Connect the Dots

Where would we be without our children? I know my kids wonder on a regular basis how I get through life without their ongoing guidance, but every now and then I wonder too.  Yesterday was one of those days.

I went out to lunch with my husband and his daughter, Lauren.  We were discussing phones, a somewhat routine conversation piece.  He asked me how I am enjoying my relatively new Samsung Galaxy S4.  I didn’t want to complain knowing how lucky I am to have a really cool smart phone so I said, “It’s fine.”  He said, “You don’t love it?”  

No, I don’t.  Every text takes me 3 times as long as it did with my iPhone, because I have to continually re-text the words since the wrong keys register, as if my fingers are huge monsters that are out of control.  Big deal the screen is bigger, which is why I got the Samsung initially, but all a larger screen does is highlight my spelling errors – ALL of them! – and the by-product is now bigger-than-ever illegible messages.  I’ve tried 2 keyboards:  the Samsung keyboard which doesn’t do auto correcting and then after my husband’s Google search, we experimented with the Jelly Bean keyboard which utilizes auto correct but not very accurately, especially if the keyboard picks up the wrong first letter of the word. I’ve also tried positioning the keyboard horizontally so the letters spread out, but the space is too wide for me to comfortably navigate.

I answered his question by saying I have trouble typing readable texts, and then Lauren asked if she could give it a try.  I was sure with her slender fingers she’d have no problem hitting the right keys.  Plus she uses two hands whereas I use just one so people more adept at bilateral hand usage may find this product very satisfying.  I would’ve bet the end result of her experimentation with my phone would be that I’d have to learn to reposition my fingers and touch the screen more or less gently (a crapshoot), thereby slowing me down dramatically and, I assumed, still leaving me frustrated.

But guess what happened?  Gibberish on my phone once again, this time by Lauren!  Imagine how relieved I was when I saw her quizzical reaction.  She felt my pain. 

I am lucky that her mind, like my husband’s, moves toward solutions vs. trashing the system, which is what I’d been doing in my head for months.   Not a minute went by before she introduced me to Swype-style texting, which allows the texter to draw a line from one letter to the next with one long motion.    

I could see her sliding her fingers around and smiling while explaining to me the proper technique to get the desired results.  I was hesitant to embrace this idea at first since I’m not good at drawing, evidenced most recently by poor results at Pictionary.  I also questioned in my own mind why there’s always so much we need to learn in life. 

Then it was my turn. She asked me to text her.  The movement felt like Connect the Dots.  Easy as pie. No editing required.

This seemingly small change has made a big difference in my world.  I’d begun to dread receiving texts because I’d want to respond quickly, but it had become too time-consuming and agitating to do so.  Often I’d start, see nonsensical words or phrases on my screen and quit altogether. Or I’d decide to email a response at a later date, but then I’d forget.  

This upgrade is a real game changer.    

Thank goodness we have children. 

The Bonus

My girlfriend took me out to dinner the night before my birthday.  Every year, I know she is going to give me a book and something else.  The annual book giving has become a tradition because she wants to make it as easy as possible for me to read the books she’s enjoyed so we can talk about them.  She also picks up something else, often from a trip she’s taken.  This time she had just been to San Francisco to visit with her son, so I was excited to think that she may have brought a piece of that fun city home for me.        

This year’s celebration was at the Library in Voorhees and, if you’ve been there, you know how dark it is inside. There appears to be no overhead lighting, just a candle on each table.  Each time I go, it seems harder to adjust to the darkness, but then I tell myself maybe it’s better that way.  Do we really want to see the carpet, or our table, or even everything on our plates?  I know the answer should be yes, but…

She placed my gift bag on the table before we sat down and told me how excited she is about this year’s find.  Not only could I see her huge smile – never too dark for that – but I could also hear her enthusiasm, adding to the suspense.  I just couldn’t wait the cursory half hour, so I grabbed it (why wait, after all?)   First I opened the card…very sweet…then the book…The Kitchen House…can’t wait to delve into that…and there at the bottom of the bag was a small box.    

I toyed around with the idea of putting on my glasses before trying to open it, but I’d have to fish around my purse for them first, and that was way too time consuming when she’s chomping at the bit.  So I put my naked eyes to the test and was thrilled.  I could see an elegant pendant, outlined in circles of silver with a colorful stone in the middle, but I couldn’t see the details since I didn’t have my glasses on and the room was so dark.  As I picked up the box to move it toward the candle, she reached for it too, which was a confusing gesture to me.  To avoid a tug-of-war, I relinquished the box to her, although I wasn’t sure why she was interested in holding on to it too. I was nervous for a minute that maybe I misunderstood – maybe it wasn’t what I thought it was, or for me, or something else was going on that I hadn’t figured out yet.  

