Christmas Sentiments Said and Unsaid

At Christmas, I get overly sentimental and everything makes me cry. I prefer to spend the holidays in Georgia, because that's home. I prefer red clay over snow. Chicken biscuits for breakfast. Shopping at the little stores in Dahlonega. Seeing "The Nutcracker" ballet at the Fox Theatre in Atlanta. Going back to my hometown of Hartwell. Watching Cary Grant in "The Bishop's Wife" surrounded by Christmas lights in my mom's living room in Lula. Visiting every permutation of family. Gifts all around.

Every Christmas brings some new wisdom. This year, I realized 8 things:

1. Family is where you find it.

Shellie & Dave

My brother Daniel has children by three different women. Those women have moved on with their lives. Delaney is one of my nieces. Delaney's mom is Shellie. Delaney's stepdad is Dave.

After 10 hours on the road, my family rolled into Momma's house in Georgia the Sunday before Christmas. Shellie and Dave came over with Delaney and their daughter Falyn. We exchanged gifts, ate ham and hung out. At some point in the evening, it hit me that I'm not actually related to them. But I love them like family.

What I wanted to say to Dave: "You are so cool for hanging out with your stepdaughter's paternal family for Christmas. I keep a short list of the real men in this world, and I just wrote your name on it."

What I actually said: "Here, I got you this cool Fat Albert DVD for Christmas. It also comes with a bonus CD."


2. Awkward family photos are better than good photos.
On Christmas Eve, we exchanged gifts with my mom's side of the family. We tried to get a picture of the women in the family.

What we want to look like:

What we really look like:

A picture is worth a million words--unless it's this picture. 

3. Laughter through tears is still my favorite emotion.

Emily and Lila check
out Video Cam Barbie.

As I poured mimosas for me and my cousin Emily on Christmas Eve, I noticed a dead bug floating in one of the glasses. I fished it out and said, "Eh, I'll drink from the bug glass. I'm not worried."

"I'll drink it," said Emily. "I already have cancer. I doubt a bug will kill me."

We laughed about it. Because it was funny. Because her sarcasm is what I always loved best about Emily anyway. Because cancer is always so damned serious that you laugh to keep from crying. A year and a half ago, Emily was diagnosed with Stage IV colon cancer at the age of 28. After surgeries, chemo and radiation, she is currently cancer-free.

What I said: "Drink up. There's a second bottle in there."

What I wish I'd said: "You are the strongest person I know."



4. Sometimes, people surprise you.
My mom takes care of my bedridden grandma who has Alzheimer's. Momma never, ever looks stressed about it. She keeps a running dialogue with Grandma. Sometimes, Grandma nods, but she usually stares in the distance. It's 24/7 thankless job that involves feedings, sponge baths and diaper changes. When I was growing up, my mom was not the doting type. She made me very independent, and I think that was one of best gifts she gave me. To see the level of expert care she provides my grandmother just shows me another layer of the awesome woman my mom is.

What I said: "Oh, look, Grandma has on Christmas socks."

What I meant to say: "Momma, I don't know how you do it. You have earned a first-class ticket to Heaven."

5. Sometimes, you get a handshake from Eddie (Herbert, not Vedder).

Eddie (Vedder, not Herbert)

My ex-husband is named Eddie Herbert. He used to sing in a band called Poison Jamm. Years later, I started following a band called Pearl Jam, whose lead singer is named Eddie Vedder. This coincidence causes a lot of confusion, so I always try to be specific about which Eddie I'm referring to.

Eddie (Herbert) lives only a couple hours from my mom, so our son Marshall got to spend Christmas with him. That meant meeting at a gas station halfway point on Christmas Eve night. When Eddie (Herbert) got out of the car, he shook Jim's hand and then mine--a first. As Marshall stood there in his varsity jacket, I hoped Eddie (Herbert) would say something about it. Comment on how cool it was. But, he didn't.

As Jim and I drove away, though, I saw Eddie (Herbert) touching the jacket, reading it. Just a boy and his dad on Christmas Eve. My heart grew three sizes.

What I said: "Um, yeah, Merry Christmas."

What I should've said: "You are OK as ex-husbands go, Eddie Herbert."

6. Family is where you find it--even if it's all the way out in Social Circle.
So, my brother has a son named Rocky with a woman named Harmony. They live way out in Social Circle. On Christmas morning, Aunt Van and I drove out there to pick up Rocky for the week. I wasn't expecting a gift at all, but Harmony gave me this cool mug that had a ceramic spoon and a quote about aunts on it. I didn't have anything to give her in return. She said, "No problem" in such a kind way that I felt OK about it.

Rocky & Lila, two weeks apart in age

What I said: "Oh, cool, the mug comes with a ceramic spoon."

What I should've said: "Thank you SO MUCH for letting me pick up my nephew on Christmas morning. You are an awesome mom."

7. There's nothing sadder than an unopened ice cream cone ornament.
Every year, I give my brother an ice cream cone ornament. (It's a long story that I'll tell another day.) Because he is wrestling with some personal demons, I didn't know if I would see him this Christmas. But, I brought the ornament anyway and wrapped it up. I didn't see him this year, but I left the gift at my mom's house. And, I'll buy another ice cream cone ornament for him next year. And the year after that.

What I would say if I saw him: "I love you."


8. All roads lead to Hartwell.

Cateechee Club, where the elite meet

When I went to college in 1990, I lost touch with my high school friends. The last couple years, I reconnected with the ones I like via Facebook. This year, we decided to meet up in our hometown the day after Christmas. As my husband and I drove to the Cateechee Club that night, I said, "Look, I haven't seen these people in 20 years. It's either gonna be awesome or really weird." As I walked around the stone fireplace, I saw Kelley and Rodney. They threw their arms up and hugged me and all was right with the world. Then Meredith, Tanya and David showed up, and we laughed for three hours straight.

