Working my way through the list

I’ve always wanted to go on an “all girls” vacation, to hop in the car with a few of my girlfriends and take off for a road trip to somewhere. I picture myself leaned back in a convertible, my hair whipping across my face, allowing all responsibilities to sail across the open country road, dancing in the wind, set free from the confines of my mind.

I included such an event on my Oprah-inspired “Life List”. I created the list several years ago after the birth of my daughter. After about 5 weeks of sleepless nights, failed breast feeding attempts and an extra 15 pounds to shed, my world felt about as expansive as a Geo Metro. Compiling the list allowed me to spend time perched on an imaginary window seat looking out upon the future as series of adventures. It took me awhile to get started, but after I got rolling, the ideas tumbled out like shiny swirled marbles. I kept the list taped to my bathroom mirror for a few months. Eventually it grew tattered and worn, so I took it down to stow it safely away somewhere. Today, I have no idea where it is.

Still, as a result of my list, I’ve gone to hear one of my favorite authors, Maya Angelou speak in Chicago. I sat in the audience of the Oprah show. My sister and I secured seats in the fourth row up from the stage while she interviewed Donald Trump about the first season of The Apprentice. I must confess here, there is something about seeing Donald Trump up close and in person. I am not a Trump fan, and yet he came across and very charming and handsome. Yes, I said handsome, I don’t know, it surprised me too, the hair doesn’t seem so bad in person. Who knew? During the taping of that same show, Oprah looked up and winked at me during a commercial break. I think she must have found my utter delight a bit amusing. I actually got a little too worked up that day, and found myself with a massive migraine on our way back home. “Kate,” my sister said bewildered, “Why would you have gotten a migraine from going to the show.”
“I think it was because I was so excited,” I explained, “I don’t think I was breathing much.”

This Novermber, I will cross “take an all girl vacation” off my list as well. My sister and I are going on the The Manic Mommies Escape 08. We both listen to the podcast called, Manic Mommies. It is a show created by two full time working moms, Erin and Kristin. They recount their lives as they try to , “DO-IT-ALL”. They have created quite the community of listeners with the help of networking sites like Big Tent. (all new to me). So, a bunch of the listeners are planning to “escape” motherhood for a bit, on this trip, which just happens to be a 4 day cruise to the Bahamas right after my 33rd birthday.

I have never met Erin or Kristin, nor have I met any of these other listeners. I have a tendency to day dream about meeting new people and instantly making a new best friend, the way kids seem to do with such ease. Although, in my defense, this sort of instant friendship has happened twice in my life, I met one of my best friends Veronica the day I moved into the dorm at IU. I helped her change a light bulb in her halogen light, and we’ve been great friends since. The summer before college, after some dreadful entrance exam scores in math, I was required to attend “Math Camp” at the University of Illinois. I failed the camp, but my roommate from those two weeks and I are still friends. She managed to pass despite the bad roommate luck.
In this case, I see myself and my new friends, years later sitting around at some “reunion” laughing, “Do you remember when we met on that Manic Mommy cruise? Yeah, and you had just told that waiter that he had a sesame seed struck between his front teeth? And he told you he normally carries a toothpick in his apron but ran out of them yesterday?” Hardy har-har.

I’ve booked the flight to Miami in November. Before I know it, Jenny and I will board a cruise ship with several other women that I have never met before to sail to the Bahamas for a little RR, leaving the husbands and the kids at home to fend for themselves. I cannot imagine a better way to celebrate my 33rd birthday. I have to admit, I sort of pictured a car and a few more ladies that I actually knew beforehand, on my “girls only” trip. Regardless, I will cross another adventure off the list. I am still several steps away from my life feeling boring, predictable and constricted. No Geo Metros here, bring on the cruise ship, I’m ready to have enough fun to fill that baby up!

Howard's Birthday Cake

We all have family folklore, the stories that unfold at get togethers time and time again. It doesn’t matter how many times you hear it, it produces spontaneous laughter despite years of repetition. One particular line that comes up often when my mother in law is around is, “So, Ann, did you meet anyone interesting in the bathroom?” Years ago, Ann went into the restroom, met some pleasant people, and returned to her party exclaiming, “I just met the nicest people in the bathroom!” My father in law, Josh and his brother love rehashing this tale when they are all together.

