of a month.  However, my mom would never put out a spread (like a party) for just us.

I try and go all out for my kids for a couple of reasons.  1.  I love to cook and prepare fun foods; 2.  I want my kids to remember that I used to set out party foods even if it was just for the five of us on Super Bowl Sunday.  I think it is kinda fun and I want the three of them to know that they matter and I don't need a formal party to pull out the fancy entertaining napkins.

I will do the same for other random days like New Years Eve or for the Academy Awards.

For Super Bowl we had: homemade guacamole and salsa, chips, two different types of wings, vegetables, won-tons, and a delicious "cookie dough" dip with crackers.  It is just a fun little tradition (for my kids) of making minor days a big thing. 

   

I am also a huge believer in using the "fine China", cloth napkins, fancy bowls, etc. even when it is just my own little family.  I like using my stuff and not saving them for "special occasions" or only when I am formally entertaining.  I believe it makes my own family feel special too and you get more opportunities to use the stuff you have!

  

 

I Miss You, Dad

And, here we go again.

Another year.  Another 365 days since the last time I reflected on the anniversary of his death which is now marking six years.

What people who haven't lost anyone close to them don't really understand is that the anniversary of a death is a day that is more "out for all to see" but I think of my dad every single day.  Some days there is laughter.  Some days there are memories.  Some days I just like saying "mom and dad" or "my parents" because I don't say that anymore.  Some days I cry.  Some days I am pissed.  Some days I can't believe he is gone for good.  Some days I am beyond sad and depressed.  Some days I shake my head because he is missing out on so much of our lives.  Some days I try to keep the memory that he was actually IN our lives alive.  Some days I push back the guilt.  Some days I cry over how the chips fell.  Sure, I function and we move on and we LIVE our LIVES but his absence is ALWAYS THERE.  Sitting dormant sometimes, but always there.

I miss him terribly.  Sometimes it hurts so much I can hardly concentrate.  Sometimes I just want to sit and cry.  Sometimes I want to close my eyes and when I open them he will still be alive.

I know that at some point this is a part of life and parents die.  It is the natural course of life.  I know that he is in a "better place".  I know he is in peace and not in pain.  However, those feel like empty words and sentences to me.  I get all that but my heart tells me otherwise.

I miss hearing him talk endlessly and with such passion about his country and WWII and what everyone did aboard the ship on VJ Day.  I miss his voice.  I miss talking to him on the phone.  I miss his presence in my life and my children's lives.  I miss him when I think of his house around the corner.  I miss him when I think about my life in San Diego.  I miss him when I hear people talk about their dads who are still alive.  I miss him when I talk to my mom.  I miss him when I see my children grow taller and older every day.  I miss him when I read something about the second world war.  I miss him when I sit in church.  I miss him when I look outside at the rainy late February day and remember sitting outside at the cemetery as he was laid to rest. 

Recently I was sorting the kids school photos so I can add them to their albums and I came across Jennifer's preschool photo and sat down, stared at it, and cried in the privacy of my own office.  Stuff like that is what hits me at times and that may seem silly to some people.  The photo of Jennifer in preschool was the photo I placed inside the drawer of my dad's coffin.

I miss being able to ask him a question.  I miss him being able to help with little things.  I miss his jokes and our many inside jokes.  I miss hearing him say, "oh really?" when I used to tell him something and now when I hear someone say that phrase I immediately think of my dad (in fact, my mom sometimes says that and it always makes me smile). 

There are millions of little things I miss.  And, millions of bigger things I miss too.  That is the thing about grief...it hits us all differently and it hits us all at different moments.  Sometimes someone will say something that will trigger an emotion and I am fighting back tears.  Other times I will think of my dad and smile...or frown or shake my head or laugh or chuckle.  Some days it hits me as I am crossing kids.  Some days it hits me as I am cooking dinner.  Some days it hits me as I am folding clothes.  Some days it hits me as I am washing dishes or driving or gardening or flying or drinking coffee or reading the newspaper or writing or reading a novel or while I make a shopping list. 

