Married Female Seeking Adult Companionship

I think the tipping point was the birthday party on Earth Day this weekend. It’s not that I didn’t want to take Park, as a matter of fact, we had a wonderful time. It’s just that it occurred on Earth Day and there was a concert on the Mall that I traded in so we could go to the party. This was the second party that weekend, which was preceded by being the only parent that ever goes on my daughter’s field trips, and soon to be followed by another weekend of birthday parties and a class get together that I, as Class Mom, was planning. And that is when it hit me – my life can now only be measured by a cycle of play dates and parties.

Earth Day triggered it because my first Earth Day concert was in NY, when I was young and single and free to be out all day in the sun listening to music. I lived in Manhattan, so even if I had no one to hang out with – which was often – I could walk out the door and hit the park, or the museum or the movies. I could lay out on the grassy field near the Met and read a book; catch Summer Stage in Central Park or a cheap meal at Diane’s Uptown – all places that were just a few blocks from my front door. I could walk home from 42nd to 83rd street and find a million things to do on the way. And work? Work was hectic, but it was Africa, it was the Caribbean – a passport full of places and promises.

Now I have to schedule EVERYTHING. Even going into DC means consulting a train schedule and driving 15 minutes to get on a train station because in the burbs you just can’t hop around the corner to get on some form of public transportation, you have to PLAN. Gone are the “Hey girl, whatcha’ doing” days of spontaneity. It’s more of “What are you doing next week…oh wait there’s a party, ok, next Tuesday – sorry, can’t really do week nights.” Everything is around a school calendar – a spring break, a summer break, a camp, a dance, ice skating, swim or gymnastics class. And slowly, but surely, you just stop trying because it’s one more thing to schedule.

I really do love and appreciate my life – it’s just that every now and then I need to be an adult. Everything I do somehow relates to a kindergartener – my red lipstick that has always been my signature – now is only worn to the amusement of my daughter’s kindergarten class; dresses and skirts – can’t wear them as I need full body covering to roll, climb, leap or catch. Park told me the other day that my clothes are horrible and I really need to buy something new. Free time? I just want to sleep so I can be rested for the next kid’s activity.

Bottom line – I’m the activities director in the family. Larry does a lot but it doesn’t change the fact that Park is usually solely with me after school and on weekends due to his schedule. So when he does take her out for a few hours and “drops the mic” like “yeah, I rocked that, “I want to hit him in the head with a frying pan.

So to save my sanity, I have come up with a Return to Land of Adulthood plan. I’m letting Larry take Park to next weekend’s party, and when he gives me a few hours of relief, I am going to run with it like I stole something. I’ve already called my girlfriend to block the day to do something or nothing, as long as it is adults-only. I realize I must intentionally seek adult companionship if I want an adult life.

I saw the life I wanted to live before I got married and I have it and am grateful for it. Losing my identity as an adult wasn’t part of the vision, that’s just something I let happen. But just like the time a few weeks ago when I busted my ass for the first time in ice skating, I got up and returned to the rink, knowing that if I didn’t I’d never return, I’m treating my adult life the same way. I can’t let fear or complacency or resignation get the best of me, I’ve got to get up and get back into the rink before I end up in a clown costume somewhere – a relic of a mom who gave too much of herself! And although I love my daughter more than anything, I’ll tell her, when her big eyes fill with tears as I head out the door,” Mommy loves you so much, but NO KIDS ALLOWED.”

The Grinch Who Stole New Year's!

I really enjoyed the holidays up until New Year's. We kicked off the season with 22 people and Thanksgiving in Jamaica. It was a great way to get in the festive mood for the weeks to come. I rode that high through decorating for Christmas and hosting a dinner for 30+ people at our house. Last year we weren’t home for Christmas so this year I really decorated with two trees, poinsettias, and decorations of some sort in every room on the main floor. I was really in the spirit and it seemed like every day had a party, a get together, a lunch, a movie or a combination of the above. So it was good times – sort of.

My sister and her family were supposed to come into town but my nephew got sick so they had to stay home hoping to come out later. But there was no way my mom was going to miss Christmas at the house with Parker so she arrived Christmas Eve. I don’t know WHAT she caught from my nephew or on Amtrak, but upon arrival she complained about not feeling well, laid down on the floor in my family room and was knocked out for the night! Larry was like “What the hell did you do to her?” For the next week she coughed, blew her nose and primarily stayed rolled up in sheets, waking only to take medicine eat or force herself out to do something with us.

A few days later here comes Larry – he’s hot, he’s cold, his stomach hurts, his stomach doesn’t hurt, he has a headache – now HE was sick! My house went from holidays to The Walking Dead as they dragged, coughed and sniffled their way through the house, returning to the crypt after only a few hours up. All I could think of was how many blankets, sheets and comforters I’d have to fumigate when it was all over. But at least I had my little road dog happy and healthy to roll with me – WRONG.

