Ten Important Rules

So.....it's been awhile, but since my eldest daughter mentioned it, I thought I'd give this another shot.  I was texting said eldest daughter, Kenzie, this evening regarding her upcoming auditions for doctoral school.  She's willing to let me accompany her to lessons and auditions, which I appreciate and am very excited about, but I thought that I should create a list of rules for myself.  Since I am prone to be a tad on the inappropriate side,  I figure it can't hurt.  I came up with these first three rules immediately:

1.  Do not show up drunk.

2.  Do not wear Crocs.

3.  Do not say fuck.

After these, I decided it was time to get serious:

4.  Practice handshake and smile.

5.  Have a ready answer when someone asks, "So, do you sing, as well?"

6.  Carry Altoids, always.

7.  Scout out the area for the best tacos and margaritas.

8.  Carry a very large purse, and be certain it purse is stocked with water, Ibuprofen, Excedrin, Pepto Bismol,  Benadryl, deodorant, and a spare white short sleeved shirt, because you can never go wrong with a spare white shirt.  (The extra shirt is a tip garnered from actual experience on a similar trip to the U of TN, where I spent a couple of awkward hours shirtless under a jacket.)

9.  Be prepared to explain how wonderful your daughter is without sounding like you're bragging.  People really like humble confidence, which is a bit of an oxymoron.  Do you think I could trademark humble confidence, or at least make it a hashtag trend?

And this last one is for Kenz......

10.  Be sure wherever we choose to eat after the audition has an extensive martini menu.

Wish her the best of luck!  And I promise to follow all of the rules!

We Do This 2 or 3 Times a Year

My friend Sara and I have recently contemplated when we might outgrow a few of our behaviors. Specifically, the one that keeps us up all night drinking wine and waiting for the sun to rise. It's looking like it just might not happen.

A few short days ago, after several months of exemplary behavior, we stayed up all night........again. I had a party at my house, and naturally Sara came to it. We started out innocently enough. We listened to some pretty darn good bands, drank a few glasses of wine with the appropriate amount of time in between refills, and generally conducted ourselves in the way that 40 year old mom's should.

At some point, things changed. We realized we were having FUN, not just a good time, and we remembered that we are FUNNY. We know how to laugh, and how to make people laugh. A couple more bottles of wine were popped open, and Round 2 was off and running! We talked about things that we never seem to have time to talk about, we made jokes, we talked with friends.....and at some point we ended up on the roof of the schoolhouse. :-)

We gave in to wine and sleep around 6 a.m. the (next) morning, and as I woke up at 9 a.m., I thought to myself, "We've done it again." It seems like no matter how old we are, how responsible we think we've become, Sara and I still pull an all-nighter a couple of times a year. I figure if we're willing to pay the price of staying up all night (like basketball tournaments all day the next day, or driving 4 hours to your sister's birthday party), and nobody hops in a car to drive after a bottle of wine, we're more responsible than we sometimes give ourselves credit for.

I was considering this behavior of ours and talking to Sara about it when she came up with the perfect justification, which is a gift of hers, by the way. Her husband was, shall we say not surprised(?), by our all-nighter (again), and she said to him, "Why would you expect me to change now? I'm still the same person I was when you met me. I like to stay up late, and stay up all night sometimes. I've always done it, and probably will always do it, 2 or 3 times a year."

I was freed. I no longer felt like I'd done something wrong. It was an Hallelujah moment.

All of a sudden, I realized, this is what I do. I stay up. All night. 2 or 3 times a year. And I no longer feel guilty about it, or feel the need to apologize for it.

"I yam what I yam." Popeye

Face or Butt?

I was reading an article the other day, and it made the statement that as women age, we have to choose the face or the butt, but we can't have both -- meaning only one of them can look good so we have to pick which one we're going to focus on. That's like saying, "Hey, sweetheart, you're getting too damn old to take care of your whole self. Which part do you want to look good?" I don't know what kind of person comes up with a statement like this. Is it some stupid man who simply doesn't know any better? A woman who feels like she's losing the battle with age? Or some 20-year-old smartypants who doesn't realize that some day, she too, shall age? I wish to hell I could remember where I was reading it because I would like to revisit it and see what in the world the point of the article was. However, that one statement obviously stood out to me, and I've put some thought into it for a few days.

