The Butterfly and the Bear

Lipstick and Lunatics

Two Saturdays a month in order to make some extra cash and to continue to feed my cosmetics addiction I will work for several hours as a freelance makeup artist.  For the most part I actually enjoy it, I get to play with makeup and tap into my creative side and get a discount (bonus) and I have the opportunity to catch up with some of my old retail friends.  This past Saturday I worked and overall had a great time.  However, spending those few hours every other saturday doing what I had once done daily for sometimes over 10 hours a day for 11 years reminds me how lucky I was to get out alive.  It is not an easy occupation (I know, is there an easy occupation?) standing on hard unforgiving floors for hours on end, dealing with customer demands, hustling to meet sales goals, it is a balancing act.  You have to be part makeup artist, part therapist, best friend and lowly servant all in one.  

This past Saturday my old boss and I were rehashing some of our favorite rude customer stories.  For the most part the women we deal with are lovely, kind and a delight.  However, every once and while you get them on a bad day (or a bad year/life) and watch out.  Like the woman who once came into the store and one of my colleagues approached her to help her with her product selection and innocently asked, “Are you doing ok?’ to which the customer responded, “NO!  No, I am not ok!  I am miserable and tired and my husband is an ass, what do you care!” Oy!  My poor young colleague literally scuttled back to the stockroom and hid until the woman left.  Then there are the women who literally break down sobbing over their beloved lipstick/blush/eyeshadow being discontinued.  They go through all the stages of grieving , shock (“But I just go it a few months ago!”), disbelief (“I bet Neiman’s will have it!), fear (“What will I do!  What will I wear?!”), crying (Seriously) then finally anger (“What do you mean? This is unacceptable!”).  Anger at you.  Like you mix up these potions in your kitchen and one day you woke up and decided you didn’t feel like cooking up their favorite lipstick anymore. Too bad.  It is all your fault and she is PISSED!  That’s when your years as being a makeup artist/therapist kick in and you talk her down by wooing her with another shade that is “Just as flattering, perhaps even more so!  Look at how your eyes pop!  Your skin glows! I think you’ll prefer this color to your old one. Yes, I definitely do!”

Another favorite (and by favorite I mean dreaded) customer is the over-sharer.  They are attractive, polished, they have it all, right?  So you seat them and you are pleasantly showing them the products that will work for them and delving into the makeup application when as you apply the foundation they drop the following bomb: “My husband is cheating on me” or “I’m cheating on my husband” or “I thought the hot tub would finally get him interested in me sexually again, add a little spice!” or my favorite, “I never did anal before I was married but now I feel like I have to.”  (True story folks) Now, as makeup artists we are divided into two camps here, some makeup artists relish this sort of talk, they can get some juicy gossip while endearing themselves to the client and pretending to be their besty and confidante.  Me?  I am in the “Oh no she didn’t” camp.  I mentally shut down and in response to their admission that they are cavorting with the pool boy will retort, “This foundation is triple pigmented and water-based, so you’ll find it will even you out without looking or feeling too heavy” (smile, blink blink) I get all Stepford wife on them.  I can’t deal. I don’t want to know this and truthfully, you shouldn’t want me to know this about you.  I like knowing your favorite colors, what makeup suits your routine and what your skin issues are.  That’s it, end of story. 

Then there is Madame Condescension. This was a type of client that always got my hackles up and would make me truly irate, probably due to my own insecurities and feelings regarding my self worth.  She was the one who would breeze in and wave off your polite offers for assistance.  Then when you turn your back would bark, “Hellooooo, can you help me???”.  Then she would say something vague about wanting a red lipstick.  (Inevitably at some point her cell phone WILL ring and she WILL answer it and attempt to simultaneously snap orders at you while carrying on an in depth, oh so important conversation with the person on the other end of the line) So you pull out your favorite, sure fire, can’t miss, perfect red lipsticks.  And she systematically checks them all off, “Too brown, too pink, too purple, too red, NO NO NO! I want a RED.  A real RED!”  You look down at your assortment of “real reds” and are baffled.  OKAY, what about this one,  “NO!!  Here, let me look. There, that is more like it.” As she smugly holds aloft a bright hot pink lipstick.  If I were feeling combative that day I may crisply reply, “I thought you said RED, not PINK. That is pink.”  However I usually wanted to end the abuse as soon as possible and would mock cheerfully reply, “Ok, I’ll pull that color for you.”  It was Madame Condescension that made days go from tiring to exhausting, she was the one who made me feel like I wasn’t a trained, professional makeup artist but instead a lowly shop girl.  And isn’t that exactly what she wanted to do?  Because happy, content, fulfilled people don’t abuse other people.   Madame Condescension was also fond of sitting in your chair and after you had done her full face of makeup would tell you that she doesn’t like it and to start over.  Then while you’re removing all that makeup would chirp at you, “Isn’t your job fun? So fun! You get to play with makeup all day.”  Without the slightest trace of irony.  She actually believed you LOVE doing her makeup. Twice. While your hands are trembling because you are resisting the urge to poke her eye out with a Q-tip.  

Then of course there is the straight up lunatic. Like escaped from the asylum and made a beeline for your store lunatic.  One day it happened to be empty in the boutique save for me and my coworker Courtney.  In waltzes a woman who looks normal enough, she doesn’t look homeless/drunk/crazed.  Looks can be deceiving.  She crosses the threshold to the store and yells “OWWWWW!” while clutching her stomach and lurching forward.  Naturally I am alarmed and walk up to her and ask her if she’s alright.  “FINE! I’m fine.  Where are the shampoo’s?”.  After I point her in the right direction she of course proceeds to open and smell ALL if them.  Whatever.  I am keeping a wide birth.  “Can I try this. Like now?” She hollers across the store.  “Uhm no, I can give you a sample to try at home if you like.”  She grumbles some unintelligible response back and thankfully another customer comes in and Courtney and I are both being overly solicitous with the new lady to avoid interacting with the lunatic.  Eventually she tires of inhaling every product in the store and heads for the door (Thank God).  There she pauses and actually says, “Bye, thank you!”  So not wanting to leave things on a sour note I smile and say back, “Bye!  Thank YOU!”  To which she replies over her shoulder as she’s leaving, “Fuck you ASSHOLES!”  Wow.  Again, true story folks. 

