Humble Pie: Swoon 21

There is a great family here in town, three kids, involved parents, all things good. The two older kids are amazing and oh so easy… the little one is squirrelly… a button pusher. His mom calls him her “humble pie”, he reminds her that parenting is a mix of personalities, and no parent does it all right. One day he was egging on his older sibling, his mom said, “please stop, if you don’t there will be consequences”, looking her right in the eye, he replied, “I EAT consequences for breakfast”. Humble Pie.

I ate some humble pie this weekend. It seems my kids are following in the footsteps of me and my siblings when it comes to pointing out the things their parents did poorly.

Backstory… One evening in the early 90s my siblings, our significant others, and I, sat around the Fire Island dinner table joking about all of the injustices we endured as children. My mom sat quietly listening, she was devastated, and rightly so, we were being brats. I have been expecting the laundry list of injustices from my children since that night. I just got one.

Anyone who knows me knows I love to throw parties… especially parties for kids. There were dinosaur digs, magicians, live animals, poker nights, teeny tiny and wacky parties. There were make your own marshmallow gun, dance, and art through the decades parties. Goodie bags, treasure hunts, thirty kids, it was insanely fun. We weren’t those decent and aware parents that said “no gifts”… bring on the gifts. What is more fun than unwrapping thirty gifts the day after your party? The actual birthday, that was calmer, waking up to a muffin with a candle, cards, and a few token gifts… then a pick of what every you want for dinner… and cake of course. Birthdays… swoon.

Yesterday while discussing weekend plans I asked my son if he was excited for his birthday. “I am not so into birthdays, too much attention, I always feel bad I can’t talk to everyone, I would rather it be just another day.” Which lead to discussion of childhood birthday parties “When was a kid I didn’t love my birthday.” Ummmmm what? Why? “Because of that time when we were in NYC and Olivia and I were fighting and we came home and you threw my cake in the toilet” Ummmmm are you insane, we lived in NYC when you were 2, why would I throw cake in the toilet and why were you fighting with a newborn? “No, not then, when I was like 8 and we went to a video game place in the city and we were fighting, so we left, and when we got home you put my cake on the toilet while I was taking a bath and said I was being a brat.” Ohhhhhh yup, I probably did that. So that is why you hated birthdays? “Yes, and because I never was allowed to win at the games at my parties, I could win but never could have the prizes, no other parents had that rule.” Ummm I stand by that, you were getting like 30 gifts you did not need a prize too.

So that was it… all these years of birthday parties and that is what he remembers. (I am being very dramatic and silly, we laughed about this and he did agree his parties were wonderful… but these were two sticking points). I have often said how sorry I am for my children, they had pretty normal childhoods. Unlike others, they will not be writing Running with Scissors or Educated, thankfully they do not have enough material.

As parents we do the best we can, we screw up, we are confronted with our mistakes, and we get very good at eating humble pie.

Full House: Swoon 20

I love me a good full house. Holidays, birthdays, high school plays, “kids” home from their new lives… all good reasons for a full house.

Today the troops arrive from CA for many occasions… a play in Manhattan featuring Ella’s sister-in-law, the HS play and reunion of friends, a few birthday celebrations… yum.

“Mom… can x come for dinner, is it ok if x stays over for a few nights, are we still having the HS play opening night party?” “Mom… do we have extra tickets for the play, can I invite people” (a silly question, of course we have extra tickets… I bought Purell sanitizer when there were shelves of sanitizer).

My mom just asked “Kat, what is going on?”

Oh my gosh, my poor mom. I have been whirling dervish (Armenian version) the last few days. Grocery stores at 8:15 am. Boxes of wine and bourbon. Cleaning, straightening out, phone calls, laundry, two full refrigerators, getting rooms made up, planning for plays, parties, celebrations with family and friends… swoon.

I love me a full house. Breakfast buffet every morning… everyone in pjs, morning hugs and loves in the kitchen. Sit down dinners, games, laughs, cuddles. Staying up late, feeling old but refusing to go to bed. Oh my gosh, I love it. The mess, the abundance of very large shoes all over, the waiting in line for the bathroom, the dishwasher running numerous times a day. The excessive everything. The noise. Bliss.

It will be over so unfairly fast. I will pick them up at the airport… and before I can blink I will be driving them back to the airport. Home. Quiet. Peaceful. Bliss.

10 Things: Swoon 19

I have posted this on “the social media sight that shall not be named because they are annoying me” before… but after reading a some articles about the subject and having a few interactions with people of a certain age, here we go again.

