Another Embarrassing Moment, Another Crush
I was in law school. In other words, I was grown ass woman. Indeed, I was a married woman. But there was one law professor who had most of the women swooning. I’ll call him Professor Silverstein. His area of expertise was criminal law. I had no real interest in criminal law at the time, yet I took extra classes in criminal procedure. So if you ever get arrested, call me. Or more importantly, ask to call me . . . it will preserve your rights and the cops have to leave you alone . . . but I digress.
George Clooney
Professor Silverstein was of medium height, well, that’s being generous, I think he was kinda short. He was older, of course, had salt and pepper hair parted on the side. It was always a little long and he often ran his hand through it to push it off his face. (I really wanted to do that for him.) He had a slim build and occasionally looked like he could use a shave. He had just a perfect smile, kind of like a George Clooney smile. Now of course Professor Silverstein was not as Hollywood attractive as George Clooney — c’mon, this is real life — but he had that Hollywood smile. Yes, yes, he did. Wait, what? I guess got distracted. Anyway, and he was so, so smart. Smart is sexy, very sexy. And he was funny. The whole class would be cracking up over the Fourth Amendment. If you’ve read the Fourth Amendment, you know that it isn’t funny at all. It’s all about searches and seizures and probable cause and such — but Professor Silverstein made it so freaking entertaining. Did I mention he had a sexy voice, too? Smooth, confident, but I digress . . . again. Anyway, Monday, Wednesday and Friday was like a trip to a strip bar. We could look, riveted, but we could not touch. The Professor was out of reach.
Sigh.
I sat front and center. My Law School Crush was on one side and my Law Professor Crush was directly in front of me. No wonder I was such a good student. Professor Silverstein taught in a relaxed socratic method, but not in a mean way. No, he was pleasant and cordial. People, well, women, we all wanted him to call on us, just so that he would say our names. I loved the way he said my name. Consequently, I was always prepared for class. Always.
Call on me, baby, call on me.
One day after his class a friend and I were walking together. We were being just plain silly. Having recently discovered that we shared the same crush on Professor Silverstein we would often discuss important issues after class like,
“Did you see him smiling today? He was so sexy. He is so cute.“
I’m not sure why my friend and I were upstairs near the offices, we must have had something administrative to take care of, but we walked the faculty halls giggling like teen girls talking about how cute we thought Professor Silverstein was.
Me: “Did you see him today?”
My Friend: “Oh my God, he’s so sexy.”
Me: “He said my name, did you hear it?”
My Friend: “Oh my God, you’re sooooo lucky . . . . ”
Grown women, acting like kids. We were just being over-the-top silly, messing around. Law School can be so serious, got lighten it up some, right?
Hanging on each others’ arms and still giggling, we rounded the corner and something caught our eyes.
We turned together and . . . wait for it . . . wait for it . . .
There he was, that man with that smile, that Professor of Criminal Law, the man we had been ogling over and giggling about . . . and who had apparently been walking behind us for the entire length of the hallway leading to his office. Yup, yup. We didn’t notice because we were too busy giggling about how cute and sexy he is. And there he was, smiling . . . at us.
It was a double deer in headlights situation.
“Helloooo Ladies!” he said, like he was some mac daddy in a bar.
“Hi!” We replied in unison, with voices much too high for grown women in law school.
He kept smiling as he entered his office. He may have chuckled.
My friend and I just stood there, eyes wide, “OH MY GOD!!!!” — except we were whispering this time.
Just Me With . . . a crush on my professor and outted as a silly girl — thank God for anonymous grading.
If Shirley Partridge Had Been Divorced
The Partridge Family Band
Thanks to “Lipstick & Playdates” for –A Tribute To Shirley Partridge: The Coolest Single Mom Of All Time — for the great post. I started a comment, got a notification on my iPhone and couldn’t find it again. So I wrote a little post.
Mrs. Partridge
I completely agree, Shirley Partridge was the coolest single mom. But, had Shirley Partridge been a current day divorced single mom rather than a widow it would have been completely different.
