Christmas has come and gone, as it does. It was a fine Christmas. My oldest worked on Christmas Eve so we stayed up late for her to watch a Christmas Story by the fire. They headed to bed around 11 and we played Santa. My husband was not helping me stuff stockings and I was annoyed. "This is your show. Just tell me what to do and I'll do it." So I did, and he did.
The kids were up around 8 and we were still in bed, which is unusual for us. They unwrapped their gifts and were teenagers about it. Not too excited, just very chill. Except when my oldest opened a box. "Whoa! $700?!?!?!"
"No, it says $100. I should have used a different font." Disappointment.
We had breakfast and did a puzzle. We had my brother for dinner. It was very low-key which was perfect. I enjoy spending time with my brother. He is my OG brother. Growing up, I kind of felt like it was the two of us against the world. We are very close and I just adore him. It was a different kind of Christmas. Not because of covid. Just because the kids are older. It's not the same. It's not so much of a production anymore. It's not bad, just different.
Now, we look forward to New Years. I always enjoyed New Years. I love reflecting on the past year and making plans for the years to come. This year is different. I am ready to close the book. I do not want to reflect back. It's too painful.
Sometimes, I think, I can imagine what life could have been. I see myself, sitting in the bleachers, cheering for my daughter as she soars over the pole vault bar. I imagine myself downtown with my oldest, taking pictures of her in her prom dress. I imagine accepting potluck dishes at the band banquets and hugging my mom-friends. I imagine my youngest, walking out to the field in her class tee-shirt to celebrate the last day of eighth grade with the friends she has grown up with, one of the last celebrations of childhood before high school. I image the sun shining on my face as I walk through Athens. I imagine unpacking my daughter's dorm room and hugging her goodbye. I imagine going to Greenville for her recital and watching her on stage, playing her flute so sweetly. I imagine us being happy.
But these are just glimpses of things that cannot be. Fantasizes of a life that I wanted to live. I am grateful for so many things. My life, our health, and the fact that we've been employed through this pandemic. But our lives have been altered forever. We can never go back to BEFORE. That is hard, but that is life. I think I will mourn this time for my children forever. As time passes, it will get easier, the sting will be a little less but I will never be able to look back on this time in our lives fondly, which makes me a little sad.
But 2021 will be here. It is something new. I have no expectations this New Year. Maybe I'll travel, maybe I won't. Maybe I'll be happy, maybe I won't. Maybe the world will implode, maybe it won't. It doesn't matter anymore, really. Things will just happen the way they are supposed to and I will just keep on living and being like, "Wow. This is happening." This is my vibe from 2021 forward:
So, the long story short- Fuck this year. 2020 can suck a bag of dicks.
There is not much to report at my house. Christmas is coming. as it has always done. Again, with the children nearly grown it is anti-climatic. They will be working a lot this week. As it should be. I never understood the concept of being young and having fun. I think you should work hard when you are young and have the energy. Then have fun when you are older and have wisdom. I always just worked, worked, worked and went to school and was better off for it. Retail workers and food workers are stretched at the holidays...so be kind when you are out and about this week. You could be dealing with someone's child behind the register. :)
I do have a Christmas tale. One that involves the Kama Sutra. I just remembered it this week and it had me in stitches, just thinking about it. Let's go back 19 years. Okay, also, ewwwww. That makes me feel old.
It was December 20th, 2001. My boyfriend (it's weird to call him that) had been granted leave for Christmas. I hadn't seen him since August. I was getting so impatient. He was in AIT in South Carolina at the time. It's so strange that we wound up making South Carolina home.....
So he was taking a bus home with his roommate who was from Philadelphia. He was supposed to get home late on the 20th.
He called me that evening with bad news. They were in Washington DC and they had missed the last bus for the night. I was beside myself. It meant just another day without him, but it had already seemed like an eternity. I cried. I just wanted him to get home. He said he was going to call his parents and let them know.
His dad was like, "I'll come to Washington DC right now to get you." God Bless that man. I do miss him. It was a little under a 3 hour trip but he just dropped everything to go retrieve his son. Parents are the best. I spoke with him again, while he sat in the bus station waiting. He wouldn't be getting in until the middle of the night, but he said he would pick me up for school in the morning. My heart was encouraged again.
I barely slept that night, but I woke up early that morning to get ready. I put on this form-fitting navy blue 3/4 sleeve collared top, the skimpiest little paid mini-skirt, and my tan Candies platform mules. I didn't care that it was 20 degrees outside December in New Jersey. I was young, I was feelin' myself, I wanted to look smokin' for my man. Besides, you know what they say, a hoe never gets cold.
Oh, to be young again. I don't really miss at all. But I do wish I could get my hormones back. My ovaries used to be like Cardi B.
Now they are like Mimi from The Drew Carey Show.
She's like, "You haven't even had a baby in 15 years. I can't believe we're still doing this shit." and I'm like, "Girl, can you give me 15 more years because I'm not ready to grow hair on my chin and feel like someone lit me on fire." In 10 years, I'm changing this blog to Bad Menopause Award Blog.
Anyway, the point is - I was young, I was cute, I didn't have that weird mom-pouch apron belly thing going on, I had smooth skin and I was wearing a little mini-skirt cause I was going to see my mans for the first time in 4 months.
He called me and told me he was on the way. I stood at my living room window and waited. The minutes seemed like hours. My heartbeat out of my chest. I was insanely nervous. Then I saw, the white Saturn station wagon turn onto Mistletoe Lane. How poetic is that?
He pulled up in front of the house and stepped out of the car. I saw him for the first time in months. He did not look the same. I remember every detail about him. He was wearing wide-leg khakis and a long-sleeved navy blue shirt from the gap. He was at least 30 pounds lighter. His head was bald and he was wearing his glasses. He NEVER wore his glasses. I guess he was too cool to "see" in high school. LOL.
I ripped out of the house and ran to him. I threw my arms around him and gave him the biggest kiss. It was freezing cold outside but he was warm. There were middle schoolers walking to their bus stop, who gawked at us. I didn't care. He was home. I didn't want to let go of him. I just stood there with him, the frigid air stinging my legs because I had to wear that damn mini-skirt.
We got into the car and we just talked. He was different. He left as a boy and now he really was a man. So much had happened between when he had left and now - he had thrown a grenade, 09/11 had happened, he was a solider now...not just my little high school boyfriend. There was a seriousness about him that was new and fascinated me. I just wanted to kiss his neck.
