Sticking to the Point

So it begins

After life in the city, you have expectations about car services. As in, there's always a car or taxi. In our neck of the woods, we've had 'issue' with our local choices, the car arriving 15 minutes early is a good sign.

M was yukoned off to JFK, boarding a flight to London, (and other cities in Europe), gone for the next 8 days. Normally I take the business travel in stride. Sometimes I look forward to the time alone, absence making the heart grow fonder and all. This time, I felt a little sick to my stomach when I had to say goodbye.

My OCD comes out when I'm single parenting. I have these rituals that I perform every night while M's away. When a co-worker commented that I should have some hypno-therapy (this is her speciality) to release these fears, I realized that 1) some things are better left to myself and 2) I'm probably more fucked up than I realize. My ability to gloss things over startles me.

I've always attributed this aspect of myself to 9-11. And it's true, after that day I became a more fear-filled person. Lately, I've been thinking that it's more than that.

By now you're probably wondering, what the hell is Kiki's ritual?

Instead of leaving my purse downstairs, I take it upstairs along with a set of car keys and my day planner. Normally all of these items are left on the first floor.

I have a bag where I keep all the important family papers: birth certificates, passports, important photos and the like. I pull this out, adding a pair of shoes, easy to slip into, and a sweatshirt.

I sleep in the guest room and I have A sleep with me. I never sleep on the 3rd floor where our bedroom is. It's on the back of the house, an amazing feature considering we butt up against a golf course, but it feels isolated. I can't hear anything from the street and I'm disconnected. And if there's ever a reason to leave in the middle of the night, 3 flights up is a long way down.

Clearly a woman with control issues, I worry about the what if's and this ritualizing helps me feel prepared. Certainly 9-11 contributed to paving my road to fearful. I have fears as a mama. The incredible vulnerability. The countless unknowns.

Therapy helped me through the crisis of my issues. Now abandonment and control are compounded into what if's. The recycling of my themes are more sophisticated, cloaked in ambiguity so I'm often surprised when I realize "oh, it's you again".

I'm less fearful than I was. I sleep more soundly and I'm not scared by every creak and sound when M is traveling.

Rationally I know that we are safe. My ritual seals the deal.

The ghost

The ghost was one of the chuppah holders at our wedding; one half of a couple that were our closest, couple friends.  M met T.M. and N at the symphony years before we'd started dating, a mutual friend introducing them.

The first time we all met was a sticky summer day; our destination Lollapalooza out on Randall's Island. 10 hours in the hot sun allows for a lot of time to get to know one another and we quickly began to spend time regularly with them, always as a couple.

T.M. was and probably still is, demonstrative; the hugger and kisser of both men and women. He was also an avid listener, always asking questions and really tuning in to what you were saying. And he was complimentary; always a kind word offered, always encouraging.

I don't even remember the first time I started feeling uncomfortable when T.M. and I would talk. We were always with his wife and the mister in the room or at the very least, within ear shot.

A comment. A remark. Here and there, words that made me uncomfortable, were slipped into seemingly innocent conversations. I'd mention it to M and he always defended T.M., believing he didn't mean to be anything but complimentary, because he was that touchy-feely kind of guy.

And, they were close friends.

Having been around the block, and back, I know when a man is making comments he shouldn't be. I've had a life time of 'comments' professionally, (a story for another time), and personally, and I think there's a huge karmic lesson in all of that that is being missed by me. Seriously.

Lest you think I might have been reading into what was being said, I'll share a couple of particularly awkward moments:

"you're going to be on the beach in italy, are you going to be topless? i never get to see anyone good topless, too bad we're not going."

So was this one, whispered across the dinner table with M sitting right by my side:

"you're an incredibly sexy pregnant woman"

um, ew.

I'm so lame in moments like this. I come up with the best comebacks after the fact. Instead I stand or sit in place, letting the crickets chirp while I try to get myself out of the hole.

Usually, I'd pretend as though I hadn't just heard what he said and I'd change the subject.

I know I should have said something, but the workings of his compliments were subtle and fucked with my head. What if I was just reading into his very metro-sexual way of talking to the ladies? Some men have the M.O. of 'sensitive, complimentary, listening guy'... It would have been a suck-ass situation to call a friend out like that and then be wrong, so I didn't.

