Earlier today, I thought for sure that Adrienne's gymnastics meet (intra squad event at the high school tonight) would surely be the "awesome" thing for today. And for that reason, I took two cameras, hoping to get a good shot of her.
But as great as Adrienne performed, Andrew went missing for three hours which totally overshadowed everything and made for a dramatic evening in a way I wasn't anticipating.
It was around 5:15pm when I received a text from him... He was at Saint Paul, his former school, visiting friends by attending a girls' volleyball game. The game had started and he'd already connected with the parent that had agreed to bring him home. His next text, a few minutes later, asked if he stay out after the game by going over to this friend's house. I said no. I asked him to text me when the game ended and then again when he got into the house (Eric was working and I was sitting in the stands at the gymnastics meet). No response.
Forty five minutes passed with no texts, no answering his cell phone or our house phone. And no response from the parent who agreed to drive him home. Initially, I wasn't worried. I thought he probably made it home and just forgot to let me know.
But when a Saint Paul parent arrived at the meet, having previously been at the Volleyball game, and did not recall seeing Andrew... well, I got worried. And when that same parent said Andrew's ride had gone to Pizza Hut with the team and Andrew for sure wasn't with them because she'd just come from there, I became stricken with panic. What had happened?
In the meantime, Eric finished his last patient and sent a text wondering if I was still at the gymnastics meet. I briefed him on Andrew's trip to the volleyball game, the break in communication, and the Saint Paul parent not recalling his attendance at the game or his presence at Pizza Hut. Eric drove home to check the house and drove to Saint Paul, all to no avail...No Andrew.
I felt sick, like the whole gym was spinning. It was possible Andrew's phone was dead and he couldn't call me or text me, but the information about Pizza Hut clouded the scenario. Why didn't he go with who he said he was going to go with? And if he did end up with another friend, why hadn't he made it home yet? The volleyball game had now been over for more than an hour now.
I pulled Adrienne from the meet and drove home to stategize with Eric about where to begin looking and to discuss at what point we call the police if we can't find him.
Most of the people Andrew mentioned would be at the volleyball game were girls. I didn't have any of those phone numbers on hand, other than the parent who agreed to drive him home and she still wasn't answering. As a result, I had to look for old school directories. Since we switched schools this year, all that information was moved to a drawer to make room for the current directories. I had a hard time finding what I needed. My hands shook, my focus divided between the task at hand and scenarios that might have come up at the game or after the game. I'd talked to the mom who agreed to bring him home. She didn't mention Pizza Hut at the time. My mind raced.
After two phone calls, I had no leads. Both calls were to houses that had a girl on the volleyball team last year, but not this year. Finally on my third call, I learned that Andrew did arrive at the gym and did leave with the parent he said he would leave with. And then one other phone call and I got this: The woman that agreed to drive Andrew is now divorced and her daughters were due to her ex-husband after the volleyball game.
Despite the fact that she told me over the phone that she would be happy to bring Andrew home, she took two of her daughters and Andrew to her ex-husband's house and then dropped her other daughter off at Pizza Hut. Why she didn't drop Andrew on her way to the ex-husband's house is puzzling (since we live right across the street from the school), but not surprising. I've had other oddball dealings with this same woman but thought that our close proximity to Saint Paul wouldn't possibly create the jaugernaut that she created tonight.
Then the doorbell rang. The ex-husband and Andrew stood in the shadows on the porch. Relief.
This probably reads as if there was just a lack of communication and a little misunderstaning. And in many ways that was true. However, there was also a time gap between when the volleyball game ended and when Andrew eventually showed up at the door that really had me envisioning CNN and CSI. Maybe I watch too many news shows, maybe I've become cyncial and distrustful of our society... But this situation was so unlike Andrew and so far fetched to create in my mind, that I couldn't help but think otherwise--worse things.
All the while Andrew was out of communication I couldn't stop thinking aobut how much he loves his phone!! He texts constantly!! He loves to call people to get or give the update. Not communicating was odd...
And so this was the downfall of our arrangement--so much texting and calling did land his phone into dead battery land. And he's just not old enough, not experienced enough, and not quite savy enough to know that when he was in limbo at the ex-husband's house, and finding that his phone was dead, that he should have asked to use the house phone.
One phone call is all it takes. He could have let me know what happened and I would have stayed at the meet, saved myself a double shot of adrenaline.
BUT... now he knows.
He saw the look on my face when I opened the door. It was 8:30pm--about the time he normally gets in the shower. From his eyes I could tell he didn't like what had happened either.
I felt relief and gratitude that he made it home. I also felt relief and gratitude that this happened now--in the sixth grade, and that it only took a few hours... hopefully, he'll file this away and remember to keep me posted next time. And if he doesn't... I'll be sure to remind him.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Love Tuesdays
This is Eric, aka, my husband. I don't write about him very often. I'm not sure why. I was that way in grad school. I wrote about my kids, but never about my husband. So why today?
Well... Eric is off work on Tuesdays. And... I have a meeting after classes every Tuesday which makes it impossible for me to pick up Andrew at school and nearly impossible for me to be home when Adrienne gets off the bus. So... Tuesdays have become Eric's day where he does those things. But... He also makes dinner AND takes Adrienne to gymnastics AND picks her up.
On Tuesdays, all I have to do is come home and put my feet up. I can read if I want, I can take a long shower with no interruptions, I can watch the Food Network or the Oprah Network without a heavy sigh or complaint, AND I can sit and just stare out the window if I so choose. Because...Eric ALSO cooks dinner on Tuesdays.
This afternoon, I came home to Ina Gartin's Ultimate Brownies, a Fall Maple cookie (of his own creation) AND Tyler Florence's Chicken Parmesan with spaghetti, salad, and garlic bread.
I would normally link the recipes to my post, but it's Tuesday... I do very little work on Tuesday. Tuesdays, because of Eric's willingness to step up to the plate, are always awesome!!!
Sunday, October 9, 2011
My House Beautiful
I love Sundays. It's the only day of the week when I sleep in.
When I finally decide to roll out of bed, I make French Toast or Pancakes for Eric and the kids. Then...I spend the rest of the day preparing for the week: doing laundry, planning out meals, grocery shopping, putting away coats, toys, shoes...or whatever didn't get put back in its proper spot due to the busyness of the last six days.
When it's all done, I guess you could say, Sunday is my day to hit the re-set button.
As I type: Dinner's done. Laundry's done. Kitchen's clean. Backpacks are organized. And even my own preparation for class is complete. I'm ready to start a new week.
But best of all, the last of the new family room furniture arrived yesterday. We're still waiting for speakers to complete the upgrade on the TV (which will require installation), but the room, in terms of furniture is finally complete.
It's the most awesome feeling at the end of a long day of organizing, cleaning and cooking, to have a comfortable AND BEAUTIFUL place to sit down and prop my feet up.
When I finally decide to roll out of bed, I make French Toast or Pancakes for Eric and the kids. Then...I spend the rest of the day preparing for the week: doing laundry, planning out meals, grocery shopping, putting away coats, toys, shoes...or whatever didn't get put back in its proper spot due to the busyness of the last six days.
When it's all done, I guess you could say, Sunday is my day to hit the re-set button.
As I type: Dinner's done. Laundry's done. Kitchen's clean. Backpacks are organized. And even my own preparation for class is complete. I'm ready to start a new week.
But best of all, the last of the new family room furniture arrived yesterday. We're still waiting for speakers to complete the upgrade on the TV (which will require installation), but the room, in terms of furniture is finally complete.
It's the most awesome feeling at the end of a long day of organizing, cleaning and cooking, to have a comfortable AND BEAUTIFUL place to sit down and prop my feet up.
Saturday, October 8, 2011
High Five for Five Days of Awesome
If I had to pick a headline for the state of the union at the Hein House regarding middle school, that's the headline I'd choose.
Andrew had a birthday party today at Zao Island (our local mini golf, go cart, arcade, pizza place). He invited nine boys and actually got five to come despite soccer, football, other parties, family commitments, and the competition of the MOST BEAUTIFUL SATURDAY we've had in a long time.
The boys were polite and good natured. Despite just having met each other a little over a month ago, they all felt like they'd known each other much longer...they laughed a lot, teased each other a bit, and couldn't get enough of the go-karts.
Andrew had fun (and Adrienne even got to join in on a few activities without much squak from the boys). And me? I can close the door on the "adjustment period" to middle school... AWESOME!
Friday, October 7, 2011
Four days in a row... Awesome!
And so isn't it Eric--the chemistry major and the guy with the most patience of anyone I know, who usually does the baking in the house? Yes, it is.
BUT... Today, I had it in my mind that I wanted to make banana bread or pumpking bread or spice bread... some kind of bread that I could gift to a family that just moved into the neighborhood. They'd invited us over for pizza and although I was already planning to take bakery purchased cut-out cookies as dessert, I wanted to take a home-made housewarming gift.
Maybe it was my sheer determination or maybe it was the care that I took in following the directions to the letter... My pumpkin bread turned out awesome, perfect, and delicious!
Nervously, I cut a small piece from the small loaf. Then I wanted to jump for joy. The "look" of the inside of the bread was as dense as its suppossed to be without being too dry. And then, when the bread hit my tongue...SLAM DUNK. My bread had just the right amount of sweet to bread flavor and just the right amount of pumpkin goodness. I was overjoyed and even more proud when Eric, the household baker, thought I'd done a good job,too.
I wrapped the other two loaves in aluminum foil, tied a yellow ribbon around each package and felt proud to take a home-made, fall-flavored bread to my new friends. AWESOME!
This recipe came from the America's Test Kitchen Healthy Family Cookbook. Here it is:
Pumpkin Bread
1 15oz can of pumpkin (unsweetened)
1 cup sugar
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1 1/3 cup all purpose flour
2/3 cup whole wheat flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, melted and cooled
2 large eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1. Cook the pumpkin, sugar, cinnamon, salt, nutmeg, and ginger together in a medium saucepan over medium-high heat, stirring constantly, until thick and shiny, 5-7 minutes. Set aside to cool.
2. Adjust an oven rack to the middle position and heat oven to 350 degrees. Lightly coat an 8 1/2 by 4 1/2 inch loaf pan with vegetable oil spray.
3. Whisk the all-purpose flour, whole-wheat flour, baking soda, and baking powder together in a large bowl. In a separate bowl, whisk the cooled pumpkin mixture, melted butter, eggs, and vanilla together.
4. Gently fold the pumpkin mixture into the flour mixture with a rubber spatula until just combined (do not overmix). The batter will be very thick.
5. Scrape the batter into the prepared pan and smooth the top. Bake until golden brown and a toothpick is inserted into the center of the loaf comes out with just a few crumbs attached, 45-55 minutes, rotating hte pan halfway through baking.
**For my little loaf pans, cook time was 25 minutes.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
It's Awesome-Day Three
Today, the sun shone high in a cloudless sky. Not too hot, not too cold--it was the most perfect fall day.
Several years ago, while still in graduate school, I went on a writer's retreat with my class. It was exactly this time of year at an old convent near South Bend, Indiana. On a lake, surrounded by trees with golden leaves, this place was perfect for reflection. For several hours each afternoon, we all were required to find a spot outside on the grounds to free write.
In the beginning, I felt so confined by the task that I usually didn't write anything. I sat on the glider by the lake, watching the water ripple or the leaves fall. But one afternoon, whatever previously felt daunting about a free write fell away. I wrote this:
The swing creaks in rhythm with a chirping from an unknown bug a few feet away. Wild flowers, thistles, and grasses sway with me in the wind. The lake, in constant motion, carries fallen leaves.
I hear birds communicating to each other in trees. I feel the heat of the sun on my skin. I focus on my hand--dry, weathered, older than I give myself credit for. I imagine the pores of my skin opening and closing, taking in life at every second like the gills of the fish in the lake.
I lean my head back to see sky. I close my eyes. I pause to record the images. The boundries between earth and sky and water blur. What if I could melt into nature? What if that which lies silent and cluttered within me could find the motion to carry me down my path?
Today, as I'm walking to my mailbox or walking up to meet Adrienne at her bus stop, I think of this essay. I think of how the trees around the neighborhood remind me of the convent turned writing retreat center and that day that I finally broke through my writer's block.
At some point in the same essay, I wrote this:
In January, when the words will not come, I will need an image.
And isn't this an awesome one?
Several years ago, while still in graduate school, I went on a writer's retreat with my class. It was exactly this time of year at an old convent near South Bend, Indiana. On a lake, surrounded by trees with golden leaves, this place was perfect for reflection. For several hours each afternoon, we all were required to find a spot outside on the grounds to free write.
In the beginning, I felt so confined by the task that I usually didn't write anything. I sat on the glider by the lake, watching the water ripple or the leaves fall. But one afternoon, whatever previously felt daunting about a free write fell away. I wrote this:
The swing creaks in rhythm with a chirping from an unknown bug a few feet away. Wild flowers, thistles, and grasses sway with me in the wind. The lake, in constant motion, carries fallen leaves.
