Art and Life

These days people ask me a lot how I'm doing. Not everyone knows, and most who do know only the tiny bit I've shared with the public. It's just a simple greeting that's often followed immediately by "How was your summer?"

Typically I answer with "fine," or "too short" or "hanging in there, getting used to the new place." But sometimes I'm tempted to be super honest and return with "devastating and refreshing and confusing and the hardest right choice I've ever had to make." Or maybe I can get straight to the point by returning with a question of my own: "Have you ever seen The Last Five Years?" I mean, it's not a perfect analogy, but it might get the point across.

And while I'm on the topic of divorce-related entertainment, I've been watching Girlfriend's Guide to Divorce on Netflix lately. If you're concerned, I promise I'm not actually using it as a guide or reference source or anything more than post kid-bedtime amusement. I mean, it takes place in Hollywood and is nothing like my current situation. At least, I'm pretty sure I didn't turn into a best-selling author overnight and JG hasn't gone from lamenting my choice in television programming to hooking up with a CW actress half his age.

There are some points they do get right in the show. The question mark of writing truthfully about something as raw as losing a love you once relied upon for stability and certainty in the world. The first nights without the kids. The way that committing to change can still feel wrong even when it feels right. That dream of a "good divorce." And also how there's something that happens when you go through relationship trouble that allows people around you that you assume are happy in their own relationships to share the crap going on behind the scenes past or present.

And that element reminds me of when I decided to start talking about wanting a baby and I realized how many women struggled for the same thing. I felt so alone until I encountered all the other voices saying "me too." And now I'm a voice that says, to a certain degree, I've been there, at least enough to understand the emotion, even if not the full complexity of your individual situation. Because the most painful experiences of our lives shouldn't be the topics most closed off in the world. Shouldn't the hardest trials we deal with be the ones for which we get the most support? Not shameful secrets that we pretend aren't happening as we go about our daily tasks of just making it through?

Now that school is back up and running a coworker (and also an Ivy grad woman of color) was discussing a babysitting issue with me. She asked if I was married - probably because in our discussion of who would watch the boys for back to school night I didn't mention their dad as someone I'd asked - I decided to just let her know I was separated. Her first reaction was "I'm sorry," and then quickly she said, "Well, maybe I shouldn't be? If it's right. When I was separated I wanted people to be happy for me for getting out of a terrible marriage." We didn't dwell on it, but I thanked her. Not just for sharing about herself, but for so openly accepting how complicated it is when a marriage is ending. I mean, no one goes into marriage thinking it will end. But no one gets out of it if they were truly altogether happy in it either. I don't know that I want people to be happy or sad or any emotion on my behalf. This is just where I am now.

Something broke, so we're apart. Quite possibly forever. And coming to terms with that truth is a journey I've not yet completed. But in this stage here, I'm ok. And wherever I end up I'll be ok too. Even if it isn't my current best case scenario dream. I don't need movies or TV shows to tell me that.

And until I know where my journey is going to end, relationship wise, I'll keep working hard and playing hard and figuring out how to take a decent selfie.

After the Move

After rereading my last three posts I'm thinking I made the right choice by deciding to write tonight. The summer hasn't been the positive slope graph I was hoping when I turned the maybe-divorce-won't-be-awful corner around my birthday. But not everything has been terrible. In fact, a lot of things have been quite wonderful.

For instance, the new house is great. It's about twice the size as my old place for substantially less rent and includes a basement, a bathroom on all three floors, and a guest bedroom for whenever you decide to visit. Yep, you. There's a pantry where I can store your favorite snacks and enough cabinets for me to finally put to use all the fancy wedding gifts that have been stored away. (Oh irony, such a tricky little friend)

The neighborhood is off to a solid start. There's a pool if you get here by Labor Day and it's never busy. Ever. Sometimes we're the only family there. Plus there are a billion kids ages 2-12 that rule this townhome cul de sac like a kid gang from the late 80s. PDG and MDG have joined right in with their training wheels and nerf guns. So many boys! When that's not enough exercise and excitement, we make our way to Fantasy Playground and make believe in the wooden castles, or check out what the library is offering that day. Reptile night has been the biggest hit so far. Camp Nicole isn't quite what it was the year of exploring A-town parks, but it's still suburban busy and scheduled around much needed midday naps.

