Making Easter Memories

Holidays in a divorced family are stressful.  Kids are shuffled back and forth, with both parents wanting their piece of the "fun."  Growing up, my sister and I split holidays between my Mom in Michigan and my Dad in California.  Still, most of my holiday memories involve my Mom and her Mom, Grandma Helen.  These two women made holidays special and taught me how to do the same.  Christmas was Mom's, but Easter was Grandma's.

Grandma Helen is now suffering from dementia and is rather caustic, but there was a time when she was our matriarch.  It was the little things she did that I remember so fondly.  One of those sweet touches was her Easter Egg tree.  She decorated colored plastic eggs with fancy ribbons and shiny beads...this was way before glue guns and craft stores.  The eggs hung on a small tree and it was magical.

Easter meals were productions with a few traditional dishes.  The centerpiece was the baked ham with its delectable raisin sauce.  Grandma also made tiny tea sandwiches with cucumber and colored cream cheese spread in layers between crustless wonder bread.  A staple was Grandma Helen's butter curls.  I'm lucky if I can get the butter on a plate, much less curl it.  Only now that I have a family of my own and am responsible for our holiday meals can I truly appreciate Grandma Helen's efforts -- the cost, the preparation, the timing and the care.

And my Mom was no slouch on Easter either.  As the Easter Bunny's proxy, she made the most spectacular baskets, ever.  She taught me the value of good dark chocolate, versus the cheap crap you can buy at the local drugstore.  The prized stuffed bunny or chick was carefully selected for its quality, softness and appearance.  Even when I moved out, Mom still sent me wonderful Easter baskets, stopping only when she had grandchildren.  They now benefit from Grandma Dee's Easter Bunny skills.  Usually she'll include a little something for me too.

In my house, Easter is 3rd in line behind Christmas and Thanksgiving, but we do have a few annual traditions.  Easter Brunch at The Key Bridge Marriott is central to our celebration.  Upon hearing that they might not have it this year, my family went into a panic.  Thankfully, the hotel came to their senses and we have reservations.  Easter baskets are the other key essential, if only so that I can sneak some chocolate for myself.  I do my best to live up to my Mom's standards, surely falling a little short.  It is especially hard since my youngest doesn't even like chocolate.

I hate to admit it, I've gotten a little lazy with Easter.  Brunch and baskets are nonnegotiable, but all the outliers -- egg dying, egg hunts, decorating the house --have gone down the bunny trail as the kids have gotten older.  Grandma Helen would be so disappointed.  So in her honor, I'm heading to the craft store tomorrow to get all the makings for my own Easter egg tree.

Taking a Break

Spring Break starts today for my kids.  Funny thing is, doesn't change things much for me -- I’m still on the longest break from work that I’ve had since starting my first job at 15.

Twenty-two years ago, I couldn’t wait to start working, making money.  I donned a brown polyester uniform and began waiting tables at the Koney Island Inn where my sister worked.  From there, I had a lot of job titles – Wench (waitress in a wench’s costume), Student, Chinese Linguist, Interior Designer, Marketing Professional.  Over those two decades, I’ve been blessed with the ability to move between jobs without major gaps.  I’ve never had trouble getting a job, until now.

Being out of work brings about such a wealth of conflicting emotions:

• Freedom – I finally have time to do all the things I always wished I had time for.  Yes, I can sleep in, nap and take that 9:30am Spinning class.  Yet, I can’t really enjoy them.  I feel like I should constantly be looking for a job.
• Lack of purpose – I was proud of my job and my income.  Losing that and going without a replacement makes me feel a little lost.   
• Lazy – If I sleep in or take a nap, I feel like I should be getting up and doing something.  If I’m not looking for a job 24/7, I feel like I should be.  
• Lack of worth – I question my abilities and skills.  Why aren't recruiters calling and why am I not getting hired?  Why didn’t AOL want to keep me?  
• Indecision – My initial thought was to return to what I know…online marketing, but the thought of actually taking some of the jobs that I’ve applied for or commuting long distances is nauseating.  After being off for over a month, getting back into the 9 to 5 grind isn't really all that appealing.  But I don’t have the luxury of being able to stay home, so I know I must go back and not be picky.  Ugh, I hate feeling cornered.  
• Mooch -- I’ve always paid my own way and never relied on someone else to pay the bills.  I have trouble accepting being a stay-at-home Mom (will write another post on that topic).  I hate that my not working is eating into my family’s limited safety net.

As I read through my post, I hear all the 'shoulds' and feel all the guilt.  I always say that guilt is a useless emotion, yet with myself I’m ok with it?  And I'm trying to see the positive in this experience...the greater life lesson.  I know the fates are pushing me in a new direction and I am listening, but the process is hard and upsetting.

Taking a deep breath, I resolve to truly take a break this week and enjoy the time that I would normally be working.  I am thankful that I can spend the time with my kids and will focus on that.  Next week, my search resumes in full force.

