It's Not a Comeback, It's a Return

OK, so I went away.

I went into hiding because I wished to live more secretly, to front only the essential stress of life, and see if I could not learn what life had to teach and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.

Or something. Thoreau said it better.

I took a break.

It was unintentional, at first, but after some thought I realized I actually still have a lot to say. I simply hadn't been saying any of it because it would LOOK BAD.

For a long time I've been writing this blog with some idea of how it would look from the outside. I didn't want to point fingers. I didn't want to hurt feelings. I didn't want to sound too depressed or too callous or too anything that might attract attention because then people would either ask questions or challenge me and I hate being challenged because that requires that I stand up for myself and stand behind my words. I am, quite often in fact, able to stand behind my words, but there are other times where I was just full of hot air caused by a condition called "Being A Passionate Human" and I have absolutely nothing to back me up and I have to admit I'm wrong. While I have no problem admitting I'm wrong, I really really hate confrontation and conflict.

For example, one time my FaceBook Friend Meg made some comment about the Red Sox and the Yankees. I don't usually comment willy nilly on FaceBook, and I especially try to stay away from anything to do with sports, but I made a comment on my friend's post which included the phrase "Yankees Suck." It was tongue in cheek, mostly, because as I said I don't follow sports and I also take exception to putting down another team on a regular basis as a way to cheer your team on.  (FYI - "Yankees Suck" is a phrase many red sox fans use to show their support for the Red Sox. I know, I don't get it either.

Anyway, my one little comment resulted in a huge tirade by some die-hard Yankees fan who cited many statistics in support of his view that the Yankees do NOT, in fact suck. And that the Red Sox might actually be the ones that suck. His comments were long and scathing, and when I tried explaining that I was kind of joking and that I didn't give a flying fig and finally that I didn't actually even understand the statistics he kept flinging out there, He refused to listen and kept ranting about how angry he was about people like me.

People like me.

Yeah.

So.

This happened probably two or three years ago and I still hesitate to comment on things beyond "Oh, your baby is so cute!" and "Happy Birthday!" and then I spend fifteen minutes debating over adding a line about having a piece of cake.

I hate confrontation.

You know what you can't have without confrontation?

A divorce.

So anyway, I've been thinking a lot. I've been thinking that this is one of the more interesting times in my life, and here I am, falling silent. What good does that do anyone?

I've been thinking that I don't really care about offending people anymore, or saying too much, or doing the wrong thing, because I'm not getting a second chance.

So I'm back. My posts may not be a lot more interesting. But I plan on giving this another go-round. I plan on being honest and putting it all out there and if people don't like it, they don't have to read it. It's not like this is the news or a newspaper.

It's ONLY the internet.

Can I Have A Cookie?

When I was a kid, we used to watch Bill Cosby - Himself. We thought it was hilarious. Especially the part where the toddler builds a staircase to reach the cookie she knows she's not supposed to have.

I took advantage of having the boys trapped in the car and re-enacted this little sequence for them. "What are you doing?" "I get the cookie for you!" "I don't want the cookie!" "Then can I have it?"

I was giggling as I said it, more because of how funny I was remembering it was. But from the backseat, there was silence.

"Get it?" I asked.

"I don't think two year olds are supposed to have cookies," said Nick.

"Of course they can!"

"Then did she get the cookie?"

They don't find it funny. Not at all. It's just a regular old conversation to them. Because they still do stuff like that ALL THE TIME! If not, then see the logic, but not the humor.

Before you go thinking they might be too smart, two minutes later one of them farted and they laughed until we got home. So.... yeah.

Makeup

I never wore makeup.

I went through phases where I decided I would be a ‘real’ grown-up and took the time to smudge some of the stuff on my face each morning. The truth is, though, I never quite knew what I was doing or why I was doing it. One morning I would get rushed and forget, and before you know it I would be heading out into the world each day with a naked face.

I was comfortable with that. I never felt as though I needed any help to look like myself. When I put on the slightest amount of lipstick I’d get startled when I looked in the mirror. “Wipe it off!” my brain would scream at me. “We have no idea who that is!”

I had a friend in college who always wore makeup. She never looked garish, never over did it. But every morning she’d put on eyeliner and lipstick before she left her room. I didn’t even realize she did this until the morning I showed up early to walk her to breakfast.

Her face looked different. I had that odd shyness you get when you’re a kid and a favorite teacher suddenly shows up without her glasses, or a familiar uncle shaves his beard. It’s the sensation of knowing the unfamiliar, or of not recognizing something that is yours. This person was the same person, but I didn’t feel as though she was at all. Five minutes and a few strokes of mascara later, everything was rectified, back to normal. Only the face I knew wasn’t her real face at all.