I hear birds communicating to each other in trees. I feel the heat of the sun on my skin. I focus on my hand--dry, weathered, older than I give myself credit for. I imagine the pores of my skin opening and closing, taking in life at every second like the gills of the fish in the lake.
I lean my head back to see sky. I close my eyes. I pause to record the images. The boundries between earth and sky and water blur. What if I could melt into nature? What if that which lies silent and cluttered within me could find the motion to carry me down my path?
Today, as I'm walking to my mailbox or walking up to meet Adrienne at her bus stop, I think of this essay. I think of how the trees around the neighborhood remind me of the convent turned writing retreat center and that day that I finally broke through my writer's block.
At some point in the same essay, I wrote this:
In January, when the words will not come, I will need an image.
And isn't this an awesome one?
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
One Awesome a Day- Take Two
It's a rare occurence that I don't sleep well. Aside from my recent anxiety and concern for my kids settling into new schools, I normally sleep soundly--waking up feeling rested. However, last night was one of those nights...I tossed and turned, stared at the ceiling, and watched the clock turn over hour after hour. By the time the sun came up, the thought of facing the day made me feel frazzled.
Add fatigued and forgetful to frazzled, and it makes for a morning where I can't find a single thing I need or everything that I want is on a different floor of the house, forcing me to go up and down the stairs, or to go in and out of rooms. Despite the frantic pace and my frantic mood, I did manage to get both kids out the door with lunch and homework ON TIME.
It was when I was trying to do the same for myself, while running up the stairs in our front hall that I happened to catch a glimpse of the doe just outside the window, in the side yard, eating plants.
We see deer in our yard all the time. And we see them in the wetland (behind the house) daily. It's not that this sight is something new for me. But, seeing the doe so close to the window--so near my own life and routine AND looking right at me, as if she wanted to start a conversation... well, it was awesome!
I was concentrating on a few million thoughts when the doe first caught my eye. It only took a split second for our mutually stare to stop us both from our tasks. Maybe that's what made it so awesome--the curiosity that I felt from the eyes of the animal looking at me was so unique and heart-warming. Feeling frantic, frazzled, fatigued...it all drained from me as I stood on the stairs looking out the window, feeling nose to nose with this small doe.
One of the few million thoughts running through my head just seconds before, had to do with the One Awesome a Day idea. I was feeling as if the day was already off to a bad start and thinking I'd have a slim chance of seeing or doing something awesome when I'd had no sleep and didn't feel as if I had any of my ducks in a row for the day. But then there was this incredibly peaceful and grounding experience that appeared out of nowhere and could be described by no other word than, "Awesome!".
Normally, the deer in the wetland travel in packs--up to 12 at time go running through in the winter. Never do I see just ONE! And for that, I knew I wanted to get my camera. But, how could I look away from this incredible, and no doubt rare, connection to this one, lone doe in my yard? Stepping away from the window might mean that I'd come back to the scene that is most typical on this side of the house: just plants--no deer.
Obviously, I took the risk. And when I returned she was still there and still willing to look right at me, almost more curious about the camera and the flash than she was of me the first time. I got a mediocre image that doesn't come close to capturing the magic I felt.
But maybe, that's what experiencing something "Awesome!" is really about--not being able to adequately re-create the scene.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Just One "Awesome!" a Day Keeps the Doctor Away
I've been asked to teach a class on blogging at a community center in my town. At first I felt excited to share my knowledge... but then I thought, what knowledge? I've been blogging for a long time (about four years), but never consistently, certainly not on the same blog, and never to any commercial or popular success--i.e. I don't run ads, I don't have a "following," and I don't manage or even encourage a comment thread. I know very little about social media and sometimes I even intentionally reject how Facebook or Twitter could compliment what I'm already doing.
One of my colleagues at the University was approached about the blogging class first and she said, "I think Dena Hein is better at that and might be interested." It is always who you know, isn't it? So, that's how the invitation came my way.
For over a week now, I've been fretting about whether or not to accept the opportunity. On one hand, it's a great chance to start doing more with my blog--something I've been wanting to do for awhile. I've thought that maybe this class might motivate me to increase the regularity of my posts and help me narrow my focus on topics. It might light a fire under me to finally let my Facebook friends know that I'm blogging and invite them to read me... There are definitely positive things that could come of accepting the class.
But then there's a negative voice in my head that reminds me that I am an unconvenional blogger--barely even doing this as a hobby. Time is always my enemy. With kids, kids' activities (which means driving to and from), dinner, housekeeping, my job, Eric, laundry... the list goes on. It's no wonder my blog posts are scant.
Besides, I'm not the first person I would think of to ask to teach this class if I were on the committee looking for a teacher. It is true that I'm a writing teacher and in some ways that would be good for this class, but even in that area I feel inferior lately. I'm just not writing as much as I would like to--it's mostly the time issue again. So, when contemplating teaching something new, I ask myself, Shouldn't I go back to work on the TWO projects that are already in motion and that need my time and attention rather than add a new endeavor to an already full plate?
In my current class (those Freshman I have at VU in Core), we're in the education unit and talking about what makes a good teacher. Tomorrow we will get to the theorist that says that good teachers do not "deposit" information into students, but instead, provide opportunities for active learning. And by this action, teachers should not know everything, but merely fascilitate the actions for the students to gain knowledge on their own accord.
If I listen to those ideas and take them to heart, this blogging class could be a chance for me to say, "I'm here to show you what I know about blogging and show you what I've done, but I'm also here merely to support whatever you end up doing. And I'll be a student along with you, hoping to learn new things and become better at all this myself."
But then today... As I was once again fretting over "to do" or "not to do" the blogging class, I found this:
This is a dry erase board in Adrienne's room. "Mommy is Awsume" That's what she wrote. Nevermind that she meant "awesome". It made my day AND gave me an idea. What if I started with those blog ideas RIGHT NOW--more consistent posts, a narrower focus, and an announcement to my Facebook friends? I'm not sure if I'm ready for an announcement AND the jury is definitely still out on whether or not I'm ready to teach a blogging class, BUT I know FOR SURE that I can find something "Awesome" each day.
And so it begins... my quest for ONE "AWESOME!" A DAY begins TODAY.
For sure, my "AWESOME!" for today is the sign that Adrienne created last night for no apparent reason. It's the inspiration for the project AND the thing that truly made me feel AWESOME today.
I'm going to try this for 21 days. Remember how I told Andrew (in a desperate moment grasping for anything to say) that any new habit takes 21 days to take hold and find it's spot in your regular routine? Well, I'm going to try it--blog for 21 days to see how it goes. It will be too late to help me decide about the blogging class, but if things so as planned, I'll have much more to help me decide next time.
One of my colleagues at the University was approached about the blogging class first and she said, "I think Dena Hein is better at that and might be interested." It is always who you know, isn't it? So, that's how the invitation came my way.
For over a week now, I've been fretting about whether or not to accept the opportunity. On one hand, it's a great chance to start doing more with my blog--something I've been wanting to do for awhile. I've thought that maybe this class might motivate me to increase the regularity of my posts and help me narrow my focus on topics. It might light a fire under me to finally let my Facebook friends know that I'm blogging and invite them to read me... There are definitely positive things that could come of accepting the class.
But then there's a negative voice in my head that reminds me that I am an unconvenional blogger--barely even doing this as a hobby. Time is always my enemy. With kids, kids' activities (which means driving to and from), dinner, housekeeping, my job, Eric, laundry... the list goes on. It's no wonder my blog posts are scant.
Besides, I'm not the first person I would think of to ask to teach this class if I were on the committee looking for a teacher. It is true that I'm a writing teacher and in some ways that would be good for this class, but even in that area I feel inferior lately. I'm just not writing as much as I would like to--it's mostly the time issue again. So, when contemplating teaching something new, I ask myself, Shouldn't I go back to work on the TWO projects that are already in motion and that need my time and attention rather than add a new endeavor to an already full plate?
In my current class (those Freshman I have at VU in Core), we're in the education unit and talking about what makes a good teacher. Tomorrow we will get to the theorist that says that good teachers do not "deposit" information into students, but instead, provide opportunities for active learning. And by this action, teachers should not know everything, but merely fascilitate the actions for the students to gain knowledge on their own accord.
If I listen to those ideas and take them to heart, this blogging class could be a chance for me to say, "I'm here to show you what I know about blogging and show you what I've done, but I'm also here merely to support whatever you end up doing. And I'll be a student along with you, hoping to learn new things and become better at all this myself."
But then today... As I was once again fretting over "to do" or "not to do" the blogging class, I found this:
And so it begins... my quest for ONE "AWESOME!" A DAY begins TODAY.
For sure, my "AWESOME!" for today is the sign that Adrienne created last night for no apparent reason. It's the inspiration for the project AND the thing that truly made me feel AWESOME today.
I'm going to try this for 21 days. Remember how I told Andrew (in a desperate moment grasping for anything to say) that any new habit takes 21 days to take hold and find it's spot in your regular routine? Well, I'm going to try it--blog for 21 days to see how it goes. It will be too late to help me decide about the blogging class, but if things so as planned, I'll have much more to help me decide next time.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
In the land of mommy anxiety
Dear Robin,
Tonight, as usual, I asked Andrew how he’s doing at his new school. For the past five weeks, since Andrew’s first day as a “new kid” that’s been a loaded question—a sensitive issue. The kind of sensitive that brought tears for Andrew and long-winded explanations of the sociology of social interaction for me. Sometimes Andrew would get emotional on the way to school or sometimes on the way home. But mostly, it was before bed that I explained how it takes time to get to know people and it takes time to learn your locker combination and your class schedule and the people you want to sit with at lunch. Sometimes I ended up saying, “You know Andrew, experts say it takes 21 days to adjust to a new habit, so just give this the same time.”
I felt desperate on many nights to find the right words to comfort him until I finally realized that no words at all were best and I’d let him cry if he wanted to or I’d watch him toss up his mini basketball into the mini hoop until my head pounded from the jarring vibration of the hoop every time he hit the rim. Then there was the repetition of Kanye West’s Golddigger blaring from his iHome that didn’t help the heartbeat between my eyes or the dull ache in the back of my head.
I’d leave Andrew’s room only to stare at the ceiling all night in my own room.
Teaching the next day for me was difficult. I made mistakes on my syllabus and never seemed to copy the right amount of handouts. Or when I did, the collation process was funky and some students would get a handout without page 3 and they’d all look at me feeling disappointed that they signed up for the lunatic teacher who won’t stop mumbling about “not being herself lately.”
Here’s the thing: I DO UNDERSTAND that kids have to make their own path and they have to solve these school issues and social issues on their own. I support that idea and I’ve been letting that happen. But it hasn’t stopped me from worrying about Andrew and praying that TODAY will be the day that things turn around, that Andrew will tell me that he feels comfortable in his schedule, with his locker, with a friend—whatever it takes to get him back to being the kid I dropped off at that school five weeks ago.
And so that’s where I’ve been… in that land of mommy-anxiety where I was suspended in the world of “waiting for everything to be okay.”
Then tonight…
I asked Andrew how he feels about “everything” now that we’re in the middle of week five…
His response?
“I’m only friends with half of the sixth grade.”
At Andrew’s school that’s about 100 kids.
I look over at Andrew to see he’s got that deviant smile that I knew so well this summer—that look that tells me he’s okay now and that he’s making a joke to show me he’s okay now.
I smiled back and said, “Good.” I wanted to ask more but for tonight, I let it go at that.
In my own bed, I exhaled a deep yoga kind of breath and felt my own anxiety about middle school release.
Maybe I can get back to my regular life now, if there is such a thing.
Tonight, as usual, I asked Andrew how he’s doing at his new school. For the past five weeks, since Andrew’s first day as a “new kid” that’s been a loaded question—a sensitive issue. The kind of sensitive that brought tears for Andrew and long-winded explanations of the sociology of social interaction for me. Sometimes Andrew would get emotional on the way to school or sometimes on the way home. But mostly, it was before bed that I explained how it takes time to get to know people and it takes time to learn your locker combination and your class schedule and the people you want to sit with at lunch. Sometimes I ended up saying, “You know Andrew, experts say it takes 21 days to adjust to a new habit, so just give this the same time.”
I felt desperate on many nights to find the right words to comfort him until I finally realized that no words at all were best and I’d let him cry if he wanted to or I’d watch him toss up his mini basketball into the mini hoop until my head pounded from the jarring vibration of the hoop every time he hit the rim. Then there was the repetition of Kanye West’s Golddigger blaring from his iHome that didn’t help the heartbeat between my eyes or the dull ache in the back of my head.
I’d leave Andrew’s room only to stare at the ceiling all night in my own room.
Teaching the next day for me was difficult. I made mistakes on my syllabus and never seemed to copy the right amount of handouts. Or when I did, the collation process was funky and some students would get a handout without page 3 and they’d all look at me feeling disappointed that they signed up for the lunatic teacher who won’t stop mumbling about “not being herself lately.”
