roles we play

When my husband and I became engaged to be married many, many moons ago (in the dark ages, if you ask my children), I was very reluctant to give up my maiden name. I wanted to keep it or at least hyphenate my last name. My husband obviously felt this was an affront to his manliness and we had quite a row over the subject. Eventually, I softened and decided to embrace my married name. But I still remember crying when I got the first piece of mail addressed to my married name after we got home from our honeymoon. All I can guess is that I was afraid that losing my name meant losing my identity. Which, of course, it didn’t.

I never wanted to be defined by my role as wife, mother, or anything else. I’ve always stalwartly refused to be pigeonholed. I remember once in college when I was sitting in one of my classes and I was dressed smartly in a very preppy outfit; slacks, t-shirt, vest, and loafers. I answered a question out loud and the teacher made some remark about knowing I was smart just by the way I was dressed. The next time I attended his class, I wore torn up jeans, old sneakers, and a faded t-shirt with my hair scrunched messily. I showed him.

For years after I married, whenever someone referred to me as Mrs. —–, I replied, “Mrs. —- is my mother-in-law. My name is Heather.” When people used to ask me if I was Brad’s wife, I would reply, “No, he’s Heather’s husband.” Once he started working at the hospital, I got, “I didn’t know you were Brad’s wife!” alot. I would ask, “Would it have made a difference?”

Yes, I am quite argumentative at times.

But tonight I had to smile at how time has mellowed me. Probably, time and maturity have helped me to realize that it doesn’t matter who anyone else thinks I am so long as I am absolutely certain who I am. And I know without a doubt that I am a strong, intelligent, compassionate and competent woman who can face any challenge thrown in her path.

My mother-in-law is spending the night with us and she took us to dinner this evening. She and I were standing at a soda fountain when my husband said, “Mom, can you come over here?” and she and I both looked toward him and set off walking before it occurred to us to ask which one he was talking to. (In case you are wondering, Brad often addresses me as “mom” when we are with the kids.) Also today, the vet’s office called and, when I answered the phone, asked, “May I speak with Mrs.—–?” My answer? “This is she.”

Funny how I’ve settled into the very roles and titles that I worked so hard to shun, isn’t it? But what’s even funnier is that I am okay with it. I am Brad’s wife and Bump and Crash’s mom. I am Mrs. —–. And I am okay with that because I know, even if others don’t, that I am also so much more.

What I learned today . . .

It’s embarrassing when the puppy drags your pink pair of thong panties with the rhinestone heart in the back into your son’s room while the neighbor kid is in there playing video games.

Weekend

I’ve tried to write several posts over several days and each time have gotten exasperated and given up. The reason, I think, is because I know what I want to write about but also know I don’t want to irk, annoy, or bore anyone. I still want to write about my trip to Cedar Point or, at least, observations surrounding my trip to Cedar Point and the series of events leading up to my trip. And if it bores anyone? Oh well, it’s my blog after all.

When Sharon writes about our trip, she paints a vivid picture of the beach and the lake and the roller coasters and even the gift shop. She makes it easy for everyone to enjoy and appreciate how beautiful the scenery and surroundings were on our vacation. When Melonie writes about the trip, she easily recalls the fun and laughter experienced during our two days together. She calls to mind the inside jokes that we all share now and will always associate with those two days spent driving around in a big Cadillac and traipsing about our hotel. And Laura? Well, Laura memorialized an evening spent giggling over Italian food and wine by writing a hysterical and ingenious poem.

Me? I appreciate the unique talents of each friend and love reading their posts and reliving the weekend. But I still have things to add. And, of course, my perspective adds yet another dimension to the telling of our story. Naturally, my perspective includes mushy and sentimental observations and violates Melonie’s rule: No emotional, hand-holding posts! Sorry, Melonie.

I came away from my weekend with my friends with an overwhelming feeling of gratitude. I am so grateful to have such lovely friends and feel blessed to have met them at all. It takes my breath away just a little to realize that none of us ever knows when meeting someone new if that person is someone who will have a profound effect on our lives. To think that I could have missed out on such a wonderful friendship — well, it’s something I can’t even bear to think about.