I always felt a strain with N, like she knew her husband was saying things he shouldn't, and that I should have been standing up for myself, when I wasn't.

When we moved to Brooklyn we didn't see T.M. and N as much. Our lives didn't intersect once we moved across the river; the effort too great to be spontaneous.

Every summer, Brooklyn has a great movies series, a classic film shown outside under the stars. One such evening, N decided to come to Brooklyn on a whim.

On the walk over to the venue, she shared that she'd left T.M., divorce was imminent.  She began a long story of T.M.'s alter-ego; a narcissist with a mission to seduce N's friends and any woman he crossed paths with. Apparently, T.M. had been dropping innuendos and whispered compliments all around town, finally finding a taker in a good friend of N's, finding out all the sordid details through gossip.

Vindication! Except I felt dirty afterwards. I did a lot of wondering about my own actions; what was it that gave him the idea that I might be interested? As I said before, this wasn't unfamiliar territory for me.  I felt  guilty and responsible.

You can imagine my reticence to engage in conversation, let alone the first conversation since the last time we'd seen one another,  (the night of the sexy pregnant woman comment), when we ran into one another a few weeks ago.

A ghost from the past, reinvented.  A new wife and name (he dropped the T), a new life.  With enough of the narcissist intact, to reminisce about the past, while I cringed.

Wellness Wednesday :: together

We always said zero to one in the kid department and for a long time, the former was our answer. We had a sweet, rent-stabilized apartment, we traveled and we got to know one another. We were solid.

Since miss A has arrived, we've had too little time together, just us. M's family has passed and he's an only. My small-ish family is all located on the west coast, so anytime we're without our kid, it's a paid gig.

I don't know about you, but when we're paying a sitter, the stakes are high. It's only recently, that M has agreed to use sitters for movie dates. His feeling is if we're paying, we might as well make the most of it. Booze and a good meal that someone else is responsible for preparing and then cleaning, is his idea of a night on the town. For the record, I like that sort of date as well, it would be my first choice.  But I'm determined to see movies this year after my dismal read zero attendance record for last year's movie/Oscar nominations.

Anyway.

It was with little expectation that we drove to La Jolla when we were out in California. 24 hours together. Alone.

 

Balboa Park, neighbor to the world famous zoo is a cluster of small museums. Our main destination was MOPA and the photo booths. Two booths, together. One is old school wood veneer with curved edges and a red curtain to remove the outside world.

And there's her sister; a modern booth, vintage by today's standards. Both models delivered nice black and white strippies, I could have stayed all afternoon.

Before heading back, we stop at Starbucks for caffeination,

and indulgent TV watching mid-afternoon.

A delicious Mexican restaurant across the road from our hotel.  No drinking and driving, don't we look responsible?

Before our drive back the next morning, we walked down to Wind and Sea beach to catch another glimpse of the crashing surf and take in the salt air.

A stroll through NYC

I took an late morning train last Friday into the city.  An afternoon haircut, afterwards the plan was to meet M and go to the Met.

Arriving on the Lower East Side, I decide to stop for a quick cup of tea at Little Veselka, the kiosk off-shoot of the well-known restaurant on 9th street.

Somehow I wrote down the wrong time for my appointment and had to kill an hour before it was my turn. In Style magazine and a sugar-free Gingerbread latte, I sit in Star-crack and enjoy the time alone.

After my haircut, M and I decide it was too late to go to the museum. We make  plans to meet in front of J. Crew on 5th Avenue and I take photos along the way.

Arriving at the Union Square holiday market, I stop at the Beebop and Wally stall, hoping to find my size in the skirt I've been coveting. This is my third attempt and I'm in luck; I find my size and in my first color choice. Score!

Meeting up with M, we walk to the West Village, stopping in French Roast for a hot cup of tea.

Walking deeper into the village, it's too early for dinner, but not margaritas. We stop by Tortilla Flats for a quick one, ours frozen with salt.

We decide on dinner here, slightly disappointed when we discover the dinner menu isn't available until 6pm (we arrived at 5:30) and we had a lighter meal than planned.

The washroom has a common sink for men and women, allowing for this shot, my favorite.

