Naughty Nanny - Spring 2001

My forest green polo shirt, two sizes too big, with “Palomar Family YMCA” neatly embroidered on the front left chest was just barely beginning to fade from too may washes with cheap soap.  After opening the on campus fitness center and attending a few college classes, my second job (of 3 total) each day was to entertain elementary age students after school.  I had begun working in afterschool programs and YMCA’s in high school so I was no stranger to the field.  Arts & crafts, dodgeball, homework help, and Jenga.  A fun way to earn $6.75 an hour for a college student.  I was good at the job.  A favorite leader amongst the children - often times I’d been approached by parents enquiring about babysitting their children afterhours.  Some desperate for a night out with their spouse, perhaps a fundraiser to attend in San Diego, or maybe a dinner party with friends.  I gladly accepted and appreciate the extra cash.  Not to mention, I enjoyed spending time in luxurious homes of wealthy big city professionals and their well off children.

 

With one family in particular my frequent babysitting lead to a part-time nanny position which I was glad to take to replace working early mornings at the college campus fitness center.  Swiping membership cards, washing sweaty towels, and wiping treadmills was not for me.  In fact, gyms all together have never been my scene (I’m sure you’re surprised).  I simply took the job to work alongside my high school/college sweetheart who worked in the athletic department’s equipment room while red shirting for the football team.  His uncle was the Athletic Director and his aunt a Physical Fitness Instructor on campus – they hooked us up with the jobs and I was grateful despite not being interested in fitness.  Once offered the steady nanny gig I respectfully yet gladly submitted my two-week notice and accepted the better paying position in the home of a wealthy couple whose careers in downtown San Diego took them away too often from their beautiful daughters. 

 

Rachael & Michelle Greenburg (last name has been changed mostly because I can’t remember it). One six, the other seven.  I’m not sure which was closer; their age or their bond.  They were no stranger to the nanny game, but I was determined to be lucky number 7.  Unlike comical movies, these two little ladies were nothing but sweet to me.  No tricks, pranks, or shenanigans.  They knew me from the afterschool program and I had taken them home a time or two when their parents couldn’t meet the YMCA's required pickup time.  Both sported tangly beachy waves with a dirty blonde hue.  They were beautiful and fit the San Diego look to a tee.  Their personalities differed more than their appearance.  Rachael; articulate, sophisticated, artsy, and soft spoken was surprisingly younger than Michelle whose free spirit loved music and dance, horses and chocolate.  I liked to think her and I had more in common than just a middle name.  The girls were smart, strong willed, funny, kind and all things you hope for in little ladies.  I loved them.

 

Each morning I’d arrive to their suburban home in the hills.  I dreaded the task of parking my stick shift Jetta in their steep drive – I just knew one day I’d pop the clutch running the damn car through their garage into their formal living room then die of embarrassment.  Each weekday morning I’d quietly enter the house while their mother franticly finished her appearance preparations, applied expensive lipstick, and slipped out the door with an impatient wave.  As I began packing the girls N’Sync lunch pails their father straightened his fancy tie and made polite small talk.  He was good at making me feel as if he was interested in my college courses and personal life although I kept it short knowing he had little time to listen (shocking-I know).  He’d finish his coffee while giving me updates on his daughters’ school projects, sports bags, and other important items which I’d need to send to school with the girls.  Like his wife he too was gone before the girls woke from their adorable beauty sleep. 

 

Most mornings mimicked the above and although I’ve struggled with being punctual in parts of my life - this wasn’t one of them.  I found it easy to pop up before the sun and head to the Greensburg residence to start my duties.  However, let’s not forget being barely 18 years old, living in San Diego North County with my boyfriend (500 miles from my mother) meant many friends coming to visit looking for fun.  One particular visit from a few of my very best girlfriends from high school lead to a night out in Tijuana.  Mexico’s drinking age and night light was a perfect fit and it was my duty as a friend to take the girls out for a night out on the town…  Well that night out turned into dancing until dawn.  It wasn’t until my legs were beginning to tire when I thought I’d better find the time (pre smart phones and my Nokia was dead).  SHIT!  It was nearly dawn and I had not near enough time to get myself home and ready to get to the Greenburg girls!  I quickly searched the crowed club for my BFF’s- pulling them from college boys and we ran like hell for the boarder.  We jumped in the Jetta breaking speed limits all the way home.  There was no time to do more than shove my best friends out of my car in front of my apartment.  I rushed up to the Greenburg’s house.  As I pulled around the corner I felt my heart sink realizing Mrs. Greenburg’s cars was already gone.  I rushed inside - not thinking to glance in the mirror first.  I’ll never forget the look on Mr. Greenburg’s face when I burst through the door.  There I was standing in the tiled entryway – mini skirt, platform sandals, club stamps covered hand and all.  A sticky green splash of Midori Sour on my tube top, the smell of cheap tequila and Marlboro lights followed.  It wasn’t until he proceeded to pull a confetti streamer from my up-do when I thought this might be my last day on the job.  He tried to hold back his chuckle.  “Have a good day Hollie”.  He shut the door and released a loud laugh heard through the solid door.  Perhaps his ability to overlook my behavior was his knowing I was just a kid working 3 jobs who deserved a little fun.  Perhaps it reminded him of his own college days.  Either way, we never mentioned that morning again (thank God).  Something tells me Mrs. Greenburg never knew of the incident.  She may not have been as forgiving.