There’s simply no way she could fit rehearsals and gigs in around the kids’ school work and visitations with Daddy. No way.
” You want us for a great gig next month? Oh sorry, no, the kids have to visit their father that day, any other dates? I can see if I can switch. Can I get back to you? No? “
Mr. Partridge would have the final say-so. If he won’t switch dates, no gig. Gotta work around “the schedule.”
And what about that cool bus? Painting that bus would surely have been used as evidence against Shirley, calling into question her sanity and her parenting ability.
I can see it now:
Lawyer: Mrs. Partridge, how do you and the children expect to travel to these, what do you call them?
Mrs. Partridge: Gigs.
Lawyer: Gigs? Ah, yes, gigs. And again, how do you suppose to arrive at the destination of these gigs.
Mrs. Partridge: By bus.
Lawyer: (Holds up picture of bus) Is this the bus? 
Mrs. Partridge: Yes.
Lawyer: How did it come to look like this?
Mrs. Partridge: The kids painted it. 
Lawyer: The children painted an old bus. No further questions . . . except . . . Tell me, does Danny play football?
Mrs. Partridge: What? No. Have you seen Danny? No. He has no interest. Plus, the other kids would probably kill him or he’d convince them to kill each other.
Lawyer’s Summation:
Mrs. Partridge’s family time consists of children either spending countless hours in the garage playing rock music or riding for hours on a psychedelic bus going who knows where to be put on display . . .
And consider this young boy, Danny — instead of playing football or soccer as young boys should, he’s painting buses and playing bass in a “family” rock band. It seems that a lack of male influence is having an unfortunate effect on this boy.
Then there is a “Manager” — music business executive — a man — seen coming and going from the house at all hours, and spending time alone with the children, including a teenaged girl.
This is no kind of family life to model for these impressionable minds. Clearly, Mr. Partridge is within his rights to prohibit his children from performing in this “band” and disallow any changes in the visitation schedule to accomodate such a pursuit. Such rehearsals and performances should not interfere with the time the children are scheduled to spend with Mr. Partridge and his second wife and growing family.
Mr. Partridge is making a family. Mrs. Partridge is making a band.
Ouch.
No, no, no. Had Shirley been going through a divorce she would have been forced into the traditional suburban housewife role. Ironic, isn’t it? She’d probably have to take a low paying but steady, boring job, pay other people to give the children music lessons and present them, like clockwork and with a smile, to the court devised visits with their father. There would simply be no time for a band. Time can be divided upon divorce, but not created. And interests that may have been supported within a marriage, can become a battleground after. Yup, Mrs. Partridge would pretty much have to walk the straight and narrow and live by schedules forced upon her by somebody else’s system — somebody who has never even thought about playing in a band.
Yeah, I’m guessing divorced Shirley girl would always have open bottle of Xanax or Vodka nearby. That’s much more acceptable to most: misery and medication — over music.
Just Me With . . . no band, no bus, and a drum kit collecting dust in my basement.
Bitter in Suburbia.
An Argument Against the Open Floor Plan
Taking down the wall . . .
On every home makeover show, every real estate show, they talk about how everyone loves the open floor plan. It’s the new black. Homeowners are forever busting through walls to open the kitchen to the family room and eliminating the dining room altogether.
There are two main reasons why the open floor plan is so so popular:
1. It is great for entertaining. People always end up in the kitchen anyway, right? This allows the cook to be in the kitchen puttering around and interact with guests.
2. It is great for parents of young children. It allows the parent to be in the kitchen and still keep an eye on the little ones in the family room. No more baby in a playpen or high chair in the kitchen while you make dinner.
Do you see the theme?
“STAY IN THE KITCHEN!“
The open floor plan negates any reason to actually leave the kitchen.
But there is a third reason: knocking out walls creates space, or at least an illusion of space within the same square footage.
When you think about it, the open floor plan has been common in apartments for years. Walk into an apartment and you can see everything except the bedroom. It was supposed to be a move up for an apartment dweller to buy a house and actually have separate rooms. This new open floor plan trend has essentially turned high-end palace homes into nothing but super-sized apartments, with a second floor.
