L i l a M a r i n

Finding Joy

2012-01-30T20:21:00.000-08:00

The fact is always obvious much too late, but the most singular difference between happiness and joy is that happiness is a solid and joy a liquid ~ J.D. Salinger

There have been several things that have made me sad lately. I'm reading that sentence and I'm realizing two things: It's an understatement, for one, and it also very likely doesn't read as sad as things really are. I could add more pizazz... more details, more adjectives, more joie de vivre of the grammatical variety, but then it would make it less true. To me, anyway...

Just this past week, the tiniest of things are the things that have brought me the most amazing joy. They have to. I feel like these itty bitty moments in time are the microcosms of greatness and that, if I miss out on recognizing them, then I'm letting go of so many possibilities for happiness.

Ang was gone on a business trip for a week and I let the short people sleep in our bed. Lila is like a large river rock in our big, king-sized mess of blue pillows and blankets. She is smooth, round, and heavy. She doesn't often flip over, but instead slides along the surface of cotton in tiny rotating circles, as she giggles and smiles along with her dreams, the whole night through. AJ is different. It's like he's searching for something he just can't find, and is frustrated all the while. He shot up at about 3am the other night, instantaneously crying and reaching out with his tiny white forearms at the grey air above the bed. Then he caught my gaze, and said, "Oh." And silently crumpled into my hug, snoring within seconds... This brought me such amazing joy.

Joe Paterno, my hero, died two Sundays ago. While I want our children to see us as parents to be human, I don't want them, at the age of four, to be unnecessarily worried or sad. So, while their dad was still away, I needed to be honest and present, but also strong. Lila could see I was crying, and asked me why. I said, "JoePa died, honey, but mommy's OK." She said, "Oh." I gave both of them a bath a few minutes later, and Lila and her little naked belly gave me a rather gruff hug and whispered into my ear, "Don't be sad, Mommy. I don't know where JoePa is now, but I know he's very proud of you for loving him so much." This brought me unexpected joy.

My friend is sick, and we are all waiting for good news. AJ consistently tells me, "Mom. Do you know why I'm sad? Your friend. I want her to be better." Lila is always solemnly nodding her head in the background when he says this. To me, there is joy in the exchange. Because they are so little, and yet they already know how precious life is. While I have a bit of a broken heart, there is joy, and hope on the horizon. There is so much hope...

Some of the struggles I've witnessed and been a part of lately can be eased a bit with just the tiniest recognitions of joy. Of the littlest things that, in fact, are the biggest sources of happiness... It might not be children sending that message, but rather the universe issuing a directive to take note: This minute in time will never be here again. Appreciate where it leads you...

Many things - such as loving, going to sleep, or behaving unaffectedly - are done worst when we try hardest to do them ~ C.S. Lewis

Mini Photo Journal

2012-01-18T12:16:00.000-08:00

Photographers deal in things which are continually vanishing and when they have vanished there is no contrivance on earth which can make them come back again ~ Henri Cartier-Bresson

Take this photo, for example:

Lila had dressed up for our daily bike ride on Monday, taking care to wear colors that would match her helmet. She's usually not all that concerned with outfit choices (unless it's to get a laugh), so this was new. Along with her pink-and-teal getup, she wore such confidence that day, the likes of which I hadn't seen before. I could tell there was some sort of new exuberant independence going on. Not sure where it came from, but it was so sweet and different. As we were running out the front door to get the bikes from the garage, I grabbed my camera and quickly shoved the lens cap into my back pocket. The three of us perched atop our bikes, I somehow managed to capture this millisecond in time before Speed Racer bolted out of the frame. It's not the best photo. I do realize my children appear limbless, at best, and that the central focus is really of, well, the space between them (and a bit of my bumper). But down the road, when I look back on this image, I'll smile to myself and remember Lila's newfound confidence on an everyday bike ride, on a random Monday. A moment that cannot and will not come back again.

Talking about great photography, I'm reminded of this quote (attributed to that famous guy, Anonymous): "Buying a Nikon doesn't make you a photographer. It makes you a Nikon owner." I get it, Anon. I am simply a Nikon owner. I also get that becoming a pro at photo editing does not make one a photographer, either, nor does talking camera-speak at shindigs or lugging said Nikon to every outing. (Though I do know someone who does none of the above and is one of the best photographers I know.)

But. Taking these photographs may make me a historian, of sorts. Perhaps a bit of a photojournalist, as well, for my own tiny family. And that's a job I'll never take lightly, and one I'll never quit. I get to capture everyday moments like this one, prefaced simply by: "Mommy, will you please take my picture?"

I finally got a pic of the hound, the hubby, and the hooligan, dressed in their finest and on their way back from their usual 7am dog ~~drag~~ walk.

Though he's posing here, AJ can actually often be found sporting such an expression these days. I'll look at this photo ten years from now and be reminded of his, um, 'very active year.' (Note that my positive spin persona chose not to change the word year into its plural form.)

AJ immediately followed up his Velociraptor pose with a quick hug for his sister.

Awwhhh.... usually hugs last only so long, until the inevitable kicks to the head resume.

Aaaand, then it's back to Smackdown City, Round 43.

Guilty? Or not guilty. You be the judge:

Thanks to such 'active' children, I have umpteen photo ops. However, it's usually only about 7% of the time that: (a) I can find my camera; (b) it's charged and the memory card isn't full; and (c) I can jump out of the moment just long enough to even think about taking a picture, before that moment is gone...

Ransacking Mommy's closet is something the kids like to do whenever they get a chance.

Exhibit A: Midnight Cowgirl

Exhibit B: The Satin Pirate

AJ was not up for photos at this juncture. During this shot, he was behind me, trying to pull down my pants, wearing his dad's baseball shirt, dress shoes, and a Harley-Davidson trucker hat. Glad our closets full of fashion faux pas can at least result in more fun for the kiddos.

In any event, I'm happy to be our little family's historian. Because I get to capture these smiles...

...this look...

...and (for how very, very fleeting they are), those sweet, calm moments.

Happy Wednesday, fellow family historians!

I Love 2012

2012-01-02T22:04:00.000-08:00

Paint, color, draw, ride bikes, dance, hold hands, love... Lots to do today. I'm gonna be busy

~ Lila, 1/2/12

In my search for a cool New Year's quote two days ago, I happened upon one by a gent named Bill Vaughan: "An optimist stays up until midnight to see the new year in. A pessimist stays up to make sure the old year leaves." Not sure why I've given this one more than just a passing thought, but I have. I've dissected it, in fact.

I think an optimist does both. Why is one who bids farewell to a less-than-pleasant year a pessimist, Bill? It's my belief that someone (anyone) who hasn't had a great year should, instead, be considered optimistic when s/he truly has hope the following year will be a better one. To be hopeful, after all, is one of the least pessimistic things one can be...

Bad moments, at times in my life, have stretched into weeks, months, and every so often, years. Years punctuated by rather good ones, and very good ones, at that. I am lucky.

I'm lucky to watch my new "Adele: Live at the Royal Albert Hall" DVD just as many times as I'd like. (Watching it now, in fact, as I write these very words.) Perhaps I can't watch it during Disney Channel mornings, busy work days/evenings, and nights spent putting the monkeys to bed. But yes, times like 11.13pm on a random Monday, I'll be chasing pavements with my girl Adele.

I'm lucky to have a chance to give Kindle Singles a run for their money with my new submission. Yet to decide upon the topic for my little 'book'... Yet to write a word for it, in fact. Soo, there's that. Excited about the prospect of it all, though.

I am ecstatic about planning our Summer vacation (Nantucket this year? Martha's Vineyard?) and a possible jaunt to Wine Country in the Fall (!); making plans to market my brand new tiny business; riding Mike (my new BIKE, naughty people); dancing, creating, and volunteering with the monkeys; and remaining resolute that yes, we will say goodbye to the golden arches. (Oh man, that last one was a biggie.) 2012 is our year to enjoy a coastal life and to be as healthy as we can ~ inside and out. Like Lila said, we're gonna be busy.

I had a surprisingly serene dream the other night that I died. I had thought that when you die in a dream, you die for real, but I guess you don't. Anyway, it was beautiful over there. Not up there, but over. Somewhat like a big, bright, pale blue vacation, in a different world right next-door... And then my gorgeous hubby showed me a sweet, sad, lovely, amazing video the following morning, involving exactly this. (Farewell, smiling, beautiful, brave Ben Breedlove. We're lucky that you decided to share your courage with the likes of us. You've reminded me to embrace today and to live life fearlessly. And to smile. It's so nice to know, by the way, that you're right next-door.)

What I'm looking forward to in 2012 had and has everything to do with how we spent our New Year's Eve: Simple, easy, happy, smiling, us. If life is fleeting, let's keep it simple and sweet...

We've figured out an equation that may just make the new year a positive one:

Corona + Trouble = smiles all around;

concentrate on success;

always remember to laugh;

hug the ones you love;

be patient and thankful;

and look to the future with excitement, wonder, and optimism.

Every now and then, I wait for a sign when I write. Tonight I was waiting to figure out how to sign off on my silly little post... Since I began a few hours ago, I've watched beautiful Adele's video and have become inspired by her beauty and her humor. And just now, my sweet, flopsy boy has stumbled downstairs, bedhead and all, just to snuggle up to me. (He's since switched around and looks oddly comatose.) Adele and AJ, thank you for being my signs. And so, I wish for all in 2012: A year of beautiful music, inspiring people, laughter, adventure, and sweet souls who will love you and support your dreams, wherever you go, no matter what.

Taken just now. My beautiful boy who traded a big, quiet, comfy bed upstairs for a tiny couch with me and noisy Adele downstairs. I guess comfort is more about the who than the where... xo

Happy Holidays

2011-12-27T20:08:00.000-08:00

Me: Guys, I'm so sorry it's been such a boring day for you. [sigh]

Lila: What do you mean? The Christmas tree lights are on, we saw "Toy Story," we talked to Nona and Papa... We had a great day!

AJ: AND we ate popcorn.

Me: [smile]

~ December-something 2011

Christmas morning ~ 2011

I've been consumed with the kids having fun and enjoying the holidays, whilst somehow trying to maintain a level of generosity and kindness witnessed solely within the pages of "Little House on the Prairie" books and Publix commercials. Not easy. In fact, impossible for me. I've been trying terrifically hard to make this season memorable, mellow, and beautiful: "Was today fun enough for them?" "When are these refusal-to-share smack downs going to cease?" "Are pink Chuck Taylors appropriate holiday shoes?" "I didn't have time to call anyone I love today." "Should we be baking actual cookies from scratch?""Why do I not know anything about this elusive, widely revered LeapPad?" "Hot damn, I gained four more pounds." All the while, I was accomplishing little and sounding (at least in my own head) like an escapee of some sort. From an asylum, from Christmas Bizarro World, who knows. But I wasn't sounding like myself.

Then along came Reason. She may get nudged here and there by Guilt, and the every-now-and-then invitations from Insanity and Holy-Shit-J.Crew's-50%-Off!, but she's steadfast and cool in her refusal to go overboard with holiday bullshit. [And, oddly enough, still makes time for Corona and Lime on alternate Fridays.] ANYWAY, Reason looked at me straight in the face mid-December and simply said, "Jen. Chill."

So I did. I chilled. And I ended up finding happiness in so, so many different things...

The Wal-mart cashier who told me (with regard to my mixed mesclun greens): "Girrrrrrlllll, shut UP. Your salad's gonna be FLY! Merry Christmas!"
The bearded, smoking gentleman in the red truck who let me ahead of him in traffic, the day before Christmas, during gridlock. My Volvo grocery-getter with the Boston Red Sox and reindeer antler adornments oddly connecting with his Confederate flag emblazoned '82 Ford pickup, if just for a moment...
My mom's everyday texts with cozy photos and messages from 'up north'.
Heddy's successful operation.
Walking barefoot outside in December.
Lila declaring: "You know what I love? I love best friends."
AJ telling me that I'm "more beautiful than forever." (This, of course, after his summoning from the downstairs bathroom, "Will someone please wipe my butt?!?")
My cousins and niece flourishing in college. (And for that matter, my gorgeous nephew excelling at FDR High...)
Lila and AJ wondering aloud to each other: "Why do you think Nona and Papa and Kirstie and David and Patty and Paul and Uncle Tony and Aunt Penny and Aunt Heddy and Alex and Anna can't be here for Christmas?" [So sad and sweet. They wanted everyone together for the holiday and were really confused as to why this couldn't happen. This screams Christmas to me...]
And Santa's beautiful gift to me, that has more meaning than it just being a kickass beachy bike. Meet Mike:

(Mike makes me exceptionally happy because Santa remembered how much I liked it from a long time ago, spent time putting it together, and kept moving it to secret locations to keep it a surprise on Christmas morning. And maybe also because Mrs. Claus got her hubby a very small, extremely boring chair for his office, and he smiled and was OK with it... Just happy to make me happy. Love you, Ang.)

I finally figured out the key to happiness was in my monkeys' little Old Navy pockets all along. They knew it was all about comfort and family and friends. It's not so much about the red & green, the sparkling lights, and the shiny new Christmas shoes, but maybe about the everyday efforts we make, the little moments that glue it all together...

As much as I may try to make things beautiful, Reason lets me know that they already are.

I guess that's all.

And that's pretty beautiful.

Holiday concert monkey air guitar

What is Normal

2011-12-09T21:47:00.000-08:00

My theory is that the hardest work anyone does in life is to appear normal ~ from the movie Ed TV

Christmas photo shoot ~ Seagate Beach (12/3/11)

Ang and I packed up the kids and headed to the beach Saturday evening right before sunset for our annual Christmas photo shoot. <-- Where that appears to be a relatively normal statement with pretty average sentence structure, correct grammar, and the hint of a rather organized - even professional sounding situation going on, it's really just a sad attempt to 'normalize' what was, in fact, controlled chaos at best.

AJ was tripping over rocks in my Dr. Scholl's and falling into ominous anthills; Lila's incessant pleas for food were making me feel like an incompetent parent; our Publix bag of well intentioned picnic fare to directly follow said shoot was attracting seagulls by the dozen; Ang's patience was off taking a quiz; and any creative direction was out fishing on the horizon, giving us the bird as he cracked open some cold ones. (Bottom line: Ang and I have a new appreciation for child photographers.)

I asked myself numerous times that night: "Is this normal? Are we normal? Is it OK to try so hard to get a great photo, when we alternately despise such controlled settings?" And then the kicker? We gave the kids instruments as props for the photos, and I found myself telling them to stop looking down and playing music, and to look up and smile at the camera, instead. I almost had to laugh. I mean, here we are trying to express the essence of music in our evening's photography, and yet when AJ and Lila are actually playing music, it's not acceptable? Bullocks, I say! (So totally always wanted to say that. Sounds just as natural and normal for me as when I say brilliant in order to come off as a cool, aloof British actress wearing Uggs, a scarf, and a Dead Milkmen tee at the Sundance Festival. Mmmm... doesn't really work for my middle-aged, 100% American self. *sigh*)

So the kids played their instruments, we got a sweet lil shot we're happy with for our holiday card, and then we scarfed down those Publix subs like there was no tomorrow, alleviating some of the guilt and offering sustenance for AJ's next Dr. Scholls trip down the embankment.

I often wonder about the idea of what is normal... On any given day, I may ask myself, "Is it normal that:

AJ sometimes eats tunafish for breakfast?"
the kids have been jumping into bed with us at 3am on a regular basis?"
when the kids join us in bed, I have bad dreams about being kicked in the head, only to awake suddenly after having been kicked in the head?"
I haven't started Christmas shopping?"
I am slightly obsessed with Patty Stanger?"
I have become entirely zen with the realization that my dresser/closet (hell, the whole bedroom) will never be clean until the kids enter college?"
the kids have been wearing to school whatever's on top of the clean clothes basket every day since we got back from Thanksgiving break?"
I wear winter sweaters with flip-flops?"
I'm being insanely mellow about the launch of my new business?"

The absence of normal, per se, in my life is incredibly normal to us. On any given day, we'll either skip out for an ice cream dinner at last minute's notice and watch the sunset, or stay in to eat my boring-ass chicken 'n veggies and maybe watch a Beethoven movie. Some mornings over here call for tunafish, milk, and a side of Gogurt. Others necessitate a bike ride around the block and some Honey Nut Cheerios. We have tantrums or love fests, book readings or smack downs, doggie trains or fashion shows. It's all normal here. Not only allowed, but adulated.

I'm getting used to our normal, which is anything but. Normal can contain the mundane, but it's not defined by it. Normal for us is all about being confident that what makes us happy and healthy is a good thing, whether or not it's popular or easy... Whatever is normal, whatever works, whatever fits a life and adds to its quality, this is what I admire and what should be focused on, in my mind.

Normal should be playing your own music when you're handed instruments. Normal can be kisses to the head after it's been kicked. Normal (for us) will be putting an end to qualifying anything as 'normal' or not.

Normal can be faraway family...

Magic...

Or make-believe...

Brilliant.

One who walks in another's tracks leaves no footprints ~ Proverb

Thankful

2011-11-11T10:36:00.000-08:00

To enjoy good health, to bring true happiness to one's family, to bring peace to all, one must first discipline and control one's own mind. If a man can control his mind, he can find the way to Enlightenment, and all wisdom and virtue will naturally come to him ~ Buddha

Thanks, Buddha. I'm on it. It's been a rough week, and I can't help but think of those poor boys when I close my eyes. I dream of life before I knew of the name Sandusky. My lips turn up at the sides with fond memories of Penn State, and of JoePa, before my mind instructs the smile to cease all activity. But, to be in any way a productive and positive mom to my children, wife to Ang, friend, daughter, sister, cousin, co-worker... I've got to move on. Thanks to Lila and AJ's pleas to dance and tell jokes, I'm forcing myself to stop my Google news searches for "Mike McQueary fired" (hopeful) and "Penn State scandal just a hoax" (delusional). I'm putting down my computer, turning off the news, and I plan to dance. And to laugh.

I've been blessed with a 4-year-old sense of humor. Thank God for that, because I am barraged by AJ's jokes every day, throughout the day. And they all have pretty much the same theme:

Knock-knock
Who's there?
Green.
Green who?
Green poo-poo pants on your head!!

Why did the kitty cross the road?
Why?
Because he had green poo-poo pants on his head!!

Gets me every single time. Seriously. To use comedian-speak, AJ kills with these jokes, albeit directed toward an audience made up solely of one: Me. I might have issues.

