Category Archives: Friends
The people who are brave enough to hang with us.
Mixing it up.
Sometimes, for fun, we dress up like Brian and Andrea and see if she notices.
A Riddle
What do you get when you combine 3 Saggitarians, 2 gnomes, a pregnant lady, a cancer survivor, a web nerd who is a slave to shoe fashion, a man who is freakishly obsessed with preparing for winter, and an 8-year-old who will only each chips, fries and ramen?
A Christmas/birthday celebration that can’t quite be put into words.
1,060 miles of fun.
Just as much as they don’t prepare you for how UN-magical a newborn can be, they also don’t prepare you for how TOTALLY AWESOME a toddler can be. “They” being all those sappy-licious parenting books that always look at the brighter side. Those books that need to come with a warning that says: “Beware. The person who wrote this book was high on hormones and may not always portray an accurate depiction of pregnancy, parenting or the miracle of birth.”
As a parent, your sense of the well-being of others becomes freakishly heightened whenever you are about to put yourself and your child into or near a physical space shared with another human. So you can imagine the outright panic that set in when Dore offered to suffer the slings and arrows of a road trip down to the valley with Stella and I. It was hard to discern whether this was the selfless act of a true friend or just plain old-fashioned stupidity. I mean come on – 10 hours EACH WAY, the death heat of the valley, sleeping in a trailor on the back 40 – who would willingly volunteer for this? This trip had merit badge written all over it.
The whole purpose of the trip was for us to make the rounds through Phyllis’s house in preparation for the estate sale. It is a strange and invasive process – going through someone else’s possessions. You feel like an intruder and wish that each and every item in the house had been designated to someone specific. Instead we had to play this uncomfortable guessing game of “Do you want this? No? Do you mind if I take it?” You feel like you are one step away from being a looter.
I did get the fortunate opportunity to go through years worth of photos of Phyllis, her sisters and their circle of friends. They were all so close with one another, and there were photos of the four sisters together all the way through until the ends of their lives. You could almost hear the laughter as they goofed around in the kitchen making Christmas dinner, modeled their new bathing suit, or sat on the back patio drinking cocktails. You got the very real sense that it was a time when life was good, and I am so glad I got the opportunity to have a front row seat.
When we weren’t busy at Phyllis’s house, we were tolerating moderate heat (miraculously, it was in the low to mid 90s) and watching Stella run non-stop. The Anderson Compound provides a lot of roaming room and plenty of things to check out. As per usual, she is drawn to fountains as if there is a secret voice calling to her, “come, dip your sleeves in me, ignore all arguments otherwise.” It is, undoubtedly, the same voice that tells her to loiter suspiciously around the toilet.
This was the first actual travel experience since transitioning to the big-girl bed and as such, we weren’t sure how to best anticipate the sleeping arrangements. I took the pack ‘n play just in case, but figured I would let her sleep with me.
Night 1:
Stella kidney kicks Natalie every 30-40 minutes and insists upon sleeping perpendicular to Natalie the entire night.
Night 2:
Stella is banished to the pack ‘n play and wakes regularly at 30 minute intervals until Natalie moves her back into bed with her; Stella kicks Natalie every 30-40 minutes and insists upon sleeping perpendicular to Natalie remainder of the night
Night 3:
Stella sleeps on the floor, stirring only once, but wakes up with her body a full 180 degrees opposite her initial sleeping position
Night 4:
Stella sleeps over at Grammy Judy and Grandpa Bill’s – for all Natalie cares, she slept on the ceiling.
Night 5:
See Night 3
Sleeping issues aside, Stella was downright Stellarific. She transitioned from location to location without even a whimper, she was cute, charming and ever so patient during the endless days in the car. She was able to charm everyone with her unique renditions of Rock-a-Bye-Baby, Happy Birthday, Twinkle-Twinkle and 5 Little Monkeys, often creating new and catchy medleys such as, “Wock a Bee Bee, Twee Top, Happy Booday to Woo!” One of the more memorable moments came when I asked her,”Can I have a kiss, Stella?” and she responded, “How ’bout tongue, Mama?” [Indicating I should kiss her on the tongue.] Classic.
From all reports, her two days with Judy and Bill were equally pleasurable. Judy got to play show-and-tell with Stella at two separate schools, where Stella even got to play at Kindergarten recess. (When you are a pint-sized giant you can get away with such things.) They survived a trip to the grocery store where Stella got her very own cart and, as Bill put it, she was a much better at the shopping part than at the steering part. And miracle of all miracles, they left the store with only ONE must-have item that wasn’t on the original grocery list.
It was a fairly uneventful drive home, aside from the one cheese incident wherein she mistook it for playdough and managed to work it skillfully into the plastic mechanism that fastens her seatbelt. New rule: cheese is no longer an unsupervised food.
Note to Dore: You certificate of completion is in the mail.
In loving memory of my old lady friend.
A year ago today, a little over 5 months shy of her 90th birthday, Phyllis died.
She survived three older sisters, each of whom died in the month of September, and she used to joke, “I just need to make it through September, honey.” I guess she just decided that she had endured all the Septembers she could, and was ready to rejoin her sisters for some long overdue beer and tacos.
This was the first time I ever experienced the death of someone I loved so dearly. My friend, my confidant, my sassy “old lady friend” (her term), I never hesitated to describe her as family. It felt awkward to say anything else. Our family had become the kids and grandkids she never had. And way back on that rainy morning in December, she was the first person I called to tell that we had a daughter, and decided to name her Stella. She was finally a great grandmother.
Phyllis was the real deal. She swore, she drank and she always called it like it was. I can still hear her adamant proclamation of “bullshit!” as I tried, tirelessly, to tell her how I would go back to school and finish my degree – I swear! Somewhere along the line it became her mission to make sure we didn’t blow our opportunities. And when it came to our education, she was relentless. She did everything she could to make sure it happened. I am just so glad that she got to bear witness to the completion of my 12 year odyssey through college. See, Phyllis? I told you I would do it…eventually.
Something you could either love or hate about Phyllis is that she was always brutally honest. She was quick to point out the truth – whether you wanted to hear it or not. A typical conversation between Celene and I on our way over to Phyllis’s would go something like this:
“Which one of us do you think she will tell has gained weight?”
“I think it was me last time. It’s probably your turn.”
No visit was complete without her looking at one of us and pointing out the size of our ass. I guess when you are an octegenarian you aren’t held to the same rules as everyone else, and it is considered completely okay to smack someone on the butt and say, “well honey, looks like you packed on a couple of pounds there!” What exactly do you say to something like that? Nothing – you just suck it up and respect her for the fact that she has lived this long and can, damn well, say anything she wants. [I would be remiss if I didn’t point out that she also would be kind enough to point out those rare moments when we had actually lost weight.]
There have been many, many times over the last year where I have wished I could just pick up the phone and called her. I have tried hard to keep myself from falling into the I-wish-I-would-have whirlpool of regret. There are a million ways I could have done more, been more, tried harder. But then I step back and try to remember that she loved us regardless of how many times we called or wrote. She was always happy to hear from us, and I loved the fact that all the way up until the last time I spoke with her on the phone, she knew my voice instantly. I miss her great laugh, her awesome stories and above all, her enduring friendship.
I miss you terribly, Phyllis, but wherever you are, I hope you are happy and healthy, with a beer in your hand and a cat at your side. You deserve it.