Food for Thought

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Every once in a while, it’s good to get a dose of reality.

In fact, in addition weekly massages, I believe that reality should be prescribed in low doses and given every week. In case you’ve forgotten, I believe the world would be a better place if 1) Everyone got a weekly massage and 2) Women ruled the world. Speaking of which, I am using my coveted gift certificate and getting a massage next week, and I will probably be a far better person for it afterwards; I will be more tolerant of Earth Shoes, I’m sure of it!

On Wednesday night, I attended the orientation for the local food pantry. To volunteer, you must attend the hour-long orientation session and fill out the prerequisite forms. When I arrived, I met the Office Manager and she waved me into a small room, which was the pantry’s kitchen area. When I entered, five potential volunteers looked up at me from the table, looked back down, and then went back to filling out their prerequisite forms.

The first thing that struck me upon taking a seat at the table and after grabbing a pen was the sign tacked up on one of the cupboard doors. It said, “What happens here, stays here. Please respect the confidentiality of our clients.” I realized then that I was in uncharted territory, and most days of the week, I had no reason to whine.

After we all filled out our forms, the Office Manager gave us a history of the pantry. It was started in 1982 by two women in a neighborhood. They realized that the very families they waved to as they drove down the street were skipping meals because they couldn’t make ends meet.

These woman had no funds and relied on donations from others. In their first year, they fed 50 families. Today, the pantry feeds 500 families a month from the surrounding six towns.

After she finished, I asked myself, “And, you think spending time with your kids, while being paid to do so by the State of Massachusetts, is a hard thing to deal with?” It was definitely a dose of reality for me. Sometimes you think things are miserable for you, but truly there is always someone who is far worse off.

The Office Manager then told us she was going to take us on a tour. She pointed out the waiting room, the office where families came to apply for assistance, the toy room, which was filled to the brim at Christmas but now only housed a few bookcases of toys for birthday presents, the clothing room, and finally the “supermarket.” I kept thinking how worried I was about my unemployment benefits running out and here were families worrying about how they would eat from week-to-week.

It is certainly easy to take things for granted. Of all the things in my life I thought I might have to live without, I never thought food would be one of them. Or, that I might not be able to open the doors of Kohl’s and instead would be hoping I could find a pair of pants that would fit Iz among the 10 available pairs in the corner of one small room.

My overwhelming impression of the pantry staff was what a wonderful job they did, yet at the same time, I couldn’t help but think it must be such a difficult job to do. When the Office Manager spoke about the room in which families first came to discuss their needs, she pointed out how it was intentional that the room overlooked the lovely pond behind the building. It was a small but loving attempt to give a family that had just lost a job or even a job and a home, a bit of serenity if only for a few moments; she then got a bit choked up and added, “There many times I have cried, and it is truly bittersweet.”

At that point, I realized how fortunate I was, even though I had felt most unfortunate lately. That’s not to say that I couldn’t feel down about my situation. But, I realized right then that my true fortune was not in a job, though some day it might be nice to have one; it was helping others through their misfortune, and I was most fortunate because I had always known I could open the doors of Hannaford and walk out with whatever I wanted.

I haven’t got my first assignment yet, but no matter how busy my life may get in the future, I will continue to volunteer as much as I can. Actually, I think it will be a welcome dose reality for me on a weekly basis, especially if I continue to remained unemployed. Unfortunately, sometimes it’s easier to think about what you don’t have then to see and appreciate what you do have. Today, if you realize how much you have, then please think about making dinner for someone else tonight. ♥

Dear Devoted Readers Note: Yesterday, due to my previously scheduled life (a job phone interview, lunch with a friend, a 25-mile bike ride, grocery shopping, the manufacturing of Iz's school lunch, unloading the dishwasher, making Iz dinner, putting Iz in the tub, getting Iz to sleep, making my dinner, and then having to craft a wizard's hat out of Iz's old witch hat and make a cloak out of a black towel for Magical Day at school today, yes, seriously!), there was no blog. And, aren't you relieved to find out I'm not dead by the side of the road?! Anyway, by the time I got all that done, it was 10pm; every once in a while, life gets in the way of blog. But, thanks for missing me! ♥ And, thanks, WF, as always. ♥

Surprise, Surprise, Surprise!

