BARBIE

 I overheard two young gentlemen at the counter, "what is with all the BARBIE hype this summer?"  

I laughed and thought to myself, they don't have sisters.

I was a lover of BARBIES.  And everyone I knew was too.

I do not remember exactly how old I was when I discovered the magic of Barbie, but I am guessing second grade.

I had a Barbie, Talking Barbie, Cousin Stacy from England who also talked, Skipper, Ken and several other Barbies over the years.

During summer vacation, we sat on the concrete slab of our front porch and played Barbies for hours.   The front porch was for Barbies and the back porch was for Tonkas.

Girls would arrive mid-morning, after chores were done and we gathered our BARBIE cases and opened them, and the day began.

It was on the that cool, summer concrete slab that my grandmother said to us, "girls you are going to get hemorrhoids from sitting on that cool concrete all the time".  I have been worried about that most of my life that my Barbie obsession would come back to bite me with hemorrhoids.

Somedays, when we had several girls, we would break out the chalk and draw parking spaces for our Barbie cars and Ken cars.  We thought we were Pinterest worthy with that creative spark.

Every day, the porch was full of girls and their Barbies.  We spent most of the day dressing Barbie and never being able to get or keep her shoes on.  Ken would come over and they would kiss and then we would stick Kleenex up Barbies dress because she was having a baby.  Daily.  Barbie delivered a child daily.  Ken was the world's biggest sperm donor.

My grandmother sewed.  She sewed everything. I did not get store bought Barbie clothes.  "I can make it", said my grandmother and she did.

 I remember going to Troutman's and picking out Barbie patterns with her.  Any scraps of material became a Barbie frock or a bedspread or a blanket of even a little dress for Skipper.  

I was lucky that I had a brother who had G.I. Joe and a Wild, Wild West man.  Those two fellows would always come and see Barbie via tank or horse.  We made sure there were parking spaces for the tank and the horse.

One morning, Laurie from the top of the hill, was joining the girls at the bottom of the hill for a Barbie session.  Laurie opened her Barbie case and had hangers and a very organized case.

As she was dressing Barbie, I noticed a flowered slip she put on her Barbie before the dress.  I was obsessed with the slip.  Obsessed.

It was break time and my mom came out with TANG in paper cups.  She wanted to make sure we were hydrated but never mentioned how we were going to need Preparation H in about ten years.  Anyway, somebody spilled TANG.  It went everywhere.  As were gathering up our TANG-soaked clothes, I accidentally (wink, wink) slipped the flower slip into my case.  

Later in the day, my mom asked for my Barbie clothes.  She was going to wash them, so we didn't have ants.  No ants but hemorrhoids were ok.

She noticed the slip immediately.  After it was washed and dried, I had to make the trip up the hill to deliver it back to Laurie.  Ugh.  I was pissed.  But it was hers.

One Christmas, I asked for the BARBIE Dream house.  It was the two story one.  I could not wait.  It was the only page I folded down in the SEARS catalogue.  I had to have the Barbie Dream House.  It was the Barbie Dream House that taught me the truth about Santa Claus.

Apparently, the Barbie Dream House was assembled in the attic.  Great hiding place.  When my father was carrying it out of the attic, and down the "pull attic stairs", he tripped.  All of this took place right outside my bedroom door.

Cuss words, my mom shhhing him, the reassembly, all of it, right outside of my bedroom door.

I was horrified.  No Santa.  No jingle bells from the roof.  No magic.  And my only gift was ruined.

But there was magic the next morning.  As we leaned into the family room, lit tree and all, there she stood.  My Barbie Dream House.  Magnificent.  I did notice that one of the walls was crinkled after the big fall, but I kept my mouth shut.

And in one of the packages, real Barbie clothes in the Barbie packaging.  I was so happy.

It wasn't the Barbie doll that I loved.  It was the companionship when playing Barbies. We came together with a commonality.  Your Barbie could do and be anything you wanted her to be, or not.  If you were happy with her delivering a baby daily, so be it.  If you wanted her to teach school, great.  You were her voice.