 

Aside from that incident, things were mostly ordinary.  My favorite part of the morning was slipping my Britney Spears CD into their lavish home entertainment system and cranking the volume up near full blast.  I’d dance my way into Michelle’s whimsical bedroom, pull back her down comforter then prance through the Jack and Jill bathroom into Rachel’s chambers to do the same.  Like most kids their age, they were slow to warm.  I’d sing the old “Good Mornin', Morning” song my mother sang to my big brother and I in an attempt to start their day off right.  Most of the time they’d head to the kitchen before I began jumping on their bed singing with Britney as loud as I could, but it had to happen at least a dozen times before.  Sometimes Michelle would fake still sleeping just to experience my coordinated bed jumping choreography – I bet she still regrets being “too cool” not to join me.  The pop star sang to us throughout breakfast and beauty preparations.  The sisters picked out their own cloths and washed up.  Before you knew it we were on our way to Rock Springs Elementary School where I’d deliver them each school day.  I like to think they enjoyed our mornings as much as I did.

 

I’d be lying if I didn’t admit these days my morning routine resembles more Mrs. Greenburg’s sense of urgency.   Life’s responsibilities and stresses are now mine just as they were hers back then.  I can now relate to the never ending rush and feeling as if there are not enough hours in the day.  I am lucky enough to be home to handle the chaotic morning routine without a nanny’s assistance.  Sometimes I think Mrs. Greenburg was lucky to miss the stress of getting kids out the door in the morning, but another part of me feels sad she missed out on her time in the trenches and I’m certain she must feel guilty not to have experienced the same.  

 

I hope my little trip down memory lane inspires another mother or father out there to have some fun during their morning routine.  I know tomorrow morning I’ll overlook sticky tooth paste slimed on the sink,  I’ll ignore the unmade beds, I’ll pass the pile of clothes on the floor…  Shit; I may even let the girls do their own hair (maybe).  Here’s to hoping I don’t break a bed in process. 

September 11, 2001

Pretty much everyone I know old enough can remember exactly where they were and what they were doing when the world stopped and watched as our country was attacked.  Here’s my story...

Britney Spears’ new CD blared from the speakers of my 1999 black VW Jetta.  I was running late for work like usual (some things never change).  At 18 years old, opening the Escondido elementary school morning YMCA drop-off at 6:30am was not exactly the best job selection and living in Oceanside, CA, 30 miles away from the child care center I worked at made for a great chance of speeding tickets.  San Diego North County’s traffic was busy as usual and bumper to bumper on the South Bound I15.  But this morning was different.  While I tapped to Britney’s beats on my bright blue fuzzy steering wheel I remember feeling eyes on me.  I looked over and saw faces of strangers looking shocked and confused like they wanted to roll down the window and ask me and each other a question.  It wasn’t unusual to see business men shaving and career women applying their make-up, but this morning people were just staring at each other.  At 18 years old I scratched my head and brushed it off returning to my new favorite CD.

Once I flew into the parking lot and took my employee parking space I was relieved not to see parents waiting impatiently for me to open the building so they could drop off their well-off children and head to their corporate jobs.  The only car in the parking lot was that of the other YMCA staff member who like me opened a morning drop-off building.  She over saw the pre-school age kids while my building was designated for the older students.  I’ll never forget the frantic look on my co-workers face as she approached my car.  I thought to myself, “Shit! I’m late again and she’s has some of my students in her room waiting for me.”

Unfortunately, that wasn’t her reason for approaching.  She practically yelled as I open the car door.  “Have you heard the news?!?!”  Little did she know the only thing I heard was “I’m a Slave For You” on repeat from my new Britney CD.  As I entered her building, placed next to mine, she had the kids TV turned to the local news and that screenshot is imprinted in my mind forever.  There was a really tall building with smoke billowing from the top.  She told me a news or traffic helicopter must have accidently crash into one of the World Trade Centers.  I honestly didn’t even know what the buildings were besides the ones that really stood out in the NYC skyline.  I thought to myself, “WOW, that’s awful!  I hope not too many people were injured.” I had no clue how big of a deal that news was.

Still worried about opening late I rushed over to my building and started my morning routine.  As I turned on lights and pulled out crayons and board games the first of the parent/child combos entered my room.  “You don’t have the news on?!?!” I had my back turned and jumped at the stressed and frenzied fathers’ voice.  His business suit was intimidating on a good day, but today his tone almost scared me.  He rushed over to the big screen TV designated for the Nintendo 64.  He anxiously unplugged the video games, messed with the old school antenna and surfed channels as other curious parents arrived with their sleepy students.  Just as the picture became clearer we all stood in silence and watched that first building burn as the reporters made guesses as to what happened. 

