It's A Small World After All. Or The House That Built Me. Or The Houses That Didn't.

We're getting ready to put our house on the market.  A little new carpet, a little new paint, and a horrifyingly expensive retaining wall are all that stand between us being able to sell the old homestead and look for something better.  Much thanks is owed to our good friend and realtor, Jess, who has been a help in so many ways.  She's really gone above and beyond, and we aren't even listed yet.  I was very happy to be able to help her a little bit last week, and like so many other random things, the experience got me thinking.

A week or so ago, Jess came by to take a good look at the house, make some staging suggestions, and discuss the pricing and listing.  We got to talking, and she mentioned a listing that she is going to have shortly in Seven Hills.  Naturally, since I grew up there, I asked her where the house was in Seven Hills.  And naturally, when she told me Pleasant Valley Road, I asked her to be more specific.  And when she told me, I realized that it was a house I was very familiar with! The previous owners' daughter had gone to grade school and high school with me, and I had been to the house many, many times.  Jess asked me if I knew anything about the house, which is a really neat turn of the century farmhouse. Unfortunately all that I could tell her was that the house and grounds were really cool, which was not particularly helpful.  It had been a few years since I had talked to her, but I offered to try and get in touch with my old friend and see what she could tell us about the house.

The email address that I had didn't seem to get through, but I asked around among our mutual grade school and high school friends and I was able to get in touch. It was really great to reconnect.   She could not have been more excited to share the extensive history of her childhood home, as well as all of the renovations that her parents had done to house.  She also told me how much she loved that house, how much the house meant to her, and asked if it would be possible to bring her husband and children to see it.

That gave me what my sister would call "the warm fuzzies." I'm not particularly attached to the house we live in right now.  The neighborhood maybe, but not the house.  We didn't pick it out together and though we renovated it top to bottom, it was a stressful, expensive process that caused a lot of arguing and a lot of very quiet nights. It ran way over budget and way over the timeline. And a lot of stupid things went wrong that weren't even in our renovation plans. (Though the buyer of the house is going to be blessed with a lovely new hot water tank, furnace, and air conditioner.) The finished product is beautiful, but to me it's still just a house and I'm not sad to part with it.

I'm not attached to any house that I've lived in.  My last few years of living in my first Akron home were painful and traumatic and I couldn't get out of there fast enough. I still own it (thanks 2008) but I can't bear to be inside it.  I never cared for my childhood home in Seven Hills. That's nothing against my family, but the house itself just wasn't my style.  We moved to Seven Hills just before I started the first grade and I never really felt like I fit in there. Plus, it's been redone so many times that even though my parents still live there, it doesn't feel like the house I grew up in.  And I guess I was just too young to be attached to the house we lived in before that.

It's something to think about as we start seriously looking for our next house.  Do houses help shape who we are?  Is there something about them that is intangible, that can make a difference? Should I be looking at more than kitchens and dining rooms and whether or not there is wallpaper that I have to tear down? Do people build houses, or do houses, as Miranda Lambert says, build us?

Feel

I'm not a very openly emotional person.  I don't burst into tears when I fight with my husband.  I don't cry at movies and most of the time I don't even cry at funerals. Despite my tendency towards nostalgia, which many people would say indicates that  I am an emotional person, I tend to disagree.  When an intense emotional situation presents itself, I tend to think more along the lines of "What can I do here?" Most times, the answer is nothing.  And if there is nothing I can do, I move on.

That's not to say that I don't feel or get upset.  What I have always done in most emotionally intense circumstances is tell myself "Kate, you can be upset.  For one day." (Or hour or week, depending on the situation.)  A good example of this is a work conflict I had with someone a couple years back.  It escalated to the point that no matter what, there was nothing I could do to change the situation.  I could only change how I reacted to that situation. Basically what I did was I allowed myself that weekend to be angry, to hurt, to sort of let it all fester.  Monday morning I shut it off, blocked it out, and went out into the world like nothing happened.  I've done this kind of thing a lot throughout my life. But something happened yesterday that made me think that maybe this isn't the best way to handle the situation.

Another "emotional flaw" of mine (along with getting the giggles in serious situations and crying hysterically when I am angry at someone) is that on the rare occasion that the emotional floodgates open, it all comes out.  Kind of like on The Walking Dead, when the fence got weak at the prison and the zombies all pushed and pushed and knocked it over, flooding the yard.  On the rare day that it rains, it pours.

