Waiting Game

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Question – how much of my life is spent waiting to pick up a teenager from a movie?

Answer : more hours than I spend actually watching movies.

Signed, moms everywhere

Benign Masochism

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Most Sunday mornings start the same way for me. If we don’t have anywhere to go I wake up to the sounds of CBS Sunday Morning.  It’s usually my husband to my left and Charles Osgood and his bow tie to my right. Cozy.

It’s the perfect show. A little smart. A little silly. Lots of pictures. Perfect. I don’t remember a Sunday without it (or without 60 minutes for that matter).

This morning’s episode featured a Yale psychologist named Paul Bloom talking about a human’s need for pleasure.  Pleasure through all sorts of things. At the end of that segment they talked about people who love spicy foods. So spicy that the experience borders on pain. This need to push pleasure onto the realm of mild pain is called “benign masochism”.

I perked right up. My husband perked right up. You see, he’s been married to a benign masochist for a long time, and now we finally have a name to my disease. I love…no adore…no need super spicy food. If there’s a mild sweat developing while I have my penne arrabiata – awesome. If the name of the food has the word Habanero in it – it’s for me! Do you know how many times my daughter has said,” why? Mom, why?” This is why!

I blame my upbringing. I blame my Indian heritage. I blame….how delicious everything spicy really is.

My family and friends have been so supportive – they’ve always hidden their horror.

They don’t laugh when I order Chinese food (vegetable fried rice, no eggs, no mushrooms, extra spicy).

They didn’t laugh when I, at 6 months pregnant with my son, asked the cafeteria worker in our conservative financial firm to remove the jalapeno decorations during a Mexican themed lunch so I could actually eat them.  I had to.

They love me so much that when we go out for lunch or dinner or even breakfast, they never forget to ask for the crushed red pepper or hot sauce.

I’m surrounded by love. And hot peppers.

 

 

 

 

You’re welcome

While I was hunting for old pictures last weekend I found this little gem.

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Circa 1995.

My last day interning at Live with Regis and Kathie Lee, which I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. What does that mean? A deep down desire to be yelled at everyday for free? A need to be locked up with 13 other people in a room the size of a closet and answer phones all day? I’ll put it on the list for my future therapist.

Know what I notice? How silky and shiny my hair is. That hair had never seen a colorist or a straighter. I weep for that hair. It’s so youthful and carefree. It’s totally clueless to the frizzy years that are ahead. Sniff.

Ignore the purple plaid shirt (which happens to be buttoned all the way up – nice) and bright red lipstick. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to be grunge or glam – the 90s were confusing.

Thought I’d share.

 

Rainy days and Mondays

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It’s almost the end of July. Eastern Pennsylvania has once again turned into the tropics.

I know today isn’t Monday. I was going to post this yesterday but then I got roped into watching American Ninja Warrior.

Have you seen that show?

I like to have a bowl of ice cream while I watch. Which is also how I watch The Biggest Loser. I’m a rebel like that.

Have a good week everyone!

(my hydrangea plants didn’t die in the heat!)

Not your average Joe.

10 days into my life as a freshman in college, I walked over to my friend’s dorm room to see if she wanted to catch an early dinner. She couldn’t, she was helping an old neighborhood friend catch-up on some math notes. She introduced me to him and I gave her a look – sure you’re “studying”. Later that night she came over and I got the scoop. They really did just study. She had known him for years. She and her brother spent tons of time with his outgoing, friendly sister. Him, not so much. But he was cute. Super cute. And super intense.  I found out everything about the dude. This guy was not here to have a good time. He didn’t laugh easily and he was almost always working.  He was a bit of a loner. The few friends he had were loyal and protective – just like he was. This was the guy for me.

The next part of the story is up for debate. He says I stalked him until he gave in. I remember it differently. Same outcome. I was 19, he was 21.

College was a blur of happy memories. Summers in NYC, jobs on campus and off, friendships and drama and occasionally some classes. We broke up a few times, for a day or two. Then he apologized and I took him back (again, I’m sure he has a different version but this is my blog. There’s no fairness in blogging.)

He graduated before me and moved into an apartment down the block from the dorm. He had a roommate named JFK (seriously. and he was as quirky as his name.) By the time I graduated he got a better job and moved into his own place. I moved in quickly after.

He’s never said to me that “he needed space” or that “he’s not sure he wants to commit”. From the very first day he was all in.

What followed was the anti-NYC story. Marriage and babies in our late 20s and early 30s. It didn’t make sense to many – but it was so natural to us.

