If I had only known

I've been friends with L and M since we were all eleven years old and in the sixth grade. If I'd known we'd still be friends today, I think I would have taken more photos of us over the years so we could look back and laugh at our leg warmer-ed, sweater-vested, prairie skirted, John Hughes movie watching selves.

Just yesterday, separately, they both passed along bits of information that gave me a great reason (as if I needed one) to think about the girl I was and the woman I am today.

From M came an e-mail with the wisdom of Maya Angelou:

"I've learned that no matter what happens, or how bad it seems today, life does go on, and it will be better tomorrow."

"I've learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way he/she handles these three things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights."

"I've learned that regardless of your relationship with your parents, you'll miss them when they're gone from your life."

"I've learned that making a "living" is not the same thing as "making a life."

"I've learned that life sometimes gives you a second chance."

"I've learned that you shouldn't go through life with a catcher's mitt on both hands; you need to be able to throw some things back."

"I've learned that whenever I decide something with an open heart, I usually make the right decision."

"I've learned that even when I have pains, I don't have to be one."

"I've learned that every day you should reach out and touch someone. People love a warm hug, or just a friendly pat on the back."

"I've learned that I still have a lot to learn."

"I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel."

It was funny to me, because just hours before, L and I had been discussing our reactions to an essay she'd read in Nora Ephron's latest book, I Feel Bad About My Neck. She asked what I would blog about the life lessons I've learned?

You see, I try not to have regrets in life, but there are certainly issues I've reconsidered, wondering who and what I would be now if I'd been more aware, especially in my teens and twenties.

(However, remembering myself in my teens and twenties, there is no way I'd have been any more aware because I bore the daunting responsibility of never being wrong and also always being right. I'm thinking I have about ten years before it comes full circle and Ellie inflicts this on me.)

I may not be as wise as Maya Angelou or as witty as Nora Ephron, but I have learned a thing or two along the way.

No matter what it looks like on the outside, no one has the perfect family.

"Perfect" is overwhelmingly subjective anyway.

People who choose not to be your friend because you don't wear the latest fashions are probably not the kind of friends you want to have. This holds true whether you are twelve or forty-two.

Everyone deserves to be treated with kindness.

Your body never forgets, and will sometimes pick inopportune times to remind you that you should have lifted with your legs and not your back that time you moved into your first apartment.

If you break up with someone, and break up with them again and again, chances are, it's not a relationship that's going to last.

There is such a thing as love at first sight.

When picking a college major, don't be motivated by what you think will impress graduate schools or future employers. If every course you take and book you read in a subject puts you to sleep, think about choosing something else. If you're not sure, ask.

The boys who might have seemed too dorky to date in high school might still have been good friends to have, even if not boyfriend material. It probably would have been time better spent making friends than dealing with the complexities of relationships at such a young age. Besides, I've learned that a lot of these geeky boys end up turning into fine and interesting men.

If given the opportunity to study abroad or travel, muster up the courage to go, regardless of how homesick you might become or how frightened you are to speak another language or live in another culture. It will probably change your life.

Children do not need to be part of every decision-making process.

Let people you love know that you do as often as you can. If it doesn't feel right to say it, find a way to show it in a way that does, and say it regardless because people need to hear it.

Don't put cashmere in the dryer.

You can't control everything, no matter how vigilant or determined. Accidents happen. Still, prevention beats most of the alternatives.

Who you are is not the equivalent of what you have accomplished.

Self-respect is more valuable than all the external validation in the world.


What do you know now?

Pssst ...

Hey, readers. You still there?

I've started on a new blog adventure, but this time, I'm not doing it alone.

I'm back to Weight Watchers and I'm telling all about it along with my friends from Get in the Car! and 15 Minutes of Peace at Life on 20 Weight Watchers Points a Day.

Stop by and visit, won't you?

Not quite a fairy tale

Once upon a time, there was a mother who had a very sensitive little boy. The boy observed and interacted with the world in a way that was different than other children. Everyone who knew the boy knew he was smart and kind. Because he was her first, and because she was sensitive and bit different, too, the mother may have protected her boy a bit more than other mothers do.

