Twin Birthdays Take a Whole Week

Hey all, in case you didn't know, T1 and T2's 8th birthday is next Saturday.  And this means birthday parties.  That's right, I said "parties."  We used to do the twins' birthday party as one large event.  They had the same preschool friends; we invited both their classes to their parties; and, we invited many of their friends who are family friends we've had since they were babies.

I tried to talk them out of the birthday party this year.  "Don't you just want to go to Disneyland or something?" I tried to bribe.  "Seriously," they said.  "We go to Disneyland all the time.  I want to do something special."  What's more special than Disneyland?  Quality problems, I tell them.  But they're growing up, and they have completely different interests now.  I finally sucked it up and decided to give them each their own birthday party on different days.

Sunday proved to be the best day, so one party is tomorrow, and one is next week.  Now, I know that parents with two kids always have to plan two birthday parties--they just get to do it at completely different times of the year.  There could be advantages to doing them back to back.  I'm thinking whatever I screw up at the first one, I can fix at the second one.  I can serve any left over cheese from the first one at the second one.  Of course, the baking party for girls will be completely different from the Pokemon party for boys, but I'm thinking bulk paper goods.  Smart and Final, here I come.

So we're ready for the baking party.  I made 30 some odd cupcakes tonight that the girls will decorate tomorrow.  They're in the shape of an ice cream cone, so they can fashion the frosting to look like ice cream.

even upside down, those are looking pretty good

We're also going to make salt-dough ornaments and decorate those.  T2 better like this party.  'Cause, while nothing makes me happier than to see little girls with flour smudges on their faces and chocolate smears near their mouths, I'm exhausted. 

More photos tomorrow of the cupcake masterpieces.

Why I Should Not Go to the Mall

The other day, I had to give a presentation to the college's Board of Trustees and several school superintendents during a 7:30 am (!) breakfast meeting promoting the partnership between local high schools and the college where I teach.  This could only mean one thing:  I had to get a pair of pantyhose.

Since I have a super amount of autonomy in my job, no one says anything about how I dress for my job everyday.  No one cares when I wear faded jeans to class because I have  to shoot out of there right after to pick up my kids because it's an early dismissal day and we're going straight to soccer practice.  Business dress in academia is a much different animal than in the corporate world.  However, the "power breakfast" with people who actually do make decisions about education that affect lots of families kinda does require that I dress up a little.

So I head to the mall in the 30 minutes that I have between getting off work and picking up the kids.  I know that I need just the one thing, but something happens when I get in the mall.  Oooh.  It's shiny!  Music lures me into stores!  Fashion beckons!  I'm a sucker for a wildly stylish store window!  I try to put on my blinders and go straight to the hosiery section in Nordstrom, but I can't help it start thinking about the other things I need that I could squeeze out of this trip.  Concealer.  Lip stick.  Hair product.  (These things seem to run out at the most inopportune times, right?) 

On this trip, I actually get out of the mall unscathed, pantyhose in hand, concealer and hair products in a little bag for good measure.

But yesterday was another story.

I was at Starbucks with T2 while T1 was at karate.  I saw a woman wearing this:

This is the Interlock Asymmetrical Dress from American Apparel.  American Apparel is a place where I don't usually shop because the clothes are for tiny, small-busted adolescents and I am DECIDEDLY, not that.  I'm a middle-aged woman  who is as stocky as a football player and taller than pretty much ever woman I know.  One-shoulder dresses are something that I NEVER wear.  If I can't wear a bra, it doesn't make it into my closet.

The woman at Starbucks, however, was pretty much the same size as me.  She was rocking the dress with a pair of leggings and ballet flats, and it looked really cute.  All of a sudden, I had to have this dress.  I plotted a trip to the mall to get it.  Cars on the road were not driving fast enough.  I almost crashed into someone pulling out of a parking place in my haste to get. in. there.  I hustled through the department store with the massive make-up event that had homecoming-going teenagers lined up for free makeovers so I could get the dress that I NEEDED.  I did get the dress, and it looked as flattering on me as I had hoped.  Sometimes, when you see something, you just know.  That's how it was.

