Old Friends

Two weekends ago I went to St. Louis in order to attend a memorial service for the father of my oldest childhood friend Maureen. She and I have been friends since we were eight years old, when we lived on the same street and spent nearly all of our spare time at each others' houses. Naturally, we used to spend a lot of time around each others' parents, but less and less over the years as we've become adults. When I'd initially heard about Tom's death, I'd walked around feeling melancholy for a several days, but by the time of the St. Louis memorial, weeks later, I was really more focused on the chance the trip gave me to see Maureen, who lives far away in Texas now.

On the day of the memorial, my dad kept the kids for me, and I was able to meet my brother for lunch first. So pleasant was this rare child-free time with Ian that I kind of entered the church in a light mood. I saw Maureen, her husband, and her kids outside of the building as we pulled up, and actually felt excited to see the family I used to be around so often growing up. That's the irony of funerals; they're so good at bringing people together, but under circumstances nobody wants.

Walking into the church and seeing Maureen's mother sobered me right up, though. Being there, I had to confront the fact that Tom died, and that I would not see him again. And, as older-looking versions of Maureen's once-familiar relatives filed by, I also had to confront the fact that I don't really know them anymore. That, despite our occasional exchange before he handed the phone over to Maureen, I didn't really know Tom anymore, either. As people talked, I thought about how he'd held jobs I wasn't around to witness, had health problems I was only vaguely aware of, even moved to a city I've never been to in order to be closer to his daughter and grandchildren.

I started thinking about how when you've known someone for 25 years your concept of them isn't just who they are now, but who they've been throughout your whole history together. I still think of Tom, and probably always will, as a funny, athletic, boisterous man who teased us about boys (and our overly-hairsprayed bangs, for saying "like" too much between phrases, and for thinking being on the debate team made us cool). I will think of him every time I see a Diet Dr. Pepper or a Wonder Bread truck, or a picture of fireworks over the Arch. I have no idea whether Tom still loved the DDP as much at the end of his life as he did 20 years ago, but I know he hasn't delivered or sold bread for ages and did his photography in Houston these days. But when you don't see your old friends very often, they become like a legend in your head, stuck in an era that, to you, will describe them forever. When I was a kid, Tom's laugh was sometimes so loud and so sudden it would frequently startle me. I'm sad I missed my chance to hear it again.

The morning after the memorial, I did get a chance to catch up some with Maureen. I met her for brunch, along with our other close childhood friend Brittyne. We easily filled an hour and a half with updates regarding our kids, our schooling and work, how our husbands like their jobs... Maureen talked some about her parents, and then we just had time to snap a quick picture or two before it was back to our lives.


Brittyne complained before we left that we didn't have time to get to the reminiscing, the rehashing of the mutual exploits of our youth (like roller figure skating?!?). It occurred to me later that just the fact that we were there, in St. Louis alone together, was kind of reminiscent of another time, considering the seven (soon to be eight) kids between us and the fact that two of us don't live there any more. We do all have separate lives now, in different places. And, though I read Brittyne's blog and talk to Maureen on the phone every month or two, this is just frequently enough to maintain our relationships while forcing us to share only a very narrow version of what is going on in our lives. I have to admit that my perception of the two of them must also be somewhat the stuff of legend, built partially on my memory of who they were as girls. Though I do feel that they (Maureen in particular) know my core in a way that doesn't change over time, I wonder if aspects of the way they see me are somewhat dated, as well.

Despite the distance and the amount of time that has passed, I am very pleased that I can still call these two my friends. Maureen and I were "spit sisters" (too squeamish about cutting our fingers to be blood sisters) after all; if I cannot maintain a lifetime friendship oath sealed by drinking after each other, then what good is my word, really?

It's hard to describe my mood driving back to Kirksville after that weekend. I had a pretty good cold going, and was missing my husband. The kids slept in the back, and I just enjoyed the silence for most of the three-hour trip. I thought about the drive; how quickly I regain my comfort driving in the city on these trips to my hometown, how hopping from one suburb to another or one highway to another feels like an old sweater I forgot I liked. I thought about another faraway friend, Melynne, who'd kept me company on the phone when I'd been drowsy on the way to St. Louis a few days before.