We live in an age where it is increasingly common to meet friends and spouses via the Internet. I was always skeptical of such relationships in the past. In fact, if you had told me a year ago that I was going to fly across the country to spend two days with three women I had never seen in person, I would have laughed in your face. I never would have believed it. But, I did make a very close friend over the Internet and I did spend the weekend with her and it wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable at all. Rather, it felt like we had spent lots of time together and were just taking up where we’d left off. And the reason is, we aren’t “fellow bloggers” or “cyber-buddies.” We are friends. We’ve nurtured our friendship for over a year now. I daresay we know each other better than we know some of our “real-life” friends.

Spending the weekend with my friends was surreal. I think we all had just a little niggling fear that we would spend the entire three hour drive to Ohio in awkwardness. What happened instead is that we fell into easy conversation and, about fifteen minutes into our drive, as we chattered and giggled, Melonie said facetiously, “Gee, it’s a shame we aren’t all getting along better.”

There were relatively few surprises. Sharon and I tended to be reflective, sensitive, and just a little too happy to see each other for Melonie to handle. Melonie and Laura were vivacious and funny and gave us hell. I would have been completely entertained, even if I’d never spoken a word, just by watching the interactions between Sharon and Melonie and Melonie and Laura.

I’ve talked a little bit about the weekend in other posts. You know about our dinner at the Italian restaurant with our waiter who spoke heavily accented English and grinned at us every time we started giggling because he was honestly just a sweet-natured, nice guy. Sharon and I ventured out of our room late at night for an ice cream sundae and had an adventure that left us both with aching sides from laughing so much for so long. When we went to brunch Sunday morning, Sharon and I refused to eat until they brought out newly washed plates and Melonie and Laura quoted from “Brokeback Mountain” across the table from one another as Sharon and I rolled our eyes. Later, Melonie dragged Laura onto roller coaster after roller coaster as Sharon and I floated in a double innertube inflicting the infamous sunburn that she is still sporting now–two weeks later. When the afternoon waned, we began making our way across the sun-baked and twisting lanes of Cedar Point only to end up in the First Aid station where I sat next to a cot soaking washcloths in ice water and laying them across Sharon’s neck and chest in an attempt to revive her from semi-consciousness while Laura and Melonie set off on a noble quest to locate the Cadillac and cool it off for our friend, le petite fleur.

What you don’t know is how, every time I tried to pay for anything, there were protests from the others and, if I’d been any less stubborn, they would have paid far more than their share. They are a generous bunch. You don’t know how Melonie tries so hard to act tough but still can’t conceal her very kind and tender heart. You haven’t heard how Laura made me laugh just about every time she could see I was on the verge of tears and how she proclaimed, “I like hugs!” just moments after meeting me and gave me a big ol’ hug. You didn’t hear the concern in Sharon’s voice when I had to use my inhaler and she worried, “Are you okay, Heather. Are you?” You didn’t see how she smiled the moment she opened her eyes Sunday morning.

But the moment when I realized just how special the weekend had been and just how closely I had bonded with my friends was when we pulled up to my hotel in Pittsburgh. I’d already been crying for a few minutes by then and Sharon sat beside me softly shushing me and holding my hand. We all tumbled out of the car and pulled my luggage from the trunk and I tried very hard not to cry more as I hugged Melonie and Laura (yes, Melonie broke the No Hugging rule). Sharon walked in to the hotel lobby and announced my presence, “Heather is here! It’s not her fault she is late! Do you still have her room?” The surprised clerk answered, “Yeeees. Of course!” I think she half expected a red carpet to be rolled out for me to walk across. We pulled my luggage into the lobby and I turned around to say goodbye to Sharon only to end up clutching her into a hug and crying into her shoulder. I cried out of sadness that I won’t see my friends for a long time, yes. But my tears also came from a place in my heart that was just so grateful that we’d had such an amazing two days together.

I couldn’t watch as Sharon walked out and the three of them climbed back in the Cadillac and drove away. I kept my back turned for several minutes before I could look out to be sure they were gone. Big crocodile tears rolled down my face as I checked into my hotel room and the cute little clerk asked worriedly, “Are you going to be okay?” I just nodded my head and sniffled. I was going to be better than okay.

It is impossible to put a price tag on the weekend I spent with my friends. A few tears is a small price to pay for the memories that were made. We’ve had to defend our friendship more than a few times simply because we met in an unconventional way. Now no one can say that we’ve never set eyes on each other or ask how we could possibly know that we aren’t dealing with a serial killer or rapist who only wants us to think the other is a pretty redhead from West Virginia. But more importantly, we’ve proven to ourselves that our friendship is just as solid and real as any friendship founded in the “normal” way and that it was worth some of the difficulties we’ve endured.

