It’s sad, really. A lonely, frozen, barren, wasteland comes to mind. Gloom crashes in like icy waves, extinguising all of the warmth from my body, culminating in a moment of complete and unavoidable despair.
The sadness is overwhelming.
It clouds the eyes and turns my thoughts toward darker days.
This house is old. The woman living inside is even older. At 104, she has outlived her children and even some of her grandchildren. What have her eyes seen? How many times has her heart been broken and…yet…it continues to beat?
It’s amazing, really. A sturdy, unsinkable ship comes to mind; made with strong hands and bound by family ties that, although broken long ago, weathered yet another storm.
Yes, this house is old. The woman living inside is even older. It is her home.
Grace lives there and her next door neighbor’s name is Hope.
I love snow [ducks to avoid flying snowballs] working up enough courage to actually get behind the wheel of a car and driving in it, not so much!
I got into my first and only car wreck [knocking on wood until knuckles bleed] while driving home from work…in a snow storm.
It was bad; my body hurts just thinking about it.
I was only 20 and, well, let’s just say I’ve spent the last 20-something years, doing my best to avoid, having to drive…in the snow.
Until, I had children.
My kids don’t like to walk, anywhere (I think it’s a law, or something) partly, because we live in an area where the ratio between accessible sidewalks to the actual number of cars on the road is equal to the proportion of the accumulated snowfall.
In other words, no one shovels their gosh-darned sidewalks, anymore, DAGNABIT!
“Can I stay home, today?”
[frown]
“Yes…WAIT…I mean, NO!”
I fear for my middle girl. She attends a specialized high school 25 miles away from home and, well, her bus travels some of the craziest roads known to the Jersey Shore as…THE PARKWAY!!!
[shiver]
“Sorry, kiddo, but you have finals, today!”
Aaaaand, she was out sick, yesterday, already, DAGNABIT!!!
“Can you pick me up from school, today?”
[bites lower lip]
“Um, NO!”
What? This particular kid also takes a bus and, well, who am I to deny someone a chance to do their job, right?
“Can you pick me up from school, today?”
[heavy sigh]
“Uh, NO!”
What? Aaaand, this kid can literally spit from our house to the school, we live THAT close.
“Now, remember, if the snow gets really, really bad, mommy’s gonna park the car down the street and we’re gonna walk home, okay?”
[eyes go wide]
“ALL THE WAY FROM SCHOOL?!?”
YES! Because, there’s a wooded path leading from this kid’s school, to the adjacent neighborhood and, well, I fear THAT parking lot, the most!
“It’ll be an adventure!”
Besides, we’re supposed to get like, 10 inches and I’ve abandoned cars, for less.
“…so, our area can expect a light dusting to no accumulation…until, tonight.”
PHEW!
[looks out the window]
BALLS!
Guess what? The weather dudes were wrong (GASP!) I spun out in the CVS parking lot getting milk on the way home from school this morning and, well, it looks like my kids are walking!
[pulls up hoodie and blows bangs out of eyes]
If anyone needs me, I’ll be outside, cleaning off my car (for the eleventy-hundrendth time) and pretending like I’m a REAL good stay-at-home mother.
12 years ago, on the 23rd of January, at 2:05 p.m., I gave birth to a son and, although your sisters could not wait to meet their new baby brother, I was terrified at the thought of raising a manchild.
You see, like your sisters, I’m a girl (AM SO!)
I know how girls think (sort of!) although, I’m not saying that they are any better (or, worse!) it’s just that, I don’t know, boys are different.
Then, just as we started getting used to each other (kind of!) you became a big brother and a real good one, too…by the way…even when you would find your G.I. Joes and Power Rangers, left accidentally on purpose, half-naked in the bath tub, surrounded by bald-headed Barbie dolls.
Girls are weird, I know (they get that from daddy) still, now that you are 12, going on boyteen, I can’t help but wonder…OMG!…how in the heck did we get here?
Where DID the time go…can’t we hold onto your childhood, just a little while longer?
Then again, according to your baby sister, you ARE a man (how awesome is that card, right?) and she’s absolutely right…you’re awesome…next I’ll tell you something you don’t know.
Yesterday, at 2:05 p.m., you made a wish and, although I can’t promise it will come true or, that growing up will get any easier (dagnabit!) I will always be your mom, no matter what (yes, REALLY!) aaaaand, you will probably be way taller than me, too…DAGNABIT!
I haven’t slept with Garth (not his real name) since, Christmas!
[eyes go wide]
In the same bed, I mean, SHEESH!
We’ve been married for 20 years and, well, as Doofus is very willing to demonstrate (DAMMIT!) the couch can be pretty comfy, too.