Naturally, I thought of Ann when I found myself immersed in the life story of a beautiful elderly woman who pulled the threads of her past in the middle of the Target restroom, letting them unravel before me in under the unflattering fluorescent lights. For me, it was another Target expansion for my job. I stood before my section among the greeting cards lost in my own thoughts. A woman with curled long black hair and a billowing white embroidered blouse tip toed up to me. “Scuse me Miss? Can you tell me where I can find photo envelopes?” Her husband stood quietly behind her, hands thrust into his worn overalls. His slightly smudged glasses sat on top of his bulbous red nose.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I began, getting my standard response ready, “I am just a vendor. I don’t work for Target. I’m not sure where those are.”

“Oh, of course,” she said looking at my clothes and noticing that I was not dressed in the traditional red and khaki. “Well, we’ll just keep on looking.”

As soon as she turned to leave I felt a pang of guilt. I should have just tried to find it for her. I shop Targets frequently. Certainly I could find it easily enough. By then, they were gone, and I still had a lot of work to do. I silently vowed to take the time to help the next person.

After finishing half of my new section, I stopped to take a restroom break and get a snack. When I walked up to the sinks to wash my hands I noticed the black haired woman from earlier leaning into the sink applying brown eyeliner. Her hair hung down her back in soft waves. I wondered if she slept in curlers at night, remembering how I had wrapped my own once long hair in pink foam curlers for awhile in high school.

“Did you find the envelope you were looking for?” I asked as I lathered my hands up with the slightly stinky pink soap.

A little startled, she jumped and turned to me looking confused. “I was working in the cards and you asked me for help finding picture envelopes.” I reminded her, feeling guilty for scaring her.

A look of recognition crossed her face. “Oh yes. I remember now. Yes, we did find them. I told my husband, now you know what we need to do? We just need to think of the place where they are the least likely to be, and I’ll bet they‘ll be there.” She finished washing her own hands and grabbed a paper towel from the wide mouthed black dispenser. “And that’s just what we did! There they were!” Her face lit up with satisfaction.

I thought where the least likely place would be in Target, maybe women’s underwear? Hardware?

“I wanted to send a picture of a birthday cake to a friend of mine who is dying from cancer,” she continued.

“Oh gosh, I am so sorry,” I said. Another woman and her developmentally delayed adult daughter walked in.

“I gotta go PEE PEE!” the daughter yelled.

“Well go then honey.” The mother answered calmly.

“Yeah, lung cancer,” she continued, stepping aside to let the mother and daughter pass. “His birthday was July 3rd. Do you know he’d never had a decorated birthday cake?”

“Oh no!” I exclaimed, immediately thinking of my family and their obsession with Taylor Bakery birthday cakes.

“So my husband and I, we drove to Kentucky and made sure he had a decorated cake this year.”

“That is so nice of you!”

“We took a picture of it too. I wanted to be sure to send it to him, so he’ll remember it.”

“What a thoughtful friend you are,” I replied. By this time, the woman and her daughter had finished their business and we moved away from the sinks to give them some space. The woman looked at me with a slight smile. I realized that I was really finished in the bathroom, as was the black haired woman, but she was on a roll, ready to tell me more. I didn’t want to cut her off. The only thing waiting for me was more cards.

“ He was a hunter. So we had deer put on that cake for him.”

“Wow,” I said, this took me back a bit. I tried to imagine a deer cake. I’m sure he loved it. If they can do Nemo and Dora, certainly a few deer wouldn’t be too hard.
Over the next 10 minutes or so, this woman shared how her friend Howard, married a woman 30 years younger than he. “But I never seen two people more in love. I tell him, ‘Howard, age doesn’t mean a thing.’” She explained that they were so close because they had both lost one of their children. “I lost my son 4 years ago in a car accident.”

“Oh, I am so sorry.” I said again, the lights in the bathroom seemed brighter, my reactions amplified by the white tiles of the bathroom. She dug in her purse and produced a laminated picture of her son.

“He was 47,” she stated.

“He looks just like you,” I said. Studying the picture before handing it back to her.
“We both have the same high forehead,” she said, smoothing her own forehead with her hand as if it were really that of her son. I thought of my two kids and how often I pass my hand across their sleepy foreheads at bedtime.