After dinner, we weave our way up the avenue to Penn station, the city packed with holiday joy seekers and tourists.

Once back in our suburban oasis, we stopped at the local Italian joint for a glass of wine before heading home. We had a good laugh at the rumor that this bar/restaurant is a reputed "swingers" hang-out and talked about the potential couples cruising for new meat. We made sure not to catch anyone's eye. wink.

Sacred Sunday :: date night

 

   

A (stream of conscious) fine line...

I was thinking of my oldest friends, the friends that have known me twenty years and counting. We're not in touch so much anymore. Holiday cards arrive annually, sometimes a phone call. It struck me as I wrote this, that in this age of cyber communication, a phone call feels so very personal. I hesitate now before I dial, when even 5 years ago it would be quite natural.

All of these women have careers, most of them full-time. Some of these friends are mamas and all of them have one child. We all have just one. Sometimes, I long to live closer. On separate coasts, I fantasize that we'd still be close, our children growing up together, one big, extended family.

Today miss A talked about wanting a sibling, she almost never does. When it comes up (she never talks about siblings with M), I can see her desire, I know. And talking to my sister on the phone later, I felt a heaviness in my heart knowing that my girl won't experience that connection.

At the time we might have entertained having another child, my career was one of the reasons confirming why we were done with one. Another child would have meant putting my career aside and I didn't want to have to do that. I feel guilty admitting that.

The complicated ending of my pregnancy and all that occurred, make it easy for me to be honest about my feelings. It also makes it easier to believe that I'm all about my career; that becoming a mama didn't change me significantly and I wouldn't care anymore. I don't know.

I do know that I have a small longing deep inside. Watching my daughter grow up, it catches my breathe. I'm caught in a bittersweet symphony. I also know that the last one, the baby of the brood or the only child, as your wee one becomes their own person, with their own memories and experiences, you as the mama feel an ache.

We've done the best we can for our girl. I like to joke that if the only grievance miss A has about her childhood was that she was an only child, than we did a good job.

It's Friday Love #72

Photobooth Friday. Oldies in honor of our anniversary. 

We met on a blind date and three months later, we were talking marriage. At six months we were living together and planning a wedding, 08.31.96. Everyone said it was too soon, how do you know. You just do  I'd say. We always said we couldn't wait until we'd been together a long time, that someday people would look at us as a old-timers. We've reached that anniversary, our 11th. A long time. Being married hasn't been easy. For me the things that count, never are. We have our plans and dreams, our lives intertwined and familiar, we try because it's worth it and always has been.

I'd like to share a few favorites from that Saturday evening 11 years ago. All the photos are clickable for a larger view.

M and I were married in an old carriage house in the West Village.  The florist decorated the stair case with vines and hydrangea, it was lovely.

 

This is one of my favorite photos. Unaware that the cantor breaks into song during the service I bust out in laughter, confirming the cantor's distaste for me. He truly didn't care for me. I squished his schtick and wouldn't let him use his old standard cliches during our ceremony.

My favorite part in a Jewish wedding, the breaking of the glass,

followed by the first kiss.

Eleven is my favorite number. I like this anniversary already.

The little stuff.

• Babysitters and playdates. They've saved my ass this week.
• Looking forward to: the roller derby BBQ on Sunday, a day trip into Manhattan with Luzie on Monday and Tuesday, a girly trip to the beach.
• Etsy love. Earrings from here and here, a new camera strap

and clothing for the wish list.

Said.

"Daddy loves classical music. Once I can play my violin, I'm going to play whatever he wants to hear."

Road Trip

I didn't realize how long it had been since I'd traveled with friends, at least 10 years, well before I was married. I didn't realize how easy it can be, to slip into yourself, the person you were before, when you are away.

Traveling to VA this weekend for derby was good. Really good. Arriving in Richmond Saturday night, we had dinner at a derby girl-owned vegetarian restaurant. Smoky white beans with collards, vegan sausage and pints of cold beer. Afterwards a late night skate vetoed by a full stomach, instead seven of us walked down the street to the local go-go bar (go-go bar equals strip club in VA). Half the group had never been, the rest seasoned pros. Very different from other venues, there were six individual stage and poles surrounded by chairs for the guests. I've seen better, but it was fun to watch the newly initiated squirm and gawk as the ladies worked their pole.