Still, our kids are getting older, we’re feeling old-ish (more and more, everyday, dammit!) I guess life is just rubbing our nerves raw, at the moment.
Okay, you can cut the tension with a cotton ball and the hardest part is, you know, pretending like our kids don’t notice.
Oh, we’re fine — just in case you were wondering or someone closely related to us happens to wander in here and read into stuff he, or she really shouldn’t.
SLAM!
It’s just real hard to wake Garth (not his real name) once he sits down, poor guy, so it’s just easier to let him sleep with the dawg, while I watch Fiddler on the Roof, for the bazillionth time, right?
[the sound of crickets chirping]
Still, it also raises one very important question:
(Garth NHRN) Do you love me?
(Me) Do I what?
(Garth NHRN) Do you love me?
(Me) Do I love you? With kids in 4 different schools And this cruddy flu going around You’re upset, you’re worn out Go inside, go lie down! Maybe it’s indigestion
(Garth NHRN) “I’m asking you a question…”
Do you love me?
(Me) I’m a dork!
(Garth NHRN) “I know…”
But do you love me?
(Me) Do I love you? For twenty years I’ve washed your clothes Cooked your meals, cleaned your house
PAUSE: Okay, so Garth (not his real name) does ALL of this too (maybe, even more) but, that’s NOT the point, here! Continue:
Given you children, milked the cow (no, not really, SHEESH!) After twenty years, why talk about love right now?
(Garth NHRN) The first time I met you I didn’t think we’d last the day I was scared
(Me) I was shy
WAIT A MINUTE: Okay, for those of you who knew me B.C. (before children) you can all STOP laughing now! Continue:
(Garth NHRN) I was nervous
(Me) Truth be told, so was I
(Garth NHRN) And now I’m asking, Do you love me?
(Me) But, I’m such a dork!
(Garth NHRN) “I know…” But do you love me?
(Me) Do I love him? For twenty years I’ve lived with him Fought him, laughed with him After twenty years the couch is his If that’s not love, I ask you, WHAT IS?
(Garth NHRN) Then you love me?
(Me) I suppose I do
(Garth NHRN) And I suppose I love you, too
No, it doesn’t change a thing, but even so, after twenty years, it’s sorta nice to know — not to mention, hear myself say it out loud, pretend my blog is a stage and that I sing REAL good, too!
My husband, Garth (not his real name) thinks I’m nuts (I know, act surprised anyway okay?)
Aaaanyway, as I was showing a family friend my our new BESTEST, AWESOMEST, I CAN’T BELIEVE IT’S NOT BUTTER, not to mention, ABSOLUTELY FRIGALICIOUS camera…
[takes breath]
…he calls me out.
“She takes the weirdest pictures.”
I was crushed.
So, I grabbed the camera (ever so gently) and began to scroll through the memory card.
We nabbed this old foot pump Singer sewing machine in a yard sale, B.C. (before kids) I just love the shadow play with the wood and metal in this shot.
Looking up on top of the sewing machine: the flower pot is a quick (but, prettiful) place to drop our keys and the glass ball actually belongs to something else that broke, years ago (can’t remember what) but, the kids like to pretend it’s a magic crystal ball….me, too.
Looking to the left of the sewing machine: two of my favorite pictures of Garth (not his real name) and I thought that the reflection on the one of us dancing at my brother’s wedding was sort of cool — quite apropos, really.
Looking to the right of the sewing machine: the dining room window is the brightest in the house (even on the gloomiest of winter days) so, my geraniums are always in full bloom! /gloom
Aaaaand, then looking left (again) from the sewing machine: my Aunt Theresa crocheted this blanket for me as a Christmas present. My cousin gave it to me the day Theresa passed away and I’m still waiting for the awful sense of loss and regret to pass, too, each time I look at it.
[heavy sigh]
Aaaand, this is when I moved to the back door and, well, color me weird, but darned if I didn’t start to feel a whole lot better!
“What’s this one about?”
I looked over my friend’s shoulder and blankly stared at the viewer.
“Um, what do YOU think it looks like?”
[eyes go wide]
“Well, I would say a Christmas Cactus.”
[shrugs]
“But, you’re the photographer.”
[grin]
“You probably see something different, like hair, or something!”
[frown]
I know. In this case, different is code for nutty and/or weird. Still. I love, LOve, LOVe, LOVE my new BESTEST, AWESOMEST, I CAN’T BELIEVE IT’S NOT BUTTER, not to mention, ABSOLUTELY FRIGALICIOUS camera…
[takes deep breath]
…because, it compels me to slow down and really appreciate the world around me and, well, she DID call me a photographer, right?
Our house is about 1,800 square feet — that’s the equivalent of some folk’s swimming pools, here in Jersey — and it looks even smaller, from the sidewalk.