That happened yesterday.

I had a fantastic weekend in Orlando, which most of you know is my most favorite city in the world.  Through some bad planning, I was the last of our group to leave.  As the day wore on, I started to feel the letdown that happens whenever I leave Orlando.  I was on my way to Target with Tera (who lives there) and Dianna (who was staying the week, and had her family flying in just before I flew out.) Dianna glanced at me from the driver's seat and commented that I hadn't been this quiet in my whole life.  She asked if I was okay.  To which I replied, "Always am."  I started remembering all the times I had flown back to Ohio, leaving my sister behind.  As we unpacked groceries in her rented condo I was thinking how sad it was that we were all kind of trickling out of Orlando.  A bummer, but okay.

Then we drove to the airport, where I maintained my silence thinking about other things.  Before you all get appalled that I wasn't excited to get home to my kids, let me share that they weren't even going to be there.  They were snowed in at my sister in law's in Columbus.  So not only am I being separated from my favorite city, and leaving behind some of my favorite people, my own family isn't even going to be there when I get home.  Cue the tears, but I held them back.

When we got to the airport, I checked my bag and went with Tera and Dianna to meet her family.  Now, with the exception of my own family and a small handful of you Columbkille kids, no one has known me longer than Dianna and her family.  It was a happy reunion of hugs.  I was sad, but I was good. After they got their bags the goodbyes started, and I was okay until my 9 year old godson hugged me and asked, confused, "Where are you going?"Dianna jumped in and explained, freeing me to rush off to my gate in tears.

Thankfully Maureen was delayed getting out to Dulles, so she was able to more or less sort me out before she left. By this point all I want to do is get to my gate, get on the plane, and get home.  But that would have been too easy.  I had to fight my way through a pack of soccer hooligans and go through security a second time.  I forced myself to eat something so I wouldn't be starving when I got home and sat at my gate.  Remember what I said about my emotional floodgates? Here is where is really all went crazy.  I'm alone in the Orlando airport, appropriately upset, but then things that have absolutely nothing to do with the current situation start popping into my head and making things worse.

It's Lent.  During Lent in 1996, my grandmother died. A few days before I was going to show her my prom dress.  During Lent in 2005, my grandfather died, a few days before I was going to bring him pictures of my dog.  During Lent of 2007 my uncle died, before reading a very important letter from his daughter.  There were a few other things that popped into my head that are a little too personal to even write here, but they were losses and situations that tore me up inside. Think back to the beginning of this painfully long blog.  Are these things that still upset me because I only allowed myself to hurt from them for a few days? Is it impossible for the heart to heal from things like this if you put a time constraint on it?

Thankfully I got on the plane, and between my peanut M&Ms and my perky, Bible reading seatmate, I was able to pull it together.  I dug out my car, got myself home and swam through the snow into the house.  I fell into an exhausted sleep.

I'm not a mess right now, even after flooding my bathroom this morning. I feel pretty stable, compared to the hot mess I was yesterday, but as I was sitting in traffic this morning I decided that maybe the next time something happens that really hurts, breaks my heart or makes me really sad, I'm going to try feeling it all the way through.  Because if I don't lock it in a box after a weekend, maybe I don't ever have to worry about it breaking out and  ambushing me at Gate 110 of the Orlando airport.

Random Thoughts for a Friday

I was scrolling though Facebook this morning and came across a post that tagged a friend of mine.  I don't know the person that wrote the post and I don't know what his relationship is to my friend exactly, but it struck me as personal.  Deeply personal. Like "why the hell is he saying this on Facebook for the entire world to see?" personal. I'm surprised she allowed it, being one of the more quiet, private people that I know.  I don't get the feeling that he posted it with the intention of upsetting her, and I definitely think that he meant well, but damn.  If there was any question what he was feeling, we all have the answer now.

Controversy over what people post on Facebook is nothing new, it's been around as long as Facebook has existed.  My mom doesn't understand why my sister and I share pictures and my sister doesn't understand why I share my struggles with my children. (But believe me, someday she is going to be happy that there is a Lynette and a Dana and a Nicole and a Cheri and a Kelly to say, "Yeah, I totally get that!") What one person thinks is an intimate detail of their life might be common knowledge to someone else.  If you don't like someone's post, you always have the option of "hiding" it and if it truly offends you then you can report it. Post away, who am I to judge.

