girls

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Relationships

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Back when I met Rudy, in the early 80’s, it was simply a happenstance. A moment in time where we both were in the same place, at the same time. Nothing planned, just what many may define as meant to be. And to confirm that belief, all I can say is that we met at a tupperware party. Generally, a party for women. Women who’d sit around, socialize, and admire all the sturdy plastic food-saver containers.

At that point in my life, I was still living at home and had no need for such well-made items but I did want to hang out with my good friend who was the invitee to the party. Rudy, on the other hand, and a friend, were asked by the friend’s sister if they’d like to go to a party. Just that, a party. Not, you know, Par-tay! But he misunderstood. “Sure,” Rudy said, imagining all the crazy-dance-like-there’s-no-tomorrow-let’s-have-another-drink fun that’d be happening.

And, the rest is history, so says just about everyone.

Flash forward to 2016.

A conversation ensued with my son, him claiming it’s so difficult to meet anyone, anywhere.

“Not so,” I responded.

“Oh, Mom, I know, I know, you and Dad have the story of the century. You met, you dated, fell in love, married… blah, blah, blah.”

“I’m just saying that it does happen as simple as that.”

“Not these days. That’s why people are always searching on sites for dating, looking for compatibility and companionship because it isn’t simple.”

Sigh.

Later, I noticed his focus was solely on his phone. He laughed, said things like “Holy Shit!”, and seemed to be texting, whoever.

And it dawned on me, right then and there. The reason this new generation is having such a hard time meeting each other is that their faces are always in their phones. I see it all the time, everywhere. Two friends sitting next to each other, texting instead of talking. A girl not realizing a guy is smiling at her, a guy who could have been her future mate. Two people, on vacation, not truly enjoying the view because they’re searching for the perfect picture to share with their followers. Because, you know, a picture is worth a thousand words. And a conversation is well, just that, a conversation.

All I’ve got to say about relationship building is Drop the phone, people, Drop the phone.

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Watch This. Listen, too.

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I seriously love to people-watch. I am enthralled with the social aspect of human nature.

Every avenue of relationships pique my interest. I am oh-so curious how people, all kinds of people, everywhere, all over the place, in various situations react to this, that, and the other.

I like to dig deep into what is happening, simply by watching. Watching. Watching. Watching. And listening. Trying to decipher what is really going on. Deep. Down. Below. The. Surface.

I wonder, quite often, what would I do without people. People all around. People adding a dimension to my life that deepens my feelings toward the world at large.

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Be True to Yourself

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I get it, I do. In this day and age, in order to be considered cool, you need to be hip with what’s going on around you, and even more so, follow the trends out there. Whatever they are.

Just be careful, though, that the outside appearance you possess doesn’t interfere with your inner true self. The uniqueness you possess. The confidence you behold. The curiosity you cause.

Always maintain who you truly are. An original you. Possessing a demeanor that’s very personal, and uniquely yours. Living your life, finding your dreams, and feeling your happiness.

Recently, I listened to someone talk about how original they are, how no one is like them. Later, I logged onto Instagram™ only to be bombarded by photos depicting the same originality, claiming that no one is like them (either). They all looked the same. So cool. So hip. So like the latest trend.

Well, I can only hope that they each think, and feel, as individuals, true in their own thoughts, pursuing a life as individual as they are.

Yet.

It is what it is. I understand. We all want to fit in. Know what’s what. Participate in life, similarly to everyone else. Feel part of the crowd.

Be careful, though, because that’s where your true self can get lost. Lost in the crowd. You are no longer unique, but rather you’ve become just like everyone.

Unless. You uphold the value of Be True to Yourself. Then. That’s when. You will truly feel fulfilled.

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“come on people now, smile on your brother, everybody get together, try to love one another right now”

Rock Band "Youngbloods"When the kids were younger, and for whatever reason, when some kind of disagreement pursued between them, or I was trying to explain the beauty of accepting others for who they are, I’d sing, a small portion of the Youngblood’s song Get Together,  “Come on people now, smile on your brother, everybody get together, try to love one another right now”. At some point one of the kids, probably Liz, asked if I had made the song up. “Of course!” I responded, as I continued to sing the same words over and over. And because they were young, they thought it was so cool, not really thinking about the fact I never sang any other words aside from the eighteen I repeated over and over until I had had enough.

I love those words, the combination of them. They tell a lot, say so much in such a small bundle of feelings. Truly, everybody, let’s do it, let’s get together, and love one another. Why not? It couldn’t hurt and I bet good things will come of it. Am I right? I’m right.

