News On My End

I had a little email exchange this week with one of my best college girlfriends, someone who I wish I got to talk to more, and, in it, she asked if there was any news on my end. Considering that I write this from my bed at 11:45 a.m. on a snowy Thursday, no. But further considering that I think my avoidance of this space lately is because there's not much cheerfulness to share, I'll share the questionable, the hopefully relatable, the downright depressing news anyway. You know, so as to better wallow in my mild self-pity.

1. I'm training for the Riverbank 25K, a race I've done a few times before. It's a great local race, one that I enjoy, and I'm further glad to be doing it as a part of a group from the girls' school that's raising money to support our principal, a brave woman who's been fighting cancer this school year. But it's a little frustrating that last year, my running partner Sarah and I opted out of training for the race, and that spring was a string of sunny, 70-degree days. THIS YEAR? I keep having to run nine miles in the snow when it's 23 degrees, and I'm over it.

2. Jason, who first of all falls asleep on the couch at 8:30 p.m. every night that Michigan does not play basketball, has been snoring more as of late. Last night I eventually moved out to the couch because he wouldn't stop, and I fell into a fitful, uncomfortable sleep there until one of the cats woke me up at 6:30 a.m. by bad-assing across my face with its hind feet. I now have a lovely red scratch down the right side of my face just in time to meet a bunch of new neighbors on Saturday.

3. Have I mentioned the snow? I took a stand the other day by washing my giant down coat, hanging it firmly in the back of the closet, and declaring that I was going to stop wearing it for the season, as if perhaps by donning my jean jacket or a lightweight trench I could hasten spring along. Then I got stuck standing outside a building for about fifteen minutes on Tuesday night, waiting to be let into my meeting while the wind whipped snow into my insufficiently dressed self. My mom would have strongly disapproved. (I have still not brought the down coat back out, though.)

4. I had this conversation one day with Jemma when the girls were playing detective and wanting to dress in all black:

J: Where is a black hat, so I can wear it?
Me: We don't have a black hat.
J: Yes, we do.
Me: No, we don't.
J: Yes, we do.
Me: Tell me what it looks like. Whose is it?
J:  . . . .
Me: See? We don't have a black hat.
J: But what if we DO have a black hat?
Me: . . . .

5. After hearing people rave for years about how perfect and comfortable and life-changing Lululemon studio pants are, I bought some. Which is a good thing. But the amount of days I wear them? Is not a good thing.

Bad Things, January 2013

Every month or so, I try to use this space to record the myriad, little, everyday "good things" happening in my life right now: Instagram photos of favorite school projects, delicious food, happy snippets of conversation, moments I want to remember. One of the reasons I started blogging (back in 2006!) was because I found that the days all blended together, and I found myself not feeling grateful enough for the things that were right in front of me. I wanted to remember the stories of these days, and I wanted to remind myself of the good in the midst of life with young children.

However.

It is January. (Still.) It has been gray and foggy and raining a cold, disgusting drizzle for two days non-stop. I've felt borderline sick all day. So how about I bring you "good things" tomorrow and vent my "bad things" today? First-world problems, all; nevertheless, I like to keep things real.

So:

-I've eaten at least one piece of Jet's Pizza three out of the last four days. My stomach does not thank me.

-A super-strong wind blew the hot tub cover completely open last weekend, and in the process it literally bent the bar that helps open the cover. Now, when we open the hot tub up, the cover dangles dangerously close to the ground, and the bar threatens to snap right off due to the increased pressure. Jason is taking a wait-and-see approach about this.

-I am luckily wrapping up my annual self-imposed January detox (clearly I use the term loosely; see the first item in this list). I did a very good job of keeping the alcohol to a minimum (a glass of wine here and there when out for dinner with friends, but otherwise essentially no drinking at all), but I failed miserably at the "no treats" part of my plan.

-This text message exchange from today at 10:36 a.m., copied verbatim from my phone:

friend: What are you doing?
me: Get ready. Eating cold pizza in bed still in my pajamas and reading. Call in Zoloft prescription ASAP.
friend: OMG you are my idol!!!
me: No, really: I can't cope with this weather and fact that it's still January . . .  What are YOU doing?
friend: Haha . . . well, about to enter stupid Target. Then nothing. I'll probably get a coffee and sit in the Target eating area and stare out the window . . . Cymbalta . . .
me: Let's drive to airport and get a flight to Miami. Our families would figure things out.
friend: Totally. No really . . .  I am sitting at Target like a moron.
me: What are we even doing with our lives? . . . all is hopeless . . .
friend: Claaaaasic moms . . .
*2 hours later*
me: Spiraling . . . Eating chocolate chips out of pkg.
friend: Hahaha - you are killing me today . . .
me: I couldn't be more pathetic if I tried. Trying to rally, clean out cupboards so as to still be productive without having to leave house.
friend: You're holding on to nothing.

-30 Rock is ending this week. There's nothing else to say about that.

