Something in the way he smiled…
January 6, 2015
Tonight, on the way to pick up my son from basketball practice, I found myself thinking about my Dad. Yesterday morning I had glanced at an article about a movie they are making about a woman with early Onset Alzheimers. He died from that, about thirty years ago.
I thought about the freckles all over his back, the records he’d leave scattered all over the dining room table, the way he smelled in the morning, how his voice was better than Paul, or was it John, when he’d sing “Something” in the shower.
I looked up and realized that in the middle of all the remembering, I had absolutely no idea where I was. I had passed the turn, and just kept moving forward, thinking and humming and missing him.
I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to get back to where I needed to be . My heart shivered a bit, at the irony of getting lost while remembering the man who had lost his own mind a long, time ago.
But I didn’t have time, I had to be at the high school at 8 o’clock sharp to pick up my son and his friends. It’s cold tonight, low twenties, and sometimes they have to lock the gym up right after practice. Those boys would be standing outside, long legs exposed, they were wearing basketball shorts, and maybe sweatshirts.
I picked up the boys. I delivered them home. I gave Colin dinner and let him use his phone while he ate.
Then I let myself sit down and be scared, really, really, scared. I, the daughter of a man with early Onset Alzheimer’s, had lost my way on a journey I make four times a week.
Then my daughter came downstairs. She wanted me to play a duet with her on our flutes. We began. Sophie, the Lover of Silence, did not want us to play a duet. She wanted to play steal the sock puppet. Colin came in to ask why I hadn’t made him extra pasta. Michael the cat wanted me to let him out. And the fish looked like he wanted something too, but we’re not that close. So he’ll have to figure it out on his own.
Katy’s laughing. Colin is glaring, but he is throwing the sock puppet for Sophie, the Sweet. The fish swims. The dishwasher hums. The moon climbs and the candles burn.
I lit a few candles when I got home tonight.
I hope it’s a little while before I have to go driving alone after dark.
Bangs, Infinity and Shades of Blue
December 29, 2014
I have never been a woman that accessorized. I lose earrings. Bracelets get caught in my steering wheel. And every time I change my bag, I lose my license. Or a credit card. Or my favorite lipstick.
Six months ago, something happened. I “stole” a scarf from my 11 year old daughter. The scarf had been hanging around a teddy bears neck since her 8th birthday party so don’t judge me too harshly. I liked wearing it. It was like Jacob’s coat of many colors except it was a scarf. And it went with everything. It had many colors. I felt like a grown up. I felt like I could guest host a talk show. I felt “put together.”
Next, a friend passed on a scarf, or shawl, or pashmina, a large piece of cloth intended for draping around the upper half of the body. I liked wearing that too, though I still haven’t quite figured out what to do with it. Most of the time, I put it over my head if it’s raining. Once I get inside, I fold it into a triangle and pretend I’m a woman in need of a rocking chair. Which often I am.
For Christmas, I got two infinity scarves. Are you familiar with this latest rage sweeping the nation? (I think it’s been a few years, but I don’t get to the hair salon very often. The last Vogue I read was from 2012. I think they might have used the term revolutionary. Or maybe they were talking about a new kind of bang. As in short cropped hair on the forehead. There are a lot of revolutions in the world of accessories and hair. Not just the kind that grows on your head but that’s a whole ‘nother story. I need to go to the salon more.)
They are both blue, my new Christmas infinity scarves. One is turquoise blue, the other is a royal blue. They both go with almost everything I own, especially when framed by my very favorite jean jacket. Which is denim blue. (Duh, you are thinking. No, I’m telling you. Denim is not necessarily the color of denim any more. It was hard to find a denim colored denim jacket.)
I like them. I, who have never worn any accessories, except for brief binges on earrings, an intense love affair with a wrist cuff, and a series of flirtations in my late 30’s with a series of hair ornaments, have embraced the scarf. For the time being. The patchwork scarf I stole from my daughter. The burnt orange hand me down from my dear friend that I have yet to define. And the two Christmas gifts in the most beautiful shades of blue. Infinity scarfs.
The givers knew me well. The scarves are circular, so there is no draping or tying or folding to be done. It is not likely they will slip into my coffee or dangle in my soup.
And I need to eat more soup. I’ve seen the commercials. Women that eat lots of soup look like they are about 34, have perfectly groomed eyebrows and can shop for swim suits on line because everything looks good on them.