But then I needed more.  Spanx!  Stylist's tape to hold the dress up!  Wait!  There's some cute jeans.  Oohh, shiny things again.  Stop. Stop. Stop.  I calmly went to the counter, bought the dress, and quickly got out of the mall.  Once home, I found I had everything I needed to wear with it.  I wore it scrunched up as a top over a straight skirt (again, middle-aged women should not wear mini-skirts) to a wedding we went to last night.  I felt confident and comfortable among the super-skinnies at the wedding. 

Shopping season is coming, and I know I'll probably find myself in the mall again in the next 6 weeks.  I need to remember a mantra like, "buying gifts, buying gifts, buying gifts."  Distractions aside, I think I'll make it.  I just hope no other super-stylish must-have clothing item makes it way into my mind's eye between now and then.

My very own Jem and Scout

For my family, being away from home brings out the worst and the best of us.  Tempers are short when sleep gets compromised on progressively longer days as we cram in more and more.  Kids tend to bicker more in close quarters.  Like a car.  For 4 hours.

But the worst of it is brief, forgivable, compared to the best of it.  I love being together without the pressure of the laundry pile (oh, believe me, it lurks in the back of my mind waiting to multiply and pounce on me when we arrive home), never-ending tasks at work, and projects for which procrastination is part of the title--like "that bathroom painting project I keep putting off..."  I love only needing to be responsible for a couple of meals and documenting my children's joy of being outdoors away from home.

We're staying in Northern Michigan on a lake in a beautiful cabin that my father-in-law built from a tear down.  The view is spectacular.

Last night, I watched T1 and T2 gathering acorns, skimming stones, and jumping off the dock.  I had a vision of the two of them making up games and stories--summertime yarns that are the only things that occupy their minds.  I keep seeing these dirty-faced ruffians like Jem and Scout from To Kill a Mockingbird (my current summer read).  My characters, like the fictional ones, are devoted to each other.  They're outside from sun up to sun down.  They create imaginary worlds in the forest that provide a dappled backdrop for the most memorable of play.

Like Scout, when they're older, I hope they reflect fondly on this coming of age time in their lives and while they learn about the world around them, they keep some of the innocence that is captivating in a seven-year-old's summer.

My mother, myself?

I recently returned from taking my family to the Pacific Northwest where my mother and brother both live, having moved from CA in the '80s.  I visit as much as I can, either by myself or with the family, but I always am left wanting more of them, as we are so very close, in my regular day-to-day life. 

My mother has Multiple Sclerosis and is now in a nursing home, confined to a wheelchair, and needs help with all of her personal and daily tasks.  It's hard for me to see my mother this way.  She's 76 but seems 86.  I feel that she's only getting small bits of my children's childhood.  Still, I want her to know how important she is in how I'm raising my own kids.  My mom has always been someone I've turned to for advice, to share about my day, and to hear about how her stoic, confident, and resilient individualism has seen her through the death of her own parents (her mother at age 3 and her father at 17), a divorce from my father, a death of her second husband, and this debilitating disease while remaining positive and enthusiastic for life.

I remember my mom as a vibrant, loving homemaker.  She was there making the kitchen the hub of our existence.  I remember the black ceramic tea cups that held the vinegar mixture that my brother, sister and I used to dye Easter eggs.  They would splash water colored webs on the newspaper covered table.  I remember the same table at Christmas when we would bake cookies and the table would be filled with sugar-sparkled newspaper.  She was providing these environments and then she was gone, like a ghost.  I think now that she was probably off doing laundry or making beds or somehow doing the mom things that needed to be done.  She'd check back in and see where we were in our activity, but I don't remember her judging or commenting, although she must have. 

My brother, sister and me--see the black cups?

My older brother, me, my younger sister

She would take meat out of the freezer, leave it sweating on the counter, quiz us on what she might serve for dessert with initials, like "tonight we're having 'CH'" (stood for cream horns, pastry filled with cream.)  She looked happy all the time--but I know she wasn't.  That was the gift she gave us.  She allowed us to be kids by keeping her emotions to herself allowing us the freedom of whatever stresses may have been bothering her. She let our lives evolve while we grew into the people that she was hoping we'd be.