Monica and Rachel’s Apartment in Friends
For those of you who don’t have the open floor plan, before you take out all the walls in your house, and before you feel badly because you have a wall that you can’t take down, consider this:
1. Your children won’t be toddlers forever.
Children tend to grow. And there will come a time where you don’t want to and don’t have to watch every move they make.
2. Yes, you can see your toddlers, but your toddlers can see you, too.
My husband and I used to go into the laundry room to shove a snack into our faces so that the babies wouldn’t see and start wailing for some. Sometimes, I’d drop down behind the island like I’d heard sudden gunfire in order to have a cookie.
3. You can see your school-age, tween and teen kids, but they can see you, too.
With an open floor plan, you can forget coming down to sneak a snack over the counter in your jammies late at night, or reading the paper at the kitchen counter/table in the morning before your shower. There’s nothing like hearing, “Hi. Mrs. Peterson!” when you’re bra-less in a vintage tee and boxers drinking coffee in your kitchen. And if you dare talk on the phone while cooking or cleaning, you will be shushed by someone — or perhaps worse, a child will be listening in on every word. And it is a truism, a simple fact of life, that as kids grow, parents spend a fair amount of time hiding from them. The open floor plan is antithetical to the natural course of child-rearing in this respect.
4. Your kitchen must always be spotless . . .
There’s no door to close. When unexpected guests pop in — yours or your children’s — and you haven’t unloaded and reloaded your dishwasher — everyone can see it. Suddenly you’re a slob. The rest of your house could be spotless, but under these floor plans, no one ever sees the rest of your house.
5. Your family (TV) room includes a kitchen– a noisy, smelly kitchen.
Imagine sitting down in a darkened room, ready to watch a great emotional or talky movie and — oh hello, there’s your kid or spouse or whatever, in the kitchen, talking on the phone, repeatedly opening the fridge, making bacon, arguing with someone. Go ahead and click pause, because you can’t hear whatever George Clooney is saying, not that you need to . . . . but I digress. Your quiet moment has been ruined.
6. Children’s Programming/Teen programming/Sports/News — Anything you don’t want to watch at any given time.
Your little kid is watching Dora. Again, and again, and again. You can’t get away from it. iCarly? I get it, but I’ve had enough. People are enjoying the big game, snacking, yelling at the screen, having a good old time. You are wiping the counter after having loaded the dishwasher and setting out food for them. Worse, you can’t even mutter to yourself or roll your eyes at the unfairness of it all, because you are on display.
Essentially, the open floor plan allows you to be in the kitchen and watch — other people watch TV. Humph.
7. “Oh my gosh I dropped the chicken!”
In a perfect world, no one would know. Open floor plan? Well, it’ll be tweeted in minutes.
8. When entertaining, sometimes you need a minute.
The Mary Tyler Moore Show: Guests in the next room are expecting dinner; Mary and Rhoda panic in the kitchen because they have no food.
Your mother-in-law is driving you crazy, your boss is bored, your husband/wife is saying something he/she shouldn’t, you need yet another drink, you just said something really, really stupid. With an open floor plan, THERE’S NO PLACE TO GO!!! I love all the classic TV shows where people could say, “Can I see you in the kitchen” or “I’m going to check on the food,” followed quickly by, “I’ll help you.” (This is all code for “We need to talk.” ) With an open floor plan I guess you have to hide in the bathroom, and that’s just plain icky.
How many times did characters in Frasier run off to the kitchen to plot against some misunderstanding happening in the living room?
One big room is fine, it can even be intimate when you are alone or coupled up. But once there are people of different ages, interests and responsibilities, well let’s just say that all this open living can be downright oppressive.
I speak from experience.
I knocked out a kitchen wall in my old house and built a family room addition. Instead of looking out my kitchen window and seeing trees, I created a view of my family room. I had young children at the time. I fell for the “I can be in the kitchen and see the kids” trap. Well, the children grew, the husband left, and I downsized to a much smaller fixer-upper home.
