I commute about two hours a day, usually traveling the same busy toll road back and forth to work. I have been making this commute for about eight years. Sometimes, I drive on auto pilot, I’m so used to it. I get jolted out of my comfort zone whenever I come upon a horrible car accident. This particular highway is a speed zone for certain, and it’s the main road to get people to their jobs and then back home. Everyone on this highway is in a hurry. These wrecks are never minor—no such thing as a fender bender when two cars are going 80 mph. Every time I come upon a wreck I think about how the last thing on that person’s mind when they were leaving their house that day was being involved in a car accident. Their list of things to do—over. Places to be—on hold. What happened was completely unexpected and out of the blue……

When I got to work last Friday, I went through my usual drill of checking emails, returning calls, slamming a quick bowl of oatmeal while checking voicemails—the usual. We were called upstairs to celebrate the smashing success of the October issue. Mimosas and breakfast were on tap. Before I could head upstairs, I had to check my SPAM folder for an email from a client that had apparently gone missing. I had a notice from classmates.com telling me that I had an “unread email from a classmate.” I am used to getting annoying alerts when they email me, but this was different. A classmate had ever emailed my classmates account. In fact, just two weeks ago I tried to cancel my subscription to the service—I don’t use it, and I don’t need it. However, much like canceling your Internet service, it’s a next-to- impossible task. It takes seconds to sign up and months to cancel.

Even though I was going to be late for the meeting, I was intrigued by who would think to find me on classmates.com and send me an email. I opened my message center. What I found was something completely unexpected and out of the blue. What happened was the very last thing I ever thought would happen when I left home that morning. In fact, I compare to seeing a ghost, because in a way I did…. Face to face.

 

This is the letter, completely unedited:

 

I know this will find you in shock and probably in vain but I figured I would write anyway.  I have absolutely nothing to lose.   I heard that you and Laura had regained contact.  Glad to hear that.  Scott and I have remianed very close friends thru the years.  I see him about twice a year.  I think that means alot to to Laura, you reaching out to her.  Its actually bitter sweet knowing your doing great.  I am honestly glad to hear your doing well with family and all.  I wish you only happiness.  I truly hope you know that.  I absolutely regret so many things but am happy to hear you have done well.  Take care.  bill

 

Bill is my ex husband. I started dating him when I was 15. I married him just after I turned 22. I divorced him when I was 25.

The expression, “My life flashed before my eyes....” That is what happened, in a sense. It wasn’t my whole life, but a part of my life I had pushed to the very corners of mind resurfaced in an instant. My hands felt heavy and somewhat numb. My heart was racing. My mind was still trying to comprehend the words I just read. I thought back to the tiny, rented duplex we shared when we were married. The most random “pictures” flashed through my mind:

 The fuzzy blue couch we bought with all the cash we had, second-hand, from a complete stranger because we were tired of sitting on the floor. It smelled like smoke. We doused it with carpet cleaner and vacuumed it—still smelled like smoke.

 Balancing the checkbook and always having about $70 left over every month after paying the bills and wondering how to buy groceries on that small of a sum.

 Drinking generic Diet Coke because the real thing way overly indulgent.

 The sound of him pouring a drink of Jack Daniels when he was angry. Jack Daniels, apparently, was not indulgent.

 “If you can’t take the heat get out of the G. damn kitchen bitch!” Something he yelled at me after already yelling at me for forgetting to record a John Wayne movie for him.

 The ugly linoleum on the kitchen floor.

 Sitting alone on a mall bench, crying. Just being around people…a public place…normalcy….felt good.

 Having to pretend I was asleep when he’d come home drunk, hoping he wouldn’t try to, well, you know. The smell of him being drunk.

 Going to a nasty Laundromat filled with questionable characters every Sunday because we couldn’t afford our own washing machine and dryer. He stayed home and watched television, usually hungover. One time I saw a vending machine around the corner. I scrounged up every extra cent I could find—it wasn’t enough for a Diet Coke. All of the change I had needed to go to washing our clothes.

 Before we were married, him calling me my sister’s name during an intimate moment, then getting so angry afterward that he started choking me, almost to death. He was mad at me for being upset and mad at himself for doing it. The bruises were so bad I could barely turn my neck. The next day, I had to help host my mom’s Sunday School New Year’s Day party. I ran to my sister’s apartment to borrow a turtleneck so no one would notice. I’m sure they did.

 Him flipping me off on a high school field trip in front of everyone, just to be mean and embarrass me.

 Our wedding….lighting the unity candle.

 Stepping over him in the duplex as he cried – all six-foot-five of him, Army paratrooper—on the floor as I walked out the door and never looked back.

 Divorce court—alone. Scared. Relieved. Hopeful.

 ….. I could go on and on. Ten years will create a lot of memories—good and bad.

 I think what shocked me the most is now nice this letter was. I still can’t comprehend it. Who wrote this? Is it him? Really? The letter reminds me of all the reasons I always stayed with him and the reason I decided to marry him—somewhere down deep under all of those layers of a complete asshole was a shred of decency….a relatively good guy who just had a lot of problems. My problem was that I thought, like many women do, that I could fix him. I would save him. I thought he would spend the rest of his life grateful to me and treat me like a queen because of all of the good things I offered him in life. Our love would prevail…love is enough….and even if it isn’t, well, it was too late to turn back then. After all, he needed me! Everyone from our small town would see how we could beat the odds and make it—the good girl could tame the bad boy. Sadly, those are very typical the thoughts of a 22-year-old girl. Fathers….mothers, warn your daughters who are “in love” now.

