As we were cruising down our street, and about to pull into the driveway, Bella spotted our neighbor walking with his toddler son right before an imminent downpour. The wee lad wobbled in his rain boots and slicker, while Daddy matched him step by step, clutching an umbrella.
"Oh," Bella cooed, "I just love watching him with his son. He's just so sweet with him." Long pause, followed by a direct and purposeful stare my way, "NO offense, to YOU, Mom."
"What?" I asked bewildered, "I'm not sweet with you guys?"
"Actually, you can be quite scary at times," Bella said.
Touche.
There are moments when I actually order these children that I've done birthed and raised, to organize their rooms. This daunting task usually requires the dumping of several drawers, containers, and boxes onto the floor and sorting through...well, piles and piles of shit.
The typical response from the girls resembles a moaning sort of wail, "Mom, do we have to do this right NOW? I'm exhaaaausted."
This is my cue to plop myself on the bed, with a bottle of wine and a tumbler, and respond in a loud and booming voice, "YES. Make 3 piles: KEEP, DONATE, and TRASH."
My friends have started giving the twins all of their cute Gap, Old Navy, Abercrombie, hand-me-downs. Because they are the same SIZE. Because that's what happens when you're daughters are 5'7 and a solid 120 lbs. I am so screwed. Everyday, I pray those little boobies, stay just that...little.
Which brings me to my point. Abby pulled on a camisole cotton PJ top, looked down with disappointment at her chest, and said in exasperation at the bunched up material,
"Well, they are sort of expecting A LOT here!!!"
I swear, not a day goes by, when these kiddos don't make me laugh out loud.
My Foxy Mama came down for a visit a few weeks ago, over St.Patrick's Day weekend. Sundays represent Family Day in Walsh Land. Tom and I usually just chill, drink coffee, move in slow motion, and decide what "special benchure" we will have that day. (That's Charlotte speak).
It was clear on this Irish drinking holiday, we needed to make a decision: Embark on a Pub Crawl with the girls and teach them young, or hit Natural Bridges in Santa Cruz.
Every year, I mark the calendar to see the Monarchs at Natural Bridges. And every f'ing year, without epic fail, I miss them. There's like this window of "Monarch time" and you must be some sort of "Monarch Whisperer" to view them.
Most years, they will take flight and be on their very Monarch way in March. You want to know when they left this year?! JANUARY!!! I never even stood a chance. CURSE YOU, MONARCHS!
But we decided we would take a little walk to the Lighthouse, and back. It was a picture perfect day. I mean, one of those days where the sun hits your face, warms you up, and you feel like it's the first time you've breathed deep in awhile.
It was also a day where the girls discovered their first naked man sunning himself. As Bella and Emma, walked towards the edge to look out at the ocean, they mumbled, "Is that? Ewww, is that?" Now the dialogue had become an astonished yell of disbelief, "Oh my gosh MOM, it's a NAKED MAN!"
Life's little lessons: aren't they sweet?
Tom decided to take the big girls down towards the tide pools, while Nana and I ventured on the path, with Charlotte parked in the stroller, and Bo walking alongside of us. Finally, we arrived at a dog friendly beach. Mom decided to rest up top, as my dog, my toddler and myself made our way to the ocean. I swear, between keeping Charlotte from swimming across the Pacific, and Bo from ripping my arm out of its socket from the leash , it was a good time.
The trip ended with a trip to Safeway to grab some ice-cream sandwiches. I was like the ONLY person in line buying food. Everyone else was holding a case of Guinness. A fleeting thought crossed my mind: it's not too late for the Pub Crawl. Alas, we made our way home.
But I made up for lost time at the annual Booksin Bulldog Ball: a fundraiser for the girl's school, where lots of normally well-behaved adults, drink too much, make poor decisions, and generally are left the next day feeling complete and utterly hung over. Oh wait... maybe that was just me.
It's a rare occasion that Tom and I actually get a lil gussied up, and go out. So when we do, we are sort of on a mission to have a REALLY excellent time. And you know what? Most of those nights end with Tom hanging out bonding with the dudes, and me thinking that I can actually dance.
After hobbling around like an elderly woman for two days after this event, I asked my dear friend, "What did I DO out on the dance floor?"
Spot on she answered, "Well, you pretty much did a squat/lunge work out for 2 hours straight. It was fun to watch."
Often times, after I've had a little wine, (perhaps a bottle or more), I like to ride bikes. It doesn't matter where Tom and I find ourselves: at a backyard BBQ, at a concert walking back to the car, between bars on our Pub Crawl...it never fails. I see the bike, and accost some nice, but frightened passerby with my ginormous stature, and they just like hand their bike over. I believe these nice folks, just want to appease me, and hope I'll shut up if they let me ride their bike.
I know, I know, you're saying, "Gee that's certainly not safe." Or maybe you're saying, "Poor Tom." Or you may even be saying, "How are you, Michelle, going to manage finding a bike at the Booksin Ball?"
