The World According to EDW

Her fingernails.  That's what looks the same to me.  Such an easy thing, too, the thing you'd think would be the easiest to change.  File them into a different shape, paint them a different color, cut them a different length.  Go further and add on some wraps; fingernails are the easiest thing to fake.

But the first thing I say, and the thing I say most often, is how skinny she is.  My friend who has always worried about how her ass looked in a pair of jeans, who was always concerned about the cut, length, and color of her denim, has become the very epitome of cool jean wearing without even realizing it. Her tiny size 2's are fashion perfect in the way only size 2's can be; there's no room to fuck it up when you're that size.  You could buy them blind and you'd still get it right.

There was always a roundness and a smoothness to her. Her hair, her body, her face - never heavy, but curvy, and always smooth as glass.  She isn't anything like that now, at all.  I can see it in her, and in the pictures - a sharp contrast.  She worries about this, because everyone mentions it, but it's not until the very end of the night, on my drive home, that I get it.  Despite all the time since we've seen each other, and all the difference in her appearance, I am totally at ease with her, perhaps more so than I ever have been before.

There is no pretense about her.  The glass is broken, the smooth surface stripped away. Never once does that veil fall, closing her off, never once do her eyes move like they used to when I pushed too hard or not enough or wasn't as forthcoming as I could have been.  Not once, despite what is said and what is heard.  She's totally herself, completely transparent and raw and open, and it's finally exactly who she was meant to be.  The girl I became friends with so many years ago with all this promise of more is now this woman in front of me. Promise fulfilled.

I suppose I could have told you more traditionally about our night; her grandma's apartment, and the way they lovingly scold each other.  Or the cupcake shop, and the coffee and conversation and the people around us.  I could end it with the bar, where I was happy to be second best, and not forget to mention the smell of evergreens on the street mixed with the pot the Christmas tree sellers were smoking.  The accents, every one better than the last, and the way Brooklyn looks and feels.  It was magical in the way that I contend only New York City nights can be.  But the real story isn't any of those movie-ready images, or the sweet way I'd wrap it up with the goodbye hug and promise to my friend.  The real story, in this life and in every one, is when we decide to become who we really are.  That's the story worth telling, and that's what's worth reading, and writing about, and watching unfold.

It wasn't the comments, or the emails, or the fab pictures I have to show. It's not the stories of the wedding, or the fanfest, or the first Thanksgiving we hosted.  Nope, it's Tiger Woods.

I'm rather appalled that a sports star would be what pulls me out of the silence, what moves me from maybe I should take my blog private or I don't have anything new to say to Holy Bejesus, someone, pay attention!

Fuck, I don't even like golf.

But today I was cruising online, looking into getting one of those state-issued non-driver IDs for my five year old, since her passport is expired and we're flying soon, and really, wouldn't it be nifty to have one? when I came across this story.  Now, I've been chatting about Tiger and his car accident since it happened - it was a major topic of conversation at my Dad's birthday dinner on the 28th.  (Happy Birthday, Dad!)  But this sort of put me over the edge.

Parnevik, who introduced the couple, is quoted as saying he feels bad for Elin, and makes a joke,  I assume, about her using a heavier club next time. 

Beating your spouse?  Not funny.  If this joke was made about a man hitting a woman, the shit would be hitting the fan.  You know it's true.  Everyone from Gloria Steinem to Ann Coulter would be weighing in on this - Oprah would demand Tiger be flogged publicly.  But it's amusing if a woman goes after a guy with a golf club? 

Whatever Tiger's alleged infidelities turn out to be, he sure as hell doesn't deserve to be beat for them, any more than a cheating woman deserves to be lit on fire.  If you think I'm exaggerating, look it up. It happens.  In 2009. 

I'm a woman who won't listen to Miles Davis because he not only beat the shit out of Cicely Tyson, but then bragged about it in his biography.  I take domestic violence seriously.  Maybe Elin lost her head.  Clearly she did.  But if you're going to make an actual show of support for her, it shouldn't include what type of weapon to use against the father of her child.

And how have you been?

I swear I mean to blog more.

Work is good, life is just busy.  I'm running around.  Back to the gym, which is awesome.  Back to Weight Watchers - I'm trying to fit it all in.   I haven't sat down and had dinner at home at the same time as my family in a week, for no good reason other than I have stuff to do and no other time.  But the weekend is almost here.  Tomorrow is my friend Kathy's wedding, and then I'm off to MA to see Courtney.

I'll try to be back with pictures on Monday!

Sometimes I forget that Paul Westerberg was in the Replacements. Okay, not sometimes.  All the time.  Then I hear "Alex Chilton" and I know I love that song and then it all hits me.  The Replacements.  Paul Westerberg.  Big Star.  The pieces come together. 

You should totally go listen to that song right now.   Wait. Here it is.  Not much to see, lots to hear:

That's what happened yesterday morning, on my way to work.  The pieces coming together, I mean.  My boss told me how grateful she was to have me there.  See?  A compliment a day.  And really, something should be good and easy and lovely - in my life and yours, too.  One piece should be simple - one little bit should be like that.  Even if it's only a moment.  Every time we get to school on time, or I get to work in good time, I'm grateful.  I used to take that stuff for granted, but no longer.