“Look at this!  This is great!  You’re going to love it!” she said as she was moving her fingers around the chain of the necklace.  Meanwhile I had already looked at it and it was great and I was loving it as is so I wasn’t sure what she was suggesting. “Let me show you my favorite part,” she said with great satisfaction.  And then it was clear.  Although the necklace was lovely, what left a bigger impression on her was…

The CLASP!  “Look at this!” she exclaimed, showcasing it with her shiny red fingernails.  “It’s so nice and big. I can even open it myself, so you will be able to also!”    

Wow. She not only bought a beautiful necklace for me, but she gave me a very special gift that I cherish, especially as a middle-aged woman – a sense of freedom.  I now have a necklace – may even be my first, other than for the ones I can throw over my head! – that I can open and close on my own, that I can wear anytime I want (not just when my husband is home so he can open and close the clasp) and, in summary, that will allow me to keep my independence, spontaneity and sense of style too.  I’m all for these innovations – most likely by another middle-aged frustrated person – to reverse the aging process. 

The necklace itself is a stunning bonus!  

Getting On My Nerves

Listen up, girlfriends!

There are times when one glass of wine isn’t enough and sometimes a second one doesn’t do the trick either.  Ben and Jerry’s Phish Food ice cream (a pint, not a spoonful) may begin to make a dent, or the combo of wine + ice cream could turn things around, even if it’s breakfast or especially at breakfast.

Something else more substantial may be in order to truly relax the mind, decompress and replenish the ailing soul.      

Perhaps an afternoon closed off from the world with a good book or a movie or a walk on the beach or a pedicure or shopping or anything else that would feel indulgent on a regular day is fair game when we’re in desperate need of a pick-me-up, when life is truly getting on our nerves; when we are, in no uncertain terms, on EMPTY, having not one morsel left of energy, emotional or otherwise. 

My older brother Denis makes fun of the things I used to say when we were kids. His favorite expression of mine, which always reflected my angst of a particular person or situation, was that he/she/it was “getting on my nerves.”  I applied it liberally and emphatically when I was 4 and 50 years later I’ve learned to shout it out with tremendous gusto. 

Of course saying it to trusted people is what makes it satisfying, and I thank everyone (you know who you are) who has listened to my rants over the years. I’m convinced that, aside from stocking up on our best friends’ favorite ice cream in case they pop over, it’s our responsibility to help our loved ones talk out their woes while we listen, try to understand and not judge and give a nice big hug before we send them back out into the cold, harsh world.    

The fact is that there are times when life stinks, and as women we often put on a happy face even when we’re sad or frustrated, simply because we’re programmed to deliver what everyone expects of us.  Sometimes, however, it’s impossible to keep our mirage of a cool and calm exterior intact. Good news, Ladies!  We don’t have to try so hard...We can let go…We have a choice…We can focus on ourselves…We can have wine at breakfast.  And did you know that ice cream has no calories if you devour the whole pint at one sitting?

His and Her Lists

Time with my husband once again provided some good blog material for today’s post.

But before I go into that, I want to make sure that I don’t leave any of you hanging about last week’s debacle when David told me he thought the purple jacket I was wearing made me look pregnant.

I did get past his honesty—I’m trusting that he didn’t mean harm and maybe there was some truth to it?—and a couple days later he redeemed himself when he asked if I’d like an early birthday present.  Anyone who knows me well knows I LOVE my birthday and all the related hullabaloo, so without missing a beat I said, “Of course…hand it over!”

You’ll never guess what was inside!  It was a black North Face—nice and roomy—to replace my new go-to purple jacket, which I had purchased to replace my ratty - albeit beloved  - older black North Face which my doggy had his way with when he was a pup.     

Maybe it was his way of assuring that he wouldn’t have to look at me day in and day out in that purple “maternity” jacket.  Whatever the reason, I got a new North Face out of the deal, and that can never be bad.  He got a lot of points for that.

Switching gears now, at breakfast on New Year’s Day, he said we should write...I thought he was going to say New Year’s Resolutions but he said instead…our New Year’s Responsibilities for 2014.  He said he would come up with our lists.  That’s right. He’d come up with both.

Under my name, he wrote down the people who he knows I feel some responsibility for, in one way or another.  It wasn’t a comprehensive list, but it was fairly accurate.