As if reading my mind she said, “You just can’t ever take a day for granted you know. Once they are gone, it’s like hole in your heart. It never ever goes away.” She put the picture on the eyeliner back into her purse.

I took this as my cue to turn towards the door and make our way back out into the red and white retail world. She followed me out. Her husband stood leaning against the wall just outside of the restrooms, his hands still resting in his pockets.
“You have a lovely wife,” I told him. He smiled and nodded.

With that she pulled her purse strap up over her shoulder and looked at me with her newly lined eyes and said, “I sure hope I will see you again honey.” There is something about women calling me honey that I love. They could be any age, young or old. It is like a verbal pat on the back, a word of gentle inclusion.

“Oh, me too.” I said. I turned and walked back to my little section of cards. I felt so honored that she shared her story with me, a stranger in such an unusual place like the bathroom. I know I am not out there saving the world each day. But somehow I felt such a sense of buoyancy after just those few moments of connection into other person’s life, that for whatever reason, I was the one she shared with that day. I smiled, imagining the photo envelope making its way to Kentucky, and the smile curving across Howard’s face as he viewed his deer birthday cake once again.

I could have some growing up to do

As part of this writing adventure this year, I made it one of my goals to find and join a writer’s group. Naturally, I went online to see what I could find. To my surprise, an online writing group popped up right away. They chat online and then meet at the nearby Borders store about once a month to share and critique each other’s work. I happen to work in that particular Borders store, as they carry our cards. Traveling back in my mind, I remembered seeing a group of people there a few times chatting intelligently in a circle of black leather chairs. Ah, that must’ve been the writing group listed here.

While I felt pretty nervous about joining the group, I pushed past it, knowing that this situation presented just another hurdle for me to clear. So I sent the email to join, was accepted as part of the group, and started receiving the messages from members.

Each week the moderator asks the members to provide an update of what they are working on, and how it is going. The emails flooded in. One stated he was still just posting on his blog and left the address for others to reference. I followed the link and found a somewhat cryptic short story that jogged back and forth in a manner I couldn’t seem to follow. A female member stated she completed another chapter in her book. She stated she would bring it to the next meeting to workshop. Another member shared that she may have finally secured an agent to market her book.
Wow! Excitement and intimidation surged through me. One of them has an agent huh, cool. I read on, “We’ll see though, I’ve been burned before. Not many agents are willing to take on gay erotica when it comes down to signing on the dotted line.”
Gay erotica? Mmmm, this was a little hick-up in my brewing anticipation. Is that a new genre? Suddenly I morphed into a 12 year old, blushing at the mention of sex, not to mention gay sex or worse erotica? How is that different exactly? Ok, so how immature am I? I scolded myself. Yet, I couldn’t help thinking of this woman bringing her newest chapter to Borders and reading it aloud for us, and then trying to critique it. I envisioned my crimson face and neck giving me away as a totally un-evolved person and writer. She must be a really great writer if she is working with agents and that only heightened my anxiety.

So, I unsubscribed to that group. I guess I have to take things a little bit at a time. I did become a member of a writer’s group/community in downtown Indy. It is called The Writing Center. I take my first workshop there on Monday night. The class is called, “Getting Started.” I can handle that one. Maybe in a couple of months I will have gained some maturity and courage to expose myself to genres and styles way outside my realm. Then you may hear me say, “Gay erotica? Oh yes, it is quite the expansive genre. .. really empowering material…” Or something along those lines, so get ready.

A simple request

For once in my life I would like to be hit on by a guy who is around my age. When I was in college, my friends used to tease me, as I was a magnet for the foreign graduate students. If you were from Germany, did not speak much English and studying physics, then apparently, I was your type my freshmen year. But it doesn’t stop there, after college, I drew in an aging wanna-be-big- hair rocker. A few high school friends and I were at a local bar when the rocker approached me. Among those friends was my ex boyfriend. To his delight, a guy who very well could’ve passed as a member of White Snake, with long hair curly hair, tight jeans and puffy bangs, asked me for my phone number. Stunned, I gave it to him, a fake number, but still. This wasn’t anything like my daydream where a mysteriously handsome someone buys me a drink, finding me utterly fascinating, all the while reassuring myself, as well as my ex, that “Oh yeah, I’ve still got it.” Instead, he just laughed and I steamed; foiled again.

