Day 277

Some things about yourself are just hard to hear... but you appreciate the fact that someone has had the courage to say them. 

Tonight, just after bedtime (read: when Julian whined so convincingly that he was hungry that I started to believe him and let him come downstairs for a snack), I sat across from him and asked him a question I've asked him several times before.  This time I asked in an objective, curious - you might even say professional (recall: I am trained as journalist) - way: 

"Why do you so often ask for Daddy to read you books? Is there something I could do better when I read you books?"

Jules, peeling a clementine over his "Sunny Days" placement, glances up, and very seriously says this: 

"Mom. I should tell you: Some people are just not good at different voices. You can't talk like Grover. Dad is just like Grover. So I like him to read me books and pat my back."

This kid, I tell you, is very perceptive. I do suck at voices. And I know it. A few years ago in the Spielpalast Cabaret, I played Mika, a dancer, a coquette, a poor Polish girl - who basically turned out also to be mute because speaking with an accent, even speaking in a voice that wasn't my own, on stage, made me self-conscious. Very self-conscious. 

I'm not self-conscious using different voices to read to the boys. I am merely incompetent. Completely incompetent. I'll start off using a deep slow voice for Toad and switch to my normal tone when it's time for the narrator to talk. Then I try something dapper and peppy for Frog... but I can't nail it down. It's sort of a cross between Toad, myself and Humphrey Bogart on novocaine. Point is, the kid is right. I am "not so good at different voices." Jon's spirited storytelling style trumps my lame nighttime "reading" routine big time. Of course, Jules wants him to read the books.

The good news is that Jules not only provided an explanation for his parent reading preference, he also offered a prescription for improvement (when I asked him if I should practice). 

"Yes, Mom," he said. "You should practice. I'm going to tell you how long you should practice."

"Ok..."

"You should practice for 100 years." 

"I can't practice for 100 years, Jules."

"Why?"

"Because."

"Why can't you practice for 100 years?"

I chose my words wisely because (if you read this blog you know) I still have much to learn about discussing death with children. 

"I don't have that much time, Jules."

"Why? Because you might die?"

I nod slightly.

"Well then practice for 16 years," he said. "You should get a good Grover voice by then."

I can't make this shit up. Seriously. 

Day 250

Here's what I haven't been doing: sleeping enough, exercising (at all save for one 4-mile walk/run last Friday), resisting too much wine and chocolate. 

Here's what I have been doing: bursting into tears over stupid things, getting snippy with Jon and co-workers who, like me, are just trying to make do in stressful situations. (Re: co-workers, you know who you are and I said it before but I'll say it again: I'm sorry. And, seriously, I was only deep breathing to clear my head, not exasperatedly sighing at you. Pinky swear.) 

Here's the bottom line: Life is short (see below). I so know this. I mean, look at the dark circles and wrinkles around my eyes. I'm not so young any more. I also know that it's my job to figure out how to put a cap on the chaos, to find the fun, to learn when and how to say no (I am infinitely - yes, infinitely - grateful to those of you who helped on that front today) and when to say yes... (e.g., to dance-party requests from the boys, to signing up for this Cabaret Jazz class with Lois after a five-year hiatus)! 

To that effect - making the most of this life - there's a lot of great advice on the poster behind me in the photo below. And while we're on the topic of life mottos and manifestos: 1) my friend at work and I are working on an awesome one ourselves 2) I am so in love with this print. 

But, tell me: How do you do it? How do you make the most of your every day?

If you've been to my house, you know that this overly dramatic self-portrait
was taken in my bathroom (lame cliche, yes). I snapped it while Jules was singing
equally dramatic songs in an empty (already drained) tub. He appreciated the extra minutes. 

Day 249

Packing ins't my forte. In fact, I suck at packing. Here's a typical situation--for a weekend trip: I'll spend hours the night before, trying to locate where favorite pieces of clothing are. Then I'll start washing them. And drying. And folding. Then I'll agonize over what I'm bringing and not bringing. When I finally get everything packed - except my contacts and makeup and toothbrush stuff, which I'll pack in the morning - it's 1:30 a.m. At this point, my contacts and makeup and toothbrush and stuff are pretty much as they are all of the rest of the days, all around the bathroom. Jon's toiletries, on the other hand, are lined up neatly on the side of the sink, so that he can just work his way down the line - rinse, brush, zip - go.