Not 2 minutes later things went from bad to worse.  I’ll never forget that God awful sight and the horrific sounds from the mothers in the room when that jet plunged right into the second building.  Sobs, gasps, cuss words and shock were shared between the parents and the news reporters.  That same father who adjusted the old TV turned to his son and instructed him to gather his belongings, they were going home.  He loosened his tie and looked at another parent and said, “We’re at war”.  I felt so alone and scared and even though I was 18 years old I wanted to be back in my hometown with my mother.  All of sudden I wanted to be with family and loved ones.

I was so confused. The world was confused.  For what felt like forever everything was chaotic.  Parents wouldn’t leave there kids and they used my YMCA land line to call their offices and families, some had nokia cell phones, but the majority didn't.  They held their children close and the fear in their eyes scared me.  It’s only now that I have children that I understand how they must have felt.  Our world was attacked and everyone held on to their loved ones.

Once the school officially announced school was canceled until further notice I rushed home to my then live-in boyfriend, Seth.  He stood in front of our TV in his Palomar College Football shirt with his backpack still on his shoulder.  We embraced and held each other tight both wishing our families weren’t so far away.  The TV wasn’t turned off for weeks and the news was the only thing we watched.

Living in Oceanside, just a few short miles outside of Camp Pendleton meant we were surrounded by Military men, women and families including my big brother who lived on base.  I was terrified for him.  The military choppers flew constantly overhead for weeks.  I wanted to pack up and take us all home far from Camp Pendleton.  My brother on the other hand, like a true Marine, was ready for whatever the Marine Corp asked of him.  I was thankful my brother was close because like the rest of the country I wanted my loved ones close at all times.

It was a terrifying time.  Being so close to a large military base people speculated that our area would be next to be attacked.  Seth and I may have been one of two couples living in Vista Way Village not in the Military.  Weeks after 9/11 young marines who we knew as neighbors and friends were shipped off all over the world.  I can’t be certain, but I felt like Seth wanted to go with them.  Years after he and I grew apart I learned he later joined the Army and I wasn’t the least bit surprised.  A part of me thinks he was greatly affected by watching our young neighbors head off to defend our country, not to mention his born traits of heroism, leadership, courage, strength and honor.  He fit the team brilliantly and the US Army was lucky to have such a soldier.  

I could go on and on, but another memories stands out in my mind. FLAGS. Old glory flew everywhere you looked.  Overpasses, school fences, homes, businesses, vehicles…  The country was not going to sit back, rather pull together and survive.  It brought hope.

Now 10 years later, I’m 28, a wife and mother of 2 with the day to day career, mortgage, bills and a busy life.  Like millions of others, I’ll never forget.

TAKEN

Can music give you back something that’s been taken from you?  I think so.  Like many I’ve had many things taken from me through life… good and bad, but tonight I’m listening to music.  It’s the music that makes your soul whisper to your heart.  The kind that feels like was written for you.  The kind that waters your eyes, chills your skin and sends the hair on your arms reaching for the sky.  It tells of memories to tender to tell and makes you think of stories you’ll never share.  The sounds can send you right back into a dream or memory.  The words can remind you of the people in your life who really made an impact and moments with them that no one can take away.  Love, hate, happiness, fear, sadness, excitment, true joy, innocence, compassion…  I love the emotions and the ability to tune into each of them simply by hearing the artistic words of a stranger.

Things taken and the songs that brings them back:

Youth, but I welcome each New Year with open arms – “Dreams” by The Cranberries

A full life with my father, only partially taken by drugs – “Free Bird” by Lynyrd Skynyrd

First Love – “My Ruca” by Sublime or “”Collie Man” by Slightly Stoopid

My Virginity, taken at an appropriate age to a special someone – “Strawberry Wine” by Deana Carter

My backpack from my first kegger – “What’s Up” by 4 Non Blondes

In-Laws lives lost too early by disease; I’ll never get to know them in this life – “Calling All Angles” by Train

A day to day life with my brother, a true loyal Marine - "American Soldier" by Toby Keith


True & Imperfect Love - "You & Me" by Lifehouse and "Forever" by Ben Harper


My daughters’ newborn days – “Godspeed” by the Dixie Chicks

On that (music) Note

Here are some of my favorite music quotes from different songs that I love at different times… Do you know them?  This is an eclectic list… Enjoy.

1.  “My love will fly to you each night on angles wings

God speed, sweet dreams”

2.  “The storms are raging on the rolling sea

And on that highway of regret

The winds of change are blowing wild and free

You ain’t seen nothing like me yet”

3.  “Maybe that’s what happens when a tornado meet a volcano”

4. “Go on, chase your dreams, but always know the road that will lead you home again

Go on, take on this whole world, but to me you know you’ll always be my little girl.”

5.  “But they say it’ll all work out fine

Was it all a waste of time?

Cause I knew, I knew, I’d lose you

And you’ll always be special to me, special to me, to me.”