Mostly, though, I felt melancholy again for a bit. I thought about how Tom was the same age as my own parents, and about how I'm now old enough to have a 25-year friendship with someone. About 30 minutes away from home I turned on the radio, and there was someone talking about Bob Dylan. The person was discussing the song A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall, which Kyle and I agree is one of Dylan's best. In high school I was obsessed with the version sung by Edie Brickell, and have grown into the original version in recent years. It's not a cheery song, but the sadness and loneliness of it matched my mood, and it was so familiar that hearing it felt like the comfort of an old friend.

Got Her Groove Back

I'm a little embarrassed to admit how much I really love Zumba at our YMCA. It seems like such a trendy, suburbanite thing of me to jump on some popular fitness craze. Yet there I am, every Tuesday and Thursday, smooshed somewhere up in the front right corner of the gym...

For those of you not familiar with Zumba, it's an exercise class that involves high-impact dancing to Latin and hip-hop music. It's kind of like difficult aerobics where the teacher doesn't call out instructions as to what's coming next. You just have to watch the instructor and catch on.

I started going this summer because my friend and fellow sorority alumna Diana was teaching, and I knew a few other people who went to her class. The dance moves she did were pretty straightforward, and I danced some back in my cheerleading days, so I caught on pretty fast. It was fun, and involved enough jumping around to be a pretty good workout, so I continued going.

In the fall the regular teacher returned with the start of the school year. She is a college student who is on one of the dance teams at Truman, and I had heard her classes were pretty intense. This turned out to be quite an understatement. Despite having done the class all late summer, the first week Claire took over I was so stiff and sore I could barely move. Really, it's basically an hour of sustained squats, lunges, and jumping, cleverly reinvented over and over with different arm movements and pelvic thrust/hip roll thingies. In Diana's class I could decide to really push myself, or to take it a little easy, but in Claire's class everything is full-out all the time. If you don't move fast and jump high you can't get most of the moves done, and if you slack on the arm movements she will tease you about it.

Here's where we get to what I really love, though: because she's young and on a college dance team all the moves Claire chooses seem to be really too difficult and way too cool for most of the people in the class. You look around, and the class is mostly moms (and even some grandmas); women in their 30's, 40's, and 50's. The parking lot's full of minivans, but inside everyone is dancing like Shakira. There is nothing patronizing or condescending about the way things are presented or taught. Both Claire and Diana basically just put on the music and start dancing, as if this is a song we've all heard a hundred times and nobody is going to have any problem picking up the material. The first time Claire put on Drop it Low and started the dance, the lady behind me said, "Oh she has GOT to be kidding," which (to be honest) was pretty close to what I was thinking. But a week later we were all not just doing it, but doing it fairly well and enjoying it.

I think there is something about being a mother that requires you to be inherently uncool. Sure, there's the spit-up smell, the reduced time for grooming, the focus on another person's defecation habits, but it's something even more than that. It's the status of it, that you're someone's MOM, for goodness sake; I know I pretty much walked out of the hospital with Daniel, donned some loafers and a cardigan sweater and that was it. Nobody expects you to know the songs being played in nightclubs or the latest Lady Gaga video. You have a child to raise now, an important job, and the soundtrack for that job is lullabies and nursery rhymes. Maybe, by the time your children reach adolescence, you can lapse into some kind of bland Top-40-adult-contemporary listening.

I've found that after a few years of youth culture treating you like you're old and boring and uninteresting, you start to feel that way a little. You can fight it as long as you're not a mom, but it becomes much more difficult after that. Having small children creates a haze of need that makes it difficult to see outside your own situation in order to participate in things like world news, social life, or hobbies. I feel like my kids are just starting to get independent enough that I can get back to some friends or interests. I've kind of been having a look around the past few months, seeing what I'm interested in these days.

I think falling into Zumba when I did was good for me. To see that, no, I actually CAN still make myself move like that has been empowering. I wonder if I would have had the nerve to try singing in our church's Christmas Cantata last month if I hadn't tried dancing first. I was interested enough in current music to download some new songs for my running playlist. Songs that our 19-year old international student recognizes!

Now believe me, I have no illusions that a bunch of middle-aged women dancing to salsa and club music at the YMCA is inherently awesome. I think, though, that I am slightly cooler for having done it.