Well ALL BE - when what to my mighty eyes did appear, but a souped up cruiser, being raffled off, with fenders on the rear? Can you believe it? I mean, how could this night get any better? Well, with me hopping on the handlebars in my very short skirt and stilettos, and ordering our very nice friend, who shall remain anonymous, to "RIDE!!!"
Poor guy. Seriously, I don't think he even saw me coming. But then again, it's not like I am a tiny leprechaun-type. When he didn't move, most likely, because I matched him pound per pound, I dismounted. He stood up, and I got on the seat. By this time, people were taking pictures.
When Tom and I were re-united shortly thereafter, the first thing he says, "I saw some pictures of you. You found a bike, huh?"
"Yep, I sure did."
"That's my girl,"
I love my crazy, simple, lovely little life. Thanks for being a part of it.
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
The Blue Hairs
As I was scrambling to clear the breakfast dishes, in order to get out the door on time, I said, "Hurry Cosette, you need to get your things for school, and hop into the truck with Daddy. I'm going to church."
She stopped dead in her tracks, looked at my directly, and replied, "Well, that's RARE."
I love it when my kids totally call me out.
Catholicism and I have such a twisted relationship. It is and always be home to me in so many ways. I dig the JC, and feel kindred with the Mother Mary. When I am exhausted at the end of the day, and saying prayers with the girls, I love how I can just mindlessly recite the Our Father, or the Hail Mary.
And yet, by the same token, in so many ways, I fight this religion tooth and nail, questioning EVERYthing. Sunday is FAMILY day, and I don't really want to go to church. Besides, I feel closest to God when I'm outside hiking, or running, or drinking wine. And this whole reconciliation thing: REALLY? Come on. Can't I just go directly to the source, and ask for forgiveness? Like, why do we have to have a Menage a Trois, with the priest?
You know who attends Mass religiously (no pun intended), smack dab in the middle of the week at 8 AM? Yeah, well neither did I until a few days ago: OLD people. Retired folks. Blue hairs. Single oldies and couple oldies. Nun oldies. Shawl wearing oldies. Trouser donning oldies. Not many people under the age of 70 were in attendance: unless you count me, and like one other dude, who was pushing 60.
There are some definite perks to attending at this time:
1) You are IN and OUT, having the body and the blood of the Son of God, in 30 minutes, flat. Yep, you read that right. No singing and going on and on like on Sunday. No "Lean to the left, Lean to the right, Stand up, Sit down, Fight, Fight Fight!" for 60 minutes. Mass during the week is extremely efficient.
And 2) While sharing the sign of Peace, the oldies don't even move from their spot to shake your hand. They just sorta make minimal eye contact, nod, and like wave at you, while whispering "Peace". I mean, I don't even have to move; this is a definite plus at 8 AM, I must say.
Let me explain by stating that I have felt off kilter for awhile. I have been hearing the call to return. Perhaps it's because in the past year, a few really shitty things have happened: my Foxy mama was diagnosed with Lung Cancer. After enduring 4 aggressive rounds of Chemo, and 1 extremely invasive surgery in which part of her lung was removed, the fucking Cancer came back. Can you believe that Mother Fucker, Cancer?
Right after this, I discovered more disheartening news. Do you have a friend who just always has your back? No matter what you were doing - legal, illegal, this person would be right there by your side, convincing the judge that you were both innocent? Well, my very good and loyal friend, who fits this description, and happens to be only FORTY years old, and happily married with 2 small kiddos, was diagnosed with Breast Cancer. Shortly after that, my other girlfriend got news while standing in my kitchen on a Friday night, HER Mama had Lung Cancer. WTF????
All of this news had left me feeling, hopeless, anxious, frustrated, and sad.
I've been threatening for awhile now that I'm going to write a book titled "Fuck Cancer" You open it, and the next page would read, The End.
So, there I was struggling, questioning, exhausted...I decided it was time to go back to church. That this thing, called "life" and all that goes with it, was just too much for me to bear.
I'm a pretty positive person, but I had gotten down. Like enough, to realize that I may be headed towards depression. Like, very close to calling my doc, and asking for the med hook up. Half of my family is medicated already, so what's one more, right?
I made a few vows to myself to try to turn it around:
1. Be honest with myself and Tom about my feelings.
2. Take care of myself by eating healthy, drinking moderately, getting 7-8 hours of sleep each night, taking my vitamins, and moving my body in some way, shape, or form at least 5-6 days of the week.
3. Giving up negative self talk.
4. Going to Mass with the oldies if I can swing it during the week. Not because I "should", but because I want to, to pray for Foxy, and my girlfriend. And pray for my Dad and my brothers and their families. Pray that we will endure what is coming next with patience and acceptance. Pray for my girls and Tom, that they accept and understand Mama is just a little lost, right now.
Last Friday, after Mass ended, we waited for the Father to walk out. That never happened; I'm not sure if he used a secret trap door to escape, or what, but he never walked down the aisle. And if you're Catholic, you know that you wait for the Priest to exit out of respect, and leave after him. So there I was, kind of waiting, when this group of about 15 die hard oldies, start praying the Rosary aloud.
