Another Day in the Life

Yesterday was my fourth trip to the DMV in the last four weeks. 

I have to go there again next week because yesterday things did not turn out the way we hoped they would.

At least we arrived with all the proper paperwork this time and Ed was allowed to take the written test. That's progress.

The only thing more boring than going to the DMV is writing about going to the DMV. And the only thing more boring than that is reading what someone else wrote about their trip to the DMV.

Anyway, as they say in my grandmother's line of work, On With the Show.

As a little pick-me-up for the lad, and because I noticed on Monday as I was washing his shirts that he needed it, I thought I would take him to get some new clothes.  You know, after our failed trip to the DMV.

That's how we ended up at TJ Maxx yesterday. Ah, TJ Maxx, how I love/hate you. I love that I can buy a Willi Smith sweater, (who is Willi Smith, anyway? I thought for a moment that the Fresh Prince was designing cashmere blend cardigans until I noticed that little tiny vowel at the end of his first name), a FUBU sweatshirt, and Coach shoes under the same roof as a new Dora the Explorer puzzle, a birdbath for my backyard and also grab a box of Walker's Shortbread on my way out. 

But I hate that, too. I wish they sold pop there so I had something with which to wash down my shortbread cookies.

I'm complicated like that.

While I was in TJ Maxx, I may have bloodied my baby's eye with a shoe I recklessly grabbed from the top shelf, lost my daughter twice, wandered around the ladies' clothing section and found my way into the dressing room before I ever made it to the young men's clothing section for Ed.

Yeah, I'm selfish like that.   And dangerous.

I left with two dresses, both under $20. I haven't bought a dress or a skirt since, hmm, let me think, my sister's wedding! That was two years ago. Two years ago this Tuesday, to be exact. Since I left TJ Maxx, I've been feeling smug and looking for a reason to wear a dress.

Until tonight. I saw a woman wearing one of my dresses. But she was also wearing a pair of jeans. It wasn't a Colorado City kind of look, either. There was nary a french braid or a ringlet in sight. She looked more like she belonged on the streets of Manhattan. (Which is rare in my town. Usually people look like they just stepped out of a Carhartt catalogue.)

Did I buy two shirts thinking they were dresses?  What if I had been wearing a shirt as a dress tonight? Is this a sign of my old age? I am getting older, after all.  My birthday is next week.  Is it just a sign that I need a shopping buddy, I mean one besides my brother? Do I look like I stepped out of a Carhartt Catalogue?

I'm so confused.

I was a Fourth Grade Nothing

Dear Nine Year Old Rosie,

Brace yourself.  

The next year and a half are going to be the hardest in your life so far.  I want to prepare you and tell you that everything is going to be okay.

Your parents don't get divorced this year and you don't lose anyone close to you.

But you will go through the wringer and you'll come out on the other side completely different than you are now.

Right now you are confident and happy.  You are carefree and you have lots of friends.  There is a teenage girl living right next door and she shares her stuff with you and sits outside with you while you let the sun warm your legs.  Down the street you have a friend who can play Fur Elise on the piano and she also has kittens and saves the shavings from her colored pencils.  You and your sister are always choreographing silly dances to the Ghostbusters Theme Song and the Beach Boys.  You have the guts to charge admission to your performances and the neighbors actually pay.  You take a year of piano lessons and you love it.

You are about to move to a new house and change schools.  You're used to this.  You make new friends easily and this new classroom is no different.  In the first week you have lots of friends and maybe even a crush or two.

Brace yourself.

All of a sudden, your new friends will not want to play with you anymore.  They give you an unimaginative nickname and use it all the time.  So you'll turn to the kid in class that nobody seems to want to be friends with, and even he will shun you.  The comments you hear from your classmates will ring in your ears for years and years.

"Don't drink that water, the dog just drank from that fountain."

DO NOT put any photographs on the poster you make for Spotlight of the Week.  They will be destroyed by your classmates.

I wish you wouldn't participate in the interview portion of The Spotlight of the Week.  You will, though, because you have hope.  You hope that if they get to know you, they'll like you.  They ask you questions like:

Are you allowed to sit on the furniture at home?

