I Wanna Be Sedated

As women, we can most certainly be critical of ourselves in many ways.  Ask any female friend what she may not like about her appearance and holy crackers- let the airing of grievances begin.  With all that, I really believe that we must take pride in the things we like about ourselves as easily as it is to list off all the things we don’t.  While this is easier said than done, I will be honest in that the one thing that I can always fall back on is that I feel like I have a great smile; one that is genuine, sweet, and conveys joy.  A shout out to Dr. Claus and my parents for having me suffer through 4 years of braces- it was totally worth it.  It’s something that I really like about myself.  In order to keep my smile shiny and healthy, unfortunately this requires that I must do something that I hate-

Go to the dentist.

Actually, I should clarify; I don’t just hate going to the dentist, I despise it.  Without a doubt it is my biggest fear- and this from the girl that has encountered snakes, cockroaches and used car salesmen on my own.  I feel that I can take on a lot, but when it comes to the dentist, forgetaboutit.

I believe it stems from a traumatic event I had as a kid where I had to have a tooth pulled, and while I will spare you the details I clearly remember my mom coming to get me out of the room before they were even able to start the procedure.  Perhaps it was my incessant screaming that she could hear from the waiting room that triggered the response, but nonetheless, my life-long fear was set.  Now, to even get a cleaning I have to psych myself up, remind myself that it will last less than an hour and I will feel great when it’s all said and done.  I delivered this speech to myself just before the holidays when my 6 month appointment came due, and after I thought I had gotten through the worst the dentist informed me that I needed to come back and see him. Sadly, it was not because he was so taken with my stunning smile- but because I had a cavity.

Damn.

So, I made the follow up appointment, and then canceled it.  Made it again, and then canceled it again. Finally, here I am a few months later and worked myself up with the “OhmyGodyouareanadultstartactinglikeone!” speech and set the appointment for last Friday.  I even put a DNC! reminder for myself next to the time- Do Not Cancel.  For some reason I believe that this actually holds me more accountable.

The morning of the appointment I enjoyed a breakfast of champions that consisted of coffee and not one- but two- Xanax (yes, Dentist appointments are the reason why I have these.  I’m not kidding about this fear, people).  I get there, headphones in hand with relaxing music and my mantra of “it’s only an hour and it will be done”.  I was kinda hoping they would great me in the waiting room with the Nitrous that I requested, but alas they actually make me walk all the way back to the chair on my own.  I am trying to laugh it off when the hygienist asks me if I want the gas now or only for the drilling and I answer “Well, wouldn’t it be easier for you if we just get it set up now?” I say in what I actually believe is a casual tone and if this was actually for her benefit.  What I am really thinking is “Yes. Now. Or how about 5 minutes ago?  That would be good, too.”  So I set up camp in the chair, some tunes that are supposed to calm me piped into my ears, and I tell the technician the rule of  “Please just tell me when the drilling is done.”  I think to myself, what’s the worst that it can be- like, 15 minutes, right? OK.  I can do that.  I’ve delivered two children.  I’ve had the procedure to fix a genetic heart problem- twice.  I can handle this.

Then the dentist walks in.  He administered a Novocain shot for what I feel is like a solid 10 minutes.  Then I realize why.  I can clearly hear him say “Oh yeah, this is bad.  Really deep on this one.”  I seriously contemplate taking the clear plastic mask off my nose and making a run for it, but I tell myself to just get it over with.

He comes back a few minutes later and then it starts.

For me, the drilling is like a personalized version of Hell.  I do everything to try to ignore it, but how can you shut out what sounds and feels like that air impact wrench they use to change tires in Nascar? I count to 100, try to say the ABCs backwards, remember to take deep breaths through my nose- the gas is there for a reason, girl, use it- and yet through the whole thing the dentist somehow thinks he doing me a favor by giving me the play-by-play:

“Oh yeah- what a mess.  What was the dentist that did this old filling thinking?  It’s not rocket science, you know.”

“This is really worse that we thought.”

And then…

“Young lady, I’m not going to lie.  This is a problem.  You’re going to need a root canal.”

Question- have you ever been lying horizontal in a dentist chair, mouth clamped open, that sucky thing hanging out of the side, tears streaming down your face while you try to hold the sobbing in?  Yep. It was pretty much like that.

I feel ridiculous.  Here I am a 40+ woman crying at the dentist and just wishing someone was there to hold my hand like I was 5. 

He goes on to tell me numerous other things, but when he gets to the point where he mentions the tooth now won’t stop bleeding I give him the frantic international timeout “shut the hell up” sign, because clearly the tears streaming down my face were not enough to let him know I didn’t want to hear any more.