We are a bit of a mismatch.  We always have been. Different things make us tick. As you know, I like to get to know people. any people. I love a good chat. I’m all about a party. I love to laugh, I do it often and at really silly stuff. On paper, I’m the kind of person that drives him batty and he’s the type of person that I would keep away from. He has an encyclopedic knowledge of music. I only know what I like. He’s emotional, intuitive and can breathe fire in a nanosecond. I’m pragmatic, fickle and it takes a lot to get me angry. But we have a really good time together. I won’t say the yin/yang thing because it’s not all that zen. It’s volatile and passionate and I wouldn’t last with anyone else.

A couple of days ago, on his 43rd birthday, 22 years into knowing him – I told him that this would be our best year yet. And he looked at me and said,”it better be.”

When I named this blog he couldn’t figure out why the word “wife” came before the word “mother”. He thought my role as a mother is what defined me, the thing that mattered the most to me. He was wrong.

Happy Birthday baby.

This post will make him extremely uncomfortable and exposed – so why not go for it and add photos right?

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mi frizz es su frizz

It’s hot here.  It’s so hot and sticky and uncomfortable that when you’re in the shade and it’s a cool 99 degrees, you think you’re happy. You are delusional my friend. It’s still awful. I’ve made thinking about, complaining about, whining about the weather a full-time job.  That’s probably because my kids are both away so I have to fill my days obsessing about other things. Although I’m doing so much better than last year – here’s my camp tale from last year incase you missed it!

https://wifemothereventplanner.com/2012/07/22/hello-muddah-hello-faddah/

Anyway – back to the present. Because my nights aren’t spent bossing kids around or driving kids around or driving them crazy – I’ve been doing fun stuff. Stuff like not doing the laundry. Do you know how much fun you can have when you don’t do laundry? I’ve also been not cooking, not cleaning, and not leaving the house. It’s been a hoot.

I’ve also gone totally nuts and started using my kids’ bathroom. Note to self: add “having your own bathroom” to your list of things to look forward to when the kids move out. Ofcourse part of the fun of using their bathroom is using their products. Truthfully it’s my daughter’s products. My son uses whatever bottle he finds to wash everything from his hair to his toes. He once used just conditioner for a whole week. True story.

So while plundering her products – I discovered this little beauty.

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If you have sleek, smooth, frizz free hair – don’t use this product. But if you, like me, dream of the non-brillo head without a straightening iron – this is for you! If you read this blog regularly (thank you so much if you do) – you know that I have been trying to go “free” with my hair. No products. No blow-outs. No nothin’. It’s been rough. I’ve been wearing a lot of headbands. And hats. And paper bags.

After one use of this amazing, great smelling product, here’s what my hair looked like. Air dried. No products. I swear on my blog.

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Come on! Where’s the frizz??  Not here baby!!

This ain’t no Oprah’s book club

Besides working and mothering and wife’ing – I try to have some fun. Just a little bit. Because I’m a frustrated English major deep inside, I’ve been talking to a few of my ‘hood moms about starting a book club. We talked a lot about starting it. For months we talked. But nothing happened. Then one of these marvy women suggested we join a club already in progress. One started and run by a group of responsible women who actually do what they say they want to do. Cool concept right?

So we dove in. Kind of. Work, kid stuff, and personal marital commitments (such as trying to see my husband for 5 minutes every night) got in the way. But I finally made a few meetings. And it was great.

The women who started this group are, ahem, seasoned. They’ve lived through divorce, remarriage, kids in college, retirement and multiple health issues.  There’s a mix of life stages – women with young kids, older kids, grandkids and no kids.  We rotate houses every month – this is my favorite part about the club, access to new peeks into how people live. If there was a club called just-go-see-how-other-people-live-every-month I’d so join it. I’d be the president of that club.  And by the way, I am not interested in judging. I’m just extremely curious. inquisitive. Nosey.

Admittedly, all the books we’ve picked have been a bit morose – but the conversations have been anything but!  Here’s a short list of what was covered in the last few meetings:

  • A second chance romance and love story by the host of the night that involved the Italian countryside and sangria
  • Did you know you can get a tummy tuck paid for by insurance if you partner it with a hysterectomy? True story.
  • No matter how Kosher you are, take a xanax if you need to. I don’t know what this means but there was a lot of time spent on it.
  • A field trip to a master bath that featured a bidet toilet seat cover combo (heated with a remote control).
  • Baby daddies, the Philadelphia public school system and wars started because of false religious beliefs.

We fit in some books too…

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Here’s a synopsis of what we thought –

  • 10 year olds shouldn’t get married.
  • spoiler alert – the pajamas were actually a concentration camp uniform
  • you don’t need no stinking man when you have a horse.

Can’t wait for the next meeting!

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