Facebook, when it's all said and done, is stupid.  I mean, it's fun a lot of the time.  I like pictures of kids being funny and seeing my friends on vacation and hearing about what is going on in their lives. It's neat to see what my grade school friends have grown up to become and to reconnect with my old roommates.   But when you stand back and look at it, it's silly.

But maybe some of the sharing isn't.  While I thought it was a little "TMI" to see the post that triggered this entire rambling, maybe the actual act of sharing isn't.  I hate not knowing things and if someone felt strongly about me, I would want to hear it from them.  Whether they thought I was an amazing friend, the most beautiful woman in the world, or a gigantic asshole, I would want to know.  Even though maybe we shouldn't be saying these things on Facebook for the entire world to hear,we should make sure that we tell people how we feel about them.

A few weeks back, somebody told me that they really enjoyed my Facebook posts.  That I made them smile at least twice a day.  I don't really try to make people laugh and I don't think that I am really that funny, but it made me feel good to hear that.  I felt appreciated.

We all know life is short, and nobody is guaranteed tomorrow.  I don't think very many people have ever wished that they hadn't told someone that they loved them.  Don't ever assume that someone knows what you think or how you feel. Whether you shout it from the mountaintops, send a PM, or call in an anonymous tip, let the important people in your life know that they matter to you.

Why Yes, You Can Do Jello Shots In a Bank

A chapter from my unpublished first book.  Enjoy :)

“What are you doing New Year’s…..Neeeewww Yeeeaarrss Eevvee…”  It was Friday morning, December 31.  That stupid old song had been playing in rotation on the Muzak since right after Thanksgiving.  Normally that would have put me in somewhat of a cranky mood.  My mood on this particular New Year’s Eve however, could not have been better.  The day had finally come, that our entire branch had been waiting for with bated breaths.

Yes, today was the day that our fearless leader, after 36 years, was finally retiring from Cardinal National Bank.  Lauren, as I mentioned earlier, was not exactly one of my most favorite people. And most of our office, while we did respect her, we did not particularly like her and were only too happy to see her off to a happy retirement in Naples, Florida.

It was a good day for other reasons too.  I’ve never been a big fan of New Year’s.  Most New Year’s events in our area were prohibitively expensive once you figured in cover charges, hotels, and transportation.  Add to that the fact that I had no significant other, or even a non significant other whom I wished to kiss at midnight.  This year was going to be fun regardless however.  Newly married Avery and Max were throwing a party at their house and were expecting near 50 people.  The two of them, with the help of her contractor father, had taken their 1950s bungalow and retrofitted it to be a pretty amazing party house.  The finished basement had a complete bar that was fully stocked.  They had ample guest bedrooms, so driving home was not an issue.  And I had helped Avery put together a menu that ensured nobody was going to go hungry.  I was actually looking forward to the dreaded New Year’s Eve, and only had to get through a ten hour day at the bank before I could get there.

I’m not sure if it was something specific to the area, something in the water in Unionville that day, or if it was just a fluke, but that was the busiest morning I had ever seen in a bank branch.  I thought I had my schedule planned so that I would have more than enough coverage in the branch.  But even with me running a teller window, customers were lined up to the door.  I frantically cashed checks, ran deposits, and made payments alongside my teller staff all morning, while my “desk staff” chatted with each other, served Lauren’s retirement cake to customers, and basically sat back and enjoyed the confusion.  Adding to the crowd in the lobby were people who did not necessarily have business in the bank, but stopped by to wish Lauren the best in her retirement.  I thrive on chaos and enjoy being busy at work, but this was nuts.  It felt at times like there was money flying everywhere.

Fridays behind the teller line traditionally were myself, Dawn, and Audrey all day, and Lindsay and Christie for part of the day, alternating Fridays.  I got to the point that I was watching the clock, waiting for Christie to get there just to give us some relief. (And that’s saying something.  She was a sweet person, but the world’s slowest bank teller.)  When Christie finally arrived at 1 and got set up in her window, it was like someone locked the doors.  We had gone from the busiest day in the history of banking to the slowest day in the history of banking.  I started the rotation of lunch breaks, baled down all the teller drawers (a fascinating OCD project where you remove all excess cash from teller drawers and stash it in the main vault) and finally had my piece of retirement party cake.  Visitors for Lauren ambled in and out, but for the most part, the bank branch was dead.