He goes on to try to repair the tooth to as much as possible in preparation for the procedure I will need next, and after an hour and a half in the chair he says that he will meet with me to discuss next steps.  The hygienist removes all apparatuses and the infamous paper bib, and I get myself together and head out to the front of the office.

The Dentist greats me with a panoramic x-ray and the same clearly well-educated and experienced but yet cold matter-of-fact conversation.

“Look,” he says, “I am looking at this thing, and I just want to tell you, a root canal is not going to cut it.  Your nerves are long and thin” (and I think, how ironic, the one thing I happen to like about myself is the only thing about me that is long and thin) “and it’s just going to have to come out”.

Um, what?

He goes on to say  it’ a multiple months’ procedure, something about a bone graph and implant, and I seriously do not really hear him. I know from the genetics pool I was stuck with thin teeth (thanks, mom) and a bad ticker (thanks, dad) but OMG I am 41 and you are telling me that I need to have a tooth taken out? Right about now I am feeling bad for myself and also mortified as I am yet again trying to keep the crying in as he is telling me this IN THE WAITING ROOM.  I just want to believe it’s not real, but oh yes, it’s very real as he then tells me I need to go see the oral surgeon as soon as I leave him.  I am clearly a little dazed and confused- and not because of the Nitrous- as I swear I had no pain or problems at all and now it has turned into this.

So I got into the car, cleaned myself up a bit, but being a red-head it is so obvious when we cry because the fair skin gets all blotchy there is no hiding it, and head over to see the surgeon to make an appointment.  I have the consult next Tuesday, and I’m thinking I may need some Nitrous just to get me through the conversation.  All I know is that I am trying to find something to be grateful for in all this, and I guess it’s that for the next few procedures I will be completely knocked out, so I there’s not chance I will have to listen to any sideline commentary.  I honestly don’t even want to know what it’s going to cost, but I do know that I would gladly pay double to not have to go through it at all.  Sadly, I know that’s not an option.

So yes, I am (slightly) embarrassed that this is what my fear is, and this is what it looks like to me.  I keep telling myself that everyone has something, this just happens to be my ‘thing”, and yes, I will get through it. Perhaps the other silver lining is that maybe I’ll have to be on a liquid diet for some time, and perhaps that will help make my hips a little more long and thin.  Who am I kidding?  This is going to take a whole different type of liquid to get me through the next few months.

Thank goodness for the health benefits of wine. 

Simple Syrup

One of my secret goals in life is to one day be like my Grandma Hildegard. 

Now, I appreciate that my memories are distilled through the eyes of a 6 year old, however this woman rocked.  What I remember so distinctly is that she was always so welcoming, greeting you with a big smile and ever-present apron around her waist.  She and my grandfather didn’t have much, but that never seemed to bother her.  I remember her outside of their small home working a tiny garden around the shed, wide brimmed floppy hat on her head to cover the fair skin of the once red-head where my mom, girls and I clearly all get it from.  Once I had taken some dried lima beans from their kitchen and secretly planted them in some tiny patch of ground in the garden just to see what would happen.  I would like to say “always the scientist”, but in reality it was an impulsive move that I quickly forgot all about until one day she called my mom wondering why there were lima beans growing in her garden. While I don’t know for sure how she reacted, in my mind, and in my heart, I can see her laughing.

However the one thing that Hildegard was truly known for was that woman could cook.

I don’t mean fancy, farm-to-table fare, but just true home cookin’ made with love.

In infamous tales told during family gatherings that just naturally have their way of expanding as the years go by, the stories of how you would show up and there would be a spread a mile wide are told.  And whatever type of desert was your favorite, she’d have it.  As in, like, multiple pies.  And ice cream and chocolate syrup for the kids.  And the candy drawer that she would keep bite size Butterfingers in and always look away when you were sneaking one. And her fudge- oh Lord- the one that sends you into a diabetic coma after one bite and that both my girls still ask for made by the recipe that was passed down.  

I like to think that I got a small sliver of her cooking gene, as that is one thing that I love to do. Cooking makes me happy.  All parts of it- discovering recipes, trying new ingredients, the cooking process, the amazing feeling when you get it right. But most of all it’s cooking for others and seeing the joy on their face as they indulge in something that you made.  Something that was made with love. 