We went to Wawa to grab breakfast. I had a Kozy Shack rice pudding and a coke from the fountain. I'm going to repeat that- for BREAKFAST, I had a rice pudding and a Coca-Cola. That was a normal day. If I had that for breakfast now, I would feel like garbage for 2 weeks. My kids eat like that and it drives me CRAZY. I'm can't believe I breastfed these kids for two years to watch them have vanilla lattes and Gushers for breakfast. They say you get it back 3 times. 🙄
He dropped me off at school and said he'd be in the rotunda to pick me up after. It was the last day of school before Christmas break. I FLOATED into school that day. I was so happy.
It was a good day. There were no assignments. Just movies and candy canes. The school day before Christmas break is a time-honored tradition for kids and it was good that year. We did a secret Santa for the literary magazine staff. I don't remember what I purchased, but I do remember the gift I received,
It was a smallish group and the girl who got me was an acquaintance. We were friendly, but not friends. We didn't hang out outside of school or talk about deep things. To be fair, I really never hung out with anyone. She handed me my gift with a smile. "I got you." It was obviously a book of some kind. I opened it up and......
It was The Complete Illustrated Kama Sutra, But it wasn't just a book. It was BIG. It was like a coffee table book. If I walked into someone's house and they had the Kama Sutra on the coffee table, I would question it. I'd be like, I think you invited us here for more than wine and Trivial Pursuit....Even the picture of the front cover was racy. The teacher just laughed and laughed. I didn't know what to say. "Thanks...." She explained further, "I came across it and I immediately thought of you."
At the time I wasn't insulted but now I'm like, Why the fuck did the Kama Sutra remind you of me? I was just a 17-year-old girl. I was new to the game. I feel like the Kama Sutra is not for people that are new to the game. It's for people that have been in the game for a while. Like, Sting, for instance.
I flipped through it. WHOA. It was....completely illustrated. I wondered things like, How does one hold that position? and How can he do that while wearing a hat? So here I am, in school, in possession of a LARGE book that does not fit in my bookbag, that is full of pornographic images. Great.
After that class, I clutched the book to my chest (the back only had text, thankfully) and went straight to my locker and put it in there. Thankfully it was softcover, so it fit. When I left school that afternoon, I walked out with it clutched to my chest again as I left the school so no one would see what it was.
My boyfriend was waiting in the rotunda. I got in the passenger's seat and leaned over to give him a kiss. "What's this he asked?" Motioning to the book. "A Christmas gift." He was intrigued. I flipped through the pages. "Wow." That's all he said. "Can I keep it at your house?" I asked.
"No," he replied. "If my parents find this, I am going to be grounded FOREVER."
Could you imagine finding the COMPLETE ILLUSTRATED Kama Sutra in your 17 year old's room? I don't even know what I would do. Probably vomit and back away really slowly.
When I got home, I buried it in the top shelf of my closet under a bunch of crap so it wouldn't see the light of day.
I did keep it though, even though I never really read it. It held some strange sentimental value for me. It actually moved with us many times. I didn't part with it until we moved to South Carolina. My oldest was two and I didn't want it in the house with the children. It just didn't seem right.
I only remember a handful of gifts I received in my lifetime, but one gift that I will never forget is the gift of the Complete Illustrated Kama Sutra. Memories.
I am wishing you and your family a wonderful, beautiful Christmas, and may the new year be better than the last. Like, it has to be, right?
Christmas will be here in less than 2 weeks. Our house is adorned with lights. The tree is trimmed and there is garland all through the house. The gifts have been purchased and wrapped, my cards have been sent -all the things are happening, but something is not quite right. It has been 5 years since any of my children believed in Santa Claus. That's half of a decade. The magic of the holidays with little ones seems long gone now.
I thought that the Christmas season would elicit something in me. I'm not sure what, exactly. Joy, excitement, nostalgia? But no, there is nothing at all. I hung Christmas ornaments - ornaments my children made when they were young, things that belonged to my grandparents - and there was nothing. Just memories that exist with no emotions tied to them. Christmas music that I used to love, that reminded me of joyful times....nothing. I don't have the Christmas spirit at all.
On the flip side, I am not sad. I literally feel nothing at all. Not anger, not sadness, not joy, not nostalgic, not excitement, not bored. I don't feel positively or negatively. I don't even feel emptiness. You would think that I would feel empty, if not anything else - but there is a heaviness that accompanies emptiness. I don't have an emptiness at all.
It's such a strange feeling. Like waking up and everything else in your house is gone. You're looking around thinking, "Oh shit! Wasn't there a couch here? Pictures hanging on the wall?"
I don't even have enough emotions to miss the fact that they are gone. The only reason that I even think it's a problem is because my logical brain tells me, This is probably not normal. You are maladjusted as f*ck.
But none of this is normal. Nothing about the world is normal right now. I think that my brain has finally gone into survival mode. It's just been too much stress and anguish. My brain has disassociated from everything.
I still am who I am. I care about other people, I want the best for the world, I am not bitter. But I don't FEEL anything about it. I know I care about people in the same way that I know the sky is blue. I have core truths. That just has to be good enough for now.
Otherwise, I am well. I continue to be a full-functioning human in spite of the large amount of duress I've been under. I work all the time. Things have been busy, I have lots of projects. My house is clean. I've been prioritizing self-care. I get massages every month, I meditate, I take walks, I carve out time to relax. If you take away the fact that I am dead inside, I would get a A+ on paper.
As the new year approaches, I am looking forward to nothing. It's so strange. Your whole life you have these normal expectations and now suddenly, they are gone. I always look forward to the new year. Goal setting, fresh beginnings, upcoming events.....but not now. Thankfully, the idea of moving is something to look forward to. I need that.
I have something to sustain me for the next 3 years, and hopefully, the pandemic will be over by then? I keep telling my husband that we should just go up there and buy a plot of land. I'm that way with vacations - just buy the plane tickets - then you HAVE to go.
I've been busy looking at house plans and fantasizing about life out in the woods. I really like this one:
I don't want a big house. I just want a porch and a tin roof. I feel the mountains calling me. I am ready to leave this suburban life behind me.
I think if I was able to feel anything at all, I would feel sad about it. Nostalgic, at least. My children grew up here. I have been thinking about that a lot. This pandemic has ruined a lot of things but I am eternally grateful that my children got to have a normal childhood.
Who would have thought that going to school, having friends, and attending birthday parties would be a luxury? My children had that. They will remember that their childhood was happy and normal. I hope that is something I can carry with me as we pick up the pieces and move on.