6.  “But even those old pictures

Have begun to fade

Please tell me she’s not real

And that you’re really comin’ home to stay”

7. "So give me your forever
Please your forever
And not a day less will do
From you"

SHE LOVES ME... She loves me not

AKA Kiss or Dis

Kiss

Skype... The only way to see my husband while he’s working out of town and how my girls stay in touch with their “Uncle Bubba” and “Tia C” in Japan.

Adele… her voice, her words, her honesty, her venerability, her style, her chin, her piano player, her accent.  I love her and I secretly wish I had her accent.  I may have even faked a similar brogue when flying home to California from Illinois years ago.

Break up songs… I know weird, right?  It reminds me of the pain and then jogs my memory of the feeling of filling that hole with the happy side of a break up.... The make up! 

The smell of gasoline...  Love it.

Public Speaking... but only when I know what I’m talking about.

Dis

CD packaging…  Why does that one sticker at the top always peel off into 72 tiny pieces that stick to everything including underneath my fingernails?  I can’t tell you how many CD I have that have a broken case. Ugh.

Yard sales…  Only because I need to have one and I’m too connected to my daughters toys and clothes; Who am I kidding, I can’t even let the burp rags go.  Sheesh… Sign me up for hoarders already.

Careeres that take loved ones away from you… (i.e. Hubinator out of town, brother overseas, etc.).

First came love... then came another

Everytime I turn around, log in or sign on there's a new baby in my world.  A new cousin, a friends newborn, a co-workers first grandbaby... I love to help out, deliver a home cooked meal, I wait for invite to visit before the newborn curl as faded and I offer my best practices when asked. 

Newborns are my thing.  Their smell, the their swollen puffy faces, the way the melt into your arms.  It's a good thing I'm not a delivery nurse because I'm pretty sure I'd be repremanded for hording the newbies.

With all this blogging and all these babies I decided to take a look at my daughters newborn baby pics.  Pictured below, just hours old, are my girls, my world, my loves. 

Tysie Nicole, 7lbs. 12oz

Then 14 short months later came,

Kenzlie Jean, 8lbs. 10oz.

Back to School

RHS Class of 2000

Part of my nightly routine is asking my darling daughters what they did at “school” today.  Kenzlie (almost 19 months old) babbles in baby talk while Tysie tattles on each of her 2-4 year old classmates. Everyone knows 2 ½ year olds love to report back all the naughty things they observed throughout the playful day not to mention spill the beans on everything their parents do.

After dinner it’s baths, books and rocking chair songs.  We recently moved the girls into one room so after stories first I rock my youngest then once she’s just about asleep I lay her in her crib to sooth herself to sleep and I sweep up my oldest.  She’s been patiently waiting for her turn while thumbing through her favorite board books.  We talk some more, sing, hum and slowly rock.  Once her breaths deepened tonight my mind drifted back to work for a second and I remembered that the teens I work with start school tomorrow.  The programs I advise are made up mostly of seniors in high school so I couldn’t help but think they are probably excitedly preparing for their special first day.  Naturally I thought about what I was doing the night before the first day of my senior year…

An attempt at tradition

It was August 1999… I had laid out my white, royal blue and silver puffy painted t-shirt (decorated to match my 4 best friends) with “Senior-itas” across the chest, my name on the back and ’00 on the sleeves.   My high waisted, super small cutoff jean shorts were next to a new pair of Old Navy flip flops.  I was about to start my senior year – one of the best of my teens years.  Next to the spirited first day of school outfit was a pile of black workout garments.  But don’t be fooled; those dark clothes were not for a morning workout, rather set out for an attempt to continue a great tradition done by incoming seniors at my Alma Mater. 

Earlier that day my friends and I piled in my rusty blue beat up 1987 Nissan Sentra hatchback and headed to Wal-mart to stock up on cheap toilet paper and loads of candy.  We had all agreed to stay up late, dress in dark clothes and make our way for what was going to be the best TPing job in Redwood High School history.

 I could spend this entire night giving you details about the white out job we did, the police chase ending in a ditch, and the hours spent taking down every piece of TP we had showered across campus.  I could tell you how much we laughed and I could tell you how awesome of a job we did, but only these eyes, two other pairs and a handful of cops have the luxury of remembering the work of 3 wild 16 year old girls – I assure you an amazing sight it was.  I nearly cried not from being caught, but just thinking that none of our classmates were going to enjoy our white wonderland on the first day of school like we had planned.  As we took down each draped strip of TP (per the VPD’s demand) I sighed and the police officers giggled and sipped their cheap 7-11 coffee.

I’ll never forget sitting on the curb between two of my bravest BFF’s as the sun came up that morning and the police officers continued to contact our parents.  After the other girls were picked up, one officer followed my beat up car home and escorted me to the door.  Before my pigtails could hit the pillow my alarm clock sounded and it was officially the first day of my senior year.  That wild night set the tone for my entire 12^th grade.  I may not remember what we did in chemistry and I surely didn’t leave that place with an outstanding GPA, but boy do I remember the football games, the after parties, wearing his lettermen jacket, homecoming court, countless sleepovers with the girls, sneaking out, sharing secrets, ditching school, matching outfits and much more! 

