You Are Six, Going On Seventeen

Today my Belle turns 7.

Could someone please explain how 7 years has gone by?

Wasn’t it just yesterday that she was that bald headed baby clutching the blankie in one hand and her favorite purple cup in the other?

And now, she is truly a personality to behold.

I will admit, I love being able to still see so many sides of her.  On any given day, she will vacillate between being my little girl and asking me to “schmuggle” with her, and then turn around and provide me a glimpse of that sassy Tween that I know is lurking right around the corner.

Sigh.

At 7, these are the things that I already know about my Belle:

1.     She is a force to be reckoned with

2.    She already has an amazing sense of style

3.    While good in school, she’s going to have to work at her studies.  She is never going to have to work at making friends

4.    She can turn your day around on a dime- and yes, that means in either way

5.    Did I mention she is a force to be reckoned with?

Belle is that child that you miss, and then she comes back and totally tries your patience, and then 5 minutes later you miss her again. 

Her smile is priceless.  Her laughter is golden.  Her personality is strong.

And now, at 7, she seems so mature… more than GG ever did at this age. 

I know that both girls have had to do a lot of growing up this year, but Belle, as always, is ahead of her time.

I just want to capture this moment- the here and now- and keep it locked in my memory forever. 

She has promised me that if I still give her birthday parties, she won’t actually get any older.

Any chance I can make that wish come true?

Sponge Worthy

Do you remember the Seinfeld episode where Elaine, given the knowledge that the Today Sponge was going off the market, purchased every surplus she could get her hands on to create her personal stockpile?  She then proceeded to quiz any man she dated to determine if he was "Sponge Worthy"; using up her precious resources, he had better be pretty damn good in order to deplete her stockpile, else someone better could come along who would have been MORE sponge worthy, and then she would be pissed off that she used the goods on a lesser person?

Yeah, my social life is kinda like that.

Let me first and foremost establish that I am certainly not talking about the sponge, or "it" for that matter, but I am referencing much more precious recourses- time and money.

In an effort to break the vicious cycle of the "to do" syndrome (please see previous post), or more accurately, wanting to experience this fabulous city I now call home, I have joined some singles groups in an effort to meet like minded people my age.  And by like minded, I mean not crazy, obsessive, normal people that like good food and a few beers.  But how do you determine someone isn't crazy until you take the time to meet them in person?

Here in lays the problem.

How do you determine when something is Sponge Worthy? 

I think I have done a good job so far to determine the cost to outcome ratio on a night out.  Does it involve larger groups of people (aka- more people to sort through in hopes of finding the normal ones).  Do I already have things in common with them (there is a much higher relateability factor with the Professional Singles group than any "Hot Chick In ATL"ish group.  I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm still a hot chick, but I don't want to be next to someone who could be using a fake I.D. Or mistake me for their mom). Most importantly, what is the possibility of success (success being defined as someone - male or female- that I would establish a friendship with).  All of this is combated with those ever precious resources- time and money.  How long am I going to be gone for?  Have you SEEN the cost of some babysitters these days?  I am clearly doing it all wrong, let me tell you.  Suck it college degree- I am starting my very own Babysitters Club.  Anyway, there is that, combined with will I have to ship the girls off for the night (they already have to spend nights away from home when I travel, and all I really want is for them to fall asleep in their own beds, despite their begging at the idea of a glorious sleep over where they can sleep in the next day).  Then there is the comparison of if this event is worth the one or two nights out a week that all these factors combined I typically allow myself (that is, if I am not traveling that week.  Then it's pretty much 0).  And don't go judging- one night for me to look hot and talk to other adults is not a lot to ask in my book.  I am supposedly supposed to be living some fabulous singles life, or so I have been told. 

Anyway, I have established some criteria that on the flow chart, er, I mean 'hypothetically", makes the decision fairly clear on when it's worth it to give up the goods.  And of course, a night out with girlfriends trumps everything else. 

So until my next evening out (please stand by for a future post, because believe me, it could be a good one) I will be here, trying to hold onto my resources tight enough to make any one featured on "Hoarders" proud.

Constant

There is a dead spider in my hallway.

I am embarrassed to say how long it has been there, but let’s just say I might have noticed it shortly after my last post.

It’s not that it doesn’t freak me out a little every time I pass it, and I am certainly not keeping it there for any particular reason, I just haven’t quiet gotten to it yet.

As of late, my house has looked more like a pack of rabid weasels have come in and torn the place apart than the organized tight ship I like to run.  OK, so maybe it’s more like organized chaos with one oar out of the water type of life raft, but it works for me.  As of late, it’s not even a pool floaty with a slow leak.

