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Ice, Ice Baby

jennifer — Fri, 26 Feb 2010 16:30:26 +0000

So this past weekend I put on ice skates for the first time since I was about 10. And even back then I tried skating only once, maybe twice. After I saw my classmate Ian Baxter slice the top of his foot with the blade while taking his skates off, requiring stitches, well, that was that. I stuck to roller skating. No sharp edges. And they had a disco ball at the rink.

But, now, some 25 years and 2 kids later, it turns out I’m forced to face every sport and physical activity I’ve ever loved, feared or hated all over again. Case in point – last month we signed the kids up for ice skating lessons, thinking it would be a great way to pass the time during the dreaded winter months. And much to my chagrin, my husband insisted we get all new shiny equipment for the kids. My daughter’s hand-me-down skates from a neighbor were apparently OK, but my son’s used black figure skates that I snagged from my favorite local consignment shop didn’t make the cut. My husband insisted it was because his young ankles needed more support that (of course) only a brand new (and totally tough and manly looking) pair of hockey skates could provide.

Whatever.

He also bought them the fancy hockey helmets with the metal gate over their faces. I have to say though, I love seeing my little girl in all that gear – her hot pink snow pants, lime green jacket with pink faux fur collar and white helmet with intimidating silver gate over her little face, big blue eyes peering out. And by the way, a rite of passage as a mother is having to reach into a hockey mask with one finger to wipe off tears of frustration. I wonder if Wayne Gretzky’s mother ever had to do that.

Anyhoo, except for one bad week when our over-tired son refused to set foot on the ice, they’ve loved it and have done quite well, which is especially heartwarming given the iceberg-sized price tag of the whole thing.

For weeks now I’ve been content to just hang out on the sidelines, chatting with the other parents and waving enthusiastically through the glass, giving the kids two thumbs up every time they fall on their butts and get right back up. And I’ve been perfectly happy to watch my husband shepherd them around the rink during the open skate portion of the class – wearing his brand new skates of course. But recently the kids asked me (prompted by my husband..thanks for that, babe) to join them on the ice. And I promised (begrudgingly) I would. So after our recent vacation week and a few days of watching Olympic figure skating, I decided I’d better try it…I’d better practice what I preach…”You just have to try it honey! It doesn’t matter that some of the other kids can skate faster, you’ll get better every week, you just need to try it, you might love it!” and other motivational blah-blah-blah.

This past Sunday, it was time, finally, for me to break the ice. Given the possible extra electrical activity going on my brain the past year, I wondered if I should wear a helmet. I decided not to – better to blend in as much as possible and just slowly make my way around the inner wall of the rink, undetected by the droves of other parents and kids. And it wasn’t like I was planning to speed skate or try a triple salchow (which fyi, was named after Swedish figure skater Ulrich Salchow but it’s still a weird name for such a graceful move).

So with some fake enthusiasm (why is the rink so dang crowded today of all days?!) I laced up my rented skates and made my way, oh so tentatively, onto the ice. The kids were excited to teach me “some moves.” I suddenly realized that this was quite a lovely parenting moment. What a great lesson in bravery, and fearlessness I was teaching my children! I made sure I told them I was nervous and I didn’t know how to skate. I laid it on as thick as a Zamboni driver before a Bruin’s game.

“What if I fall guys?! I’m a little nervous!,” I declared.
“Don’t worry Mommy, we’ll help you!”

I was smiling (partly because it wasn’t as hard as I thought and partly because heck, yeah, I’m a darn good mom today!) while I trailed my son as he showed me how to put one foot in front of the other. Then he demonstrated how to squat down, arms bent at the elbows, tucked in tight, as if I were skiing downhill.

“What is this move for?” I asked (other than the obvious and immediate glute workout).
“I dunno,” he said, “It’s just cool.” Hmmm. OK. I played along.
Then his classmate Zoe skated by.
“Mom! Look! Zoe’s here!” And ZOOM, he was gone…my private lesson abruptly ended by a cute 7-year old brunette. A vision of things yet to come I suppose.

But I went on my merry, cautious way, and by the end of the hour, I had enough confidence to move far away from the wall. My husband complimented me on my form. I was even able to spin around in a little ice dance with my daughter, holding her hands and twirling in a circle. And except for one near run-in with a fearless toddler clutching a double stacked crate, I didn’t fall. Not once.

So mission accomplished.
Ice skating badge earned.
A few extra calories burned (oui, my glutes).
Kids and husband impressed.
Not a bad way to spend a Sunday afternoon.
And of course now I want my own shiny new skates…now that I’ve earned them.

