When I was Seventeen

It was a very good year... 

*Cough* Choke on a bit of barf. I really hate that song.

However, I was reading BUST magazine's advice for your 17 year-old self and thought, "Man! Seventeen. That was the shit, yo."  Yeah, I really talk like that in my head.  I know it doesn't jive with my blond bob and pearls.  I started thinking back to seventeen.  Cue time travel swirls and...

When I was seventeen...

I played Stray Cats, Sexy & 17 almost non-stop.

I drove around in my Volvo 240 DL, stopping at the local Stop & Shop to pick up sheet cakes, while listening to music like Regulate, Tempted, Green Day, and old Duran, Duran tunes.  Screw Nirvana, that wasn't my style. 



Why were we picking up sheet cakes?  To eat of course and throw at each other on the beach or in my car.  Cake fights between my friends and I were legen..wait for it... dary.

I drove back country roads full of deep, dark teen angst and drama contemplating shitty boy behavior, friend betrayals and my lack of boobs and how to rise above it all while listening to Pet Shop Boys and Souxsie and the Banshees.  Each time I turned a corner on some twisty lane I hoped I would encounter something new, something I hadn't seen before in my sleepy, small town.  Typical.

I worked the register at CVS and took care of the shampoo and make-up aisle.  I thought it was a pretty sweet gig.  I was also that clerk who was totally going to price check your ass if you came into the store to buy condoms.  Extra slow if you seemed like you were in a hurry.  "Oops!  Did I just hit the void key again?! So sorry!"  A note to the consumer.  Don't try and return condoms.  That's just gross.

At seventeen I had no idea that the world was my oyster even when I told E that, "we are at such an enviable age."  I know. Don't you just want to smack some sense into that girl?  Me too.  No, instead I thought the world seemed to have too much to offer and I had no idea just what it was I was looking to get from it or give it.  I could barely see beyond the end of the week and what was playing at the local Showcase Cinema let alone graduating and attending college. 

What were you doing at 17?

Ten Months

It's always fleeting, this first year of life. The magical softness, the effortless cuddles and quiet times spent alone together with just the coos and the sound of your breathing mingled with theirs. So at 3:41 a.m. when The Fifth Element woke up again despite just having eaten I didn't mind picking her up out of her crib and holding her close.

We settled into the rocking chair in her nursery together. As she rested her head on my shoulder and made self-soothing sounds I held her still small, soft-haired head in my hands and thought, "Soon this will be gone. I will never have this moment back. She will not cuddle so easily in the next few months." How can it be that almost an entire year has already gone by?

As her breathing slowed and she shifted into a deeper sleep, I closed my eyes and just held her there taking in the scent of her. How I will miss this time. Sometimes it doesn't matter that it is the middle of the night or way too early morning. Sometimes it really is all about the moment and getting some quiet time between her and I. It feels like such a gift.

Damn Girl, That's Like Grandma Old!

It occurred to me the other day as I was jammin' out to some funk music (p-funk, g-funk, disco-inspired, 80s stripped, whatever I can't get enough) in my grocery getter that I am subjecting my kids to music that is akin to what my grandparents made me listen to as a child.  Back then, in the 80s with all its big hair and synthesizers spinning like a record right around the Top 40 dial, they would sit back in the cushy boat-sized beige car and play Big Band sounds. Ah, the 1940s. 

My love of funk (OK, funk is even older by origin so geez) and its 70s sister music disco and even very early rap are now um, entering into their fortieth decade of existence.  This my friends, is frightening.  Even my iPod is engraved with the phrase, "Don't fake the funk."

I am getting old.

Musical Flashbacks and Burgers

H and I took the kids to a local burger place the other night because a.) he suggested it and b.) there is nothing better to my always nauseous stomach than a cheeseburger (handmade), fries (handcut) and a coke.  Seriously. It's like manna from heaven right now and keeps me content for hours. 

I digress.  While there I noticed the smattering of people throughout the restuarant were all various ages and backgrounds.  There was the military Dad with his two middle school age girls, the teenage boy stopping by with his mother, another teenage boy silently chomping away with his parents, just as silent seated next to him and a few random college age kids.  Throw in a few guys alone and in their middling 30s and 40s and you had quite a collection of people.  The one thing we all had in common beyond the burger joint?