It was wonderful. It was magical. It was reaffirming and life-changing. It was everything we thought it would be and more. And it was so damn much fun!

I salute my friends Melonie, Laura, and Sharon. They really know how to make a girl feel at home.

OP-RAH!

Fourth Grade

I’ve been a little under the weather this week so Brad has been taking up the slack around here while I lie about moaning and complaining. I love that about my husband. One of the tasks that he took care of so I wouldn’t have to is getting the kids registered for school. It took more than an hour and several phone calls regarding shot records, emergency phone numbers, etc. but he got the job done. I was highly impressed and have promised him all manner of rewards once I am well. What? I am going to cook him enchiladas! Perverts.

There’s only one fly in the ointment. Tonight at dinner, we were happily discussing the coming school year and I told Bump, “I think you are really going to like fourth grade.” Brad’s eyebrows shot up and he sputtered, “Fourth grade?” Bump and I stared and him and said, “Yes, fourth grade! Durr.”

“Crap! I registered him for third grade.”

So, Brad still gets points for effort and for being so darn willing to spend his time and energy at the school so I wouldn’t have to. But now he has to call the school on Monday and admit that he didn’t know what grade his own son was going into.

This I’ve got to see.

Senior Year of High School Meme

I admit that when it comes to blogging lately, I got nothin’. And so I give you the Senior Year of High School Meme found at Freakazojd’s Palace complete with my senior picture. Yes, my senior picture was a Glamour Shot. It was 1993, after all.

Senior Year of High School Meme.

1. What year was it? 1992-93

2. What were your three favorite bands? I honestly can’t remember. I remember I liked Wilson Phillips but I am drawing a blank otherwise.

3. What was your favorite outfit? I’ve always been a jeans and T-shirt kind of girl. But I remember a wrap-around, bright multicolor skirt that I wore with a purple tank top. I also liked this sweater a lot. That’s my friend, Bev, in the picture with me.

4. What was up with your hair? I had long, wavy hair throughout high school but I cut it to shoulder length just before graduation. I was going through a very rough time and I think I cut it so I would feel like I still had some control. If I remember correctly, Bev cut it for me in her bathroom. I had to get it cut again to even it up!

5. Who were your best friends? Angie, Donna, Kirsten, Bev.

6. What did you do after school? I stayed in the choir room after school. I always did most of the organization for our fundraisers and I worked on our stage sets or graded papers. I lived and breathed music. I didn’t care what I did so long as I could stay in that room. It was my safe haven.

7. Did you take the bus? I drove myself to school. I had a GMC Sierra truck. I usually picked up Angie and Bev and drove them to school, too. Angie always ate toast and drank red Kool-Aid on the way to school because she was always running late.

8. Who did you have a crush on? My biggest crush was on a guy I actually dated for quite a while named Bill. In fact, I didn’t attend my own senior bash party because he was there with his new girlfriend who happened to be my very good friend and I left in tears. I was a bit of an idiot back then.

9. Did you fight with your parents? We fought a lot during the last part of my senior year. It’s one of the biggest regrets I have.

10. Who did you have a CELEBRITY crush on? Tom Cruise. Angie and I could quote every word from Top Gun. And Patrick Swayze. I also knew every word to Dirty Dancing.

11. Did you smoke cigarettes? No. I was severely asthmatic and had enough trouble breathing most days. I had a big case of medications and inhalers that I carried from class to class because many of them had to be taken four times a day.

12. Did you lug all of your books around in your backpack all day because you were too nervous to find your locker? I don’t think I ever used my locker. But it was mostly because I had so many music classes that I just left all of my books in the choir room. My schedule my senior year was: choir, government, choir, assistant, choir, English, music theory, music assistant. No joke.

13. Did you have a ‘clique’? I was in the clique with the group who was popular but not wild. There were kind of two popular groups. My friends and I never drank or did drugs or got into trouble. A typical weekend night for us was for us all to gather at someone’s house and let Bev and Katelyn sing and Jay and Jim play guitar.

