RenovationGirl

Happy Birthday to Me!

Yep, today's my birthday.  37.  Um, I mean 29...again...Actually, age doesn't bother me.  I hate people who complain about how old they are.  I watched my grandmother live to be 92 years old and never once complained about growing old.  Why?  Because she lost her husband after just 12 years of marriage, with four children ranging in age from 13 to 2.  He was the love of her life and they spent the majority of their short married life together dealing with colon cancer.  She never would complain about living...her husband never had that chance.  And she had to live without him, struggling alone.

My mother is very similar.  Having lost her father at age 7, after seeing her mother suffer alone, after living in near poverty, she doesn't ever complain about growing old.  My mother has many ailments, many pains, but she is delighted that she has lived to spend over 40 years with her husband, to see her children and grandchild grow. She doesn't complain every year on her birthday. 

I am friends with many people who struggle with birthdays.  Other friends always complain about their age, or how tough it is to be their age.  Their age is always the worst age to be.  It's maddening...because what's the alternative?  You can't change growing and aging, but you can change how you handle it. 

Gracefully.  That's how I want to age.  To joke about the popping hip (no idea what that's all about!), to faithfully take my blood pressure medication, to cover the grey hair.  That's what I'll do.  And I'll try really hard to bite my tongue as others complain.

Yep, I'm 37 today and happy to be alive! 

The Sweetheart Beneath It All

Builder Boy is an excessively crabby child.  He tends more towards crabby than happy.  It's frustrating as a parent because you want your child in these early years to experience joy, and often we feel he doesn't.  We're not sure what to do about it, but we have these moments with him where he displays a sweetness and empathetic nature that stuns us.

Yesterday, on the way to school, he was talking about his friends.  His best friend is now in another school and this has been difficult for Builder Boy.  I asked if he was making new friends in his new class.  He said that yes, he was making friends, but that his old friend was still his best friend. 

He pondered this for a few moments, then said, "Actually, Mama, he is my oldest best friend, but New Friend is my best friend in the whole world.  And you know that when kids ask me if I am their best friend, I say, 'Yes' because I don't want anyone to feel bad. " How sweet is that?  (Okay, yes, it's not honest, but what an endearing thing to do!)

I asked, "So, does this happen a lot? Kids asking you to be best friends?" 

His reply, "Nope!"  So glad he's thought this through for when it does happen!

Out of (and into) the Blue

After an exhaustively long day parenting and then working over the weekend, I planned on cleaning both bathrooms.  Remodel Man went out with some friends, Builder Boy was in bed, so what's a girl to do?  Clean.  Of course, being tired from a long day with a challenging kid and a long night of being treated like I'm an idiot at my retail job, I was barely functioning.  So, instead, I sat my butt on the couch and watch silly teenage romance movies and ate my weight in corn chips and Hershey's kisses.  (Gross, I know...)

Seeing the silly movie and all the emotions that come with adolescence suddenly had me thinking of an old friend of the boy persuasion.  I can't really remember when I first met him (middle school?  high school?), but he always seemed to be around in my adolescent memories.  We were good friends and he dated friends of mine, but there was never a spark between us. 

Years later, while managing a shoe store in a local upscale mall, I saw a man walking past my store.  The gait was familiar as was the tousle of his hair.  Sure enough, there he was, all these years later.  In an attempt to find himself, he had just taken a new job at a local restaurant exactly four doors from my store. 

From here, things get blurry. I remember being delighted to see him again, and having loved the feeling of his hug.  I remember an excitement of reconnecting and forming a new, more mature connection with someone familiar.  We met up for drinks after work which became a habit, sometimes going with scores of other people we worked with, sometimes going alone.  He had changed from high school.  He had an weariness to him, a somewhat defeated air.  At times I felt that at any moment, he would disappear, be gone again, back into my memories.  Sometimes, it felt like he wasn't there at all.

We were both single, both trying to find our ways, and somehow, like something out of a coming-of-age novel, we looked to one another to figure it out.  Friendship melted into something more...something undefined, yet comfortable, relaxing, and uncommitted. 

For the first time, I wasn't obsessed.  I knew this was going nowhere, that there was no future in this relationship.  I knew that life was drawing us apart as soon as it pushed us together.  Yet, there was comfort.  I learned a lot from this new adult version of my old friend.  He taught me things I didn't know, and begging to learn more, he refused for my own good. He made me see life in a slightly different, less restricted way and he made me confront and question aspects about myself that felt uncomfortable. 