So, as per Buddha's instruction to control my mind, I'm focusing on the things I'm thankful for. I'm giving myself a limit of a dozen items. Here goes (ahem)...

I am thankful for:

Penn State lovin'. The overwhelming outpouring of love and support from Penn Staters for each other during this mess (including support from some students and alumni hailing from PSU "rivals") is uplifting. Good stuff. Oh, and Penn Staters getting together to donate to RAINN is pretty damn wonderful, too...
"Bored to Death" on HBO. (This scene always makes me smile.)
Ang's sandwiches. My husband seriously makes the best sandwiches this side of the Mississippi.
Marcel the Shell. Ang just informed me of the new book that's already hit stores and I'm on it. Picking up a copy tonight for me, I mean for the kids.
Wine. Enough said.
Downtown Brown nail polish by Essie. I have endured a lifelong love-hate relationship with my feet. An ex-boyfriend once told me over 20 years ago, "You're not a happy person until you love your feet." Oddly, I took him quite seriously, and have been checking myself over the years, asking Me: "Do I love my feet?" "Do I now love my feet?" The day I met Ang and the birth of my babies have made me completely embrace my feet. I do love them now. And Downtown Brown acts as a group hug.
This pretty little song. Fitting that it was discovered by a beautiful friend of mine...
Music, in general. I'm on a mission to expose the monkeys to as much different music as possible and have just scratched the surface of the myriad musical genres. I'm not a huge fan of The Beatles, but bought a best-of-The-Beatles CD last month and the three of us jam out to it on our car rides to school. The kids' tastes vary, with AJ lovin' him some Jack Johnson, and Lila belting out Katy Perry's "I want to see your peacock-cock-cock, your peacock-cock!" Loud. In Target. But there's one group they can agree on, and it's the Black Eyed Peas. We have regular BEP dance parties in the living room which kick. ass. And I gotta feeling they're going to continue for months, even years to come. These monkeys love to cut a rug.
Florida weather, of late. It's 65 degrees, sunny, with no humidity. I can proudly wear a sweater and scarf today without a visor-clad octogenarian in his Tommy Bahama cocktails-in-paradise shirt shaking his head and likely muttering "moron" as I walk by, which is usually the case.
The movies. One of my great loves in life is going to the movies. I love everything about it, from the popcorn, to the darkened theatre, to the previews, and then getting lost in someone else's story. When I was single, I went at least twice a month, my friends and I losing ourselves in dramas and thrillers, following it all up with Amstels and Coronas. These days, it's more like dolphin tales and matinees followed up by ice cream and car naps, but it's all still good.

And to round out the dozen, my two very favorite things to be thankful for...

How about this. How about we dance for a little bit, and then get comfy-cozy and watch a movie. Does that sound like a good plan? ~ Lila, 11/9/11

Here's to making perfect plans... Happy Weekend!

A Letter to JoePa

2011-11-09T08:54:00.000-08:00

Dear JoePa,

You will not remember me. I may have run up to you a few times in the late '80s, giggling nervously as you quickly shook my hand and then continued loping along through the winding paths of the PSU campus. Your son Jay and I sat on my messy dorm room bed one day, along with a few of my friends, as we all listened to "Gimme Shelter" and waxed poetic about how maybe, just maybe, Mick was singing: "Jay Paterno, you're just a shot away... you're just a shot away." But you won't remember me.

I was one of your biggest fans. Well, me and thousands of others. Countless, nameless others who shouted out your name in the thick of a Beaver Stadium crowd, over and over and over. "Joe-Pa!" "Ter-no!" "Joe-Pa!" "Ter-no!" We were a collective force of nature, all of us Nittany Lions huddled together on the stands in the crisp, Happy Valley Saturday afternoons, screaming out "We don't know the goddamn words" to the tune of our school song, when inside our hearts were bursting with our love for Penn State. And for you.

You don't know this, but in the years following my time at college, you've become more and more of a hero to me. The myriad things you have done for the university, football, academics, children... You have given back to the community and to the school who has loved you faithfully, and have been an inspiration the likes of which are almost unheard of in the world of college sports. Hell, you've transcended college sports, in my mind, and have become like a family member to so many, including myself. But you don't remember me.

I've watched nearly every single PSU football game since I received my early acceptance letter in November of 1986. For a quarter of a century - more than half of my life - I've spent sporting blue-and-white and cheering for the Lions. Cheering for us. Cheering for you...

It's so hard to say goodbye to my lifetime's hero. It is with the heaviest of hearts that I let go and move on. I am so terribly saddened by the recent turn of events and, ultimately, so disappointed. I will always stay true to my incredible alma mater, and will be cheering loud and strong for Blue & White until the day I die. But you, JoePa, will no longer be a part of that, and it's breaking my heart just a little.

Some people, most of whom are not alumni, have asked me why on earth I can in any way feel even one iota of sadness, and not simply pure, unadulterated anger. While I don't expect others to understand, I guess my simple answer is that goodbyes are never easy. It's because the world I once lived in is no longer the same. I also know there are diehard supporters out there who will back you up, no matter what, and who would disagree vehemently with my signing off without hard evidence. In what I've read, and this is just me, right or wrong, I have the evidence I need to take the stance I'm taking.

I no longer know if it's good to have heroes. Aside from a few extraordinary human beings I know well, like my parents, is it even safe to idolize? Will I ultimately be let down? What do I teach my children about holding someone in such high regard? I want Lila and AJ to have real-life heroes - people whose generosity and strength and compassion they will strive to emulate, I really do. But this recent turn of events has given me pause on the hero worship bit.

You don't remember me, and that is absolutely fine. I will be AOK, as I'm simply a disillusioned, post-hero-worshipper. Not a big deal. After all, I wasn't horrifically abused by a man who I trusted, nor was I abused by the system that was supposed to protect me. I wasn't the young boy who needed protection in that gym shower and who, instead, got silence. I am not the young boy who deserved a full investigation years before, which would have saved me from the abuse I suffered years later. Who I do want you to remember are the children whose lives have been ruined by Mr. Sandusky, an animal (at best) with a human name. I want you to remember them, and the innocence that has long since been venomously stolen from their young, defenseless arms. They are the only ones who should be remembered, here.

I have been trying to think if there can be any possible good to come out of all of this... I'm looking into ways to donate time/money to organizations for the prevention and treatment of child abuse. It's a drop in the bucket of good compared to the unspeakable acts that befell those poor boys. But I guess it's something...

You have just announced your retirement, to take effect at the end of the season. In your time left as Coach, I am in the hopes that information comes out proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that you did more than simply inform one superior, without ever following up. Maybe you did so much more... None of it synchs in any way with the information we have now, but it's possible. A part of my mind tells me to presume innocence, but my heart is very strongly pulling me in a different direction.

My hand is still warm from shaking yours that autumn day, half a lifetime ago. I see you sauntering across campus and away from me... your grand shadow quickly fading in the late Happy Valley sunlight. Farewell to the hero I once knew.

Sincerely,
Jennifer (Church) Biasi
Class of '91

The Happiest Place: A Pictorial

2011-11-02T20:21:00.000-07:00

Isn't it cool when the days that are supposed to feel good, actually do? ~ Jim Carrey

So we went to Sea World and to the Magic Kingdom for Lila and AJ's birthday weekend...

First stop: Sea World. The beautiful Dolphin Nursery...

AJ the Q-Tip's love for the dolphins was fleeting. Our stop there was reminiscent of the Griswolds at the Grand Canyon: A lot of "Mmmm-kay, yep. Seen it. Can we go now?"

We walked about 492 miles (23 minutes) to get to some lunch at a place I'd read about. I'm not a huge fan of plan-o-rama vacations, mind you, but I'd researched a spot to get our healthy lunch on and was adamant we eat smart amidst my recent foray into the world of quick food. AJ said our lunch was "great for energy." Lila was convinced the fries were healthy. Ang and I were dumbfounded at the bill. But we were smiling... Ready for:

another rest stop along our path to Sharksville... Had to have a beer first:

...along with a hug and a flip and a quick change of clothes for the kiddos, as it had elevated from the 60's to the 80's within about an hour of our entrance.

Cute pic, albeit pensive... versus:

Every pic I get of me 'n the kids. (Read: At least one of us is always not in sync...)

Sea World Turtle is all about peace, man... At this moment in time, I took a few pics and was greeted by the Sea World photog (not visible here because he was practically ensnared in my right ankle) with huge attitude. He kept his silent, hateful vigilance by my side. Soooo not what Sea World turtle's about, man.

AJ was desperately trying to get the dolphins' attention here...

...because Lila and her plush version of flipper love had just spent a few minutes playing hide-and-seek with one particular dolphin. (Did I get it all on film? Of course not. I'm always enjoying the moment too much to think about the damn camera. I should just call all of my pics the "after shots" or, rather, the "secondary moments." There was seriously a dolphin playing hide-and-seek with Lila... *sigh*)

Sooo posed, but cute...

This is one of the random shots where I think AJ and Lila actually look like twins. Few and far between, in my mind. We're back at the entrance, here. It's about 5pm and we're all ready for dinner and Disney.

My Bean...

This little one was over the moon about the bunk bed situation at the lodge... a source of never-ending paranoia and angst for me during our weekend there, but I digress...

At the lodge boat slip, ready to ship off to the Magic Kingdom...

Cindy: While I try to maneuver this big pouf of a pen, what magical things can I interest you in today?
Lila: Ummmmm....

Cindy: How about I send you a catalog for princess-y dresses, unbelievable up do's, and backdrops the likes of JC Penney?
Lila: Hmmnnn...

Cindy: Well, I think that worked out well.
Lila: Get over yourself, Cindy...

Lila: I'm four.
Belle: Do you have a hard drink on you, by any magical chance?

Belle: It says right here that I'm not supposed to wear this &$%@! getup for more than 2 years. I should be in Ireland at EPCOT serving Jager bombs.

Lila: You're frightening me.

Lila: This princess is nuts.
Belle: I hate my job.

Lila: You're the princess I was waiting for all along.
Aurora: So are you... Don't get mad at Mommy for having the wrong camera setting, honey...

Lila: Pirates of the Caribbean just scared the bejeezus out of me, but I'm willing to dismiss it for this awesome Disney parade.
Ang: We're. So. Lucky.

AJ: Was that just Buzz? (!!!)
Ang: Yep, a bit asphyxiated, but still lucky...

I love the every now and again pics where AJ and I look so similar...

...and so happy!

My beautiful boat girl...

Here's shy, waterlogged AJ deciding whether or not to join the lodge pool's afternoon shenanigans...

...on line, still not convinced...

(I always see him as being so tiny ~ this pic is evidence of my thoughts...)

This one... she stole everyone's heart by walking right up to the target, throwing her fashizz out, and missing by a mile ~ but with absolute exuberance...

Not only did AJ get the attention of this cute admirer on the left, but he also dunked the target (random dad) at the right!

We loved every moment. Every tiny bit will be remembered as beautiful ~ including the horrible. AJ puked on Saturday afternoon, right before our gorgeous birthday dinner, where Lila had a violent nosebleed. Soon to follow was the "Lila puking all over Mommy, AJ, and Flopsy in bed ~ twice" incident.

*Post-3am puke/bath, pre-what do we do now*

We missed out on our best laid plans. We had hoped for a birthday cake bonanza. Instead, it turned out to be a day-after-birthday, cake-in-a-box for belly-ache-babies event.

Disney was beautiful. The hotel was beautiful. The pre-, during-, and post- puke fest was beautiful...

Best laid plans can suck it. Real life is amazing, because it is real. There are memories here. While I never want my loves to be sick ~ and it would be great if plans happened the way we plan them to be... ~ Life is good.

h a p p y t h u r s d a y !

Unfinished thoughts...

2011-10-17T22:33:00.000-07:00

Did you ever stop to think, and forget to start again? ~ Winnie the Pooh

I can't finish anything these days. I just can't. Nor can I remember much... There are about five loads of dirty clothes hanging out in the laundry room on any given day, fully ignored and depressed. Poor guys. Every time I throw a new load in to be dried, and another hopeful lot into the washer, the dried ones end up getting stale, wrinkled, and pissed off, and the washed ones just rebel over time with stench. It's like Occupy Laundry Room: I'll open the door and immediately close it, ludicrously fearing and ignoring the smart, worthy protests going on inside...

I'll scoop up AJ's tiny trucks and tractors every single day, about eleven times a day. But each little vehicle will secretly kick it into 3rd gear and park itself in front of my feet, no matter where I am. Especially when I'm sleepwalking to the fridge for some 3am, 2-liter Diet Dr. Pepper action.

I do remember to pick up flowers, wine, new sneakers (scored BIG at Marshall's today with surf-colored, low-top Chuck Taylors), Cheerios, chicken nuggets, Pantene, and some pumpkin Coffee Mate for Ang. But I'll get back home and ultimately utter something along the lines of: "Shit. I forgot milk." or, "Now we just need dinner." Hence, a lot of Cheerios for supper and shiny hair 'round these parts. Rough few weeks...

Real life can end up getting in the way of organized life, I guess. So. To continue with this theme (See how I did that? I made my lack of organization of late a theme, folks! Just as if it was my original intention!), here are some unfinished thoughts of mine these past few weeks:

Why do audiences on cooking shows clap when someone finishes using the blender? I walked through our bedroom the other day while the t.v. was on and caught a millisecond of that "Doctors" show where guys in scrubs talk about health issues (?). A guest was making a healthy drink and threw a bunch of stuff in the blender, pressed *mix*, and the audience went wild, clapping like maniacs. I was dumbfounded. I still am.
I was listening to the worst possible NPR spot the other day on child sacrifice in Uganda. I was on my way to pick up the monkeys from the YMCA. Moments after hearing of the nightmare that is going on (still) in Africa, I switched over to our Justin Bieber CD (once the kids were in the car), and joined in their happy banter about their day at school. I can't shake it. It was too easy to shut it off. To shut it out. The ease of switching from FM to CD after listening to real-life horror is haunting to me. [Lila caught a snippet of a fundraising commercial on the killing of tigers the other day, before I swooped in to turn it off. No sooner had I flicked the switch when she admonished me for doing so. "Mom! Turn that back on! We need to save the tigers! It's our job!"
Andy Rooney left his post on "60 Minutes" and I miss him. Someone asked him what he would have done if he could have done anything differently in his life, and he answered something along the lines of, "I would have gotten a job at a great place like '60 Minutes' and finished each show with whatever was on my mind." Man, that's perfect. A life well-lived. He did what he wanted. Brilliant.
I swear I've lived before... The music in the new Calvin Klein television ads brings me to a place where, when I close my eyes, I'm transported to a long, long time ago. I can almost remember it. Odd, right?
Rachel Zoe pissed me off the other day. I don't watch her show, but I did last week when Ang was in Cali and I was trying to lull the kids to sleep with a boring, G-rated program (that wasn't on the Disney Channel). Her assistant was in awe of how 'easy' her pregnancy was and they giggled on and on about her pre-baby ease. And then she said something that irked me. Something like, "I figure maybe I've had an easy pregnancy because someone up there noticed I did this all on my own. Like, I built this and worked really hard to make this all mine and they were up there like, good job, Rachel. Here, we'll give you an easy pregnancy as a thank-you." Nice self-importance, Rachel. What about the women who don't have easy pregnancies? Did they somehow deserve it? Ugh.
I definitely need to lighten up, here. It's just that these were my past weeks' thoughts and I'm being oddly shareful right now. I did have a pretty cool idea for an invention (?) this week: I think Disney should create an app of some sort that allows parents to plug in info to result in a voicemail or phone call in the voice of a character (Buzz, Aurora, Rapunzel, Lightening McQueen...) saying, for example: "Hi AJ! All of us here at Disney want you to come and visit us! How about this weekend? Can't wait to see you!" We spilled the beans to the kids today that we're heading up to Disney this weekend, but something like this could've made the delivery that much cooler. (It's the little things, right?)
It's probably so not cool or hip to say this but, one of my favorite movies is "One True Thing." The message, the autumn scenes, the acting... all good...
"Bridesmaids" is one of the funniest movies I've seen in a long, long (long) time.
Oh, and thank God for Pirate Booty.

So. Like my poor, unattended laundry, our ninja vehicle collection, and my recent, somewhat melancholy, silly, bumbling days, this post stands here as a representative. It's a collection of mismatched thoughts and incessant ramblings. It is what it is. I guess, perhaps, this is life.

To live is so startling it leaves little time for anything else ~ Emily Dickinson

Id, Ego, and the Superhero

2011-09-27T21:06:00.000-07:00

“Beauty! Wasn't that what mattered? Beauty was hardly a popular ideal at that jumpy moment in history. The masses had been desensitized to it, the intelligentsia regarded it with suspicion. To most of her peers, 'beauty' smacked of the rarefied, the indulgent, the superfluous, the effete. How could persons of good conscience pursue the beautiful when there was so much suffering and injustice in the world? Ellen Cherry's answer was that if one didn't cultivate beauty, soon he or she wouldn't be able to recognize ugliness. The prevalence of social ugliness made commitment to physical beauty all the more essential. And the very presence in life of double-wide mobile homes, Magic Marker graffiti, and orange shag carpeting had the effect of making ills such as poverty, crime, repression, pollution, and child abuse seem tolerable. In a sense, beauty was the ultimate protest, and, in that it generally lasted longer than an orgasm, the ultimate refuge. The Venus de Milo screamed 'No!' at evil, whereas the Spandex stretch pant, the macrame plant holder were compliant with it. Ugly bedrooms bred ugly habits. Of course, it wasn't required of beauty that it perform a social function. That was what was valuable about it.” ― Tom Robbins, Skinny Legs and All

The monkeys checking themselves out in Lila's brand new dime store mirror ~ 9/22

A couple of weeks ago I went to the dermatologist. My first time ever. Aside from my skin cancer fears (primary reason for the visit), I had configured in my mind that the rest of the appointment would involve pore seismology and the aesthetics of facial follicles and cool ways to get prescriptions for anti-wrinkle cream. Maybe even a free trial for Botox. No... nope. It was pretty much more all about a short bespectacled woman poring over my entire naked body for lesions and scary moles and then tossing me the business card for an aesthetician for all of that other stuff.