14. Did you have “The Max” like Zach, Kelly and Slater? I am not sure if I remember what the Max was? But we liked to hang out at Saturday’s diner after school events.

15. Admit it, were you popular? Um, I guess?

16. Who did you want to be just like? I wanted to be just like my friend Temple.

17. What did you want to be when you grew up? I wanted to sing and dance on Broadway but knew I lacked the talent so I thought I’d settle for being a music teacher. Except I decided I didn’t have the talent for that either. So, the first major I declared in college was Literature. I wanted to teach Literature.

18. Where did you think you’d be at the age you are now? I don’t think I ever thought I would get married. The boy I thought I wanted to marry was not mine so I just didn’t think about it. But I do remember that I always wanted to live in New York City. And here I am a mere 90 miles from my hometown.

weekend at the lake

We spent the weekend at the lake with my father and stepmother. We had a grand time. We learned that our youngest son has inherited our thrill seeking genes and is likely to be an adrenaline junkie just as we are.

At the outskirts of the lake town, my father stopped for gas and my stepmother moved to my car so we could go on to the hotel while my dad went down to the state park. Dad pulled out of the parking lot while I was still parked in front of the convenience store and my stepmom was inside. A few minutes after we hit the road, my cell phone rang and it was Dad saying, “You’ve got my wife with you, right?” Of course, I replied, “Your wife? Isn’t she with you?” At which point he threatened, “She’d better be with you!” I conceded that yes, she was indeed with me.

My stepmom giggled and told me I should have kept him going until he pulled to the side of the road and prepared to turn around. I told her that I may be 31 years old but I had no doubt that my father would have whipped my butt if I pulled such a stunt. My oldest son burst out laughing in the back seat and enthused, “And I’d pay money to see it, too!”

The next morning at breakfast, we were having some light-hearted conversation and we joked to the boys that, if the police showed up, they were looking for Grandma because she had taken a couple of plastic forks when we stopped at a fast food place for a coke the day before. I asked my son, “Would you pay to see that, too?” He answered, “Nah. Because she wouldn’t fight back like you would.” I feigned indignance and said, “I don’t know why you say that. I am as placid an individual as you will ever meet.” At which point my father nearly choked to death on his bagel.

Seriously though, it’s true. I am a fighter. I always have been. Even at my lowest, I have always had a strong sense of self-preservation. I am hard on myself and you probably can’t call me anything worse than I’ve called myself. The thing is, I am allowed to kick myself but no one else is. It’s all very simple; push me and I will push back.

My aggressive nature is something I have had to learn to temper. Now I aim for assertiveness. It sounds so much more positive than aggression, don’t you think? I’ve had to learn to choose my battles and, as a result, I’ve won most of them. My tendency to fight like a hellcat when threatened has not always served me well. But I am definitely able to say that I have rarely played the part of a doormat in any relationship or situation.

I hesitate to admit it but, when my son seemed so sure that I would fight when cornered, I felt kind of . . . proud.

convertible

Brad bought a convertible this weekend. He asked me to take some pictures. He likes this one, because you can see the whole car.

I like this one because, well, I like him.

Of course, I had to have my picture taken with the new car too.

echolocation

I read an article today about a teenage boy who has been blind since he was two years old. Rather than using a cane or a seeing eye dog or even feeling his way around, he uses echolocation to navigate. Just like a bat or a dolphin, he makes rapid clicking noises with his tongue and listens for the echo so he can get around without running into things. He said that he can tell the difference between wood, glass, metal, and plastic just by clicking his tongue. He can tell the difference between a truck and a car from several feet away. He rides a skateboard relying solely on echolocation to avoid collisions. It was an amazing and inspiring story.

It made me start thinking about how all of us use a sort of echolocation to navigate our lives. When we reach out to another human being and wait for their response, isn’t that essentially the same thing as echolocation? If we offer our love or friendship and it is met with resistance or scorn, we are likely to abandon that path and seek out another one. If we offer up a part of ourselves through a shared confidence and it is met with warmth and understanding, then we know that the path ahead is most likely safe. And sometimes, the echo is a little bit garbled and we choose to proceed, but with caution. Or we decide that it isn’t worth the risk and turn around right then and there.

That’s all. Nothing deep. Nothing profound. Just thinking.

Real Life

*sigh*

I want to go back here. With her, her, and her. It seems unfair that I have to be rudely pulled back into real life after such a carefree and charmed weekend with my friends.

