what I like about being stuck at the train station

My parents are coming for a Christmas visit.  This is desired, but always leads to a bit of stress -- the stress of combining busy schedules, plus a holiday, plus houseguests.  It led to a conversation between Kathy and me yesterday about how we could better manage the stress of it all.  My parents, like most parents, have things they do that annoy their children. They know this.  I, like most children, have things I do that annoy my parents.  I also know this.  Necessarily, this will lead to conflict at some point.

"You know," Kathy said, "I wish I could just handle it like Diane.  She never seems to get ruffled by this stuff.  What would Diane say?" 

A few years ago, when B was turning 6, we had a birthday party at our house, which involved renting a pony.  This was much less expensive than we thought, and really, what could make a better birthday party than having pony rides in your tiny suburban backyard?  NOTHING.  We were so excited, we invited Diane to the party, even though she was not a first grader (she was, and is, an adult).  She planned to take the train in from New York City, and either Kathy or I would drive down and pick her up before the party. 

Only it started raining, and the pony arrived and made a mess of the backyard, and everyone was clamoring for rides anyway so we had to make garbage bag rain ponchos for 10 six year old kids.  And we completely forgot about poor Diane at the train station.  She tried calling Kathy's cell phone, but who picks up their phone when there is a pony crapping in the rain in your back yard?  She didn't have our address, so she couldn't just take a cab. She was just stuck at the train station. 

(not our train station, but just try to imagine)

crowd control

One of the things that gets on my nerves after too much time in NYC is the crowds.  Specifically, however, the crowds of tourists.  Sorry, friends from out of state, but it's true.  New Yorkers have considered passing minimum walking speeds on the NYC sidewalks (3 mph, to be specific), and creating, in Midtown, a New Yorker-only designated passing lane.  I have a friend who puts her shoulders in what she calls "football position" to walk home through Rockefeller Center.  And for god's sake, if you want to stare at the top of a building with your mouth hanging open, do it from the edge of the sidewalk, not dead-center.

Yesterday, my mom wanted to go to that icon of consumerist NYC Christmas:  MACY'S.

leaving home and the American way of life

Last weekend, Kathy and I traveled to San Diego to visit my parents for my Dad's 60th birthday.  Actually, Kathy went to London for work on Monday, I left for San Diego Wednesday afternoon, Kathy returned from London Wednesday night, Kathy flew to San Diego Friday morning, we both flew home to New York on Sunday, and she left for a business trip in Chicago last night.

"What would be easier," Kathy said yesterday afternoon as she packed for the next trip, "is if we had some family close by to help out with the house and the kids."  Indeed.

When I was 18, I went to college an hour from my hometown.  I lived in that college town for two years after graduation, and then moved to California, where I lived for three years.  During that time, my sister lived in Arizona and my brother moved from Michigan to St. Louis.  Then, my sister and I moved to New York, my brother moved home to Michigan, and my parents moved to San Diego.  Basically, for the last 5 years or so, my family has lived in at least three different time zones.  Kathy's family, too, is spread out.  Her mother lives in the San Francisco area, her father lives in Pittsburgh, and she lives here, in New York.

the weight is over

Yes, that was on purpose.  I do love a good pun.

Today, I leave for San Diego to visit my parents for my dad's 60th birthday.  My grandparents, who are approximately 9 million years old, will be there, and I don't get to see them very often.  Not to mention my parents, who I haven't seen since last Christmas.  And a surprise guest, which not even my mother knows about, because of how she ruins surprises on a regular basis.  I was wholly excited about this trip, until my mother said those three little words to me.  Bring. Your. Swimsuit.

birthday boy

Today, C turned 6.  This is a big milestone for me because, out of all the kids, I am most parental for C.  Not to say my relationships with the girls aren't important -- obviously they are -- but C does not remember his life before I was in it.  He is the only one of the kids who calls me Mommy (although I rarely respond to it because I am always confused and think he's talking to Kathy).  I remember the days of C in diapers and drinking out of a bottle.