Understandably, it’s hard to imagine 6 people living in such a house.
“Wow!!!”
It’s really funny to watch first-time visitors walk through our front door, stare up at the high ceilings, blink both their eyes, rapidly, as they try to center their gaze on the back wall, some 25 feet or so away and then, you know, physically stumble.
“It looks a lot bigger on the inside!”
It’s an optical illusion, really — not to mention, they’ve just seen the biggest room in the house — still, we get by.
Unless, someone gets sick (which, during creeping crud season, is pretty much once a week) or, we’re hosting a sleepover (what I like to refer to as, slumberless parties) when no one is sick, of course!
“Wait, how many kids DID you invite?”
Aaaaand, well, reorganizing a corporation could NOT be anymore challenging than rearranging our house.
“Where DID you put them all?”
Considering, my brother and I were raised in an even smaller house (6, including the bathroom) it’s funny to think that my own mother had trouble visualizing the logistics of making room for 10 more very-near-to-their-adult-size teenagers.
“Only 5 of them stayed over.”
[whispering]
“Where are they?”
You know what’s even funnier?
Watching my husband, Garth (not his real name) both eyes darting left, right and then left again, several times and finally gingerly walk through the front door, expecting a surprise attack, land minds, or something.
“Relax…they…are in the girls’ room.”
It’s quite ironic, really — considering, it’s hard for friends to imagine how all 3 of my daughters share the same room and, you know, live to complain about — then again, at least they have a bedroom door.
“Don’t they want more room?”
[shrugging shoulders]
“Apparently, not.”
Until, about 1:30 in the morning.
“Sorry, mom, but we sorta got hungry.”
Judging by all the empty cans of soup AND containers of chocolate frosting, I found tossed in the kitchen sink, I would say so.
“You know, you coulda stayed in the living room?”
[shrugs shoulders]
“It’s no big deal.”
I know (DAMMIT!) still, over the years, I’ve learned to be careful not to complain about the house, too much — no matter how frustrating, stressful or claustrophobic it may be, especially, in the wintertime — and most especially, NOT in front of my kids.
Seeing as it’s, you know, their home, too.
“Besides, my friends think our house is all comfy-cozy inside.”
Could driving a minivan, the ultimate embodiment of the suburban family vehicle, ever be considered cool?
Didn’t you hear? According to some car makers (rhymes with Schmoyota) we need a little swag-guh put back into our wagon-layden suburban driveways.
Me, I’d settle for a quick resurfacing, or a little less snow.
Whassup with all the labels…can’t mom and dad just live and let drive…um…whatever the heck you want?
Everything ends up smelling like sour feet, anyway.
As a longtime 7-passenger vehicle enthusiast (i.e. co-owner of our kids’ personal taxi service) I really never understood all the rage against the minivan.
Until, this morning.
“Holy crap!”
10 days post Snowmaggedon and the secondary roads here in Jersey are still cruddy (3 feet make for a lot of snow) to the point where you can’t fit 2 minivans on the same street, at 1 time.
“Move over, you stupid Land Rover!”
So, I’m playing chicken with my neighbors getting kids to (and from) school.
“They’re not stopping, Mommy!!!”
Aaaand I feel forced to pullover, once more, and make room for folks driving their flashier cars and not so much because I am passive aggressive like that.
[waves]
“You’re welcome!”
You could say I’m also teaching my children that, no matter the situation, or the type of car you drive, you CAN be the bigger person, right?
“But, she didn’t say thank you, Mommy?”
Then again, there is a reason why I chose Bertha (she’s my car) in a lovely shade of suburban assault.
“That’s okay, maybe next time…we won’t be so nice!”
She’ll have to try and pass me, after school.
[pats dashboard]
“Right, Bertha!”
Why, yes, I’ve always named my cars and, honestly, would you mess with a woman named Bertha?
The kids tag-teamed being sick over holiday break and, at last count, it was my youngest daughter’s turn…shhhh, but don’t tell her, okay?
Oh, not to worry, weexperienced bright and shiny non-crud-filled moments, together, too.
Like, during our annual New Year’s Eve movie marathon, we watched Fiddler on the Roof and one of our (okay, my) ALL time favorite musicals, ever, The Sound of Music.
That’s a combined total of 355 minutes (or, 5.916666667 hours) of unadulterated, pure as alpine mountain air, nerdy nirvana and, well, yes, we are THAT family of geeky Broadway buffs blurting out lines from old show tunes at the dining room table.
Wanna come for dinner? No problem. Dress casual. Bring a face mask.