Being a free spirit, he moved on and away.  I got a few intimate postcards from him from different parts of California, and the last one, from Lake Tahoe, had him a slightly different man...a new, "real" job, a girlfriend, and a strong work ethic.  Life seemed good for him, he seemed stable and content, and then I never heard from him again.

These memories have been haunting me for days.  Why?  Why do thoughts of him blanket me with a great sadness?  Is there a message in this?  Is he thinking of me and through some cosmic energy, we are connecting?  I can't recall ever feeling like this and its a bit strange and overwhelming.

Marrying Your Best Friend

A week ago, my best friend from college, Porsche Nut, and I went to Idlewild with our families.  Porsche Nut and I have known one another since the fourth grade, when she was a bad ass flute player who liked to stick her cleaning stick into the school radiator.  I was the shy flute player who never would dream of doing anything against the rules.  We went to different grade schools, but met up at all the Blue and Red band events and then went to middle school together.  We had a lot of fun together, and some not so fun times, but here we are 25ish years later, still friends.  Seeing our kids play together and fight together and ride together is one of the things we used to plan back in the day.  That it came true is astonishing, and very, very nice. 

Porsche Nut has been married for ten years now to a wonderful man that my son adores.  Like any married couple, they have their ups and downs, but are happy and in love.  They just moved into a new house and I am happy to report they are still married (we all know that moving can be a divorce in the making...).  As we strolled around Idlewild with our kids, I noticed something peculiar...Porsche Nut and Remodel Man tended to hang out while Mr. Porsche Nut and I hung out.  It was most noticeable when Mr. Porsche Nut was being a goof at one of the rides and the ride attendant assumed I was with him (I made sure to draw attention to Porsche Nut herself...he was being silly and I didn't want anyone thinking I was with him...geez!).  It got me thinking...and whilst your mind dives into the gutter, NO, that was NOT what I was thinking.

What I was thinking was that I think Porsche Nut married her best friend...I mean, you know how they say that you marry someone like your father?  (Which I did not, but they say that...) Well, I think Porsche Nut married her best friend, or someone like her best friend.  Mr. Porsche Nut and I have very similar personalities.  Sometimes, when Porsche Nut and I talk husbands, I relate to what she says about him.  I think, "Yeah, I would react that way, too."  Or when I hear him dealing with Porsche Peanut, my goddaughter, it sounds like how I deal with Builder Boy.  Folks, it's weird...

Even weirder is the fact that often, when I talk to my other best friend, BBM, I notice the same things about her husband, Mr. BBM.  She'll be talking about him and again, I'll think, "hmmm....sounds like me..." 

Is this weird or what?  So tell me, do your friends' husbands have personalities like yours?  Or is this just in my little dysfunctional world? 

On a completely different topic, BBM is entered into the Love Your Body contest with Victoria's Secret to win lots of cool stuff.  She could use your vote...you can vote once a day.  Thanks. 

Summer Night Sounds

Last night, as I was putting Builder Boy to bed, we walked into his bedroom and he said, "OH NO, Renovation Mama! The summer night has been on all night and all day!" He gestured to the sound machine by his bed.  I walked over to the sound machine and noticed is was off...completely off.  No power.  No noise.  No little green light.  No sound.  No, those summer night sounds of crickets singing and chirping was not coming from the little white sound machine.  Nope.  They were au naturale.  They were coming from the open window.

My heart sank.  It's not that I don't love that sound...I do.  It's relaxing and creates a white noise of its own.  My heart sank because that sound, for as long as I remember, signifies one very big thing...

SCHOOL.

As a child, when you heard the crickets singing noisily each night, getting louder with each passing day, you knew that soon you would be waiting by your mailbox to get your room assignment.  Your phone would be ringing, calls from your friends whose mail came sooner than yours, to see if God had been good to you and given you both the good teacher with your best friends in your class.  There would be back to school shopping and new school supplies.  And then homework.  And fights with your friends.  And crushes on boys who wouldn't like you back.  And disappointment.  And confusion of a world in which you tried to be kind in your adolescent way, but often got treated not so kindly. 

Yes, summer night sounds equal one giant event-school starting.

