thongs: the great underwear debate

A few nights ago, there was a collection of our suburban friends drinking copious amounts of alcohol in our kitchen.  We call ourselves the Misfits, ostensibly because we're all divorced, but really for reasons we don't like to talk articulate (e.g., one friend has a rather crazy ex-husband who trash-talked her all over the place; Kathy and I are, well, two of four lesbians in our town -- which we know because we have been asked if we know the "other" lesbians.  Etc.).

Anyway, for a reason that I can't quite remember, it came to the attention of these friends that one of us was wearing... um, white cotton Hanes underwear (the kind which you can buy in a 3 pack at the drugstore).  Kathy and I both have them.  We refer to them as our "running underwear," since that is kind of why we bought them.  You want something comfortable and breathable when exercising, right?  This HORRIFIED our straight suburban friends.  Apparently, we are supposed to be wearing thongs.  At all times.

"But not when you run!" I protested.

"Especially when you run," the only other runner in the group informed us.  "Those tight running pants show your underwear lines!"

"But you're RUNNING.  Who sees your underwear lines?"  I wailed.  "If people can see your bum that closely, you should be less worried about your underwear and more worried about your running pace." 

According to her, that's not the point.

(acceptable underwear, from an acceptable store)

an open letter to whoever makes stocking decisions at the stores around here

To whom it may concern:

I try hard to keep our house relatively organized.  This is not easy when any attempt at organization is constantly undermined by three people under the age of twelve, and occasionally undermined by the resident adults.  

There is one organizational item that I disproportionately love.  That item is the holiday color coded bin: the big orange and black tubs you can put Halloween decorations in, the red and green ones for the Christmas decorations, etc.  This is essential when you have an attic completely jammed with all sizes and colors of plastic bins full of kindergarten art projects, baby clothes, high school yearbooks, your sister's sewing machine, cases from CDs you no longer listen to, and the like.  If you don't have color coded bins, you never find all the holiday stuff until the holiday is good and over and you are searching for the stuff for the next holiday.

(the ubiquitous bin*)

year-end

Yesterday, Kathy woke me up at 6:30ish.  Actually, I first woke up at 5:15 when she got out of bed but was too groggy to ask what she was doing.  Then I woke again at 6:15 and heard her typing in the office.  Then, she came in and said to me, "I think you should get up.  I think you should work out."

The thing is, when you have kids, the end of June is the end of the year.  And with the end of the year, comes obligation -- about a million obligations, actually.  Monday, I got up and went to C's class party.  I came home, took Kathy to the doctor, went directly to my horseback riding lesson, and went to the grocery store.  I got food for the week, plus food for A's graduation party.  I changed my clothes, and went to A's 5th grade graduation and the attendant dinner, which brought me pretty much to 9 pm.  I fell asleep on the bed waiting for Kathy to come in from the other room. 

Then, yesterday's schedule involved B's Coral Reef Day presentation and class party (from 8:30 to noon) then preparing for and throwing A's 5th grade graduation party -- which would go all afternoon and into the evening, between setting up, having the party, and cleaning up afterward.  So, really, 6:30 was the only time there was to work out.

After I emerged, sweating, from the basement, I thanked Kathy for getting me up.  Dragging me out of bed early is always risky.  "Ah, I knew it would make you feel better," she said.  "It seemed the least I could do, since your life is not your own."  There is that.

So, I hope you'll forgive the spotty blog-posts this week, but it is true that my life is not my own right now.  Really, once you have kids, is it ever your own?

kinda soon

So, all in all, I consider myself a pretty smart person.  But there is one thing I cannot manage to keep in my head.  A schedule.  Kathy has told me at least 1,000 times what we are doing this weekend, and how all the logistics are going to work out.  I do know that tomorrow we are headed to Kathy's college reunion (no, I won't tell you what year) and that we are going out to Fire Island Saturday through Monday.  That's it.  Those are all the details I can remember.