You’d think someone who had worked for a company for 36 years would be somewhat emotional about leaving it.  But around 4:00 Lauren’s husband showed up with small buckets of homemade jello shots for everyone. (Apparently at one point in her career Lauren was fun.  She and her husband had thrown a Christmas party some years back, and a handful of my seasoned staff remembered Lauren’s skill at making jello shots).   He and Lauren distributed what she called her “parting gifts”, did one last sweep of her office for her personal stuff, and then she was gone.  And I was in charge.

Being in charge was something I was evidently not very good at.  Call it excitement for the holiday or excitement at being manager-less, but I decided it was time to live a little.  I cracked open my bucket of jello shots, pulled out a red one, and just went for it.

My staff looked on in what can only be described as awe.  We stood there in silence for a moment, in an empty-of-customers bank branch.  And I kind of decided what the hell.  I pulled a green shot out of my jello bucket, and downed that one as well.  At that point Christie spoke up.  “Does that mean I can bring out the champagne?”

“Excuse me?” I replied.  Christie struck me as the type that wouldn’t even drink champagne at her daughter’s wedding, let alone at work.  “There’s champagne??”

“I got some.  It’s a special occasion right? New Years, new start, no more Lauren….” she trailed off.

I paused a moment and took stock.  The branch was supposed to be open for another two hours.  We hadn’t had a customer walk in for almost 23 minutes. I had a ridiculous number of staff who had, for the most part, had a hell of a day, not to mention a hell of a year.  I made an executive decision.

“Christie, pour out the champagne, we are going to do a toast.  Then I am going to start sending everyone home.  We are going to lose one teller and one desk person every fifteen minutes til closing, by seniority,” I announced.

Again, I got somewhat blank looks from the staff. “You’re serious?” Dawn asked.

I smiled.

“Really?” asked Julie, already making her way towards her desk.

“Yes,” I replied. “This is dumb. There is no reason for everyone to just be standing around.  You guys have worked so hard and put up with so much.  We’re going to close this year out right.”

And that was exactly what we did.  Christie poured out glasses of cheap champagne, and we all toasted to the end of an era, the end of a year, and the turning over of a new leaf.  I started sending home the staff by seniority.  The occasional random customer filtered in, mainly through the drive up, to cash a check or make a quick deposit, but for the most part the branch was silent.  Finally it was a mere twenty minutes to closing, and the branch was deserted save me and Evan.  He sat in the lobby waiting area, flipping through this week’s Time magazine, while I sat on the customer service counter texting various random friends to see who was going to be coming to Avery’s party.

“Ev, go ahead and get out of here,” I said.  “If anyone comes in here in the next twenty minutes I doubt it’s going to be to refinance their mortgage.  You should go home.”

Evan looked up from his magazine.  “Yeah, I don’t think so,” he replied.

“Seriously.  No one is going to know.  The cops are going to drive by at 6:15 anyway just to make sure we all closed up okay.  Go home,” I insisted.  It’s actually a huge violation of bank policy to have a single employee alone in a branch at any time, let alone closing.  But this was Unionville.  The town only has two traffic lights. “I’m sure you have something awesome to do tonight that you can get a head start on.”

“Not really.  I’m just going to hang out with my girlfriend.  Maybe go to a hotel or something,” Evan replied, unintentionally reminding me that he still lived in his parents’ basement and his girlfriend still lived like she was in college, in a crumbling duplex with four roommates just off campus.

“Evan, really.  You don’t have to stay here.  I’m probably going to shut it down in ten minutes anyways.”

“Then you can shut it down with me here,” he shot back.  And then, he looked at me.  I mean really looked at me.  Straight into my eyes with those huge blue eyes of his.

And right then, that very second, something changed.  I don’t know what and I don’t know how.  Maybe something in the stars or the cosmos or something like that.  Jupiter in line with Saturn, blah blah.  That split second, that moment…The course of events forever changed that New Year’s Eve.

Or maybe it didn’t.  Maybe I was tired. Maybe I'm making excuses.  Maybe it was my imagination.  Maybe it was boredom.  We closed up the bank that Friday night and went to our respective homes.  I don’t know what he did after that.  I went to my best friend’s house.  I drank too much raspberry Stoli and ate too much pizza.  I toasted the New Year with cheap champagne and the guys that worked at the Coke plant.  I spent the night in Avery’s tastefully decorated guest room.  But something nagged at me that night, in the back of my mind where only I could hear, where only I could understand.   Something had changed inside of me that day, underneath my Juicy Couture hoodie and overpriced designer jeans.  At least for me, something was different.