We were all jammin' to the 80s music that played from the restaurant's XM Radio.  TD could not control herself over Bon Jovi's 'You Give Love a Bad Name' and The Comedian wiggled along while I noticed myself singing aloud, as were others throughout the place, to Phil Collin's 'Billy Don't Lose My Number'.  When Duran Duran and The Police played back to back I thought the whole place might go into neon light mode and everyone would just start dancing like we were auditioning for 'Footloose'.  Toes were tapping, heads were nodding and there was a lot of lip synching and singing aloud.  Minus the teenage boys who just looked on sullenly embarrassed for us all. 

I looked at H and said, "I feel like I'm in my friend Eric's white Volkswagon Rabbit and we are driving to school right now!"  He looked at me and said, "Gah! Didn't you grow up in the 90's?!"  Uh yeah... but like 'Wild Boys' was too cool to be lost in all the Gin Blossoms and Cranberries whining and melancholy even then.  And sometimes you just need 'The Reflex' before first period to pump yourself up for the day.  Am I right?





What song did you HAVE to listen to before school?

It's Her Birthday

Lying across a green and orange paisley and floral couch, I would twist and turn always trying to find a cool spot to rest my face against the fabric. The music was always there. Playing softly, sometimes loudly, always there carrying me along as if I was floating down a river. The soft pumping of the foot pedals accompanied it all in the distant background.


Sometimes I would rouse myself from my own little world of imaginary friends and lost lands to request a tune, most often it was, "Play the mosquito song! Play the mosquito song!" She would laugh and wordlessly pull out the children's music book and play the juvenile tune that buzzed across the keyboard. After it was over it was usually her favorite Chopin that she would play.  Sometimes if I was lucky, I could pick out my favorite Rachmaninov in between all the Tchaikovsky and Beethoven symphonies too. As a classically trained, concert pianist she never tired of sitting at her piano and playing for herself or an audience. Whole evenings, especially in the cold winter, were spent with the family gathered on those green and orange sofas listening to her play and talking while having a few drinks.

I remember this so vividly and during every season it was such an integral part of my youth. Many years after I had ceased to spend weekends and long summer weeks at her and my grandfathers home and I had gone off to college I would hear my favorite Rachmaninov tune being played through an open campus window.  The strains of the music drifted through the air making me stop in my tracks and just breathe it all in for a bit as I savored the moment and felt filled with memories.  There were late nights of watching The Love Boat, the need she had to dress my stark naked Barbie’s in disco dresses and wedge heels, the way she allowed me to touch absolutely everything in her home no matter how valuable or breakable are all part of those countless memories. She didn't mind when I would ask her to "take your teeth out, Memere!" as she brushed her teeth each morning or that I always wanted to use her watermelon pink lipstick and soft, fluffy talc-filled powder puff. She made no apologies when I slammed the front door in her friend's face one day when that woman called my long-desired and much loved Cabbage Patch Kid Zenia Kelly, "a precious little chocolate baby." She knew who was in the wrong. She liked to flip her eyelids inside out and scare the bejeezus out of her grandkids when we bothered her and let me roam the house, yard and neighborhood as I pleased. Her home was music, comfort, love and freedom in the most secure sense. She made it that way because that was and is who she is as a person.

Today, my grandmother, my Memere, as I like to call her has turned ninety. I used to joke with her that she didn't look like a groundhog and every time she would laugh. While Alzheimer's has her in its grip right now I had the privilege of being able to visit with her this past weekend as the whole family turned out to celebrate this momentous occasion. She couldn't believe it herself that she was turning ninety. She had to be reminded often of who people were and why she was there but she was happy the whole day. When she thanked me for her gift and H explained to her that I was her oldest grandchild she smiled and grabbed my arm and shook it with affection just like she used to every time I saw her as I grew up. She may not remember me all the time but that gesture alone completely made my day.

Happy 90th Birthday, Memere! You are so loved.

 

Flashback Monday: Lucky Star

I was probably about eight at the time. I called myself Aubany(with an 'O' and some sort of accent on the end. Yeah, I have no idea either. I was eight.).