That swollen eye isn't from my brother--I had a sty--she made me pose anyway

Sometimes I feel like I fall short in that part about letting my children grow into the people they're going to be.  My mother didn't deconstruct every parenting book on the market trying to find a philosophy that would be the panacea for all her fears.  She took us to church, sent us to a good school, put us on "restriction, missy" when discipline was needed, and then got out of the way.  I wish I could build upon her wisdom as I go through this journey, assured that I'm doing the right thing.

But she's aging rapidly now.  This is one of the drawbacks of having children older--everyone in their lives is older.  The MS has affected my mom in ways beyond her physical limitations.  A recent MRI and CAT scan reveal advancement of the disease.  My mom's mind is softening, not nearly as sharp as it used to be.  She repeats her small bits of conversation over and over, for she has little stimulating to say because her life is so routine.  "Did I tell you that your niece left for London today," she'll say, 3 times in a conversation.  It's the biggest news to reach her room in days.  I just say, "Yes, you did. Do you think she'll have a good time?" trying not to draw attention to her repetitiveness.  I still see that woman with the apron and the jokes in the kitchen, raising a brood of silly squirmers, the woman who still listens intently to my every word and makes me feel loved.

Someday, I'll be like her, and my kids will be like me--only much younger than me.  Will they be frustrated with me and ache to have me back the way I was in their childhood?  I know that the times I share with them now are their memories in the making.  When we go hiking, they're seeing me active, athletic.  When I go on every ride at Disneyland (some they won't even go on), I'm to them what my mom was to me.  Even when I'm too old to do these things anymore, they'll remember fondly, the way I do when I reminisce with my mom.

Beautiful Boy

I go into this same Starbucks almost everyday on my way to work.  I swear to God; every time I go in there John Lennon's song Beautiful Boy is playing.  And every time, I get choked up.  I shed tiny tears thinking about my own beautiful boy (and my girl too) waltzing off to school while I drive 21 miles down the LA freeways to my job.  I have a brief moment of remembering them--their faces flashing across my mind as I hurry to get my espresso and be on my way.  And I, like many mothers who work outside the home, swallow any guilt that might come up, reassuring myself that they are fine, I am fine, and we'll be together soon.

But more than that, I think about Sean Lennon.  He was 5 when he lost his father.  John Lennon said when promoting the album Double Fantasy that he loved being a "house husband."  He loved being with his child.  And to have it all taken away after only 5 years is heartbreaking.  As I listen to the song, I can feel his hopes for his son--the boy's life playing like a film in his imagination. 

"I can hardly wait,
To see you to come of age,
But I guess we'll both,
Just have to be patient,
Yes it's a long way to go....."

He never got that chance.  But I do. 

This morning as I was leaving the house for work, I was running really late.  I threw all my stuff in the car and yelled back at the house, "BYE..."  Then I went back inside.  I hugged and kissed my kids.  I told DG I loved him.  My family is the apex of my happiness, and I don't want to miss a moment of letting them know it.

As Time Goes By, the Future Glints on the Horizon

Between 2000 and 2010, so many life-altering things happened in my life.  And while 10 years seems like a really long time, as I put together more decades, I am ever more cognizant of how short those 10 years can be.  In the past 10 years, I got married, became a homeowner, had 2 children--at the same time--, moved to the suburbs, and became a tenured professor in my job.  Those are pretty big things, and of most of them, I am extraordinarily proud and extremely ecstatic.  I can't believe that my life has gone in the direction it has; in 1997, I thought my life was over.  I had given up the idea of the bucolic, serene life with a family and the white picket fence, but now I actually have that, and I am overjoyed at my good fortune.

Don't get me wrong; you all know how life with kids can be.  It's hectic, messy--hell, I won't even think about buying a nice rug or furniture until sometime in the next decade.  Oy, and if I think about the stress of keeping them safe, or making sure that they grow up learning how to be polite and generous, or making sure that their elementary school experience ensures they get into a good college, I'm as agitated as a a 16-year-old whose cell phone battery just went out while waiting in line for his license at the DMV.