His life has made a permanent imprint on my own life.

And by no means does this mean nor indicate that my dad was perfect or he lived a righteous life.  We used to argue and fight and disagree.  He would get mad at me and I got mad at him.  There are things about his past that I personally don't agree with but he found nothing wrong with the actions.  There were moments of disappointment.  He was real and not someone I have put on a pedestal after death as an iconic symbol of fatherhood.

However, he was a great dad to me.  He was there.  He was active in my life.  He was present in every aspect.  He built me up and I never for one minute doubted the fact that he loved me unconditionally...and no matter how much I screwed up or acted like an idiot or pretended that I didn't care, he still loved me and I knew that.  There are many things that I keep private and I don't share with everyone and I have many times and stories over the years that I look back on and cherish because they are special to me even in their simplicity.  I keep those close to my heart, guarded and private.

However, there are plenty of memories that I do enjoy sharing and that are among my favorite memories:   the sight of him barbecuing steaks every Saturday night, holding a glass of scotch on the rocks.  Waiting for him on the front step to come home from work...being dropped off by his friend Vinnie who he carpooled with.  Watching him try and feed Jennifer her baby food.  Knowing the boys were totally into cars, especially Hummers, asked a friend and neighbor of his (who owned a Hummer) if he would be willing to take us for a drive in a Hummer that had more television sets than my house did (the boys were thrilled!).  Watching him work his daily puzzle in the newspaper with a cup of coffee, a bottle of water, and a slew of pills he had to take every day.  Calling him as a very young adult from Northern California when I was running out of gas and realized I was out of money too and the one gas card I did have (in his name) expired the day before and he was able to give the gas attendant his credit card number over the phone.  Our weekly tradition of church, breakfast, and donuts for the kids every Sunday.  He would drive the golf cart with Josh all over the park showing Josh anything he wanted to see (rabbits, boats, etc.).

I could go on and on and on...

Sigh.

These are tough posts for me to write.  I have already had to take three breaks and I'm not even finished yet.  Certain memories hit me more poignantly than others, it seems.

At the end of the day I had a great dad.  Someone who I could rely on.  Someone I knew loved me.  Someone who was always there for me.  Someone who I could laugh with and disagree with.  Someone who loved my kids with all his heart.  Someone who I wish was still here to see us all and be with us all.  Someone who always had answers for me.  Someone who was passionate and loving and friendly.  Someone who was adored by most.  Someone who loved new cars, electronics he couldn't figure out but wanted anyway, steaks, spaghetti with meatballs, and being able to pull out a pencil from his pocket and draw out the answer to any question.

So, it isn't just today that the tears come and I miss him.  I miss him more today than I did six years ago because after so many years it begins to really dawn on you that he is truly gone.  On this day the memory of his last day comes to my mind and I will work hard at pushing the images away, for now they tend to be too painful.  

I love you, dad.  And, I wish you were still among us to share in our life, watch the kids grow, sit at the table and drink coffee, and walk where we walk.

My life...while it moves forward and continues to progress, and I will laugh and cry and make decisions and feel joy and happiness and peace, and garden and read and learn and cook and take vacations and see new things and raise my children....will never really be the same.

The Annual Lent Post

There is something comforting about religion.  There is something safe about religion.  There is definitely something about the traditions that provide a warm blanket on a cold day.  And, living in a town that seems to have overt religious overtones in a religion I personally am not attached to, I grab hold of my own ancient religion with zeal.  It brings me back to my childhood, my upbringing, my personal traditions, my grandmother, and more recently a very fond memory pertaining to my children and my dad and Sunday mornings.

Is my religion perfect? No.  Do I agree with everything?  No.  But, it is comforting and calming and fills me with a sense of belonging and peace.

Onto Lent.

For starters, Ash Wednesday, which is tomorrow and marks the beginning of Lent.  The ashes we receive on our forehead, in the shape of a cross, is the outward sign of our sinfulness and need for penance.  The ashes also symbolize mortality, and a reminder that one day we will die and our bodies return to dust.  The tradition of receiving ashes began somewhere around the 11th or 12th century where the ashes were made by burning the previous years palm branches.

