Me, Myself and I « Life Behind the Curve

Oct 16 2011

Elementary School, Facebook, Family, Just for Fun, Lemons, Me, Myself and I, My Boys, Our 'Hood, Parenting, Sports

There Is No “I” in Fan

I can’t stand fickle sports fans. Ironically, I frequently have one in DJ. He doesn’t mean to be one, he just doesn’t know any better. He feels emotionally drawn to many geographies so I was super proud of his response when, on the way to the Sacramento Mountain Lions v. Virginia Destroyers game yesterday, I asked him who he’d root for. “Virginia,” he said. “Why, because daddy played with their quarterback and was coached by their coaches when he was in college?” I asked. “No,” he replied, “because that’s where I’m from.”

This conversation about which ‘hood he claims goes back a few weeks when he inquisitively asked which rappers were from Virginia as he failed to connect with 2Pac and Dr. Dre’s “California Love” the way his parents do. He moved from the Commonwealth to California when he was just three and, while he’s as much of a Cali boy and the next kid in my mind, he feels drawn to the place he was born.

It’s a feeling I understand well as I moved away from the state of my birth as a toddler and then, again, moved in the middle of elementary school to California. In the years since I’ve tried to figure out what I consider to be my “hometown.” (Imagine the angst when Facebook asked me to make such a public declaration.)

For me, my “hometown” claim as a sports fan was complicated by the fact that, just two months after I moved to the San Francisco Bay Area, the SF Giants met the St. Louis Cardinals in the National League Championship Series. I was raised on Cardinals baseball (and football, by the way…why they’re in Phoenix and the L.A. Rams are in my town still baffles me). My earliest baseball memory was being allowed, at a month shy of four years old, to stay up to watch the Cardinals win the 1982 World Series at our townhouse in the St. Louis suburbs. (It’s also the first time I remember my mom being mad at my dad. Heh.)

In the years between then and our move west, my dad took me to Busch Stadium to see the likes of Ozzie Smith and Willie McGee while teaching me how to score a baseball game and heckle an opponent. My pet mouse was named Whitey Herzog.

When the Cards played the Giants, I wasn’t sure just who to root for as the new kid trying to fit in with a school full of Giants fans. Luckily I had little to do with the fate of either team. Yet somehow, I gave myself the leeway to root for the triumphant Cards as they faced the Twins in that World Series, the Oakland A’s as they faced the Dodgers the following year, and then the Giants as they met the A’s in ’89 in the Bay Bridge Series (a series memorable not only for baseball but the earthquake that literally rocked the local fans to our core).

And so, as it has been since, I rooted for the Giants as they made their way to the World Series last year. Now that they’ve imploded, however, I will admit that I “liked” the breaking news from CNN on my FB News Feed that the Cards, my first baseball love, had made it to the World Series (a “like” I gave despite not being able to name a single player from their team.) How’s that for fickle?

But it’s hard out there for a kid…a kid who, for a third of a century, has felt disconnected from all geographic ties of her own. And it is with that experience that I try to cut my own child, a kid who likes the SF 49ers and the Miami Heat, the Sacramento Kings and the Stanford Cardinal, the Scarlet Knights of Rutgers and…the Virginia Destroyers, a bit of a break as he tries to figure out his own definition of “hometown” and which hometown team belongs to him.

Aug 15 2011

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Blogging, Child Care, Facebook, Friends, Lemons, Me, Myself and I, Vacation, Work

On Friendship: My Failure and Renewed Hope

I’ve not always been the best friend. I’ve hurt. And I’ve been hurt. I’ve moved away. I’ve been deserted. After Scoot and I became serious during my junior year of high school, I – intentionally or not – swore off trying very hard at friendship. What was the point?

The girls who were my age were trying to get as far away from their parents as possible while I was devoting my entire being to keeping alive my long-distance relationship with Scoot, whose mom lives just two miles from my own. They were planning for their post-college travels around the world while I was planning my wedding in our hometown. They were renting apartments with roommates in Los Angeles and New York and San Francisco while I took out a mortgage on a home in the suburbs with room for a nursery for my young son. I had a very hard time relating.