So, the butt or the face? Hmmmm, let me see. That's like asking if you want to look hot coming or going, right? To me, there could be some people for whom this is a no-brainer. . If your face is just "average," (not that there's anything wrong with average) but your ass is superb, duh, you pick the ass. On the other hand, if your face is beautiful but you've had a jiggly ass since you were 17, then you go with the face. It's the people that are caught in between that have the toughest choice. Do I play up the butt and try to walk in front of everyone so they're sure to notice my decent ass? or do I take really good care of my skin and learn to expertly apply make-up and buy several pairs of really flattering dark colored trousers? I mean, really, there are certainly more important choices in life.

The fact that I've actually spent some time pondering the face vs. the butt debate makes me a tad bit disappointed in myself . I checked myself out today. A few age spots on my face, some laugh lines around my eyes, but all in all, the face isn't so bad. The ass is a bit less than superb, I'd say, but it could be worse, and it looks better than it did 2 years ago. That doesn't mean I'm ready to strut a stage in the Mrs. America contest or anything, though.

Why can't the choice be between the elbow and the knee? or the calf and the shoulder blade? or the ear and the pinky toe? I'm really quite pleased with my collar bones. Why doesn't anyone ever say, "Wow. She has great collar bones?" How about my bony shoulders with dimples that my dad always called my "Angel Bones?" Now there's something I'd like to be able to focus on. He took something a little strange, a little different, and I've spent a lifetime feeling special because he dubbed them my Angel Bones.

Maybe that should be our real focus. Find one thing that makes you feel good about yourself, one unique thing, and tell yourself that you're beautiful. I think tomorrow I'll smile at a stranger, try to do something nice for somebody, and wear something that shows off my Angel Bones. Who needs to worry about the face vs the butt, anyway.

I like to be able to say none of it matters, but I guess it does a little bit.

Bikini? or One Piece?

The first bathing suit I remember wearing was this undoubtedly beautiful one piece with horizontal stripes and criss cross straps in the back. At the awkward age of 12, I'm certain I wasn't as pretty as I felt. But I sure felt pretty darn cute.

My next memorable swimsuit moment happened in my teenage years. I talked my mom into ordering me a black and gold bikini that I considered quite racy at the time. Mind you, I was 15 or 16 and it was around 1986 so the definition of racy was quite a bit different then. My dad was not impressed with this bathing suit, especially when it made an appearance at the high school band concert because they were looking for a bikini to throw during one of the songs.

The next big swimsuit moment in my life came after I had a baby. I was a young mother (18), but decided that once I'd had a baby I should wear a one piece. Mind you, I was still young and pretty darn thin, so while the black and gold bikini may have been out, I still could have stuck with a bikni. I'm not saying it made any sense, it's just what I thought at the time. So, I spent the next 10 years in a one piece.

Then, as I neared 30, I decided, screw it. I can wear whatever I want. So, not nearly as thin as I was at 20, I donned the first bikini I had worn in 10 years. Now, I'm not saying it looked impressive, but it sure felt pretty damn fine.

So, now that I'm "in my 40's," I have purchased a one piece bathing suit. I've had it less than a week and it has turned into my favorite suit. It's not that I think I'm too old for a bikini, I just felt like it was time. There's a lot of mental pressure that goes along with wearing a bikini, and quite frankly, I was just getting tired of worrying about it. I guess I'm back to the "Screw it. I can wear whatever I want" phase of my life, only in reverse. Why should I wear a bikini just because some people think it's sexier than a one piece? Piss on that.

Now, what to do about the fact that everyone has told me how much they love the new suit? Should I assume that it's just extremely flattering and applaud my shopping skills? or should I assume that the bikinis I so proudly wore for the last decade were not a very good choice?

These are the shallow thoughts that keep me up at night.

Staycation (Stay at Home Vacation)

Staycation - I hadn't heard this particular term before this summer, but as of right now, I am pretty familiar with it. For the last several years, our family has been pretty lucky. We've been able to take a family vacation every summer, and then Todd and I take a vacation by ourselves. So, I get two full weeks of vacation bliss.

Our family vacation has been spent at a slightly rundown but completely charming 1960's style hotel right on the beach in Lauderdale by the Sea, FL. It's literally 15 steps from the sandy beach, quiet enough that we can do what we want, and busy enough to provide a little entertainment. Although when all seven of us get together, we probably ARE the the entertainment. I have always cherished the things you learn from your kids while floating in the ocean. It's almost like the ocean gives them the freedom to share things they wouldn't always share, and sometimes a few things you wish they hadn't.

Todd and I usually spend a week after that in Martha's Vineyard all by ourselves. It's a really special time. Our time with the kids as a family is really fun, but our time alone is, I believe, what makes us so good as a family. If Todd and I connect, then it's easier for us to pull everyone else in. As a "blended family" it's especially important to be able to do that.