Barbie taught me how to be a friend and how to keep friends.  Barbie taught me hand eye coordination because dressing that stiff plastic doll was a bitch.  She taught me to take care of my things and keep them organized and neat in that Barbie case.  She also taught me if you were not happy with the man in your life, check out cowboys or Marines, just go get a better man.  And Barbie taught me to entertain myself.  I could be happy and entertained all by myself and Barbie.

I am looking forward to watching the movie.  And I will be sitting in a comfortable chair instead of cool concrete.  

"Next Contestant on the Mom Shame Game Show"

*** Total transparency, good friends chatting, wine may or may not have been involved and I did tell my friends I was blogging about this...not them...the topic.

So, ladies' night.  And of course, there are the following topics, kids, husbands, parents, prices of groceries, weight gain and loss, aging and then this topic "what are your kids doing this summer?"

All of the kids are college students.  Answers are "Interning at Disney in the marketing department", "Interning in NYC at this finance company," Interning at Google", "Interning the City government finance department" and "interning at Ferry system".

"Stephanie, where is Walker interning?"

"Oh, he isn't.  He's going to Colorado with Addie to work on a dude ranch."

"WHAT! He's not interning.  Are you ok with this?

"Yes, I am very ok with this."

"He's never going to get a job."  (Obviously the overly dramatic friend)

"Never going to get a job?  Come on now ladies? I responded.

"He will be fine.  He will be in a new state, totally different surroundings and people, he will grow and seriously, when will he ever get to do anything like this again with his sister and get paid?'

"He's not going to get a job in his major."

"Oh, please....my friend was a sports broadcasting major and owns an antique store.  HE WILL BE FINE."

Now look, I understand the value and the importance of internships.  Had one myself.  I do.  I also understand that this was a once in a lifetime chance with a sibling.  And family rates over the internship.

Love my girlfriends and I totally understand why they think it is important for an accounting major, finance, marketing major, whatever to get an internship, I totally understand.  A Political Science major, he will be fine.  

We laughed about the mom shaming but this time it was different for me.  While I do understand the need for internships (are you getting the message that I understand the need for internships), I also understand the need for close bonds between siblings, new experiences, once in a lifetime opportunity and finding yourself.  

Work will always be there.  Always.  

Square Dancing with your sister where cellphones do not work, that is not going to happen very often.  

This whole conversation stayed with me for a few days...not because I was mad, unsure of his decision, or apprehensive, but because I wonder where the fun has gone?  Everywhere you turn there are signs of mental illness and depression, young and old, teenage suicides off the charts, outcries for help...do I need to go on?

I work about 60 hours a week.  Obscene I know but that is what it takes.  On Friday nights, I usually am in bed, sober, before 9.  Exhausted.  By Sunday night at 6pm, I get that sick feeling in my gut because Monday is coming.  

I want my kids to find themselves and find pure joy.  I want them to see amazing sunsets and sunrises with amazing people before they have to take another TEAMS call or apply lipstick for a ZOOM meeting.  

Life is so short, and it is going by faster and maybe if we all slowed down, square danced a bit and didn't spend most of the day glancing at our phones, we would all be a little happier and healthier.  

My kids will be fine.  Or maybe they won't.  Who knows?  We never really know anyway.  One thing I do know, you are only young once. Adventures stay with you forever.

I sit in my empty house and wish I would hear all three kids flying down the steps again.  The only noise in my house now, is the noise my bones make when I walk up the steps and then me gripping the handrail when I come down.

While I was writing this, Walker called.  He sounded exhausted.  

"Are you having fun?"

"Yes, love it here.  Me and Addie are having so much fun and we are building a great team of workers.  I am so glad I did this Mom". 

Do I think the interning folks are going to call their moms and say the same things, yes I do.

But my kid rode a horse to work today. (Take that mom shamming friends)

Years ago, and it does seem like a lifetime, I was at the high school with the Button.  The principal saw me shaking my head and he called me over and asked me this question, "Ever seen a mother duck in the pond with her babies?  Notice how there is always one going the wrong way, not paying attention to the mom, looking all around?"

"Yes, of course."

"It is not how they get across the pond that matters; it is that they get across the pond."

