scintilla: day 10

OK, friends. This is the last day of Scintilla! I know I’ve missed a few days, but overall I think I did pretty well, especially with all the craziness in my life right now. Hope you’ve enjoyed reading. The final prompt I’m answering is this:

Tell the story of how you got the thing you are going to keep forever. Include an image in your post, if you can.

So, as always, I’m not really answering this question in the way it was intended, but when I read it, the first thing I thought of was of a pair of photographs.

 

As you know, my father died unexpectedly when I was 26. After a tremendously shocking, sad, and overwhelming day with my family (that began with a life-changing phone call at 4:30 a.m.), I went home to my apartment, more or less a wrung-out empty shell of a human.

That night, I dug through my stuff and found a picture of me and my dad that had been taken maybe two years before. I found an old frame and inserted the picture. I found another photo of my whole family that had been taken five years prior. That went in the other side of the frame.

I have not changed the (decidedly not fancy) frame or photos since, and I never will. Those pictures have been on display everywhere I’ve lived since early 2000, and they always will be.

Miss you, Dad. Forever.

scintilla: day 9

Today’s Scintilla prompt asks: Post a photo of yourself from before age 10. Write about what you remember of the day the photo was taken. It may not be a full story – it may just be flashes of event and emotion – but tap into the child you were as much as you can.

This is a photo that hangs on my refrigerator door. I think this was the first day of school when I was entering fifth grade, so I was 9 going on 10 – that’s me in the back with my head turned and my eyes shut. Next to me (on my left) is my best friend Heather, and the boy in front with blonde hair is my brother. The girl directly in front of me is Heather’s sister Shelly – the one I go on beach vacations with in the summer these days. Next to Heather is her brother Mark, and next to him is our friend Paul, who I’ve known since I was basically a fetus. I believe the yellow Garfield lunchbox is mine.

Yes, we look like a bunch of early-80s nerds, to be sure. It’s so funny to look at this and see that I am the tallest one – little did I know that I only had about two years left of growing to do. Fifth grade turned out to be the year I got glasses, so it’s probably just as well my eyes were closed; everything was most likely blurry anyway.

I don’t remember a lot  -  or anything, really – about that particular first day of school. But what I love the very most about this picture is I’m still super-close to everyone in it (except the two girls on the right – not sure what happened to them, as they moved away a couple of years later). I’ve beaten this drum before, and I will continue to beat it - one of the greatest gifts of my life is the fact that I have so many friendships that have endured over 30 years, and I’m so thankful for that.

scintilla: day 8

Today’s Scintilla prompt asks: Sometimes we wish we could hit the rewind button. Talk about an experience that you would do over if you could.

My first semester of college was away from home. I lived in a dorm, gained the Freshman Fifteen, etc., etc. During my first semester, however, I decided to change my major (this would not be the last time) to secondary education so I could be a high school English teacher. The best school in my state for that degree happened to be 20 minutes from my house. So I transferred, and commuted from home. I was paying for college myself, and it made no sense at the time to take out loans and get into debut so I could live in a dorm so close to home. I regret that now.

My school was a good one – and in fact, I currently work very close by, which is extremely weird, especially when I see all of the students who look to me to be about Jane’s age – and I did have a lot of fun, and walked out of there with a BA in English. But I think I missed out on something important by not living away from my parents for those four (OK, five – like I said, I liked to change majors) years.

I want Jane’s future to be whatever she wants it to be. But I feel very strongly that she go to school away from home. Sure, it will be tragic and sad and I will hang on to her as she walks out the door. But still, that is something I want very much for her.

scintilla: day 7

Here’s today’sScintilla prompt: What is the longest thing you know by heart (for example, a prayer, a speech, commercial jingle, etc)? Why did you learn it?

When I am in a show, the thing I hear the most from people who come see it,is “I don’t know how you memorize those lines. I would never be able to do that!”

This is not true, of course. I maintain that anyone could memorize lines, as long as they don’t mind spending a few weeks glued to a script, begging the unfortunate souls who live or are friends with you to run lines, and don’t mind if people think you’re a lunatic because you’re constantly talking to yourself…running lines in the car…running lines walking down the street…running lines in the shower…all the time.

Or, at least that’s how I do it. Other people have different techniques. I have found the older I get, it takes a little more time to memorize lines. I think that’s because I have way more distractions in my life than I used to. Or my brain is melting. Or a combination of both.  So I just practice more.

