That Easter Thing You Do

My kids know the truth now.  If yours don't, then maybe have them stop reading over your shoulder now (also, why are you letting your kids read over your shoulder anyway?  They should be outside playing.).

Magnolia found out when she was 9...mainly because we are terrible at the Tooth Fairy thing.  We forget, we lose teeth, we forget some more, then we forget again.  We always said that we weren't going to straight up lie to the kids about anything, and if they asked us direct questions, we'd answer truthfully, with the idea that when they get older, this would translate into them feeling safe about trusting us to be honest with them...an idea certainly appealing once they become teenagers.  So, the tooth fairy forgot (again) and Magnolia asked.  And since she asked, I was honest with her.  Unfortunately, she lost her shit.  LOTS of crying. Through the tears, she blubbered "What about the Easter Bunny?" at which point I told her.  Renewed hysterical sobbing...then "And Santa?".  Fearful of the onslaught, I lied.  A few days later, once she had calmed down, she asked again about that one, and I was honest.  She took it reasonably well.  She then became very concerned about her brother not knowing the truth and over the next couple of years put on an incredible show, which made the inevitable truth even harder with him...as he is a person who loves facts and information.  But the years passed, the tooth fairy bungled again, and one fateful day, he tested his theory before even asking the question, and we were caught before we even got asked.  *The* question was then asked, with several follow up questions...and the truth came to light.  When his father later asked how he felt about knowing the truth, Max's matter of fact answer was "I'm glad you guys told me because otherwise when I grow up and have kids, I wouldn't have known I was supposed to DO all this stuff!!"  Perfect.

So, once your kids "know"...and especially if you're Unitarian Universalists (spiritual agnostics) and don't actually "believe" in the "reason for the season" (although your families celebrate it)...what do you do?  Last Easter was the first one where both kids *knew*.  And they both begged me to pretend like they didn't know because they still wanted presents and candy.  I gave in, even though it's a lot of work on a weekend when I already have a lot of work to prepare for not one, but TWO family gatherings.  This year, I was in a bit of denial right until we got until the day before...when both kids pleaded again for the candy...when I explained we could go BUY the candy they wanted when it was 50% the day after Easter, Magnolia groused that she liked the TRADITION of it...and that Max waking her up early in excitement was the thing she liked the most.  Heart warmed by an unusual display of sibling love, this Grinch decided SOMETHING should be done.  Both kids had mentioned how much they'd miss the chocolate bunnies.  So, in between baseball and softball games, rehearsal, an audition, and a shopping for a BBQ we were hosting that evening, I went to the store to buy a few bits of Easter joy.  That night, I decided that baskets and egg hunts at home were out (they'd have one at each Grandparents' house later), but something needed to replace it.  In a moment of brilliance, I decided on a new tradition, and since both kids are old enough to process a letter, and since the waking up early part is better when they don't involve US, I wrote out a letter to both of them, which Michael typed up and printed up 2 copies, so that we could personalize each one.  We've started a new tradition, one they were both excited by and happy with...and one that will make me finally comfortable with this celebration.  Each kid got a few chocolate eggs, peeps, a small chocolate bunny, some money, and this letter, along with personal notes to each one by each of us.  This is something I feel comfortable with.

Dear Magnolia and Max,

We decided, as the years passed where make believe bunnies bring you treats, that it's time to transition our traditions into one that makes good for the years to come.

"Easter" is celebrated by Christians all over the world to honor the idea that Jesus rose from the dead as a way to forgive us all for all our sins as humans...but long before Jesus of Nazareth died on the cross, spring brought the celebration of "Ostara", a celebration of fertility and rebirth, of  Mother Earth coming out of her winter sleep to bless us all with new life- celebrations filled with eggs and rabbits and babies and animals to symbolize fertility and spring- new life.  As you can see, all these years, we've actually been celebrating Ostara.  We still think it's important to honor spring, the rebirth of the earth, the renewal of hope, life; the celebration of blooms, babies, bunnies and the sweetness of life- these are things we feel never will go out of style.