Christmas is over. It’s time to put away cup cakes and frivolous attempts at holding onto pairs of earrings, and to embrace the simple truth that I am a woman that needs simplicity in all things.
And two infinity scarfs in two shades of blue seems to be a really nice way to start.
I will survive this winter in New England, in shades of blue and green and gold. It’s nice to know that the people I love knew I needed a little help to stay warm this year.
The Way I Need To Be
December 28, 2014
I’ve developed a few coping mechanisms that help me live with a part time alcoholic.
The day after he goes on one of those booze fueled mini vacations commonly referred to as a bender, I go shopping. Now, one of the disadvantages of living with a part time alcoholic is we don’t have a whole lot of money, but at the very least, I take the family to Chipotle or buy a dress of the clearance rack at Marshalls.
The day after is also a terrific opportunity for me to get him to take over chauffeur duty for the kids. And pick up the birthday present for the cousin. And head over to Pet Co for the special kind of cat litter that can go weeks without scooping.
I really appreciate the glimpses of him when he’s sober. I don’t see that much of him. If he was sober all the time, I wouldn’t appreciate those moments so much. They are fleeting but sometimes we’ll laugh over something one of the kids did or we’ll listen to a new song on the radio and I remember I’m someone’s wife. It’s nice.
He’s always working, or on his way home from work. On his way home from work could mean he’s on his way home from work, or that he isn’t working anymore and he is sitting at the pub watching the tv and pondering if he should head home and risk the conversation we’ll have as soon as I realize he stopped at the pub or if he should stay at the pub until he’s sure I’ve gone to sleep. I sleep soundly now.
It took me a while, but after living with a part time alcoholic for a long, long time, I’m good at going to sleep in difficult situations. And sleeping thru the sound of the door opening. And his uneven steps thru the house. I like sleep.
My kids are good at sleeping thru all kinds of crap, too.
I used to confront him when he’d come home late. I had a temper then.
I’m pretty even tempered now. Maybe it’s because make sure I get my eight hours a night. And I treat myself and the kids once in a while.
Or maybe because I need to be.
This is not about Christmas. It is about life with a teenager, which takes far more energy.
December 24, 2014
I don’t remember the first thing I said to my son this morning.
The second thing was- (and my delivery might have just a little bit hostile)- “I don’t like that when you take that tone with me.”
Colin proceeded to point out that he didn’t appreciate the tone I used when I spoke to him. He used different words, I’m pretty sure he jumped over the line from hostile to angry in about three seconds.
Moments later, f bombs flew. Doors were slammed. Sophie The Kindest of Canines hid in the closet. Coffee was spilled all over the table, though that was either collateral damage or me being a klutz.
I retreated downstairs. Sprawled on the bed. Tried to figure out if I should I apply make up or if there might be a post battle “what the hell am I doing wrong” reaction resulting in pink tear trails down my cheeks and mascara residue- a look that only worked in London 30 years ago. London is very far away from my bedroom and thirty years ago I wasn’t crying much or wearing mascara.
Colin came downstairs. Fell back on the bed. His head found my shoulder. For a moment we both looked at the ceiling.
I really need to wash my ceiling. I don’t even know what color it’s supposed to be.
He reached for my hand. I squeezed his hand. Without looking away from the ceiling, and I don’t know what the dirty ceiling made him think about , but it did’t seem to be a good time to ask, he said- ” I love you, mom.”
I looked over at him. He didn’t look back. I think he was waiting for something.
“I love you too,” I answered.
I could feel his body relax. He took a deep breath. He rolled over, towards me. “Mom, I think I missed the bus.”
I suggested he run very fast to the bus stop.
I remember all of that, from the way his voice sounded, how long it took him to come downstairs, the feel of his hand in mine when he reached for me, and which spots on the ceiling need the most work, and I have no idea what started it all.
Not a /:()$& clue.
Perpective
December 5, 2014
At this moment in time, I know where my car keys are, my eyeglasses, (They’d been missing for a month, and last night I had a dream that revealed their location. Really.) both of our tv remotes, the cats, Sophie the Sweetest of Pups, my gym bag, the favorite cup, the house phone, the mobile, scissors, pens- I can even tell you where to find a band aid.