I think the longest monologue I have had in a play is from Neil Simon’s Jake’s Women, in which I played Jake’s rather spazzy sister. This was not a show experience I particularly enjoyed (for many reasons), but I do remember getting a certain amount of joy while laying into him with this rant:

Why is it whenever I try to help you, you push me away? You’re that way with all women. You’re so — so — standoffish. What you love is to love women. You love to have women in love with you. You even love to love women who love you because you’re standoffish. But intimacy, aha, that you’re afraid of. I said, "Aha, that you’re afraid of." I think you’re afraid to lose control in a relationship with a woman. To let a woman in so close, so deep inside of you, that she’ll gobble you up and you’ll lose whatever you think you are. You always have to be the Master, Jake. The Master, the Conductor, the Director and the Attorney General. You don’t think it’s strange that you sit around here thinking about women and making up what they say to you? And then you think up that we make up that we come over here on our own? Come on! How much more control do you want? ... They love you, they leave you, they come back to you, they worry about you, they die, they live, they grow up, the fall down, they fight for you, they cry for you — it’s a three ring circus in here and all the horses and lions and elephants are women ... You’re the star of the show, Jake. You’re the one they shoot out of a cannon and you fly around the tent with an American flag in your mouth and all the women go crazy and faint and they take them away to hospitals ... The trouble is — it’s very hard to get close to a man who’s flying around in a tent with a flag in his mouth. That’s what I call trouble with intimacy. 

That part was fun.

Lines stick in your head, even years later. Not full speeches like the one above; no, if I wanted to recite that right now, I’d have to spend some time with it again. But, like with movie quotes for other people, quotes from plays and musicals surface in my daily conversation all the time, and bring with them memories, good and bad, from my very favorite hobby.

 

 

 

 

scintilla: day 6

Today’s Scintilla prompt goes like this: Many of our fondest memories are associated with food. Describe a memorable experience that took place while preparing or eating food.

Today is the first day of spring. On this, the first day of spring, it is 34 degrees where I am right now. There is snow on the ground from yesterday’s storm. My back aches from slipping and falling on the ice last night. I am wearing a sweater dress and boots for the umpteenth time over the past five months, which have been long, arduous, and freezing fucking cold. You can see the desperation for a little warm weather on everyone’s faces. We all look a little grey, a little sad, and a little dead.

There is a place in Westbrook, CT called Bill’s Seafood. In the summer, when we’re at the boat or visiting my in-laws, we will often go there. When I think of Bill’s, which I was doing just this morning, these are the things that pop into my mind:

*hot summer sun
*lobster rolls dripping with butter, with a heaping side of fries
*Styrofoam containers filled with steamers
*loud live music
*a packed deck with people drinking and looking at the boats going by
*weekends
*my family
*shorts, sunburns, and laughter
*hitting the ice cream stand next door as we leave

I can’t think of a better recipe for happiness.

(Note: writing this post put a lump in my throat. That is how badly I need summer to get here.)

scintilla: day 5

I am answering this Scintilla prompt today: What have been the event horizons of your life - the moments from which there is no turning back?

These days, I have no time to ponder things for more than about 30 seconds. I truly wish I had more time to really think about my posts, but between work, family and directing a show, it's tough. OK, excuses time over....when looking at this question, I can truly say I think there has been only one moment in my life from which there is no turning back – and that was the decision to have a child.

Everything else is fluid - jobs, relationships, hobbies, locations. But the moment I became a mother changed my identity to a degree that there is no turning back. No matter what success or joy I find elsewhere in my life, if I’m not a good mother, I’ve fucked up. I’ve failed. I believe this.

Scary, right? This is not something I think about on a day-to-day basis because, hello, PRESSURE. And I don’t mean that every single moment has to be perfection, because obviously it is NOT.  But the decisions I make and the examples I set plays a huge role in the shape of Jane’s life right now – and most certainly in the future.

And there’s no turning back from that responsibility.

scintilla: day 4

Prompt: What talent do you have that your usual blog readers don’t know about? Talk about a time when you showed it to its best advantage.

After perusing the past couple of days of Scintilla prompts, I’ve decided to respond to this one today. It’s not my best, but, well, it’s something:

I wouldn’t call it a talent, no. But I can draw well enough to entertain small children. I used to looooove drawing and coloring when I was a kid, and one of my specialties were my “Froglets” – basically cartoony frogs with big eyes and even bigger eyelashes, usually wearing princess dresses. My artistic talent stalled out by about sixth grade –I would say that’s my level of ability - but I must say that I truly enjoy sitting down with Jane to color, which she does non-stop. Something about the quiet activity and the smell of fresh crayons puts me in a happy place.

The time this “talent”worked to my advantage in a big way was a couple of years ago when Greg, Jane and I were driving to New Jersey to visit friends. While trapped in the everlasting CT-to-NJ traffic snarl, using one of those Magna Doodle erasable things, I became Jane’s personal artist, drawing for at least an hour straight as she flung suggestions/demands at me from the back seat. Dogs, trees, houses, Daddy, rainbows – I did it all. And when you’re trapped in the car with a fidgety toddler for a three-hour trip, you thank your lucky stars that you spent all your time in elementary school with your blank paper, markers and crayons.

Note: I'm number the Scintilla days in my post titles by how many days I've personally participated. Just keeping track of my own participation.

scintilla: day 3

Today’s Scintilla prompt goes a little something like this:

Talk about a time when you were driving and you sang in the car, all alone. Why do you remember this song and that stretch of road?