We filled in the blanks on each other's stories, talked about our common unpopularity, asked about friends who weren't there, texted others to join us ("Call Johnny! Get him over here! Call Michael!") and ordered another round.

At some point, Rodney beckoned the waitress and said, "Can you take our picture? What time do you close?"

The waitress said, "An hour ago."

As we slowly made our way out the door (and handed our phones to the waitress who took a series of blurry pictures), I didn't want any of us to go. Sorry for hugging everybody twice. We posted the blurry pix on Facebook and got a lot of comments--one of them from someone who wrote "Interesting group." Snarky, sure, but it summed us up pretty well.

Just last week, I'd read an article by a self-help guru who said, "Find your tribe." She said that it's important to hang out with the people who make you feel good and to get rid of the people who don't. Well, this is my tribe. I cannot wait to see them all again. I want to hear about the last 20 years of their lives--each of them--in great detail, the kind of detail that you can't capture in three hours at a restaurant.

Today, my husband asked me what my favorite part of Christmas was.

What I said: "The Cateechee Club."

And I meant it.

Haven't seen YOU in a while

"Haven't seen YOU in awhile."

Here's the truth: Our family doesn't make it to church every Sunday. Sometimes, we're lucky if we make it once a month. When we finally do go, some well-intentioned person who knows absolutely nothing about our lives inevitably feels the need to say, "Haven't seen YOU in a while."

At our old church, we called this person "Peter Sellers." He wore black-framed glasses and possessed a verbal tic that made him snicker at the end of every sentence.

Haven't seen YOU in a while. Hehehe.

In fact, there has been a Peter Sellers at every church I've ever attended in my life. And you know what? Those admonishments (always delivered with a smile) fail to make me want to attend church more. They've always made me want to go less.

When I checked my email this morning, I noticed I had a Peter Sellers note from one of the women at church. I've never had coffee with this woman. We know each other only from when I pick up and drop off my daughter on Wednesday nights for choir and crafts. Although there were plenty of smiley emoticons sprinkled throughout, the message was clear: Haven't seen YOU in a while.

She ended the note by saying, "Please let us know how we can be helpful in any way." OK, here's how you can be helpful. When I finally do make it to church, one of these Sundays, I'm not sure when, instead of the Peter Sellers routine, here's what you can say to me:

1. "It's cool that you find other ways to plug in at church even though you can't always make it to worship services. Donating your time, talents and money on other days of the week besides Sunday is AWESOME!

2. "Wow, your husband must be SUPER tired from working 16 hours every Saturday writing about Penn State football. When he gets home at 2:45 a.m., he probably wants to sleep. So, we won't expect you at the 9:30 service during football season. Or the 11 a.m. service either. Sleep is important. People don't get enough sleep nowadays. We will pray that he finds a day job with a more normal schedule."

3. "I couldn't help but notice that you work full-time outside the home during the DAY and that your husband works full-time outside the home at NIGHT. And he manages kindergarten pick-up and drop-off for your daughter during the day. When in the world does he sleep? Oh, right, on SUNDAYS. Now I understand why you haven't been in worship services."

4. "Wow, your son is tall. I bet he letters in three high school sports. He probably stays busy with games and practice every day of the week--except Sunday. So, I guess that's the only day of the week that the four of you are able to sit down and have a meal together. It's amazing you make it to church at all. I say you're doing great if you make it here monthly."

5. "Have you ever seen that show 'Sunday Morning' with Charles Osgood? Sometimes, they have compelling interviews with fascinating people about fascinating things, and you learn something. Sometimes, you just wanna sit on the couch with a cup of coffee and not worry about rounding up the family to get out the door in time for church. Because we ALL know that job falls on the shoulders of the mom. And, girlfriend, you worked all week. Put your feet up and watch Charles Osgood. God is OK with that."

40th Birthday + Thanksgiving = Most Awesome Two Days Ever

I have two children but have often considered having four or six. If anyone were to ask me why, I would say, "I just want lots of people around the table at Thanksgiving." Clearly, I was thinking too small. A big Thanksgiving involves way more than one table.

This year at my Aunt Mary and Uncle Mark's house in Texas, there were 31 people around multiple tables--in the dining room, at the breakfast nook, in the hallway, at the bar, outside on the deck. As we said grace as a group and drew numbers to see who would go first in the food line (Grandma, almost 90, got dibs), my eyes filled with tears. I felt the immediate urge to offer someone one of my kidneys. I love these people--all of them, even especially the crazy ones. Obviously, you don't need to birth a bunch of kids to have a good Thanksgiving. You just need food, hospitality and a few wild cards to keep it fun. Wine helps, too.

Whenever I visit my dad's side of the family in Texas, the time always goes too fast. I stay up late and wake early, worried that I'm going to miss an inside joke, a grocery store run, a life-changing conversation or a cocktail. Every time I leave the room, I want to say to everyone, "Don't do anything or say anything until I get back."

The day before Thanksgiving, we celebrated my 40th birthday. Breakfast started with mimosas and a quick trip to the antique store with Aunt Van, who bought me an awesome cowboy girl hat. Then lunch under the trees of La Hacienda with my dad and stepmom who drove in from Houston. We then hurried to a pre-party at my Uncle Phil and Aunt Daria's house, which made us late for happy hour at my Aunt Chrissie and Uncle Mike's.