“Back in the day” (AKA- when I was married) I used to cook all the time.  It was wonderful to plan out big dinner parties, bring dishes to tailgates for multiple families and participate in recipe exchanges with friends.  Post-Divorce, all that went out the window.  Not intentionally, but the scope of what I was capable of achieving was pared down to simple survival mode.  (Heck, I don’t think the girls and I even ate off of real plates for the first two years simply because I didn’t have time to do the dishes.  I’m not kidding.  I’m still trying to make up my environmental footprint on that one.) But somewhere in the past year or so, the joy of cooking came back into my life. I think it was an accumulation of things; the kids are older, I have a much better handle on life, and perhaps because GG is my budding foodie who will try anything and Belle has been bitten by the baking bug.  And while all of this is true, I think the biggest shift is that I found my joy in the process again.  It no longer feels like something I “had” to do out of necessity nor out of forcing myself to do something that once brought me happiness and so I should keep up with it (if that makes sense), but because it really DOES make me happy now. 

Over the past several months I am proud to say that I have my cooking mojo back revived some of my favorite recipes from long ago. I knocked out all of my Thanksgiving specialties for European visitors, including yellow squash casserole, my secret stuffing recipe and the best roast turkey you will ever have.  I have also perfected a few new gems including stuffed French toast and- if I may say so- a killer fillet made on the cast iron skillet.  I have also tread into new territory, gettin’ jiggy making craft cocktails. It was during one of these mixology sessions where I was making simple syrup- sugar and water that can be infused with specialty ingredients such as sage or ginger, and boiled down to a thick, flavorful liquid- when something hit me. 

Life really is like simple syrup. 

As I get older, my friend base has tended to boil down, the activities I plan are fewer just due to life’s demands, but the events and who I spend my time with are much richer.  My time spent with friends add the “flavor” to my life, not a watered down version of well-drinks just for the sake of being out because that was the thing to do.  The people and events are my specialty items that have evolved over time, evolved into something special and sweet.  Without these key ingredients, you know that things might be “ok” but not nearly as good as it could be, because it’s not something that you get to indulge in every day but a specialty item that make the ordinary event extraordinary just because you are enjoying it. 

So to all of you that are the components that make up the simple syrup in my life, I want to thank you.  You make my days richer, sweeter, and full of flavor.  I think this is what my Grandma Hildegard knew all along, and it showed in her cooking and the way she made you feel loved.  She knew that the spice of life was all about who was around the table outside the tiny kitchen where she miraculously made all of the dishes, so full of flavor and love, to celebrate the moments when we were all together.  She made memories through these dishes, and one day, I hope I will be able to say I did the same.

Apron and all. 

The Beet Theory

So what do beets and online dating have in common? 

I'm glad you asked.

 

First, a little background. 

 

I have been a victim-oops- I mean "willing participant" of online dating on and off since moving to Georgia. At first, I will now openly admit it was for all of the wrong reasons; there was no way I was at all in a place where I could have a meaningful relationship.  Instead, I was using the numerous sites (I mean seriously, there are over 1,500 dating sites in the USA alone!  So much so that there is one for Farmers. Only.  And yes, it's called farmersonly.  But I digress....) As I was saying, I was using one of the numerous sites for what the majority of my fellow users were sacrificing our dignity for; online validation without the fear of any actual follow through. 

 

Hey, I'm only being honest here.

 

It was during this time that I devised what I like to call "The Beet Theory". 

And I am going to let you all in on how this works.  (By the way, for all my married folk, you can just thank me now for what I will save you in marriage therapy expense as you will use one of the infamous "When Harry Met Sally" lines after reading this...

"Please tell me I will never have to be out there again."

"You will never have to be out there again."

AKA- Dating. (No wagon wheel coffee table included in this offer.)

 

Ok, here goes.

 

Imagine yourself as what you believe to be is a fairly well adjusted Singleton. Perhaps newly so, you have this "re-birth" feeling pulsing in you- hey, you are free! You are meant to live life!  Live the life that the person you were with "clearly" was holding you from.  Now, you are going out and are destined to meet that one person that you were meant to be with... not that you need anyone- seriously, you are just fine as you are and fully healed and well adjusted to this new life and are not out for anything serious because life is great how it is but just missing that one thing and all your friends have told you how wonderful you are but not egotistical but smart, funny, driven and a true giver and that one guy who you would call at 2:00 am and he would so be there for you but hey I am just testing the waters here in hopes to find my true soul mate that I am willing to wait for because I know they are waiting for me, too.

 

So says every online dating profile ever written.

 

And you, the other version of this, are doing The. Exact. Same. Thing.

Oh, what I mean is, of course you truly are all those things.  No, Seriously. You are.

 

And you, Ms. Well Adjusted, are there on a Saturday night (not to late, as to not give the impression that you are actually doing what you are doing and that is looking at online dating profiles in your flannel reindeer pants and your second (+) glass of red wine) going through that barrage of men just waiting to be your everything.

 

And then you find it.