 For those who haven’t followed, I recently caught up with a friend who was more of a friend during our marriage. Her husband is my ex-husband’s best friend. Long story short, we reconnected after I found her online. It was so great to catch up, but just as I had anticipated, she passed the news on to her husband and he, in turn, passed the news on to Bill. They didn’t give him my personal contact information; he contacted me via classmates.com. But, he did get caught up on my life today—married, working in a dream career, with two beautiful daughters.

Now onto the big question: How do I feel about this? I don’t know. The feelings change. First, it was shock. Then disbelief. And then I sat at my desk and cried. I cried so hard, I was sobbing. I haven’t cried that much in ages. My whole body was shaking. I started to call my therapist, who I haven’t seen in over a year, but I didn’t want to get wrapped up into that again. I called my sister and her thoughts were that because I left the marriage in such a hurry – I ran and ran fast – I never closed the door. She thinks the tears were pent up relief for finally  “knowing.”

I refuse to allow myself to think about the marriage for more than a moment’s time. If something sparks a memory, I distract myself with something else. I go above and beyond—overboard—trying to make the “perfect life” now so that the “imperfect life” is erased. But you can’t erase the past. I know this. But I sure try like hell anway.

My therapist once told me that in everything I do, I am trying to correct the mistakes of my past. I got married fairly quickly after the divorce. The time frame was a mistake; not the person. I got pregnant eight months after we married. We bought a house quickly. I throw myself into home design and decorating projects. I like everything to be just so—and for who? Two kids under age 5? I am relentless when it comes to my career, always striving to be better and go above and beyond. I take more crap than I should from my husband. I bend over backward to be “a good wife.” Why? Because I am trying to make up for my mistakes. I am trying to fix “bad” with “good.” I have pulled out a life-size, gigantic eraser to get rid of any evidence of my past and my poor choices. I’m certainly no Martha Stewart or Suzie Homemaker, but I have noticed that as I get older, that I put a tremendous amount of effort and energy into making everyone around me happy. It’s almost like I am punishing myself because somewhere, somehow….deep down….I feel like I deserve it. If everything around me looks nice….near perfect…then I have done my job. I have “fixed” my past. I win.

One of the flames that kept my never-ending fire to “win” burning is the fact that he was/is a jerk. He is the bad guy; I am the good guy. Him=evil. Me=not evil. He yelled, cussed, drank, hit, abused, cheated……. He didn’t deserve me. Wherever he was, I thought, he is cursing my name, hating me, and wishing nothing but horrible things on me and my loved ones. He is probably worse than he ever was.

The letter jolted me back to reality. As it turns out, I don’t win. He doesn’t win. No one wins. He cares. How much – who knows? But he said something nice. He wrote it down, and he hit “send.” It sounded genuine, almost mature. It sparked a memory of the good  in him, which is a memory I don’t want.

            Should I write him back? That was the first question. I stared at the blank screen for awhile after my meeting. The tears kept flowing. I decided to go for it. I kept it very simple and brief. I revealed nothing about my life, and I didn’t bring up the past. I simply thanked him for the kind email and well-wishes and wished him well right back. I hit send. I kept waiting for the classmates.com alert to pop up and tell me the message was received and picked up. It’s been almost a week, and I don’t have that message. Maybe he thinks I wouldn’t write back. Maybe he was so drunk that he forgot he emailed me. Maybe he doesn’t even want to know. Even if he didn’t correspond back, I find it very odd that he hasn’t even checked his classmates.com inbox after sending a letter to me after 10-plus years.

            I told him in the letter back that I assumed we’d go to our graves without corresponding. I really believed that. I always feared he would find me, but as it turns out, he left me alone. He did not want to get divorced; I ran the entire show on that deal. He didn’t show up at the courthouse. I had to tell the judge I recognized his signature, and then she slammed the gavel and gave me a “good luck sweetie.” His papers were served while he was in class at Texas A&M because he refused to respond to anything else, and we didn’t know where he was anyway. I assumed that he hated me, but maybe as it turns out, he did hate for me for awhile but then like most people, learned more about himself through the years, and understood why I had to do what I did so many years ago. I was suffocating. I was in danger. My whole life was at stake.

            I have never felt that I made a mistake about the divorce. I made mistake about the marriage, but not the dissolution of the marriage. How can my daughters be a mistake? How can having the job of my dreams in a great city be a mistake? How can having a great home in a great neighborhood be a mistake? How can the friends I’ve made here be mistakes? How can marrying someone who shares my goals and helped make all of this possible be a mistake? How can literally saving myself and making a good life for myself be a mistake?

Most of all, how can feeling free to be myself every day of my life—a feeling I never had one single day with him—be a mistake?

 I have so much guilt over everything. Guilt for marrying him….guilt for making him believe I wanted to be married to him….guilt for my parents spending money on a wedding that should never have been….guilt for my husband today for being married to someone who was married before…guilt for my daughters who will one day inevitably learn that their father is not their mom’s first husband…guilt for putting my life on hold for a man…guilt for making everyone in my life second because if he wasn’t first, then I was “in trouble.” Just a lot of guilt, period.

Now I feel a lot of guilt because he is coming across as a nice guy. He is supposed to stay “bad” so that I can still be “good.” He is not supposed to accept responsibility or have any guilt whatsoever. This letter was never supposed to come—it has depleted my “fuel” that has kept me going for so long. So, here I sit wondering what to make of this. I haven’t even told my husband about this yet. I don’t even know how to bring it up. I also don’t want to worry him unnecessarily. I’m sure I’ll tell him soon. I know he would have no fear—and he’s right—that I would rekindle anything. There is nothing to rekindle. An interesting side note to all of this is dreams. My bad dreams of him have stopped, at least for now. Typically when I think about him, talk about him, or really even mention him, I am guaranteed a nightmare on that same night. I haven’t had one at all. Could this be the closure I needed? I wonder if after 10 years, I can kiss those dreams goodbye and goodnight? I hope so.