As in most households with school age children, the craziness involved in the transition from the relaxed wonders of summer vacation to the ramp up of a new school year has once again provided a quick snap back to reality.  Only, the problem is, this reality (that of being a working single mom) and I have yet to really meet, let alone become friends.

Over the past few crazy weeks, while I have been coming to grips with what this looks like, there is one word that keeps coming back and best defines it; this new life is constant.

This life is a constant state of what’s next, what was left un-done, and that is just going to have to wait for another day because it’s not vital that I do it today.  A constant state of never enough time, constant reference to the “to-do” list, and constant longing for 15 minutes to just sit down in silence and breathe.

As with the majority of women I know, I felt that I pretty much did the crux of the household management when I was married.  Even if that was true, there was always someone to tap me out of the ring when it became too much; the fall back of divide and conquer.  But now, that dynamic no longer exists.   This truly came to light on the Fourth of July in what can now be called “The Great Taco Sauce Incident”. We had dinner with all of the neighbors at the pool, and as the sky became overcast we all headed home.  There was some debate on whether to go into town to try to watch the fireworks vs. get caught in a legendary southern downpour, and in the end we decided to go for it.  As I was handing out typical pre-departure directions to the girls (go to the bathroom, grab a raincoat, and for the love of God please take off those new white sandals before they are covered in red Georgia mud) I was quickly unloading the dinner contents out of the cooler and into the fridge.  The jar of taco sauce slipped out of my hands.  It was new. It was family size.  It was practically full.  Trying to grab it mid-air only made it tumble out of control and cover the walls, cupboards, and inside the fridge with red taco sauce.  At the same moment my sister honks the horn indicating that her family is waiting for us to pile into the minivan and head downtown.   In my prior life it would have been easy to say “you get the kids and I will clean this up” or, ideally, had another pair of hands to help with the mess.  But as it quickly came to light, it’s all me, baby.

That is just one example of many where it is not only the physical (how do I move that filing cabinet down the stairs by myself, or accept the fact that I have to wait for someone to come over to help me) to the logistical (no one else to attend school open house, review homework, or share soccer practice duties with.  Trying to scheduling each girls’ activities on separate days so there are no driving conflicts) to the financial (no one to discuss with the pros and cons of getting the chimney cap sanded and painted vs. replacing it with a new one). 

Which brings me to the last constant, and that is one that I know so well; guilt.

Oh, guilt is my constant companion and loves to keep me company late at night.  Guilt that it’s never good enough.  If I need to focus on the kids, work suffers.  If I focus on work, the kids suffer.  Guilt knowing that in either situation I am doing all I can and I feel it’s barely enough to get by.  My inbox is out of control, and I missed items on the girls’ school supply list.  I decline a call to be able to attend meet and greet, and I miss open house because I am on a plane coming back from who knows where.  I greet them at the bus stop every day I am home at 2:30 but am not always there to kiss them goodnight. All the while I am just trying to keep that constant pace, reminding myself to still talk kindly, keep a smile on, keep it in perspective, and most importantly keep it together.

Look, it’s not that I didn’t know it was going to be hard.  I really did think these scenarios through.  And it may come off like this post is just one big complaint, but I really mean it when I say it’s not- it just is what it is.  I am beyond grateful to have support from my amazing sister and her family, which I would never be able to do any of this without. Because while the reality is that it may seem I have made it more difficult than it needs to be because we moved, I would gladly take this constant pace with the other constant that I know- and that is that moving is still the right choice, and I would make the same decision all over again if I had to.

So, I acknowledge that reality- my reality- is changing.  And I guess that is the true constant in life- change. We learn to grow and adapt better than we ever thought possible, and in looking back we amaze even ourselves when we say “I can’t believe I made it through that”.

Well, at least that’s what I hope I will say, or at least something like it.

Until then, I have a dead spider I need to attend to.

Lessons on Life and Running

After traveling for business last week, and then enjoying a fun Friday night on the town with my partner in crime J (Chicago is her home town) I was feeling more than a little off.  Perhaps it was the combination of beer + carbs + more beer + more carbs that we consumed for copious amounts of hours.  Just sayin’. This riotous evening was soon followed by a very challenging 12 hour drive from Michigan to Georgia, where I was consuming anything with caffeine and sugar just to stay awake.  Needless to say, by the time I got home I was feeling blegh, akin to the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. I knew there was only one solution:

I needed to run.

I had been so diligent on my training for the 5k, and afterward, while not stopping “per se”, there was a definitely a slowdown that first week.  Then came more travel, and I just never seemed to get back into the rhythm I had created over the previous few weeks.  Now that I was back home, there were no more excuses.