When it was time to do the kitchen, the contractor asked,
“You gonna knock out this wall?”
I said, “No. I want my wall. I need my wall.”
Truth is, I need some division in my life.
Sometimes I watch a little TV or listen to music while cleaning or cooking. Sometimes I sit at the kitchen table on my laptop or the phone while my kids are in the family room watching something that literally makes me ill. I’ve even been known to channel my inner Beyoncé and dance to my heart’s content in my kitchen. With my wall intact, I can be unseen but close by, and still opt in or out of the children’s entertainment at will.
It’s the little things . . . Sometimes a wall is a good little thing.
Just Me With . . . a divided floor plan and a bit of, well — if not sanity — at least a bit of privacy.
See also:
My Refrigerator Broke. Do I Really New A Fancy New Stainless Steel New One?
Double Sinks in The Master Bath — Must We Have Them? Really?
Piss, Puke, and Porn — my new old house.
Toilet or Kitchen Sink — Who Can Tell?
My Panty Drawer, Your Panty Drawer — My Adventures in Home Staging and Carpet Installation
How to Get Rid of That Hoarder’s Smell
If We Were Honest on Resumes
Simon Cowell used to say it on American Idol, “If I’m being honest . . .” then he would insult the very being of some wannabe pop star.
Sometimes, honesty hurts. Consequently, in decent society (and by decent society I mean not reality TV) we make nice-nice while expressing our opinions of others to avoid causing them emotional injury. Other times we choose not to be honest about ourselves to avoid the appearance of being (gasp) boring. We lie, omit information or engage in puffery (ha! I got the word “puffery” in a post) so that we seem fun and important. It’s expected, really. It’s the secret of success.
I once had a job where I had to screen law school students for professional positions. My best work friend and I used to love reading through their resumes and laughing at the obligatory “Hobbies and Interests” section, you know, that last part of the resume when candidates try to make themselves sound well-rounded and interesting, giving the interviewer something to talk about other than grade point averages. Call me cynical, but I never believed even half of it. My friend and I would sit back with the pile of resumes, go straight to the “Hobbies and Interests” section, and read between the lines to reveal what we thought could be the, well . . . truth.
We had a system:
- Avid sports fan = Watches TV –ESPN, all the time
- Enjoys hiking and exploring the outdoors = Owns a bicycle but not a car, doesn’t shower on weekends
- Crafting, knitting and scrap booking = Lies — and often
- Dancing and spending time with friends = Possibly a slut (probably knows Avid Sports Fan, above– from the bar)
It’s not that there is anything wrong with how people actually pass their time, we just can’t put it on our resumes. So my friend and I amused ourselves by trying to crack the code.
If job candidates were being honest, the hobbies and interest section on resumes would state things like:
- I watch TV from the minute I get home until I go to bed.
- I look for split ends; I hate my hair.
- Electronic stalking.
- Hair removal, ‘nuf said.
- I like to have staring contests with my dog.
- I spy on my neighbors.
- Shopping. I look nice, don’t I?
- I meet strangers in public places, aka — online dating.
- Plus the ever popular, “Social Media” for six hours a day — usually while watching TV or at work. (Readers say, “Amen.” )
If applicants were being honest, maybe they’d omit the “Hobbies and Interests” section entirely (I always did, but I’m a rebel) .
They could simply tell the interviewer:
“I need a job so I’ll have some money to buy equipment for a real hobby but have no time to actually do it.
And wouldn’t it be refreshing if a stellar candidate just said:
“Look, I have a 3.9 GPA. I’m President of every club at school. I study all the time. When I’m not studying or at some meeting, I’m drinking, eating or sleeping. If I’m lucky I do my laundry. My primary interest is maintaining my GPA and getting this job so that I can make a lot of money. Then maybe I’ll buy a boat or something and can put sailing on my resume, but I won’t need a resume then, because I’ll have your job — if I’m being honest.“
For a hilarious example of an honest interviewee, check out the movie “Office Space.”
