Inspiration Monday - Whitney Houston

I was very happy for Spotify today.  I have been able to indulge all of my Whitney Houston listening needs.  Because as much as I have come to realize my enduring love for Whitney, I have nothing by her in my music catalogue – so I have been Spotifying Whitney all day long.  Now I must admit, up until I heard the sad news of her death, she has not been in my current music queue.   But I realize the she has been a part of the soundtrack of my life.

Music has the unique ability to instantly transport me to the place in time where I first heard or experienced it.    I listen to America or Jim Croce and I am a kid in the 1970’s in the way back of a station wagon, driving home from the beach with my parents,  my skin all crackly from the sand and salt water and I couldn’t be safer or happier.  Whenever I hear Nirvana’s In Bloom or Breed I am 21 and New York City is exploding at my fingertips.

While listening to Whitney Houston today I realized that it transports me to being a teenager in my best friend Vanessa’s bedroom.  We are doing what every teenage girl has done and will do until the end of time – singing songs together at the top of our lungs and sharing secrets and dreams.  I listen to early Whitney Houston and I am brought back to that place of teenage love and devastating heartbreak, and I realized her music was orchestrating so much of that time.

I listened to all of them tonight.  From The Greatest Love of All, (go and listen to the beauty in that song)  and You Give Good Love To Me  to  I Will Always Love You and I Have Nothing. Even though I haven’t listened to these songs in awhile  -  I know all of the lyrics! And I belted them out tonight, just like I always have.   By the time, I’m Every Woman came on, the girls and I were in full on dance party mode.

I love her music for the gift of remembering that being fifteen wasn’t always so terribly awkward as I usually paint it.  It was also moment of freedom and beauty while dancing with my best friend.

Moms in the City - Getting Beyond the Guilt

Here is the latest installment of my column, Moms in the City.  It runs monthy in the Portsmouth Herald.

Last Saturday morning when I woke up, I wasn't right. I felt like a freight train ran over me and while I was down a Mack truck backed up over me twice and then a sea gull pooped on me. I could barely get out of bed and I hobbled into the bathroom thinking that a steaming hot shower would help. I kept on repeating in my head, "I cannot be sick. It is Saturday. I have stuff to do. I have stuff to do. Cliff and I have a date. I will be better. I cannot be sick. I went to bed feeling great. I cannot be sick."

As I was drying off I whacked my wrist on the towel rack — I whacked it hard. And that is when I just started crying. It was like a bad scene out of a chick flick — wet floppy hair, sick (did I mention that I was hormonal? Or can you tell?) And to top it all off I felt the ever hovering feeling of — guilt. Yes, a heaping dose of guilt. I sat on the toilet in my bathroom, which was on my list of things to clean for the weekend and sobbed. I was mad and hurting and hormonal and disappointed. And I felt mothering guilt.

I felt guilty that I wasn't cleaning and organizing and following through on my plan for the day. I am convinced that evil elves sneak into my home while we are out or asleep and turn the place upside down, sprinkling crumbs on the floor and making piles everywhere. I felt guilty because my sweet and amazing husband had the girls the previous weekend so I could enjoy time away with my girlfriends in New York and Boston. I had tremendous guilt that he was again "on duty" and I was going to be holed up in bed for the day. I had plans for taking Sophie and Katie out for a good chunk of Saturday afternoon and giving Cliff a little time off to do whatever he wanted to do. I wanted to take care of him. That was not happening. I could barely shuffle down the hall to get some ginger ale. And Cliff was actually fetching that bubbling goodness to my parched self.

The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines guilt as, "A feeling of responsibility for wrong doing." Here's why guilt is the worthless, empty calorie of emotions — I didn't do anything wrong. I didn't plan on getting sick on Saturday. It is not wrong to be human and get sick. At other times when I feel mothering guilt about not signing them up for enough after-school programs or raising my voice when they are back-talking brats, I am not doing anything wrong. I am a woman, trying her best, working very hard everyday. There I was, legitimately sick, sour stomach and all, feeling guilty — as if I was doing something wrong. And that is not right.

I thought about all of this as I sat weeping in the bathroom and I hear a gentle knocking on the door, followed by, "Momma? Are you OK?" Katie peers in, her face sweet and concerned. "No honey, Momma is not OK. I hurt my wrist and I am sad and I don't feel good. I just need to cry a little and unravel my feelings."

Katie approaches me and wipes my tears and kisses me on the cheek. She then says to me the best words that can ever be said to a sick, hormonal, crying girl. "Momma, you look beautiful. Go lay down. We'll bring you ginger ale." Then Sophie comes into the bathroom and hugs me too and at this point we really look like a scene out of a chick flick, my girls hugging me and taking care of me and telling me how pretty I am. There is no point or place for guilt when I am loved by my girls.