In the meantime, I will continue to do all the things that I am supposed to do - the only things that make sense to me. Getting up in the morning, making meals, working, surrounding myself with the people I love. I'll go see the lights, and bake cookies, and do all the Christmas things, and smile. I will fake it until I make it until things are normal again.
I used to have a perfect life. Maybe not perfect, but perfect to me. I had everything I had ever dreamed of. Life was easy for me. Finally. My marriage was seasoned and we were happy. Our two daughters were happy and healthy. My husband was finishing his degree. We were getting ready for a long vacation in Europe. Our troubles were few.
I try to remember our last normal day. I wish I could have known, could have savored it. Told myself that it would be the last time that I'd have peace in a long while. I got up that morning and made a hot breakfast for my husband and youngest and sent them off for the day. I poured a cup of coffee and sat at my computer and started work. My oldest popped her head in to say goodbye. She looked beautiful. She had just gotten her license a few weeks prior and was excited to be driving herself to school. It was a relief for me. After doing morning runs for the better part of 10 years, I had the morning to myself.
She headed out, and I worked. I looked at Opera tickets in Verona. They hold an opera festival there every year in the Coliseum. There were rumblings of the virus in the news in Italy but it was so far away- 5 months that it didn't dissuade me from purchasing tickets.
That afternoon, I picked up my husband from work and we drove to West Ashley to my youngest daughter's first track meet. It was the first activity she had done since gymnastics and she was enjoying herself. She walked from the middle school to the high school with her friends every day. We sat on the bleachers and watched her compete. She looked so beautiful, in her track uniform with the sun shining on her face.
We headed home and I had a phone call with another mom about the 8th-grade picnic that we were planning to celebrate the milestone of our children completing middle school. That evening I poured a glass of wine and sat on the couch with my husband. The children were showering and finishing their homework. It was a normal day, a great day. When we woke up the next morning, there were talks of states shutting down and I made an emergency trip to the grocery store. Then, I waited.
The months that followed were difficult as events were canceled and the normalcy of living was slowly sucked out. My kids missed school, routines, people. Virtual school was difficult for them. They hated it. Some kids do well with it, but not mine. There was a quiet resentment about the who thing. I did my best to stay positive. I'd smile, plan activities, and tried to speak comfort to them. Once a day, I'd go work in the yard or walk and that's when I'd break down. I didn't want them to see me like that.
There is this tree on the old golf course in our neighborhood and I call in the crying tree because I would go and sit under it sob. Sometimes you just need a good cry to get it all out. That was at the start of the pandemic. I don't really cry at all anymore. I am cried out, there are no tears left in me.
My oldest was accepted into The Governor's School. It was her dream. She's talked about it for 3 years. About the new music building, doing homework in the courtyard by the fountain, going downtown with friends on the weekend, performing regularly. She was passionate and excited about it. Of course, they announced that they would go virtual in July. I don't know if devastated is really the word to describe it.
We tried to be positive. We re-did her entire room. Painted it, got new furniture and a new desk. We tried to connect with other students locally, which didn't work out and just made things more disappointing. They said students will be back on campus in January. "It's just a few months. We'll make the best of it." I can't even tell you how many times I've said it.
We waited with bated breath for news about the high school. They announced that there was the option to go back face-to-face five days a week starting in September and give a blended option. When I went to my daughter I said, "You can go face-to-face but they are making the parents sign a waiver that says it's not their responsibility if you die." She looked at me with the saddest eyes and said, "I'd rather die than do virtual school."
School has been different but she has thrived. She enjoys the high school, she's made new friends, been involved in new activities, and is volunteering. She starts a job this week which she is super-excited about. In spite of the masks and the social distancing, there is a sense of normalcy for her. It has been a blessing.
I think it was hard for my oldest to see her sister go back to school and she was stuck in her room, day after day. Zoom link, after zoom link. The joy slowly fading. "January will be here before you know it," I would say. But January seemed like an eternity. The waiting was the worst part.
They say that a mother can only be as happy as her saddest child. That is the truth. If you could see my heart right now, you'd see it in pieces. Held together with all the hope and faith that I have left in my tiny little body. I live in Spain but the S is silent.
At the start of October, I had a call with my daughter's guidance counselor. We spoke about things and finally, I said, "I need you to tell me the truth. I cannot keep getting my child's hope's up and have her hang on to something that isn't going to happen. They aren't going back in January, are they?"
There was a long pause at the end of the line. Surely she was debating whether or not she was going to break the rules by telling me the truth. "Please don't tell anyone, but no, they're not," she said in a voice that was similar to the way you tell someone that their loved one has died. There was a sad acceptance in her voice and it shook me to my core. "There is no guarantee she'll even go for senior year," I replied. "No, there's not," she replied.
I felt like my knees were going to buckle. I mean, I knew it in my heart of hearts, but the confirmation crushed me. I could not ask her to sit in her room, alone, day after endless day, in front of a computer. I knew I had to tell her and when I did, she didn't breakdown. She has nothing left either.
She just looked at me and said, "I have to go back to school, Just let me go back." That's what I did. I re-enrolled her in her home high school. Even with the mask and social distancing, there is a sense of normalcy that she needs. Getting up in the morning, getting dressed, learning in a classroom, interacting with her peers. She needs that. She applied for a job right away and got one earning double than what she was making at her previous job. She is slowly coming alive again.
She is in a re-building stage of life. What do you do when your dreams are dead? You bargain, you cry, you mourn and then you get new dreams. It's all any of us can do.
I've thrown myself into work. I started my own Digital Marketing Company. I have a handful of long-term contracts and do side projects. I started my own podcast. I've kept busy. Fuck this pandemic. If I'm home, I'm going to hustle and be a badass bitch.
We are still in very dark days. This is not over. One day this will all be a painful memory. The lessons learned will change us irreparably and shape who we are. It will make us stronger. We will hunker down, we will pray and we will try to have some semblance of normalcy. I am grateful to be alive. I am grateful to have the option for my children to be in school. I am grateful for the roof over my head and the food in my mouth. I am grateful for my husband. I am grateful for my faith.
I pray to God to allow me to bend without breaking.
My husband wants to move. He always wants to move. He is a rolling stone. I always want to stay. We moved 6 times in 5 years when we first got married. Long, grueling, cross country moves. I hate to move. I never liked the idea of uprooting the children.
He had this idea that we were going to buy one of those $1 homes in the countryside in Tuscany and fix it up. I reminded him of all the red tape and the multiple hundreds of thousands of dollars it would take to fix it up. Then he really has been on this kick about Texas. He wants to buy land in Texas and live on a ranch. Something about it just doesn't feel right. I've lived in Texas. I have no desire to live in the desert with scorpions, tarantulas, rattlesnakes, and tumbleweeds.