In Office Space, Peter tells the Bobs:
“Yeah, I just stare at my desk; but it looks like I’m working. I do that for probably another hour after lunch, too. I’d say in a given week I probably only do about fifteen minutes of real, actual, work.”
I love Office Space, but I digress . . .
And by the way, as I write this, I’m not doing a damn thing, . . . except writing this.
Just Me With . . . Hobbies and Interests: I enjoy reading, writing and meeting new people. And by that I mean . . . Twitter. 
What the Heck is My Relationship Status?
This post is inspired by another post on Tango.com where it was noted that this new Google+ site doesn’t have “divorced” as an option for a relationship status. I tend to think that was not an oversight and also probably a good idea.
It led me to ponder something that really bothers me. What should my relationship status be on social networking sites?
Here’s the technical truth: I am not dating anyone, casually or seriously, no one, nada, nothing. BUT, I had been married for many years, had children, and my divorce is final, done, released from the bonds of matrimony, papers signed and stamped. So ordered. That said, what box should I check in the cyber-world, what boxes should there be, what do I say when meeting someone? What exactly is my relationship status?
We all know what “Married” means. I’m not married. Next . . .
Single? The meaning of this word has changed in usage. Some very young people might not even know that traditionally single meant unmarried, period. Didn’t matter if you were in a committed, monogamous, serious relationship or even engaged. If you aren’t married, you are single. Thus, it was a term reserved for adults of marrying age. It wasn’t a relationship status, it was a marital status. Now the word is used to describe one’s availability for new dating/romantic/sexual relationships.
But in this society is a woman allowed to say single if she’s been down the aisle? Ironically, it’s okay to say single all you want if you’ve been around the block many times, or have a string of horrible failed relationships, but once down that aisle, you are forever DIVORCED, according to social networking.
Yet “Divorced” is not really a relationship status at all, really. I mean if I say divorced I am really talking about how one — not even my last — relationship ended. To be fair, if I have to check “Divorced” and constantly reference the end of that relationship, shouldn’t others have to say how their last major relationship ended? For example, there should be boxes for broken engagement, runaway bride, kicked out, restraining order, etc. . . ?
Isn’t “Relationship Status” supposed to be a description — a snapshot of the here and now? Isn’t it just asking whether you already have somebody or if are open to meeting someone? The Facebook dude Mark Zuckerberg created the site while he was in a four-year, private, residential university. No undergrads were married or divorced in his demographic, so the whole marital status thing was completely irrelevant to the original Facebook users, and its concept.
The Social Network
Who can forget that scene in the film “The Social Network” where Zuckerberg has the realization that what was missing from Facebook was the “relationship status” option, and he says,
“This is what drives life in college: Are you having sex or aren’t you? It’s why people take certain classes and sit where they sit and do what they do … that’s what The Facebook is gonna be about.”
Duh. That’s what social networking is about. But again, the category “Divorced” does not give any information about whether I’m having sex or am looking to do so.
But can I check the Single box if I’m divorced?
Do I want to?
Does it negate the fact that I was married? A marriage which yielded children?
Am I selling myself short by checking Single and not acknowledging that I have in the past committed to a relationship (read: gotten someone to marry me)?
Actually, I think this is more of an issue for older men. Women are leery of a man past his mid-thirties who has never married, wondering either what’s wrong with him or assuming he is afraid to commit. Although, I guess a woman benefits from checking Divorced if she wants to sidestep the “Spinster” label or false Lesbian rumor — which is sometimes the unspoken assigned fate or status of an older unmarried woman. Sigh.
Or does Single mean never married? Suggesting someone who is single is somewhat virginal, pure? Well, if it does, let’s just call it that. But I still don’t think that’s the point. And never having walked down the aisle does not mean you’re a virgin. I mean you can tell your mother that, but c’mon folks.