Sunday, game day, was spent hanging on the fire escape, talking, laughing and relaxing. I decided to walk over to Kmart in search of a hoodie or something long-sleeved, having traveled to the South with the misconception that it would be hot. Broad daylight and I was followed by a man on a motorcycle and 2 carloads of men into the parking lot and once inside, oogled by shoppers. Walking back a man on a bicycle trailed me and I considered my options of jumping into traffic or being dragged into the woods rimming the parking lot. I guess there aren't many women walking the roads in that part of town, I'm just glad I didn't have to pull a McGyver in three lanes of traffic.

The bout was a lot of fun. We won by a very small margin (166 to 160) and it was a good, tight game.

We all wanted to drink at the after party, so we took taxis back downtown. Somehow the taxis filled and my roommates and I found ourselves without a ride. Quickly jumping into the back of a open bed pick-up truck, we roared down the highway. As my ribs were battered by potholes, I realized how stupidly irresponsible I was to be lying down in the back of a truck bed. Arriving at the bar in one piece, I vowed to myself that future offers of truck bed rides in an urban environment will be politely declined. 3 pints of beer later (I never drink beer), I stagger into a side room where a rowdy group danced and sang with derby friends as they belted out songs on the karaoke machine.

 

Arriving home Monday evening, I stepped back into familiarity. Thankful to be home, I'm grateful for derby and a world that appeases my competitive nature and nurtures my soul.

How We Roll

I don't know what it's like for you when you're going on vacation, but here's how it goes down in our home.

(phone call wedneday afternoon)

m: 'i'll do A's laundry tonight so i can help out'

k: 'that would be a big help'

(wednesday 9pm)

k: 'oh, A's laundry.....'

m: 'should i move it from the washer to the dryer or does it need to be taken upstairs?'

k: (thinking, WTF?#%*) 'no, you said you'd do it....'

This morning I notice the laundry basket full of A's clothes in the guest room. Later, when A and I go upstairs to get dressed, I see the laundry basket full of unfolded clothes has migrated into A's room, just in case I didn't  notice the basket next door.

Today I'm really busy because tomorrow, our get away day, I'm even busier with work. Today A doesn't go to kinder-enrichment, she's home until afternoon kindegarten starts at 12:30. Thankfully today is Thursday and that means after school science class, an extra hour, pickup today is at 4:30. Here's what those 4 hours look like for me:

• drop A and playdate off at school
• errands: bank and grocery store
• pack for A including travel/plane bag
• pack for me including travel/plane bag
• laundry for us adults
• fold laundry
• rollerskate
• weekly walk for Finding Water

As you can see, my day is full. Perhaps I could nix the exercise portion from that list, but exercise keeps my demons at bay, exercise seems to me, the priority. So when I mention that I'm working late tomorrow night, it's probably not necessary to say,

'so you're going to pack tonight?'

It doesn't seem unreasonable to me that I'd get my panties in a bunch with that question.

(I should preface all of this and add that M had a rough day yesterday, nothing bad just a lot to think about so I'm trying to not lose it.)

But. M packs only for himself. Today he is leaving work early. J & R is having a sale and he needs thinking space, the classical music department is where he does his best thinking, I get that. Tomorrow he works, he'll go to the gym and he'll come home to get ready for vacation. All good. Just leave me off the list of things to do, at least until bedtime.

#4

Number four on my list of 10 things I could try is difficult to fulfill when our long-ass driveway is covered in snow, (not to mention the sidewalk and front stairs), and leaning out the door I hear,

'Is the snow really bad? I'd shovel, but I'm still not feeling well and my head is pounding.'

As he shuts the door I begin:

he has a cold. not the beginning of a cold but the ending. i have my period AND a headache. i didn't get enough sleep......

So not productive.

Driving A to school, I see mostly women out shoveling and it dawns on me that I'm not the only woman shoveling today. I start to wonder if these other shoveling women are annoyed with their husbands and realize, probably not. That all of these mundane, tedious tasks are part of being a home-owner and also, a stay-at-home mom.

Instead of feeling irritated by M this morning, I decide to feel appreciative of all that is good in my life and if it means I shovel, than I'll consider it a workout and I don't have to go to the gym.