The World According to EDW

There I am, at 9:30am, deciding to start again.

Today was one of those really hot summer days. Full sun in late July, hardy humidity, sweat dripping down the back of your neck before noon. A day that you dodge and weave, seeking the breeze, searching for the shade. It's too hot even for the windows down and leaving the sunroof open just invites the heat down upon your head.

The park is the same place where I got lost last summer, when I wandered off, all sure of myself and sucked in by the freaking Steve Miller Band. Seriously, try going out with "Wild Mountain Honey" playing in your ears and tell me if it doesn't make you feel all trippy and "look at the pretty flowers and nature!"

So there I was, with my friend Kim. She's somehow talked me into doing Couch to 5K with her, although I think she is under the mistaken impression that I convinced her that it was easy or fun or something. Nothing could be further from the truth. It's neither easy nor is it fun, but it does work. And damn if I don't get some sense of accomplishment from finishing a week. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

The point is, I decided to start this little jaunt back to Sporty Liz on the hottest, sunniest day of the year. The day the crabs hide under the boardwalk, the sun worshipers use an umbrella, and even the kids go inside. But it was good. It started off fun, then it got hard, then finally, it was over. And somehow I found myself talking Kim into a weight training class tomorrow. Apparently, I've been drinking a big old glass of the Kool-Aid.

I'm actually considering running a 5K on my birthday (which is in September - I like to have my freakouts ahead of time). It would take a tight schedule and total commitment, and possibly it's a bit of stretch, and certainly a hop on the Crazy Train. Who wants to punch my ticket?

I have this teeny, tiny obsession with lyrics. Well, not obsession. Interest in. Affinity for. Slavish demand to know them for every song I like. So when birthdays roll around, I like to match them to song lyrics. 31st birthday? Oh, that's your Bob Seger birthday. That one's a gimme. But there are more obscure ones, rattling around in my head, recorded on slips of paper and in notebooks and MS Word files.

This year is my Mellencamp birthday. And I'm not super happy about it.

After Emily's party on Monday, my mom and Courtney and I played cards until after midnight. My mom was doing her typical getting to know you thing, quizzing Courtney about her entire life. At one point, she announced, "Courtney, you are very accomplished." This is high praise from my mom, who isn't effusive and never gives a compliment she doesn't really, really mean.

And it's true, Courtney is accomplished and it is impressive. I'm proud of Courtney, and my mom's praise, or rather, estimation, doesn't make me feel bad for a second, not even a little bit. And then my mom turned to me and said something like, "And you have a beautiful daughter". Wowza. Courtney is accomplished and I have a kid. Alrighty then.

Now, my mom didn't mean it that way. She is proud of me and she feels that my daughter is a reflection of my parenting, my hard work. I don't know if I agree. I mean, some things you can control, but Emily is who she is. All you have to do is meet her for a second and know that I have no control over her personality at all. And little over how she acts or who she's going to be. She's a very self-determined little thing.

But lately this idea of what I've done with my life seems to be popping up. Friends reconnecting from my past mention that I'm not where they thought I'd be. I'm not living, working, doing what they imagined me to be living, working, or doing. The implication is, not always but frequently, that I've fallen short of the bar. Typical life, nothing special. A whisper of a waste of talent in an ordinary life.

I didn't think my life was that...ordinary. Or typical. Or hell, finished. I didn't get the memo that it was over - I thought I was a baby in the sphere of adult life. Friends years older than me are changing careers, getting married, having kids - why should I be settled to the point of this is it? I'm not done yet, I want to shout. Give me a chance - maybe I'll surprise you.

Maybe I have the right attitude. Maybe I'm fooling myself. But I think that I'm still becoming the person I want to be. Always, every day, every year, changing and growing and moving towards something new. If you're not, then you are dead and it is over.

But the real reason I'm having an issue with turning 35 is pure vanity. I know the thing to do is embrace every birthday as it comes, and blah blah blah. But I don't want to be old. And I don't want to be unattractive. I want to be pretty and young and fun. I don't want to be old and settled.