Don’t get me wrong it wasn’t all bad.  I had lovely clients and rewarding experiences, some of those women I am still in touch with and work with periodically.  However, it is the bad days we remember most vividly it seems, and of course they make for the most spectacular stories.  Keeping my two Saturdays a month not only allows me to see old friends and colleagues as well as get my makeup fix, it also reminds me how blessed I am to be able to take this “time-out” at this point in my life.  Being able to go into a store, sell for the day and leave without all of the stress of sales goals, daily office politics and making ends meet has been so liberating.  I actually have fun!  At work!  If I get one of those crazy ladies coming in and zapping my energy it doesn’t totally drain me, I am able to shake it off once she walks out the door.  If only I was able to take this approach for the last 11 years when this was my day to day life.  I guess that is the challenge, “to work as if we don’t need the money”, it is so difficult though to remember that old adage and live by it when rent is due and the bills are piling up.  For now I am going to enjoy my time with Terrbear, thank my lucky stars that I have such an amazing and caring family supporting my decision and that I have the luxury to take this time to step back and start over.  And of course that I get to keep my cosmetics discount too! 

Hi, Remember Me?

Yesterday I was reading my friend Michelle's blog and she had been inspired by mightygirl.com to write a letter to her 20 year old self.  Her letter was beautiful and heartfelt and I loved the idea and have been thinking about it all day.   As Terr-bear and I were walking through the park I was asking myself, “What would I tell 20 year old Mandy?”  Well, a lot.  However, I was kind of more interested in what 20 year old Mandy would write in a letter to me now.  Up until recently I had felt stagnant, like I was just pushing thorough life and not really living.  I think 20 year old me would’ve been disappointed to see what I had become.  She had big dreams and high hopes, and I hand’t exactly delivered.  I think she would’ve wholeheartedly endorsed me challenging myself by working on my list and making myself a priority.  However, She would have done it sooner.  She was all about taking chances and fighting for herself.  She was fun and she had moxie, she had chutzpah! She was spontaneous and adventurous, she was also confident and outgoing, two characteristics I am struggling to reacquaint myself with.  The year I turned twenty was actually a pivotal one for me, it was the year I shed the fat kid persona.  I lost weight, I studied abroad and I came home feeling like I had left behind the shy, timid, chubby girl.  In her place was the blonder, thinner, happier, outgoing Mandy.  I liked her much more than the old version and I vowed that we would never look back.  Yet somehow the chubby insecure girl snuck her way back in.  I‘m not sure when but at some point in my mid twenties I seemed to lose my mo-jo.  I lost touch with 20 year old Mandy.  She’s still in here, but I am working hard to bring her back out.  So, I decided to imagine what a letter from my 20 year old self to my current self would be like, just to remind me where I came from and hopefully to focus on where I am going.

Dear Mandy,

I can’t begin to tell you how psyched I am you FINALLY plucked up the courage to leave that job and all the stress and anxiety that came with it behind   No matter how much you tried to contort yourself it was never a good fit.  It looks like you forgot a little of yourself for a few (10!) years or so, but I am relieved and happy you are back on track!

Here are a few things you should know (or remember) about me.  I like myself, I know I deserve to be happy and I am confident I will be happy.  Life is limitless and it has amazing things in store for us.  Don’t forget that.  I know you struggle with thinking you are too old or your best years are behind you, they’re not.  You just need to make sure you keep focused on the now, if you focus on what you haven’t done, you will fall back into that trap of inertia and fear.  And we are not scared.  We are excited.  Remember when you studied in London and lost all that weight and how free you felt?  You can do it again.  You are doing it again!  

Also, I don’t really care what people think about me, but you do, you let your apprehension over what people will think about you hold you back.  Who cares?  Who cares if you slip or look silly or foolish?  What’s the big deal?  Loosen up sister!  We spent too much of our life as a wallflower, I thought we left that behind!  Move forward, not back.   

I know I deserve all the good things that come my way, and I expect good things.  Sometimes you expect the worst or you don’t feel like you’ve earned the good or you deserve happiness.  Why the hell not?!  You are good, your are loving and you are worthy of love.  Get over it.  The shy chubby kid, the outgoing fun Mandy, and the one working on her list now, we are all the same person, we are all in there, but who we become, that is up to you. 

Now I know, you are reading this thinking, “I was a naive 20 year old, what did I know?”  You think I am adventurous and confident because I am young, you think I know little of the world and have nothing to lose.  Well, that may be true but, what do you have to lose?  I may be naive but I am also open to all life has to offer.  There are no limits to what you can achieve.  It’s all still out there waiting for you.  So go get it!  Make us proud! 

Love,

You xoxo 

I Swear I'm Not A Hippie

Yesterday while my little bear napped I was on CNN.com and on one side was the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico and on the other side was a picture of the sink hole in Guatemala.  I couldn’t even bring myself to check in with the live feed showing the oil gushing into the ocean.  It is beyond me how this has been going on for as long as it has and that there were no back up provisional plans in place.  So instead I stare at a picture of the sink hole.  My initial thought was, “That’s not a real picture.  I’m not seeing it right.”  How does that happen?  Do I even want to know how that happens?  Suddenly I was feeling borderline hysterical thinking, "Nowhere is safe!  We are ruining our planet!  Where will our children live?  What sort of life will they have?".  