First off, let me just say that the great tragedy of my life is that I have a terrible – truly awful – singing voice. Me! A person who loves musical theater and is quite sure I would be rather famous at this point were it not for the fact that I am totally tone deaf.

That said, I do enjoy singing. Very much. And I can sing the hell out of any showtune or song on the radio within the confines of my car. Turn the radio up loud enough and you can’t hear my voice at all, which is really best for everyone.

As I’m sure I’ve mentioned before, I worked for my parents’ business (Dairy Queen), for many summers over high school and college. I drove the same 8 miles from our house to DQ thousands of times, I’m sure. Sometimes in my my mother’s Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme, sometimes in my father’s Buick LeSabre, and sometimes in the car my brother and I shared for a couple of years, a Pontiac Sunbird. Ah yes.

Although during those years I was primarily a fan of rock music (still am – although not of the hair band variety anymore) I would listen to pop every now and then. One sunny summer day I was making my way to work in my super-stylish polyester DQ uniform, singing at the top of my lungs to Wilson Phillips’ “Hold On,” which was quite the hit back in 1990. As I was singing along – someday somebody’s gonna make you wanna turn around and say goodbyeeee -  I looked in my rearview mirror, and to this day, I laugh when I remember what I saw.

There was a woman singing the same song, totally giving it her all. Hand gestures and everything. Something about seeing her lips move to the same song I was playing in my car just seemed hilarious to me – and would have been a good reminder, had I thought of it, that instead of laughing maybe I should realize that’s most likely what I look like to other people when I’m driving. (This still holds today.)

There’s just something about that song, I guess…..

scintilla project: day 2

Today’s Scintilla prompt: Tell a story about something interesting (anything!) that happened to you, but tell it in the form of an instruction manual. (Step 1, Step 2, etc.)

How to end up on a PATH train from Manhattan to Hoboken in bright green fuzzy slippers in 9 easy steps:

1)      Plan fabulously fun weekend in NYC with your friends.

2)      Wear too-high platform sandals, despite the fact you turn your ankle quite a bit.

3)      Drink a lot for several hours in a row with said friends. Fun and frivolity abound.

4)      Declare that “I’m pretty sure I’m going to fall” when headed for train. You say this not because you are drunk – you just “have a feeling.”

5)      Fall ass over teakettle in the middle of New York City. Snap the strap of your sandal. Laugh your ass off. Piss off your friend who is really focused on getting to the train. Laugh harder. Because what else can you do?

6)      Take cab to station. See a big beautiful Duane Reade. Tell friends you MUST get a pair of flip flops because it is impossible to walk in broken sandal and there is no way in hell you are going barefoot.

7)      Friends head into Duane Reade to look for footwear. You limp in behind them with another friend, who is photographing whole event with great amounts of glee.

8)      Friends say that because it is late October, there are no flip flops for sale. However, there are slippers. In a bright neon green variety. You suspect friends might be lying. You don’t really care.

9)      After dumping your sandals in a trash bin with great ceremony, you wear the slippers on the train back to Jersey, secretly happy because those sandals were uncomfortable anyway. And you know what? Not a single person looked twice.

 

I love New York.

 

scintilla day 11: to intervene or not.

Well, just like that, today is the last day of the Scintilla Project. I have absolutely loved this experience, and I have already started nagging the ladies to do it again soon. Hope you’ve enjoyed reading my responses – and here is the last one:

Today’s prompt asks: Talk about a time when you intervened. What prompted you? Did you regret it?

To answer this, we first have to talk about a time I didn’t intervene - at least, not enough. When I was in high school, I had a very close friend, P, who was suicidal. And I knew it – she would talk about it, and I would try to talk her out of it, and I felt this enormous weight of keeping her alive on a day to day basis that no 15-year-old should feel. In the back of my mind, I kept thinking “should I tell someone? Should I talk to her parents?” but I felt like that would have been a betrayal. So I carried her load, her secret, myself.

I’m sure you can see what is coming. Despite my sometimes-hourly efforts to encourage her that life isn’t that bad, she attempted. She came very close to succeeding by overdosing on a truckload of pills, but woke up within minutes of a probable stroke and told her parents. After an in-patient hospital stay, a subsequent attempt, another hospital stay, and many, many medications, she recovered, sort of. A lot of things happened after that to strain our friendship beyond repair, although occasionally she reaches out to me.

So. When another close high school friend, A, became suicidal a year later, you bet your ass I intervened. I told a teacher, I told a guidance counselor. I sat in a guidance counselor’s office with her and begged her to promise to me that she would be alive the next day. She couldn’t promise. I begged more. I cried. She cried. It was a mess.

She was, in fact, alive the next day, and all of the days after that. She never did attempt to kill herself, as far as I know, and I believe she is much happier now, although we lost touch after graduation.

God, high school sometimes sucks, doesn’t it?

I absolutely did not regret intervening. Who knows? Maybe getting a counselor involved earlier with my friend P would have prevented her from ever trying in the first place. Maybe it was what set A on a better path. But I knew I couldn’t handle the weight of personally being responsible for someone’s life at that age. Better to let the grown-ups help.

