Thank you Trisha. Best gift ever. This wine glass really does hold an entire bottle. I’m drinking it as I type! XOXO
750 ML baby.
In California I had one coat. Ok, maybe two. A fleece zip-up, and a cute white raincoat. That’s it. A ton of sweaters, too, and maybe a puffy vest. But coats? There’s just no need for a closet full.
Now, here, in Massachusetts, I’m whoring myself out for coats. It used to be shoes. Forget Manolo Blahniks. Jimmy Choo? Nah. Who needs Jimmy when you’re clomping around in sub-degree weather? What gets me excited these days is the latest North Face style. I wish there were runway shows of trenches, windbreakers, puffier and puffiest, mid-length, angle-length and at the hip.
"My Mom's a coat whore."
I actually didn’t realize my addiction until a 2nd grade potluck at school. We are the only ‘walkers,’ and a mom said “Wow…you really have a LOT of coats, we’ve noticed.” Oh well, better North Face than Absolut. (Not that there’s anything wrong with a little martini every night, is there?)
We just went on a highly-anticipated beach vacation — and my sweet, tender 8 year-old little boy turned into a TWEEN. Literally overnight. And not the cute, funny, iCarly kind. It was a turn of events I had not anticipated, and yet here we were, my first-born and I, staring at each other in a hotel hallway standoff. “I will not let you into the room until you apologize and say you love me,” I instructed. “I’m not ready to say either one,” Sam grunted. Two days later, stunned at the silence between us, still on vacation, I teared up, wondering what just happened, and if it would stay this way. Where did my Sammy Sam, the one who, in the airport on the way here, shouted “Mom, you are the best person in the universe!” go?? The void felt huge and tragically sad.
It all started when we got to our hotel, and situated ourselves around the pool. Immediately Sam gravitated towards a small group of boys around his age. The four of them were instant pals, diving into the pool, sharing favorite Wii game strategies, rating Star Wars characters. Then, as I did the ‘casual but inside panicky’ glance around the pool area, I couldn’t see him or them.
Now, to give a bit of context, I’ve never been one of those “can’t see ‘em, I’m sure they’re fine” kind of moms. I wouldn’t say I’m an anxiety-ridden “shelter your kids at all costs” mom, either. I’m sure I’ll get there in time, but I’m just not ready to let my kids ride their bikes around the corner without me, or wander through the other side of Target. Or stay home for 20 minutes alone. The list of ‘what ifs’ just rolls through my head. What if they get lost? They don’t have cell phones. What if a pipe bursts in the basement, or they cut themselves with a knife they’re not supposed to be using? What if they choke on a carrot? Ok, maybe I need to chill a little. I just can’t help it. These are my babies, and they’re young (right?). Eight and six — that feels so little still.
I swat Paul’s arm, pluck the headphones out of his ears and announce that our son is lost. Can’t see him. It’s been 10 minutes now. He looks at me wide-eyed. I try my best to casually walk over to the other kids’ parents, who I see across the pool. “Hi, uh, I’m Sam’s mom….do you know where the boys went?” These parents look really cool, and nice, and have an older daughter, and clearly have it all together. “Oh! Huh…no, are they not here?” They don’t seem too concerned, and aren’t getting up. So I begin the hunt, walking towards the beach, over to the snack bar, still nothing. I finally, after a sizable increase in heart rate, find them huddled around the corner, behind the bathrooms, playing with an electric car one of the boys had gotten from his room. “SAM! What are you doing? You need to tell me if you’re going off somewhere! I was freaking out!” The other boys looked up at me, unfazed. Here’s where the crack in my mommy system — the one I thought was working really well — happened, before my very eyes. “Well I’m fine, and I want to keep playing. And can I have the key card, because I want to go up to the room MYSELF and get a Star Wars book to show these guys. And they built a really cool fort on the beach, and I want to go over there with them.”