Still, it's all hard. The uncertainties. The wondering if the kids are going to come through this all ok. The wondering if I'm going to come through ok. The quiet every other Saturday morning when I wish for tiny footsteps to come in the room and tell me the sun's awake and request cereal or frozen waffles. There were the accidents and bedwetting that first week after moving when their little brains and hearts and bodies were adjusting to a new home. My brain and heart and body had to adjust too.

It's all so new, and yet, so much is the same. MDG will be at the same daycare. PDG will be there in the mornings for a while too. I'll be at my same job with my coworkers who have welcomed me to the community with dinners and girls nights and play dates. The boys still have the toys and games and shows they love. We go to a church that teaches the same lessons from the same books and sing the same songs. At bedtime we pray and we tell the same stories. Even the princess story about me and J-Man. We see the people we love and they (you) find time to keep our friendships going.

There's a hole, of course, and there are plenty of people with opinions about how I should fill it and when. There are times when I push too hard and times when I still don't say what I want or need or think I deserve.

There's hurt. Specific hurt that warrants apologies and the broad hurt that no one gets to own more than another.

But at the core, there's so much love. I love my boys. I love my family. I love my friends. That other love I used to write about - I miss it. I'm sure I will for a while. Maybe one day I'll even feel it again. For now though, I'm going to keep counting blessings, finding silver linings, letting myself have a biweekly cry when the house is too quiet, and finding more ways to embrace the positive in the otherwise awful limbo of separation.

May and Me

I've been trying to practice intentional self care these past few weeks. (Don't I sound so in touch with my 2017 self in that sentence?) For real though, I know there are plenty of self-help books to tell me how to navigate the incredibly emotionally exhausting roller coaster of likely divorce, but none of them are actually written just for me and my marriage so it's still a lot of trial and error.

You know, like how I spent the first full weekend J-Man got with the kids alternating between watching Thirteen Reasons Why and packing all his things - therefore obsessing over memories in certain clothes and sobbing over tucked away love notes. That was a rough forty-eight hours...

Instead, I've been using the month of May to avoid sliding into depression or terrible binge teen tv-watching by keeping busy. First there was  SA's wedding (I guess I should call her Dr. S, or really double Dr. S with the whole MD/PhD amazingness she has going on). Then a friend invited me to a hot yoga class. I should clarify it wasn't technically bikram because the thermostat only read 99 degrees but that's hot to me. And despite having to occasionally take breathing breaks in child's pose, I was pretty impressed with how well I rocked those 75 minutes. Also all the cheesy yoga talk about feeling open and refreshed and centered really applied. So the next week I bought a yoga mat and my first official pair of yoga pants and have been trying out videos in my living room since. Even the boys have gotten in on the action.

A different weekend I went to visit FR in New York. Sadly EK wasn't there since she is a a professional wedding attendee (or so it seems) but FR and I had plenty to keep us chatting. Our lives may not be mirror images, but I know I found it therapeutic and comforting to talk and talk and walk and eat and talk the whole time. She shared a favorite breakfast spot with me and I shared a favorite with her from my and DrDrSA's time in NYC - only 2.5 blocks from FR! - and we mutually indulged in our love of Central Park and Broadway. The musical we saw was War Paint, and those impressive voices almost made us dip into Sephora to buy some face cream. Then we decided that until we're real make-up wearers, we'll save our cash and pray the wrinkles appear slowly and gracefully.

This weekend, while I didn't expressly celebrate fallen soldiers, I did hang out with veteran Big O and KB's family for a fantastic cookout. I also did a 24 hour trip to Winchester where the boys got their rural activity fill by burning trash, riding the Gator, walking to the mailbox with Granddad, and checking on the garden.

Today we hit up a favorite A-town spot and watched the planes take off above our heads. They love the loud noise and the feeling like you can reach up and touch the giant jet-liners.