My hysteria led me to wistfully recalling my childhood and simpler times.  Life was so much easier back then.  The birth of MTV (when they played music) Brit Pop, rubber bracelets,  Atari, Cabbage Patch Kids, fingerless gloves.  We rode our bikes around the neighborhood until our mother’s called us in for dinner, we played outside and built little hiding places in trees and bushes.  My imaginary boyfriend was John Taylor or Simon LeBon, depending on my mood. Sitting on the front porch listening for the magical sound of the Good Humor truck.  At night we played ghost in the graveyard while our parents laughed with each other and reminisced and talked about grownup stuff.  Life was so simple, so much easier.  Right? Then I recalled what an anxious child I was.  Which led me to recalling the Cold War.  I remember some nights going to bed praying the Russians wouldn’t “nuke” us.  I’m not sure I understood what Russians or Nuke were, but I knew to be afraid of them.  I remember AIDS and how misinformation about it spread, and with it came the fear that you could catch it anywhere, the water fountain, holding hands.  I remember one of my fathers coworkers being held hostage at a factory in Manila and suddenly becoming aware that adults could be “kidnapped” too, and that thought frightened me.  If adults couldn’t protect us, who would?  Who was driving this train anyway?  

That very same sentiment often creeps up on me in adulthood.  I am a supposed “grownup” now and I will often ask myself, “Who the hell is in charge here?”.  I will often wonder if perhaps I didn’t have an idealized, naive or even juvenile expectation of what it means to be an adult.  I guess I expected that unlike in the school yard we would treat one another with respect and not bully each other.  That not unlike in the classroom, if we got out of hand there would be people in positions of power and authority to set us right and to punish those who had done us wrong.   Over the last decade my idealism has turned to fear, then anger, now I am slowly reaching the point of disbelief.  Politicians bickering like children, cheating, lying or all of the above.  "Real Housewives" bullying one another on television, people being rewarded for being amoral and self serving (I'm looking at you Paris and Lindsey), corporations cheating the public and not being held accountable. Will someone please do something already?!  In the case of the oil spill I want to rage against the heads of BP, I want to rage against Halliburton, I want to rage against our government for not making safety valves on these sort of rigs mandatory.  However, when it comes to something like a sink hole in South America, or a natural disaster (as opposed to our lovely man made disaster in the Gulf) well, that is when I get really freaked out.  I have no one to rail against.  No large corporation to boycott, no big business to condemn.  To be frank and speak plainly, this sort of disaster  scares the crap out of me.  I want to blame someone!  I want to feel like someone’s error, misjudgment, greed, ANYTHING caused this.  I want a reason and I want assurance it won’t happen where I live.  Right?  Nothing like that would ever happen here, right? RIGHT?!!  

That’s when I have to realize there are things I can control, the oil spill is not one of them.  Sink holes, earthquakes, natural disasters are also not within in my control.  What I can control is my reaction to fear and despair and the world I have created for myself and the people in it.  I can chose not to indulge in negativity.  I can respect, love and nurture the people I care about.  I can help make their lives happier, simpler, and support them emotionally.  I can respect, love and nurture myself by not poisoning my body with toxic food and allowing myself to be sedentary.  I can pray, meditate and focus on being a positive influence on my niece and nephews lives and put out as much kindness and hope as possible.  This I can do.  That and not get gas at BP.  

I just started following Marianne Williamson on Facebook and Twitter and she tweeted this thought regarding the oil spill earlier: 

“Remember: spend a minimum of five minutes each day with your eyes closed, seeing loving thoughts plugging that hole in the ocean. Pray for its repair.”  

Even if you aren’t religious per se, however you pray, whatever higher power you believe in, I think this is an amazing and hugely powerful idea. Just sit, focus, send kindness and love to the people affected and send energy and perseverance to those working for a resolution. 

Twitter-dee and Twitter-dumb

 So I joined Twitter because part of the whole getting my blog out there and proclaiming my intentions into cyberspace apparently includes tweeting.  I simply don’t get it.  As I have previously mentioned I am completely tech ignorant, but, really?  Do we need to know what we are all doing every minute of every day?  It strikes me as slightly narcissistic, this need to put it all out there for public consumption.  (Said the girl blogging very publicly about her life.)  I get the whole Facebook thing because in addition to your status updates   you have pictures, you have quotes, there seems to be more there, but Twitter, you log on and there are all these random quotes.  It almost feels like you are in a party in a large, loud room with voices reverberating off the walls and everyone is telling you something all at once.  Like you aren’t really hearing them all correctly over the din, you never really get the punchline or it seems like there are some inside jokes you're not privy to and I feel like I’m left saying, “Sorry, what was that? Oh wait, I don’t get it.”  However in my case when I tweet it is like I am literally calling out into the great, gaping hole of cyberspace and all I hear in return is crickets and deafening silence.  And how does one get followers?  I vacillate between wanting to amass as many followers as possible (don’t ask me why, I just DO) and total bewilderment at how certain people found me and why they’d want to follow me.  I mean, I don’t know these people, do they care what I have to say?  Then I think, you better hope they care, you are writing a blog and you want people to read it, right?  Right?  YES!  I do.  

Sometimes I’ll be writing a post and I’ll think to myself, “You are posting this on Facebook and Twitter, not just your immediate family and friends are reading this.”  Meaning acquaintances and possibly even people I barely know or have never met, in the case of Twitter, now know I was a nerd as a child, I have quite a bit of weight to lose, I had a tendency to be a drunken ass in college, and I am currently jobless and homeless.  I know there may be people reading who are possibly thinking, “What a chump.”  or “She’ll never do it.”  My good friend Emily printed up a few blog posts for a woman I used to work with and am still friendly with to read.  When she told me I was thrilled then slightly panicked as I pictured other people at work passing around the copies and gossiping about me.  I KNOW that isn’t what happened, but cut me some slack, I worked in cosmetics for crying out loud.  Have you ever worked a cosmetics sales floor?  It’s like TMZ meets Page Six meets Mean Girls, those people INVENTED gossiping.  Maybe I am being paranoid, but it genuinely crosses my mind every time I write a post, how does a private person like myself reconcile the fact that I want as many people as possible to read my blog?  Simple answer: I have to get over it.  I could make my blog private, accessible only to friends and family, but for some reason I love seeing how many hits a day the blog gets.  I like the idea that people are possibly getting inspired, or relating on some level or at least having a chuckle at my expense.  

