The Room of Requirement

Saturday morning…laundry, catching up with a neighbor as we walk our dogs, straightening the house, a delicious cup of crazy hot tea. I love lazy mornings. I was opening a box of totally groovy lucite mini clipboards when my Greg walked in the room. His look said Do I want to ask? I did not give him time to leave, I like to explain my madness. At church last week a lively mom of 3 littles saw me decorating rocks with the kids during coffee hour and asked if I was in charge of the “keep the kids busy crafts” at the back of the sanctuary. It seems some generous loving person replaced the paper and crayons with… not exactly church pew friendly craft kits from a company known for notoriously complicated with a million tiny pieces products. No sorry, I said, but I can be…I’ll have a new plan in action next week. Thus, the clipboards with blank paper attached to let their creative juices flow, no glitter involved.

Describing the mom so he knew who I was talking about..a ball of energy, she brilliantly juggles kids, coffee, and conversation with a smile. This reminded Greg of his lunch bunch…their energy is a lot. They feel safe in his room which transforms from printing, to clay, to painting, to lunch…it’s a Room of Requirement. Why was that familiar? From Harry Potter he said, the room that you go to and it becomes what every room you need. It has the unique ability to transform itself into anything required at that moment in time. Nothing makes my heart swell more than hearing his room becomes the room that these kids need.

Our Room of Requirement was the room we entered when we viewed our house for the first time, a three season porch, almost the length of the whole downstairs. It had 40s wicker furniture with thick black and white striped fabric, and a zebra skin rug on the floor…talk about groovy. This room transforms into what ever we need it to be. Thanksgiving, Easter, Christmas, tables lined up, too many people, too close together, I would not have it any other way. Birthday parties, neighborhood craft nights, Girl Scout meetings, movie making camps and premieres, it is like tofu, taking on what ever flavor needed. It has been a sculpture studio for my son as he created a lighthouse and a painting studio for 4 little girls creating oversized Sesame Street inspired abstract color field paintings. Recently it’s been a staging area for wedding table designs, props lined up awaiting a yes or pack it back up. And now, a warehouse for the chosen wedding props awaiting their big day. This room allows us to mold it and abuse it, and love it. I adore that I have a name for this room now, our Room of Requirement.

Hugging my dude and professing my admiration for his ability to be there for his kids he interrupted my swooning to say, Kat, I brought up the Room of Requirement because that is what you are, you are a Person of Requirement, you give people what they need at the moment they most need it.

Wow. Overwhelmed. Seen. Loved…all before noon on a cozy Saturday morning. I might just crawl in bed and read, today is already a win. Ha. That is never happening.

How is everybody doing?

Just checking in are usually the first three words I sputter when leaving voicemails. Please note, nobody (including me) seems to listen to voice mails anymore, we just call back and say, hey, you called?…but that’s a different Swoon. I tend to check in with my peeps often, a quick call leads to being an ear to someone in need and allows me to get off some steam. Very inexpensive therapy.

Sesame Street was big in our house, the show, the songs, the little plastic “guys”, the stuffed animals…big. I once ran across O’Hare airport between flights and jumped back on our first plane to retrieve “Erniebert” from the seat back pocket. Risking being arrested was much more pleasant an option than vacationing for a week with out those dolls. To be fair, Ernie and Bert did seem rather relieved to be rescued. Melmo, was my Olivia’s favorite, she found him both hysterical and the best cuddle in town. Every time she met him she went up and just hugged him, not understanding why we would interrupt her for a picture. Melmo…aka Dad in a very smelly rented costume…showed up at her 2nd birthday party. If he had been part kangaroo and she could have just stayed in his pouch, life would have been perfect.

Elmo posted on X this past Monday…now that is something anyone time traveling from 1950 would not understand. I am not an X person but I am a New York Times person. Today they had an article about Elmo’s post which was…”Elmo is just checking in! How is everybody doing?”