As the kids got a bit older, and I was, once again, singing, loud, proud, and feel-good happy both Liz and Roberto looked at me. And smiled. One of them, probably Roberto, agreed by Liz, said, “Mom. You are talented. That song is so good!” I laughed, said “Thanks,” and wanted to fall into the tune, to feel the peacefulness of it, but I couldn’t, not yet, not until I told them the truth.

“Okay. I have to be straight-up with you. Because, after-all, I am building trusting, honest relationships with you…..” I rambled on.

They stared at me. Confused. And Brad? Well, he was sitting in the back, tucked into his wee carseat, oblivious to our conversation.

“I didn’t make the song up. It’s not mine. I just love it so.” I smirked. They laughed.

“Oh, wow! I wondered how you could make up something so cool,” Liz admonished. She did a belly-roll, laughing until her sides hurt.

“Come on people now, smile on your brother, everybody get together, try to love one another right now” Roberto sang, in-between spurts of laughter.

That was a simple moment in our life, a building of community and genuine good will. A moment that set the standard for the beliefs that we have always held dear. Smile on your brother. Get together. Love one another. Right now.

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#instyle

SAMSUNG DIGITAL CAMERAHave you ever wondered where you get your sense of style from and why you choose to dress the way you do? As of today, after reading a piece – Women & Clothes. Discuss. – in September’s issue of Glamour, I found myself considering my own personal style.

Suddenly my thoughts raced back in time.

In my mind’s image, I see four young kids. Me, the only girl, and three of my brothers, two older and one younger, looking like quadruplets. Each of us had some version of long, blond hair, angular faces and blue eyes. But the best part of that image is that the four of us were wearing blue jeans and white t-shirts.

As that youthful tomboy, I wasn’t thinking about style. I just wanted something to wear that was functional while I crawled in the dirt, navigating my way through nature-made tunnels in the local park. Or, when, on hot summer days, I’d drop down onto my hands and knees, dirtying my clothes, when inspecting trapdoor spiders.

Without realizing it then or for many years thereafter, it was those no-nonsense blue jean days that had determined the way I choose to dress.

When I became a mom and started dressing Liz, my daughter, I began incorporating the concept of layering cotton shirts and blouses, not only for her, but for myself also, giving our outfits a more creative look. While she was dressed up in layers of colorful concoctions mixed with her personal style of pretty headbands and interesting necklaces, I preferred, and still do, simple layering of two or three different pieces of clothing over my jeans. Different colors. Different prints. As Liz grew, adapting her own style, she too maintained the layered look, only she preferred to add a touch of interest by using unique accessories and standout stylish shoes.

The clothing I wear, the clothing we all wear, tells our story. Mine is that I am a simple person, a person who lives one day at a time, not taking anything for granted, instead living, as best as I can, a positive, carefree, no-nonsense life style.

And so it is, today, the here and now, that when asked where I get my style from, not only does it come from my youth, being a tomboy, from the simplistic look of jeans and a t-shirt, but I also look to Liz, who has perfected a style that I adore, a style that is all the rage, a style I will continue to wear regardless of a season’s must-do, or don’t.

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I’m an Introvert.

IMG_5263There’s an article going around on Facebook, you know the kind that always have a number in the title, like this one, 23 Signs You’re Secretly An Introvert by Carolyn Gregoire | The Huffington Post.

Well now, I zoomed right in, only to confirm what I already knew. I’m an introvert. And it’s no secret, unless of course you don’t know me, then well, maybe it is a secret, by default.

The article basically explains to the reader how to spot an introvert, that they aren’t always so obvious, and it even goes on to say how an introvert may not know they are indeed introverted. So here I sit, wondering, How is it that someone who’s shy, or withdrawn, or engaging with an inner hidden feeling of anxiety due to socializing, doesn’t know they are an introvert? I am guessing here, that the first ones to read such an article do so because it relates to them. Meaning, an introvert reads this article because it’s fun to read what they already know. Everyone enjoys things that pertain to them, personally. Right?

I’ve known forever, or at least as long as I began socializing, that I am an introvert. In my younger years, I was very uncomfortable with the prospect of being in situations with groups of people. Rather than engaging, I stood back worrying what everyone else was thinking and anxious about joining in. But as the years have passed, and though I still consider myself drawn-in, I socialize, hold conversations, and am overall content around others. Yet, rather than trying to be a person I’m not, someone others would probably feel more comfortable around, I have embraced my listening skills, rather than trying to overuse my voice. I now understand it’s okay to speak when I feel like it, rather than talking because others expect me to.

As a child, almost all my teachers told my parents I was too quiet, that I needed to participate more (that’s probably when I began to feel I wasn’t as awesome as everyone else seemed to be). And because of that, as a teacher of young kids, I never tell a student he or she needs to ‘come out of their shell’. They will discover their own voice, in their own time.