Ash Wednesday is also a day of fasting.  I always seem to have a problem with doing this, I'm ashamed to say.  I try and I hope that counts for something.  I do try to eat much less on Ash Wednesday and we will not eat meat every Friday.

We do have what appears to be a lot of rules for Lent but this is a time when you can put into practice those moments when you think about changing things or doing something different.  Ash Wednesday is our "wake up call" at the beginning of Lent.  A time to identify the things we have done wrong or wish we could change or do differently...then we can choose to something about that during the next 40 days of Lent.

Which brings me to the whole "giving up something" during Lent.

From what I understand about this time of year it isn't so much about giving up chocolate or desserts or something else you find tempting (or easy to give up without it being much of a "sacrifice" like giving up nuts even though you are alergic to nuts) or even something necessarily tangible.  It is MORE about an attitude or behavior you want changed.  Now, maybe you are on the road to giving up sugar altogether for health reasons, then perhaps giving up desserts is a good start during Lent.  I was recently talking to someone about what to give up during Lent and she reminded me that even if they DO want to give up something like chocolate it could still be good because it causes them to FOCUS on what they are abstaining from.  However, things like chocolate, etc. are really aimed more for CHILDREN who are new to the idea of Lent and is an easy way to start.

I'm not sure what I will be focusing on during Lent.  This friend I was talking to said she "added" something to her daily life as a positive reinforcement of Lent so she said special prayers everyday.  I love that idea.

Ash Wednesday is a reminder of the need for spiritual renewal and change in our lives, a time to review your life and name those areas where you need renewal.  Once you have identified the areas, identify ways to make a change.   

Tales From The Crosswalk, Episode 20

 

Dear Lord.  Three more months before I hang up my glow-in-the-dark vest and move on from standing in the freezing cold every morning.

Parents are impatient, rude, and annoying.  I have been almost run over twice.  Are you kidding me?  Both times it was while I was out in the center of the street with my sign up.  What the Fuck?  Both times they came within inches of me.  The first time it happened I was almost too shocked to do anything other than turn and face the driver (we were quite close) and she didn't look at me.  I looked for the car again, and didn't see her.  Good.  The second time I paid more attention to both car and driver and was prepared to go up to the old guy in his champagne colored Cadillac the next time he decided to ignore my STOP SIGN and drive right on through.  I see him daily and he waves at me...and I have written his license plate down, just in case.

I really don't like being almost run over.

Lately it seems that there are more and more impatient parents out there.  Sometimes they shake their head, sometimes they inch forward (which makes me nervous! They could easily step on the gas without realizing it and hopefully just run me over and not some little child!!), and sometimes they use arm/hand motions.  Let me just say: I do not have the right personality for this type of job, perhaps.  Because I want to go up to their car and ask them what the hell is their problem?!?  I usually shake my head back and make (minor) motions too (when they are lifting their hands trying to communicate why they have to sit there STILL when it doesn't appear to be any children coming and yet two seconds later...what I CAN SEE THAT THEY CAN'T...another child appears at the crosswalk).

I'm sorry that they are LATE and in a hurry and anxious to get to work/the gym/breakfast/back home/coffee...blah blah blah.  Whatever.  I don't really give a shit where you are headed to in such a hurry that I have to put any kid in jeopordy.  How about you get up earlier and get out the door earlier so you don't have to be impatient and rude to the crossing guard for God's sake!  Can you imagine what they are like elsewhere?

They speed too...which I have noticed and have taken an informal poll that it would appear two types of people speed down that side street: fathers and old people.  I am ALWAYS motioning people to slow down, which also causes MORE dirty looks my way and in one case the woman was barrelling down the street and I stepped off the curb just to motion her to realize she is about to blaze through a crosswalk going 40mph.  She was not happy...in fact, she made some "I know! I know! Shut the fuck up!" motion to me as she attempted to slow down.