So I’m getting over it and I’m not censoring myself.  In the meantime I still really need to work on number 7 On the list.  It’s been a busy week so I've been a little time crunched,  but the more into the blog I get the more I realize how  hopelessly inept I am at all things blog and/or web related.  I still have to figure how to permanently post my year long list and I would like to get my life list on here.  Additionally I have two friends from college who blog and I would love to figure out how to post a link to their blogs.  So much technology, so little time!  I have a long weekend coming up (that is jammed packed with family parties, I see some blog material in my future!) hopefully in between the celebrating I can get my Mom to start tutoring me on all things bloggigity.  Damn I'm cool.  Did I say I was a nerd as a child, make that still is. 

Hey Sister, Soul Sister

Sisters are such a remarkable thing.  They are very different from friends, friends we may at times have to explain ourselves to.   Sisters know our history, they shared it.  Very little explanation is needed, even if they don’t necessarily share our hang-ups, they understand where they came from and why we have them.  What I find so extraordinary about my sisters and myself is that we can all at once be so similar and yet so completely different.  I am blessed that as adults, my sisters and I are all very close, they are my four closest friends.  It wasn’t always so, as children we had our issues and of course when my mother once said to me, “One day you will be best friends.”  I thought she was out of her mind.  And while we may not always see eye to eye and we may differ in many ways, my sisters are a huge part of my adult life.  So much so that when I am unable to make plans with my dear friend Bunny due to a previous engagement she will often say, “Let me guess, it is one of the sisters birthday’s??” 

My sister Robin and I never really had a traditional sister relationship, we rarely bickered, there was never any competition, perhaps that's because Robin was five years older and she set the tone from a very young age.  She always looked out for me and babied me.  When I was young I would sneak up to Robin’s room at night and would play doll house until way past my bedtime.  Her room was paradise.  It was all light pink and rose, she had beautiful wood furniture and a brass head board and a huge doll house.  She also would vacuum and dust it on an almost daily basis so it was immaculate.  She was 10 by the way.  It was one of my favorite places in the world. Her doll house “family” were these miserable looking uptight victorian figurines, we used to make them yell and curse at each other. (I’m sure a psychologist could have a field day with that bit of information.) To this day I smile when I picture Robin making the prim and proper “mom” yell, “Fuck this shit fuckers!” while she slid down the banister of the doll house stairs.  Sometimes Robin would be so hilarious I would laugh a little too hard for my five year old bladder and wet her carpet.  I would dissolve into frantic giggles and she’d say, “Mandy DO NOT WET MY CARPET!”  and then I’d abruptly stop giggling.  “Sorry Robin.” For someone who kept their room immaculate she never really got angry at me, instead she’d get some club soda and clean it up.  I’m serious, she was 10.  

Despite the fact that I was a shy and sometimes meek child, Robin always taught me to stand up for myself, because she liked having me around I was confident in our friendship regardless of our 5 year age difference.  I remember one time Robin left the room and her psycho little friend turned to me and said, “Why do you follow Robin around?  We don’t want you here!”  to which I replied honestly, “Yes she does, she loves me!  And when you go home we make fun of you and laugh at you!”  That shut her up.  And I believed it, I never felt like she didn’t have room for me in her life or that my presence was an annoyance. I was confident that she didn't just tolerate her little sister shadowing her, but that she actually liked having me around.  When I had a huge interview and was freaking out because I had no real “interview” clothes, it was Robin who gave me the money to buy a proper suit. Lest anyone reading this should think my other sisters don't play as important a role in my life, know that all my sisters have been there for me throughout my life and continue to be.  When I was going through a hard time my sophomore year of college my sister Shelia drove the three hours to take me out to dinner and cheer me up.  When I lived in London and was as poor as a church mouse it was my sister Claire who sent me a check and a note telling me to take care of myself and eat well.  Even though she is seven years younger than me my sister Jamie has always looked out for me and listened to me when I cried over some heartbreak or upset in my life.  I am so blessed to be able to go through life knowing that no matter what happens, no matter what life throws my way I have a support system in place.  

 Perhaps because I grew up with sisters I always forged strong relationship with my female friends, and I am blessed to have accumulated several more “sisters” over the years.  Whenever I meet a woman who either doesn’t trust women or who says she doesn’t have any female friends I feel disheartened for them.  For me my “sisters” have carried me through some of my most difficult times, applauded me when I have had success, and laughed with me through it all.  I always love hearing stories about sisters, I adore movies that examine the sister relationship and bond such as Sense and Sensibility and LIttle Women, and I am always annoyed when I feel like sisters are portrayed in an implausible manner, either in books or movies.  I went to college with the Packuska sisters, Katie and Lynn (of the candy corn fame) and I loved how they nurtured and supported one another, there was no competition between them even though they were in the same college and so close in age.  For me when I have good news the first people I want to call are my sisters, when something has upset me or I’m feeling scared the first call I make, again, is to one of my sisters.  And while they are there always cheering me on and building me up, try being pretentious or foolish in front of your sister, she will be the first person to call you out.  Sisters are natural equalizers, they won't let you look stupid, but if you do they will inevitably tease you for it.  They keep you humble and remind you that while they think you're amazing, you shouldn't let it go to your head.  With sisters you don't have to be polite and exchange niceties, you can immediately slip into the comfortable and familiar. I’m not yet married but I know that the man I settle down with will have to be comfortable with the fact that I am kind of a package deal, you love me, you love my sisters (and you are ok with them being around. A lot.)  It’s like I have a built in gang.  And trust me, you don’t want to mess with a woman and her sisters, they will take you down!   In writing my list so many people have come out and supported and encouraged me, so today I want to thank all my sisters, blood and otherwise for being part of my gang and always having my back. 

Goodbye Old "Friend"

Over the weekend I was reading a blog written by a friend of mine from college and she mentioned she is feeling slightly panicked because she is turning 35 in a few weeks.  Wait, wait, WAIT!  I thought, if she’s almost 35, and we went to school together then...OH MY GOD I’M TURNING 35!!  That was when I went from confused to panicked myself.  How was this possible I thought?  Where did the last 10 years go?  And what did I have to show for them?  That is when my old familiar “friends” panic and regret started to settle in and take root. WHAT AM I DOING WITH MY LIFE?!  I thought for the millionth time.  That’s when number 14 on my list was like, “Relax psycho, we’re working on it!” 