It keeps getting worse. Now, in my thirties, it seems that I am getting a lot of winks from guys who have to be nearing 50. What is this all about? Just once, I swear, one time, I would love for an attractive guy, my age, to give me a compliment or suggestive smile. Just once, just enough to boost a girl’s confidence you know? One of my best friends in college had men falling all over themselves all the time in her presence. I cannot tell you how many times a new guy slid up next to me and said under his breath, “So, what’s the story with your friend Veronica?” Augh! I wanted to say, “The story is, take a number Mister, she’s got you guys lined up out the door and around the block. Good luck to you.” If I didn’t love her so much I would’ve just quit hanging out with her. But to her credit, she is pretty awesome. What can you do? The girl can work a crowd like no one I have ever met.

Lately, at the two workout centers I go to, I’ve gotten the “How are you doing?” with a slight head nod from a couple of men. As I happily answer, “Fine thanks!” thinking how nice and friendly people are, how I love community places where you can get to know people, the guy throws in a wink at the end, like a misplaced exclamation mark. What is that?! I kid you not, the second time it happened, I turned around to see if someone else was behind me. This guy had gray hair! He had to be well into his fifties. Do I seem that attainable? Is there a mark on my forehead that says, “Easy prey, don’t worry about her age.” Or worse yet, do I look older than I am already? I even checked my fly, like maybe he was trying hint with his flapping eyelid that I should zip up my shorts to avoid future embarrassment. Nope, I was all buttoned and zipped.

There is a thread of hope in this case though. As I was signing up to continue my contract at one place, the slightly strange young guy working the desk asked my age as he filled out the appropriate sheet. “Surprised, I answered, “32.”

“Oh, sorry,” he backpedaled. “I meant your birth date.”

I gave it to him and then, bless this boy’s wonderful heart, he replied, “Gosh, you don’t look 32, I would’ve guessed 27.”

YES!!!! Not all is lost quite yet. You can bet that I will be holding that thread for a long time.

It IS worth the sleepless nights after all...

There are days when being a parent feels like the pits. They whine, they ask strangers in the grocery line if they are pregnant, (despite several conversations about NOT doing this) and vomit down your shirt...
And then there are the days when your daughter secretly leaves you a love note on your flip flops.

Just call me "The Fly"

I work for a high end greeting card company. This week I am expanding our space in Target stores across Indiana. What that means is, I stand in the same Target store scanning and unwrapping cards for three to four hours at a time.

A lot goes on in a Target store if you allow yourself to just stand there and listen. One of my favorite parts about my job is the ability to listen in on other people’s conversations with ease. Here I am, just working my section, it isn’t my fault I can hear what that couple over there argues about. Target stores don’t even play any background music. Really, it leaves a vendor with nothing to do BUT listen to the conversations of others. The following occurred at my store last night:

A young dad in his thirties slowly pushed the bright red cart down the aisle in front of me. He took the slow deliberate steps of a shopper carefully scanning the cards looking for a specific section. As I listened to the drop of one dress shoe, then another, I could almost imagine him silently mouthing, “Anniversary…Graduation…Sympathy…uh, where is Thank You?...oh…uh… ok, here it is.” He must have spotted an Elmo card, because suddenly I heard him singing, “Elmo is a monster, a monster, monster, Elmo is a monster. Yes he is.” He sang the song with the bounce of a ping pong ball, hitting each word with a jaunty little tap. He then proceeded to weave through the entire section, except for mine of course, singing his little song. “Elmo is a monster, a monster, monster, Elmo is a monster. Yes he is.”

As he left the card section, I thankfully spotted a baby seat nestled in the back of the shopping cart. He wasn’t singing to himself, but to the baby. Yet, I couldn’t shake the image of a cute little Elmo growing fangs and sprouting gleaming claws as he sprang off the card, like a mini teen wolf. Sure, Elmo is a monster, I guess. I just never thought of him that way. He’s more like a furry sprite or something, a lovable fluffy creature that enjoys singing and tickling. Just then, I realized my mind had annonying picked up the man’s song. In the absence of a new conversation to distract myself, it sang, “Elmo is a monster, a monster, monster, Elmo is a monster. Yes he is.”