And now, he's 6 years old.  He has no front teeth, and has opinions about what he likes to wear (preferably shirts with numbers on them -- no collars -- and shoes that light up).  He likes to walk up to the school with his friends, and has to be reminded to hug us goodbye. 

One of his favorite pastimes is spying on A.  To that end, he got a secret message pen and a lie detector kit from his sisters.  Nice of A to play along, since she is most often the victim of his secret missions.  He also got a skateboard from the family, a remote-control car that drives up walls (from me and Kathy), Battleship from my parents and a Steelers jersey and jacket from Kathy's mom.  Not a bad haul for 6 years old.  Oh right, and Kathy's mom sent him 6 dollars, so he now believes he is rich.

A few nights ago, C came downstairs with a bad dream.  Kathy snored through it, but I woke up.  He crawled in, curled up in my armpit, and was fast asleep in minutes.  After my arm fell asleep, I carried him back up to bed.  As I tucked him in, he woke up a little bit, and said in a groggy voice, "Thank you, Ewin.  Love you," then was back to sleep.  I'll be sad when the speech therapy at school changes the way he says my name, and when he's too cool to say he loves me.  For now, I'm just glad that at six, he's still such a little boy.

stepping up

Being a step-mom is complicated.  Not even being a step-mom is even more complicated.  My relationship with the kids is many things -- exasperating, rewarding, loving, fraught.  And much, much more than that.  It isn't now, and will never be, simple.

 

It's the knife-edge I walk between parent and friend that makes it complicated for them.  I live in their house, but they can see I need more personal space than mom.  At the same time, there are some things that the girls, at least, being older, are more comfortable discussing with me than with Kathy.  But all with the lingering awareness throughout the discussion that I am in some ways a proxy for Kathy.

It's the knife-edge I walk between parent and not-my-kid that makes it complicated for me.  It has taken me until now to train myself not to defer to Kathy on every question that does not involve an established rule and trust my parenting judgment.  My heart swelled when B addressed her letter for the parent-teacher conferences to "Mom and Mom."  But I would be lying if I said there was never a time where I thought, "If I have to go to one more [insert child rec league sport] game, I am going to scream."  Sometimes, I think that I lack the patience required to raise children entirely.  Sometimes, I admit, I just want everyone to GO AWAY and stop asking me questions.  Then I wake up the next day to big brown eyes blinking at me from an inch away, and short, fat arms thrown around my neck.  And I'm really, really glad they didn't go away.

little sis

Tonight, I am going out to celebrate quitting my job with my little sister (haha, not so little, she is 26).  Here is a short list of reasons why having a sister -- my sister in particular -- is one of the best things in the world:

1. She has the same parents as me, so when I complain about them, she actually understands.  She can also help me interpret their sometimes bizarre behavior.  For example, in a g-chat yesterday, my sister said something along the lines of, "Oh don't worry, that wasn't directed specifically at you and your situation, that's just a new dad lecture.  I got it over Christmas."  Which explained why my dad was lecturing me on something I thought was entirely inapplicable to my life.
2. She kind of looks like me.  Strangers think she looks A LOT like me, although one day we stood in the mirror and tried to find some features that were actually the same.  We came up with "thinness of lips."  It's still fun though.
3. She supports me.  All the time.  Even when I am behaving like a complete douche.  Don't get me wrong, sometimes she says "You're being a douche."  But in a supportive kind of way.
4. She is constantly challenging me not to jump to conclusions.  Without fail, every time I thought my sister was behaving crappily to me, she has had some completely rational explanation for her behavior.  And usually I am the one behaving kind of crappily.
5. She makes me laugh.  A lot, all the time.  Over stuff that only we think is funny.  Which I think is what causes her husband to give us those looks all the time when we hang out.
6. And because I'm kind of vain:  She looks up to me.  Still.  (Sorry, sis, you know you do though.)  Each time I realize it, it amazes me.  Just when I am thinking that I am a hot mess and couldn't have destroyed my own life more, she says something that indicates that she thinks I am amazing.  It always helps.  It makes me feel like maybe I AM a little amazing.  Even when I look like a mess and have messed something up at work and am in a fight with Kathy all on the same day. 