So to those teens that are about to start their first day of their senior year I hope you make it count, live it  up (safely) and ENJOY!

<3 Hollie

Class of 2000!

Mother-In-Law

Who would have thought anyone would be jealous of the person complaining about their dreaded mother-in-law coming to visit for the weekend?

There once was a lady who seemed gentle and strong.  I can’t tell you much about her because our lives were only intertwined for about a year.  And even though that time was cut so short she’s still all around me and more so around the ones I hold closest to my soul.  Her face is seen in the man that I married just a few short years after she left this world.  I see her sons in my daughters faces.  My daughter shares her middle name and I hear her family talk about her similarities in my girls as well. 

Memories I’ll share with my children (when they’re old enough)

I remember meeting her.  I was nervous.  Really nervous.  She came home from a trip and I was sitting too close to her oldest son on her brown cloth sectional.  I hopped up and anxiously shook her narrow hand smiling with all my teeth.  She was soft, kind and seemed to look at me with a slight curiosity surly wondering if I was good enough for one of her beloved boys.  I think she approved or I hope so anyway.

I remember my “6 month anniversary” date.  Josh arranged a special morning date with his mom and her boyfriend who flew a 4 passenger airplane.  We flew to another valley town for brunch before flying over our high school, my office, college, home and other personally familiar landmarks.  I was so excited and nervous I remember repeating over the radio headphones “this is so cool” way too many times.  I’m sure she thought I must have been completely uneducated to not have anything else to say.

I remember days at the lake on her houseboat that she had put so much work into that summer.  One hot afternoon we joined friends and family and she whispered, “If you get the curse whenever you’re up here I always keep supplies in there”.  I didn’t know what the curse was until I open the cabinet she was pointing to - to find an assortment of feminine products – needless to say my cheeks turned a shard of red with embarrassment.

I remember she made a special dinner one night and just as I was getting comfortable in our conversations my fork made its way to the artichokes she had prepared and served me.  I had never eaten one like that so as I forked the other side’s I almost choked when she said she couldn’t imagine anyone not knowing how to eat an artichoke…  I had never eaten one and had to secretly learn from watching the other 3 at the table hoping not to embarrass myself.

I remember the day she brought her boys to Mimi’s Café where I was serving tables to pay for college classes.  I’ve never been so nervous to wait on a table in my life.  I’m surprised she didn’t leave wearing her lunch since my hand was shaking as I carried the tray of dishes to their table.

I have awful memories of her too… like the time she came home early to find us skinny dipping in the pool.  I can still see her face as she stopped dead in her tracks halfway through the back year retreating annoyed when she saw my polka dot bikini next to her sons’ board shorts by the gate.

Never say Never

I get emotional thinking I’ll never get to share anymore special memories with her.  My daughters will only know her face in the pictures we keep up around the house.  I saddens me to think that they won’t get to have sleepovers at Grandma Rhonda’s or play dress up in her clothes and jewelry.  They won’t get to run to her when they’re mad at me and dad or cry to her about their first heartbreak.  I’m able to remind myself that my girls are so lucky to be surrounded by their other grandparents and honorary grandparents.   Good thing we have lots of irreplaceable family members who love and adore them.

Remembering Rhonda today with a few things that remind me of her most…  Hydrangeas, Lavender, Country Bears, White Minivans, Artichokes, Kaweah Lake, small air planes and private jets, Chinese food, Scottsdale, AZ, whole foods stores, feng shui,  Real Fresh and Mimi’s Cafe. 

 To my mother-in-law & thoes that knew her… December 1, 1959 – August 5, 2004

Tempus Fugit

It happened at a stop light tonight on Mooney Boulevard somewhere between a routine stop at Target Greatland and Hobby Lobby…   Our white SVU sat idle waiting for the green light behind a lifted red Chevy with a Redwood High School football sticker in lower center of the back windshield…  That’s when it hit me. 

In that instant I couldn’t hear the two toddlers in the back seat giggling at their dad who was behind the wheel.  I couldn’t hear my Adele CD whispering from the speakers and I surely couldn’t hear my busy mind reviewing tomorrows work duties, grocery lists and the million other working mommy “to do’s”.  My eyes could only focus on the four teenage ponytails bobbing in sync to what must have been today’s hit song.  The four girls in the back seat danced together with a fifth BFF in the front passenger seat and a handsome your man behind the wheel.  Their smiles were mischievous and carless as they lived up the last few days of summer vacation.  I could only imagine their to-do list included laying out, texting and a kegger out at Cut-Foot. (Does Cut-Foot still exist or has that once high school party orchard turned into a new housing development?)

The sight of the teens threw me back to my own teenage days and the shadowed outline of the party of six turned into the faces of 5 special people in my life.  The lifted red Chevy turned into my high school sweethearts’ ridiculously awesome car also known as the infamous “Beast”.  My young face sat in the passenger seat looking back at my 4 BFF’s.  Our eclectic tight nit group of 5 couldn’t have been more different, but fit together like an extravagant puzzle.  We had polar opposite family dynamics, looks, grades, interests and styles.  Almost like a cooler version of the once popular Spice Girls… Sweet, Sporty, Sexy, Wild & Strong.  I can’t even choose who fits what description because as different as we were we each had a bit of each trait in us.