Park had been so well through it all. She even survived the “too much jumping in her new bounce house upchuck” on Christmas Day. All was well – we went ice skating, to birthday parties – she was hanging with me. Until New Year’s Eve. I was determined that we not stay in the house with the sickos all day so at 9:00 a.m. we went to the public skate session again. But it was cold out – and despite clothes, a snow suit, a helmet and gloves, she uncharacteristically started to feel cold on the ice. Usually she’s begging to take her coat off. Now she was cold and wanting to leave early. By noon she was sniffling and her nose was running – son of a b*****!!! Now EVERYONE was sick!

I got her home and resigned myself to doing absolutely nothing for New Year’s Eve. My sister was going to try to come up but we had to put the kibosh on that for fear the cycle would start all over again. We didn’t have big plans but were at least going to get together with friends. Mom was pretty much in bed all day and Larry was a close second to that schedule. At 5:00 p.m. it was me, Park and every version of High School Musical on the Disney Channel. By 9:00 p.m. I figured what the hell, since we’re not going out and everyone is sick, I might as well start taking the Christmas stuff down. I snatched off every ornament and ripped the tree skirts off of the trees, dragged the greenery wrapped around the staircase bannister, threw the baubles and pinecones into a box, put the fake poinsettias in bin like a coffin – by the time I was done the only thing hint of the holidays was the two naked trees. Larry came out of his coma at one point and was like “What the hell happened?” Christmas – and every memory of it was gone!! I felt like The Grinch Who Stole Christmas and Larry was Cindy Lou Who going “Why Santy Claus, Why???!!!”

I wasn’t trying to erase the holidays but, since I wasn’t celebrating New Year's I figured I could at least be productive, clear everything out and start the year with a clean house! Then I could enjoy the what’s left of the holiday. I’d still have four days left - maybe everyone will have recovered by then and we can finish like we started – with a bang. But wait is that now MY throat feeling itchy???!!! Ugggghhhhhh!!!! Happy New Year!

Dump Diver: A Husband, a Tooth and Sainthoood

Today my husband reached Saint Status. Parker has been saying that her tooth has been loose for a while now. At six year’s old, she’s had yet to lose them when all of her friends have lost theirs. Her annual doctor’s appointment showed that she’s grown four and a half inches this past year, jumping from the 48th to 70th percentile in height – a big leap for someone with gigantor cousins who have been in the 99th percentile since birth. She was on track with everything except her teeth and I feared she’d have baby teeth until 5th grade. Her doctor assured me all was well and then said “She’ll probably lose them all at once.”

Fast forward to today. I managed to complete my third ice-skating class without knocking any of my teeth out and Parker’s tooth started to wiggle a lot during her class. By lunch time at Panera, she bit down and it started to bleed. Parker, who had been anxiously waiting to join her peers in the toothless league, started wailing about wishing she still had all of her teeth – I think the blood freaked her out and she reverted to baby status hopping right onto my lap.

She calmed down long enough to tentatively get into the car and head to her friend’s Christmas party. By arrival she was back to normal showing everyone her loose tooth. I was frantically sending Larry texts about having to pull her tooth when she got home because I could not bear to do it. As I’m texting away Park comes over with a smile on her face and a conspicuous hole in her mouth – her tooth came out on her own! Problem was, it was no where to be found – I think she ate it with her pepperoni pizza.

I took pictures texting them to family members and she proudly showed her smile to Larry when we got home. Then she complained her stomach hurt and she had to go to the bathroom – and she had to do number two. Larry runs in there like a surgeon yelling back to me “get me some plastic silverware.” No… no!!!! I began thinking, do not tell me this man is going to dissect a bowel movement to find her first tooth. I thought, that is a saint; that is a man who worships his daughter; that is my husband! That’s the kind of man you want to marry: one who dives in a toilet just for a tooth. Five minutes later he emerged defeated with sweat on his face and a tightly wrapped plastic bag with plastic ware. The tooth was no where to be found.

As I screamed at him to double wrap the bag, Park complained again of her stomach hurting, at which point he yelled to me “You’ve got round two!” So much for Sainthood! I said a few choice words back to him and we resumed our very human lives – he ran back to watch the football game, Park celebrated her milestone with the Disney Channel, and I found another thing to write about.

Over Sold: In Trying to Protect My Daughter, Have I Made Her Afraid of Everything?

I try to be honest with my daughter about everything and that includes things that come on the news. I try to tell the truth in terms that a kindergarten student can understand, but I am starting to think I am over selling things.