If you've never had 30+ people singing "Happy Birthday" at the top of their lungs while your grandma sits on one side and your daughter stands on the other, you're missing out. I wish I'd thought to videotape it, but in a way I'm glad I didn't. Sometimes, you just have to live in the moment and drink it in.

Before we knew it, the party had moved back to Aunt Mary's where we were all spending the night. At 1 a.m., my cousin James said, "We should change your flight, so you can stay longer!" Kinder words were never said. I want to remember them, so I can use them the next time I need a to hand out the perfect compliment. We stayed up till 3, solving all the problems of the world and texting our other cousins.

Here are just a few highlights from this quick trip:

I love that my Uncle Phil pours beer the exact same way my Granddad did.

I love that walking into my grandma's retirement home made me happy instead of sad, because it's the kind of place where they bring alpacas to visit the residents.

I love that we have a family who brings kegs to Thanksgiving dinner.

I love that when I say "Old Guard picture!" to my cousins, they know to sit on either side of me.

I love that my Aunt Jackie wears shoes like this:

And that my Uncle Kenny wears boots with his name stitched in them.

I love that Aunt Mary and I both love to shop in Fredricksburg. "We are so much alike," she said proudly.

I love listening to my dad and my Uncle Phil talk about anything. I also love that they can't help but look cool even when they're just standing in front of a random tree.

I love that cousin Tommy totally rocks that Graham Parsons shirt

I love that Aunt Chrissie bought a chili pepper skirt at Goodwill and--out of all the people in the world--I was the one she thought should have it.

I love that my cousin Jack played tag with Lila even though she's six and he's 21. Jack's dad, Uncle Kenny, used to do the same with me when I was her age.

I love that Grandma and Billie (my Uncle Mike's mom) are the cutest matriarchs I've ever seen:

I love that cousin Mick fell asleep, giving me and James the opportunity to decorate. I also love that when James got excited about TCU beating UT, he screamed and woke Mick up, sending pumpkins flying everywhere.

I love that next year we'll do it all over again.

Pride

When I got home from work today, Lila hurried me upstairs where she'd spread her school papers across my bed. She couldn't wait to show me she'd won an award. The school mascot is a lion, so students can win these P.R.I.D.E (positive attitude, respect, integrity, diversity and excellence) awards. The paper had the "D" circled with a note that read "Lila always makes sure everyone is included in the game or activity that they are doing." She also got a lion pencil as part of her prize.

"That's wonderful," I told her, my mom pride swelling over a simple pencil and a slip of paper.

I remembered years ago that Marshall's first-grade teacher had said something similar about him, something to the effect of "He so nice--to everyone."

Downstairs, I found Marshall sitting on the edge of his bed in his room, a rarity for that time of day. It's the in-between week between football and basketball season, and I wasn't expecting to see him. He told me his girlfriend had just broken up with him. Lila was hovering in the doorway, so I told her to go play. I gathered as many details as he wanted to give and then launched into a different kind of mom pride--"You are awesome and talented and smart and so nice--to everyone--and, hey, are you hungry?"

I tried to remember what a high school break-up is like. If memory serves, my 11-grade self spent the evening in my room eating Snickers bars and watching the VHS version of "Beaches."

And, even though it was a school night, I let him go hang out with his best friend, who would build up his confidence in a way that I couldn't. He took his math homework with him, left for a couple hours, came home early, showed me the completed worksheets and said, "I need to go change my relationship status on Facebook."

And I tried act all casual and said, "Oh, OK, cool."

But, I wanted to say, "Hurry! The first person to change the relationship status on Facebook after a break-up wins! Way to go, son!"

I also wanted to tell him that I was proud of him for seeking the company of friends during a tough time (circle the "P"), for texting me while he was out to let me know he was OK (circle the "R"),  for refusing to say an unkind word about his ex-girlfriend (circle the "I") and for doing his homework (circle the "E") tonight. This kid deserves a few lion pencils.

Old Guard, reunited in 10 days

Last year, when my Aunt Mary got married in San Antonio, the whole family--from Texas to Georgia to Pennsylvania--turned out for the wedding. We Whalens are a big Irish-Italian group with overlapping generations and an endless supply of kids and grandkids and uncles and aunts. As we left the reception and headed to the after-party, I stood there in the elevator with my two cousins, Mick and James. We're the eldest grandkids, so I made what I thought was an obvious statement:

"Look at us," I said, "We're sorta like the Old Guard."


Old Guard, right before the Sharpies came out



And something clicked. We paused and gave each other that look, the one you give when you know history has just been made. When you know nothing will ever be the same again. It will only be infinitely, more amazingly better. What ensued was an evening of high-fives, endless toasts and a round of "Old Guard 4-life" neck tatts written in black Sharpie (Gothic font). As the night wore on, we categorized the rest of the family, so everyone would know who was who:

Elite Guard:
our almost-90-year-old grandma
Nothing and no one can trump Elite Guard. She drinks wine and grew up with Sinatra. Top THAT.

Old Guard: duh, that's us--me, Mick, James
We're second in coolness only to Grandma, obviously.

Color Guard: my dad, his five siblings and all their spouses 

Our aunts were wearing bright-colored shirts, so this seemed like a logical name at the time. Too late to change it now.

Young Guard: the rest of the cousins and subsequent generations

No matter how hard they try, they will never be as cool as Old Guard. This does not stop Old Guard from giving Young Guard lots and lots of advice on everything.

Ink Guard: a catch-all category

This includes anyone in the family who wants to admit to having tattoos. See Color Guard, Young Guard, et al.