I thankfully ascertained that this somewhat pale body that's withstood six years of searing Florida sun has fared quite nicely (so far), resulting in an audible sigh of relief that lasted for days. While I was in the office, I asked if she (said curious tiny woman with glasses) could remove a red mark from under my eye. It had bothered me for all of my 42 years on this earth. Well, I'm sure it didn't bother me at all when I was three. In fact, I doubt I thought twice about this 'cherry mark' when I was six, other than most likely thinking it was cool. But soon after that, I became consumed with this thing resting beneath my left eye. This damn red dot consumed me for years and years. And I got rid of it with 15 minutes of my time and a ten dollar bill.

I asked a bunch of people afterwards if they noticed the difference in my face and they didn't... I wanted desperately for someone to whisper to me, "Great job, kid. I was waiting for you to unload that horrific thing a long time ago." Nah nobody noticed. But I did. (Funny how such a huge freaking spot went unnoticed by everyone by me for my whole life. Well, aside from a rather mean spirited chick at a softball game years ago who stared at me and said, "Wow. If I had that, I would have removed it years ago. Doesn't it bother you?" Bite me, Tricia. Wish I had said that then, instead of "Errr...") My confidence level raised to a near perfect 10 the day it was removed, and for quite a few days following. Until the scale registered a few (ok, nine) extra pounds some weeks later. Now a new endeavor - to remove those nine pounds that had happily joined the already extra six...

Who gives me/us this will to change our appearance? Where does it come from? I have the urge to change my countenance coursing throughout my body at any given time, but I'm not sure from where it stems. Fashion magazines? Friends? Family? Me? The other night (during the Emmys), my inner dialogue went something along the lines of: "Shit. They're all so thin and here I am resting a huge bag of Pirate Booty on my gut. Ew. I need to diet and work out. I should just toss this half-eaten bag of booty. Ugh, dieting... It'll suck to give up good tasting stuff. Like ice cream. Oh wow, I forgot we have raspberry chocolate ice cream in the freezer." Two minutes later, I had successfully downed a half of a pint of ice cream. I need to work on my self control, perhaps. Score a point for my id on that one.

I want to look good for Ang. I want to look good to the random passers by on the street. I want my family to think I look good, and therefore healthy. I want to be more confident. My kids are already cool with my appearance, hence their 'Mommy, you are beautiful' 's every time I walk by them. *swoon* I want to freaking fit into my pre-pregnancy jeans that I've saved for futile reasons, it appears. But, (and that's a big butt ~ ba-dump-dump), I'm getting that it all has to start from within. And for me to get there, I need to believe in me................... It takes a little bit of time, I think. And I don't think that's such a bad thing.

There's an internal dialogue (lots of talking going on in here) regarding appearance that pokes its frizzy blonde head into my consciousness more and more these days: "Why do people place so much importance on looks? Does it make the good looking ones more confident? Of course it does. But does it make the ones looking at them any happier? Perhaps. Hell, I like looking at attractive people. Does that make me shallow? Why is it so much more difficult to lose weight these days? Where is that button from my chinos? I should be focusing on my children's education and volunteering my time at a homeless shelter instead of checking out who's wearing what at the Emmys. I wish I could lose 15 pounds. I'm hungry." (Enter: ice cream.)

I'm trying to de-program this silly waste of time on outward appearances. Though I do want to lose some weight and I do get excited on good hair days and removal-of-unwanted-red-mark-from-face days (which I think is fine), I still desperately want to channel the cool way kids think, or rather don't think, about their looks. I dig how Lila can slap some sparkle lipstick onto her pretty little lips, throw a princess crown on top of her bedhead, look in the mirror and proclaim, "Ready to go!" with a grin from ear to ear. Ready in 37 seconds and confident as all hell. I love how AJ will forego looking in the mirror and instead imbibe confidence from simply having a happy morning. Give the kid a bowl of dinosaur oatmeal and a 'super duper group hug' and he's happy for the rest of the day, looks be damned. Ohhh, I have so much to learn from these two...

Silly AJ

Serene Lila

Awesome Ang

...aaaand Crazy Me

[See now? And I wonder why I'm so damn self-conscious half the time. Here's the same ol' random shot of me I get every single time someone decides to take my picture... I never get the sweet, serene shots of me looking out over the ocean or smiling at my kids or contemplating world peace (which could happen, I swear, if someone just caught me in my everyday life), but instead the goofiest ones. Taken at about 11pm at parties. *sigh*]

Anyway, my deal here is this: I want to celebrate the silly. The differences. The imperfect. What makes us feel good. You. The dancing. The confidence that comes along with individual accomplishments and not just a new sweater or losing a few pounds (again, which are fine, too). Smiling. Goofiness. The things that stand out aren't always the things that are instantly visible to the eye. The admirable goals attained, the kindness, the empathy, the shyness, the humor, the generosity--the truly super things--these are the things that make us superheroes to who we're with... I need to remember this.

Beauty is the promise of happiness ~ Stendhal

Have a super-beautiful Wednesday.

Maximus and Monster Spray

2011-09-14T21:53:00.000-07:00

Did you miss us before we were in your belly? Because we were here a long, long time ago and I think you didn't know ~ Lila, September 2011

I see Lila and AJ as relatively short people with just as many fears and joys as us taller ones. I refuse to discount anything they say. I believe them when they tell me there are monsters in the closet (this coming from someone who sprints upstairs from basements, lest my ankles get grabbed, then bitten, then munched upon by otherworldly demons); I get sad and sheltering when Lila articulates an entire episode of preschool friend angst; and I think it's kick-ass when AJ explains the mechanics of anything and everything. (Just ask him where dinosaurs come from. I dare you.)

So when they talk about deep stuff (I mean deep), I listen intently. To Lila, especially, as she's a bit more reflective of her very long life. Case in point:

Lila to me: "When your mommy and daddy were little, where were you? Because, you know you were here, right? We all were. Not just babies. Not just big bellies. Everybody. Even all of the animals. We were all here. Nona and Papa were here before they were in bellies. We all knew each other a long, long time ago."

I could add so many more Lila quotes here, but they've all got the same message: We are all one. When she's finished with her little life 'lessons', I am usually left tongue-tied and kind of just whispering to the room around me, "Nana? Is that you? Grampy? ... Jesus?"

I'm sure all kids say these types of things and I'm just a sucker. I'm reminded of a time my mom recalls when she and my dad were proud new 20-something-year-old parents to a tiny kitten. My mom relays a conversation to the tune of: "Rod, look! We have such a smart cat, oh my God! She's licking her paw and then cleaning her face with it! I mean what cat does that?" Whatever. I still believe my bunnies when they talk about celestial things...

They're scared of monsters, so I went ahead and bought them Monster Spray. Good thing we went to World Market when we did, because they were almost out of ~~the Lavender room spray, I mean~~ MONSTER SPRAY.

Lila and AJ each requested a bottle of the aforementioned monster annihilator and a little Buddha representative for good dreams. Who am I to ruin a good night's sleep?

What's interesting to me is this: Adults need assurances just like children do. On an everyday basis I catch myself reaching for things that, in some way, will assure me my day is going to be OK. Morning caffeine, checking in with my parents, listening to NPR, touching base with friends, time out to listen to music... to be barefoot outside, a nice glass or two of my favorite cabernet at night, to read something enlightening... They're all things (and albeit things) that assure to me I will have a safe, secure, relatable day. Others may need some touch of a salty wave or a pat on the back from a client or a chart that says their patient responded to treatment. Whatever it is, in whatever capacity, children and adults alike need assurances. We need some sort of promise, albeit at times make-believe, that everything is going to be OK. It's beautiful to me because it's human.

As is levity. Lila's been waiting for Maximus to arrive since Easter. In a nutshell, she and AJ have seen "Tangled" a number of times and think it's quite nifty. But Maximus? Well. He just burned a hole in Lila's tiny tangled heart. She is entranced. I the Easter Bunny promised she'd get him back in April but, alas, Florida was out (Weird, right?) and we've been waiting ever since... stalking the local Disney store, checking out Amazon ($79) and eBay ($49), etc. Go figure, my dad found him on Disney.com for $16. Maximus arrived today:

And just his being here made everything grand...

I equate Maximus' arrival to that of good news: You're pregnant. You're not. You're going on a trip. You're healthy. Your best friend is coming to visit. You're accepted to ____ college. What you've been waiting for is finally here...

Tonight when I put Lila to bed, she cuddled up with her bunny Flopsy and put Maximus in a box with a blanket. When I asked her why he couldn't sleep with her, she answered, "He's just too big."

I get that. Sometimes you wait for something so long, when you finally get it, it's either too big or something you may not have needed in the first place. Perhaps I'm looking too much into what my loves say, but that's fine by me. I may need my own kind of monster spray to get by, and I may put too much credence into the Maximuses in life, but... I'm paying attention.

Figure out your monster spray. Find your Maximus. Happy Thursday!

Tuesday

2011-09-06T22:53:00.000-07:00

Having spent the better part of my life trying either to relive the past or experience the future before it arrives, I have come to believe that in between these two extremes is peace ~ Author Unknown

My Tuesdays, of late, are mundane. Where MWF = kids in school and me doing my part to quietly assist in carrying some sort of bacon back to our humble abode, Tuesdays and Thursdays with the monkeys are usually spent just trying to survive the mundane. I strive for calm and resolve after such weekdays, as the constant angst and smack downs can get to even the strongest of us. Namely, me.

Yet, I'm never going to forget how Lila and AJ and I got to know each other very well on these mundane"Tuesdays"...

There exists an inherent bullshit and bittersweet bluntness to time. I'm finding a constant tugging at, pulling along of nostalgia, old songs, socks, ponytails, memories... and am reminded constantly of a quote that goes something along the lines of, "Children are people who pass through our lives briefly, and then disappear into adults." Ohh... Where will these little beings go? So, they grow into larger, cynical people? Yeah, I get that. It's all I see in my adult life. But there must be a place these small, hopeful, celestial things run away to... Just for a short amount of time, no?

Time without Lila and AJ is unthinkable. Though I've had time without them (in material existence) for the better part of my life, and I will have time without them (in such close proximity), as I must prepare myself for college et. al... On this, a random Tuesday in their 3's, imagining time and places without them simply breaks my heart. Instances and spaces would miss them - it's not just me. There is this world here, existing with them that wants them desperately to fill it all up...

I prefer the messy. I like the used, tattered, worn, noisy, pissed off, silly, stained, tested, and weathered. Crow's feet, callouses, and sun spots are welcome here. Make my existence loud and challenge my children and me. Paint our spaces with life and love. Add color. Let's fill up this world in whatever way we can...

I'll take mundane Tuesdays any day over productive Wednesdays. Mundane is good, if it's got heart.

The older I grow the more earnestly I feel that the few joys of childhood are the best that life has to give ~ Ellen Glasgow

The Heavy

2011-09-01T21:12:00.000-07:00

If the earth needs night as well as day, wouldn't it follow that the soul requires endarkenment to balance enlightenment? ~ Tom Robbins, "Jitterbug Perfume"

Lila was a surly little thing tonight. Furrowed brow, pouty lips and all, she smattered me with heavy questions when I scooped her up to kiss her tan cheeks and drop her pj'ed bottom underneath her Indian print quilt: "If all I do is draw and, and... talk, what else am I to do. With my life?" then... "I love my family, I do. But, if another family doesn't know me, and if strangers don't know me, well... then they won't love me. Why won't I be loved by them?" (Heavy sobbing, big questioning hazel eyes, followed up by): "And where is Maximus? He doesn't even know that I love him? Where is Tinkerbell, by the way? I met her. Where is she?" Holy toddler angst.

A few of my friends have had a rough go of it recently. Understatement. And with awful Irene, the looming 10th anniversary and constant memory of 9/11, what's going on in Libya and Somalia, barrages of sad photos and news on the Internet... Man. How is one supposed to keep shit light 24/7? Seriously. Are we even supposed to?

I haven't figured it out. I get bummed. Big time. Many of us have amazing reason. And I don't mind sharing that this shit makes me so incredibly sad sometimes. Hell, I'm even sharing it with the eleven people who read this blog. (Ten? Oh kay.)

I like the thought of being honest with each other. For some reason, this is enlightening to me:

I am a Liberal, Red Sox loving, Penn State alumni who believes in God; embraces Buddha; kisses the ocean; wishes she were a surfer, were it not for her primal fear of sharks (hailing from Upstate NY); and prefers fans over A/C, Corona over Cosmos, puns over rehearsed humor, and Levi's over Gucci suits. I have a love affair with nighttime snow, I seek refuge in friends with history, and I will never discount New York City for the best night anyone can ever experience. My musical tastes range from Muse to Jack Johnson; Sinead O'Connor to Matisyahu; the Little River Band to Amos Lee; and George Winston to Mickey Avalon. I like my body, I get pissed at my hair, I'm the exact same nerd I was in high school, and I'm the worst dancer you'll ever meet. And I've always believed in love. Ever since I heard Elvis C's "I Want You," and perhaps Vivaldi.

Oh, and I got to figure out all of the aforementioned because I had both a sad and happy path. I didn't end up the way I thought I would. I worked my ass off to make relationships not work. I tried so freaking hard to make some love affairs bust. I danced too long with guys who looked across the floor. (Not at me.) I loved more people than I should have. Maybe.

Thank God. Thank Buddha. Thank you, Ang. Thanks to Will Farrell. Who knows, but I am so happy for the miserable mistakes I've made and the incredible realizations I've come to. I have the "heavy," still. But it's sitting underneath my cooler of Corona. And it's melting.

Hair Today...

2011-08-12T22:22:00.000-07:00

I am defeated, and know it, if I meet any human being from whom I find myself unable to learn anything ~ George Herbert Palmer

I woke up a bit early yesterday morning to the sound of giggles. Though it was 6:05am, I was heartened by the fact that Lila and AJ were playing together merrily in one of their rooms upstairs. Mmmnn... It was quiet and mellow in our house. Ang must be at the gym. I smiled to myself in my almost-asleep, not-yet-awake cream colored haze. I smelled coffee. I have time to laze around, I thought... maybe grab one of our big navy-and-white flowered cups from Target and fill it up with ice and caffeine, then tumble back into our sumptuous bed to channel surf and check emails. I might even get a load of laundry done before the kids decide to head on downstairs at their usual wake-up time of 7. Perhaps the serenity was real...

Hell to the no. It was too damn quiet. In my real-mom heart, I knew.

But I had hope. I put on my non-mom attitude and a Red Sox sweatshirt and I sauntered into the living room. I filled up my coffee cup to the sounds of hee-hee'ing sprites from the level above. Today was going to be a good day, I thought. A bit early for me to begin said day, but a good one, nonetheless...

I walked upstairs and peered inside AJ's room, knowing full well I'd find no one. They always end up in Lila's sweet lil' room. Though it's smaller than his, it's so much brighter and softer. I think that's why they choose it... Sure enough, they were hiding behind Lila's chair, per usual. A chair with some odd orange fur attached to its white chambray arm. I put down my coffee and, upon inspection of the chair, realized with CSI precision that the orange matter was, in fact, Flopsy fur.

"AJ-Lila! Who cut Flopsy's fur??? And where did you get scissors???"

Silence. And then one head popped up slowly from behind the corner chair. A head with a big-ass bald spot front-and-center and a mouth telling me, "Not just Flopsy. Look at Lila."

Yes. Whatever you imagine might be cut here, is cut. One whole side of Lila's beautiful hair? Gone. Including that lil' tuft on top there.

So. I freaked. AJ had an entire bald patch, thanks to his foray into the world of oddly inspired
"Shear Genius", so I gave him a 6:15am buzz cut. I was pissed, but moreso, I was scared. Scissors, people. My babies got a hold of scissors. I was scared.

My naughty love.

I didn't know how to react. I yelled about how dangerous scissors are (but I secretly blamed myself for having the scissors "findable"). I screamed about how naughty it is to use scissors when Mommy says "no scissors" and to cut Lila's hair (but I taunted myself for placing so much importance on looks). I ranted on and on about how they could have gotten hurt and how Lila now has to have her hair cut short thanks to AJ being naughty. (And internally, I berated myself for every part of my uproar consisting of vanity, guilt, and fear.)

This was definitely a crossroads for me. Mind you, AJ definitely did something naughty. And there needed to be a lesson (and a stylist) involved here. But I didn't know how I, myself, should learn from this. I now know to lock my office (home of the scissors) door, but I wasn't sure how to reprimand. I was pissed and scared and I, quite simply, wasn't sure how to be a good mom.

Enter: Lila.

"You are a good mommy. AJ was naughty, but I love my haircut. Chill out," said Lila.

I think often about how hard it is to be a mom. I've been with these guys 24/7 since school let out back in early June. I, quite honestly, haven't had a moment to myself. I leave the monkeys on the couch to sprint to the bathroom, only to find myself knee-hugged on the throne 32 seconds later. I take a quick shower while they're in the bath together in the very same room, and yet never fail to get a bubble-bathed bunny kissing my wet knee within seconds. They swim in the pool while I hope for a few minutes of sending off emails, and I'm enveloped with pleas for "Watch this, Mommy!" "Look at me!" the entire time. I tip-toe out of their rooms at night, hoping against all hope for a 10pm respite from mom duties, only to hear, "Don't go, mommy. I miss you."

Today was a long day. August was a long month, and it's only the 12th. This summer lasted forever. I have two little people who hang on my leg from 7am to 10pm (and a lot of times, from 10pm-7am!), and I have no respite. I get so freaking tired, I don't know what to do. I get frustrated and definitely second-guess my abilities at being a parent and at being sane. And the haircutting episode? Well, that was the last straw. I've figured it out...

I'm in this thing. I am hopelessly in love. I learn every day from these fine people how to mellow out, how to kiss and hug more than I ever thought I could, and to how to give myself a break. Not only are they worthy, but I am, too. We all make mistakes, but love is never one of them.

Happy Weekend!

xoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Snapshots of "Home"

2011-08-01T20:50:00.000-07:00

Connecticut ~ July 2011
Lila: AJ, do you think we will stay here forever and ever? / AJ: No. We don't have our house here. Daddy doesn't have his car. We don't even have our Pillow Pets. / Lila: But we have Mommy and Daddy and Lila and AJ and Stella. / AJ: But our house isn't here. / Lila: But we have Mommy and Daddy and ... / AJ: I know Lila!!! You already said that!!!... / Lila: Well, AJ. That's what we love.