As an adult I now know that what happened with P wasn’t my fault, but holy hell, it took me YEARS to get here. I felt so much guilt and so responsible for what happened with her. And it makes me so sad for 15-year-old me.

I just looked at the calendar and noticed that today is the anniversary of the day that P tried to kill herself all of those years ago. I still remember the date. What does that mean?

scintilla day 10: supposebly, I could care less.

Today’s Scintilla prompt asks: Pet peeves. We’ve all got 'em. What are yours?

 And now, the fastest blog post I’ve ever written.

HERE ARE MY TOP TWO PET PEEVES:

1) Supposebly. Where is that “b” coming from, may I ask? WHERE? WHY DO YOU SAY IT THAT WAY? PLEASE STOP NOW PLEASE MY HEAD IS GOING TO EXPLODE.

2) “I could care less.” Could you? You could care less? So then whatever you are referring to must be bothering you, right? Because if it didn’t bother you, you would say you “couldn’t care less” – right? Because if you couldn’t care less then you don’t care at all and I think that is what you are trying to say so please stop saying “could care less” because you sound like an ass for fuck's sake THE END.

scintilla day 9: body-licious

Today’s Scintilla prompt asks: Talk about the ways in which your body is awesome.

To which, of course, I laughed. Hard.

Because we’re trained, right? Trained to immediately think, oh, yeah, right. MY body? Awesome? No way! I need to lose weight, I’m flabby/out of shape/saggy/wrinkled/tired/old/my hair’s not right/my nose is big/my/my/my/my is NO GOOD.

Until the end of time.

And, look. I feel that way about myself. I'm won't lie. But, fuck it, I thought. I’ll give it a shot.

So. Ways in which my body is awesome.

Well, it works. That’s right. My brain works (shut up) and my organs seem to be functioning. I can’t see for shit, but hey, I’ve got these glasses, and they work. I have some slight hearing loss as a result of great seats at too many concerts, but my ears mostly work. I’m 38 and haven’t seen a grey hair in years, and not because I dye my hair. I’ve got freckles galore but that’s because I love the sun, OK? And I’m not tall, no, but who really cares about that.

My stomach area will never be what I want it to be. Never has, never will. But hey – it stretched to its limit to house Jane, didn’t it? In fact, didn’t my body actually GROW A HUMAN? Well, that’s something. That’s something indeed. And then birthed her! That’s right. This body that I complain about daily if not hourly, grew and birthed my daughter. No bad, body. Not bad at all.

My legs. My legs that I ALWAYS want thinner, or more muscular, well, they sure get me to where I need to go, don’t they? They have walked thousands of miles just for exercise alone! And my arms. No matter how much minor weight-lifting I do (and I do, I do) they won’t look how I want them to look, no they won’t. But they have carried a lot of shit. You know, literally and figuratively. (What? I have dogs.)

There is a lot of rheumatoid arthritis in my family. My dad had it terribly, and several other close family members have it as well. So far, I seem to be arthritis free. That’s something to celebrate, right? That's actually really huge, if you know how awful RA is. Yay, body!

My body is currently very hungry right now, as I push through this 17 Day Diet program. And sure, it’s grumbly, but it’s doing what I want it to do, right? It’s responding to this insulting push of a high protein and low carb diet, and it’s losing that extra weight that has been sticking around for far too long. It's probably getting healthier even. Running better. More streamlined.

For someone who insults the shit out of her body and has for the past 38 years, deep, deep down (because you’re never supposed to be happy with yourself publicly, right?) I really am grateful, so grateful for everything this body has given me. It’s just good to be reminded of that every once in a while.

 My body at one of its heftier points.

scintilla day 8: thank you for being a friend

Today’s Scintilla prompt asks: Who was your childhood best friend? Describe them – what brought you together, what made you love them. Are you still friends today?

A few weeks ago, Heather lent me the book The Hunger Games (perhaps you’ve heard of it? No? How is life living under a rock? I’ve always wondered.). She was working her way through the trilogy and thought I might like it, even though it was a little outside the standard realm of my reading. So I put it in my pile of future reads.

A couple of weeks later, I received this email:

I started the 3rd book in the Hunger Games series and I have come to the firm conclusion that this is not your type of book. I feel it is a cross between Alas Babylon, 1984 & Blade Runner. Please cease and desist reading immediately.

Emails like this are a perfect example of why Heather has been my best friend for 31 years. I remember when Lost premiered, and she was going on and on about it, so I decided to try it out, and was instantly hooked. We were watching something on TV about the show, and someone described the new series as “science fiction.” Heather said “SHHHHH!!!” to the TV – because she knows that if I started thinking of Lost as sci-fi, I would be out. (Don’t worry – I managed to stick with it, despite its science fictionness.)

My point – the girl KNOWS ME. And of course she should. Ever since she and her four siblings (one older brother, two younger brothers and one younger sister) moved across the street from me back in1981, when I was 7, we have been besties. And I mean ALL THE WAY THROUGH.