The boy crawled, walked and talked just as he was supposed to. He started preschool. He learned shapes, colors and letters and made many new friends. His teachers loved him, and even though some days he would cry and cry, he continued to learn and was happy to go to school. No one understood why he cried so much, but they understood that the boy was good and would do things in his own time. His teacher once said about him, "There are enough followers in the world. Let yours take his own path." When the mother worried, the teachers explained that his behavior was normal and that they would take care of him.

The best friends he made were the ones that understood that even though some days were crying days, he was still a nice boy who shared, never fought, and loved to play with cars, trains and the tools and materials of construction. These friends also happened to have the nicest moms who understood what it meant to have a boy who was not exactly like the other boys.

The mother quickly learned that not every mom felt the same.

In fact, one mom made quite a few mentions, in passing of course, of how the boy was different, how perhaps the teachers were not helping him to manage his feelings and how the other children noticed and teased the boy, and that maybe the mother should do something about it. The mother was sad, and scared, and had many conferences with the teachers and administrators to discuss her special boy. As much as she wanted to believe that it was not the other mom's business, she had a lot of feelings of her own to manage and couldn't help wondering if maybe the other mom was right?

Days passed, and one sunny morning a group of the nicest children had a play date at the park. When the boy and his mother were playing, she accidentally knocked him into a tree and he cried. One of the special friends, perhaps frustrated from being in defense of him on so many other days, scolded him, "[Boy], STOP CRYING ALREADY!" The mother was quick to correct the child, "[Friend], he bumped into a tree and it hurt. It's okay for him to cry, and it's not okay for you to talk to him that way."

Caught by her quick reaction to correct another's child, she rushed to the other mom and explained apologetically what she had said. The other mom considered the exchange, reasoned that an apology wasn't necessary, that in fact, her child was out of line, and followed with, "But he does cry a lot. Have you had him evaluated?"

The mother was incensed. She was hurt and felt judged. She defended her child, her actions, justified all that she had done, and walked away. It was enough, the final straw. She decided that the two moms were simply not destined to be friends, that it was not her job to explain to the other mom exactly how and why she was wrong, and quietly hoped that the mom would not influence her child, the boy's friend, to feel differently about him.

She never had him evaluated. She discussed him at length with his teachers, his pediatrician, the school's director and an educational psychologist (who evaluated only his readiness for Kindergarten as required by his new school and not his bouts of emotional fragility) and they all felt confident that what was normal for this boy, while still not like other children, was nothing of concern.

Months passed and the boy matured. His crying days were less and less. While the mother continued to spend time with the mothers who understood, she still bore a grudge against the mom who so casually suggested there was something wrong with her child, believing that statements of that nature are both caustic and inflammatory. She remained civil and pleasant, careful to keep her feelings removed from the children's enduring friendship. As the children enrolled at different schools, and their younger siblings were in different preschool classes, she no longer faced the daily reminder of the other mom's scrutiny.

When the mother had at last let go of the once offensive incidents and her feelings of disdain for the other mom, the two met again. They hugged hello and goodbye, extending well wishes to each other's children.

The next day, the mother pieced together bits of knowledge from a vague but friendly e-mail from the other mom and an overheard conversation from the night before, and her head began to spin.

The other child of the other mom is a different kind of boy, too, but hers has been evaluated and won't be coming back to preschool right now.

How quickly we judge. How quickly we become victims, hurt and distanced. How quick we are to protect ourselves when perhaps we should have offered a listening ear or a helping hand instead.

How quickly we go from being wronged to just being wrong.

How quickly our idea of a happy ending changes.

In case of emergency

I used to be afraid of emergency rooms.

I'd listen in awe and horror as I heard the tales of other families' ailments and woes, believing I alone could keep my children from harm's way. I wore my vigilance as a badge of honor.

Then I had Ellie.

She has dislocated her elbow twice, gouged her forehead on the fireplace, and just yesterday, survived her foot being near swallowed by an escalator.

She's fine. We're fine. Everyone is fine.

No lives have been altered or lost.

We're fine.

(Deep breath. Pause. Give thanks.)

Accidents happen. Real life happens. Accidents and real life happen after hours and on weekends. That's why we have emergency rooms.

I'm no veteran of this, but have learned a few lessons along the way.

• You cannot prevent all accidents from occurring. That's why they are called "accidents." If you planned them, you wouldn't intend on anyone ending up bruised, broken, or bleeding, and you'd manage the event to take place during your pediatrician's regularly scheduled office hours.