That and tossing rocks in the river, quacking at ducks, waving at turtles, and making new friends. For me it was a nice break from their recent need to be Captain Underpants. All. Day. Long.

All this to say that I didn't magically flip a switch on my birthday and stop feeling sad or crying, but May's been good. I'm being good to myself. So here's hoping June's more of the same, if not better.

Good Riddance, 32

Guess who just finished celebrating her first solo birthday with her first solo wedding! That's right, this woman right here.

 (I was gonna write "this girl" but at 33, it's time I call myself a woman, I think.)

Now, I can't say that I survived the birthday weekend unscathed. I mean, I did sob while driving through the pouring rain at 8am after dropping off the boys, but a phone call to Big Sis and reassuring texts from KB and other friends helped keep it the only real cry of the day.

With that behind me I ventured out to get my hair relaxed at a new salon. And no, I haven't dyed the gray yet. Despite lots of people asking me. Just so you know, I don't plan on changing my mind any time soon, but feel free to keep asking. Seriously. The endless inquiries make me feel amazing. So young. So beautiful. So treasured for my intellect and personality. Can you tell how much I love being judged for something my body is doing naturally? I'm looking at you, random man at Target who felt the need to know if all that gray was real. Awesome.

Less sarcastically, I ate at the bar in Olive Garden while reading another Liane Moriarty novel and it was pretty fantastically self-indulgent.

So with my hair done and lasagna enjoyed I joined KB and O and hit the road to wild and wonderful WV for SA's wedding. There was a moment during the rehearsal when I realized I'd be walking down the aisle to the same song I walked down my own wedding aisle to and my eyes welled on instinct, but remembering it was SA's day and she is an incredible and wonderful friend, I told my emotions to save the pity party for another weekend and pushed through.

After that moment I honestly forgot it was my birthday for hours. We ate and laughed and crossed our fingers the weather would stay warm and sunny for Saturday (spoiler: it didn't). At the end of the night, back in the amazing cabin that we hope to revisit in September - according to Big O we will definitely be back, and fishing, with the little ones - we ate birthday cookies and it sunk in that I was 33.

The next day there were only tiny moments of heartbreak that sneaked in. I knew they would. I breathed them in and exhaled them back out. I accepted hugs from kind friends old and new, and I danced. A lot. With a confidence I owe to J-Man and eleven years of him insisting we always be on the dance floor within minutes of it being opened to the crowd. I wished I had someone to dance with. Then a new song would come on and I'd shoo that thought away and keep dancing.

I kept dancing.

And dancing.

And dancing.

Until the band packed up and we were the final twelve or so folks on the floor.

It kept my body warm in the crazy-cold, see-your-breath, wear-a-coat-through-dinner, night.

It kept my heart warm to be in motion. To cling to the songs about love and happiness and celebration, even if they all didn't feel 100% like current anthems.

SA's wedding was beautiful, and deserves more of a post than this, but what I realized about myself through the weekend is that for my 33rd year, I'm ready to be a doer. I'm ready to say yes. I'm ready to take the confidence I learned in the early years with J-Man, braving the chaos of Harlem and NYCTF, two cross-country moves, the madness of questionable fertility, the juggling act of two under two, and keep pushing forward.

I'm going to say yes more this year.

Yes, I'm going to NYC in two weeks.

Yes, I plan to have applied to grad school by my next birthday.

Yes, I will be on that committee or go to this yoga class or help out with those activities.

Even, yes I will recognize that I need a good cry, YA book and early bedtime to recharge before continuing to say yes to something else.

Yes, I will be happy this year.

Good riddance, 32. You brought too much heartache. You left too many scars. You demanded too many tears and compromises and surrenders.

Hello, 33. Bring on your adventures. Show me your hidden surprises. Tempt me with your possibilities. Teach me what to do with this bowl of lemons because I'm ready for the pitchers and pitchers of lemonade now.

Bring. It. On.

