What a Trip!

 

Last Tuesday, Albert, Audrey, and I travelled to Philadelphia to visit Chris. He was just home a couple of months ago in June, and he’ll be back again in just a couple of weeks. So why haul ourselves all the way out to The Birthplace of America? Because Chris invited us. And when your twenty-something kid extends an offer to introduce you to his world, you jump at the chance.

It is not a leisurely jaunt to travel to the East Coast for a handful of days with the time change and 7-hour flights. We were anxious about COVID but even more about the side effects of acute insanity that seem to be plaguing many airline passengers these days. Fortunately, our trip was uneventful. I slept most of the way but still had enough time to watch about three hours of Impractical Jokers on the tiny back-of-the-seat tv. Even though I forgot to bring my headphones and watched with closed captions, the guys made me cry with laughter several times.

via GIPHY

We arrived in Philly mid-week and took it pretty easy for the first day or two. Chris had work to do, and Albert and I have seen most of the sights over the past four or five years. We explored the city a little bit with Audrey then met up with Chris Thursday morning to take the train to New York City for a couple of days. I anticipated some stress with travelling and staying in a hotel together and Chris being at the tail end of his school term. Over burgers and drinks, Chris admitted to us that he had been excited for our visit, but now that we were there, he didn’t want to be around us or in NYC.

via GIPHY

Just six months or a year ago, I probably would have tried to fix this, to make things better. But I’m learning to embrace these hard conversations. My son is feeling angry and crowded. Would I want him to pretend otherwise so as not to disappoint me or “ruin” the trip? Not in a million years.

Feelings offer super important information. Sometimes they’re uncomfortable, but it’s so important to allow ourselves to feel them, otherwise they fester and come back to bite us when we least expect it.

So I put my pride in my pocket and put on my listening ears. “Thank you for telling me. I’m glad that you trust me enough to tell me these things.”

This didn’t make anything better. Chris felt guilty. He told me that he hated feeling this way and saying these things because he knew that I would always love him no matter what he might say or do. As messy as this moment was, I was filled with a deep joy.

When my kids were teeny-tiny babies, I whispered in their squishy little ears, “I love you so much. Never forget that because it will always be true.” It’s so easy to say that to a cute little baby. But then those babies start growing up and thinking their own thoughts and being different individuals than you are, and life gets complicated and frustrating and downright scary sometimes. I’m fifteen thousand percent certain that there were times that I acted unlovingly toward my children.

I would say that Chris has spent 90% of his life with a mom who was a much bigger asshole than I am today. Lucky for me that he doesn’t remember most of it, but that doesn’t mean that he didn’t experience it. I would sure do a lot of things differently if I knew then what I know now.

While I was eager to love my children unconditionally in theory, I didn’t really know how to go about this, because I was too busy correcting and fussing and enforcing. Father Richard Rohr says this in his podcast “Another Name for Every Thing”:

“The only people who have the courage and the insight to work for change in a loving way are people who have experienced unconditional love themselves, unconditional acceptance…You don’t know how to receive things as they are without judgement until you have…been received that way. Then you sort of learn how to do it….what it feels like.”

So it made me feel really happy to hear that, even in his distress, Chris could articulate that he knows for certain that he is so loved and that nothing would ever change that. This got me thinking about where I first felt unconditional love. Who made me feel a million percent certain that they would never leave me or turn away from me no matter how incompetent or atrocious my behavior? Who kept coming back over and over? My kids.

There were many days I’m not proud of. Sometimes I cry when I think about the atrocities I committed on these little souls who trusted me so completely. Screaming, hitting, shaming. I didn’t know any better. And yet my kids kept coming back with those adoring eyes, patting my face with those sweet little hands full of grace that I did not deserve.

Acknowledging my mistakes helps me learn how to be better. It keeps me humble and so grateful that my children still want to be around me from time to time.

After a good night’s sleep and a lot of patience and grace from all parties, we Fus pulled it together and had a really nice trip. We ate our way through NYC starting with some fancy cocktails with light-up ice cubes with my newly-twenty-one-year-old baby.