Filling Buckets While Driving

My Mom always taught me to drive defensively.  I interpreted that as assume everyone else on the road is going to do something stupid.  Assume they will not slow down, stop or let you merge.  Admittedly, this is a pessimistic way to view it, but it has kept me relatively free of accidents (knock wood).  As two teens in my house are about to start driving, I have already started parroting my Mother.  The other mantra I drill into them is simply to be nice to other drivers.  Don't be "that guy."

The other day, I was headed to Target for something very important (ok, I was just looking for a cute new top to wear that night).  I was trying to get into the turn lane, which depended on a bit of fancy maneuvering and the kindness of my fellow drivers to let me over.  Hopefully, I accelerated with my signal on, thinking someone would let me in.  But what did I get? A big jerk who sped up, wouldn't let me in and flipped me off.  Nice. 

Come to find out, the "big jerk" was a girl, maybe 20 or 25 years old.  Young and in the prime of her life -- what caused such anger, hostility and bitterness?  The 2 seconds it would have cost her to let me in, would have been rewarded with good karma and a big thank you wave.  Instead, she chose to empty my bucket.

The concept of bucket emptying and filling comes from a book I often read to my daughter, Have You Filled a Bucket Today: A Guide to Daily Happiness for Kids .  The book says that everyone has an emotional bucket that needs filling. By doing something nice for someone, you fill their bucket (and yours). By doing something nasty (like flipping them off) you empty their bucket.

Sadly, most of the drivers I encounter don't do much bucket filling.  Maybe it is me..or maybe it is just our society -- rushed, me-first and rude.  At what point did we become so negative and mean that we are just openly hostile to people we don't know?  I think email and texting have something to do with it.  Through these detached forms of communication, we don't have to truly interact.  It is easy -- too easy-- to be curt and mean in email, removed from the pain it might cause the other person.  Texts are random, quick thoughts that require very little sensitivity or eloquence.  And sometimes, we are just so caught up in our own moment, issues and priorities, that we don't think about how our actions impact or are perceived by others.

I'll admit it, in my twenties I may have been like the bucket-emptying flipper offer.  Then, one day at Union Station, I had a life-changing experience.  Tired and irritable, I was trying to get on an escalator.  Some teen girls were messing around, blocking the way, laughing and giggling.  I gave a big "humph" and scowled.  One of the girls said to her friends "hey, let this mean lady pass."  Oh Lord, they were referring to me.  To these girls, I was "that guy."  Nasty and intolerant.  The one people feel sorry for because he/she is so angry at the world. Since that day, I've tried to be nicer and more tolerant.  Tried to smile and realize that others are not out to get me and ruin my day.  Yes, I slip up, occasionally groan, even growl...but I try.  I try  to be nice.  And when another driver is trying to get over, I let them in.   

Have you filled a bucket today?

Stepping Out

I was not born with the dancing gene. Actually, let me re-phrase that...I was not born with the choreographed dancing gene. Take me to a club and I can boogie, but try to teach me actual steps and I will inevitably over think it, count out loud and stumble.

I've always wanted to be able to dance. I took classes in my youth, but realized quickly that I was not gifted like some of my friends. My inability as an adult likely stems from those early days and not wanting to look stupid. Even the macarena is a challenge and forget the electric slide. I watch shows like So You Think You Can Dance and Dancing with the Stars with such envy. Not only is the talent incredible, but when you factor in the short time frame they have to learn the choreography, I am just in awe. Seriously, I think that part of my brain is just missing.

Another limiting factor that I've realized through recent self-assessment, is my risk adverse nature. I tend to avoid situations that put me in physical or emotional jeopardy. I am determined to reverse that trend. Bob and I have often talked about wanting to learn how to dance, but have never acted on it. So for Bob's birthday I signed us up for dance classes at Arthur Murray in Ashburn. Although dance lessons aren't exactly super risky, they put me in an uncomfortable place...out of control and perhaps looking stupid. So for me, this was a baby step in the right direction.

Although Bob and I were both excited about the lesson, as the time grew closer to leave, we talked about bailing (aka chickening out). We both are creatures of habit and like to "hunker down" on weekends, watching TV and ordering in. I also think Bob shares my fear of looking like an idiot. But, I remembered my commitment to myself and encouraged us to still go. A glass of wine later, and we were on our way.

We arrived and met with our instructor, Tatiana. Her perky and positive demeanor was just what Bob and I needed. The three of us clicked. We learned the basics of foxtrot and swing, but at that point, the steps were inconsequential. This was about Bob and my connection -- something I had felt from the minute I met him and was still so clearly evident on the dance floor. We moved together with relative effortlessness. My trust in Bob allowed me to relinquish control and let him lead, which he did beautifully. Our eyes and frames were locked together. By the end of the lesson, we were both a little sweaty and my face hurt from smiling so much.

We walked out feeling energized, excited and connected. A better couple than when we walked in. We realized afterwards that it was one of the few times in recent memory where we were alone and could focus on just each other. We have two more lessons scheduled and I can't wait. I'm glad we went and took that risk...even if it was only a baby step.