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It’s easy to end up in a rut even if you try hard not to. Despite my best attempts, I had gotten a bit lazy lately ignoring my anti-TV and pro-cycling stances. I had tripped but not fallen down and had to immediately exchange the imaginary stilettos heels I was wearing for some sensible shoes; however, they would not be Earth shoes but perhaps something with a kitten heel!

At 9am, Bill texted me about a ride. I had to tear myself away from the “The Princess Diaries,” which I’ve seen as many times as I’ve seen some Law & Order episodes, and I eagerly texted him that a ride at 10am would be fine by me. After sitting there for 5 minutes, I said to myself, “Great Cat Goddess, why am I sitting here?”

Some days I feel like I should be on an episode of Intervention. They should have a small segment on coaxing the TV remote out of the hand of the unemployed person and then convincing the sofa to release the buttocks of the unemployed person from its pillow-padded clutches. Fortunately, I was able wrestle the remote out from a gnarly pillow-padded index finger and thumb and turn the TV off.

I sat there and said, “I need to get out of this place!” I had never been an early-morning athlete; the only times I had been up early in my life for athletics was when the team or cycling event required it. Otherwise, I had always been a lunch-time athlete.

I got up and I began to assemble my cycling things. By 9:15am, I was dressed and ready to go. I thought instead of sitting around doing nothing much, I should get out there and start doing something, and by 9:30am, I was biking down the rail trail thinking, “Wow. I’ve never been on the rail trail this early.” Surprise, surprise, surprise!

I thought that while waiting for Bill, I’d bike down to Pepperell and back. If I had to bide time, it was better to bide it on my bike than with “The Princess Diaries.” And, I’m sure Georgie would agree with me.

After riding for a bit, I stopped and check my messages. I saw one from Bill; he asked if we could meet at 10:15 instead of 10. I wrote back, “Yep. I’m on the rail trail and almost to Pepperell. Want to meet me out here?”

I got back on my bike and figured since he was going to be 15 minutes later that I could make it to Pepperell now. At this point, it seemed like meeting him on the trail was a better than biking all the way back to the beginning. When I entered Pepperell center, I got off my bike again.

I saw another message from Bill which only said, “Are you full of sh*t?” See, even Bill knew I wasn’t an early morning athlete. Heck, I didn’t even know it was possible for me to ride so early that I might need a water bottle cage toting a Dunkin Donuts coffee cup instead of the usual water that tasted like the plastic bottle. Surprise, surprise, surprise!

Obviously, Bill needed proof of biking. I snapped a picture of the clock in Pepperell center, and I mailed it to Bill and said, “No!!!!!!!!” I then wrote, “I would have blown you off for The Princess Diaries if I didn’t get my butt out of the house.”

He wrote me back and said, “Jean Marie, I can’t believe you!!!” I knew Bill was probably in such great shock that I could now make Cycling Diva demands. I sent another message saying, “I’m hungry. Bring food!”

I turned around to cycle back to meet Bill. Just then, I thought, “Uh-oh.” I only get called Jean Marie when I’m in trouble or when I’m in a hospital; and I’m sure they only use my middle name at the hospital to differentiate me from all those other Jeans!

Bill had called me Jean Marie; however, unlike my Mom, he didn’t say, “Jean Marie, I can’t believe you. Period.” Remember, any punctuation mark that is spoken instead of being written down on paper is bad news.

As I neared Groton, I had an urge. No, it wasn’t to join the circus or raise llamas. I had to go to the bathroom.

I cycled by a “good” place to do such a thing, but I just couldn’t make my bike stop. I always had an issue relieving myself outdoors. Was I afraid of being bitten by a small creature on a vulnerable place or was it the lack of toilet paper? I still haven’t figured it out; however, thankfully, when trying to convince myself to pee in the woods, I remembered that there were stellar bathrooms, complete with toilet paper and minus the small creatures, near the rail trail.

I sent Bill a message to tell him about my biological need, which I think went, “I am going to pee at the Groton library.” I drove off the trail, and as I approached the library, I saw that they had set up the port-a-potties by the ball field across from the library. I thought that rather than tromp through the library in my cycling shoes, I could tough it out and use the port-a-potty.