Of course, we tried the pizza. We bought a whole cheesecake and just dug into it with four forks. Our hotel didn’t have a refrigerator, but that didn’t matter because we ate the whole thing.

The bagels were heavenly, fueling us for the whole morning as we jaunted about the Big Apple. We rode the Staten Island Ferry where a woman cussed me out for sitting too close to her. If you look really closely, you can see the Statue of Liberty.

We saw the New York Stock Exchange where I took a picture with my girl who knows a lot of things about money.

We spent almost a whole day at the 911 Memorial. It was A LOT but well worth the time and emotional energy.

We visited Central Park and I was giddy to see the Chinese Gardens and Central Park Fountain where the Impractical Jokers do a lot of their pranks.

Times Square was really quite a sight at night! On our last day, we walked across the Brooklyn Bridge and enjoyed lobster rolls and lemonade.

We hopped on a train at Penn Station and skipped town right ahead of the flash floods and hurricane.

Sometimes having a good time is easy. But sometimes having a good time takes energy and intention. I’m grateful that we had the opportunity to share this experience together and to make these memories. My kids often express gratitude for the things I’ve taught them. I hope that they will one day recognize all the beautiful lessons that I learn from them.

Thank you for reading!

So Immature

 

I’ve been particularly irregular lately. Is that just something that is expected to happen from time to time and therefore requires no explanation or apology? Irregularity makes me feel uncomfortable, so I want to acknowledge it, but I’m also trying to give myself some grace because I’m doo-ing the best that I can.

I missed writing uh-gehhhhn last week. (What did you think I was talking about?) I have been working a lot lately, and that tends to constipate my creativity a bit. Know what helps me let loose? Getting together with the girlz.

We celebrated a friend’s 50^th birthday this week. FIFTY. I can’t believe she is fifty. When I expressed this notion to Audrey, she was confused. “Well, YOU are over fifty, and Miss Becky is around your age, so…..”

Right. Thanks for that information. It didn’t faze me to turn 50, and my age rarely crosses my mind. But Becky is just darling and beautiful and I have never considered that she was anywhere near 50. Actually, I don’t think of ANY of my friends as being at or around that age.

The four of us met when we all ended up living on the same street 17 years ago. Beth was already there, steady and established. She had the “big boys” who were tweens at the time. Then Allie, Becky, and I all rolled into the neighborhood in the Summer of 2004. The three of us had a total of 8.5 children under the age of 6. (Allie was still “in a family way” at the time.)

So that means that Becky was 33 years old when we met. And that’s kind of the age I always perceive her. It makes a ton of sense when I think about it. Although we have supported each other through some unbelievably effed-up life experiences, Becky doesn’t actually look very much different than the day we met.

I would even go so far as to declare that we ALL look much more beautiful than we did in our 30s. It’s amazing how relaxation and radiance have a chance to shine through when you DGAF what others think of you anymore. And the juvenile jokes that crack us all the way up? Definitely not at all befitting of actual mid-life ladies. Here’s a picture of us after dinner. Can you even believe all that sparkle??

Collectively we have 209 years of experience under our belts. Was it the Chippendale’s dancers that made us all glowy? Good Lord, no. We’re fifty-ish remember? While you might never guess our ages by gazing upon our lovely faces, our lady parts don’t lie. Want to have a good guess at a woman's age? Ask to look at her vagina. Why so shallow, Rodan & Fields??

The way we celebrated may not seem as exciting as male strippers, but it was way more enjoyable and at least 500% less sweaty. And being less sweaty is a fundamental daily goal with women our age. We just enjoyed a nice dinner with a couple bottles of wine, two desserts, and hours of conversation. Wanna know what a fancy, fun time we had? I got home AFTER TEN PM.

A Facebook memory popped up just today from 2014. I was wearing the exact same dress that I wore to Becky’s birthday dinner. Maybe this is the secret to looking young. Just keep wearing the same, old clothes for over seven years.

Complaining about age seems irrational to me. If I’m not getting older, what’s the alternative? I mean, you’re either one minute older or you’re dead, right? So I hope I always remember that aging is a privilege that a whole lot of people don’t get to have. And there’s not a single day of my life that I haven’t had at least one, tiny thing to be grateful for. Even on my very hardest, unpleasant days, I have family and friends who love me and breath in my lungs to say, “Thanks for that.”

