When I was a child, my mom stayed home with us. She held those parenting reigns tightly, and I certainly was not allowed to watch anything R-rated. I had a friend, Tara, whose parents both worked full time. The reigns were a bit looser at Tara's, at least during the day while her parents weren't home. It was at Tara's house where I first watched the Steve Martin classic, The Jerk. Tara and I would perform scenes from the movie, acting like complete slapstick goofballs. We loved comedy. To say Tara was very funny is an understatement. She once told me her favorite actor was Steve Martin. I loved those afternoons at her house.
In 6th grade, Tara and I had a disagreement, as kids often do. During lunchtime one day, she'd gone into the girls' bathroom at school only to come out wearing her all her clothes backward. I made some snide remark to a friend who promptly passed it along, getting back to Tara as quick as you can imagine. Our fight that afternoon in the back field behind our school was broken up before it could start by our furious school principal. Parents were called, apologies made, and we all moved on. What I never told Tara was that I really thought it was a hilarious move, very Steve Martin-esque. Everyone thought it was funny. My snide comment had been spoken out of jealousy. I worried too much about how others viewed me, and didn't have the ability to just be funny for funny's sake. I didn't have the guts to wear my clothes backward, and for years I envied her that she did.
This past Sunday morning, I heard the terrible news that Tara had died in her sleep. She leaves a loving husband and children who adore her. She has many friends who loved her boisterous laugh and silly sense of humor. She was only 40 years old. Shocking. Horrible. And while I hadn't seen her in years, we were back in touch via Mark Zuckerberg's magic time-sucking reconnection tool, Liking pictures of each others' kids and commenting on the moments of our lives that had been deigned worthy for social media.
Tonight as I write this, The Jerk is on cable. I'm transported to her family's bonus room with the big TV and the pool table and her dad's UCLA pennants. I can hear her laugh and am reminded to just be silly for silly's sake. And maybe even wear my clothes backward once in awhile.
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
The Thief Among Us
Each week, I go to the same store, and I steal their merchandise. It's not a lot. It's just a small item. No one even notices. The price of it is a tiny fraction compared to the amount I spend in that store, so really, what's the harm? Right?
The problem is, my 3 year old daughter sees me do it week after week. In fact, she steals it with me. It's almost part of our shopping ritual. We scope out the item, choosing it carefully, then I hand it to her, and she takes care of it.
Once I confessed my crimes to the checker, but instead of charging me for the past stolen merchandise, she laughed, telling me she knew I was a frequent customer of the store, and considering how much I spent there monthly, it probably worked out in the end. I was stunned and filled with a small bit of disappointment. I was hoping for absolution AND penance.
I suppose some guilt is what I deserve, allowing my little monkey to eat one $.19 banana while we do our weekly shopping at Trader Joes. Thankfully the magic of that banana prevents my kid from being the screaming toddler in the store. And one of these days I'll actually remember to pay the checker for it.
The problem is, my 3 year old daughter sees me do it week after week. In fact, she steals it with me. It's almost part of our shopping ritual. We scope out the item, choosing it carefully, then I hand it to her, and she takes care of it.
Once I confessed my crimes to the checker, but instead of charging me for the past stolen merchandise, she laughed, telling me she knew I was a frequent customer of the store, and considering how much I spent there monthly, it probably worked out in the end. I was stunned and filled with a small bit of disappointment. I was hoping for absolution AND penance.
I suppose some guilt is what I deserve, allowing my little monkey to eat one $.19 banana while we do our weekly shopping at Trader Joes. Thankfully the magic of that banana prevents my kid from being the screaming toddler in the store. And one of these days I'll actually remember to pay the checker for it.
Friday, January 25, 2013
Fireman Deli
It has been scientifically proven that all firemen are hot.
As a young girl, I was always thrilled when we'd pull up to the grocery store only to see that shiny red engine parked in front. The firemen were shopping! I'd flee from my mother's side to roam the aisles, searching for them. And when I'd spot them? I'd act shy, ignoring their smiles and waves and hellos. That's what girls do.