But here is the truth.... dare I admit... I missed it.

For me, running is more than just a form of exercise.  For those that have known me a long time, you will understand the significance much more than most- it is a true departure from who I was years ago.  Running used to be this ever looming "thing" that just seemed impossible- that I would never be able to do.  And yet, here I am- hair pulled back into my Shrek-looking ponytails, nylon running shorts swishing as I zip around the house gathering my IPod, running watch and water bottle before heading out the door.

After a quick 10 minute drive I arrive at the running park, and I immediately set into my routine.  Stretch in the parking lot, walk to the place where I like to start on the path, and as I take my warm up walk I strap my IPod to my arm and arrange my headphones.  I feel comfortable, secure… this is my place, and I know it well.  As I hit the third .10 mile marker, I start to run.  And so it begins….

"Keep your pace" is my first mantra... if I start to fast I will burn out by the end of the first mile.  I slowly get my rhythm.  I have to remind myself, I am not here to impress anyone; it’s just me, the path I know, and the never ending fact that I am running.  I hear Eminem in my ears... his bitterness and angst getting me revved up.  Half a mile in, and I start to notice my breathing has fallen into place.  By 3/4 mile, already there is sweat streaming down my forehead (did I mention this state is HOT?).

My first mile is complete, and I feel like I can accomplish anything.  There is no challenge I can't take on! I recognize my running trail peeps that I have come to know and love; the man that walks the track holding a golf club, like he expects to be searching for a ball he shanked at any moment.  The group of new moms with their tiny babies in jogging strollers, starting that never ending battle to get the baby weight off, as well as the group of moms that look like a flash forward 10 years who realize they are beautiful as they are still carrying that post baby weight, and walk to commiserate with other likeminded women for that essential companionship.  There are many other runners, all at varying levels, just trying to beat their personal best. And then there is my personal cheerleader, a man whom I would guess is in his mid seventies, who applauds every time I pass him on the track.  Maybe it’s because by this point my face matches the color of my hair.

I am well into the next mile, and I hear Brittney singing to me, edging me on... "Stronger than yesterday, it's nothing but a mile away..." yes, Britney, just another mile. (and don't judge, Foo Fighters are next on the play list....) but now I'm half way in, and my legs are starting to burn.  My breathing becomes just a little more labored, and I have to be more cautious about keeping my rhythm.  And then, the argument ensues. 

It goes something like this.

"Just keep going.... "
"If you stop after this mile, no one will know.  Hey- at least you did something...."
"But YOU will know. And you have done this run before... why stop now?"
"You know how many other things you have to get done today?  Do you really have time for another mile?"
"Think about it- what will you feel like 30 minutes after you cut it short?  You will be so mad at yourself!”
"But do you really think you have enough in you to keep going?"

So I don't stop... but I don't fully commit to the next mile, either.  I know that at this moment, that next mile- that I have already accomplished before- seems like a marathon.  And as I round the corner and hit that mile marker, I start to will myself with every next step.

"Just make it to the next lamp post... don't think about the entire mile.  Just to the next lamp post." 

So, I start up the next hill.  A little slower than what I have done before, but the important thing is that I am still moving.  Moving forward. Not staying still, not sliding back.  And maybe not at the pace I want to go at, but the important thing is that I keep at it.

I make it up the hill and to the next lamp post, as if it were a beacon guiding me home.  Now the path starts to decline. Easy to think that here come a respite, but I have to remember to be careful- if I lose focus and coast I could go to fast and stumble out of control.  I tell myself- maintain pace, form, even when it seems a little easier.

I round the next corner, and I see the next hill looming- didn't I just get through the last one? It's at this point that I am almost screaming to myself, "If you even think about walking I will kick your ass!" (Yes, that would be me, kicking my own ass.  Nice.) But I know the reality- that once I stop, it is almost impossible to start again, and if I do, it’s twice as hard than if I had just fought through the pain and kept on going, regardless of my pace. 

The irony of how running reflects life is not lost on me.  It creeps in almost every time I run.  There is this “thing”… something looming in your life that seems so insurmountable that you wonder why you should even try.  It’s the proverbial pipe dream. But then one day, you decide ok, I am just going to try… and then you have to accept that just because you try doesn’t mean that you are going to be able to run 13.1 miles your first trip out the door.  Oh no- you have to start slow.  Walking.  And then adding some running in.  So slow it’s a frustrating unnaturally slow pace that you wonder if you are making any progress at all.  But you still keep at it.  And the path is not flat- there are ups and downs, and you have to navigate those while still maintaining your pace, willing yourself to keep putting one foot in front of the other, and not lose control on the easy parts or else you won’t be able to recover when the path levels out.  And whatever you do- don’t walk.  Don’t quit- it’s so much harder to get your legs to run again after you have allowed them to stop.  And just when you think you’ve got it, along comes another hill.  And you do it all again. 