What always blows my mind about these parents is that I am crossing KIDS.  Kids that could be THEIR kids.  If I were crossing THEIR kids would they want parents to be blowing through my crosswalk, despite my stop sign and standing in the crosswalk?  Would they want parents driving 40mph through the crosswalk?  Yeah, I don't think so.

One afternoon I crossed a mom with her group of four or five little children and she made some reference to how she hates to have to stop when I put my sign up and wait and wait when all she wants to do is go home.  I cross her kids every single morning.  I looked at her and just shook my head and said, "wow".  Yeah, life is SO ROUGH that you have to spend maybe three extra minutes WAITING for me to cross little elementary children safely across the street.  Oh, the horrors!!!  Thank God there aren't people going without jobs and food in this country because certainly she should start up a cause of other pretentious and arrogant mothers who can't possibly be delayed by a crossing guard when she must get home so she could get to her many tasks.

And, let's not forget about the little ones.  I have a few who, if they see their parents across the street, will just randomly run across.  Now, I see them coming and tell them they have to cross with me.  Lord help me. 

Because of budget cuts they have cut our hours and so there was one little boy who comes to the crosswalk in the afternoon about fifteen minutes before I am scheduled to be on duty and therefore he crosses as I am not on the clock anymore.  This one kid's safety is apparently not worth the few bucks they pay me to stand there.  If I was his parent, I would be pissed.

And, the day I almost had a heart attack:  the afternoons can be a little crazy especially on Friday's or if the weather is warm and sunny.  In the mornings they come in small doses but in the afternoon they appear in about three large batches (which is why it cracks me up when parents are impatient and rude because surely they see the trend by now, right?  Either go earlier, slightly later, or take another damn street!!!) and sometimes they forget they have to wait for me.  (Yeah, it is super fun.)  This day I was facing them and waiting for a bunch of cars to pass when one of the boys I cross morning and afternoon decided to just run out into the street.  He is probably a first grader and for some reason he wasn't paying attention and normally my reflexes are quite fast but that day for some reason I was taken aback...the boy stepped off the curb and took about four steps before me and his brother grabbed him...as cars are driving up and down the street.  Oh. My. God. Which is why I get irritated when parents/grandparents are driving too fast because if they were driving 15, as they should be, if a kid DID run out past me the driver would have been able to stop.  These cars would never have stopped in time.  (But, yeah, hurry up because you have to rush to swim lessons and piano lessons while you talk on the phone...as you cross my crosswalk. SLOW DOWN, PEOPLE!)

Now, it isn't all bad.  There are MANY kids that are just delightful and sweet and I enjoy seeing them on a daily basis.  I get sweet hugs from some, high fives, and wishes for good days. 

May 25 will be my last day.  Jennifer will move on from elementary school to middle school and I will no longer do this job.  I realized after the second year of dealing with cold, frigid, and wet mornings/afternoons that it isn't a whole lot of fun.  Plus, I am not enamored with the school anymore since the principal left at the end of the school year last June...so I am kinda glad this is my last year at the school. 

I'm more than ready to do something different with my day and pass the stop sign to some other sucker.

Sad State Of Affairs

 

Last weekend I was out scrapbooking with my friend and we decided to hit Carl's Jr. for dinner.  We walk inside and at the counter is a mother and two young sons.  One is playing on a smart phone/Ipod thing and another had his laptop open on the counter (as his mother gave her order) and was playing some kind of game.

Oh. My. Gawd.

Are you kidding me?

Look, I get it: kids need to be active and busy and kept out of trouble and sometimes you let things go because they aren't big things and you make decisions as parents because at the moment it is just EASIER and you learn quickly that you gotta pick your battles and, and, and...

I have boys.  I had two LITTLE boys.  I know their energy level is daunting at times.  We went out a lot because I wanted to TEACH THEM HOW TO BEHAVE WHILE OUT IN A RESTAURANT (or in public in general).  I dealt with tantrums and boredom and busyness.  I get it.  However, if you are allowing your 8ish year old to bring his friggin laptop into a fast food restaurant and has to be playing his games on it while you order because he can't peel himself away long enough to sit down...or better: WAIT UNTIL HE GETS BACK HOME...then you are allowing the snowball to just get BIGGER.