After a few days I have started shifting my attitude from guilt to thankfulness. Maybe this is God’s way of giving me peace. Maybe it’s time for me to stop punishing myself. Should I be settled now knowing that he is OK and that he has nothing but well-wishes for me? Should I stop running and start living? Maybe it’s a sign. Even deeper, could the fact that I reached out to a mutual friend after all these years (knowing good and well it would get back to him) be my own way of letting go of the past by facing it? Maybe I am so tired from everything that is really going on in my present that I have no more energy to fight my past. I needed to set it free. I am trying to shift my frame of mind in this direction. If sure feels a lot better when I stay in this frame of mind.

He, at one time, knew me very well. Hopefully, he knows it’s best that we don’t correspond. We are definitely two people that couldn’t, and really shouldn’t, be friends. That wouldn’t work for us, mostly because we never were friends. This is an instance where it’s definitely best to “leave well enough alone.”

It’s also a good time to acknowledge my past, embrace my present, and look forward to the future…..and realize that all of it, mistakes and triumphs as well as the good and the bad… have made me who I am today. I'm learning to be OK with that.

I've got it made! This is production week.....time for me to produce about 180 profiles/77 pages plus another article I wrote. Time to make sure there are NO mistakes. Once this week is over, the issue will be put to bed and I will sail into the holiday weekend. I just need to keep my eye on the prize, so to speak, and realize that no matter how hard it gets, it won't last forever. The issue has to go to print.....

 

In the meantime, man, do I have one hell of a blog on the horizon. I started to post it tonight but realized I need more to compose it. It's a doozy, so For Those Who Care, stay tuned.....

 

The weekend was good. My sister came in town and we hit the mall Saturday. I found a fabulous pair of shoes and some other cool stuff. It's fun to "bust out" every now and then and get something new. I will say though, that it is time for me to get serious about dropping this 10 pounds. I guess I keep thinking me being busy and stressed will somehow make it go away, but that hasn't been the case. I have a big thing for fall clothes, jeans being part of that. Jeans look good on skinny people. End of story.

 

Anyway, on Friday night we met at mexican restaurant and had a few ritas after dropping the oldest off for a sleepover with her bestie. The baby was actually on pretty good behavior so I got to sort of enjoy my meal. Saturday we shopped, and then when we got back, I quickly changed and headed out with hubby and another couple to the Cowboy game -- Cowboys vs. San Fran. It was so much fun -- I LOVE Cowboy games. However, it was incredibly hot...stifling hot...that it was hard to really enjoy it. I downed 3 beers off the bat just to have something cold. Finally, the guys decided it was too hot for them, too, so we headed out and went to a sushi restaurant on the way home for some sushi and vino. We realized it was actually somewhat early so we stopped another place for one last drink and some dessert. I opted for Bailey's on Ice and creme brulee. Gee, wonder why I can't lose weight? Mexican food, wine, creme brulee, Bailey's..... geez. But it was a fun night.

 

Oh, and in the middle of dinner my new fab shoes popped...literally...and the button went flying. I went back to Nordstrom today hoping they would exchange or repair it -- and they gave me an exchange no questions asked. So glad about that. That was a good move on their part, because I wound up buying another pair when I was there that I didn't see yesterday. Anyway, I worked on an art project with my oldest most of the day, got a short nap in, am doing laundry now......just the regular drill of life. Hubby is at his fantasy football draft which means I need to get my bootie in their and log in some Emmy time. What am I doing missing the red carpet!?

 

Oh, have to tell you about my biggest SCORE of the weekend..... I found the coolest vintage Whitesnake t-shirt....it had the 1987 concert tour on the back and it was studded in various places with blue rhinestones. It was hands down the coolest shirt EVER..... ranking right up there with my new Guns R Roses pink baby t. They didn't have my size, but I ordered it. Rock n roll people.... Rock n roll!

 

OK, stay tuned for The Blog. It must be capitalized b/c it is a blog I wouldn't think I'd write in a million years...... but cirumstances on Friday give me no choice but to undergo therapy via a blog entry.

 

Til next time.....

That's just me being a big baby. Sorry, I needed a moment.

 

Yep, MIA....that's me.

 

At last count, the project I am working on for the mag is over 75 pages..... about 180 or so profiles. That means I have 300-plus clients to make happy..... 300 chances to make really bad mistakes......300 reasons to keep me up at night. And on top of that, I have several articles due all at the same time.

 

I guess I'm sort of complaining. I don't like being so tired and disconnected from my home life. However, I remain thankful to be employed and to collect a paycheck....and to do something I love. At the end of the day, which these days is around midnight, I just want to fall into bed and not wake up for days. Mixed in, of course, is school for our new school girl....dance class, gymnastics, swim.......errands....caring for a toddler.....commuting.....paying bills.....dealing with contractors.....housework.....remembering this, remembering that..... You know the drill. The one thing I can say for certain about MagazineLand is that the work is hard; the cycles short. The madness will end in about a week and a half. I know that I have to keep my head in the game and be "on" and then I'll get a chance to breathe....for a bit anyway. That trip to Napa in October is looking better and better by the second...... (Another glass, please....)

 

Ok, as usual, the clock's a ticking..... time to walk said school girl to school. I could use the fresh air. More later...... I've been lurking, just not commenting. No time to write more words than I have to. Soon it will change, thanks goodness!

 

Til next time.......