Our month-long "vacation" up north (vacation in quotations because Ang and I both worked during our stay... and the house we rented might not necessarily qualify as a "vacation" house...) had me thinking long and hard about what home truly is. Is it primarily a location, like the town we grew up in? Is it bricks and mortar? Is it a state of mind? Does it solely exist in memories? Or is it simply where one lives? I had no idea we would all come to the very same conclusion by the end of our trip. All five of us. (And yes, that's including Stella, our neurotic, furry, blonde family member... the #1 reason why we traipsed over 1,300 miles via my 2003 grocery getter to arrive at our final destination: The one and only Connecticut.

I - 9 5
We're halfway there and holy Hell, I can't believe there exists an entity so evil in this world that it's allowed to be advertised as (gulp) fun... as an actual destination that could be visited from afar for entertainment value. Here is a spot that beckons unsuspecting travelers with billboards along the River Styx that is I-95 in NC to its campus of doom... to the horror that is:

One of the eleventeen billboards heralding our close proximity to the wonder of it all was true: I have never sausage a place. I have no love for this place. In fact, I have no like for this place. I have no empathy, sympathy, nor even mild dislike for this place. But now that I've been there, I can no longer live in a world of indifference for this neon spectacle. I now hate it with all that I have. (I tell Lila and AJ never to utter the word "hate," but I may back down if they ever say something along the lines of: "I very much dislike clowns, sharks, and 'Toddlers & Tiaras', but boy do I hate South of the Border." Yep. I'd vehemently back them up on that one.) Ang had an hour-long conference call commencing at the exact time we reached SOB, and so he got off the exit and took the call in the parking lot, leaving us poor souls to fend for ourselves. "This is how horror movies begin," I thought to myself...
With sinister-looking men lurking around every corner of America's Favorite Highway Oasis, bullet holes in each of the storefront windows, and that feeling that you get when something is seriously wrong (including hair standing up on the back of my neck thanks to the dusty man-person who licked his lips and tooth as I walked by), I simply couldn't hang. I collected the kids, their cheesy plastic arcade "wins," and their dripping ice cream cones, and flip-flop-sprinted back to the car, muttering things along the lines of, "...seventh circle of Hell" and "...must get number for Criminal Minds location advisor." (As an aside, Lila and AJ had a blast. They happily slurped up the rest of their melted confections as I lusted for a strong drink, a shower, and maybe some mace. And a Bible.)

Other than frollicking in Lucifer's playground, our trip up was rather uneventful...

h y d e p a r k , n y
We visited with my family in NY for a few days for my niece's graduation. It was wonderful......

Kirstie receives her diploma ~ June 25, 2011

Franklin Delano Roosevelt H.S. closes its doors for the summer, leaving the high school spirits of Kirstie,
Patty, and Jenny to dance arm-in-arm within its hallowed halls... (Truth: I cried a lil bit when I snapped
this shot.)

AJ and Lila enjoying a cool Hudson Valley summer afternoon in Nona and Papa's backyard

k i r s t i e ' s g r a d u a t i o n p a r t y

AJ trying his darndest to get the ball over the net. (I think his success rate was about 3%, but his sheer
will and determination throughout Kirstie's graduation shindig was inescapable.)

Their addiction to cupcakes is quite sad, really.

...not giving up on the dream.

This sweaty, grass-stained monkey was the happiest I've ever seen her.

Style: 10 Effort: 10 Score: sadly, still zip

Kirstie's boyfriend Andrew was wonderful with the kids and gets a solid 10 from me...

...though, ultimately, it's Andrew's perfect score (Kirstie!) that really counts.

(No caption necessary.)

Happy Daughter, Proud Mommy

"I loved today" ~ Lila, 6/25/11

Cousin Couch

The Graduate (off to U Del in just a few weeks...)

And talking about "back home," one of my favorite towns ever is just up the street from my hometown. A place I've played in, worked in, and grew to love all things picturesque in:

From Hyde Park, we headed an hour-and-a-half east to Westport, CT, where we had secured a tiny abode for our July rental. Emphasis on tiny. Though perfect in size for the likes of three of us (two being small people and one a very short non-human), Ang and I were left stooping through doorways, sharing a queen-sized bed with said small people most mornings, and maneuvering our adult frames just so in the shower in order to get the most out of the meager jet stream aimed directly at our sternums. We wondered if people in 1940 were shorter or if, rather, tall people back then required special contractors. We started calling it The Dollhouse. But, it did the trick. We had a home to call our own for a month in beautiful Westport...

w e s t p o r t
Ang and I have never lived in Westport, nor have we ever worked there. I, myself, have lived in six different towns in Connecticut, and I've worked in just as many. Though it's never been our "home," per se, Westport has always been a place we feel at home. Its sparkling grey-blue shorelines dotted with beautiful rambling homes and bright green lawns make it a picture-perfect New England town. The salty air, cosmopolitan shops, varied and impressive architecture, endless outdoor events, close proximity to THE city... I love most everything about it. (Westport's mojo seriously needs to take its gas prices and traffic out for drinks, however, and tell them to chill out.) Our kids love it, too:

Lila kind of unabashedly owned Main Street...

Norwalk, Fairfield Beach, Saugatuck Island, Easton, Oxford, Mystic Seaport, Stratford, Chappaqua, Milford...

Our stay up north was everything I ever knew and yet nothing I could possibly have ever planned for. We left our Florida home for a month to "go back home" and then usurp someone else's home in a town where we feel at home.

On our 21-hour ride home (to Florida, that is), I pondered many things...

I wondered if other people have mystifying associations like the one I have with Softsoap and a prison drama. (Our Crisp Cucumber and Melon hand soap never fails to remind me of Law & Order actor Christopher Meloni, who also played the character Chris Keller in HBO's long-running show "Oz." Softsoap --> heavily tattooed bisexual criminal. There.)

I thought about the IMAX movie I saw with the kids at the Maritime Aquarium in Norwalk, "Born to be Wild", and the part where it was noted that elephants need to be happy to live. I cried during the scene when the big elephant family accepted the little ones as their own and showered them with red dirt and trunk hugs. Damn, I love those IMAX movies.

I thought about how I pick out beach towels. I always go for the oldest ones. The softest. The best quality. The ones that I have a history with and, though they may be faded around the edges, have given me the most comfort through the years. And how weird it is that favorite faded beach towels and the dearest of friends have so much in common! I thought back on the time we had just spent with our favorite beach towels... people who give us more comfort than they'll probably ever know. The ones we consistently reach for when we need a soft place to land. (Reminder: This was a 21-hour ride, folks. I just may have gone the teensiest bit of crazy. Meh. The beach towel metaphor got me through quite a few monotonous miles, at least a bit more than the prison-Softsoap deal.)

I thought about home and how I had been wondering where, exactly, it was. And I know, with certainty now, that it has been with us all along.

It is not down in any map; true places never are ~ Herman Melville

Happy Tuesday!

Life is good.

2011-06-15T22:56:00.000-07:00

We are happy when, for everything inside us, there is a corresponding something outside us ~ W.B. Yeats

While jamming out in my rockin' grocery getter to Justin Bieber's My World 2.0 today, I glanced back at Lila in the rearview mirror and saw a smiley little girl with windblown hair, whispering "baby, baby, baby ohhh...", eyes staring off into the distance and shoulders swaying. She was me. We were both drinking in the moment, content to just chill out and focus on simple pleasures. AJ swiftly interrupted our shared Biebs bliss with "Mommy, I have to go potty. Right now. It's poo." Sweet.

I'm constantly reminded of how much Lila and AJ are mini-me's of myself and Ang. Yet, moreso, I am seeing that they are ultimately becoming who they are. And it's hilarious and wonderful at the same time. Some examples:

o n b e h a v i o r . . .
Me: Why were you just so naughty? What were you thinking about?
Lila: I don't know, Mom. Sometimes I am naughty but really happy at the same time.

o n d r e a m s . . .
AJ: Mommy, when I dream, I dream about you, and I see your hair on a pillow and your arms hugging me.

o n a p p r e c i a t i o n . . .
Lila: You are a good mommy. You take good care of us. You are probably very, very tired.

o n m o r t a l i t y . . .
AJ: Maybe Lila can step on this bee and then God can have it. I don't like bees, but God is nice and he will like it. Lila, kill it.

o n a n i m a l s . . .
Lila: Stella is not a sister. She looks more like a cousin. A fluffy, yellow cousin.

o n s p i r i t u a l i t y . . .
AJ: If God made everything, and Buddha loves animals, what did Jesus do?
Lila: I think he made cheese.

As a parent, I often find myself at a lack of words and fumbling for the right thing to do. At the same time, I've never been so outspoken and sure of myself until now. I am humbled by my children one moment, a heroine to them the next. Exhilaration and exhaustion accompany me daily, toting along their self-help books and a cooler of Corona... understanding my 5pm desire for cheap therapy and a cold one.

Parenting, to me, is equal parts gut wrenching, heartbreaking, awe-inspiring, breathtaking, tiring, surprising, and freaking amazing. I have never done anything perfectly, according to the standards of most. But, by being a mom to these soulful, silly, wonderful loves, I know without a doubt in My World 2.0 that I am perfectly where I am supposed to be.

H a p p y T h u r s d a y !

On Memory

2011-06-06T22:08:00.000-07:00

Memory is a child walking along a seashore. You never can tell what small pebble it will pick up and store away among its treasured things. ~ Pierce Harris, Atlanta Journal

Of memory, I was told many, many years ago (by someone whose name now escapes me) that people only remember those things that are important to them, yet we can't choose what we'll ultimately recollect. It just happens.

Back in '92, a coworker named Corinne likened individual memory banks to file cabinets - with the least important "memories" just thrown away; most memories necessitating a serious chronological shakedown after having been filed away for such a long time; and the dearest of memories scribbled on virtual Post-its and slapped upon the front of said drawers. (And, further expanding upon this, I, myself, imagine the sweetest, once-in-a-lifetime memories as tattoos... Indelible.) I also remember that Corinne and her new hubby had decided never to have children and to travel the globe. And that she had white-blonde hair and killer red lips, and ordered huge salads to be delivered every day to her tiny windowed corner of our art department on the 47th floor of the Empire State Building... which smelled of cigarette smoke and Eternity perfume. All of this filed under "C" for Corinne and "1991-1993" for my very first years after college.

It's interesting to talk to friends I haven't seen in awhile and to go over shared memories--to find out how we've remembered the exact spans of time together quite differently. I will remember a moment when a friend said something hilarious and how we reacted fantastically at that moment, and she will most likely say something to the effect of, "Hmm... nope, I don't remember that. But do you remember when you ____?" And I won't. Why was my memory important to me and hers to her? I guess that's all got to do with who we ultimately are. And no, we're not talking beer here. These are old memories that shaped lives...

I remember that my heart broke for its very first time in the State College, PA, Pizza Hut back in the Spring of 1990. I couldn't feel the floor beneath me; the walls disappeared; my parents' chatter was far away; I couldn't swallow my crust; I think I couldn't breathe, for at least a minute, anyways. Definitely for a moment... No one else has that memory. And I'm pretty sure he moved on without looking back that very same day we'd said goodbye. Unless, of course, his heart broke a few weeks later, at maybe a party. Or in bed at night... Maybe his heart broke years later over me... or maybe it never did. Regardless, we had the very same relationship, but our memories have certainly changed over the years and perhaps were never in sync. Sometimes, I think, breakups happen at very different times. In memory, for sure.

Always, the good stuff is said to be of memories...

Memories:
Nana's long, beautiful fingers delicately displayed gorgeous brightly colored vases upon her table. She would rearrange the freshly cut flowers a few times before the sunlight shining through the glass squares in the dining room hit the cobalt blue of the vase perfectly. And the whole room shimmered and then she was gone... if only to procure a chair for herself and come back, sit down, and talk to me forever, it would seem... Nana would talk and talk and talk to me... She let me think that a 7 (11, 14, 18, 31) year old's thoughts were always front-and-center. To learn ~ to want to learn ~ that was always lovely to her. As was her beautiful Pop:

Pop carried me on his shoulders when I was four so I could see the silly family figurines sitting atop every door frame. He'd jump around until I agreed to pat the llama perched seven feet above the green carpeting, say "hello" to the plastic bunny, and bow goodnight to the 3-inch-tall felt covered Svenskalina girl chilling out atop the crown moulding. Pop, in my memory, made it OK for me to giggle and to take chances.

Grampy was gentle and serene, in my memory. His smile was bigger than his whole face and it made me want to hug him constantly. With him I was happy. He taught me the importance of working with your hands. He was a sculptor, a gardener, and a cook. I will never forget his hands, his smile, and his hugs.
Grammy was extremely particular about making sure we all had enough vegetables. She'd push the bowls of carrots and beans closer and closer to our plates and never sat down while we ate. I remember looking up and wondering why she was so concerned and somehow knowing it was because she loved us. I miss Grammy.
Dad. Being enveloped by my dad's arms, shoulders, elbows, hugs is my earliest recollection of him... But my first actual 'memory' of him? It's hard to go that far back... I may not remember the actual first memory of him because he's been a part of my life forever, but I do remember being five and having bad dreams and him corralling me in to his and mom's bed. Both of them hugging me throughout the night. With Rodney, I've always had a place to be safe.

Mom. I remember climbing up to the top of the ladder at the neighborhood playground and falling with a distinct 'thud' to the ground. I ran and ran back home, not crying, until I saw her downstairs doing laundry. Pretty much melted into her arms and felt so safe. It may not be my first memory of her, but it's my first feeling of how I felt with her. Always so safe.

Patty and I were inseparable sisters, especially when we were really young. My earliest memories with Patty involve simply being together... sick days, fun days, boring run-of-the-mill days. She was always there with me. I remember thinking that her seventeen months of prior experience in this world made her my heroine. I looked up to her since I can remember, and I still do.

I met one of my dearest friends, Marlo, when we were 12 and it was the simplest greeting: "Do you have a Tootsie Roll or something for my breath?" Game on, new friend. Get your pre-teen self ready for making new memories with our children 30 years from now.

I remember Eileen's smile the first time we met; with Heather, it was her long, beautiful hair; Ana spoke to me about going to the casino; at first I thought Theresa didn't like me; Julie, I met on the lunch line in 7th grade and she was laughing at a joke... And I met Halli at an RA meeting our first night at PSU. She was wearing a red and white striped tank top, jean cutoffs, and talked about her summer as a lifeguard. We joked later that night about how none of us believed Rhonda the RA's story about how it wasn't a hickey, but rather a burn from her curling iron. Yah right, Rhonda. All wonderful friends of mine for decades to come, and I remember the exact moment I met each and every one of them. Because Inner Jen thought enough to put those memories on Post-its. Damn I'm good.

Angelo. The funniest thing is, I remember that he smelled like snow. And I could have sworn I already knew him. He reminded me of my past and of what I envisioned the future to be. Right at the exact moment I met him by the juke box. And his Elvis Costello glasses, for sure, also played a big part in this, my all-time favorite memory of meeting someone. This tattoo on my heart.

Not sure why I am writing a post about memories... Maybe it's because I see great memories happening every moment around here. Little daily memories that I'm fearful will slip away...

Saturday, June 4, 2011, 8pm

Will I remember in years to come that AJ was calling "C'mon, Lalaaaaa!" while he raced ahead of her? Will I remember the look of pure joy on his face when he crossed the invisible finish line of our driveway?

Will I remember ten years from now that Lila asked me within minutes of this shot whether or not I loved dolphins? (And when I answered 'yes', that she responded, "Why don't we have a dolphin named Patty?")

Right before AJ fell asleep here, he asked me if he could make me happy. I want to remember this, but in the event that I don't... if there are just too many things to remember in life and this memory happens to slip through the cracks of time, I can read this silly little blog and be reminded that I said, "Yes. You make me happy every single day."

Have a memorable Tuesday!

The Recital

2011-05-20T10:45:00.000-07:00

Music is the art which is most nigh to tears and memory ~ Oscar Wilde

AJ and Lila had their very first music recital yesterday and it was everything I thought it would be, and so much more. I had been looking forward to finally seeing them play the violin! I couldn't wait until they picked up the tiny, sepia-colored instruments and pluck along to the catchy tune of "Pepperoni Pizza", using their bows for the much hyped ditty, aptly named "Teeter Totter." I wanted to smile at them like a lunatic from the yellow plastic mini bleachers. (<-- Mission ultimately overly accomplished.) But what I hadn't realized was that I would be stepping back in time and into the future at the very moment my flip flops lighted upon the tiles of the Music Room.

The Music Room. Every school has one (which I hope never changes), and they all have the same smell to me: a mixture of cleaning solution, old books, and something undefinable... I guess if nostalgia had a smell, that's what it would be. I gazed around at the records stapled to the walls and thought about my very first album, "ABACAB" by Genesis. There were muscial terms scrolled above the blackboard reminding me of the countless ta ta TEE TEE ta's and beautiful-beautiful-beautiful's I tapped upon myriad percussion instruments as a teenager. [Side note: I tell everyone I played drums in high school, but in fact, that's not the case. It could be considered a stretching of the truth, however, as I was a melodic percussionist. I never met a marimba I didn't like. Ba DUM bum. Rather, ta ta TEE TEE ta. Anyway, drums just sounds so much cooler than marimba, vibraphone, cowbell, and chimes. In talking with my fellow melodic percussionists, I am finding they engage in the very same ruse in their adult life. It's understandable. I also prefer not to divulge the fact that I was a not-so-proud member of the color guard. Yes, I was a flagger. One can only imagine the beating I took for that. Especially the self-inflicted kind those times I flung the flag high up into the air only to have it land squarely on my green felt cowboy hat. With a gold feather. I can guarantee FDR High School no longer subjects their flaggers to polyester cowgirl outfits and white Barbie boots. I mean, we were the FDR Presidents, for God's sake. Shouldn't we have at least been forced to wear polyester business suits? *sigh* OK, moving on...]

Waiting for the monkeys to enter the room, I thought even further back to the five-year-old me who played violin. I remember enjoying it immensely. And from what I've been told, I was rather good at it. I played an itty bitty violin, just like the ones displayed neatly on the floor yesterday. (There were eight in the back row, and eight in the front, all perfectly lined up and awaiting chubby little fingers to gently pick them up and promptly rock out to pep-per-on-i-PIZ-za.) I recalled the five-year-old Jen who shared a stage with her best friend, Lisa LaPolt, and performed a piece by Beethoven. I remember that we were wearing poodle skirts, as the concert paid homage to the '60s, and we received a standing ovation. It was the only standing ovation I've ever gotten. (To date, that is. I still have aspirations.)