Back in the day, when kids walked uphill both ways to school rain or shine, only got toys on our birthday and Christmas, and new clothes were purchased for need not want… young people worked super hard (even if they did not love their job), showed up on time (even if they partied the night before), and did everything humanly possible to become self sufficient (and no longer rely on parents). If you asked a young person to do something… they did it. My boss did not have to ask me to do the same thing twice. I crossed my boss once, she told me she spent the weekend deciding if she should fire me… I never crossed her again. It was a great lesson.

I know many young people who are working their butts off, are self sufficient, make eye contact, answer emails and texts…and follow through.

To the peeps that identify with the paragraph above… swoon… you rock. To any peeps not identifying with the paragraph above here is a plan. Wake up early. Make a list of what you want to accomplish each day. Do what you have to do before you do what you want to do. Exercise and treat your body right. Growth is made by having connections. Get out of the house.

My son’s science teacher gave him some advice in 5th grade. Jacob had hidden a test under his bed… thinking he could wish it away. If he had fixed the wrong answers and brought it back signed he would have ended up with a pretty decent grade. Because he shoved it under the rug (or bed in his case) he lost more points every day, he was down to about a 50 when the teacher called us in. His advice to Jacob, “When you dig yourself into a hole you have two options, you can either climb out and get a little dirty, or you can keep digging, if you keep digging it just makes it harder and harder and harder to get out. Jacob, STOP DIGGING.“

Dear 20-30 somethings… read the image below every morning, roll up your sleeves, and make yourself a great life. You will be happy you did.

Blessings: Swoon 18

Do you ever get nervous after thinking “hmmm everything seems to be going well at the moment”… I do because every time I think wow, this is great…something crashes.

The other day I thought to myself go you… you have been posting swoons daily and people seem to be responding…thank goodness for FB because that is how everyone finds the new swoons.

Facebook cut me off this morning. Someone reported a swoon as “against community standards” which seemed to red flag my page of swooning posts… and now they are gone. 😦

So after many questions to FB, much advice from friends, and a really nice guy at WordPress I am hoping I jumped through enough hoops that my FB swooning family sees this, and if they do I promise to never think a happy thought again 🙂

If you can’t see this through FB but are visiting this page, please enjoy this piece of art. It explains exactly how I feel about the social media police. I figure if glitter and hope are bad, maybe this route is good? Hand sewn and collaged by the fabulous Ella Ritts who can be found at https://ellarittsart.com She is brilliant and most of her work is very different from this little bit of snark. That is not a happy thought… it is a fact.

Goodbye Glitter: Swoon 17

I just cleaned my studio… goodbye glitter, glue, and iridescent fabric…another play season is over.

Being a graphic designer used to mean using your hands… it was active, it was dirty. The smell of the waxer was comfort. What is a waxer, well, in the olden days (like 1985) there were really no computers in graphic design. We created mechanical boards for every job… every page in a book, every poster, every business card. Those mechanicals were then sent to the printer with intricate instructions on tracing paper, the blueprints of the design. Text typeset by an outside company would be delivered via messenger every morning. The type would be put through the waxer (to make it sticky yet repositionable), cut out, and adhered to the boards… paste up. Every folio, headline, photo box, graphic element, and all of the text was put on the board by hand. Straight, clean, crisp. It was an art form. It was tedious. It was rewarding. It meant using your hands for precision work all day. Swoon.

Computers changed all that. There was no longer work to be done by hand… it was typing, using the mouse, eye strain, and carpal tunnel, oh good.

I needed a new outlet, and soon I fell in love. Plays. My first experience was creating a strongman costume for my son’s Kindergarten play. The plan was to to make “muscles” by strategically gluing the feathers from an old pillowcase between two shirts. What was I thinking? Glue. Feathers. Wind. My back yard looked like a poultry truck had exploded. A great learning experience… from then on I would go for the easy, think about materials, play out how it would all work out ahead of time. No glue, wind, and feathers combo ever again.

20 years later, I have made props, costumes, and sets for more plays than I can name. At the end of a run I happily clean up the materials and take a break from looking like a cheap stripper covered in glitter.

It only takes a short time before I miss being covered with glue. I miss smells. The computer doesn’t smell. The computer has no texture. I miss feeling my work… until in a blink, there is a new play, there is a new list of things to make, I start burning off my fingertips with hot glue, and once again… I am in hands on heaven.

Hope: Swoon 16

The other morning I woke up super early…it was going to be an old school crazy day, a Survivor application video day… the internet was out (meaning a lengthy Verizon call), I was walking two kids to the elementary school (one 7:45 drop, one 8:15 drop), I was helping hang seaweed for the HS play at 10, at 3:30 three huge jellyfish costumes had to get to the HS, I was preparing and delivering dinner to church for their tv production crew (for an online show called connect.faith which is brilliant and all things good). I work full time… and I was hoping to spend the evening doing the taxes (quite the wild woman).