• Stay calm. No one is going to get better any faster if you panic or if you start taking out your anger and frustration on your unharmed family members. (I'm sorry, Jakey. I didn't mean to be angry and frustrated with you. I was just worried about your sister.)

• It's nice if you have another adult around to help - especially if your spouse is the one seeking care or is out of town or at an unreasonable distance. Whether it is caring for your other children or you, it's good to not be alone if you can manage it. Auntie Banana has been part of our hospital outings a few times now, and has proven to be the perfect person to help keep me sane, field phone calls, and serve as an extra set of ears if I am unable to absorb all the important information given the situation.

• If you leave your child in the care of others, you probably want to fill out a document giving your authorization for that caregiver to consent to your child's medical treatment. We've filled out these forms for our schools and summer camps, but should also have on hand for the grandparents who watch our kids, too, especially if and when we are out of town. (Here is where you can find this form for the State of California - I'm sure other states have something similar if not the same.)

• Near my kitchen phone, I keep a list of all the phone numbers someone might need if they were in charge of my kids; it includes their pediatrician, their schools, our home and office addresses, all of our families' addresses and cell phone numbers. (When I fill out those medical consent forms, you can bet I'll keep them with this information sheet.) Speaking of phones, I try to always have my cell phone charged, or at least have a charger with me.

• If you happen to be at home and have the wherewithal to collect yourself before a trip to the ER, it's nice to bring familiar items to amuse yourself and loved ones. When Ellie was being treated for her head wound, since it was close to her bed time, I brought a change of pajamas for her, a few of her washable sleepy friends and some milk for the ride home. When we speak of the time she had her head fixed, we talk about how I brought her blankies and puppy and played ring around the rosie with them on her hospital bed. I feel like I'm helping keep a tiny bit of normalcy and comfort in an otherwise grim setting. (Since we went straight from the mall to the ER yesterday, I didn't have time to stop for toys or other niceties, so we made do with treasures from my purse and Jake's backpack. We played a version of Memory with a series of wallet size portraits.)

• Don't expect to feel normal even when the worst is over.
  

Today we are exhausted. Even a brief trip to the ER is at least a couple of hours spent in emotional, and sometimes physical, distress. We have debriefed. Jake understands what happened when Ellie and I went behind the closed doors. Ellie understands has been convinced that we will ride the escalator again, but next time, we'll be sure to stay in the middle of the step.

I understand that however watchful, wary and cautious I am, I cannot expect to prevent every fall or misstep. I want to, but I can't.

Ellie says she wants to be a doctor when she grows up. I hope that she chooses emergency medicine. She seems drawn to it already.

My Best of 2007

Since you now know that I waited until 2008 to see the month ahead of me, I'm sure you won't be shocked to see that my year end recap is a few weeks late.

I ended 2007 with a shrug. I called it a status quo kind of year.

Nothing really changed for me, I thought, feeling like my biggest accomplishment of 2007 was clearing up my persistent adult acne. (Thank you Dr. Murad for selling your miraculous line of skin products at Sephora!)

I'd forgotten about how much I enjoyed playing tennis again this summer while the kids were both at day camp. How much I savored the five weeks with both kids otherwise occupied, 75 hours to call my very own. How amazing it was to see John Mayer in concert, especially as seen from the very last row with my dear Adrienne. I spent an afternoon with L for tea at the Ritz Carlton, a long lost tradition that we'd missed living across the country and having children. I'd forgotten my sense of accomplishment having joined a gym and enduring enjoying spinning, kick boxing, and strength training classes, rediscovering my inner athlete.

The year was full,with great days and big events. Hardly status quo at all.

We ate a lot of great meals. Jar. Campanile. Simon. The Restaurant at the Getty. The Four Seasons. Twice at Mario Batali's B & B in Las Vegas. Twice at The Hitching Post II. It's no wonder I'm still saddled with these last 5 or 10 few pounds. I ate a lot and it was good.

Rafe cashed in two poker tournaments and fulfilled a dream by playing in the World Series of Poker.

I started working again.

Jake learned to write his name.


He got his first bicycle and learned to swim. Finished preschool, and went off on his own to summer camp (going on a bus all by himself), then Kindergarten at his new school. He ended the year beginning to read and testing the limits of his first loose tooth.