With this in mind, we provide you with your new Ostara tradition.  You'll see on the table gifts for each of you.  Candy, to represent how sweet life is and how delicious it can be.  Money, to wish for your prosperity in the coming yer and for years to come.  Baby animals (represented by peeps) to remind you of the rebirth of the earth and the importance to respect all living things. And a chocolate bunny, to remind you of your childhood past, a reminder that even as things change, they can also stay the same.

We give you these gifts in the hopes that you remember these things, that you celebrate traditions, old and new, that you continue to appreciate and support each other and the rest of our family to make sure we are always give the best of ourselves to the world, and that you enjoy this day and the coming year.

The kids awoke to their presents and letters and when they came to thank us, Magnolia whispered to me "I like Ostara better.  Thank you.".  The next day, Max asked me if he could eat his chocolate bunny, and when I gave him permission, he said (with sincere 10 year old wisdom)  "Thank you.  I want to remember my childhood...I really hope it's a solid one."  I know he was talking about the bunny...but still.

Mother Theresa

My wise and sometimes way too on point husband paraphrased Mother Theresa this morning, as he was pontificating on life and relationships and why we are who we are and why we do what we do...and what he said was this:

Mother Theresa was with someone who was struck by how she connected with everyone she met, regardless of how well she knew them or what she knew of them, she was able to connect with them at a personal level.  When this person asked her about it, she said something to the effect of  "If you spend your time making judgments, you are not spending time loving.  I'd rather spend my time loving."

This struck a chord with me as I've recently been coming to terms with a lot of realities about who I am and what makes me really tick, and I've realized that making those connections, even with people I barely know or don't know at all, is incredibly important.  I have never paid a great deal of attention to the life and works of Mother Theresa, but I was so moved by a quote a friend posted on her birthday, almost a year ago, that I asked him to email it to me, so I wouldn't lose it.  After the conversation with Michael this morning, I felt the need to go retrieve that email and re-visit the message that resounded so strongly with me.

“Life is an opportunity, benefit from it. Life is beauty, admire it. Life is a dream, realize it. Life is a challenge, meet it. Life is a duty, complete it. Life is a game, play it. Life is a promise, fulfill it. Life is sorrow, overcome it. Life is a song, sing it. Life is a struggle, accept it. Life is a tragedy, confront it. Life is an adventure, dare it. Life is luck, make it. Life is too precious, do not destroy it. Life is life, fight for it.”

Now, when I was 18, I took on a challenge through a Y program very dear to my spirit...and part of that challenge involved choosing an "ideal".  A person whose life I wished to emulate...and the people I chose at that time were people who were not famous, they were 2 women in my life who I respected and cared about and about whom I thought very highly...and I still feel that way about them, however, I think it's time for me to spend a little more time thinking about Mother Theresa and what I can learn from this woman.  Her legacy on this earth was something to really emulate...beyond her work with the sick and the poor, the ability she had to really connect with people, to try to stay positive and kind while completing her life's work...THAT is what I want to be my legacy.

I'm not Perfect

A parent at the school, a new friend, told me today that she marvels at my ability to get everything done that I do.  I explained that all I do is put one foot in front of the other.

She asked if she could help with what I was doing and I gladly gave her a task...she was doing it when she asked if I was a perfectionist...and I laughed and said that I most certainly was not.  "Good enough!" is my mantra far more often than not.  Pondering this, it occurred to me that in reality, I don't have TIME for perfection.  I have too much to do.  It doesn't all get done well...hell, sometimes it doesn't even get done...but if I strived (strove?) for perfection, I doubt any of it would get at all.