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It’s Different Down Here

jennifer — Fri, 19 Feb 2010 13:20:10 +0000

So here I am, sitting on my parent’s couch in their cozy ranch house just outside of Austin, watching some of the Winter Olympics, and trying not to think about leaving and going back to reality tomorrow.

Our trips to TX to the “Glorious and Relaxing Land of Grammy and Bah” are always, well, glorious and relaxing. This year we opted to come out for school vacation week in February and it was a very good decision. No snow. No ice. No gloves, mittens, hats or puffy coats. No schedules, no homework, just an escape.

Not only do I cherish the time with family, but since my folks moved out to TX over a decade ago, we’ve learned to really love it here. The weather is warmer, the grass is greener and so much about it is just..different. The hill country, the foliage, the ranches, the architecture, the food..the whole vibe. And although I am geographically a Yankee now, I can still 1) pick out a southern accent in a crowd like a dog can hear a dog whistle and 2) make a mean banana pudding.

But being down here for a week is just freeing. And not in the way that a tropical resort with a swim-up bar used to be freeing. But it’s a lazy, relaxed, no agenda kind of a feeling. A drink-coffee-over-the-local-paper-and-unplug-and-nap-and-go-through-boxes-of-old-photos-and-watch-your-kids-cuddling-in-an-arm-chair-with-your-dad feeling. I love that every day of our visit here there’s something that reminds me that, well, we’re not in Yankeeland anymore. For instance…

1. When you go garage sale hopping with your mom in nearby neighborhoods, you could just as easily purchase a Gap sweater with the tags still on it for $3 as you could a hunting rifle.

2. When you go to a local diner for breakfast, you can’t get eggs benedict but you can get grits…and the barstools up at the counter are all occupied with men wearing big cowboy hats and boots.

3. Everywhere you go they call you “ma’am” and “sir” and in the grocery store they will ask you if you need help taking your groceries out to the car even though it’s not 1950 and you aren’t elderly.

4. Try to get a cappuccino at the Sonic drive thru (Dunkin Donuts just ain’t around these parts) and they’ll tell you “Ma’am we only sell iced coffee.” Because when you think about it, why would Texans want hot lattes when it can be over 100 degrees for a good chunk of the year?!

5. Throw a stone and you can find a great barbecue joint.

6. They wear flip-flops all year.

7. When you go to a Queen tribute concert in downtown Austin, there are cowboys there too.

8. You can sit back on a bench at a playground on a Tuesday afternoon in February and just feel the sun on your face and let the kids run around so much they actually get sweaty.

9. Even with all those big cars and big ol’ trucks on the highway, they just don’t feel the need to honk as much.

10. When you see the color burnt orange, it’s usually a t-shirt, flag or bumper sticker for the UT Longhorns. These folks really, really like their football.

Sigh.

I’m just not ready to go home tomorrow. But I always feel that way when it’s time to leave. I’m not ready to leave Grammy and Bah or their cozy ranch house or these blue skies.

But I suppose that makes me lucky. Give me a week deep in the heart of Texas and I just might be able to make it through that dang Yankee winter…with a help of a few hot cappuccinos.

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One Day at a Time

jennifer — Thu, 28 Jan 2010 02:57:14 +0000

My plan for today:
Get daughter off to preschool for the highly anticipated “Pajama Day” where they wear pj’s to school, bring a sleeping bag, pillow, stuffed animal and get pancakes for snack.

Take son to dentist at 10am then, as our usual deal, award him with a little something from the toy store across the street as a show of support for his bravery against the “picky thing.”

Take him to school before lunch.

Rush off to meet two lovely former coworkers for a long overdue lunch date.

Rush back for school pickups.

Greet sitter at 4pm and escape to home office cave for some much needed work time.

Veg after the kids go to bed.

What actually happened today:
Daughter has the sniffles, up during the night with a scratchy throat. Keep her home from school just in case due to circulation of strep around town.
Sad girl in pink pajamas. Tears, tear, tears. Promises of pancakes for lunch.

Cancel dentist appointment. Reschedule for next week.
Whining, fussing 1st grader due to no trip to toy store post-dentist.

Cancel lunch plans. So bummed.

Cancel sitter. Oh so bummed.

Get reluctant grumpy 1st grader ready for school after spending 15 minutes rearranging/canceling/rescheduling day.

Get ready to walk out the door and find handwritten crayon note by garage door written by 1st grader that is both adorable and irritating, “I am not going to school today and dote evein thik that I am going to school and this is troow (true).” Lecture 1str grader on the importance of positive attitude and flexibility.