What? It’s times like these that you just want the answer. You just want to KNOW what’s right. This is a family vacation. He had never wanted anything more than to hang out with us and his sister. Wasn’t this OUR time? Why NOW does he suddenly need his own space, without us? And aren’t I supposed to decide when and where that happens? But I just stood there. “Just come over to where we’re sitting and we can talk about it.” Sam rolled his eyes, slinked back to our chairs, and sat there, looking like someone had just stolen the 100 finished Lego sets from his room. That’s where our first memorable fight began, and we barely spoke that day.
Bam. Things were suddenly different. He craved, even needed, some sort of independence. He felt a glimpse of it — and he liked it. Is he ready for it? It’s such a tough struggle as a parent. Ultimately, we let him take the card key, go up through the building and elevator, up to the room, all by himself, and told him he had 5 minutes to come back. My stomach dropped as I watched him skip away. But then, Paul told me to really look at him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a blissful expression on his sweet freckled face. He probably ‘needed something’ from our room 15 times over the next few days. And each time, he proved to us and himself that he was ready to be alone, even for just five minutes.
Fast forward to last night — I was putting Sam to bed, and he said: “You know Mom, in the bathroom, I was just thinking. I don’t know what I’ll look like when I’m a teenager. I don’t know who my friends will be. I don’t know where I’ll go to college. I don’t know a lot of things. There are so many changes that will happen. But there’s something I know. There’s an invisible core, between you and me. It’s about love. And I know THAT will never change.”
My boy is back. At least for a little while.
It’s spring break over here at our house. This entire week, we’ve got no plans. No, literally– not a one. And we are like three little happy clams over here. In fact, it’s 10 a.m. right now, and we’re all three in our jammies. The only thing wrong with this picture? Nothing…if you remove the slight nagging guilt I feel at not DOING something ‘meaningful’ with my 6 and 8-year olds, like every day. In fact, my guilt got to me enough to take them to the Boston Science Museum yesterday. It was actually a great time — we laughed, we leaned back in our modern-day Lazyboys at the newly-built planetarium, we ate spaghetti and meatballs in the cafeteria. I even posted a picture on Facebook of them in front of dinosaur bones, proof positive that — SEE! — we are having awesome quality time together.
This morning, my wheels are already turning…what can we DO? And it has nothing to do with feeling overwhelmed or annoyed at having my kids home. At their ages, we all just hang out, read, watch a little tv (okay, or a lot depending on the mood). So what’s wrong with doing nothing? Nothing. You know what? I am going to make an effort today to just BE.
And not feel a bit bad about it.
This is all we're doing today. And maybe this week.
I’m done. I’ve had it. I’m totally sick and tired of making two — sometimes three — dinners every single night. For two children, myself and my husband. I will now rebel, and drink only wine for dinner from this point forward. ‘Cause you know what? If I don’t eat, you don’t eat. And wine is way tastier, anyway.
You know what sucks about dinner? It comes EVERY SINGLE NIGHT. It never ends. Just when you think you’ve got it covered — you’ve figured out that delicate balance between Annie’s mac ‘n cheese, marinated pork tenderloins, and grilled cheese (“umm, can I have, like the OTHER bread, ’cause this bread is weird. I don’t want this kind. And I don’t like this crust, ewww”) — you find yourself panicked at about 3 p.m. when you have ABSOLUTELY NO CLUE what to do. I mean, no bragging here, but I’m a pretty bright person. I went to a four-year liberal arts college. I even took French for like, 8 years. Not saying I can really speak it, but still. But dinner? Throws me right over the edge.
Here’s another thing I don’t want to hear from my other half, after I’ve patted myself on the back for trying a Barefoot Contessa chicken marsala recipe (which is waaaay beyond my comfort zone): “Oh! Babe, that’s…cool. The only thing is…I, uh…had a huge chicken sandwich for lunch. I mean, I’m totally up for chicken marsala…you have a cook book?” Seriously???
All the dinner I need.
Wanna be friends?