The other parts of my day that I loved, besides that song, are dark chocolate M&M's, Glee, and this blog. 

I keep a secret stash of M&M's in my house, just in case.  The dark chocolate ones far outweigh the regular ones - I like to have peanut and plain on hand, for those days when you need a small chocolate fix.  I introduced this concept to one of my bosses today, and he was happily surprised to discover the dark chocolate ones exist.  Really, how is anyone living without them?

Glee was back on last night, and every part of this show makes me happy, even the touching parts that are sort of teary and poignant.  It's just brilliant, and it's easily my favorite show. Also, they did the Tina Turner hands to "Proud Mary", just like she does, while in wheelchairs.  Word.

I have a workout buddy!  Another school mom belongs to my gym and we made a plan for twice weekly workouts.  It's not enough, but it's a start, and if we can stick to it, it will help both of us to have a plan and we can each work on the rest of it.  So it's a good time to be reading my new favorite blog, especially this post about food and nutrition and exercise.  I know this stuff, but it's good to read it again.  I want to eat what they eat.  I want to run like they run.  Basically, I just want to hang out in their home for a little bit, in a non-creepy, non-stalker kind of way.  And it's not because of the guy in the picture.  I don't know Kristin or Corey, but I read her personal blog and he's so hands off to me, he might as well be my brother.  You, however, are free to drool.

That's what's rocking my world lately.  Music, chocolate, new beginnings, feeling grateful for the little things, and getting back to good habits.  Oh!  And I'm getting my hair cut and dyed.  Who knows what I'll look like in a few hours? I know you're breathless with anticipation.

Has it really been over a week since I've posted?  And that's what I left you with?  Oh, my apologies.

The truth of the matter is I have nothing to write about.  Or rather, everything to write about and nothing that I can. It's all those unbloggable subjects. 

Work is still going well.  This week is a lot of learning and I love that, although it sort of puts me in a fog and then I have to transition back to the quick pace.  It smells good in my office, like clean sheets and a day spa, and that's really very pleasant, and I drink tea every morning and every day someone compliments me.  Not too shabby.

This weekend my mom and I went to see Bruce.  She's got super bad luck on buying tickets online, so we were on the phone buying Bon Jovi tickets.  Totally normal, right?  I mean, we are in New Jersey.  We got four floor seats at the new Meadowlands stadium in May.  Anyhoo, while I was finding the Bon Jovi tickets,  my mom was looking at Bruce tickets.  She's aces on getting them after the on sale date.  She snagged two for Sunday night and we figured, why not? 

Then they announced that the show that night was going to be The River, and the Bruce fans went wild.  In case you're not on a first name basis, Springsteen has been playing full albums at his concerts, and The River is a two disc album and it's well liked.  Maybe I'm downplaying it.  In any case, it was a good show.  We were lucky to be there, in good seats right behind the stage.  We ran into a friend of mine while looking for a burger and beer, and got to hang out and gossip about our mutual fan base.  My mom is sort of used to the friends I've made through things like music and blogging, but it's still a bit funny to her - although no more so than two school moms dishing on their world.

And did I mention the matching hoodies?

So there's a quick update for you - or for Kim, really, or Erika, or any other friend who used to speak to me and now only hears my voicemail.  This work stuff, it takes up hours.  One of these days I'll get the new world order down and have time for everything and hell will freeze over and flowers will grow in winter and it was be awesome. 

And how are you?

My mom called on Friday, and for a minute I thought it was because she'd read my blog.  She hadn't, yet, but she did, and she called back to say that she didn't like what I wrote about her daughter, because her daughter is a fabulous mother.  So thank you, Mom.  And thank you, Debbie and Patrick and Christine and Joyce and Karen and Amy and Stephanie and Jodi and Jackie and Kat and Lyz and Erika and Lisa and Kelly and everyone else who called me or emailed me or left me a comment. 

Thank you.

I wasn't super excited about Halloween, as you might imagine, from the blog and the tears.  Friday night I left at about 10pm to go run and vent to my girlfriends via cell phone, and that helped a whole lot.  I was so super stressed, even after the crying, that I just needed air and movement.

Saturday dawned brighter and warmer, and I started to get happier.  Emily and Nick went off on their merry way, to soccer games and such, and I went off in search of a costume for myself.  Months ago, before school even started, I'd bought Emily the entire Cinderella regalia from the Disney Store.  It was a fit of Mothering Guilt that compelled me to purchase not only the dress but also the shoes, tiara, and wand.  I know, insanity.  I soon realized that, and spent a good hour in Target last week trying to convince her to jettison Cinderella for the $10 generic fairy costume she had her eye on.  I even offered her the Witch Barbie one, and you know how I feel about Barbie.  But Cinderella won out, and so she had the top-of-the-line little girl fantasy costume to wear.  Which, as it turns out, helped with my moment on Friday.  I might have gotten everything else wrong, but she did have the nicest costume possible.