I still don’t like putting on makeup, even as I get older and “need” it more. I use cleansers and exfoliators. I use pore minimizers and scrubs. I use creams to moisturize, tighten, protect, and reduce wrinkles. But until recently, no makeup.

Around the time I started looking for a job, I began applying eyeliner daily.

I didn’t want to overdo it. I don’t look good when I put cover up, concealer, base, whatever you call it all over my face. Unless I’m going on stage, there is no need. Instead, I’d put on a quick dab of eyeliner, a smudge of shadow, some mascara, and probably a swipe of a tinted lip gel. If I’m going out or seemed shiny from moisturizer, I’ll dab some powder on there.

It takes four minutes, if that.

The thing is, I turned around one day as I went to get into the shower, and I was started when I saw my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were different. They were… washed out. Flat.

There are three possibilities.

One is that I have become so accustomed to seeing myself with the thin line of grey eyeliner under each eye that I cannot recognize myself without it.

One other is that, as I am getting older and my body is aging, my lower lashes are fading. I finally need the eyeliner to accentuate the lower lashes.

Or, a third option, I have applied so much makeup to the lower lashes that I am rubbing them out, they are falling out, and I am creating the need. Please don’t make it so…

In any case, this topic is on my mind because, for the first time in the history of the world, I have run out of eyeliner. That’s right. I didn’t lose the eyeliner I had. I didn’t let the eyeliner I had get stale and gross. I actually used it all up until the tube was empty. There is no more left. It’s like using a box of crayons down to sharpened stubs. Who does that?

Honey Bear and The Plan

My brother had a dolly.

I'm not teasing, he really did. It was a Fisher Price cloth... it was this:

He named it Honey Baby.
After the bear in the Lillian Hoban book Arthur's Honey Bear.

Because of this, I will always have a spot in my heart for that book.

I read it to the boys tonight. They couldn't possibly enjoy it as much as I do. But when I got to the end, when Arthur decides to be happy about being Honey Bear's UNCLE, the boys did give a grudging giggle.

"Being an uncle is pretty cool, huh?" I said. "Do you think that one day you guys will be uncles?"

All three said yes.

"Do you think that any of you guys will be daddies?"

There was a pause. "I don't know..." Nate said.

"It's easier to be an uncle?"

"Yeah," said Nate. "Or a grampa."

"Well..." I explained, "You have to be a dad before you can be a grampa."

"Yeah, "said Nick. "And get married."

"I have a plan," said Nate. "I need to go on seven whole dates before I get married."

Nate / Andy October 2013

What They Believe

In the years that I studied psychology and / or education, I learned that just because children don't ask questions doesn't mean they understand a subject. If you withhold information, they will simply make something up so that it will all make sense in their heads.

For example, when I was a little girl, we drove into New York every day from our home in New Jersey, because NY was where I went to school. We took the George Washington Bridge, and there was a toll which, at the time, was a dollar. I asked my mother why we had to pay the toll, and she told me that, if we didn't pay the toll, the bridge would fall down.

What she meant, of course, was that the money collected at the toll went to repair and fix up the bridge so that it would remain standing.

What I understood was that, if you were to step on the gas at the tollbooth instead of paying, the bridge would collapse as you crossed over it to prevent you from getting to the other side, bringing down countless other commuters with you in the process. I spent a lot of time worrying that someone else would try to not pay the toll and the bridge would crumble beneath us as we crossed, or maybe as we sat in the endless traffic, innocent victims. We would plummet into the Hudson River, which was dangerous, dirty, and full of giant octopus-type monsters. I knew this because, even though we could swim, my parents had both told us we couldn't swim in the Hudson, because there was stuff in it.


Another example of kids filling in information: In the car yesterday, Nick asked if people could eat cactus. (Because sometimes, just sometimes, kids will ask you questions like that from out of nowhere. And as the mom, I know everything.)

"Duh! Yes!" said Nate, who was obviously more than a little irritated at the simplicity of the question. "Because people drink water, right? And where does water come from? Cactuses."

Nate (and Nick) central Park, April 2013

Really. I have no idea where he got that.

Water Park

The kids bugged me to take them to Canobie Lake Park.

I didn't want to. It's not far. It's about fifteen minutes from our home, actually. Storyland is 3 hours north, and we've been there every single year since we can remember. But Storyland is geared toward tiny people. Canobie specializes in the types of rides that leave you brain damaged. Or that you actually have to be mental to go on.

Strap me into a tube and swing me 14 stories into the air while spinning me around backwards and twirling the whole thing upside down? Sure! Let me just grab lunch first.

I first went to Canobie Lake Park with my friends Julie and Betsy.  I thought Julie was lying when she said there was an amusement park up in NH. I seem to remember getting there late, going into the maze, winning some prize at the arcade, and then riding this raft water ride eleven billion times. In street clothes. Oh, and Betsy went on her first roller coaster?