Women who were in a similar life stage to me were planning their weddings while shuffling their meeting schedules at work. They were spending $1600 a month on nannies while I was making grocery shopping lists to include ramen, Hamburger Helper and macaroni and cheese so I could afford the $200 per week I had to spend on daycare. And at work, when I sat down for my annual review, it was they who would evaluate me on my performance throughout the prior year. I had a very hard time relating.

Recently, in large part because of what I discovered when I was introduced to the world of online social networks, I have established friendships. With genuine friends. The kind with whom I can gossip about that girl. The kind with whom I can lament about my day. The kind with whom I can share my frustrations and fears and tears and hopes. The kind with whom I laugh. And laugh. And text. And laugh.

In return, they’ve shared their loves, their losses, their triumphs, their sorrows. I hear about what they ate for breakfast and minutes later, the one thing they want their kids to know about them if they meet their end prematurely. I hear about the guy who tried to talk to them when they’re happily married. I get advice about health matters. I advise them on their resumes. I get drunk texts. With pictures!

I’ve been kept company in the hospital for 48 hours through a small device that meant constant conversation. I’ve watched a minor illness turn into a major health problem. With IVs. And surgeries. And tests. And uncertainty. I’ve seen pregnancy test strips and ultrasounds and newly born babies and crawling toddlers. I’ve celebrated romance and birthdays and New Year’s Eve and just because. I’ve watched them jump out of airplanes, and jump into love. I’ve watched doubt and despair and divorce. I’ve seen them hurt and healed.

I’ve felt. I’ve felt friendship. I’ve felt all that it can be. I’ve felt all that I missed during that decade or so when I just didn’t feel like I could relate to my peers.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had my fears that I’ve deluded myself. Certainly the friend ending her relationship, that was never married, that makes more than I do, that makes less than me, that! has! nothing! but! girls! …certainly we will find something that divides us. And yet, thankfully, they’re still here. I’m still here, a believer in friendship.

I’m about to head out on a weekend away with one of my dearest friends with our four!!! boys all under the age of 9 (unfortunately, Bop can’t make it because of school). I’m looking forward to it for selfish reasons, and not so selfish ones. And when I come back I have another friend coming to visit, one who just moved to the area and who I hope to see much more often. And six weeks from now I’ll be celebrating yet another’s birthday with friends from around the country.

Ends up, I’m kind of digging this friend thing. And as simple and easy as that sounds, I have a very hard time explaining just how happy it makes me and how sincerely appreciative I am to be able to say it.

Feb 23 2011

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Blogging, Elementary School, Facebook, Family, Food, Friends, Health & Exercise, Lemons, Me, Myself and I, My Boys, Parenting, Vacation, Work

If You’re Happy and You Know It

Hey, remember me? Yeah, I own this here little place of the interwebs. Nice to see you again. I could write a post (ok, I did…and decided not to hit publish…again) about where I’ve been but instead I thought I’d just cut to the chase and post something new. So here you go…

10 Things I Smiled About Today

1. The # I saw on the scale this morning.

2. Achieving my goal of getting up without hitting the snooze button.

3. DJ choosing to do his homework this morning (rather than tomorrow night) without any prompting.

4. Scoot baking cookies for the Mother-Son Dance Friday night.

5. Having enough calories left today to help be a taste tester of the aforementioned cookies.

6. Catching up with an old friend/colleague.

7. Seeing a new friend/colleague achieve well-deserved satisfaction.

8. Getting an email from my friend who seems to make it her life’s work to have me in stitches on a daily basis.

9. Looking at a calendar and realizing I will be seeing a bunch of my friends real soon.

10. Straightening my desk before I left the office for the night.

What made you smile today?

Oct 07 2010

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Blogging, Business, Me, Myself and I, Politics, Work

Mah Smahrts Iz Showing

I’ve been super busy at work, which is a really good thing given this economy. In addition to the stuff I do for my clients, however, I’ve also been spearheading a project to get my whole office involved in blogging and tweeting about the Elections we have coming up in California. This is in coordination with a project that we’re running out of our DC office where some of my very smart colleagues are keeping up on all sorts of races around the country that people will care about.

So, since you’re my very best friend in the whole wide world (you are, right?), I thought you might be interesting in following this fun little project.

