The Journey

I haven't written in awhile but I'm feeling internal pressure to do so. It's not that there hasn't been reasons to write, with a 4 year old and a 6 year old, seldom does an uneventful hour go by. But we are busy with school and soccer, and Daisies (pre-cursor to Girl Scouts) and playing Uno, the Memory Game, Quarkle and Zingo, birthday parties, karate (that's mine), drawing, reading, swinging, trips to the library, tennis and so on. Sometimes I feel like it's all "hurry up so we can get there" and then I realize the "there" that I'm trying to get to is really the journey itself. It's never ending and when I recognize that, I tend to slow down a bit and catch my breath.

The Soccer Muscles and Aces are close to finishing their seasons. And, unlike last year, the Aces have a few wins under their belts and hope to get one or two more before it's all said and done. Ryan has blossomed as a defensive star, receiving accolades from parents and referees! Sam has shown marked improvement even if I had to bribe her a bit as evidenced by her yelling "Mom! Am I earning my ice cream yet?" as she ran down the field kicking the ball. Yes, honey, you earned it!

I participated in a karate tournament and won 1st place in my age and belt division performing Pinon 3. I was super nervous, asking myself why am I doing this?? I did not get started in karate to go to tournaments (visions of "sweep the leg" from Karate Kid kept going through my mind) but I must admit, I was pretty happy to have won...although the girls were so much happier, showing off the trophy to the neighborhood kids. My favorite part of the tournament may have been when they played "Eye of the Tiger" right before the matches begun. Couldn't help but laugh a bit at that.

Knock on wood, but all is well right now. Even slamming my finger in the car door yesterday and fainting as I drove home with the girls (had time to pull over and call a neighbor) didn't upset the apple cart too much. I am learning to enjoy the journey...

The Crooked House in Pizzatown

Inspired by a book of fun and silly poems given to Ryan for her birthday, she set out to write her own poem. With my help, here's what she came up with:

On a hill there was a house
and it was quite crooked.
In the house lived a mouse
who wore a hat as tall as the ceiling.

The funny thing about this house
was that it was on wheels.
The mouse drove the house around town
delivering lots of meals.

Pizzatown is full of people
eating pizza from a crooked house
delivered to them by a hat-wearing mouse
And they dance 'til their pants fall down.

School Days...

Second week of school today and still getting tears. Today it was Ryan. She was crying at home, got over it in the car, found a friend to play with before the school bell and then found Jim at Sam's class and was holding back the tears again. One of her better friends was weepy too, claiming it was a stomach ache but a wink and nod from the dad confirmed it was a case of "I don't want to be here" blues. Although I don't quite understand the dread they feel, I know it's real but I can't seem to find the words or actions to make them understand that there is nothing to cry about. The old adage "if I knew then what I know now" has never seemed more true. First grade is fun, right? I'd offer to switch places with her but she'd only take me up on it and then where would I be? The joys of motherhood...stay tuned.

What We Did On Summer Vacation

by Ryan and Sammmie Freeman

We played, danced and sang with friends. We hiked and biked and played tennis and swam until our fingers were pruned. We watched mommy pack bags, unpack them, repack them, wash the contents and then pack and unpack them again. We did some modeling and started a lemonade stand. We went through 10 packs of bandaids, 5 boxes of popsicles, 4 bathing suits, 6 pairs of flip flops and countless trips to the yogurt shop. We climbed trees, rode in a wagon, learned to do a backflip in the pool and ride a bike without training wheels. We fell in love with the iPad and iTouch and Highschool Musical. We saw fireworks in Montecito and lightening in Las Vegas and dolphins in Manhattan Beach. We (Ryan) turned 6. We (Sammie) turned comedian. We grew up and mommy told us to stop but again, we didn't listen. Sometimes we're that way.