Now for his own.  Let’s just say there was a rather large discrepancy between the ‘his-and-her’ lists he created.  I didn’t know whether I should applaud him for recognizing our differences or bop him over the head for concocting such a sparse list in comparison.  A sense of humor kept me in check.

He was basically bragging when he pointed out that the volume of names on my list would prevent me from enjoying life, whereas his list translated to lots of free time to devote to his own interests and hobbies.    

As for my Numero Uno New Year’s Resolution, I want to keep laughing – at David, with David, whatever.

The Replacement

My husband always tells me I wear my clothes way too big. He says I’d look thinner if I wore tops that are form-fitting. It’s not that I mind when he’s giving me constructive criticism, as he is one of my biggest supporters in life but honestly, every time he says that, I think…are you crazy?  I intentionally search for clothing that is non-committal, the antithesis of form-fitting.  The last thing I want is for my shirt to grab on to every one of my nooks and crannies, for goodness sake.  I’d rather someone say the clothes I wear are too big than the clothes I wear are too small.  I’m not the only woman who feels this way, am I?

Even though I usually tune him out when he talks such nonsense, there are times when his words haunt me, echoing in my mind until I think about addressing them.  Maybe on some level this happens when I agree with him.      

Let me give you some background.  The hallmark of my winter attire is a North Face jacket I bought about 6 or 7 years ago.  It’s black, as are most of my clothes.  I know it’s probably at least one size too big – it’s an XL (and I’d venture to say that a L in this style would have been sufficient).  It’s cozy over the short-sleeved scrubs that I wear to work and it’s also perfect when I wear a heavy sweater.

It’s pretty ratty now.  My doggy chewed off a piece of each of the two arm snaps about four years ago when he was just a few months old, and I’ve been telling myself ever since that once I find this jacket on sale, I’ll purchase a replacement.  Maybe I would consider a smaller size, assuming I don’t expand too much by then (I'm always allowing for some growth…just saying).

One night last winter, I went to REI after work in search of my new black North Face, stopping first at the CLEARANCE rack.  No black, only purple.  Hmmm….this color would be a huge departure for me, but I was willing to consider it.  First I checked the size:  XL. I was conflicted whether this was good or bad news given my husband’s objections over my generously-sized wardrobe, but I was secretly happy inside.  I checked the price tag: 50% off.  I felt my excitement mounting.  I was starting to hyperventilate. 

I tried on the jacket expecting it to be quite roomy like my other XLs, but it wasn’t.  It was much daintier yet I actually liked it, so I ended my own debate over the matter knowing my husband would be so pleased that I now have a jacket that fits. Sold. 

It was love at first wear just a couple of weeks ago, not last year when I bought it (don't ask), and I haven't taken it off since.  It’s already my new favorite jacket, right up there with my favorite blue jeans (which are stretch, by the way).    

Now on to the story.  So last night, as my husband and I were leaving for the restaurant to have dinner, I grabbed my new go-to jacket for our ride home.  Something very strange began to happen as I tried to put it on.  I found myself squirming about as the sleeves of my big black sweater were bunching up underneath the new North Face.  Once I got that under control, the next hurdle was lining up the two sides of the jacket to zip up, which again was a struggle.  Was I on Candid Camera?  Had someone switched my jacket with a smaller version?  Had I pigged out even more than normal this time?  

I glanced at my husband, who looked puzzled too, bordering on disturbed.  He asked me when I purchased the jacket.  I am certain he must’ve been thinking I bought it when I was 50 lbs. lighter.  I proudly told him that it was 50% off (I thought he’d appreciate that) and that I chose this petite style knowing he’d find the fit more appealing than my original very spacious North Face.   

After a moment’s hesitation - he was probably thinking how he could delicately respond - he said the new jacket would look fine over my scrubs as it wouldn’t be so snug, but he wouldn’t recommend my wearing it again over a sweater.  I could feel my disappointment and am sure I looked like a wounded puppy when I asked “Why?”

He then said that dreaded 8-letter word that no woman my age or any age, really, would want to hear:  “Because it makes you look…P-R-E-G-N-A-N-T.”  Yikes. Maybe I really did. 

Talk about hyperventilating. He crossed the line. Doesn’t he know a man should never say that to a woman?

I should have congratulated him.  Let him hyperventilate for a minute.

Well one thing is for sure. You most likely won’t be seeing me in my new purple jacket unless you also work at Marlton Pediatrics. 