In the early days we played Barbies and Strawberry Shortcake, built forts and had clubs with her siblings, mine, and other neighborhood friends. Later we both awkwardly pushed through adolescence, with our giant hair, braces and glasses (she got contacts before I did, and WHOA was I jealous). We had a couple of part-time jobs together, although she spent her summers working at a golf course and I spent mine working at my parents’ ice cream shop. We passed notes every day before second period in high school.

And then it gets really nerdy because we both went to the same university and majored in almost exactly the same thing (she, early education with a concentration in English, me, English with a concentration in Journalism). And now we live 15 minutes from each other. She is married with twin 10-year-olds and a 5-year-old, all boys. And, well, you know my story.

Our paths diverge here and there. She was SO not into the hair bands that I was completely obsessed with in high school. She used to do a little bit of theater but doesn’t do it anymore. She got married and had kids years before I did. She’s a runner, a healthy eater, and an excellent cook and baker. I’m much more of a drinker than she is. She was never into the bar scene; I was. She likes books and movies with vampires and dragons, I don’t.

But oh man, we share the same sharp, sarcastic sense of humor. She has made me laugh more than anyone in the world. She was the first person who knew I was pregnant. She held me up – both literally and figuratively – when my father died. I hope I did the same for her when her mother died very unexpectedly a few years later. I would do anything for her, and I know she would for me.

We have shared the highs, lows, heartbreaks, births, deaths, weddings, funerals, baptisms, birthday parties, holidays, cookouts and all of the everyday moments in between for the past three-plus decades.

I cannot imagine – CANNOT IMAGINE – not having her in my life. I could go on and on here, but instead I’ll just answer the question “are you still friends today?” The answer is YES, and forever. And ever.

I picked a picture in which we both actually are dressed up and wearing makeup.

scintilla day 7: I Got Life

(Weird title to the post I know. But as soon as I read the tribe prompt, I started to get songs from the musical Hair in my head. What?)

Today's Scintilla prompt asks: List the tribes you belong to: cultural, personal, literary, you get the drift. Talk about how the experience of being in your element with your tribe.

You totally know when you’re with your tribe, don’t you? You feel looser, happier, energetic. You feel surrounded by love. Support. You feel right.

This is another Scintilla prompt that reminds me how lucky I am, because I am card-carrying member of some pretty amazing tribes.

My family. The only person in my family I speak with (or really, email with) several times a week is my mother. I usually see my brother once a week, maybe, and exchange some texts and FB messages. My two sisters, every once in a while, my nieces and nephews, on holidays and birthdays…you get the drift. It’s not like we’re all coming together for Sunday dinner every week. But what I know is this: they are there for me. I am there for them. Whenever something hard hits our family – and it has, it has – we are there for each other, hardcore.

My friends. Well. I’ve talked about core group of friends an awful lot on this blog, haven’t I? My tribe I’ve been besties with for over 30 years now. I might as well have put them up there with my family, for how close they are to me. And am so lucky to add so many other fabulous people to my friend tribe – from work (present and past), my fellow happy-hour loving moms, from college, etc. I am lucky lucky lucky.

My book club: OK, OK, so my book club is also made up of my friends. But I love it, OK? We’ve been going for well over two years now, and one thing that I am always excited about is my next book club meeting. We take it seriously, y’all. We theme the snacks around the book, we have printed out lists of questions, an order in which we answer them – oh yes. It’s nerdtacular.

My theater peeps: I mean, really. Can I even express how much I love doing shows? I think I expressed myself best about it in one of my favorite posts ever here – and the fact that another show is brewing next month has got me very excited. I have a need to be with my theater peeps sometimes. If I don’t address that part of myself, I start to get itchy.

I love the idea of tribes, and I feel extremely blessed to be included in my own

scintilla day 6: that's me in the corner, redux

Today's Scintilla prompt asks: Talk about an experience with faith, your own or someone else's.

I know this is epically cheating, but this is still such a huge conflict in my brain so it's worth reposting. From January.

Everything remains the same, except for the fact that I did start taking her to church, and then I got so heated up during the whole birth control debate I stopped again. So, you know. No progress.

Sigh.

Scintilla day 5: lost and gained

Today’s Scintilla prompt asks: Show a part of your nature that you feel you've lost. Can you get it back? Would it be worth it?

 A part of me that was greatly diminished after my father died unexpectedly was my ability to laugh easily. I’m kind of known for my wildly loud laughing among certain friends – I surround myself with funny people and then laugh myself sick. It’s an excellent way to live, I tell you.

When my father died – well, understandably, my sense of joy died for quite a while too. I couldn’t laugh, I got severely depressed, turned into a major hypochondriac, and was a miserable wreck for a long time. Eighteen months after that happened my brother got into a near-fatal car accident. My friend died of brain cancer. My uncle died. September 11 happened. I broke up with a long-term boyfriend. This was all well within two years.