Accidents Happen

During our usual, okay, not usual but once monthly, Sunday family dinners we ask one another what our favorite part of the weekend was. This Sunday however, Jim asked what was our least favorite part of the weekend; a question prompted by the fact that the four of us were in a car accident on Saturday. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn't a horrible accident. Everyone walked away uninjured, both cars were drivable if banged up and it appears the damage will cost a mere $5,000 or so. I say "mere" because I just spent over $3,000 on normal maintenance for the car so a bit more than that and I'm getting a brand new rear passenger door, side panel, quarter panel, wheel and alignment and probably a few other things I know nothing about. At the time of the accident, however, it seemed pretty horrible. I can't say that my life flashed in front of my eyes as Jim swerved into oncoming traffic to avoid a guy doing an illegal u-turn across four lanes of traffic but after impact and the immediate interrogating of the kids to make sure everyone was okay, it was pretty scary. The protective mom instinct kicked in and I was ready to yell at the other driver for endangering my family when I saw that they too had two children in car seats and the wife was pregnant with a third. They couldn't have been 30 years old and were new to town and lost and extremely apologetic. Apparently we were in their blind spot. Everyone was fine but by the thinest of margins. It's amazing how quickly things can go from being great to horrible or even potentially horrible. A blink of the eye.

Light On

It doesn't seem so long ago that I would come home from a night out with my girlfriends and see a light on in the front bedroom window of the house next door. It might be 1:00 am or 2:00 am but most nights, that light would be on. I would knock on glass pane gently and slide myself behind the rose bushes and wait for the shuffle of his feet and lifting of the blinds. After a few seconds to let his eyes adjust to the light, there would be recognition, a brief smile and the window would rise.

My friend's bedroom was equal parts fascinating and slovenly and I loved it because it was so uniquely him. Modest in size, twin bed, hardwood floors, desk with a computer (this is back when not everyone had computers and if they did, the machines took up the whole desk and some of the floor) and clothes half in and half out of the closet. Desktop and bookshelf space was at a premium, cluttered with disassembled Rubik's cubes, magnets and batteries, Physics books and Charles Dickens, paper airplanes, paper clips and paper balls. He was always collecting things and dissecting them and analyzing them, a habit for which his room suffered but in which his brain reveled.

He would plop back on his bed and say hello, the easy greeting of a best friend. We might have discussed the night's events or not, maybe we talked about school or family or some television show. He probably asked me some philosophical question about the social contract and I probably rolled by eyes and told him about the new drinking game I learned. With my arms propped on the window sill, my head and shoulders inside his room and the rest of my body still sharing space with the rose bushes, we would just hang out. Sometimes I climbed through the window, sometimes not. Sometimes I stayed there for hours, sometimes for minutes. Sometimes we just watched each other for things unsaid.

Once or twice we toyed with being more than friends. Toyed is the right word since we were too young to do anything other than play at it. Try it out briefly and see how it felt. One summer we held hands on the couch every opportunity we got. We never discussed it and it ended as quickly as it started. His first girlfriend bothered me, not her but the fact he was sharing his life with a girl other than me. He was always there and as I got older I felt that if we wanted to pick things up, we could. He was a permanent fixture in my life and I in his. Until he wasn't.

Those foggy nights hanging out at his window seem like yesterday but were actually 25 years ago; three times as long as which he and I were neighbors but I can still recall the comfort of seeing his light on at 2am.

Falling Asleep

CHILDHOOD

Cozy in bed

Your life in front of you

Arm stretched out

Little hand in mine;

Arm reaching up

Life surrounds you

Laying on the floor.

MOTHERHOOD

Spring Break 2010

If you have children, old or young, you know what I mean when I say our family made the obligatory trip to Disneyland this Spring Break. The ubiquitous arm of Disney reaches your children when they're in the womb in the form of character-laced clothing you receive at your baby shower to DVDs and music to prep you for their toddler years. It intensifies it's grip when they are toddlers by creating magical lands of princesses, fairies, knights and dragons at which young minds marvel. By the time your children are 4, they can distinguish between the Disney castle and other castles, they know the names of Ariel's sisters and the Pixie Hollow fairies. They want to be Hannah Montana but will settle for a visit from Miley Cyrus on their birthday. Basically, they are indoctrinated in all things Disney and even the most cynical parent will have a hard time denying their kids a trip or two (or 5 or 6) to see the park where it all comes from.

This trip was the first time for both Sam and Jim to ever step foot inside Disneyland. And although I had been more times than I could count, I was more excited this time than any other, including my first visit when my dad took my sister and I only to find the park closed for the day. Imagine pulling up to the giant parking lot after driving for an hour and seeing no cars, momentarily thinking that it was our lucky day,that we had somehow beat the crowd and then that sinking feeling as you realize that wasn't the case. I don't remember what we did after that but I do remember the big, empty parking lot and thinking it wasn't such a happy place after all.