My soul belongs in the Carolinas and the idea of moving just seems exhausting. But things have been changing lately. This pandemic has forced me to reflect on a lot of things. Our lives have changed irreparably. So many sad, bad things have happened but so many new and exciting things too. It has stretched me and made me face a lot of difficult truths.
I was out for a walk last week and really thinking about my life and the future. We moved to Charleston when the children were very little. They were just a few months shy of 1 and 3. We wanted to raise them close to family. In a place where there would be a lot to do and opportunities to grow. It has been that. Our neighborhood has been an amazing one to grow up in. There were always kids playing in the streets and the holidays were magical. Throngs of trick-or-treaters and houses adorned with lights at Christmas. When the kids were young there were always family events and they spent a lot of time with my parents. It was wonderful. Truly everything you would want in a place to raise children.
But things are different now. My family is weird is fractured. If you can even call it a family at all. I have my father and my brother but even they are considering moving. My oldest will graduate next June and my youngest is just 2 years behind her. They don't play outside with the other children anymore.
Speaking of which, this election needs to be over. Not for the reason you are thinking. You think the presidential race is contentious? You should see the vote that is going to happen for the parks in our community. People are losing their minds about it. I've been added to Facebook groups about it, people are wanting to know my opinion about it. I'm just over here like, my kids don't do sports and I'll never use a walking trail that is meant for the other (better) neighborhood in my city so here my bucket of f*cks that I give:
Empty. I have zero f*cks to give about the parks and walking trails.
I'm kind of tired about hearing about the school and about fireworks scaring people's dogs. Even my youngest doesn't plan to graduate from our local high school. I have no skin in the game anymore.
I've done all the things. I ate at all the restaurants. I've been to all the plantations twice. I hate the beach. I don't like it. It doesn't bring me joy. I didn't go to the beach this summer. I live 25 minutes from the Isle of Palms and it never occurred to me to go once. I don't own a boat. I'm not a Salt Life kind of gal.
We both work remotely and can work from anywhere. Once the children graduate, there will be nothing tethering us here. Then what am I supposed to do? Stay in this house that once was full of kids running up and down the stairs and teenagers lounging and laughing in the living room that's now silent? Will it become a tomb for my memories? A place where my husband is constantly badgering me to move to some ranch in Texas.
I don't want any of that. The things that served me no longer serve me. I told him that we can move. But it has to be in the Carolinas. I want to where there are four seasons. We want to buy land, an acre at least and build a house on it. I want it to be some Cold Mountain type shit except without the War and with electricity. We are simple people. Nothing extravagant.
But it needs to have a tin roof because I'm not dealing with replacing a roof in my lifetime and a wrap-around porch. I'll sit out there in the fall with a cup of coffee and listen to Ashokan Farewell and watch the leaves fall off of the trees. It needs a joint office with a big window so we can look outside while we work. "We are getting older and I'm ready for a more quiet life," says my husband. "We will be like 40," I tell him. Raising children has taken a lot out of us.
We want to go somewhere where we don't see our neighbors. Where we are nestled in the woods but a 15-20 minute drive to civilization and a grocery store. Of course, there needs to be an airport. We want to go somewhere where nobody knows our name. Literally the opposite of Cheers.
On a sidenote, I listened to the theme song from Cheers recently and it is BANANAS. Cheers: life is kind of sucky, so you should go to a bar because alcoholism makes things a little better. 8 year old me:
It's a while out, 3 and half years but that gives a lot of time to plan and really be strategic. To pray on it and put it out to the universe. I have faith that we will wind up where we are supposed to be. We always do.
I don't even know about this blog anymore. It used to be so fun and light-hearted. When the kids were younger I'd write about motherhood, and how exhausted I was. I'd write about the funny things that they did and said. Now that they are older, things are different. They don't care for me to share, and I respect their privacy. I am a mother but not a mommy anymore. Sometimes I feel like I am coming apart at the seams. And while, in many ways, I feel like it does no good to look back - I find myself doing so all the time. It's what got me to this place to begin with.
So today, I want to talk about my dead relatives. I am fasinated by them. I have spent years of my life searching for them and trying to find every detail. I think subconciously, I thought it would tell me something about myself. Interestly, I don't really talk to my living relatives at all. Which is ironic. The thing is, my dead relatives are uncomplicated. There are no relationships to be maintained, no secrets to be hidden. They are letters and photographs and stories.
I was not raised by my biological mother. I never knew her family. So growing up, there was this big question mark about who I was. That's not to say that I was negatively impacted by that or plagued with an identity crisis my entire life - that's not it. But sometimes I would wonder who I looked like, or if my qualities were like anyone on my mother's side of the family. I felt connected to my father, but there was this who other side of me that I felt was missing.
As I got older, I had children of my own and I built my own family and I gave it little thought. I moved on. Until one day in 2014. I was working in med device at the time and traveling for my job. I got back to my hotel after a long day of appointments and I switched on the television. There had been a plane crash and there was news coverage of the funeral procession - taking the bodies of the victims back to Amsterdam.
I watched as the hearse after hearse drove through the country side. I felt what I can only describe as pins and needles all over my body. I froze and I felt my heart sink into my stomach. I knew that place. I had never seen it before, but I had been there. I felt it in my core. It was the strangest feeling in the world. I sobbed.
I called my father. "I remember you saying I was Dutch once. Is that right?" I asked him. He knew so little. He was young when he was with my mother, and they weren't together long. "Your great grandmother was Dutch," he confirmed.
I signed up for Ancestry.com and I immediately started digging. For years, in my spare time, that is all I did. I searched records and tried to connect things and verify things. Interestingly, my father's side is where I hit the most dead ends. His family on both sides immigrated to the United States within the past 120 years. My mother's side is where I hit the jackpot. It was interesting, because I was born and raised up North and moved to South Carolina about 13 years ago but my ancestors were from North Carolina for hundreds of years. They came to Virginia first, and then to Eastern North Carolina. I have many connections to South Carolina. My father's grandfather's natualization papers were signed in South Carolina when he was in Parris Island. He was in the Marines during World War 1. Absolute badass.
One of the most exciting things was seeing all of the military records. I'm thinking of applying to the Daughters of the American Revolution because I have a handful of direct relatives who served. I do have some favorite ancestors. There was a blurb about one who signed up to serve in the Revolution when he was in his 50's. He was born in 1721. He was old as hell for the 1770's and he was like, "America is great. I might be old, but I'm ready to fight because freedom is the f*cking best." I'm just paraphrasing. But, honestly- what an absolute badass. I have an ancestor who served for the North Carolina milita during the Civil War. After the war, the census records listed him as "lunatic" and "insane." I wonder what happened to him. What did he see? Did he have PTSD? I think about his wife, Brittan. She stayed with him the whole time. I wonder what her life was like.