And that’s all I have to say about New Year’s Eve 2004. 

My Bubble

I’ve done a lot of stuff.  I’ve been to New York City to see the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. I’ve been backstage at EPCOT.  I’ve been on the Warner Brothers movie lot.  (Not on the regular tour, mind you.  I had credentials and ate in the commissary and got to stand in the soundstage where they filmed the pirate ship scene in Goonies, just sayin’.) But today I am going to share one thing that I have never done.

I (pause for dramatic effect) have never been high.

That’s right kids. I have never smoked pot.  I have never done a line of cocaine.  I’ve never taken Ecstasy.  I’ve never even taken too many pain pills and gotten a buzz.

I’d never given much thought to it until the other day, when I saw a Dateline rerun about drugs running rampant through college campuses. I remembered the first time that I saw that particular episode. It was in a hotel room in Pittsburgh.  A friend, whom I shall call Suzette, and I had driven in the night before to attend a concert and spent the night after at the Marriott downtown.  We were getting dressed and ready to leave and head home. (Okay, we were going to IKEA.  But focus.) Because she and I must always have background noise, we had the TV on and were listening to Chris Hansen give his special report about hard drugs being everywhere on college campuses.  Suzette put down her mascara wand, looked at me, and said “Why weren't we offered any?”

She said it sarcastically, but it apparently stuck in my head somewhere underneath Net Present Value and The War of 1812.  I thought of Suzette’s words the other night and thought to myself, “Yeah.  Why weren't we?”

Because the fact that I have never been high is not the result of triumphantly and defiantly “Just Saying No.” Not only have I never been high, I have never found myself in a situation where doing illegal drugs was even an option.  I have never stood up for myself and walked out of a party due to my principles. I've never had to.  And truthfully I don’t know that I would have done that.  I’m destructive when I’m bored and I have an addictive personality.  And I love, really love, to have a good time.

But now I’m wondering, is my situation that unique?  According to Dateline, it is.  How did I manage this?

One could make the argument that the opportunity just never presented itself. The neighborhood I grew up in was nice, but bad things happen in nice neighborhoods all the time.  Did my neighborhood just not have troublemakers for me to be influenced by? I didn't like high school and I didn't have a lot of friends there, so was it just my exposure to a very small, limited group of people that prevented me from ever finding myself in a bad situation?

Maybe, but fast forward to college.  I knew how to have a good time.  I went out. I drank, both underage and once I was of age. I went to fraternity parties. During breaks I went out in Cleveland, first in the Flats and then later to the Warehouse District. My weekends started on Wednesday night and a lot of times didn't end until Chapter on Sunday night.  Still no drugs.

Fast forward a few years more, and now I’m a banker. According to Wolf of Wall Street and Margin Call, the financial industry is full of drugs. If that is in fact true, I never saw any of it. My early to middle 20’s were just like college.  The fact that my liver survived my time at Bank One is shocking. Weekends started on Wednesday and ended after Desperate Housewives on Sunday night.   There was a lot of shady stuff in the banking industry back then, but none of it involved drugs.

Life settled down for me a bit after 30. But I’m still a social butterfly. I jump at almost any opportunity to go out and do something fun.  And I know a lot of people and I've made a lot of new friends over the years. I've traveled a lot and seen a lot of places. Party at Tao Las Vegas?  Bottle service and bachelors, but no drugs. Hollywood Boulevard? Things you can't un-see, but still no drugs.

It makes me wonder then. I've been in so many situations where I should have come across drugs, and I didn't.  I can’t explain to you why. I can only say that it has been a really good thing.  I have some social anxiety issues and mediocre confidence, the kind of thing that is quickly remedied by a glass of wine. I don’t want to think about what could have happened if I had access to something stronger. Has it been luck? Always being surrounded by good people, even if I’m not in the best places? Some kind of divine intervention? Regardless of the reason, I've been fortunate enough to be shielded from something that destroys so many lives.

And for that, I’ll be grateful.

Sometimes You Can't Go Back

"I think there is a twinge of Nostalgia to be felt when places are visited even if they do not have  a link to someone who has died.  I have been contemplating if Nostalgia is a bitch.  Maybe she’s not.  Maybe she’s just doing her job, re-connecting us to places that meant something….or mean something.  I think we’ll hang out some more.  Can’t help but not."