This trip however was different. We stayed at the Grand Californian hotel which is basically attached to the park and Downtown Disney. Upon check in, the girls were asked by a concierge if this was their first visit. Since it was for Sam, she was given a "My First Visit to Disneyland" pin which she wore proudly and both girls received paper tiaras promoting the new movie "The Princess and the Frog" that might as well been made of gold considering the smile it put on their faces. I don't think Ryan took hers off until bed time and she must have asked Jim and I fifty times, "is it on straight? Is it?" Disney marketing at it's best.

The next morning Ryan's best friend from Manhattan Beach, Abby, arrived and the 5 of us were off to the park.

"Ooh, look at that ride!" Sam pointed out.

"That's just the tram that takes you from the parking lot to the entrance Sam." I corrected her.

"Can we go on it?"

Oh to be 4 again where everything is new and super exciting. We could have ridden that tram, told her we were on the train the princesses use and she would have been thrilled. We handed a 'cast member' our tickets and we had arrived to the Happiest Place on Earth. Jim didn't look convinced as hundreds of people swarmed past us.

Our first stop was to take a picture at the famous Disneyland Castle. Sam thought it was huge while it looked very small to me. Ryan and Abby were impressed with the moat and all the white flowers around it. The girls wondered which room was Cinderella's.

Our first ride was the recently updated It's a Small World; a veritable trip around the world to see and hear how other people live. Very politically correct or perhaps completely non-politically correct, not sure which. The colors on the new sets and clothing were so vibrant and bright, it felt like a scene from the Beatles' Yellow Submarine, a stereotypical acid trip (or so I imagine). The girls loved it and really enjoyed singing It's a Small World for the rest of the day. I think Jim was checking his blackberry.

The Jungle Cruise was next up, primarily because it was furthest from where we were and apparently our goal was to ride the fewest rides but cover the most ground. After that, three of us went in the haunted house. Ryan and I waited patiently by the exit and wondered whether Sam would enjoy seeing the ghost in her cart at the end of the ride or not. Turns out, "not" was the right answer. Abby on the other hand loved it all, including thunder and lights out in the elevator.

"Mom, they said that ghost will stay with us for our whole visit." Sam informed me. "Is he here?" she said looking over her shoulder.

"No, they just say that. Plus, it was a friendly ghost, right?"

"I don't know but he was fat."

Next we went on the Pinocchio ride since there was no line. In hindsight I realize that is like picking a restaurant because it is empty or a doctor because he has no patients. There's probably a reason no one is there. Pinocchio is dark, cold and scary. You're always about to run into a wall when it flies opens at the last second and the momentary relief you have at not crashing is shattered by seeing someone trapped in a cage, reaching for you or a horrible clown with an evil laugh. This is supposed to be for little kids! I was horrified.

Nothing like a carousel ride to cheer you up. Then we were off Toon Town to bend the steel bars of the jail and push buttons to create power surges at Goofy's house!! And of course we had to wait in the long line for the Princess Faire where if you endure the wait, you are rewarded with two minutes of private time with three princesses. We left Jim to wait in line while the girls got their faces painted and picked out pretty princess flip-flops to wear.

We added in two trips to the bathroom and a few games of ring-around-the-rosy, and Jim was about half way through the line. We joined him. We waited and waited and moved about three feet. We waited more, sang It's a Small World a few dozen times while Jim checked his blackberry and moved forward a few feet. After 60 minutes of waiting, there were still 15 people in front of us and our three girls unanimously, and eagerly, voted to get out of line and head to the pool at the hotel.

"Maybe this is the Happiest Place on Earth" Jim said to me smiling.

"Are you sure? If we leave, we're not coming back and it's only 2 o'clock." I asked them.

"Pool! Pool! Pool!" they shouted and jumped in unison.

