Monthly Archives: March 2019

Muber (Pronounced: Moo-Brrr)

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Muber (Pronounced: Moo-Brrr)

Last weekend I commented to another mom friend that I am in the “Muber” stage of parenting. I’m not necessarily to the go-to person in my kids lives unless they need a ride, also known as the teenage years. It’s not all terrible, sure the pay still sucks and they trash my car but sometimes I gain some insight.

It’s hard to know what your kids are up to all the time unless you are tracking them like the CIA.  We have limits on their phone use, protocols to prevent 24hr access. The goal is to protect them from predators and make sure they don’t stay up all night on Snapchat, freedom with boundaries. They need the space to make decisions, room for mistakes, it’s how we learn.

So when my kids want a ride somewhere, especially if they want me to drive their friends, I give an enthusiastic “YES!” It’s my only chance to observe how they interact in the “wild”. The bits and pieces of conversations I hear between friends in the car gives me some insight into their teen world that I might otherwise miss. So for now, we are in the Muber phase which, will soon transition into Holy-shit-teen-driving-car-insurance-is-expensiveAF phase. Be careful out there.

 

 

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Work It (or Not)…

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Work It (or Not)…

Confession whenever I say work it, I instantly think of the Missy Elliott song. If I wasn’t too cheap to pay for premium WordPress I’d drop a link here, sorry about that. I have to save my money, I’ve been thinking about getting (coughs quietly) “work done”. I suppose everyone has their cosmetic Achilles heel, mine is the bags under my eyes. They aren’t full blown moving-across-the-Atlantic-and-putting-everything-in-trunks size yet but they aren’t casual weekenders either.

A big chunk of me feels guilty and stupid for even considering making a change. The world is one big dumpster fire and here I am wanting to hold on to the pretty a bit longer. It seems like such a shallow and frivolous preoccupation. Then again, if it makes you feel better about yourself…welcome to my internal tortured dialogue. If a friend told me they wanted to do something, I would be their biggest cheerleader. Perhaps I need to befriend myself because apparently I’m not above all this shit just yet. I’d like to be, I’m just not.

The other day I went to see a cosmetic surgeon for a consultation. It cost a fair amount just to discuss the options and the office is about an hour away. I lost half a day to this expedition. After the worst photo session EVER (“before” pictures are a horror show, they want you to look bad) they asked if I had any pictures from my 20s. I laughed because the only pictures I had on my phone were ones that I used for an 80s party a few years back.  I was in my early 20s at the time and now I don’t even look like I’m related to this chick –

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It was the 80s baby! 30 years and about as many pounds ago…

We discussed three options 1) Surgery 2) Injectables or 3) INTRAcel Treatment. I won’t lie the first option is not unappealing – aside from the anesthesia, recovery and OMFG costs. You do it once (the right way) and you’re done, the eye bags are packed and out of there, bah-bye. As tempting as that is (if I won the lottery and wasn’t a chicken shit), that was a hard pass for me. I have a teenage daughter and the last thing I want to do is be a role model of physical change via cosmetic surgery. Perhaps when she is away at college….

I thought about the second option. The doctor I saw is one of the top doctors in his field,  he is an ophthalmologist and board-certified cosmetic surgeon in four specialties. If someone is going to be poking needles near my eyeballs, he’s the guy. Alas, this is also a pass as it is temporary and expensive for something so short-term.

That leaves the third option which is some combination of micro-needling, radio frequency and voodoo of some sort. I almost pulled the trigger on this one. The cost is somewhere between ridiculous and stupid expensive and there could be some side effects. The first thing that freaked me out was a script for Valtrex. Apparently it is standard procedure to take it before treatment to avoid the possibility of a Shingles or a Herpes outbreak. Let’s just be clear, I don’t have Herpes. I did have Chicken Pox as a kid and Shingles is no joke. So hello GI distress and possible yeast infection, good times.

The treatment itself consists of a machine that pummels your face to the sweet spot of pinpoint bleeding and (fingers crossed) NOT 8th round in the boxing ring and you just lost. Swelling, bruising, blood, possible scabbing, scaring small children, wear large Jackie O sunglasses for a week after AND this was the most tempting of the three options. Wow, when I type it out it seems rather insane. Beauty is pain bitches (and expensive as hell).

