The Opposite of a Tweet aka My Weekend So Far
February 17, 2013
This was one of those weekends.
Friday night was a workshop at our church about conflict run by Reverend Eric Dawson and his wife, Tammy Tai. I wish I could do it justice, I can’t. I will say ages from 6 to 65 were present, there were snacks, and games, and laughter. I think we all walked away with a heightened awareness of what they referred to as our “escalators”- factors that intensify our responses to conflict. My escalator is when my son gives me the dead eye stare, I don’t know if you’ve seen it, but if you have, you know what I’m talking about.
Today was easy, for me anyway. The day started with an extended dog walk. My friend invited someone that doesn’t usually join us on our morning stroll. This newcomer brought her dog, a puggle, and before we even got to our spot, this puggle had pooped all over the back of my friend’s car. It didn’t bother me, it wasn’t my car, and I experienced that wonderful moment -“thank God my dog didn’t poop all over the back omy friend’s car.” It was not our usual dog walk on a Saturday morning. But the snow falling made the world look pretty. It wasn’t cold. I needed the exercise, and so did Sophie, the most amazing of dogs. She’d never poop in a car. Right after we brought her home from the pound I took her for a ride. She waited until I got to our destination to throw up. And she didn’t even know me that well.
Saturday afternoon I spent home with kids. We watched Glee. I talked about canceling my plans. They talked me into going out. I blew dry my hair. Is there anything more boring than blowdrying hair? My hair is shoulder length and thick so it takes a long, long time. At the gym I read magazines while I wave the dryer around. At home all we have are National Geographics and Sports Illustrated for Kids. Not entertaining material for vanity projects like making curls fall into long straight waves. And my blowdryers old, so it’s loud. If I turned the radio up, the neighbors would think my kids were having a party.
So I sucked it up, dried the hair, put on the dress and went to the party with one of my favorite people in the world, Julie Baker. You’ve probably seen her on Twitter, or Facebook, or out on one of her sweaty walks. If it wasn’t for her I wouldn’t have gone. It was snowing, and I like to stay home in bad weather, and I’m lazy, and there’s that hair thing I mentioned… I don’t blow dry my hair for a night at home with my kids.
We went to the benefit, Dances for Hope, a cause that helps St. Judes Hospital. We volunteered at the door. We were responsible for checking people in, figuring out who merited VIP status, who ranked as a sponsor and making sure they got the appropriate wrist band. The power, the responsibility… Actually, not really. People seemed pretty honest, I didn’t meet any gate crashers. Just checked off the names and gave out the bracelets.
And then, since our service entitled us to VIP status, we went upstairs for cocktails and snacks. Free cocktails and snacks are pretty exciting to me, I’m currently a little “cash poor,” (meaing we’re broke, but doesn’t that sound so much better? It implies that I have property, or stock, or something other than cash, but I’m everything poor. For the record.) So I gobbled down crab puffs in filo, and bread pudding in cups, and salmon in paper whenever the waiter came by. I was drinking rum and diet coke and I didn’t want to make an ass of myself. It was a benefit. And I wanted to dance without wobbling.
The first dance was the Wobble. That was pretty stupid. Nobody knew it, myself included, but it was short. After that, the DJ played a million songs. Why do they always have to mash everything up? Aren’t there any songs out there that merit being played from point a to point z? Maybe it’s helpful when trying to satisfy the Michael Jackson demographic simultaneously with the Pitbull Jay Z crowd. It was fun dancing. It got a little intimidating when all of the professional dancers came on the floor. Did I mention there were professional dancers? And that they came on the dance floor?
I wish they’d stayed on the stage, and gone somewhere else to boogie afterwards. I don’t mean to sound like an ass but when I get on the dance floor I don’t want to look over at a professional being amazing. I want to glance at some idiot swaying out of time and a couple doing a waltz and a whole bunch of girls laughing and trying out the macarena.
It was fun, even with all the Fred and Gingers showing their stuff. And then it was time to go home. Kids were waiting, and dogs needed to be walked.