I climbed into the one nearest the road, though I noticed that they had put it on a patch of land that was definitely not level. In fact, I got in, and I felt like at any moment the whole thing would tip backwards. I imagined the headline in the Groton Herald -- Cyclist Dies Drowns in Raw Sewage in Freak Port-a-Potty Accident!

I tried to get out of there as fast as I could. Upon exiting, I weighed my future options. Drown in raw sewage or suffer a squirrel bite on the bottom? I think the next time, I’m going to stop in that “good” place along the rail trail.

I got on my bike and rode back to the trail. I cycled 50 yards, and then I saw a familiar bike coming toward me; it was Bill. He came bearing bananas and Fig Newtons, ah, a very good man indeed!

As usual, we biked over hill and dale on the roads and returned to the end of the trail to make our way back for the day. As we were biking the last stretch on the trail, I saw two cyclists coming up behind us at a good clip. I told Bill and he dropped behind me, so we could let them pass.

It’s funny how when you know someone long enough, you can speak to each other with only facial expressions. After they passed up, I slowed down and Bill pulled up next to me. I looked at him, and he smiled. I had to laugh, because I knew exactly what he was thinking. I said, “I don’t think they passed us with attitude.”

One day last year, Bill and I were out biking when two cyclists zoomed passed us. Bill then explained to me that Bob, our 75-year-old cycling friend, said that it wasn’t okay when other cyclists passed you with “attitude.” If you were passed with “attitude,” it was your duty to catch the cyclists and take their attitude down a notch or two.

On that day, I said to Bill, “That was attitude. Let’s go!” We cycled fast and furious and caught up to them. (As Bill said later, “I bet they were wondering how a girl and an older guy were able to catch them!”) We were staying with them quite easily until Bill dropped his water bottle; when Bill stopped, I stopped, because I, like Bill, never leave a man behind!

The two cyclists didn’t pass us with attitude today; however, suddenly, after they passed us, it became clear to that we would pretend they did anyway. With no words spoken between us, Bill and I both put the pedal to the metal. Within a few minutes, we were right on their tail. When one of the cyclists heard my voice, I saw him startle, because he never expected the girl and the older guy to be cycling with him. Surprise, surprise, surprise!

We came to a road crossing and a car approached. The car stopped, so we all proceeded. When we got halfway in the road, the driver stepped on his gas. One of the cyclist yelled out, “Hey, what kind of mixed signals are you giving?” The driver shot back, “You have the stop sign.” We all made it across the road in one piece.

As we continued down the trail, one cyclist waved me forward. Bill rode up next to me. And, we continued at our previously established attitude pace, smoking the boys behind us.

Though we didn’t have to say anything, I knew we were both thinking we were Batman and Batgirl, except in cycling gear. The cyclists behind us saw Bill and I cranking down trail, and we didn’t even have to draft each other to maintain our speed. It made me think that appearances, like that of a girl and an older guy, can be deceiving. Surprise, surprise, surprise!

Then, like a déjà vu, I heard Bill grumble and slow down. I looked back, and he was pulling over to the side of the rail trail. I stopped, and I knew it was a flat and not his water bottle as in the Pursuit event of 2009. Just then, the two cyclists came into view.

They slowed a bit and asked Bill if he had what he needed to change his tire; Bill said he was fine and thanked them. I never said they weren’t nice guys; we just had to pretend to teach them a lesson. As they passed me, I shouted to Bill, “Aw Bill, we were kicking some ass!”

Bill immediately told me that I could head up the trail without him. I wanted to be home by 1pm, but I had embraced Bill’s code. I said, “No. I’ll wait for you,” and then I thought, “We leave no man behind.” No surprise, no surprise, no surprise!

Some of the best surprises of my life were finding out I was pregnant with Nate (after infertility treatments), finding out I was pregnant with Iz (because I was 40!), getting a job I knew I wasn’t the most qualified for (my last job and the best job of my life, mostly due to the people I worked with), and winning an award for a story I wrote. I like surprises; of course, good surprises are best and they don’t have to occur only on your birthday or on Groundhog’s Day.