-At the girls' well-child checks yesterday, all was well except Jemma's right eye, which apparently has 20/40 vision. This is either 1. something developmental that she'll grow out of or 2. an indication that she needs glasses. Considering the percentage of the time that she drops fragile things (50) and/or loses things (50), I'm not enthusiastic about helping her care for and keep track of glasses. We shall see.

-Have I mentioned that it's STILL JANUARY???

Apres

The morning hasn't been a great one, so far.

Jemma woke me up at 6:00 needing help with something potty-related; later, she refused to get dressed because she was "too tired to go to school" and "wanted Daddy to walk her to school" and "doesn't like gym, art and music," which she has today. Annie lost her mind because she ran out of time to finish dressing her doll before it was time to leave the house. (This is a child who, when I was explaining about my new DSLR camera and why I was taking a ton of pictures of the same object but just changing one setting on the camera to see what would happen, replied, "You mean like a variable?"; a child who is able to tell you Newton's law of gravity and theory of motion; yet is apparently also a child who believes that a doll is ALIVE and WILL BE COLD if someone doesn't put clothes on it ASAP.) Nobody could sit their butt down and eat breakfast. Somebody forgot her planner and lost her hat (AGAIN), and both children were in tears at some point.

Now I'm here, alone, with a yucky feeling in the pit of my stomach.

*****

Last weekend, we went skiing. It was the first time we'd attempted it as a family of four. A day before we left, I posted this as my Facebook status update:

Our status as we gear up for our first full-family ski trip: Annie, lost hat Tuesday; Jemma, lost mitten yesterday; weather forecast, 40s and rain; me, last seen on skis in 2002. So.

On Saturday morning, while Jason was in a continuing education class, the girls each had a ski lesson. I watched from my perch as they navigated the magic carpet on the bunny hill with their instructors, and then I picked them up and heard that they were "good to go" on the chair lift and the real hills. 

We joined up with Jason, ate a quick lunch, and spent one million hours putting our ski gear back on. (SO. MUCH. GEAR.) (My gear, as you would expect, is also from 2002.) Then we hopped on the chairlift, all four of us in a row. It was sunny. We all had hats and mittens. We were ready to ski!

We got off at the top without incident, and Jason led us to the left. I was scanning the signs for a green run while trying to keep my eyes on the girls and while trying not to fall, so it's no surprise that I found myself just following Jason to a blue. We all did. And then we stared down what was a steeper hill than we had really meant to begin on.

"It'll be FINE," said my husband, ever the optimist. We started down. Jemma fell within the first ten yards and started to cry, while Annie zoomed ahead, going straight down the hill at top speed. I froze in the middle, not knowing what to do, then left Jason to help Jemma while I followed Annie. I tried to remember how to turn - turned right, turned left, zig-zagged my way down until somehow I was backwards for a split second before I fell spectacularly and lost my right ski. From my sitting position, I looked down the hill and spotted Annie, who had fallen and lost both her skis. I looked up at Jemma, who had fallen again and was refusing to get back up.

Thus began our first family ski trip.

*****

For some reason, this occurs to me this morning, as I'm standing in the kitchen unloading the dishwasher with a yucky feeling in the pit of my stomach and replaying the scenes from our chaotic morning. It's not possible, I know, to rewind our day and begin again, just as it wasn't possible to un-fall on that blue run last Saturday. I can't stop the falls, I can't stop the difficult moments. What I can control is what happens after - whether or not to get up, ski down to Annie, help her get her skis back on, and ski the rest of the way down laughing at ourselves. Whether or not to get Jemma back on the chair lift (after Jason skis down with her on his back) and find a nice green run that she handles just fine. Whether or not to make sure that an inauspicious start doesn't keep us from spending the three hours after enjoying the sunshine and snow with no falls and lots of smiles. Whether or not to let a not-great morning ruin the rest of the day, or to put yoga clothes on, move forward with the day, and plan to start again with the children when they get home from school. It's about what happens after.

(Apres skiing, by the way, we snuck away for a lovely grown-up dinner at a fancy French restaurant with good friends and plenty of red wine, so I think there might sometimes be a reward for getting through the hard stuff.)

March, Now

And so we've somehow passed the last two weeks or so, filling the not-so-wintry winter with board games, time with friends and family, silly dancing in the kitchen, making giant messes and cleaning them up again. Plus there was a kids-free trip to Chicago (and a very indulgent afternoon at the spa for me, plus too much eating and drinking to mention, though I will mention Girl & the Goat and most especially the green beans we had there, which I am attempting to recreate tonight, and I will also mention that the cocktail Jason had there tasted like my grandpa's pipe always smelled. Appropriately, it was called "Smoking Jacket," and it inspired me to drink a Manhattan later that night at the tiniest bar in the world called The Matchbox, and I blame our friends for all that ensued.)