Last week when I was having lunch with my sisters one of them said they still didn’t feel like an adult and wondered when and how that feeling ever really set in.  I remember in my early 20’s thinking to myself, “Now I’m an adult, this is what it means to be a grown up.” or thinking that I was surely and adult when I got my first car, my first promotion, when I moved into Manhattan, but it always felt as if I was playing dress up.  Like this is what adults do, rightt?  I wondered if I didn’t necessarily feel like an adult because I hand’t passed the milestones of marriage or Motherhood, would they make me finally feel like an adult? Or does one never actually "feel" like an adult, do we all feel like we are just bumbling through life?  Nostalgic for the past while we stress about the future and too distracted to enjoy the present? 

I remember in The Hours Clarrisa Vaughn says something in regards to her youth that always resonated with me, she says, “I remember one morning getting up at dawn, there was such a sense of possibility. You know, that feeling? And I remember thinking to myself: So, this is the beginning of happiness. This is where it starts. And of course there will always be more. It never occurred to me it wasn't the beginning. It was happiness. It was the moment.”  In my early twenties I remember having days like that, coming home at dawn after a magical evening out and thinking, “This is just the beginning, things will only get better from here.”  I didn’t realize that life ebbed and flowed, it wasn’t just a constant climb up to the top.  I’ve been blessed in my life to have wonderful family and friends and not, in the grand scheme of things, much difficulty and strife.  However, I don’t think my young self really envisioned I would be where I am today.  I assumed things would just get bigger and better, my life would expand and moments of pure elation would hit me like a gust of wind out of nowhere.  I didn’t realize they are precious few and far between these lovely gales of happiness, they are to be savored and then remembered. 

Now that I spend my days with Terr-bear I actually want to one day be a mother more than ever.  However, I am also more scared of motherhood than I was when I was younger.  Perhaps our parents really did have it all figured out, they were too young and naive to realize what they were getting themselves into, married at 21, first child before 22, four kids by 30, and finally five before 40.  My sisters and I will often ask each other, “how did they do it?”.   When my mother was my age she had four children, I can’t keep an orchid alive.  If how I feel for my niece and nephews is only a fraction of what I will feel as a mother, well, I am in trouble.  You just want to protect them.  Protect them from danger, real and perceived, and all the fear, doubt, anxiety and insecurity that can come with growing up.    I want to preserve the wonder and pure joy I see on Terr-bears little face when I magically turn on the overhead light, then off. Oh! And then it’s on again!!  Oh! Now it’s off again! Such simple yet pure bliss, is it even possible for us as adults to feel that way?  When our mind has a habit of slowly creeping off and remembering the bill we forgot to pay, the call we neglected to make, work left unfinished, when suddenly the moment is gone and the anxiety once again settles back in.  

Perhaps a sure sign that I have indeed grown up (besides the constant low level anxiety) is the fact that my parents are no longer insane.  When I was in my teens they were clinically insane, during my college years they were not only certifiable but don’t even get me started on their political and religious views, crazy!  However, at some point in my early thirties, they not only seemed to become less insane, but, dare I say, I related to them.  I actually share similar points of view to them, I identify with them and, believe it or not, have fun with them!  One day it all made sense; they were kids, they were figuring it all out as they went along too, they did their best and they loved us.  As cliched as it is, there is no manual for this.  If you had told my 20 year old self that not only would I enjoy hanging out with my mother, but, we would in fact end up a lot alike, I wouldn’t have believed you, you crazy person! Despite the fact that when I let her drive she does 40mph on the highway and 90mph once we hit the exit, I do enjoy her company.  

Is finally being able to relate to my parents once and for all ushered me into adulthood?  Or is it that I have finally let go of regret?  Regret ate up 10 years of my life, it took me from 24 to 34 and left me scratching my head and asking myself, “What the hell happened?”.  It got me nowhere, it simultaneously made me nostalgic for the past, scared for the future, and immobilized me in the present.  What is so insidious about regret is that it breeds with itself, regret begets more regret.  Once you’re living with regret you are not moving forward, you are not living in the present, you are dreaming of the past.  I let regret over real or imagined missed opportunities and the supposed loss of my youth eat away 10 years of my life.  Notice there is no regret on my list.  There is no room for it.  I don’t have time for regret when I am playing with Terr-bear, there is no room for regret when you are planning your future, regret doesn’t like positive action.  But regret, he is a crafty bastard, he will try to get his foot back in the door, kind of like this weekend when I realized I was turning 35 in four months.  I felt those old familiar feelings, regret and his cohorts self-doubt and fear.  I thought, "I'm almost 35 and I haven't done anything, I have nothing to show for it!  I don't even feel like an adult and yet I'm getting old!"  Then I remembered the list, I reminded myself I am in fact an adult and I am no longer wasting my time with regret.  So me and the list we kicked that S.O.B outta here. Sorry regret, I’m a big girl now, I don’t need you skulking about anymore.  

Proud Peacock

Sorry for the late post today, the bear and I have been going non-stop.   My oldest sister Shelia is a teacher and today we took Terr-bear in as "show and tell" to her first grade class.  It was 18 or so girls and when we walked into the classroom it was like Hannah Montana had surprised them, they went ballistic!   My sister wrangled the girls and herded them all into a circle with Terrance in the middle and they sang his favorite songs, he was such a charmer!  He was holding Shelia's hands and dancing around while the girls sang, he was in his element.  Is there anything more satisfying than a baby smiling and dancing?  All the students were delightful , totally sweet and well behaved.   It was an amazing experience, not only for Terrance and the students but also for my sisters and me.

Almost as wonderful as it was to see the girls and Terrance interact was seeing my sister in her element.  I've never seen her in "teacher" mode.  We see our siblings in a certain way, usually the way we perceive them is tied up in that the family dynamic was when we were growing up.  If they were a rebel as a child we may still label them as a rebel, even if the title no longer fits.  To see them in action in the life they have created for themselves is amazing.  I recommend we instill a take your family to work day!  I was impressed and proud to see how she handled her students with such grace and love, each child seemed to have some sort of connection to her and it was lovely to see.  