Believe it or not, my first boyfriend always surprised me with presents, flowers, or a nice dinner on Groundhog’s Day; it was always a nice surprise on a day when I least expected it. It’s nice to have life surprise you; of course, there are the bad surprises, too. Today, I thought it’s best when you surprise yourself and say “No!” to the 27th viewing of “The Princess Diaries” and say “Yes!” to wearing kitten heels instead of stilettos so you don’t trip so much when you are being a morning athlete. Towanda, towanda, towanda! ♥

Vintage Fashion Passion

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Yesterday, I got a card in the mail. It wasn’t a greeting card; and why don’t you people send me more greeting cards?! It was a postcard announcing the Manhattan Vintage Clothing Show.



I went to throw the postcard away when it spoke. “Wot? You’re just going to toss me in the rubbish bin, and that’s the end of me?” (And, am I the only one that inanimate objects talk to?) I said, “Look, I’d love to go, but I just don’t think I should given that I don’t have a job.”

The postcard said, “Don’t decide right now. Tack me to the calendar, and think about it.” The postcard, like the sofa made a persuasive argument. I thought, “I could just go for the day.” (Note to self: Get a friend in NYC who will let you sleep on his/her couch!)

I had not had my fill of people watching or vintage in quite some time; thus, I tacked the postcard, which said, “Ouch!” to the calendar. To me, the show was almost like going to a museum for a day, a clothing museum. If there isn’t a museum dedicated solely to clothing and fashion, there should be! (To illustrate how passionate I am about vintage clothing, I flew to Philadelphia just for the day just to see Princess Grace’s wedding gown, which the museum owns and only displays every now and then.)

As I walked by my vintage yellow mohair sweater hanging on the stair railing, I asked myself, “How did I ever get into vintage fashion?” It’s not like I’m someone who could write for Vogue; I walked around in a jeans, a t-shirt, and a pair of Chuck Taylor sneakers most days. But, somewhere along the way fashion, especially vintage fashion, became one of my passions when it wasn’t the kids, biking, cookie cutters, Hello Kitty, cats, and Law & Order.

I have certainly experienced a lot of fashion trends through the years. Let’s see there were toe sox, padded shoulders, stirrup pants with oversized sweaters, Earth shoes, bell bottoms, and tie-dye t-shirts to name a few. It’s only fitting that I show you some of my personal fashion statements throughout the years. Don’t laugh too hard!

(And, please comment if you can relate to any of these or if you experienced a different trend. For example, did you have a mullet, wear parachute pants, or have 10 Izod alligator shirts? Gosh, I loved my preppy phase!)

Banana curls!



My Mom always created these the night before a school picture. And, we all know that banana curls lead to crystal meth! No, they don't; however, they do lead to something much worse - perms!

Fair Isle sweaters!



Yes. That's me. Stop laughing! I should have gone with the banana curls again, right?!

I think I had about eight of these during my high school and college years. But, you couldn’t do the sweater without the prerequisite turtleneck. I had about 10 of those; today I don’t own a single turtleneck.

Sweater vest!



My Mom was on a crochet and knitting kick for most of the 1970s. I had several of these babies. This one wasn’t so bad, but I had one that was navy blue and neon lime green that was hideous. What was Mom thinking when she chose those colors?! What? Oh, you’re right; it was the 1970s!
Bold floral!



Well, at least, the bold floral took away from the mouth full of metal. You have to give the 1970s some credit, too. It was in no way a taupe time!

Perm!



Wait, I’ll say it before you do. Eeeeek! Friends don’t let friends get perms. I must have had no friend then! Of course, the goofy sunglasses, the huge flower earrings, the lei, and cat t-shirt only exacerbate the ridiculous curls. In my defense, I was at a party, but yeah, there’s still that perm!

Perm AND really bad 80s bridesmaid dress!



As we all know, the bridesmaid dress is always a mixed bag; you like it or you hate it. (I have to say that I’ve never heard any bridesmaid, who has meant it, say, “I love my bridesmaid dress!”) I remember when I saw the dress I said, “I love it!” I think that’s called taking one for the Bridal Team or something like that.