I got as far as scheduling an appointment and filling the script, then I cancelled it. I’m going to do some more research and see if there are other more cost effective options. I did like the office staff and the doctor but the doctor would not be performing the voodoo, a technician would. With that in mind, I may be able to find another option closer to home for a more reasonable rate. Or maybe I’ll just say f*ck it because we’re all going to be dust soon enough.

Curious if any of my readers have considered making a cosmetic change – big or small. Obviously self-acceptance is the ultimate goal, is it wrong to get a boost?

Winter View

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Winter View

I can just barely make out her house from the window above my kitchen sink. Once the trees fill out for spring, I may just see a splash of color or a bit of rooftop. It’s a beautiful house, old and charming, lovingly decorated with authentic treasures and keepsakes. It isn’t large or small and there is nothing cookie cutter about it. Little nooks and crannies are filled with art and memories, photos line the hall going up to the main level. The kitchen is open with modern appliances that somehow work in this older space. There is an air of authenticity about the place. Ginger and Amber are two tiger striped cats and they fit right in.

I went to visit my neighbor today. It was the first time I had ever been inside her house. Years ago my kids and I stood in her driveway getting bags and reflective vests for a neighborhood roadside cleanup. Neighborhood sounds misleading, these houses are all independent of each other in construction and in life. This area is upscale and spread out sadly, I can only name a handful of my neighbors and we’ve lived here for ten years. This is not unusual as most people have busy lives that are headed in different directions.

Today’s visit was as a hospice volunteer, I relieved the caregiver so she could go food shopping. I’ve often wondered what that particular house looked like on the inside and now I know. Once again, I am reminded a lot of people have something difficult going on in their lives right now. Sometimes it’s an inconvenience or a wounded ego, other times it is facing an imminent final goodbye. I’m not sure if I will see my neighbor again. I am sure that I will think of her whenever I drive by her house and I’ll be reminded of what is truly important.

 

Lie To Me

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Lie To Me

Yesterday I went to work for Rob & Laura, my nonagenarian clients. If you follow my blog you already know that I adore them and we have fun doing mundane errands. Yesterday did not disappoint. Laura was getting a hair cut at a nearby salon while Rob and I did some food shopping.

We were in the frozen food aisle at the intersection of peas and dried beef (in Pennsylvania you must be age 75 or greater to purchase dried beef) when we bumped into Marty. You might think, how lovely is Marty a personal friend, acquaintance or helpful employee? Those are all really good guesses so don’t berate yourself for being wrong. Nay, nay friends, Marty is a robot who wanders the grocery store scaring the sh*t out of small children, robophobics (robophobia is real, I Googled it) and customers with a touch of dementia.

In fairness to Rob, Marty showed up out of nowhere. Just appeared at the end of an aisle. Marty and Rob starred at each other for a solid two minutes. Rob watched in a trance as Marty did that awkward oh-shit-where-do-I-go-now robot dance. I’ve only ever seen it before when the Roomba ricochets down the hallway like some modern day version of pinball or drunk staggering down an alley after last call. The worst part is that Marty doesn’t seem overly useful. He’s supposed to clean up spills or something but he’s no Rosie from the Jetsons that’s for sure.

After the grocery store we collected Laura and made our way to Miracle Ear and then a meat store. Rob has a special fondness for the meat store and he purchased several items. When we got back to the house I noticed that the meat drawer in their fridge was overflowing. I date everything and I noticed somethings from mid February. I pointed this out to Laura who assured me that an exhaustive sniff test would be performed before they consumed anything. Then I emailed their adult children to alert them of the rotting meat in the fridge.

After my outing with Rob and Laura I went home. I got home early and offered to make lunch for my husband. I made him a sandwich, it was a fine sandwich by any standard. Later I asked him how he liked it and he replied with a “meh, needed more seasoning”. Then I threw a heavy object in his general direction. Through keen observation he was able to recognize that this response did not please me. Then he said (in a heavy Brooklyn accent) “whadda ya want me to lie?” To which I replied, “yes, yes I do….unless it is in regard to fidelity or finances, lie to me.”