What kind of flea collar do you use?

When you go on a walk, do you have to stay on leash?

Your teacher will cut the interview short, and you will leave in tears.  Oh, sweet girl.  I wish you understood that this is not really about you.  They are trying to make each other laugh and it's at your expense.  Those kids are all caught up in a bizarre group dynamic where they are just glad it's not them being teased.  So they will go on teasing you.

They tell you that you're ugly and smelly.  They make fun of your puppy breath.  They spit on you and steal your things.  They run past you and shove you on the walk home from school.  You are utterly friendless and you feel totally alone.  They make you feel worthless and ashamed.  You believe them.  You wonder if maybe you deserve this.  

I wish I could give you a hug.  I wish we could walk home from school together.  I wish you could see who you grow up to be.

Even though they eventually settle down (midway through your sixth grade year), and even though you move away, the memories and the feelings will endure.  

You will feel worthless and ugly for a long, long time.  These feelings will, unfortunately, lead to some dangerous life choices.

One night, you will return to those school grounds with the man you married.  You will run your fingers over the metal signs where someone carved your nickname.  It will still be there.  

Standing there sixteen years later you are still awkward and gawky.  You have lots of freckles and pimples and bad hair.  And although you wish you could spare yourself the pain, you consider the characteristics that were forged in the fires of fourth and fifth grade.   

You know what it feels like to be the outcast.  Not everyone truly does.

You value your friends because you know what it's like not to have any.

Most of all, you think of walking through the door after school, battered and bruised physically and emotionally: ponytails hanging limp and briars caught in your hair, bits of puppy chow at the bottom of your Esprit Bag.  As you walk through that door, relief is what you felt.  You understand that Home is more than a shelter from storm and wind.  It's more than a place where you can scratch and burp.  Home is relief from chaos and cruelty.  Home is loving embrace, safety, and nourishment. Home is laughter and UNO games and complaining about what's for dinner.  Home is where we bask in relief.  It's where we fill our tanks each day so that the next day, we can face the big bad world.

You eventually become a Home Maker.  It's a big job, but if you don't do it for your kids, nobody else will.

Love always,

Woof Woof Liz

P.S.  Don't let your mom perm your hair.  And don't wear stirrup pants when you're in Junior High.  And for goodness' sake, as a freshman in high school, put down the green tights and the blue mascara.  And keep taking pictures.

P.P.S.  Your parents ARE going to get divorced.  Just . . . be ready.

Big News!

I'm just so excited, I can hardly believe it.  Before I tell you all about it, I need to offer a few details.  Robert's last year of Residency is about to begin, so he has been applying all over for a job.  I was starting to get a little worried when a few of his coworkers had already signed contracts with local practices.  He told me not to worry, that everything would work out.  Well, guess what!  It has!  The contract is signed, sealed, and delivered.  This time next year, we will be preparing to move to . . . . Waikiki!  Maybe you've heard of it?  I'm just thrilled.

Also, I would love to invite all my friends and family to join me in my home for a short presentation on a great financial opportunity.  Two words: AM-WAY!

And finally, the biggest news of all, I am expecting . . . twins . . . in December.  

Wish us luck!

In which I break one of my rules

I don't dance in public.  This is mainly to protect innocent bystanders from my flailing limbs.  However, since tomorrow I will celebrate twelve years of wedded bliss with the man of my dreams, I decided to test his love for me by breaking with tradition and not only dance in public, but record it for posterity.

(He is watching every dime, which is why he gets a homemade present from me this year.)

I guess his real gift is that I'm starting to figure out how to use this here computer to make our home videos more fun to watch.

I was inspired by this girl's movies.  She's pretty talented.  She makes it look easy, it's not.

Once upon a Birthday

I don't get everything right in my parenting endeavors.  In fact, there are days when I don't get much right in any of my endeavors.  It's part of the reason I'm keeping a public journal.  I figure that someday, when they are in therapy, the kids can take my blog books to their doctors and say "See?  It really did happen this way.  I'm not making this stuff up."  And their therapists will thank me for keeping such meticulous records and possibly even offer a discount because I have made their jobs (of blaming the mother for everything) so much easier.