Sex And The City
For “Sex and The City” fans, remember when Miranda, a never married mother, was shopping for her wedding dress and instructs the saleswoman, “I said, no white, no ivory, no nothing that says ‘virgin’. I have a child. The jig is up.” ? Well, I have children. The jig is up. I’m not virgin. I was, however, married before I had them, and my Ex-husband is their father. So according to my mother I should get credit for not having been married, or not being part of the stereotypical baby mama/daddy drama. Okay, but all of that relates to the status of my relationship with my children’s father. It’s not my current relationship status. Must I forever be defined by my relationship with him? humph. I don’t want to stamp my forehead or profile or chest with “Failed Marriage” forever — or until I marry again. That’s just not fair.
The Divorced option shouldn’t even be there. Really, it doesn’t make sense. My Ex-husband is also divorced, obviously. Yet he has remarried. So how can his relationship status be married while mine is divorced? No! No! No! He’s married, I’m single. I mean someone can be divorced or widowed previously and yet currently be in a relationship, engaged, married or completely available. I should be able to wave my naked left hand and do Beyoncé’s Single Ladies dance even though I was once married, just as he has been able to have a wedding and sport a new ring even though he had been married before — and the social networking sites should acknowledge both my new singleness and his new marriage — without reference to our past divorce.
In conversations in real life I prefer to tell people I’m single and then add as part of conversation, yes, I have children, and yes, I’m divorced. For a minute I thought I should create a new status, “Dwingle” — it would acknowledge an earlier marriage (for the children’s sake), but still sounds almost single. But really, the last thing any of us need is another relationship status, another option, another box to check.
I think I’m going to refuse to reference my failed marriage as my calling card. It’ll come up in conversation, but I don’t have to wear it as some sort of a badge or sign. The ring is off. It’s done. I mean there are some “never-marrieds” who have just as much baggage as I do that they don’t have to check (pun intended, get it?).
All in all, Zuckerberg’s initial simplicity, me-thinks, was right, except for the word “single.” I suggest we all use, simply:
In a relationship
Not in a relationship
It’s complicated
As a bonus, these categories work whether one is gay or straight. And, they give an out to the people who have a friend with benefits, but don’t know what to call it. A “Married” option is really redundant, because if married, one is, by definition, in a relationship and therefore it doesn’t need to be there. Jokes abound, though, “Yeah, I’m married, but it’s not a relationship” or “Dude, you’re not in a relationship, you’re married.” So why not just keep the married option? Well, then it raises the whole marriage equality issue and whether the state the gay couple is in permits same sex marriage, or whether there was a civil union, etc. Really none of that matters when the information truly sought is current availability, so why open up the marriage option at all, to anyone? (Answer: Married people would freak if it wasn’t there. Gay or straight, many people want to acknowledge their marriages. Whatever. )
Well, that’s it, that’s all. Either a person is available now or not. The sites don’t have to provide a box for every possible scenario or every past event. We aren’t talking about filling out tax returns, passport applications, or federal background checks here. It’s freakin’ social networking!!! But unfortunately now, a simple, “Not in a relationship” seems never to be an option, and “Divorced” often is. For me? I guess I’m just Single, or Dwingle or damn it Divorced, if you force me to say, or depending on my mood. Geesh.
Just Me With . . . a relationship status.
Still Sleeping On “My Side Of The Bed”
Okay, it’s been years now since he moved out. It’s a different bed. Hell, it’s a different house. And he’s married now, for goodness sake.
So why am I still sleeping on my side of the bed?
It’s amazing how old movies take on such different meanings after that stuff happens to you!
Like the scene in When Harry Met Sally when they discuss their post break up sleeping habits. It went right over my head for years – when I was married. Until my unfortunate (or fortunate) events brought it to the forefront and made it exceedingly relevant.
Harry: Ok, fine. Do you still sleep on the same side of the bed?
Sally: I did for a while but now I’m pretty much using the whole bed.
Harry: God, that’s great. I feel weird when just my leg wanders over. I miss her.
I actually enjoy sleeping alone; I don’t miss sleeping with him. But unlike Sally, I don’t use the whole bed, either.
What is it?