When I see another poor young woman’s destiny lie in the hands of a psychopath who takes advantage of the fact that she is lost, has drunk too much, etc. I warn Park about the dangers of alcohol and drugs and how, although it is certainly not a young woman’s fault, crazy people will target your weakness and take advantage of a situation. Her take a way “Mommy, I don’t want to go to college because someone is going to force me to drink and I don’t want to!”

Every time she sees someone on a TV show who is sick or hurt she goes “Mommy are they dead,” because I’m always telling her about foolish acts that lead to despair. I feel like the father in The Croods, where every story he told ended with “.., and then they died!”

When I counsel her to choose a mate carefully and not tolerate anyone who hits, hurts or abuses her, her take-a-way: “I’m not getting married;” “I hate boys” or the latest “I’m going to marry Daddy.”

I’m proud of the fact that I’ve tailored a life that allows me to work from home and set my own schedule, giving me the freedom to volunteer at her school, take time as I want, schedule my day as I see fit and most importantly, be there when she gets home from school. Her take-a-way: “Daddy works, Mommy I don’t know what you do!"

When I try to convince her to be a big girl by ditching a bath and taking a shower, I show her by bringing her in with me to demonstrate how easy it is. Her take-a-way: She loves to shower, but ONLY WITH ME! So now she showers AND sleeps with me! Larry has her like Gulliver still in her converted crib-to-bed. Although, to his point, she still fits, I’ve tried to bribe her with a big girl bed of her own of which she informed me she will never sleep in unless it is in our bedroom. Who needs a house when we could have apparently gotten a one-bedroom apartment and been fine!

What I am actually attempting to do is to get her to make good decisions, to be wise about her choices and to choose her friends and situations with great care but sometimes I think I am having the opposite affect and will have a kid who never wants to leave the house.

And yet, when we are on vacation or playing with her friends she is fearless. She wants nothing to do with me – only stopping to ask permission to go with her friends, order food, or get back in the pool. I can go an entire day and barely see her! She’ll jump in ten feet of water, go down the gigantic water slide and is apparently so fast and fearless that she was asked to be on the swim team.

This is not the same little girl that comes home to me, that doesn’t want to marry, go to college or take a shower. This is an independent little spirit that runs the world when she is not up under Mommy. I guess there is a reason you kick them out of the nest, so they can make their own, hopefully wise decisions without a parent’s panic. That being said, I will try to think a little more before I speak. I will try to encourage her to fly not only when she is away from me but when she is with me; after all, with her in my shower and my bed, it is starting to feel a little cramped!

Ice, Ice Baby: Lessons from the Rink

Yesterday was the end of Park’s first session of ice skating lessons. She did a tester course in the summer but this was the real thing. For six weeks I have watched her attempts. When upright, she is a pretty fast skater – but she seems to prefer to spend more time rolling on the ice. I don’t know if she’s doing it on purpose but she seems fascinated with BEING ON THE FLOOR – and it drives me crazy. She doesn’t just fall, she lays there, studying the markings for the ice hockey games, feeling the cold on her hands, playing with whatever object the teacher threw out for them to retrieve.

I guess I want her to excel at this and she seems quite content to idle by, taking in the scenery as she occasionally listens to the instructor. Sometimes it’s a slow crumble down to the ice, sometimes it’s a spectacular crash. Each time I want to scream at the top of my lungs GET UP, but she’s quite happy laying there thinking about it. I don’t care if she is ever an athlete but to see her so comfortable at laying there drives me nuts. I like that we try different things – and she LIKES ice skating. After every class I ask if she is still on board, does she want to keep doing and it and she never hesitates to say yes. She even gave up dance classes to do this.

Maybe it’s me. She is clearly happy just being out there, enjoying the moment. I’m the one in conniptions on the sidelines. I’m thinking she’s complacent with being adequate and she’s thinking “yeah, more fun time (literally) on the ice.” I have been told I am a perfectionist. I really, really don’t see myself that way, I just don’t want to embarrass myself so I try to get things right. People say I am really smart – first grade at five, college at 20, masters at 22 – but it was only because I was rushing through school and wanted to be done early, so I worked at it – In reality I was really just a strong B, maybe at times B+ student. Maybe I just need to chill the hell out with my expectations for my daughter and for myself.

So I’m putting my money where my mouth is – yesterday I signed up for adult ice skating lessons. I have been on skates three times in my life and each time I ride the side rail for dear life. But perhaps I need to learn like my daughter to be comfortable in falling; comfortable in letting go and not trying to be perfect or rush through just to get it over with. Perhaps I need to simply live in that moment right then and there and not worry about the next one.

The best thing about it – our lessons are at the same time. So instead of seeing Mommy focusing on what she is doing wrong she will see Mommy simply being human – stumbling, learning, trying,and not taking that imperfection past that one moment when it happens. Most importantly, she’ll see me falling, and perhaps, like her I will learn to just get up with a smile on my face and keep moving forward.