Go to school. Call school office on the way out of the parking lot after drop off to let them know he would not be late for school today as planned (just in case he decided to detour from front entrance and instead of going to his classroom sulk in the hallway or bathroom I wanted them to know he was actually in the building). Front office now thinks i’m a nutso mom.

Drag sad preschooler to grocery store.
Sit in the parking lot and fight back tears due to the frustation level of the entire morning and the things I will not get done today.

Rent 2 movies from the red box thing. A wierd Christmas dog movie and G-Force.

Buy a People magazine for myself.

Get a cappuccino at the DD drive through.

Call my parents.

Hang out and clean kitchen while wierd dog movie is on.

Make my sad girl pancakes for lunch.

Get in 15 minutes of work/to-do list stuff.

Read People mag and wonder why, as lovely as she is, Jennifer Aniston is on the cover and Haiti is the secondary story.

Pick up 1st grader. Discuss his displeasure over a playground recess boys kung fu game gone wrong.

Watch (snooze-watched) G-force.

Make dinner.

Do some penquin unit homework with 1st grader.

Greet husband.

Escape to my office cave, do stuff for an hour, and then write this post while listening to husband playing Wii rockband in the next room.

Finish post without much editing because I’m tired.

Google lyrics to “One Day at a Time” TV show to end this post with:

“This is it; this is it. / This is life, the one you get, / so go and have a ball! / This is it; this is it, / straight ahead, and rest assured, / you can’t be sure at all. / So, while you’re here, enjoy the view; / keep on doing what you do. / Hold on tight; we’ll muddle through, / one day at a time, one day at a time! / So, up on your feet; up on your feet; / somewhere there’s music playing. / Don’t you worry none, / just take it like it comes, / one day at a time, one day at a time, / one day at a time, one day at a time, / one day at a time, one day at a time, / one day at a time…”

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Say Anything

jennifer — Fri, 22 Jan 2010 02:32:08 +0000

Last Friday morning my husband and the kids dropped me off at the Amtrak station just outside of Boston. I kissed them goodbye, headed to the self check-in kiosk, grabbed a coffee, and boarded the 8:31am train that would take me south to a small town in PA to visit my dear pal “Pauline.” The 5-hour ride of solitude that bookends the weekend is always a treasured part of the trip.

Once I settled in, I did a little writing, flipped through a magazine, then just stared out the window taking in the view of passing towns. Somewhere around Connecticut, a couple in about their mid-50’s boarded the train and took the seats behind me. It was obvious from the get-go that the wife was tightly wound, and that she was not the friendliest person on the planet. She immediately got on her cell phone, planning some sort of rehearsal for an upcoming music performance.

Her husband walked by with a big violin case, looking for a place to store it on the crowded luggage racks. She continued to bark orders about who needed to be where for rehearsals and who would meet them at Penn Station in New York. It was then that I made a mental note to sit in the quiet car on the trip back.

Ugh.

I escaped to my iPod and stared out the window. After a while I got hungry, ditched the iPod and pulled out my homemade sandwich. It was nearly noon as we drew close to New York. Behind me the unpleasant rants continued…

“We’ll be there in 10 minutes! Make sure our bags are all in the right place!” She barked to her husband. “Where is your briefcase?!” I couldn’t make out his mumbled responses. “I can’t believe you can’t find it!!”

Geez. This woman just doesn’t stop.

Then the man stood up quickly, knocking my seat forward and he moved swiftly down the car. He turned and paced back toward his seat, “I can’t find my violin. Where is my violin?!” His brow was furrowed. He was visibly upset.

“What do you mean?!” she answered sharply. He quickly strode up and down the car again, his long coat fanning out as he did so, scanning the luggage rack, eyes frantic. And again she barked from behind me, “What do you mean?! You put it away right when we got on the train! Go get it!”

He just stood in the aisle. “I can’t find it! I just don’t know what’s going on! I can’t find it! I don’t know what’s happening!!”

I felt really bad for him. I wondered if I should offer to help him find it. My gut told me this was not just a normal case of misplaced luggage on a crowded train. Something was wrong. This poor man was really confused. I guessed that maybe he was in the throes of some early dementia, or early stage Alzheimer’s disease.

He must have found the violin because he came back to his seat, knocking me forward again as he sat down abruptly.

She spat out, “Why couldn’t you find your violin! You are scaring me! This is ridiculous! We’ll have to get this checked out! What is going on with you?!” She kept at him for several more minutes. I sat in my seat. I started to fume. I felt so sorry for him as she yelled as if he were a child having a tantrum. It was awful to listen to. What a total witch this woman was.

I knew we were getting close to their stop now…maybe I should say something to her. Defend this confused man with the violin. And what if he does have Alzheimer’s and this woman would be the one caring for him?! How horrible will she treat him down the road?!