What are these parents THINKING???

How about telling your children, NO when they ask to bring a laptop to a fast food restaurant.  How about telling your children that sitting in the restaurant and eating their (crappy) dinner is all they need to be "doing" and they can resume playing games when they get home.  How about having an actual conversation at the table instead of talking over the computer screen?  Because then they will BEGIN to learn the art of making conversation and how to eat among people and not inanimate objects...and better: how to act while out in public.

What a sad state of affairs this country is in.  Kids in high school are only required to take ONE year of physical education.  The food they feed our children in those schools are over processed CRAP.  We find it cheaper to feed our family fast food nastiness because it is cheaper than going to the store and buying some whole foods and cooking it at home.  And, we allow our children to take an expensive laptop into a fast food restaurant for dinner because it is all just easier.  Our nation is facing epidemic numbers of obesity and diabetes (to name ONLY two) and yet for some reason we all can't get off the merry-go-round thinking that if we just carry on status quo we won't have to sit long enough to notice the crumbling all around us.   Even the best and "lowest" fat options at these places are still filled with extra preservatives and isn't as "great" as they claim to be...you are still better making something at home.  Dear God, I digress...

The little boy with his laptop at Carl's Jr. makes me sad and angry.  Sad at the boy who has no clue how to go anywhere without some sort of electronic devise hooked to his hip.  And, angry at the mother who allows it because it is easier than dealing with maybe an active/bored/restless boy at a restaurant.

I refuse to admit that this is what our world is coming to. 

Those FancyPants With Needle and Thread

 

In high school I had to take a home economics class.  I hated it.  (I actually preferred typing.)  And, unlike today where my son has options like culinary arts, zoology, and advertising art we were pretty much left with drafting, home economics, shorthand (gawd!), and horticulture.  1980s you bore me.

When I was forced to take home economics and we moved from cooking god-awful meals to sewing I knew before I really knew that I was screwed.

I do not like sewing.  And, it doesn't like me.  I don't get it.  I can't read a pattern to save my life or the lives of my children.  Every Halloween I fear the question, "Mom, can't you make my costume?"  Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...then you will hear me shrieking from the rooftops.  I used to watch my mom read a pattern similar to how I now read recipes (where you just KNOW how it will turn out and in my case, taste) and wonder, "what does she see that I don't?"  Then I would watch her lay out the pattern and cut away...it still blows my mind...especially when she could identify a future problem before she has even started sewing.  What?  The flimsy see-through paper holds that much magic? How?

I am in awe of those that can sew.  My mom has been sewing I think before she was out of diapers.  She used to sew everything, including all of her clothes and most of mine.  She can look at something and know how to sew it.  I can only shake my head in wonder and amazement. 

What I love most about those that can sew is how easy and effortless they make it all sound.  Which, I feel is directly aimed at me and how lame and inept I am in and around a sewing machine and all its moving parts!  "Oh? This pantsuit? I just sewed it, like two hours ago."  (Okay, maybe a bad example...who wears pantsuits anymore.) I have wanted an apron for years now...you know, those cute sewed ones with fun fabrics...and everyone (who CAN sew) will say, "Oh! That is such an easy pattern!  Look, two stitches and boom! Done!"

Sigh.

Yeah, boom.  Not done. 

I just don't get it.  Sleeves, for example.  What the fuck?  How?!  And collars.  Holy shit Batman, how you do that?

I was reading a blog a few days ago and she sewed Halloween costumes for her kids.  Her son wanted to be a dolphin but she couldn't find a costume for one so she bought grey fabric and used a stuff toy as her guide.  Are you fucking kidding me?  See, only people who can actually sew makes it all sound so incredibly easy and no-brainerish.