We cut class, snuck out, TP houses, kissed boys, rocked pep rallies, ruled football games, decorated school spirited outfits, danced in (and on) cars, went camping, slept on the beach, drank, smoked, shared secrets, laughed, cried and everything in between.  I could go on forever with stories… We lost touch then reconnected and still to this day get together and laugh and sometimes cry.  They’re the friendships that matter most; the ones that no matter how much or little time goes by you pick up where you left off.  I enjoy each one of them for different reasons and appreciate each of them for who they are.

Fast Forward

Those 4 best friends of mine who I once shared beer bottles and sneak out sleepovers with are still a part of my life today thankfully.  In 11+ years they have grown into 4 beautiful, strong, unique, successful young career women.  The kindhearted Social Worker, the dedicated chain store Manager, the resilient Register Nurse and the passionate Firefighter/Paramedic all four 28/29 year olds that I hope to know and share memories with into my late 80’s, God willing.

That picture perfect high school sweetheart left this world just over 3 years ago while serving his country on what he called the greatest team he’d even been a part of, the U.S. Army.  His many friends and family could fill the world with countless stories of the young hero.  There are not enough words to explain him to readers.  Just imagine an amazing, caring, fun loving, loyal, best friend and multiply it by a thousand.  I was lucky enough to spend a few years as a part of his life and I’m thankful for the memories too tender to tell.

After all these thoughts ran through my mind the light was green and the sweet giggles of my precious baby girls brought me back to where I am happiest now.  Just then the strong hand of my husband rested on my leg and we where almost home to our white picket fence life.

Tempus Fugit = Time Flies

Part of my career is creating programs, classes, events and activities (to name a few) and a portion of that includes working with seniors.  I often hear them tell stories of their lives and it amazes me how they feel like just yesterday they were my age.  It scares me to death thinking that before I know it I could be attending ceramic classes reminiscing about the old days although I think I did just that because in some ways it does feel like it was just yesterday that I was in the vehicle dancing with my best friends and enjoying a careless summer vacation.

Tick tock… Don’t watch the clock, live, laugh & love.

Good night for now.

It was the Summer of ‘95

When I was your age…

Recently at a young family members birthday party it was brought to my attention that my cousin’s son will soon turn 13.  He’s the oldest of my cousins’ kids on that side of the family.  I was 15 when his young mother brought him into this world.  He’s one of the first family members that I can actually remember being born.  When I think of my life at 13 I shiver at the thought of him doing the things I was doing when I was his age.  I hope his teen years are filled with much more innocent fun than mine, but on the same note I’d never change one single mistake, mischief or memory for those years…  Well maybe I’d take back awful things I said to my mother and I would have wore my retainer to bed like I was told, but over all I count those days as making me who I am today.  Anyhow, here’s a story addition to a previous post, “Two Truth & A Lie”.  You can be the judge of whether I’m telling the truth, a version of the truth or a flat out lie. J  (Some names have been changed to protect identities). 

It was the Summer of ‘95

Pollie (12) & Jaine (13) were BFF’s.  They rollerbladed together, wore matching flannel shirts with combat boots and mini backpacks; they shared an unconditional love for the movie Grease and slid silly pictures on the outside if their binders.  It was July of 1995 and the two were in the middle of another inseparable summer of fun.  With talk of the eighth grade just around the corner the girls teased each other about boys, played countless games of MASH and walked to downtown San Carlos, CA for ice cream and incense every day. 

Sometimes they would stop by the middle school to help their old 6^th and 7^th grade teachers prepare the classrooms for the upcoming year.  Jaine was popular amongst the teachers at Central Middle School with her sweet disposition, her intelligent words and impeccable organization.  Pollie tagged along because she enjoyed the decorating despite the fact the teachers were less than thrilled to see the disruptive student walk back into the classroom.  Regardless of their grades or difference in detentions they were buddies, “sisters” and great friends.  They knew each other like an oreo knows milk and shared their secrets during countless sleepovers.

One warn afternoon while listening to the new Janet Jackson CD and making friendship bracelets Pollie, the more mischievous of the two, had an idea.  She whispered the thought to her BFF and the two young teens giggled as they headed to Pollie’s parent’s garage.  After Pollie boosted the petite Janie up to the garage loft she shouted directions to the tub of camping supplies.  “I think I found it!” Jaine yelled followed by a dust driven sneeze.  With cobwebs in her hair and a nervous grin across her innocent face she asked, “Is this it?” peeking from the edge.  “That’s it! Toss it to me!” Pollie responded as she pulled her SunIn dyed hair with blue sharpie streak into an over sized scrunchie.

By mid-afternoon the two girls had set up the ultimate summer camp in Pollie’s back yard.  It included a 4 sleeper tent with sleeping bags and pillows along with items from throughout the house… a night stand from Pollie’s room, an oscillating fan and a few stuffed animals.  Just outside of the tent the two had set up a hammock they shared.  It was in that hammock, swinging in the summer breeze where they plotted their mischievous plan. 

