Because I'm worth it???

After coloring my hair for almost 15 years "just because", after the birth of my twin sons it became increasingly clear to me that it was now time to color my hair because otherwise I looked post-menopausal. I tried a variety of different over the counter home dyes. They would all work okay, but apparently I have what it is they are referring to when they use the term "resistant grays". Add to the fact that my hair, in it's natural, younger state is a dark brown, and you've got yourself a problem. The gray hairs shimmer quite brightly against the dark. No one is questioning if they are just blond highlights, trust me. So, after becoming frustrated at the fact that I could no longer disguise the tinsel sprouting from my scalp on my own, I sought professional help. I headed to my local hair salon for a professional color job. Nothing weird. Just your basic Portuguese Brown. I don't go to a super fancy salon. It wasn't that expensive. But, I was deeply disappointed when I was already seeing those fucking shiny hairs not 3 days later.
I decided to take a break from the hair coloring process during my trip to PA. Perhaps a bit of when in Rome....Now, I'll admit I was prepared to find some wayward grays, all wiry and sticking up when they should've been down. Usually right where my part was falling. A siren blaring the fact that I am 30+ to the rest of the world. But I was not at all ready for what gradually appeared during my stay, and, what would turn out to be a 3 month hiatus from coloring. I would say that, conservatively, I am 10% gray. This may not seem like a lot. But, believe me, when you hold a clump of 100 hairs, and 10 of them are grey, you will change your mind. I was heartbroken.
Luckily, for me, while we were in Pennsylvania, I had met a great hairstylist who really helped me through some rocky times while in the awkward "growing out" phase. She talked me off the proverbial ledge and, with a few key trims, truly transformed my hair throughout my time there. So, frugality be damned, I booked a color appointment with her a few days before our departure. And, true to their resistant form, I shit you not, I got in the car after the appointment and could immediately see that these fuckers did not change their color. What the fuck? Am I damned to a life of Brillo pad hair?
Back in the days of my nose ring and throughout my tattoo phase, the lady who adorned my box of hair color used to give me all sorts of encouragement...I like sassy highlights! Try something a little different for Summer. Ooohhhhh....You would look so good with a blond streak! And it wasn't just the model on the box, either. The graphics were in hyper, trendy colors. Aqua and lime, raspberry and tangerine. And the fonts were thrilling...graffiti and exaggerated typeface. So fun, so young. These days, the box, which comes complete with a tube of Gray Retexturizing Pre-Treatment is no nonsense; packaged in sensible white, grey, and soft blue. The woman on the front, with her glasses and fucking osteoporosis reminding me to "get it done before you have parent teacher conferences", and to "fit it in prior to your estate planning meeting". Who is this lady? And, more importantly, where are her encouraging words now that I need them?

Anyone?

What, exactly, is a mandarin orange? I feed them to my children all the time, and even snack on them occasionally myself. But I wonder...Is there such an orange? Is it just a clementine with all the membrane removed? How could that be cost effective? I hate the exterior crap that you basically chew for 5 minutes before choking it down long after flesh and juice have been swallowed. So, I assumed, would my children. And, afterall, what is good for the goose is good for not only the gander, but also the gosslings. In that vein, I have always painstakingly supremed my kids' oranges before giving them to eat (spoiled, yes, they are!). But these lovely mandarin oranges really make my life easier. In an attempt to preserve some wonder and mystery in my life, I've avoided looking this up online, but if anyone has a theory (or the truth), I'd love to hear it.

Return of the Mack.

So, we're back. Holy shit. I cried when we said goodbye and left Pennsylvania. I cried periodically throughout the whole ride home. I cried when I found all the groceries and balloons J left me, and smelled the smell that only Celia leaves after cleaning our house. I guess it was a combination of relief, sadness about leaving (who would've thought), anxiety about our future, and PMS. Apparently, my cycle was eager to welcome me back to town and punctuated the trip with some Hawk red.

The 91/2 hour return trip was pretty uneventful; and the time passed quickly thanks largely in part to an AWESOME mix CD from my mom and her husband. Will is just getting into "real" music, and this had all the perennial favorites (Love Shack, I Love Rock N Roll), and a few new ones as well (Pokerface, That's Not My Name). This is a huge step in the right direction from Row, Row, Row Your Boat and Old MacDonald. Maybe Juicy will be on the next one.

Things have been busy since we got back. I have had hardly any time to be the internet slut that I fancy myself, and have visited Perez only once or twice since we've returned, and have cut WAY back on my Facebook habit.

The unpacking is ALMOST done, but still occurring at a now sluggish pace. I am realizing that I have saved and consumed way too much; particularly in the 4 years since Will has been born. Stay posted for news on a massive yard sale that must occur by the Fall. Brett has been checking items off his "To Do Around the House" list, and I've been trying to make progress as well. Just today, I even spent two hours renewing my license (3 if you count the time it took me to dry my hair and put on wedding level makeup- hey, this picture could possibly be with me for 10 years!)