Years later while in high school, my mom and I were at the drug store and ran into a guy we'd known my entire life, Sean Kale (name changed ever so slightly in case he doesn't want to be labeled as "hot" or "dreamy"). Sean was a few years older than me, and was the homecoming king, a great athlete, a cool guy, etc. He had become a rookie for the (wait for it...) fire department. He was so sweet, hugging both my mom and me, making our day. As we drove away, my mom commented, "Aren't all firemen hot? That's a perfect career for Sean." Yes, mom, you're totally right.
I dated a Yonkers fireman, albeit briefly, in New York City. I met him at a swing dance club back when that was cool. He was painfully hot, so I got his number. He even drove a Harley. Fireman. Dancer. Harley. Yikes. After a few dates and one very strange night we called it quits, but it was fun while it lasted. I never knew what happened to him during 9/11, but I assumed he was one of the many heroes that day and in the months and years to follow.
These days, my love of those heroes continues. We live one block from a deli where the local firemen like to grab lunch. My daughter calls it "Firemen Deli" and if that hot red engine is parked in front after her ballet class each Friday, it's a given where we end up having our lunch. Once we were seated right next to them, and what did they do to my cute, pink, tutu'd toddler? They smiled and waved and hello'd us, I mean, her. Each one of them was hot, from the rookie to the captain. And what did she do? She acted shy, ignoring their smiles and waves and hellos. That's just what girls do.
As a young girl, I was always thrilled when we'd pull up to the grocery store only to see that shiny red engine parked in front. The firemen were shopping! I'd flee from my mother's side to roam the aisles, searching for them. And when I'd spot them? I'd act shy, ignoring their smiles and waves and hellos. That's what girls do.
Years later while in high school, my mom and I were at the drug store and ran into a guy we'd known my entire life, Sean Kale (name changed ever so slightly in case he doesn't want to be labeled as "hot" or "dreamy"). Sean was a few years older than me, and was the homecoming king, a great athlete, a cool guy, etc. He had become a rookie for the (wait for it...) fire department. He was so sweet, hugging both my mom and me, making our day. As we drove away, my mom commented, "Aren't all firemen hot? That's a perfect career for Sean." Yes, mom, you're totally right.
I dated a Yonkers fireman, albeit briefly, in New York City. I met him at a swing dance club back when that was cool. He was painfully hot, so I got his number. He even drove a Harley. Fireman. Dancer. Harley. Yikes. After a few dates and one very strange night we called it quits, but it was fun while it lasted. I never knew what happened to him during 9/11, but I assumed he was one of the many heroes that day and in the months and years to follow.
These days, my love of those heroes continues. We live one block from a deli where the local firemen like to grab lunch. My daughter calls it "Firemen Deli" and if that hot red engine is parked in front after her ballet class each Friday, it's a given where we end up having our lunch. Once we were seated right next to them, and what did they do to my cute, pink, tutu'd toddler? They smiled and waved and hello'd us, I mean, her. Each one of them was hot, from the rookie to the captain. And what did she do? She acted shy, ignoring their smiles and waves and hellos. That's just what girls do.
Thursday, January 24, 2013
First Time
When I was 3 years old, I had my first trip to the dentist. My older sister, Heather, was there for her check up too, so I got to watch her exam before undergoing my own. I was relieved to know what to expect. It was the first of a lifetime full of great check ups for me. I proudly wore my No Cavities sticker on my sundress lapel so my dad could see it when he got home from work that night. I was so proud of that sticker, and in years since have often wished dentists gave adults No Cavities stickers. I would still rock that sticker.
Tomorrow is my 3 year old daughter's first dental check up, and I'm nervous for her. I know her teeth are healthy and that she'll be fine. We've talked about what to expect during her exam with Dr. Suzi and she knows mommy will be there at her side the whole time. But she doesn't have an older sister to blaze the trail for her, and I don't know if she'll be frightened or worried. I guess I'm the one who is frightened and worried, at least a little. It's a first for both of us, like many more to come as she grows up. And I love it. I hope I get a sticker.
Tomorrow is my 3 year old daughter's first dental check up, and I'm nervous for her. I know her teeth are healthy and that she'll be fine. We've talked about what to expect during her exam with Dr. Suzi and she knows mommy will be there at her side the whole time. But she doesn't have an older sister to blaze the trail for her, and I don't know if she'll be frightened or worried. I guess I'm the one who is frightened and worried, at least a little. It's a first for both of us, like many more to come as she grows up. And I love it. I hope I get a sticker.
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