 I felt dead. I was in survival mode. I sat in my apartment for long periods of time and stared at the wall.

 It took a very long time to get myself back, if that makes any sense. To have fun, to feel joy, to laugh.It felt selfish, you know?

I am glad to say that in the decade-plus since, I have been able to recoup that ability to let loose with a cackle. It took a ton of work. It took a massive amount of support from friends. It took a lot letting go of the idea that life is a controllable thing. But was it worth it?

Oh, hell yes.

Scintilla day 4: just another manic (insert day)

I am completely loving Scintilla! Psyched to be in week 2. Today's Scintilla prompt: What does your everyday look like? Describe the scene of your happiest moment of every day.

I love reading about people’s day-to-day lives, so that is how I am going to approach this question. Now, when I am doing a show, my everyday life is different – there would be three hours of rehearsal in the evenings. And now that I’m doing the wretched 17 Day Diet, I am doing my cardio in the evenings instead of first thing in the morning, like I typically do. Normally, at this time of year, I would be getting up at 5:45, but now that I don’t have to squeeze in exercise, I am getting up a little later. So here’s what a typical weekday in my life looks like at the moment:

Alarm goes off at 6:30 a.m. I get up. Notice I didn’t say, “I wake up,” because I will already have done that, usually because Jane has already asked me many, many questions. Like how to spell something. Or what a penguin eats. Or to button up one of her princess costumes. Or to help her in the bathroom. Yesterday I was so tired when she came in to ask me how to write the letter “V,” for some reason my answer was to “put some extra legs on it.” What does that even mean? Was I half-dreaming of an octopus?

6:30-8 a.m.: Shower, hair, makeup, iron something, get dressed. Get Jane dressed and fed. Feed myself something protein-riffic (eggs). Make my salad and snacks for work. Deal with some sort of drama. (Today it was because Jane didn’t like her waffles. She said they were “brown, not yellow.” They were the same waffles she’s had for days. She was bawling like a lunatic.) Let the dogs out. Call the dogs in. Call them in again. Beg them to come in. Check them for ticks. Feed the dogs. Clean up any of Jane’s small toys on the floor so the dogs don’t chew them. Sometimes pry a toy out of Junior’s gaping maw. Get Jane’s supplies ready for school (today it was her nap backpack, permission slip for a field trip, and weekly sticker drop-off chart). Wake Greg up at some point. He gets ready in five minutes. By the end of this morning routine I often feel like my head is about to explode, and I haven’t even left for work yet. Take Tylenol.

8-8:30 a.m.: Strap Jane into Greg’s car, and make sure she can see me waving to her, because she REALLY NEEDS TO SEE ME WAVING TO HER or all hell breaks loose. They head off to daycare. I drive to work with a stop at Au Bon Pain for coffee. Get to work at 8:30.

8:30 a.m.-12:30 p.m.: Work. Marketing. Still adjusting to the part-time schedule, despite the fact that I have been there for six months already. It still feels weird but I know once Jane starts kindergarten (which is part-time in my town) in September, it will be ideal. Going part-time while she was in the early years of school was my goal since she was born because I wanted to be around more before and after school, and I am extremely fortunate to have found a job in my field that I really like that offers benefits with the hours I have. I am a lucky ducky.

12:30-3 p.m.: Chores – grocery store, Target, cleaning, blogging – stuff like that. Today I have to go to the AT&T store to get help for my ailing Blackberry. Poor, poor little Blackberry, how I abuse you. Again – once Jane is in school, this free time to myself goes away. It feels so strange to have it in the first place – I feel guilty that I have it– so I try to use it to get stuff done for the house and the family. Of course, I do sometimes take the time to do me stuff – like the lovely, lovely pedicure I got last Friday. And I also often take trips to the library. I used to also often stop at Starbucks but my wretched diet won’t let me do that right now. Eh – my wallet’s happy, anyway.

3-5 p.m.: I usually pick up Jane around 3ish. When I started working part-time, I wanted to pick her up earlier in the afternoon – but when I’m getting out of work, she’s settling down for nap at school. Waking that girl up from nap is basically saying you want to take a hellfire beast home for the afternoon. So, you know, to avoid that, I pick her up after nap and snack, and if I’m running late, while she’s outside in the playground with her friends. It’s a rough life for Jane, obvs. Then we hang, play, go outside if it’s nice – you know. Kid stuff. On Mondays like today, we go from school to dance class. She dances from 4:15-5 while I chat with the moms, and then we’re home by 5:30ish. Sometimes there is post-class sticker crying drama (she didn’t get the sticker she wanted from the teacher). I repeat: it’s a rough life for Jane.