I can't say how happy I am to be home. I miss the view from my window in Pennsylvania; the rolling hills, white fences, and trotting horses. But, let me tell you a few things..1.) I don't look out the kitchen window nearly as much since we have a dishwasher like most people, and 2.) there is no view more beautiful to me than my little neighborhood; full of modest houses, neighbors walking their dogs, and Will learning to ride a bike.

As I gain some perspective, I already do feel lucky to have had the opportunity. We got to live right near a farm. An actual working farm. There aren't too many people in this country who can say that, and sadly, there are going to be fewer and fewer if things keep going the way they are.

I learned that Brett and I would be okay if we ever had to pack up the kids and make a go of it in some strange place. I can rely on my husband to make me feel safe, keep my children amused, and unclog a toilet no matter where we are. I understand that just being "close" to someone doesn't always make you "close" to them. But, being near friends and family makes a world of difference for me. I always thought I was pretty independent, but I guess I had no idea how much I relied on everyone here. I will never take them for granted again, and I hope I can show my appreciation and happiness as much as I feel it.

I learned a lot about myself, too. I tend to put disclaimers on myself. "I'm no feminist, but....", "I'm not the outdoorsy type, but...", "I'm not an environmentalist, but...". Maybe I'm much more of an outdoorsy, athletic, feminist/environmentalist than I give myself credit for. I'm proud of myself. I'm proud of my husband. And, I'm extremely proud of my children. We all returned to our home, but, really, we realized that home is just where we all happen to be.

And, since it is the question we have heard the most this past week or so, I will answer it here. We have no idea what we are doing next. Brett and I are both completely unemployed at this point, and are open to accepting almost any new challenge that is presented to us. I am very scared. Yes, I know the economy is in the shitter. But, sometimes you just have to roll with the punches. We stepped off a huge ledge, and I have faith that eventually (soon, I hope) we'll hit the ground.

Random Thoughts by Liz Jackson

Will, who now sports a mohawk, has coined a new term. When our family of 5 is all together, he refers to us as being "Cheddar". Cheddar- togeddar, he sings out.

Sammy continuously bites Ben. We cannot seem to stop him, and in what is perhaps the ultimate cruel irony, his teeth leave smiley face bite marks, with two clear eyes and a mouth. I think he'll have my teeth. He also puts his food on the bottom of his foot before eating it a lot of the time.

Ben loves two things in this world: food and sleep. He is one of few babies I know who actually smiles every time he is put to bed. We have been giving the kids more ice creams and popsicles since it's been so hot. I never thought that Ben's tongue tie was much of an issue; however, it is impossible for him to lick an ice cream cone. It is a very sad sight. Time to get snipped.

When we had one of those rare warm days in early Spring, I thought to myself that it seems like it's a lot easier to have a better day when it's nice out. I take it back. It has been near 90 the past two days. Tomorrow's forecast is 90, Tuesday is 93. There are bugs everywhere, it's too hot to cook anything, and when we go outside, I am the SPF Nazi. Ben, particularly, gets special attention when we are in the sun. His color could be describes as a whitish blue in its' untanned state.
Also, it makes me feel like such shit to have my disgusting body that I have neglected all winter being exposed on a larger scale. I feel pale, dry, hairy, and fat; and it's too late to do anything about it for this year.