 

 

I think the blahs are contagious around here. Something is going on. The high today was 106. That was not a typo. 106. It was hard to breathe just going from the car to the inside of a building. Our cover story this month is about the dwindling water supply and drought. If this keeps up, things are going to change for the much, much worse.

 

It's taken a week and a half, but I realized that the source of much frustration and tension in this house is our new schedule. It's not school--the hours are the same as daycare was--it's the evening extra-curricular activities. We get up about an hour earlier so that does have some effect, but this running around at night is already dragging us down. There are two ways out of it: One, I quit work to become the stereotypical soccer mom and taxi my kids to and from everything right after I pick them up from school, mid-afternoon rather than 6:30. Two, my daughter has no extra-curricular activities, well, ever as long as I work. I don't see either of those being a reality. First, I work for a number of reasons and one is to ensure these girls have the opportunity for a stellar college education experience and so that hubby and I can enjoy a nice and well-deserved retirement. And, it's nice to have money in the bank and the bills paid. Second, it's just not fair for my daughter to want to try ballet, gymnastics, and learn to swim and I don't let her because I'm too tired after work to take her anywhere. She's a trooper--she loves every minute of every lesson. I don't know how she gets the energy to do it all. Wait, yes I do, she inherits it from me!

 

A twist to all of this scheduling drama is that I also have a toddler. These darling creatures have their own set of needs that are nothing compared to a Kindergartner. Learning to talk, climb stairs, work their way out of a tantrum, potty training, eating vegetables and fruit, learning to love books, waking up in the night, daycare.....all of these lovely things. She needs my attention and nurturing too. It's hard to do when you are always on the run and trying to keep her entertained in the lobby of a dance studio or swim school. She should be at home playing blocks or putting her baby dolls "ni-ni" but instead she's her sister's leftover chicken nuggets in the backseat of my SUV while we go from school to the day's chosen evening activity. I finally decided to give her some one-on-one time tonight and had hubby take the oldest to gymnastics. It will be good to see what it's like to be held prisoner for an hour in stadium seating at the rec center. Fun times.

 

Maybe another reason for the blahs is my workload. Yes, it's that time again -- busy, busy, busy. At last count, I have 150 doctor profiles to coordinate, write, edit, and produce. And that is in addition to two articles due at roughly the same time--about a week. Unbelievable. I love my job, and I like it that I'm never bored, but this project will have me up until all hours of the night for about the next two weeks. I told my pal Alleycat, who also has the blahs (contagious maybe?) that I wish we had a Starbucks within walking distance. I would be there every night for the next two to three weeks. I know it will get done--there's no other choice--but getting it done is just so damn hard!

 

I walked my daughter to school today with the baby in tow. It was a nice walk, chatting about squirrels, crossing the street safety, what's for lunch, etc. It was nice to just talk about the things going on in her brain, rather than work, bills, or to-do lists. I walked her all the way inside to the kindergarten wing and she just trotted off and waved, "Bye Mom!" It's like she has been going there for years. On the walk back, I noticed so many stay-at-home moms volunteering at school and walking their kids to school. I wondered what it would be like to live like that for awhile. I know it's not easier -- not at all. I just wondered if I'd be any good at it. It sounded really good this morning to just switch gears and devote my days to my kids and husband--kind of being the CEO of our household. Then I thought about the cost of college in about 13 or so years and snapped back to reality. Oh yeah, that and the mortgage as I turned the key to enter our house. I did have a volunteer orientation meeting up at school today. It was stuff I already knew but I got my schedule for the next two months. They fulfilled my request and I will be up there once a month. That's about right for a working mom. And I was sent home with a stack of things to cut out for the kids to make a book. I guess I'll do that after I can't stand to write another word. Somewhere in there, I need to fold clothes. I have so many errands to run--I just can't get there. I can see why nannies are so essential. If I just had someone to watch the kids so I could pop out and get stuff done--wow--what a difference. But last I heard, nannies cost money. I'm spending enough money these days thankyouverymuch.

 

When I picked my daughter up from school today I noticed she looked a little sad. She said she had a great day and told me all of the fun stuff they did. Sure enough, she gets in the car and she blurts out how much she misses her best friend. I knew it would eventually catch up to her at some point. She said she's glad she has met other friends but she still misses Maggie. I could see real sadness in her eyes. It made me realize that even though we as parents think kids can just adjust to any situation and bounce back, they really do have very sensitive feelings and get so attached to people. While we can move on from school to school, they are having to adjust to a whole new world. For more than three years she had the same bestie to greet every morning, and now that's over. I felt sorry for her. She decided to draw her a picture and write her a letter and asked if I could mail it for her. I told her she'd see her every week at swim and at an upcoming birthday party, but to kids, even an hour is an eternity...much less three days. Of course I said yes, so she got started on it.

 

I am going to try to blog as much as I can and get around to everyone's space and leave comments as much as possible, but it's crunch time for me for my real writing gig. Speaking of which, might as well get started. Starbucks isn't within walking distance, but the wine cabinet is.....

 

Cheers.....

 

Mood:  Contemplative.... a bit agitated.

 

Husbands. Sometimes I still wonder about marriage, as in why we do it. Why do we torture ourselves? Some days it seems like that. I have two small children, yet I can seem to get more done when he’s out of the house even if they are with me. I feel like I take care of him as much as I do my kids, just in different ways. Another thing that I am finding really annoying as our kids get older—discipline. Why is it that he can override what I say? Why are his rules “the law.” It’s like he sets them and I am automatically expected to enforce them (even if I don’t know it’s a rule yet) even if I don’t agree with them. I could write a whole blog entry about this….maybe I will.