Will never forget that little piece of parental advice from a principal.

I'm going to support my kids getting across the pond, even if it takes them longer to get across.  And if it takes them longer because they are watching an elk or moose, that's find with me.

it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: Make new friends, but keep the old?

it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: Make new friends, but keep the old?:   I was a Brownie and a Girl Scout.  "Make new friends, but keep the old, some are silver and the others gold" was a campfire anth...

Make new friends, but keep the old?

 

I was a Brownie and a Girl Scout.  "Make new friends, but keep the old, some are silver and the others gold" was a campfire anthem.  It was the first time I sang a song in "the round".  Hours and hours of singing.

Ironically, some of those girls I sang that very song with, I still consider friends.  

Over the years, through moves, college, jobs, streets, neighborhoods or common interests, I have made some friends.  Quality women.  Some tarnished, for one reason or another. And others have remained near and dear to my heart.  Some I see or speak with regularly.  Some not so much.

Years ago, my brother made the statement, "I just need enough friends to fit into a phone booth."

I was appalled.  

As I age, I get it.  

My friend circle gets smaller almost daily.  My tolerance for drama is smaller.  My desire to stay home and hibernate, larger.  And that is not a result of covid.

A few weeks ago, my dear friend from a job in radio came for her annual beach visit.  All of my life, I have either worked in radio or television.  It is not that I worked for companies with thousands of employees, it is just that thousands of employees pass through the doors over the course of years.  

Luckily, several of the coworkers turned into very dear friends over the years.  Whenever ever one wants to meet, I jump at the chance.

Back on topic...we sat on the beach, and she talked about her childhood friend from down the street since she was four years old.  Always a "bestie" the friendship has changed significantly over the years.  It has tarnished.  The friend is not silver or gold.  She is rusty.  The question my friend asked me, "keep her or toss her?"

I have been there myself.  The friend that was "like an old pair of jeans" is now tossed to the back of the friend closet.  The relationship no longer fits, for either of us.  But there remains this feeling of having to care, do the right thing and a heart tug.  The reality is, there is nothing left, the jeans are no longer comfortable, and I need to get rid of them. 

The joy of friendship is always when you haven't seen that friend for a while, and it takes a second to pick up where you left off.  Truly, that is the best feeling.  And a treasure.   I just experienced gift this week. A couple that I hadn't seen in years, spent three days with us, a blast. No awkward pauses.  We picked up where we left off. Fabulous time.

But, kid's activities end, jobs change, you move and a Facebook "like" or a grocery store aisle chat is all you have left of the friendship.  It happens, it is sad, but it happens. 

It is always interesting that sometimes there are expectations and rules that come with friendships.  The expectation that you will be invited to everything, always be first and the most important are just a few.  I have been burned but also have been guilty of having similar expectations.  There was hurt involved but the hurt was my fuel to get of the relationship and find some better friends.  I was the winner.

As the kids have grown and moved on, I have more time to socialize but now more than ever, I find myself being more selective on who I spend that spare time with.  And I have found I am not alone with this.  Several of my friends who are in the same boat.  It is nothing personal, I am just in a different place.  And my family has become more and more important. I feel like Taylor Swift, "I'm the problem, it's me."

They old saying, "you can pick your friends, but you cannot pick your family" has always cracked me up.  Wonder what life would be like if you could pick your family? Crazy.

Friendship and friendships have always been important to me...I have often wondered if it is because I didn't have a sister.  I have a fabulous sibling that I treasure but I would have loved a sister.  He's a good substitute sister.  And I have been blessed with fabulous friendships that I will always cherish.  

My friend who asked me what to do about her childhood friend?  I told her to take those old jeans to Goodwill.  

"Some are silver and the others gold but occasionally, one tarnishes, and you need to sing around the campfire with better folks".

 

A very different Mother's Day

It is fast approaching.  Mother's Day.  Cold breakfast in bed, while people watch you eat, Sunday Brunches, cards and good behavior for about two hours.  Mother's Day.

I am not being sarcastic or even cynical, I love a reason to celebrate.  Always.  

But, Mother's Day is very different for me this year.