There I was: caught with the oldies talking to Mary and such. "I can't get up and leave NOW. That would be awkward," I thought to myself. But let me tell you, after 30 more minutes of prayer, I was thinking, Mary would totally be down with me leaving and going for my run.
So I did. It was a beautiful day that the Lord hath made. He was telling me, "Michelle, rejoice and exercise!"
She stopped dead in her tracks, looked at my directly, and replied, "Well, that's RARE."
I love it when my kids totally call me out.
Catholicism and I have such a twisted relationship. It is and always be home to me in so many ways. I dig the JC, and feel kindred with the Mother Mary. When I am exhausted at the end of the day, and saying prayers with the girls, I love how I can just mindlessly recite the Our Father, or the Hail Mary.
And yet, by the same token, in so many ways, I fight this religion tooth and nail, questioning EVERYthing. Sunday is FAMILY day, and I don't really want to go to church. Besides, I feel closest to God when I'm outside hiking, or running, or drinking wine. And this whole reconciliation thing: REALLY? Come on. Can't I just go directly to the source, and ask for forgiveness? Like, why do we have to have a Menage a Trois, with the priest?
You know who attends Mass religiously (no pun intended), smack dab in the middle of the week at 8 AM? Yeah, well neither did I until a few days ago: OLD people. Retired folks. Blue hairs. Single oldies and couple oldies. Nun oldies. Shawl wearing oldies. Trouser donning oldies. Not many people under the age of 70 were in attendance: unless you count me, and like one other dude, who was pushing 60.
There are some definite perks to attending at this time:
1) You are IN and OUT, having the body and the blood of the Son of God, in 30 minutes, flat. Yep, you read that right. No singing and going on and on like on Sunday. No "Lean to the left, Lean to the right, Stand up, Sit down, Fight, Fight Fight!" for 60 minutes. Mass during the week is extremely efficient.
And 2) While sharing the sign of Peace, the oldies don't even move from their spot to shake your hand. They just sorta make minimal eye contact, nod, and like wave at you, while whispering "Peace". I mean, I don't even have to move; this is a definite plus at 8 AM, I must say.
Let me explain by stating that I have felt off kilter for awhile. I have been hearing the call to return. Perhaps it's because in the past year, a few really shitty things have happened: my Foxy mama was diagnosed with Lung Cancer. After enduring 4 aggressive rounds of Chemo, and 1 extremely invasive surgery in which part of her lung was removed, the fucking Cancer came back. Can you believe that Mother Fucker, Cancer?
Right after this, I discovered more disheartening news. Do you have a friend who just always has your back? No matter what you were doing - legal, illegal, this person would be right there by your side, convincing the judge that you were both innocent? Well, my very good and loyal friend, who fits this description, and happens to be only FORTY years old, and happily married with 2 small kiddos, was diagnosed with Breast Cancer. Shortly after that, my other girlfriend got news while standing in my kitchen on a Friday night, HER Mama had Lung Cancer. WTF????
All of this news had left me feeling, hopeless, anxious, frustrated, and sad.
I've been threatening for awhile now that I'm going to write a book titled "Fuck Cancer" You open it, and the next page would read, The End.
So, there I was struggling, questioning, exhausted...I decided it was time to go back to church. That this thing, called "life" and all that goes with it, was just too much for me to bear.
I'm a pretty positive person, but I had gotten down. Like enough, to realize that I may be headed towards depression. Like, very close to calling my doc, and asking for the med hook up. Half of my family is medicated already, so what's one more, right?
I made a few vows to myself to try to turn it around:
1. Be honest with myself and Tom about my feelings.
2. Take care of myself by eating healthy, drinking moderately, getting 7-8 hours of sleep each night, taking my vitamins, and moving my body in some way, shape, or form at least 5-6 days of the week.
3. Giving up negative self talk.
4. Going to Mass with the oldies if I can swing it during the week. Not because I "should", but because I want to, to pray for Foxy, and my girlfriend. And pray for my Dad and my brothers and their families. Pray that we will endure what is coming next with patience and acceptance. Pray for my girls and Tom, that they accept and understand Mama is just a little lost, right now.
Last Friday, after Mass ended, we waited for the Father to walk out. That never happened; I'm not sure if he used a secret trap door to escape, or what, but he never walked down the aisle. And if you're Catholic, you know that you wait for the Priest to exit out of respect, and leave after him. So there I was, kind of waiting, when this group of about 15 die hard oldies, start praying the Rosary aloud.
There I was: caught with the oldies talking to Mary and such. "I can't get up and leave NOW. That would be awkward," I thought to myself. But let me tell you, after 30 more minutes of prayer, I was thinking, Mary would totally be down with me leaving and going for my run.
So I did. It was a beautiful day that the Lord hath made. He was telling me, "Michelle, rejoice and exercise!"
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