And then they arrived. All sixteen wonderful little violinists entered the room with their hands clasped in front of them, like tiny diplomats. Fourteen of them were a blur to me at first, however, as I fixated on just these two:

Lila von Beethoven

AJ "Yo. Yo, MAAA!" Biasi

The performance was all sorts of wonderful. I got my first taste of what it's like to try to fully fixate on two children who are onstage at the same time. I didn't want to take my focus off of either of them, but Lila and AJ weren't standing side-by-side, so I had to spend half of my time on one and half on the other. If someone had fixated on me as intently, they might have assumed I was watching a tennis match.

What was ultimately thrilling to me was seeing each of them perform so differently. AJ followed the direction of his teacher to a tee. It was endearing, and almost comical, how he responded to "Now, gently pick up your bow..." with extreme reverence to the "gently" portion of the directive. Sooo sweet and slow and gentle were his motions, it was like he was picking up an exquisite artifact. I envisioned Tom Cruise's character in "Mission Impossible" dangling upside-down, slowly and gingerly performing his task. Upon looking over to Lila, I immediately ascertained that she'd not only already swiped her bow off of the floor, but was giggling and waving hello. Ohh, my funny little Lila... She and her twin brother, born only a minute apart, are two entirely different people, as evidenced in just a 14-minute violin recital.

And in those 14 minutes, I thought a lot about time. How little of it we have on this mortal coil and how insanely important every single minute is. Yesterday, I saw AJ and Lila as teenagers in their 10th grade concert, with AJ on the violin and Lila playing drums. I saw them tossing their graduation cap tassles from one side to the other, signifying two new and exciting journeys, and one very empty nest. And then I grinned. Because I get to witness this. I get to be a part of this. There will be more performances throughout the years, with varying instruments and a lot of teeter-tottering along the way, and I'm going to proudly watch the whole tennis match, smiling like a lunatic from the yellow plastic bleachers.

Happy Weekend!

Everyday

2011-05-14T21:17:00.000-07:00

Spend the afternoon. You can't take it with you ~ Annie Dillard

I can't be the only one who thinks the saddest of the sad possibilities that the everyday might bring. Tears wet my cheeks too often as I ponder what I could lose if something happened. My history of knowing and loving people has been peppered with bad news and sad results. I've had enough questionable medical tests to never take life for granted (again). And I am flattened regularly by my thoughts of what could transpire.

Motherhood knocked me out like a sucker punch. I always picture a drunk in a bar, just innocently sitting atop his stool in pleated acid washed jeans... inquiring of the cute brunette who's winning the Sox game and immediately receiving a direct punch in the neck by her steroid enhanced boyfriend. Just like him, I didn't see it coming. I could never have imagined how visceral the images of danger, loss, sickness, sadness et al. would enter my mind at any given moment upon giving birth. And not because I'm morose or in any way a Debbie Downer. I think it just comes with the territory of being a mom. Sweet.

Hell, I don't know what's going to happen the next day (moment), just like that acid-washed denim clad gent has no idea what will befall him from one day to the next. (Why do I continue to use that poor, mystical man from the '80s? Freud?) It's such an odd place to be in ~ having these beautiful, wonderful, healthy children, and constantly being worried that something will happen.

And so it's, strangely enough, these very thoughts that end up lifting me. Because I know that, for the very fact I have so much to lose, I am blessed...

If I'm worried from one moment to the next about the safety and happiness of Lila and AJ, I need to put twice as much effort into embracing the magnitude of the good. For the times I am despondent about the terrors that could befall us, I cannot believe my luck that we were destined to live together as a family at the very same moments in time. This is my serendipity. This overcomes my fears. The blessing trumps the scare, and I am ultimately so, so happy...

In the everyday, this one loves to skip...

...and this one loves to make funny faces.

She loves to read catalogues! (Mini Boden's a fave.)

...and enjoys dining with friends, as well.

AJ could eat an apple fritter every single day.

His smile has no match...

...and they put up with Mommy asking them to smile every day.

In the everyday, we draw upon the past,

look to the future,

and score.

I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief.... For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free ~ Wendell Berry, "The Peace of Wild Things"

H a p p y E v e r y d a y

For My Mom

2011-05-07T20:18:00.000-07:00

me, mom, and Patty (1969)

Dear Jenny,
"Today you are you, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is you-er than you." ~ Dr. Seuss
I always knew you would be a great Mommy... We are so proud of you!
Happy Mother of Lila and AJ Day! (which is Everyday). I love that you were my baby. Love, Mom XO

These words are from my mom, written in her dainty cursive swirls and displayed alongside a heart-shaped baby photo of me that was taped to the inside of my Mother's Day card this year. I think it's all so beautiful, as is she.

I've tried for about an hour now to write about her, but each time I completed a paragraph or two, I slowly but surely backspaced over the entire lot. There's just too much to cover. I will say this, however: My mom gets it. She gets what's important in life, and that's family, friendships, and being there for who you love. She has always been 100% present for us. She loved, and loves, being a mom, and I can see it in just that silly lil' photo above. A moment captured in time that defines my entire childhood.

[Side note on that photo: I love that my dad's knee makes an appearance. I love that the photo says so damn much without trying too hard. The photos from way back when are more honest, I think, than the ones we see these days. No Photoshop, no posing, no perfectly mismatched outfits, no editing. Just real, raw moments captured in tiny 2" x 2" squares. Just my dad taking a quick picture of his three crazy girls. I am learning so much from old family snapshots. What matters in photography, for sure... And in life.]

My mom has given me love so that I can share it. She's instilled in me confidence in myself so that I could be independent and move forward to make beautiful mistakes on my very own. She loves life and her family, always errs on the side of silly, and never gets caught up in drama. She believes in the power of women and she loves her husband desperately. She never wears nude pantyhose. She definitely gets it.

My mom has always maintained the importance of "celestial oneness" (her term). She taught us from Day One that "Whales are our brothers" (to which Lila has since added, "...and sisters"). She dances to the Rolling Stones, passionately screams at the television set during Red Sox games, and is a regular at my niece's swim meets and nephew's basketball games. She's young at heart and timeless all at once.

I love that I've always been allowed to be me. Thank you for that, Mom. Thank you for letting me find out on my own who I am, and for embracing every step of the process. I have a sneaking suspicion that, had I turned out to be a Harley-riding foot fetishist with fourteen tats and a mustachioed friend named Barbara, my mom would be visiting me and my hog in Daytona Beach next weekend, bearing OPI's newest line, sporting "I 'heart' Rodney" ink, and offering up Nair for Barbara. Definitely bringing Nair for Barbara.

Anne Virginia Carlisle Church, I love you so much. You show me every day how to be a better mom. You embrace the imperfect and you love with everything you have. You love to laugh and your heart is huge. You are my inspiration.

I love that I was your baby.

Humor Me

2011-05-03T21:57:00.000-07:00

Humor lifts moods, changes minds, attracts, invigorates, and can make even the most unbearable things bearable. A sense of humor ignites all senses. It may not always be graceful, but it is consistently a saving grace.

Throughout all of my life, I have searched out Humor. Humor has saved me in more ways than one and I am who I am because of it, I'm convinced. To me, Humor in its female form would be the perfect mix of Paula Poundstone doing her Snickers bit, Ellen on an everyday basis, Kathy Griffin at her finest, Kristen Wiig (always), and my best girlfriends at my most important (and sometimes saddest) moments. Male humor? I close my eyes, and he's Chris Farley, my entire group of guy friends at PSU circa '88, and my husband at five years old in gym class. (Long story.) I open my eyes and Humor is Jim Gaffigan, David Chappelle, Paul Rudd dancing, and the entire cast of "Bored to Death" rolled into one snarky, larger-than-life, funny guy.

Marlo and Ang hamming it up in Fort Lauderdale

Lila and AJ are becoming funny little people. They have their own individual senses of humor that never fail to make me laugh, even on less than stellar days. We've deemed their belly buttons "magic buttons" which, when pressed, result in a ten-second dance, complete with finger pointing, goofy smiles, and maniacal twirling about. One of my favorite things to do is to press their magic buttons while they're in perfect mid-meltdown mode and see them stop for a moment to perform the (self-imposed) silly dance before, ultimately, falling back into their original screaming, crying puddles of angst. (The day they don't bow down to the power of the magic button is the day I'll know, for sure, that their meltdown is for real.)

I remember this picture being taken far past bedtime, journeying into that time when all hope for civility and repose seems soon to be lost. You know, the time to embrace your sense of humor. And wine.

AJ was on a roll during dinner tonight, making jokes left and right (like, "Wait a second guys, this one's funny: Did you ever see a poo-poo foot orange juice puppy head?" hahaha) and stopped mid-joke-a-thon to say, "Hold on, someone get me a drink." Like he was a seasoned comedian, practicing his repertoire pre-show, ordering up a shot of tequila from the barkeep (me). Made us giggle for quite awhile, anyway...

Lila chooses to cock an eyebrow from afar during such displays; will whisper things to me like, "Tinkerbell used to tell me when I was a little baby that AJ was SO annoying, remember?" hahaha; and quite simply, loves to laugh...

Carwash Drama Queen (feigned fear + giggles)

In life, I believe it's so important to find someone who gets your sense of humor. Who gets you...

Lila and her best buddy, Gianna (favorite activity = giggles)

I've noticed that Humor tends to be inherited. The women in my beautiful family have their very own brand. Oftentimes inappropriate. Sometimes sarcastic. Always silly.

Lila and my mom sharing a joke

I think Humor, at its core, brings people together. Whether it's sarcastic, cynical, goofy, smart, slapstick, over-the-top, low-key ~ it shows others who, exactly, you are...

I look for it everywhere, and love it when I can find it. I think any effort to make someone laugh is exemplary and phenomenal.

At the end of the day, whether it's been a tough day or one that's rather mundane, if Humor made an appearance, it was a success. Because for me, Humor keeps it all in perspective... A day you've laughed is a pretty great freakin' day.

Here's to finding that magic button...

A sense of humor...is superior to any religion so far devised ~ Tom Robbins (Jitterbug Perfume)

Jen and the Art of Spiritual Maintenance

2011-04-26T19:44:00.000-07:00

God made so many different kinds of people. Why would he allow only one way to serve him? ~ Martin Buber

I may have an issue: I cry at the oddest, and sometimes most inopportune moments. I always have. Mind you, it's not straight-out man-bawling... It's not the much maligned "ugly cry", but rather more of the don't-ask-me-to-talk-right-now-or-else-I-very-well-may-exhibit-the-ugly-man-cry. Silent weeping, if you will. And I'll never let on to the people who may be surrounding me at this, the time of my momentary dischord with glee.

Listening to Enya, Lisa Gerrard, Ingrid Michaelson songs; witnessing the wedding kiss; singing hymns; going on long walks in the snow at night; stopping for gas in the middle of nowhere at sunset; nostalgia for being a kid in Quincy at Christmas; remembering that my strong, brave grandfather just wanted to listen to classical music when he was sick; taking in the exact moment of birth, of anyone or anything; seeing those damn flashmob scenes at random malls, the entire last hour of "Titanic", the wheat scene in "Gladiator," and the ending of "Undercover Boss" (of which I only ever catch the last seven minutes and cry anyway, fully unaware of the whole story. What the hell is that all about? I mean... "Undercover Boss"??). All of these scenarios never, ever fail to leave me with a grapefruit sized lump in my throat.

And what's curious to me is how I embrace it all. I strangely don't mind crying. I suppose that's fine, because I certainly don't enjoy sadness... but I do yearn for emotion. This much I know is true.

So on a particularly cinematic day at the beach a month or so ago, I asked the bunnies for the thousandth time in as many days, while looking at the setting sun (and looking for mermaids, of course), "Do you know who made all of this?" AJ answered on his own, after years of me repeating the question and providing the answer, finally with no prodding or guidance from me: "Yes. God made this." And he smiled while taking it all in. This was a lump-in-the-throat moment for me. I asked both of them the other day who God is and Lila stated succinctly: "He is a very, very good guy, Mommy." (Working on the "She" possibility. That may take a bit more time.) But... was it simply repeating? It's not what they necessarily thought. It's what they heard me say throughout the years... It's OK. I'll take all of this at face value and wait to learn from them even more...

Now, I don't claim to be religious, though I appreciate and admire religion. All of them. There's beauty to be found in so, so many religions. I remember visiting different services at various churches in Poughkeepsie each Sunday as a part of youth group back when I was twelve... Unveiling the Torah at the synagogue (mysterious and wonderful); clapping, smiling, singing, and having so much damn fun at the Gospel church; figuring out that every Catholic church in the world was reading the same scripture on the very same day each week (Beautiful!); and listening to the gorgeous and amazing children's sermons and sweet music at our own church... these have all stuck with me throughout the years. And I want to chant and kneel in harmony with so, so many others at their different and beautiful places of religion. I have so much more to learn. It's all incredible to me. The God I know lives in all of these places, as S/he does in music, at the beach, and in my heart and soul.

And I'm wondering will u ever get yourself free

Is it bad to think U might like help from me?

Is there anything my little heart can do

To help religion share us with U?

~ Sinead O'Connor

Boys and Girls

2011-04-14T20:58:00.000-07:00

AJ: Lila, maybe you are my princess.

Lila: You are my PRINCE, AJ!

AJ: Yes, Lila! I am your prince!!

Lila: Oh... and I am your princess.

AJ: Yes, Lila. Maybe you are my princess...

Multiply this conversation by eleven and you will have any given morning around here. The afternoons come with such banter, plus theatrics. Nighttime entails said royalty to engage in a good old fashioned medieval smackdown. On the couch, on the lanai, jumping from bed to bed, no matter... Blood, sweat, and tears fly freely on just an ordinary Thursday around here. My takeaway from it all? There's a prince, a princess, bad manners, good fun, and no winner or loser as far as the eye can see...

The recent J.Crew controversy regarding pink toenail polish and a 5-year-old boy has me thinking a lot about gender roles... who hands 'em out, why people do and don't adhere to them, and the women and men who give a damn, (and the ones who don't). I've painted AJ's toenails blue before. He picked out this one particular shade of sparkly navy specifically because it reminded him of Buzz Lightyear. I think the next time we may go for a green. Lila consistently picks out bubble gum pink, simply because it's peeeeenk!!!! My kids are, at this point in their 3-year-old careers of living life, employing pretty basic "normal" gender roles. Do I care if they adhere to them? It's an interesting question...

I one-hundred percent, wholeheartedly, without a doubt, no question, and "I'm not freaking kidding here" want them to be happy, to be kind, and to live long lives accomplishing whatever it is in this world they want to do and be. I don't know where on earth gender roles figure into that wish...

I want AJ to continue opening doors for women and men, proclaiming: "Look at me, I'm a gentleman!" I think it'll be even cuter and funnier twenty years from now when he's 23...

I want Lila to continue telling people what makes her happy. To be pissed off, and let it be known, when she's been let down. To refuse help when she (thinks she) can do the task at hand her damn self, thank you very much. And to love the color pink, even though her mommy's not a huge fan...

I always want AJ to beckon Lila over for more hugs...

and I want Lila never, ever, ever to hold off from giving the big fat amazing bear hugs she already loves to give...

AJ knows what it's like to have a strong partner...

...as does Lila Bean...

What matters to me is, toenail polish and judgements aside, did you find love today? Did I? Did my children? Where was Love?... hiding where you least expected it? Right there where you always knew it would be? And if you were lucky enough to find it, very hopefully... did you get a hug back?

Life's way too short. Let's go find those hugs.

Love one another and you will be happy. It's as simple and as difficult as that ~ Michael Leunig

On Romance

2011-04-09T22:29:00.000-07:00

I don't care what I see outside. My vision is within!
Here is where the birds sing! Here is where the sky is blue! ~ George Emerson, "A Room With A View"

I am sitting here, alone, in my bedroom. It's 11:04pm on a Saturday night and I'm listening to Ingrid Michaelson, A Fine Frenzy, Glen Hansard, Moby... Ang is away on business and the monkeys are sleeping. Stella is snoring, and apparently dreaming about whatever it is that makes dogs smile... And I'm thinking about this wonderful life and the romance of it all. All of the feelings and moments that bring me to my knees, make me sob uncontrollably, laugh hysterically, stand in awe, and allow me to be free... Happy.

I used to have some pretty wild Saturday nights. I think I'm allowed to say that I'm actually quite bored right now. I'm wishing for Ang to come home, along with our dearest friends, a few cases of Corona, and an FBI-approved babysitter. But that said, it's nice to have time to reflect on life's romantic moments - and I'm not talking about the ones I share with Ang. (I'll keep that kind of romantic stuff to myself, thank you very much.) smile

I'm talking about feeling life, living in the moment, finding the romance in moments...
Lila keeps asking me when she'll meet her prince. Every now and then she says AJ's the chosen one, but normally she's pretty damn steadfast in her search for the perfect partner outside of our four walls. For her three-year-old self. Wow, that need comes early, I never knew... I guess it's inherent. And she will meet her prince some day and it will be wonderful. But what's beautiful today is seeing both of them skip around and dance and sing made-up songs like, "I love you, I love Stella, I love me, I love the walls, I love this table, I love my undies...!" Always good to be positive, I say. And maybe it's just me, but I find romance there.

Now it's 11:29pm and I'm not editing what I'm writing, so I'm guessing this all sounds disjointed, at best. In a nutshell: I think it's wonderful to be swept up in the everyday romantic moments.I never want to let go of my romantic self. I forget about her sometimes, lost in the mundane moments, but I can usually find her smiling up at me from the surface. The one who cries at movies like:

"The Crush": I have never cried harder than during the scene when Andie McDowell's character has been silently going through the motions of grief after her greatest love dies, and finally succumbs to it, collapsing in the schoolyard. Ohh...

...though "In the Gloaming" gave that scene a run for its money during, well, the entire movie. A mom loving her son and finally getting to know him better while he's at home, dying of AIDS. So sad and loving and romantic at the same time. There's a scene where the nurse tells the mom (Glenn Close) of the dying man something like, "Did you know that mothers fall in love with their sons", in the non-Oedipal and most beautiful way. Amazing. So sad, so good. The kind of thing to make one love life even more by realizing how truly precious it is. And how relationships are complicated and, sometimes, glorious...

Yes. "Tangled" got to me... Beautiful. This may sound odd, but... there's a scene toward the end where Eugene embraces Rapunzel, and his arm around her along with the way he looks so entirely happy and complete, well... God, it's beautiful. Romance at its finest. (I get it, it's a cartoon. But, that scene just made me so happy.)