Okay then, off we were. We managed 5 rides, a long wait in line, face painting and a quick visit to Toon Town, all in 5 hours and for several hundred dollars. No worries, pool time with friends is hard to beat, followed up by dinner at the Rainforest Cafe (where the canned thunder and moving elephants brought Sam to tears) and ice cream cones and a sing-a-long in the hotel lobby. The girls were laughing and holding hands all night and still wearing their paper tiaras and My First Visit pin. So, although the park is large and crowded and the rides are strangely not age appropriate at times and everything is terribly expensive, the Disney experience is one of a kind, especially when seen through the eyes of your children.

The Dangers of Coffee Shop Thinking

I'm sitting in a coffee shop attached to a giant bookstore, sipping a chai latte and reading a book I heard about on NPR a few days ago. There's a man next to me that may or may not be blind. He's carrying a walking stick and tapping it on the ground periodically yet he appears to be able to see, evidenced by his ability to retrieve his own drink without the use of his walking stick. There's a couple behind me busy on their computers and cell phones who look like they may be using the coffee shop as their office. It's pouring rain outside, as it has done for the past 2 or 3 days, apparently in defiance of the fact that we live in a desert. The rain totals over the past few days double the amount of rain we've received in the three years we've lived here. I'm not complaining, I love the rain. It is unusual though. But no more unusual than the fact I live in Las Vegas, am 39 years old (okay, 39 1/2), am raising two girls and am unemployed. I'm pretty sure my 6th grade essay on "What I Want To Do When I Grow Up" didn't include any of things, even the part about being 39 1/2 (which is really the same as 40 minus 1/2, which seems impossible).


The mom part I get. I love kids, sometimes I love other kids more than mine own, however. Not really but I have more patience with other people's children. When other kids don't listen, they are being kids and I give them a break. When mine don't listen, they are being brats and I get mad. When other kids spill on my couch, I smile and say it's an accident. When my kids do it, I yell things like "haven't I told you not to sit on the couch when you're drinking juice!" When other kids walk down the street to a friend's house, I think they're so independent. When my kids do the same, I swallow my heart and watch them from the front window for as long as I can.


The living in the desert part of my life is a head scratcher. I'm a beach girl, born and raised in Southern California and other than for 4 months in London and a few summers in Dallas, I had never lived further than 40 minutes from the beach and usually only 4 blocks. It's not even the beach, sand and the sun I love (remember, I love the rain) but it's the lifestyle. It's wearing flip flops and a baseball cap any time of the year. It's walking out your front door to the local coffee and bagel shop and seeing the same faces doing the morning crossword puzzle or feeding their dogs muffin crumbs and having the older ladies make googly eyes over your baby that you wanted to throttle last night when she wouldn't sleep for 3 hours straight. It's being able to hear your neighbor's muffled voices when they fight or laugh or have a party because the homes are just an arm span apart. As a kid, our living room window faced my friend's bedroom window and I could stand in my house, with the window open, and talk to her in her house. It was brilliant.


Having two girls is also quite plausible since once you've decided to have children the gender is basically a flip of the coin. Having two girly girls, however, is another head scratcher. I was/am a tomboy. I played soccer, softball, tennis and volleyball. I played Ditch'Em until I was 15 years old when I distinctly remember hiding in a shrub in my neighbors yard with dirt on my knees and elbows and thinking "I probably need to stop playing this game" and being more than a bit sad about it. I wore O.P. shorts and tube socks with the colored stripes on the top (more about this later). My first pair of O.P.s were bought at Goat Hill in Manhattan Beach. They were dark blue corduroy with the trademark wooden button. I was 6 years old and so proud to put them on that I wasn't even embarrassed that I had to wear a belt to keep them up. My pride was diminished, but not extinguished, when the older boys in my neighborhood teased me about that. Apparently O.P.s and belts don't go together. Try telling that to a 6 year old girl wearing her first pair!


Granted my girls are still young and I hold out hope that they'll find their inner tomboy but as of now they are all Princesses and fairies and rainbows (plus the occasional unicorn). My 5 year old, Ryan, wears only skirts and dresses. She hasn't had on a pair of pants, other than those that can be counted as pajamas, in over a year. "Pants are for boys. They're not pretty mom!", she insists. When I point out that I wear pants and other very pretty moms wear pants, she just kind of shrugs and says she'll stick with skirts. My 4 year old, Sam, is more open to suggestion. She even put on a pair of jeans the other day! She warmed my heart this morning when she said she wanted to invite a couple of boys in her class over for a play date because they like cars and she wants to show them hers.