 

Water/heat. I heard yesterday that we are at an almost-record of 25 days of 100-plus heat here. Everyone is in a horrible mood. We’re just overheated, I guess. Our lawn is brown. Even the dirt is cracked. The plants are dying. I didn’t even bother to plant flowers this summer—no point. I am working from home today and it is our “watering day.” I have to get up every 10 minutes from the desk to turn on another watering zone on the sprinkler system. Rumor has it that if you get caught watering outside of your designated day or time, you could be fined up to $2,000. I could do without that.

 

Words. My baby has so many new words….Elmo, puppy, yuck, mine….those are some of the most recent. Oh, and cheese, raisin, let’s go…. I need to make a full list and get it in her baby book.

 

The planets. I bought a book for my oldest daughter awhile back about the solar system. I don’t remember why. She is fascinated with it. Last week, she recited all of the planets and their distance from the sun, plus a little factoid about each. She gave me a rather in-depth lesson about craters and stars. I couldn’t believe it. That’s second grade science. Because I swore I would foster my children’s interests as much as possible because mine rarely were as a child, we are taking her to the planetarium on Saturday. You’d think I told her we were going to an all you can eat doughnut and candy store, she’s so excited. Works for me. I wonder if they have a bar there?

 

School. I still can’t believe how well this is going. I expect the momentum to drop, but so far, it’s been great. Today, she showed signs of being tired. The new schedule, evening activities….. I could see it in her eyes and how she sort of dragged. She has so much to get used to—and so do we.

 

My house. As I enter my mid-30s, I am learning a lot about myself. I really don’t like to exercise. I am trying to figure out a way to just make myself do it. I get cranky if I don’t have sufficient “me time.” I eat too many carbs. I could go on and on. I also learned that I quickly tire of household décor. My husband has accused me of this on many occasions. I tell him it’s not true—the things I want to change are just old. I think he’s on to something. I really do get tired of stuff. I have learned that you really should wait and buy things you really love. Save for them if they are expensive. A lot of little knick knacks, etc. have about a shelf life of less than a year at best before I’m tired of them. I am considering editing down a lot of stuff and having a designer come in to give me a consultation for some ideas. I want a more tied-together look. I’m going to start on some of it this weekend.

 

Best friend. I miss her. A lot.

 

Lunch. I’m having lunch with my daughter at school today. She is so excited, but I think I’m more so.

 

Headache. I rarely, if ever, have headaches. I just don’t. I had one yesterday and today – same place. Hmmm…….

 

Laundry. I have about eight loads of laundry to get done. I just don’t want to do it. Period. Sometimes, I just want to do my laundry and let the rest go….just to see if he would pitch in. But then my children would have no clean clothes, and he would probably just walk around naked.

 

Agitated. I feel agitated, edgy….. like I want to get so much accomplished but just can’t because I have so much work to do. I have so much work for my job to complete….so much work around the house…so many unfinished projects….so much I want to do just because….. It’s an agitated feeling.

 

Trip. We booked our trip to the wine country for late October. Yes! Something new to look forward to. Note to self: Buy hairspray, toothpaste, lip gloss, and well, everything when you get there because you can’t take it on the plane. I wonder if we’ll be able to bring wine back? I guess we can just have it shipped.

 

Writing. I have about 20 profiles to write today. Instead, I am writing this blog. I do it every time. Deadline = procrastination. I was thinking yesterday about that quote, “If you do something you love you’ll never work a day in your life.” I realized this applies to me. If we were filthy rich and I didn’t have to work, I can honestly say I’d still want to write for this magazine. Well, at least in some capacity. I love my job THAT much. I hope my daughters grow up and have a career they love as much. I also hope they marry someone who just absolutely loves and cherishes every bone in their body and lets them know it on a daily basis. I hope they refuse to settle for anything less.

 

Husbands, Part II. If you are a husband and you are reading this entry….consider these things: Fill up her gas tank for her on Sundays. Make sure the fluids in the car are OK, tires have air. One night a week, get home a little bit early and have dinner waiting on her. When she cooks, get up immediately and start clearing the dishes. Don’t just set your plate in the sink—actually DO the dishes. Tell her to go watch her favorite show, check her email……. Know where things go. You live in the house, too. If you’re not sure, study it. It’s really not that hard. Don’t just leave stuff out thinking you have an “out” because you don’t know where it goes. Leave her laundry alone. You’ll just mess it up. But do the kids’ laundry. They’re your kids, too. When your wife is out and you have the kids, don’t call her and ask when she’ll be home. She knows she needs to get back. Calling her just makes her skip something else she really wants to do, thinking you’re getting mad or something is going wrong. Bring her flowers…even if they are cheap grocery store flowers. Have a sweet email waiting for her when she gets to the office. Don’t give her advice on how to lose weight or new ways to work out—just don’t. Yep, I see another blog entry in the works.

 

Fall. I’m ready for fall—clothes, boots, jeans, bags…..I love fall fashion. I love the way fall feels, although I doubt we even get a fall this year. I hope I can talk hubby into going to the fair this year. He swears we’ll get mugged. I think he’s paranoid. A Fletcher’s corn dog with a cold beer sounds divine. Maybe a funnel cake for dessert. I hear the fried Oreo’s are wonderful, but I am having a hard time buying into that one. That and the deep-fried twinkie.

 

Sign of the Times…. My daughter asked me last night if I have ever seen one of those “really big CD players.” I thought she meant like a big stereo or “jam box.” She said, “It has a little stick that you put on top of the CD. It’s a really big CD, and I think it’s black. It sits on a big table. I don’t think I could put that CD in my headphone player.” I said, “You mean a record player?” She says, “What’s that?” Oh man….. to her, a record player is not only “historical” it’s something she never knew even existed until this week. Wow. My first record…. I bought two with Christmas money in the record/music section of a grocery store. One was Queen and the other was Joan Jett. Not long after I bought a Willie Nelson record and the Olivia Newton John, Let’s Get Physical album. I wonder what happened to them?

