The PopCycle

There are so many thoughts bouncing around my head today. I’m profoundly and deeply sad, but it’s also mixed in with Easter Weekend and sunshine, shadows and the sound of birds nesting. There is a calmness that I can see and hear in this quiet slowed down city and it’s sort of beautiful.

Will the Easter Bunny wear a mask and gloves this year? Is it time that my kids know there is no Easter Bunny? What is that truth in the face of a lockdown? When mommy can’t even get a coffee? I don’t know.

Yesterday was an especially odd day for many reasons…if living in quarantine in New York City with over 700 deaths everyday from the virus is normal, it’s not.

Nothing about this situation is normal or easy. For parents with children, how do we cope living in our small apartments?

I remember when there was one case…and the man had been on the Subway…and I thought, should I stop getting on the Subway to take my daughter to ballet twice a week? Geez, she doesn’t want to go anyway, and now I feel like we are risking our lives. The answer by March 12th was a resounding – “No, don’t take the Subway.”

That same day, I reluctantly cancelled a play reading with The Worksop Theater, where I was in an intensive residency with my play “Reporter Girl.” I felt sick that morning with a scratchy throat. And I just couldn’t risk it; I didn’t want any of the actors to take the Subway to show up either. The next day, Friday the 13th was the day Broadway shut down. By Sunday, we were told by the DOE that schools would be closing. I took my last swim at my gym that weekend and I walked around our local mall for what would be the last time. The city that never sleeps was going to try to sleep.

Somehow in all of this, I’ve stayed very calm. Parents really need to stay grounded. If we freaked out, so would the kids. The first weeks of staying in my older daughter was so frightened, I was up with her all night, calming her, practicing deep breathing techniques that I guess I picked up from yoga. My kids describe me as doing a lot of yoga…really?

My family is united; there is love. We aren’t lonely. We have enough food and toilet paper. We sing out our windows at 7PM every night to thank the first responders. We even meet up with our best friends/neighbors (just a family of four who are our best friends in the city) and play a very socially distancing game of soccer every night. Sometimes they play and I go for a jog. My kids need to go outside. Their friendship, and this nightly hour has been lovely.

I took a bike ride by myself late this afternoon to the West Village and back. When I was done, I walked in the door and my family was sort of doing a zoom Sedar with some of our other family. This was my first EVER Sedar. Cool. We are zoomers, busy with virtual school. I even teach a monologue class online with my Playwriting For Kids class. Parents and teachers have jumped into the virtual classroom with two feet.

I had to get up several times during the Sedar to cook dinner. We were eating pork chops. So very wrong, I know.

I ended the day at 2AM throwing an Easter Basket together for the kids. They want to pretend, or they just want the candy. The Easter Bunny does wear a mask and gloves, I’m sure of it.

My husband and I stayed up late discussing my latest play. I wrote a new play (well, finished a play). It’s just a draft and he made me tell him every plot point without actually reading it — okay. My husband loves discussing my plays, so weird I know…

Discussing a new play feels so normal. Once a week my husband and I have these normal life discussions, and I could almost pretend life was normal, but it’s not.

I did say words of thanks over our family dinner because I’m grateful for…but if we all think there are things, new things each day, even in the darkest of times we are grateful for.

I’ve been writing down the 5 things I’m grateful for every day since 2018. I randomly heard about a free class in my neighborhood and I was struggling, so I showed up just this one time. It changed my life.

Five things. Write five new things you are grateful for everyday. I’ve done this religiously ever since that day, and it’s helped me enormously.

But sometimes I struggle to think of those five things. Lately, I’ll admit I’ve really struggled. Of course I’m grateful everyday that everyone in my family is still safe, and though many friends have contracted the virus (most without getting official test results) everyone has recovered or is in the process of recovering. One friend, who is younger than me is still in the ICU in LA. We went to grad school together. Please get well Phillip.  But the growing death toll is staggering. How this has changed us? Will we ever feel normal again? What is our new normal? So much uncertainty, so many moments that I’ve just wanted to cry, but I stop myself.