Yes. I decided I needed to say something – put her in her place. But what? And do I just turn around and ream her out in front of him? My mind raced. At least if it went sour they’d be getting off the train soon. My heart pounded in my chest as I tried to sort out what to do. I thought about my grandfather and his battle with Alzheimer’s and how awful it was to see him slip away from himself and from us. This woman behind me, no matter how mean she was, was also scared – but she was taking it out on him. And she certainly wasn’t shy about it.

As the train drew closer still to New York, I could see the skyline. This is the city where I started out right after college as a naïve, small town girl. A total fish out of water. I thought about a boss who told me I was too quiet. I had been so intimidated working at a big ad agency with big ticket clients. “I know you have things to contribute,” she’d advised, “But you’re too quiet. You need to speak up in those meetings. Show them you’re thinking. It doesn’t have to be the perfect thing, just say SOMETHING.”

I sat tensely in my seat, arms folded tightly across my chest and my moral dilemma. I only had a little time before they got off this train forever.

I saw her husband walking down the car again. He must have gone to the café car. He had a bag of potato chips in his hand.

“What are you doing with those chips?” She demanded. “You don’t need those! You aren’t putting those in your bag! No way! What are you thinking? What is going on with you? Why did you get those?”

Oh I couldn’t take this woman anymore.

My anger was now throbbing in my ears. The husband got up yet again and headed past me to the far end of the car. Maybe he was throwing out the chips.

Now was my chance.

I stood straight up, turned around and leaned forward, hands on the top of my seat, knee resting on my own seat to brace myself. I was now face to face with her. And I had NO IDEA what I was going to say.

“Excuse me,” I said in a pleasant voice. My eyes locked on her as she sat in her seat.

“Yes?” She said, looking up from her Blackberry. She had black curly hair and she was well put together…nice makeup, nice coat, professional.

“Is that your husband?” I asked in a pleasant, even tone.

She nodded.” Yes.” Her face was questioning, open.

“Well,” I said, as my jaw tensed, and my eyes narrowed, “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with your husband for the last half hour and how you’ve been completely berating him.”

A look of complete surprise flashed across her face and then she quickly lowered her eyes to her phone. She was gripping it tightly with both hands. Out of the corner of my eye I could see that everyone within earshot was looking at me. I stayed focused on her.

“I probably have no business saying something to you…,” I started, but she cut me off – “Well,” she spat, nervously shaking her head back and forth, eyes still down, “You should just turn arou—.” I shook my head no. ”But, I will.” I said defiantly.

I honestly can’t remember exactly what I said next because the adrenaline was pumping so hard but here’s what I think I said…“Your husband is obviously going through something and he’s scared and the way you are treating him is completely unacceptable.”

She just shook her head, her curls shaking against her face, her lips pursed tight.

“After hearing you berate him, I can tell you that as scared and frustrated as you might be, he is a lot more scared than you are.”

And then I let it all hang out.

“I’ve been a volunteer for the Alzheimer’s Association for the last 8 years. And I KNOW that he is scared and confused and you are making it so much worse. He needs you to help him, not yell at him! Just think about that!”

And with that, I whipped my head around and slid back down in my seat and froze.

Oh. My. God. What did I just do?!?!

All at once I felt triumphant, brave, sad, shocked at myself and embarrassed.

What the heck did I just say? I don’t even know! Did all those other people on the train hear me? Would she come back at me with a tirade of her own? I sat like a statue in my seat, staring straight ahead, cheeks flushed. Waiting. There was silence behind me.

Just moments later her husband came back to his seat. In hushed tones she started speaking to him. And she was being much, much nicer to him already, perhaps out of fear of what the crazy lady in front of her would do next. After what seemed like forever, but was just minutes, we pulled into Penn Station. As they exited the car the woman went to great lengths not to make eye contact with me.

“Hmmpf,” I thought. She’d better keep walking. My heart rate was finally coming down.

I watched through the window as the couple rode up the escalator from the platform, the man with his violin by his side, oblivious to the whole confrontation.

Phew. They are gone.

I was relieved to realize the car was nearly empty now except for the woman next to me wearing earphones the whole time. I slid down further in my seat and tried to relax. Then I felt a big wave of sadness. I hoped that my unrehearsed, inappropriate and very public, yet passionate intervention may help that man in some way. Maybe his wife would take what I said to heart, even just a little tiny bit. Or maybe she would just write me off as a nosy stranger. Or maybe uttering the word “Alzheimer’s” had completely freaked her out and now I had made the whole thing worse. I guess I’ll never know.