Michael has something he calls the 95% rule.  The idea is that to get a task 95% of the way done takes a certain amount of time. Then, the last 5% of that task very often, can take almost as much.  It's all in the details.  He applies this rule to coding, to housejobs, to gardening...and while the point of this rule is not to invalidate the importance of that last 5%, it does often happen by default, resulting in us only getting things *most* of the way done, because those last details are just plain tedious...and can take us away from doing 95% of something else.  Back to my mantra, "good enough".  Because, really, there are a LOT of tasks that need doing.  Once we've gotten to something where "good enough" IS good enough, we often move on.  I applaud those detail oriented folks who want everything to be JUSTEXACTLYRIGHT before they move on to the next thing...but that's just not me.  I have stuff to do, and not enough time to do it in as it is, much less if I fuss over getting every last thing *just so*.  Perfectionism is for those people who post stuff on pintrest.  I can't...I just can't.  I applaud those who do, don't get me wrong...we need a world of diversity.  We need a world where people pay attention to detail and where people plow through getting loads of stuff done.  We need people to create beauty, people to appreciate it, people to make stuff, people to buy stuff (although the fact that there is too much stuff in the world is a whole other blog post) and people to clean up when all the stuff is gone.  We need those pintrest people and we also need the people that haven't ever even been on pintrest (raises hand).  Everyone has a gift to give...contentedness comes when we learn to be happy with whatever that is.  Am I a perfectionist?  Far from it...but another friend just told me I poop rainbows, which I think was a compliment.

Children's entertainer, Laurie Berkener, who saved many a car ride when my kids were toddlers, has a song called "I'm Not Perfect".  The lyrics to the chorus are
I'm not perfect, no I'm not.
I'm not perfect, but I've got what I've got.
I do my very best, I do my very best, I do my very best each day...
But I'm not perfect, and I hope you like me that way.

Those lyrics might be wrong...I am writing them from memory, and, well, I'm not perfect.  :)

Being Legal

18 years ago this morning, I woke up with one thought in my head.  I wanted a new life.  I was done with the boy I'd been seeing for the previous 18 months.  Our relationship wasn't good for either of us, even considering the good parts.  I knew it was time to move on.  I hadn't been able to make the break, because our relationship was mostly a pretty easy one, built on friendship, common interests, and a strong physical connection, but we weren't meant for each other.  I was done with the string of relationships I'd been in for years. I wanted some freedom, a chance to just be me.  9 months out of college, a burgeoning freelance career, and all kinds of options awaited...but first, this day.  March 2nd.  I rolled over in bed and looked at an invitation for a party that my friend was throwing that evening and took note of the last line on the handwritten, "Xeroxed" invitation, "If there's a person you're supposed to meet, they will be there."  I rolled my eyes and sighed.  Oh, Gabe.  So optimistic.

18 years ago this afternoon I stopped by a community garden right by my apartment that had just put up a sign that it was FINALLY accepting applications for new members.  I dropped off my carefully written application and stood watching the sun start to make its downward trajectory and daydreamed about this new life of mine...I was sure to meet a bunch of fun crunchy granola types here and this would just be the start of this carefree, fun, without strings life I was about to start.  I knew big things were coming and headed home to make my potluck contribution for the party (had to be something that began with the first letter of your name...I was going to make "Noodles and Alfredo" cause I had already said I was going to bring the aforementioned boy and knew it was up to me to provide.  I figured I'd make a lot to make up for chintzing on the name thing.)

18 years ago tonight I arrived at the party, hot dish in hand, boy trailing behind...ready to meet new people.  I met an interesting redhead in the kitchen almost first thing...as I set down my dish.  He'd brought 2 different  dishes of Mac n Cheese, cause his name was Michael.  I felt a little dash of guilt.  My jacket still in hand, a friend popped her head in the door and took our picture.  The evening passed pretty quickly.  I was really enjoying talking to the redhead, but I wasn't sure if he was enjoying talking to me *quite* the same way.  Looking at the pleats on his J. Peterman pirate shirt, I was pretty convinced he wasn't.  There was a very pretty girl with a shaved head who I thought might be more interested in me, and I spent a little bit of time working on my girl flirting skills, which hadn't been successfully used in a couple of years.  Eventually the boy I came with let me know he was ready to go home, and while I wasn't, I grudgingly left to drive him home.

18 years ago right about now, I drove my kinda boyfriend home and asked him if I could come in, because I was weak willed and needy.  Thankfully he said no.  I drove around the corner where some of my friends, including my roommate, were getting ready for the midnight show of Rocky Horror.  My roommate and another friend of mine were standing outside the theater and I pulled up to say hi and to vent about my situation.  My roommate was tired of hearing me complain about the boy, and once they heard there were not one, but two potentially interesting people back at the party, they both insisted I backtrack and drive back over to the party.  So I did.