As I put the kids’ clothes away, I look at their little coats with only fond memories of when we were outside all the time. Every single picture of us smiling as a family — an RV trip last summer to Tahoe, a school event where children were singing together; the school talent show that I’m so pleased at least happened on Feb 29th. Feb 29th feels like a lifetime ago, back when we were making jokes about the Corona Virus, when I couldn’t even say it correctly, I kept saying the one that sounds like the Mexican beer…

But I knew it was coming for us. Can’t tell you how I knew, but I just had a dark feeling. Of course as the Virus was first spreading — to think it started in California — and they shut down right away — New York City felt like a place that would be a direct hit for this virus —  quicksand  — since it can spread easily, we know little about and we are so densely populated here. “This is going to be bad,” I thought to myself.

How quickly we went from fist bumps, to staying apart, to memes and making jokes to outright panic was really a matter of days. Remember when lines at the grocery store, toilet paper shortages were shocking? Now my Face Book feed is flooded with sadness because so many people have lost someone.

Now pictures of us with friends are taken from our lap tops with us all waving. This feels unreal, like an episode of the Twilight Zone or Black Mirror, but this is indeed real life. What if something happened to us? I can’t think about it or go there. But every trip to the store, likely every time we are outside…is putting us in danger. And every time I feel utterly exhausted and suddenly need a nap (it’s happened exactly twice) I worry.

To calm myself and to find something to be grateful for, I went to my mom’s house in California in my mind. My mom is caring for my nine-year-old nephew these days. This is not how she thought she’d spend her old-age and yet, I’m so grateful my nephew is being cared for and we know where he is.

For years, we didn’t even know where he was. His mom ran away with him when he was a baby and as far as we all knew, he was somewhere in Arizona, sometimes homeless, for a year he was in foster care. At some point, about 4 years ago, we finally got some legal clarity (long story) and he was able to visit us (my brother) in California for six weeks during the summer months that coincided with my family visits.  This past summer, he came for a visit and never went home.  There is much I can’t say, but what I can say is this: in the case of a global pandemic, when my mind wanders to all those I care about, I’m just happy to know that my nephew is safe. My mom is okay. It’s not easy caring for a child, especially as an older person. Three meals a day, snacks, all the clean up. It’s endless, I know first hand. The whole idea of getting at least the school break is thrown out the window these days. My mom is a saint for all she does, really.  She has learned the virtual technology (sort of) and is jumping in like the rest of us. She has earned her mom and grandma and good person stripes 10 times over already.

For me, I’m grateful I’m not with my kids all by myself. I’m grateful they aren’t even two years younger and are somewhat independent these days. I can sleep in a bit.  I can for a better word for it ignore them sometimes. I don’t want to be on their case every minute.  I’m grateful my husband is helping out more, that he understands that cleaning the kitchen actually takes an hour. I also recently started a reward system for chores that is working so far. Whatever I can do to ease the workload, I’m all in.

I’m grateful for my little Playwriting For Kids business. With a little prep I was able to create an online version of the class (we do monologue-writing).

I’m grateful that over the years (ah 20), I’ve built up quite a life in this town. I’ve gone from a very young woman on the morning of Sept 11th, who lived in the East Village on a 5th floor walk up (who was confused about life – ha ha), to a married mom of two girls who is somewhat less confused about life.

As I rode my bike to the West Village today to meet a friend (not the usual way one would meet a friend, the opposite, actually. We met with masks…with no hugs…we stood 10 feet apart and chatted for a few minutes)…I was thinking the whole ride, as the air flapped on my cheeks..yesterday, April 11th was my grandma’s birthday, Dale Messick, the creator of the Brenda Starr comic strip.

She lived in NYC, but long ago in the late 30’s and 40’s. She was a trail blazer, a  “creative” — she had artsy friends that included CD Bachelor, a Pulitzer Prize winning political cartoonist.

I’m a creative in this town, and I run in an artsy circle.

