I was needing a good laugh this week after the weekend, and funeral, in West Virginia.  I got one in the form of my neighborhood and the uber-competitiveness of it, as I just described it to an old friend of mine. 

Halloween decorations are aplenty right now in my suburban area.  One person on my street got those huge, thick spiderweb thingys and hung them all over her bushes in the front of the house.  A few days later, another 5 or 6 houses had also been decorated with the same spiderwebs.  A week later, I think we are the only house left standing without thick cottony spiderwebs in our front bushes, save that one house that has NO Halloween decorations (must be Mormons or Menonites or something living there).  I’m a rebel, and didn’t even realize it! 

It just so reminds me of high school, when my friend Erica had the first pair of Gasoline jeans.  Gasoline jeans were the bomb back then, especially the ones with the faded front stitched to an equally fabulous acid-washed back.  Two tone jeans!  Of course they were skin tight - and probably caused a lot of female problems later on in life, not to mention a ton of camel-toe sightings.  But I digress. 

Erica had the first pair of Gasoline jeans I can remember, and being in the popular crowd, her friends all followed suit. Within a matter of weeks, you were totally uncool, totally dorkish, and a complete loser if you were wearing Lees or Levi’s or god forbid, something from JC Penney or Sears.  (Fashion note:  I also remember that the best thing to wear with the jeans was a white oversized t-shirt, decorated with puffy neon paints - and I’ve polled other friends from different areas of the country and none remember that, so apparently that epidemic of bad taste was mercifully confined to northern Michigan.)

Within 12 months or so, I convinced my mother to fork out the ridiculous amount of money it took to buy Gasoline jeans.  By then, of course, everyone was on to something new.  As I continue to be in my life, I am hopelessly behind the fashion trends, and apparently the home decorating trends too. 

I sucked up my inherent fear of my neighborhood (all the moms I’ve seen look like Botox models and wear very tight clothing and very high heels - to the bus stop - at 7 AM!) and attended a Halloween party for the kids.  Everyone was nice (okay, most of them were nice), and I think some of them actually might work outside of the house.  I didn’t feel too much like a social pariah, but since both of my children were terrified by the decorations, Mike and I spent most of our time calming, consoling, and feeding Lily and Arden.  There wasn’t a whole lot of time left for socialization before we had to go home for bedtime. 

I swear to you though, as I left, I heard someone say, “Pssst - they’re the ones with the crappy Halloween decorations!” 

After a successful dinner with my mother, we told Lily that she and Arden could have a couple of Skittles when we got home as a treat.  Unfortunately, when we arrived home, Mike admitted that he had scarfed up the remaining innocent Skittles in a sugar fit.  Lily looked at him sternly and said, “Daddy, that’s okay.  But don’t do that again ever.”  Mike tried not to giggle.  I’m surprised Lily didn’t shake her finger at him!

Arden also got in trouble at school today.  And we thought #2 was going to be so easy.  Now I think that Arden may be even more willful and difficult than Lily, if that’s possible.  Apparently we aren’t the only ones she says “No” to.  They are fairly strict at school about kids not saying “No” to adults, especially when it is followed by a devilish grin and a path directly away from whatever they are being asked to do.  Arden’s teacher told me that they are really working with her to stop her from saying “No” all the time, but how do you explain to a nearly 2 year old that it’s the wrong thing to say?  Especially when I find myself saying, “NO ARDEN!  Don’t say NO!”  And she repeats the No word back to me numerous times.  I asked them what they do - they said they just use a stern tone and explain that you don’t say NO like that to adults or teachers, and that when she is asked to do something, she needs to listen. 

In my normal way, I interpreted the teacher’s discussion with me tonight as saying, “Hey, loser mother.  Do you just let your child go around being rude and saying no to you all the time?  Cuz that crap doesn’t fly here . . . and we’re not putting up with your mouthy 2 year old!”  I don’t think she actually was saying that.  I believe that she was trying to get us all on the same page so we are consistent with our discpline, but I’m always looking for a reason to feel bad about my parenting skills so I wasn’t surprised that I immediately took the opportunity to heap some more delicious guilt on the pile. 