Other people of note, two teenage girls about 13 or 14 years old, strode down the main aisle in Lavern and Shirley style, arms hooked together, and counted off, “One, two and THREE!” After which, they proceeded to crow like roosters in the middle of the silent store. They giggled into their hands, delighted with their rebellion and headed towards the makeup aisle.

A mother and daughter argued over how much money remained in the mother’s purse. The mother was in her 60’s, the daughter was in her 30’s. The mother adamantly told the daughter only $20 was left. The daughter assured her it was actually $66. The mother demanded to know how it could be that much. “Because, mom,” the daughter yelled exasperated obviously feeling cornered. “I put another $46 in your purse…OKAY!”

“Why would you do that?” the mother spat back angrily. And they too disappeared down the aisle, off to pay for their items with somebody’s money, the mother’s or the daughter’s. Only the cashier would know.

I almost disappear when I work on the cards. I don’t mind at all. Don’t we all desire to be the fly on the wall sometimes? As I was packing up, a heavy set woman and her friend pursued the cards next to mine. She was fairly heavy set and wore dread locks, a backwards black baseball cap and an oversized white tee shirt that came down past her knees. A large piercing poked out around her mouth, just below her lower lip. After she and her friend read a few of our competitors love cards she announced, “I don’t know, I just don’t think I like him enough for a card like that yet.” She walked away seeming upset. The friend read a couple more cards before giving up herself and did a quick shuffle step to catch up.

I unwrapped my last set of cards and placed them in their designated spot and thought, “I love my job.”

1 year anniversay-Gotcha Day

(Kai earlier this summer with the classic bump on his forehead! He is always moving!)

Tomorrow is our family’s one year anniversary of Kai’s Gotcha Day. It is one of those things that remain so filled with emotion that it becomes difficult to write about accurately. Everything I write lands on the page sounding overly emotional or then, not passionate enough.

I will never forget that hazy day, zipping through the depths of Guangzhou at 2pm in the afternoon after waiting around the White Swan hotel all morning. We stayed in our room as much as possible. Parents with new babies crossed our path everywhere. It freaked me out actually. No matter where I looked, Caucasian parents, most much older than we were, pushed tiny Chinese baby girls around in the strollers. On the street the stroller vendors called out, “Oh, such pretty baby!” to all the new parents walking past, hoping the flushed faced parents would step into their shop to make a purchase.

Here we were in China, in this grand hotel, wandering amidst this strange land of the Chinese baby girls, and we planned to adopt a little toddler boy. No tiny little bundle of pink for us. How would the transition go with a toddler versus a baby? We could only wait and see. I kept scanning the multicolored strollers for other boy s or at least another toddler.

During our entire stay at the famous White Swan, we only saw another two or three little boys. Out of all of them, Kai certainly stood out as the happiest and the loudest. By the end of our 2 week stay, he secured the role of “Norm” from Cheers. The entire breakfast buffet staff knew him, all of the families from other agencies greeted him by name and every street vendor outside of the hotel stopped to talk to him in Cantonese. The shop keepers smiled wide grins and told us how lucky we were to get a boy. One woman stopped us on the street to talk to Kai. “He is so handsome,” she told us scanning his face approvingly. She was an older woman with gray streaks in her black hair. I smiled with pride, until she continued, “His mother must be missing him.” While it shocked me at first, I appreciated her honesty. Yes, his mother must be missing him. The shop keepers wanted to sell us their goods, this woman wanted me to know that we received quite the treasure, a treasure another woman paid a high price for us to have.

Early on, we realized that Kai possessed spunk and energy by the tons. Each morning he would grin and call out “Hello!” in his raspy little voice, delighting those around him with his quick uptake of the English language. During the first two days he mastered, hello, bye-bye, and thank you. Other parents could not believe how well adjusted he was, how gentle he played with the other babies, how quick to play a game of catch and laugh uproariously at the slightest attempt to make him giggle.

Those 17 days in China changed all of our lives in so many ways. This weekend we will celebrate our family and Gotcha Day by delving into a few family art projects, eat some pizza, make a cake, and enjoy some outdoor gifts for the Big Sister and Little Brother.

A year later, Kai is still a cheerful kid in addition with a high volume knob. He has come such a long way from that first day, learning so much with such determination. We all have. Happy Gotcha Day Kai-guy!

(I have a video clip on our gotcha day I am trying to post, I will try to get it up tomorrow!)