I Couldn't MAKE UP Material This Good

Maybe my sense of humor is just better now that grades have been turned in for the semester, but it seems like funny stuff is going on all around me lately. Some examples:

From around town
-A few weeks ago someone put a (real) stuffed bear on the roof of the Catholic Newman Center at the University campus. We pass it every morning when we drop Faisal off for school. One day last week Eva said, "What's that bear doing up there?!" "Probably growling," replied Daniel, totally serious.

On Friday, when Eva said, "What's that bear doing up there?!" Daniel said, "Hanging Christmas lights." Sure enough, someone had put a Santa hat on the bear and a string of Christmas lights in its paws.

Sadly, there was a wicked snow and wind storm Sunday, and the bear is no longer on the roof. I will hope that he was safely removed and not blown off.

-The same day we saw the bear with the Santa hat (in fact, immediately afterwards), I noticed that the car in front of us had a little Pekingese dog in its back window. A little Pekingese dog wearing a sweater. And eating a donut. With sprinkles. No joke.

From church
-As I've previously posted, I will be singing this coming Sunday in our church's Christmas Cantata. This past weekend, we were rehearsing a song that contains the line, "Watching wise men journey in a tiny caravan..." when the conductor stopped us to tell the guys in the back row (all adult professionals) to quit talking. "I know what you're laughing at," the conductor said. "Guys! Why didn't we get a bigger van?!" one of the guys in the back row blurted out. Great. Now nobody can sing that line without laughing.

-The kids had their Christmas program at church (Kyle has a video on his blog if you're interested). Daniel and Eva did about how you'd expect a 2- and 4-year old to do on a stage in a costume. At one point, though, there was a trio of 3-year old boys who were supposed to share a microphone to sing one verse of one song. One of the kids, though, pushed the other two out of the way, grabbed the mic, and put it right on his mouth. Of course, then, the other two kids started jockeying for their turn, and it turned into a bunch of pushing and trying to outdo each other's singing. The director of the play tipped the mic so none of them could reach it, causing them to finish the verse on tiptoe or jumping. I laughed so hard I cried.

-Friday we took the kids to Parents' Night Out, a free monthly babysitting service put on by one of the campus ministries at Truman. You basically drop your kids off at a local church for the evening, and the college students play with them, help them make a craft, and show them a movie. When I went to pick Daniel up, we were attempting to identify his craft bag from among the rows of colored-on paper bags. "Here it is!" Daniel said, grabbing a bag. "Does it say Daniel on it?" asked the student who had escorted me back to get him. The bag was prominently labeled (in one of the college students' handwriting) as "Weirk." "Oh, that's his dragon name," I said casually, before realizing that this makes me sound like a total lunatic. This student didn't even flinch, though, but smiled and said "Oh, okay!" and led us back into the hall. Thank goodness for her and for whoever humored Daniel by writing Weirk on his bag. Good to know that somebody else can appreciate our son's (frequently assumed) dragon identity.

From the mouths of our children
-The other day Eva was pointing out the window and saying something about a passing truck. It took me a minute to figure out that she was calling this pickup a "Pull-up truck." Potty training is coming along.

-Come to think of it, Eva says a lot of funny things. For breakfast she likes to have "eatmeal" or yogurt with "knowla" in it (what can I say, the girl likes her oats). She calls her Winnie the Pooh "Poop Bear," and recently told her feverish brother, "Don't worry, Daniel. Daddy's getting you some Tylephone."

-Not to be outdone, Daniel recently told Eva (who was playing dress-up), "Eva, you're the prettiest blutterfly I never sawn."

-Daniel has also recently taken to using the adjective "man-sized" to refer to things. Like, "That's a man-sized candy bar there!" or "Whew! That was a man-sized sneeze!" I have no idea where he picked that up, as it is probably the last thing that would ever come out of Kyle's or my mouth.

...So there you have it. A bunch of stuff that may or may not be as funny to you as it is to me. At least it's saved for posterity, in digital form, to embarrass my kids in 10-12 years.