We had a great time with Colleen although it was a very brief visit.  We packed a lot into a short amount of time.  Mike took care of the girls on Saturday afternoon so Colleen and I could have lunch and get some of the gabbing out of the way.  We wandered around Carytown and made sure we still liked each other.  I can’t speak for her, but I immediately felt comfortable with her, which I believe is the sign of a true friend. It’s bizarre to not have seen someone in that long and be able to just pick up where you left off without so much as a hiccup. The only difference is that both of us seem to be much happier and centered, and without the old bad influences beating on us.  It was difficult to hear so much about the people I grew up with, like a friend I used to be close with on her 2nd (or was it 3rd) war with cancer.  It sounds like she might not be winning this time, and she’s my age.  A few other friends are on their second marriages already, and one has already been through 4.  Another friend got heavily involved with cocaine, ruined his heart and his career, and is now on disability living in his parents’ basement.  A few of them are doing well, but more than I expected ended back where we all came from. 

Colleen also had a copy of Traverse Magazine with her, and I can see why so many people go back.  Of course, none of the pictures are taken on the 300 days of the year that are gray, overcast, snowing, sleeting, or hailing, but still, those pictures brought back some strong memories.  It’s a beautiful place, and I wish when I lived there I had been more able to appreciate it.  The people there are different, and seeing so many pictures and hearing so many stories made me the closest thing to homesick I’ve been since freshman year of college.  At the same time, I don’t ever want to go back - not even to visit - because it’s not the same place it was when I was there, and I’m not sure I would like it anymore.  I do know that my parents should have held on to their real estate up there - lakefront property sells for around $3M. 

One of the strangest things about being with Colleen was having her fill in parts of my life that I had completely forgotten.  Most of the time, with some prompting from her, I could actually recall what she was telling me.  Unfortunately there were a few stories of which I have no recollection.  She had a picture of my first boyfriend and hers, right after we graduated from high school, in the process of building a bonfire.  I didn’t even know that Philip and Dale even knew each other - I had completely blocked out or simply forgotten the entire summer following my senior year.  In the picture, Colleen’s hand is shielding the camera from the sun’s glare, and half of Philips’ head is cut off, and just a tiny portion of Dale is in the picture.  Who knows where I was.  Everyone looked sort of brooding and mellow - two adjectives that describe most of my 4 years in high school. 

She gave me the full scoop on her family, and I filled her in on mine.  Part of the required me to describe in detail the demise of my friendship and relationship with my ex, but I also realized that as I told the story, I had come a long way in healing from all the damage he did to my self-esteem and confidence.  It was actually easier to talk about him than it’s ever been, and I can actually laugh a little about it and feel pity for him instead of the all-consuming rage and nausea that I used to feel. Whenever I resurrected the past so I could look at it a bit more, turn it in my hand, and try to figure out the answers to a few questions that I know will never be resolved, I used to fall into a dark place.  I don’t go there anymore, and I suppose that’s what healing is all about.  That, plus years of therapy, introspection, very smart friends, a great husband, and a life I’m happy with. 

Mike and I talked about going to the Keys to see Colleen before she moves back to the land of ice and lake trout, but it’s only another six months or so that she’s there and god knows it takes us a lot longer than that to get off our rear ends and do things.  So the next time I see her, it might be when I’m visiting Michigan for another wedding or funeral.  I’m glad that she bought the plane ticket and came all the way up here, and I’m glad I was able to find her after all these years.  I will admit that I’m a bit sad we had trouble staying up past midnight, that one single glass of wine provided me an ugly hangover, and that we don’t live a lot closer.

I’ve posted another flickr slideshow here from Matt’s birthday with some random pictures I took of Arden before the party - she’s completely and totally in love with her napper, and she calls it her “nigh-night”.  If she sees it at home during the weekend when I’m supposed to be washing it, she screeches and flaps until she can get it open and crawl into it.  So if you’re wondering what’s up with the pictures of Arden in her napper in broad daylight, well, my friends, that is the deal. 

www.flickr.com cdelbueno’s Matt’s 8th Birthday Party photoset

We had a busy weekend.  Some of it was fun busy; some of it was not so fun.  On Saturday morning we visited with Lois and Ken - Ken is sick and not doing so well right now, and it was hard to see him like that.  I want to help Lois in whatever way I can because she certainly has a lot on her plate right now.  I’m not sure what we can do yet but I’m hoping I’ll come up with something.  I feel very helpless and that’s a frustrating thing to feel. 