 

He's handsome, but not "too" handsome, professional, likes some of the same things but you can tell that he's just different enough to be interesting and introduce you to some new experiences.  He has a job, claims not to be married, is witty in his description, and says he has the best dog ever which sadly for him you know is a lie because YOU have the best dog ever.  And you start picturing that first date, and the butterflies you will feel, and how you will try to act so causal like this is no big deal but in your head you are already thinking of how you will tell your story to your friends that you "just knew" and were the one true success story of how online dating can actually work and were together after that moment...

 

Until you read it. 

 

He says he hates beets.

 

You know that you love beets.

 

And immediately the picture perfect vision you had dissipates like dust in the wind because it was clearly never meant to be because how could the person you were "meant" to be with not like beets when you like them so much and hey.. wait... there are 72,834 other profiles within a 60 mile radius and I am certain in my bones that the right person is out there for me and he will have all of the things I just read plus like beets- I just need to move onto the next profile to find him!

 

Yep.  Online dating can be just like that.
So easy to dismiss someone simply because of a personal like or dislike they have, subconsciously believing that one thing you don't have in common results in the fact that it won't work out; and the fact that you don't have to be vulnerable to anyone by taking the time to get to know them because you have countless others (and by others, I clearly mean other empty profiles) that are simply waiting for you only a click away....

 

Now, I would in no way say that this is a replica of actual events... but I might have known a girl, once, recently single, years ago, in a land far, far away, that perhaps thought like this.  You might have known someone like that at one point, too, at least three people removed from yourself I am sure.

 

I am happy to say that years, much, much, much, longer than I thought it should have ever taken me, I think I am finally closing up the chapters that have been holding me back to the realistic search that I want to be on.  One where most of the "what I thought was important" has faded into the background of "what I know to be important", and most importantly, what I will and will not accept in my life. 

 

Values.  Character.  Standards. 

 

Ok, and perhaps some similar interests, but now those who dislikes beets are welcome to apply.

 

What I Did On My Summer Vacation

I woke up this morning and could feel the brisk air coming in through my bedroom window; it was 50 degrees.  Brrrrr!  I quickly got up and did what anyone would naturally do- I put a turkey in the oven. I’m not kidding.

 

While the beauty of fall in Michigan is unparalleled, it doesn’t mean that I don’t love the fall here in Georgia (don’t worry, Peach State, you win hands down when spring rolls around).  October is my favorite color, and while I am so glad that it’s here, the chill in the air and crunch of leaves under your feet makes summer feel like eons ago when in reality it was only 10 weeks past.

 

This summer was a season of change for me (do I constantly say that here?  Should I just embrace that LIFE is CHANGE?  Ok, that will have to be another post for another day… but still…) I left a job where I had grown a lot professionally and can honestly say I made some lifelong friends; I love my DD peeps.  It was hard, and then again it wasn’t, because I knew it was time.  I also knew that it was time to face something that I had placed in the dark recesses of my mind, and that before I could move forward into my next life adventure I needed to adventure back to where I had last left.  So, while I feel that I should have captured these details with a freshly sharpened #2 pencil right after Labor Day,  I will instead write them for you here. 

 

This is what I did on my summer vacation. 

 

#1: Went back to visit where I am from and realized how far I have come.

 

I had been putting it off way to long; I needed to go back to Michigan.  There were clearly some parts that I missed- family, friends, the familiarity of it all, but mostly the beauty of Northern Michigan or the presence of The Big House that honestly can’t be described unless you have seen it.  Then there were the parts that I didn’t miss- the signs of economic challenge, the town-where-you-grew-up feel that was just no longer me, the memories and the knowledge that this was the life I thought I once was going to live forever. 

 

I had not been back since I packed up the kids, the dog and they Dyson into the Expedition and moved to Georgia, and here I was with the kids all packed up for their annual summer pilgrimage and I was taking us back to where we had left off. I swear I nearly started hyperventilating when I passed the exit to my old house off I-75 that we shared as a family. Then there was the sledding hill, West road, and all of the other things that didn’t seemed to have changed since I left years ago.  It’s funny how quickly you start driving all of your old routes, know you can find whatever you might need at Meijer, how you still get so easily frustrated when you find yourself stuck by a train on Allen road, and think about how many countless hours of your life you have spent in “park” waiting for the freight cars to pass.  How you could have found yourself sitting there in that exact same moment but this still being your hometown if things had been different. 

