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?
Maybe Ten Steps AWay
July 1, 2014
This is the weekend our next door neighbors finally packed up their things and moved. Well, that’s not true. They’ve been packing their things for three months now. I’ve been mourning their departure for about six months, when Thao first told me they had rented a home in Atlanta. So we’ve been saying good bye for a long, long time.
Saturday night, I took my daughter and the two girls that lived next door for so long up to Canobie Lake Park. I wanted to give them one last adventure together,and get them away from the boxes and the trash bags and all of the detritus that clutters a house that is being left. I let the older daughter bring a friend, as a bribe to get her to come too. It’s lonely at Canobie, with four pre-teen and teenage girls, all of whom would rather do anything than go on the chicken ride with me. But I brought a book. I had decided it was not my night to be a martyr, but to be a good mom and a great friend.
Thao, the mom, thinks she doesn’t speak very good English but I always understood what she was saying. We worried about our children together, while I stood in her beautiful kitchen with the shiniest floors in the world. She loves bananas and etsy and beautiful clothes. She has a smile so big I would laugh whenever she smiled at me.
Tue is the youngest. She grew up with Katy. They made videos of themselves dancing along to pop songs, and I’d watch them tonight, but then I will not only miss the Vo’s but the two little girls that aren’t so little any more. Tue is crazy smart. She told me yesterday that she is concerned today’s youth are becoming too disconnected from the world. I’m glad she’s one of today’s youth, she gives me hope.
Thanh is older, she’s in my son Colin’s grade. She is level headed, and kind, and hates fruit with an intensity most people save for brussels sprouts or really bad winters. She used to be shy and nervous. I remember once taking her with my family to Scream Fest, and spending the evening walking around looking for something that didn’t look very scary. I think I ate a lot o junk food that night. Now she is self possessed and graceful. If she is still nervous, I think it’s mostly about being made to eat fruit. And since it is unlikely she will ever find herself in a situation where that happens, I think she’ll be fine. Better than fine. Thanh is and will be amazing.
I never knew their Dad’s name until yesterday. It’s Hue, though I’m sure I spelled it wrong. He would show up at our door with huge bowls of noodle soup, or massive slivers of cake, or platters of shiny chicken wings. He is the only man I know that looks good in red pants. He loves his family.
And Coco. Coco was their little mini pinscher. Coco is a mean, nasty, yappy little dog and Coco probably loves me better than anyone. Ever. Than my mom even. Being loved like that feels really good, even when he’s trying to jam his sharp toothed little head into my mouth.
There is much more to say. But I’m going to let it be tonight. In life there is love and change and loss. And there is the blessing of truly getting to know another family, and the thousands of memories they have given us over the years.
Tonight, after we had said our goodbyes, my daughter grabbed me by the hand. She said- “Come on, Mom, we have to go stand by the drive way and wave good bye.
I had, like I mentioned, laundry to put away. So many phone calls to make. An online test I need to complete for my job. A library book that needed finding, and a dishwasher that needed loading.
But I followed her outside. We stood at the front of the house,by the porch that Katy and Tue played in all winter long. I’m really not sure what they did in there, just that it involved boxes and plastic dolls and a chalkboard. We waited in the twilight, on the stoop, next to an abandoned coffee cup. Ten minutes went by. I got impatient, all that damned stuff pressing down like a thousand heavy boxes on me. “We’re waiting, Mom.”
We got bit by mosquitos. We talked about books and camp and being nicer to her older brother. I think I saw a bat.
And when they pulled out, we waved goodbye and we smiled and we told them good luck.
And then we walked home in the dark. But it wasn’t far. Ten steps maybe. They were as close to us as neighbors can be. And really, really, really wonderful friends.
Dear Parisa
June 23, 2014
I am entering uncharted territory.
Next week, I will be living in a world that doesn’t have a little dog named Coco visiting me every evening for a long walk and a cuddle on the couch. Well not a cuddle. He sits in my lap and tries to lick the moisturizer off my face. But that sounds kind of gross.