Here’s where we’re tweeting: @CalVoteImpact

Here’s where we blog: Virtual Vantage Points

And here is my first post: Boxer v. Fiorina: Five Trends to Watch

I hope to see you over there and please excuse me if I’m not hanging out wherever you’re used to seeing me. It takes a whole lot of brainpower to keep from accidentally tweeting about my kids’ ear infections and silly sayings from my work account, ifyaknowwhatimean.

Oct 05 2010

4 Comments

Friends, Just for Fun, Lemons, Me, Myself and I, Vacation

Life Is A Highway, I Wanna Ride It All Night Long

Oh, hi! Remember me? Me either. Sorry I’ve been AWOL. I have some explanations about my absence. Or not. I’m not quite sure yet. I’m still figuring things out. I’ve been in a weird place that requires me to pay attention to myself and the people who are closest to me, both friends and family.

But something compelled me to post. See, a couple of my friends have been writing their “30 Days of Truth,” but for some reason I’ve most closely followed Adam’s. He’s not actually posting over 30 days but rather is using the prompts when he needs them. (I’ll note that I’m pretty sure Adam hates lurkers and yet I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve commented on his posts. Sorry, dude.)

Today Adam posted about “Something I Hope to Do,” and that – combined with my drive to and from the Bay Area this weekend – just made me feel compelled to put this down on paper (or, the internet) so that I never forget it.

I hope to travel around the country with my family in an RV.

I know, it’s random. There are a million reasons for why I want to do this. The idea actually started when Scoot and I spent the days it took to move our family across the country fantasizing about quitting life as we knew it and taking up driving trucks. But that idea seemed a little impractical.

Our move across the country coincided with the release of Disney-Pixar’s Cars and, in the DVD special feature section, the director John Lassiter talks about the trip he took with his family in an RV. That seemed a little more realistic.

I have no idea if I could ever convince Scoot to do it. I know absolutely nothing about RVs (as a kid, my family camped the “real way” – in a tent) but it’s something I hope to do someday and so I’m using this post to make sure I don’t forget it.

Thanks for humoring me. I miss you more. I promise.

The. End. (for now)

Sep 11 2010

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Holidays, Lemons, Me, Myself and I, My Boys, RIP

And Now These Three Remain…

This morning I talked to DJ about what happened on September 11, 2001. We talked about the people who flew airplanes into buildings, the fires that resulted, the ultimate sacrifice of brave men and women, both in uniform and out. His questions, his concern, were genuine and thoughtful and love-filled.

In the moments and days after 9/11, we showed that we’re still capable of the love that comes so naturally to children. Perhaps we have since forgotten.

May we work to once again show our brothers and sisters that kind of love; the love that our kids so easily embody. Today and always.

Never forget.

Aug 27 2010

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Elementary School, Family, Friends, Me, Myself and I, My Boys, Our 'Hood, Parenting, RIP

PSA: Look Right

One day when I was in 8th grade, I returned home from my afterschool activities to tragic news. A 6th grader at my school had been killed riding her bike home earlier that afternoon.

I walked across my quiet residential street, to the place where she died – less than a block from her house. I looked at the makeshift shrine that was beginning to build. Her blood stained the street.

She had been riding her bike in the bike lane but she was going against traffic. According to reports, the driver who struck her had pulled up to a sleepy intersection and stopped at the stop sign. She looked to her left and, seeing no cars coming her way, she turned right. Right into that young girl. She wasn’t driving fast. She wasn’t drunk. She just made a simple, but deadly, mistake.

It was an accident. A tragic accident.

Every morning, I pull out of my driveway with my own precious cargo in tow. I see the children in our neighborhood walking and biking down our street to school. I creep to the end of my street and stop. I look left. I see no cars coming.

And then I look right. I imagine what it must have been like for that poor girl in the last moment of her life. I imagine what it must have been like for her friend who had split off from her just a block earlier and who, years later, told me she heard her friend scream but didn’t realize until later what exactly it was that she was hearing. I imagine what it must have been like for the girl’s mom who, I heard, was so heartbroken she moved away from the home they had once shared.

When you come up to an intersection. Please stop. Fully. Please look to both your left and your right. Please do your part to prevent something like this from happening to another family.