Anyway, as you can see, I followed fashion fads like most. I actually got into vintage way before it was trendy to do so. I think it started when I wore my mother’s wedding dress when I married Quinn. Though it would be years later and a second wedding that would get me hooked on old clothes.

I didn’t really want a big wedding the second time, but it seemed mandatory given John hadn’t been married before. When I had to think about buying a dress, I knew at 40 years old, I’d feel ridiculous in something elaborate; however, I knew that jeans, a t-shirt, and Chuck Taylor sneakers would be far too casual.

I don’t know what got into me, but I knew I wanted to wear an old dress, preferably one that was tea length. I began to search the Internet for vintage clothing sites. In Maryland, I found my dress; it was a tea length cream dress from the 1950s, and I paid $175 for it.

When I got it, the tulle overskirt had many rips in it, and it was too loose here and too small there. I knew if I was going to wear it, it needed some major renovations. So, $500 later, I had my new old dress! And, look how happy it made me; it's too bad most of what happened thereafter was a disappointment compared to the dress!



It’s funny to think that I am the daughter of a woman who cared little for clothing, wore no makeup, and didn’t color her hair. She did like antiques though, so that must be her contribution to my love of old things. And, both she and my father were good artists like my sister, Julie. So, Mom + Dad = love of old wearable art!

Besided the always-mentioned Law & Order, I do adore America’s Next Top Model; however, it’s not really for the competition, the beautiful woman, or even the clothes. It’s really for the pictures. (And, do I sound like someone who reads Playboy for the articles?!) It's also how a relatively ordinary person + clothes, hair, and makeup = living art.

(One of my favorite exhibits at the MFA was the one for fashion photographer Horst P. Horst. Never mind the dress, isn’t this just beautiful? And, this is absolutely fabulous!)

I guess being a visual and clothing person, it would make sense that I tryand make a statement with my clothing when not wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and Chuck Taylor sneakers. When I was at Ellen’s on Easter, she said how much she liked my 1970s Mexican embroidered top. Earlier in the week, my friend, Melissa, asked me what “vintage outfit” I would be wearing when all the Lovelies next got together. (It turned out to be another Mexican embroidered top; I have six, but they’re so not turtlenecks!)

There’s one thing about making a statement, and then it’s another very nice thing to have people expect it of you and appreciate you for it. When I used to work, it seemed that some actually looked forward to what I might pull out of my closet every day. And when asked about an item, I always sounded like a curator from a museum with “Oh, it’s a sweater dress from the 1970s. It’s an illusion dress from the 1960s. It’s a box purse from the 1950s.” And, I guess I’m a curator of my own museum, choosing something old to wear and making it new most days.

This is a dress from the 1960s, and I’m putting it here to erase all pictures previously presented from your memories!



I bought it for $40 at the local vintage store. Betsey Johnson, Stella McCartney, and Vera Wang, eat your hearts out! They just don’t make them like they used to. ♥

All in My Family

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Yesterday, I had Easter with my family. It wasn’t my “traditional” family. It was a family that I had been a dotted line member of for the last 10 years. Nathan and I had a lovely Easter dinner at Ellen’s; she's my neighbor.

When I was growing up, I always looked forward to the holidays. Any holiday meant that my grandmother, who had been a widow since 1960, would come, bearing Ring Dings, a jar of pickles, and the latest copy of the National Enquirer, and stay overnight. Likewise, it also meant that my grandfather would come bearing a waxed bag full of the greasiest and tastiest blueberry muffins from some farm stand in Webster, Massachusetts where he lived.

My Mom was not a gourmet cook, but she was pretty good. I loved her stuffing at Thanksgiving, her Yorkshire pudding on Xmas with the roast beef, and she was the one who taught me how to make a killer pie crust. As a family, we always had good holidays.

I don’t think we had any unique traditions. My Dad would always buy us kids and my Mom a present that was just from him on Christmas. He had a postal stationery business in addition to his regular job when we grew up, so I think he used Christmas as a way of giving us each a gift that made up for his many nights spent in the basement sorting his envelopes or shipping out cut squares to customers. He also probably felt a tad guilty and that a Christmas bonus was merited because of all those mornings, afternoons, and evenings we spent drying out his postal stationery after the basement flooded!