Here’s the thing: I DO UNDERSTAND that kids have to make their own path and they have to solve these school issues and social issues on their own. I support that idea and I’ve been letting that happen. But it hasn’t stopped me from worrying about Andrew and praying that TODAY will be the day that things turn around, that Andrew will tell me that he feels comfortable in his schedule, with his locker, with a friend—whatever it takes to get him back to being the kid I dropped off at that school five weeks ago.
And so that’s where I’ve been… in that land of mommy-anxiety where I was suspended in the world of “waiting for everything to be okay.”
Then tonight…
I asked Andrew how he feels about “everything” now that we’re in the middle of week five…
His response?
“I’m only friends with half of the sixth grade.”
At Andrew’s school that’s about 100 kids.
I look over at Andrew to see he’s got that deviant smile that I knew so well this summer—that look that tells me he’s okay now and that he’s making a joke to show me he’s okay now.
I smiled back and said, “Good.” I wanted to ask more but for tonight, I let it go at that.
In my own bed, I exhaled a deep yoga kind of breath and felt my own anxiety about middle school release.
Maybe I can get back to my regular life now, if there is such a thing.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Monday, July 18, 2011
A Long Story about an Old Boyfriend
So y’all knew the time would come that I’d find the occasion to write about an old boyfriend…
And over the weekend, while at the Brew Fest in Indianapolis (with Eric), and while complaining that I NEVER SEE ANYONE I KNOW while visiting Indianapolis, some random guy yells at me, “It’s Dena Riggs!”
Initially, I had NO CLUE who the guy was—sunglasses, baseball hat, some extra pounds and twenty five odd years later. Who could blame me for bombing the recognition? But I’m an excellent conversationalist, I recovered quickly. And although, “catching up” with an old boyfriend and your current husband can be AWKWARD (!!!), I was happy to have FINALLY run into an old friend.
I’m not sure I would have even thought to share this story if Eric and I had walked away and the story ended there. But it didn’t….
It was 90+ degrees outside and Eric had been drinking samples of micro brews (i.e. IPA’s with higher alcohol content) for close to three hours. And although his speech wasn’t affected, he was walking fine, and not acting the least bit loopy by the beer, he got a little jealous—that kind of jealous that can only be alcohol-induced. And the next few hours, which included dinner with our kids and my parents, his behavior towards me (and everyone) was very stilted and weird—to the point where Andrew wondered “what’s up Daddy’s butt?” when Eric excused himself from the table for his third trip to the bathroom AND my mom asked about 30 times, “Is he okay?” (when she probably really meant, “Is he drunk?”).
My mom would have been surprised to know that Eric’s panties were twisted in a knot over running into a high school boyfriend—especially if I put Eric up next to this guy for a side by side physical comparison.
So, I mentioned the extra pounds on the old boyfriend, right? Well, it wasn’t excessive, but this guy hasn’t aged nearly as well as Eric and he certainly doesn’t hit the gym the way Eric does—i.e. nothing to worry about here. Add in our 15 years together and the state of marital bliss and you’d have thought Eric had been drinking for much longer.
But, a little beer and a little sun and all Eric focused on was this statement I made: “He was the senior class president when I was sophomore and he was so hot and quite literally the coolest guy in school.”
Now, in retrospect… Yes, that kind of description is not a good idea. Especially on a hideously hot day where lots of beer is involved.
By later in the evening, when we met up with our close friends Lisa and Adam, it was all water under the bridge, just another “Dena Story” as Eric likes to call these incidents when old boyfriends pop up out of the woodwork.
I know this post is getting long, but my whole point is to tell you the story of my history with this guy. I want to tell it mostly because I’m going deep into the archives on this one—1984!!! But I also want to tell it to prove the point (mostly to Robin!!) that even as a married chick, these old dating stories can still come out to play.
To begin, I should clarify that my use of “old boyfriend” is a term that I use very loosely AND liberally in this post because I’m not only going all the way back to 1984 when I sophomore in high school before I really could say I had a “BOYFRIEND”, but I’m also ONLY talking about a few rides home after school, one official date, and one other incident of a drunken visit to the Brown House that included a conversation with my dad and an empty beer can on my dad’s brand new purple 7-series pimp daddy BMW.
Brett Alan Thomas… it’s all about you, baby.
Can I do this? Mention his name directly without changing it?
I know in publishing I’d have to change his name. But here?
Well the name is significant because Brett’s initials obviously spell BAT and the black car that Brett drove to and from school was aptly and affectionately called “The Batmobile.”
Do I EVEN NEED TO TELL YOU that I was totally smitten?
As luck would have it, we had just received computers at our school (it was 1984, remember?) and so everyone—from seniors down to freshman—were in the same boat when it came to eligibility for computer class. I’m not quite sure how the lottery system worked, but I hit the jackpot because I had computer class with Brett Thomas in the LAST PERIOD of the day!!! Computer class would end, we went to our lockers, we went home. Well, Brett drove his friends in the Batmobile and I walked with mine.
However, just a few weeks into the semester I got invited to ride home in the Batmobile.
At the time, I remember, it felt like a carefully planned coup to position myself at the right place and right time to get Brett’s attention outside of computer class, but so many years later… I’m not sure all that matters. I got the ride.
I’m pretty sure I must have ditched my friends, but it’s hard for me to remember. But how could I not have ditched my friends when I ditched out on babysitting for our neighbors (my parents best friends at the time) to go on a date with Brett in his new car, a HONDA CRX (the first year these came out).
I remember that I walked over to the neighbor’s house and told them the truth: Senior class president with a new car asking ME (little sophomore girl) to go out on a date and how I just couldn’t miss this very important OPPORTUNITY in my career as social person in high school AND as a consolation (and a token of my good will) I’ve got a substitute babysitter for you that is almost as good as me--just a little punk rock, but very nice.
They were pissed and never asked me to babysit again (rightfully so).
If I was that flaky with the neighbors, I’m sure I was equally flaky to my friends over this month or two of Brett Thomas infatuation. I was totally off the deep end! I kept rationalizing it with this:
It WAS Brett asking ME on a DATE and it WAS the CRX….
That’s how I was back then—all about the pretty boy in the nice car. I was just a sophomore—and a young one at that. At the time of this date, I was only 15. And by the time the date was over, I’d re-thought my “pretty boy, nice car” obsession, anyway.
In my diary I wrote this about the date: “If the rest of my life is going to be like my date with Brett where I feel like it’s going to awesome and it ends up just being mediocre, then just shoot me now and get it over with. I can’t stand the disappointment.”
I think we went to a football game, but maybe it was basketball season because I have a vague memory of wearing boots with my jeans. But whatever…
I remember being parked somewhere in that little CRX for about an hour before it was time for me to go home ( I had an 11pm curfew). Mostly we talked. And then there was kissing. I remember feeling awkward—like the car was too small and the gear shift was always in the way. I remember thinking about moving over to his side, but that would have put me on top of him which was not the message I was trying to send, despite his cool car and his senior class president status. So awkwardly, I stayed on my side of the car, left feeling like a new puppy licked to death by its overly excited mother. There just seemed to be a lot of saliva.
Maybe that was my fault. I was the one with braces. He had a perfect smile. I was also the one new to making out in cars. He was, afterall, the senior class president with the cool car. I might have been the first in the CRX but I wasn’t going to be the last.
So, maybe I’m to blame for the bad date. Maybe I was just inexperienced and… not sure…
When I got home, I remember feeling let down, like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz when she saw behind the curtain and the Great Oz wasn’t so great… just a regular guy.
Brett liked our date, as evidenced by the attention I kept getting from him in school. OR—now that I’m grown up with a fuller view of the world, I wonder if he felt his lack of “bases” with me in the CRX constituted a higher level of interest and energy. Whatever it was, he kept offering to take me home in the Batmobile and just as I was wondering how I was going to get out from under my association with him (so I could of course pursue someone else) there was Hank the Tank’s party—one of the biggest and craziest parties to take place that year.
Brett asked me to go with him and I said yes, even though I wasn’t that into it. But then an important business dinner out with my parents derailed Brett’s initial plans to drive me, as his date, to the party in the CRX. Instead, I planned to meet him there. That meant that my dad would have to drop me off after dinner. And by the time we rolled down the street where Hank the Tank lived, the party was in full swing and there were already people passed out on the lawn.
My dad refused to let me out of the car.
At home, alone in my bedroom, I cried that my dad didn’t trust me enough to be a good girl at a really bad party.
A few hours later, just after 11pm, the doorbell rang.
It was Brett Thomas…
BOLDLY asking my dad if it would be okay, despite the time, to sit on the porch and talk to me.
My dad was furious but in some ways at a loss for words to this kid who showed up at such a late hour hoping to have a conversation with his daughter (“Did I hear right? You want to talk to my daughter in the middle of the night, after you’ve been drinking? And what could you possibly want that can’t wait for a decent hour?”).
In the morning, my dad found a crushed Budweiser can sitting on the bumper of his new BMW—the big 7-series with a deep blue paint job that made it look like millionaire-purple in the sunlight. This car was off the hook for 1984 (which is why I’m sure my dad had parked it on the street and not in the garage). He loved that car.
But a beer can on the bumper, combined with a late night request for me, and forget about it!
There was no way I’d be able to officially go out with Brett Thomas again. And so I was saved…and on to others…
Brett came up again in college and I think he may have even married one of my sorority sisters. From our conversation outside the Brew Fest, I learned that he has no children and for some reason I think he’s divorced.
Don’t get me wrong about outing him on the extra pounds. He still looked great and really, he couldn’t have been nicer. My dad thought it was ironic (because of the can) that I would run into Brett all these years later at a Brew Fest. Me? I was excited to finally see someone I know.
I told him that I tell stories about him to my kids. How he had the batmobile and the CRX and that he was one of the coolest guys in school. Brett smiled and that made me happy.
It’s not yet time to tell the kids the other parts of the Brett Thomas story—about making out in the CRX or the incident after Hank the Tank’s party. But someday….
And then someday after that , I’ll add on the part about their daddy getting jealous while feeling a little buzzed on a hot afternoon. And for them , that will probably be the best part. In a sense, it was for me. I knew it was a long road for me to find a “lifetime boyfriend” but this story makes me think I was looking for longer than I thought.
And over the weekend, while at the Brew Fest in Indianapolis (with Eric), and while complaining that I NEVER SEE ANYONE I KNOW while visiting Indianapolis, some random guy yells at me, “It’s Dena Riggs!”
Initially, I had NO CLUE who the guy was—sunglasses, baseball hat, some extra pounds and twenty five odd years later. Who could blame me for bombing the recognition? But I’m an excellent conversationalist, I recovered quickly. And although, “catching up” with an old boyfriend and your current husband can be AWKWARD (!!!), I was happy to have FINALLY run into an old friend.
I’m not sure I would have even thought to share this story if Eric and I had walked away and the story ended there. But it didn’t….
It was 90+ degrees outside and Eric had been drinking samples of micro brews (i.e. IPA’s with higher alcohol content) for close to three hours. And although his speech wasn’t affected, he was walking fine, and not acting the least bit loopy by the beer, he got a little jealous—that kind of jealous that can only be alcohol-induced. And the next few hours, which included dinner with our kids and my parents, his behavior towards me (and everyone) was very stilted and weird—to the point where Andrew wondered “what’s up Daddy’s butt?” when Eric excused himself from the table for his third trip to the bathroom AND my mom asked about 30 times, “Is he okay?” (when she probably really meant, “Is he drunk?”).
My mom would have been surprised to know that Eric’s panties were twisted in a knot over running into a high school boyfriend—especially if I put Eric up next to this guy for a side by side physical comparison.
So, I mentioned the extra pounds on the old boyfriend, right? Well, it wasn’t excessive, but this guy hasn’t aged nearly as well as Eric and he certainly doesn’t hit the gym the way Eric does—i.e. nothing to worry about here. Add in our 15 years together and the state of marital bliss and you’d have thought Eric had been drinking for much longer.
But, a little beer and a little sun and all Eric focused on was this statement I made: “He was the senior class president when I was sophomore and he was so hot and quite literally the coolest guy in school.”
Now, in retrospect… Yes, that kind of description is not a good idea. Especially on a hideously hot day where lots of beer is involved.
By later in the evening, when we met up with our close friends Lisa and Adam, it was all water under the bridge, just another “Dena Story” as Eric likes to call these incidents when old boyfriends pop up out of the woodwork.
I know this post is getting long, but my whole point is to tell you the story of my history with this guy. I want to tell it mostly because I’m going deep into the archives on this one—1984!!! But I also want to tell it to prove the point (mostly to Robin!!) that even as a married chick, these old dating stories can still come out to play.
To begin, I should clarify that my use of “old boyfriend” is a term that I use very loosely AND liberally in this post because I’m not only going all the way back to 1984 when I sophomore in high school before I really could say I had a “BOYFRIEND”, but I’m also ONLY talking about a few rides home after school, one official date, and one other incident of a drunken visit to the Brown House that included a conversation with my dad and an empty beer can on my dad’s brand new purple 7-series pimp daddy BMW.