Curiously, becoming a better perfect packer is something I'm constantly striving toward. So I seek out those "what to pack" magazine stories like this recent one in More magazine. Features like these offer great advice: tips like pack stuff that's all in the same color palette.. bring only three pairs of shoes (do running shoes count?)... plan to wear your tank top three times (clearly the writer of such advice doesn't sweat like I do). I plan to follow it--and then I say "F&*k it! I'm driving this time... I've got room for shoes."

Now I pack for 3 Jules and Kai. You'd think I'd delegate this task to Jon but no.
I am not only a bad packer. I am also a control freak. 

No more... I want to be a minimalist packer. But I want to know JUST what to bring. I want a simple list - one that outlines everything I need to bring. Exactly what I need to bring. Like the kind of list you get before you go to camp. A list that's as simply instructive as Joan Didion's packing list--which I discovered on a Smithsonian.com blog (when Joan Didion posted it on Facebook). It's awesome.

I'm heading to PA for a week (next week)... I'll be hanging out with family, playing with kids, taking long walks in parks and in Pittsburgh, swimming, going to a baseball game. So help me out: what exactly should I pack? 

Day 244

Today, one of my colleagues mentioned that her son is heading off to college this Sunday. My heart hurt for her. Of COURSE, I want my boys to move along - boldly - when that time comes. In the mean time, here's what I'm hoping I can help them grow to know: 

1. Everyone is just as important as you are. You are just as important as everyone else. Most people are fascinating. In a social situation, ask lots of questions as long as the answers are flowing freely, with enthusiasm. And when someone starts squirming, stop interrogating them. (Then apologize, tell them you're a journalist and you just can't turn off. This has worked for me.)

2. Don't fight so hard. Humor is the best way to deflect tension. Going for a run works too. (I'm hoping that I will learn these things in the next 14 or so years too.) 

3. You should follow your dreams and be what you want. (Um, even if that means dressing up as Mickey Mouse for Halloween. Seriously, Jules? Mickey Mouse sucks. I say this here only because you can't read yet. To thine own self be true. )

4. Speak your mind-but it's rude to interrupt others. And if you can't stop - it's in your DNA, you're half Italian and grew up with loud, interrupting parents after all - explain to new peeps that you're fighting hard against this tendency but losing the battle. Ask them to interrupt you back. 

5. Yes, you can run that marathon. You can study animals in Africa for a living. Or pursue a professional music career. But you'll have to work hard. And you'll give up other stuff. Hmm... I think this is a rep of #2. 

6. How to make whip together a salad with whatever you have on hand, bake an enviable apple pie and simmer up a mean curry. Everyone loves a good cook. You should know how to make meals. Simple delicious meals from real ingredients. Maybe even ones that you grow yourself.

That's all for now. And this list is by no means comprehensive. Or prioritized. But it is important.

Day 3

Today, a co-worker I admire came and told me that something I'd said had made all the difference. She'd mentioned being concerned that her young-twentysomething daughter had postponed joining the "real world" in favor chasing down fun. I told her that I wish I'd done exactly that, that her daughter was out living in the real world. It's hard to fit lots of that sort of living into the 10 days of vacation most Americans get when they take a job.

I'd offered it flippantly, the way I tend to shoot off my opinion even when no one asks for it. So I was sort of surprised when she popped in, weeks later, to tell me this. It truly made my day. In the same way my friend Mia's telling me, a few years ago, that she'd grown to love chick peas because I convinced her to try them in college. Who knew?

The littlest things we do or say can have a huge impact on someone else. You may never know it. But it's awesome when they let you in on it.

So. I'm going to make a point of telling people when they've helped me with a breakthrough. When they've squashed one of my shitty moods. When they've told me what I needed to hear: "You're acting like a baby. Get over it."

I'm also going to try to follow more of the great advice in Katie Couric's newish book, The Best Advice I Ever Got. It's a super quick but awesome read (that I just blew through on my Kindle, for free, thanks to the new-available Kindle library loans. Woo hoo!)

What one little thing - something someone's said, or done, something you've read - has made all the difference for you?

Who can argue with this great advice?