But I think the next decade holds some magic for me too.  I have things that I can't wait for and things that I certainly could live without, but I know are coming in the next 10 years.

In the next 10 years,

I will turn 50

My children will be teenagers

DG's range of motion will lessen with the RA

I will probably get a new dog (which means my beloved Jack will move on--he's already 13 for God's sake)

It will finally be time for new, adult, not hand-me-down furniture

The kids will stop wanting to hang out with me

My sister and I will grow closer

I might lose my mother and/or father

DG and I can have date night without having to hire a babysitter

My metabolism will slow even further and I will probably gain weight

I will go through menopause

I'll bet my style will change; I'll no longer try to get away with some curvy-girl version of skinny jeans

I'll be able to renovate the back yard, pool area, and actually want to spend time out there

DG and I might be able to take a vacation longer than 1 week

I'll probably go to Disneyland a hundred more times

One thing I hope happens is that I'll be more accepting of who I am as I grow older.  I hope to no longer be as concerned about what people think of me as I've been in the past.  I hope to grow in wisdom garnered from my vast life experience (insert sarcastic tone here) and be happy with life as it comes each day.

While balancing all the facets of my life, I am excited about the prospect of what the future holds.  I hope to look back in another 10 years and write about all the good friends I made, wonderful experiences I had, food I tasted, places I visited.  In the future, I'll still be spinning plates, and they'll still be holding steady.

Sometimes You Just Gotta Say Okay

Decisions can be made in an instant. Faced with a challenging decision, one usually analyzes and then acts. I am compulsive; I almost always act before thinking. This has been a habit most of my life--talking before thinking, acting on impulse, instead of directed, reasoned thought. But if you ask me to go on a roller coaster, that's another story altogether.

Last week, I went to an amusement park with DG, T1, T2 and my 18-year-old niece. She's a roller coaster junkie--the scarier the better. She wanted to conquer them all. I was the opposite of compulsive on this point. I wanted to go on the rides with her because she really wanted to go, but the twins were too little for most of them, so DG went off to the mellow rides with them. So here I was, scared, not wanting to show it, and really, a little worried about seeming a wuss in front of this sweet girl who I have adored since she was born. How could I disappoint her?

I knew logically that nothing could truly happen to me on these roller coasters. I'd scream, feel the terror, and then it would be over in an instant.



I stood in line for this one 3 times. I chickened out twice. The third time, I went using that same over-in-an-instant rationale. This ride is called the Xcelerator. It takes off at 82 MPH, goes straight up, over a hairpin turn, and straight down. I remember looking at my niece right before it took off saying, "no turning back now." I barely remember what happened after that and the next thing I knew, we were over that turn, through all the other loops and drops and the brakes were put on. "I did it, I did it!" I cheered. The whole car cheered for me too.

I think it's weird but I feel the enormous sens of accomplishment at going through these fears. Somehow, it gives me hope that I can go through lots of scary stuff and I'll be okay.

T1 and T2 were impressed with my roller coaster rider abilities too. "Will you go with me on that when I'm older," T1 asked me. "I think I can," I answered him in all honesty.

A Not-Altogether-Negative Look at Growing Older OR Happy Birthday to Me

I've always been one of those people who really loved my birthday. By all means, let everyone know. Celebrate with abandon. Getting older doesn't matter because I'm happy. I have a wonderful family, career, life. But something has shifted. I still love my birthday, and I'm hugely grateful for everything that I've learned and that I have, but let's face it. Getting older does matter. I've been thinking about what parts of my life have been affected as I've aged. Here goes:

My Metabolism Matters--Well it seems as if I"m working out harder than ever (keeping in mint that I wasn't athletic as a young person) but my metabolism is as sluggish as walking through mud. There's a woman I work with who eats an apple and a piece of turkey for lunch. She's 70. She looks great. She's still working. But come on? Is that what a slow metabolism reduces us to? Saying hello to smaller meals is something I'm reluctantly embracing.

