Marital Threats and How You Can Help

Somehow, I just can't believe that 76-year-old Lennie and 87-year-old Pearl are a threat to my "traditional" marriage.

And yet, conservative politicians, religious leaders and other groups keep trying to convince me that allowing homosexuals to get married threatens the very foundations of the institution of marriage.

Yeah, right.

I'm here to tell you that what threatens my marriage is not the notion that my across-the-street neighbor might one day want to marry his adorable boyfriend, or that my friend a few streets over is planning to have a baby with her girlfriend. And I definitely do not see a clear and present danger in two septuagenarian/octogenarian women who have loved each other faithfully for 45 years while making great contributions to their community and generally being nice people.

If you really must know, here are a few things that are an actual threat to the health of my one-man-one-woman, walked-down-the-aisle, have-a-license-to-prove-it marriage:

1. My children get up absurdly early. Every. Single. Day. My son is up AND DRESSED no later than 6 a.m. Even on Saturdays -- okay, he's still in his pajamas on the weekend, but he's up nonetheless. My daughter, convinced she might miss out on something fun, is up with him at the same time. And they expect to be entertained. Otherwise they start whining and annoying each other.
2. My husband has his own opinions and ideas. I mean, I thought he was just going to agree with me. Who knew he'd have his own vision about decorating the house, planning vacations or scheduling our weekends. Now we have to work together and compromise to get things done -- this means disagreeing sometimes, even arguing or fighting occasionally. After 10 years, there are no deal breakers, but it still takes work.
3. Babysitters can be expensive. In order for us to spend time together without our kids to nurture our relationship, we have to hire a babysitter. Then we have to go somewhere, which means spending more money. Without even doing anything fancy, we can easily spend $100 on a evening out. It might actually be cheaper to go to a marriage counselor who offered childcare in the waiting room than to plan a date night.
4. Social media is a time suck. After the kids go to bed, when we should probably be engaged in quality conversation together, we both tumble down the rabbit hole of Twitter, blogging, Words with Friends, Angry Birds, Pinterest, Gentlemint and a hundred other online traps. Not that there's anything wrong with reading blogs (ahem), but it does keep our focus off of each other.
5. Downton Abbey and Mad Men are too good. Again with the night-time distractions. But seriously -- how can we focus on each other when there's Lady Mary and Don Draper to worry about? Plus there's Modern Family and 30 Rock when we need a laugh, or Psych and White Collar when we want some investigating, or Portlandia when it's time for something random and hilarious. That TiVo box is seriously hazardous to our marital health.
6. The house is not self-cleaning. Even if we manage to turn off the TV and other electronics, there's still the laundry to fold, the dishes to wash, the grass to mow, the bathrooms to clean, the dinner to cook, the lunches to make, the bills to pay, the groceries to buy, the appointments to schedule. It would take six adults running this house in order to free up enough time for us to really stop and just be with each other. Again, Downton Abbey seems like a good idea.

So if you're really serious about wanting to protect North Carolina families and preserve healthy marriages across the state, you have a few options:

a. You can volunteer to babysit my children for the weekend free of charge.
b. You can donate time or money to an organization like Protect NC Families, the Equality NC Foundation, Race to the Ballot or We Are NC -- or attend the Love Wins dance this weekend in Durham.
c. You can make sure you're registered to vote NO on May 8.
d. All of the above.

Just let me know when you're ready to schedule that babysitting weekend.

Best Friends Forever

Every girl needs at least one long-time, old school BFF.

That friend who loved you when you were an awkward teen-ager and still loves you when you're both heading into your 40s. The one you can call and pick up right where you left off, without explanations or apologies. The one who knows your whole family and all your skeletons and would never think of using any of them against you. The one who has an arsenal of big hair 80s photos of you and hasn't posted a single image to Facebook.

I'm absurdly lucky to have more than one of those friends -- just a few treasured women who have known me for almost three decades and remain a part of my life, even before we had email and social media (gasp!) for keeping in touch.

There are many wonderful women in my life -- my list of good friends is an embarrassment of riches. They've been neighbors and classmates, colleagues and roommates. Some friendships I've wandered into and others I've wooed strategically planned.

But there's nothing quite like that best friend since age 12.

We live in different cities and don't get to see each other very often -- life sometimes has a way of getting in the way. Even when we don't visit or talk regularly, I feel better just knowing she's out there if I need her.

And that's why I'm so sad tonight. Because my friend Marty lost her best friend Susan today.