Brett Alan Thomas… it’s all about you, baby.
Can I do this? Mention his name directly without changing it?
I know in publishing I’d have to change his name. But here?
Well the name is significant because Brett’s initials obviously spell BAT and the black car that Brett drove to and from school was aptly and affectionately called “The Batmobile.”
Do I EVEN NEED TO TELL YOU that I was totally smitten?
As luck would have it, we had just received computers at our school (it was 1984, remember?) and so everyone—from seniors down to freshman—were in the same boat when it came to eligibility for computer class. I’m not quite sure how the lottery system worked, but I hit the jackpot because I had computer class with Brett Thomas in the LAST PERIOD of the day!!! Computer class would end, we went to our lockers, we went home. Well, Brett drove his friends in the Batmobile and I walked with mine.
However, just a few weeks into the semester I got invited to ride home in the Batmobile.
At the time, I remember, it felt like a carefully planned coup to position myself at the right place and right time to get Brett’s attention outside of computer class, but so many years later… I’m not sure all that matters. I got the ride.
I’m pretty sure I must have ditched my friends, but it’s hard for me to remember. But how could I not have ditched my friends when I ditched out on babysitting for our neighbors (my parents best friends at the time) to go on a date with Brett in his new car, a HONDA CRX (the first year these came out).
I remember that I walked over to the neighbor’s house and told them the truth: Senior class president with a new car asking ME (little sophomore girl) to go out on a date and how I just couldn’t miss this very important OPPORTUNITY in my career as social person in high school AND as a consolation (and a token of my good will) I’ve got a substitute babysitter for you that is almost as good as me--just a little punk rock, but very nice.
They were pissed and never asked me to babysit again (rightfully so).
If I was that flaky with the neighbors, I’m sure I was equally flaky to my friends over this month or two of Brett Thomas infatuation. I was totally off the deep end! I kept rationalizing it with this:
It WAS Brett asking ME on a DATE and it WAS the CRX….
That’s how I was back then—all about the pretty boy in the nice car. I was just a sophomore—and a young one at that. At the time of this date, I was only 15. And by the time the date was over, I’d re-thought my “pretty boy, nice car” obsession, anyway.
In my diary I wrote this about the date: “If the rest of my life is going to be like my date with Brett where I feel like it’s going to awesome and it ends up just being mediocre, then just shoot me now and get it over with. I can’t stand the disappointment.”
I think we went to a football game, but maybe it was basketball season because I have a vague memory of wearing boots with my jeans. But whatever…
I remember being parked somewhere in that little CRX for about an hour before it was time for me to go home ( I had an 11pm curfew). Mostly we talked. And then there was kissing. I remember feeling awkward—like the car was too small and the gear shift was always in the way. I remember thinking about moving over to his side, but that would have put me on top of him which was not the message I was trying to send, despite his cool car and his senior class president status. So awkwardly, I stayed on my side of the car, left feeling like a new puppy licked to death by its overly excited mother. There just seemed to be a lot of saliva.
Maybe that was my fault. I was the one with braces. He had a perfect smile. I was also the one new to making out in cars. He was, afterall, the senior class president with the cool car. I might have been the first in the CRX but I wasn’t going to be the last.
So, maybe I’m to blame for the bad date. Maybe I was just inexperienced and… not sure…
When I got home, I remember feeling let down, like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz when she saw behind the curtain and the Great Oz wasn’t so great… just a regular guy.
Brett liked our date, as evidenced by the attention I kept getting from him in school. OR—now that I’m grown up with a fuller view of the world, I wonder if he felt his lack of “bases” with me in the CRX constituted a higher level of interest and energy. Whatever it was, he kept offering to take me home in the Batmobile and just as I was wondering how I was going to get out from under my association with him (so I could of course pursue someone else) there was Hank the Tank’s party—one of the biggest and craziest parties to take place that year.
Brett asked me to go with him and I said yes, even though I wasn’t that into it. But then an important business dinner out with my parents derailed Brett’s initial plans to drive me, as his date, to the party in the CRX. Instead, I planned to meet him there. That meant that my dad would have to drop me off after dinner. And by the time we rolled down the street where Hank the Tank lived, the party was in full swing and there were already people passed out on the lawn.
My dad refused to let me out of the car.
At home, alone in my bedroom, I cried that my dad didn’t trust me enough to be a good girl at a really bad party.
A few hours later, just after 11pm, the doorbell rang.
It was Brett Thomas…
BOLDLY asking my dad if it would be okay, despite the time, to sit on the porch and talk to me.
My dad was furious but in some ways at a loss for words to this kid who showed up at such a late hour hoping to have a conversation with his daughter (“Did I hear right? You want to talk to my daughter in the middle of the night, after you’ve been drinking? And what could you possibly want that can’t wait for a decent hour?”).
In the morning, my dad found a crushed Budweiser can sitting on the bumper of his new BMW—the big 7-series with a deep blue paint job that made it look like millionaire-purple in the sunlight. This car was off the hook for 1984 (which is why I’m sure my dad had parked it on the street and not in the garage). He loved that car.
But a beer can on the bumper, combined with a late night request for me, and forget about it!
There was no way I’d be able to officially go out with Brett Thomas again. And so I was saved…and on to others…
Brett came up again in college and I think he may have even married one of my sorority sisters. From our conversation outside the Brew Fest, I learned that he has no children and for some reason I think he’s divorced.
Don’t get me wrong about outing him on the extra pounds. He still looked great and really, he couldn’t have been nicer. My dad thought it was ironic (because of the can) that I would run into Brett all these years later at a Brew Fest. Me? I was excited to finally see someone I know.
I told him that I tell stories about him to my kids. How he had the batmobile and the CRX and that he was one of the coolest guys in school. Brett smiled and that made me happy.
It’s not yet time to tell the kids the other parts of the Brett Thomas story—about making out in the CRX or the incident after Hank the Tank’s party. But someday….
And then someday after that , I’ll add on the part about their daddy getting jealous while feeling a little buzzed on a hot afternoon. And for them , that will probably be the best part. In a sense, it was for me. I knew it was a long road for me to find a “lifetime boyfriend” but this story makes me think I was looking for longer than I thought.
Friday, July 15, 2011
FOUND: Great Style
I have to digress from my normal parenting banter to hoot and holler about a fashion blogger I just found.
I have always loved clothes. Getting dressed to go ANYWHERE is a fun, challenging thing for me. In the beginning, around 2nd grade, I didn't want my style to be boring or repetitive, so I wrote down what I wore to school each day. And when I had to ditch the crotched vest my grandmother gave me, that my mother made me wear... well, I had a record of everytime I did it and where I put it, so I wouldn't forget to pick it up on my way home.
By 8th grade, I monitored my designer jeans: Jordache, Calvin Klein, and Sassoon (purchased at Saks 5th Avenue in New York on the real 5th Avenue). These were jeans that couldn't be washed everyday, but I surely couldn't make the mistake of wearing my Calvins two days in a row.
I'm really tempted right now to tell my life story in clothes, but suffice it to say that although I'm now 43 years old, I still love fashion. I'm a style magazine junkie and a clothes horse. AND, for the past few years I have been looking for a cool blog that talks about fashion in a way that fits MY STYLE. I'm not a punker or one of those that get away with things that are too funky or too youthful. AND, there's my size to deal with. I am SERIOUSLY petite. At 4' 11" proportion can be challenging.
BUT I FINALLY FOUND THE PERFECT BLOG!!!
So this blog What I Wore is no big secret. Writer, Jessica Quirk has been profiled in magazines like Seventeen, marie claire, Glamour, Lucky and more. She's been on CNN and even on WTHR in Indianapolis last week when her book, "What I Wore: Four Seasons, One Closet, Endless Recipes for Personal Style" was released. This fashion blogger is everywhere!!! (See her list of press here)
It was the book that I found first--just yesterday while at Barnes and Noble on a mission for something else, I found the book and thought I'd buy now and look later. I bought it based on the title alone. I'm always looking for fashion-related gifts for my BFF Lisa Lev. We do the Nordstrom Anniversary sale together every year and we talk endlessly throughout the year about work clothes and appropriate dresses for fundraisers and weddings. It's a fun thing that has bonded us since she was in middle school and I was her MTV-era Mary Poppins babysitter.
Last night, after the kids were in bed, I picked up the book and flipped out at how cool it was. This morning, I spent some time with the blog and I'm hooked on Jessica Quirk!!
AND how cool is it that she's from Bloomington, Indiana? A fashionista, a style icon, right in my own back yard. I love it.
And not only do I love the idea of such a cool, fashion forward, writer so close to home, but I also really love the clothes. Jessica's daily outfits (which she has been recording on her blog with photo assistance from her husband, for the last FOUR YEARS!!) are the types of outfits that I would not only get inspiration from, but might also copy.
I know that most of you who read this could really care less about fashion, but I've got to plug this incredibly cute fellow IU grad.
Check it out
I have always loved clothes. Getting dressed to go ANYWHERE is a fun, challenging thing for me. In the beginning, around 2nd grade, I didn't want my style to be boring or repetitive, so I wrote down what I wore to school each day. And when I had to ditch the crotched vest my grandmother gave me, that my mother made me wear... well, I had a record of everytime I did it and where I put it, so I wouldn't forget to pick it up on my way home.
By 8th grade, I monitored my designer jeans: Jordache, Calvin Klein, and Sassoon (purchased at Saks 5th Avenue in New York on the real 5th Avenue). These were jeans that couldn't be washed everyday, but I surely couldn't make the mistake of wearing my Calvins two days in a row.
I'm really tempted right now to tell my life story in clothes, but suffice it to say that although I'm now 43 years old, I still love fashion. I'm a style magazine junkie and a clothes horse. AND, for the past few years I have been looking for a cool blog that talks about fashion in a way that fits MY STYLE. I'm not a punker or one of those that get away with things that are too funky or too youthful. AND, there's my size to deal with. I am SERIOUSLY petite. At 4' 11" proportion can be challenging.
BUT I FINALLY FOUND THE PERFECT BLOG!!!
So this blog What I Wore is no big secret. Writer, Jessica Quirk has been profiled in magazines like Seventeen, marie claire, Glamour, Lucky and more. She's been on CNN and even on WTHR in Indianapolis last week when her book, "What I Wore: Four Seasons, One Closet, Endless Recipes for Personal Style" was released. This fashion blogger is everywhere!!! (See her list of press here)
It was the book that I found first--just yesterday while at Barnes and Noble on a mission for something else, I found the book and thought I'd buy now and look later. I bought it based on the title alone. I'm always looking for fashion-related gifts for my BFF Lisa Lev. We do the Nordstrom Anniversary sale together every year and we talk endlessly throughout the year about work clothes and appropriate dresses for fundraisers and weddings. It's a fun thing that has bonded us since she was in middle school and I was her MTV-era Mary Poppins babysitter.
Last night, after the kids were in bed, I picked up the book and flipped out at how cool it was. This morning, I spent some time with the blog and I'm hooked on Jessica Quirk!!
AND how cool is it that she's from Bloomington, Indiana? A fashionista, a style icon, right in my own back yard. I love it.
And not only do I love the idea of such a cool, fashion forward, writer so close to home, but I also really love the clothes. Jessica's daily outfits (which she has been recording on her blog with photo assistance from her husband, for the last FOUR YEARS!!) are the types of outfits that I would not only get inspiration from, but might also copy.
I know that most of you who read this could really care less about fashion, but I've got to plug this incredibly cute fellow IU grad.
Check it out
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Just can't stop thinking about...
I spent the holiday weekend with my husband and kids at the country club pool and at several neighborhood parties. It was really fun to see friends that I don't spend much time with during the school year (for all the usual reasons: sports, homework, my own work, etc.). And as everyone's children have gotten older, our "catch-up" conversations were not the typical small talk of parties of the past.
I've already posted my woes and concerns about Andrew's up and coming entry into middle school here. It seems I'm not the only one with a bone to pick with today's adolescent culture. Facebook, texting, joing clubs, quitting clubs, joining sports, getting cut from sports, failing classes, becoming over-achievers, driving cars, crashing cars... there was so much to share.
One friend told a story about a friend of her neice (in Indianapolis)--straight A student, captain of the volleyball team, aged 17--caught in a 5-some at a drunken party. Another friend wasn't surprised and said even "around here" (meaning Valpo schools)it's rumored that 8th grade girls are giving blow jobs as a favor to be allowed into the high school parties. And apparently, drugs in the middle school and high school are a rising issue for families and school administrators. It's not only the usual suspects of alcohol and marijuana, but also over the counter concoctions, as well.
On Sunday, at a picnic, on what has been arguably the most beautiful day of the year so far, I sat in a folding chair with my mouth open. I felt dizzy thinking about my future with my kids.