I Have Wisdom--I have a book called, What I Know Now. It's a series of essay written by famous women to their younger selves. If I wrote a letter to my younger self it would say, "Don't worry about what people think of you. Your family thinks you're terrific," and "Don't waste a moment of time obsessing about being fat." As I look back at pictures of my younger self, I realize that I was relatively normal. Experience has given me the wisdom of acceptance. The wisdom of acceptance creates such peace.

While I Wish They Didn't, Wrinkles Matter--I see now why Nora Ephron wrote the book I Feel Bad About My Neck. I don't have the full turkey wattle, but I do have LOTS of sun damage. And in the age of Botox and fillers, a woman can look the best she can, within reason, with relatively minor procedures. Check yourself, though--see "Wisdom" above. Again, I'm learning to accept every wrinkle as a testament to my life in turns both storied and challenging. But I insist--as soon as I see my family pull out of this economic crisis a little, I'm going back to the dermatologist.

Young Children Matter--Having twins at age 40 definitely puts me in the "older mom" category and having young children in middle age is certainly interesting. I have enough life experience to know that no matter what happens to my children, I will have had some experience or coping mechanism so that I can love them and get through anything that comes our way. Is it too much to ask, however, that they be just the littlest bit less annoying at times? I think about my children rowing older as I do and I see a wide gap. But I'm willing to explore and learn how to make myself interested in things they will be interested in. My children represent all that I wanted for myself. Growing up, it was always my sister who was the babysitter. I really didn't care about kids. I think if I'd have had my kids in my twenties, they would have a lifetime of sessions on the therapists couch. But since wisdom and responsibility come with maturity, my late motherhood is all the more exactly right.

Aging Parents--My aging parents matter just as much as my children. My disabled mother and step father need much more help in their daily functions. My desire to help them comes from a sense of obligation. I owe them for all those years and all those life lessons they gave to me. Giving back to them helps me to be a better parent. I remember what it's all for.

Style and Hiding Flaws Really Matter--Will someone please make some cute, designer jeans for women who don't have a 25-year-old body? Preferably some that aren't so low that the post-pregnancy muffin-top and plumber's crack show. Any while we're on the subject, how about some tops that are as cute as Nanette Lepore but not as pricey?

Accepting Strength and Body Ability--I am remarkably amazed by what I can do physically at 47. I've recently started indoor cycling. I can't believe I can keep up with these people. I am finally learning to accept that my body is a functioning machine that gives me mobility. This is something I do not take for granted. My mother's Multiple Sclerosis has her confined to a wheelchair. She gets so frustrated that she can't take a few steps. I take the stairs. Because I can. Everyday.

My Friendships Matter--If there's nothing else I've learned, as I am fully in the throes of middle age, it's that my friendships are the wellspring of my sanity. I have friends who are mothers, teachers, grandmothers, leaders, athletes, and motivators. Who better to talk you off the ledge when you're feeling overwhelmed then a woman who's on the same path as you or one who has walked the path before you? When I make time for my friendships, I am a better person.

Marriage--I am so blessed to have found the perfect partner. I spent most of my youth lamenting lost loves, crying over unobtainable men, and wondering would it ever happen for me? or would I be willing to settle or be alone? My mother said, very commonly, "you've got to kiss a lot of toads before you find your prince." Cue eye roll and disgusted tsk. I swear if I say this to my daughter at any point in the future, remind me of my erstwhile complaints of my mother's cliche. But, damn, she was right. Practically middle-aged when I married, and certainly over 40 when we had children, God knows I paid my dues. But waiting paid off. I look forward with absolute relish to the future old selves of my husband and me. I can see us sitting on park benches bickering, laughing about it, and smiling as we continue to create delightful memories. I am most excited to have someone to go through this thing with me. Bring it on.

It's nice to know that I feel like I am growing older without kicking and screaming. I may be whimpering a little and every once in a while throwing a little tantrum about it, but overall, I'm ready. Life is a ride alright. Ups, downs, glitches, but mostly, joy.