Once the details were complete they ran through the sliding glass door to Pollie’s Michey Mouse phone.  Jaine listened in on new cordless, and with her perfectly straight teeth pulled up the antenna to avoid static.  Oozing with excitement they made the call to part 3 of the BFF’s, Eve.  Interrupting each other and talking as fast as can be Pollie, Jaine and Eve completed the plan.  Once Eve arrived to Pollie’s place they giggled and used three-way calling to reach Nicky and Carl and Carl’s little bothre.  “Meet us at the handball courts at midnight!”  They hung up the phones and squealed with exhilaration.

Sharply at 5:35pm Pollie’s mom Mandy walked through the door.  Before her pumps could hit the floor Pollie was begging her mom to allow another sleep over, but this time in their new summer camp site.  “We’ll be outside so we won’t even keep you up late!”  Pollie pleaded.  Mandy peeked from the kitchen window into the back yard where she saw the perfectly arranged tent and hammock; she rubbed her tired feet through her nylons and said with a yawn, “if it’s okay with the girl’s parents...”  Before she finished her sentence Jaine and Eve were calling their parents.  High fives and secret handshakes were exchanged after approval all around.

The Mac and Cheese was still warm when the 3 girls gave good night kisses and headed for the tent.  Every minute seemed like an eternity as they waited for the clock to strike midnight.  At 11:30pm they couldn’t take it anymore. They slowly unzipped a portion of tents front door and crawled out as careful as prison escapees.  The sound of their pounding hearts should have awakened Pollie’s parents, but the three girls didn’t dare to take a breath until at least 3 doors down.  Once they passed Burton Park they were shaking with enthusiasm and giggling with nervousness.  Only in San Carlos, CA in 1995 could 3 young teenage girls walk the streets at midnight and only be seen by neighborhood cats.

They held hands and pushed each other forward as they entered the school grounds.  “Do you think they’re here?”  “Shhhhh! Did you hear that?!?!”  Just then three scrawny shadows appeared in the darkness…

Pollie remembers her palm getting sweaty from the tight grip of that nervous boys’ hand.  All three couples leaned against the backstop talking about the adventure of their first sneak out.  Out of the corner of their eyes they saw headlights and ducked into tiny balls.  They all knew something was up because no one drove in that part of San Carlos at this hour.  Just as they thought they were in the clear and as loud as thunder, “POOOOOOOLLLLLLLLIEEEEE!!!”  “JAINEEEEEEEEEEEEE” “EEEEEVVVVEEEE!!!”

Pollie’s throat swelled shut and heart sunk to her toes as the familiar voice of her father echoed through the cool air.  The headlights turned right on the backdrop and the 6 teens froze - still hidden in the shadow of the wall.  Like scared pigeons on opening day of hunting seasons the boys all made a run for it.  They were far for camouflage and the 1992 Toyota Camry zeroed in on the hiding place.

The words between Pollie’s parents and the group of teens are unclear, but I’d imagine your mind can fill in the blanks.  Turns out Jaine’s aunt, who was 9 months pregnant at the time, went into labor that night and Lori, Jaine’s mom, made a late night call to Pollie’s parents to arrange a pick up to head to the hospital.  I can only imagine the look on Mandy’s face when she unzipped the tent to find stuffed animals and pillows in place of the 3 teenage girls.

The tent came down the next morning and the teen age years began.

A Night to Remember

It’s 7:45pm… The girls are asleep after only 4 readings of “The Going to Bed Book” and 3 of “Your Personal Penguin” both by Sandra Boynton.  I was given these books by a co-worker today who showed me the animated interactive version first on her iPad.  I’m instantly a fan of the sweet stories and their charming characters.  Reading them feels almost as sweet as a verse of “Godspeed” by the Dixie Chicks.  To channel what I’m feeling in this moment click here and enjoy the little ones, or not so little ones anymore, in your life. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VqaBof47pmY

Tonight I’ll write a run through of our night time routine using a night like tonight when all goes seamlessly and their soft eyelids are sealed before 8pm.  I’m left feeling calm and thankful for my precious baby girls as I dry up bath tub puddles and gather toddle size clothes from throughout the house.  On a side note – things don’t always go so smoothly, but before I forget how wonderful nights like these are I’ll jot them down so one day I can recall these precious evenings and forget the ones that include tears and rushed lullabies.  Once I’ve completed tonight’s detailed timeline I’ll print these screen shots and place a copy in each of their baby books.  One night when the girls are emotional preteens, who repeatedly try to hate my guts, I can slide their baby book under the door that was slammed in my face in hopes they’ll take a glance and relize I may not be the evil monster they think I am at the moment.  Maybe they’ll take a second to see how much their father and I love them.  I’ll always have the memory of rocking them to each to sleep as I sing (or attempt to sing) “Baby Mine”.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hNSDfwR7u18

It all starts with picking them up at 5:21 after I’ve locked the office door not a minute past 5:00pm.  I’ll take the fast way and travel just 4mph over the speed limit to avoid another ticket.  When I walk into the colorful building filled with miniature furniture, bright colored collages and perfectly sloppy finger paintings - I’ll look for my oldest first.  Her classroom is first down the sun colored hallway and her independent toddler ways are helpful as I gather goodies like fallen bows and blankies that need washing.  The way she slams down the play-dough and yells “mommy!” tells me she’s excited to see me in the doorway.  I usually can get in three steps before she’s wrapped her arms around my legs.  “See my doggie” she says as she points to an oddly shaped lump of homemade play-dough.  “I love it!” I say and I wave to the sweet patient teacher standing above the last two little ones. 