It's not that I'm against girly girl things, in fact I've grown to embrace braiding their hair and putting their dolls to bed, but I just am not as familiar with most of these activities. I can't remember ever playing with Barbies or taking my stuffed animal dog on a walk or dressing up as Princess Ariel. I liked erector sets and MatchBox cars and games that included balls of any kind. I built elaborate scooters with my friend Patrick in his dad's garage. Our scooters had brakes and real steering and were more fun to build than ride most of the time. My girls seem to be cut from a different mold and I'm learning to love that about them.


The unemployed part I can guarantee you wasn't part of the plan. I loved school and generally excelled in most subjects. I was a quick learner, got good grades without having to try too hard and went on to college and grad school where I received my MBA. Prior to my current role as stay at home mom (although most moms can tell you that's not really an accurate description; for me it's more like "stay on the tennis court, karate dojo, go to the market and Target mom") I worked at an advertising agency, as a stock broker and then as an investment banker for 8 years. I was good, but not great, at my jobs but never found a perfect fit. When my second child was born and my husband started commuting from LA to Las Vegas, I called it quits figuring two kids under the age of 18 months was enough for awhile and I could easily return to work when the time seemed right. It's four years later and although the time has seemed right for quite some time, the ease of finding "the right fit" hasn't materialized as of yet. I feel my brain atrophying as we speak. It's so far atrophied that I'm not even sure atrophying is a word - I have to look it up. It is a word, yea! Score one for me.

It's not unusual for me to wonder how I got here, to be sitting in a coffee shop in the desert, waiting until school gets out so I can pick up my girls and hear how I really need to learn how to french braid their hair. (FYI - there are no pats on the back for learning regular braiding. Apparently that's a given like providing a bed for your child whereas french braids would be like providing them with a bunk bed). Shouldn't I be conducting a highly important business meeting or creating a flying car or celebrating the World Peace Treaty 2010 that I single-handedly negotiated amongst all 200 nations? I can't help but wonder, have I failed to live up to my potential?

Car Conversations

As I have mentioned before, the girls' school is about 20 minutes away from our home. In the mornings that time is filled listening to their favorite music which, on good days, consists of Sheryl Crow and The Black Eyed Peas and on bad days, consists of Miley Cirus and Kidz Bop. The ride home from school, when everyone is tired, is usually filled with verbal spats, a few tears and endless questions. I try to use the time to impart sound parental advice such as don't talk to strangers and don't do drugs to which I'm met with questions about where the strangers live and what are drugs? Every now and then I am thrown a question I can't figure out how to answer and the path that leads down never ceases to amaze me.

"Mom, what did the dinosaurs do when they were here?" Ryan asks.

"Um, they just walked around and ate."

"They didn't eat people though, did they mom?" asks Sam.

"No, most ate plants."

"What did the ground do when they walked on it?"

"What did the ground do? Um, nothing. It shook I guess and they left footprints that people find now." I said trying to sound knowledgeable.

"Are dinosaurs real?" Sam wonders. She rightly thinks of them like monsters or dragons.

"They used to be, way before you were born, but not anymore." I answer.

"Mom, where was I when you were in your mommy's tummy?" asks Ryan

"Oh, gee, let's see. You weren't here." I stammer. Not sure I like where this is going

"WHERE. WAS. I?" she asks again, more adamantly.

"Ryan, I'm trying to answer but it's hard..."

"Just tell me!"

"I'm trying. It's hard to explain. You weren't made yet. You didn't get made until after daddy and I got married and decided to have kids." I respond. Please let an ambulance go by now or something to distract their attention. Please.

"You didn't want to be a tid (kid) any more mom?" asks Sam.

"I had already been a kid and you can't go back. So when daddy and I fell in love, we wanted to have kids."

"So you had us?" says Ryan.

"Yes."

"How did you fall in love with daddy?" Ryan asks, not ready to give up yet.

"Well, we met at work and we'd go out with friends and I thought he was smart and funny and I guess he liked me so we fell in love and got married." Holy moly, are we at home yet? Where's that ambulance?

"I want to be a mom now," announces Ryan.

"I want to be a baby," counters Sam.

"I want a drink," I whisper as we pull into the garage.