And in my mind, there is no lovelier, more real "story" of love than "Once." No Hollywood ending here. Real, raw, sad, musical, honest, simple, complex, wonderful.

I fall into love with life all over again when presented with:

Boston in the snow. So romantic.

The Little Girl Giant. Hauntingly beautiful.

This absolutely gorgeous song...

My parents appreciating a "romantic" moment.

After Ang's team had won the softball game, he turned to me during pictures and called me over for this photo... Like it wasn't a real win unless we were all there. Together. That is so romantic to me...

And the bunnies... AJ filled up a bag with ice on his own and asked Lila where, exactly, she needed it for her bruised leg. So simple, but took my breath away. Romance. A little tiny version of it, as far as my definition of it all goes...

There's romance in the everyday, I tell you... I don't think I'm wasting time by always being on the lookout for it.

Do I love you because you are beautiful,

Or are you beautiful because I love you?

~ Richard Rogers and Oscar Hammerstein II, Cinderella

Peeking Inside

2011-04-03T21:39:00.000-07:00

Learning how to operate a soul figures to take time ~ Timothy Leary

The other day, I went to Publix and presented a coupon to Henry, the cashier, for $5 off of a purchase greater than $50. He held onto it for a moment, traced along the edges with his thumb, looked up at me and stated, "This says a lot about you, lady."

I was entranced with his lilting Jamaican accent, and responded, almost apologetically, "I know. I cut it too perfectly, Henry. Weird, right?"

"This says everything about you, ma'am. Most people rip out their coupons all crazy, but not you. No, not you. You took the time to cut around the edges, just like so..." he said.

"Well, it certainly doesn't mean I'm neat or clean," I chortled. "You should see my house!"

Henry paused and went on to tell me he was an investigator for over ten years and had to leave his position for personal reasons, but that he had learned a lot during that time about people's behavior. And that I should think long and hard about why I chose to trim the edges of that damn $5 coupon so attentively. He told me I'd most likely be surprised by what I found out, if I looked long and hard...

Shit. Best I could come up with under the guise of "Detective Benson does Publix" was that I am so desperately lacking these days in anything verging on perfect order that I perhaps use my Fiskars to theoretically trim off the edges of any and all noise and annoyances from my hectic life. Because, I am so not anal. I mean, if anyone checked out the five junk drawers in our kitchen, alone... The unpacked suitcase from our Disney trip three weeks ago... Oh God, the science project that is the floor of my car.

Or does cutting out a coupon with the precision of a surgeon mean something so very much greater than the aspect of analosity...

Hm. Lots of introspection these days. My mind tends to annoy itself.

I've been thinking about a question posed by a couple of sales guys I used to work with a lifetime ago: "Would you want to hang out with yourself? Would you, actually, like you?"

Hell, I'd want to chill with Me, to be perfectly honest. I think I'd have a kickass time with Me. I mean, I doubt I'd offer Me my ATM card for safekeeping, nor would I trust Me to keep my Quicken Books in any sort of order. And I'd think twice about asking Me for recommendations on hot upcoming fashion trends... I would never accept dancing lessons from Me. There would definitely be no good forthcoming advice from Me on how to enter a social gathering with grace. Nor how to exit with grace, for sure. Career conversations would be interesting with Me. And we'd no doubt have hours-long arguments about politics and religion over Coronas and a big fat grilled steak. But Me and me? We'd have a blast and get along tremendously. I am sure of it. I'd give Me the most silly hug, hoping she'd one-up me with an even bigger and more embarassing embrace...

Talking about hugs, I was dropping the kids off at school the other day and met up with a mom I know and gave her a hug when I saw her. I walked away thinking (with Me) about how silly I am... Maybe huggers are seen as being weird. Dammitt, I'm weird. What does it mean when a perfectly executed coupon cutting mom with five junk drawers and a penchant for ska dancing to the Fresh Beats hugs a random cute mom and proceeds to walk back to her car and wax nostalgic about the times I didn't worry about the fallout for such things. ? I am, quite honestly, never secure about how I act.

But I oftentimes fall back on a memorable compliment I once received, and it somehow saves me. I had met up with an ex-boyfriend at a certain oyster bar in Grand Central, several lifetimes ago... We had both moved on and were happily simply reconnecting, and I asked him if he was dating anyone. He responded, "Yes. She's wonderful and just like you... unaffected."

Now, though I fashion myself to be a wordsmith, of sorts, I am perhaps the furthest thing from it. Because, not only was I thrown six years ago by never having heard of the word rigamarole, nineteen years ago, I didn't know how to process the term unaffected. I thought it meant I didn't care. I gave my ex a big fat hug goodbye (forever) while thinking the whole time he figured I was ambivalent about life. I now know differently.

I've come to appreciate the people who look into themselves and care about what they see. The good, the bad, the in-between, and the real. I dig those that can laugh about their shortcomings, cry about their insecurities, and clink their glasses to the hopes and possibilities of tomorrow. My favorite people are hilarious, kind, sometimes inappropriate, and always introspective. To quote my son, "Sometimes I'm naughty, but I'm always good."

There's more than one answer to these questions

Pointing me in a crooked line.
And the less I seek my source for some definitive
The closer I am to fine.
~ Indigo Girls, "Closer to Fine"

Disney-pline

2011-03-16T22:27:00.000-07:00

"When you wake up in the morning, Pooh," said Piglet at last, "what's the first thing you say to yourself?"
"What's for breakfast?" said Pooh. "What do you say, Piglet?"
"I say, I wonder what's going to happen exciting today?" said Piglet.
Pooh nodded thoughtfully. "It's the same thing," he said.

My very favorite Disney moment.
(pic taken by a random mom in the crowd, 3/12/11)

See this picture? So it's a little fuzzy and off-center, but it means so much to me. It captured a moment that can't be repeated. It was about 7.30pm on Saturday and we had just finished dinner at Captain Jack's in Downtown Disney. Lila and I split off from AJ and Ang so we could have the all-important "girl time" and we soon found ourselves in the midst of hungry, AmEx-toting Disney throngs. Lila suddenly screamed with such desperation and magnitude I thought her Baby Gap jelly shoes had lit on fire. But I looked at the object of her gaze (Hell, she broke her clasp from my hand and had begun sprinting...), and then I realized: She had seen Cinderella... err, rather, her plaster equivalent. We hugged the life-sized statue and kissed her. I think Lila licked her. Definitely a Disney moment. One of those moments that make time stand still and help parents realize what it's really and truly all about.

Just like the next day when Lila threw a 27-minute fit because she didn't get her "spinny Minnie." Yep: The yin and the yang; the good and the bad; the Cinderella statue lovin' and the Minnie souvenir meltdown. All that needs to be said is, it was the eleventh hour of our whirlwind weekend (3.45pm on Sunday), 82 degrees, post-psychotic-Disney parade, and we were enjoying the holding tank-like atmosphere of the waiting-for-a-souvenir-and-apple-juice-before-we-go-dammitt-I'm-only-threeeeeee exit line. *sigh*

But in true superhero fashion (shhh... Just go with me, here. I was at Disney.), I jumped over lazy (drunken?) parade goers, ran through store fronts, politely inquired about the actual existence of (Lila's term) "Spinny Minnies", all while flying through air and desperately applying lipgloss, patting my very own AmEx-toting ass to make sure the plastic that would end my daughter's lamentations was securely stationed in my right corner pocket to soon bring forth a rotating, flashing, plastic figurine to my tear-stained monkey. <-- [English teacher in Omaha = pissed at that run-on.] Well, Spinny Minnie existed; I bought her; Lila stopped crying; we drove three hours back home; and I proceeded to question the hell out of my parenting techniques.

Discipline. Shit. I swear it all goes to hell at Disney. Ang and I saw children on leashes, babies drinking soda, parents screaming at their charges to "shut the hell up, Carter", and one little guy with an unfortunate mustache painted on his cheek. (Not... sure... what that was about.) But ya know what? No judging here! Our kickass, adorable bunnies presented their sure share of crazy in the Magic Kingdom. And in Animal Kingdom. Hell, they kicked it up a notch in Hollywood, to boot.

What's a sure thing to quell the swells of Biasi monkey angst? For Lila, it comes in the form of something plush. For AJ, it's all about lollipops. I get that it's not cool to bribe. I'm hearing y'all when it comes to "Giving them what they want doesn't teach them a thing about how it works in the real world." I spend the majority of my awake hours trying to instill exactly this. It's just that, well... When one is allotted a singular long weekend of "magic," perfect discipline may, perchance, be thrown to the wayside. Landing on its Goofy ass. I see Disney as being the G-rated version of Las Vegas: "What happens in Disney, stays in Disney. And passes out in Target pj's by 6pm."

Anyway, let's just say we were a bit... mellow when it came to Disney-pline. I do have a few thoughts on attractions with regard to toddlers, in case you're interested in this ne-'er-do well's take on things...

m a g i c    k i n g d o m
Dumbo ride? Long-ass wait for a short-ass ride. But it's a classic, and if you have the time to spend, I think it's cool to hold your bunny's hand, close your eyes, and envision Disney, and life, decades ago, before all of the buzz and the tinkering came along... (One very forward-thinking gent suggested to us a beer cart for the parents on line. Kudos to you, Steve from Michigan. I like where you're going with this.)
Mad Tea Party? Shorter wait, just as classic. Beer cart still optimal.
Buzz Lightyear's Space Ranger Spin? Scared our bunnies last year, but they still came away from it raving. This year they 100% dug it. Pretty cool shit.
Swiss Family Treehouse? Toddlers have zero interest in this, other than counting the (hundreds of) steps and wondering how much it would hurt if they fell. I witnessed this spectacle not just with my own children. Holding hands = too freaking necessary. That said, pretty mellow if you forget the possibility of falling aspect, and OK if you have time and there aren't lines.
Monsters Inc. Laugh Floor? Pretty lame. And they didn't accept my joke: "I walked into a bar last night, and it hurt." Not sure why. Bitter. (By the way, we waited about 30 minutes for this one and at the very split second before we entered the theatre, AJ had to pee. Off he went with Ang, as Lila and I grabbed our seats. I found out after the show that Ang broke a few rules and jumped a few turnstiles to get back in before the Disney "police" reprimanded him and kicked him out. God, I love him. I think there should be a new Disney character named Angelo, the Disney Rebel. Well, he's my hero, anyway.)

a n i m a l   k i n g d o m
Affection Section? This is a petting zoo, and that is all. Goats, cows, sheep, and the errant llama. [On a side note, I informed Ang that I love llamas and he responded with something to the effect of, "Great. Now I've got to remember you like llamas, in addition to the fact that you prefer sunflowers to roses and you hate baby's breath." Ummm, yep. Random tangent, my love, but all good. Thanks for remembering.] Lila loved this, by the way. AJ just kept murmuring "I'm hungry" as we passed by several people with that all-too-familiar, cocked eyebrow look of, "Y'all better feed your kid." *sigh*
Dinosaur? Heard it was too scary. Judging from how frightened the kids were of the love bugs lighting upon the sheep in Affection Section, it was perhaps a good decision not to pay a visit to this one.
Kilimanjaro Safari? Kicked. Ass.
Wildlife Express Train? A great way to get from wherever the petting zoo was back to Africa, but don't expect major entertainment. Or any. We were told it was the "backstage" of the safari, so I was expecting to, at the very least, see a few rhinos maybe smoking cigarettes and talking on their cell phones... a couple of hyenas hanging out by the water cooler telling jokes. Alas, it's basically a form of transportation, sprinkled with odd views of safari animal cages, sans inhabitants. I did catch a glimpse of a hippo, but she was too into reading her Star magazine to notice us.
.
h o l l y w o o d   s t u d i o s
Toy Story Mania? This attraction actually runs out of fast passes. We got there at about 11am aaaand, nope. No fast passes. The guy in front of us, along with his daughters, apparently ran his ass off to get there by 9am for a fast pass which was for (drum roll...) 7.05pm. We waited in line for over an hour. Though pretty cool, it wasn't worth the wait in my 42-year-old eyes, but... nothing compares to the "I am so excited, mom. I am so excited!" from a 3-D bespectacled AJ right before... So, I change my answer: YES, it was worth the wait.
Voyage of the Little Mermaid? Welcome to a dark, bubble-filled, underwater cavern with junior high school special effects in 1990, folks. Ugh. It was like dinner theatre for the Red Lobster. Even Lila said, "I am never coming back to this."
Honey I Shrunk the Kids? This playground scared the shit out of Ang and me. Lila and AJ would disappear into an innocent "ant hole," only to appear on some sort of gangplank at what seemed like eleven levels above, ready to slide down a chute made for Olympian snowboarders. Hell, maybe I'm too much of a wuss. But if I'm a wuss, well, then there are a bunch of us out there. A whole contingent of us could be found at the entrance to any of these bug homes, pleading for our children to "follow mommy's voice, dammitt!!"

Wow, I just read through this and it appears I may have some issues... Meh, it's who I am, take it or leave it. Because at the end of the day, I still say Disney is wonderful and 100% worth every second. I've never smiled so much; I've never been so proud of my family; and I haven't acted like (such) a little kid in way too long. We'll head on over to Italy, Australia, Sweden, Africa, India in the years to come... But this week? This week we had Disney, and it was magic.

[Cute little sidenote: Ang had bought little Disney souvenirs for the kids which he placed under their pillows Sunday evening, along with Post-it notes from Buzz and Snow White. When they hopped into bed, he informed them that sometimes, when you come back from Disney and you've been a really good kid, someone from the Magic Kingdom will leave a lil' surprise under your pillow. The kids were over the moon about their prizes, and their notes, which read: "We love you - be good to your parents. Love, Snow White and Buzz", accompanied by something we'd "heard from Buzz": "If you're good to your parents, and go to sleep right away, tomorrow can be another Disney day!" The kids fell asleep on the spot and woke up the next morning repeating, "We have to be good to our parents and go to sleep right away!" Angelo the Disney Rebel had struck again, and it was pretty amazing.]

Every child is born blessed with a vivid imagination. But just as a muscle grows flabby with disuse, so the bright imagination of a child pales in later years if he ceases to exercise it ~ Walt Disney

This Blonde's Moments

2011-03-08T20:43:00.000-08:00

Why are you always picking on me? I don't procrastinate. I just like to do things later. ~ George, "Bored to Death" (HBO)

So I wake up at about 6.30 every morning, make an iced coffee, quickly ponder ways to change the world, and proceed to jump into "one helluva lot more busy than I'd like to be" until the kids go to bed (around 8.30pm), at which point I successfully and way too easily zone out in some meager fashion. Fourteen hours a day/seven days a week of being "on," with two additional hours each day of escape mode... my thoughts that need tending tend to go untended. There are so many things going on in my mind, inane as all get-out for the most part, with no closure. Sooo much to do and say and

I've been thinking a lot about the concept of "being content versus being happy." I overheard Roseanne Barr, of all people, discussing this on "Oprah." [Sidenote: I'm not an Oprah-watcher. It was a Tuesday or a Thursday - hence, kids home - and they were post-bath-hanging-out-on-my-bed-switching-channels-and-randomly-obsessed-with-Roseanne's-oddly-braided-hair. Not sure why I felt the need for that disclosure, when I'm entirely happy to disclose my love for "Real Housewives" and "The Bachelor."] All of this said, I'm intrigued with the idea of choosing to be content because it's not something you have to come down from. Contentment can stay forever, but happiness doesn't last. Hmmnn... Interesting... Meh, something I'm content to think about... happy to think otherwise, by the way.
I witnessed a pedestrian the other day with the waist of his man-pri's falling just below what would appear to be the lower extreme of his anus. Now, I do not portend to be a fashionista, nor do I pretend to exude the utmost of class (Exhibit A: six pairs of ripped jeans; Exhibit B: Chuck Taylors; Exhibit C: bonafide tubetop). This said, when walking like a crab-meets-penguin becomes necessary for a gentleman to navigate sidestreets in order to keep his belt above his knees, I have questions as to the validity of the ass=waist coolness factor.
I've always yearned for an accent of some sort. Upon moving to St. Louis, MO, back in '98, I remember very clearly how I was dismissed by one of the first locals I met: "You talk like a newscaster." She reported this with a beautiful Southern accent. *sigh* Nerd alert: I've secretly added an accent to one, singular word in my own personal vernacular: "Anotha'." That's right. I've replaced another with its Irish, or Bostonian, counterpart, and have been employing its usage regularly for about a decade now. Resounding result: Crickets. (Secretly fun, though. Not quitting anytime soon.)
Easter decorating: Yay or Nay? I'm not a fan of decorating for any holiday other than Christmas or... well that's kind of it. I refuse to decorate for Halloween, Thanksgiving, Valentine's Day, Easter, 4th of July, etc., etc. And I'm not a party-pooper, I promise. Unless we've got a shindig going on - in which case I'll decorate the shit out of our lanai - the only thing a bat, cornucopia, heart wreath, purple egg basket, and red, white, and blue tablecloth are going to do for me is create another vestige for time spent and dog fur. But am I taking away from the kid's aesthetic holiday wonder? *lots of sighs*
When I walked through the school door to pick up the kids yesterday, Lila greeted me with a mouse. The cutest lil' brown-and-white mouse named Butterscotch, and Lila was excitedly holding her sweetly, gently, and with the utmost of care. Lila's three. It floored me. In Jen World, I had thought three-year-olds, if offered a tiny, extremely breakable animal, would immediately squeeze out the life and throw it rather vengefully against a wall, turning blythely away in search of something benign and motionless, like crayons. But Lila appeared to me that moment as an invincible, 3-foot-tall, sparkly manicured, half-Italian version of Steve Irwin. She coddled a mouse and flicked the poos off of her forearm as though they were simply brown, silly annoyances. (She was right.) I experience so very many of these moments where the kids floor me these days, but I don't want to go overboard mushy, so... next bullet...
Lila found a pillow today in the back of her closet. It's one I'd made a pillowcase for back in '04 - fashioned out of old Levi's and a Polo shirt. When I met Ang, he thought the idea of reinventing one's once-worns into pillowcases was genius, and we even came up with the name for the new biz: Seams Like Jen. Sew... That idea went nowhere.
Talking about that: There's a catalog marie-chantal with some very expensive clothes for little girls. Their maxi-dresses run about $150. (Not quite sure of the actual price, nor can I check because I immediately threw the catalog into the trash upon seeing the asinine prices.) Really? $150 for a size 2 maxi dress? Consisting of two mini-pieces of fabric? For a little girl who will move into a size 3 upon simply eating eleven more meals? So, my new mission: My mom made my sis and me maxi-dresses back in the '70s and I plan on asking her for the pattern and making some of my own. And I don't sew, but seams appear to like Jen, so...
Will someone PLEASE create a healthy food drive-through? Geez, already.
Facebook is beautiful. Because of it, I met up with a high school friend today I haven't seen in over twenty years. There's nothing like not knowing someone for the past couple of decades, but it not mattering because navigating your all-important junior and high school years together means everything. It means that, ultimately, you do know her... And it's wonderful to meet up later, as if no time had passed...
It's 11.30pm, I haven't proofread this, I have a showing tomorrow at 9am, and I'm off to whoop it up with some iPhone Angry Birds in bed.
I'm finding out, little by little, that the readers of my blog are ultra-smart, very cool, talented women. I could not be happier. Thank you.