After both my parents died, my sister, brother, and I celebrated the Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays together. After my sister was diagnosed with breast cancer and I ended up in some personal turmoil, our “family” holidays fell apart. Though, for the last 10 years, there’s always been a constant for me, and that constant has been Ellen and her family.

I don’t remember when I first met Ellen. When I moved into my house, my crotchety neighbor, Mrs. Black (surname was very indicative of her personality), told me that there was a family with four boys down the street. Eventually, Nathan met Ellen’s son, Connor, and they became fast friends.

Ellen has four boys, Zach, Chris, Connor (Nathan's age), and Noah. You’ve all met Noah on my blog before. Iz adores Noah.

I think the two of them revel in each other’s company. They are to each other the sibling they always wanted. Noah wanted someone younger to look up to and adore him, and Iz always wanted a sibling close in age to watch over her; and they both do that so perfectly for each other.

Ellen called a few weeks before Easter to ask us what we were doing. She proposed we all eat out, and I said we were game for that. She said if her sister came, she might change the Easter dinner venue to her home; I told her either way to count me and Nate in.

Last week, she called to say that the restaurant she had in mind was charging way too much. Also, her sister was coming with her family. So, Easter dinner was now at Ellen’s.

I asked if she wanted me to donate some money to the meal or bring something. She asked me to bring shrimp cocktail. Thinking shrimp wasn’t enough given we had so many holiday meals at Ellen’s, I offered to make scallops in bacon, too. The scallops were gone in under 10 minutes; obviously, I highly recommend this recipe!

Nate and I arrived at Ellen’s around 1:45pm. Her sister, Cathy, a nurse, was there with her husband and two children. I think I had met Cathy before, but before yesterday, I never really got a chance to talk to her for any great length. In addition to Cathy and her family, there was Nate and me, and Ellen’s brood (minus Tuft’s frosh, Chris) for a total of eleven.

After scallops, shrimp cocktail, cheese and crackers, salsa and chips, and potato chips and onion dip, we sat down for dinner. It was great sitting at a table that fit all of us. I hadn’t sat at a table for 11, well, I hadn’t done that too many times in my life.

When dinner was over, the table was cleared. Ellen put the kettle on; Ellen’s a tea-o-holic like I’m a Fresca-a-holic. And with dessert on our plates and hot tea in our mugs, Ellen, Cathy, and I chatted about nothing and everything; five lovely hours later, I headed home.

Today, I muddled through the day. I watched Law & Order, I took Nate to the dentist because his wisdom teeth were knocking at his gum doors, and I wallowed in non-jobness; however, I could not stop thinking about the lovely time I had yesterday at Ellen’s.

I don’t know about you, but sometimes I am haunting by feelings. But, usually, I'm haunted in a good way. Today, I kept thinking, “I enjoyed life so much yesterday.”

I thought, “I should write a formal thank you note to Ellen.” And, I love her for this and simultaneously dislike her for this, but my Mom always had us children writing thank-you notes. My sister-in-law once said I was "Queen of the Thank You Notes."

Over the years, Ellen and I had shared so much. We shared kids with hers living at my house or mine living down at her house. We shared heartache, and lately we shared parenting with her tending to Iz for me or me minding Noah, picking up Chris at school, or taking Connor out driving. Sometimes, it seemed like we had somewhat been each other’s spouses for the last 10 years.

Instead, as I sat there in the car about to grocery shop, I thought, I need to call Ellen. I dialed her cell number; it rang. She said, “Hello?”

I said, “Hi, it’s Jean. I just wanted to thank you for yesterday. I had such a nice time.” Ellen seemed a bit surprised by my call. And, she responded by saying she was glad we could come and it was nice for us to be there as well.

Most of Ellen’s family was far away and elderly. Most of mine was far away and dead. Through the years, Ellen and I seemed to find a family within our own families. And, while it's true that blood can be thicker than water, yesterday, it became clear that water can be just as thick as blood. ♥

Friday is Good

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I think everyone knows how religious I am or am not as the case may be; I believe a bit of everything and like the idea of a Cat Goddess. Today is Good Friday, though I hate to think of it as a day that commemorates someone being crucified. So, like any good actress, I did my interpretation of Good Friday.

Good...toes.