Because the truth that is so hard for me to accept is that this is not a race. No timer, no record to beat, no bonus if I just get this task accomplished faster than anyone else. It’s all about the journey, so appreciate it- even if it the path is a hilly oval running track that you are not sure if you will ever get off of.  I run just for me, and with every step I am closer to filling the gap of completing something that I set out to do.  Something that is a big deal to me, something that used to be a "thing" and instead is now "something" that I do.

I run.

Fighting with Elephants

There is a word that GG uses to describe Belle, and it is pretty close to perfect- she calls her “complicated”.

I prefer to tell it like it is- Belle is dramatic.

Let me provide an insight into the world that is my youngest daughter.

After spending a few nights over Grammy and Papa’s, the girls came home tired.  No doubt there was some ice cream soup involved and other antics that kept them up late at night, but that is how it should be.  However, as bedtime approachs, despite her pleading of “But I’m not tired!” (as her eyes are all red from lack of sleep) I stand firm and insist that she get into bed. 

As we snuggle under the covers, Belle asks for a Princess Belle story (you know, where you need to be creative on the spot and make up a captivating magical tale involving said daughter and all of her at-the-moment favorite stuffed animal friends.  Yes, I secretly love it.)  In these stories, there is one character that is always included as Belle’s trusty, loyal companion, and that is Ellie.

Ellie is a Hufalump from Winnie the Pooh, which was Belle’s prize souvenir from our first trip to Disney World.  After stepping off the ride that took us through the adventures in the Hundred Acre Woods,  you, of course, step right into the gift shop.  Disney is the only place on this earth where if one of my children asks for something I am pretty much going to make it happen.  You know, because… it’s Disney. So, the small purple elephant came home with us that day and Ellie and Belle have been BFFs ever since.

So, there we were, the three of us, gearing up for a Princess Belle story when all of the sudden…

Belle punches Ellie.

I am not talking a playful tap, people.  It was a fist tightened right arm slugging punch.

WTF?

I gasp and ask Belle “Why would you ever hit Ellie?  Is that the way we treat people?”  At any moment I feel like social services will be knocking on the door “Ma’am, I hear your daughter has been punching elephants.  Is that true? Would you please step outside….” What would possess her to do that? In some crazy questioning that follows I ask her if someone has hit her? (no) Is it something you saw on a show (no. Mental note- cut screen time even more.) Then why would you do that?  (I don’t knooooooooow!)

So she is crying, it’s already 20 minutes past her bed time, but I can tell this is all just stemming from sheer exhaustion. So she says that she needs a few minutes alone with Ellie, and I comply, which works out great so I can go and put GG to bed.  A few minutes later I hear Belle outside her room, crying like she just lost her best friend.  Oh, the irony.

I say a final goodnight to GG, and go into the hall.  Belle is sitting on the floor all curled up with big crocodile tears streaming down her face.  The conversation goes something like this:

“What happened, Belle?”

“I told Ellie that I was sorry.”

“And?”

“He told me apology not accepted!”

Really?!?!?!

So, now it’s way past bedtime, and I told her that she needs to get into bed regardless of if Ellie is talking to her or not.  But here in lays the problem- Belle can’t sleep without Ellie.  I even tried Hippy (the hippo) and Big Duckie (yes, a big duck… wow- what creative names we have here!) but alas, only Ellie will do.  So, in my Ellie voice, Ellie tells Belle that he doesn’t understand why she would hit him, but that he knows it won’t ever happen again and accepts the apology.  Kate looks up and says, “You know, the time that Ellie and I weren’t friends, I feel that he is going to hold it against me.”  Yeah, the time you weren’t friends lasted all of 15 minutes, and didn’t you just hear the elephant say it was all good? 

So she snuggles in tight under the covers, Ellie tucked into her chest and head resting between his big floppy ears, just as it has been for countless nights before.  I kiss them both goodnight, give Ellie one last scratch behind his ear (he likes that) and Belle smiles.  I turn out the light and close the door.

10 minutes later I am cleaning up the kitchen and Belle turns the corner, Ellie in hand.

“Ellie said he would like some peanuts.  And I was thinking that maybe I could have some fishy crackers, too please?”

See?  An elephant can’t stay mad forever.

Yep, Still Got It

One week later and I think I am still coming off the girlfriend high that my time with J provided.