Stage 5 Clinger

I haven't made a new friend in nearly 8 years.
I think about that a lot. I would say I am pretty friendly. And I do have some casual conversations with other women my age. They just never go anywhere. Sometimes, I'll meet someone and think, "I could see myself being friends with her". But, the moment passes, and I'll not have even gotten as far as her name.
One of my good friends up and moved to upstate New York almost 9 years ago. I am amazed to hear of the social circle she has created for herself. When we moved to PA, I was fine with basically sticking to myself for the brief period we'd be here. And then, something happened. One day, while at Reamstown Park, I met a young mother with a son about Will's age. Will and her son played so well together, and she and I chatted while I wiped the dripping blood from Sam's split lip with my sweatshirt, since I am a fucking ROOKIE and didn't have a FUCKING SINGLE TISSUE, WIPE, or NAPKIN with me!
She clued me in on some cool places to check out in the area, gave me the lowdown on some of the other idiosyncrasies of central PA. She had met Kate Gosselin also, and she said she was mean to her, too. And, then, in a rare instance of candid self depreciating humor, she joked that she should have named her son "Jose" instead of the uber-trendy moniker bestowed upon his tan skinned self. I liked her. As things were wrapping up at the park, she asked if I had a cell phone, and gave me her number; she said she'd like to have a play date sometime. This was as far as I'd ever gone with a stranger; it was like the equivalent of Mommy second base. After we left the park, I giddily called my long-distance friend-making champion for some advice. How long to wait until I call? A day? A week? I didn't want to seem too eager.
After Easter weekend, I gave her a ring. Sure enough, she answered, and we set a play date up (at her house- 3rd base, almost all the way; this girl was easy). What followed after that was a nearly constant barrage of phone calls regaring nap schedules, dietary restrictions, and toddler style skill set matching.
I was overwhelmed. Is this what it's like making a new friend? I was willing to tough it out and give it a shot, and then I had an epiphany. I was leaving this place in a few weeks. I would most likely never see this woman again. Was it worth it for me to endure the pain of geting to know someone only to have it be in vain? Furthermore, what if she killed us when we went to her house, or if she was one of those crazy cat people/hoarders, or she propostioned me for a menage a trois or even worse, tried to sell me Papmpered Chef? I had to get the fuck out of there before I even went. And, so, with a push of her name on my speed dial, I cancelled. And, I didn't feel at all bad about it.
My inner circle is pretty small. It's actually more like a teeny tiny polka dot. I would say that I have lots of acquaintences with whom I am very friendly, but very few close friends. I'm basically limited to about 5 or 6 ladies who I know I can call on at anytime for help, advice (usually about cutting my own hair), or some laughs. In my posse, are a few obvious choices.
My sister. Really, nobody knows me like my sister. We are only 14 months apart, and when we were little we shared a room. I remember drifting off to sleep, and synchronizing flipping over our pillows so that we would both feel the coldness of the bottom side of the pillowcases on our cheeks at the same time. We share the same childhood stories, lack of breast tissue and excess of premature gray hair. We have grown closer and closer as the years have gone by. And, although it's sort of like we have to be each other's friend because we are family; I would want her to be my friend even if we weren't related.
My BFF. J and I met in junior high...I fancied her a preppy art student in the making. I'm sure she thought of me as the friend from the wrong side of the Assabet. As our children become friends, we have even sillier experiences together. It's nice to have someone laugh at your dumb mistakes, and know they aren't judging you.
Throw into the mix a few wives (well, one isn't technically a wife anymore)of Brett's family. I've said it before and I'll say it again. I have great in-laws, and these girls have taught me so much, each in their own way. Lessons about distance and closeness, marriage and divorce, and most of all that being a friend doesn't really depend upon who you're married to.
It's rounded out by a good college friend, although we have grown apart, and a very funny wife of a firefighter.
And, really, when it's all written down in front of me, I can see why I haven't made a new friend in so long. I don't need one. I have all the friends I need. Who else in this world needs to or wants to know about my facial waxing habbits, my grotesque menstrual cycle, or my penchant for cutting my own hair, only to be filled with regret?
Apparently you do.

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The Big "O" (PA Style)

All praise is due. First things first...Kudos to The Bean for this title. I love a double entendre, and honor your version with a recycling. Earth Day's coming up, my bitches!

So, owning our own furniture company has been pretty cool. Since most of our retailers are based in high end areas like the Hamptons, Hilton Head, and Westchester County, we have gotten to produce things for some really cool and noteworthy people. Most of the time we don't even know who they're for, but occasionally an interior designer or store buyer will drop a name...
A few weeks ago, Mary (the 16 year old Mennonite who I am training in the office) received an email about an author who had just ordered a work table from us. The sales rep mentioned that his first book was on Oprah's book list, and his second just went to the publisher. Upon reading this, Mary looked at me quizzically and said, "I figured you would know what this all means." I explained to her that, basically, the sales person was being a show off and just wanted to brag a bit. But, she then asked, "But what is this word?", as she pointed out the word "Oprah". What the fuckity fuck?! Who doesn't know who Oprah is? And that is when I realized just how different we truly are.
Of course I did my best to clue her in on who Oprah is, but in an effort to explain her influence on pop culture, we strayed a bit. I took her on a mini-cruise of the information super highway; avoiding my favorites, but trying to do my part to open her eyes, even if just a bit. I wouldn't call myself a feminist at all, but I couldn't help feeling that I had a responsibility to tell Mary about how the "other half" lives. Nobody has ever asked Mary, or her sisters for that matter, what they wanted to be when they grew up. Can you imagine? So, I did. I asked her what her family would do if she decided to become a doctor, which seemed to confuse her. She kept asking if I meant a nurse, which makes me wonder if she even knows she COULD become a doctor. I did get a little teary, and I told her that for me, a woman, it did break my heart a little to think that there is so much she will never experience. And so much that she and her sisters have within them that will never be shared with the rest of the world. These girls grow up under their fathers roofs, abiding by their fathers' rules, until they are married to a man they must obey. Her jaw almost hit the floor when I told her that I just didn't believe that I was put here to follow Brett; that I thought we were put here to follow one another, taking turns leading.
The weird thing is though, that as my heart aches for them, so does theirs for me. I know they have such strong faith, and when they look at me, they do not see the strong, opinionated and hardworking person I like to think I am. They see a woman who has chosen a career over her family; who does not know her true place as a help mate to her husband. And who knows? Maybe they're right. I don't think it's my place to say. But, as I explained to Mary, maybe it's right for her, but I know for shit sure it is not right for me.