I went to feed the cats and noticed the basement floor was very dark… it was dark because it was VERY wet. The hot water heater had sprung leaks in every direction, a wacky sitcom situation at hand. Greg came down and we started cleaning, and yelling at each other, and cleaning. As this lovely married couple insanity was going on my little morning charge showed up for his walk to school. Thankfully his mom is the most aware human ever, she said, “good luck, I can take him today, bye”. I love hyper aware people.

Cleaning continued until my phone alarm went off again, time to walk my little bit neighbor to school for Greek Day.

Walking other peoples kids to school is awesome. They are not mine so I have the patience of a saint, I listen, I don’t have a clue if their backpack has the necessary items, there have been no arguments about brushing teeth, we chat and have a blast. If I could only be as kind to my own children… Jacob and Olivia I apologize for being your mother and not your next door neighbor or babysitter.

Anyway, this little bit was so excited about Greek Day. I asked her what it was all about… “well, Greeks are old ancient people, they wear all white under their togas so I am wearing all white, I need to get there early to get the rest of my clothes, I don’t just wear the white underthings. We will go from room to room doing activities. My favorite activity is our play. I am so excited. We have parts. We raised our hand to get our parts, first I got something else but then my friend switched with me, she might not be there because she has her sisters play, she has so many sisters, and I am so happy with my part.”
I ask her what part she is playing.

“I am HOPE. Hope is important.”

And with that little statement I knew the internet would be back, the hot water heater replaced, seaweed hung, food served, jellyfish delivered, and life was just a beautiful thing.

Hope is so important. Have a great day.

Chess, life, and pie: Swoon 15

We needed some baked treats for a mini college reunion/poker night. The dog needed to go out. The Kat needed her coffee. So we took a walk… and I learned a life lesson.

Our local bakery is owned by the most remarkable young man, his name is Q. At around 25 he opened his own shop and between his delicious baked goods, beyond insane work ethic, and over the top beautiful personality he has made it work. He puts in crazy hours yet still has time to coach local basketball teams and remember everybody’s name.

Somehow Q heard that my husband liked chess, or maybe he just thought my husband looked like a guy who like to play chess. One day Q popped out of the bakery and asked Greg if he would ever like to stop in for game. Of course he would, but life is busy and this has not happened… yet.

Today, while Q packed up our treats he told me his philosophy on chess…
“It is like life, you know? I am the king of my life, I need to treat my people well. I need to make decisions to keep my brain active. I need to think and solve problems.”
I was right with him… hmmmm, maybe I am a chess person.
“With chess, you can not act on emotions, do you play chess?”
I crack up laughing and say nooooooooo… and that is exactly why.

My emotions can get the best of me… maybe I need to take up chess. Maybe Q should have his own blog. So smart, talented, and wise at such a young age.

Junk Drawers: Swoon 15

Our breakfast room was the pantry in the old days (when people had help and dedicated pantry rooms). Ceiling high shelves for the china, drawers and drawers for the silver. A small room to prep food before serving it in the formal dining room. We used the pantry in our home as our… eating room, craft room, game room, tv room… you know, the great room off the kitchen… except it was like 6×9.

The shelves housed my grandma’s china and glassware. She had many china patterns… Thanksgiving, 25th wedding anniversary, everyday florals… you name it. There were glasses of every size and shape, I have no idea how they had time to use all of these glasses, they lived in a walk up apartment in Queens. Anyway, the drawers held our stuff. One was for checkbooks and dad things, one was for everyday junk (paper clips, pens, white out, rubber bands, penny rolls), another was for school papers and keepsakes, one for glitter, sharpies (when they only came in black and red), gift wrapping supplies and the “good” scissors… and then each of us kids had our OWN drawers. There was sibling drawer etiquette, one did NOT go in other peoples drawers. I sooo wanted to go in my older sisters drawer but something just kept me from doing it, probably the fact that someone was always in that room. If we were ever missing something, a book, a barbie shoe, a birthday card with a 5 dollar bill… we could bet that mom put it in our drawer because “things can’t be lying around the house forever”… it all went in your drawer.

After school we would have a snack in the breakfast room… picking out the marshmallow bits from cereal, cookies, fruit, while watching the tiny back and white tv balanced on the step stool in the corner. I Dream of Jeannie, Gilligan’s Island, The Brady Bunch… the classics. Then some homework, games, dinner, and maybe more tv. The World Book Encyclopedias were there (I knew my parents must be rich, we owned encyclopedias), and those drawers of stuff that had anything you might need, just waiting for the next project.