Sunday morning we did a bunch of work around the house and got ready for Matt’s party.  Lily kept referring to his bowling party as “golf”.  We kept explaining that it was bowling, but she didn’t really care.  And she managed to have a good time even without it being golf.  Mike had to help her get the ball into her hands but once she got the hang of it she reverted back to her old fiercely independent self.  Arden couldn’t really bowl as her feet were about 10 sizes too small for the smallest set of bowling shoes, but that made her really mad and she kept grabbing bowling balls off the rack and trying to run away with them.  Needless to say, the bowling ball probably weighs more than Arden and Mike, in his usual workers’ comp frame of mind, feared a hernia and made her leave the bowling balls alone.  She had a couple of fits because she was so determined to throw the balls, but we finally distracted her by feeding her.  Food works wonders with Arden.

Seeing all those 8 year old boys made me glad I have girls - at least until they hit their teen years.  All that testosterone!  All that wildness!  Bowling balls everywhere - people being hit in the face with slinkys - maniacal Pepsi drinking and massive food consuming . . . .ah, boys.  Mike told me that he noticed the girls in attendance were all very well behaved, but the boys were acting like they’d been left inside a very small box for 8 years and were seeing the outside world for the first time.  It was pretty funny. Christine admitted that not much stresses her out, but boy’s birthday parties definitely do.  When I left I told her to enjoy her afternoon of heavy drinking and valium use because I know that’s what I would have wanted after chaperoning for that many boys. 

In the meantime, I finally caught up with Colleen, my long-lost friend I’ve known since ditching CCD class in Traverse City.  We knew each other through so many bad hair styles, leg warmers, black lipstick and white pancake, and numerous loser boyfriends.  We even lived together for a short stint in college.  She got a ticket and is flying up here this weekend. I hope her ovaries don’t shrivel when subjected to our children.  It was bizarre talking to her last night.  Just like I said in my email, it’s weird to condense a decade of your life into 4 paragraphs - or whatever the length is.  We condensed long relationships, courtships, beginnings and endings of jobs and careers into an hour-long phone conversation.  You miss so much of someone’s life when there are gaps in communication, and I know we can’t get that back.  All we can do is try to reconnect and find out if we still like each other, and move forward. 

I’ve thought it before, but I was able to specifically voice it to Colleen that I am missing so many of my memories from college.  Not from the usual beer-induced hazes, either.  She was telling me hilarious stories about things I couldn’t remember or had forgotten. You could almost hear the dust rising from my brain as things became more clear.  I told her that my anti-depressants in college weren’t really being watched, and my dosage then was nearly 3 times the amount I take today.  It wiped out my short-term memory and blurred some of my long-term memory. More than anything else I regret that. It’s hard to lose years of your life and have no connection to them.  Strange that I can still recite my addresses to you:  808 Monroe Street, 602 Catherine Street . . . but I can’t tell you the name of the girl who got me through orientation or the name of Zack’s roommate that used to torture me with his inane sense of humor, or Colleen’s boyfriend that had a penchant for odd things that can’t be discussed in a mommy blog.  I remember still the name of people in my creative writing honors group but can’t remember what I wrote about, or where those things are now.  I remember being miserable because of Keith, but only because I remember the drive between Birmingham and Ann Arbor - not because of the specifics of what he said or did.  So I have to apologize whenever I run across people from college because chances are, I’m not going to remember them, or what I said, or what I was even like. 

So Colleen will be here this weekend.  She’s planning to open a store in Traverse City eventually, so I figured I’d haul her down to Carytown and let her see Richmond’s version of Front Street.  Heck, she might like it so much she’ll move here instead.  Not. 

It’s been a weird couple of days.  First I heard from someone from my very way back past, Dale Carlson.  He and my good friend Colleen had a love thing going for a long time, and he was looking for Colleen and came across a blog posting about her.  It was great to hear from him - he was always hilarious, wild and smart.  This got me thinking that I should continue my quest to find Colleen.  Googling wasn’t working so I googled her brother, actually FOUND him, and wrote him.  He wrote me back and gave me Colleen’s info, told me she was living in the Florida Keys, and in the process of buying a business.  I felt like yelling, YOU GO GIRL!  Colleen always had a flair for retail and fashion so I was thrilled to hear the news.  Apparently she’s moving back to TC at some point.