Tonight, my daughter looked puzzled when I asked her if she wanted me to read her a bed time story. Now that she’s finishing the fourth grade, she can read for herself. I guess that is why we sent her to school in the first place.
My minister gave her last sermon this morning. I don’t know what it’s going to like not hearing her voice. She has a low voice, a throaty voice, she pauses in unexpected places, like Christopher Walken, but in a nice way. At her going away party tonight, my heart broke a little.
At first I thought my misery was just because she was leaving.I’m not a huge fan of the simple fact of life that people do tend to come and go in and out of our lives as easily as we pass thru revolving doors at the mall.For some of us, even easier.
Next I thought I was grieving because no one asked me to speak about how I felt about her departure.
I’ve come to what is probably a temporary conclusion- I’m sad because she’s going, and I’m even sadder because I never had the chance to say why she meant so much to me.
Parisa, (that’s the name of my minister, and yes, that’s her real name, isn’t it cool?) made me feel like I was special. Now I know that doesn’t sound like much. I mean, God’s children, or children of the universe, we are all snow flakes, everyone’s special in their own unique way, deck the halls and fa la la.
But when I entered that church for the first time, I felt very, very small. I felt like I should bring my own snacks to social hour. I couldn’t imagine I had anything to share with kids in religious education, or anything interesting to talk about over coffee or any gifts other than the ability to stay awake during a sermon.
A few years after joining First Parish, Parisa addressed me with the words- “Dear Julie…”
I don’t remember what she said after that. She might have been asking me to go find a broom, or stop stepping on her robe, or help out with the kids at the Christmas pageant. But I remember how those words made me feel. I thought, “Parisa thinks I’m dear.”
(“Dear” is not often an adjective used to to describe 49 year old women who are a little clumsy, sometimes loud and quite often unsure of themselves. It was a gift.)
And it felt really, really, good. And I’ve carried that feeling with me ever since. Not all the time. Not even half the time, to be honest. But enough of the time that I am probably a little more dear, and special, and worthwhile because Parisa thinks I am.
And now Parisa is leaving, and Coco is moving with his family to Atlanta. And Katy doesn’t need me to read her bedtime stories anymore.
But I will move thru the rest of the time in my territory, the charted and the wildly unfamiliar, knowing that a very wise, smart, funny, woman thinks I’m pretty damn special. Dear as a matter of fact. So I’m sure I will be able to figure it out.
Thank you, Parisa. I needed that.
I guess I understand now it’s time for you to get busy and lift up the rest of the world.
Just a Thought
May 28, 2014
Since I’ve been sick and sitting around a lot I’ve come face to face with some very basic, and probably obvious, facts.
I can’t do it all. I can’t even do close to it all. And I will never in the future be able to do it all.
My kids aren’t perfect.
Neither am i.
Damn.
Memorial Day Weekend (Three Parts)
May 27, 2014
Part I Thursday Night
Sitting on the edge of a holiday weekend-. There will be cook outs and Mexican food and swimming at the Y, and catching up with Girls, and long, long walks with the dogs, and arguments over who has to feed the pets, and discussions over whether it counts as “family time” just because a certain teenager spent time in the house. With six of his friends.
I will zumba and read and look out in our back yard and spend at least fifteen minutes thinking about the need to landscape. I will dance with Katy to the radio, I will applaud Colin’s jump shot. I will scratch Sophie’s belly and kill 30 minutes looking for her damned leash. I will give up and take her to Cunningham. I will call friends and see friends and miss friends that are far away.
Happy Memorial Day weekend!
Part II
Saturday Morning
Not on the brink anymore, now I’m sprawled on the sofa in the middle of a holiday weekend. Just near enough, there lay two weary dogs, two well fed kids, and one glass of cold wine in easy reach. It’s Saturday night. But instead of Monday looming large with lunches to be packed and homework to be done, I’m thinking a day at the beach. Or a trip to the pond. Or a long, long hike thru the Greatest of Hills with the Greatest of Dogs.