And, I passed my home economics class back in 1983 because my mom sewed my projects at home and I turned them in and claimed them as my own creations.  How the teacher never caught on to my mother's perfect stitches, I'll never know, and honestly I didn't care.  I passed and I was done forever with sewing.  In fact, I'm not sure I ever sat in front of a sewing machine again.

60 Years

Today would have been my parents 60th wedding anniversary.

Wow.  Sixty years ago today my parents were married in the same church in downtown Los Angeles as both their parents thirty-one years prior (and the same church Larry and I were married thirty-nine years after my parents). 

This year I thought I would share the speech I gave to my parents at their 50th anniversary party back in 2002.

We had a party at the neighboring Hilton hotel with about sixty or so close friends and family and many people from their original wedding party.  We had good food, fun laughs, a beautiful cake, and a day I'll never forget.  Prior to the party my parents renewed their vows in front of our priest at St. Patrick's church.

Here is the speech I gave that day:

Who knew after 18,250 days, building 3 homes, raising 3 kids, buying countless cars, and attending endless parties, get-togethers, holidays, lodge meetings, conventions, and coffee "klatch" afternoons, that my parents would still be married.

When they were married in 1952 the world was definitely different.

Truman was president (At least for a few more months), Vinylite swimming pools were popular and so were beanies with propellers on top, no-cal ginger ale and Swanson TV dinners.

The Yankees defeated the Dodgers in the world series, the Jackie Gleason show premiered on television, Mad comic books went on sale for the first time, and September 11th was just the middle of September.

There were some really fond memories for me being child #3.

Like all the holidays spent with family, vacations to Utah, Canada, Lake Arrowhead, Big Bear, and San Diego, my parents attending every football game when I was cheerleader, my embarrassment when my mom started working at Eagle Rock High School which turned out to be kind of cool, falling asleep on a bench in a bowling alley while my parents bowled in several leagues, sitting through endless meetings, waiting on the front step for my dad to come home from work at exactly 4:10 every afternoon, and my mom showing me that there was always something to do.  She was either sewing, reading, crocheting, baking, cooking, or cleaning.

Little did I know that when Larry and I decided to buy a house in Oceanside and follow my parents south, how valuable a decision that would become.  Now they may think at times it's a pain and I'm sure they would enjoy a little piece and quiet!

But, who would be there to pick me up while I waited for an oil change?  Who would be there to watch my kids on a moments notice?  Who would come to my house and inspect it for dead plants?  And where would we ever get the best leftovers around?

My dad dubs his house "the supermarket", "Home Depot", and a "clothing store" because we are always receiving all kinds of food, batteries, and PJs from them!

My dad was the one with the right tool and the know-how and always a second away from helping out.  Changing locks, adding a ceiling fan, plumbing, electrical, laying bricks, building a deck, hanging wallpaper (although we had to separate my parents because they fought over who was doing a better and neater job!), building fences, shelves, and a dozen more little jobs that he just seems to know how to handle.

And my mom who has answers for all my questions, who can still shop for me better than I can, who witnessed all three of my babies being born, and who can make, bake, or craft anything.

What would Sunday be like without a donut from papa after church?  My kids will have lots of fond memories and many wonderful traditions shared with nana and papa.  Like taking a walk around Solamar in search of "two boats", our holidays spent together, egg hunts by the clubhouse, papa and his "cadutz", Sunday morning breakfasts together, and just being there for every little, important, and worthwhile event in my kids lives.

So, to my parents I say congratulations on 50 exciting, challenging, fulfilling, joyous, boisterous, and wonderful years of marriage.

I thank you for providing me security, pride in doing a good job, a stable and loving home, to appreciate the value and importance of family and friends, predictability, a loving nana and papa to Joshua, Harrison, and Jennifer and a constant supply of PJs, leverovers, and batteries.

Friendships As Seen On "Sex And The City"

My favorite television show would be: Sex And The City.  Even if I have seen the reruns a dozen times, I still watch whenever it is on.

1.  I have a secret dream about New York City and living there and so I am fascinated with the lives of these four women.  Growing up in a BIG city myself (although maybe not as big as NY, but perhaps a close second), I can relate to many issues, storylines, and backdrop.  Love it.