So in less than 24 hours I heard from two people I haven’t seen in probably 20 years.  Freaky.  At least they were people I wanted to hear from! 

As far as lack of updates, Jennifer and I have been feverishly working on an e-commerce site that will tentatively launch in mid-October.  We attempt to be billable during the day (got a mortgage to pay) and do a lot of the research and set up work in the evenings, but it has prevented me from doing much else. 

And to be honest, I’ve been a little blog-shy.  You’ve heard of gun shy, right?  Well, since I “hurt” so many people in my family unintentionally with some previous posts, I’ve been reconsidering and reassessing my blog.  The end result is that I’m not going to change anything, including my approach, but I also had to come to terms with the fact that I may, and probably will, offend people with my opinions or choices, and I have to be willing to accept the repercussions of that.  It’s hard with my family because we sure can dish it out, but randomly, we can’t take it.  This is a general comment, not directed at any one person in particular, but when my entire family’s discourse consists of raking each other lovingly over the coals, it’s hard to predict when someone’s feelings are going to be hurt.  And I do agree with my father - weddings do bring out the worst, people misbehave, expectations are insanely out of control, and people say things during the moment that they never would dream of saying later.  A couple of extremely rude and offensive comments were made directly TO my mother and about my mother (to myself and my sister) - but instead of lambasting them openly in the blog, I choose to be a big girl and deal with it privately on my own.  Who knows? Maybe they were joking!  Doubtful, but my point is that we all just need to relax, give people the benefit of the doubt, and try to buck up our personal insecurities and sensitivities. 

For example, my sister was laughing at my snoring when we were in Michigan. Dave commented while at breakfast wtih my mother that he tends to snore more when he’s carrying some extra winter fat.  My mom immediately shot me a knowing look and I jokingly snapped back, “Well shit, if I wasn’t such a huge freakin’ whale, I’d probably SNORE LESS!”  Now I know my mom wasn’t directly telling me I was fat, but because I am so hyper-sensitive about my weight, I assume everyone is always talking about it when they aren’t.  Being aware of what a freak I am about my body image also helps me to give others the benefit of the doubt.  And I guess that’s all I’m asking for. 

Jennifer called me Moses today - as in the person that parted the Red Sea, because I’ve been calling myself the “Great Divider” in terms of my family.  It’s really not that dramatic or bad, but I really need to try to keep my sense of humor about all of this.  Knowing that I hurt people in my family that I love and actually care deeply about is hard for me to swallow, but I still wouldn’t change anything.  That makes it almost harder. 

I think I’m going through a phase where I am realizing, in terms of family, what works and what doesn’t.  Some major things right now are just not working for me.  Relationships with family, whether immediate or by marriage, have times where they are strained.  I also realized that just because I married someone or am related by blood to someone doesn’t mean we have to be best friends.  With regard to my husband’s family, there are things I need to do to protect my own mental health.  Getting caught up in the sheer amount of disappointment, followed closely by anger, that I often feel with them is not a good thing for me.  Mike lives his life with no expectations, or expecting the worst. It’s the lawyer in him.  I am the eternal optimist in that way, and I’m constantly feeling let down by certain factions in my life.  My morning affirmations used to be, “You are a beautiful, successful woman” - said while trying not to laugh . . . and now they are “Be like Mike. Be like Mike.  Be like Mike.”  It works for him and there’s a reason for him being the way that he is.  I can’t apply my familial rules and behaviors to his family, because they aren’t even written in the same language. 

In the meantime, there are moments of pure bliss.  This morning Lily crawled into bed with me and wrapped her entire body around mine, petted my face, and said, “I love you, Mommy.  You are my best, sweet Mommy.  Awwwww.”  Yes, she actually said “Awwww.”  She kissed my entire face, then used my head as a pillow so she could see Arthur on PBS better (or Our-Fur as she calls him).  Arden, also napping at school, is happy most days as well.  Although they are both very spirited children (a nice way of saying demanding), I love the fact that they are both overflowing with personality.  It’s my own personal payback for being a pain in the ass to my parents.  Even now I think I still give them ulcers.  I get extreme pleasure (and also a little shiver of fear) when I see Lily and Arden beginning to bond as sisters and gang up on the parents.  They run and hide from us, laugh at us, and allow each other to love one another when they think we aren’t looking.  It’s pretty cool.