I thought I was Madonna with my permed hair, sunglasses and ballet skirt. I guess that was as close to the 'Like a Virgin' look my Mom would let me get at that age. And yes, I'm sportin' a yellow banana clip in my hair. On one side only. Now that is style.

I Wanna Rock With You

Dear E,

I am sad today. Michael Jackson has died and while I wasn't a fan of his later stuff (minus Remember the Time and that Home Alone kid in his videos) I have such fond memories of us dancing to 'Rock With You' while I toiled away at my after school job at CVS. You perfected those dance moves and it always made me laugh so hard to watch you do the leg kick move while I stood behind the register waiting on sick customers and kids buying their first box of condoms (with a pack of gum, of course).

And who could forget you kissing your MJ poster each night before bed. Red leather jacket, sequined glove and all.

Watch the awesome dance moves here. (Damn removal of the embedding code. Curses! YouTube! Foiled Again!)

Shining Star

Nostalgia week comes to an end today with this final and fifth post-

There was nothing safe about him. He wasn't my type in looks or what I thought was his personality. To say that he took a while to grow on me would be an understatement but then again, the feeling was mutual. After three years of dating on and off, H and I were to be married. It seemed like a handful of lifetimes had passed during those three years and especially now with just months to our wedding day we were worlds apart. San Diego for me and Okinawa, Japan for him. Between 3 a.m. phone calls, instant messaging and emails we were putting our wedding together. Sadly, because of this distance I never felt so alone. This man, whose smile promised me that we would 'live a life less ordinary', was so far away. So was my family and my entire slew of bridesmaids.

All the things I had been so excited to do I had to do alone. I picked out my dress solo, I spent hours trudging through department stores sifting through china patterns and glassware picking out what felt like our future and doing it entirely alone. All those invitations? I wrote them out myself. It is ironic that I watched a movie about the Marquis de Sade while making those things out. I had thought planning a wedding would be exciting and fun, but it was beginning to feel more like a chore. To top it off the playlist was due to the DJ and despite knowing all the various items I did not want played at our wedding (the hokey pokey and the electric slide make me twitch) H and I did not have a song. We had songs we liked but nothing spoke to us. Suddenly it seemed that finding our song was of the utmost importance. If I could figure this part out then maybe everything else would come together and we wouldn't feel quite so far apart.

Unfortunately everything I heard or had suggested to me seemed tired and played out. No to Etta James and Sinatra. 'Unforgettable' was entirely forgettable. Many songs just seemed to be dripping in a sugary sap that made me gag. Then one day during my lunch break I got in the car to run some errands and I heard it. Our song. The melody lifted my spirits and put a smile on my face. It brought tears to my eyes and all at once I knew that this song, this 1970's cheeseball of a song, was going to be our song. I put my car in park and just sat there and listened to the whole thing, grinning the entire time. We weren't together when we heard it but somehow it summed it all up for us. Napster enabled H to listen to it and he agreed that it was perfect. After that I played it continuously. Each time I heard it I felt closer to H despite being almost a world away.

It is not just our wedding song, but it is officially our song now. Shining Star, by The Manhattan's.


Read my latest at 23andMe- "Oligohydramnios, also known as low amniotic fluid, presents itself in only eight percent of pregnant women during some point in their pregnancy."

Second Floor, High Numbers

Nostalgia week continues here with day four-

It's Friday night. Excitement for the weekend has been building all week. As you walk down the hallway of McEwen Hall, second floor, the high numbers (as we liked to be known) one could feel the humidity in the air from at least ten different showers all pouring forth their hot steaminess. A million various sweet smells from perfumes, hairsprays and competing scented body lotions all mingled together at once to dizzy your senses. That was the point, right? Passing by each room you could easily hear about ten different types of music from southern rock to real country, disco, rap and those drinking songs you never forget. Girls scurried across the hall, throwing clothing from Contempo Casuals and J. Crew back and forth, scrutinizing every detail of their chosen outfits. Should I really be tucking that sweater into high-waisted jeans tonight? Accessories were borrowed too. Friends did each others hair and make up. There was a shortage on brown lipstick.