 

The morning after I dropped the girls off at their dad’s I took a personal guided tour of my life.  I visited every house I ever lived in, saw some of the same neighbors at each; outside watering plants, mowing the lawn, knowing that the reality of me having lived in the house next door has no bearing on their life today. I saw kids playing in the court where I had once played, the bedroom window where my best friend from high school and I would sneak out onto the roof (for no apparent reason) and where someone had spray painted the driveway during my high school years (and I still wonder what would possess someone to do that?).  I drove past the first house M and I purchased and was sad to see the Magnolia tree gone, and curious if they were able to cover the 5 coats of paint I put on the wall in order to get just the right shade of burgundy in the living room, or if they thought the old fashioned milk shoot was as cool as I did.  I then drove past the last house, the one the girls still think of as their Michigan home.  Looking at that house seemed like a whole different lifetime ago.  Actually, the entire trip seemed like someone else’s life; like I was a visitor in my own home, which in reality is exactly what I was.  Not until this moment have I been able to say that I am proud of the life I have created on my own here, a meaningful life for the girlies and I, and truly mean it.

 

#2: Answered the life-long question: What DOES one wear when you are meeting your ex-husbands girlfriend for the first time?

 

Oh yes.  This happened.  During M’s last trip to Georgia I told him that after all these years clearly she was going to remain in the picture, and if she was going to be in the girls lives then I wanted to meet her.  I made it clear that I wasn’t doing it for him, but for them.   As anyone would expect, having this person in their dads lives has had its share of ups and downs.  I am proud to say that I have been fully supportive and encouraging for the girls to get to know her… ok, perhaps I am holding it as some sort of “pay it forward / good karma” sort of thing, but nonetheless I approached it how I would hope M would approach it for me one day. 

 

The day finally arrived and I found myself wishing I had partaken in some liquid courage before the event.  Not because I had anything to prove, but just because… can you say awkward?!?  We met in the local park on a sunny afternoon, and after lunch I asked her if she wanted to go for a walk (I think M thought that she might not return given the look on his face.)  But I had fully thought this out, and there were some things that needed to be said. 

 

First, I told her thank you.  Yep, that’s right- thank you.  I know that the reasons that M and the girls do more activities is because she plans a lot of them, and I believe that having new experiences is very important in life.  Also because I know M is happy, and if she is the one that makes him happy, then I know that means he will be in a better place when the girls are with him.  And again, how the girls feel is what’s important here.

 

Second, I wanted to tell her that even though M comes to Georgia and for now might stay with us during his visits, she has nothing to worry about.  Ever.

 

The third thing I told her remains private.  She knows, I know, M knows. That’s all that need to know.  But I’m glad I said it.

 

#3:  Sometimes the best plan is no plan at all.

 

After I returned home from Michigan, I soon realized that for the first time ever in my life, I had no job, no kids.  No email, no deadlines, no conference calls, no soccer practice, no dinners to make, no laundry to fold.  This miracle window of no responsibility was the equivalent of a solar eclipse; acknowledge it, respect it, but don’t blink because otherwise you will miss it and it will be gone.  Time to check something off the Life List. 

 

Not enough time to travel overseas, I cashed in my Delta points and hopped a first class ticket to Portland.  Flying over Mr. Rainer was amazing, and I could feel the excitement of exploration in the air. I had a hotel, a map, a good friend, lots of things to see and no plans other than to just figure it out in the moment.  And that’s what we did and it all worked out.  Actually better than just worked out- the amazing waterfalls, Voodoo Donuts, the countless craft breweries, an unplanned side trip to Washington, stumbling on the most beautiful beach and watching the sun set and overall weirdness of Portland definitely made it a trip to remember.  

A good lesson to hold onto when I find myself trying to plan and schedule every minute of my life.

 

Which brings me full circle back to fall, and the crisp breeze coming through my kitchen window stirring the scent of roast turkey through the air.  More changes are on the horizon for us- pretty significant changes- but more on that another day.  For now, I am going to turn on the game, enjoy the season, hold onto lessons that this year has brought me and ready myself for the next ones to come.   

Lessons in Motherhood

While cleaning out my home office I came across some documents I had clearly meant to hang onto but lost track of their existence.  A few pictures from college days gone by (who thought Toga parties were a good idea? Sheets are clearly never an attractive look), cards from special occasions, letters I had written, etc.  Among the collection was a note I had written to some girlfriends as they were getting ready to have their first child.  GG at the time must have been around 2, and the transformation of going from partner to parent was something that was clearly uncharted territory for so many of us.  Given all of that uncertainty, I had wanted to capture some words of reassurance that yes, everything you are experiencing and feeling is all normal.  Entering Motherhood is kind of like this secret sorority where you want to convey that the initiation process is life changing (ok, really more like the worst form of hazing imaginable) but worth it in the end.  Some amazing women at my office (you know who you are) were experiencing this same transformation with welcoming their first little ones into the world, and I thought about giving them a copy of the letter, but as I read it I had some different perspectives now that 13 years have gone by.  Instead, I decided to capture both here, for all parents.   My initial thoughts are first, added commentary second…

Now that you are a Mom….