17 years, 11 months, 30 days, and 23 and a half hours ago I got back to the party, and much to my chagrin, the cute shorn girl was gone.  The redhead was still there, and it turns out, he WAS interested in me.  We ended up going to first base and the next morning helped clean up, exchanged numbers, and promised to stay in touch.  I remember walking back to my car and being decently annoyed.  I knew something WAS different, but it wasn't the kind of different I had planned.  I could tell that there was something very different about *this* boy.  Life was going to be different, but it wasn't going to involve me being carefree and single.  And it turns out, I was right.

That redhead is now my husband of almost 16 years.  He is the father of my children.  He is my best friend, my biggest fan, my most vehement supporter.  He's the person I most enjoy spending time with, the one I most admire...we are inextricably linked.  We have grown up together.  He can make me laugh with a word.  He knows me better than anyone.  And we're finally legal.  18 years since the day we met and started our life together.

Who knew Gabe would be right?

And Time Flew

Going to commit to writing more.  Again.  There have been so many half written, un-written, re-written unpublished posts, they actually outnumber the amount of posts I have written.  I find solace in writing.  I get a release that very few things are able to give me.  When I vent in writing, I am often able to let things go.  This is an incredibly handy skill and I need to embrace it more.

This is my reintroduction to this place and this process.  Who knows what I'll talk about!  How exciting!!

Just Do Something

For anyone not paying attention, I've spent the last 2 years as president of the PTA at my kid's public school in Los Angeles.  Before that, I held no title for a year (although ran a few committees)...before that, I was VP and before that, I was persona non grata.  My daughter "graduates" 5th grade from this school tomorrow, hailed by her teacher as the "best writer" he has ever taught.  When I took on the presidency (was begged to take on the presidency), I didn't think it would be all that different from all the work I was already doing for the school.  I was in charge of multiple committees, had practically single handedly managed to raise the money we needed on more than one occasion and without a lot of gratitude.  Now, with a supportive and wonderful group of folks on the board, all of whom wanted me to be there, I honestly thought it would just be a title, one that wouldn't change very much about my relationship with the school.  Boy, was I off.

PTA president is the kind of thing I was born to do. I function best as a benevolent dictator.  It's what made me a fantastic RA in the dorms at UCLA, it's what made me a great teacher, it's what makes me a good mom.  A lifetime of service was already par, thanks to all my work at the Y.  Volunteerism is second nature to me, there has never been a time in my adult life where I haven't been a volunteer for SOMETHING, even when I worked full time.  Being responsible for the PTA at this school that was educating both of my children for free, the school that I wanted them to attend, and knowing full well from my exposure to parochial schools, private schools, magnet schools, public schools in bad neighborhoods, and public schools in good neighborhoods, that the difference between a good school and a great school is the level of parental involvement at that school, meant that it was now on me.  All of a sudden, being president meant that it wasn't just on me to HELP.  It was on me to LEAD.  Because of my personal need to do a good job, this meant it wasn't enough for me to keep the school going the way it had been going (which was fine), I needed to raise the bar.  Raise the expectation of what parents should do, what they owe to the school, and to do it all diplomatically and in such a way that it would continue on without me there.  I've railed against leaders of programs whose method of leading is to just do everything themselves, leaving no structure for their eventual absence.  I would not do the same thing, but DAMN that takes effort.

My tenure is over.  I've served 2 terms, which is the limit and I'm happy to be moving on and passing on the reigns to a group of exceptionally talented, dedicated, and capable folks.  I'm thrilled to be able to do it while I will still be at the school, helping for the next 2 years as their adviser, to support them in any way I can.  I'm proud of my accomplishments, and can hold my head up high, knowing that what I've done has been for good.