I was so tired when I (finally!) made it back home yesterday that I spent most of the day trying to sleep. The operative word in that sentence being trying because my children were as uncooperative a lot as I’ve ever encountered. I couldn’t really blame them. They missed me as much as I missed them while I was out of town and I think they were acting out to earn my attention. I ended up lying on my bed with both kids and both dogs. That was nice. But I was still tired.

This morning I had to wake up and go to work when I would rather have been sleeping. I sat at my desk and found myself in Ohio with my friends by transcendental meditation. Maybe I am exaggerating. But I know I replayed the weekend in my head all day. I had to shake my head a few times to make myself concentrate on my work.

The day continued being charmless when it became apparent that I would have to go to the grocery store. My five year old walked up, tapped me on the shoulder and said, “There’s no milk for me to drink. None at all.” My youngest child is not one for subtle hints. I asked, “What do you expect me to do about it?” His answer was that I should go grocery shopping. Apparently, I am the only adult in this house whose synapses fire fast enough to figure out that household items do not magically appear in our various closets and cabinets. I say this because I came home to a house totally devoid of toilet paper.

And so the day progressed bearing no resemblance at all to the fabulous weekend that is fast fading into the past. The anti-climax has wreaked havoc on my emotions. I am tired. I have another weekend trip to prepare for, this time to the lake with family. I have laundry to wash, children and a husband to nurture, and puppies who are house training.

This is real life. This is the part of living that makes it possible to spend a weekend laughing and floating in a raft with friends.

I can live with that.

Cedar Point

I trekked across the country this weekend on a journey to see my friends. The trip was long and frustrating. In order to get there and back, I spent time in Texas, Illinois, Pennsylvania, West Virginia, Ohio, and Florida. I spent one hour and thirty minutes in a plane on a tarmac in Florida while a storm raged outside with flashing lightning and deafening thunder that shook the plane. The storm was quite rude and I ended up missing my connection to Houston which meant that I also missed the last flight available to my home and had to stay the night in Houston. I asked the front desk clerk for a 6:30 AM wake-up call and somehow I got a 2:30 am wake-up call instead. My luggage stayed at the airport so I had no make-up, no toothbrush, no hairbrush, and no change of clothes. Anything that could go wrong seemed to go wrong.

If I had known how difficult it would be to get home and how tired I would be, I would still have done it all over again. I’d do it again a thousand times. That’s how lovely the weekend was for me.

I’ve replayed the weekend in my head a million times and tried to decide what I would write. My first impulse was to not write about it at all because it was so special that I wanted to keep it all to myself. But I didn’t want to make it seem unimportant either. It’s a conundrum.

I thought about telling you about the excitement that coursed through me when I stood in front of my hotel and saw Sharon, Melonie, and Laura waving excitedly with big grins on their faces and how I caught all of them in a big hug before they could protest. I thought about writing about how I got carsick as we drove out of West Virginia and into Ohio and laid my head on the middle arm rest and Sharon fussed over me and moved my hair off of my neck. I could tell you that the rental car agent was arrogant and that Sharon and I stood over him and glowered and that I swear that’s why we ended up with a Cadillac instead of a Mazda or some such.

But really what I want to document is the fun and the laughter of the weekend as well as the tenderness and poignancy. When I look back, I want to remember that my stomach hurt when I woke up Sunday morning from laughing so hard on Saturday. I want to remember walking along the beach with my friends and swimming in the pool under the night sky. I want to remember the tranquility of floating along in a raft all afternoon with my friend and never running out of things to talk about.

The weekend was so wonderful and almost seemed life-changing in a way. There were four very distinct personalities present in that big Cadillac and they seemed to mesh perfectly. We laughed with each other and learned from each other. Or so it seemed to me.

I’ve struggled for two days trying to say exactly what I want to say about how special the weekend was for me and how much I enjoyed the company of three such lovely women. Then, I saw an article that discussed Oprah Winfrey’s relationship with her best friend. She said,

“Something about this relationship feels otherworldly to me, like it was designed by a power and a hand greater than my own. Whatever this friendship is, it’s been a very fun ride.”

That’s exactly how I feel.

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Read Sharon’s post about the weekend.Read Melonie’s post about the weekend.

Read Laura’s post about the weekend.