Ellie potty trained herself. She started preschool and graduated to a big girl bed. She performed in her first ever school holiday show. She is an even more confident child than she was when the summer began (if you can even imagine).

I went away by myself. Twice. Once alone, once taking a plane (I hadn't flown since 2004) to be with old friends for a much needed girl's weekend. I don't know when I've ever spent so much time giggling.



Rafe and I celebrated our ninth wedding anniversary and went away without the kids. We discovered the Santa Ynez wine country. I'm drinking red wine like I was born to and not like it's given me migraines for the past 20 years.

Most importantly, our little family had a lot of fun.




We took two trips to Las Vegas.


(In August, the view from a monorail station looking towards Hooters)


(In December, checking out the casino action)

We spent a few days at the beach.







And when we got back, Jake was so tired, he had to hide from us to take a nap.




We took the kids on their first hike (Jake walked all 3 miles while Ellie sang along).



Had many visits to Disneyland.



And even took Jake on a subway to see a race.





We had the best time at a Dodger game, the kids' first, complete with peanuts and Cracker Jacks.



A few months later, we took the subway again to spend an afternoon at the downtown library.



We ushered in 2008 eating great food with a few of our favorite people, put the kids to bed and spent the rest of the night, until the wee, wee hours (a time of day I only otherwise see when my girl wakes me up to go pee) drinking wonderful wines and laughing.

Every year should be so uneventful.

I'm the kind of person ...

I'm the kind of person who writes about how much she misses writing, then doesn't write.

I am a confessed killer - of chain letters and forwarded e-mails.

I've made a rule of not seeing a movie if I've read the book, with exception of the Harry Potter series which I've found to be faithful enough to the books that I'm not filling in the story before it happens.

I have a strong aversion to buying clothing at retail prices, except for my kids. I am the queen of the discount store, outlet mall, and clearance sale, but decided yesterday that I'm drawing the line and will no longer make impulse clothing buys at Costco. I think Tim Gunn would be proud.

I typically wait until one year ends and another begins to buy a new calendar.

I almost exclusively read non-fiction now because I cannot tear myself away from a good novel and I need my sleep.

While I refer to my children my their given names on my blog, in real life, each is known by at least a dozen nicknames.

Jake is: Jakey, Jakes, Bug, Bunny, Muffin, Monkey, Mister, Big, Thing One, Love, Brother and Sweets.

Ellie is: El, Ellie Belle, Belle, Belly, Lala, Lolly, Lollipop, Dolly, Baby, Baby Doll, Princess, Little, Thing Two, Missy, Pretty, Sister and also Sweets.

I never forget a face. You'd think this would be a great feature, but remembering people you've met or seen only once makes me feel like some kind of stalkerish freak.

I have a hard time passing up a good meme, even if I've already done it, and especially when I'm not tagged.

Write Now

I love writing. I love putting my thoughts to paper or screen.

I love the process of writing, how it helps me to think differently, how it helps me to see something maybe I wasn't ready to see, or something I already knew deep in my heart.

If I'm not blogging, you can assume one of several things might be happening:

1) I'm really, really busy. Too busy to think. Too busy to make the effort.

2) I'm a mess of emotions. I know what I'm thinking, but worried that I will offend or reveal too much. I'm worried I will discover something I'm not ready to face, and that putting the thoughts into text will push me into action even if I'm not ready. I'm worried I'll be judged poorly.

3) I read pieces that others have published and deem my writing as less. My struggles are not as deep. My stories are not as profound. Does the world need to hear of how my children bicker, how tired I am, or how I can't make it to the gym when there is so much pain and turmoil elsewhere?

4) I read my own writing and wonder how I'll ever be able to write better, how could I top such extraordinary prose with the current contents of my cluttered mind?

5) I am feeling conflicted about a choice I've made and have already written about ad nauseam. Do I dare drone on and on about an already well worn topic, boring my dozen readers?

If you've missed my writing, you can be sure that I've missed your reading it even more.

I still have a lot to say, so just now, right now, I'm writing.



Though it was written in 1991, and maybe it's just a product of my advanced age, this still feels timeless to me. Take a moment right now and please do enjoy a little Van Halen.