 

This clock. It tells me it’s time to quit procrastinating and just jump in and get the work done. I know I’ll feel so much better when it’s complete, so ready….set…write.

 

That is all. Til next time…..

Thank you to everyone who posted such kind comments about the big first day and sent my daughter well-wishes and luck!

 

The drop off went off without a hitch, except for when we got turned around and wound up in the second grade wing. The new schedule is tough--it's early for all of us, even the baby. However, yesterday was one of the few times the whole damn family will be walking her to school. Today, for instance, her dad is walking her and I am tending to the baby and getting ready for work. It's a good arrangement. Tomorrow, we may switch. I never realized what an asset it is to live down the street from the school. It's a one minute drive and a six minute walk. I'll admit I kept looking at the clock yesterday, wondering what she was doing at each hour. I finally got a concrete schedule in her take-home folder so now I know. The highlight of her day was going on a Gingerbread Hunt.....it was actually a tour of the school but to the kids, it was an adventure and the end prize was gingerbread men for a snack. She also, surprisingly, loved lunch and the whole process. She told me, "the place I ate was called a cafeteria." She was very proud to know that word, I think. She seemed to sail through the day. I picked her up from her after-school program a bit early and waited for her to come around the corner. She was beaming. She had such a great day. She looked so small walking down the big hallway with her backpack on. Then we headed to gymnastics. Tonight is swimming. I suppose the madness has officially begun.

 

I find myself anxious to hear all about her day again today and so excited that she gets to go back and do it all over again. She was definitely ready for this and is already soaking in everything. I guess that's what it's all about. I also find myself relieved that the getting ready for school, ending pre-school, and the big first day are over. Now we can settle in. Of course, in about four years we get to do it all over again when her sister goes through all of this. But by then, we'll be pros.

 

Til next time....

Did a tornado pass through here? What has spun me around so fast? What just happened?

 

These are the questions that are zooming through my tired, tired brain right now. I can sum it up in one word: Kindergarten.

 

Who would think that the “lowest level” grade can cause so much havoc in one’s life? I thought we would turn down the volume on all of the school preparation once school clothes and supplies were purchased and ready to go.

 

Then we experienced a phenomenon called Packet Pick Up Day. My hometown has no more than 1500 people. Once you are registered for school, you show up. Most likely, you already know the teacher. She goes to your church, she’s your best friend’s mom, she’s best friends with your mom, and in some instances she might even be your mom. (Hey, it happened on several occasions in my family.) This is not how it works in The Big City.

 

Thank goodness I took the day off. I can’t image trying to squeeze something like this in between lunch and a 2 p.m. conference call. We show up at the designated hour. Had I not heard about “posting” I would have surely thought the crowd of people gathered around the gym windows was watching some sort of gruesome accident unfold. They were seeing which teacher their kid got this year. A sea of soccer moms hit the cell phones to call their bestie to let them know the good, or bad, news.

 

“Oh thank goodness they are together again.”

“I am, like, oh so bummed our girls won’t be together this year. Awwwww….”

“Mackenzie will not do well with a male teacher. I am going to get her reassigned now.”

 

What in the world? Where I come, in the words of my daughter, you get what you get and you don’t throw a fit. So I find out that my daughter got “the good Kindergarten teacher” and that she is not in the same class with two of her friends. In fact, she only knows one kid from her pre-school, and this is a kid who I swear is 7 but somehow just now made it to Kindergarten. A strange story indeed….but I’ll continue.

 

So Kate and I make our way to the back of the ever-so-long and winding line. It is outside of the school gym and right along a wall of windows with the bright, 102-degree sun blaring down on us. People are in tight quarters. They’re nervous. Their kids are bored. They are sweating. Enough said. I look down at Kate; her eyes are as wide as silver dollars at this point. Obviously, she didn’t know what to expect today…but this probably wasn’t it.

 

Immediately a bubbly lady with a red spirit wear shirt hands me a clipboard telling me how all of the funds raised from the PTA have bought this and that and this and that. I absolutely must contribute at the minimum, and they would love to see me active. She repeats the speech over and over. I check ‘yes.’ I have no idea what I have committed to, but I do know that it’s a bargain at only $12.

 

Next is spirit wear. This was chaos and disorganization at its finest. I didn’t even care what size Kate wore. I just wanted out of there. I checked “small” on two shirts. Done. So then we move on to the lunch line. I look at the menu. I see about one thing a day she’ll eat but learn she’s required to put four things on her tray. I wonder which unlucky person is going to get to explain to her over and over to just put it on her tray even though she doesn’t have to eat it. I don’t see where water is an option – only milk. She hasn’t had milk since she was 1. This oughta be good. So I put $40 in her account and learn all about the handy dandy online payment process.

 

Next stop—volunteers. I checked off all that apply for a working mom such as myself. Veteran moms were talking about how they’ll be there tomorrow, on the first day of school, volunteering in centers and doing lunch duty. I started to feel panicked and guilty – should I be there tomorrow? I mean, at some point, you have to cut the apron strings. Yet, you also want to appear helpful and involved in your child’s education. Worry sets in.

 

Next stops – box top contests, fundraisers, sign up for the yearbook, sign your husband up for the Dad’s Club, and last but not least – school supplies. The heaviest box of school supplies known to mankind. I had to tote said box around for the next hour. So then I hand my sheet to the cashier. The grand total for packet pick up day? $111.00. I checked the crayons to see if maybe they were lined in solid gold paper, but I don’t think they were.