And all that nonsense stuck, as if we'd been saying it for decades and decades. Now when I send my cousins a text, I have to remember to look in my phone under "O" for Old Guard Jamed (sic) and Old Guard Mic (sic).

In 10 days, I fly to San Antonio for my birthday and for Thanksgiving. Old Guard will be back together, and all will be right with the world. And I'm bringing my Sharpie.

The no-good, craptastic day

Sometimes, you have one of those days that just spirals into crappiness for no good reason. Little stuff piles up and becomes big stuff. Today was one of those days.

You ever walk up to a group of people and they stop talking? And you KNOW they were just talking about you. My first thought is, "Oooh, maybe they're planning a surprise party for me!" but then my second thought is, "Crap. This ain't good. What'd I do now?" That happened to me today--twice.

Throughout the day, my allergies flared up, and I started sneezing. I bought some soup at lunch and planned to power through the rest of the afternoon. But, my medicine wasn't working. I ran out of tissues. Finally, I just chalked up the rest of the day to sick time, so I could be gross in the comfort of my own home.

 Lying on the couch in my robe, I called up a friend to tell her about my craptastic day. Maybe I caught her at a bad time, but I got the brush-off, sort of an "Eh, what are ya gonna do?" response. When I hung up, I felt crappier than before.

And I couldn't shake it, the indifference from several women in one day. Normally, I could count on the hustle and bustle of our family within our home to cheer me up instantly. But, the house was empty. The kids were at school. My husband had driven a friend to Maryland for a cancer treatment. On any other day, I would relish a couple hours to myself.

Standing in my kitchen, I whipped out my phone and sent a Facebook message to four of my friends, women I've known since junior high in Georgia. I told them I was having a bad day and asked for some prayers. All four responded within minutes.

Prayers going up!

Take a bath, drink a cocktail!

 You are so loved!

 And know that you are loved dearly all the way down here in Nuberg!

That last one made me smile because you don't have to know where Nuberg is to know that it's a long way from there to my house in Pennsylvania. That's a lotta love. It made me think of Li Po's poem "The River Merchant's Wife" (translated by Ezra Pound) where the narrator writes a love letter to her husband who has been away traveling for several months:

If you are coming down through the narrows of the river,
Please let me know beforehand,
And I will come out to meet you
As far as Cho-fo-Sa.

You don't have to know where Cho-fo-Sa is to know it's a haul.

Tomorrow's another day, and I will remember my friends' kind words: I'm loved. All the way down in Nuberg. And as far as Cho-fo-Sa.

Why I still hate high school

Friday, I left work early and picked up Lila from kindergarten. Then we walked the two blocks to the high school to attend a parents' dinner with my 16-year-old son Marshall and the rest of the high school football team.

I was actually looking forward to a chance to hang out with my kids and eat a catered meal. Lila and I walked in, found Marshall and put our stuff down. Marshall and two of his friends were already eating. They laughed when they saw us. I thought it was maybe because Lila was wearing her giant backpack with 10 clip-on hand sanitizers dangling from it. She is pretty funny with her backpack on.

As we got our food and sat down, the boys were still giggling but trying not to. They glanced at me and giggled again. What the hell was so funny? I did a quick check of my clothing. Buttons were buttoned. My skirt wasn't tucked into my pantyhose. Sitting at that cafeteria table, I instantly remembered how much I'd hated high school (so much so that I'd skipped my senior year and began college a year early). In the time it took to pick up my fork, I became an awkward 14-year-old around a group of football players, the popular guys. Not that they ever would've let me sit at their table back in the day.

And you know what's silly? In that cafeteria, I looked for a familiar face. Not a familiar face from my current group of friends, but a familiar face from high school--my high school hundreds of miles away from 25 years ago. I looked for my friend Rodney from the academic team. I looked for Patti, Mert and Tanya. None of us were cheerleaders and we didn't make the homecoming court, but there was no one else I wanted in my corner more at that moment. I took a deep breath, focused my attention on opening a bottle of water as slowly as possible and willed myself not to cry. Maybe I'd had a crappy day at the office, maybe it was hormones, maybe I was sick of taking Claritin for my allergies.

As I sat there in front of my untouched food, I knew, logically, that my almost-40 self could cut these 16-year-olds down to size. The big sister part of me wanted to say, "Got your learner's permit yet? Yeah, well, I can vote, buy beer and rent a car. Boom." Emotionally, however, I was reduced to a girl without a date to the prom. If Lila hadn't been with me, I would've left, just slipped through the side door while Marshall had his back to me.

Feeling like a teenager while sitting there with my own teenager provided lots of conflicting "Freaky Friday" emotions. Finally, the adult part of me prevailed and asked, "So, uh, Marshall, are you going to introduce me to your friends?" What I really wanted to say was, "Can I talk to you outside for a minute?"

And just when I thought I'd had enough, the coach announced, "I'd like each parent to stand up and say how proud you are of your son." Seriously, coach, now you want this 14-year-old girl to do some extemporaneous speaking? Although I'm very proud of my son 95% of the time, I wasn't proud of him in that moment. I don't remember what I said, but the popular boys giggled throughout. And, because I didn't want to embarrass him in front of his friends and because I didn't want to ruin his last game of the season, I saved that "Can I talk to you outside for a minute?" conversation for the next day. And I did allow myself to cry then. And I did accept his apology.

A couple years ago, I heard a comedienne say, "All of us are trying to get over something that happened to us in eighth grade." Sitting in the audience, I laughed in agreement. Then I stopped to listen. Everyone else was laughing, too. How did they know how awful eighth grade was? Maybe some of the parents in that cafeteria felt just as uncomfortable as I did. Several moms sat together while their boys ate several tables away. Maybe a couple of those dads who got choked up talking about their sons did so out of sadness instead of pride. Maybe we were all just acting like a bunch of eighth-graders.