On the other hand, I misplaced the tablet, our dryer is busted so there are clothes draped on every available surface and our towels are crunchy, Christmas is coming. I need to make an appointment to get my teeth cleaned, and I’m having a hard time adjusting to the whole new full time job thing.
I have a new job! A job I love at Quincy College, 2 minutes away from our house, with a terrific boss and a really cool team that is kind and doesn’t mind that sometimes most of my sentences end in exclamation points. And Christmas is coming!
But I haven’t had as much time to go to the gym as I like, and I miss my friends and long dog walks with the Wondrous One.
Breathe.
I know where most of my stuff is, there is a gym in the basement of the building I work, my friends are on Facebook, and I know where my children are. I know they will be coming home to me tonight, safe. And that we live in a tiny corner of the world where the odds are everyone is coming home tonight.
I am fortunate woman.
I am also a sad woman. A woman whose heart has broken more than a little in these past few weeks for all of the mothers and sons out there who aren’t so fortunate.
There is space inside me for both.
What I’ll Remember
September 27, 2014
This morning, I visited Quincy College’s Plymouth campus in a building that used to function as a factory to produce rope and twine. My boss took me to lunch. I worked with a student to find her financial aid, her dad is a disabled vet and her mom was just laid off. I helped my daughter Katy pack for a sleepover, and shopped for the makings of caesar salad to serve 25 for Colin’s pre football game pasta party. I found the pasta party, after a slight skirmish with my GPS, and was rewarded with wine, cheese, cookies and conversation.
And this is what I think I’ll remember ten years from now about today.
When Colin and I got home, about ten oclock, we took Sophie the Patient and Wonderful Queen of All Dogs and Dobbie, the Sweetest, (a four month old puppy belonging to my friend Rebecca Allan Mitchell,) to the island right next to the gas towers to run.
It’s an island, so it’s a pretty safe place to let dogs go off leash, and it’s well lit, so as long as they stay on the island, it’s easy to find them on even the darkest of nights.
I thought it would be a good time to spend with my son. On an island, in the dark. Far, far away from the square, and the friends walking by, and the game.
We’d watch the dogs, we’d listen to the water, we’d talk.
He sat on a bench and listened to dub step. I ventured over to the other side of the island in hopes he would follow.
The dogs did.
It was a beautiful September night. The dogs tripped and rolled and leapt in the moonlight. There was no one else there on the island, just the peace and quiet, the waves and wind-
I hope I remember the dogs and the stillness of late September 9:30 pm Friday night on an island just outside Boston Harbor.
Colin sat on the bench and listened to dub step.
And on the ride home, I pretended like I didn’t care that
He sat on the bench and stared at his phone.
But when we got home, and he insisted he play me the song, I felt a little bit better.
I’d Like You to Know- An Open Letter Possibly Directed Towards Certain Younger Members of My Immediate Family
September 12, 2014
I love you.
(Just want to make this clear, I am, by nature a very loving person. It’s safe to say I love almost everyone. Well, like almost everyone. If I’m having a good day. You get the point- as I write these words, love is in my heart.)
Even though I love you, it is not a good time when I go to the store at 8:30 at night to buy you earbuds so that you can get pumped on the way to the game tomorrow.
It is not a barrel of laughs standing in the middle of your bedroom trying to figure out how, in 36 hours, every piece of clothing you have ever warn, in your entire life, seems to be scattered on your floor, draped on over sized pillows, dangling from your music stand, or stuffed under your bed.
I understand that you regard it as a kind gesture on your part to accept my help cleaning it up, but this process, well, also not a day at the beach. Or a day at the dog park. Or even an hour in the dentists office reading People.
I’ve established I’m a pretty nice person to the people in my life. And I don’t regret the late night shopping, or the early morning to mid Saturday afternoon attempts to return order. I didn’t even mind the late nights spent with glue and poster board, a map of Ecuador and your friend with the allergies, whose mom made me move every single piece of food that might have been exposed to peanuts or peanut dust out to our shed. Which meant transporting everything in our cupboards, except the spice rack, outside.
Why did we do the project at our house? Because you wanted my help. I think. (Looking back, it was probably because your friends mom wouldn’t let you listen to the radio, but I’m going to choose, for my purposes here, to go with you wanted my help.
And both of you, or all of you, you all out there- Still want my help on a daily frigging basis.