I was stopped randomly on the yard after school today by 2 parents who occasionally help out with the PTA.  They both wanted to thank me for the work I've put in to the school, and also apologize for not being able to "do more".  I thanked them profusely for the appreciation and told them what I very firmly believe, and that is that every little bit helps.  Any time one is given the opportunity and chooses to serve for the common good, THAT is winning.  It's true that I've done a lot for the school in the time we've been there (and we've got 2 more years to go) but there is no way I would have been successful without the incredible team of people who help, in whatever way they can, over the course of the year.  I am proud to say we surpassed our fundraising goal this year, bringing our total to over 5 TIMES the goal in place when Magnolia started kindergarten at this school 6 years ago.  And while me venting on FB about what one parent said or another parent did or did not do is great for public amusement, I have to say, in all seriousness, I am humbled and honored to have had the opportunity and the skills needed to help where help was needed.

Everyone should do something.  Everyone should help for the sake of helping...in whatever way it works for you, there are SO MANY ways to do it.  I don't care if you have children or not, if it's for a school or not, whatever you can do to help humanity in whatever way, big or small, please, DO IT.

Just Take the Damn Compliment

When I was 13, I was sent to Weight Watcher's camp by my well meaning mother.  Whose idea was that? I don't know, but I do know that I'd been the butt of fat jokes since the 3rd grade, and I was starting a new school...not just a regular new school, but a non-parochial...wait for it...PUBLIC school.  And whether it was my mom's plan or mine, this little 5'4" teen, topping the scales at 142 pounds (I'd kill to weigh that today) needed to lose weight, so off to fat camp I went.

I have a lot of memories from those 4 weeks in the mountains of Carpinteria, near Santa Barbara...taking horribly tempting walks past acres of avocado farms; singing "Time after Time" in the talent show; doing morning calisthenics; dealing with the tennis coach, who, upon hearing that my family was from Nicaragua, called me a fascist for reasons I still don't completely understand (which earned me a chance to talk to my parents, as an official phone call had to be made); putting mustard on EVERYTHING, as it was the only condiment we were allowed as much of as we wanted; my first "real" kiss (EW!), followed by several weeks of much less gross, but much more chapped lip inducing chaste kisses by my first real beau, Jeff...and compliment class.

I'm sure it wasn't called compliment class.  It was probably self esteem class or be nice to yourself class or something more appropriately titled, but here I am, almost 30 years later...and I remember.  We had to take a class to learn how to take a compliment.  As the quintessential "fat kids" we were good at self deprecating, good at deflecting attention, good at not being noticed...we weren't very good at taking a compliment.  And I have to admit, the folks over at WW were brilliant in this regard.  To this day, I remember being in that room and having us having to walk around, give each other compliments, and being required to say back "Thank you.".  Sincerely, genuinely and with eye contact.  It was explained to us that when we didn't do that, it was, in a way, insulting the person giving the compliment.  It was saying "Listen, I know you just gave me your opinion, but your opinion sucks."  Whether it was changing the response to  "That's a nice dress!" from "This old thing?" or "This?  Ugh!"  to "Thank you!  I've had it forever, I'm glad it has held up." but changing our fat kid, people pleasing, self deprecating selves to accept that not only were we worth of taking the compliment, but not doing so was actually being mean to the person giving you the compliment.  And that has stuck.  Not that it is easy, mind you.  There are plenty of times I WANT to respond with snark and sarcasm and self deprecation.  Let's face it, it's what I do.  But goodness, imagine if we ALL took that class.  And every time we got a compliment, instead of dismissing it, we TOOK it.  And were grateful for it, and showed our gratitude, and even more incredibly, BELIEVED it.

I was at the doctor's today and the woman in front of me was being checked in and she said to the receptionist..."I love your nail polish!" and the receptionist looked at her nails and said "Oh, they're disgusting right now, I haven't had time to go get them done."  And I thought, dude.  That's one skinny girl who would benefit from going to fat camp.

Once in a while, I get on my loved ones and MAKE them take the compliment.  I LOVE to compliment people, and I will often give them a hard time for not taking them from me.  I also (now) love getting compliments.  I need to get better at remembering those at least somewhat more weighted than the insults...and so sometimes I write them down, even though it feels narcissistic...I know if I weren't to do so, I'd forget.  It's amazing what a gift they can be.