I love post horrible-winter, late spring, long, and lazy, afternoons.
Part III
Monday Night
It’s done. Monday night. Backpacks lined up. Cereal bought, milk in the fridge. I think they did their homework. I think they have clean socks. I think there is money in their lunch account.
No beach. No trips to the pond. Or long hikes thru the Greatest of Hills.
But I finished a book. I made whipped cream from scratch. I snuck up to their bedrooms yesterday morning and held them close and didn’t remind them that clean clothes don’t go on the floor.
I sat in the back yard with the dogs and watched people drive by with places to go.
I was a little bit jealous. And then I was a little bit lonely.
And then, the sun wamed my shoulders, the breeze touched my hair, and the radio started playing “Tupelo Honey”.
And by the time the song was over, and the sun had slipped behind clouds, I didn’t have time to be sad the weekend was over.
Tomorrow they will kiss me goodbye on their way on out the door.
I can’t imagine “empty nest syndrome.”
I will need to start thinking about hobbies, updating my profile on LinkedIn, or adopting three or four children from overseas.
Spring Fever
May 17, 2014
I got it bad.
Not the spring fever that means I really, really want to go see a baseball game. Or the variation that sends people to the drugstore to stock up on Clariten and the Kleenex with the vaseline in the tissue for a soft, comfortable blow. Or even the milder version that involves staying out in the garden until past dark, pulling up weeds and planting petunias or whatever it is people plant around here. I don’t garden. Or like baseball that much. And I’m lucky that so far I’ve avoided this seasons allergies.
I’m as restless as a cat with no claws in a house full of mice.
I live a quiet life, mostly. Two kids. Lots of long walks in the woods with the dogs. Work I love that is just part of a life that I also love, most of the time. I dance, I see friends, I go to church, I cook dinner. I even like trips to the grocery store, can happily spend a half an hour engrossed in an aisle with 17 kinds of mustard. And walk away without buying any, if they don’t have the cranberry spice mixture I like. Until the past week, contented was a word that would apply to me and the world I have made for my family.
Now, I’m inside an itch I can’t scratch.
I want to go out. I want a manicure and pedicure. I want a new dress and to wear it inside a circle of well dressed people sipping cocktails muddied with herbs and infused with fruit, like I read about in the Boston Globe every week.
I want to be able to wear high heels without staggering. I want to go on vacation, stay up after jon stewart, meander somewhere without worrying about stepping in dog shit.
I want to be thirty two, and be mulling over a variety of book deals and suitors.
And right now I’m mulling over if it makes me a bad mom that I really don’t want to see what Ben Stiller did to The Secret Life of Walter Mitty. It’s no secret that the reviews were horrible, and I’m not in the mood.
I guess I’m not in the mood for much right now, except for things that I a. can’t afford or b. probably wouldn’t do much to make me feel a whole lot better.
Fever is a transient thing.
So I’m going to take out my flute, close my eyes, lose myself in a melody and let the night fall around me.
I’ll have a cup of tea.
I’ll let Katy braid my hair and I’ll tell her about fireflies.
And if nothing works, maybe tomorrow I will visit Home Depot. I’ll by a twelve pack of perennials, some gloves and some extra high quality organic darker than dirt dirt. I’ll see why everybody outside holding a spade looks so damn content.
It couldn’t hurt.
Sentimental Journey On the Way to Buy Cat Food
May 4, 2014
I was driving to the grocery store this evening and went right by a playground. It was just after 7, dusk here in New England, windy and cloudy and warm. It was crowded; spring has been a long time coming and some of us are not quite convinced it’s here to stay.
And a thought came to me- My kids don’t go the playground with me anymore. Colin is 13, Katy is 10. They go to the park these days, all by themselves or in packs with other kids from the neighborhood.
I hadn’t even noticed the passing of playground days, and they are gone, along with mornings of helping them pick out their clothes for school and the Thursday night phone calls in search of a sitter.