So thanks, sister, for being awesome.  And could you please give permission for me to put your picture at the bottom of this post?  I'll put it after the jump, I promise.  Thanks.

little earthquakes

A casual friend of mine from my days in California moved to Christchurch, New Zealand shortly before I moved to New York.  In February, Christchurch was rocked by a 7.1 magnitude earthquake, and continues to be ravaged by strong aftershocks. 

(some of the damage after the original 7.1 quake)

This is the same magnitude that hit Haiti, but due to significantly better infrastructure (ahem, more money) Christchurch is fairing much better than Port-au-Prince.  Nonetheless, the residents of Christchurch are devastated.  This morning, I read stories of people living with no water, no electricity, no sewer.  Stories of children learning that even a "small" earthquake means "go under the table" in case their house crumbles around them from being damaged so many times.  Stories of families leaving their homes because they are no longer habitable. 

the way it goes

Arrrrgh!  Did you notice I didn't put the pictures up last night like I promised?  Bad blogger!

That is because, when you have kids in your life, it is anything but predictable.  A, the 10 year old, had a crisis last night that occupied pretty much the entire evening from the time we got home until 12:30 when I finally collapsed into bed, exhausted (other than when I was busy burning the green beans I was steaming, which I did not even know you could do).  Poor kid.

So maybe tonight with the pictures, then.  We shall see.

ski vacation

Hello!  It's been a while.  That's because we were surprised to learn, when we arrived at our ski house, that it doesn't have internet.  I'm not kidding.  There is a vacation rental house in the United States without internet access.  For real.  So, I have a little catching up to do.  The drive with the kids went smoothly; they loved Harry Potter (and we still have half the book left for the drive home).  We saw Kathy's dad in Pittsburgh and spent some time with our friends.  The weather did not really cooperate on Monday for skiing, so instead, we went rollerskating.

(my feet)

I haven't been rollerskating since well before college.  It was so fun.  The kids kept asking me how I knew how to do it.  I kept telling them that really, people used to go rollerskating all the time.  Whatever happened to rollerskating?  How is it not popular anymore?  Also, I find it so fun that they have not updated rollerskate styles since I was a young kid.  I don't even think they make rollerskates with anything other than orange wheels and brown laces.

Tuesday and Wednesday were the only days that we had signed the kids up for ski lessons.  Remarkably, they were also the only two days that the weather was decent for skiing.  Monday night we got about 8 inches of new snow, and it stayed cold enough through the end of the day yesterday so that we could get in a full day of skiing both days.  No one was sick, either.  It was kind of remarkable.  Is it possible that our luck might be changing?  We can only hope.

I have to be honest about skiing.  You would think, from all the chirping about skiing on this blog lately, that I love it.  I do not.  It's fun for about a day, but then I am definitely done.  Yesterday I took one for the team and put in a full day of skiing when I wasn't really that into it.  But Kathy loves it so much, I figure a couple of days of skiing more than I would like is a small sacrifice for how excited she gets about it.  Anyway, I fully expect her to tolerate more beach days than she would otherwise be excited about, come summer. 

Anyway, I am pretty sure I am being charged by the minute to write this, but I will try to post at least once more this week.  Tomorrow we are driving home, and Kathy discovered that Hershey, PA is not too far out of our way.  1 car.  7 hours.  3 kids.  And a tour of a chocolate factory.  Wish us luck.

London calling

(This is an awesome picture of the London skyline for 2 reasons. 

1. It is overcast.  All those pictures of the London skyline with a brilliant blue

sky must have been taken on the same day, because it rains every.

freaking. day. in London.  2.  Look at the 4 fake-looking UFOs

photoshopped into the sky! Maybe Kathy arrived on one of them.)

Kathy left last night for London, for a business trip.  She does this to me about once every 3-4 months.  I hate it.  Partially because I always miss Kathy like crazy.  I mean, an abnormal amount considering it is only 4 days.  But also because her trips to London seem to coincide with strings of bad luck. 