Actually the kids would have been thrilled if I’d stayed out. And the dogs were sleeping. But it was time.
I’m home now. Tomorrow is the science fair. Monday is the JFK Library. In between, there are meals, and laundry and showers and dog walks and a million other details; if I listed them all I’d never, ever get up in the morning.
Ten years ago, I never liked getting up in the morning. I hated it; I’d sleep until noon. Now I do. I think it is truly the best thing I can say about my life… I like waking up to my life.
But this was one of those weekends. I think tomorrow I will have to sleep in.
January 6th, or The Night the Christmas Tree Came Down
January 7, 2013
I am fifty years and have been actively involved in celebrating Christmas for about forty five years. And tonight, for the very first time in my life, I took down our Christmas tree.
I lifted the ornaments from the branches and wrapped the delicate ones up in a newspaper bought just for this task. I jammed the nonbreakable ones, the stuffed snowmen, the pine cones, the little watercolored masterpieces from nursery schools a few years back, in between the little balles of paper. I swept up pine needles.
I stood on my tip toes and lifted our angel from her perch. I nested her inside some of the “snow” that looks awfully similar to asbestos, and placed her on top. I swept up pine needles.
Next I began to deal with the lights. I was the one that wove them among the branches, it was only fitting I was the one that began to untangle the tangled web I wove… four different strands of lights. At one point, the length was so long and I was pulling so hard to free them in a long single strand, the Christmas tree fell back into the foyer. I finally dragged the entire tree, stand and all, and miles of lights out to the sidewalk. There I had room to work. And so I did. I’m sure the people walking and driving by were thinking of better ways I could have gone about the whole task. But no one made any suggestions. If you are one of those people, next time, I’m open to any and all advice. (There is so much in this world I know absolutely nothing about.)
Next was the storage of the lights. In the past, my husband has wrapped them around empty paper towel rolls he’d saved for this purpose.
I used one paper towel roll, after I unrolled, according to the wrapper, 250 feet of paper towels. I began at one end, slowly reeling in yards and yards of twinkling stars, using the steady gestures a fisherman uses when bringing in a good catch. I think. I don’t fish. But I imagine it feels similar.
When I was done with the the first line, I searched for alternatives. The remaining lights are wrapped around one sippie cup, one bottle of almost empty toner, (Bonnie Bell, left over from a brief horrid period of adult acne, thank God I’m finally too old for that,) and one tube of sunblock, still full, but number 15. Nobody uses fifteen anymore, the ozone layer is going to disappear any minute and using fifteen would pretty much guarantee skin cancer the following week.
And then I swept up pine needles. I lifted up the rug,I think I saw some from last year, and swept them up too. I took down the Christmas cards, and the stockings, I untangled tinsel from shoes, I put the last scraps of wrapping in the recycling, and ate the last Hershey’s kiss hidden under a log.
This was the first time I put Christmas away, into a box. Wrapped it up, onto a cylander. Buried it under fake snow. They say that we need to keep Christmas in our hearts all year long. It doesn’t feel like Christmas tonight, it feels like the end of an era. An era when I didn’t have to responsible for unplugging and angel and tucking her away for a year.
But change is good. I’m going to go sweep up some more pine needles. I hope it still smells like Christmas for a day or two. Those candles that claim to smell like trees just smell like the home of someone that smokes that thinks they are keeping it a secret.
But that’s another story.
Happy January 6th, my friends.
P.s. And if you haven’t taken your tree down yet, start saving your paper towel rolls.
Christmas night Thoughts or Some time without kids so I might as well write something
December 26, 2012
What can I say about Christmas that hasn’t already been said? Silent Night is a lovely song, batteries are a big part of a successful Christmas morning and chocolate kisses are probably not the healthiest way to start the day.