Aug 24 2010

6 Comments

Elementary School, Family, Me, Myself and I, My Boys, Our 'Hood, Parenting, Vacation, Work

I’ve Felt the Calm of A Satisfied Soul

It’s been a busy week around these here parts. First week of school and all. Here are some of the things that have satisfied my soul of late:

Sometimes not having all the answers really sucks.
Talking about death and dying with kids is never fun. Especially when it feels like it may be close. Or far. Or…who knows. But it’s important to talk about it nonetheless.
There’s a lot of great things that come with being a parent but one of the greatest is when your kids show absolutely no resemblance to you. See also: Five nights away from home with no homesickness and no fear of waterslides.
“No resemblance” corollary: When it takes 31 years and one kid who asks to get on a waterslide? And enjoy it? Awesome.
Waterslide corollary: Going on a family date to a place you and your husband have never been even though you’ve known each other forever? Also awesome.
There is little more liberating to a woman than to walk around in a bathing suit in public without caring about what others might think.
Ends up, this confidence despite evidence to the contrary thing is genetic.
See also: A six-year-old who doesn’t really think he needs to go by his new classroom to meet his teacher until the first day of school because really, mom, it’s not much different from last year.
Mom feels better when you make him go anyway.
It appears as though each added year of dropping my oldest off on the first day of school allows me to get a little further away from the building before breaking down into complete tears.
Having the youngest beg to go to kindergarten doesn’t help. Nor does knowing you’re planning on holding him back for another year when you’re pretty sure he’d be just fine if he went on time.
That knot in your throat when your kid says he can get to his classroom all by himself isn’t because you’re concerned he can’t. It’s because you know he can.
No matter how hard I try, I always say too much when I’m nervous.
Traditions matter. Especially those like taking the day before the first day of school off and working from home on the first day so you can be there when the bell rings. If there was a single piece of advice I could give working parents new to the whole school thing it’d be to warn them that EVERY. OTHER. PARENT. will be there to pick up their kids’ on the first day. If you’re not, your kid will, in fact, be the only one whose parent isn’t.
MMS picture spam may or may not be appropriate when you don’t post pictures of your kids online. But if you got a “Happy 1st day of School” text from me and didn’t want one, please feel free to let me know. I swear I only sent it to people I thought would appreciate it. And if I thought you would, and you didn’t, I’m so sorry. I guess, I don’t know, maybe we need to go to relationship counseling or something, because we obviously aren’t on the same page. HA!
Whether at soccer practice, a birthday party or a parent meeting, the following this are assured to happen: A parent will tell you more about them and their marriage than you ever want to know, a parent will make it clear their kid is above yours, a parent will make it clear their kids is below yours, a parent will disappear and you’ll judge them for not being involved, you’ll need to run somewhere and be judged for not being involved, and a whole bunch of other things. It’s important to remember that as much as you love/hate a certain parent, there are other parents that love/hate you. Oh well. It happens.
Every woman needs a few good girlfriends.
There is a great joy that comes with finding out that you’ve found yours.

Aug 10 2010

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Blogging, Me, Myself and I, My Boys, Parenting, Vacation, Work

My Front Porch Looking In

I got home last night to my boys asleep in the middle of my bed. DJ was on “my side,” Bop on Scoot’s. Scoot told me DJ had convinced his little brother that Bop really should sleep on daddy’s side. DJ understood that mommy was coming home while he slept.

Big brothers are always a little shady like that.

He managed to open his eyes enough to know I was there. He slept with his arm across me, then early in the morning he held me in both.

After Scoot left this morning, I switched sides of the bed. When Bop started to stir, I whispered in his ear, “B-Bop, mommy’s home.” A huge grin crossed his face. He grabbed me tightly around my neck. Then gave me a kiss. Then another. Then more. He asked if I went on an airplane. Then started to complain about his ear draining. One of them always gets sick when I travel.

It was great to have time away, to hang out with friends and meet new ones. To laugh and joke and explore and learn. To hear how others see the world.

I enjoyed seeing the sights in the Big Apple, but the city that never sleeps has nothing on what I get to wake up to every morning.