 

It's OK that babies don't come with a set of instructions, and you might second guess every decision you make. 

 

You should know that this never changes.  There is something new to figure out at every stage, at every age, and with every kid.  Oh, and it tends to get more difficult when they starting having something called “opinions of their own and ability to make decisions” because they often conflict with your own.  Learn to suck it up now.   

 

It's OK that that now all your priorities change.

This was kind of a lie.  As in, the lies we tell ourselves to make up for the fact that I no longer feel that shaving my legs is a priority.   I've learned the importance of continuing to put yourself on the top part of the important list, and that doesn’t make you selfish.  It only makes you a better mom.

 

It's OK that sometimes you will laugh and cry, and not always know why. 

Oh yeah, that never changes, and after a while you really can’t blame the baby anymore.  I suggest getting a list of ideas at the ready for such moments…  such as its Tuesday.

 

It's OK that sometimes you might have to leave your screaming child safely in another room while you walk away and count to 10, just because you need a break. 

This is a good lesson.  I have learned this also works with screaming husbands, clients and employees.

 

It's OK that you may feel that you are losing a sense of who you are, as long as you never really do. 

So,  I’ve learned that really you do loose who you are- or more accurately, who you were.  You are always growing and changing, and just becoming who you were meant to be.  Along the way you just can’t lose the fun chick who is still willing to dance all night in shoes that are not mommy shoes regardless of the fact that they make your feet hurt because they look damn hot and knows she can still get hit on regardless of some well concealed stretch marks. Just know that after a night on the town if you should happen to wake up the next morning and are still feeling the night before this takes on a whole new challenge with kids. 

 

It's OK that when you first get home from the hospital, that for the first few days taking a shower is a big accomplishment. 

This can actually apply to any life situation, again, such as a Tuesday.  Change is hard, but it remains the one constant in life.   Sometimes, in the midst of it all, you need to cut yourself some slack for accomplishing even some of the simplest tasks.

 

It's OK that everyone will give you advice, and you listen to what your heart tells you. 

Regardless of the situation- True.

 

It's OK that you go to work and you find spit-up on your shoulder, and it doesn't faze you. 

This continues with forgotten lunches, last minute requests for science project supplies, frantic calls about missing the bus, etc.  It’s crazy how much you learn to take in stride.

 

It's OK to ask for help, and to take it when it is offered.

“I just looked, and yep, no giant S on my shirt so quite trying to be Superwoman”  every woman should say to herself every. single. day. 

 

It's OK to want things done a certain way because you are the mommy. 

I've learned to let things go.  No- really.  Ask my mother-in-law about the binder of instructions the first time they watched GG as a baby.  The pages were laminated.  I'm not kidding.  I have come a long way.

 

It's OK that you will find yourself saying and doing things to your child that your parent did to you, and you swore you would never repeat. 

Trust me, just start saving for the therapy now, because there is no avoiding this one. There is a part of you that will become your parents.

 

It's OK that now you can run on half the amount of sleep, and do twice as much. 

Hate to tell you, you probably won’t get a good night's sleep for at least the next 20 years. Invest in some strong coffee and quality eye cream -stat.  

 

It's OK to feel that the love for your child is almost overwhelming. 

Now, this one does change.  Hard to believe knowing how much you love them as those cute bundles of joy and think every smile and milestone the kid makes is next to sheer genius,  but this only continues to grow.  Grow so much that it takes over your heart.  Grow so much as they become who they are supposed to be, ask inquisitive questions, test the rules and frustrate you for remembering that the older one got a new bike at 10 and yet can’t remember to change her socks or brush her teeth.  That they start to have opinions and preferences all their own, and grow into these small adults that you can have real, meaningful conversations with.  And they drive you crazy, and it can be overwhelming, but at some point you quickly realize that you have them for only this short window of time, and then they are grown and an their own, so then suddenly the challenges just don’t seem to matter as much. 

 

And with that in mind, this is a new one I would add…

It OK to want to have them stay little for just a bit longer, because the time goes by faster than you can ever imagine.

A Tale of Two Cities

Michigan has been on my mind a lot lately.  There is the fact that it seems to be coming up in random conversations, from work issues to occasional comments I pick up on here and there.   As in most things in life, this is no coincidence.  The reality is that I have been feeling this growing desire to go back.  Actually, it’s more than a desire- it is a flat out need.  The need to go and revisit the place where I am from.  Where I left three years ago and believe that this place- where I grew up- would no longer recognize me as the person I am now as I cross the state line.  The place where I will nervously return to in just a matter of weeks.