Both ends of the hallway is were the drinkers congregated. Smokers must hang out the windows so that your friends 'bed in a bag' didn't end up smelling like your Winston Lights. Pre-drinking could last for hours if your friends took too long to get ready. It didn't matter though. You could always reapply your lip gloss one more time. Besides it was the getting ready for the night that was always more exciting to me than the actual evening out. Truthfully, standing around at a frat party was never very much fun to me. I would have rather hung out with my girlfriends all night in the dorm than swill 'beast' and play asshole with some boys who could form a mosh pit for the 'Magic Carpet Ride' song.

Those nights were all about anticipation and possibilities. Our laughter seemed endless. We took care of each other no matter what the night brought upon us and couldn't wait to rehash the details the next morning over a leisurely dining hall brunch. Our adult lives were just dawning before us, expectations were strong and we were full ourselves and what seemed to be our bottomless and overflowing youth. The friendships created from those nights have lasted a lifetime and can be picked up and treasured at a moments notice even today.

And now for the song- Oh What a Night. It played continuously in almost every room on those nights where it seemed wearing just the right shirt could turn your whole night around. Whenever I hear it I'm taken back to my freshman year dorm and all the memories of us girls getting ready for a night out.

Firsts

Part three of Nostalgia week continues-

It was a summer of firsts. I was seventeen and just like the song by the Stray Cats, I needed to let off a little steam. I wanted to be on my own so bad and yet I had no idea how in the world I was supposed to get out of my little village of a town. To top it off E was taking a job as a nanny (seriously E? What was that about?!) in the Sag Harbor/East Hampton, NY area and we would be apart for most of the summer. I thought I was going to just curl up into a dried ball of debris and die. The summer yawned before me a in a dull, hazy way that seemed to float on forever with absolutely no point if I didn't have my partner in crime. That is until it was decided I should take a few weekends to visit E up in NY. Now the taste of freedom was on the tip of my tongue and suddenly everything looked brighter.

That summer, not only did I take the ferry for the first time, I also found out what it was really like to be on my own, to budget myself and to learn the lesson that with such freedom can come a whole lot of confidence that I never knew I could possess.

It was that summer that I bought my first pack of cigarettes, deciding that, "Hey! I'm 17 and I've never smoked! I'm going to walk into that corner store and buy the first pack of kill sticks I see!" Thus my love for Winston Lights was born. I smoked the whole pack that night. I bought alcohol for the first time (did I mention that we forgot our money because um.. you can't put money in a bikini, but the old guy at the liquor store knew we were good for it and we could pay him back later. Later when his wife was there. She? Was not too pleased.), I stayed out until dawn for the first time, killed a mouse by drowning and then freezing it, took care of my first drunk friend and vice versa. I also experienced how painful it can be to sleep in your car.

The weeks in between my weekend jaunts were rough. I felt chafed at having a curfew and not being able to come and go as I pleased. I had to eat what my mother made for dinner again and not what I felt like. I spent my days toiling away at CVS in my oh-so-fashionable red smock too.

When I think back to those weekends it is a mess of memories all tangled up together. I remember the blazing hot sun and sand, the wild nights with my best friend who liked to dance with a vacuum cleaner when she was drunk and climb trees. I remember dancing to Enya in the moonlight with the ocean as my backdrop. There was tasting pasta primavera for the first time, drinking coffee in the morning or should I say the 90s staple, cappuccino and creating my own schedule. Everything I did was magical and fun. Every moment was golden.

In September, when school started up again, I felt invincible. I had a self-awareness and confidence that I never had before. I dubbed myself 'Super-Girl!' (she was a lot like Wonder Red) and I felt that nothing could stand in my way. If my parents had known what I was up to I'm sure they would have put a big ol' kabosh on my weekend trips to visit E but looking it back, allowing me the access to experiment and do all those things gave me the power to know that I was stronger than my 98 lbs. I needed that more than anything. The summer of '93 was one of the best in my life and it wasn't just because I found out I could drink like a fish.

By the way, the song is 'Downeaster Alexa' by Billy Joel. I traveled to many of the places he sings about during that summer of firsts and every time I hear it I feel as if I'm being transported to that youthful, carefree summer. I can't think of any other song that makes me feel more nostalgic than that one.

Cruisin'

Part two of Nostalgia week continues today-




When the air turned warmer and the sun dipped below the horizon my parents would sometimes turn to me at the dinner table and say, "Hey, Vic- you want to go cruisin' tonight?" "Yeah!" I would reply and off we would go, all of us piling into my parents silver Datsun 200 SX. I loved that car, no matter what time of year it was it always had beach sand in it and it perpetually smelled like sunscreen and summer.

