On family as friends and friends as family

Wandering through any store, during this time of year, one is inundating with the sights, sounds, and smells of the season.  We are transported back in time to when we were small and the holidays were pure magic.  The enchantment was more than gifts from a large man with a beard doing the impossible in one evening.  It was a combination of inspired ingredients.  The continual anticipation of fresh fallen snow with sledding, snowmen and ice skating, the seductive blend of smells like turkey, cranberries, stuffing in the kitchen, with a hint of pine and cinnamon in the living room, the soft sounds of seasonal music underlying the laughs and constant chatter of a happily reunited family, all of these swirling together in a big magical cauldron of goodness. 

In my mind it always feels like a fairy-tale, and I can feel the happiness through my entire being.  It is the same feeling I get when I see that first frosted breath during a crisp fall football game, or hear the first holiday tune on the radio, or when I arrive at my family’s house after months and months, collapse next to my mom and dad and find the peace and rest one can only find with a great and loving family.  I am blessed.  To not only have had all of these lovely experiences, but to have them evolve and grow as time holds my hand along its winding path.  

Throughout my adulthood, the holidays have changed.  Family has moved on and spread out.  I have family of my own now and am working to create our own traditions and magic.  Subsequently, I find with all the changes throughout life, the roles of family and friend become skewed and blurred. 

 There will forever be differences between family and friends.  For instance, I will never be able to fully and completely be sated, relaxed, and recharged like I can in my parents presence.  No matter how close the friend, they will never have the familial bond that only 18 years of life and support can bring.  However, the older I get the more like family my friends become.  When your childhood world spreads its wings and flies a new world presents itself.  One in which you become self reliant and directed.  This brave new world is challenging and often leads to tears, anxiety, loss of sleep, wrinkles and gray hairs. Perhaps this is why family is so rejuvenating.  It was the last place I was ever able to completely rely on others to care for me.  As such, I can head home and fall on their couch, in their arms, and directly back into that pattern.  The moment comes and goes, the rest revives, the soul survives, and the thoracic thrives (oh how I love rhyming and alliteration), and then it is time to go home.  

While rest can often be found with family, the larger everyday role of supporter is taken over by friends.  This support is not the same, but oh so very important.  The emotional day to day drama, the creative thoughts and ideals, the interests, the daily dose of sanity, all of these become the role of friends.  We support each other through successes and failures, celebrate events, challenge each other’s ideals and philosophies, and most importantly help support one another through every day struggles.  

I was recently in the company of friends for the Annual Misfits Thanksgiving party.  We all gather together to celebrate how blessed we are with amazing food, wine, and frivolity.  This event is now a part of the magic of the holidays.  It is an opportunity to say thanks for the amazing blessings of friends, those who become like family when family is far away.  In another week, I will travel to be with my family and once again say thanks for my family who, no matter what, has always been my friend.

I am truly blessed.  Thanks to my friends who are like family and to my family who are like friends.  I love you all!

On being a flawed faux foodie

I am friends with numerous people who love and adore excellent food.  Whether at the perfect bistro, sidewalk cafe, or home prepared, there are never too many opportunities to explore new taste sensations, or find yet another dish that warrants truffle oil.  I too enjoy all things foodie.  If it is different, delicious, decadent, count me in.  I'm willing to eat anything!  However, as a mom, cooking can be a bit more challenging, especially a mom in a blended family.

The fruit of my loins, has a pretty varied palette.  She has grown up eating all fruits and vegetables.  She loves edamame, sushi, tofu, fish, duck, lamb... you name it we have tried it.  Now that we have blended my loin fruit with the fiance's loin fruit (that sounds a bit salacious, even though it is not intended to be so), cooking has become quite a challenge.  His lovely children are accustomed to a more plane jane food affair.  All things processed or flavorless equals happy kids. 

My conundrum...  I love to cook, and I enjoy trying new dishes with lots of flavor.  My supportive and food loving finance loves this fact.  He encourages my foodie tendencies, and insists his poor kids have to eat whatever I put in front of them.  Much to my chagrin, I then end up force feeding them and listening to complaints all around. Not a happy place for any of us to be in...  I'm twitching just thinking about it.

I would rather just make food that everyone likes, which led me to this past weekends Mac and "Cheese."  As a profound lover of cheese, there may be no more delicious food than mac and cheese.  As a foodie, there are so many different ways to prepare the dish and make it quite a fancy feast.  So, I ask, what would you do?  Would you take the goat cheese in the fridge and start to craft a fantastic taste delight, or would you Kraft the mac in a generic Velveeta like substance that isn't quite cheese, but is supposedly related?  I opted to make the kids happy, and used the Velveeta.  The results...  Well, I am proud and sad to say... the fiances kids were thrilled and ate with hearty and happy gusty.  My foodie child took one bite and silently stopped eating.  Atta girl... way to go hungry and not sacrifice your taste buds.  Can mommy make you duck confit with a red wine reduction and toast points with a truffle whipped goat cheese spread? 