It was great, just as we both knew it would be.

Whenever we get together, there are elements of myself that I get to revisit.  Elements that God only knows I could not keep up with all the time, but good to reconnect with; stop by for a visit and say, “Yeah, I remember you...”

Two friends getting ready together, laughing, music in the background as we help each other decide what to wear and declare unequivocally “your hair/ makeup/ outfit looks amazing”.  Leaving to go out at 9:00 instead of thinking "Whew! The kids are in bed, almost time to call it a night myself."  Blasting great songs while driving with the windows down and singing at the top of our lungs. Staying up until 4 am- and not because someone under the age of 10 was throwing up or having nightmares, but because we were having so much fun we lost track of time.

But during the time she was here, there was an added element that I didn’t count on.  It was the fact that she was staying at my house.  I was showing her the city that I now call home, and I knew some places to go- cool, edgy, places.  Places where the popular kids go.  It hit me a few times of how far I have come in the past 3 months- 3 months!- and it really filled me with a sense of pride.

But the true heart of the matter is that it reminded me that there are just those times in life when you need to be young again, regardless of what age you really are.  Time to stop being responsible- just for a weekend- and live without a plan.  Without carrying fruit snacks or extra napkins in your purse- just in case. Time to notice and appreciate how your calves look in a pair of platform pumps.  Time to learn that you can still make heads turn.  Time to remind you that you can fill your friend’s soul just as they do yours. 

Time to prove to no one other than yourself that through it all, you still got it.

Making a List, Checking it Twice

There is no doubt about it- I am a list maker.

I make lists for everything- personal to do, work to do, home improvement projects, songs I want to download, stores I need to make returns at, stores I want to visit and linger at for hours if I ever had that kind of time… even a running Christmas list, because without fail it will be the day after Thanksgiving and I will have no idea what to suggest as gift ideas for the girls.  And yes, at one point, there has even been a list of lists.  But there is one thing that I have wanted to capture that, while I have often talked about it, I have never taken the time to put pen to paper (or type into a word document) in order to make it “official”.

My Life List.

Now, some people might call it a bucket list.  I, for one, choose the term Life List.   I firmly believe that the things I have identified will help mold and create the type of life that I want to live.  You know, so when I look back one day I can say that I gave it my all, or in other words “Yeah, I pretty much rocked it.” 

Whatever you call it, why you do it, or the parameters you use to make it really doesn’t matter; there is no magic number (although 100 seems to come up a lot) and I have even seen the list divided into categories such as famous monuments to see, athletics to achieve, adventure activities, charities to participate in etc.  As it is with so many things in life, it’s whatever works for you that is important.

So  just in case you might want to get inspired, I came across some questions that might help get those “one day I want to” dreams captured:

• What is one thing you have always wanted to do but have not done yet?
• What would you do if you have unlimited time, money and resources?
• Any countries, places or locations you want to visit?
• What are your biggest goals and dreams?
• Anyone you want to see in person or meet?
• What experiences do you want to have / feel?
• Are there any special moments you want to witness?
• What activities or skills do you want to learn or try?
• What do you need to do to lead a life of great meaning?

While I found these questions after I had already started my list, I still find them useful.  After creating my list, I can tell that it will be fluid-  one where it’s ok if I change my mind and take something off, or add something new (again, it’s whatever works for you). For me, the biggest commitment that I can make is to identify 2 - 3 things a year that I want to accomplish.  This is why it’s important to have big and small things identified, because, as we all know, it’s a lot of the little stuff that create some of the greatest moments in our lives.

So you might be asking… with all this talk, what do I have on my list?  To date I have 73 items identified.  Some of which include:

·         Ride a mechanical bull

·         Experience Oktoberfest in Germany (officially going next year!)

·         See the sun rise over the Grand Canyon

·         Attend the Opening Ceremonies of the Olympics

·         Run a 5k

·         Drop a $100 bill into a street performer’s hat 

·         Dine at a chef’s table

·         Own a pair of Louboutin shoes

·         Go hiking in New Zealand

·         See a final Stanley Cup Playoff Game

·         Have a real Guinness in an Irish Pub

·         Be a Parrot Head at a Jimmy Buffett concert

And that’s only 12!

So, the final thing you might be asking is what things have I identified that I am going to knock off the list this year? 

Well, you might know that I will run my first 5k in just a few weeks.  Privately, there have been a few other things that I have knocked off this year as well.  As for what that was, or what else I aim to accomplish this year, I am keeping that information to myself.  But whatever it is, have no doubt, I am going to make it happen.

Because, as you might guess, doing all the things on my life list is #73.