One of the things I noticed at Julie’s wedding was how much of an impact she and Cristin had on each other, and how much they love each other. It was really good for me to see the two of them, both adults with their own lives, still so much involved with one another.  Those are my hopes for Lily and Arden, especially since having them so close together nearly made me certifiably insane. 

In the meantime, if anyone has advice on dealing with difficult family members, I’m willing to hear any and all suggestions as long as it doesn’t involve hit men (that’s just not in the budget this year).

Mom asked me this morning why I was tired – I told her it was from two days of non-stop talking and chattering.  Phew.  I’m looking forward to a couple of hours on the plane of complete and utter silence.  I love my family, but MAN!  They can talk. 

We did a lot of driving on memory lane.  A lot of it didn’t pertain to me as Risa and Dave lived in metro Detroit a lot longer than I did.  When I lived there, I wasn’t even in kindergarten, so I don’t have many memories of it.  We saw the house in Bloomfield Hills, the house Dave and Risa lived in after mom was dumped by her first husband, and the house we spent so much time in on Cooke Street in Dearborn – my grandparent’s house.  We drove endlessly around Birmingham.  It’s really changed since I was last here.  Lots of ugly houses torn down and cute cottages and craftsman-style homes going up in their places.  We even drove by my nightmare on W. Lincoln Street. 

I barely recognized the corner of Southfield and Lincoln because it has changed so much – new houses, expensive houses, lots of TruGreen lawns.  I felt like I was going to barf going down the street, but it was so different that I was able to calm down.  Turns out the house on W. Lincoln doesn’t exist anymore, and there is a gorgeous new house where the main house and guest house once stood.  It was very cathartic.  When things go wrong, sometimes I wish to burn them all down so I don’t have to look at them anymore.  Knowing that the house was gone made it seem like all the bad memories were gone with it. 

We ate at Olga’s (and it was as good as I remembered it), shopped at the Varsity Store (go blue) and looked at all the new and hoity-toity shops that have populated and expanded the original Birmingham area.  Unfortunately we didn’t have time to explore Royal Oak, as I have a few good memories there as well, but we were squeezing in drops of memory for every mile of Woodward we traveled.

We ate at a place called Recipes for brunch yesterday morning.  Below are a few pictures of my insane brother and sister.  We decided to count Coney Islands – by the time I got the airport this morning, we were around 65 of them.  Coney Islands are as frequent in the Detroit area as cell phone stores in Richmond.  It’s crazy.  A lot of coney dogs are consumed here every day.  Dave’s planning on eating another four before the baseball game tomorrow, chased with a couple of beers.  As long as my family stays upwind of him, everyone should survive. 

Note the color of the sky in this one.  I love Michigan!

The wedding was very pretty.  The priest couldn’t resist getting a dig in for all of us secular folk, by announcing in the first few minutes that those who were married in secular places just didn’t have the same strength to their vows that those married in the Catholic church do.  Sigh.  I turned around and made burning in hell hand gestures to Anja as she had recently been married on a beach – and probably not wearing shoes!!!  The agonizing horror of not being married in a church . . . I’m not sure how I live with myself or how Mike and I have managed to stay married for as long as we have without the strength of those church-imposed vows. 

It was quite humorous because I was just feeling slightly warm toward my old religion, remembering when to cross myself, when to make that weird sign of the cross on my lips, when to say “amen” and when to kneel.  Doing things habitually and ritualistically is somewhat comforting, but when the priest made that statement, I immediately snapped out of my Catholic haze and started to feel crabby.  Was that really necessary to make the rest of us who dare to not be Catholic or not be married in their church feel like our vows are meaningless, that “Jesus isn’t in our marriage”?  Typically Catholic to take cheap shots at the “others” while supposedly celebrating a happy event.  Whatever.  The rest of the mass was nice.  Risa affectionately dubbed the ceremony “The Marriage of Julie and David – the Musical” because the priest sang EVERYTHING.  He had a really great voice – if he ever leaves the priesthood, he’s got a future in recording.  I’ve never been to a sung mass before so that was interesting, until I misheard the vocalist and thought he bellowed “Tuna, Be Afraid”.  Turns out he was actually saying “Do Not Be Afraid,” but by then, it was too late, and I was simultaneously trying not to wet my pants and hold back my laughter.  Dave pulled a Mom move from the past and grabbed the fleshy backside of my arm, twisting it and glaring, then giggling himself.  I love church!