I learned so much about the Dutch side. My 2nd great grandfather was an art dealer near Amsterdam. Owned Rembrants. He sold art to Nazi agents under duress to buy passage for the family out of the Netherlands. What a badass. That whole side of the family is Jewish. They kept impeccable records. They included their occupation on their marriage certificates which is so cool. But there were some shocking things. As I was searching records and filling in my tree, I kept seeing relatives that died in 1943 in Poland. It took a minute to register in my head for some reason, but when it did, my heart sank. I have 3 direct relatives that died in concentration camps in Poland. My 2nd great grandmother and granfather were killed at Sobidor and my 3rd great grandfather was killed at Auschwitz. He was 76 year old. His name was Micheal.
I've wondered about him a lot. Imagine living your entire life and that is how it ends. His wife had died 9 year earlier and I wonder if he was glad she wasn't around in the end. If he felt that she had esaped some terrible fate. I wonder if he was scared at the end, or angry, or sad, or accepting.
I even discovered some interesting things about my father's side of the family. My grandfather's paternal side has been illusive which makes me upset, but his mother's side has been good to me. She lived in Northern Ireland during the Irish War of Independence and gave birth alone once - she also is a badass and I love her so much.
Her great grandfather owned a farm in Dongal. He was born in 1799 and I found a picture of him. He lived to be 91. My great grandmother was 92 when she died so I hope I can get up to their level.
My father's mother was Italian. My grandmother died when she was 56 and I found her high school year book picture and a blurb about how she loved to dance, and how she sold tickets to the school play. She hated cats and was in the Spanish Club. She wanted to get married and have children one day. She did. I used census records to find the house that she lived in. It's still standing and I found a Google satillite image. I've always heard stories of her as a wife and a mother and it was neat to get a little glipse of who SHE was.
When I was done with my tree, I started on my husbands. His was much harder. First of all, all of the records are in Spanish. Second of all, everyone is Puerto Rico has the same 5 names. I'm like, which Carmen Gonzalez born in 1858 is it.
He did his DNA test before I finished his tree. He was speculating. He was hoping for some Italian because he was 100% positive he is Roman. He is obsessed with Rome. He feels connected to Rome. I think he was disappointed when it came back and there was no Italy. But like 18% North African which surprised him.
I continued to work on his tree and came to a lot of dead ends. Except for 1 line. I traced it all the way back to Extremadura, Spain. I did some digging and this is in Extremadura:
The city was a Roman colony and one of the most important cities in Roman Hispania. I was so excited. He was totally pumped with I told him. It was like confirming something that his soul knew already.
He used to be really into the study of how DNA hold memories and how our life experiences can be passed on from generation to generation. We totally geek out on stuff like that. I totally believe it. We have this dream that we will travel to all the places of our ancestors.
When I read the stories of my ancestors, about their lives and their deaths, I feel like I know them somehow. Like there was a piece of the puzzle missing and now I have it. Who am I? Where did I come from? I am the daughter of patriots, farmers, Holocaust victims and survivors, settlers, people who were brave and hearty. These are the people that gave life to me. I love that so much.
Both of my children are back in school, kind of. My youngest went back in-person on Tuesday. She was super pumped about it. She picked out her clothes for the week. The night before she packed her lunch. She made a sandwich on a baguette and make sure her new pencils were packed. I was just sitting on the couch drinking wine confused.
That's my new default state. hahaha.
The next morning she got up early and got dressed. She looked so pretty. I told her that I would take her to Dunkin Donuts for breakfast. It's her favorite. We were leaving the neighborhood and she was like, "I'm going to put on some music to get me in a good mood," she said. She put on "Daydream Believer." She was belting it out. "How many kids in high school know this song?" I asked. She shrugged. "Probably no one." She's like 55. Love her so much. She got a Boston creme doughnut and a frozen hot chocolate. We picked up her friends and off we went.
As I approached the high school, I felt some kind of way. I was definitely in the Twilight Zone. There was a line of students outside, all in masks waiting to get their temperature taken to get into the school. I enjoyed watching the kids walk up in their masks. They look like badass ninjas. It was exactly 6 months since school has been out. My daughter and her friends put their masks on, climbed out of the car and joined the throngs of teenagers on the sidewalk. I watched my daughter for a moment before driving off. Then, I sobbed like a little bitch. Because I was happy and devastated and conflicted all at once.
When I picked her up in the afternoon, she walked me through her day. It was very different than school had ever been. There were fewer kids than she thought there were going to be. Her yearbook class only has 3 other students. They truly are socially distanced so talking in class isn't really a thing. They can only walk one way in the hallways. Even though she has classes next door to each other, she has to go all the way around. The cafeteria has marked spots. There was a girl who was in the marching band with her last year that she has been having lunch with. They can't really sit in groups. She was disappointed on the first day. "High school kids don't really eat lunch, so I didn't eat either." She was so excited about her baguette sandwich. I gave her a speech about how you need to eat and drink water throughout the day and fuck what everyone else does. "Why don't you just eat and then maybe other people will eat?"
My oldest was like that sometimes too. She'd bring home a whole packed lunch with two bites taken out of it. I don't understand teenagers. They don't want to eat, or wear a coat when it's cold, or do basic things that are healthy and literally keep them alive. It makes me crazy. She did eat the next few days.
She likes being back at school. It has been good for her soul. It is some semblance of normalcy. It's good for us because we don't feel guilty having to work and feeling like she has nothing to do.
My oldest is virtual until January at least. We are making the most of it but she is not a fan. She doesn't have that many classes left to graduate, so when we picked her classes, she only had 2 left to take senior year. There was some issue with Spanish 2 schedule. So all of her classes are through the school and Spanish through the state's virtual platform. Which is more self-guided, a completely different platform. This also means that IF she goes on campus she would still need to finish that class virtually. I was not keen on it. But we did it anyway. It's been an absolute nightmare. She had Spanish 1 TWO years ago with not the most rigorous Spanish teacher.
So, she's doing this class the past 2 weeks and the platform is not really compatible with ipads which is the device the school issued her and they assigned her orientation work when there was supposed to be other work and it was a clusterfuck. My kid cannot teach herself Spanish virtually. Sure, she can get it out of the way but if it is potentially harmful to her GPA, which is the point. I'm not blaming the school or the teacher, but learning a foreign language online is just not-it-chief. I'm breaking out in hives just thinking about it.