Remember last year, when that volcano in Iceland erupted, and all those travelers got stranded?  Yeah, Kathy was one of them.  Her 4 day trip ended up taking over 10 days.  C was drawing pictures of volcanoes at preschool with "Mommy" written on one side and little stick figures of himself crying on the other.  It was horrible.  Also, while she was gone, the car broke down.  And the neighbors not-so-subtly implied that our bushes were out of control so I had to spend an entire Saturday with the electric hedge trimmers.  Also our lawnmower broke that weekend.  And also the basement flooded and I had to have the restoration people come in and pull up the carpet and dry it out, and then I discovered there were asbestos tiles underneath the carpet and those had to be ripped out too. All in one week.  Kathy and I used to joke that if our lives were a soap opera, the viewers would watch us that week and yell at their TVs, "Come on! Leave those poor people alone, it's not even realistic anymore!" 

soup, or how to feed a family of four on one chicken breast

Kathy's youngest child, C*, is obsessed with making soup.  His grandma bought him the book Stone Soup last year, and after successfully feeding the family stone soup, he asks pretty much weekly whether he can make soup.  Since Kathy and C are both home sick today, and I am stuck here because of the snow (I actually tried to drive to work today, and turned around and came home because the roads were so bad), it seemed like a good day to indulge C's inner chef.  In case you're interested, this is how a kindergartner makes a very basic chicken soup.

consensus building

Last week, as you know, was the week we realized how thoroughly we suck at sticking to our imaginary budget, and also the week where we determined that was actually fine.  I also happened to read over on Laptops to Lullabies about the her plan to try to eat all the old crap that has been hanging out in the kitchen for who-knows-how-long.  I wanted to try it ourselves.  Then came the tricky part.  I had to get Kathy's buy-in, knowing that she has told me that one of the great things about being an adult is you can eat what you want, rather than what is put on the plate in front of you.  This idea does not mesh well with "Hi Sweetie, we're having canned tomatoes and three month old Rice Chex for dinner!"

I concocted what I thought was a really great plan for getting her on board.  We would utilize the "eat all the old crap out of the kitchen" as a challenge, which would inspire us to cut our grocery budget by $300 (a random amount I picked out of nowhere).  With that $300, we could buy one round trip plane ticket.  That, plus a coupon I got for a free companion fare, would get us a weekend away, anywhere in the US (excluding Alaska and Hawaii, per the terms of my free airfare voucher), for the measly price of some canned tomatoes and old Rice Chex.  How exciting and fun!

(via)

the budget

Last week, Kathy and I went to a local sportsbar, sat down with our bank statements and a sheet of paper, and hammered out our budget.  Yes, I had to bribe her with beer and football to get her to do it, but it was definitely time well spent.  We came up with a live-able budget where we can set aside a decent amount of savings each month, as long as I don't freak out and quit my job on the spot.  It will give us flexibility later in the year if I do decide to freak out and quit my job on the spot.

Then, we taped our budget to the inside of our closet door, and starting on the 15th, we're tracking expenses.  Earlier this week, I said to Kathy, "You know, in the kitchen at work they cut the sponges in half.  I mean, really, you never need the surface area of the whole sponge, and then you only have to buy them half as often."  So we cut our sponges.  We have also started washing out our ziplock bags.  I am constantly on the lookout for other tricky little ways to cut costs.

Now, considering the size of our monthly grocery budget, saving $2.39 on sponges every other month is not likely to make much of an impact.  Even adding in the washed-out ziplock bags and our other money-saving ideas is not likely to make much difference.  But lately, we've kind of been feeling like our entire life is out of control.  And so, reclaiming some control by cutting our sponges in half feels really good.

(via)

the great blizzard

So, Christmas is over.  I managed to get all the gifts I needed, although it involved shopping on the morning of Christmas Eve.  My parents and Kathy's mother got along great (we knew they would).  We didn't have the kids yesterday, so we planned to take all the parents into New York City to do Christmasy things like see the tree in Rockefeller Center and have a drink in the Waldorf's bar. 