Possibly my favorite quote.  It comes from my cousin Laura, who spent this past summer on a "vision quest" of sorts, in memory of her late father.  In a nutshell, she spent a month kayaking the Lake Erie Islands, revisiting places that she had visited with him.  The intent of the trip was to basically to make peace, and find herself some closure. 

I found myself wondering last night, "What happens if you can't do that?"

The Parma Theater was torn down yesterday.  For anyone who might not know, it was an old, freestanding movie theater in an older part of Parma (which, for my out of state friends, is a suburb of Cleveland.) For as long as I can remember it ran second run movies.  It wasn't really in my end of town and I'm not sure that I was ever there more than a half dozen times, even growing up with my movie-obsessed mother.  However, my best friend's grandparents lived a few blocks over, and from the age of 14 on she lived even closer. On top of multiple trips with her mother and grandmother as a child she went almost every day during her teenage summers.  It was a place that meant a lot to her, for family reasons, and possibly other reasons that I won't speculate about here.  She's such a dear friend, and as Rob Thomas says in his song "Diamonds", if she feels bad then I do too.  She'll never spend another summer afternoon there just to get away. She'll never get to take her daughter.

There are places about which I feel similar.  Geauga Lake, for example. I went to that small (by comparison) amusement park multiple times during my childhood summers, along with trips to Sea World across the lake. With my grandparents, my parents, my sister, and the above mentioned cousin. When I was older I went with my friends. Granted I never gave much thought to it at the time, but it never crossed my mind that I would not be able to take my own children. I wasn't in the area when it closed and the memories of my last trip are not so great, but during the 5 years that my work commute took me past the sorry remains of that park my heart just ached.   There's a hot debate right now over what to do with what's left of the property, but I honestly would be happy with anything as long as it meant I did not have to see it the way it is today.  Much like the Parma Theater, I'll never spend another summer afternoon waiting in line for the Big Dipper or show my daughter my first roller coaster. (The Double Loop, if you care.)

Sometimes it's not just a place that's special, but the people that experience it with you.  I posted to Facebook one morning that I had calmed a fussy child by singing the theme song to "The Beverly Hillbillies" and blamed sixth grade.  I had a sixth grade teacher whose version of music class was teaching us theme songs from old TV shows and commercials.  That Facebook post lead to about 50 comments from my classmates, sharing our memories of that class (seriously, how did he get away with some of that stuff?), the teacher, and other things we remembered from grade school.  That might not seem like much, but when work is giving you anxiety attacks, your kids aren't cooperating, and your spouse is gone for the third night in a row, a day spent sharing memories on Facebook can be just what you need.

Sadly though, sometimes the people are gone too.  I spent my summer weekends (and a lot of time in between) up at the lake. I have tons of great memories with my sister and cousins and aunt and uncle. But the last four or five summers are what I remember the most.  I met a guy up there who was a couple years older than I was, but we became fast friends nonetheless. We'd hang out my the pool, he'd take me to the beach, we'd sit on my parents' boat after dark and drink beer. Sometimes he'd have other friends with him too, and it was really some of the most fun ever. Now to clarify, he was at Ohio State already by the time we became friends. I was 15.  As a parent today I am not sure I'd be down with my 15 year old daughter hanging out with a college guy all summer, but my parents had no problem with it.  And they had absolutely no reason to, because over all that time, he never once behaved even slightly inappropriately. (And no, he wasn't gay.) 

There are certain things in life that you don't appreciate until you are older. And this guy was exactly that. You really don't appreciate a good guy until you get out there and see a lot of bad ones. It really wasn't until my late 20's, when I had had the misfortune of several affairs and relationships with some truly horrible people that I realized what gem my lake friend really was. Twenty one year old Kate had no idea that with men he was the exception, not the rule. (I'm not saying the only exception by any means, but an exception nonetheless.) I've never been able to tell him this, unfortunately. My parents sold the lake place in 1999, and I moved, and we lost touch.  Despite modern technology, and social media, and google, I've not been able to track him down. (Add an overly common name to the mix and there is really no hope.) I'm not saying that I wish we had ridden off into the sunset. But I would love to be able to tell him what a great person he is, and that with what I know now it means a lot that he never tried to take advantage of the situation.