Grief Fog

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Grief Fog

Apparently there is a Mercury Retrograde phase right now which means we are all ripe for disaster my friends. Mercury is a bit of an asshole whilst in retrograde and this year March, July and November are on track to be awful. Here’s a link if you want your head to explode with all the retrogradey stuff….OHSHITMERCURYRETROGRADE

Mercury aside, I have been feeling all the feels today. You ever find yourself driving and suddenly realize you can’t remember the past 15 minutes? You’ve been on the road so many times that you slip into autopilot and you aren’t really aware of your surroundings. The past 10 months have felt like this for me. First my Father in-law got sick and passed away, then four months later I lost my own father. I’ve been in a grief fog ever since. Sure I do all the things that need to be done but I’m a muted version of myself.

During this process I haven’t been fully aware and in tune with the world including my small community. I know I’ve missed some important stuff and I haven’t been present in my usual capacity. Last night I found out that a local parent has been having chemo treatments for several months, I had no idea. Year ago me would have set up a Sign Up Genius and initiated a meal train, the current version of myself found out haphazardly in a group text. I’ve clearly been out of the loop bogged down in my own muck. I’d beat myself up about it a little more if I had the energy, I don’t.

Grief is a process, it isn’t a stage or a series of milestones that you pass and then it’s behind you. It becomes a part of you…sometimes it’s a tiny speck and sometimes it envelops you. If you are grieving, I hope you are patient with yourself…you deserve that.

 

 

Featured Photo Credit:

 

 

 

 

 

The Lonely Middle Years of Parenting

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The Lonely Middle Years of Parenting

Parenting kids in middle and high school is such a complicated and lonely space to be in. When our kids are little we tend to share a lot about them. Holiday cards, social media posts, small playgroups, sports teams and parent clubs. The little cherubs happily pose for the camera without a whiff of self consciousness.

Somewhere around 5th grade things start to shift. The kids no longer want you to go public with what you think is cute. Concerns about privacy, social status and damage control start to creep into your thoughts. The kids disappear from your social media feed and you keep things under lock and key. The difficult stuff is whispered to your closest friends, a very limited set of eyes and ears. Even with those confidants the experiences are exhausting and isolating at times.

I’ve had days this past month that have absolutely gutted me. Pain for my child which housed a kaleidoscope of emotions; profound sadness, love, pit of my stomach fear, impatience and resignation. Fortunately the low points have been transient, replaced with more hopeful experiences, it goes in and out like the tide. I can only imagine the despair of families that reside in the muck for extended periods of time. I’m sure those parents are around me, they just aren’t talking about it.

The why of the reasons for not discussing things openly are a complicated stew of ego, protection, shame and insecurity. Shame that maybe we failed as a parent somehow – gave too much or too little. We were too involved or not vigilant enough. We haven’t properly adjusted the sails, we hit the gas when we should have braked and now we are spinning out of control.

The first inclination is protection. Protect the child at all costs from labels, embarrassment, bullies, the boogeyman, mistakes or misunderstandings that can negatively impact their future. That’s a tall order and some days I feel so small, minuscule, a speck of dust, insignificant. At this phase in their lives, your kids generally care more about friendships than family, at least temporarily. Another jagged pill to swallow, the person you want to help most in the world doesn’t necessarily want your assistance or your opinion. They will however, happily relieve you of $20. or the car keys when they start to drive.

Insecurity is the ghost that haunts us all whether we care to admit it or not. Insecurity is married to shame maybe not officially but they are at a minimum shacked up together. If I’m honest, this is the piece of parenthood I feared the most before we had kids. Knowing that I would make mistakes as all humans do. I also knew that making mistakes as a parent would cause me intense pain. Mind you I haven’t had colossal failures, just the usual varieties; having a more impatient tone than intended (this is called yelling), being a few months behind on the dental check up, and not being a constant shadow on their social media.

I’m sure some parents and kids skate through this phase without a pimple or a tear shed, I think those are the unicorns. Most of us take a deep breath and remind ourselves to have a friendly tone when we knock on our child’s bedroom door. We worry about over/under scheduling, setting reasonable expectations that neither diminish goals nor create neurotic overachievers. I’m still searching for that sweet spot of challenging my kids so they can bend without breaking.

 

First Bird of the Day

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First Bird of the Day

I had another visit with Rob and Laura today. For those that aren’t familiar, Rob and Laura are a couple in their 90s. I take them out for errands and shenanigans twice a week. The usual stops are the laundromat, grocery store and the post office.