When we woke up yesterday, Kathy checked the weather, and was over at the computer cracking up.  "It says 'BLIZZARD'!"  "Blizzard?" I replied, "That's ridiculous."  We got our new running pants and shirts on, and went for a run.  There were flurries coming down.  We got home, showered, ate lunch, and got ready to go into the city.  "If it's going to snow, maybe we should take the train," Kathy suggested.  So we did.  "It's really coming down," my mom observed.  Undeterred, we put on our coats.  "Do you want a hat?" I asked my dad.  "Nah," he answered.  "It's not snowing that hard."

When we arrived in Grand Central, the people coming in from outside were covered in snow.  "They must have walked a long way to have that much snow on them," I thought.   We shopped, had a coffee in Grand Central, and plotted our course through the city.  When we emerged from the subway at 51st and Lex to walk to the Waldorf for our happy hour drink in the lobby bar, Kathy said, "This snow is great!  It's so Christmasy and romantic!"  Within a half a block, my mom said, "I'm freezing."  It was still snowing, and the wind was blowing.  We had our drink at the Waldorf and headed to Rockefeller Center to see the tree.  We were all covered in snow by the time we got there.  My dad's hair was covered in ice.  Our faces were wet and red.  Our pants were soaked through.  "Take a picture of the tree!" my mom exclaimed.  My dad, grumbling, pulled out his iPhone, removed his gloves, and snapped a picture of the tree.  We barely made it to the subway.  We were soaked and frozen.  My dad's hair was melting into his eyes.  "What a great adventure!" Kathy's mom said.

We went to the Soho Grand, and had another drink in their lobby.  It was kind of a hotel-lobby-bar-crawl.  When we were ready to go to dinner, Kathy said, "Maybe we should take cabs; walking to the subway seems kind of miserable."  My mom was in the bathroom, so I headed down to get in the first cab with Kathy's mom, and Kathy said she would follow with my parents.  After one block, our cab got stuck in the snow.  Our cab driver, who seemed unfamiliar with the frozen white stuff falling from the sky, tried to just push the accelerator.  The wheels spun, and the meter ticked up.  He tried, unsuccessfully, to reverse.  The wheels spun, and the meter ticked up.  When it hit $7.10 after going less than 2 blocks, I said, "Uh, sir, I think you might need a tow truck."  He replied, "You should get out."  That's the thing about New Yorkers, they are direct.  We got out, and saw Kathy and my parents drive by us.  Fortunately, we got an SUV cab, and made it to the restaurant.  But my parents and Kathy weren't there yet.  When they finally arrived 15 minutes later, they were, again, soaked and frozen.  "What happened?" I asked.  My mom could not answer because her face was frozen.  So Kathy said, "Our cab driver had another fare, so he made us get out 3 blocks away and walk here!" 

After dinner, we walked to the subway, made it to Grand Central, and took the train back to the suburbs.  That's when the real fun started.  The car was buried under about 20 inches of snow, and the parking lot to the train station had not been plowed.  After a half hour of Kathy, my dad, and me digging the car out and pushing it, a random guy stopped and helped.  The snow was blowing horizontally, and my shoes were untied. My pants were crusted with snow up the middle of my thighs.  I had been digging in my new leather gloves that Kathy's mom gave me for Christmas.  The car slipped and slid home, and we took our shoes and snowy clothes off.  I hadn't noticed, but my dad had been taking pictures with that iPhone the whole night.  We stood in the kitchen in our slippers and looked at them, cracking up.  He had pictures of our frozen mothers, pictures of that damn Rockefeller tree, pictures of Kathy and me laughing with almost our entire faces covered by scarves and hoods and hats. 