Michigan, where I am from, is this paradox of industry and beauty.  Where people are connected through the common thread of automotive giants to the countless lakes that we live by or vacation on.  It’s a place where you don’t see the sun for months, but you are so used to the winter gray that you just don’t know any different;  it seems to just blend into the remains of the last snow fall that is now slush piled to the side of the road.  But all of that is easily forgotten when the seasons change and the State comes alive.  The beauty of Michigan is unparalleled.  And while I may be biased, I feel that I have done my fair share of travel and can appreciate the striking beauty of Scottsdale to the picturesque surroundings of the Cape- but I guess the saying is true that there is no place like home. 

Michigan is where I became who I am- where I spent every family vacation navigating the waters of the Great Lakes and learned to love the Big Ten.  In college I knew what it was truly like to walk up hill both ways in 2 feet of snow as I trudged to class (and perhaps to Waldo’s.  And by that I clearly mean the library, not the bar.)  It was where I took my girls sledding for the first time- on the same hill where I went as a child- and I relived my memories while they created theirs.  It’s the place I knew every street, called out neighborhoods by those who lived there and the elementary school they are associated with.  Where the real four seasons are Fall, Winter, Spring and Construction, and everyone has a great venison recipe. Where every milestone event of my life took place- first loves, real friendships, graduations, wedding, first house, first child, second house, second child, and countless more memories with great friends and family- lived 93% of my life- all until I left.

Georgia is where I live now.  It is the splendor of sunshine, nature, overly polite people, amazing food and a slower pace that I am still not used to.  It is the place where I hike up a mountain, surrounded by Civil War battle fields that live in infamy.  Where people are outside all the time- because they can be.  Locals let you into traffic, slow down to let a pedestrian cross, let an elderly person have their seat and use Y’all and Yes Ma’am more often than not.  Where I find myself using Yes Ma’am more than I would like to admit.  Where the landscape of the North Georgia Mountains calls my name every spring and fall, and I so easily get lost in all its wonder.  I have learned that a true Southern conversation starts with “What’s your family name and what church do you go to?”  That the genuine sense of community is just that- genuine - and it still makes me feel uneasy because as much as I know it’s true I tend not to trust it (getting better at that, though).  Where football and BBQ are a religion, both fueled with such intense emotion that you can feel the electricity in the air when two people are discussing their following for either.  Where apparently anything looks better with a monogram, and girls still wear bows in their hair so big you wonder how they don’t topple over. 

And both of these places have made me who I am.  I still like to reference that I am from Detroit because there is a certain Bad-Assness that comes with it, and yes I’ll let you think that I know all about 8 mile if you don’t know any different.  The street smarts I learned in Detroit- walking to the Fox, catching games at The Joe- I carry with me everywhere, as I do the love of multiple cultures that I learned working in Dearborn and having my dad take me to Eastern Market.  Where I miss my city, my state, and wear my mid-west roots with pride- but yet am honestly afraid to return because as much as I have changed, I know that it has to.  I want to remember the old times- the better times- and revel in those versus the uneasy feeling of trying to understand who the other one is now, and having to admit that perhaps we just don’t “fit” anymore.  Where I have taken many lessons from the South- how to talk a little nicer, walk a little slower, and that it really is normal to speak to strangers on the street.  That learning to embrace my femininity is a gift, and being “girly” does not make you weak.  That boiled peanuts sold from the back of a pick up truck off the side of the road can be a delicacy, and that southern food is truly made with love.  And while no one has yet to be able to say our Polish last name, they all just smile and accept you just the same… and I have yet to fully understand how these lessons apply to the Northern part of me.

I have to admit, when I think about it, neither place truly feels like home.   But I do know that I take the lessons that each place has taught me wherever I go. Each place has molded me into who I am now.  Michigan- in what was created in my core- strength, resilience, an undying passion to make it, to survive.  And in thinking about it, that is exactly what Georgia has taught me as well- strength, resilience, and undying passion to make it, to survive- just in another way. 

And should I ever live anyplace else, I know that I will gain these same gifts from wherever it is that I end up.  But maybe that’s all you can ask for; that while perhaps you don’t immediately think of a place as home, if your heart does in the moments that you are there, that’s the most you can ask for.  Because in the end, every place changes you just a little bit into the special, unique and strong person that these places has molded you to be.

And most importantly, will always be a part of who you are.