Oh, fuck it. I'm going to age, there's no stopping it. Youth sucks anyway - you don't have any money, and you are way too critical of yourself. You don't enjoy being 22 and hot; you worry about all this other shit that ceases to matter almost immediately. And as for what I've made of my life? Well, I have an amazing family. I have more good, true friends than almost anyone I know. I have a lot of fun. I think that counts for something.

I don't have the answers for where my life is going to go in the next year, or the next ten, but that's okay. It's going somewhere, and that's what matters. I think.

Baby,

Today you are five. We woke up unceremoniously, the very first year I did not decorate the house for you before you woke up. But we watched your "kid TV" as you call it, and ate birthday cake for breakfast.

Later, we went to the pool club and you went to camp. I'd love to tell you that it was peace and love and joy the whole day, but by this time you know your mother and you know that I might yell and you might storm, but in the end it's kisses and love.

With us today we had some very good friends. Courtney was staying at our home, and Kim was at the beach club, and Molly called and Jodi brought the cake and pizza, and Jackie came with beer and wine and her family. Today, they did small things that made Mama love them even more, on this, your fifth birthday.

It's the small things, Em, that I love so much. It is very hard to thank someone for being your friend, nearly as hard as it is to thank someone for being your child, but know that today, with every fiber of my heart, I love them for being who they are in the same way that I love you for existing.

We had a party on Sunday, and brought Munchkins to camp today, and ate pizza and had ice cream cake in the evening. Your grandparents were there, and your cousins by love, and your adopted aunts and uncles. You received lovely presents, and went to bed late. All of the right things for a birthday were present.

And the right people.

You are very blessed, my darling, by the people in your life. Even if you do not remember the things our friends do for us, for Mama and Daddy, you will remember how it feels. I was so happy five years ago, because you were being born into this wonderful community of friends and family. Today, as you got hugs and kisses and phone calls and cards, it was all there. In the gifts, in the presence, in the spirit.

In a few months I'll be 35, and I wonder where you will be at my age. Wherever you are, I hope that you carry this with you. This steady stream of support and love, I hope you feel it as natural a beat is to a drummer. I hope it never leaves you, and that you march out and onward as sure as you are now, secure in the extraordinary, undeniably loved.

xoxo,

Mommy

So. Where did I last leave you?

Ah, vacation! Myrtle Beach proved to be lovely. Great weather, a beautiful beach, a good time was had by all. We arrived home late last Saturday night, and spent Sunday relaxing. I really am glad we went there, even if it was a slightly brutal 12 hour drive there and back.

This past Tuesday, barely back into my routine, I broke it and headed to Philly with Jodi to see Green Day. They were amazing; Billie Joe owned everyone in that stadium. I would see them again in an instant.



On Wednesday, as I was arriving home, Courtney was arriving in NJ. We spent the evening with ice cream, and on Thursday headed to a local ballpark to see Bob Dylan, Willie Nelson, and John Mellencamp. As I blogged, from the car while tailgating in the rain, it was hilarious and rain soaked, but very good times.



On Friday we went to see The Hold Steady. Another amazing show, and I am afraid, to what I am sure will be my friend Rob's chagrin, that I have become a major fan.




Nothing tops the very last part of being at the venue; it was so Jersey and the Unified Scene personified. If you like music or people or being alive, you must watch this. The show is over, the DJ stops playing the song, but all of us, fists in the air, go on.



Saturday night, we went to dinner with friends at a favorite place, The Downtown. It was just nice and lovely and we got home at a reasonable hour and watched Tivo'd Poirot with Nick, who was still recovering from Friday night's shenanigans. I love rock and roll, but it's nice to have a night off from the intensity of it.

Today, Sunday, was Emily's birthday party. She turns five tomorrow. Five! We had her party at an ice cream parlor/candy store. It wasn't too loud and it wasn't too chaotic and it wasn't too much work for me, and that's just how I like my kid parties to be.



Then we went to the beach, to Asbury Park, which I just love. After some thunder and rain sent us packing, we went home, regrouped, and Courtney and I met Jodi and the movies. We saw The Ugly Truth, and it was just eh. Don't run out and see it, but it's good for watching on the couch when you're feeling under the weather.

Despite the disappointment of the movie, it's been a really good week, and a really good weekend. I needed that. I've needed that for months, truly. Tomorrow is my child's birthday, and the pizza and cake and all that will be fun, along with the run for Munchkins and the pool club camp and the hanging out with Courtney, who is here until Tuesday, when her real life claims her.

