Girlfriends last forever

My coffee mug...sitting on the counter this morning and I read it like it was for the first time. Matter of fact the first time I read it I thought "aww, that's sweet but THIS guy that I have hanging around right now is gonna be the One". Nope. Of course he wasn't (but that's another post). And of course the girlfriend who gave me the mug was there to help me through it. As were a host of others. I have girlfriends that I've known since I was an awkward teenager, ones that have known me since elementary school, known me married, only as a divorced woman and every version of me in between. These women have watched me grow and change. They've been with me while I was ugly on the inside and on the outside. They've noticed details about me that even the most observant male is likely to miss. I'm not saying there's no room in my life for a man. Im not even saying I don't still believe the perfect one for me exists somewhere. I'm just saying that the sentiment of this mug hits me right in the middle of my heart today. Men HAVE gone. Ones I thought I'd never be without. My girlfriends were there for that. They helped me clean up the mess left from over 20 years. They're still helping me. Men have come into my life and my girlfriends were there to dish over details and put up with my "isn't he greats"?  My girlfriends don't care if I "let myself go" or if I like to wear too many concert t-shirts. They don't care if I don't do the laundry. They will gently remind me if my pack rat tendencies get outta control by saying "hey do you REALLY need that .....blah blah". They remind me of who I am when life and pain have caused me to forget. They buy me cheese and bring Guinness to talk about all the reasons that last one wasn't "the One" when it ended. They love me when I ugly cry and when I'm smiling. They love my kids like their own. They tolerate my cats. They show me patience and consideration. Maybe one day another man will come into my life. Maybe not. One thing I knew for sure.... My girlfriends will still be there. 

The last "First" day

Monday 8/10/15. This is the last first day of school my number one son will have. Senior year and the count down to his leaving home begin that day. I have panic attacks if I think about that too long. I still remember his first day of preschool and the preparations it took. I took him to the barber for a haircut - his "handlsome hair" he called it. Just a typical little boy haircut. His wide grin filled with perfect little boy teeth. I remember feeling anticipation the night before that first day too. Here we are 13 years later and it looks a lot different but there's still that tug in my chest. A mixed emotion cocktail minus the cute umbrella. He doesn't need me to buy him a backpack and lunchbox anymore. He doesn't need me to help him lay out his clothes making sure they all match. He doesn't need me to walk him to class or volunteer at his school. He doesn't need me to drop him off or pick him up. There are a great number of things he doesn't need me to do anymore. Which is exactly the way it's supposed to be. So why does it break my heart in half to think about it? The best I can figure is this...in all the years before this moment there were guidelines that I could study and follow for what he would need from me. From "What to expect when you're expecting" to "Have a new kid by Friday". I read every parenting magazine and book I could over the years. This is uncharted territory. I have no idea what besides my unconditional love and support I can offer. There's not a follow up book titled "What to expect when your firstborn moves out and joins the military". There's no word I know for how this feels except OUCH. I was pretty confident back when he was little that I was doing a good job. Writing this I wonder... Have I given him what he needs to survive in this world? Have I given him the tools to live on his own and be ok? To guard his heart and protect the light of that little four year old that I can still see in his eyes every time he smiles? Have I instilled in him all the lessons that I would spend countless hours talking to him about as I rocked him in my arms? Will he remember the lullabies and the love? Will he carry it with him in dark moments? Is the faith I tried to give him strong enough? I know that kids are supposed to grow up and begin their own lives and I know he's not gone yet but I also know that I will jealously guard each moment I have this year and burn it in my memory because it will never be exactly like this again. Like the other night when we went and saw the new Vacation together, just the two of us.  He'll come back to visit I'm sure. But it will never be exactly like this again, with his room across the hall and his shoes all over the floor. With his music pouring too loudly through the walls as he gets ready for his day. So here I am the day before the last first day of school and all he really needed me to do was make sure his gas tank was full and that he had a couple new outfits. He's a good kid.  He'll be a good man. And I'll always be his momma. 

What's on your mind ?