I did this last night. I needed to start the “good” early. And, they looked so good, except for those long second and third toes, that I just had to show them.

Good...TV with coffee.



The Golden Girls doesn’t count; Law & Order does. Why? Um, I’ll think about it and get back to you.

Good...use of an open window.



Good...pasta salad.



Doesn’t it look good? I’m getting together with the Lovelies tonight. And, nothin’ says “Girls Night” like pasta salad!

Good...music.

Cooking is better with music. Actually, everything is better with music. And the music can't get any better than when it's a friend's (Nancy K. Dillon) new CD and the song features another friend, Chris, playing the electric guitar.

Good...example of freedom of speech.

All I had to do was the ring the doorbell to elicit this response!

Good…cleaning.

Cleaning can be good sometimes and especially stress-reducing if you’re me. I hate cleaning this trap in the dishwasher; there’s nothing like wet old food (and reading in the car and amusement park rides), to make me want to toss cookies! But, it’s cleaned out now, so that’s good.

Good…exercise.

Given I have no job, I still don’t walk Monty as much as I should. So, I took him for a walk. It was a good long walk for both of us.

Good…knowledge.

As Thunderbolt sat in my lap this morning, I noticed that he had these whiskers coming out of his leg.



So, I texted my friend, Dr. Tunabreath the Veterinarian. I asked her what these things were. She said they were like an antenna.

But, I thought these were the cat’s antennae!



Good…grief.



I needed fresh parsley for my pasta salad. I hate the fact that I have to buy $2 of parsley when I only need two tablespoons. I definitely think there’s an herb conspiracy among the parsley growers of America or wherever this parsley happened to be born!

Good…to see these instead of puddles!



Enough said. Nothing says Spring like a crocus. And, did you ever notice how hard it is to take a bad picture of flowers?!

Good…sucker Mom.

At about 2pm yesterday, Nathan texted me asking, “Do you mind if I convert to Christianity for a day?” I had to laugh at the crazy question, and then I had to think hard why he was even asking such a question? Given that I don’t work currently, I don’t really pay much attention to the calendar; in fact, yesterday I kept thinking it was Friday.

After a whole minute of thought, I realized today was Good Friday. Apparently, it was an optional holiday at school and one for which Quinn wouldn’t let Nathan miss school. Like good cop-bad cop, you always have a non-sucker-parent-sucker-parent scenario; I happen to be sucker parent yesterday.

Five text messages later, I was picking up Nathan at 11:30 and taking him to his favorite restaurant for lunch. At 9am this morning, I got another text saying, “This is such a waste. There are only four kids in my class!” Next thing I knew, I was picking up Nathan at 10:30, taking him to his favorite restaurant, and driving him home by 2:20pm, so it would not be discovered that he had become a Christian for the day!

I had been missing Iz, so it seemed almost karma that Nathan should end of spending most of the day with me. We had a nice lunch, and then he subjected me to A Day to Remember on the drive back to his Dad's.

I didn’t get half of what I should have gotten done today; so, it really was a Good Friday. ♥

Happy weekend, and Happy Easter!

The Sound of Silence

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At 10 this morning, I heard something I don’t hear often. Was it the mating call of the Sneetch? Believe it or not, I heard absolutely nothing; there was complete and total silence in the house, except for the occasional wheezing from Thunderbolt, the intermittent growling from Monty, and the hum of the dehumidifier in the basement.

What was so different about this morning than other mornings? Well, nothing really, because at 10am the house was always pretty quiet, especially when the voice of Lenny Briscoe couldn’t be heard over the sound of silence. Today, I knew that the silence would not be broken at 3:10pm when Iz arrived off the bus, because Iz had left.

She and John left to visit his parents in Pennsylvania for the holiday. Unlike previous trips, she was excited to go; she was horribly disappointed when they didn’t leave yesterday due to concerns over flooded roads. I couldn’t help but wonder if her eagerness to go was not so much the trip itself but because she knew was going somewhere where everyone was going to treat her like a princess, Princess Pukamunga, of course!