Today, I went down to the garage to drop off our car to see if we can get it fixed before we leave for our weekend plans.  When the garage guy asked me when we needed it back, I was completely stymied.  Were we supposed to drive somewhere to meet her college roommates (a.k.a. our carpool buddies) tomorrow?  Don't know.  If so, what time are we leaving?  I think in the morning, sometime, sorta early.  Could we pick it up Saturday in between Providence and Fire Island?  Are we even coming home on Saturday?  Beats me.

Kathy, understandably, gets really frustrated by this.  I can keep song lyrics in my head after hearing a song once.  I remember everything she has EVER said in a fight (usually a direct quote).  I can rattle off all of her passwords after hearing them once, and probably her social security number.  But I cannot, for the life of me, keep our plans straight. 

In the end, I just had to tell the garage man that I had no idea when we needed the car back, but I was sure it was "kinda soon."  I'm sure he appreciated all the helpful guidance and will push us right on up to the top of the list.

hi, want to be friends?

(from this flikr photostream)

I have talked before about how important I think it is to have a regular date night to sustain a healthy relationship.  Time together alone is essential to work through your issues, talk about your problems, hopes, and dreams, and do other things that can be little awkward with other people around (if you know what I mean).  But there is something else that I think is essential to a relationship.  And that other essential thing is friendship.  With other people.  Not as a couple.

This one is much harder for me than staking out time alone with Kathy.  This week, while Kathy was in London, would have been a good time for seeing my friends.  Except that I had a stomach bug over the weekend that had not quite worked its way through my system, so I cancelled a cardio class I was supposed to go to with a friend from law school.  I had dinner with my sister on Tuesday night (yes, she counts as a friend in my book), but again cut it shorter than I would have liked because I kind of felt like crap.  Then, Wednesday rolled around.  It was supposed to be a rescheduled friend-date with the law school friend from Monday, but the weather hit and I was trapped in the house all day.  Blah.  A whole week of Kathylessness, and I only got to see one friend.

Making friends is not, and never has been, the easiest thing for me.  I can be outgoing, and I do talk kind of a lot.  But that doesn't mean that interactions with people I don't know well are easy for me (they're not) and, frankly, I am kind of picky about who I will create a friendship with.  I am one of those people who would rather have a few close friends than many not-so-close friends.  If you're only going to have a few friends, it makes sense that you would want them to be people you thoroughly enjoy, right?  Everyone has people in their life that they like "only in small doses."  To me, that kind of feels like a waste of time.  If I only like someone in small doses, I don't really like them that much, do I?  Why, then, would I waste my time creating a relationship with a person I don't like that much?  Perhaps that is a bit harsh, but it's really how I feel about it.  So, to all my friends out there reading this, Hi, I like you a lot.  :-)

square

(istockphoto)

I love living in our small town.  I think it's apparent to anyone who reads this blog that I do.  I also love having kids in my life (especially A, B, and C, Kathy's kids).  I love living with Kathy.  I love doing things around the house, I love cooking, I love books.  I do not love crowded bars, nightclubs, or general admission concerts.  I don't like the city, and I don't like hipsters (sorry, but I don't, being around them makes me all nervous and self-conscious.  It's why I won't go to Williamsburg).  I like turtlenecks.  I don't like loud music, other than in the car.  I know myself pretty well.  Why, then, do I have a hard time surrendering to who I really am? 

When I was younger, I used to chirp to my parents all the time about how I wanted to live in a city.  I said it so much that I started to believe it.  Specifically, I wanted to live in San Francisco.  My sister said the same thing (only failed to name her city.  Sister, you lose points for specificity).  I talked about how wasteful it was to commute by car, when mass transit would be available if only you lived in the city.  I talked about how selfish it was for people to want their own little plot of land (to do what in, I asked my parents).  I mean really, you can walk one block and throw the ball in the park, right?  And community gardens, people! 

I also used to say that it's really important to be single, so you can find yourself and really know yourself before committing to a long-term relationship.  I glorified the idea of single-dom.  All those friends I would have, all the late nights at bars talking about interesting things (and, no doubt, complaining about the losers in the dating world).  All the lovers, with no strings attached.  The freedom of it all.