Every time I open Facebook this question awaits me. What's on your mind? Do you really want to know? Maybe. Maybe not. There are, at any given time a hundred different things going on in my mind. How are my kids really doing. What are their inside opinions on the world, their lives, the upcoming school year? How are things going to turn out for them? Have I given them the tools they need? Will I be able to make all the ends meet again this month and still buy school clothes and redecorate my daughters room the way she'd like? Will I be able to finally find a property lawyer before my time runs out? Why are weeds the only things that grow freely? How are my aunts and uncles andcousins  doing and when can I see them all again? Why on earth did that Guy pop up after a year and text me at 11:30? What are his intentions? Will I finish my book this year and be brave enough to try and get it published? Am I going to be single forever? How come that last one, the one I really liked turned out to be such a disappointment? Will it always be that way? How much longer will my Camry hold out? And the big one... Why the hell are addicts so freaking stubborn. That one I might actually know the answer to. I have a lot of conversations in my head. Sometimes I trot em out and run em by someone else. Sometimes they just keep me up at at night. But since Facebook asked...that is what's on my mind. What's on YOUR mind? 

"Life without music ...."

Sitting in between my Dad and Gerry Garcias heavier set twin at the Hollywood Bowl tonight was like being in a time machine. As the first notes of "Black Cow" cruised out over the crowd I was ten years old standing in the hallway in my pajamas, toes stuck to the cold metal threshold between the carpet and the linoleum of the kitchen. Holding my breath so no one would see me, hoping maybe I could catch a glimpse of "grown up time". My mom was having a rare drink..black velvet and 7up in a smoked brown 80's style glass and my dad had THE goblet. It was really just his beer glass but it was amber colored and looked like it belonged to a Knight of the Round Table. They're listening to msuic and talking about life, politics, everything. It wasn't unusual for me to wake up in what I thought was the middle of the night to the sounds of good music and laughter coming from the kitchen. Tonight I looked over and saw my parents smiling like the 30 year olds they were that night in my memory. In my family music is the glue, the equalizer. Even when we were spitting mad at each other, a song could get us talking again or explain how we felt, say sorry or I love you. Walter Becker quoted Nietzsche tonight and I'll quote them both and say "Life without music would be a mistake". 

That one special Sunday

I had huge expectations about Mother's Day for years. My vision for my first one involved flowers, a laser cut wooden "mothers are....." picture frame from Mervyns and a declaration of appreciation from my then husband. What I got was a card in Spanish and a cracked poly-resin picture frame from the Dollar store. From then on it was a crapshoot. Some years he got me nothing since I wasn't his mother. Others he packed the kids up (including one in a stroller) and trekked down to Tiffanys to get me a necklace. 

Why was it such a big deal to me I wonder? Looking back I see I wanted HIM to appreciate the job I was doing. Being a good mom was and is a big deal to me. Well gues what? I am a good mom. Not perfect, but good. Whether he ever said it or not. My own mom - who's damn near perfect, tells me all the time. My girlfriends support and appreciate me. All the wonderful moms in my family tell me. Most importantly my children show me. They appreciate me. They love me. They trust me. They come to me. That's what matters. So many women and a few men have shown me what it means to be a good parent. It doesn't have anything to do with cards or flowers although those are nice. Whatever or whoever you celebrate tomorrow remember...you ARE good enough, right where you are. 

The Broken Clock

I have terrible timing. Seriously. I am either too early or too late and it has been this way for as long as I can remember. Back in elementary school I jumped on the whole “rainbows and unicorns” bandwagon a little too late. I held on to the unicorn trend a little too long resulting in earning myself a nerdy reputation. In middle school I was a little ahead of the times. Having read a book called

“The Official Preppy Handbook” the summer between 5^th and 6^th grade (7 years AFTER it was published – bad timing again) I came back to school reinvented as a hardcore “preppy”. This was about a year before anyone else heard of the term so you could say that my argyle knee socks and Bermuda shorts in a marvelous pink & green combination weren't so popular. I liked the Cure before guys who wore lipstick and eyeliner were cool. I got tired of Nirvana before the rest of the world declared them the Kings of music. Regardless of the trend I was either ahead of the curve or behind the eight ball.