I decided we needed to have a talk about it. I was worried about it because I didn't want to give her the impression that I thought she couldn't do it. She can do it but it will be a battle week in and week out. So I said, "Look, you have two options. I can hire a Spanish teacher to come once a week and teach you and work through your lessons or I can request that you drop it and you can take it in-person next year. So you'll have 3 classes senior year instead of two." She thought very carefully. "Honestly, I feel like it would be so much better for me to just take it in-person." I was like
Then, she has to submit some assignments through Schoolology and there were showing as submitted but blank on the teacher side so we've been working with technology.
I don't like virtual school. I mean, we are making the best of it because there are no other options but it's just not ideal for certain kids. The schools are trying so hard. The teachers are so sweet and noble. "The children are going to get a robust virtual experience. It's going to be great!" I'm like:
Just give it to me straight. "It's going to be shitty. You'll need a lot of wine. Try not to jump off a bridge. It will be over someday....."
I did a virtual school for a year with my youngest way before COVID. It was bad. Every morning I would wake up and suit up for a day of battling my 6th grader. I'm traumatized.
She's supposed to go for a 2-week residency in November. My fingers are crossed. Every day I wake up I'm like, another day has passed. One day close to.....something. I am wishing my life away but I don't feel bad about it anymore because honestly, it's trash. Shit life right now, bro.
We've made it to September. Half of my kids are back at school. Things are getting better-ish. I think.
I can feel myself returning to some semblance of who I used to be. I can see interact with other people without feeling like I want to unzip my skin, jump out, and run away. I think I laugh and smile more. The other day, I found myself dancing in the kitchen while I was making dinner.
As long as I don't think about it - this pandemic, the things that we have lost, I am okay. So, I avoid those things as much as possible. I check the news once a day, I play this stupid, mindless game on my phone and I fill my days with work, projects around the house and activities. I am slowly coming alive again.
But the other day, I was at the grocery store and I had my headphones in and I'm rummaging through the dried beans and I hear, "Tralala...." and my blood run cold. There was this song my daughter discovered in February. In the last weeks of driving her to school, she played it every morning. I hadn't heard it in so long. It was like I was immediately back there, in the passengers seat as she drove to school. What an exciting time. We spoke of the upcoming pageant, things she would need from the prom, Governor's School acceptances.....There was so much hope and excitement then. I wondered if that was the last time she was happy. I wanted to throw up. Like, I thought It was okay but there I was in the middle of the grocery store having a full-on panic attack.
My youngest will return to school tomorrow. She is going in-person. She needs that. A few weeks ago, she came downstairs in the morning and was in a bad mood. She plopped down at the kitchen table. "What's wrong I asked her?" She just looked up at me with the saddest eyes and said, "I just want to go back to school."
"I know," I said. What else is there to say? It's happening tomorrow but my brain has not reconciled it at all. Logically, I know that school starts tomorrow but my brain is like screaming confused, "None of this makes sense to me!!!!" It doesn't make sense to me that she is going into high school because middle school didn't really end. Does that make sense? And there was no lead up to this school year. For the longest time, we didn't even know if she was going to go back to school at all and there was no real anticipation because you can't have hope or look forward to something that can be so easily taken away at any minute.
There was no parent meeting or freshman orientation. There were no stores packed with parents getting back to school supplies. It's Septemeber, which is weeks after school should have started. There are no football games. In my head, I'm like, "There is a marching band competition we need to get ready for next week. Do we need more bottled water?" But there's not and we don't, and it doesn't matter anyway because that is something that we are not a part of anymore and it's weird and strange and my mind has not adjusted yet.
The high school did post out a "welcome back video". I watched the first part of it - the empty hallways and an aerial view of the campus and I had a visceral reaction. Like, I felt physically ill. I have PTSD. I'm not making light of PTSD. I have it. I am fucking traumatized. The school represents loss for me, in so many ways. I'm such a little bitch. I hate it so much. Like I should be able to see a aerial video of the school without feeling like my insides are going to fall out. Ugggh.
But, I will be at the high school twice a day - dropping off and picking up my freshman. So, maybe that will get better. Maybe it will force me to feel my feelings and deal with them instead of burying them in my dark place. We'll see.
Here is an actual picture of me dropping off my kid at school tomorrow:
This is also the anniversary week of 09/11. Which still, 19 years later, shakes me to my core. We always talked about 09/11 with the kids. Especially as they got older, it was such a traumatic thing. We would tell them what life was like at that time. The fear, the uncertainty, the feeling that things would never be the same ever again. How can you translate that feeling that the world is ending to someone that has never experienced it before? But I don't have to now. Now they know that feeling.
I have spent the past few months, purging and organizing my house. I was browsing through my high school yearbook and this page just did it to me:
Doesn't that just make your heart stop?
My oldest will have to pick up her yearbook next week. They decided to publish it in the fall this year so that spring sports could be included.
I am kind of afraid to see it. I'm going to look at it because I spent the $75 but it's going to be rough. PTSD things.
But, we made it to September, and that has to count for something. We are going to Greenville at the end of the month. I have Airbnb credit. Fun fact - 1 night in Paris is the equivalent to a weekend in Greenville. My daughter will see her friends from the Governor's School. We'll go to Paris Mountain State Park and be in nature. I think it will be good for my soul. It will be nice to get far, far away from here where nothing triggers me.
My 14-year-old is going back to school next week. She is excited about it. I am excited for her but I don't really care about it. Meet the teacher? Don't care. Processes and procedures? Don't care. What's actually happening? Don't care. My sadness and anger have faded into this weird numbness. I feel nothing at all. Which I love. Not feeling my feelings is 10-out-of-10 my favorite thing ever.
There are things that need to be done. I cleaned out her book bag and all the things that had been there since that day in March that she went to 8th grade and never went back again. We purchased some basic school supplies. I thought about the things she missed at the end of the school year. "You didn't have sex ed this year," I said. She shrugged, "No one did."
NO ONE had sex ed last year. That really hit me hard. Everyone that knows me, or reads this blog knows that sex education is my soapbox. I've worked in women's health for so long that it is ingrained in me. I was really triggered about it.
The thing that really bothers me about sex ed in my state is that they only do it in middle school. After 8th grade, they get 0 sex education. ZERO. I feel like high school would be the prime time to share this information considering that about 40% of US high school students are sexually active. Those are 2017 numbers, but still.