So this was the first Oscar night in our new town. I was ambivalent at first — do I even know enough women to invite? How far do I go? No one really knows me yet. I decided to just have a viewing. Simple. Lots of wine and champagne, a few appetizers. No betting pool, no spontaneous real-time dance numbers, just meet and greet. I sent out the Evite, and voila! I had 17 people RSVP. Score! I can do this. Fast-forward to yesterday, Oscar day. Usually when I’m putting together a cocktail party I’m skipping, I’m humming, I’m all about the fun energy. This day was different. I was lackluster. I had no sparkle. And then, I figured out why. I needed something extra for this party. It didn’t feel like ME. The only way to get to know new moms is to throw myself — no, hurl myself at them, balls out. So I decided in the frozen seafood section, to be…The Swan. I dashed back to the house, found a black tutu. That I actually own. Shocking, I know. I found my 6-year old daughter Emily’s Barbie make-up. And my friend Shauna dropped her daughter’s tiara off on the porch.
Once every last candle was lit, I slowly, methodically, got ready, like an old Oscar dame about to give her last performance. Hair pulled back. White foundation. Insanely black eye make-up, check. And the tiara. Now, the Black Swan experiment was about to begin.
I mean, how many friends does one really need? When you move to a new city at 41, you just want to connect with a few people who ‘get’ you, who you can hang out with, judgment free. So maybe being the Black Swan will act as a true litmus test.
The looks at the front door told the story. Three horrified (big scared eyes, shuffled past me to the kitchen), a handful smiled through gritted teeth (“Hi! Uh…I didn’t get the memo…heh heh”), 4 were just flatline, and approximately four genuinely seemed into it. Four! I call that a success story. I’ll take it. Natalie Portman, do you think you could get nominated for a Grease re-make next year? That would be awesome.
So, Amy here. Moving across the country, from Marin to Hingham (outside of Boston) has been interesting for a few different reasons:
1) SNOW. Lots of friggin snow. I mean, I’m all for grand entrances, but REALLY? 70 + inches and it’s still Feb? You know it’s bad when your mailman tells you it’s time to pack up and move back to California. I thought it was a joke when my friend Mark e-mailed me www.roofrake.com. It’s a rake. For your roof. For real. P.S. Trisha, it’s not funny when you e-mail me “Well….if you were living HERE still, you’d be swimming right now….”
2) The crazy sports. And I’m not talking about Red Sox or Celtics. I’m talking about kid sports, and how intense the parents are. Example: My 8 year-old son came off the soccer field and said “Wow, Mom, like 3 Dads screamed in my face, and the coach freaked out when I didn’t make the goal. In California, I got cheers when I ALMOST made a goal. It really makes me sad.” Aha! I think it’s really interesting that my small-ish kid made this distinction. Were we too coddling as Californians? And maybe it’s not such a bad thing, being pushed to your limits, being pushed around even. That’s what real life is, in almost any new situation. I tried to explain this to him and I got a tween-y eye roll. Hmmm.
Another example: When we first moved, I was invited to drinks with a small group of women. The first question they asked me was if my kids were enrolled in ice hockey because “you know it’s a New England classic, and with your kids’ ages, if they haven’t gotten on the ice, well…” Uh…judgment anyone? I came home all twisted around and Paul just told me to read our first book again and relax.
3) “Live Free or Die.” That’s the New Hampshire (New England) license plate motto. They’re not like, Arizona crazy here, but the intense passion and love for their heritage and history is hard-core for New Englanders. On the plus side, there is something really nice about being around people who truly care about where they came from, and the awe-inspiring history that lives here. I mean, things are OLD here. Really old. There’s even a statue of Abraham Lincoln right in the middle of our little town. On the negative, I think the passion can go wrong on the road, when you drive a little too slowly for these guys. I’ve learned the hard way to toughen up and just swerve up on the curb to get around some guy trying to make a left in the middle of a busy street.