NYC Revisited: Day Two

The morning after the wedding we slept in until a whopping 8:30. (Full disclosure I woke up at 5:45 and remembered I could keep sleeping, again at 7 and figured why not see what happened, and then at 8:30 knew that this was the latest my body could possibly understand how to stay asleep).

After a cute breakfast enjoying outdoor seating and people-watching we lazily set up our plan for the day. It revolved around eating, and particularly tracking down a portobello mushroom sandwich with mozzarella and tomato and zucchini that had once made me briefly consider being a vegetarian. We've thought about this appetizer for years and were so excited to see that even though restaurants like Orbit and Creole and One Fish Two Fish are no longer in existence, Ricardo's still was.

J-Man and I soon set off to walk from 80th and Broadway across the park and uptown to 110th and 2nd. We stopped to take some photos, though J-Man reminded me that we didn't need many. After all, we once lived here, and we can come back whenever. Still, I wanted to capture some cuteness.

By the time we'd crossed the park my legs were already laughing at me and my suburb-driving self that doesn't exercise. My hips were like "you know we could've taken a cab right? or a bus or train or uber or horse carriage..." I grabbed a Snapple from a street vendor and told those legs to shove it. I'm still as city fit as I was at 22. In my mind.

Crossing back uptown was a fun adventure. The shift in color and culture of the people on the street came a little farther north than it used to, and people were actually brunching outside above 96th street. But soon enough we were back in our neighborhood. We blended in again, the Spanish chatter started to pick up, and the city transformed into what somehow once was home. Sure enough, as we turned the final corner, there was Ricardo's just as we'd remembered it.

Actually, it was busier than we remembered. And there was a DJ playing poppy hip-hop music. We waited for a table and looked over the brunch menu only to find... what?! No portobello?!?!? How had we not considered once that the menu could have changed in the eight years since we'd last visited? We had to laugh and roll our eyes at ourselves. Of course New York was changing without us. Luckily, the menu was still delicious, and while I'm not a food-picture-taker in general, I did snap this little beauty. Maybe it'll still be around in eight more years?

We walked another six blocks north to see if Mojitos was still around too. That place was our staple once upon a time. Work happy hours, late night tacos, flaming cucarachas. Not only was it going strong, but 116th had some sort of street fair happening. It reminded me of the week after I moved in and the Puerto Rican festival just popped up outside my window. I know when Papa H dropped me off in Harlem the day after my ivy-covered college graduation we were all a little nervous about the neighborhood, but I felt nothing but happy memories standing on the corner.

And J-Man had nothing but good memories standing on his own old stoop too, just a block away from mine.

In case you're wondering, my legs insisted that we cab it back and relax for a few hours next. We watched Spotlight and dozed before starting up friend time. Highly recommended by the way.

Our next food focal point was Tony's Di Napoli. I know there's tons of great Italian food in this city so not everyone will agree, but this one is our favorite. It was always a reliable meal I could take my parents to without exotic cuisine fusions dominating the menu. V joined us - providing stories that could prove to our other college friends that she does still exist and work and isn't on a top secret government assignment - and so did Miss F.  We ordered our favorite zucchini chips and ziti and J-Man's only acceptable chicken marsala. Conversation floated from stealing babies to AMNH exhibits to new job opportunities and of course, the boys we missed so dearly. Also, because V is quite elusive - I took some proof of life.

Back on the west side we finally got to see EK and her husband and thank them for letting us treat their apartment as our personal hotel for the weekend. EK, Miss F and I ate sweets and caught up on life while the boys chatted and discussed the Olympic gymnast's compound fracture.

It was all quite lovely. A perfect little trip. And exhausted we all headed to bed happy.

Oh, and because I like snapchat still, here's my story :)

NYC Revisited: Day One

Earlier this year a few girls in my first period class taught me all the wonders of Snapchat. This obviously made me feel old, but also brought me around to capturing the fun moments in life as they arise, writing all over them, and then adding stickers. Like this...

And while instagram is trying to steal the Snap thunder with their story feature, I've only just recently gotten the hang of these, and won't be converting to anything new too soon. So, since you probably aren't one of the four people who ever look at my snaps, let me use them to tell you a little about J-Man's and my trip back to NYC.