That means that the conversation needs to shift for high schoolers and we are doing them a huge disservice by denying them education and resources. My daughter last year came home and was telling me about this kid that had a side hustle selling condoms to other kids. Y'all - $20 for a 2-pack. TWENTY DOLLARS. That is like a 1,500% mark-up. I appreciate his entrepreneurial spirit but that just blew my mind. I told her, "Seriously, tell everyone they can get a free bag of condoms from the health department. All they have to do is walk-in at the front and ask. Tell everyone." I'm that mom. I worked with a lady at the health department that had teenagers and she left a whole jar of condoms on a table by her front door. It was a take- one -if -you -need- one -arrangement. Like, I'm cool, but I'm not that cool.
My daughter had a friend who became a father recently. Which blows my mind. I can see this child in my mind's eye -a mischievous middle schooler. Now he is a parent, we have that in common. It can and does happen. It's not just other people's kids. We have got to do better.
We talk about sex a lot. Not like, a weird amount but when there is an opportunity, I take advantage of it. For instance, this whole WAP song was a great open door. I always have kids in my house and they were singing it and I looked into it. I am not the pearl-clutching type but even I was like:
This lady was really bragging about her WAP, honestly, that's a weird flex. I was like, "It's not supposed to really be like that. If someone needs a mop and bucket for their WAP, they probably need to see a doctor because their shit is not right," I said. Somebody get Cardi to the hospital and get her some IV fluid because she is probably dehydrated. It really was a great opportunity for us to talk about sex and how women are often objectified. They actually had really great insights and they all were in a consensus that easy access to pornography has ruined their generation. "I feel like the world would be better off if they just banned Pornhub." I thought Gen Z would be more laid-back and anything goes about it but they had really strong feelings about it, which surprised me.
I think we owe it more to our children and especially our daughters to do better. One pet peeve I have about sex education is the gender bias in it. Males learn about wet dreams and girls learn about their periods. Women in society are objectified yet there is this underlying idea that sex is dirty and wrong - at least for women. Which is super damaging and confusing. Men are supposed to want and enjoy sex but not women. If they do, there is a lot of shame associated with that. Many women carry those attitudes into adulthood and it is horrible and damaging.
I think that women are deserving of satisfying and empowering sex lives. They are deserving of experiences where they feel confident and empowered. But it's a journey. Sex is like riding a bike to the corner store. People around you are going to the store- and they are talking about how great it is. There are slushies and all the candy bars and it's the best. Then one day, you are like "I'm pretty sure I'm ready to ride my bike to the corner store. I finally got a bike, it's time." Then you get on the bike and you barely get out of the driveway. You certainly don't make it to the corner store.
Men, men are made to go to the corner store. They spend their lives coming and going to the corner store and they make it look so easy. But for women, it's an art. But now you've already gotten on the bike, so you try again and this time you make it past the driveway but not exactly to the corner store. Sometimes you don't even enjoy riding your bike because you're worried about the way your calves look when you pedal or that your butt is too big for the seat.
Unless you've walked to the corner store yourself, you don't even know if you are going in the right direction. You definitely should walk to the corner store. Sometimes the bike gets too excited and you fall off and they just head to the corner store without you, leaving you on curb. They come back with slushy in hand. "Wasn't it great at the corner store?" and you lie and nod say that you finished your slushy already so you don't damage your bike's ego.
Maybe the bike has been watching the Tour de France and it has given the bike ideas of what the ride to the corner store should be. Maybe the bike wants you to be Lance Armstrong. But how can you be Lance Armstrong? Lance trained for that, he is a professional. That is not fair. Maybe the bike wants you to sit on handlebars. You don't have to sit on the handlebars if you don't want to. If this is your bike, THROW THE WHOLE BIKE AWAY.
Then one day, you are going to find your bike. The seat will be perfect, the handlebars were meant for your hands. Your bike will never leave you behind and will make sure you go to the corner store together. And over time, things will seem easy. You will ride to the corner store so easily. You'll forget that your calves look weird when you pedal - you'll just enjoy the wind in your hair and the scenery. You will be able to pop wheelies and let go of the handlebars and even close your eyes. But it takes a lot of practice and time and that's part of the journey.
Does any of that make sense? My point is - the expectation of what sex is and the reality are two completely different things and I don't think we talk about that enough and we really do a disservice but not talking about it. Women are entitled to have positive, enjoyable, consensual, and empowering sexual experiences. I think that is normal and healthy and important and I will always express that to my daughters. I don't care how much that hate it or how embarrassing it is. I love this Ted Talk:
I implore you- if your child missed out on sex education this spring. Talk to them. It is your job. Don't let them pay $20 for a 2-pack of condoms from a random kid in the high school hallway. Make sure they know that WAP is not normal. Don't let them walk about being uninformed. Balance messages about safety and consent with positive messages that don't foster shame and gender inequality. Happy bike riding!
I don't want to write about the present or the immediate future. It just makes me feel some kind of way. I've been looking back a lot more. There is something comforting about the past. It is etched in stone, unchangeable and familiar. Happy times passed are blessings that can be revisited when times are hard. When my children are struggling or having a bad attitude, I close my eyes and remember them little. How I would rock with my oldest and bury my face into her neck and smell her baby smell. How my youngest would crawl into my lap and rest her curls on my chest, and reach up and play with my ear lobes. It doesn't matter how old they are, I will always think of them like that.
A smell, a song, a place can just bring you back to a moment in time that has passed. This week, I was driving home and Yellow came on the radio. It's mid-August and it was like I was suddenly in New York City.
It's so weird that we live thousands of days and we don't remember most of them. But others we remember so clearly, every detail. Births, deaths, times that are especially happy and times that are especially sad. That day in New York was one of those days burned into my memory forever.
It was the end of August 2001. A week before my husband left for the ARMY- which was August 29th. We decided that we wanted to go to New York City for the day. It was me, my husband, and two guy friends that we worked with. I was 17. He picked me up early that morning, in his white Saturn station wagon and we drove to Mount Holly. We loaded onto a coach bus. It was like a party bus with tables. We were so pumped. The boys mostly talked about going to the Virgin Records store to get some obscure CD. That is a very old-fashioned statement.
It was only an hour and a half drive into Manhattan. We got off the bus and made our way to Times Square. I had been to New York City a few times before - mostly for school trips. I'd been to the top of the Empire State Building and seen a Broadway show but there was something different about being there - young and alone with my boyfriend and friends, just exploring the city.