5-8 p.m.: And here comes another whirlwind timeframe. I make dinner for myself and Jane (sometimes Greg is home in time, sometimes not). For me, at this point, it involves some fish and salad most likely, and she eat typical kid stuff, like pasta and chicken nuggets. Whatever she has, she adds a healthy dose of ketchup. Feed the dogs. Let them out. After cleaning up from dinner, I get her into her bath, which can last up to an hour, no lie. She had a swell time for herself in the bath. While she’s in there (assuming Greg is now home), I go out walking. I live in a hilly area, so power walking around here is for serious. I come home, if Jane’s out of the tub I get her ready for bedtime if Greg hasn’t already, then she plays and/or watches some shows (Dora, Diego, Backyardigans, Barbie and the Magic of Pegasus and Barbie and the Magic of the Rainbow are current faves). During this time I’m either reading or messing around on my computer, although lately I’ve been going through our closets and drawers and doing a massive purging, so I might also be doing something useful like that. I’m a lot more inclined to get my ass off the couch now that it’s light out in the evenings.

At 8 p.m. the epic bedtime battle begins. Jane. Does. Not. Like. Going. To. Bed. She employs every stalling tactic in the book – needs water, bathroom trip, an extra hug, and extra kiss, needs to be tucked in, needs some crayons, needs five books, needs five more books, is scared, needs room checked for dragons, monkeys and dinosaurs, etc, etc, etc until forever. After she’s come out and I’ve gone in to her room about one million times, she will fall asleep. Sometimes this is as late as 10 p.m. It’s insane. (Can you see why I love escaping the madness for rehearsals when I’m doing a show??)

During this time Greg and I are messing around on our computers and/or watching the shows we actually watch together, like The Daily Show, The Office, Modern Family, Up All Night, or maybe a movie. I can tell you for sure we will be watching my beloved MAD MEN when it returns on Sunday night -awwwww to the freaking yeaaahhhhh. A couple of times a week Greg has band practice in our basement so I read or watch the shows he hates (Survivor, Biggest Loser, Parenthood). Right now I am reading The Submission by Amy Waldman, which is my book club’s current read (my choice).

I usually fall asleep with a book on my face around 10:30-11. I typically wake up three or four times a night.

These days, the happiest moment of my day often happen when I secretly watch or listen to Jane playacting. She has started to act out all of the movies or shows she watches complete with props and cast (her stuffed animals) and I freaking love it. LOVE. IT.

Fin.

Scintilla weekend bonus: out the door

I have a few minutes on this Sunday morning to answer one of the Scintilla bonus prompts this weekend, so here goes:

Talk about a time when you left home. 

I moved out of my parents' house when I was 23. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I was on the older end to do this, especially, save for one semester away at college, I commuted to school (my university was only a half hour from our house; since I paid for college myself, it made no sense that I lived there. This is a regret, by the way.)

I was SO READY to move out. I finally had a real, full-time job as a reporter at a newspaper, I had saved up my money, and found a perfect roommate in my friend Chris. He and I had worked together a year prior, when we were both full-timers at Barnes and Noble. (As much as I loved working there, I was in no way making enough money to live on my own. So it was a brief, nine-month stop on my way to bigger things - but hey, they offered health insurance.)

Chris and I had found an awesome apartment about 30 minutes from where my parents lived, and we planned and schemed and purchased things and finally it was move-in day. I was beside myself. I had taken a full month to clean, purge and pack my childhood room, my sanctuary for the first 23 years of my life. It was time.

And then.

My herd of friends who were helping me move were outside, their cars packed with my stuff, ready to make the trek over to the new place, help me unpack, and if I recall correctly, drink. I was carrying my final box out the door and went to say goodbye to my parents. Well. My mother was crying. Hard. I couldn't believe it! It was so heartbreaking. Of COURSE I was beyond ready to move out, and I'm QUITE sure my parents were ready too. It's hard, living as a full-grown adult with your parents, especially when yours are as old-school as mine were.

But in that moment of leaving, my mom was crying, my father was saying incredibly, unnervingly nice things to me, and....it was hard, y'all. It was a moment I really didn't understand at the time. This was not how we were as a family. The word "demonstrative" never described us.

Now, of course, I completely understand. The idea of Jane leaving us breaks my heart daily, because, while she's only 4 1/2, as everyone tells me, the years blast by and before I know it, she'll be heading out the door, last box in hand, her life ahead of her.

And, let's face it - I'll be bawling too.

Scintilla day 3: an aisle, a canon, a song.

Today’s Scintilla prompt asks us to talk about a memory triggered by a particular song.

The moment I read that, my brain filled with flashes of music. Guns ‘n Roses, Poison, Whitney Houston, a million showtunes, some Barenaked Ladies, a tune by Bryan Adams (I am horrified to admit this, but it’s true), a whole lotta U2 – and then.

I was at the mall this morning, for my daily stop at Au Bon Pain for coffee (yes, I am still having my one stupid coffee a day on this 17 Day Diet – it is my only joy). And piped over the loudspeakers was a song that always makes me lift my chin, straighten my back, and walk slower.

Pachelbel’s Canon in D.

When I was planning my wedding, there was one thing I was absolutely sure of. Hell, I was absolutely sure of this years before I even met Greg: when I walked down the aisle, it would be to Canon in D. (Oh, and to have a cupcake wedding cake. Another must.)