Weepy Night in Pennsylvania

Have you ever had your child say something to you that sent a chill down your spine? For the last couple years, my six-year-old daughter Lila, has said, "The water always wins" whenever she takes a bath. It creeps me out. To her, it's a just a bathtime game. She sits in the empty tub and inches back as I turn on the faucets. She tries to see how long it takes for the water to touch her skin. Obviously, "the water always wins." It makes me think of something a drowning victim would say from beyond the grave. (And that's why I can never watch horror movies. My imagination runs wild just fine on its own.)

As Hurricane Sandy swept through the East Coast Monday and the local weatherpeople predicted rain, wind, power outages and floods, that phrase kept running through my mind. The water always wins, the water always wins. School was cancelled. My office was closed. My husband is a reporter, so he went in to work that night. It was just me and the kids waiting out the storm with snacks and movies and crafts. Eating my weight in pistachios calmed me a little bit.

I worried about the giant willow tree, the centerpiece of our backyard, and the maple out front. They looked sturdy and we'd recently had them professionally trimmed. But, I wasn't taking any chances. Since our bedrooms are upstairs, we camped out downstairs in the living room.

Lila's in there somewhere.

The rain was steady, but I knew that only from walking out on the porch periodically. I couldn't hear it falling on the roof like it does during a summer thunderstorm. The wind didn't whistle. I shot video of the willow branches swaying the rain. Everything looked, surprisingly, OK.

We fell asleep in the living room.

My husband returned home around midnight. I'd been sleeping on the couch and woke to ask him how his night was. We talked for a few minutes. He then walked upstairs to get a pillow. I heard him say, "Oh no! OH NO!" I ran up, thinking the bedrooms were flooded or a piece of the roof was missing. He was looking through the blinds of the window that faces the backyard. The willow was gone. We talked about how lucky we were, how it had just politely fallen without a sound, missing our house, our neighbors' houses and the power lines.

"Geez," he said, "I guess we can sleep upstairs now." He scooped up Lila. She woke and he told her what had happened.

Still half asleep, she said, "Oh, I loved that tree."

I sat in the dark living room with the TV off and felt so sad. And then immediately felt silly. Unlike so many others in this storm, we were alive. Everything could have been so much worse. The water DIDN'T win. But, I set the timer on my phone for 15 minutes and let myself cry anyway. The irony of crying over a weeping willow was not lost on me.




'Oh, I loved that tree.'



As I left for work this morning, I put the checkbook on the counter. My husband was waiting for the tree guy to show up to give an estimate for removal.

"We can afford [X]," I said. "If it's more than that...we'll figure out something."

An hour later, my husband texted me at work. The estimate was exactly X. The tree guy suggested planting an October maple in the spring.

October maple...we'll see.

 In the meantime, I'm fairly certain everyone on my Christmas list is getting a willow wreath.



When a willow drops in your backyard, you make willow wreaths.



Trick-or-treat neighborhood



Waiting for the 6 p.m. trick-or-treat start

 I have a thing for fall. Pumpkins, football games, pots of giant mums. When my husband and I were house hunting a few years ago, our realtor asked, "So, what kind of place are you looking for?"

I said, "I want to live in a neighborhood where it's fun to go trick-or-treating."

When I was growing up on a farm in Georgia, our town didn't really embrace Halloween. Houses were too far apart to gather much candy, and a lot of people just plain ol' didn't participate. We were, after all, in the buckle of the Bible Belt, where many considered Halloween to be "of the devil." I never understood why people got so worked up about it. To me, Halloween equals free candy--nothing more, nothing less.

When my husband and I finally found our little house on a tree-lined street, I knew it would be a great place for Halloween. Maple leaves cover our tiny front yard, no matter how many times we rake. And our little porch is just right for giant pumpkins.

Last night was trick-or-treat night in our neighborhood, and as we walked along the sidewalks, leaves crunched under our feet. A white steeple rose above the trees, and the temperature required nothing more than a light sweater. As we made our way from house to house (and peeked into the lighted living rooms for decorating tips), the word "idyllic" kept running through my mind. Not all the houses are fancy. None of them are new. But most of them had what my six-year-old calls "Halloween spirit." Happy Halloween!

Parade!

At some point in his act, comedian Daniel Tosh asks the audience if they prefer fireworks or a parade. He then says something like, "I don't even have a response to the idiot who yells, 'Parade!'" Well, I am one of those idiots, because I LOVE parades. Smalltown parades where you can wave to people you know.

Last night was our little town's Halloween parade. It's the most wonderful day of the year. The high school marching band shows up (btw, you haven't lived till you've seen a tuba player dressed like a nun), and a bunch of little kids register to win prettiest or scariest or most original costume. Did I mention there are firetrucks and ambulances with sirens, too?

And even though it seems like most of the town is in the parade, there are lots of people on the curb waving and cheering. I think I look forward to it more than Christmas. My six-year-old daughter likes it, too, which is good because, without her, I'd just look like some weird lady walking in the parade by herself.


So, yesterday, I rushed home from work to make sure everyone was ready. My daughter was fully on board and had already dressed herself in her pegasus/unicorn outfit. My husband was on the computer and didn't have his shoes on. It was 5:15 and registration lasted only until 5:45 before the parade started at 6! I reiterated to my husband the importance of registering before the cut-off time. We rushed out the door and drove to the parking lot of the Lutheran church. Yeah, it was 5:20 by then. I told you it was a small town.