Anger Management

Daniel is very interested in dragons and superheroes these days, so we've been letting him watch movies like The Incredibles and How to Train Your Dragon. He played these kinds of roles before we let him watch the movies, but sometimes I wonder whether we're feeding some very violent kinds of play. Today, for instance, he convinced me to partake in a rousing game of Trucks vs. Dragons. First, we had to line everything up like this:

The rules of this game, roughly quoted as he explained them to me are:

"Okay, so the Old Person (referring to me) takes the trucks, and I take the dragons, and they just PUNCH into each other really hard like they're trying to break something, 'cause these are REALLY mean dragons. Oh yeah, and Eva has all the flying things (referring to a plane, a helicopter, and Buzz Lightyear), and they're just going to stay over there and watch."

This was pretty much how the game went down, except that we had to start over a couple of times because I was not driving the trucks fast enough or hitting the dragons hard enough, and because eventually he decided that the dragons were going to pick up the trucks, "fly them in the air," and then drop them in a heap of ruins down the hallway. Here was the carnage at the end of all this:


I have to admit that I got bored pretty fast with the reality of Trucks vs. Dragons, despite my amusement with the name and object of the game. Once the trucks had been thoroughly destroyed, I took a break to make a phone call. In typical kid fashion, Daniel and Eva devolved into a screaming, hitting fight two feet from me the instant I got someone on the line. I finished the call with a lot of "uh-huh's," hoping that I sounded like I was hearing and understanding my end of the conversation. I hung up and very sharply explained that this behavior was not acceptable, and that now the person I was talking to likely has a terrible impression of both me and my rude, rude children.

Daniel then started into what seemed like an unrelated ramble, telling me all about the counselor at his school, and how she came to his class today and told them that sometimes kids have strong feelings, and might need to find something to do to calm down those strong feelings, like jump on a trampoline, or ride bikes, or run around in the yard, or take deep breaths, or sing a song or count to ten... Then he says to me, "Mommy, I see that you're having some strong feelings right now. I'm wondering if you should go jump on a trampoline or ride your bike or something."

Really, as a therapist I had to admire his use of the here and now in our session. I ended up telling him what a good idea that was, and how maybe I could just use a few minutes ALONE to take some deep breaths. Maybe I should have just asked to play another round of Trucks vs. Dragons.

Things I am Thankful For, But Were Not Appropriate to Mention at Any Formal "What Are You Thankful For?" Event

1. My new programmable coffee pot-
Sometime in late October I dropped something on the ancient 4-cup (*actually 2 cups, unless you drink coffee from a thimble) coffeemaker I got in college, and the glass carafe broke. When we found out the replacement part is no longer available, Kyle suggested that I buy a big-girl size coffeemaker, since having to brew 2 consecutive pots in order to serve coffee for 4 loses some of its charm outside of the dormitory setting. I got a nice, basic programmable model, and was surprised the first morning at how much easier it is to get out of bed with the smell of fresh coffee wafting down the hall. The fact that it's already made when I wake up has prevented lots of frenzied drive-through stops before class in the morning. It's also nice to be able to make enough coffee for Kyle, Faisal, and me to each have a cup all at the same time. It's amazing what happiness a little $15 investment can bring.

2. A babysitter that sometimes empties the dishwasher-
Yeah, yeah, yeah. It's great that our babysitter Katie is reliable, and is good with our kids and plays with them and makes them good lunches. And, no, in no way do I expect babysitters to do my housework. But MAN, on those days when we've run the dishwasher overnight and I have not gotten around to emptying it before I leave for work, it is SO nice to come home and find that detestable little chore finished and the dirty dishes put in the washer instead of stacked all over the sink and counter. If you're reading this, Katie- thank you, it makes my day!

3. Walgreens sales-
If you are not familiar with the deals that can be had at Walgreens, you really ought to look into it. Each week their ad lists some items that, when you buy them, cause the cash register to print out a coupon for money off your next shopping trip (like a paper gift card to the store). For some items, and these are different each week, the amount you get back is as much as the amount you paid in the first place (or more, if you used a coupon on that item). Every week, I march into our Walgreens and use the coupons I got from the week before to buy whatever will print me more coupons to use next week (as long as it's something we'll use). Because of this system, I cannot think of the last time I paid actual money for toothpaste, deoderant, razors, lotion, shower gel, and many other health and beauty items. Don't get me started on this; I think my sister-in-law Ellen once got stuck on a long car ride listening to me expound on my love of this system, and I'm not sure she'll ever want to bring it up again.