Jul 28 2010

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Blogging, Lemons, Me, Myself and I

I’m Just Going to Get My Bitchiness Out of the Way

Last year, I did the obligatory I wear flip flops all day/I have weird habits like brushing my teeth all the dang time/Squee!!! BlogHer!!! Post. Since then, my nickname hasn’t changed, nor has my affinity for comfy footwear and the occasional high heels. Therefore I thought I’d just get down to what you all really want to know…what makes me turn bitchy.

Generally speaking, I’m a pretty chipper person. I definitely see the cup half full and I’m always looking for silver linings. HOWEVER, there are a few things that will make me not so pleased…

I broke my shin playing soccer when I was 16. I was in a full-leg cast for a few weeks, then a cast up to my knee for another couple of months. It sucked. It especially sucked because I was told after the cast was off that I had to have surgery to rebreak my leg and insert a metal rod and a few screws to straighten it out. When I had that surgery later in the fall, something screwy happened and that muscle that runs along my shin now sticks out like a golf ball when it’s flexed. Because of this I wear pants or jeans a lot – even in the 100 degree heat here in Sacramento. If you see me in jeans, please don’t ask me if I’m hot. Yes, I’m hot. It’s New York in August and I’m in jeans. A few years ago I got up the nerve to start wearing skirts. And then the “OMG, what happened to your leg?” comments started. Don’t do that. I don’t like it. I’ll be nice about it. I’ll be cordial. I promise I won’t go off on you. (See #2) But it will annoy me. And to answer your questions: No I didn’t sue the doctor, I’m not even sure if he did something wrong or if this was going to happen no matter what. No, it doesn’t hurt. Yes, you can feel it (it’s squishy) but only if you don’t say, “Ewww” or, “That’s so weird” or, “Oh my gawd” afterwards which is basically the same thing as me saying No, you can’t feel it. Yes/No/I don’t know if it’s fixable. If it is – which is a big if, it isn’t medically necessary so insurance won’t pay for it and I can’t really envision a time in my life when I would ever prioritize getting my leg fixed over something like a diamond ring or an awesome vacation with my kids or a boob job (yeah, I said it, I nursed two kids for more than a year each…I could use a pick-me-up). If you’d like to pay for it, however, I’d happily accept your donation. No, you can’t dry hump it. Yes, I was (jokingly, of course) asked this question before. Yes, I gave the person who asked it the same answer. No, you won’t be getting special treatment.
When DJ or B-Bop come to us to tattle, they always, ALWAYS hear the same thing from me and Scoot: “You worry about you.” We say this because we firmly believe that there will always be people in their lives whose actions and reactions they cannot control. This is the same with us adults too. The only thing we have any control over is how we react to a situation. If you want to complain about cliques and drama and parties and swag, please know that I don’t particularly want to hear it. I’ll listen if you need to vent (I’m not a total bitch), but I won’t be as upset about it as you are and it might get old to me after a not-so-long while. If you want to ruin your trip to one of the most expensive, interesting, beautiful cities in the world by worrying about other people, feel free. I, on the other hand, will be worrying about me. I will be with people who I want to be with (including, sometimes spending time by myself…see #3), doing what I want to do and having a blast. This is my general approach to life and it’s served me well so far, so I’m just going to stick with it.
You have no control over this, but my super good attitude woohoo approach to life tends to expire after 3 days away from home. It’s no one’s fault. It’s just how I am. I leave home on Tuesday, I get home late Monday. You do the math. I’m going to try real hard to not turn into a royal bitch by Saturday but if I decide to just have some chill time by myself, please know it’s not you, it’s me. I promise you I’m not shunning you forever. I’m probably on the phone with my boys or taking a nap or wandering around the hotel by myself. It’s ok. We’ll both be ok. I promise chipper me will be back momentarily so just carry on and I’ll let you know when she is.
I get overtired. I need sleep and a lot of it. I do best with 8 hours a night. On weekends I add a nap to that mix. If I don’t get my 8 hours, everything listed above will be exacerbated. I do have control over this. I will do my best to prevent this, but it’s probably inevitable. Nothing that a good nap won’t fix, though.

I think I’ll just stop before you think I’m a very big bitch. I promise you, I’m not. 99.9% of you that I meet will not encounter bitchy Emmie at all while we’re in New York. But for the .1% of you who might maybe might (you know who you are), please allow me to say in advance I’m sorry.

Now stop staring at my leg.

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