This time, Nate wanted to go on everything, but Andy was too short, and Nick was too nervous to go on the roller coasters by himself. I talked him into going on the Pirate Ship Swing thing with Nate, and he said that was enough.

Convinced I could be Cool Mom, I drove the race cars with the boys, and then took them on the Twist and Shout ride. Like a tilt-a-whirl. I laughed for a minute, and then got that nauseous feeling. Seriously, these days a carousel gets me dizzy. I am officially a grown up, and can no longer enjoy bouncy spinny brain scrambles.

But there was one thing there we all really enjoyed. It was 100 outside. So, so hot. The hottest day of the year. Trust me, no matter who you were, you wanted to be right there.

Canobie Lake Park, 2013
Castaway Island

This one time...

So, I found this cartoon on Facebook.

I know Facebook is terrible and horrible and takes advantage of it's users and sells all of your private information to companies for billions of dollars, but it's all worth it to find this cartoon (artwork by The Awkward Yeti, it said) and remember this.

This story involves a wonderful friend of mine, Betsy. Betsy was my roommate, and she put up with me and my antics for a whole year. Not including college.

This one time, I decided we should go to the grocery store and each get our own pie. That way, I reasoned, we wouldn't have to share, or even be bothered having to slice it up first. We could just... dive in.

So I dragged Betsy to Star Market and all but forced her to choose a pie. I chose one for myself. We had two pies. And then we went home, settled ourselves in front of the TV, and began to eat.

After awhile, Betsy spoke up. She said she'd had enough, and was feeling sick, and wouldn't eat any more. I looked over at her pie. There was a small circular hole in the center, but it was small. It was maybe the amount of pie one would eat in a single slice. It was so tiny.

I looked at my pie. The crater I had made in the center was much, much larger. But I wasn't done. I could still keep going. And I did. I ate and I ate, and then I got this feeling. It wasn't because I was eating too much. I don't think I felt sick. I think it was more like a voice in my head saying, "Kathleen. You should not eat a whole pie. That is gross and wrong."

So in the end I ended up putting away my pie before I was done, even though I could so totally have eaten the whole thing, just because I felt it was the right thing to do. I didn't go the distance. I gave up.

I may need to try again.

Let Us Be Together Tonight

I am horrible  at taking pictures.

I've gotten better, now that I have children and now that cameras have gone digital. I can take as many as I want, and don't have to pay for film development.  It's just, when I'm standing there clicking away with my camera I'm always thinking "Why am I taking a picture of this? What di I think I'm capturing?"

And then, years later, when I'm rifling through photo albums with the shot arrange according to whimsey instead of by subject or chronologically, I'm metaphorically kicking myself in the head for not taking more pictures than I did.

Thanksgiving is a time to count our blessings. Let us try to remember them the whole year through.

This song has been running through my head lately.  If I had time, I would have put together a slide show of old Thanksgiving photographs to go with this song, and maybe someday I will. For now, please give the song a listen (watching the YouTube slideshow is up to you, I don't care for it much.) You can look at these four photos I managed to scan while you listen.

And we can be Thankful and Grateful for what we have.

Ghosts of Halloween Past

Not the Long Past, mind you. The Recent But Still Hilarious And Often Adorable Past. Such as....

2008

2009

2010

Name That Baby!

Baby Fleen in a snuggly sweater.

No, really. Name it. I have a good idea, but I'm just not sure.

Gramma and her brothers

Gramma and her brothers Jay and Carl

I think these are her brothers. They might not be. It's my best guess... Mom?

School, Day 1

Grade 3
Love the Lunch Box

History

Girl Power

I like the shoes.

Vacations

It's hard to believe it's been almost six months since The Boat Trip. Particularly as I'm still telling myself the number on the scale is a direct result of said trip. The mark of a good vacation is that it still feels recent even though it's say, six months gone. 

That said, I'm looking forward to another vacation, one that's just around the corner. Part of me still feels like we just went to Disney World, and if you look at things big picture like, we did. But if you look at the pictures... well, just look at these little guys. Look at Baby Andy, and at how round and chubby Nate's face was - he wasn't even three years old. They had the best time, and now that they're older, I think they'll appreciate some things even more.  I'm really excited for our next trip. I think the boys will have the best time!

Define Exhausted

I posted this years ago.

I thought Nate was following me into the house for lunch and nap, but this is as far as he got.

And then, at three and a half, he stopped napping altogether.

How Birthdays Should Be

A Boy And His Dog

She Who Will Not Be Named...

And her sister.
And some bears.

I still have that chaise we're sitting on. It is no longer pink.

The Plaza