4. A live-in international student who is neither crazy nor unmannered-
I actively pursued the opportunity to host an international student in our home this semester. I was not pressured or forced in any way to volunteer for this. But the few days before Faisal arrived I lost a little sleep wondering “What did we do?” and how we were going to get along with a stranger living in our house ALL the time. I worried that he might hate us, or that we might not like him. I worried about how we'd communicate and what we'd DO with him... But none of those things has been an issue; we get along well and actually have fun together. What a relief! I think sometimes that we could be having a very different semester if not for our compatibility with Faisal.

5. Penicillin-
Last week I got what I thought was a stomach bug or a bit of food poisoning on Thursday. Then I started having fever, then by the weekend a sore throat, and by Monday I was completely downhearted from having spent four days feeling so absolutely miserable day and night. Sleep was filled with chills, sweats, and crazy fever dreams; I had no appetite, but could barely swallow anyway; every part of my body ached. Monday afternoon I got in to see the doctor, and tested positive for strep throat. I got some penicillin and a decongestant so I could sleep with my mouth closed, and woke up Tuesday feeling 10 times better. Woo hoo for modern medicine! I was better enough to drive us all to St. Louis on Wednesday, to shop ALL day long on Friday, and, most of all, to attend Thanksgiving dinner with my extended family (and NOT discuss anything on this list while I was there).

Gingle All the Way

In our town, like most towns, the stores have been preparing us for Christmas since the day after Halloween. At our house, though, we've been in the holiday spirit since Labor Day. As it turns out, one of the funnier quirks of our international student, Faisal, is that he came to America really enamored of the song Jingle Bells. He says he thinks it is a nice American song, and he has dozens of versions of it (complete with video) on his iPhone. Some of these are traditional versions, some have synthesizers or electric guitar; there's the obligatory dogs-barking version, and even a kinda scary techno version complete with little girls dancing around waving pom-poms.

The dynamic between Eva and Faisal is pretty cute to begin with, but the two of them have really bonded over Jingle Bells. Every morning when Faisal comes upstairs for breakfast, Eva greets him with, "Morning, Faisal. I need Gingle Balls." And in his very agreeable way, Faisal always says "Okay, no problem," and pulls it up for her. We spend most of breakfast and the drive to Faisal's school listening to versions of Jingle Bells, and then we repeat the whole scenario again when Faisal comes home in the afternoon. One night in September, as we were driving home from dinner at a Mexican restaurant, with Faisal and the kids in the back seat all laughing at some "Gingle Balls" video, Kyle said to me, "We're a strange little family, aren't we?"
"Indeed."

The other thing that has kept the holiday season in all of our minds this fall has been preparations for the Christmas programs at our church. Daniel and Eva are both going to take part in the children's program, with Eva reprising Daniel's cow role from last year and Daniel stepping up to play Joseph this year. As would any wise children's program director, ours started rehearsals the first week of September. We have been listening to the CD with all the songs to be performed over and over and over in the car for the past few months.

Today all their practices culminated in a dress rehearsal. Now, I was told that Daniel has been chosen for the role of Joseph because he is good at following directions, but not quite as good at remembering to sing or dance during performances. His only major job is to stand in the spotlight and lift the baby Jesus into the air for all the shepherds and angels to see during one of the songs. Today at the dress rehearsal he wasn't feeling very well, but if it was any indication of how the real show will go we are going to need to work on not: (a) dropping the baby Jesus, (b) holding the baby Jesus head-down by the legs, or (c) using the baby Jesus to wipe Joseph's nose.

As for Eva, she wore her cow costume, sat on the stage, and silently drank milk (ironically) from her straw cup. At the finale of the show, when Mary and Joseph stand at the front center of the stage, that little cow wandered up next to them and insisted on holding the baby. I'm hoping that this was because I was the stand-in for Mary today, and that she'll stay in her spot for the real thing. Really, though, for a two-year old, staying on stage is my only real expectation.