As I got older my terrible timing started to affect my love life, if you could call it that at the age of 14. My first real boyfriend was a senior when I was a freshman. Of course I fell madly in love with him and of course he promptly graduated and went off to college. In between freshman year and junior year I developed a knack for declaring my “like” for a guy immediately prior to him becoming the new hot man on campus (and therefore having no time for me). Then in my junior year the pinnacle of bad timing was reached when a guy that I was friends with (but secretly ADORED) decided to seek my advice about a girl he wanted to ask out. I assumed it was me he was referring to and that he was just trying to be clever but no. 23 years later we reconnected and my timing is still off, or more accurately this time, my geography.

I met my former husband earlier than I should have. Had I known he was younger than me by a few years I probably wouldn't have spoken to him. By the time I learned how old he really was it was too late, I was already head over heels. I used to wonder if he had been older when we met if we would have made it. Who knows?

What I do know is here I am almost 5 years post divorce and my timing hasn't improved any. I finally met a guy who knocked my socks off and met all my non-shallow expectations and guess what? Yep. Bad timing strikes again. He’s not ready for me. I could go all girly-stupid and say “he’s just scared of his feelings, he really likes me” but the bottom line is, it’s just bad timing and I can’t even be mad about it. In fact, I still think he’s the bee’s knees. 

I can’t say if this timing issue will ever improve with me. Picture in your head one of those circular revolving doors like the ones you see in hotels back East. I am always walking in the door, pushing the handle forward while the “person, opportunity, dream” is twirling away in the opposite direction, leaving through the little pie shaped section at the front of the building. That’s my life. Rationally I know all things happen in the right and perfect time, in God’s time. My type B side is ok with all that. My type A side is calling bullshit.

Shakespeare said “Better three hours too soon than a minute too late”. Shakespeare understands...but the bottom  line is that when it comes to me the clock is broken.  

February 21

This time a year ago I was at work thinking about what I was going to make for dinner and wondering how my son would do at his volleyball tryouts that evening. A few hours later I would get a phone call from my Dad that would change the way my world looked forever. Most of us have experienced a death of a loved one by the time we reach our forties. I had lost all 4 of my grandparents and a few friends already by the time I arrived at February 21st 2014. Nothing had prepared me for the way I would feel that day. Nothing prepared me for what I would have to tell my kids. Nothing prepared me for the scream that came out of me, making me sound a lot more like a wild animal than a human. That being said, I am pretty comfortable with Death. Maybe it's my Irish ancestry that makes me feel this way but ever since I was little Death and I have kind of been friends in a weird way. I understand him and his necessary part in the grand scheme but Loss is different thing. Loss is a big, cavernous hole of blackness that you can't fill in with anything. You can't move it or close it off, you just have to figure out some way to work around it. Prayer helps. Time helps, but nothing erases it.
It's that sense of loss that has been the hardest to feel and to watch others I love grapple with this past year. I must say I am proud, yet again, of the people I come from. We fell down on our knees but we got back up. We got angry but we let it go. We were hurting but we kept on working, pushing, living. We did it because he would have wanted us to. I know everyone says that but it's true. The loss becomes a part of your reality and you just keep living. It really is that simple. When I think back to those long hours in the hospital waiting,,,and waiting and 30 plus of us taking up space in the hallway. Eating too many vending machine meals and crying on each others shoulders. I remember seeing my sweet Aunt, his lovely wife sitting on the chair with her hands folded in her lap, still with that smile on her face. I might miss him, but he is the love of her life. I can only hope someday to be loved like that, to love in return like she loves him still. I remember over 40 members of his union coming to pay respects and see if my Aunt and cousins needed anything and they meant anything. Guys he hadn't worked with in years, high school buddies from all over the country, friends of his sons, brothers, sisters, nieces and nephews, so many people just wanting to help. I experienced more outpouring of love, support and prayer in that time period than anyone could ever dream to have. I walk around every day with the knowledge of how loved I am, how loved he is and I am grateful. I remember the nursing staff commenting that they had never seen a family like ours. I bet they never will again. He was the golden boy, the baby of a large, rambunctious family and every time I look at my brother and his kids, at my kids, at my cousins kids...I see a piece of his smile in them. We might have lost one our of own but we didn't lose us.
In his legendary words.....We are the Manning's - Enjoy us. Rest in Peace Uncle Tim.