Look out! Pegasus throwing candy!

"It's gonna be awhile," my husband explained to our daughter. "Mommy gets really excited for the parade, so we're VERY early."

I love that he knows this about me and accepts it.

Besides, our punctuality gave us time to take lots of pictures and see everyone's costumes.

Since this was our third year walking in the parade, I got smart this year and bought 2 pounds of Tootsie Rolls to toss as we walked the parade route. I wish we'd brought 10 pounds, because we ran out of candy before we wanted to. We tossed it to bunches of kids waving from the curb and pretty much felt like rock stars. (You know, if rock stars attended parades.) Everybody was yelling, "Thank you! Thank ou!" Throwing candy to little kids at a parade is probably the most fun a girl can have.



Charmed, I'm sure

When I turned 16, an aunt gave me a cool silver charm bracelet from James Avery (my favorite jewelry store), and I quickly filled it up. My grandfather would solder the charms on for me, so I wouldn't have to take it to a jeweler. That convenience made me a total charm bracelet glutton, and I gathered charms from everywhere--thrift stores, Kmart clearance sales, tourist traps, you name it. Like the party you throw when your parents are outta town, things got outta hand. No charm was too ugly or too cheap, which turned the whole bracelet into something that was pretty charm-less. Several friends got in the act, giving me long-forgotten charms scavenged from their moms' jewelry boxes. (Yes, I know. I can't believe we did that. Kids, that's called stealing and it's wrong.)

Once the bracelet became too heavy and cumbersome to wear, I hooked it around the rear-view mirror of the Buick I drove throughout college. After one too many times of locking my keys in my car, I started leaving it unlocked. Yep, someone swiped the bracelet one afternoon while my car sat in the parking lot of the tiny Southern Baptist college I attended. I chalked it up to poetic justice and knew I didn't deserve another charm bracelet. Ever.

Until last year.

I thought maybe it was a time to give my 16-year-old self a break and buy another bracelet. A law-abiding bracelet. I scoured Etsy until I found an antique one that seemed perfect. When it arrived in the mail, I put it in my jewelry box and didn't take it out for months. I mean, would I be able to handle it??And then yesterday my husband said, "Remember those two charms I got you last year? Are you ever gonna put those on your bracelet?" So, I got out my jewelry pliers and some split rings. It took me two minutes to put the charms on. And then I made some Charm Bracelet Rules:

1. Only meaningful charms will go on the bracelet. We're going for quality, not quantity this time. The two I've attached are James Avery charms from my husband--a crown (for Annabella Queen) and the cool finial heart (for our anniversary).

2. There's no rush to fill it. The bracelet has double links, so, in theory, I could put twice as many charms on there as a regular bracelet would hold. But, again, I'm going to give this one some thought. (See Rule 1.)

3. If someone surprises me with a charm, I am under no obligation to put it on my bracelet.

4. Above all, keep the bracelet, well, charming.

Momma Told Me To

I ran out of my favorite perfume sometime last year and chose not to replace it. I was trying to be all minimalist and figured my daily dose of powder fresh Secret deodorant was perfume enough.

Wrong.

I missed my perfume instantly. Few things are more wonderful than a great scent. Tried not to think about it these past few months. I mean, there are bigger problems in the world, I know. Plus, it seemed silly to spend the money.

I've never been loyal to one scent but always loved splurging on perfume every year for my birthday. Well, my birthday is next month, and I was planning to finally buy some Chanel No. 5 to celebrate turning 40. In years past, I've almost bought it several times but instead always opted for something newer, trendier.

When I got home from work today, there was an envelope from my mom with a $100 check in it. She wrote, "Spend this on yourself!" Well, if that's not a sign to buy Chanel, then nothing is.

So, I drove to Macy's, walked right up to the perfume counter and spent $105 on perfume. Yes, it's frivolous, but this powdery scent--the very one Marilyn Monroe wore--is better than clothes or shoes or jewelry any day. I can't stop smelling myself.

Happy early birthday to ME!

Surprise

Trying to put together an essay to submit to Skirt magazine. Their December theme is surprise. Having trouble finding a topic. The only thing I can think of is the awful surprise engagement party my SIL threw for me and Hot Husband two weeks before our wedding. We thought it was a regular ol' Sunday dinner at his parents' house, so we bowed out at the last minute. Managed to tick off a roomful of folks I'd never met before. Awful, awful in a million ways.

Rapunzel Party for Under $100

My daughter asked for a "Tangled" party for her sixth birthday. I was up to the challenge, so much so that I vowed to plan the whole thing for less than $100. No reason, really, except why break the bank on a two-hour party for kids who are still learning how to tie their own shoes?

I kept the guest list minimal, just the girls from her kindergarten class. For the invitations, I used scrapbooking paper I already had.


Total cost: $4.40 for 10 stamps


And my sweet friend Kim made these tower cupcakes:



Cupcakes with ice cream cone towers and yellow licorice hair


I was all set to pay Kim for these mini works of art, but she happened to see my sweater pumpkins on her way out the door. She took her pick of the patch, and we called it even.

Instead of balloons, streamers or paper products, I spent $14 on several yards of clearance fabric and unfurled it from the second floor window so it would look like long hair.

It's not a party until someone lets down her hair.

For favors, I wanted something besides the usual treat bags. Since lanterns are a huge part of the movie, I made my own version from the canning jars sitting in my basement. (I'm not a canner. I'll never be a canner. It was time to admit it and move on.) Some orange spraypaint left over from a failed decorating project and some raffia handles turned them into "Tangled" lanterns that could double as Halloween decorations. The party guests decorated the jars with stickers ($2) and filled them with glow sticks ($5). A craft that doubled as a favor. Done and done.