I am grateful for each and every one of you.
Thank you for reading!

I.C.U.P.

 

Thanks for being patient with me, friends, as I’ve been AWOL for yet another week. I’m feeling a weird amount of guilt for not writing which kind of seems silly, like feeling guilt for not running off at the mouth when I don’t have anything interesting to say. Truth is that I’ve been working through some things, so I HAVE actually been writing. But it’s too messy to share. Besides, if you read about what’s really going on in my brain, you’d probably all run for the hills.

I am having some feelings that I know are important to address, but they are WAY DEEP INSIDE and it’s taking some work and time and energy even to identify what is going on. My mind is feeling all swirly, and I’m feeling a TINY bit overwhelmed.

Remember when we used to have to “defrag” our computers to make more space in our hard drives? That’s what I feel like is going on in my noggin these past few weeks. Kind of identifying shit that isn’t serving me and deleting it to make more space for more healthy thoughts and ideas.

I saw a woman pooping this past week. You would think that would crack me ALL the way up, but it made me pretty mad. And then the anger stuck with me for DAYS, because I have a problem with anger and WHY THE HELL DID THAT MAKE ME MAD??

This happened in the locker room at the gym, of course. I was entering a stall when I saw a woman pooping. I was completely startled.

She just SAT THERE and said, “Excuse me,” like an innocent old lady asking for directions to the library.

I’m pretty sure that I got mad because I had heard this EXACT SCENARIO play out just a few days before. I heard someone startle and say, “Oh, I’m so sorry!” and this same woman cordially saying, “I couldn’t get this door to latch.” IT’S NOT HARD.

I avoid this woman because she seems to talk indiscriminately and loudly to just about everyone, and I have very little patience for small talk. She’s also one of those folks who sits naked on the stools without putting down a towel and that sight leaves me disconcerted for days. I might just have to lie down and take a nap right now just thinking about it.

I notice this woman in yoga because it seems that she consistently picks the spot RIGHT NEXT to me. And she makes excessive grunting noises. Plus it’s almost like she’s in a different class altogether, because she assumes postures completely different from what the rest of the class is doing. Not that there’s anything wrong with doing your own thing, but it’s just weird. Like, why come to a group fitness class and then just do your own thing?

One time she was right behind me during one yoga class when we moved into a spinal twist and I heard a loud and alarming gurgling sound. I was three hundred percent certain that she just blew chunks right there in the middle of class, and I turned around to make sure she was OK. I fully expected to see her cookies tossed all over her yoga mat.

It took about one second for me to realize that nobody else in class was fazed, including the barfing woman! There she was, casually rolling onto her side.

One more second later I realized that she hadn’t hurled but rather passed a particularly deep and resounding fart. And now I felt like a jerk for turning around and acknowledging that profound pooter.

The first rule of farting in yoga class is THE FART NEVER HAPPENED. While I fight to rein in my giggles and reestablish inner focus, everyone else politely lets it pass (so to speak). But THIS ONE? If she didn’t hork, she definitely shit her pants. It was a challenge to bring my mind back to my breath when I was reluctant to breathe very deeply if at all.

So I guess this woman had already kind of ambushed me several times before I saw her pooping the other day with her loud talking and naked sitting and yoga sharting. I felt kind of assaulted.

It reminds me of one time I was sunning myself on the roof in college and felt tiny rocks hitting me. When I looked up, there was a naked man standing on the roof of the building next door, tossing pebbles at me to get my attention. I don't think I've ever heard of female flashers, and maybe leaving bathroom stall doors open is the feminine way of tossing pebbles.

After I saw her pooping, the woman approached me while I washed my hands, telling me she was sorry for scaring me and how she has trouble locking the stall doors. But I was pissed and didn’t acknowledge her. I’ve been working on boundaries and processing anger and this loud, naked-sitting, sharting, pooper-flasher just pushed all my buttons at the same time and short-circuited my brain.

Do you have any secrets for holding boundaries with people who seem to make it their jobs to violate them? Thanks for being patient with me, friends. And thank you for reading!