 

So then we wait. And wait. Open house is about to begin – meet the teacher. Once noon hit, it was like a bum rush to the big door. Everyone was lost in the maze of the winding halls. Kids were going crazy hugging former teachers. Moms were kissing up to the teachers. Kate and I wound our way through a sea of complete strangers to the Kindergarten wing. She thought the water fountain was really cool. We found her teacher. I can see why everyone has spoken so highly of her (Oh, you got Ms. ____ ….you’re so lucky…. I heard over and over). She goes over a few basic announcements. Kate finds her locker. We discuss that she’s actually Kate, and not Katherine. I learn that I can volunteer whenever and can work it out with a coordinator and that I can also have lunch with Kate as often as I want. I thought that was nice. I learned the drop-off and pick up procedures. Kate loved her classroom, and she already looks right at home there.

 

So we head to Chili’s to meet her dad for lunch. I go over the morning’s events. He doesn’t seem to remotely understand what a whirlwind it was and how stressed I felt. We tried to come up with a weekly schedule but couldn’t do it. If I ever thought we were busy, well, we weren’t. Now we are.

 

Kate and I ran a few errands and then decided to spend our last shred of free time together getting our nails done. She wanted them nice for school – she chose shades of blue. We got the car washed, and then we went to her first dance class in a “real ballet studio.” Much like her first gymnastics class, she loved it and can’t wait to go back. We then went straight home and started getting ready for tomorrow – her first official day of school.

Her uniform is out and ready to go. Her backpack is “packed.” I have all of the 100 or so forms signed. I guess we’re ready.

 

Just yesterday, I picked her up from her last day of preschool. We emptied her “cubby.” The last time she’ll ever have a cubby. We hugged the teachers and she hugged her friends over and over. I took a lot of pictures. At one point, she and her bestie got a little teary-eyed when they realized that “this is it.”  However, they covered it up with a few jokes and silly faces. I reminded them that you can still be best friends, even if you don’t see each other every day, and they seemed OK with that.

 

I couldn’t believe that we had come to the end of such a long journey. Kate has been in daycare since she was about 8 weeks old. I remember packing up her diapers and formula the night before, crying because I wish I could stay home with her forever. I didn’t know how I’d make it. How would she make it? Well, she came through just fine, and so did I. She wouldn’t be the Kate she is today without it. Now we’re starting a new chapter. This time it’s different. She feels a little less “mine.” I feel like I’m handing her over to “the public,” because in a way, I am. Her friends are going to start influencing her more. She is going to grow and change, but not in the way a toddler grows into a pre-schooler. She is going to grow up – everything that entails. This is the first step. As excited as I am about all that is before her, I can’t help but be a little bit sad. The “baby” in her has all but disappeared.

 

Tonight, I was getting out her uniform, I looked up on her dresser at our first picture. It’s of me in the hospital holding her for the first time. I can’t believe the little baby in that photo is the big girl opening up her locker at school today. I’m so proud of her, and I couldn’t love her anymore. I also couldn’t feel more lucky. I also feel lucky that her little sister will have such a great person to look up to. Kate will “pave the way” for her at that school. Liv will be “Kate’s little sister.”

 

So everyone’s alarm is set earlier for tomorrow. We start our new schedule—a new routine….kind of a new life. Bedtime was earlier tonight, and it was understood. Kate and her dad made up a silly song to help her memorize her student ID number for lunch. She went to bed after some great laughs and lots of hugs and kisses. It’s all good right now in this house, and for that, I feel so blessed and thankful.

 

I look back at this morning and wonder how the time just flew by. I went from having a pre-schooler to a kindergartner in a matter of hours. It was a rush. It went by so fast! Today…. and well, all of it…..the past five years. So here I sit….me with my blank pages on the screen staring back recapping it all. Wow…… just simply…..wow.

I have officially crossed over to “old.” It’s not the hard-to-lose pounds, the fine lines and wrinkles, or the incredible need to be asleep by 9 p.m. that made me realize this. For as long as I can remember, I could drink a large soda right before bed and have no trouble falling or staying asleep. In college, I’d try to drink coffee—even though I didn’t like it—to stay awake for studying. I would still struggle to keep my eyes open.

            For the last few months I have noticed that the Diet Coke I normally have at dinner has had an effect on me. On nights I don’t have one, I fall asleep fine. On nights I do, well, I toss and turn a lot. I feel jittery. I thought that only happened once you got old. The only people I know who said no to caffeine after 6 p.m. are my grandparents, and in the last 10 years or so, my own parents. Now me? Old? How can this be?

            I guess the next sign will be having to get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. I have only had to do that when pregnant. That’s another thing my grandparents and parents do, so I guess I’m next in line.

            Enough about growing old….this issue is what staying awake has done to me. This new problem I’m experiencing has given me more time than usual to think. And think. While hubby is far off in dreamland, I am laying there, wide awake, pondering life’s greatest questions. You know, like, “Should I cut my hair?” “How great would it be if I could be disciplined enough to exercise every day and look like everyone on the E Channel?” “If I went to see Nick Lachey in concert, would he notice me?” “Should I take my lunch to work tomorrow or go out for lunch and have something to look forward to?” “Lunch is expensive. I should be saving. Are we saving enough for retirement?” “Is it just me or is the whole world either getting a) fat or b) beautiful?”

            Last night, that’s the question that got me started thinking about beautiful. I don’t want to think about fat.