I am contemplating becoming a teacher.  Number 13 on my list is applying to Grad schools, I want to go back for my Masters in Education and eventually become a middle or high school english teacher.  Growing up I had more than my fair share of really bad and inept teachers.  I remember at one point my sister Robin telling me perhaps my calling was to become a teacher, and all these awful teachers were just showing me how not to do it.  When I entered college instead of majoring in education I was an English major and after graduation I decided teaching wasn't glamorous enough and I wanted to make the big bucks.  Well that worked out well.  Now I am jobless and for all intents and purposes homeless so clearly, at some point, this train came off the tracks.  So now I am revisiting the whole idea of becoming a teacher.  I'm not a 100% there yet, I still need to figure out if that is where my passion lies, if that is where I will be able to give back the most.  Today when introducing us to the class Shelia introduced me as a writer and I laughed out loud.  But then I thought, "I like that!"  I was like a proud peacock strutting around in my head, yeah, WRITER!  Check me out!  At lunch I made a joke out of the fact that my family is far too generous and kind, all I had to do was write a blog for a week and now I'm a writer and Shelia said, "You are a writer!  You're writing every day, right?  You love it, right? You're a writer now."  And I thought, Wow, that's all it takes?  Doing it and loving it? And I do love it.  Since I started this blog a week ago,  I feel like I have stretched muscles in my mind that I no longer believed I had.  I feel excited each day when I think about what I will possibly write about.  Not knowing what I will write or what will inspire me infuses me with this energy and urgency I haven't felt since college.  And as I had hoped,  people reading it is keeping me focused, motivated, and accountable.  I walk every day no less than 30 minutes, I think before I put anything in my body, I am contemplating  the effect all my actions and decisions will have on my list and the time line I have given myself.   I know that I have people keeping me honest, and the feedback and support via people leaving comments here on the blog and on Facebook has been beyond my wildest dreams.  Some are completely hilarious, some touching, I love that people are now thinking of starting their own lists and people are relating to what I am writing.  Everyone was picked on as a kid!  What a revelation!  I honestly didn't know this!  Being able to write my desires, my wishes, and even some of my doubts and fears down in a public forum and have people write back and say they've felt the same way or they can relate is so comforting.  We are all in this together!  

Thursday of last week when I finally sat down to start a blog, after the universe had sent so many people to ask me why I didn't have a blog, I opened my computer, joined typepad and thought, "Uhm, now what?"  I hadn't the faintest idea as to what I would write about. I didn't research other blogs, I didn't read any of the articles about starting a blog my loving Mother had sent me, I didn't do any sort of outline or planning, I didn't even tell anyone I intended to do it.  I just did it.  I thought, "I'll write about Terrance and my time with him, babies are funny.  Everyone loves babies, right?" So, I just started typing.  And a list emerged.  I have always had a list in my head, I have always set time lines for myself, and because I was the only one who knew they existed they kept rolling over from one year to the next.  Now I was going to make it real.  And suddenly, I had a blog!   And with it came a feeling of purpose, and goals, and challenges.  Suddenly I felt like I was living, I felt like I had hope and that my best years weren't behind me, everything I wanted was ahead of me, I just had to make it happen.  And best of all, I had wonderful, kind, amazing people telling me this, telling me it was all out there for me, waiting for me, that they believed in me, that they were inspired by me!  What a wonderful thing.  What a precious gift!  Thank you! Thank you all for making me feel like anything is possible.  And hey, if I can become a writer in only one week, surely I can achieve whatever I set my mind to in this lifetime.  Thank you for all of your support and encouragement.  Please keep the hilarious anecdotes coming and I would love for anyone who so wishes to share their "lists" here too!  This weekend I am going to try to figure out how I can post my "Life List" so it is a permanent and growing part of the blog.  Have an amazing weekend party people! 

Sticks and Stones

The other day I reconnected with a friend from grammar school on Facebook.  I was thrilled to hear from her and even more thrilled when she wrote, “Was looking at your pics and didn’t even recognize you.”  THANK GOD.  Despite what my Mother would have you believe, I was not a cute kid.  Don’t get me wrong, I was an ADORABLE baby and toddler, but ages 10 to 20 were a little rough.  It wasn’t until I was in London and I discovered peroxide and lipgloss and realized that the whole flannel shirt grunge look wasn’t working for me that things started to turn around.  Having always been chubby with mousy hair and rocking my older sisters hand-me-downs, you can imagine I wasn’t exactly miss popularity.  Add to that the fact that despite all outward appearances to the contrary I fancied myself the next “big thing” and therefore would sing louder in chorus than everyone else and insisted on lip-syncing to Madonna any opportunity my teachers would let us perform for each other (thanks for reminding me Steph!).  Needless to say I was bullied a bit.  As a child I was never good at standing up for myself.  Every once in a while I would muster up all of my gumption and with wobbling knees and a shaky voice would try to stick it to my tormentors.  Like the time in 5th grade when two sixth grade boys where throwing rocks at me as I rode by bike hurriedly away from them, “Why do you sing so f*cking loud at chorus?!!!”  to which I responded into the wind, “My Mommy likes my voice!”  COME ON!  Seriously, I didn’t stand chance.  