There were thousands and thousands of responses…Elmo, I’m depressed and broke. Elmo my dog rolled around in goose feces. Elmo this morning I had a good grapefruit, Elmo each day the abyss we stare into grows a unique horror. Wow, this is a lot for a little red monster to take on…but he asked. According to X the question was seen more than 140 million times and people actually took the time to answer, to be heard.

Being heard. I follow a Travel the National Parks page (I’m told that dreaming about the future is healthy). A parent posted something like Can I ask a question and get honest answers? I see all these pictures of families and they look so happy, the kids look like they WANT to be there. Is it just my kids who fight constantly, whine, and seem bored to tears much of the time? The responses were 99% you are not alone, go on the vacation, get through the tough times, the kids will remember the good, there is always good. 1 percent did have perfect children (ha, sure they did). I love that this person reached out and for the most part people heard her pain and responded with truth. Sometimes just saying our hurt aloud makes it less painful, and sometimes we find out we are not alone.

Walking to school the other day my little guy asked me, Kafrine, would you rather see the world in no colors or not be able to taste anything? I was floored. One because he was curious about my thoughts and two, because wow, that is a big question for a little guy. I asked him how that question came to him, and he replied YouTube of course.

Of course.

Little red monsters, YouTube prompts. Quick texts…checking in matters. And if you were wondering… I would rather not taste anything. Colors both vibrant and muted bring me crazy amounts of joy. I would miss the memories that come with food, but I would also be a size 6, and that’s a win. Which would you pick?

What Other People Think

The other day while scrolling I noticed a picture of three women from my neighborhood. They were out celebrating a birthday with dinner and a show in the city. All of them moms of elementary and middle school peeps. They were together and they glowed. One of them has my sense of humor, her glorious pictures of smiling kids include captions like “Day 753 of Christmas Vacation”, I am sure I have written the same. Things can be wonderful and exhausting and trying all at the same time. Watching the next generation of moms is glorious, I have nothing but good will toward their energy, waists that are still waists, and tight neck skin. They seem much more confident than I ever did. It is encouraging to see confident women.

I just joined a local FB page called Fifty & Fabulous. A woman was hoping to start a book club for women over 50, the response was so overwhelming she decided there was a need for an over 50s page of connection and goodness. That’s what women do, they see a need and they create a space, it is a beautiful thing. This group already has over 400 members, it spawned a few book clubs, a lunch at a local restaurant, thoughts on visits to museums, and a general feeling of wow, isn’t it nice there are so many people on the same journey I am, I am not alone. It is nice to feel understood and to connect, even if just on social media. Someone posted an excerpt from a book called “The Courage to Be Disliked”, I felt like someone was in my head, in my soul… how did they know I needed that book that very moment. There are probably very few outings I will take with the group, life is too complicated for that now, but little gems like this book…priceless.

Alone, sometimes I feel very alone. My husband is a teacher, good teachers give 150% of themselves for 9-10 hours a day. They teach the subject they have mastered, are part therapist, and part parent. There are days he does not have a chance to pee or eat because a student shows up in his room during his “free” period and needs a connection. He never turns them away. He comes home and he is done, fried, completely spent, he needs his brain to relax and reset. I get it but after a day of taking care of others and working I crave a bit of conversation and connection.

I connect with my ladies on my morning walk. My high school bestie who is up at 5am to exercise and bake before work…my college girlies who are walking dogs or driving kids to school…my Pleasantville ladies via a never ending text chain. It is time to vent, to listen, to celebrate, to be. There is nothing more healing than a group of women supporting one another. These friendships take work, you need to be vulnerable and willing to be raw, showing your truth is brave.