I moved to NYC about 20 years ago (in March) and these streets around the West Village were my home for many years (I used to live on Waverly Place). They contain most of my best memories, the early ones..the Manhattan Theater Source memories, the Grad School Actors Studio Drama School MFA memories, the Waverly Place apt memories. There was a lot of hanging out at the North End bar…drinking the blood orange martinis…playing pool, loud clinks, laughs. I can hear us. I can hear you…I miss you, New York. Joe Coffee, my old “office.” And then, more recently, I guess when my first daughter was a baby, even though we had moved to Battery Park City, I used to push her in the stroller all the way to the West Village once or twice a week.  I’d sit with my sleeping baby in Washington Square Park. I missed the noise of the Village. I got familiar with the walk and my new quiet life, where I’d spend 10 years re-inventing myself as a mommy. So many re-inventions.

There was so much mommy stuff, it all became a blur. But there was more West Village, it just usually involved my family. Haircuts at Doodle Doos and Morandi dinners on Sunday nights.  Haircuts for me at Snip and Sip, riding our bike to our favorite park with all the toys out.

For years I participated in an Alumni Playwrights Lab at the New School, where I was able to meet more collaborators. Career things slowed, but they didn’t stop entirely, they just changed. For the most part, there was less time for the busy stuff (but I’m one of those people who finds busy stuff — it’s annoying). There was a re-invention of myself as NYC allows. I’ve changed many times in the course of my 20 years in this city.

My dear friend Isa, who I first met in grad school in 2002 (like many of you) has been alone this whole time in her apartment. I stopped worrying about her so much because she’s in school/she’s busy — in zoom classes all day and it’s not like she doesn’t have other friends. I just worry. I’m a worrier. She was looking forward to walking outside and seeing me (even if from 6 ft away) for a week, she said. Riding the bike and getting some air on my face, some time to myself, was very nice for me too.

Some of us never get a minute alone; others are alone all the time. All of it kind of it is kind of terrible; but I’m sure we are also finding a new normal, a quiet in ourselves, a calm in this downtime. Who are you in quarantine?

I’ve discovered I’m a drill sergeant when it comes to keeping my house clean. Who knew?

I needed some time away. It’s tiring being mommy chef and the enforcer of rules and schedule keeping all day, every day. The ride was so smooth. No one was out, no traffic. It was almost as if the NYC streets were closed off for a bike race and I was the only participant. A few people were out. There were singers in Washington Square Park. But really…it’s quiet outside.

Now that he’s gone, it feels impossible to talk about my friend Tony White without telling a Tony story, to bring you into my Tony world. I live in New York City and Tony White was my amazing theater friend for many years, until he died suddenly from complications from surgery on January 19th 2020. Ugh. January is not starting out great. I miss my friend so much.

You know how it’s funny that when someone dies, you suddenly see all of them in a minute, or I do. Or at least this is how I see Tony. I see all of his light in a hot minute. Tony was pure light, pure magic. I guess I’m lucky because one day not so long ago, I saw the whole picture of Tony and it gave me pause. Ah Tony.

Tony was this big black man who I’d often meet in bars. It’s sounds funny, but it’s the truth. Not so long ago, I had to run to pay his bill in a bar and then leave to pick up my kids. I never thought of Tony as a drunk, because he wasn’t a drunk.  But he did like to drink and he may not have seemed an appropriate best buddy for me, but there we were. He was this crazy, enigma, unicorn…possibly angel on earth. Many are describing Tony White using the word “angel.” And I’m struck by it, actually because it’s hard for me to come up with a better word for him.

Tony had a degree in theater and a JD Law Degree.  He worked in sales and made good good money.  He could sell ice to eskimos. He could inspire with a few words of praise.  He could apologize. Not a lot of people know when and how to apologize. He was a gentleman. Tony was da man in many respects. Tony could also mess things up more than anyone. Oh my gosh.

He was brave and passionate about theater and helping others, almost like a coach. I’ve never seen someone so generous with their time, money and talents to help others’ on their journey of ‘becoming.’ When he’d ask me to work on a project with him, I’d always wonder to what end? What was he getting out of it? Usually nothing. He was more about the connections…connecting people and pushing people forward.