As I got older, and especially when I entered college, I made a point of being more assertive, I wanted to leave that little bullied girl behind and start fresh.  I was also fortunate to have a wonderful, supportive and fun group of friends in college and because I was more confident I weeded out and actively avoided girls I found to be bitchy or catty.  Sometimes I took the whole independent woman thing too far and became a bit of a bully myself.  My friend Lynn loves candy corn, I mean LOVES.  Senior year in the cafeteria there was a huge vat of corns, you had to guess the amount of corns in the vat and the person closest would win the corns.  I deliberated over the amount and confidently entered my guess.  I could not wait to triumphantly present this huge tub o’ corns to Lynn.  A few days later my friend MIssy and I were sitting eating dinner when the womens field hockey team walks in and they start eating the corns!  I was incensed!  They were not only sullying the corns with their filthy hockey hands, they were ruining my odds!  I was beside myself so Missy says, “That’s messed up, you should just go take them.”  What?  Take the corns? “Yeah, take them and give them to Lynn.”  Genius idea!  So I marched up to the front of the cafeteria, pushed through the sea of field hockey girls, lifted up the vat of corns and turned and walked out.  Most of them just stared at me like I was crazy, but one vociferous young lady yelled several expletives at my back and demanded I bring back the candy corns as I  scurried out the front door.  I got in my car and drove to Lynn’s apartment and victoriously presented her with the corns.  Needless to say she was elated.  I went home, confident justice had been served, only to get a late night message from the dean of students telling me that if the candy corn wasn’t returned the next morning I may not get to walk with my class at graduation.  Uh oh.  Suffice it to say I hightailed the corns back to the cafeteria the next morning (side-note, Lynn is 100 pounds soaking wet and when I went to pick up the corns I would say at least half were gone.  How?  How does a little girl eat so many corns?!!).  When I did my walk of shame up to the front counter, coincidentally hockey girl was there, giving me the stink eye the whole time.  So, I walked out with my head held high, but I didn’t forget.  Fast forward to a few nights later, my friends and I are feeling hungry after a night of merry drinking, as we walk out to the the parking lot to go get some late night snacks, we pass hockey girls door.  Being the mature 21 year old I was I slur to my friends, “This’s the beyatch that called the campusss copsss on me! (Hiccup)!” and kick her door to show what a toughie I am.  Except whether it’s because I am drunk and have beer muscles or be it my 6 inch platform shoes, instead of kicking her door as I intended I actually kick IN her door!  I am standing there stunned and hockey girl pops up from her bed and we just stare at each other for a moment before I book it out of the front of the dorm, only to crack my huge heel in half and bite it on the concrete.  Clearly I had taken the whole assertive thing a bit too far. I blame it (and the shoes) partially on the fact that the Spice girls were HUGE at this point and all that “girl power” had gone to my head.  It was one thing to assert oneself and quite another to be a bully.  

 As an adult I still fluctuate between being assertive and being meek.  Some of my friends would probably describe me as strong minded while others would say they know I struggle with speaking my mind and standing up for myself.  I have a natural tendency to be shy, especially around the opposite sex where I tend to suppress the “real” me.  I tell myself goofy is not cute, guys don’t like funny girls, don’t talk too much, lower your voice, which can then at times make me seem not only boring but socially awkward.  And as I mentioned in a previous post, I have struggled at work with fighting for what I know I am worth, getting raises, getting recognition.  I am not comfortable championing myself.  So number 9 on my list is standing up for myself. I know I can do it, I’ve done it before, I just have to consistently be my own advocate.  Part of conquering number 9 on my list is also putting myself first, realizing I deserve to create the best life for myself.  I am entitled to feel good about myself, to be healthy. I can run a 5K, I will lose weight,  people are interested in what I have to say.  I deserve good things in life. This is my list and I'm making it happen!

Regular Birds

I woke up this morning feeling slightly panicked.  What was I going to write about today??!  I hand’t quit diet coke (it is the sweetest nectar of the gods!  I am powerless!!!) I hand’t run a 5K, clearly I am not yet a web maven or a yogi.  I haven’t done ANYTHING!  Then I danced around the living room with Terr-bear and relaxed. Forget xanax, dancing with a baby while sniffing their lovely little head is perhaps the most calming and soothing remedy around.  I realized I was being way too literal.  My goal going into this was to write 5 days a week, Monday through Friday, make it a priority and make it fun.  One day at a time, right?  I was being far too narrow minded when it came to my expectations, every day isn’t going to be a proclamation or a major revelation.  I am working on achieving my goals, not actually achieving them all in a week. 

I have always been oddly literal.  Especially as a child.  When I was 5 I heard my Mother refer to the “Kiddie Pool” at a hotel we were staying at and for the remainder of the vacation harassed her to please take me to “the cats water”.  In school the combination of me being very literal and also spacey with a tendency to zone in and out of what the teacher was be saying made for some interesting hijinks.  We had a boy who had moved to the U.S. from Australia.  He got up in front of the class and told us about life in Australia, there were aborigines, koala bears running wild!  Vast dusty farmlands, men would hunt wild turkey and boar for their families meals!  It sounded awful to me, I’ll stay in America where we have TV and my Mom buys our food at the grocery store, thank you very much.  I actually felt kind of sorry for him, he must have trouble conforming to the ways of our civilized society! After his presentation he passed out a “traditional" snack from his homeland, one that his Mother often gave him when he came home from school, it was white bread with cake icing and sprinkles.  Hunh?!  I was perplexed. Here I thought he was going to give us some beetroot to gnaw on, but this bread concoction, this was good stuff!  So, when Mrs. Kobe asked if anyone had any questions for him, my hand shot up.  “I don’t understand, if your Dad has to go into the outback to kill your dinner and you live in mud huts, uhm, how does your mother get white bread and icing with sprinkles?”  to which the young Aussie replied, “Are you calling me an animal?!  Like I’m so some sort of aborigine or something?!!”  He looked ENRAGED!  At this point my teacher cut in and gently explained, “Mandy, I think you are confused, he was telling us about Australia in the 1800’s, not modern day Australia." Ohhhhhhhhhh, that made SOOO much more sense!  Apparently I was staring out the window trying to remember the words to Summer Night’s in my head when that portion of the presentation was covered.  