I do feel proud of what I did in some ways, for standing up for someone who needed it. But then again, who do I think I am, getting in the face of total stranger like that? What if she had just hauled off and punched me? But I just knew it was one of those moments that I would regret forever if I had just sat there, doing or saying nothing. I’m also guessing that not many people stand up to this woman – first and foremost her husband – so maybe that was part of the appeal, and perhaps my speech was completely self-serving. Maybe I used it as a way to get back at every mean person or bully I never had the guts to stand up to. Maybe that naïve, intimidated advertising assistant within me just wanted to prove she was long gone.

I do believe, though, that a higher power must have put me in Row 7 and that couple to Row 8 in that car, on that particular train, on that particular day for a reason.

I hope that man gets some answers and gets the help he needs. And I hope that his wife will show him some compassion. I hope he continues to play the violin for a very long time.

I don’t know how to play any musical instruments. I’ve never had much of an aptitude for it. But the man with the violin taught me that I do, apparently, have a voice.

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Life is a Highway

jennifer — Sat, 02 Jan 2010 22:52:30 +0000

So it’s 2010. Wow.

It honestly didn’t dawn on me that we’re entering a whole new decade until recently. I was in line at Stop & Shop a couple of weeks ago and the cover of Time magazine blared from the rack, “The Decade From Hell: And Why the Next One Will Be Better”.

Geez…that’s a lovely sentiment. Was it really that bad?! When I look back on what’s happened since the clock struck twelve in 1999, yes, a lot of awful stuff has happened, particularly from the perspective of Time magazine. But wow, 10 years have passed?

On New Year’s 1999 Michael and I spent a very fun night with close friends. We all partied and drank way too much champagne and danced in the living room to J. Lo’s “Waiting for Tonight.” We had no kids and were just happy to be off from work for the holidays and hoped that Y2K wouldn’t cause some disaster that sucked all of the cash out of our bank accounts. We were working hard at our jobs, focused on the corporate ladder, saving for a house, intimidated by 401K’s and loving planning a big tropical vacation to celebrate our upcoming 30th birthdays. It was a work hard, play hard scenario.

And life was full.

And then shortly into the decade my mom was diagnosed with cancer, had surgery, and received a clean bill of health (and still does after almost 9 years). And then that next September I was sitting at my desk at work one morning and my sister-in-law called me to tell me that a plane had just crashed in New York. My company’s biggest client was an airline. Within a few minutes the surreal 9/11 nightmare was underway. We watched on a conference room TV as the twin towers came down. Towers that I’d stood on the top of as a giddy teenaged tourist, taking pictures with my little disk camera. And it changed a lot of things forever. As the weeks passed it made me think about a lot of things. Like maybe it wasn’t worth being in a job I really hated so I could get promoted into a job I knew I would like even less. And maybe starting a family was something we shouldn’t wait to do anymore. Maybe now was the perfect time.

And so we did.

We bought a tiny house we loved and we had our son in 2003. Mom and Dad came to visit when he was born. On the day they left to go back home, I remember holding the baby, and watching out the window, balling my eyes out as they drove away. But we immersed ourselves in our new life phase. I struggled with the shift from corporate raider to stay-at-home mom and all the emotions and self definitions and role changes that go with it. But at the same time I loved sitting on the screen porch rocking my baby to sleep, watching the cars go by and napping with him in the middle of the day.

Then we bought a bigger house in 2004.
We had another baby.
We traded in our SUV for a minivan.
Michael continued to work harder and for a few years it felt like we were passing ships in the night, each consumed with our day jobs and long hours.
And our pre-kid friendships ebbed and flowed as we entered the parenting life stage.
We spent less time in the city and more in the burbs.
And I flew to Texas as much as I could with the kids to see “Grammy and Bah” and get a little relief during the long winters.
And the Red Sox broke the curse.
Michael got promoted.
I fretted over post-baby weight that just wouldn’t go away.

Then one night in 2007 I slept on a cot in the hospital next to “Auntie J’s” bed knowing she would be gone soon. And when my sister-in-law came back the next morning to resume her post at her bedside, she sang to her and held her hand and told her it was OK to go, and Auntie J passed away. Two weeks later on a rainy day her brother also died. And it was really hard to lose them both, so close together. That whole year was just really hard. Everything was out of balance. I was anxious, frustrated, burnt out on the demands of two small children, and a little lost. And then I did some soul searching, listened to advice from people I trusted and finally made some conscious choices to try and turn things around. I got a sitter and started working and writing just a little bit and carved out some time for myself.

And it started to get better.