Since we had cupcakes, pizza and juice boxes, there was no need for silverware or cups. I used my Fiest ware plates. Nothing broke. Probably could've even skipped the pizza.

Although I'd planned a few paper crafts and cookie decorating, we never got around to it. The girls were happy sitting on the couch and petting our elderly Persian cat. And riding around the backyard in the hand-me-down Barbie Jeep. And peering through the cat door into the basement. And exploring my daughter's bedroom. It's always more fun to play with someone else's toys, right?

For the last 20 minutes of the party, they gathered in the living room with their glowing lanterns to watch "Tangled" with the lights out until their moms came to pick them up. It was kinda perfect.

Living in the Moment

With two kids born more than a decade apart, I spend a lot of time looking ahead and looking back. Living in the moment is something that I force myself to do. Friday, after Marshall's football game, Lila and I walked to the field.

"Let me get a picture," I said.

Without missing a beat, Marshall picked up his sister and I snapped a quick shot. As I was taking it, I heard a high school girl say, "Oh my gosh, that is gonna be the cutest picture ever. Oh my gosh!"

Whoever she was, that girl was right.

I waited for the Hipstamatic app to do its thing and then saw this moment captured on my phone. Then I looked at my kids--in person, in real time--and thought, "I'm gonna look back on this picture years from now and cry at how beautiful it was." And then I made myself focus on the now: how beautiful life is right now. Right this minute.  
That was Friday.

Today is Tuesday. Today, Lila turns six. In February, Marshall will turn 17. But, today, I'm gonna focus on right now. And I'm gonna order 9 copies of this photo from Hipstamatic.

Pumpkin families

My third pumpkin family--sold!

A couple weeks ago, my friend Tanya sent me a link to some sweater pumpkins she'd found on Pinterest and wrote, "You could totally make these!" Sure. OK!

So, I bought all the orange sweaters at the local thrift store and started sewing pumpkins--lots of them, grouped into families. And every time I post a pic of a pumpkin family on Facebook, my friends want to buy them. Every single pumpkin family member. My guess is that no one wants to break up the family. I don't even get a chance to list them on my Etsy shop. This morning, I shipped my third family--across the country to California--and can't wait to go home and make more.

P.S. That hat box? Found it this weekend at a consignment shop for $3. I love vintage hat boxes, and it's tough to find them in good shape. On the side, someone had written "white petal turban." That sealed the deal.

Shirtless, nbd



Walkin around after school w/ no shirt, nbd



Remember day before yesterday when I said I'd post something every day? Every single day? Oops. The day was full with work and the evening was full of worry. My 16-year-old son had dashed in from football practice at 6:30 p.m. (shirtless), long enough to say he needed to take a quick shower b/c his girlfriend and her mom were parked out front waiting to take him to dinner. Um, OK.

So, I thought he'd be home by, oh, I dunno, 7:30, maybe 8. 

As it got later, I checked his FB wall, just in time to see that one of his buddies had posted a shirtless pic of him (right). That did not make me feel any better. As a rule and a nod to his privacy, I never comment on his FB happenings, but this time I wrote "This is your mom. You need to put a shirt on."

I checked Twitter. No news there. No pictures, either. Good.

Then 9 p.m. passed. I considered showing up in flowered pajamas at the restaurant to round him up. He was past curfew and not answering my texts. My mind wandered, conjuring up lost phones, car wrecks, a restaurant shooting massacre. With each minute, I got more worried but mostly more annoyed.

He strolled in at 9:45 p.m.

Several excuses ensued, including "We were just watching football" and "My phone died" and "I don't even have that much homework." Turns out, the mom had just dropped them off where they met up with several other friends. I responded with a fair amount of drama. My 5-year-old daughter chose that moment to offer up a song about anger. Something cute about taking a deep breath and counting to 4. She kept telling me I was doing it wrong. "No, take the deep breath before you count."

In the middle of my lecture about responsibility and showing respect to one's parents, I remembered a great bit of advice (paraphrased) that my friend Kim, a mom of three wonderful adults, always gave to her kids: "Remember, you're a reflection of God and a reflection of your parents. Behave yourself." So, I threw that in for good measure, pointing my finger and my face skyward since he's a full foot taller than I am. He stomped away to change the cat litter, an afterschool chore neglected since the day before.

After a cooling-after period of about 15 minutes, he came up to my room where I was in bed, fuming (and pathetically watching a documentary called "Happy"). He pulled up a chair and asked if he could talk to me a minute. It was a very grown-up gesture on his part. I listened.

He said he was sorry for the disrespect. Apologized for not calling. ("I could've borrowed my friends' phones even if mine was dead to let you know I was going to be late.") I felt like I was talking to a big ol' grown-up man. There was just one more issue to discuss.

Me: "And why the heck is there a picture of you on Facebook without a shirt?"

Son: "My friend took that when I was coming out of practice. I know, I should be wearing a shirt."

Me: "And you didn't have a shirt on in front of your girlfriend's mom while she drove you home from practice??"

Son: "Yeah. Not sure why I did that."

Me: "OK, well, you need post on Facebook that 'my mom is right and it's inappropriate to go without a shirt'. And make sure you spell 'inappropriate' right."

So, he did. And then we hugged and called it a night. Just a regular ol' Wednesday in our house.