Although I felt like I knew Susan thanks to Marty's stories and connections on social media, we never actually met. I loved her anyway -- not only because she seemed like an incredible person, but mostly and simply because she loved my friend.

We are too young to lose a best friend. I have nothing useful to say to Marty except that I am so incredibly sorry for her loss. And that I will probably bring over a casserole at some point, because that is what we do.

In the meantime, I will be saying prayers of thanksgiving and peace -- for Susan and her family, for Marty, for my friends from all stages of my life.

Name Dropping

This is the conversation that Pippi and I had in the car on the way to preschool this morning.

Pippi: Mommy, do you know Anna Lewis?

Me: Sure, I know Anna Lewis. She's in your class at school.

[Long pause]

Pippi: Mommy, do you know B.B. King?

Me: Umm. I know who B.B. King is. Do you know B.B. King?

Pippi: Yes! I see him at the coffee shop. [pause] Does his guitar have a name?

Me: Yes, it does. Do you know his guitar, too?

Pippi: Is it Lucille?

Me: Yes [laughing], actually it is Lucille. Is that funny?

Pippi: [cracking up] I'm going to call Anna Lewis "Lucille"!

* * *

Not to ruin the comedy, but just as background... Pippi's dad sometimes takes her to a nearby coffee shop on Saturday mornings. Apparently there's a picture of B.B. King on the wall, so they've talked about him and his music while they're having Saturday scones. Just goes to show that kids are really listening sometimes -- and there's no telling when they're going to share what they remember from those conversations.

Image borrowed from The Silver Tongue.

When Fashion Happens

There was this girl in Junius's 2-year-old preschool class who wore something smocked and monogrammed. Every. Single. Day.

You know what I'm talking about -- the matching ruffly outfits, the seasonally decorated dresses, the ready-for-a-professional-portrait clothes. The girl with nothing from Old Navy or Target in her closet. 

She ended up being one of his best buddies because beneath those fancy duds was a really fun little girl. But I teased her mother regularly about the outfits. 

Why in the world to do you do that to her, I would ask. It's just preschool, not a fashion show.

Her answer? "Because it's fun and I can and it won't last forever."

I still thought she was crazy.

Until I had Pippi.

Let me tell you, no matter what you might believe before it happens, having a daughter is not the same as having a son. I enjoyed dressing Juni in cute outfits as a baby, but nothing compares to little girl clothes. The vast and unending realm of patterns and ruffles and layers and smocking completely overwhelms the tiny little boy section of stores.

Although I never got to the smocked-every-single-day level (mostly because my budget wouldn't allow it), I did so love dressing her in adorable outfits. I even let a photographer friend use her as a photo model for a fashion project because she just looked too cute (I mean, seriously, just look at that picture!). 

And then Pippi decided she wanted to dress herself. 

[Cue sound of screeching brakes]

After far too many knock-down-drag-out fights over what she was supposed to wear to preschool last fall, I finally just gave up. I decided that as long as she was wearing something weather-appropriate, she could pick out her own outfits most days (I reserved the right to put her in smocked for church). 

I knew it was the right call on the morning we went grocery shopping -- Pippi was wearing pink leggings, a white long-sleeved shirt, a satin floral sleeveless bubble dress that was two sizes too big, silver glitter shoes and a tiara. The 50-something woman in the elevator with us looked at her with a big grin and said, "You dressed yourself this morning, didn't you? You look very beautiful!"

She was right. Pippi did look beautiful. And it was quite obvious that she'd dressed herself -- no one was judging my personal style or my parenting skills because of Pippi's own sense of flair.

In order to really enjoy this fashion as it happens, I started taking pictures of her outfits -- trying to catch the essence of Pippi style.

So I'm happy to share with you my latest venture: I Dressed Myself. It's a new blog about how the best fashion happens when mommy and daddy aren't involved. I hope you'll check it out, follow along and maybe even share some of your own gems. There's a few posts there already and I plan to post at least one new outfit a week -- because there's no better way to keep myself sane than to enjoy the wealth of blog material in my crazy life.

photo credit to evolve studio photography

Friday's 5: Books for Pippi

I've been binge reading again. This time it was The Hunger Games trilogy -- in total, I read all three books in about five days. Would have been faster, but I decided to sleep some here and there.

Highly recommend the books -- but as a public service announcement, I should caution you not to start them unless you have a few days to spend doing nothing but reading. Or unless you don't really need to sleep at night.

The good news is that I'm not the only who's been finding good things to read lately. My kids are having fun digging into their own books. Like me, Junius is getting into some good series -- The Magic Tree House and A to Z Mysteries are currently at the top of his list.