For commercials, Tony often played the big black clown and he was okay with that. How many times did he play Falstaff? Or a black Santa? Or the fat guy? Tony was the funny guy. Tony was witty and funny and he likely made a good bit of cash between his regular sales job at AM NY and commercials. I was often impressed with how much he worked. “I’m on my way to an audition, a commercial shoot, or a sales call.”  These were phrases I often heard from Tony. And he always showed up to our theater meetings with AM NY’s stuffed under his arm. He was always out and about. When did he sleep? I guess during many of our meetings. Tony was the guy who would fall asleep during meetings or even our rehearsals. He was a busy guy. Theater was Tony’s passion, his reason d’etre so-to-speak and yeah, maybe it was what killed him — just his non-stop about it. He’s one of those people who really burned the candle at both ends. Enough already.

Tony was always on his phone, busy, in another world. He was sometimes too busy in the universe to be in our orbit. He was far too busy creating this universe, throwing it out there — splat. Details & focus were not his thing. His magic was people and theater.

Our paths crossed often in my early days in New York City when we were both members of a small Off-Off-Off company called Love Creek Productions. I was young and full of energy back then. Not a gray hair on my head, or an ounce of fat on my slim figure. That was before kids, but not before I was married. I may have met Tony the year I got married (2004). And even though I was pursuing playwriting and in grad school for playwriting from 2002-2005, somehow I was in a handful of plays between 2002-2008 and many of them were with Tony.

At some point in 2004 we were in a play together, a comedy set in a bar called Montevideo that was written by our mentor Le Wilhem. My character jumps on his character when I realize my husband’s been cheating on me. It was a very funny scene. In the fall of 2005, we were in another play where we played Heroine addicts living in New Orleans. In the end, when I overdose, he carries me off stage. He was a drag queen and I feel like he might have been wearing angel wings, which is rather profound, especially in retrospect. In the last play I would ever act in Who Put The X in X-Mas, it was 2008, he played my sweet cab driver who saves me. Tony was always saving me on stage, and in life too I suppose.

After 2008, I didn’t see him so much. I’m sure and even from photos on social media I can see that Tony did a million plays between the years until we’d reconnect.  The guy was always doing theater. It was like throwing it up — splat, splat splat. There is a Shakespeare play, and another. Splat.

In 2009 I had a baby and in 2011 I had another baby. I was mostly a busy stay-at-home mom in those early years. But even with babies, I was busy with playwriting and TV projects. I don’t know how though. In 2011 my play Reporter Girl was in the Comic Book Theater Festival…holy smokes.

In 2013, I ran into Tony in a hospital waiting room.  We were both saying our final goodbyes to our theater mentor from the Love Creek days, Le Wilhelm, who was dying of Cancer. And that was also abrupt, as I only found out he was ill the day before. I can’t remember exactly what was going on, but our paths were meant to cross again and it was Le, in his dying moments who brought us together (again). We were both shaken and passed each other in the hallway. We were the old-schoolers, part of the early group. We were also two of Le’s favorites — I was considered a company playwright at some point and Tony, an artistic director.  And there we were, unplanned, saying our goodbyes.  I was crying.

Like Tony would do six years later, Le died in the middle of a project. Le was in the middle of directing a play when died. Tony and I made a date to go to the play together. After the  we went to dinner in the East Village and had a heartfelt discussion about Le, life and talked about various projects, possibly working together again someday.  My kids were only 1 and 3 at that point. Tony mentioned wanting to produce one of my plays, Hoboken, a play of mine he’d always had his eye on.  He was producing now, he told me. It all sounded genuinely exciting.

A few weeks later, Tony asked me if I wanted to do the press for his friend’s Native American Theater Company because he “always remembered that I was good at press and marketing.”