I like to think I'm not easily shocked. I tend to be more open minded than most when it comes to talking to my kids about their bodies and sex and the culture around that. Back in the day, I worked at Planned Parenthood where I lugged a huge display case of birth control devices around to public speaking engagements. I passed out condoms at the Indiana State Fair in the early 1990's when the AIDS epidemic was still considered a gay man's cancer. I've put myself out there and have never been afraid to talk about sex.
And so maybe I should clarify: it's not that I'm shocked at the behaviors, per se...my issue is more with the kids that are making the choices. It's my idea of "good" versus "bad" behavior that is being challenged here.
In some ways, despite my experiences with the condoms at the Indiana State Fair, my morals and values are more conservative. I always believed in keeping my knees together, whether in a skirt or a tight pair of cut off jean shorts. I honored my body. My mother taught me that. My grandmother concurred. I never questioned it.
I wasn't a perfect kid nor did I probably deserve to wear a white dress on my wedding day (in the traditional sense if you know what I mean), but...
This is the thing that all of us moms were grappling with at the party-- the culture of being a girl has changed. Just look at the movies now. Female characters kick ass, take names, have sex on their own terms, love and leave just like the male characters have been doing for years.
We all agreed in our picnic conversation that seeing more options for girls is great, but as modern-day mothers, how do we handle the cultural shift? How do we support our daughters in being independent and strong, yet at the same time, set the boundry for what is acceptable (and NOT) in our families?
My mom weighs in on this beatifully... she says she felt confronted with the SAME issues when I was a teenager. She says it happens to every generation--that we think things are SO DIFFERENT, but since when does that change the core message of RESPECT YOURSELF?
According to her wisdom, the lessons you teach to your kids is the same from generation to generation, its the vocabulary (like texting and Facebook) that gets the update. And you repeat your expectations--on the big picture things and the little picture things--like a broken record. You say it and say it until they roll their eyes, until they mock you, and until they finally just sigh and walk off.
Ultimately, according to my mom, you (as the parent) should listen to what others claim is happening in the community. You should educate yourself on internet programs that monitor texting, emails and other cyber stuff. And then talk to your kids--both in a relaxed and fun way AND with the broken record stuff.
I wrote it all here because I want to clear the worry from my mind. Summer has been so fun and relaxing. I don't want to start sleepless nights before school starts. Writing records the emotion for me but clears it from my immediate attention.
And in some ways, I also want it in writing that I'm trying to do everything I can to raise good, respectful, and productive human beings.
I've already posted my woes and concerns about Andrew's up and coming entry into middle school here. It seems I'm not the only one with a bone to pick with today's adolescent culture. Facebook, texting, joing clubs, quitting clubs, joining sports, getting cut from sports, failing classes, becoming over-achievers, driving cars, crashing cars... there was so much to share.
One friend told a story about a friend of her neice (in Indianapolis)--straight A student, captain of the volleyball team, aged 17--caught in a 5-some at a drunken party. Another friend wasn't surprised and said even "around here" (meaning Valpo schools)it's rumored that 8th grade girls are giving blow jobs as a favor to be allowed into the high school parties. And apparently, drugs in the middle school and high school are a rising issue for families and school administrators. It's not only the usual suspects of alcohol and marijuana, but also over the counter concoctions, as well.
On Sunday, at a picnic, on what has been arguably the most beautiful day of the year so far, I sat in a folding chair with my mouth open. I felt dizzy thinking about my future with my kids.
I like to think I'm not easily shocked. I tend to be more open minded than most when it comes to talking to my kids about their bodies and sex and the culture around that. Back in the day, I worked at Planned Parenthood where I lugged a huge display case of birth control devices around to public speaking engagements. I passed out condoms at the Indiana State Fair in the early 1990's when the AIDS epidemic was still considered a gay man's cancer. I've put myself out there and have never been afraid to talk about sex.
And so maybe I should clarify: it's not that I'm shocked at the behaviors, per se...my issue is more with the kids that are making the choices. It's my idea of "good" versus "bad" behavior that is being challenged here.
In some ways, despite my experiences with the condoms at the Indiana State Fair, my morals and values are more conservative. I always believed in keeping my knees together, whether in a skirt or a tight pair of cut off jean shorts. I honored my body. My mother taught me that. My grandmother concurred. I never questioned it.
I wasn't a perfect kid nor did I probably deserve to wear a white dress on my wedding day (in the traditional sense if you know what I mean), but...
This is the thing that all of us moms were grappling with at the party-- the culture of being a girl has changed. Just look at the movies now. Female characters kick ass, take names, have sex on their own terms, love and leave just like the male characters have been doing for years.
We all agreed in our picnic conversation that seeing more options for girls is great, but as modern-day mothers, how do we handle the cultural shift? How do we support our daughters in being independent and strong, yet at the same time, set the boundry for what is acceptable (and NOT) in our families?
My mom weighs in on this beatifully... she says she felt confronted with the SAME issues when I was a teenager. She says it happens to every generation--that we think things are SO DIFFERENT, but since when does that change the core message of RESPECT YOURSELF?
According to her wisdom, the lessons you teach to your kids is the same from generation to generation, its the vocabulary (like texting and Facebook) that gets the update. And you repeat your expectations--on the big picture things and the little picture things--like a broken record. You say it and say it until they roll their eyes, until they mock you, and until they finally just sigh and walk off.
Ultimately, according to my mom, you (as the parent) should listen to what others claim is happening in the community. You should educate yourself on internet programs that monitor texting, emails and other cyber stuff. And then talk to your kids--both in a relaxed and fun way AND with the broken record stuff.
I wrote it all here because I want to clear the worry from my mind. Summer has been so fun and relaxing. I don't want to start sleepless nights before school starts. Writing records the emotion for me but clears it from my immediate attention.
And in some ways, I also want it in writing that I'm trying to do everything I can to raise good, respectful, and productive human beings.
Friday, July 1, 2011
Middle School, Part II
I thought each day Andrew showed up at the gym that the "outsider" feeling would diminish and that by the end of the week, he'd know at least one new person.
But that didn't happen.
This basketball workout is a tight ship---no small talk allowed. You go to play ball. You go because you love the game. You go for the sole purpose of improving your jump shot or your left lay-up--not to make friends and not to take the edge off being the NEW kid in just 60 days.
The coaches take notes and occassionally shout out, but mostly it's a hustling, sweating, fouling, street ball kind of experience, all the way down to the boys PICKING teams.
Andrew was one of the last ones to get picked each day because in middle school loyalty to your friends trumps everything in the entire world. 6th graders get picked last just because... but then if you are a NEW 6th grader... well, it's painful to watch.
I know this because I hung around for about 20 minutes each day. I hated watching what I know to be true about the culture of boys, and worse, I hated watching my own son, my awesome, sensitive, intelligent, son get the wind knocked out of his sails but take it on the chin.
But as much as I hated watching my son suck it up each day, I didn't pull him from it and I won't pull him from it until it's over. Here's why:
Being the NEW KID in 6th grade is one of those life lessons that has to be fully experienced in order to get what you need out of it. You can't tell the story about that time in 1978 when it happened to you. It's not the same.
When I was 25 and interviewed for a job in which I had limited experience, but a ton of enthusiasm and motivation to learn. I was terrified when I walked into the GROUP interview. And although there were aspects of that experience that were new to me, walking in cold (not knowing anyone and not really knowing what to expect) was not one of them. Had I not had those countless times when I felt awkward or when I was the NEW kid, it would have been a lot worse. And maybe I'd have been so nervous I wouldn't have gotten the job. But I did-- and I loved my years at the National Kidney Foundation.
When I told Andrew this story tonight, he looked bored. My whole point about having experience in my pocket--something I could draw upon when it really mattered--fell flat. And that's why this NEW KID thing is the kind of thing you have to feel down in your gut. It's transformative only when it happens that way.
So, this basketball camp (that btw goes on for three more weeks--to the end of July), just happens to be the first time that Andrew will have to walk into something new, something uncomfortable, somthing like fighting his way out of a wet paper bag. But it's not something that I can help him with--beyond pumping him up with a rap song chock full of inappropriate language set to a sick, thumping beat.
Tonight, when Andrew tried one last time to manipulate and beg his way out of returning to the gym next week, I told him that I feel for him, but that I wouldn't be doing my job as a parent if I didn't lock him out of his comfort zone a few times a year. I told him he'd thank me for it later because each time he has to do this thing where he's NEW or he's not sure of himself, he's got one more survival tale to remind himself that even if it(whatever "IT" is) makes him feel like a loser, he'll get through it in one piece.
It didn't make him feel better. As a matter of fact, with more sarcasm than I knew he had in him, he said, "Maybe when I'm 25."
I laughed a good belly laugh at that one. I told him he was funny, and since he's not yet 25, he needs to be on the down lo about the music I let him listen to in the car. I told him if I EVER hear him talking to his friends, before he's 25, in the language of Snoop Dog or Dr. Dre, I'd wash his mouth out with soap.
But that didn't happen.
This basketball workout is a tight ship---no small talk allowed. You go to play ball. You go because you love the game. You go for the sole purpose of improving your jump shot or your left lay-up--not to make friends and not to take the edge off being the NEW kid in just 60 days.
The coaches take notes and occassionally shout out, but mostly it's a hustling, sweating, fouling, street ball kind of experience, all the way down to the boys PICKING teams.
Andrew was one of the last ones to get picked each day because in middle school loyalty to your friends trumps everything in the entire world. 6th graders get picked last just because... but then if you are a NEW 6th grader... well, it's painful to watch.
I know this because I hung around for about 20 minutes each day. I hated watching what I know to be true about the culture of boys, and worse, I hated watching my own son, my awesome, sensitive, intelligent, son get the wind knocked out of his sails but take it on the chin.
But as much as I hated watching my son suck it up each day, I didn't pull him from it and I won't pull him from it until it's over. Here's why:
Being the NEW KID in 6th grade is one of those life lessons that has to be fully experienced in order to get what you need out of it. You can't tell the story about that time in 1978 when it happened to you. It's not the same.
When I was 25 and interviewed for a job in which I had limited experience, but a ton of enthusiasm and motivation to learn. I was terrified when I walked into the GROUP interview. And although there were aspects of that experience that were new to me, walking in cold (not knowing anyone and not really knowing what to expect) was not one of them. Had I not had those countless times when I felt awkward or when I was the NEW kid, it would have been a lot worse. And maybe I'd have been so nervous I wouldn't have gotten the job. But I did-- and I loved my years at the National Kidney Foundation.
When I told Andrew this story tonight, he looked bored. My whole point about having experience in my pocket--something I could draw upon when it really mattered--fell flat. And that's why this NEW KID thing is the kind of thing you have to feel down in your gut. It's transformative only when it happens that way.
So, this basketball camp (that btw goes on for three more weeks--to the end of July), just happens to be the first time that Andrew will have to walk into something new, something uncomfortable, somthing like fighting his way out of a wet paper bag. But it's not something that I can help him with--beyond pumping him up with a rap song chock full of inappropriate language set to a sick, thumping beat.
Tonight, when Andrew tried one last time to manipulate and beg his way out of returning to the gym next week, I told him that I feel for him, but that I wouldn't be doing my job as a parent if I didn't lock him out of his comfort zone a few times a year. I told him he'd thank me for it later because each time he has to do this thing where he's NEW or he's not sure of himself, he's got one more survival tale to remind himself that even if it(whatever "IT" is) makes him feel like a loser, he'll get through it in one piece.
It didn't make him feel better. As a matter of fact, with more sarcasm than I knew he had in him, he said, "Maybe when I'm 25."
I laughed a good belly laugh at that one. I told him he was funny, and since he's not yet 25, he needs to be on the down lo about the music I let him listen to in the car. I told him if I EVER hear him talking to his friends, before he's 25, in the language of Snoop Dog or Dr. Dre, I'd wash his mouth out with soap.
Monday, June 27, 2011
A Glimpse at Middle School
This morning I took Andrew to basketball open gym at the middle school. Technically the program is for 7th graders, but incoming 6th graders , like Andrew, are welcome if they can take the heat of scrimmaging with the older boys.
Since Andrew will be new to the school (i.e. know very few people: like two or three girls, at the most), Eric and I both thought it would be a good idea for Andrew to take part. He’s a great athlete and a more than decent basketball player for his age, so why not?
As a parent, these things make sense—they feel logical. But when you are an 11 year old kid sitting in a car with your mom outside of a HUGE gym watching nameless boy after nameless boy confidently hop out of a nearby car and back slap a gaggle of other nameless boys… it can be a bit nerve-wracking. Intimidating. Scary.
How could I dare forget what it’s like to be the one that nobody knows…the one that doesn’t have a partner to smile at when you awkwardly miss a lay-up…the one that feels like the only outsider that EVER LIVED????
I’m sorry Andrew.
As his mom, I knew his personality, his smile, and his skills would earn him at least one friend by the end of the workout, but I admit that I blatantly overlooked what Andrew would have to go through to get that point—especially with a gym filled with mostly boys who recently put 6th grade behind them.