It was hard letting her go on a holiday, but I knew how much her grandparents wanted to see her, and so they should. I had shopped yesterday for Easter, so that all John had to do was stuff a few Easter eggs for her hunt and populate her basket. I went over all the Easter basket details with him last night like, “I can't find her basket, so you’ll need to buy her one,” “Tell her that the Easter Bunny said she can return the sunglasses at Claire’s when she gets home if she doesn’t like them,” and “If she’s bored at your parent’s house on Friday, give her the sidewalk chalk that is shaped like rabbits.”

He seemed to process it all. But, I’m sure I’ll get a call on Saturday night asking, “Where’s her basket?”, “You said these sunglasses are for Claire. Who’s Claire?”, and “Don’t you think that just one of these large rabbit SweeTarts is enough?” It’s a good thing I like to talk and don’t remind repeating myself over and over again!

Anyway, I always miss Nathan when is was gone, but as he grows older, it seems a bit easier for me to be able to let him go off, except when he has to drive on the highway after just getting his license. Since Iz is still so dependent, even though she likes to think she is the queen of her own country, IRULE (Isabelle’s Republic United Lipgloss Emirate), it is still hard for me to see her leave. And with her departure this morning, a huge wave from Motherhood Sea, which surrounds the country of IRULE, washed over me leaving me feeling relief, guilt, and sadness all in that order.

Being a stay-at-home Mom has been toughest job I’ve ever loved for sure. Sometimes I’ve thought it’s a lot easier to sit in a cubicle for 8 hours a day than it is to run a house and care for children. Truth be told, for the next few days, part of me was relieved at not having to watch Sponge Bob Square Pants, make dinner for anyone except me, the cats, and the dog, and come up with 137 answers to the 137 questions Iz asked me daily.

Who were Liam’s parents?
Why are the bottom of your feet so hard? (My calluses from running intrigue her.)
Who came first? Miley Cyrus or the Jonas Brothers?

Of course, after she had been gone all of 20 minutes, I began to think, “What can I do now that I’m home alone?!” A pedicure, a trip off to the mall without any thought of when to return home, or a peaceful bubble bath without anyone knocking on the door shouting, “Mommy, Liam just threw up!”

The more I thought about doing anything, the more I thought about how most of the things I usually do, I do with Iz. When I was driving to the mall yesterday to Easter shop, I had the strange sensation that I had forgotten something. Was it my list? Was it my wallet? No; I forgot Iz, even though I knew I couldn’t bring her along.

When I got a pedicure, Iz had her little feet stuck in the water next to mine. When I went to the mall, she was holding my hand, asking me if we could get a bag of “chocolate balls.” And, when I cooked dinner, she was setting the table or dragging her little chair in from the family room, so she could stand next to the stove and stir something. For all intents and purposes, she was my BFF, and I felt guilty now about enjoying the things we usually did together.

As I sat in the hallway, I looked down at the floor. I saw the path that the little tornado left as she blew out of town. Usually, I’d curse such a pile for having to pick it up; however, there now wasn’t a pile that didn’t remind me of her and make me miss her more.



Can I bring my black boots? (No; they’re too worn.)
Which bag should I bring?
What purse should I carry?
Do I need my lunch box. (No. I’m sure your Dad will remember to feed you.)
Do I have any homework? Never mind; I’m going to be watching Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Squeakquel instead.

I guess there’s no avoiding any of these emotions when you’re a parent. Relief, guilt, and sadness were part of the emotional package along with joy, love, concern, and “Please clean your room NOW!” among others. When the car pulled out of the driveway this morning, Iz blew me a kiss from one hand while clutching her purple mermaid, a bon voyage present from the cats, in her other hand. As I blew her a kiss good-bye I thought, “Have fun, and come home safe.”

At about 3:30, I received a picture from John.



He wrote, “In Newark, window’s down, she’s reading, and “You Belong to Me” is cranking on the radio. Iz had the breeze, a book, and Taylor Swift; just then, I felt like I got a postcard from Newark saying, “Mommy, I’m having a great time. Wish Taylor Swift were really here! It’s not raining in Newark. Do you think it’s raining in Florida?!”

I missed her, but I knew she was having a fine time. So, it's time for that solo pedicure now! And, while I know that there are many things I can do and enjoy without Iz, today, I knew that there wasn’t really much that I wanted to do without her. ♥