Being a wedding coordinator for your son… that is brave. Trying not to step on toes, trying to give advice with out being pushy, trying to respect your place…and actually get shit done…one might say it is a no win situation. I am not really competitive person, I don’t need to win…but unfortunately I still like to be liked. So, filled with anxiety about the “mother of the groom dress” I reached out to the mother of the bride to follow her lead. To give a bit of reasoning to my anxiety…I will say she is brilliant, funny, talented, and has a rock star body, oh and she is gorgeous. My text went something like, “I am thinking I need to be me, but I don’t want to overstep my place, and I know you should pick your dress first, but I am technically a human square at this point…same in height and width, and I found some dresses online, think Stevie Nicks maxi dress but fancy material and flowy, but it is your day and your call and and and…” She wrote back the most gracious note about not wanting to be constrained and squeeze into sausage casing and wanting to be comfortable and give all the glory to her spectacular daughter…she was funny and kind and all things good, and she removed dresses from my list of things to be anxious about. Stevie Nicks it is…for now.

I was on the phone with my high school bestie telling her the story, she wanted pictures and she is one of the few I sent them too, you can only take advice from so many. We chatted about dresses and proper “uniforms” for events…and being our age but being ourselves. We discussed designers that fit our quirky needs, and at the same moment we let down all walls of shame and texted each other pictures of dresses we recently considered. Dresses we thought better of after seeing the sheer (literally) insanity of. We looked at the texts and squealed… same designer, same completely wacky and inappropriate looks. It is lovely to be able to be so myself with someone who is just as ridiculous as I am.

My daughter was asking me if she should accept an invitation to lunch with a friend who tends to cancel a lot… my opinion was yes, taking risks and being vulnerable is important, it is the only way we grow. Whether it is by starting a FB group, being honest about insecurities, showing others our wacky sense of “style”… putting ourselves out there is the only way to be true, it is the only way to learn not care about what people think.

***if you would like to receive Swoons via email please hit the subscribe link at the bottom right.

I Love Snow Days

I grew up in Queens back in the days where NYC public schools did not close for snow. We had a blizzard in 6th grade I think, it was 1978ish. Bussed in kids were stranded at the school for a while but they finally got on the busses to go home around midnight. Privileged kids who did not have an hour commute walked home, hoping for a coveted snow day…which we got. My friend Michelle and I built igloos until our hands were numb then watched the tiny black and white tv in the breakfast room. Warming our insides with mom’s homemade chocolate chip cookies and hot chocolate made from hot water and Nestle Quick…those nasty clumps never fully dissolving.

I Love Snow Days: My Kids in Elementary School Edition. As a serial class parent back in the olden days before cellphones, e-blasts, or technology…we had a phone chain. Class parents would get a crack of dawn call, then we had the task of calling every child in the class…at 5am. This was either met with something like oh thank you have a great day or do you know what time it is, why are you calling me so early? Volunteering is fun. Then it was on to a day filled with shoveling, snow goodness, laying out wet clothes to dry on the ancient radiators, tv, homemade cookies, and games. So delicious.

I Love Snow Days: My Kids in High School Edition. Play props. Snow days were for play props. Making cotton candy for a scene at a fair from pink cotton balls, fake pies, swords, dumbbells, a boars tooth bracelet, human size cutlery costumes for dancing forks, knives, and spoons… it was joyous. Our house an explosion of cardboard, foam, glue, and Mod Podge. Kids sleeping in until they were sent out to shovel…rewarded with the mandatory homemade chocolate chips on their return. Music blaring, the smell of the glue gun…heaven on earth.

I Love Snow Days: Current Situation Edition. I got up early and shoveled, round one. The sound and smell of snow falling make my brain happy. Then I worked a bit. When the phone went quiet around noon, I decided to start a project, making 100-120 handmade paper flowers for my son’s upcoming wedding. Crepe paper from Italy awaiting… it was a good day to get started. To many this may sound like a living hell, to me it means hours of joy. Blisters from cutting cardboard, burns from the glue gun…badges of honor. Creating a production line of circle bases, crepe paper cut to size, and a punch list of needs…it’s this girl’s dream. Doing all this while anticipating the joy of producing the flowers in their chosen palette…that screams their beautiful vision…an honor. Art school did them well. Today, instead of making props that my son would hold on stage, I will start creating props for one of the most amazing days of his life. I am thrilled they trust me to do it.