Off we would go driving around the coastline of Lil' Rhody often ending up in Weekapaug at a scenic overlook. I would gaze out at the ocean and its vastness, so dark and churning and only a bit out of reach. The stars overhead twinkled as Wolfman Jack played on the radio. We cruised to music that is still around today.

I think for my parents this must have been a mini-date night for them. They could drive around and have long talks while I gazed out at the waves and the moon. The windows were often open and so was the moon-roof overhead. The smell of the salt and sea would fill the car and it still reminds me of home to this day. Just when I thought we were going to have to head home one of them would turn to me in the backseat and say, "You want to go to Friendly's, Vicky?" Just like that I would be out of my own seaside dreams and I would perk up and say, "OOH! YEAH! Can I get a Fribble?! Please?" (Not to be confused with an Awful, Awful by the way.) It was always the perfect ending to the night.

That brings us to the song portion of the post- While it wasn't something that you heard from Wolfman Jack, it was often played on the radio and my parents listened to the soundtrack often- 'On the Dark Side' by Eddie and the Cruisers.


Image: Gull Rock, Weekapaug, RI

Hungry, Broke and Ludacris

You hear a song on the radio, in the car, in a store, or on your ipod and suddenly you are taken back to a distinct time and place. You are no longer standing in frozen foods but in a darkened high school gym or in your bestest friends bedroom. The song/memory evocation is so strong it can bring up deep feelings, distinct smells and completely take you back in time, if only for a few moments. This week, in the days leading up to my birthday (and let's face it, because it's my blog) I'm doing a little trek down memory lane each time it will be accompanied with a song that brings it all back.

I would love it if you would share with me some memories you have and the songs that take you back too.

I had been married to H for about a year and we were living in what felt like the land of the lost, also known as the Mojave desert. Or as E liked to call it, 'my sandbox'. Having recently moved to SoCal herself we found that for the first time in many years we were only a few hours apart and could visit each other quite easily. For me, it was bliss. I had spent several years apart from my best friend between going to separate schools, traveling abroad and moving across the country. Now, living in the middle of nowhere, I needed her more than ever. We spent many weekends that year getting reacquainted over midnight drive-thrus to Jack in the Box for mozzarella sticks and drinking cheap wine.

One particular weekend I drove down to E's place in San Diego and we quickly realized that we were both flat broke. I'm talking mere pennies in the wallet broke. Having just moved across the country and me having been unemployed for a record eight months had broken us down a bit. Her apartment was almost free of food and I had brought down a few things from my place to tide us over. Still, between the two of us, I think we had less than two dollars to our names. We decided to that we could cobble together a pasta, artichoke heart, half a goat cheese pizza slice dinner (with some cheap wine we found in her cupboard) if we just bought ourselves a jar of pasta sauce. Off we went to Trader Joe's. As we stood in the pasta aisle of the store scanning the shelves for the cheapest bottle of sauce, E spent the last of her "real" money on her car payment via her cell phone. That payment made, at the last possible moment, made her officially flat broke. Altogether we had about two dollars in change. We grabbed a cheap jar of Trader Giotto's sauce and prayed tax wouldn't put us over our price limit.

Once we got home, made the pasta, reheated the pizza and threw the artichokes in the sauce for good measure we settled down on her couch to dissect the recent inexplicable popularity of Cameron Diaz's "butt-dance". The contents of the dinner didn't matter, we laughed and commiserated about how broke we both were individually and continued to drink our wine. Our friendship was moving into a new territory now that we were adults and we were continuing to find our way in our new lives. It was the perfect example of how you don't need money to be happy. Seven years later I still remember that weekend and it always makes me smile. Just recently E and I laughed over how broke we really were, how dire things had become for us and how at the time we felt so scared, but at least we had each other to make the other one laugh.

The song? The impossibly horrible, 'What's Your Fantasy' by Ludacris. Why? Because it was on all damn weekend no matter when we got in the car or where we went. It is laughably awful and each time I hear it I think of that weekend when E and I were so broke we almost couldn't afford a jar of spaghetti sauce between the two of us.