 What is beautiful? Who decides what’s beautiful? Where I work, it’s the editors. Whether it’s a couch, a room, a model, a home, or a new dish at a restaurant—they tell the city what’s beautiful and what’s not. Often, people describe our parties as something “for the beautiful people.” Turn on the television and flip through the channels. Count the number of times you hear ‘beautiful’ in a span of about 15 minutes. Plenty. Magazine covers. Movies. Television. The hot mom next door. They’re all chock-full of beauty.

            I started to think about where I work. It’s a company that, like most, heavily relies on sales. I still get a kick out of watching a man’s face the first time he enters one of our sales meetings or walks down the row of cubes in the sales department. Men always look as if they’ve hit the visual jackpot. The publisher is no dummy—people like to look at beauty—and often, they’ll sign on the dotted line when mesmerized by beauty. These girls are head-turners for certain. The cover of each magazine for the past 30 or so years most often has a beautiful girl staring back at the reader. The cover story might be about the best restaurants, but you can bet there is a gorgeous girl taking a bite of cake or hoisting a wine glass. The idea? Put someone on the front who has what you want. If it’s a man, he wants her or someone who looks like her. If it’s a woman, she might want her hair, her lips, her outfit. It works every time.

            Next I thought about my oldest daughter. I have had people stop me in stores to tell me how beautiful she is. Sure, I think she is very pretty, but I’m biased. “What a pretty little girl,” the say. One day, not so long ago, she said, “People tell me all the time I’m pretty. Am I pretty?” My first instinct was to say yes. And I did, sort of. But I told her about what pretty really is—a pretty soul, a pretty heart, pretty words, and pretty actions. I told her how a smile makes anyone pretty. I talked about how it’s easy to think that looks matter, but intelligence is what’s important as is being kind and generous. I hope some of sunk in.

            My husband has said since he met me that he thinks I’m beautiful, but that I don’t smile enough. Always honest about my looks, he’ll say that when he first saw me, he thought I was pretty. A few minutes later I was laughing with friends and he said he couldn’t stop staring at me and changed his mind from pretty to beautiful. To this day, when I’m smiling, he’ll tell me that he thinks I’m beautiful.

            It’s nice to hear, but I don’t really know what beautiful means. As compared to what or to whom? Chances are, the guy across the street wouldn’t think so. Everyone has a different idea of what’s beautiful. I think maybe the reason I don’t “get” beautiful is because for me, it’s more of a feeling than something I see. Sure, I think some paintings are beautiful or a model is beautiful. I think for me, it means so much more.

I have experienced moments at church when I am very moved by words or someone in particular, and I literally “see” beauty. I think hearing my granddaddy pray is beautiful.  Listening to my step-dad read the Christmas Story on Christmas Eve is heart-warming and beautiful. My children can be dirty and playing hard—not looking their best—but something they say or do is just so sweet and well, beautiful. I think all brides are beautiful. I know not everyone thinks so but to me, all babies are beautiful. To me, it’s not about the looks; it’s about the fresh start and clean slate that is their life. The fact that, right now, they are perfect from head to toe and are in so much wonderment about the world and their surroundings is amazing. They have the world at their feet—anything is possible. Now that’s beautiful! A child learning how to do something for the first time—the look on their face is priceless….beautiful.

            Words. How many times have you read something that literally moved you to tears? The typed or written words on the page aren’t beautiful. That’s just black and white. But the feelings they inspire and that call to action they create—that’s beautiful.  Photographs can do the same. And the same can be said of the spoken word—invisible—but so meaningful and strong. Poems, wedding vows, eulogies, proposals, exchanges between friends, last words…..there is no denying they are simply beautiful because of all of the real emotion and life behind them.

            Moments. This might be one of my favorite examples of beauty. When I think back to the tired—yet beautiful—first few moments with my babies, I see beauty. When I think of my Papa leaving a world where he was old, sick, and tired to live forever in a place he has always dreamt about, I feel calm….and I feel beauty. His life was beautiful. I remember the look on my oldest daughter’s face the first time she ever laid her sweet brown eyes on a real Disney Princess—absolutely beautiful. When I see my baby asleep in her crib, silently sucking her thumb and off in a peaceful dreamland, I think she is absolutely beautiful. On vacation with my husband, sitting on the beach completely silent and both in our own thoughts watching the waves roll in and night—that was a beautiful moment. Watching my parents dance in the living room when I was a kid—beautiful. Listening to my mom sing in church—beautiful. Watching a tired and worried mother care for her sick child—painfully beautiful. Watching my grandparents, after 60-plus years of marriage, still do things for each other every day because they love each other so much—inspiringly beautiful. Watching communities come together to help those in need—also beautiful.

            I admit I spend more time than I should thinking about physical beauty. Should I get a nip or tuck here or there? My favorite days are haircut and highlight days. I go through catalogues marking pages and pages of clothes I want. I rarely leave the mall without some “beautiful” outfit or pair of shoes.

The nip and tuck won’t matter when my last days are here. I’m still going to leave this place, tucked or not. The shoes will stay in the closet, and the outfits will be long forgotten.

But the real beauty in my life—my friends, family, and memories—will remain with me. I think that’s beautiful.

So I thought I'd do a quick end-of-the-day check to see if anyone new has stopped by and I had to go upload my page twice to make sure I was in the right place.

 

Can someone explain what these changes mean? I don't think thay are bad changes. I don't even know what all of them are yet. I just don't know what all of this is for or what it means. Or if it's a good thing. A bad thing?

 

Yikes.

 

I feel like I was just got off a bus and am in a foreign country.

 

I almost feel scared.

 

On the upside, does this mean things will be faster and maybe some of my long lost pals will come back? (Yeah, Cinderella, that means you....)

 

More later.

 

SIGH.