There’s the practical considerations, namely that my phone and alarm clock are on one side. But really that would explain why I get up on that side not my entire sleeping geography.
My ambien is on that side too. Now I’m talking. Once ingested I tend to sleep in whatever position I was in when I took a sleep aid. I realized this fact when I woke up very sore two weeks ago, in the same position I lay my head down in.
But I don’t take a sleep aid every night.
So why stay on one side of the bed?
It’s like I’m saving a place for someone.
huh.
Am I waiting for Prince Charming?
Or am I still programmed to be part of a couple?
Or is it just a force of habit?
Like Harry, I was married a long time, longer than I’ve been separated or divorced. And though I’ve had visitors to my bed on occasion, I’ve never had anyone stay more than one night (and, honestly, those single nights were too damn long). Divorced Harry stayed on his side of the bed. Was it the marriage thing? Does my body still think it’s a marital bed?
huh.
Maybe being curled up on my side of the bed is just my way of snuggling — with myself.
I remember when just days after my then husband moved out one of my daughters asked me,
“Who’s going to sleep with you now?”
Damn, still waiting for an answer to that.
In the meantime, here is a product I accidentally found online. I swear I wasn’t looking for this.
The Companion Pillow.
This is the pillow that holds you when your partner cannot. Shaped like a man’s torso, the pillow has a flexible arm that wraps around you as you lie on its burly, comforting chest. Made from fiber-fill, the pillow contours to your body and provides a soft sleeping surface that’s both physically and emotionally supportive. The pillow is dressed in a soft polyester button-down dress shirt, and unlike the real thing, the pillow won’t keep you awake with incessant snoring. Cover is removable and machine-washable. 24″ L x 17″ W x 7″ H. (2 lbs.)
Just Me With . . . no one on his side of the bed.
Update: The Companion Pillow is apparently no longer available at Hammacher. If you are interested, there are other retailers offering the same or similar products.
If you are interested. I, however, am not.
See posts about visitors to the other side of the bed:
“We Thought You Were Dead, Mommy” — Almost F**ked to Death
Those Beautiful, Lousy, Good for Nothing Kids Clapped for Me!!!!
Last night I went to a jam session. I took my kids and one of their friends. I have hopes that someday my kids will participate. They take lessons, they have some chops, but they don’t have the confidence or drive to get up there. So last night they were there to listen. Still, something beautiful happened. They clapped . . . for me.
I played multiple times, I took solos, and after each, they clapped . . . for me. (In case you’re wondering, they weren’t the only ones.) But as I look back on it today, the fact that I got applause from “those people I made” is something I really needed. They were there, in my element, watching/listening and clapping at the appropriate times. They showed genuine appreciation for the music, for me, and for the other musicians. They may never get up there. But they know their mom can, does and loves it. They know I have credibility with other musicians — something which has nothing to do with them or being their mom.
I’ve had a hard time with my particular situation, the demands on me, my current place in life and the journey that brought me here. I’d been feeling a bit beat-down lately. Periodically, or sometimes consistently, leaving the “me” behind to meet the needs of my children and be there for them had been taking a toll. I’m a sensitive person, but you gotta have a thick skin to raise people, and sometimes, it’s well . . . hard. But last night, things were different, so different things were almost upside down. I wasn’t one of the many supportive parents taking pictures and cheering my kids on at a school performance or sporting event. They were there watching, clapping for and taking pictures of — me. And it was good — to play music, it was good to have a respectful audience, it was good to back burner the “mom” nameplate yet still have the children with me. In short, it was good to be Just Me.
After a while it was getting late, and they were ready to go, as was I. As we got up to leave I was asked to play one more set. The kids didn’t seem to mind that much. I played. They clapped. No complaints. At the end of he night I thanked them for coming. (Mind you they did get some food out of the deal.) But the lack of eye-rolling, whining, fighting and squirming — and their applause . . . they don’t even know how much I needed that.
Sometimes a girl just needs a little applause. I may call my mom and just clap for her.
Just Me With . . . my music and my kids . . . . just being me.
Just Me With . . . 