First off, it should be noted that Facebook reminded me that J-Man and I have been friends for ten years now. And that's pretty exact, because back in '06 I was pretty quick to add a friend right after meeting them in order to preserve that connection forever. I was in a brand new city, he was a crazy guy who invited me to see spectacles, we were both on a journey to make a difference and be grown-up teachers. Oh, and he had air conditioning.

Ten years later we were back to see another Teaching Fellow, E-Drizzle get married. We hopped on an Amtrak train, left the little guys behind, and set forth into nostalgia.

Within minutes of hailing our first cab (J-Man didn't want to subway and I felt weird using Uber in the world of yellow taxis) we remembered just how loud and smelly and hot and vibrant the city is. We dodged a street fair and multiple ambulances as we swerved our way to the Upper West Side to stay in our friend EK's lovely apartment. There we'd stay alongside another couple attending a different NYC wedding while EK and her husband were off at yet another wedding in Wisconsin.

Within the next hour we bumped into my friend V - who tends to disappear for months at a time - so it was pretty amazing that our paths crossed at all. We promised to catch up later and continued on our way.

E-Drizzle's wedding was lovely, even though we ended up inside rather than the outdoor park as they'd hoped. It was me, J-Man and two other former NYCTF English teachers and we hung out and talked books. My self-published one, another's upcoming poetry one, and another's currently in the query phase one. After some bouts of not feeling very accomplished in life lately, that conversation reminded me to snap out of it and enjoy the things that have made me happy. I wrote a book. It exists, imperfections and all, and it's ok to feel proud of that.

I proceeded to eat too much, meet new people, dance a bit, smile a ton, and have a fantastic time in the upstairs bar reception. The whole event was incredibly New York, and incredibly them and came along with the beauty of remembering my own vows in the place where I met the man I would love more passionately than I could have ever imagined.

cab ride home - 2016

cab ride home 2006

The day was wonderful, the company too, and it was only the first of the fantastic trip.

Paint Night

Rather than catch up on all of the last month, let me just start with last night. I went to my first painting party.

My Work BFF Sra K was celebrating her fiftieth birthday, and despite the fact that I don't drink wine and my painting experience for the last two decades has been limited to wall primer and theatrical sets, I decided I was going to have fun. So I went, and I did.

It started simple enough, her feeding us tons of delicious food in that way that people who show love through giving and cooking excel at, and some uncomfortable mingling on my part. It shouldn't have been awkward, what with it being mostly coworkers and other great people that my equally great friend likes, but my introvert half kicks in when the threshold of six or so people gets crossed. This party had forty-five painters-in-training all ready to celebrate Sra K and get our artistry on.

 We began with a blank canvas. Obviously. And I'm going to spare you the many metaphors I could describe about potential and fresh starts and endless possibilities. It was a blank canvas and hung in front of us was the desired finish product - Birds on a Fence.

Our artist teacher took us step by step from easy - the turquoise sky, streaks encouraged - to the impossibly difficult - birds I never even attempted. Let's just say mine ended up being renamed to simply Fence.

I sat between two other language teachers and self-proclaimed non-artists, and we enjoyed making fun of our failures and frequently asking each other "what are we doing now?" and "do you really think he has the same brushes as us?" with the occasional "wow, yours looks way better than mine."

It was all quite intense and yet completely ridiculous because no one's, and I mean no one's, looked as good as his. Even if they did all shine in their own way. Get the pun?

In the end I decided I liked it though. And it makes me think of the song I sing my boys almost every night these days. (They're over "Twinkle Twinkle" and the backwards ABC's and are back to the Bye Bye Birdie ripoff "I love you PDG, oh yes I do..." and "You Are My Sunshine"). So when I presented it to the boys, I told them it was so that whenever they look at it they know the lyrics are true. They really are my sunshines, and they'll never know how much I love them both.

I mean, aren't they cute? And big? And full of energy and light?

PDG Turns Four!