Since when did the litmus test for cool slide back down to middle school? It’s just too soon!! Between ages 11 and 14, we’re all awkward. By the standards of empirical science it’s been proven that our bodies AND our minds AND our souls are still evolving. In middle school we’re fragile pieces of tissue paper that can rip apart and blow away at the slightest wind.
“Let’s just hang back for a few.”
That’s what Andrew said as he watched the nameless boys.
My heart broke into a million pieces to see the angst in his face—to feel the uncertainty polluting the air I took into my body at each breathe.
There was nothing I could say to make the situation any better. He just needed to open the door, plunge into it.
He knew it too, but he waited it out a bit more.
I hit the button on the cd player, igniting the explicit version of The Next Episode by Dr Dre and Snoop Dog. Cuz what else can you do for a middle school boy getting ready to open the car door into his first test of cool vs. uncool, baller vs. wannabe, friend vs. nameless kid?
Middle school: it’s an urban war or sorts.
My nigga turn that shit up…
He tapped his foot.
And if yo ass get cracked, bitch shut your trap…
He laughed.
Whoopty whoop nigga what…
His head bobbed in time to the music.
Compton, Long Beach, Englewood…
The car door slammed. I watched his back as he entered the gym.
Since Andrew will be new to the school (i.e. know very few people: like two or three girls, at the most), Eric and I both thought it would be a good idea for Andrew to take part. He’s a great athlete and a more than decent basketball player for his age, so why not?
As a parent, these things make sense—they feel logical. But when you are an 11 year old kid sitting in a car with your mom outside of a HUGE gym watching nameless boy after nameless boy confidently hop out of a nearby car and back slap a gaggle of other nameless boys… it can be a bit nerve-wracking. Intimidating. Scary.
How could I dare forget what it’s like to be the one that nobody knows…the one that doesn’t have a partner to smile at when you awkwardly miss a lay-up…the one that feels like the only outsider that EVER LIVED????
I’m sorry Andrew.
As his mom, I knew his personality, his smile, and his skills would earn him at least one friend by the end of the workout, but I admit that I blatantly overlooked what Andrew would have to go through to get that point—especially with a gym filled with mostly boys who recently put 6th grade behind them.
Since when did the litmus test for cool slide back down to middle school? It’s just too soon!! Between ages 11 and 14, we’re all awkward. By the standards of empirical science it’s been proven that our bodies AND our minds AND our souls are still evolving. In middle school we’re fragile pieces of tissue paper that can rip apart and blow away at the slightest wind.
“Let’s just hang back for a few.”
That’s what Andrew said as he watched the nameless boys.
My heart broke into a million pieces to see the angst in his face—to feel the uncertainty polluting the air I took into my body at each breathe.
There was nothing I could say to make the situation any better. He just needed to open the door, plunge into it.
He knew it too, but he waited it out a bit more.
I hit the button on the cd player, igniting the explicit version of The Next Episode by Dr Dre and Snoop Dog. Cuz what else can you do for a middle school boy getting ready to open the car door into his first test of cool vs. uncool, baller vs. wannabe, friend vs. nameless kid?
Middle school: it’s an urban war or sorts.
My nigga turn that shit up…
He tapped his foot.
And if yo ass get cracked, bitch shut your trap…
He laughed.
Whoopty whoop nigga what…
His head bobbed in time to the music.
Compton, Long Beach, Englewood…
The car door slammed. I watched his back as he entered the gym.
Monday, June 13, 2011
President Barack Obama slept here
We spent the day at the pool, under the shade of a pool cabana, with nice, attentive service from a cabana waitress (Leela). Over the course of delivering lots of iced tea for me, Corona Light for Eric, and a barrage of junky stuff for the kids, Leela told us that President Obama stayed here two summers ago when he took his family to the Grand Canyon, and guess what? He stayed in our room--the jumbo suite with five TVs, three bathrooms, a fireplace, a grand piano...
Well, you know what I'm talking about because I posted it already.
We've spent most of day alternating between patting ourselves on the back or marveling over our luck at getting the biggest, most luxurious room in the hotel. And once we got tired of that, we started the game, "Did Obama Do That?"
It's pretty easy: I take a shower and then when I get out someone asks, "Do you think Obama used this shower when he was here?" Or, I make a phone call from our room to the front desk and someone will say, "I wonder if Obama used this phone?" Did Obama sit here? How about the First Lady? What about the girls? Did they sleep in the same bed where Andrew and Adrienne are sleeping?
This morning we found a kitchen behind a door we thought was a closet. That goes to show how big this place is.. And of course, the question came up: "Do you think the Obamas used this refrigerator?" Did they go to restaurants or did they have hotel staff (or secret service?) bring them food?
We've had several discussions about how cool it would be to be the president or a celebrity who has access to this kind of luxury all the time. But ultimately we all conceded that the loss of privacy-- the ability to sit in a pool cabana all day without a care from any other hotel guests about we are doing far outweighs constant access to luxury. And then Andrew noted that the responsibility of war is a huge price to pay for a 3000 square foot hotel suite that you might get anyway, if you're lucky--like us.
Well, you know what I'm talking about because I posted it already.
We've spent most of day alternating between patting ourselves on the back or marveling over our luck at getting the biggest, most luxurious room in the hotel. And once we got tired of that, we started the game, "Did Obama Do That?"
It's pretty easy: I take a shower and then when I get out someone asks, "Do you think Obama used this shower when he was here?" Or, I make a phone call from our room to the front desk and someone will say, "I wonder if Obama used this phone?" Did Obama sit here? How about the First Lady? What about the girls? Did they sleep in the same bed where Andrew and Adrienne are sleeping?
This morning we found a kitchen behind a door we thought was a closet. That goes to show how big this place is.. And of course, the question came up: "Do you think the Obamas used this refrigerator?" Did they go to restaurants or did they have hotel staff (or secret service?) bring them food?
We've had several discussions about how cool it would be to be the president or a celebrity who has access to this kind of luxury all the time. But ultimately we all conceded that the loss of privacy-- the ability to sit in a pool cabana all day without a care from any other hotel guests about we are doing far outweighs constant access to luxury. And then Andrew noted that the responsibility of war is a huge price to pay for a 3000 square foot hotel suite that you might get anyway, if you're lucky--like us.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Into the great wide open
I'm posting from my iPad so I won't be able to add pictures. Although later in the week I might have figured out a way to email from my phone to upload from there. But for now, I want to make sure I document as I go with text.
We left for Arizona this morning. Eric didn't want me to post that on the Internet even though we have someone physically staying at our house. He's paranoid of theft at all times, even when we're home, so I'm opening my big mouth anyway.
Our hotel, The Phoenician, is AWESOME!!!! AND... You wouldn't believe our luck... They upgraded us to The Presidential Suite which is about 3000 square feet. We have two bedrooms, a steam shower, a fireplace, a piano, three sitting rooms, five flat screen TVs, three bathrooms, a dining room with seating for 8, and a deck that stretches across the side of the building. It is the most incredible thing!
Here are two funny things about the upgrade:
1. On Wednesday, we'll be sleeping in a hole in the wall hotel on Route 66 followed by three nights in a small tent (more than likely Eric with Andrew in one tent and me with Adrienne in another) with our last night at a Courtyard at Marriott. And it's that way because that's the camping part of the trip. So, we definitely are in the lap of luxury right now.
2. Luxury upgrades don't happen to me everyday, but this has happened to me before. Yes, it's true. When I was pregnant with Adrienne it happened at the Four Seasons in Las Vegas. Eric and I were away for a weekend alone and the hotel was full. We'd been in the heat for hours even if we were by the pool. The front desk clerk felt sorry for my wilted hair and my pallid complexion combined with my baby bump. Maybe to rid us from the air-conditioned lobby or maybe she just felt sorry for us-- she put us in the Presidental Suite on the top floor with a full view of the strip, china service for 12, and a load of other luxurious amenities. Mostly, Eric and is at in the room listening to Harry Potter #4 taking full advantage if the Dolby surround sound. It was so wonderful.
So, here we are again in the lap of luxury. I am counting my blessings and feeling TOTALLY lucky!
We left for Arizona this morning. Eric didn't want me to post that on the Internet even though we have someone physically staying at our house. He's paranoid of theft at all times, even when we're home, so I'm opening my big mouth anyway.
Our hotel, The Phoenician, is AWESOME!!!! AND... You wouldn't believe our luck... They upgraded us to The Presidential Suite which is about 3000 square feet. We have two bedrooms, a steam shower, a fireplace, a piano, three sitting rooms, five flat screen TVs, three bathrooms, a dining room with seating for 8, and a deck that stretches across the side of the building. It is the most incredible thing!
Here are two funny things about the upgrade:
1. On Wednesday, we'll be sleeping in a hole in the wall hotel on Route 66 followed by three nights in a small tent (more than likely Eric with Andrew in one tent and me with Adrienne in another) with our last night at a Courtyard at Marriott. And it's that way because that's the camping part of the trip. So, we definitely are in the lap of luxury right now.
2. Luxury upgrades don't happen to me everyday, but this has happened to me before. Yes, it's true. When I was pregnant with Adrienne it happened at the Four Seasons in Las Vegas. Eric and I were away for a weekend alone and the hotel was full. We'd been in the heat for hours even if we were by the pool. The front desk clerk felt sorry for my wilted hair and my pallid complexion combined with my baby bump. Maybe to rid us from the air-conditioned lobby or maybe she just felt sorry for us-- she put us in the Presidental Suite on the top floor with a full view of the strip, china service for 12, and a load of other luxurious amenities. Mostly, Eric and is at in the room listening to Harry Potter #4 taking full advantage if the Dolby surround sound. It was so wonderful.
So, here we are again in the lap of luxury. I am counting my blessings and feeling TOTALLY lucky!
Thursday, June 9, 2011
One last thing about my birthday...
In preparation for the two and half days I’ll be lounging by the pool at a beautiful resort (see The Phoenecian), I got my nails done: fingers and toes!!
A mani/pedi combo defines luxury for me. And even though the color and perfection of my nails will be do me no good this time next week (remember the hiking/camping portion of the trip?), I went for it. Plus, I had a birthday gift certificate from a very generous friend.
While I was relaxing with my feet in the bubbly pool of warm water, thanking my friend for knowing THIS was just what I needed AND thanking the universe for giving me a FRIEND who knows THIS is just what I needed, I realized that I wouldn’t be able to let my birthday go just yet.
Besides posting my toes, there are a few special things I want to pass along—acts of kindness towards me on my birthday that deserve a little shout out.
I want to remember Adrienne’s gifts: how she went around the house and collected things that I already own and wrapped them up. She said, “Sometimes it’s fun to see your old stuff as new stuff.” I like that she is so effortlessly profound about a bar of soap from Pier One circa 2007, a mini notebook (already noted on several pages), a painted frame she gave me last year for Mother’s Day AND my 42nd birthday, and a Ziploc of gummi bears.
But then there was the note that she gave me that reminded me how she’s also effortlessly kind. She wrote me a happy birthday greeting and then had HER WHOLE 3rd GRADE CLASS sign too.
I want to remember the “Adopt-a-Pilot” assignment that Andrew did earlier in the year that just happened, on my birthday, to show up in his school “mail” (his homework and other class assignments from the previous week). Andrew was asked to identify a person in his life that reminds him of airline pilot and why. He wrote about ME!! Yes, me, his mom. Why? He said I’m fearless. (Really? Me?) At first, I thought my 11 year old was plugging easy information into a boring and random question but his answer made me cry and feel proud of him (and me!).
Andrew wrote that I am fearless because of the small things that I do in my everyday life that make other people nervous—like talking in front of a class every day. He said that even though I am old (HA!!!) that I try things like rock climbing and canoeing even if I know that I won’t be good at them.
But he really got me when he wrote this: “She cried at a public reading of one of her essays. She cried in front of all these people and I thought she would be embarrassed. At bedtime she told me she was embarrassed but got over it because her crying was a true feeling. She told me that telling the truth is important. She always tells the truth and so most of all, that makes my mom fearless.”
I’m crying right now trying to finish this post. Isn’t that the most beautiful gift a mom could ever get? But there was more…
I want to remember that Robin called me—actually rang me up on my home phone (!!!) to say happy birthday. I sat in the living room talking and laughing like a teenager with a best friend. It was priceless and thoughtful and serendipitous all in one!
I want to remember that I got over 100 well wishes on Facebook. And I know that happens to lots of people of their birthdays too. But I especially loved the way my wall of messages listed out the names of friends past and present, from my childhood friends to students I had in class last semester. There’s a THIS IS YOUR LIFE feeling to seeing so many names and corresponding little pics, popping up in no particular order to say “Happy Birthday.” It made me feel popular and loved and more a part of the world than I feel on a regular old day.
A huge HUG and a huge THANK YOU to the entire universe for making the first day of my 43rd year SO AWESOME!!
And now, I promise, my birthday is over and I’ll move on.
A mani/pedi combo defines luxury for me. And even though the color and perfection of my nails will be do me no good this time next week (remember the hiking/camping portion of the trip?), I went for it. Plus, I had a birthday gift certificate from a very generous friend.