The end of February looked like this:

(The desserts at Hot Chocolate also deserve a mention. We got the pecan pie solely based on the fact that the menu informed us that all pie crusts were made with bacon fat, and how could that not be the Best! Thing! Ever!? It pretty much was.)

Suddenly it's March, which means the traditional mobbing of Jersey Junction on March first, the day it re-opens for the season:

and, mysteriously, more snow today than we've seen in a couple of weeks. I left the house for yoga at 10:30 a.m., returned at noon, and promptly showered, changed into elastic-waistbanded clothes, and put on my under eye cream, so sure was I that I would not be leaving again. Jason and I spent the day readying our upstairs for the painter who is coming this week to transform the upstairs into Little Girl Sleeping Quarters and toting bags of giveaways and garbage out the door while the girls played some sort of elaborate Hawaiian wedding scenario that involved more clothes changes than I've seen before. Now I'm standing in the kitchen, drinking a Left Hand Milk Stout, perusing catalogs for lamps and rugs, listening to Iron & Wine, grateful for this low-key day and the piles of fresh, folded laundry on my bed, waiting to be put away.

Snippets

Days one and two of no Internettes, done. Already my mind is clearer, my patience longer, my eye contact with my children better, my voice stronger. The only things I used it for today beyond email was to listen to Pandora, update Jason's company Facebook page, look up appropriate attire for the weekend dinner reservations, check Chicago weather, and peruse the spa menu at our hotel.

Both girls had Winter Break from school today, so we started the day cuddling on the couch in jammies and finished it, predictably, with Little Bear and sponge rollers. (I will never get tired of watching Little Bear; could anything be sweeter? When my kids are too old for it, which they will be in a year or so, I will console myself by thinking about watching Little Bear with my grandchildren. Is it creepy that I am thirty-four years old and thinking about my grandchildren? Probably.)

The girls played Sorry! and restaurant while I showered, and then we went to Wealthy Street Bakery mid-morning, just because. It was quieter there than usual, so we loitered at a table, our threesome with our scone, our danish, and our cookie, and we just talked while the sun streamed in the windows and the espresso maker steamed noisily.

We baked cookies later in the day (more sugar!) and packed bags for sleepovers before dance. It felt like the old days, back when nobody had school and every day stretched out long in front of us, but since there was only one of them and not 377 in a row, it was okay. It was good.

Now, Land's End totes are crammed with footie jammies and favorite stuffed animals, night lights and church clothes, for a winter weekend at the grandparents'. My suitcase is full-to-bursting, too; two nights in a big city, and I throw it all in: blazer, flats, boots, jewelry, running clothes, cozy lounge pants for the morning when we order room service and read magazines. I love a fancy hotel.

(One time Annie wrote me a note and ended it by saying, "I love you as much as anyone could love anything." It may be my favorite thing that anyone has ever written.)

Things That Help

1. Sunny Sunday afternoon walks in the cold.
2. Hot cocoa for breakfast with homemade marshmallows.
3. Girls in sponge rollers.
4. Blowing up the air mattress in the living room to watch Love Actually in front of the fire on a Saturday night.
5. Leaving the air mattress in the middle of the living room indefinitely.
6. First piano recitals.
7. Creating a pink restaurant with the girls ("The food is mostly pink.")
8. Family Yahtzee night.
9. After-lunch yoga with my littlest yogi.
10. Sisters with matching shirts on Valentine's Day morning.

Three Portraits in February

1. Saturday night wedding.

Happy because we got to sneak a visit to Bell's between the ceremony and the reception, because (for once) Lisa and I out-danced and out-lasted the boys at a family event, because the DJ played Footloose and Nate danced to it a la Kevin Bacon, because pizza was delivered to the reception and nothing is better than pizza after a long night of drinking and dancing, because Jason and Colin did a ridiculous Kid N Play breakdance routine, because my hair looked pretty cute if I do say so myself.


2. Monday morning.

It was the usual Monday morning chaos, Jason already gone when the rest of us woke up, me packing lunches and walking Annie to school and doing Jemma's pre-school drop-off. I caught a glimpse of myself as I went into the grocery store: no make-up, messy ponytail covered with an old hat, holes in my running capris from that time I fell, a too-big fleece I bought in Canada in 2001. This is a new low, I thought, then came home to take a picture.


3. Friday night.

Jason's in Chicago and it's just me and the girls. I spent the morning running errands with Jemma (her voice in the backseat: "Mommy, can you find this song on the radio? (Sings) 'I don't want to lose your love, toooo-niiiiiight'.") I pulled Jemma and her friend O. to school pick-up in the sled and watched the girls be gleeful at the new piles of snow. We came home and read books in my bed, then took early baths, ordered take-out for dinner, and watched Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory - the old version, thankyouverymuch - while I put the girls' damp hair in sponge rollers. Then I tucked them in, and it was just me, a pint of cherry stout, and a fresh book in my bed while the snow kept falling outside.

Day in the Life, Winter 2012