2.  I absolutely LOVE all the characters.  These women, in all their complexities, is  truly mesmorizing.

3.  The story is about friendship and for that I am beyond ENTHRALLED with how these FOUR women interact and remain friends after so many challenges.  Divorce, break-ups, lies, confusion, hurt feelings, misunderstandings, love, jobs, stress, problems-galore.  They are OPEN WITH ONE ANOTHER and somehow, sitting in a taxi on 52nd and Broadway, they manage to voice their feelings, cry, and hug.  Because, to them, friendship is what life is about.  It always amazes me how they manage to screw up, hold back, talk too much, confront, push, blame, criticize, laugh, drink, love, have fun, and have SERIOUS CONVERSATIONS...and continue to remain incredibly close friends.  (God, that is SO RARE.  Oh wait, this is TV.)

Unfortunately, life isn't always the same as an hour long television program and even when you speak your mind you hope that Miranda will show up at your third floor walk-up in the pouring down rain, crying, saying that being friends means more to her than anything and please don't be mad anymore.  Of course, Carrie will climb into the taxi and neither will be concerned about the ticking meter because it isn't always about money.  If someone is hurt and they actually...wait...talk about it in person.  Imagine that.

I guess I also love this show because I secretly hope that I could be the fifth friend...that may prefer a nice glass of wine over a cosmopolitan...but would live in some doorman-operated apartment in the city and goes to work as an editor everyday and at night meets up with her four other friends who are honest and forthcoming with their feelings and while I may have hurt them while having lunch in the patio outside of Macy's (as we throw bread crumbs at pigeons) and wonder why we continue to be friends?  Then, we will laugh and giggle and sip our drinks and say that no matter how hurt we may be or how someone needs to face the truth (and that sometimes hurts) and no matter how brutally honest we are with one another, we all just love one another.  Despite any obstacle.

Until next week, my Sex And The City friends...

Oh.  Okay, I'm awake now from dreamland.

Sigh.

Roles

A month after I turned nineteen I got a full-time "real" job at a very large bank.  For ten years I would work my way up to a fairly decent position as a real estate underwriter before I stepped off the treadmill when I had my first child.  Around that time I felt fairly confident: I had a bachelor's degree newly in hand, I started doing some freelance writing jobs (newsletter writing/editing; resume writing) and went back into the banking industry for a few months while Larry looked for a computer engineering job.

Then, it all seems like a blur: Baby number two, couple of years spent being a consultant for a scrapbooking company, more writing and editing newsletters, another baby, and then less writing.

I was busy.  Three kids all under the age of six and only one in school.  Time flew by it seems now, looking back at a decade gone in a poof.  Soccer lessons, tennis lessons, cub scouts, potty training, cooking, cleaning, laundry, PTA meetings, scrapbooking, little league, holidays, birthdays, get togethers, church, job changes, deaths, dressing children, giving babies baths, reading picture books, picking children up, highchairs and strollers, time-outs, car seats, doctor appointments, sick kids in bed, watching Barney and Teletubbies and Disney Princess movies, brushing hair, brushing teeth, picking up toys, putting out fights, planning themed birthday parties, starting traditions, sitting down around the table at dinner, putting kids to bed, swim lessons, moving to another state, volunteering in classrooms, parent-teacher conferences, homework, driving them to the movies and friends houses, making lunches, Sunday morning breakfasts, playing games, talking about the difficult stuff, washing hair, holding their hands, sitting on the floor with them, swapping teeth for cash.

It seemed like an endless stream of doing, going, taking care of, cleaning, picking up.  And then suddenly they are all in school all day.

And you realize that there are no more time-outs, sippy cups, potty training issues.  I am no longer taking a toddler to swim lessons with a baby in a car seat making sure I packed a little snack, a bottle, and at least one spare diaper.  My day is no longer formed around two different nap schedules.  I no longer have one or two little ones at home that need their lunches cut up into small pieces and help with going potty on the big toilet.  Picture books are no longer even in the house but  boxed up in the shed instead.