Pippi isn't actually reading, but she's got some strong preferences. Lots of Barbie and My Little Pony books, which I can't stand (sorry if those are your beloved books). But also these five titles that I enjoyed along with her.

1. Miss Fannie's Hat by Jan Karon and Toni Goffe: Miss Fannie is 90 years old and owns just about as many hats. The story is sweet, but I think it's the illustrations of all those hats that Pippi liked best.
2. Every Cowgirl Needs Dancing Boots by Rebecca Janni and Lynne Avril: As a girl with her own pink dancing boots, Pippi was bound to like this one. I like the main character for her unwillingness to give up on finding fun friends.
3. Tallulah's Tutu by Marilyn Singer and Alexandra Boiger: We probably should have named Pippi "Tallulah" in real life -- I'm sure that's one of the reasons why she likes this book so much. That, plus the dancing, the tutu and the fiesty main character.
4. The Skin You Live In by Michael Tyler and David Lee Csicsko: Without getting all preachy and political, this book uses cute illustrations and fun rhymes to point out that not everyone has the same skin -- but we can all feel good about the skin we've got.
5. Louise the Big Cheese (Divine Diva) by Elise Primavera and Diane Goode: Louise doesn't get picked for the role of Cinderella in the school play, but she doesn't let that stop her from saving the show.

So what are you (or your kids) reading this weekend? Share your recent favorites in the comments below.

Note: All links go to the titles at Quail Ridge Books & Music, which is my wonderful local independent bookseller. If you don't have your own independent bookseller close by, I'm happy to let you borrow mine -- order online and let them ship to you. QRB does not compensate me for linking to their site, but I love them anyway.

Watching Him Go

Somehow it never gets any easier. More manageable, but not actually easier.

I still ache when I leave him somewhere.

Yes, Junius is six-and-a-half (and we all know how critical that extra "half" can be). And yes, he's fine and will have fun and will somehow manage to stay safe without my hovering over him.

But knowing those things hasn't stopped the lump in my throat, the feeling of my heart dropping into into my stomach.

Last week it was hockey track-out camp, where he didn't know anyone. Even pumped up with shoulder pads and standing taller than usual on his ice skates, he seemed so little as he walked away. I loitered in the lobby, wondering if he might turn around and change his mind about staying. The camp lasted for five full days, but he asked me to pick him up after lunch each day -- and, of course, I did.

This week it's grandparent camp, where he gets to be the center of the universe for four days with my in-laws and then my parents. Today he practically pushed me out the door so he could have alone time with his grandmother. Every night this week I will call him before bed, listening to him recounting his day and helping me hold onto the illusion of tucking him in. Having only one child will make my week easier, but strangely lonely.

It's a cruel trick of parenting. When they're here, they are crazy, exhausting, unrelenting, needy -- some days I want nothing more than to walk away for an hour alone. But when they're gone, their absence doesn't bring simple relief -- although it does create a quiet that is welcome, for a bit, until it's not.

Already I know I will cry when he leaves for overnight camp, for college, for study abroad, for some job in another state. I will want him to do all of those things, will put on a brave face for him so that he will trust his decision to go, will be unreasonably proud of his accomplishments.

But it will not be easy watching him go.

Color Me Crazy

Anyone who suggests that I'm a neat, tidy, organized kind of person doesn't really know me -- or has only been over to my house when I'm expecting company.

The counters and tables are regularly covered in piles and I shudder to think what our bathrooms would look like without help from a housekeeper. Even my desk at work is a mangled mish-mash of lists, notebooks, brochures and reports.

But I do like for everything to have a place -- and ideally for all those things to be in said places.

Particularly when it comes to Play-Doh. I mean, there's a reason that each color comes in its own container with the little color-coded lid, right?

So why does my daughter love to inflict so much pain by doing this?

Watching her gleefully smush all the colors together actually makes my palms itch. Or maybe that's just an ingredient in the Play-Doh. Either way, it's all I can do to let her enjoy it the way she wants to.

When she's busy building something, I catch myself at least trying to group the rainbow lumps into color-themed piles (note the pinkish, bluish and yellowish balls above). But it doesn't work. She sees what I'm doing and starts taking chunks of my piles and blending them into a new shape.

So how do I keep from destroying one of her creative outlets by enforcing my organizational rules into her game? I turn to my own creative outlet -- writing -- to get me out of her way.

Now excuse me while I go check out Pippi's newest creation: the pinkyellowgreenbluetanpurple double-winged, four-eyed wedding bird.
.