Chirp Chirp

Saturday morning at 7 a.m., I woke up to birds chirping!  That was music to my ears.  I am like one of Pavlov's dogs when I hear birdies sing, as my thinking shifted from what I needed to do that day…to summertime…and then WOW…bag the errands and my daughter Amy and I will head to the beach!  Why not, I asked myself.  We all could use a break from this frenzied time of year.

With bright sunshine and a projected high of about 60 degrees, my new and improved plan was to knock out shopping for Christmas day – since my family is coming to celebrate Hanukkah – and then my daughter and I would embark on our afternoon adventure.   
    
Unfortunately things didn’t progress as I had initially hoped.  I waited in line for about 50 minutes at the bank and made a few other stops as well.  By the time I got home, about seven hours had passed since the initial thrill I experienced when my thoughts raced from birds to beach.    
  
At this point, I had grown tired and agitated from the holiday madness that surrounded my every move. I felt betrayed by my own business before pleasure mantra that holds me captive to endless tasks.

I was wistful too, imagining myself seated on a bench overlooking the ocean, most likely with an ice cream cone in hand, wishing I had succumbed to my early morning eagerness to walk barefoot on the sand. 

Today, I didn’t hear the birdies, and the sun was replaced by rain.  I didn’t have that same yearning as I did yesterday to throw caution to the wind, but with a forecasted high above 70, I simply couldn’t resist.  As I headed out to tend to yesterday's unfinished to-do list, off came the UGGS.

And on went the flip flops.

Driving Me Crazy

Last night’s conversation with my husband during our post-Thanksgiving dinner sans the turkey and tofu but with our favorite trimmings—stuffing and cranberry crisp—focused on what we see as each other’s “issues.”  After we agreed that I could name a dozen that I see in him and yet I have nothing obvious—the perennial joke—I admitted there are internal demons I grapple with, that night being a perfect example of a struggle that has tamed over the years but continues to linger.   

Other than regularly sharing my pet peeves such as apostrophes utilized in the wrong place, or quotation marks where they don’t belong, I decided that in the spirit of our partnership, I would give my husband a glimpse of the inner workings of my head and he would see that despite my cool exterior, I was ready to burst! 

Hadn’t he noticed that I had been obsessed with the current snowstorm, looking online at the weather channel, watching every TV station’s interpretation of the forecast models multiple times, and still I was hungry for more information?  This hadn’t just been in recent hours; I felt I’d been ruminating about it for days.

My issue was that once the storm ended, my 20 year-old daughter Amy, who goes to college at West Chester University (PA), would be driving on snow and ice-covered roads in the unfamiliar territory of Newtown Square at 8:30 a.m. the next morning for a new babysitting gig.  We experienced drivers know that early morning hours can be just as treacherous as nightfall, even on treated roads, not having had the benefits of prolonged sunshine and other traffic to melt away remaining trouble spots.   

It wasn’t that she was afraid to make the drive – she wasn’t; it wasn’t that I didn’t trust her to drive safely – I do; it wasn’t that I felt she shouldn’t be doing this – she’s doing exactly what she should be doing.  She was showing the signs of a young lady who is growing up and becoming more independent, the very reason I wanted her to go to college in the first place (academics aside, of course). 

And if I didn’t have a husband who would tell me I’m crazy, or worse yet may tell his co-workers during their daily lunch hour together, I may have offered—although I am sure I’d have heard in the tone of her voice just how appalled she was—to pick her up in West Chester this morning, drive her to Newtown Square and made the return trip…that’s often my first instinct and, granted, that is an issue.  But, she is my baby…need I say more?  

While the thought of her navigating these roads during compromised conditions was driving me crazy, my reaction was actually a drastic improvement over years before. There were times when just the act of one of our children driving anywhere regardless of weather conditions would have sent me straight to my emergency-only chocolate selection hidden in the back of the refrigerator.

Clearly, my concerns have nothing to do with my daughter’s abilities. They are about my letting go and understanding that we are two separate individuals, not one long person with different ages, personalities and interests. It's is my job to continue to encourage her to make independent decisions and not secretly wish she’d crawl back in utero.

She kindly called me this morning before she left as I asked her to, and we discussed defensive driving and hidden black ice and everything I could say (for the umpteenth time) with one breath before she would cut me off.  Her one-word text “Here!” was a most welcome four-letter word!  Now in lieu of that I'm waiting to see her smiling face at my door, having returned not only from her babysitting job but from college for her winter break.    

I think it would be in everyone’s best interest if I keep my chocolate inventory well stocked.