Our hotel bar crawl would have been fun in nice weather.  But it was really excellent doing it in the great blizzard.  And the best part is that the blizzard continued through the night, and there is no way I am making it into the office today.  It's nice having a job that has snow days.  Working from home might still be working, but at least you're at home!

the reason for the season

Yesterday, I was frantic all day at work (which is why I did not post).  I was wrapping up a hundred little details so I wouldn't be bothered over the holiday.  I was arranging for a delivery to a partner's home tomorrow, since the firm's mailroom is closed and apparently he planned on reviewing a document over the weekend (!).  I was doing all the small projects I could so that I could work from home today and not have to carry home a huge stack of paper.  After work, I had errands to run, gifts to pick up, etc. 

And somewhere about mid-day, someone I went to high school posted a facebook status along the lines of "If you are stressed out about Christmas, you're missing the whole point of the glorious holiday season!"  Um, excuse me, but eff you. 

love shack, part II

Last night, I was putting photos into the photo album.  I don't know why this was an urgent holiday task, but it suddenly felt like it was, so while Kathy sat there writing out the last of our holiday cards, I put pictures in the album.  I like printed out photos, and I like them arranged in books, rather than just in shoeboxes.  I think they're so much easier for people to look at that way.

The majority of the pictures that I was putting into the album last night were pictures from this past summer, and the majority of those were pictures from our Fire Island "house."  As you will recall, we can't really afford it if I quit working at the firm.  Even if I don't quit right away, with quitting on the horizon, there are probably a million smarter things to do with the money.  But still.

Kathy mentioned when I brought up the idea of letting go of the house how much the kids enjoyed it.  It's true, they did.  Looking back at the pictures, we had so much fun!  There are pictures of the things that I remember doing as a kid, when I visited my grandma's house on Saginaw Bay.  Like playing Uncle Wiggily and having "happy time" (aka happy hour, through the filter of a 9 year old brain).  Or exploring the beach and imagining drift wood is a sunken pirate ship.  I do think that is one of the best things about having kids in your life -- it makes you remember your own childhood, and all of it's adventures, misery, joy, and wonder.

December Sundays

(photo via this blog.)

Yesterday Kathy and I put up Christmas lights across the front of our house.  This required 2 trips to Home Depot, 2 different ladders (the first one was 16 feet but wasn't tall enough!), 7 hours, 200 LED bulbs, and 1 very large bruise on my arm where we dropped the ladder on me.  But our house is looking good.  Last night we went to a holiday party, and today we got up and went to the Palisades mall, a four-story shrine to commerce in Nyack, New York, which might as well be in New Jersey.  We got lots of Christmas shopping done, and I even got myself a ski jacket -- my first coat that is actually warm, my third winter in New York.  After the mall trip, we put the Christmas lights on the bushes and had a classic Sunday dinner of roast beef, potatoes, and veggies with the kids.  Doesn't that sound lovely?  It was. 

Enter, Sunday Night Feeling.

just like a picture print by Currier and Ives. really.

  (Picture by Currier and Ives.  Who apparently believe in child labor. 

Our kids would never go just cut Christmas trees down by themselves.)

Kathy and I went to visit her family in California for Thanksgiving.  On the way there, we were both so excited to see everyone, and go to her uncle's almond farm in the central valley for the turkey eating part.  We also had plans to hang out with our friends in Berkeley Saturday night, go into San Francisco on Sunday, before flying home Monday.  As an ex-East Bayer, I was super excited to be on my old stomping ground with my old friends (as in they were my friends when I lived in the Bay area, not that they are old).  The kids were excited to see grandma.  But then, the thing that always happens, happened.

siblings

I don't know anyone who would say that their family is anything but dysfunctional.  If they said that, they would probably be lying -- either to you, or to themselves.  All families are a little nuts.  Families are great at things like criticism, guilt, denial, etc.  My family of origin is no exception.

Popular wisdom tells us that this is because our parents messed us up.  Then, we mess our kids up in similar ways.  It's a cycle of dysfunction.  But, with the help of my brother and sister, I am bound and determined not to let this be the case for us.  And after today, I think we might finally be making some progress on breaking the mold when it comes to my family of origin's dysfunction cycle.

This is us, circa 1989. 

I am the one rocking the mullet with my hand on my hip in a really sassy kind of way. 

Yes, we are wearing matching shirts.