I shuffle down the hall to bed, and they run to the kitchen to fix me ginger ale with bread and butter. Cliff gently approaches me (he's a smart man — this isn't the first time I have been sick and hormonal). I blubber a little more my feelings of guilt and frustration at not being able to do what I planned. He says to me, "Get rid of the guilt babe. It is pointless. Get better. Take care of yourself. We need you — but please, don't waste another moment, ever, feeling guilty."

I can't wave a magic wand and from now on wipe away all of those pointless guilty feelings — but I certainly will try. I do know that Cliff has some time off coming to him. And I think we really need to get a male animal in this house soon to keep Cliff company.

Inspiration Monday - My Freakin' Friend Dotty in Full Frontal Mom

Here is my insanely funny, talented friend Dorothea.   This is her vlog that she is doing called Full Frontal Mom.  This is all her material.   She is brilliant.  This woman has always pushed me to my comedy best.  Her writing and delivery is enviable.  And she has the hottest bod.

  When Dotty and her son Otto came to visit this summer and we took a walk in our neighborhood after shoveling in the tastiest Brazilian rice and beans she had made for all of us.  Dotty casually wore a tight, white wife beater, black bra, high and juicy boobs, low and tight skinny jeans buckled with a strategically placed vintage Led Zeppelin belt.  Her outfit was all - kapow!  What?  Oh this thing - just threw it on for a walk.   As we walked around the hood, we came across a few Dad/Guys that I know, who were shooting the shit, sitting in beach chairs and enjoying an evening cigar in their driveway.  As we approached, we said hi, started to make a little chit-chat... and then they spotted Dotty.  These guys, got up out of their chair, all but ran over and found anything they could to talk about just so they could keep Dotty right in front of them.    They were mesmerised. 

She gave those guys some great dreams that night.

So here is my girl - love her  - pass it on.

Inspiration Monday - Keeping it tight and happy

As I have written about in an earlier Inspiration Monday, I recently began running.  Now, I have not been hard core clocking in 50 miles a week, but I have enjoyed this new trick my body can do.  It started last summer when Cliff and I scored a treadmill at a church yard sale.  We haggled the guy down to twenty dollars and when we asked if it worked or not, Cliff answered our question by saying, “Well, what are you going to do – lie to us?  We are at a church!  It’s kinda bad Karma! We’ll take it!”

I began running on the treadmill in my basement – a very safe place for me to begin this new experiment of trying out the sport.  I have always envied some people as they run – they look so lithe and athletic.  I have tried on and off many times in the past, but I have felt clunky and blubbery with no rhythm whatsoever.  So I have stop started many times or just resorted to going for walks.  But walks can be boring and I wanted to overcome this insecurity I had with running.

But then, we purchased this treadmill I could really try and run in the privacy of my basement.  I was able to lumber and wog (walk and jog) and no one has to see me wheeze and figure out my groove.  I knew there would come a point when I would take my jogging outside – and two things changed my point of view and kicked my insecurities on their ass and pumped up my confidence.

The first was music – if it wasn’t for Mary J. Blige or freakin’ Foghat there is no way I would push myself as hard as I have sometimes.  Many times of the day I crave silence – but not when I am running.  I need it thumping and pumping and I am always looking for something else to get me moving.

The second confidence change is  – I pretend while I am running.   I pretend that I am my good friend, Renee.  Renee has an athletic perseverance to her running that I admire – and Renee is never afraid to be vocal as she runs.  So I pretend that I am Renee – because it gets me out of my head and it pushes me to run harder.

So as I am jogging  around the neighborhood and  I am listening to 90’s R&B cranked up high, I am most likely embarrassing the heck out of myself, as I do a lot of loud, “Oooh’s!” and “Alright!”  And I even throw in a “Do it!”  At any given moment, I may be air guitaring (which I never, ever do in real life)as I am snaking through the hood. 

In many ways I am in better shape than I was in my twenties – there was no way I could have ran two miles back then.  I have no idea what I look like, but I imagine that I look tough and strong – and I am having a ton of fun.

Sick Day - Lazenby Style

I kept my girls home from school today - they aren't barfy, moaning, can't move sick - but they are snotty and congested. From the looks of it, most kids at school are close to it or already there, and I don't need to share this cold with the public. So a day at home, taking it easy in in order for ALL of us. I have been fighting the mid-winter sickness as well. I wish Cliff were home too - he could use it.

Convincing Sophie to stay home from school is a challenge. She is an usual kid, who LOVES school and combined with her desire to never miss anything, it makes staying home from school a tough sell. She cries and insists that she is fine and cries some more and lists everything that she will miss that day at school, "But I'm going to miss my math test and notetaking for our Colonial project!" Helping her to understand that she is sick and needs to stay home is the mental equivalent to wrangling and rope tying a baby calf.

But once she settles in, she always comes to me with hugs and  kisses, whispering those magic words that every woman loves to hear..

"You were right."

I like to make it fun and cozy with lots to draw and Italian Ices to eat and pillows to lounge on, and just surrender to the pace of the day.

We made some smoothies 

and a little TV face while eating lunch in the living room

plus love notes!!!!