So why you gotta be so rude? (I can hear the eyeballs rolling as I type.)
How can you act like sitting down to dinner of barbecued chicken, corn on the cob, and rice, is a favor? And that I should be thankful to you to eat the barbecued chicken and rice, the corn is too labor intensive, while sitting next to me. And that I shouldn’t complain when after four minutes you get up to leave. After all, you sat next to me. You didn’t point out that you prefer legs, and mashed potatoes. You didn’t even try to bring it down to the tv room. I got to spend four minutes with you, and you even put your dish somewhere near the sink.
Let me point out, I didn’t even serve a real vegetable in honor of your presence. And that I attempted to look wide awake and interested while you explained, for the 89th times, what “special teams” are in terms of football.
And that just sitting next to me for four minutes isn’t enough.
This is what I want from the people in my life- I would like you to be nice to me.
I would like you to ask about my day before you start walking upstairs to bed.
I would like you to laugh at my jokes. Ok, maybe about a quarter of my jokes. We can work out a signal so that you know that a joke is coming, so that you can laugh. Or chuckle softly. Or even not roll your eyes.
I would like you to say thank you and please when I hand you your laundry instead of pointing out that when Michael’s mom washed your socks, they came back “white, actually, white!!! Can you call her and find out how she did it?”
I would like you to know that sometimes you hurt my feelings.
I know that my feelings are the last things on your mind, and I accept that orchestra, and algebra, and going for a bike ride with Amanda, and procuring money for another trip to Milton House of Pizza, that all of these things are probably a little more on the forefront of your mind than my feelings.
I would like you to know that your friends won’t think you are a complete loser if you say hi to me after the game. And that I will rent Spiderman two if you’ll hold my hand when it gets scary.
And I’d like you to know that even when you hurt my feelings, I get over it pretty quick.
And I start thinking about what it would be like if I stopped driving you to practice, or making sure you have enough money for snacks, or reminding you about the project due on Monday.
Sometimes I have a lot of free time. To think.
I’m just sayin”
Night To Remember
August 26, 2014
My daughter left for a week in Disney World with the Boys and Girls Clubs at three o’clock this morning. My son and I spent hours discussing, debating, fighting over a trip to the woods tonight to celebrate the end of summer. Long story short, I won. No trip to the woods but he was allowed to stay out until 10.
Long, long story short, I lost. After about three minutes of due diligence I discovered him on his way to, you guessed it, the woods. He threw his phone in the car, swore he wouldn’t take a walk to the forest, (shades of Little Red anyone?) and took off in the direction of the Square. Two hours passed. I had his phone. I’d put it on the charger, and heard no texts, no snapchats; it was silent as my phone. And that is really, really silent because Katy was in Disney world.
So I went out to look for him. I walked around the Square, I walked around the Circle, I headed over to Cunningham Woods, following the footsteps of about 5000 teenagers with much “cooler parents” than me. I took the shortcut behind the old barn, I heard voices, all different voices, girl voices, and man voices, punk voices, and rap voices, freshman boys with changing voices, and freshmen girl voices I recognized, in between drags on their cigarettes. No son.
I headed back in the car. Three minutes after I drove away, I was pulled over. My lights weren’t on. I told the officer the tale of the son and the horribly strict, uncool mom, and he told me go home and drink some tea.
I went home for tea, probably not tea, maybe seltzer, most likely aspirin and tap water, and was greeted by a the sounds of one or two dogs next door- barking, shrieking, wailing . There was a dog beneath the porch of the abandoned house next door. Barking, shrieking, wailing. They didn’t sound like any dogs I knew. Did someone make a trip to the shelter this afternoon and decide the poor thing should spend the night outside?
I pulled out my phone and stepped beyond my back door to investigate. It’s a new phone, I hadn’t downloaded the flashlight app. We don’t own any flashlights, haven’t bought one since we discovered we could buy the app for free.
Walking toward me, ablaze in light from his high beams and his very own flashlight, the kind with batteries, a police officer, (a different police officer from the one I met 20 minutes before.)
“Someone called in, is that your dog out there? The neighbors think they hear your dog next door, makin all kinds of noise.”
The officer, me and the Flashlight went over to investigate. It took time, the officer was even more cautious than me, but yes, that was Sophie, who had someone gotten her leash (from our earlier dog walk in search of Colin) all tangled up in a skunk’s tail. I guess dogs sound different when they are in the throes of battle and stench.