Aaaaand, for your musical pleasure, here’s a little something, just for you, with slightly adjusted verbage, to compliment the suckage:
Yes, we’re barely alive with the help of Mucinex With muck we have flung for like a thousand years The crud fills their lungs with the sound of mucus My heart feels like it’s gonna drown with every cough it hears
It makes me want to beat the creeping crud out of them just from total lack of sleep I just want them to breath (dammit!) makes parent teacher conferences seem like a breeze
To cough so hard it makes them trip and fall god I hate that their feeling this way To cough through the night and sleepwalk through the rest of the day
I go to the pills when my heart feels all achy I know I will hear what I’ve heard before Their lungs will be blessed with the sound of Mucinex And I’ll sleep once more
Dinner’s at 6-ish, you’re welcome!!!
[This is an unpaid, unsponsored and undoubtedly the dorkiest post I’ve written in, well, what day is it? Aaaaaanyway, just be glad I didn’t post the video I made of myself, you know, singing it, stupid sleep deprivation.]
“There’s something about growing up in New Jersey that prepares you for whatever you might encounter around the world. We’re not afraid to go places.”
Having lived in Jersey, all my life, I feel it safe to say, “What she said!!!”
Contrary to what many other people may think (about people from Jersey) specifically, about moms like me…ahem…we really do know how to use our words and, although we tend to speak with our hands, some of us more than others…ahem…Jersey Girls know how to use their inside voices, too.
[sound of crickets, chirping]
Unless, you’ve had someone home, sick, since Christmas Eve and then get dumped on by 3 feet of snow (a.k.a. Snowmaggedon) causing you to convince a typically understanding 15 year-old (note: she was the one sick on Christmas) that…YES!!!…celebrating unbirthdays is waaaay cool (IS SO!) oh, and that shopping for last minute New Year’s Eve snackage is awesome AND fun (see previous parenthesis) then, some unfortunate a$$hat decides to take your parking space.
[inhales]
You know, the one you’ve been patiently waiting on for the last eleventy hours.
“ARE YOU FRICKIN’ KIDDING ME!”
[puts car in park, rolls up sleeves, swallows gum]
“What are *bleep*ing blind, can’t you see me *bleep*ing waiting ovuh-heh?”
[inhales]
“Yah, well, a very Happy *Bleep*ing New Year, to you, too, you morrrrrrr-RON!”
Aaaand, this is about the time I remembered that, you know, my 15 year-old was still in the car and, judging by the look on her face, I just earned myself another reason why I won’t be accepting Mother of the Year, again, or anytime soon, for that matter.
[rolls window down]
“Yeah, what SHE said!”
Then again, looking on the bright side, my kids are getting older and, well, worst case, they won’t be afraid to call out bad behavior when the see it.
[rolls window up]
“Um…what the heck is an A$$hat?”
Aaaand they seem to be able to show much more restraint than, you know, their mother, already.
“Someone who says or does something, stupid, without thinking.”
On the other hand, the lesson would have been MUCH MORE effective if, you know, I had thought to roll the window down…first.
By now, you’ve been marked on the measuring wall, had your birthday hunt and opened your gift (you’re welcome!) and I really do hope that you’re not too disappointed.
Don’t worry. I understand. Even if you swore a thousand and one times on your beloved great-grandmother’s grave (who loved you very much, too and is probably watching, right now, so I better be REAL careful about what I say next) birthdays SHOULD be coveted and a time when selflessness is, more often than not, overlooked.
Unless, you live in our house…your birthday falls SMACK in the middle of cold and flu season…it snowed about two-gazillion feet and you’re STILL digging out (DAMMIT!) or, in this case, ALL of the above (see previous parenthesis!) aaaand, your birthday sleepover (a.k.a. slumberless) party has been postponed (again) until maybe, um, next year?
“How about if I pencil you in for this Thursday?”
It’s times like these when I begin to believe that wishing on sunshine and rainbows is highly overrated.
“That’s okay, Momma, I understand.”
As I watch you, right now, whille we take advantage of a delayed opening at dad’s office (YAY!) and enjoy an impromptu breakfast celebration (i.e. just happened to have eggs, milk AND enough flour) chowing down on his scrumpdeliumptious crepes and finding contentment with where you are, right now.
“For some reason, these taste really, really good today, dad!”
It’s only then do I realize the warm streams of light that begin to float through our dining room window and find absolute joy in being able to see our spit in the sunshine.
“Wait, let me try!”
Still, I can’t help but agree with your father and his gosh-darned New England sensibility (sort of!)
“You guys are really just too much!”
Because, these are the times, when I truly believe, with all my heart, there is NO such thing as too much gift.
“Ready, together now!”
Happy Birthday, BeeBop!!!
“We’re spittin’ on sunshine, WHOOAH!”
Once again, you’ve proved yourself WAY too much gift, for me — but, I love, LOve, LOVe, oh my gosh, I absolutely freakin’ LOVE you — I’m keeping you, anyway.