“We get Sizzy?” She’ll say as she skips for the door.  I have to remind her daily to pick up her mess before we go.  “What do you say to Miss H?” I say with my hand on her back attempting to keep her still.  The words “Thank you!” are barley heard as she quickly heads down the long hall for the infant room.

She opens the door to her sisters’ class before I can sign my name on the attendance sheet.  Sizzy is slower to notice mommy as she’s filled with excitement to see her big sister first.  She drops the xylophone when her big sisters hug turns into something resembling a headlock.  The two speak in their own special language as I receive Miss M’s re-cap of my little girls’ day.  How many pees and how many poops, how long of a nap and what was for snack.  The daily log usually has checks marks next to ‘happy’ and the comments review her latest words and new favorite game at school.

Once we’re in the car I turn off the tunes and ask about the day.  We usually get distracted by my toddler tattling on every no-no made by her classmates.  “J said poo poo” and “D hit me”.  I ask her what she should do when that happens and she automatically responds, “PLEASE STOP IT. DON’T LIKE IT!”  Sizzy chimes in with a few claps and babbles and we’re almost home.  Unloading takes a few trips; we get the mail and head inside.  They make a run for the toy box and I make my way to the dreaded birthplace of I’ll call “dinner”.  It’s usually boneless skinless chicken breasts with canned, frozen or fresh veggies (I’ll let you guess which one is most frequent.)  Texas toast and applesauce are common on the plastic princess plates.  Both girls gulp their milk and often ask for more.  When Daddy does dinner we get much better selections since he’s skilled and much more creative in the kitchen.

A few minutes out back or on the living room floor, dad’s favorite kid friendly YouTube songs with a family dance off in the kitchen, then one screaming lap around the house then it’s straight to the tub.  Splish slash and scrub scurb scrub the smell of Johnson and Johnson in the air.  While they squeal over the squirting hippo, daddy readies the tooth brushes and the detangler while I hit the dishes and front room.  By this time there’s usually more water outside the tub then in it.  We pretend not to see their reflections in the mirror and attempt to witness their unique bond.  Daddy and I see who wants who for the remainder of bed time.  Both girls go through phases on who they want, but thankfully they enjoy alternating.  Only Daddy can read them Chicka Chicka Boom Boom because Mommy doesn’t say it right and whoever had a rough day or a shorter nap usually reaches for mommy.  Husband and I grin at each other as we take note on each other strengths.  Every once in a while we may have to ro-sham-bo for who takes the fussier toddler, but it’s usually over before it starts.

After swallow safe tooth paste, kid proof mouth wash and a layer of lavender lotion we head for panties and PJs.  Picking princess or the polka dots is always an issue, then it’s straight to the glider we go.  I love their clean wet hair in the fold of my arm as I turn on my character voices for story time.  Once the book is closed it’s a combination of Eskimo and butterfly kisses, big hugs and a flip to the tummy for rocking and lullaby.  Other than the traditional “Close Your Eyes” song my mother once sang to me I whisper “Baby Mine” until the breathing deepens and I lay them in their crib or toddler bed.

I tip toe out the door just as they peak to see me go.  Before I meet hubby in the front room I switch on the video monitor and grab a glass of sangria.

Good night sleepy heads, sweet dreams & godspeed.  Let’s hope tomorrow is just a easy… Not common to have two perfect nights in a row.

Other favorite week night memories: 

When Dad is control of pre-dinner music we’ll usually end up shaking our booties to Hip Hop or popular 80’s dance music whereas I pull up YouTube Disney songs from the Little Mermaid, Snow White or Cinderella. 

Music and dance is a big part of our evening.  I can’t count how many nights we wait for the pasta to boil as we bump into each other with the music far too loud.  I hope we’re never too busy for our family dance off’s.

Dance classes, Cheer practices, The Little Gym, Tiny Tots, Mommy & Me, and swim lessons…  Working in recreation means my girls are involved in whatever programs are open for such youngsters, but I’m careful not to over schedule just yet.  These evenings call for quick dinners and fast showers.

(I have a trillion pics that would fit perfectly in this blog, but I'm still learning the how to, so bare with me until I figure it out.)

Park Play

In need of cheap entertainment? When's the last time you visited a local park?

Little hand... big "duck"... try explaing to my two little ladies these are not ducks... Walks like a duck, talks like a duck...

Playground party!