Oh, and at noon, my mom asked me if we had any cookies…so I took the homemade dough from the freezer and made some chocolate chips for her…just as she used to do for me.

I love snow days.

Note… if you want to subscribe and get swoons directly in your inbox please hit the subscribe button below on the bottom right. Thanks.

Good Morning 2024

My swooning account just came up for renewal… and I contemplated putting it to rest. Why keep it when I have not blogged, posted, written in over a year?

The truth is, swooning became a chore, one more thing on my to do list. It became social pressure, people asking when my next post would be. It became embarrassing, as much as I am an open book, I am actually a pretty introverted person. It felt a little weird that people in the supermarket knew who I was. The icing on the cake was when it became difficult to post to social media, in the end…technology difficulties killed swooning.

My business is crazy super slow in January. I organize and put away the previous Christmas; I get the upcoming next few months of birthday madness in order; I do the taxes; I worry that I will never work again; I clean my studio; I happily organize and coordinate an upcoming wedding for my son and his spectacular fiance; and this year, this year I will begin swooning again… but this year, I will do it for me….no pressure, no looking at stats, no worries if technology gets in the way. I will write to write and if anyone sees my posts I hope you enjoy…or feel seen…or not so alone.

Happy 2024. May it be a year where we all work on treating ourselves well.

Gifts…2022 edition

The season of giving is here and it has been a unique one for me. Our family has decided to cut way back, we really need nothing. A few token gifts, no overstuffed stockings, just small reminders that we see and love each other.

When not spending time purchasing stuff, ones head becomes more clear. I have been noticing other kinds of gifts, the kind that cost nothing.

The choir singing holiday favorites. Awaiting the last stanza where all the harmonies intensify and my favorite soprano belts it out so loud the heavens can hear. I never sing the last line of a hymn at a Christmas service. I listen and let the music fill my soul.

Articles that somehow appear in magazines or my feeds with exactly the guidance, recipes, or information I need. Some people might call it data mining. I call it the much needed gift of magic.

Watching my kids figure out the world and grow. It is hard being a parent. I tend to give and do too much. I tend to do this with everyone, not just my kids but that is a different swoon. Listening and laughing with my daughter as she reads me articles on bettering ourselves. Baking with her for two solid days. Walking into two sparkling bathrooms that she just cleaned. Reading about independent projects our son is working on during his off time from his actual job. Having him shop for us and fill our airbnb with goodness. These gifts give me hope that even though I probably did too much for them…they will be just fine on their own.

Friendship…the mutual choice between people to invest in another human. It seems there is always a new medical, family, job, kid, or pet issue to be discussed. A new batch of positive energy needing to be sent out into the universe. The gift of having people who really know you, who are always ready with wise words and strength when needed. We support, we encourage, and we love each other…unconditionally.

Walking my little man to school, red plastic nose strapped on his face, blinking in the rain. Wearing reindeer pajamas…ears, antlers and all. It’s pajama day at school, he has been talking about it for a week. He prances, he sings, and before he walks in the school he asks me… do you love the painting I made for you of mittens?, I reply, I do I do, I love love love my mitten painting so much. He tells me he knew it and there are just two days until Christmas. We have been counting the days since Thanksgiving. He is a gift every day.

On my walk home I listen to the rain and wind instead of a podcast. I look down and I see some love…right there on the sidewalk. I choose to see it as a sign from the universe that with less noise and stuff…there is more room to love ourselves. Loving ourselves is the most important gift, it gives us the clarity to love others.

Happy Holidays. Wishing you all peace.

Thankful Series…Rain Room

I was looking for a picture last night. Scrolling. Scrolling. Scrolling. BOOM. There it was…not the picture I was looking for…but this one. Rain Room at the MOMA. We got on the standby line at 5am. Manhattan at 5am on a Saturday is something. Sitting on the pocket park wall, we were with other people choosing to forgo sleep in order to walk through an interactive art experience…and others who were still trying to sleep…we had invaded their concrete bedroom.