Over at 23andMe's pregnancy community I'm discussing pregnancy and allergies, "I am not allergic to anything. Scratch that. Sometimes clove buds make me hurl. However, during my second pregnancy... read more here."

I'm talking about my lack of a competitive nature and the 5k I'm training for at DC Metro Moms too. Read all about it!

Memories of my Grandfather

Sometimes when the whole house is still asleep, I will creep downstairs and read in the orange glow of my small kitchen light. I will pour myself a cup of coffee, settle into the quiet of my house, and just lose myself in whatever book I am reading.

Later when I unfurl myself from my hunchback sitting position as I simultaneously realize that the sun has come up I remember this-

Sometimes in the still dark early morning, I would creep out from beneath my Rocky and Bullwinkle sheets and peer out into the darkened hallway of my grandparent’s house. The sounds of my grandmother snoring quietly filled the space down at the end of the hall. Peering down the other end of the hall would always be one constant thing. The golden light over the kitchen table that would encircle my grandfather as he sat hunched over a paperback novel. A steaming cup of coffee would be sitting beside him and only the sound of a page turning could be heard. Sleepily I would pad into the kitchen and quietly take a seat at the table next to him. Just as quietly he would always greet me with a, "Morning, Tiger."

Without a word, I would observe everything about him and the area bathed in the kitchen light. From the black coffee in his mug to the gleam of his glasses and the design of the book cover, I wanted to take it all in. In a little while, the house would be alive with my grandmother making breakfast, the sounds from the nearby television and the voices of my still-at-home uncles getting ready to start their day.

I loved that quiet time with him. Each time I now get the chance to grab a morning just like that I feel somehow that he is with me. His spirit is humming in the air around my own kitchen. The orange glow of the overhead light circling me as I sit bent over a book with my own dark coffee steaming next to me.

Eight Weeks

I woke up this morning and realized that Dash Two is eight weeks old now. My, how time flies. I'm back at the gym, she has slept through the night for the first time and no matter what we do she is growing up at a remarkably fast pace. Those tiny baby days are gone already. She is reaching milestones at lightening speed and it was at this point with TD that I was already back at work.

While I'm still not feeling out of the woods yet as far as PPD goes, I do know that my bad bout with it coincided with my going back to work. Oddly enough, it is this same week in Dash Two's life that I'm heading out of town for the first time. I know she will be in good hands and if anything happens we have a plan but it just amazes me how fast time goes and how small she seems. I had no choice with TD. I had to go back to work. I imagined her bigger and less fragile to make myself OK with dropping her off at daycare each day. I look at her baby sister and I am grateful that we are able to swing this staying home thing. That I'm able to eek some work out that fulfills me and sometimes pays.

It's an amazing life. I am so grateful.


And now a walk down memory lane- Some Vintage Mummy.

-PPD? Maybe just a scootch.
- Violent Tendencies
- On the couch
-Starting to see the Sun
-Without a Doubt
-Day One

Let the New Year Begin

When you buy a peanut butter chocolate pie it just looks so divine. So tasty. You cannot wait to dip your fork into it and savor every bite.



You have no idea the pie will meets its end like this-



You think you are so civilized and then you spend New Year's with old college friends and you realize that despite owning the home, having the 2.5 kids and a dog you still end up like this on New Year's.

H and co-conspirator in the pie demise, Jen. So much for keeping it simple. It took an entire day to clean that kitchen up and I'm sure there is still bits of pie stuck to some surface or other.

Angel Pins & Mardi Gras Beads

I'm all over the place today. I actually allowed myself to flop back into bed this morning thinking, eh... I've got a post topic or two rattling around in my bean, I'm fine. Psssht.

Then I went to the gym and had my ass kicked by one cheerful instructor who likes it when we silently curse her.

When I came home I had an email from my mother, my aunt passed away at 4:45 a.m. She was 94. We knew it was coming, in fact, I said a silent prayer this morning asking that my aunt be made at peace. By the time I said it, it was already done. So allow me a moment to regroup and greeve a bit.

She made a mean martini.

She wore Mardi Gras beads all year long, no matter what the occassion.

She drove a white, zippy little car with a red racing stripe and a spoiler on the back for extra edge.