I've rambled on, and I'm not sure ultimately how to end this. Maybe it is that we should really take the time to appreciate what we have and the people in our lives. (Though we all know this.) Maybe it's that when life kicks you in the head and you're about to jump off a cliff we should take the time to remember, to share those memories, and that doing that will help move us back into a better place.  Maybe it's that these connections to places and things are a part of what it's all about, what makes life worth living. Maybe a little bit of everything.  Sometimes you just can't go back. But maybe sometimes the memories are enough. 

Reality Check

This may not be a popular post.  I'm well aware of that. But I have to vent and it's my blog, so here goes.

I am sick to death of all the high and mighty mommy bloggers out there publishing articles in the Huffington Post about how they "love their children too much" to let them use the iPad. They write poignant letters to their children, explaining how the "quality time" they spend in the doctor's office waiting room will serve to shape their entire future, or some BS like that.  These are probably the same moms that enforce the "30 Minutes or Less" of TV rule, and would rather let their child trash a booth at a restaurant instead of letting them watch an episode of Peppa Pig.

I think this is absurd.

Maybe this works if you have one of those peaceful children who is perfectly content to draw for an hour on the same placemat with three crayons.  Or is happy to thumb through board books. But I am willing to bet most people don't have that child.  I sure don't.  And I don't think it is fair to expect preschoolers to sit quietly at the doctor's office/restaurant/in an airplane with nothing to entertain them.  Have you seen the attention span of a four year old?

My daughter is an iPad addict. She loves YouTube, Minnie's Bowmaker, and Elmo's ABCs. If you let her, she will sit and play with it for hours. She doesn't, because I don't let her.  When she is at home, she has piles of toys and books and random non toy objects (like boxes from Amazon) to keep herself entertained.  She can run through my dining room and crawl through her tent. However, there are times, usually when she is tired, that her own stuff just isn't cutting it. Have you seen a severely bored preschooler? Especially in a part of the country where the weather is bad almost more than it is nice?

My child is important, but she is not my only responsibility. She has a sibling, and I am home alone a lot. When I have exhausted all other options and it is only 3:00 on a rainy Saturday, and I have ten loads of laundry to fold, it's time for a marathon of Chip and Dale.   (Go ahead and chime in and tell me that laundry can wait, my children will not be small forever.  I will then ask you to go to Target and get me a new crib sheet, because all my crib sheets are covered in baby spitup and if you put a baby to sleep on any surface other than a crib mattress with a snug fitting crib sheet you are an  irresponsible parent..)

 When we go out for dinner with friends I refuse to be that parent who lets their kid run like crazy through the restaurant disrupting our dinner and everyone else's.  My daughter sits quietly watching a video clip or playing a game, usually with the children of the friends we are with. And people have the nerve to judge? These are probably the same people who make snide comments at the parents of vocal toddlers.

Someone is chiming in right now that the children should learn to "interact" and "talk".  News flash.  When I go out to eat, I am not going out to talk to my child. I can talk to my child at home in my yoga pants.  Babysitters are hard to find and expensive.  When I go out to dinner, I am going out to socialize with other adults. I'm willing to do what it takes to keep my child occupied so I can have an hour of adult conversation to save my sanity.

If I am not being judged by uppity moms who believe that electronics will destroy their child's life, I am being judged by people of my parents' generation.  They love to remind me that THEY went out to dinner with kids and didn't stick them in front of the iPad, because, you know, such things didn't exist.  You know what else didn't exist back when you were raising kids?? Power windows.  Hand sanitizer.  Cable. I'm pretty sure we didn't have car seats. (or at least car seats that you had to put kids in until they were 21. But that's another post.)   I'm sure you see where I am going here. 

The American Academy of Pediatrics suggests limiting television and electronic devices to 30 minutes a day.  I would like to know what time to expect the representative from the American Academy of Pediatrics who will watch my child while I feed her infant sibling. Or make dinner. Even my pediatrician herself calls BS on this advice.

I don't give my daughter the iPad or turn on the TV so that I can drink wine and play on Pinterest. I give her the iPad so I can have an hour to spend talking to adults over a burger, or care for my other child, or lay on the couch recovering from a migraine headache. Why you are letting them use it is far more important than how long.

My daughter is bright.  She is happy. She goes to preschool, gets along well with her friends, and is learning new things every day. She interacts well with adults. She loves to play outside on the swings and in her sandbox.  She is always excited to go visiting friends. She is also allowed to use the iPad.

So back off.