Sometimes, though, I do get it right.  Those times simply must be documented.  Publicly, if possible.  We celebrated a birthday last week.  I  schemed up a surprise with Christie and I actually kept the secret until the moment the surprise was unveiled.  (I know, right?  I've grown so much, at times I astound even myself.)  Following are the details with a few pictures.

Friday morning the kids piled into the van as though they were headed to school.  (This was the point where keeping the secret was particularly hard.  I couldn't use it as leverage to get them to hurry up.)  An hour and a half into our drive to "school," Creed looked out the window in confusion and I heard him say to Jack "I don't think this is the right way to go to school," thus sealing his future as the world's most perceptive Private Eye.

An hour and a half after that, we arrived at our destination: The Independence Center Mall.  Creed was thrilled.  He would have been pleased as punch to play on their double decker carousel and then head straight home.  Then he saw the real surprise.  

Chase is Creed's Brother From Another Mother, and Christie was allowing us to take him home for the entire weekend.  Not only that, but she took Stella and Jack home with her to give Chase and Creed some time together without siblings.  This, in my book, is a sign of true friendship and solidarity (pounding of chest, raising of fist.)  The kids were in heaven.

Among other things they:

had milkshakes dumped on their heads

dumped milkshakes on the waiter's head

scaled a few walls

and attacked unsuspecting grown-ups with nerf guns.

The weekend was over way too soon, and we are so excited for the next time we see our cousins.  Creed's exact words were, "This weekend was awesome.  The best weekend of my life."  Take that, you mama blaming therapists!

(Of course, Christie may have to send Chase's future therapist to my blog when he suddenly develops a seemingly irrational fear of ice cream.)

Surprises

I have two really great surprises brewing around my brain.

The first one is for Creed and is coming to fruition this weekend.  He's going to flip.  I'll take pictures and tell you all about it on Monday. 

The second one is going to take a few months,  and it's for Roberto.  He is going to think I am a dork.  He already thinks that.  Anyway, apparently, dorks are cool.

Over and out.

Punjab! Buy out the eight o'clock show

I adore going to the movies.

Did you know that about me?  

I went by myself to see Napoleon Dynamite opening weekend at the Broadway Theatre, along with about eight other people (nobody was there because nobody knew what it was when it first opened) and I laughed my guts out.  Gosh.

"Sitting in the darkness, popcorn on my knee, welcome to the movies, Rosie, wait and see!"

I'll go see almost anything, I love it all.  Slapstick comedy?  Yes.  Heartbreaking tragedy?  I'll bring the tissues.  Action/Adventure complete with car chases and gunfights?  You bet.  I'll take your romantic comedy, your family fun, your zombie infections, and your brilliant animation, hollywood, and I'll enjoy watching every minute.  Even if the movie is terrible, I love cataloging what was bad about it and figuring out how I would make it better.  

If it's bad, I usually blame the editors.  They can make or break a movie, in my opinion.   The movie editors are the unsung heros and villains of film making.  (Except in the case of The Happening.  How M. Knight Sham-a-lam-a-ding-dong could turn Mark Wahlberg and Zoey  Deschanel into bad actors is beyond me.)

But I also love the soundtracks (Hello?  Vanilla Sky is unpredictable and enchanting in its use of music.  "I'm pickin' up good vibrations, she's givin' me exite-ations . . . " so, so good.)  I adore a well choreographed car chase or action sequence.  I get chills as I watch sweeping shots of landscape to set the scene for an epic story of love, good vs. evil, or historical triumph and despair.

Are you convinced?   I love the movies.  And last night I thought Hugh Jackman* was flawless, Anne Hathaway was gorgeous, and I didn't like Nicole Kidman's feathers by her boobs.   

I'm so glad the musical is back*.  Man, I'm a sucker for a musical.  

Thank you, Hollywood, for a return to good old fashioned entertainment, gorgeous gowns, and a few hysterical moments.  

Did you watch?  What did you think?

*If you missed it, just go to www.youtube.com and search for "oscar opening" and "hugh jackman oscars."  Hopefully you can find the clips because they are so worth watching.