Today’s visit included a feed store which is a happy place for my friend Rob. I checked the stash last week and knew we were running out of everything. We left the feed store with 55 pounds of bird seed which included: black-oil sunflower seed, Nyjer thistle and striped sunflower.

My knowledge of birds and bird feed is microscopic as this is all new to me. I have been filling their various feeders for the past three months and I can vouch for the popularity of the chosen seeds. This morning I found a little bird (perhaps a finch?) that managed to get inside the globe shaped feeder. He was having a feast in there. I did a quick search online to see if I could find a picture that was similar to what I witnessed, no luck. I did however find a bird feeder which can be attached to the window (Featured photo Bird Feeder) in such a way as to taunt your indoor cat. Seems like a a pretty miserable thing to do but cats give as well as they get so game on Tiger.

While we were driving Rob told me lots of bird stories. One was about how he and a group of bird nerds (my term not his) counted the hawks that were migrating to Mexico. He told me his group counted twenty-five thousand hawks. Which caused me to have a bunch of internal questions that I did not voice – mostly things like how can you be sure you didn’t count the same bird twice? Did you ever lose count and have to start over? What part of Mexico? Were they staying at an all inclusive? So. Many. Questions.

Then we talked about Maine. Every September a bird watching group would go stay in New Hampshire and then drive over to Maine to bird watch. His oldest daughter joined the group on several occasions. One time they were driving from New Hampshire to Maine and they were cut off – at which point his adult daughter gave the aggressive driver the middle finger. She then proclaimed that everyone had seen their first bird of the day.

 

I Get To…

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I Get To…

Every so often the Gods of social media send a pearl of wisdom my way. This morning I was browsing Facebook when I saw a photo that caught my eye. The original post was from Kristen Hampton of WBTV Good News, it featured a handwritten sign which stated: I get to…

According to the original post, Kristen saw that note at a friend’s house. A friend who is currently undergoing chemo for what is described as an awful cancer. Kristen’s friend explained that “I get to” is a substitute for “I have to” and the simplicity and sheer gratitude of that suggestion is inspiring.

I get to is a gentle reminder that all of this is temporary. Whatever problems we have individually and collectively, it’s all so transient.  The kids we wait on will leave the nest (eventually), the aging parents we care for, they’ll also move on to a more permanent place, that boss you can’t stand likely won’t be in your life in five years and on it goes. The list of daily chores and obstacles can seem impossibly long and arduous. I get to is a beautiful, gentle reminder that this is all temporary, so enjoy the ride.

I get to recognizes that it is a gift to be able to tick off the list of things to do for ourselves and others. A reminder that we can control the narrative of our own inner voice.  It reminds us that we are fortunate to have the physical and mental capacity to do the things that need to be done. A suggestion that we have the ability to choose a more positive frame of mind, one grounded in gratitude.

Distressed

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Distressed

Rob always buys flag stamps. Whenever he places a stamp on an envelop he purposely places the flag upside down. This is his way a signaling distress and he has been doing this since the 2016 presidential election. Once again, I have learned something old that is new to me by working with people in their mid 90s.

Apparently people have a long history of placing stamps in non-conforming ways to signal everything from distress to a marriage proposal (perhaps distress over a marriage proposal?). This practice has been going on since 1847 when stamps were first issued in the USA. In the Victorian era, an upside down stamp signified “I love you”, a sideways stamp was a not so much, thank you, next. A stamp placed diagonal to the right is code for “Will you marry me?” Diagonal to the left is a “Yes!” I shudder to think of the accidental proposals I may have sent out in my haste to get the bills out on time.

The United States Postal Service (USPS) didn’t care where you placed the stamp until the 1890s. Up until that point stamps were marked individually by hand. The markings were to deter people from using stamps more than once. After machines were introduced to assist with processing the USPS began requesting that stamps be placed in the top right corner of the envelop. If you’re like me you can’t find your book of stamps until you purchase a replacement. Then you wind up with 32 stamps which is a lifetime supply since most people pay their bills on line.

Be careful out there, you don’t want to accidentally propose to the IRS or the cable company. In fact, that is one of the worst versions of who would you rather that I can comprehend, very distressing.