 
Happy Sick Day  (We will all be ready to go back to normal tomorrow)

Inspiration Monday - Sporty Spice

        
 By proxy of living with my darling husband, a die-hard New England sports fan, there is almost always something sports related on.  Be it a game or someone talking about sports - and when baseball season is in full swing, it gets cranked up to an even higher level -  Oh yes, Fantasy Baseball season is right around the corner!  That’s cool – I have known this about him since the day we met and it is part of what makes Cliff so fantastically Cliff.

For many reasons, I find it to be a sweet cosmic strike that he was lucky enough to have two daughters.  My girls like sports, even enjoy the frick out of many sports, both playing and watching.  Sophie has been playing basketball for a few years now, and she seems to kick some butt and plays some tenacious D (I couldn’t resist).  Katie is no slouch and as a family we play wiffle ball and throw a ball around and we certainly watch games in the house (remember, Cliff and the sports on the television).

 But there is just some sort of genetic difference between the way girls and boys experience sports.  As the Patriots game were in the final nail biting minutes  last night, Sophie was making  some important inquiries about the mechanics of the game, like “Daddy, how many downs are each team allowed to get?  What happens if he hits this field goal?  What happened during sudden death overtime?” All good questions – but her timing was amusing.  To me.

My inspiration does not lie in the Patriots – although I respect the fact that it does for many people.

My inspiration is to somehow come to peace with the Super Bowl.   I do not give a rats ass about football or the culmination of a sports season that I just grit my teeth and barrel through.  In many ways the Super Bowl is a relief to me – it means no more football until September.  I have attended far too many Super Bowl parties that I have not enjoyed – because it involves a sport and an event that I do not care about.  I have lived long enough and my time is far too precious to spend it doing something that I do not care about.

 I will watch every game of the World Series.  I truly love basketball – the Celtics are exciting and athletic and sexy to watch.  Hell, I even got all juiced up watching hockey last year.  But I will not fake it for football.  And just like I would not expect Cliff to spend an afternoon thrift store shopping, getting his nails done and watching a marathon of Sex in the City, happily, he does not expect me to trail after him to a Super Bowl party.   We have come to an understanding.

However,  Cliff does care about the Super Bowl  and his team, The Patriots are playing this year.  And for him – I want them to win – because I know it will make him happy.

So, I don’t know where he will watch it – but I hope he enjoys it and whoops it up every second – I will pick him up and drop him off anyplace he pleases, so he can drink and celebrate and get home safe.  I will  even make pigs in blankets for the occasion.  As long as I don’t have to go to any Super Bowl party.

 But I'll come over to watch the Celtics anytime.

Inspiration Monday - Everyday Jodi!

This is my amazing friend Jodi displaying the most delicious chocolate Bundt cake.  I have been friends with Jodi since college - which was only five years a go – hardee-har-harr.   My Jodi has the unique ability to see most people in a positive angle – she is not judgmental (I can learn a lesson or two on that one) nor is she an unrealistic  Pollyanna.    Even though we don’t live a subway ride away like we used to, we try and see each other a few times a year.  This past weekend was one of those weekends that keep me going, and I ate that Bundt cake that she baked with love for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

You can see she is laughing – we were doing a ‘photo-shoot’ with her and the cake.  Her laugh is magic - it is this tinkling, guffaw of pleasure bursting from her – I live to make her laugh just to hear that sound.  I need to make her laugh my ring-tone on my phone, so I can hear it every day.

There are a myriad of reasons why I love my friend Jodi, but one aspect that I am jazzed by right now is her style.  She knows the right way to mix prints and how to pull off pointy witchie-poo shoes with flowery hair accessories.  She pulls it all together in her own enviable style.  When I am clothes shopping I pretend that I am Jodi – I channel her, imagining what would she be picking out.  Skulls! Ruffles and leopard print!  I think in my head, “What would Jodi wear?”   It works every time.

After spending time in her home this weekend, I am also just in awe at the beauty of her home and how she puts it all together.    Yes, of course her home is beautiful, because it is filled with a family and laughter – but come on, I really dig how she hangs pictures together .  This woman could have an empire dedicated to her style – I'd call it, Everyday Jodi.   Just her bathroom alone is a fantasy playground for her daughters, all pinks and Hello Kitty, flowery towels and mirrors and purple aliens.  I want that bathroom!

I came home from my weekend and I am now looking at my own home with a different eye.  How would Everyday Jodi fix up my desk and hang some cute pictures and make it a hub for creativity instead of a plank of wood with a computer and piles?  How would Everyday Jodi clean up my bedside table and transform it into a tranquil oasis of sleep?  I am going to pick a small section every week in my house and imagine how would, Everyday Jodi creatively decorate that section.   I am going to hang pictures that I have been meaning to get to.  I am going to re-purpose bowls and yard sale finds and bring my home to a more colorful and visually exciting place.   I have already placed an orange glass and metal table at my front door for my girls to dump their crap on when they come home.

Everyday Jodi!  Urban edge with hippy love crunch.