I remember being invited to a birthday party when I was about 10 years old. It was a sleep over, my first. And even though it should have been an exciting time, it actually brought out a tremendous amount of anxiety. Having to socialize and talk nonstop, tell secrets and giggle, was way too difficult for me. I never wanted to participate in that kind of gathering again. And I don’t think I ever did. Now, take me back to that time, but with the grown-up me, the person who now understands who I am, what I have to offer. I would have made the most of being an emotionally in-tune person. Also, time and again, it seems so many people are striving for what I, and many introverts, possess. Simply, quiet calmness. Someone who is balanced. A person who can interact with others when deemed necessary, even if it’s not always easy, but who is also comfortable being alone.

I suppose the article is simply bringing an introverts traits into the limelight, to our attention, so that we – well, not me – can be sure to understand the personalities of the quiet, or not so quiet, ones; the obvious introverts and the hidden kind, and make sure they are not overlooked but rather included, graciously.

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i’m the mother of a jerk!

IMG_0926one day my teenage son walked into my bedroom, and stated,

oh geez, mom. this girl is planning on asking me to a dance. but the thing is, she’s not my type, not someone i want to go with. so i have this plan. when she asks me during class, or wherever we are, surrounded by a ton of people I will say yes!

yes? i wonder.

yes, yes. but then when we are somewhere else, when no one else is around i will tell her no.

no? i say a bit too loud.

yes, no. he claims.

i stare at him. i don’t get it.

mom, it’s like this. I don’t want her to feel embarrassed by me saying no in front of everyone (‘ah, how sweet’, i think) but, I don’t want to go with her, so i will tell her the truth afterwards.

seriously?

it’s good, mom. it’s good.

you’d be a jerk! i say in defense of all girls being treating badly by dumb boys.

huh? no. no mom, no. he laughs. you see i have no idea when she might ask. she might even have it announced over the intercom, and you know, i want to look like a good guy, but then, well, i don’t want to go, so i will be nice about it when i tell her forget it. i’ll be kind. i’ll even smile, let her know it’s okay, that i am doing her a favor.

oh! my! god! i scream, even though my mother told me to never take God’s name in vain.

he laughs.

i try to explain how unreasonable, how jerky, how rude! his idea is.

it’ll be okay mom. trust me. she’ll be fine.

he saunters, nonchalantly out of my bedroom.

you’re a jerk! i yell after him, knowing he knows i’m a good mom, a responsible mom, and that sometimes words fly out without much effort.

he laughs.

i love you, too, mom, he shouts back.

not two minutes pass when he walks back into my room.

he’s laughing, jovially.

she just tweeted me, he begins. she straight out told me not to believe anything i’ve heard. she has no plans to ask me to the dance.

thank goodness, i say. so glad she won’t have to deal with your jerkiness, i add.

ah, mom, you’re funny.

funny or not, i realize that somewhere down the line, when teaching my son about being a good, honest person, and the importance of treating others with respect, he twisted it, most likely without intent, and assumed it was okay to do the wrong thing to make something right.

sigh.

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Liar, Liar

girl_boy talkingThey’re sitting around a large, rectangular, standard issue, classroom table, doing work, and chatting. Well, one girl was chatting chatting chatting. Nonstop. She’s telling the story about an accident her mom was involved in. A serious one. I mean, seriously, this girl went on and on and on about how one car crashed into the rear of another car, which caused that car to crash into the next car’s rear-end, and it just continued. A domino effect. Collide collide collide. Somewhere in this story one of those car flipped, “like five times,” she said. Flip flip flip.

Someone asked if her mom was okay and the girl just kept chatting, stating that her mom was fine. That she had just a little bump. On her forehead. Right there, right above her left eyebrow. One kid, a boy who seemed to be deep in thought, stopped her mid-sentence. Looked at her with contemplation. His lips gently pinched, and his eyes narrowed. Squinted, full of doubt. He casually claimed that she was lying. And she responded that she was not.

“I mean, really?” he began. “That many cars crashed into one another, and one kept flipping? It’d be all over the news,” he pressed.

The girl went on to say that yes indeed it did happen, and that she didn’t know why it wasn’t on the news. But the boy challenged her, brought up an old story from a previous time.

“Last year you told me your brother’s super strong tooth, the one that could chomp through anything, took a bite out of a brick building. That the whole thing fell down.” Crumbled to the ground. Crumble crumble crumble.

She went on and on, saying it was all true, that it all really happened, but the boy just looked at her, and he had only one more thing to say.

“Liar,” he told her.

“Liar,” someone else added.

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Will the REAL Santa please stand up?