We made our way to Times Square. The streets were bustling with people and everything was just so BIG. All I did was look UP - at the forest of buildings. I pointed to the World Trade Center Towers. They seemed to reach up to the heavens. I recall pointing at them and saying, "Look! They are the tallest buildings in the city!" I remembered that moment as I watched them fall a few weeks later. He was already gone by then.
It was a hot day- but not too hot. Not sticky hot. It was hot enough to feel like summer. There were so many little shops. I wanted to shop for clothes. The boys had no interest in that at all. There was a small clothing store just by Virgin Records. "I want to stop in here. I'll meet you there," I told them. They were like, "Okay." Then, I was all alone.
I stepped into this clothing store that, I swear to you, was barely bigger than a walk-in closet. It had so many cute and funky things and I wanted to buy everything. It wasn't the kind of stuff you'd find in South Jersey. I fell in love with this cherry red sweater vest. I love that sweater vest. I still own it and I still wear it, multiple times a year. My 14 year old discovered it this year, and she low-key stole it from me. It's hanging in her closet right now. I'll get it back someday.
Once I was done with my shopping, I headed over to Virgin Records. It was larger than life. You walked in and it was massive. There was an escalator! There seemed to be rows and rows of endless CDs. I meandered through the store, looking around for my boyfriend. I found him in the electronica section. He never went to raves but he liked the rave-type music. When we went to check out, there was a huge rack dedicated to Coldplay's Parachutes album. They were the hot, new band. Ever since then, whenever I hear Yellow, I am standing in the Virgin Records store in Times Square admiring the rack of Coldplay CDs again.
We left Virgin Records and we ate. I don't remember what we had for lunch. That is the one detail that is missing. After lunch, we headed to Central Park. There was a man selling pretzels from a cart and there were people walking dogs, couples on blankets, and joggers passing by. We were getting tired, I was getting the post-lunch haze. We sought rest on a big rock. I sat on the rock next to my husband and leaned against him. The boys talked, but I just watched. The sky was crystal blue and the leaves and grass were this vibrant emerald green. There was a slight breeze and the tree branches swayed like they were dancing around us. The city towered behind the trees. There was a boy playing catch with his father. It's weird, that I can't tell you what I had for dinner last Tuesday but I will forever remember watching them. The boy had on a blue baseball cap, and squinted just slightly as he followed the ball into his glove.
It is a moment I think I'll remember forever. I was happy and peaceful and in this place that so beautiful, it was like being in a movie. I could have stayed there all afternoon, but we moved on.
We started to make our way back to where the bus station was. We stopped at Barnes and Noble. It was two stories high and had a much better selection than the bookstores of my hometown. I purchased the complete works of E.E. Cummings.
By the time we left the bookstore, the sky had turned grey. Then, all of a sudden it started to rain. Hard. Torrential rain. We tried to get onto a bus, since that was the closet thing to us where we could seek shelter but we were immediately kicked off because we didn't have any bus tokens.
There was a Hooters close-by and we made a run for it. When we stepped into the restaurant, we were all soaked and laughing. There was barely anyone there, it was that weird time between lunch and dinner. We decided to stay and get a snack and wait out the rain. We were seated at a table near the bar. There was a middle-aged man sitting there.
We sat down and talked and were just being ourselves and the man seemed interested in us. He asked us questions. "Where you kids from?" in a thick, stereotypical New York accent. "You kids like MTV?" he asked. Of course we did. You weren't a real teenager if you didn't come home from school, grab a snack and sit down to watch Total Request Live with Carson Daly. We told him that we did. "You know what I call it?" he replied. "I call it EMPTY-V. Get it?" and he laughed and laughed at his own joke. It was a dad joke and none of us laughed with him. He talked about "young people today," not in a way that was offensive per se, but there was something about the decline of morality that bothered him that was reflected in us.
It has always been that way. Every generation thinks that theirs was better than the current one. The youth are vilified in a lot of ways and discounted for their lack of wisdom. But it's not their fault, and it wasn't ours. When you are young you don't know what you don't know. When you are young, deep down you feel like you'll be that way forever because it's all you've known your entire life up until then. We were young and wild and free that day and nothing that man said to us could have changed that.
It did stop raining and we made our way back to the bus station, dodging puddles and trying to shrug off the underlying anxiety of missing our ride home. We piled into the bus and collapsed into the seats, tired from our day of exploring the city. The ride home seemed shorter than the ride there. I pulled my book from the bag and read the entire way. The boys i mean are not refined was my favorite: https://genius.com/E-e-cummings-the-boys-i-mean-are-not-refined-annotated
The boys certainly were not refined then and I don't imagine they are much more now, 20 years later.
It was dusk by the time we rolled into Mount Holly. We unloaded the bus and loaded into the station wagon. We listened to the new Gorillaz CD the whole way home. My husband had this HUGE binder of CDS. I swear it weighed 10 pounds, sheet after sheet of shiny circles. His collection was enviable. The only good part about him leaving for the AMRY was that he was going to give me his binder of CDs for safekeeping. We laughed and joked around the entire way home. We were back in town before my curfew so I went back to his house. Our friends left and we walked into the house and it was empty. It was unusual for that time of the evening that everyone would be gone.
It seemed like a gift, the perfect ending to the perfect day. The lights in the living room were dim and the house was silent except for the raindrops on the roof. That was in August 19 years ago.
That's strange to think - all the time between then and now is a blur. My children are almost the age I was then. The other night, I laid in bed with my daughter. She didn't protest. I studied her face. "You only have one more first day of school left. Like, in your whole life. That's crazy." She smiled. "You're getting old." She always tells me that. "It's weird because sometimes, in my head, I still think I'm the same as I was when I was your age. Then, when I am around you and your sister, I think No, I'm definitely not." I don't think she understood what I was trying to say, "Did you have wine tonight?" she asked. I hadn't. But she'll know what I mean someday.
I should feel different. I know more things. But like practical things. I can cook a turkey without checking the internet and I can file taxes and get stains out of blouses. But I actually know less. Things are less certain. That day in New York, everything was perfect and I was so sure about everything. Life is so black and white when you are young. Sometimes things are complicated only because they make them be so. For instance, teenagers with relationship problems are so funny. Like, you can just break up. Nothing will happen. You don't need to sell a house or figure out kids every other weekend. You only have to keep yourself alive and you have people facilitating that. Your body parts are still in their original places....You can't appreciate the simpleness of life until it gets messy. Until you have children of your own. And once-in-a-century pandemics happen.
Maybe I am still that girl, walking down the sidewalk in Times Square, looking UP. I still have some of those things from that day with me - the boy, the red sweater vest, the poem. Even the Coldplay album- on Spotify, of course.