As for me, I had a date with my two best friends and nothing to wear.  But then Jodi came up with this brilliant idea, so brilliant and so fun that I couldn't stop telling her that.  Nick and I took Emily trick or treating at his parents' house, because they have a much better neighborhood for it. And then his mom and dad took Emily to church, because they are good Catholics in the way that I am distinctly not, and Nick went off to hang out with his friend and I went off to get scary.



The inspiration was Pink's Funhouse Tour.  Jodi's a little anime, but basically, we're circus performer clowns, sort of Cirque du Soleil.  It was SO much fun to wear.  I was just skipping and bouncing the whole night.  Jodi and I were the only ones dressed up - Jackie and her friend Colleen and our high school friend Karen were all dressed like normal people out for the night, but I didn't care.  I was thrilled to be out, thrilled to be dancing the night away.  We didn't even get close to winning the costume contest, but we had a blast.



I cannot tell you how many songs we danced to and sang along to or how many times we laughed.  It was Girlfriend Central.  That was exactly the sort of night I needed.  As for Nick and his night...well, it's my blog so I only tell tales on myself.  But he had his own story, to be sure. 

And how was your Halloween?


The rest of the picture are here.

Today is one of thoe days when I feel like a failure as a mother.

Remember all those weeks of dropping my child off early at school, getting her ready and out the door with nary a raised voice and happy domestic bliss? My house was orderly and clean, my meals were whole grain and nutritious, my days were spent productively.  Well, no more.  My house is a mess. I hate a mess.  I am rushing to get myself and Em out the door and I am super proud when I manage it, even though it is ugly and there are threats.  The minute I get into work, the morning rush is forgotten, and I feel good and happy, but it starts again when I book it to get to Red Bank and park and pick Em up on time.  I make it there, but I'm not early and calm and centered.

The reality is that my days feel better, because instead of being discouraged and depressed by looking for work, I'm working and enjoying it.  But my mornings and nights don't.  I have no patience for Emily - I had a dream last night that I yelled at her and slapped her and I when I woke up this morning I was horrified but I wasn't sure if it was real or not.  And as I sit here and type these words, the tears pour down my face.   She runs over to hug me, and I apologize for my lack of patience, my lack of kindness.  I want to say sorry for being imperfect, for this house looking like it does, for meals slapped together.  But she doesn't care about those things.  It's the way I treat her that matters most.

Today we got to school just a minute late, and the principal walked her inside.  I felt bad.  Then I went to work and it was good and busy and I left a minute too late, caught up in what I was doing, and made it to town just in time to park and see her Halloween parade.  But there were no free spaces, and I drove around and nearly got into an accident, and finally found a place to park but I didn't have enough change for the meter, only 25 cents in my car or purse.  I ran to get to the parade, but as I walked up, my father-in-law spotted me and said "You missed her".  I knew it wasn't true, knew the parade route from preschool, but I wanted to cry nonetheless.  I saw her come out of the convent, where the nuns hand them candy.  I saw her at the last possible moment, but I saw her.   I took a breath.  I chatted with other parents. 

I knew the party, the only classroom party I get to attend all year, the reason I left work early in my second week, was at 1:20pm. So I had time.  I begged some quarters, filled my meter, got coffee.  And went in.  But the party was over, they'd started it right after the parade, despite the note home yesterday.  Again, I'd failed.  I'd gotten it wrong.

I had bought a carpet sweeper for the classroom, back when I was a SAHM and could volunteer once a week for lunch and recess time. I brought that in and set it up, but the cuteness of the party was over, all the fun, all the things they do.  And did I mention that when I went to take a picture of Emily, back at the parade, the camera said it was full?  Oh, yes.  So no pictures, no party, not one note hit right. 

I wanted to cry.

Instead, I drank my coffee, I chatted with the teachers and other moms, I told my sad story to one mom who was sympathetic.  I stayed until it was almost time for school to be over, and then I took Emily and signed her out.  We stopped by the nurse's office, a colleague and friend of my mother-in-law's, and that warmed my heart a bit.  I got blown off by a friend of a friend on the way out, some dad let the door slam right on my kid's face, and I finally got one picture with my iPhone which was broadcasting low battery.

But as we walked back to the car, Emily seemed okay; not too damaged by her absent mother, the door that hit her, and the general sense of failure I felt.  The nice lady we pass every day at the local bath store offered us candy and smiled, and I felt good again about my town, my choice of school.  I got us home in one piece, and let her watch TV.  There's a huge amount of work ahead of me, laundry and cleaning and organizing and just everything to make this house look like it's not occupied by someone with a serious mental illness.

But I feel that maybe I can cope a bit better, that maybe this day will be over, that maybe I can shake some of the guilt and sadness and yes, failure, I feel.  I don't need to be perfect, but it would have been nice to get one thing right.  Maybe I did - the apology to my daughter is worth something, I know. 

So. How's your day going?