We gave away our crib and redecorated our little girl’s room with beautiful antique furniture that Auntie J left us.
Then our little boy was suddenly in elementary school and our baby girl was in preschool and a social butterfly.
And we upgraded our digital camera.
And we took the kids to Disney.
And last year Michael fought to keep his head above water at work where a tanking economy added more pressure and more stress.
We started going to church on Sundays and hoped that would help us find balance.
But I was burning the midnight oil thinking I could be Wonder Woman and accomplish all my various work and volunteer and motherhood endeavors.
Then one warm May night I woke up in that ambulance.

And again, things changed.

We regrouped, reassessed and realized yet again, that “life is what happens when you are busy making other plans.” And we decided to dial it all down.
After this Thanksgiving, we bought Christmas wreaths and meticulously hung them along our new fence. We wonder if we’ll stay in this house and add on or if we’ll get a bigger one.

And just last week, Mom and Dad came to visit for Christmas. Dad and I snuck out for breakfast, something we try to do every visit. But this the time, the topics were heavier than usual…and it was hard. And I realized that conversations over coffee and omelets aren’t always meant to be fun and light. Sometimes you have to grow up, face your fears, your mistakes, and tackle the tougher stuff – because that’s just the way it is if you want to live your life.

And that, in a nutshell is the last 10 years. At least for me.

I have no resolutions for the upcoming year or the next decade for that matter. But I have a plan (insert deep breath here). I want to try, as much as possible, to live without fear… fear of getting older, of my kids growing up too fast – fear of what or who I’ll lose, or who will get sick, or what will change, of what I can’t control or that the choices I make will be the wrong ones. If I’ve learned anything in the last year, in the last decade, is that you may think you have a plan, but the universe does not have a copy of it on file.

So on Christmas Day (ironically) my 6+month medical driving hiatus was finally over. It felt wonderful, and a bit surreal to be behind the wheel again. I had all these grandiose ideas of how to celebrate, including painting cool red flames on the back window of the car, but in the end I just celebrated pretty quietly with a few laps around the neighborhood. I took a few minutes to enjoy the freedom and reflect on my life as a pedestrian over the last few months. I learned a lot and I wouldn’t take it back even if I had the chance. At least I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t.

But that’s enough of that.

Now that I’ve checked the rear view mirror, it’s time to focus on the road of 2010. I’ve got A LOT of driving to do.
But no map (and no GPS thank you very much).
Just a lot of important lessons learned along the way, a really awesome pit crew, and God willing…

No fear.

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Elf on the Shelf

jennifer — Thu, 10 Dec 2009 03:36:16 +0000

My Christmas spirit took a bit of a nosedive yesterday.

I blame it on the pile of Christmas cards sitting there staring at me all blank and unaddressed, the tower of unsorted recycling that’s higher than my 1st grader, and the battle of the boots/coats/hats/gloves that took place before our whine-filled trek across the street to get the bus. And then hours later my husband emails me that we should get this “Elf on the Shelf” thing. I’ve heard some buzz about the good behavior-inducing little man and the storybook that accompanies it. It sounds like a very whimsical and clever (and uh, lucrative) story that was dreamed up by an adorable mother-daughter team from Georgia. I know this because I had to Google “Elf on the Shelf”. Is it just me, or is the elf on their website a dead ringer for Clay Aiken?!?!

Anyhoo, here’s the thing…I appreciate that “Elf on the Shelf” is a very smart and sweet way of reminding children to behave themselves (and to not complain every single day that their winter coat is too puffy) but I don’t personally love the idea that the elf magically moves around the house each night. Apparently, each evening he reports back to the boss man at North Pole H.Q. on the behavior observed in his assigned household. Then, he comes back and appears somewhere else within the assigned household by the next morning. Now that’s a WHOLE LOTTA business to add to a parent’s holiday mental to-do list, right? To ensure that the elf gets back to his new spot by morning? I can’t even remember where I put the three rolls of scotch tape I just bought, let alone remember to let the elf in.

So, again, while the elf thing is charming, I also have concerns that the elf would report back some of my wrong-doings by mistake and my chances of getting a shiny new laptop under the tree will be blown to bits faster than you can say “Red Ryder BB Gun”. What if, by some crazy unusual circumstance I were to, say, raise my voice or accidentally throw away or vacuum up a few pieces of those blasted Polly Pocket accessories when a certain little blondie wasn’t looking (she doesn’t play with them anymore anyway so I’m not a total Scrooge), or leave the laundry unfolded for say 1 or 2…or O.K., 4 days?!