The photographer needed some serious valium – she was literally herding and shouting at us immediately after the ceremony to get us lined up for photos.  St. Hugo’s apparently packs many weddings per day into the stone chapel, and the mass ran long (probably due to the singing), so we were pressed for time.  Poor Julie and Dave, stuck in the midst of a bunch of sweating relatives.  The photographer even yelled at my sister to get moving – suggesting that Risa should stampede over the elderly lady moving at a snail’s pace in front of her.  For a moment I felt like I was in a mosh pit instead of a wedding.  Then, we made too much noise, and a very bitter church employee yelled, “KEEP IT DOWN!! THIS IS A CHURCH!”  Risa, in her sarcastic manner, muttered back, “Yes, god forbid we raise our voices to the Lord in joyous exaltation of the fact that we are HAPPY someone got MARRIED!” 

The wedding became a lot more fun once we left the church.  We ran a few errands, grabbed a snack, and socialized in the smoking lounge at the hotel (thankfully, no one was smoking).  Michigan, raising a middle finger at those of us from friendlier climates, decided to remind us of our past by sending icy rain and lots of wind on our summer dresses, ridiculous shoes and dainty wraps.  We all huddled together and cursed Michigan and the freaking insane weather that it has. 

Julie and David’s cocktail hour was outside at the Pine Lake Country Club. It was beautiful, despite the potential for snow.  We all just drank a lot, huddled together, and attacked the passed appetizers.  Julie did look particularly stunning. I rarely see Cristin or Julie with makeup on, and they both looked beautiful.  I was glad to have been there.  I did instruct my family to stop telling Cristin she looks like me all of the time.  Frankly, being her age and told that she “looks like a middle-aged, overweight mother of two children” could possibly not be the biggest compliment she’s ever received.  It gets old hearing that over and over again, for both of us.  Yes, we look alike.  Move on, please. 

This morning, Risa and I rode the elevator down to meet for brunch.  It was quite an event, as Uncle Richard was paying.  We all took full advantage of that.  Steve even drove back from the east side of Detroit just for a free hotel brunch.  As we were getting in the elevator, a family of three got on with us. Risa was clutching her posterior and complaining about how bad her butt hurt from Harley kicking her.  She said, “He acts like a 3 year old child, and he gets all fired up.  He bites and kicks sometimes.”

“Why does he bite?”  I asked.

“Sometimes if I’m giving him something to eat, he starts licking my hands.  He’s really into licking.  If he gets excited, sometimes he bites, so I have to give him a hard swat to let him know I don’t like that.”

I asked her if I could ride him, because he’s so huge, and the lady in the elevator gave a huge sigh of relief and said, “THANK GOD you’re talking about a horse – I thought you were talking about your kids, you horrible mothers!”  It was quite humorous.  Yeah, those pesky kids, always licking and biting and kicking.  We just give him a hard swat, put a halter on them, and tie them outside in the rain.

Mike seemed to do just fine without me.  I missed him and the kids but as Dave said, we would never had been able to do what we did with our spouses and kids in tow.  We should really get together, just the siblings, a couple of times a decade.  I know Dave is hurt that no one comes to visit him (though Risa is next year), but I have to take it baby steps with Mike.  Getting him to Hawaii is quite an endeavor.  I’m not sure they make a drug strong enough to get him on an all-day flight over the ocean, especially when he finds out how much it normally costs to fly there.  I’m working on it, however.  In the meantime, hooking up with Dave and Risa when he’s in the continental US will have to do. 

I have a great family, extended and close – the cousins in general are all laid back and fun to be around.  Although you don’t get much quality time with anyone during a wedding, it’s still nice to go and dance and be silly and enjoy.  There aren’t many of us left to take the plunge, so there won’t be many more family weddings until the cousins raise their babies (like mine) and get them married off.  It’s weird to think that the next generations of weddings (and funerals, too – with our parents) are ours to have.  It’s weird to be seated at a table full of 21 year old kids and realize that they think I am old at 35.