It does things to my heart. It makes me feel happy. It lifts me. It’s peaceful. It’s wonderful. I am not a big fan of classical music – but I could listen to this over and over and over, and am now, as I’m writing this.

The priest who officiated at our wedding argued a bit with me about it. “Don’t you want something a little bit happier? A little bit more celebratory?” Nope, I told him. This was it. I may have gotten a little defensive to him. I can assure you it was the only time I’ve ever raised my voice to a priest.

Walking down the aisle was a little bit of a tough thing for me. My father had died a few years earlier. When he had walked both my sisters down the aisle, he had said something special to them that sent them both down the aisle in tears. I didn’t want to cry, because if I cried, it would be because of his absence, because I was sad, not because of something sentimental he said. I wanted it to be perfect.

I warned EVERYONE – do NOT say anything sad to me. Do not mention how much my dad would have loved to be there. Do not tell me that he is there, in spirit. Believe me, I am well aware that he is not here for this most traditional of moments between a father and a daughter. I KNOW. But please, please make this happy. I’m happy. Don’t bring me down, you know? (I said this, you know, in a nice way.)

My mom walked me down the aisle. And she told me way ahead of time that she knew exactly what she was going to say to me when we walked down the aisle. And I’m not going to share it with you because it’s private. But it made my face crack open with a giant smile. That, and Canon in D, is what I remember about one of the most special moments, during one of the most special days, of my life.

Scintilla day 2: I don't wanna grow up (but I did)

Today’s Scintilla Project prompt asks:

When did you realize you were a grown up? What did this mean for you? Shock to the system? Mourning of halcyon younger days? Or the embracing of the knowledge that you can do all the cool stuff adults do: drink wine, go on parent-free vacations, eat chocolate without reprimand?

Whenever I have one of those moments where I realize that I am the adult in a situation, it seems kind of insulting, and also just a little bit crazy. Who would trust me to be the responsible one? I'm cool, I'm young, I'm a rebel - right? No? No.

There’s no denying it – with 40 in the not-so-far distance, I’m decidedly an adult, and not even a young adult anymore.

It’s funny – when I think of the things mentioned in the prompt – the wine-drinking (delicious!) the chocolate-eating (also delicious!), the parent-free vacations – well, I look at the version of myself who did all of those things in my early 20s as still a kid. Sure, I could vote, sign up for the military, rent a car – but the me I am now is definitely more of a grown-up than the me who, all of the sudden, was allowed to legally do a whole bunch of adult-style things. And had a great time doing them. (Well – I didn’t sign up for the military.)

Grown-up-ness came gradually for me. Boy, we really don’t want to be seen as adults, do we? We don’t want to be adults because when we think of adults we probably think of our parents, and even if we love our parents, we can’t possibly be old like them, right? And all responsible and shit? And because people are generally getting married and having kids later and later, a prolonged adolescence can happen well into your 30s, or even 40s. I notice this with guys in particular. Sorry dudes – it’s true.

Of course, I do not speak for everyone. I know plenty of 20-somethings who are FAR more adult than I ever was in my 20s, or even early 30s. Or, really, even now. But for me personally, the realization that I was an adult was something that happened when I became a mother, and became fully responsible for someone else. (I feel like this is a totally cliche answer, and I'm sorry, but for me it's the truth.)

I mentioned this in yesterday's post, but sometimes I feel like I can be a selfish mother – or, at least, I have selfish tendencies that I control. In part, I think that is because until I was 33, I primarily put myself first. And it was wonderful. I got to do what I wanted, when I wanted, and sure, I worked full-time and did eventually get married when I was 31, but I had a whole lot of my “adult” life where I had freedom like I had never had before, and never will again. And it was awesome.

And even when I first had Jane - who was totally planned by the way, lest you read all of this as a "woe is me" post -  I didn’t really feel like a grown-up. Despite the fact that I was nowhere near what you would call a “young mother,” I felt like I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. It was the first time in my life that I felt completely unprepared, completely unknowledgable, completely…dumb. Referring to myself as someone’s “mother” felt insane. At best, I felt like a mostly-unqualified babysitter.

Now, nearly five years later, I have absolutely accepted myself as an adult. When I walk into Jane’s preschool, the other kids call me “Jane’s Mom” when they talk to me, like it's my name, my only identifying factor. Like yesterday – “Jane’s Mom, how do you spell rainbow?” If someone is calling you “Jane’s Mom,” it’s time to stop fooling yourself- you’re an adult.

Acting as Jane’s advocate, whether at school or the doctor’s office – certainly makes me feel like a grown-up. Knowing I will ask any question, no matter how idiotic it makes me look or feel, for her benefit, makes me a grown-up, I think. Signing permission forms makes me feel like an adult. Being her main disciplinarian definitely makes me feel like a grown-up – particularly when I hear words my mother said to me coming out of my mouth.

That’s right – I’m starting to sound like my mother.

I don’t know any other thing that signifies I’ve finally become an adult more than that.