On the haze of assumed greatness

It's 8:00 on sunday morning, and I am wondering what to write about.  Should I discuss the incredibly loud children in the room behind mine, where it sounds as if they are literally bouncing off the walls, or should I discuss the dog who is staring at me and keeps groaning and shaking his head loudly, as if to say, I will continue being ridiculously loud until you get your lazy ass up and feed me.  I sense a theme coming on.

Sleeping is truly one of my favorite things to do.  I'm not one of those persons who can never sit still long enough to rest or sleep late.  I honestly don't know how those types of amazing people exist.  I long to be built that way.  I, however, am the person who is typically incapable  of sleeping for more than two hours at a time.

Since I was little everything that goes bump in the night woke me up.  Now the struggle is simply turning my brain off long enough to fall asleep. This is achieved with reading horrible romance novels, sci-fi, and mysteries.  My favorite is when all three genres blend into one fantastic book... The trifecta.  Its kinda like eating a hotdog with so many condiments you can't even taste the grossness underneath.  Bring on the condiments!

So, once my brain has turned to mush, I can drift off to sleep for about two hours.  At which point I am woken by the cat, the dog, the fiancé, the kids (his or mine), or perhaps just horrible gas (his or mine).  Then I'm up.  In the next few hours I am at my most brilliant.  I have written great songs, solved very challenging life problems, created new problems, made horrible choices... Okay maybe not brilliant at all, perhaps I'm just in a sleep deprived haze of assumed greatness.  Anyway, I then struggle to sleep the rest of the night.

All that to say, I would so much rather be sleeping right now.  Just one more hour of silence on a weekend would likely be the difference between the kindhearted loving woman I am or the train wreck living inside me.  Alas, the train wreck rears its ugly head.  Chug a chug a woo woo.  Watch out world...  Coffee or death!

On being obnoxious

I would like to take the next few sentences to brag about my child.  I know that truthfully, no one, who is not related to my darling girl, really cares.  However, as a self acknowledged obnoxious momma, I truly don't give a (insert whatever explicative you find appropriate). 

A couple of days ago, I received the greatly anticipated results of my daughters 2nd grade national testing results.  She... my prodigious progeny... tested in the top 6% in the NATION.  She clearly can thank her father for all of her smarts, and her mother for all of her emotionally manipulative skills.  I think with this crazy combination of DNA, my fears may one day manifest themselves... Ella, my intelligent, but somewhat morally suspect daughter may in fact rule the world for evil one day.  I'm just saying... it could happen.

On lacking identity

I always thought I had the power to speak things into existence.  Okay, not really a power per se, and only when it concerns my life.  Okay, so what I meant to say is…  I always thought I had the tendency to, within my life, make certain situations come true by acknowledging them.  Wow, that really sounded better the first time around.

Anyway, I believe in my life I am able to happily live in denial.  Once I choose to acknowledge a bit of unhappiness the flood gates are open, there is no turning back.  This is how I have made the majority of my choices in life.  Come the think of it, how sad is it that the majority of my choices have been made out of negative life experiences.  It is almost as if I have never really made a choice at all, I’ve just had reactions and actions based on those prior reactions.  You know what is really funny… many of my friends consider me one the most self actualized individuals they know.  God, if they really knew the crazy train that ran through my head or the absence of anything running through my head at all they may rethink that statement entirely. 

I’m one of the most confused persons I know.  Living the post-modern dream, I can question everything, therefore I know absolutely nothing.  I’m between gen-x and gen-y like a mixed up pair of chromosomes that don’t know which gender to identify with.  I’m a complete product of my course in this crazy ass world, and as such have no idea what to do that will make me completely happy.

Perhaps that is not in my DNA.  Perhaps, when you look too hard, and listen to too many suggestions
you cease to be an individual.  You become a collective entity with too many choices and none of them
fitting completely. 

On aging gracefully

 Remember when we were young and stupidly insecure.  Just barely in our 20's and thought we looked horrible in everything we wore.  Going out on the town, we managed to get loads of attention from hormonal boys of all ages, and had no idea if the cute guy talking to me was actually interested.  Now in my mid 30's I am constantly berating myself for the ridiculous notions of being insecure when you are young and your body is just naturally healthy and fit.  Oh to go back in time and punch my younger self in the face for having so little confidence.  I often wonder at what point in time we begin to feel insecure.  I'm confident it was before my first pimple.  Maybe after that bad hair cut and perm in the 7th grade.  Who knows... With all my wisdom and mental acuity achieved through hindsight I look backwards (always struggling to be in the present) and wonder what in the world was I thinking.