4) It is February 13th. If you drive down any given street in the Boston area (unscientific research), you will see, on 8 out of 10 houses, Christmas wreaths, and in many cases, Christmas lights. Wtf is up with this? Are there brown prickly wilting Christmas trees inside? Will the decorations stay until next year? Is the holiday spirit just like the sports mania? In California, you rip down the tree and fling the lights off around December 28th. I don’t get it.
All in all, so far, so good. The change of seasons is pretty gorgeous. And a little dose of cultural change is a good thing, too.
Ok, maybe I was the last to find out about the Elf on a Shelf. But this genius book/Elf has made this Christmas so much more magical for my 6 and 8 year-olds. I hear them whispering their wishes to him…running to ‘find’ him each morning…wondering if he’ll report back to Santa that they ate all of their spinach. This is a tradition I’m excited to keep, at least until they don’t let me.
What other traditions do you guys have during the holidays??
For years, all we could wish for was the day our children were bona fide school aged — and in school for a nearly full day. We used to wonder what it would be like to go for coffee, all alone, to meet a friend for lunch, to (gasp) go to Target ALONE. All without paying for childcare! It almost seemed like a dream — and about 100 years away.
This year, with our youngest in 1st grade, there’s a weird twist happening…we were actually sad to see them go. Finally the summer was truly enjoyable, fun, the kind of family ‘togetherness’ that you long for when they’re tiny and exhausting. Summer nights where you actually play board games after dinner and don’t care what time they go to bed (instead of, when they’re two years old, eyeing the clock and getting them tucked in as soon as humanly possible, wine in hand. Well who’s kidding who, we still have wine in hand).
This morning, I (Amy) walked the kids to school and had to hide my nervousness. I actually shed a tear hugging them in their classrooms. My daughter had to ask me if I was okay. They were completely fine. I, on the other hand, felt a kind of empty sadness as I walked home, alone. The silence was awkward. I took my dog for a looong walk, which was nice, and settled in to do some work. All I could hear was the absence of laughter, heavy feet thumping up and down the staircase, and the ‘MOM! MOM? MOM!!!’
It’s weird, those moments when you’re positive you’ll feel a certain way when….they get a little older, they can do more for themselves, you don’t have any more gear, they can go play by themselves. And then those times come….and a different feeling smacks you in the face.
We never used to understand when moms said ‘no, it doesn’t get any easier when they’re older…it’s just different.’ Now, we get it.
Hey, (Amy here), so I’ve just moved to a new town directly across the country from where I was (California). About a month in, I’m shocked at how friendly my neighbors and friends-of-friends are. I’ve even been invited to a couple ‘girls nights out’ which is very exciting. But it’s funny how meeting new (potential) girlfriends is kind of like dating. No, wait, it’s kind of exactly like dating.
Scenario 1 (one week in):
New friend “Suzie” — “Hey there, I’m so glad you could meet me for coffee. I heard you were the new girl in town. I could tell by looking at you that you’re a “California girl.” With the blonde hair and the way you walk and everything. Do you get that a lot?”
Me: (Fakes stomach cramp, leaves after 5 minutes.)
Scenario 2 (two weeks in):
New friend “Rebecca” — (arrives at front door)
“Hi, um, I just made this banana bread for you guys. Can I come in? I just love seeing how people decorate! Oh I love these kind of stools. They swivel and go up and down. Verrrry cool. Mmmm hmmm. I used to be a stenographer, how about you??”
Me: (Fakes stomach cramp, she leaves after 20 minutes.)
Scenario 3: (just last week):
New friend “Jamie” — (I’m at her house for a playdate with our sons)
“It’s 4:30 – not too early for wine, right? C’mon, the kids are downstairs, let’s go outside and relax.”
Me: “I might make out with you right now.”
So there it is. I think I’m doing pretty well, considering that in dating it takes like 100 dates to find one maybe decent guy. I’ll endure the pain until I find my perfect Mommy Match. Keep ya posted.