Jen
xoxo

Time Thievery

2011-03-04T20:17:00.000-08:00

Lila: Someday I will be four.
AJ: Someday you will be twenty-four!
Lila: Not today, AJ.
AJ: No, Lila. Not today.

Naples Zoo - 2/11

Today I got stood up. I drove about a half-hour downtown to get to the house I was showing fifteen minutes early, and I was ready and waiting at 11.30am with the house lit up, brochures in-hand, and a belly full of iced Cafe Americano. But I was left high and dry. (Rather, miffed, overly awake, and needing to pee.) I called the agent at 12.45pm, but to no avail, and ended up leaving an unfortunately unaffected message mentioning the fact that I'd been "waiting an hour and fifteen minutes" but "we can just reschedule at your leisure, because it's totally cool, no worries.'' Perhaps I need lessons from Charlie Sheen on how to be more assertive. And winning, duhhh.

Now, during the time I was waiting, I suppose I could have worked on my taxes, maybe read up on the history of Libya, eaten a normal-for-everyone-else chicken salad sandwich, spruced up my manicure, corresponded with freelance writing clients, researched healthy meals for toddlers...No. What I did do during my one-point-five hours of alone time was stare off into the bright fuschia Bouganvilla, suck down a milk chocolate Slim-Fast, and ponder the most extraneous of bullshit. Seriously. I pondered whether or not The Bachelor has a chance for a lasting relationship with Emily. I wondered why residents in Naples, and Florida in general, prefer small dogs to the larger purebreds preferred by New Englanders. My thoughts travelled, as they randomly often do, to the show CSI: "I'm right-handed, but wear my watch on my right wrist. Therefore, it should never be deemed 100% correct that right-handed people wear their watches on their left wrist. But CSI does. They're wrong." "I have three earring holes in my left earlobe, two of which I haven't worn an earring in in over 15 years, but the holes still go all the way through. The Las Vegas CSI crew found an earring and assumed it wasn't some chick's because her holes must have closed up since she hasn't worn earrings for years and, well, they're dead wrong." "I wonder if the producers of CSI will pay me to be a researcher."

Was I wasting time?

About two weeks ago, I was crossing the street in downtown Naples (on my way to Starbucks, go figure) and an odd thing happened. My eyes lit upon a sign that read "Naples Nursing Specialists" or something like that. Within an instant, my mind whispered to me: "That would be a great place for mom [who is a retired nurse] to work and then she could be with me and have an entire 40-year career down here where I live and be near me and she and I could be young together. She'll be a nurse and I'll write and we'll have a lifetime as friends." The thought took less than one half of one millionth of a second, and it can't possibly be written exactly as I thought it. Because in my mind, it was real. And it could possibly happen.

Thinking about it now, ohh... It's like my real "inside" self longs for more time.

And my wonderful dad. My memory has a habit of creating beautiful photographs of him that enmesh decades. He holds my chubby toddler hand at the very exact time he's sitting at the kitchen table, helping me with my algebra homework. My little five-year-old feet light upon his big shiny oxford shoes as we dance to the music at my wedding. He's giving me advice on how to deal with playground meanies at the exact moment he's kissing my forehead, congratulating me on the birth of my twins...

Time's an odd character. Today he's on my side, but tomorrow he could become rebellious. I'm grateful for this moment. The one right now. Yes, while you are reading this very word. And I'm going to have to say... If it takes me an hour-and-a-half to contemplate CSI producers' silly oversights to get over Reality's sucker punch, well then... It's time well spent. Because at the end of the day, I danced with my dad, worked down the street from my mom, and appreciated every. single. second.

Time is the coin of your life. It is the only coin you have, and only you can determine how it will be spent. Be careful lest you let other people spend it for you. ~ Carl Sandburg

Birthdays

2011-02-13T19:29:00.000-08:00

AJ: Is it your birthday? / Me: Yep. / Lila: How many are you? / Me: 42. / AJ: Happy Birthday, Mommy! / Me: Thank you! / Lila: [placing her hand on my wrist, serious expression. Pausing.]: That is not a lot. That is good. You are pretty and you are always crazy. This is good.

I haven't written in awhile. I miss it, but each time I've tried to write this past month, I've found I don't have anything exciting to say. Or at least, so says Outer Jen, who tries constantly not to waste your time. In my head, there are verses and chapters and stories. My mind travels to different countries, humming along to Indian music, shopping in Italy, dining in Manhattan... And then my body travels to Target. I have conversations with Ellen Degeneres that are both humorous and witty. I've pranced around to bongo drums with Matthew McConnoughey. I've written a best-selling novel, finished a screenplay picked up by Greenlight, and created a perfume that actually does smell like an outdoor firepit by the ocean.

I, myself, have unspoken conversations involving my appreciation for chiaroscuro, and think of ways it could be artistically used in congruence with believable, unposed photography. I have no clue what to think about what's going on in Egypt, but I know that I want desperately to know one hell of a lot more than I do right now. I want to have knowledge that's not just from my daily newspaper. I imagine what it would be like to be a next-door neighbor of Tom Robbins'. I wax on about waxing. (Seriously, never done it. Scared. Ingrigued.) I'm a Realtor, but I wonder what it's like to kick serious ass at being a really good one. And what job will be the one I do eventually kick serious ass at.

Soo, anyway... I've been thinking.

We've been to a bunch of kiddo birthday shindigs in the past month. One each Saturday, to be exact, for four weeks in a row. And through all of the treasure box painting, balloon twisting, picture frame decorating, and jungle gym climbing, I'm constantly surprised with AJ and Lila in these differing social settings. Not, perhaps, because their behaviour is in any way surprising, but maybe because I'm surprising myself. I never knew parenting could be this tough. I never knew it could be this freaking great. And I never knew how early on we all are who we are...

AJ is going to be cautious, overzealous, and shy. It's who he already is. Lila will be pensive, positive, and will take things personally. It's who she already is. She'll tell stories, AJ will act some of them out.They're both sweet, talkative, goofy, love music, test patience, and are extremely affectionate. That's who they are. And I've got ZERO to do with it. But, I can embrace all of it, squander it, ignore it, balance it, flaunt it, hate it, love it, join it, share it... So much I can do, it's overwhelming the choices I have... I can also guide them to be the best "them" they can be. Lots to do, with little time. If I plan on being 100, I only have 58 years left.

What I can do (today) is be honest with my thoughts, at the very, very least...

I was going to base this post on "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy's" view that 42 is the answer to the universe. 42 = My New Age. It could have been clever. But, aside from the fact that I dug Physics in high school and never missed an episode of the X-Files, well... I would have been acting as a Sci-Fi poser, which would not be genuine, which can never be good.
The 16-year-old me would have been INSANE for Justin Bieber. I'm already a Belieber at 42, so...
Talking about celebrities, Jen Aniston and I share the same birthday and I adore her. Being 42 with her is just plain cool, so. Take that, younger peeps. (Forget the fact she spent her birthday in NYC and the following week somewhere on an island with friends. Vicarious, people. That's where I went...)
And again with the celebrities, why is it that adult heterosexual men don't like Lady Gaga, but everyone else does? It's just a question... Heard it on NPR today that it's something like the Madonna complex. Not sure what it's all about, but interesting to consider... when you're bored...
My husband is in Barcelona Spain "as we speak" and my jealousy is eating a hole through these computer keys right now. I have another life that includes world travel. Except now, three other really cool people are involved. I'm OK with that. Let's all go. We're a family. But, let's really get on that plane and go... How on earth can we all know if the hokey pokey really is what it's all about if we don't travel and find out for ourselves? I need to show my monkeys, and me, how to be globally thoughtful and knowledgeable. It's starting to upset me when my kids think we can get whatever we need at Target.
Religion (should)= not judging
I need to stop thinking blog posts need to be long to be engaging.

Lila being free (Not sure why, but God do I love this pic...)

Buzz looks on at princesses...

This one makes me laugh.

Such a gorgeous guy...

"Time is always now." ~ Peter Beard

Extreme Helicopter Rides with Free Range Tigers

2011-01-26T15:12:00.000-08:00

Parenting, Helicopter Parenting, Free Range Parenting, Slow Parenting, Attachment Parenting... Hot damn. That is one hell of a lot of parenting methodologies to choose from - and it's a handful soley comprised of the techniques I'm familiar with! I'd be willing to bet there are eleventeen more that are as ubiquitous, though perhaps not so much parenting methods as they are styles. And with unfortunate nomenclature, to boot (such as Neurotic Parenting, Oblivious Parenting, Overwhelmed Parenting, Lethargic Parenting, and such...) I have yet to locate those on Wikipedia, but I'm hearing that the online dictionary editors are a bit backed up these days, what with the new Jersey Shore lingo popping up every week. (Can I get a fist pump?)

An apology in advance: This post is a bit... boring, I'll admit. But it covers a topic that's received press recently and that I find interesting. So... OK, I think we're done there. You've received fair warning. (Aren't I great at marketing myself?)

Here are abridged definitions of these parenting methods, in no particular order...
e x t r e m e p a r e n t i n g

"You know you're an extreme parent when you convince yourself that what your child achieves or fails to achieve is solely the result of what you've done or failed to do," says Ayelet Waldman, author of parenting memoir "Bad Mother" and critic of fellow author Amy Chua's extreme parenting style written about in "Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother." Chua's recently published book is an observation, of sorts, of the differences between Eastern ("extreme") and Western (more lax, as per Chua) parenting styles.

I'm in full doubt we'll go the extreme (AKA "Tiger") route with our parenting. When I spend five minutes every morning discussing with AJ the benefits of going #1 in the toilet versus in Pull-Ups and we opt, ultimately, for tossing his stuffed friends across the room at eachother, I'm not too sure we're on the path to five-hour violin practice. Could be wrong...

h e l i c o p t e r p a r e n t i n g

Helicopter parent is a colloquial, early 21st-century term for a parent who pays extremely close attention to his or her child's or children's experiences and problems, particularly at educational institutions. (Wikipedia)

If Lila's 3-year-old self is any hint as to what's to come in her late teen years, she'll be flying her own helicopter to a liberal attire school to study Sand Castle Architecture, with a possible minor in Fairy Wrangling.

f r e e r a n g e p a r e n t i n g

Free-range parenting is the backlash to helicopter parenting. Free-range parents believe that children learn best when they are allowed to make mistakes, spend time alone, and have fewer social commitments. Its most famous "member" is Lenore Skenazy (and author of "Free Range Kids"), who made headlines when she sent her 9-year-old son off alone on the New York subway.

The four seconds it took me to snap this out-of-focus picture while worrying the monkeys would get swept away by a killer wave perhaps proves that I am a Free Range Chicken.

s l o w p a r e n t i n g

Slow parenting is a parenting style in which few activities are organized for children. Instead, they are allowed to explore the world at their own pace. It is a response to concerted cultivation and the widespread trend for parents to schedule activities and classes after school; to solve problems on behalf of the children, and to buy services from commercial suppliers rather than letting nature take its course. The philosophy, part of the Slow Movement, makes recommendations in play, toys, access to nature, watching television, and scheduled activities. The opposing view is that such children are disadvantaged because their parents do not provide as many learning opportunities. (Wikipedia)

I do dig time away from schedules...

a t t a c h m e n t p a r e n t i n g

Here's a parenting philosophy based on the concept of allowing the child to 'separate' from the parent at its own pace. The term was coined by Dr Sears to cover what is, in effect, an age-old way of gently raising children.

"Sometimes I like time to my own self. So I can think, and read, and dream." ~ Lila, 1/24/11

I know parents who wholeheartedly subscribe to one of the specific parenting methods listed above. They swear by it and will list all of the benefits and growth outcomes with zero hesitation and 110% exuberance. I'm hearing the benefits of little ones practicing either piano or violin (forget drums) for hours and hours before bed until s/he finally gets the piece right. I've been in conversations with women who stress how integral to one's being it is to have the freedom to roam at a young age - to explore on your own, without an annoying planned activity schedule or someone shouting "Be careful!" every minute or so... There are parents I know who welcome their children into their beds every single night, letting their sons and daughters choose when they will eventually feel like sleeping on their own... I've heard of parents rushing to drop off their kids' homework that was left forgotten by their cereal bowl - and also, those who refuse to do so.

I've got a ways to go before I have to encounter some of these scenarios, such as that of "Practice makes perfect" and "The dog ate my homework." And I know that the age of free range children taking long, solitary walks along the frothy shoreline cannot be only three years. (Can it?) But regardless, though they're only preschoolers now, I do think about not just how I've spent the past three years parenting my monkeys, but how I imagine I will guide them in the years to come... It's exciting just as much as it is confusing and frightening.

If my initial dive into the waters of parenting can give me any clue as to what parenting technique I will adhere to, I choose to go the granola route and coin Organic Parenting (unless that's already been taken). We're letting things happen as they come... Like many other families I know, we're figuring out what's best for our family and for Lila and AJ (both individually, and as a team) one day at a time. That said, I'm actually inspired by little snippets of each of the aforementioned methods, so maybe I prefer something more along the lines of Buffet Parenting. Because I do agree that practice makes perfect and that being strict definitely has its place, but I also believe that children need freedom to grow into their own cool, individual selves. I think studying and grades are important, just as much as unscheduled weekends and last-minute trips to the beach. I will never, ever refuse my kids a hug or a snuggle, and recently I've let the snuggles of one particular little boy last from his 1am pitter-patter into our bedroom all the way through sunrise. But I agree with Lila, too. Alone time is great for dreaming...

While I am not, myself, a firm believer in all facets of Eastern "extreme" parenting like Chua, neither am I convinced there are only benefits to being a free range parent, like Ms. Skenazy. But it doesn't matter what I believe. Or at least it shouldn't matter to anyone but my own family. At the risk of sounding like Granola Organic Buffet Parent, why not embrace the myriad tactics that may work for our own families, and let everyone else do the same for theirs? I've seen so much criticism out there of others' styles of parenting, it's simply poor form. Maybe, as parents, we all need a little alone time to practice making sand castles and to perfect our skills of beating up the beat...

And on that Jersey Shore note, here are just a few more pics from a recent sandy day:

The hardest part of raising a child is teaching them to ride bicycles. A shaky child on a bicycle for the first time needs both support and freedom. The realization that this is what the child will always need can hit hard ~ Sloan Wilson

Playing Goalie

2011-01-07T22:25:00.000-08:00

Saugatuck Island - Westport, CT (12/31/10)

res•o•lu•tion (re-ze-‘lü-shen) n. 1 - finding a solution to a problem; 2 - a decision to do something or to behave in a certain manner.

goal (gōl) n. 1 - the end toward which effort is directed; 2a - an area or object toward which players in various games attempt to advance a ball or puck and usually through or into which it must go to score points; 2b – the act or action of causing a ball or puck to go through or into such a goal; 2c - the score resulting from such an act.

“Set goals, not resolutions” ~ lululemon athletica

So, I saw this quote while rushing past a lululemon store this holiday season, and it made me pause and think for a bit in the midst of all of the Christmas crazy: “What’s the difference between a New Year’s goal and a New Year’s resolution?” My toddler-toting, nerd self was perplexed. (It reminds me of a scene from “Friends” which found Joey confused after being corrected for his mispronunciation of the word supposedly. “Supposedly? Supposably. Supposably!” he concluded to himself, resolutely.)

I must admit that I, too, am digging the positivity of Goal, versus Resolution. When comparing definitions, alone, I see the words problem and behave for one, and yet advance and score for the other… Seriously, what is better than the feeling you get when you finally gain control of the ball and kick it through those white posts? In the truly literal sense, as sweeper for my high school soccer team, I did finally manage to get a goal after three years on the team (Zero to nil sweepers do!), and experienced such utter euphoria, it was magical. The fact that this feeling of elation lasted for only about three-and-a-half seconds until that horrific fourth second when I realized the goal I kicked was for the other team is neither here nor there. Shit. Whatever. Be it ever-fleeting, I felt the power of achieving a goal. So that’s it, I’m picking goals. (Resolution, don’t worry. I will save you for the hopeful end-result of AJ and Lila’s next smackdown over who gets to pick the movie/better slice of pizza/”cooler parent of the night” for tuck-in/etc. I will need you for all of those times, and perhaps for the next 15 years ‘til the monkeys go to/consider/berate/eschew college. And then maybe for my eventual midlife crisis. Carry on.)