Her cat, Charlie, was so obsessed with I-C-E C-R-E-A-M you couldn't even spell it out unless you were ready to witness the insanity that would ensue as he bounced around the kitchen meowing for his cold treat. It delighted her to no end.

Last Christmas she sent T.D. a card reading, "To Baby M, you can hardly expect a 93 year old woman to remember all these names can you?" I kept the card as it made me laugh. She didn't have to send T.D. a card let alone a check.

This Christmas my mother came bearing jewelry. Seems my aunt no longer had use for her festive beads, kitchy cocktail rings, angel pins, and other assorted costume jewlery. She passed it on to us. I am now the proud owner of bronze pop-beads and yes, I wore them last week. They are divine. T.D. is quite the sight as she cruises around the house in the high style that only those big, glossy ropes of pearls can instill.

Artwork from her home and husband adorns the walls of my house. I owe my art supplies to her, easels and all.

She was funny, smart, generous, a little bit wild and full of charm and love.

I loved her and she will be missed.

A Barbie Dream House for Me?!

There it sat. Huge and under the tree. The tag insisted that I was correct, this big box from Santa/my grandparents was intended for only me. My five year-old brain was buzzing with ideas. I could barely contain my excitement. My mother kept warning me to stay away from the tree, "It's not time to open presents yet. Stop touching things and back away from the tree!" I think I might have done a little dance of protest before I backed away.

I sat on my grandmother's paisley and floral couch and wondered, what could it be? A pony? It was certainly a large enough box. Then my mind settled on it. The only thing it could be. The only thing I really wanted. A Barbie Dream House. A Barbie Dream House! That had to be it! Satisfied with this idea I got off the couch and joined the rest of my family for dinner.

All through dinner and dessert I couldn't sit still. I squirmed this way and that in my seat at the dining room table. Dinner went on forever! Turkey and all the trimmings. Fine. Shovel it in. C'mon! We've presents to unwrap! They drank wine and then coffee! Would this dinner ever end? My grandfather lit a cigar and leaned back in his chair. The nerve of him! It was never ending. Didn't these people know that a BARBIE DREAM HOUSE was less than two rooms away?! What was wrong with them? How could they not feel the ants in my pants excitement that I did? Didn't they want or need to unwrap their own presents? I NEEDED to unwrap that present! My brained screamed, "Time is of the essence here people!" Finally, my grandmother rose from the table and asked us if we wanted to sit by the tree and look at the lights. Yes! At last! We're going to get to the good part.

I watched my cousins and some of the adults unwrap presents. I received a few smaller items I can no longer remember. Then, my grandparents with big smiles on their faces, pushed the big box out from under the tree. Everyone speculated on what could be in such a large box. I nearly shredded the wrapping with my tiny frenzied hands. Huh. Wait. What's this? This is not some pink full of pictures Mattel box. It's just a regular old cardboard box. Uh.. heheheh something isn't right here folks. Slowly I opened the big box hoping against all hope that inside it was another box. The right box. The Barbie Dream House box. As I lifted the lid I noticed something red and wrapped in plastic. It was a coat. A winter coat. My heart seized. The wiring in my brain misfired and I swear I saw stars. This was all devastatingly wrong. A coat?! Who gives a little kid a coat for Christmas and smiles about it? What fun is a coat? It's not a toy! I have to wear this to school too? For the love of...

My heart just sunk. I lifted the red coat out of the box as my grandmother, all smiles, removed the plastic wrap. Oh look! It has a giant fur trimmed hood. Great. A belt too? Wonderful. I don't even think I tried to smile at my mother's prodding. I just remember the room feeling darker. I was so disappointed. How could they not remember to buy me the one thing I really wanted? Surely this coat costs as much as the dream house. It had fur for goodness sake! I hated that coat instantly. I wanted to throw it in the back of my closet banishing it to the dust bunnies forever. Scowling and refusing to mask my extreme disappointment and at the insistence of my mother, I thanked my grandparents. This was the worst present ever! The worst Christmas ever!

Weeks later and still playing with my cardboard box Barbie dream house. At least with the addition of the brand new giant box that the coat came in I had added an addition onto her house turning it into an apartment complex that her other friends could live in. To me that was the only consolation. No dream house. Just a giant red coat with fur on the hood that got in my mouth all the time. Awesome. I vowed never to forget this error in judgement by the adults in my life. I knew for sure that my parents were involved and had ok'd this gift. What was wrong with them?