We had dinner at my sister and brother in laws home. Nancy and Jeff don’t see the Colin and Katy that often. This past year my children entered the phase of their lives when their calendars require a full time assistant/chauffeur to keep track of their commitments and get them there. There is not much time is left for the simple joy of watching scary movies with relatives. So tonight after dinner, I left them there. Nancy and Jeff let them have snacks on the bed. Nancy and Jeff let them watch movies where Freddy Krueger is the hero. Nancy will paint Katy’s toenails and Jeff will spend a half an hour talking about the Celtics with Colin. Make that an hour.
So here I am, home alone on Christmas night. I remember when I used to drop them at the sitters when they were little; car seat, diaper, dry cheerios were a delicacy little. I’d pull away from them like I was leaving a particularly horrible job. I’d turn up the radio, call all of my friends to announce I had a window of freedom and meet whoever picked up first for many cocktails and long lubricated conversations about how I loved my babies so much but I really, really needed this time to be me. They would chime in with answers like “you deserve this” and order me another drink another shot, while patting me on that hand and looking at me with pity. Maybe it was the spit up on my blouse, or the dark circles under my eyes. We’d spend a couple hours in the bar, or at someone’s condo or in an intimate little restaurant. Drinking. Bemoaning a life that required me to wipe someone’s bottom at least five times a day. Talking about the need for adult conversation. We talked a lot about how I needed adult conversation, but I don’t recall any of the adult conversation after it’s need was established. Repeatedly. Maybe that’s because of all of the cocktails consumed during these conversations. I know that one of my favorite obsessions then, and I’m sure I shared it with anyone and everyone who would listen, was- how was I going to wean Katy from the breast. (That was how I put it, I swear, the breast, like it wasn’t attached to my body, which if it wasn’t attached to my body, it wouldn’t have been such a big concern.) I don’t really think this qualifies as adult conversation, I’m sure it bored my friends to tears, but for about a year and a half that was pretty much all that was on my sleep deprived little mind.
That was years ago. Tonight when I drove away from them I didn’t even think of calling a friend to meet for a cocktail. It’s Christmas night, the bars are closed. And not having the kids isn’t thrilling me the way it used to. I didn’t get that glorious rush of “I’m free” when I pulled out of the driveway. I just thought about how much I hate the months when it’s dark at five o’clock.
I’m home now. There is a lot of post Christmas cleanup to do. I will turn on the radio and sweep and break down boxes for recycling. I’ll try to figure out why the dishwasher won’t drain. I’ll peel up the goo from the kitchen floor from one of Katy’s science experiments. I’ll throw out the box of fancy chocolates; the kids sampled all of them and ate two. I will feed Colin’s fish and try to find the receipt to $18 Nike Elite socks I went to the mall on Christmas Eve to get; they don’t fit. $18 dollar socks that require two trips to the mall, I’m going to reminding him of that for the next six months every time I want him to clean his room.
I miss them. Not because they would help, and they would. I miss them because they have grown into the people I most want to hang out with. I want to commiserate with Colin and Katy about the measly snow we got, and talk about what the best part of the Christmas pageant was. I want to dance around the kitchen with Katy while the radio plays one of our songs, (most of the songs on the radio are one of our songs.) I want Colin to show my something on youtube I just have to see, which I invariable find totally disgusting or pee in my pants hysterical*.
And now my thoughts turn to all of the mothers tonight without their kids. I’m picking mine up at nine.
All I can say to them is I promise to try to remember each day and each night, I am the luckiest woman in the world.
*I am aware that if Colin reads this he will never, ever show me a youtube video again, and decided I can live with that.
I Still Have Hives or Merry Christmas
December 20, 2012
I still have hives.
Maybe you don’t even know that I have hives, so let me explain; a little more than a week ago little strawberry bumps sprouted all over my body. From my ankles to my collar bone, welts were scattered across my skin like clouds, except really ugly, menacing, hot pink clouds. That itched. And still itch. A lot.
These are the days before Christmas. I need to shop, make lists, cook something and cover it colored sugar, I need to figure out what to do for my children’s teachers, (money to the room mother), our choir director, (gift card) and my supervisor at the work study job at the college I’m currently attending, (a really nice card and something in the muffin family.)