A Resolution

“Either once only, or every day. If you do something once it’s exciting, and if you do it every day it’s exciting. But if you do it, say, twice or just almost every day, it’s not good any more.”
Andy Warhol


So, I read that quote and Andy got me to thinking about my blog and my, um, quarterly posts. I have always loved Andy, a Pittsburgh boy who made good. Making a commitment to post daily. Maybe I'll take Sundays off. I might not post a lot every day. But I will post something. Better blogging is on my list of things to do. See y'all tomorrow.

You "like" me. You really "like" me.

It's probably the height of narcissism, but I get a small thrill every time I someone clicks "like" on one of my Facebook posts. In fact, I sorta hold my breath each time I post something until someone, anyone--usually my mom--"likes" what I have to say. Even if all I'm offering at the moment is "Had pad thai for lunch. YUMMY!"

So, imagine my thrill when I went to Skirt! magazine's site today. I was rereading their contributor guidelines and then ended up searching my byline to look at some essays I'd written for them a couple years ago.  

"Tobacco and Clay," an essay I'd written (through a lot of tears) about my dad has 10,251 page views. The other one, "Working in a Cathouse," about an abusive relationship I went through has 20,889. Wow. (Even if my mom was the only one reading it, she still had to click more than 20,000 times.) Made me realize that even if people aren't comfortable talking about or commenting on the tough subjects, they're interested in reading about them. And I'm good with that. 

The Friend Who Got Away

I've been reading this book called "The Friend Who Got Away," full of 20 personal essays by women who talk about friendships that blew up or faded away for one reason or another. So, I've been doing a lot of thinking about a particular friendship of mine that fell apart. Most of the time, it's too painful to think about, but I'm trying to write my own essay about it. When I do, I'll share it here.

The Perfect Foundation

Sorry, I know you saw the title of this post and figured it was something about my spiritual bedrock or how my home is built. No, it's about makeup.

In sixth grade when I first started dabbling in foundation (or base, as we call it in Georgia), my aunt took me to the mall for a proper color match at Merle Norman, THE place to buy makeup for women in the 1980s. Well, the beauty consultant said she simply couldn't find a base light enough to match my skin and then slathered some orange shade on my jawline. She then quoted a price for the bottle and began to ring me up. I told her no thank you and walked out. 

As I left the mall with my aunt, I swear I heard Merle Norman whisper, "You will nevuh, evuh find the right base for your face. Mwahahahahahahaha."

I spent the next 25 years buying various shades of porcelain, bisque and ivory from drugstores and grocery stores. Last year, I'd had enough. It was time to buy a foundation without a coupon. Only a store such as Sephora--with its endless inventory of overpriced bottled beauty--could solve this problem. I did my research. Sephora's customers recommended Lancome's Teint Idole above all other bases. I bought the lightest shade (ivoire) and rejoiced in knowing that my troubles were over.

Wrong.

It was heavy. REALLY heavy. I powered through, convinced that "women of a certain age" probably needed a little more coverage, right? After I applied a mask of it, the stuff wouldn't come off my fingertips. Even AFTER soap and water, the Lancome was stuck in the ridges. My fingerprints weren't my own anymore. I pictured CSI detectives saying, "We know Anna committed the crime, but there's no way to pin it on her. The prints don't match. How is that possible?"

The Lancome sat in my bathroom closet. Like the crazy wife in the attic in "Jane Eyre." I couldn't throw it away, but I couldn't look at it, either. 

Then last week I read a magazinze article about how NOBODY even wears foundation anymore. It's all about tinted moisturizer. Wha??? Since I'm turning 40 this year, I've been expecting these sorts of revelations and hard-earned pearls of wisdom to flow my way. But, really, NO MORE FOUNDATION? I hadn't expected this level of change.

So, I went to the Sephora site (again) and ordered Laura Mercier's oil-free tinted moisturizer in the shade of "nude." It came in the mail yesterday in a sleek chocolate tube. This glorious product is gracing my face today for the first time. OH MY WORD. Now I can check "find the perfect foundation" off my "500 Things to do Before I Die" list. Actually, I scribbled it out, because foundation wasn't even what I was looking for. And that glass bottle of Lancome is sitting at the bottom of the trash can.

Moral of the story: Don't search so hard for the foundation that you miss the tinted moisturizer.

Teeth of the Hydra

My best friend Jenny James has always told me I have the teeth of the hydra.* She said that means I give folks a lot of chances before "going all hydra" and putting people in their place.

"I am amazed at the [crap] you will put up with before you just tear someone apart point by point," she said. "And once the teeth of the hydra come out, it's ON."

Jenny makes being a many-headed sea monster sound acceptable, almost like being a ninja.

Admittedly, I do like to store up a laundry list of someone's past transgressions before unleashing via bulleted email. More than once, I've typed a diatribe to someone and then immediately forwarded it to Jenny with the simple subject line of "hydra." No need to read the email. That one word sums up all the paragraphs contained within. "Hydra" is also a shorthand way to describe any occasion in which someone gets a dressing down. As in, "Oh, Momma went ALL hydra on that waitress at Chili's last night. You shoulda seen it!"

Jenny gave me a hydra incense burner for my birthday a few years ago and took great pains to glue extra big teeth on the many-headed monster. When you light the incense, it breathes smoke out of its many mouths. Probably my favorite birthday present ever.  

While I do recognize the need for clearing the air when a situation warrants it, I try not to go all hydra more than once or twice a year. As Jenny says, "Sometimes, all you gotta do is just show a little hydra fang and they back off." 

* The phrase dates back to 1972 (also the year of my birth) in the song "Bang a Gong" by British rock band T Rex. The lyric goes "You got the teeth of the hydra upon you."