• I do not have a mom to call or send a card to this year.  No mom.

Or a Grand-mother or a Great-grandmother.  There was a time when this day meant celebrating four generations of fiercely independent, "mouthy" women who were all moms and from the same gene pool.  

I loved it.

I can remember shopping for Mother's Day cards for all three generations plus my Aunt Judy, my mom's sister.

• 

The year of "Firsts"

 Like all who have lost a mother, I was dreading the list of "firsts" without my mom.

Ironically, the first "real" one on the list was my birthday, followed days later by my favorite holiday, Easter.  On the way home from her Celebration of Life, right around Jacksonville, Florida, the dread started.  

I was "pushed out into
 the world" on April 1, 1961.  April Fool's Day and ironically, in 1961, was Easter Eve.  The "Easter Bunny brought you", my mom would always say.

I guess that is when my obsession and my mom's obsession with Easter began.  Easter is my favorite holiday and my mom's second favorite holiday.  We loved Easter.

And because I was born on April Fool's Day, the list of jokes, tricks, etc. is a mile long.

My mom always wanted to be first to call me on my birthday morning and would always remind me that I should be celebrating her too...after all, "I ate pork and sauerkraut the night before and it was horrible."  (Never understood why she continued to tell me about this year after year, but she did).

Of course, she would always try and pull an April Fool's joke, but I was pretty good at catching on at this point.

This year was going to be different.  I would be celebrating my life without the person who gave it to me.  I know how lucky I have been to be 62 and just lost my mom.  I totally understand how blessed I have been.  Totally.  

It doesn't mean the pain would be any less though.

Luckily, my birthday was on a Saturday so I could lay low.  I woke up early and sat in the darkness drinking coffee and thinking about my mom.  Honestly, I was having a pity party on my birthday morning.

Anytime my brother and I would have a pity party, my mom would always say, "are we getting company, do I need to bake cookies, is anyone showing up for this pity party?"  This line infuriated us.  Infuriated us.  One more time, infuriated us.

Ironically, the pity party line has stayed with me in life since the first time I heard it.

I could hear my mom chastising me and I started searching in my phone for old messages from her.

Sadly, my mom could not speak for the last 18 months so I could not find an old message from her.  She emailed or text but there were not any messages on my phone which only made having the pity party/birthday party even more necessary.

I got up out of my chair to pee (which like every 20 minutes activity at my age) and when I did, I dropped my phone.  It slid across the floor and when it did, I was on a screen I had never really seen or used before...it was the previously deleted voicemail messages screen.

Hot damn, cause for celebration...I scrolled frantically and low and behold, 4/1/2018...a voicemail from my mom.  Time of message was 8:43am.

"Happy birthday daughter.  I would have called earlier but I was out running with my running club.  I have on running shorts.  Ha ha, April fools.  I don't know where you are, but you know, you need to thank me for pushing you out the day after I had pork and sauerkraut for dinner.  Saw your picture on Facebook.  Once again, only your head.  Hid again.  Give it up, your chances of becoming a model are over. Like to see more than just your head occasionally.  Call me back.  I might be at running club.  Love you.  Mom.

(Like I didn't know it was my mom when she calls me daughter.)

Obviously, the running club was the April Fools and the running shorts.  She hated when I wore Nike running shorts.

And there it was.  My gift.  Besides her pushing me out into the world in a bath or pork and sauerkraut, the best birthday present I would receive.  

I listened to it a few times...like fifty times and laughed each time. 

I thought about how nobody came to my pity party/birthday party to celebrate my life except for the woman that gave me life.  What a gift this message was to me.

I got up, met my friend for a power walk and came home and listened again to the message.

I also thought about how lucky I was to have this message and a mother for almost 62 years. 

Even though Easter was the next weekend, I was pretty sure that my mom would be done with pity parties and more about celebrating and so that is what I did.  I made it through Easter.  She was in my every thought and when I forgot to put the ten pounds of potato salad on the table for Easter brunch, I knew she was laughing.  Who the hell forgets to put the biggest bowl in the fridge out on the table?