Then one day as I stood in line waiting for my school bus a boy in my class began to make fun of my red coat. Being only five about all he could make fun of was the fact that it was big and red. Big Red he called me. Ha Ha. This kid was destined to be class president. He started pulling on the fur and telling the other kids it was a dead animal. Slowly, I turned around to face him and said in the most haughty voice I could muster, "If you must know that is REAL fox fur your hands are pawing. It was a gift from my grandparents and it is VERY expensive. It came in a GIANT box." Oddly, that shut him up. Then little girls began to crowd around me and they wanted to come and touch the soft fox fur. They admired the cute little belt and the fashionable buttons on my new coat. They wanted one just like it! It was a rather beautiful shade of red. Very complimentary to my hair color. Suddenly, I felt like a princess in my new red coat.

From that day on I loved that little red coat with the "fur" trim. I was sad when I outgrew it. I kept it for longer than necessary in the back of my closet. We had some good times me and that red coat. I believe it was the first lesson I consciously remember about finding the best in something and looking at the brighter side of things. A Barbie Dream House I came to realize was just a bunch of plastic. My coat kept me warm and regal. I could take it everywhere, something I couldn't do with the Dream House. Besides, I had a whole apartment complex to manage now with my imagination and that was better than just a single Barbie Dream House.



What makes a gift memorable for you? PBN wants to hear about it during today’s Blog Blast which is brought to by the fine folks at Excitations, a new gift giving site. Stop by and browse their memorable gifts. You can win some too! Just write about your most memorable gift whether it's that painfully bad hair crimping set you received on your 35th birthday (which was last year and not 1985!) or some wonderful surprise that totally made your year. Adult or child memory we don't discriminate! Just share.

Ah! The Excitement of Youth

I was feeling sort of pissy today what with the oppressive humidity, lack of sleep (ambien? anyone?), and general feeling of doom I sometimes have (I blame it on the fact that I'm from New England and thus partly Puritan or that French gene in me -we piss on a lot simply because we're Frrrrenccch). ANYWAYS....

Then, I got this email from my cousin. Her daughter is going into the big pond of middle school next year. When Mom asked her how it went this is what came out.

"AWESOME!! Their computers are soooo much better than ours and the teachers are all really nice and the principal Mrs. Shaver-Hood, is really cool too!! I can't wait to go there next year and the lunch room is set up really cool Mom, they have snack huts, but good snacks, like yogurt and nuts and cereal and some junkfood but not too much, and you get to choose from 4 different lunches everyday!! Then there's the lockers, they're not very big but I think big enough to hold all our books, I can't wait!!! I already have my schedule for next year, want to see it? I have it right here look!! See? I even have summer homework to be ready for next year, I don't like homework but I like this."

That's straight from the babe's mouth. All in one breath I might add. It made me laugh and smile and remember how exciting making that transition was. Going into the "big" school. Having lockers. Eating with older kids. It seemed so exciting and as if anything could happen. All good of course. Like at any moment there would be dancing in the halls like Fame! I'm so old.

I just have to add, like my cousin did, what middle school teacher keeps that name? Shaver-Hood? Eeesh. That's brave.

One!

Awww, it's so cute, look at that sweet little one year old blog! I can hardly believe it myself. It's already been a year. In some ways, and this is so tired and predictable of me, it's felt bone gnawingly long and in other aspects it's raced by faster than a hamster on smack.

T.D. is one now as well and ever the dictator. She throws her hands up to show displeasure, delights in shrieking loudly, and now walks around with her chest puffed out and her hands behind her back, just like Hitler did to hide the shakes he had in his hands. Isn't that precious?

I looked back this morning at some old posts, had a few laughs, cringed at some moments, and realized that I did achieve my goal of staying at home, and also managed to keep up the blog, and start a new career. What a wild year it's been. Enjoy some excerpts from the past year! So much has changed including this blog.
We've got everything-
Going back to work,
Typical Mom Anxieties,
Bouts with PPD,
Poop,
the final straw, and
squishy feelings

Thanks for reading!