The (opposite of) Luck of the Irish

Given the red hair and affinity for good beer, you would think that I would be all about St. Patrick’s Day; however- not so much.  Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I dislike it, say, in the way that I dislike Halloween (that’s a whole other story) but for me it’s just kind of a take it or leave it type of Holiday.  Which is why when my Saturday night plans to go out and kiss the proverbial blarney stone with friends fell through, I wasn’t all that upset.  It was funny, in a kind of pathetic and sad kind of way, that instead I found myself scrubbing the bathroom and texting my sister about how wild and crazy my single life is- somebody stop me!  I’m living on the edge!  Hahaha. Yeah, remind me to never make fun of my quiet Saturday night ever again.

So after introducing GG to the awesomeness that is the Bourne trilogy, I took a nice bath in said clean tub utilizing some glorious Lush bath products I received for Christmas.  And while no green beer, there might have been a nice glass of red involved.  Feeling relaxed, smelling sweet, and all “miss independent and how great is it that house is clean and things are calm” type of nirvana, what I was clearly doing was actually putting a triple-dog-dare-you type of vibe out to the universe.  One where it laughs its crackly laugh and sneers, “Oh yeah?  Watch this.”

It started at about 12:30.

I had crawled into clean white sheets, book in hand, quickly drifting off when I heard it.  The distinct sound- and then the even more distinct scent.  The pup- all 115 lbs. of him- that so dutifully sleeps on the floor at the foot of my bed every evening- was sick.  Like, really sick.   “Where there Hell did this come from?” I think very loudly in my head as I run to the kitchen for the necessary supplies.  Quickly everything my mother has ever taught me about cleaning carpets- and that I passed along during that memorable evening during freshman year of college- comes into mind.  “Blot- don’t rub!”  But let’s just say it was… intense… and I knew that the carpet would never be the same.  Poor Samps- he looked so guilty, knowing that my peaceful Zen like state had quickly disappeared.  I finally got things back into some sort of order, chemical sting still fresh in the air, when I take a deep breath, scrub my hands multiple times, and get ready to get back into bed.

Little did I realize, the fun had only just begun.

5 minutes later, Belle comes down the stairs.  “Mommy- I don’t feel good… I was sick”. 

Um- What???

I went to her room.  It made the first incident look like a tea party.

Poor girl clearly had no chance of making it out of her bed.  Which was covered.  As was the floor.  And part of the night stand.  Linda Blair had nothing on this.

I quickly try to come up with a plan of action.  Step one- get a place for Belle to rest.  I strip off the sheets and don’t even try to save them- into the trash they go.  Move onto opening windows, click on the fan, and let her rest in my bed with a cool wash cloth until her room is habitable once again.  Clean the furniture, clean the carpet- blot don’t rub- rinse, repeat.  OK, got it.  Just as I am finishing up I hear it…

The dog.  Again.  Now in the family room.

ARE YOU *$%^&* KIDDING ME?!?!?!

I run downstairs, leap over the offence, get the dog, barricade him in the kitchen.  Go to my room, scoop up Belle, and place her back up into her room which is somewhat back to normal.  I go downstairs, and what can only be explained as a reenactment of Macbeth: Act 5, Scene 1, Page 2 “Out, damned spot! Out, I say! ” I cry and scrub the carpets again and look up to the powers that be literally saying out loud “Seriously?!?!”  Who even knew that your child and your dog could get the stomach flu at the same time? And as any parent could tell you, one is more than enough.

It’s now about 2:00 am and any trace of Zen I once had is long gone.  Like, so far gone it moved out of the country with an expired passport with no possibility of ever coming back gone.  But it doesn’t matter, because Belle is awake once again and making use of the ever popular trash can lined with plastic shopping bags I left for her.  It’s clear this isn’t over.

I am now simply operating in what could be called zombie mode, and while not wanting to devour anyone, I basically am only talking in grunts and “it’sokitwillallbeok” words.  While not the same as holding a girlfriends hair back, I zone out next to Belle while stroking her hair so that she would fall asleep.  At some point, I get up, wander back downstairs and collapse into bed.

Both Belle and the dog were not well for the entire next day.  I will save you any more details, but I don’t think I have ever used every beach towel in my house nor had so much laundry in my entire life.

All of this caused me to have to cancel a trip to Boston, which ironically, would have been today- the actual St. Patrick’s Day.  My plans were to try to head downtown this evening after I landed so I could experience a little of what today would be like in Boston… not a life list type of desire, but I thought it would have been cool nonetheless.  Having just gone through what I did on the day I had been planning on celebrating the holiday, perhaps it is all for the best that I didn’t venture out on the actual holiday.  If this was any indication, I could not have handled any more, especially considering one additional factor…. green beer.