There were many rainy days when the entertainment was going through those drawers… finding old stamps, Horn & Hardart pins (from when my great aunt Carrie worked there), pencils from my grandparents liquor store, little self promo calendars from the 40s that had thermometers on them, pipe cleaners in a tin (literal pipe cleaners, not the glittery ones), rubber cement (did you ever take rubber cement and smear on the table then light on fire and watch burn, sigh, or coat your hands with it and peel it off to see your hand and fingerprints)…sigh…it was the 70s, we made our own fun.

We don’t have a junk drawer, we kind of have a junk house. We have stuff all over. Antique reminders of life from the 50s are everywhere, you can find a lipstick or paper clip in every single room. Our kitchen counter is a catch all… I guess that is the closest we come to a junk drawer. I imagine a little kid would find this pile of randomness just as magical. Stuff just sitting around waiting for someone to need it.

I like banter. I like connections. I like making grumpy old men show their soft side and gruff ladies smile and over share. I take it as a challenge. My family watches the show, giving me a “good job mom” when they see me break an exceptionally less than pleasant person. Fun!

I was not always like this… in fact I spent my teen years assuming that adults in the neighborhood did not know who I was. Forgetting that I have looked the same since the age of three… and that boobs do not change a person beyond recognition… it seemed easier to avoid interaction than to have to explain who I was. A bizarre period of time.

My posts tend to lead to a fair amount of private messages…
• “What’s wrong, why were you at the doctor”: nothing is wrong, yearly breast ultrasound and mammogram, and colonoscopy, it’s all good, thank you.

• Masks don’t help keep you safe from covid-19: correct, but they help you not spread it to your loved ones if you get sick.

• “You were not shy or invisible when you were younger”: Who I put forth to the world in my younger years was not who I was inside. Young people are tender and weird and usually have much less confidence than they project.

Anyway, this entry is really a long drawn out way to thank my dear friend Lisette. We lived together in Manhattan right after college (as pictured below). It was Lisette who broke my protective shell and taught me how to have fun and engage with people. She would explode into a store… saying hi to the security guard, telling someone the shirt they were looking at would go great with their eyes, dancing and singing to the music playing, make twelve friends on the checkout line ending up with plans to rollerblade dance in Central Park with them the next day, and last but not least saying “hi, how is your day going” to the cashier and then actually listen to their answers…finishing off with a “well I hope it continues” or “I hope it gets better”, and every single cashier ended up with smile on their face. Magic.

Lisette’s ability to go out of her way to be joyous is infectious, and when I am able to get a stranger to smile, I think of her. We could change the world if we all did this… we could create a pandemic of smiles. Swoon.

I like to prepare. My first blog idea, many moons ago, was going to be called Organizing Christmas… all about planning ahead so that when the big event arrived, you could just enjoy it. I had two kids, two cats, a business, and I over volunteered, I did not need a blog.

After 9/11 New Yorkers were scared, there was an inner battle of they are not going to affect my day to day living, and I must prepare and protect my family at all costs. I prepared. Remember those pills in case of a nuclear attack? I can not even remember what they did. We had 5 to start, 1 for each of us and 1 for Simone, our nanny. I mean how embarrassing would it have been if she was at the house and I did not have a pill for her. Then I realized I needed more. What if people were visiting when it happened, so awkward. I think I ended up with ten pills. Ridiculous. I also had water, duct tape, and rolls of plastic. All put to good use over time, thankfully not for the use they were purchased for.

The “wow, now that is prepared award” went to a friend who had tickets to a Broadway show soon after 9/11. She made each person in her family wear a fannypack she created with emergency supplies (flashlight, whistle, water, granola bar)… just in case. Now that is hardcore.

After showing up 30 minutes early to the DMV for my enhanced drivers license (with a prescheduled appointment, five more forms of ID than needed, and extra pens) I saw a news brief on the tv. The WHO and CDC have stated that it is not if the coronavirus covid-19 comes to the US, it is when. Since my appointment took only 10 minutes… I had an hour and 50 minutes before I needed to be back in the office. Joy oh joy… shopping. We now own face masks (yes, I know they are not perfect), crazy amounts of toilet paper, bulk cat food, bleach, hand sanitizer, immune vitamins, bleach wipes, gloves, laundry detergent, and food to prep and fill the freezer. Quarantines? We got this. With one “kid” now living in LA, I have two houses to prepare, so Amazon will deliver their goods by the weekend.

Given this is the first pandemic with our family, I assumed Jacob’s girlfriend might reply to the “watch for these packages” text with confusion. What? You are sending WHAT?

She wrote…
“Thank you so much! I love catastrophizing, Jacob is especially good at it.”

Could the acceptance of my crazy get any better? Well, yes. Olivia burst into the car after work saying she had a present for me…it was 67.6 ounces of hand sanitizer.

And with that, my parenting is done… at least for the moment.

*** in all seriousness, wash your hands, stay home if sick, and be well.