And though I know I'm beating a dead horse here by continuing with the soccer metaphor (sorry, PETA), just one more thing: Who's my goalie? Who's going to block the goals I want to achieve? Am I that goalie? If so... If I'm the only one who's going to stop me from achieving what I know is what's best for me (because why would/should it be anyone else?), then I'm in good shape. I've proven I suck at defense. 'Nuff said.

m y g o a l s

I'm going to get in shape. While getting into shape usually goes hand-in-hand with losing weight, my ultimate goal is not to drop pounds. I did that, way back when, and got down to 114. It was odd: I received so many compliments on how great I looked, and yet all I wanted to say was, "Oh, it must be the depression from my divorce. Or maybe the fact that, due to my recent financial situation, I had to decide between giving the last can of tuna to my cats or to me last night, and the cats won. Or, perhaps I'm skinny because I've got no one to make me so happy that I want to sing from the rooftops, drink a margarita, eat an entire pizza, and down a pint of ice cream." I was bummed, I had zero confidence, and I was at my tiniest. Ew, thanks, but no thanks. I've found my happy weight, which is definitely more than my unhappy weight, less than where I'm at now, and getting back to it is one goal of mine this year. There's an entire beautiful continent between way too many margaritas, pizza, and ice cream, and way too few. Sounds like a hot, tropical place I need to visit. Maybe I'll wear a bikini and order a Skinny Margarita once I get there.
I will continue on my quest to make "Do what you love, and the money will follow" come true.
I will walk the walk. I'm a huge proponent of giving back, but I haven't done my share. Not nearly enough. Why didn't I volunteer last year? At all? WTF. I'm pissed at myself for lapsing... As an aside, I have mixed feelings about publicizing good deeds. On the one hand, I believe it's good to promote helping those in need, especially to those who may be on the fence. On the other hand, I'm not (the wonderful) George Clooney. I'm actually so far from him, it's like he's an alien life form. After all, I don't have a huge audience that could be transformed and provoked to take action and make a difference. I'm someone with a tiny, albeit beautiful, audience of eleventeen who prolly does a whole lot more for the greater good than I do. All of this said, I'm going to make the effort. I want to help where I'm needed, and I want my monkeys to know how to help, too. I'm on it.
I will praise the people I love more often, especially my gorgeous hubby. Though we may differ in opinion and attitude from time to time... Where I may be the Deborah to his Raymond, the Oscar to his Felix, the James Carville to his Mary Matalin... All of that is fine (except on the first Tuesday of November). I was just so lucky to have found Ang, who actually digs that I'm "me." His gift to me this Christmas, in addition to hugging me tight (and being randomly seriously happy, after throwing his back out) while sleeping on a rather small bed in the room right next door to his in-laws for over a week during the holidays, was a bound book of all of my blog posts from 2010. He also gave one to his parents, and another to my parents, and spoke with such pride when each of them opened up their gifts. Not sure I deserve all of that, but I was definitely touched, nonetheless...
I will read my uncle's book. I detest it when people (surgeons, Peace Corps workers, the armed forces, people going through tough times, etc., aside) use the excuse: "I don't have time." Eff that. Find something better to say and stop hurting people's feelings, dammitt. Ultimately, people make the time for what they choose to do. I went to my family's reunion in Boston last week and spoke with my uncle who published a phenomenal book last year aaaaand, I did it. I uttered the bullshit sentence: "I've got your book and, when I have time, I'm going to read it." Arrgh, Jenster: Make the time! (Thank you, Sybil.) After all, if your own family won't put things down for a while to lend support and, ultimately, praise and backing, well then, who will? Geez. (Starting the book tonite. I'm hearing it's racy, smaht, and becoming a huge hit. Can't wait!)
I'm going to be more confident. I will start trusting in my abilities and stop focusing on my (myriad) disabilities: "So Jen? You put a huge foot directly into your mouth with a client, fed your kids hotdogs for the third day in a row, and didn't realize your sweater had dried schmegs on it all day? Whatevs. Your friends and family kick some serious ass and you make a freakin' legit potato salad." (That scenario's just an example. I have oh-so many more... A few don't even involve shmeg. A lot involve potato salad, however.)
Somehow, maybe I can find one millionth the amount of courage and strength that my friend Heather has.

m y r e a s o n s
Here, in no particular order, are some pix I took during the holidays. As per usual, I took about 1,000; approximately 14 came out in focus; and I chose to publish a few more here on Blogsville. Fuzzy is the new black, as they say...

FL: Florida cousins (Monkeys + Uncle Joe's daughter, Adrianna)

NY: AJ is completely in love with his cousin, David.

Christmas Day: Watching "Despicable Me" while hippity-hopping and Gator Golfing

AJ relaxing

I think Ang missed shoveling.

First Snow Day

First Snow Angel

First Snow Haul

I missed my town.

I mean, seriously, where else can you get alpacas, snow, farms, beautiful scenic sunsets... Ok, you had me at alpacas.

Heading up the "big hill"

More Daddy-Lila snow love

Ang, AJ, Lila, and my gorgeous niece Kirstie

Boston. Family reunion. Fuzzy picture. Great energy.

I love my family.

Arm wrestling

Cousins: Rafi (mom's sister Sue's daughter), Sarah (mom's brother Alan's daughter), Lily (mom's sister Kate's daughter)

My beautiful friend Penny

AJ enchanted with the "claw game" at our fave haunt, the Black Duck (Westport, CT)

Saugatuck Island Smile, Part I

Saugatuck Island Smile, Part II

Snowy Slide

Snowy Swing

89th Snow Angel

Pretty monkey at Mommy's fave restaurant in Westport, CT (Tavern on Main)

Ang visiting his friend, Jonathan...

I'm not in shape. I don't make much money, nor do I walk the walk all the time. My praise for others needs to be louder, my excuses valid, confidence real, and my strength bigger. Hmmmn... Not too shabby, I say... I'm in a good place. I've got goals, and I'm going to kick that ball (into the right net) and make things happen. Not gonna play goalie anymore.

H e r e ' s t o s c o r i n g g o a l s i n 2 0 1 1 !

Wassailing Home...

2010-12-13T22:42:00.000-08:00

Let's get away from sleigh bells / Let's get away from snow / Let's make or break some Christmas, dear / I know the place to go.

How'd you like to spend Christmas, on Christmas island? / How'd you like to spend the holiday, away across the sea? / How'd you like to spend Christmas, on Christmas island? / How'd you like to hang a stocking on a great big coconut tree?

How'd you like to stay up late, like the islanders do? / Wait for Santa to sail in with your presents in a canoe. / If you ever spend Christmas on Christmas island / You will never stray for everyday your Christmas dreams come true.

~ Jimmy Buffett, "Christmas Island"

When I was little, every Christmas was predictable, in the very best way. My sister and I, our exuberance, bare feet, and '70s polyurethane pajamas would huddle together at the crack of dawn, planning our attack on the gifts under the tree downstairs. PJ's were on all day; we knew we'd see Nana and Pop in Boston... Grammy and Grampy in Palmer, MA; there was a Swedish smorgasbord to look forward to, the riding of any "rideable" toys in the icy driveway for hours 'til dusk, holiday movies as background noise... and there was always snow.

Over the years, my Christmases have changed. The holiday season got shorter as I got older. I became busy with the extraneous. Where in my 0's and teens I focused on the wonder, in my 20's I may have focused, instead, on the upcoming festivities of New Year's Eve. In my early 30's, I enjoyed staying in my parents' guest room during Christmas, but then cried in my Amstel whilst watching the NYE "Law and Order" marathon in the back apartment of a farmhouse in Timbuktu, CT. Alone, but for my twin cats. I had traded in partying in the Big Apple for watching Jerry Orbach catch the killer. Holidays? The pits.

I now have a family. Gasp. A wonderful, wonderful family, with a husband (who actually just told me a second ago, knowingly, "You write better when it's late" after I complained I had written zero-point-zero. It's 11.20pm.), two amazing 3-year-old twins, and a Yellow Lab who may just have anxiety issues. Hell, she has a lot of them. With these blessings, I still (annoyingly? understandably? selfishly?) miss me and wish me a good old fashioned New England Christmas every year. There's this... thing that I have that I just don't see around these parts... The total longing for all things northern and snow-like. Most people in southern climes can shed it like a skin, but mine's here to stay. I'm not going to grow out of it. While most folks down here shout, "We didn't want to shovel anymore!", I whisper, "...but I did..."

So. I adorn our abode with things that I exalt. Tiny little Christmas schmidgens (what?) that just make my (holi)day. After all, just because I love the old-school New England-y Christmas and all of its snowy and cozy glory, doesn't mean I can't have it all now in the land of gators and flamingos, with my beloved little family...

My Nana always had a fresh bouquet of flowers on her table... Merry Christmas, Nana.

We've got these two rickety antique chairs that (I think) were from a church in Trumbull, CT. With just a little holiday sparkle a la World Market pillows, I think they're happier, more festive little guys.

Ang and I decided to go in on the same gift for eachother this Christmas... We finally have artwork for above our stairs and I air-kiss it each time I walk up. *Mwah!*

The Christmas (shell) lights in my office are beaming, "We're in season!" (They're up all year, but they can finally feel like they belong at Christmastime.)

I had a fit of craftiness and made a mitten garland. Blech. After much felt-n-glue inspired expletives, the Kinder concoction ended up displayed at the end of AJ's bed...

..and Lila's. What took me about three hours of time now smells like monkey feet.

Took a painting class in CT way back when. My cheesy rendition of a Georgia O'Keefe makes me happy when it's got Christmas lights for a backdrop. What was once a picture of a flower, now looks like a full and happy heart, glowing from within.

Lila's favorite ornament: The one-legged "Pink Merry Christmas Ballerina Princess Angel". She just had to have it in her room, instead of on the tree. AJ steals it regularly, returning it only upon Lila's relentless efforts to abscond with his stuffed Buzz Lightyear. [Editor's Note: I spent about 2 hours reattaching said ballerina princess angel's remaining leg after a Stella-stole-the-ornament incident last year. I'm quite happy with my epoxy moxy.]

The Christmas Card Bowl...

(Outback Bowl's on January 1st. Go Lions!)

A fuzzy little picture that radiates my happiness about the season: Light, warmth, and history. (My candle, home glow, Nana's wreath.)

Nothin' spells the holidays like old-school ceramic Christmas lights (even if they are on a Ficus)...

Ang and I choose to ignore the fact that our star resembles the symbol for Satan or, at the very least, anarchy.

Aaaand our party umbrella. 'Nuff said.

o r n a m e n t s

And last, but not least, the ornaments: I truly believe that one's Christmas tree is their history. Look at the ornaments, and you'll see a life...

Gotta have the kid art. Here's Lila's wreath she made at school. Knowing her, it took about eleven seconds to slap these embellishments on, after which she proceeded to beg to swing on a swing and then maybe sang "Rudolph" while adding a handful of sand to her Chuck Taylors. Ohhh, my Lila Bean...

Ang got this for me in Vineyard Haven, MA. I was sitting outside this beautiful little Martha's Vineyard boutique with the monkeys, sipping an iced tea and drinking in my surroundings. I remember it like it was yesterday. Thank you, my love...

Stella.

Sawks love.

...and love for music, too...

This little one is from the Bahamas. Ang and I went to Paradise Island with his family for a day's jaunt. I love how little she is for such a faraway trip. I think this was the first vacation ornament souvenir we got...

Here's one of Ang's favorite ornaments - it's from his softball team back in 2006. Each of the players signed it and gave it to the captain, himself, at our holiday party that year. In 2007, the ball fell to the floor while we were decorating the tree and we were crestfallen. I remember staying up late one night to glue it back together. All 72 pieces. (Talk about epoxy moxy.) Apparently, it can take a serious beating and still be ready for action each year - kind of like his softball team. I secretly think he loves it even more now...

This is our family to a tee: Happy lil' photo, tiny bit off-center, and in a 2-year-old frame. Lots of love, just maybe not all that organized.

And a beautiful ornament from our friends. This one represents all of the ornaments, and love, we get from friends throughout the years...

It's late, and my computer won't left-justify. In case I don't get to tell you closer to the date, Merry Christmas. Cheers to celebrating the past, the present, and what will be... Wassailing we go...

Christmas is a time when you get homesick - even when you're home. ~ Carol Nelson

Jen and the Art of Finding Joy

2010-12-02T20:44:00.000-08:00

It is never too late to be who you might have been. ~ George Eliot

I stepped on the scale today for the first time in about two months. Holy hell, I gained seven pounds in two months. In almost-correct (read: Jen) math, that's about a pound a week, which leads me to believe it wasn't all the Halloween candy. Nor was it all Thanksgiving leftovers. I made a conscious decision right around the 1st of October to refrain from allowing my A-Man-in-Every-Portugal painted toenails to light upon that damn silver-and-glass messenger of triple digits. (Nobody wants to kill the messenger, after all. Nor chip their pedicure.)

It's funny how my concerted effort to ignore the scale served as the perfect foil for a not-so-great result. I tried to ignore something in order to gain nothing. Hmmmn, no, that's not it. Rather, I chose to pretend that not measuring something would make it not even count. Yeah, that didn't really work out for me... I should, maybe, never be trusted with math.

It's like a lot of things I've come to realize of late: I think people are programmed to sometimes overlook their greatest assets and dreams because life gets in the way. To forget what you're all about in order to focus on what that given day's about. Problem is, days add up. And I'm starting to think that life, and dreams, and assets can all learn to hang out, drink a case of Corona, string some Christmas lights, sing fa-la-la, and peacefully get along and get lit. And stay lit, all year long.
I read "Eat Pray Love" a few years back and finally saw the movie the other night. [Editor's note: I saw it for the first time on opening weekend in the theatre with a good friend but... enter Corona and good company, and movie becomes third wheel.] While Julia Roberts would definitely not have been my first choice to play the lead, and, as always is the case, the flick did not measure up to the novel, I still enjoyed it.

I thought about the "word" the characters discussed that describes every city and, ultimately, every person. They chose sex as the one word to describe all of Italy. Achieve for NYC... Elizabeth Gilbert finally chose the word attraversiamo ("Let's cross over") as her own word to describe everything about her. I have yet to choose one for me. Exhausted certainly works today. It's hard to choose one word, however, that describes every single thing about me, but I readily accept the challenge. I'm leaning toward optimistic, though if we're gonna do the Italian thing here, I'm also fond of sognatore... Or adagio... An old friend of mine once coined the word Mephistophelina as that little thing that makes you want to scream "%#@!" aloud in church, be just a little naughty when you're called upon to be nice, and think of only silly things during a very, very serious conversation. Yeah, mephistophelina is definitely my word, too.

While we're thinking about thinking, I read O magazine the other day. (Sounds like a confession, which it partly is. While I am oftentimes frightened by the mighty Oprah's audience and their vim and vigor, let there be no doubt, I do thoroughly enjoy her magazine. Perhaps no Mephistophelina exists as Editor, but optimism definitely prevails. There's a great message in that magazine.) There was an article this past month about finding one's true calling. Now, if I were a sprightly little thing, I'd jump off of my couch right now and go and grab the issue from my bedroom to fact-check, etc. But, and that's a big butt, it's 11pm and I have seven extra pounds weighing me down. Ahem.

According to O, if you close your eyes and think back to all of the times you've been thoroughly joyful, you can find a window through which you can see your one true calling. Sounds easy at first, but it's really not, for me. And it's not that I haven't experienced joy. But it's tough for me to tie the two together into one, cohesive calling, per se. I am joy-filled when I am with AJ and Lila. But that's got nothing to do with a professional career. I experience the greatest joy when it's afternoon in winter and I'm alone on a beach in New England, but I honestly doubt there's a job on Monster.com for that. I was on a sailboat this one time, in this one particular harbour, and closed my eyes to breathe in the salt and wind, and I experienced such great joy. But I can't sail and I don't own a boat.

I know I'm not going about the O experience correctly. I should be thinking about an action that I was 100% involved in and that I found great joy in. OK: I love brainstorming about ads. I love choosing photographs for creative work. I do find joy in creating things. And in writing... It's a start.

So. I guess I've been thinking a bunch. About a lot of really important things. But I also allow my mind to go for stretches with no thought but that of my Id, which whispers to me "happy" every time Lila gives me a big flopsy hug. My Ego still sighs with relief when AJ tells me, "Mama, you're beautiful." (Superego can go suck it.) And joy, joy, joy!!! when we can all be up in New England for Christmas. Perhaps I'll walk on a snowy Connecticut beach in the afternoons... Maybe the adagio of the choir will drown out Mephistophelina's giggles during Christmas Eve church service. We'll most definitely be spending New Year's Eve with a bunch of sailors... There will be joy.

Ahh, so maybe I'll keep the joy I already have, and then just find some more...

The question isn't who is going to let me; it's who is going to stop me. ~ Ayn Rand, "The Fountainhead"

h a p p y w e e k e n d !

Thank You.

2010-11-27T19:36:00.000-08:00

You say grace before meals. All right. But I say grace before the concert and the opera, and grace before the play and pantomime, and grace before I open a book, and grace before sketching, painting, swimming, fencing, boxing, walking, playing, dancing and grace before I dip the pen in the ink. ~ G.K. Chesterton

Thanksgiving's an odd bird, in my book. And my book ain't a cookbook. (Not this year, anyways, thanks to the glory that is Whole Foods' ready-set-meal.) It's a day to show "thanks," which is, in and of itself, quite lovely. But it's also, oftentimes (most times, if you talk to pretty much anyone I know and/or read about. In non-fiction books.), fraught and intermingled with pressure, family strife, timetables, quarrels, exhaustion, overwhelming...ness, and exasperation. I could be projecting here.

My own personal Thanksgiving was a healthy mix of: advertising deadlines; flu shots gone awry; an apparently ultra-unrealistically-optimistic view of my son's potty training abilities; pissed off clients; horrific correspondence tendencies on my part (Sh*t!); unfortunately successful procrastination eventualities; disorganization; bad timing; the perpetual lack of time for such things as showering and, well, cognition; and the internal strife of what kicks more ass - a homecooked meal or Whole Foods-as-personal-chef.

Simplicity won, I'll have you know. I backed down and allowed the "inner Jen" take the reins. I took a breath, I let go, and I let the laundry piles/magazines/shopping bags/toys/extraneous BS hang out in our bedroom with a door that shuts quite nicely. Man, our living room sparkled this past week... Not sure if I impressed anyone with my epicurean and decor-inspired grandeur, or lack, thereof, but my blood pressure was lower than 100, so... that's something.

I've been in a quandary these past few years about what to believe (religiously), what's out there, and who to thank. I am finding that I do know. I know who and what to belive in. I believe in love. I know beauty is everywhere. And I am thankful for so, so many things.....

If I had a camera at every time I was thankful, I would include here pictures of.......

my parents holding hands, all the time
the fresh flowers Nana would always set upon her beautifully sun-kissed dining room table
the silly knick-knacks Pop adorned every single door frame of their wonderfully cozy Quincy house with...
Grammy's cute perfume in her entirely pink bathroom...
Grampy's garden
all of my family, every generation, in the same room, laughing...
the very first second I met my dear, dear friends
the moment Ang opened the car door for me on our very first date
the moment I first held my beautiful niece and nephew
the second I first glanced at the monkeys
my first everything.

I don't have pictures for those moments, but I'm grateful for them. I hold them close to my heart...
I may not be eloquent, nor am I freshly showered; I don't have a lot of money and I don't have material things to give; I've got issues when it comes to politics and I am quite a messy litle thing; but I am so, so very thankful...

xoxox