By the time I was calm enough to approach her, or felt like I really didn’t have a choice because after all, a cop was waiting for me to get the damn dog back in the house, and this cop probably had better things to deal with, like the party at the quarry with 5 thousand kids all belonging to incredibly cool parents, kids who weren’t doing anything more than exchanging snapchats and discussing who had who for home room, a couple of whom might need rides home from some of our finest. Because their really cool parents were already sleeping. Or at their very own party-
By the time I was calm enough to approach her, the skunk had died, choked by Sophie’s leash, or by the mighty Sophie herself. Sophie is sleeping soundly now, and our house does’t smell like wet dog anymore. It smells like dead skunk.
Colin just got home. He’s outside inspecting the dead skunk. I really, really hope the damn skunk is dead. A trip to the ER with an angry injured teenager might be a little too much excitement for one person to handle.
When he gets back inside, we can discuss the war. The war between Sophie and the Skunk. Not our nasty brief skirmish.
What I learned from tonight? I really really need to renew my license, and to take off the Sweet Bloodthirsty One’s leash as soon as we get home.
There’s probably more, but I want to go watch tv with my son and pretend we are both about two years younger. The Simpson’s marathon is still on, so after an hour or, we might not be pretending anymore. He might share the quilt, and might let him wear Dad’s slippers.
Thanks, I think, (It’s not over yet, but I’m sure it will all be ok) AKA I’m not ready to be the mother of teenagers!
August 18, 2014
| This summer, I sat down with my 14 year old son and discussed, in depth, porn and pot. | ||
| I took my 11 year old daughter shopping for a swimsuit. She came out of the dressing room a young woman. A young woman that had discovered what horrible lighting, unforgiving mirrors, and a swim suit one size too small can make can make a person feel like spending the summer on the couch. | ||
| This is not a time that lends itself to facebook posts. | ||
| I look at my son and I swoon when he smiles and I cringe when he opens his mouth. | ||
| I reach for my daughter and she’s left the building or she leans on my shoulder and giggles or she takes a deep breath and explains the world. | ||
| I don’t know what’s happening next. Just that summer is almost just about done and fall means we are all moving on and I wish I could have this summer one more time | ||
| Next year. Cause it’s only going to get more complicated. | ||
| Or just worse. | ||
| It’s going to get worse. And ‘m going to wish I’d appreciated now- these past few months, even with the awkward conversations and sad revelations, more than I did.
After all, there was long games of catch in the back yard, watching Colin’s face beam as he showed me a snake he caught at Ponkapoag Lake, the way Katy still puts her hand in mine when we cross the street, lots and lots of ice cream, and more time than I’d like to admit, curled up in bed, all three of us watching Brooklyn 99 reruns. |
||
| I’m going to wish for a lot of things. | ||
| . | ||
| Growing pains suck. For me. For them. | ||
| But I couldn’t wish for two smarter, cooler, funnier, kinder kids. | ||
| While they sleep upstairs, I count my blessings, pray for help, and thank God for all the memories. | ||
I liked today a lot.
July 22, 2014
I love days where I get a taste of a little bit of all of my favorite things.
Today, I spent the morning at my job at Quincy College, talking to prospective students and exchanging information about our weekends with the lovely people I work with. I spent the afternoon tending to my kids, picking them up and sending them off and hearing their tales about camp and basketball. A class at the Y where I worked so hard halfway thru it looked like I had just stepped out of the shower. A swim at the town pool with my daughter, a turkey caesar salad with my son, a walk with Sophie the Most Forgiving of All Dogs and Creatures, listening to Ryan Adams and playing along on the flute my mom bought for a thousand years ago and now here I am, putting it all down, or I guess, putting it out there…
Actually I don’t remember a day that I successfully juggled work, and kids, and working out, and downtime, and dog time and topped it all off a little bit of warbling on my instrument and a little bit of rambling on the keyboard.
Damn, I hope I can pull it off again tomorrow. I liked today a lot.
I just have to figure out how to fit in lunch with a friend and putting away the damn laundry.
I’m too tired right now to think about laundry.
Oh yeah, I have kids that rely on me for trips the yogurt bar and fancy sneakers-
Guys… who wants to fold and who wants to stack and who wants to bring mom some ice water?
julierichmond 