And all I want to do is find this mysterious itch that has been plaguing me for a week and scratch it. All I want to know is how much longer until my next dose of Benedryl.
I will get everything done. Every year there is something getting in the way of all that needs doing, and it always gets done. This year, all it is is a fervent desire to scratch. And I still have one more trip to the doctor’s, two refills for my medication and a couple of really good friends who will help if I need it.
Colin and Katy are in the Christmas pageant this year. On Christmas Eve, Katy will make her debut as a Wise One. Colin grudgingly agreed to take on the challenging role of Donkey. So I’ve got a minor skin disease. At least I don’t have to try to sleep on dried out straw. In a barn. With farm animals and all of the bugs that like to hang out with farm animals.
That must have been really uncomfortable.
I Can’t Sleep and I’m Not Sure I Ever Will Again
December 16, 2012
This past week was the last week of the semester at school. Classes ran long, finals loom. By Monday, I need to know where all the bones go, how to use a blood pressure cuff and be able to list the physiological benefits of weight training.
Wednesday brought us to the frantic search for a tree stand and a tree we could afford to put inside it. For the first time tonight, I strung the lights all by myself. It’s a beautiful tree. On it’s branches hang ornaments my children labored over every year since kindergarten. They are mixed up with with crystal sleighs, and blown glass icicles I bought before I found myself inside a life with kids and animals.
There were conversations with my kids about what happened in Connecticut.
In the middle of it all- the amazing, the time consuming and the tragic; on Tuesday afternoon hives sprouted on my body. Red welts along my back, inside my arms, on my ankles.
I went to the doctor on Tuesday, she told me I was having an allergic reaction. She gave me steroids, and suggested benedryl and oatmeal baths.
I still have the bumps. But now the drugs I’m on to get rid of them are keeping me awake.
I’ve got time now to study, sweep up pine needles, catch up on Thirty Rock.
I want to sleep. I need to go to church tomorrow. I need to study the endocrine system tomorrow. I need to stop by my friend’s house and decorate gingerbread men with my daughter tomorrow.
Instead my body is telling me to write a novel while I scratch the back of my left knee.
My brain needs some undivided attention.
And my heart, it beats. It carries me along. It sends me up the stairs to watch my kids asleep.
So I’m a little itchy and awake.
Tomorrow when I’m spent and sleepy, someone will tuck me in while another wipes me down with Benadryl. The people that I love will carry me.
Belated Discovery, or Don’t Clean out the Junk Drawer Unless You Are Prepared to Kick Yourself in The Ass
September 24, 2012
I recently returned to college with the hope I might eventually figure out what I want to be when I grow up. In the course of this journey, I’ve studied math, computer science, two subjects out of my comfort zone, but I think I met my nemesis in the form of a course called Anatomy and Physiology, no, it’s actually Applied Anatomy and Physiology, ( does this mean we have do dissect frogs, or are we going to play doctor?)
I have a quiz this week, but I when I sat down to study, I was seized by a very, very unfamiliar urge. I wanted to clean my house.
It was quite a bender. I washed the walls, I took everything out of the refrigerator, wiped the shelves, then re -organized it’s contents. We now have a space put aside for cheese, I’m happy to say. But the highlight of my afternoon was when I tackled the receptacle in my kitchen known as the library box. On the bottom I found, buried under Highlights magazines, National Geographics and takeout menus, a “Mom’s Got It Together Calendar”. On the cover is a picture of a very happy mother, I assume, and a sticker that says “keeps the family in order”. Along the bottom it promises “Stay organized- so you can play!” It is a 24 month calendar good from September 2010 thru August 2012.
I had a golden opportunity, and I blew it.
How do you like it?
September 17, 2012
Sophie, the pup, prefers water from the toilet. Bijoux and Mamma, the cats, love to sip from glasses left on the table intended for humans. I’ve never seen Whitey the bird drink, all I know is she likes her H2O clean. (Which explains why that is the one spot in her cage she hasn’t used as a toilet.) Sammy the Turtle uses his water dish as a means of escape, he likes baths more than beverages.