While I was relaxing with my feet in the bubbly pool of warm water, thanking my friend for knowing THIS was just what I needed AND thanking the universe for giving me a FRIEND who knows THIS is just what I needed, I realized that I wouldn’t be able to let my birthday go just yet.
Besides posting my toes, there are a few special things I want to pass along—acts of kindness towards me on my birthday that deserve a little shout out.
I want to remember Adrienne’s gifts: how she went around the house and collected things that I already own and wrapped them up. She said, “Sometimes it’s fun to see your old stuff as new stuff.” I like that she is so effortlessly profound about a bar of soap from Pier One circa 2007, a mini notebook (already noted on several pages), a painted frame she gave me last year for Mother’s Day AND my 42nd birthday, and a Ziploc of gummi bears.
But then there was the note that she gave me that reminded me how she’s also effortlessly kind. She wrote me a happy birthday greeting and then had HER WHOLE 3rd GRADE CLASS sign too.
I want to remember the “Adopt-a-Pilot” assignment that Andrew did earlier in the year that just happened, on my birthday, to show up in his school “mail” (his homework and other class assignments from the previous week). Andrew was asked to identify a person in his life that reminds him of airline pilot and why. He wrote about ME!! Yes, me, his mom. Why? He said I’m fearless. (Really? Me?) At first, I thought my 11 year old was plugging easy information into a boring and random question but his answer made me cry and feel proud of him (and me!).
Andrew wrote that I am fearless because of the small things that I do in my everyday life that make other people nervous—like talking in front of a class every day. He said that even though I am old (HA!!!) that I try things like rock climbing and canoeing even if I know that I won’t be good at them.
But he really got me when he wrote this: “She cried at a public reading of one of her essays. She cried in front of all these people and I thought she would be embarrassed. At bedtime she told me she was embarrassed but got over it because her crying was a true feeling. She told me that telling the truth is important. She always tells the truth and so most of all, that makes my mom fearless.”
I’m crying right now trying to finish this post. Isn’t that the most beautiful gift a mom could ever get? But there was more…
I want to remember that Robin called me—actually rang me up on my home phone (!!!) to say happy birthday. I sat in the living room talking and laughing like a teenager with a best friend. It was priceless and thoughtful and serendipitous all in one!
I want to remember that I got over 100 well wishes on Facebook. And I know that happens to lots of people of their birthdays too. But I especially loved the way my wall of messages listed out the names of friends past and present, from my childhood friends to students I had in class last semester. There’s a THIS IS YOUR LIFE feeling to seeing so many names and corresponding little pics, popping up in no particular order to say “Happy Birthday.” It made me feel popular and loved and more a part of the world than I feel on a regular old day.
A huge HUG and a huge THANK YOU to the entire universe for making the first day of my 43rd year SO AWESOME!!
And now, I promise, my birthday is over and I’ll move on.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
As long as there's cake...
I grew up with this mantra: "As long as there's cake, it's still your birthday."
Since I got a cake AND a pie this year, I thought for sure I'd celebrate all week long. But, despite the fact that the cake (Lemon Chiffon) was not as decorative or elaborate as what Eric usually makes
Or despite the fact that blueberry pie is not traditional birthday fare,
both are now officially gone--eaten, mowed, scarffed down, shop vac-ed--making my 43rd celebration officially over. Drat.
Eric asked me today why I think I love being the birthday girl so much. "I can't get over how much you like having a birthday" were his exact words.
And it is true that it's something I look forward to all year. But I think it's not for the reasons that some might think. Although I like the dinner out and the gifts the kids get or make, and I like cake and the singing, I'm not crazy about the superficial part of birthdays. It's more than that.
A June birthday means the end of school is near and the beginning of summer is here. My birthday marks the beginning of lazy days in a lawn chair reading a book or sipping ice tea at the pool. It means staying up late into the night, listening to the bugs, sometimes playing flashlight tag. It means I don't have to get up early to pack lunches for a few months and I don't have to deal with homework and book reports and state projects. It means I can wear flip flops, have my windows down when I drive with the music loud. It means a vacation to a sandy spot is probably just around the corner. My birthday is the start of all the stuff that I love most in life.
So the cake AND the pie are gone, but the summer is just beginning...finally!! And that can be celebrated lots more days to come!
Since I got a cake AND a pie this year, I thought for sure I'd celebrate all week long. But, despite the fact that the cake (Lemon Chiffon) was not as decorative or elaborate as what Eric usually makes
Or despite the fact that blueberry pie is not traditional birthday fare,
both are now officially gone--eaten, mowed, scarffed down, shop vac-ed--making my 43rd celebration officially over. Drat.
Eric asked me today why I think I love being the birthday girl so much. "I can't get over how much you like having a birthday" were his exact words.
And it is true that it's something I look forward to all year. But I think it's not for the reasons that some might think. Although I like the dinner out and the gifts the kids get or make, and I like cake and the singing, I'm not crazy about the superficial part of birthdays. It's more than that.
A June birthday means the end of school is near and the beginning of summer is here. My birthday marks the beginning of lazy days in a lawn chair reading a book or sipping ice tea at the pool. It means staying up late into the night, listening to the bugs, sometimes playing flashlight tag. It means I don't have to get up early to pack lunches for a few months and I don't have to deal with homework and book reports and state projects. It means I can wear flip flops, have my windows down when I drive with the music loud. It means a vacation to a sandy spot is probably just around the corner. My birthday is the start of all the stuff that I love most in life.
So the cake AND the pie are gone, but the summer is just beginning...finally!! And that can be celebrated lots more days to come!
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Angst and Anxiety
One week from today we leave for our summer trip. Here's the first stop:
It's The Phoenecian in Scottsdale, Arizona. We front loaded the trip with a few days of rest and relaxation because the last five days will be spent here:
We'll depart the Phoenix area with our group--guides and other families signed up through the Austin Lehmam Adventure Travel Company--arrive in Sedona later in the day then take off again to our final destination (in the van, anyway), somewhere around Flagstaff. We'll be hiking each day (sometimes up to 10 miles per trip)and camping outside under the stars amidst red rock and natural waterfalls.
I am very excited to go, but also full of angst and anxiety. I worry that the hiking part of the trip will be too hot or maybe too rigorous for the kids. I worry about what to pack, despite the fact that Austin Lehman has provided a list. I just generally worry. It's my curse.
Deep down I know the trip will be an absolute blast, but the unknowns always haunt me in the middle of the night. I don't want to be without something I need or have too much stuff to carry. It's that balancing act that I've been working on today and will fine tune as the week goes by.
For now, here's the stuff all laid out just waiting for the bags and the final check.
Just six days to go.
It's The Phoenecian in Scottsdale, Arizona. We front loaded the trip with a few days of rest and relaxation because the last five days will be spent here:
We'll depart the Phoenix area with our group--guides and other families signed up through the Austin Lehmam Adventure Travel Company--arrive in Sedona later in the day then take off again to our final destination (in the van, anyway), somewhere around Flagstaff. We'll be hiking each day (sometimes up to 10 miles per trip)and camping outside under the stars amidst red rock and natural waterfalls.
I am very excited to go, but also full of angst and anxiety. I worry that the hiking part of the trip will be too hot or maybe too rigorous for the kids. I worry about what to pack, despite the fact that Austin Lehman has provided a list. I just generally worry. It's my curse.
Deep down I know the trip will be an absolute blast, but the unknowns always haunt me in the middle of the night. I don't want to be without something I need or have too much stuff to carry. It's that balancing act that I've been working on today and will fine tune as the week goes by.
For now, here's the stuff all laid out just waiting for the bags and the final check.
Just six days to go.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Ammended Swag, Awesome Cookies
I had to ammend the swag bags for the teachers. Although I worked tirelessly for a few days in Microsoft Publisher on a little summer booklet, I didn't get the chance to print or assemble. Instead, I had to make cookies. Not for the bags. For the bake sale. The last 5th grade service project of the year.
Evidently the notice of the bake sale/service project came home over a week ago, but Andrew has already entered the middle school twilight zone and isn't so great about passing along important school information anymore. This notice made it clear that the 5th grader should make the bake sale item,supervised, but on his own, and was due in school on Thursday morning.
I love to cook and am pretty good at it most of the time. But baking? I'd say I'm more hit than miss. I'm just not good with the details and the specifics of a cake or cookie recipe. I'm fine with a box mix, but even those final products tend to suck when compared to something that Eric does with flour and sugar and a rolling pin. He's the baker in this house, FOR SURE!! Let me just offer up this photo of the cake Eric made for Adrienne's 5th birthday and then his follow up for the 6th.
Wednesday morning at breakfast when Andrew finally remembers the bake sale and remembers to pass along the information and requirements, I immediately think this task is perfect to pawn off on Daddy. Afterall, he is the baker. Let him do a school project for once.
I love Eric. He's a great dad and very involved, but let's face it: most (strike that--ALL) school projects always fall on me. I'm the one filling pop bottles with rice and spray painting the syrofoam ball/head to create an Abraham Lincoln. Or I'm the one who searches all over town for a rubber guinea pig that JUST HAS to go in Andrew's book report diorama. The things we've done this year with shoe boxes, tri-fold posterboards, and artist's pastels is mind boggling to me.
For a non-crafty person its very stressful to have to rise to such achievement with rubber cement and construction paper. But don't get me wrong, I am happy doing it. It's part of the mommy gig. But given the chance to be off the hook for one thing? I'll take it.
Then I remembered that Eric works most evenings. He sees patients from 2pm -7pm which pretty much rules out any baking in the evening. And since Andrew really gave no advance notice on this thing, I've got to be the one. As usual, it's me--all me.
My plan was to have Andrew do the majority of the baking. I'd just supervise and maybe with that arrangement we'd actually end up with an edible baked good. But then Andrew arrived home from school on Wednesday with a soar throat and a weird rash on his chest. He was in bed by 7pm and I was left to my own devices with the cookies.
I would have been much more comfortable assembling the summer booklets for the teacher appreciation swag bags. Actually, I was feeling a bit more than bitter that Eric was working, Andrew had gone to bed and I was left with a baking project when I'd rather be working on a paper project of my own creation. And in sulking about that, I decided to make labels for our cookie bags first. I named us THE HOUSE OF HEIN BAKERY and gave us this cute little house logo.
When finished with the printed labels for my cookie bags, I had primed the creative pump and was ready to bake. I decided on sugar cookies because not only did they appear to be the quickest cookie to bake, but the ingredient list and instructions were also the shortest.
I channelled my "patience is a virtue" gene and took my time--assembling wet ingredients in one bowl, dry in the other, then merging only when advised by the recipe. I beat the batter for exactly the right amount of time and followed every instruction to the letter, including cookie size and bake time.
The end result actually turned out pretty good. I thought my cookies were very tasty--not too sweet, but with the perfect "not too soft not too hard" texture. I won't be baking at Christmas side by side with Eric the baker-extroadinaire, but these sugar cookies I whipped up were perfect for the bake sale.
On Thursday morning, Andrew was pleased with the packaging and seemed moderately impressed with the cookie itself. He liked the texture, although he commented that he would have liked to taste the cookie right out of the oven to be sure he liked them. I did feel a bit stung by that comment, but it's baking we're talking about. I took it in stride.
Yesterday after school, the kids told me that THE HOUSE OF HEIN BAKERY sugar cookies were the first to go. I did package three cookies to a bag for 50 cents to ensure value, but I also thought a high quantity to low price ratio would ensure sales and give my cookies a perceived popularity that I might not have other obtained in a taste test.
This week has been busy, but chock full of success. And for my self-evaluation of this weeks' tasks? I'd have to say, "She shoots, she scores!" Enjoy your holiday weekend!
Evidently the notice of the bake sale/service project came home over a week ago, but Andrew has already entered the middle school twilight zone and isn't so great about passing along important school information anymore. This notice made it clear that the 5th grader should make the bake sale item,supervised, but on his own, and was due in school on Thursday morning.
I love to cook and am pretty good at it most of the time. But baking? I'd say I'm more hit than miss. I'm just not good with the details and the specifics of a cake or cookie recipe. I'm fine with a box mix, but even those final products tend to suck when compared to something that Eric does with flour and sugar and a rolling pin. He's the baker in this house, FOR SURE!! Let me just offer up this photo of the cake Eric made for Adrienne's 5th birthday and then his follow up for the 6th.
Wednesday morning at breakfast when Andrew finally remembers the bake sale and remembers to pass along the information and requirements, I immediately think this task is perfect to pawn off on Daddy. Afterall, he is the baker. Let him do a school project for once.
I love Eric. He's a great dad and very involved, but let's face it: most (strike that--ALL) school projects always fall on me. I'm the one filling pop bottles with rice and spray painting the syrofoam ball/head to create an Abraham Lincoln. Or I'm the one who searches all over town for a rubber guinea pig that JUST HAS to go in Andrew's book report diorama. The things we've done this year with shoe boxes, tri-fold posterboards, and artist's pastels is mind boggling to me.