My contribution (other than being a Mary stand-in) is to participate in the adult Christmas Cantata. We have also been rehearsing for quite a while, which is good for me considering my level of singing experience. I thought it would be a fun challenge, though, and I've enjoyed having a "thing" of my own. I've been working really hard at standing near good, loud altos who are able to read music at each rehearsal. I'm hoping I can just hold up my part of the singing. Really, though, for a thirty-three-year old who hasn't sung in public since junior high school, staying on stage is my only real expectation.

Last Picked

If you've spent any time around our daughter Eva, you've surely noticed that she is a hard-core devotee of the thumb-suck/hair twirl combo. She can use either hand for either position, moving back and forth as the need strikes. When she was a baby, this was a boon for us: she is a fantastic self-soother and was never interested in a lot of holding or rocking at bedtime. Just coming off of Daniel's baby years, where we spent every naptime and bedtime rocking him into a coma-depth sleep, we never made any attempt to discourage her habit.

Until recently. Recently we learned that Eva's talent does not, in fact, stop at being able to suck and twirl ambidextrously. No, she is also able to use the remaining fingers of whichever hand she is thumb-sucking to pick at her face, usually around her nose and cheeks. She is additionally able, somehow, to put the unused fingers on her hair-twirling hand to good use scratching and picking at her scalp, all while creating massive, twirled-up, knotty tangles in her hair. Sound like a mess? It is. I'm almost afraid to go in to her room some mornings and see what she's done to herself. For the past several months, she's been walking around with a permanent sore on each cheek, as well as scabs in her scalp made especially visible by her broken-off, thinning hair.

At first, I tried to treat the symptoms. I bought several kinds of children's "tangle-free" shampoo/conditioner combos, as well as some leave-in spray conditioner. I cut Eva's nails so short there was no white showing at all anywhere. We also tried placing band-aids over her cheeks while her sores healed for a few days, in the hopes that the absence of scabs would make the picking less desirable. But really, no amount of conditioner totally prevents tangles, and the constant pulling of the twirling ultimately results in some hair loss whether there are tangles or not. Staying on top of the nail trimming is difficult, and there is a fine line between short and too-short, which I surely accidentally crossed a couple of times. And the worst parent-intervention-fail of this whole story is the time I put an off-brand bandage on one cheek, then pulled it off to reveal at least half a dozen new sores where the glue had irritated her skin overnight.

This, then, was the final straw for Kyle. He decided to move forward with his plan to correct the problem at its source: Princess Gloves. We found some purple mittens with little pink bows on them, and talked them up like they were REALLY something special that she could ONLY wear at night. And this worked the first night; I think the novelty and all the princess flattery was enough to carry her through. The next several naps didn't happen, though, and bedtimes have started becoming more and more difficult. The funny thing is that for the first few days I don't think she put two and two together and realized that the reason she'd been having so much trouble falling asleep was the absence of her favorite activities. A few days in, though, I was there to see the light bulb go on. I was putting her down for a nap and she said, "I can't suck my thumb and twirl my hair with the Princess Gloves on..." and then her face lit up like she'd had one of Oprah's "ah-ha" moments. "I need these off!" she said, pulling at them frantically. I explained to her that we actually would prefer she not twirl her hair and suck her thumb (and pick her face), and want her to wear the mittens to help her remember that. Luckily she relented and has continued to do so despite her nightly pleas and protests to sleep without them.

The other funny thing about it is that the instant the gloves come off in the morning or after naptime she is like an addict jonesing for a fix, sucking and twirling with ferocious gusto. At this point we are not making an issue out of her daytime habit, which is for now fairly minimal and much less destructive, but I know we will have to address it one day.

In a twist of cruel irony, Daniel woke me up last night, screaming "Help! Help!" from the bathroom at 1:30 in the morning. It seems he'd been picking his nose in bed and had caused some bleeding... and by "some bleeding" I mean that when I opened the door to the bathroom it looked like someone had been stabbed in there. This was quite a nosebleed, and by the time I got the floors, toilet, sink, walls, and both of us cleaned up I was ready to go shopping for some Dragon Mittens for Daniel. It seems that as soon as we get one kid to stop picking (Eva's face HAS cleared up a bit in the last week) another one starts. Everyone keep your fingers crossed (and OFF of your noses and scabs) that we'll all pass through this phase quickly.