A Sad Reminder

Last night, I was online catching up on emails and feeling sorry for myself. It had been a tough week -- lots of rejection and disappointment on the job front. While on Facebook, I noticed that a few of my old high school friends had become fans of the Liam J. Perk Foundation. Curious, I checked out the page and started seeing words like "memorial" and "our sweet angel." A pit formed in my stomach as I realized that something terrible had happened to this sweet little boy. I went on to read Liam's story, as recounted by his father, Joseph Perk --- on December 22, 2009 Liam had been bitten in the neck by their family dog and died.

I think my connection to Joe was our hometown, but honestly, my 30+ memory is failing me. Yet after reading his story, the connection was one of parenthood. Parents have this incredible responsibility and most of us have moments we wish we could take back. That time where we turned our back for just a minute or weren't quick enough. Ruby had one that I'll never forget. I had taken her to Baltimore Aquarium. She was about two years old and very independent, so she wanted to walk a few steps in front of me. I looked away for a second and before I knew it she was walking right into the path of an oncoming taxi. I screamed like I had never screamed before and thankfully she stopped, right as the taxi whizzed by.

I am not a crier, but when I hear stories of parents losing their children, the tears just flow. Tears for Liam's family - their loss, the second-guessing, the guilt, the unbearable sadness. How do you pick up the pieces? Tears for my daughter -- who I sometimes take for granted, who I always want to protect, who I cannot imagine the pain of losing. And this time, there were tears of guilt for feeling sorry for myself just because I lost my job. Have I not learned by now that life is short and that my current situation is just a blip on the radar? Have I not learned that there are others who have it so much worse? I felt ashamed and sad. I went into Ruby's room and was glad she was still awake. I hugged her long and hard, to which she said "Mom, you're choking me." After another few seconds, I let her go and said good night.

Part of Liam's family's mission is to educate the public on providing a "safe environment for children and dogs as a family." His story is a not-so-gentle reminder that dogs are still animals. I grew up with dogs and the thought that they might hurt or kill me never crossed my mind. However, when Ruby was born, my protective mama bear instincts kept her at arms length from our two chocolate labs. My Mom's words, "you can't trust a dog, any dog" rang in my ears. Even now, we have two dogs in our home, one I don't trust completely around Ruby. After reading about Liam, I will be even more watchful and cautious.

I am still saddened and speechless when I look at the pictures on Liam's page. I never met him, but his story moved me and reminded me to focus on the positive and count my blessings...for I have many.

I'm a Believer

I never believed in soulmates...until I met mine.

I met Bob in 2005 after both undergoing some very stressful, life-altering events. He lost his wife after 17 years of marriage. I had just divorced after ten years. He was raising his three teens alone and I was sharing custody of my two-year old.

We met on Match.com. He winked at me and there was something in his picture -- his kind eyes, or maybe his Naval uniform - that attracted me to him. A few dates and long drives back and forth between my town and his, and we both knew it was for keeps. We bought a house just eight months later. People said we were crazy, we probably were, but we knew we had found happiness.

Saying we are soulmates is corny and potentially disruptive since we both have children. If we are soulmates, what does that say about our previous relationships that spawned our children? Can you have more than one soulmate? In my marriage, I never felt the connection and understanding that I currently share with Bob, but maybe he did in his. I care not to dwell on those details. And yes, we have had our struggles...even soulmates can disagree. It isn't easy bringing families together or being separated by Naval obligations. Yet through it all, we have maintained that fundamental closeness.


Meeting Bob made me a believer in soulmates as well as a few other ideals I had previously questioned:

• White knights - Bob is chivalrous and protective
• Fate - millions of people are on Match.com and we found each other
• Honor - Bob is committed to the Navy and to his family
• Resiliency - Bob and his family have overcome the ultimate loss with grace and optimism
• Good guys - Bob is good, decent, honest and kind

What makes someone your soulmate? I would define it as feeling connected above and beyond the norm, like you've known each other all you life. Knowing what the other is thinking. Bob and I share a mental and physical energy. When we touch, it truly is electric and we often joke that our skin pH must have some sort of chemical balance. When we spoon, we just fit. Our personalities compliment each other, based in a strong foundation of similarities. Where we do differ, we make up for each other's shortcomings.

In the first year of our relationship, we had a few challenges. I had somehow contracted scabies and Bob was wonderful about it. He wasn't swayed or disgusted (I was). I also had to undergo minor surgery and remember coming to and being so comforted that Bob was there. The nurse commented that we were like "peas and carrots" and we beamed knowing that she was right. How neat that other people could see it too.

There is a book I often read to my daughter called "I Love You So..." by Marianne Richmond. It is narrated by a mother who is describing how she loves her child, but the last few pages sum up how I feel about Bob.

"I CAN'T IMAGINE life before YOU came along...me there singing senseless, no MEANING to my song. Call it MEANT TO BE or simply blessed fate, you fill my heart WITH LOVE...and for THAT I celebrate."

Happy Birthday to my other favorite Pisces.