That same year we learned about birds, all the different species and types of lovely birds native to our area.  My Mother and I would often sit in our dinning room looking out the windows and she’d point out different types of birds to me. I loved Cardinals, Blue Jays and of course Red Breasted Robins, so I was PSYCHED for this assignment, I was going to blow Mrs. Kobe’s mind with my bird knowledge. So that afternoon, I go home, pencil and paper in hand and bird watch.  After an hour I was like come on!  Not one Robin, Cardinal, or Blue Jay, BORING.  The next day when I was called upon to report my findings I stood up and said with regret, “Well, my bird watching wasn’t very interesting, they were all regular birds.”  To which my teacher responded, “I’m sorry, regular birds?  I don’t understand.”  To which I matter-of-fact-ly replied, “You know, regular birds, not blue Jays, not Robin’s, just the boring old regular birds.  Nothing special.”  To which she responded, “I believe you mean finches, perhaps?  The little grey birds common around here?”  Sure, whatever, call ‘em what you want, they’re regular compared to the others.  At least in my mind.  Wow.  Was it any wonder that the next year my third grade teacher submitted me for evaluation to the school psychologist, she thought I was mildly autistic.  Awesome.  

I can still be surprisingly insensible and will at times have tunnel vision when it comes to certain tasks.  The other day my sister showed me how to use the diaper genie.  Uhm, I’ve been using it for the last 6 months, or so I thought.  Apparently if you don’t push the diaper past a certain point they all clog up in the top.  So my sister has been coming home from work to a can stopped up with dirty diapers.  FABULOUS.  I consider myself a fairly intelligent person, but sometimes I get lost in my own head and don’t see what is obvious to everyone else.  No one is expecting me to achieve my goals overnight (you’re NOT expecting that, right??) I just have to repeat my mantra over and over, “It’s all about the journey, it’s all about the journey.”

But, I did it!  I wrote a post today!  Jumpy claps all around!  However, I will make a small proclamation, I am going to drink 8 glasses of water today.  No iced tea or diet coke, all water.  Quiting diet coke I am saving for the weekend.  I may need to lock myself in a padded room for 48 hours to make that happen.  

(Un) Lucky Number 7

 Maybe it’s just me, but, have you ever gone on Facebook and someone has amazing pics of their vacation to an exotic locale posted, someone else has adorable pictures of their new baby, and yet another person has an update about the amazing box seats they secured at the yankee game, and you think, “What am I doing with my life?? I am one pathetic loser!”  Social media has this dichotomous way of all at once connecting and alienating us.   Since starting my blog I have been so excited every morning to go onto Facebook because friends and acquaintances have been giving me amazing, loving and supportive feedback for my posts, this is when it is clear to me how brilliant and positive social websites can be.  If I didn’t have a Facebook profile, I couldn’t post a link to my blog and share it with people I care about, and I wouldn’t wake up in the morning to such lovely feedback.  I have friends in far flung places, who will attest I’m sure, that I am terrible at staying in touch.  I hate the phone and inexplicably am terrible at email as well.  For us Facebook is a quick and easy “cliff-notes” into each others day to day lives.  We see the status updates, the pictures and we get a sense of each other’s routines.  I love Facebook when it is a link to my friends and loved ones, it can provide humor, heartfelt insight, and a peek into milestones, celebrations and daily occurrences we may otherwise not be privy to.  However, there are other times when it feels like everyone else is living the dream and I am living the mundane reality.  Engagements! Promotions! New babies! Marriages! New homes!  Exotic vacations!!!!  Meanwhile my status reads, "A soda machine accidentally gave me a free diet coke!  Score suckers!" Ugh!

Number  seven on my "List" is to become more tech savvy.  I am at odds with my want and need to become more clued into the web and all it can offer, and my nostalgia for the way things were.  I remember when email was introduced kids!  I mean seriously!  At the time I thought this was the most amazing magical invention ever.  I was studying in London so it was perfect timing, my friend explained it to me (like I was a 5 year old, I might add) and I was incredulous.  “Let me get this straight, you write a paragraph, you enter their weird little name addressything and you hit send??  And they write you back?? In a matter of minutes sometimes?!!!!  AMAZING!”  My college friends back at home loved nothing more than reading and laughing at my drunken emails sent after a few pints at the pub, in which I would vacillate between euphoria and rage and every other word was completely butchered.  Remember when everyone had an AOL account?  I do.  When to connect to the internet you had to use a dial up modem?   I literally remember when I first got on the internet, again I was completely blown away and confounded, “You type ANYTHING into the search engine and information about it comes up?  Anything??”  (I was even more astonished to find there were actually other people out there who also were addicted to Scandinavian pop music.  Here I thought I was all alone in the world!)  By the way it was my Mother who had to show me how to use the internet, I was 19.  Come on!  Why is my Mother more technologically astute than me?  Always!  

 I just started this blog and I’m embarrassed to say that I have no idea how to add to the design, insert a column here, update there, no idea!  My MOTHER started talking about RSS feeds and stumble upon and my response was, “Blink, blink. Hunh??”  When I was about 7 years old my father brought home an early Apple computer for us girls to play with, we were all obsessed with it, he explained to us how to use it, word processor, some simple games, easy enough right?  For everyone else perhaps, but when I sat down to use it I dragged the ENTIRE operating system and threw it in the cute little garbage can in the lower corner of the screen.  Why?  Because I was seven and the garbage looked intriguing.  And, when you threw stuff in it it made a crunching noise!  Imagine my horror and surprise when the screen went blank and a little sad faced computer appeared staring back at me.  End of computer fun-times everyone, Mandy decided to literally throw the computer in the TRASH!!  My sister said it was the first, and probably the last, time she heard our Father say the “F” word.  Clearly the technology and I were not friends from an early age. 

 I want to become more web proficient and I need to if I want this to be an interesting and successful blog.  And I am going to be honest, I do want his to be successful!  I want as many people as possible to read it, share their experiences, share feedback, advice.  Therefore I am embracing social media, I am keeping up with Facebook, I joined Twitter!  (Seems a little self obsessed the whole tweeting thing but the kids say it’s cool)  My next task: tackle number seven on my "List", therefore, I have enlisted the help of my web guru, my MOTHER.  She has agreed to help me get more web proficient and learn all these ins and outs of blogging, tweeting, stumbling, (bumbling in my case) and making me realize there is so much more to the web than ordering clothes and cosmetics.  Who knew?!  Interwebs for Dummies here I come!