Oh No She Didn't

The other day I went on my third school trip in four weeks – this time to a museum. These trips always seem to fall on the same day Park has an after school activity. Since I was going on the trip she skipped the school bus. So I drove her 20 miles to school, went on the trip, drove her 20 miles back home, fed her, then left for ice-skating lessons. By the time we got home I was exhausted and I just wanted to rest. Park then asked if we could play. I’m thinking, isn’t that what we’ve done for the past 10 hours?! So I went into this diatribe about how it was a long day, all that we did that day, how I just wanted to rest and no we could not play together.

While I was talking, Park was writing in her notebook. After my soliloquy she paused and drew a big heart on the page and then asked how to spell my name. I was so touched as she wrote each letter thinking what a sweet girl I have. After she finished the last letter I said “Oh Parker!” And then she looked at me, took the pen and scratched my name out – slowly! And said “That’s what you get for not playing with me.”

This kid, like all kids, has no idea what parents go through – with my back still sore from my failed kick-boxing class, I planned three things around her birthday celebration, worked an event for my church and wrote a script. I’m friggin’ walking around like a question mark trying not to miss a beat for her activities. I walk around in my “I’m going to the gym” clothes while my body looks like I’ve never set foot in one. For me dressing up is putting on red lipstick, but the only people who notice are my daughter’s classmates who beg me to put it on when I visit. One of the few times I managed to throw on a skirt, my neighbor chastised me for still wearing a slip – that she could see hanging below my hem.

So I walk around in my mom clothes, accented by red lips, running around from one child’s activity to the next. When I’m not doing that, I’m working from home, trying to get it all done before she gets home. So, in a nutshell, my earth orbits around her sun, while she scratches my name out of a heart.

But I know she loves me and just wants us to spend time together. In a few years that won’t be the case, she’ll stop being so consumed in my world and run off to play with her friends – while I beg for time with her. So I’ll take the art work with a grain of salt and spend a little time on the floor rolling around – with my bad clothes, my red lipstick and my wild, expressive child in my arms.

Living Not So Well Lady: One Bad Day at the Gym

Every Wednesday evening I take this kick-butt cardio kick boxing class and every Wednesday I am very afraid. Our teacher is like a drill instructor and at 149 beats a minute without breaks, she tells us that we are her slowest class. Her class is HARD; let me put it this way – she trained in Tae Bo with Billy Blanks. She says she is a drill instructor and I am pretty sure she means literally as I certainly feel like I am in the army – and she definitely makes us drop and do push-ups.

I try to keep up by staying at the front of the room. I sweat, hop and pant my way through every step. We’re all moving and praying that she doesn’t see any one put their hands on their hips or we’ll all have to do 20 more of whatever we were doing. By the end of class I am literally stinking but I feel exhilarated. I feel proud that I once again made it through the class – it’s just not as easy as it used to be.

Last week I don’t know what I was doing or trying to prove but I think I jammed something – so much to the point that I felt like I was two inches shorter. I felt like I was in one of those Lifetime movies where “a freak accident leaves someone paralyzed” as I gingerly tried to maneuver around the next couple of days. Turning my head required turning my entire body in the desired direction; putting on shoes meant trying to retrieve them with my toes and tossing them up into my hands to put on rather than bending, and it felt better walking sideways rather than straight ahead. I felt really pathetic when Parker offered to help me walk! It has been a week and I am still walking tentatively and have not been to the gym since. I finally waved the white flag and made a doctor’s appointment for Friday. I thought this was something I could shake off with rest and taking it slow, but the old body doesn’t seem to recover like it used to.

In my 20s and 30s I lived on the Upper Eastside in New York. There used to be this gym called Living Well Lady right at 86th and Lexington where the instructors, all dancers, would smoke cigarettes, eat potato chips and sip soda while waiting for class to start – they were about a size 2. I was right along with them as I’d treat myself to a box of Entenmann’s chocolate chip cookies and a can of chocolate frosting as a treat for after step AND aerobics class. It was so easy to go from class to class, hopping, kicking and jumping and then eating a diet of chocolate, hamburgers and fries. I could do that with ease, stay a size 6, and hit repeat. Now I do a bad move in the ONE difficult class I take each week and feel like my body is broken!

What used to be cured with a quick rest now takes a week of monk like stillness to only slightly improve. Yesterday I made myself take a walk because you know at this age it takes one day to gain weight and one month to get it off. I was going so slow I felt like I was walking in reverse. But I trudged on – and I guess that’s the solution. Keep moving through it. I will never be that young girl flying through aerobics classes again – the veins on my hands and rings around my neck remind me of that. But I can meet myself where I am.

I’ll keep fighting the good fight, keep exercising and making doctor’s appointments so that I can recover from whatever trauma I inflict on my body and keep hoping that everything stays in place – at least until the next class.