So here’s what I’m thinking – what if they rolled out some other elves that could be equally as diligent in their efforts to spread Christmas cheer? I happen to have a few suggestions:

Self Help Elf – He (or she) can read my mind, act as my duplicated self and can help me get everything done in the next 2+ weeks, like baking and decorating cookies, addressing and sending those dang holiday cards, videotaping my daughter’s preschool Christmas pageant and perhaps lending a hand in the kitchen by working the blender on Christmas Eve for the debut of my Mistletoe Margaritas. Can you say Top Shelf Elf?!

Wealth Elf – I need this green guy for the next couple of months. I would like his abilities to include waiving credit card finance charges, therefore offering shoppers the chance to have time to pay off Christmas shopping debt, without guilt or penalty, by St. Patrick’s Day. And then at which time he could go ahead and transform into Irish Elf. Not sure what his duties would be at that point, but he’s green, so that’s festive.

Stealth Elf – Now this little nugget I could have used yesterday from about 8:20am – 8:34am to very, very quickly tell me where I put my son’s library books, check my unplucked eyebrows before I went out among the general public, sort the recycling, and then fly downstairs and tell me why the heck my dryer smells like burnt popcorn.

Health Elf – Stave off any family colds/flu/virus/stomach bugs until at least after New Year’s.

Come to think of it, I might have to go for the elf combo pack.

Go to HeyGirlMommaGo.com for today’s “Hand-Picked” updates…

Hindsight is Always 20/20

jennifer — Tue, 01 Dec 2009 19:21:13 +0000

So, on Saturday night, I attended my husband’s 20th high school reunion – and it was very fun. I knew I’d have a good time though. Seeing as how I’ve now been with my husband for 16 years, I’ve also known his group of high school friends and many of their significant others for just as long, so we have quite a history of our own.

As I guzzled my “club soda on the rocks” throughout the evening (amidst a crowd that was drinking much heavier stuff, and I don’t blame them), I “helicoptered” just close enough that my husband could find me if he needed to introduce me to someone, but far enough that he could swap stories and updates without a spousal audience. I also tried not to think too much about my own 20th that was happening on the same night, at that same time, several hundred miles away, in a little inn in Pennsylvania, without me. For many reasons, primarily logistical, I decided that it was just too hard to get my own reunion. But late last week, regret seeped in big time.

You only get a 20th once in your life, right? And it’s not like me to miss such a big milestone event, seeing as how I’m a sap for such things.
Would I regret this decision for years to come?
Would my karma be off forever if I didn’t go back and reconnect with my fellow Blue Demons?
Would I be missing some great confession of a secret crush (doubtful), or revelation from a classmate that I had the best herkie jump they’d ever seen at halftime (even less probable), or the chance to thank that sweet friend that spent countless hours working on crazy book report projects with me? (Thanks Alice.)

But alas, even though I even went online and peeked at the train schedule to P.A., I decided it was just too late and too expensive, and well…I’ll just have to hold out hope for a 25th.

So there I was on Saturday night, in a very crowded and hot bar in downtown Boston, with no nametag, no official role, the most flattering outfit I could find in my closet (it’s not like I didn’t try for something new at the mall, but the pressure was too much I suppose), and the freedom to roam the room and eat free fried calamari without much of a threat of being tagged in photos on Facebook or be scrutinized for how I’d aged. People were hugging, snapping photos, swapping pictures, sharing stories and “what are you doing now?” updates. My husband and his friends were having a ball. The energy in the room was intense. It was a loud, nervous energy… exactly what you would expect from 150+ people who hadn’t been collected in one place in a very, very long time.

As I wandered from friend to friend to get updates and tidbits of who’s who, I could piece together a bit of the class dynamics from my own observations and pieces of stories I’ve heard over the years, laced with introductions throughout the evening. I really liked living in my husband’s yearbook for a few hours. It was fun to see him having so much fun. I met his best friend from elementary school. His first kiss (she blushed when he introduced her as such). His prom date from senior year (gorgeous). And as an outsider it was actually easy to see the parallels to the people I graduated with. I could tell who was the prom queen, the posse of guy athletes, the quiet kids, the sweetheart, the comedian. And I could also sense that the pre-determined social structure of cliques and cool tables in the cafeteria had kind of leveled out there in that bar… due, one would imagine, to life experience gained through 20 years spent outside the brick walls of a high school.

And I was glad to realize that I was really having fun simply being “Michael’s wife”. He’s the kind of guy that got along with everyone in high school, and it was obvious as I watched him work the room. He’s even the kind of guy that inspires people to come up to his wife and tell her how lucky she is. Not that I didn’t already know that.