For a non-crafty person its very stressful to have to rise to such achievement with rubber cement and construction paper. But don't get me wrong, I am happy doing it. It's part of the mommy gig. But given the chance to be off the hook for one thing? I'll take it.
Then I remembered that Eric works most evenings. He sees patients from 2pm -7pm which pretty much rules out any baking in the evening. And since Andrew really gave no advance notice on this thing, I've got to be the one. As usual, it's me--all me.
My plan was to have Andrew do the majority of the baking. I'd just supervise and maybe with that arrangement we'd actually end up with an edible baked good. But then Andrew arrived home from school on Wednesday with a soar throat and a weird rash on his chest. He was in bed by 7pm and I was left to my own devices with the cookies.
I would have been much more comfortable assembling the summer booklets for the teacher appreciation swag bags. Actually, I was feeling a bit more than bitter that Eric was working, Andrew had gone to bed and I was left with a baking project when I'd rather be working on a paper project of my own creation. And in sulking about that, I decided to make labels for our cookie bags first. I named us THE HOUSE OF HEIN BAKERY and gave us this cute little house logo.
When finished with the printed labels for my cookie bags, I had primed the creative pump and was ready to bake. I decided on sugar cookies because not only did they appear to be the quickest cookie to bake, but the ingredient list and instructions were also the shortest.
I channelled my "patience is a virtue" gene and took my time--assembling wet ingredients in one bowl, dry in the other, then merging only when advised by the recipe. I beat the batter for exactly the right amount of time and followed every instruction to the letter, including cookie size and bake time.
The end result actually turned out pretty good. I thought my cookies were very tasty--not too sweet, but with the perfect "not too soft not too hard" texture. I won't be baking at Christmas side by side with Eric the baker-extroadinaire, but these sugar cookies I whipped up were perfect for the bake sale.
On Thursday morning, Andrew was pleased with the packaging and seemed moderately impressed with the cookie itself. He liked the texture, although he commented that he would have liked to taste the cookie right out of the oven to be sure he liked them. I did feel a bit stung by that comment, but it's baking we're talking about. I took it in stride.
Yesterday after school, the kids told me that THE HOUSE OF HEIN BAKERY sugar cookies were the first to go. I did package three cookies to a bag for 50 cents to ensure value, but I also thought a high quantity to low price ratio would ensure sales and give my cookies a perceived popularity that I might not have other obtained in a taste test.
This week has been busy, but chock full of success. And for my self-evaluation of this weeks' tasks? I'd have to say, "She shoots, she scores!" Enjoy your holiday weekend!
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Nothing like a little swag...
One of my favorite things to do, buy, and put together is a gift bag.
When my kids were in preschool, you should have seen the treat bags I did for holiday parties at school or for birthday parties here at home. It is a shame that I never took a picture or even saved one of my creations to show here. I guess you'll just have to trust me when I say that I really missed my calling as a SWAG BAG GODDESS.
This year's recipients of the ultimate swag from the Hein's are the teachers at the kids' school. Since we are jumping ship and heading towards public education in the fall, I wanted to give something fun and special to the women who spend seven hours a day dedicated to making my kids smarter, more productive, better citizens.
As a teacher myself, I love summer vacation and I'm an expert chilling out. I love a good book, an occassional ice cream cone, a big glass of iced tea, and a funky tote of HUGE proportions to carry everything I need to take off on an adventure at a moment's notice. So that was the inspiration for these cute little generic tote bags I DIY'd and filled with summer stuff.
First, I have good IDEAS, but I am not CRAFTY. That usually handicaps me when I have these projects in mind, but it also gets my mind working for ways around sewing, drawing, and other such skills I don't possess.
If I was Oprah, I would have bought really cool Lands End totes with names embroidered on them, but I am not Oprah so my budget limited me to Michael's. The bags were $4.99 and the iron-on decal was $3.99. I chose GREEN messages for the totes which meant the ink was soy ink (as oppossed to what? I have no idea other than the fact that the ink must be chemical). I had a terrible time getting the decal onto the bag. I used the iron at the wool setting as advised AND I used the cotton press cloth, as advised. It took about 20 minutes to finally get the image on the tote. That was difficult, but in the end, cute, cute, cute!!
Inside the bag, I added these items:
A travel-sized sun screen and bug spray along with a to-go tumbler (bpa free, dishwasher safe, and no sweat exterior!) and a box of individual servings of lemonade. I included a book (depending on the teacher) and a $10 gift certificate to Dairy Queen.
The Happy Book is a worth a look if you are not familiar with it. It is a great gift for almost any occassion. I like to give it for 40th birthdays (there are ton of those going on around here) wrapped up in a box with a boat-load of Smarties candies or a jar full of gummy bears. That will make anyone feel special and young at heart.
But if The Happy Book isn't appropriate for your teachers (and it certainly didn't fit everyone on my list), I also did Puzzle books like this one:
And even one of random acts of kindness like this one:
If I were Oprah, my teacher swag bag would also include a monogrammed beach towel, a cool pair of Marc Jacobs sunglasses, and a gift certificate for a pedicure. But again... I'm not Oprah. And lucky for me, these teachers are not me. Unlike me, they don't care about Marc Jacobs sunglasses. They are grateful and humble and awesome human beings who will definitely appreciate the bug spray when the total bug-o-rama begins in the heat of July.
And I'm sure these teachers that spent the school year assigning DIY state reports and book reports will LOVE and appreciate the "summer booklet" I made in Microsoft Publisher which includes directions on how to play Flashlight tag, words to two jump rope songs, and a recipe for barbeque chicken and homemade ice cream (post photo here).
Gift giving makes me so happy and I am super excited to end Teacher Appreciation Week on Friday with these gifts for the teachers and staff at my kids' school.
When my kids were in preschool, you should have seen the treat bags I did for holiday parties at school or for birthday parties here at home. It is a shame that I never took a picture or even saved one of my creations to show here. I guess you'll just have to trust me when I say that I really missed my calling as a SWAG BAG GODDESS.
This year's recipients of the ultimate swag from the Hein's are the teachers at the kids' school. Since we are jumping ship and heading towards public education in the fall, I wanted to give something fun and special to the women who spend seven hours a day dedicated to making my kids smarter, more productive, better citizens.
As a teacher myself, I love summer vacation and I'm an expert chilling out. I love a good book, an occassional ice cream cone, a big glass of iced tea, and a funky tote of HUGE proportions to carry everything I need to take off on an adventure at a moment's notice. So that was the inspiration for these cute little generic tote bags I DIY'd and filled with summer stuff.
First, I have good IDEAS, but I am not CRAFTY. That usually handicaps me when I have these projects in mind, but it also gets my mind working for ways around sewing, drawing, and other such skills I don't possess.
If I was Oprah, I would have bought really cool Lands End totes with names embroidered on them, but I am not Oprah so my budget limited me to Michael's. The bags were $4.99 and the iron-on decal was $3.99. I chose GREEN messages for the totes which meant the ink was soy ink (as oppossed to what? I have no idea other than the fact that the ink must be chemical). I had a terrible time getting the decal onto the bag. I used the iron at the wool setting as advised AND I used the cotton press cloth, as advised. It took about 20 minutes to finally get the image on the tote. That was difficult, but in the end, cute, cute, cute!!
Inside the bag, I added these items:
A travel-sized sun screen and bug spray along with a to-go tumbler (bpa free, dishwasher safe, and no sweat exterior!) and a box of individual servings of lemonade. I included a book (depending on the teacher) and a $10 gift certificate to Dairy Queen.
The Happy Book is a worth a look if you are not familiar with it. It is a great gift for almost any occassion. I like to give it for 40th birthdays (there are ton of those going on around here) wrapped up in a box with a boat-load of Smarties candies or a jar full of gummy bears. That will make anyone feel special and young at heart.
But if The Happy Book isn't appropriate for your teachers (and it certainly didn't fit everyone on my list), I also did Puzzle books like this one:
And even one of random acts of kindness like this one:
If I were Oprah, my teacher swag bag would also include a monogrammed beach towel, a cool pair of Marc Jacobs sunglasses, and a gift certificate for a pedicure. But again... I'm not Oprah. And lucky for me, these teachers are not me. Unlike me, they don't care about Marc Jacobs sunglasses. They are grateful and humble and awesome human beings who will definitely appreciate the bug spray when the total bug-o-rama begins in the heat of July.
And I'm sure these teachers that spent the school year assigning DIY state reports and book reports will LOVE and appreciate the "summer booklet" I made in Microsoft Publisher which includes directions on how to play Flashlight tag, words to two jump rope songs, and a recipe for barbeque chicken and homemade ice cream (post photo here).
Gift giving makes me so happy and I am super excited to end Teacher Appreciation Week on Friday with these gifts for the teachers and staff at my kids' school.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
A little green with envy...
“Start a blog” is on my MONDO BEYONDO list.
One of my friends wrote me over the weekend, suggesting I cross this creation off the list and feel happy that I’ve accomplished something here—on the road to making my dreams come true. I agreed in my return email, but feel that I need to clarify “Start a blog” for all of you. My wish or goal with starting a blog is a bit more loaded than just starting.
Let me begin with a little back-story…
There are several blogs that I read on a regular basis (Superhero Journal, Jen Lemon, What Kate Did Next, tam.me, Orangette, and Ali Edwards)
But there is ONE in particular that I LOVE: Planting Dandelions.
Formerly known as “Notes to Self.” I found this blog about five years ago, evidently when the writer, Kyran Pittman, had just gotten it off the ground. From her home in Little Rock, Arkansas, Kyran wrote about her daily thoughts on marriage, children, financial insecurity, family, writing, laundry—you name it. If it was on her mind, she wrote it down eloquently and with humor and optimism. I was in the same boat with marriage, children, and laundry. I read her experiences with a nod of the head as if they were my own because quite honestly I was living almost the same life behind another computer. It felt reassuring.
I was especially tickled when Kyran got picked up by Good Housekeeping magazine. In her first assignment, she wrote a feature about how realistic (or NOT!) it is to wear expensive, designer clothes when you are a mom in a little town on a shoestring budget. GH flew Kyran to New York where she was fitted with a pair of Manolo Blahnik shoes, a Burberry raincoat, a pair of Prada pants, and a big ass Louis Vuitton bag. At home in Little Rock, she test drove the couture and wrote a charming article about her experience with it. I got such a kick out of her perspective and her writing that I bought 12 copies of the magazine and distributed them to my friends, telling all of them the story of finding her on-line and then seeing her in the pages of a magazine that I love, writing about something I could totally relate to.
I was in grad school at the time and struggling with my creative voice. And although I was writing every day, Kyran was living the writing life I wanted. Exhausted by my memoir project in class, feeling too spent to let my hair down on a blog, I often times let Kyran’s writing speak for me by sending HER posts to friends and family with emails that just said, “DITTO!”
At one point, I got the chance to meet Kyran at a blogging conference in Houston (February 2009) where she talked about scoring a regular spot with Good Housekeeping AND landing a book deal(Planting Dandelions). She was just as nice in person as she is on the screen.
I thought meeting her might turn me into a "fan" but I have to admit that I don’t read her as often as I used to. And eventhough I have her book, I’ve put it at the bottom of my pile.
I decided to out myself on this one. I have to admit that I am fighting a bit of jealousy. Pure and simple. It has been difficult for me to look at Kyran’s journey over the last five years, to see her successful results, and not think, “why didn’t I do that?”
It is also on my MONDO BEYONDO list to write a book. But more than being on the list, that dream is part of my soul. That desire invades my dreams, wakes me up at night, waits for me at times when I have nothing to do or when I’m exceedingly busy. No matter the day, time, or circumstance, I want to express myself in words, tell my stories, more than I allow myself that opportunity. It’s hard to face someone like Kyran who put the excuses aside and found the time and the voice to make it happen.
In one of Kyran’s posts, shortly after the 2009 conference when all her news was hitting her blog, lots of readers wrote to her and asked for her “secret to success”—how did this happen to you and not to my friend or etc… people actually wrote things like that to her. I remember her response was that every person gets “there” (wherever that is) on their own time. She recalled stories of spending plenty of time camped out in Barnes and Noble feeling jealous and envious of authors and wondering if it would ever happen to her. Her advice? Be true to your voice. Make time for your craft every day. Believe in yourself. When you roll all those things together, something will surely happen.
I am trying to keep her words in mind this week when I have to choose between blogging and working on my memoir project and dinner or laundry or parenting stuff or even wifely duties.
Another thing I shouldn’t dismiss is this: When I “discovered” Kyran’s blog I was on my own path to completing my master’s degree and becoming a professor. It has been a HUGE accomplishment and a journey more than worthy of celebrating. It’s just that I’m not yet willing to mark off “Start a blog” from my MONDO BEYONDO list just because I’m here more regularly than I’ve ever been before. I feel as if there are greater things for me to discover here and maybe even a chance to merge my kids and my writing together.
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