We waited and ate our breakfast, we napped, we complained. Two teenagers, both a bit skeptical at the need to wake up at 4am on a Saturday for some awesome art, they were a bit crabby to say the least. A little after 8am the line started to move and we entered the huge mysterious black box on 54th street.

We waited and watched…and when it was our turn we stepped slowly onto the platform. We saw that others before us were not getting soaked, but our minds were not convinced. We were standing in a rainstorm, dry as a bone. The droplets danced in the light and pounded the floor. We moved our arms and legs twisting and turning trying to catch some rain, it evaded us. We could see it, hear it, but not feel it. It was 5 minutes of magic.

As we left the room my son grabbed my hand. Mom, thanks for making us get up. That was amazing. Who knows if experiences like this led him to major in interactive art in college.

I am thankful for the ability to scroll through memories. I am thankful I had kids who would wake up for my nutty adventures. I am thankful for the brilliance of Rain Room.

Thankful Series…Greg

It was time, we got a reminder that we had to clean out my husbands art room. A room nobody had stepped since March 2020. The art projects were still on the shelves…the 3:30 class was working on creating alphabet cards, the 5:30 class was doing sculptures. There were pencils on the floor and sign up sheets for Summer 2020 camps. It was a time capsule. It was before.

We were supposed to clean out the room this past summer, but things happen and stuff gets put off. Someone else needs the space so…it’s time. Anyone want some watercolors? Pencils? Scissors. We have enough for a small army of artists. 10 bags of garbage, 3 boxes of newspapers, bins of dried out paints. At least a carload of supplies still to come home and be given away or go to the High School. Watching my husband going through the artwork left behind, I tear up. The end of an era. Greg taught so many kids in his afterschool classes. Kids who needed a creative outlet that was not too structured, that was not about the end result. He taught the misfits, the quirky ones, the ones who could only concentrate while doodling, the ones with so much talent it could not be contained, the ones with little talent but a need to be around creative souls.

Sigh.

For almost two decades while Greg taught art…Jacob, Olivia, and I worked behind the scenes…true artists need their assistants…we baked and shopped for the openings, we labeled art, we helped set up and we sorted and cleaned up after openings. A family affair that usually ended at the diner for some comfort food, nothing is better when truly exhausted.

Yesterday afternoon, as we emptied the room we were quiet. We respected the process of mourning the end of an era while doing what needed to get done. We threw the last bags into the dumpster, we closed the lights, we picked up Olivia and my mom… and we drove to the diner, where we toasted Greg and his many years of teaching after school classes.

I am thankful for my husband, there is nothing sexier than a man who can make a room full of kids laugh, and create, and feel good about themselves. I am thankful to live in a community that celebrates the arts. I am thankful for the safe, warm, welcoming space our church allowed us to call home for his classes for so many years.

I am thankful.

Wrinkles and All

I am thankful for being comfortable to share this picture.

My gray, wrinkles, and the bags under my eyes. This picture isn’t about how I look, but how I feel when with my little morning charge. Sometimes he is a whirling dervish so we dance and battle with our fake swords…other times he feels a little tired so we just cuddle. We adore each other just the way we are.

Aging is a beautiful thing. I’m 56. I’m a bit round. I’m gray (for the moment). My skin has seen firmer days. I’m me. I feel more comfortable today than I did at 24. Age makes us wise to what is important. This picture highlights my battle scars of hard work, deep feels, and lots of big smiles. As friends struggle with illness and others pass away, it reminds me how lucky I am…wrinkles and all.

Thankful Series 2022

Oh dear swooners it’s been a bit… but November is here and so I must do my yearly thankful series, a nice way to get back into swooning.

Today I am thankful for Halloween. The ability to be who you want to be, dress the way you want to dress, explore options…hopefully without judgement. When everyone is a kid, and it’s ok. When creative, think out of the box people are celebrated and respected for their homemade brilliance. Sigh swoon sigh, when mini snickers are in abundance. Happy November. I hope you had a nice Halloween where you remembered goodness from your childhood and created new memories…and had a few treats. I am thankful.