Now, as an adult, I face the same dread.  School means grading, dealing with parents who want their kids to "get" A's instead of earning them, long nights and even earlier mornings, administrative issues, lesson planning, days when you wonder why you ever got into education.  Don't get me wrong, I do love to teach, but it's hard to get back into the swing of things.  I feel a bit like the little kid who stomps their foot in irritation and stubbornness, pouting that they won't go.  I am going back to a job I so desperately want to leave, working with many other people who don't want to be there, either.  Negativity breeds in this place, each year getting a bit worse.

So, in four days, I will be back to the swing of things.  I will deal.  I will do my job well.  Most of the kids will learn something from me.  It will be fine.  But really, can someone tell those crickets to quiet down for a just a few more days???

Getting It Done - or - Doing It Right

Many of you who read her blog will be jealous...BBM is heading my way for a visit.   I am beyond delighted, of course, but it is at this time where I am totally freaking out. Not, mind you, because BBM is coming...nope, my reaction would be the same hysteria no matter who was showing up on my doorstep. 

I have made it very clear throughout the writing of this blog of my deficiency as a housekeeper.  Genetically, I should rock at this...unfortunately, those genes passed me by.  There are many reasons why I suck at this...I have a lot of jobs, my only child does not play well independently, Remodel Man sucks at cleaning up after himself or anyone else, our house is under a constant state of renovation, we have far too many things, we are far too sentimental, I have a lazy streak.  Need I go on? Didn't think so.

So, when I find myself with a visit looming, hysteria sets in.  (Current PMS conditions are nicely adding to this...)  What frustrates me is that I truly do want to live in a clean, tidy, clutter-free home.  I mentioned in this post, having a clean house makes you feel more in control and allows you to relax.  I have never reached that state at any point in my adult life.  So, I am forced to just get the cleaning done, instead of getting it right.  This drives me crazy.  It makes more work for me later, sifting through piles and bags and boxes of crap thrown in before a friendly visit.  I swore that THIS would be the summer to get the house organized...but here I am, mid-July and not a spare second in sight.  Soon, August will be upon me and I will be back to four jobs again.  

I have many grand plans to clean up the "get it done" mess, but it seems I/we never follow through.  It's not because we are avoiding the cleaning; it truly is because other things have priority...work, parenting, etc.  I just wish, just once, I could do it right, to avoid the get it done mess.

I totally need one of those home organization shows!

(Oh, and if BBM reads this before she comes, she will undoubtedly tell you that she does not care about  the state of this house, it's ME she's coming to visit.  She's sweet like that.  Last time she came to see me, she actually helped CLEAN my house...Hmmm...maybe with enough alcohol I could get her cleaning again...)

A Better Day

I had a crappy weekend.  It wasn't any big thing that happened, just lots of little things which caused me to revert back to the "woe is me" and "life is unfair" pity party that ended in me sobbing hysterically. 

And then there was today.  Builder Boy went fishing with my parents and he was gone for four and a half hours.  It was heavenly.  I didn't take a nap.  I didn't read a book.  I didn't even take a shower.  I cleaned and organized and cleaned some more.  Did I mention that it was heavenly?

There is so much truth to the idea that you feel more in control if the space around you is neat, tidy, and organized.  While I still have a long way to go, having such a large chunk of time today to make a large dent allows me to feel like I am at least slightly closer to my goal of not living like pigs. 

It has also opened my eyes a bit to the wonderful things in my life.  Since hearing about my roommate, I have felt even more incompetent than usual, bringing up all my old post-teen insecurities.  But today, I think I finally accepted that I am who I am.  I will never live in an immaculate home.  I will never be as patient or creative a mom as I would like to be.  I will never be rich.  Oh well. I have this beautiful and spirited little boy who loves me in his way.  I am saving a piece of history and architecture by living in this "old" home, no matter that it bleeds me dry.  While we don't have any money to spare, we mostly make our bills every month.  And even though I hate the one place at which I work, I love the kids who I teach there. 

So there it is.  Today is a better day and I am able to remind myself of the blessings in my life.  There are days when this is very hard for me, but for today, I can see clearly.

If you haven't already done so, head on over to Black Belt Mama and congratulate her on her promotion to black belts (not one, but two of them!!) and check out her new design-it looks awesome and so does her black belt!  Also, Heidi finished her first IVF last week and got a negative.  My heart is breaking for her!  If you have a second, head on over and leave an encouraging comment. 