I also realized that no matter where you went to high school, we all went through the same grueling process that is, well, high school. And although I had my share of good times, boy am I glad to be on the other side of it all. The labels we were given by our peers back then (even if they were good ones), and the stories we are remembered for stay with us even after 20 years (much like that bad asymmetrical haircut you bravely tested in the 9th grade) but they definitely don’t have to define us now. It was a very “John Hughes-Breakfast-Club-Anthony Michael Hall” type revelation. And I guess that’s what I really felt like I was missing by skipping my own reunion… the chance to strip away those pre-determined labels and just re-connect with the people that I grew up with.

Anyhoo, at least I got a lot more out of not going to my own reunion than I ever thought I would. On the ride home my husband thanked me for being there and for being such a great wingman. And I was proud and happy that I did that for him.

It’s very good to be “Michael’s wife”, and it’s fun to be from the class of 1989… no matter where I actually celebrated it.

Go to HeyGirlMommaGo.com for today’s “Hand-Picked” updates…

Talkin’ Turkey

jennifer — Tue, 24 Nov 2009 02:46:52 +0000

Wow, so this is weird…

I was reading some of my older posts this afternoon and realized exactly two years ago today I started this blog. I can’t believe it’s been two years.

Well, that’s not entirely true.

In some ways it feels like I’ve been sharing my daily trials, tribulations, parenting quandaries, fashion accessory addictions, entertainment observations and life experiences for a long time. Maybe that just comes with the territory though when you regularly start sitting down and spewing your inner-most ridiculousness with the general public…Time flies in a weird well-documented sort of way.

Anyhoo, it’s all out there, my heart on my proverbial internet sleeve as I get closer to nearly one hundred posts, each pondering different aspects of “Girlhood. Lifehood. Momhood.” And this week, I’ve been thinking a lot about what’s changed and what I have to be grateful for (thank you “Dee” for starting that whole thing on Facebook).

So guess what shoppers, here’s just a smattering of my gratefulness…

I’m grateful for our preschool teacher who stopped by to drop off the paper turkey and matching hand-decorated placemat my daughter didn’t get at school today because she was sick and missed the little Thanksgiving celebration.

I’m grateful for every day that my son gets off that school bus with his big blue backpack and gives me a hug.

I’m grateful that my friend survived breast cancer and that we went to her 40th birthday party last week.

I’m grateful for Netflix and Revlon lip gloss (in both peach and pink) and Kashi chocolate oatmeal cookies.

I’m grateful that we go to church almost every Sunday now, and for the girl who sits a few rows in front of us and dances, without inhibition, to the “Hallelujah” hymn every week.

I’m grateful for the “Gap Friends and Family” 30% off coupon.

I’m grateful for my babysitter “Jamie” for being awesome and baking cupcakes with the kids and introducing me to the country crooner Miranda Lambert.

I’m grateful for my yoga, body jam and kickboxing instructors because they kick my butt every week.

I’m grateful for my husband’s patience.

I’m grateful that I’m older. Because I’m wiser and happier and bolder than I used to be (could do without the expensive hair color to cover the gray though).

I’m thankful for T.J .Maxx and the Marshall’s shoe section, and consignment shops.

I’m grateful and thankful that I got up the nerve to start writing.

I’m grateful for the Macy’s Day Parade that we’ll watch on Thanksgiving morning and that we’ll spend the rest of the day with family.

I’m grateful that my mom and dad are enjoying some time in Florida with my 89-year old grandmother who got annoyed today because so many people at the doctor’s office complimented her on how great her she looks and how great her health is.

I’m grateful for George Bailey.

I’m grateful for every good friend, good song, good movie, good cry, good belly laugh, and every cool Lego robot my son builds and every beautiful, big smiley face my daughter draws with her gorgeous little hands, and even for the times they drive me so crazy I can’t wait to leave the house or get them off to school and enjoy a little solitude.

I’m grateful I’m not rich or famous (seriously).

I’m grateful I ordered our Christmas cards today (uh-huh, yes I did).

I’m grateful for good test results, good doctors and the many, many people who have driven me and my children all over creation for the past 6 months.

And I’m grateful that you are reading this.

And that some of you have been tolerating this “Hey Girl” for a while now. And every now and then, some of you stop me in the aisle at the grocery store, or email me, or introduce yourselves just before a meeting and tell me how much something I wrote touched you, or made you laugh or made you cry or made you rethink something in your own life.

I don’t think you’ll ever know what a tremendous gift you give me when you do that.

I’m forever grateful for you.
So thank you.

Have a happy, healthy, grateful, thankful turkey-and-pie-and-family-filled Thanksgiving.

Go to HeyGirlMommaGo.com for today’s “Hand-Picked” updates…