Then it hit me.  My role as mother has changed drastically.

Now, don't get me wrong here.  There are other things that have replaced Barney and potty training...like making good enough grades to get low car insurance, texting issues, homework, bickering, shaving, trying to get the boys to understand that less is more when applying cologne, and trying to gently tell your preteen that she does not need a bigger bra, yet.

Sigh.

The title of mother will always be there.  I will always have three little people that I love beyond anything else and worry about endlessly, and to them: annoyingly.  I know that I will go from picking up children to place in highchairs and fill sippy cups with milk to proms and college and marriage and problems and jobs and grandchildren and so on and so on and so on.

However, the ROLE as (a stay at home) mother suddenly seems very, very different sitting now in a quiet house in the middle of the week while all three kids are at school until mid-afternoon.

Boy, where to begin?  I don't regret one bit staying home with my kids.  Stepping off the employment expressway, giving up a good salary and awesome benefits, to be home full-time with my kids.  I also feel strongly that teens need someone around at home just as much as when they were toddling around in diapers.  So, would I do it differently?  No.  Larry and I made this decision in late 1992 and we have stuck to it throughout the years with zero regret.

Here is my challenge with this new role of mine (and yet, not really new since my youngest has been in full-time school for five years...but I guess I have been preoccupied with death, job stress, loss of job, and moves back and forth across the country): I am restless and bored.

And do I dare admit, I feel like I am losing brain cells by the second being in a home that no longer hears the noise of little children and therefore my role that I have known and loved over the past seventeen years is suddenly not there...I feel unneeded and bored and sad and like I have no real purpose anymore.

I also feel like I need to defend my day to no one in particular, "gosh, what do you do all day?" is what I imagine everyone wants to ask me.  And yet the time ticks by incredibly fast.  I mean, I pick up the house, but my gawd, I don't love cleaning that much.  I fix dinner and make lunches and take kids to and from school.  I do the crossing guard job but that is hardly fulfilling and will be coming to an end in May when my daughter is no longer in elementary school.  I spend a lot of time writing during the morning hours and just about through lunch  but shortly after lunch it is almost time for the first two kids to start coming home.  Then, it is back to our normal routine: I do my afternoon crossing, come home and get dinner on the table, deal with homework and showers, and then finally sit down and read a bit.

I know I am lucky that I don't have to work in order to pay our bills and save a little money...of course, if I was working our savings account would be a bit plumper right now.  I am also grateful that I don't have one of those husbands who WANT (or require, God!) me to work  because they want more stuff...(or, because some of those men don't value the "work" of a mother who stays at home with THEIR children).

But, I sit here and despite the fact that I look around the house which is spotless and picked up, the laundry is done, the dog is fed and fast asleep upstairs in someone's warm bed, the dinner is planned, the kitchen is clean, I have worked on one article and researched for another, drank two cups of coffee, made a few notes, Googled a handful of research topics, listened to the morning news, began taking notes on my study of Gettysburg, taken kids to school and did my morning crossing guard: I am bored with myself.

I want more.

And yet I'm not sure what that is exactly nor how to successfully go about it.  I want to do something that feels meaningful and purposeful.

If I were to get a job, I would still want that to not interfere with the kids and their schedule...which limits the job to a handful and the one job I would love to have I can't seem to find any openings.  The other jobs I want exist mainly in the city I grew up in and sometimes I kick myself for leaving (but, believe me, I don't sit around and dwell on that AT ALL). 

In another words, I don't just want a whatever job. I want to be somewhere that I feel like I am making a contribution and using my brain and not just waiting until payday so I can get more money into my account so I (or my spouse) can buy more stuff.  I want my dream job (or something fairly close)...

Some days I feel like I am getting too old.  Have I wasted my younger years? Have I not taken advantage of certain times in my life? Is it too late to do something different? Have I not done enough?  Are my dreams silly now?  And, are those dreams even possibly attainable at this point?