Well, it happened. My little baby PDG got all grown on me and now is a whopping four years old. He's still my little PDG Pie though, and I still want to eat him up!

At any rate, turning four apparently means a lot of celebrating. I mean, there was the sleepover the week before, and then the anticipation of a daily countdown from then until the 12th.

On Friday we took some cupcakes (because PDG insisted that this year he wanted cupcakes and cake) to his daycare. All the big kids happily sang to him, especially knowing they got a treat for having done absolutely nothing. That's the best part about birthdays right - getting treats just for existing? Even better when it's just for someone else existing.

Saturday PDG awoke fully aware it was the big day, and unable to contain his excitement. By the time Mama and Papa H arrived, we knew there'd be no nap. Instead, we made cupcakes.

Before the official party at 5pm, we had to give in and do some presents early because somebody just coud not wait another minute.

Sidenote: PDG's current fascination with puzzles is driving J-Man's fight against tiny toy pieces struggle to the limits.

We decided on a not-quite party this year. Paw Patrol ribbon, TMNT napkins, and Batman plates with a random pin the tail on the donkey and tons of fruit and pizza made for an odd assortment of decorations and a menu.

PDG loved it though. LOVED it. And with his very very best friend Lil O, as well as his neighborhood church crew and a happy-to-tag-along Charlie, it was the most kid activity our backyarad has seen yet. And by far the most our living room has endured. Thank heavens for Lego Movie on DVR to keep us warm as the sun started to set.

All in all, a great day celebrating a great kid.

And before I forget, his stats. He's 40lbs even - 81% - and 44 inches tall - 98%. He could answer most of the doctor's questions, but clearly I need to get him a tutor so he knows how to answer "what gallops?" next time. (Honestly, can doctors give us a cheat sheet ahead of time so I can teach to the test? Not that I do that as a teacher or anything, but my competitive edge totally took over and I really wanted my kid in the 99% in the 'random doctor questions at a checkup' category too. I'm just sayin'...)

Hugs and kisses to my big little baby.

Spring and Sleeping Over

The past few weeks have been a whirlwind of spring approaching. With spring come a bunch of birthdays, including Big Bro hitting a major milestone, and my little PDG coming up on birthday number four. FOUR! It hasn't happened yet, but the countdown hit single digits and that has us all feeling a bit like this.

Also, we've been enjoying our new "silly app" these past few weeks making videos along that vain. If you haven't played with #msqrd yet, I totally encourage it. And then please send me your videos so I can laugh at with you.

The bursts of warm weather are getting more consistent too, allowing for photos like this

and this

and this.

But the biggest development is that PDG got to have his very first sleepover. And who better to invite than his very very best friend Lil O? So KB and I got to further our plans of manufacturing our kids' bff-dom by adding "survived first sleepover together" to their list of reasons they should always hang out.

Lil O came over after preschool on Friday, which tested PDG's patience for a solid two hours when every gust of wind outside was disappointingly not yet his best friend. Until it was. And he came bringing a happy meal from Old McDonalds. After stuffing faces they got to run around and make messes (and then do a pretty awesome job cleaning up messes) and eventually got down to bedtime business.

Lil O got to try out his brand new Batman sleeping bag, which naturally made both MDG and PDG wish they were the ones on the floor. Then lights out to three toddlers in one tiny bedroom. Did they go right to sleep? Did you go right to sleep at sleepovers with your best friends? Yeah, neither did they. Finally around 9:39pm I turned to J-Man and said, "I don't hear anyone anymore." And then, at 5:40am I turned to J-Man and said, "you think they're really up?"

There was breakfast, a few cartoons, a lot of train tracks and blocks and every other toy in all the toy chests (minus legos, I have my limits!) and then off to the library for story time.

We were so certain they were tuckered out enough to nap after leaving the library and saying some sad goodbyes (like they wouldn't see each other in a week for the cake and presents party). Maybe Lil O did. PDG was far too hyped from the best night ever to give in to anybody's sleep.

So while Saturday night ended in much earlier bedtimes than anyone in the G house might readily admit, it was worth it for all the smiles.