But until then, more parties, friends, and good times.

Here's the rest of the pics from the last week! Oh, and go read Courtney's post about Friday night, too.

I am at the Dylan, Mellencamp, and Nelson show. It's pouring rain. We are tailgating in the car. Did I mention the venue has no rain cover?

A guy across from us just pulled out a case of Coors light and looked for a light. We think he, with his camo shorts and workboots, will be here for Nelson. We're judging a lot. But in good fun. The lady with Crocs. The guy setting the tent up alone. The family with teens. The man in full hunting gear.

It's me, Jodi, and Courtney. We are waiting for Nick and Greg, but the rain is not abating. We are laughing over beers and chips and the possibility of the rain and the people and the eventual shit show this promises to be.

But good times.

We're here at the beach now, and the car ride is, I'd like to say, a distant memory. Truth be told, it's not far from my mind, as I mull over who would be willing to pick me up from the airport, and if I'd just carry-on Emily's booster seat. I can honestly say I'd never do this again, this drive down here. Or at the very least, not like we did it. It wasn't bad, it was just a lot. And in a rare, but becoming more common, role, I was happy, perky, non-grumpy cheerleader for the entire ride.

I'm the child of my parents, so naturally I should be whiny or annoyed, but I'm old enough not to do that anymore. In fact, I'm old enough to have the roles reversed, to be the one who is always in the front seat, looking at the map, deciding where we eat lunch, passing back the tissues and the drinks. I'm the mom. Not just to my child, but also, in certain ways, to my parents.

Just a few years ago, we were taking these vacations, the ones we go on with his parents and mine, and we were always, always the kids in the back of the car. Married, yes, and owned our own home, and had our grown-up jobs. But kids nonetheless. My dad still worked then, and so did his - in fact, all four of our parents worked, when now it's just Nick's mom who does. We note this occasionally, as if it's odd that she still works, a quirk of hers. But we very rarely, if ever, reflect on the fact that all of them did, and that was as normal then as retirement is now.

Still. We were married, home-owning, responsible adults, but children. Kids. And now suddenly, we take the lead. We drive our car, and they sit in the back. We plan routes, and we decide where to have dinner.

Tonight we walked around a local shopping and dining area that is popular with tourists. My mother in law and I went into a store that sells Fresh Produce, which for some reason I am slightly obsessed with, in the same way that I know the Vera Bradley lines in and out; can tell you the style of the bag and the pattern's name.

We spent a bit of time in there, she and I, mainly because I became a dress-up doll. Fueled by mutual desire, I stayed in the alcove with the curtain, and tried on dress after dress, while she brought me more and more selections. Finally, at the end, and after two appearances by our husbands, whose opinions were asked for and roundly ignored, we settled on a dress for me. It's simple, periwinkle, cotton. It's short, and sleeveless, and the sort of thing you wear on hot summer nights because it is so simple.

I laid it on the counter, and went to put away the rejected dresses; little slips of things, patterns and cotton and softness on hangers under florescent lights. When I got back to the counter, my mother in law had her purse firmly on it. She was going to buy my dress for me, because she liked it the best. She wanted to do this. So I kissed her on the check and I let her.

I used to think it made me more of a kid to have parents pay for things for me. Now I see that, in some cases, it makes me more of an adult.

I'm on the road right now, with my mom and dad and Emily. It's a big, rambly truck, filled to the gills with clothes and food and bottles of wine in the way back. We've already listened to the country hits of the 1970's, the popular songs of 1999, and are onto my dad's iPod. Does anyone else find it odd that Little Feet had a hit with a song about gumbo?

My dad spent a lot of time, during the first CD, reminding me that this was the first Mexican-American country singer, or the first black country singer, or a blind country singer. When he asked what I was scribbling down, in the front seat, I explained that this stuff was too good to just forget.

Now we are in Virginia, in stop and go traffic. It's not fun, this traffic. Emily is getting bored and my parents keep fiddling with the GPS and telling me all about the Broadway shows they've seen based on the songs of Billy Joel, Johnny Cash, or Frankie Valli. Because, yes, they have seen all three shows, even the Cash one which didn't make it out of previews.