Next up, Mother's Day. I will be with my daughter.  Seems fitting. 

Thank you, Mom, for the best present you ever gave me. 

You cannot write a blog with an ice cream scooper in your hand

 In the last sixty days, several people have said, "you should go back to blogging."

They are correct.

I did not consciously decide to stop blogging.  I just could not.  

I sat on my couch, for months, with my head buried in a half gallon of Blue Belle Ice cream and I grieved.  I grieved a lot.  The more I grieved, the more ice cream I ate.

On July 6, 2021, my mom celebrated her 80th birthday.

Six days later, she was shockingly diagnosed with ALS.

I have a friend whose husband was diagnosed with ALS at a young age.  I will never forget her telling me, "I thought we would go home, he would take some pills and that would be it, he would be cured."

He husband died from ALS.  She said "had no idea what was going to happen"

Up until July 6, I knew three people who had ALS, the person I just referred to, an old employer's mom and Lou Gehrig.

I read and read and read.  I seriously read everything I could get my eyes on about ALS.

And I started reading and eating ice cream.  Somewhere in the middle of my sugar shock, I realized my mom's time was limited and I started making as many trips to Florida that I could.

I wanted to be part of her journey.

I became a part of a run-away train. 

My mom was trapped in her own body, totally aware that she was trapped, and there was nothing that could or would stop this train.

Last July, after I celebrated her 81st birthday with her, I came back to an empty home.  My kids were gone for the summer and my husband was working.  I sat inside of my house, on my couch, in the silence, grieving.  And I ate ice cream. 

As my husband would call and say he was on his way home, sometimes, I was actually sad he was coming home.  I would have to talk to him, I would fell shameful for eating ice cream and I didn't want him to know I had been crying.  

My flowers died, I didn't care to water them.  I stopped doing projects, and I could not blog about my mom.  Her journey was too personal and if I wrote about it, it was real.  I could not do it. 

Monthly, I made the trip.  I would get on the plane, look out the window as the plane departed from Florida, a giant tears would fall.  

And then I would arrive home, go through the motions, check boxes, eat ice cream and book tickets.

But July turned to September, and then October.  Every trip to Florida, I was greeted by a new person who was in my mom's body.  In October, I knew the end was near.  And worse than all of that, my mom could no longer laugh, smile, yawn, cry, or hold her head up.  

All those teenage years I hated my mom yelling at me or calling my name, and all I wanted to do was hear her call my name now or laugh.

Shortly after I left Florida in December, my mom passed.  With a tear falling from her cheek.

She did not want to die and I will be forever proud of the battle she fought.

Look, I know that I am so fortunate.  I am almost 62.  I lost my mom at 61,  I had 18 moths of fore warning and many moments that I will forever cherish and also some outrageously funny moments.  Mom was mentally present at all times and as horrible as it was for her, it was an gigantic gift to all who loved her.  

This past weekend, I made a list.  I crossed everything off that list.  First time in months.  

My girlfriend told me, after she lost her mom, she "felt like she had the flu for a year."  Ten months to go.  I can do this, I will do this.

It is so amazing to me, that after a person passes, what you remember about them.  

One summer, my dad was taking some kids fishing.  Mom and I could not wait for them to leave.  We were having five days of "no husband, only child, eat what you want, when you want, kitchen is closed" week.

We also told one of the little guys that was going fishing that "we are going on a huge diet while you are gone, you won't even recognize us when you get back."

Off the 'testosterone truck" left and the diet started.

When they returned, the little kid got out of the truck and said, "hey, I recognize you, guess the diet  didn't work."

My mom looked over at me and said, "hope that kid has tics in his hair."

For some reason, my first full day of ice cream  free, I thought about this  story
and laughed.  

And I am sure my mom would laugh if I reminded her of this.

Two greatest human emotions are love and grief.  You cannot have one without the other. 

So it begins, going to move forward in my life without my mom.  The more I try to move forward, the more I realize she may not be physically here, but she certainly is deep in my heart, and I hear her speak daily.

I'm pretty sure I can hear her say, "make sure you shut the freezer when you put that ice cream back.  And can you please leave some for me?"