A Friend Lost

Years ago, in college, I knew what my life would look like.  I would spend some time in NYC, finding small acting gigs, working retail, trying to spend the "twenty years it takes to become a master actor" according to the late, great Sandy Meisner.  Once I had some experience under my belt, I would teach acting, inspiring young people to truly discover their inner selves and share those "selves" with their audiences.  I would marry a tall, dark, cultured man of a good background who would make a lot of money enabling us to have a vacation home in Cape May.  We would buy that VIctorian house and fix it up to its original splendor and host house tours and tea parties to raise funds for the Historic Preservation Society.  By my side, through it all, would be my college friends.  My sorority sisters and my closest theater major friends.  I could see in my mind the wedding photos, the weekend getaways we would take, how close our families would be, even though we would possibly live a great distance from one another. Years ago, in college, I had it all planned out.

But as a good friend has told me, "Make plans and God laughs."

And so my life is nothing like I had planned it out to be.  I never went to NYC.  I didn't act professionally.  My husband is tall, but blond.  We do own the Victorian home, but it has bled us dry, no matter how much money we make.  We will never own a vacation home.  It will be years before our house is back to its original splendor, if ever.  And by my side, through it all, have been a vast assortment of friends from each phase of my life.  Grade school friends.  High school friends. College friends.  Grad school friends.  Work friends and more work friends.

I love the life I have.  I think as I have matured, I have become a better person.  I have learned with each mistake I have made.  Infertility has made me stronger.  I am more faithful.  And I feel blessed to have the life I do.

And yet, there is one regret that I have.  One that weighs heavily on me.  The mere mention of this person makes me physically ill, and my heart hurts.  This person, my college roommate, was the person with whom I thought I would share every phase of my life.  I thought she would be there for me on my wedding day.  Race to the hospital when I had my baby.  Comfort me as my parents aged.  I thought I would be there for her, too.  And yet...

I have not talked to her since her father's funeral over ten years ago (maybe longer).  The invitation to her wedding was, I believe, just to appease a friendship I thought would last forever.  We were close, thick as thieves, sharing all of college's experiences in minute detail during college, but during the end of our senior year, as the future faced us with increasing uncertainty, things seemed to change.  Was it me?  Was it her?  Time has faded the memory greatly and only a few outstanding notions come to me.  I remember that I invited her future husband to my formal.  I remember she asked his best friend.  I remember that she began dating her future husband around the time of the formal, but I believe after I had invited him.  I remember being alone at my formal because she was with her future husband and her date was off smoking pot somewhere.  I remember being so hurt, sad, lonely, betrayed.  But was it her fault or mine?  Had I asked him to the formal knowing that they liked one another?  I do remember that many of us were unaware that she had been having secret calls with him and secret visits to him when she would "go home for the weekend."  But did I know, at least enough to NOT ask him to my formal? 

I was furious after the formal, yet she didn't understand why.  Her life after graduation became centered on this new relationship.  It was as if she had always been looking for a husband in college, and once found, her need for us, her friends and sisters, became unnecessary.  I tried for a year after we graduated to connect.  At times she was angry, sometimes annoyed, yet always dismissive.  I was hurt and I remember the last time I told her how I truly felt was in the cover of a book I bought for her for her birthday-a book about a weekend reunion of old friends.  I wrote a lot, and was very honest.  There was no response.  Her father became very ill awhile after this and that was that.  He passed away, and I couldn't be there to support her.  I wanted to.  I would have dropped everything for her, but she had moved on, didn't need me in her life.

We move on in our lives.  Friends come and go.  We hold onto memories and look to the future.  But this one friend, my college roommate, the loss of her remains just that, a loss.  Mostly because I don't understand what happened.  I don't understand how you can push away those with whom you have shared such times, those who would do anything for you...even now.  I don't understand how you want no contact.  To not even want to check in with others.  Perhaps I made some grave, immature mistakes, but truly, they were made out of insecurity and immaturity-and I'm not even sure it was all me.  I was hurt throughout this, too, and yet I would love to be a part of her life.  I just don't understand.

Through the glories of Fa.ce.book, I have discovered recent photos of her with a beautiful little girl, of Korean descent.  As I know both her and her husband, I know this little one has to be adopted.  And instantly, the infertile in me flares up.  Did she have fertility issues?  Did her heart break with every cycle that didn't work?  Did her stomach and thighs look like a connect-the-dot game with all the injections?  And I get mad.  I could have been there for her.  I understand.  I could have held her hand.  I could have been there for her.