Wish me luck. I'll keep updating from the road, as long as my cell service doesn't fail me!

When I last left you, the post before I admitted to getting jazzed just contemplating the founding fathers, I was chatting about my television viewing and my summer plans and the upcoming shower.

Oh my God, remember when I was swept up in the birth of a nation stuff? I am so not cool sometimes. Unless you're a history professor that has given up on the Youth of Today.

So, anyhoo, the shower was wonderful. It was exactly what Jodi wanted and she seemed to really enjoy it. I have pictures, but I have not posted them. I'm a slacker. Sunday, the day after the shower, I crashed on the couch. It felt like days. Then Monday came, and the aforementioned Fun in the Sun camp started.

Now, in case you are wondering, it's called Fun in the Sun because it's outside. So, if there is serious rain, more than a quick shower, you have to hightail it back to get your kid. Still, it's cheap as dirt and 7 weeks long and EVERY DAY. Emily loves it. And, as a nice bonus, it's at the town pool club, so I can stay there and hang out if I have free time.

So that's been my last week. Throw a party, recover. Take kid to camp, recover kid at home. Make dinner, watch reality TV. Go to sleep. Clean house, throw another party (July 3rd, annual thing). Clean up, recover from party. Rinse. Repeat.

Summer officially started for me last Monday, on June 29th, and I was totally unprepared. I needed more sunscreen, more beach towels, more food in my house. It was as if I woke up, from weeks of rain, and realized that it was summer. I had a job to do! I had a life to live!

So that's where I've been. Living that summer life. We leave for a week's vacation, in Myrtle Beach, on Friday. Today felt nice and relaxed, but sitting here, typing, I can feel the panic rising, the interior list-maker in my head. She's doing masses of laundry and running errands and I'm telling her to breathe! Breathe, girlfriend.

(Did I mention the vacation is with my parents, and Nick's parents? In one condo. For a week. Yep. They sell wine there, right?)

Despite the late start to the summer, despite it taking me by surprise, despite the busy schedule and plans laid out in front of me from now until September, I'm enjoying this. It's different this year, it feels different. I'm not sure what it is, I haven't put my finger on it yet. But it's not like last year. It's not the same feeling to my days, my life. But it's good, this summer. I'm going to have fun seeing how this one goes.

We are frequent visitors to Colonial Williamsburg, and every time I go there, I am struck by the bravery and courage of the men who birthed my nation. Sometimes we watch the classic yet slightly cheesy Story of a Patriot, starring Jack Lord. Sometimes we attend a special program, like a conversation with Patrick Henry. Or maybe we simply wander around and let the daily events unfold around us. Whatever we do, it's history recreated, and it's hard not to get swept up into it.

But this isn't an advertisement for Colonial Williamsburg, although I'm not above shilling for them on my blog. No, it's an acknowledgement of what it meant to the drafters and signers of the Declaration of Independence, what it meant to the people left behind at home, the men who elected their representative to the Continental Congress. And of course, the people of our nation who had no say in how it was run, but had to live with the decisions made.

I don't think we can ever truly understand what it was like for these men of courage and foresight, nor do I think we can ever be thankful enough to live in a country of free elections and a governing document that allows for changes. We are incredibly blessed.

It's funny that we celebrate this historic event, the birth of our nation, by eating too much and drinking and setting off booming displays. It's exactly how our forefathers celebrated holidays. Maybe they didn't head to Lowe's to fix up the house, but they did love to eat and drink and light things on fire. And they loved their marching bands.

There are so many ways that we can access the best historical research to better understand the forces that formed our nation, the people who signed and ratified the Declaration of Independence. We can go to so many places and hear from interpreters, we can read books, we can sit on our couches and watch the History Channel. I do all these things, gladly, and I come to the same conclusions each time.

There were a lot of different voices yelling out their particular concerns. They were imperfect people. They had a hard job, lots of restrictions, and plenty of things working against them, like money and weather and space. Some of them were brave, some boisterous, some brilliant. Some were just a pain in the ass. But somehow, all this diversity learned to work together. And they set such a lovely example amid the turmoil, that I can never lose faith in us to do the same.

Happy Independence Day.