I'm explaining all of this because I shot it all to hell this summer. For most of my adult life, I have wanted a swimming pool in my yard. And by "wanting," I don't just mean it would be nice. I covet very few things, but a swimming pool was one. I have been on a campaign for several years to build a pool. Sydney has always been on board, and slowly I won almost everyone over. Todd may have just given in out of exhaustion.

So, rather than vacations this year, we built a pool. Hence, the STAYCATION. We did take two weeks off from work to vacation at home, but I have to admit it just isn't the same. When you're home, it's impossible to leave everything else behind. Kids run around, they go out, laundry gets washed, food gets cooked, and too much or everyday life butts in.

However, I am so happy to have a pool that I am only having a little bit of trouble getting over the guilt of missing a summer of vacations. Individually, and sometimes together, we have all had friends over to the pool to swim. Last night, Sydney and Company were in the pool still at 1:30 a.m. Just as I thought I was going to have to get out of bed to tell them the neighbors could probably hear the shrieking, they chilled out. And there was the night I heard whooping at 3:00 a.m. and looked out the window to see our son Reilly and two of his friends improvising a diving board and basically throwing themselves into the pool. I decided he's hold enough to take care of himself, and went back to bed with my fingers crossed. They were all fine in the morning, so it worked out.

My true wish is that everyone in the family is as happy to have a family pool as I am, and that we can enjoy it for years. My other wish is that next year, we vacation away from home! :-)

My Uterus

So.......it's been awhile, but I'm giving blogging another shot, and I thought I'd jump right in and get really personal. I recently had my uterus removed (LSH surgery-laparascopic hysterectomy, in case you're curious), and I have to say that I do not miss my uterus. At all.

One might think that the very part of you that carried your lovely children might hold some emotional ties, but apparently not for me. I'm not sure if that makes me cold-hearted or not, but I actually felt like doing a small cheer when I woke up from surgery. I was free.

Free of this organ that has ruled my life every 4 weeks since I was 12.

Free of the threat of unplanned pregnancy.

Free of the thought of, "Oh, my God. What was I thinking wearing white shorts today?"

Free of tampons. Never again will I be stolling down the beach to hop in the ocean, and realize that there is a tampon string hanging haphazardly out of my swimming suit. This unfortunate situation leads to a difficult choice: return to my towel & try to surreptitiously tuck it in, or hop in the water fast & take care of it there?

I think the only person who was sad to see my uterus go was my little sister. She's is presently about 8 months pregnant, and told our mom that she did not want to carry on the burden of procreation for our family all on her own. As the baby of the family she has occasionally been slightly prone to drama, but I'll assume that pregnancy hormones are at work here, since my brother and I have already done our share of procreation, and as far as I know, neither of us had any plans to give it another try. She's on her own. She's young, she can handle the pressure.

So, good-bye uterus. I'm sorry I couldn't give you the heartfelt sendoff that you probably deserved, but I'm just so happy to see you go!

Tucson

I'm a little tired of Iowa right now. I'd like to move to Tucson. Wouldn't it be a nice switch to be tired of the heat, rather than sick of the snow and cold? It's the middle of April in Iowa, it's 4o degrees, cloudy, and rainy.......and I'm just over anything in the midwest right now. About two weeks ago, I got tired of cold weather and put on my flip flops, so I've spent the last two weeks wearing flip flops and having very cold toes. Not fun. This is probably not the very best time to display my stubborn streak, but I just can't let go of the flip flops. The rest of me is warm, however, I am wearing long pants. I'm not a complete moron.

Todd and I were in the car today, and as a few drops of rain hit the windshield, I mentioned that I'm ready to move to Tucson. I've had it. (I'll get over it as soon as the weather gets warm, by the way.) He very conveniently started talking about the song on his cd. He made no commitment to me to move to Tucson. Little does he know, I'm not finished with the subject. He's at band practice right now, and when he wanders upstairs about midnight or so, and is high on music and has had a couple of beers, I'm gonna hit him with it again. I really don't see anything wrong with plotting. And, let's face it, timing is everything.

But in the meantime, I thought of Dorothy on the Wizard of Oz. I'd like to click my heels and say, "There's no place like home," and have that be Tucson right now. Is that really too much to ask? I don't think so. Come to think of it, Dorothy also got to wear some pretty flashy red shoes. I wouldn't mind having a pair of those. How hot would they be with my tiara? And they're probably more stylish than flip flops.......I could even go with a closed toe version and maybe my feet wouldn't be so cold while I was walking the dog.