She made a choice, or I made it for her.  Or we both made choices and this is where we are.  I have come to terms with many things from my past, but this one, this one still gets me.  So, college roommate, if somehow you find me here, know this...I have missed being a part of your life.  And I hope that you are happy.

Mother Moments

In an email exchange with BBM this morning, she used this phrase to describe today-mother moments.  That's exactly what today is, a mother moment.  It's Builder Boy's last day of preschool.  And while he will be going to another year of preschool at his new school, today is still an end.  And these milestones, while exciting, are bittersweet. 

I've been a bit of a wreck today about it.  I guess I am over-sentimental.  But there are so many aspects of leaving preschool that leave me feeling sad, for me and for Builder Boy.  There will be no more walking to school, or playing on the school grounds after school, or sneaking in during his class when I have forgotten his lunch/show and tell/etc.  There will be no more mother conversations when we drop off the kids, leaving us even less time while they are at school.  These relationships were temporary, a two year run.  Most kids are going to all different schools next year, and so will the moms.  While a few will last beyond, most will just be quick hellos when we bump into one another at the grocery store.  And while I know I will meet the new mothers next year, this group of preschool moms have a common bond...the bond of leaving your child for the first time and walking away, unsure and terrified.  That first day last year, we all walked away a bit shell-shocked...me sobbing right there, most others waiting until they got to their cars.  When we came back together two hours later, we were all tired, missing our kids, faces streaked with mascara.  But we did it. And we laughed together at the absurdity of it, though none of us thought our feelings were absurd. 

The kids, too, will move on.  To new teachers, new schools, new friends.  Very few will keep in touch (it is preschool, after all), but some will.  I believe that Builder Boy and his best friend will continue being friends, at least for awhile.  This will help their transition to their new schools.  Still, it gives me pause and makes me think of all the people we encounter in life that we "move on" from.  All the people who have touched our lives in some capacity, changed us, made us better (or worse), who we lose touch with as our lives change and grow. 

This is a mother moment..I am proud of how far Builder Boy has come this past two years and grateful to his teachers for helping him in this growth.  He shares better.  He plays better. He communicates better.  He has learned to write some, recognize letters and numbers.  He's made ridiculous amounts of crafts (kicking and screaming, but hey, they got done!) and learned a ton of songs.  He prays better.  He understands more of how we all fit into this large world. 

It is tough to watch him grow up in what seems like warp speed.  I know that in the blink of an eye, he will be graduating from college and moving on with his life.  Both Remodel Man and I try to remember this even in those pull-your-hair-out-moments.  This is all going so fast. 

So here's to Builder Boy's last day of preschool.  Here's to two years of growth for both of us and here's to all the wonderful school memories in his future.  And here's to yet another mother moment...

On Becoming a Mother

Holidays can be tough.  While they are a time of celebration and relaxation, I always ponder about those whose hearts are hurting because of the holiday.  People who are missing their deceased mother, children separated from their mother, and those longing for a child.  Certainly, being infertile has made me extremely sensitive to both Mother's and Father's Day.  As I sat in church today looking at the people around me, I couldn't help wonder if any of these people were longing for a child and that sitting in church hearing the special mother's blessing and the intentions for all mothers brought on that physical ache...the one the feels like a giant hole that is collapsing in slow motion.  If I didn't see a child with a woman, I did not say, "Happy Mother's Day."  I have been there.  I have felt that pain.  I have felt excluded from "the club" and it emphasized all the private insecurities I had. 

All of this reminded me how extraordinarily grateful I am for being allowed the opportunity to be a mother.  And while our son is biologically ours, I am reminded of all the ways that we can be "moms."  In my  mind, a mom doesn't have to be a biological influence...consider all those incredible parents out their who have given little ones, and not so little ones, loving homes through fostering or adoption.  But we can also be moms through other channels.  Because to me, a mom is more than someone who has a child in her home.  A mom is:

• any woman whose heart desires a child
• any woman who guides a friend or loved one through her grace and compassion
• any woman who lovingly opens her home and heart to those in need
• any woman who has miscarried a child
• any woman who has suffered the loss of a child
• any woman who cares for pets like members of the family
• any woman who has longs to be called "Mom"
• any woman who teaches others to be better human beings

We are women, we are sisters, we are moms.  Happy  Mother's Day.

To my blog friends who are dealing with primary infertility, please know that my heart is truly heavy for you on a difficult day such as this.  I pray that you will be blessed with the life you desire.