Colin and Katy like their water delivered to them, five minutes past bed time. And it must be cold. Most nights they don’t get it, but they seem to be thriving.
I like to gulp water right from a gallon jug, 20 drinks and I’m done for a while. Sheldon likes cubes so he’s in charge of refilling the trays.
It’s funny. We all get thirsty. And each of us have entirely different ways of quenching that thirst. For the most part (excluding Colin and Katy’s demands, I mean, every single night, 5 minutes after I have tuck them in,) each preference is indulged.
I’m not heading for a metaphor, I’m sleepy. I’m not going to break into song about how lucky I am to be an American. I can’t sing, not much rhymes with water and it wouldn’t go over well with the top 40 demographic.
I just wanted to note- water is important. Scientists say so. So does the school nurse, and the trainers at my gym.
So turn off the tap when you brush, leaving it on isn’t going to clean the sink. Don’t flush just because you went into the bathroom to reapply lipstick. If you have to take a bath, share it with someone you love, or someone who smells so bad it is interfering with your quality of life.
My family and I thank you.
Thank God it’s Thursday, or, Hugging the House
September 7, 2012
Tonight, when I pulled in the driveway I had an overwhelming urge to hug my house. The whole house, the dust balls, and old bird, the crazy puppy and the weary sofas, the two short people that I knew would come spilling out the door any minute, (or not, depending on whether the dragon movie was near the end,) the stairs that collect dust more intensely and successfully than i’ve ever collected anything in my life, the bathrooms that need washers and washing, I wanted to hug the whole package.
And so I am. And anybody that stumbles on these words. I’m hugging you too. Thank God it’s Thursday.
Growing Pains, with a Little Middle Aged Angst on the Side and A Plan for One Late Night to Make Everything Better
September 4, 2012
Life for the next month or three is going to be nuts. I have got homework and labs and each weekday begins with the quest for impossible parking. I have an NCAA player in the making, and an Olympics contender on the verge- in the midst of my stuff my athletes need to be ferried to and from practices and competitions and fed something other than last night’s pizza.
There is my homework, their homework, playdates and hangouts, and the constant challenge of keeping them in appropriate footwear that fits. And I can’t forget the new kitten, the not so new puppy, the cats and the turtle and the dead bird in the shed, ( I have to find Whitey an everlasting home where Sophie won’t rip him to shreds.)
I have a lot on my plate, hell, I have a lot on my casserole dish that is roughly the size of Portland.
So as I move through these days coming ahead, I will plan for the moments just after.
When it’s done, when grades are in, championships won or lost, animals buried or tossed, living animals getting along or banished to individual rooms, doctors seen, paperwork done, I am going to find me a night on the town.
I don’t want to do shots. I could care less about scintillating conversation. I don’t need to dress up or eat morsels of strange food at ridiculous prices.
I want to go to club where I’ve never been. I want to sip a cold drink, take my time. I want to be asked by a gentleman, who, when he asks will act like he isn’t sure of my answer, for a dance. I will say yes. When I take his hand, the band will start playing just the right song. (I don’t know what the right song will be but it will be Just. The. Right. Song.) And we will slow dance round that floor like we have all of the time in the world. And we will.
Pledge, Though I Can’t Promise the Weather will Cooperate
August 28, 2012
Tomorrow, I’m taking the gang to the beach. We are going to pack a cooler with fried chicken from Shaws and a big thermos of lemonade. We are going to remember the frisbee and the football and the boogie boards. On the way I am going to sing along to hip hop and 80’s music until the kids cry for mercy, and/or promise to clear the table for the rest of the time they live at home.
When we get there we will find parking. The tide won’t be too high or too low. The water temperature will be cool enough to refresh, but not cold enough to hurt my toes. Tomorrow, I am going to make a day feel like a week, but it will end when I blink my eyes. I will take plenty of pictures. I will remember every single second forever.
And I promise I won’t hide under the beach umbrella posting whatever cute thing someone said on Facebook. I wo’t need to. I will remember every single second forever.
julierichmond 