“What are you looking at?” Rudy asked her angrily. He was in a mood. And not a good one.

Elizabeth continued to look at him. Her mouth hung open. She said not a word in answer to what seemed a ridiculous question.

Ten minutes before Rudy’s interruption, Elizabeth held up a receipt she had found while milling in my things. “Aren’t these the toys I got for Christmas? And Roberto’s, too?” she inquired.

She was 5 years old. And wise beyond her years.

Uh oh I thought.

“Um. Well,” I tried. “It’s just that it looks like everything we got.” Elizabeth had a knack for decoding and understanding written language. “Is DAD Santa?” she asked. She just wanted an honest answer. “Well,” I attempted again. I knew the value of telling the truth. I hated to take the magic away from her, but I also knew she trusted me to be honest with her. “Yes. Dad is Santa. We bought, wrapped, and surprised you and Roberto with your Christmas gifts.”

That’s when Rudy forced the bedroom door open. His angry face was nowhere near the image of white bearded Santa. He stormed back out. Elizabeth’s mouth continued to hang open.

I hugged her small frame.

A piece of innocence lost. For a little girl.

Roberto hung on to Santa until he was 10 years old. He refused to believe the other kids at school claiming, “Santa is fake!”. Roberto just knew Santa was real. There was no way he wasn’t. Yet, the more he heard kids shouting “fake!” the more he wondered if they were right and he was wrong.

“Mom, is Santa real?” he asked me one day. “What do you think?” I quizzed. “I still believe he is real, but a lot of kids are saying he’s not.” “Follow your heart,” I encouraged him.

Days, weeks, or months later, the kids and I were at the mall. Shopping for nothing in particular. Just an average day. Probably a day in the spring. “Humph. I didn’t get the makeup I wanted from the Easter Bunny,” Elizabeth began. “Well, I didn’t have time…. I mean, the Easter Bunny didn’t – ,” I started, trying to cover my mistake. “What!” Roberto yelled. “I knew it! There is no Santa, or the Easter Bunny, or even the Tooth-Fairy, is there?”

An open conversation ensued as we continued to walk around the mall. Like Elizabeth, Roberto appreciated being told the truth.

Another piece of innocence lost. For the middle child. Our oldest boy.

Years later, as I was relaxing reading on the bed in my room, Bradford slowly walked in. He was 6 or 7 years old.

“Mom, just tell me the truth. Don’t lie to me. Is Santa Claus real?” He was looking down at his hands, wringing them together. “You sure you want to know?” I asked, knowing he already knew the answer.

He looked at me. A single tear rolled down his cheek. “Yes. I want to know.” “Santa is not real. He is the spirit of Christmas. The magic,” I said. I didn’t want him to lose the joy of the holiday. The excitement.

He ran out of my room, back to his own room. To cry. To let the tears wash away his sadness. Not long after, he ran back into my room, plopped his upper body onto my bed, legs dangling off the edge, and looked directly into my eyes. “Does that mean the Easter Bunny isn’t real either?!”

“Yeah, sorry. Not real,” is all I could think to say.

“Elizabeth and Roberto know?” he questioned. “Yep. They didn’t want to spoil it for you. Wanted you to enjoy the idea,” I told him. “So, now I will have to keep it a secret? So little kids can still have fun,” he quietly mumbled. “Uh huh,” I answered, knowing he didn’t want to be treated like a baby.

A piece of innocence lost. For the last child in our family.

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cat moves

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Skyler.

On the porch. With me. In the early morning. Eating. Off a porcelain tea saucer. I pet her. Her tail responds. Stands straight up. Her back arches. Eyes close. Chin juts out. Quietly. I open the front door. She glides inside. Runs down the hall. Looking for solace. Yet. Suddenly. Hesitantly. She stops. Mid-step. Hears a noise. Feels frightened. Until she hears my voice. My trusting voice. She relaxes. When she hears my cooing. That’s when she knows she’s truly safe.

Skyler.

Looks at me.  Stares at me. Trusts me. Connects with me. She wraps her body around my ankles. While a soft meow escapes her. She wants to stay. To cuddle. With me. Inside the house. But more than that, she wants to leave. Go back outside. Out into her world. I open the sliding door. Walk out. Into the backyard. After Skyler. That’s when I notice. She’s thinner. Still furry. But her body is smaller. She turns toward me. Looks. It seems. Deep into my soul. I sit. On the cold cement step. I hold her. Rub her face. Her eyes. Her ears. Her chin. I comfort her until she no longer wants comforting.

Skyler.

She jumps down. Out of my arms. Lies next to my feet. Meows. Lovingly. Then she’s off. Walks away. Swishing her tail. Greeting the morning’s sunrise.