I remembered our trips to Andrews Park. Katy would clutch my hand, which would then smell like peanut butter until I got home. Colin would race ahead, clutching a frisbee or a football or a backpack with snacks. I would juggle my phone and my iced coffee and a book, all while one of my hands was clenched inside Katy’s warm, smudgy grip.
When we got there, I swear, it took us twenty minutes at least, and Andrews is three blocks away, I’d find a bench and settle down with the book and the drink and the phone. I’d make nervous conversations with other mothers, who all seemed to know each other, while eyeing my kids to make sure they didn’t hijack the swings. I’d wish I’d brought wipes, or bottled water. I’d look at my phone and calculate how much longer we’d have to stay until I could safely give them the five minute warning. I’d wonder what was underneath all the sand in the sandbox, if that was even sand in the sandbox. I’d call someone, anyone at all who might pick up the phone, and wouldn’t mind helping me kill some time until I could safely check the time again. Finally, Katy would make me push her on the swing. Then Colin would make me throw him a ball, or shoot baskets, or teach him how to make a frisbee sail thru the air. And I’d wish I was just a little bit better at doing any of those things while looking around to make sure no one was watching. And they weren’t. Until whatever I was throwing hit someone in the head.
Today, I took Katy to SOWA, an open air market with food trucks and art galleries and one stand that had an entire display of 19 different kinds of cheese. Colin went with me last week to the Y, and we worked on the new Keiser equipment. I can’t get a basket, well I can, but it’s not that often, but I can work with him on strength training to help his jump shot. Next month, I’m going to take them to see Lion King, The Musical, which is a helluva lot more fun than watching the Disney video four times in the same afternoon, (not that we ever spent that much time in front of the tv.)
So tonight I was sad for a bit that the playground days are gone until I thought about it. Now, I’m mostly relieved. Though I’m thinking that for Mother’s Day, I might request a sentimental journey over to the swing set on Castle Island. And I will let Colin and Katy take turns pushing me.
Just a little bewildered.
May 2, 2014
I am in the middle of a mess of change right now. My son is hurtling forward towards adulthood. My minister is moving on from our beloved church to take on a bigger world. And my boss at the Y has rearranged our fitness equipment and left our members wondering where the Kaiser Stretching Station went.
Colin’s voice changed a couple of weeks ago. Overnight. It’s low and strange and doesn’t sound like me anymore. He’s sprouted the beginnings of a mustache. He plays basketball in the driveway for hours. He smiles at me all the time, indulgent- I love my mom even though she is a little nuts but I’m going to put up with her for a while longer because I still need a ride to the dance. And then he speaks. And I’m so busy listening for some trace of the boy I knew last month that sometimes I don’t even hear what he said. I think he wanted me to give him a check tomorrow for his school lunches but he might have been asking when I was going to drive him to get his hair cut.
Parisa has been our minister ever since I found my way to First Parish seven years ago. I had the privilege of working with her when I held a summer job in the office one summer. She is a bit of an introvert, I think. I have the sense that getting up in front of a roomful of people isn’t something that comes naturally to her and she chose to become a minister because she had, and has, something to say. Every time I hear her from my pew, I applaud her courage and I walk away aware she has lifted the bar for me a bit. To be a better member. A better mom. A better person. To take on challenges that may not come naturally to me just because I have something amazing to share. I will miss her, her wisdom, and the knowledge that this magical, fierce, wonderful woman was my minister. And I will always count her as one of my friends.
And if you belong to a gym, I want you to know something. If the management changes around the furniture, so to speak, it’s not to mess with your heads. It’s not because the trainers are bored and discovered an article in Fitness Today on how a little feng shui makes a better workout. It’s because it’s important to take a step back from time to time and evaluate. To pay attention, even if the information is coming from a source that recently sprouted a few more hairs and can no longer audition for the Viennese Boys Choir. To move on, to greener pastures, if that’s what is calling, or to places where there are no pastures, if that’s where you’re needed.
Let me know if you need any help. I’m not always good with change, and it makes it a little easier for me to handle if I’m helping somebody even more bewildered than I am.
julierichmond 