Today, I do my best to revel in my hard earned mid 30's fantasticness.  The only issue now is the lack of attention (or approving attention) when me and my fashionable girls go out on the town.  It is possible, that in my older state I attempt to force attention rather than suffer the humiliation of being ignored.  I may, on occasion, dress ridiculously to garner the looks of shock and awe from all around. 

 

As you can see, my friends and I decided that merely going out on the town in our normal contemporary attire could never cause leers and guffaws (which is clearly our objective).  So… um… yeah… 80’s!!!  I channeled my inner Cindi Lauper, “Girls just wanna have fun,” and friends… we brought it.

Every where we went, the onlookers feelings of discomfort for our lack of awareness were palpable.  We even almost got hit by 4 blind men who quickly ran away (I am not exaggerating) upon further inspection of our attire. 

I may not have appreciated this type of attention when I was a naive innocent 20 year old, but in my 30's any attention is better than none at all!

On how supermom makes her kid cry from being too super

Here I come to save the day.  As I swooped in my daughters 2nd grade classroom today, for her Oktoberfest celebration, I knew it was true.  I was completely certain that I, Andrea, was a superhero. 

Rather than show up to work early on a Friday (lame), this superhero opted to make the supreme sacrifice and sleep in an extra hour in order to head to her kids school.  (I have never been supermom, and employee of the year simultaneously).  I practically skipped into Ella's school (likely from the extra hour's sleep), waltzed into her classroom to a whirlwind of 2nd grade commotion, and was pummeled with a giant, exquisite, baby girl, love of my life, squeeze.  The thrill of knowing I put her first (right behind my sleep needs, but well before my work responsibilities), was intoxicating. 

She and I hugged and snuggled.  I watched all the little crazies pound the sugar, much like I pound beer at an Adult Oktoberfest.  And I must say, watching them get wound up on sugar and run around in circles was not too far off from my own crazy experiences with this special German celebration.   We listened to a story, did a craft, snuggled and hugged some more.  The morning could not have been more perfect. 

Ella, noting the time, and recognizing the fast approaching end to our frivolity, started the grand negotiations that so frequently accompany visits like this.

"Momma, can I come home with you?'
"Sorry, baby, momma has to go to work soon."
"But, Mom, I can just sit in your office all day."
"Ella, I have a meeting at 11, and I can't have you sitting in my office all day."
"But, but, I will be really quiet."
"I'm not going to argue with you about this."
"Why, mom, why can't I leave with you?"
"Ella, aside from the fact that you still have 3/4 of your day left at school, and that we aren't arguing about this, I already told you, I have to go to work."

Now come the tears... oh she is a brilliant crier.  She starts with those enormous drops of pure sorrow.  You can practically see and feel the sadness in each enormous tear.  They well up in her big gorgeous liquid eyes, until there is no other choice but to come spilling out and down her sweet round cherubic cheeks.  My heart is in my throat.  I am completely and utterly heartbroken.

"Mom, why can't you start working at the school?  Then I could see you all the time.  Grace's mom works at the school, and they can eat lunch together every day."

Oh my poor heart...

"Baby, I would if I could.  I have a job, and I'm sorry that it isn't at the school.  I would much rather spend my entire day with you.  Sadly, I can't."

Tears streaming... the other parents are looking.  Sympathetic faces...  They don't have meetings or jobs to go back to so there kids are still all smiles.  I am smug.  Its just me and my girl clinging desperately at the injustice of it all.  She and I against the world (fist pump in the air in defiance)!  

Sigh, "Ella, here is your choice.  I can walk you to lunch, and then leave, or I can leave now amidst your tears."

Duh, no brainer.

"I just want to go with you..." Tears, tears, sob, sob...

"Make your choice, Ella, or I am choosing for you!"

Sniff, sniff, sorrowful gaze, "Okay fine, lunch please."

So, we hold hands and morosely walk to lunch, where in there are more tears and me trying to distract her with funny voices and sounds.  I practically do a full on tap dance routine to get a smile on her face.  Nothing works.  Then, faster than a speeding bullet, her little friend sits across from her in the lunchroom.  The friend is highly entertained by my antics, which helps distract Ella.  I finally am able to sneak away, from the pleading sad face of my heart.

Once out of the cafeteria, I sneak away from her view to see how long she continues to cry.  I'm a total masochist with this stuff.  I have to know how long I've devastated my baby, so I can wallow in the guilt of it all day long.  Its emotional gluttony, and a delicacy in some parts of the world (of my own making).  Low and behold, its an Oktoberfest miracle!  She has an enormous grin on her face, and is laughing hysterically with her friend.

WHAT!!  REALLY, KID?  THAT'S IT?

You tell me... did I just get played, AGAIN, by my 7 year old?  UGH  Um, yeah, you betcha!