I had done marketing for years, but I’d never done theater press and Tony gave me my first foray, first job in the field at a time when I needed something. Tony just offered me a job doing the thing I was secretly wanting to try. It was kind of like he was reading my mind, or instinctively knew something I didn’t.  He was right, I was very good at press and specifically for theater.  This new skill was good fit for me, and I quickly found a niche that married my marketing skills, love of theater and interest in Native American cultures. PR was also the perfect job for a stay-at-home busy mom. Some of the work I could do while watching my kids on the playground. A lot of press is quick return emails, and phone calls. These jobs kept me busy and somewhat employed from 2013-2016. I also got to know the founder of the company, Ryan Victor Pierce, who was from the Lenape tribe. I can remember asking him over and over for press purposes about the Lenape thing (this comes back) for press materials.

Around 2016, besides my own plays, budding tv projects and PR jobs, I had started teaching theater, a playwriting program I’d later dub Playwriting For Kids at my kids’ school. In 2018, when my daughter was in the third grade, the class was doing a Lenape unit. My eyes lit up when the teachers announced it. Lenape? What? I knew a bit about the Lenape, of course.  I even knew a Lenape Tribe Member. I imagined that maybe we could do a Playwriting Unit together, which is what actually happened. Ryan was invited in to speak to the kids — it was fascinating. He has a theater project where he re-creates what Manahatta (Manhattan’s original name) looked and felt like for the Lenape people who lived here first. For the big Lenape theater project with the 3rd graders, I was on my own. So I asked my theater friends to come help.  Of all my theater friends, Tony was the only one who responded yes. He was up for anything, but he always had an agenda…one never knew what exactly was up his sleeve.

Working with Tony on the kids plays was great. I didn’t expect much from him. And there he was on his phone most of the time, mostly looking up laughing at me. While I was just going crazy, chasing the kids on the stage. There is a moment in any play where it feels like chaos when you are trying to stage it. But it was starting to gel, and there were these great little mini moments in the script that were impossible to stage. With so many kids (who were not staying put) I really needed a second person. “Tony, direct this. Here is the script. Here are the kids go!” And he was great. The scene was perfect — the moment perfectly directed and choreographed thanks to Tony.

After I’d work with the kids, I was exhausted. Mentally and physically I was spent, kaput. My brain was mush. But if Tony was there, I’d take him to lunch as a thank you.

We’d sit across from each other in different worlds. Hilarious. I was staging the plays in my head, and Tony was drinking — on his second cocktail and talking about his latest production. I didn’t really care and it didn’t matter anyway. I had sworn off working with him, after he botched one of my plays in late 2016, but even that play got a publication from the production, so it wasn’t a total loss…”a silver lining,” I’d say, trying to rub the memory of inviting my friends and neighbors to watch a woman on stage who didn’t know her lines…ever.

But it was 2018 now and I was into these kid plays.

Me: “What did you think of that kid who plays the wolf, he’s good right?”

Tony: “Ah yeah sure. ” So I’m supposed to be producing Closer but I can’t get the rights, it’s too damn expensive.”

Hmmm…Closer. The words floated in my head.  The play Closer had always reminded me of my play Hoboken. Both plays were dark and sexy. Did Tony know this? Was this a trick? The fog of children lifted and I was back to my play that I was once very passionate about.

“Closer? Why are you doing Closer?” I snapped. “Do my play, do Hoboken.”

“Okay,” he said.

And that was that. I was back in my kid fog the next day. I forgot that I verbally told Tony he could produce my play. I think he did ask for me to send it to him. Still, I forgot about it. I wasn’t thinking about it at all.

A month went by.  I saw Tony at a friend’s show and he casually informs me that they are doing my play. It’s cast and they are starting rehearsals. “The play goes up in a month,” he said.

What? What? Omg. I can’t believe it. That’s not how it works. What? I’m mad, but I’m excited inside. There’s this odd bubbling feeling happening. I want to tell him no, but I’m also happy somehow. You see, I would never produce this play on my own.  I was actually afraid of this play. It is about a pedophile and not exactly a feel good story.  And since I never sent it out, no one else was going to just produce it. So it would just be sitting there doing nothing. The play is a love story about about a very bad guy and a girl who is darker than we think; it’s totally unexpected. It even has comedy, and if you relax for a minute, you are laughing and having fun and then it hits you. It’s messed up and seriously makes you think. It’s…daring. You’d have to be brave to want to produce this play, truly. And I’m stammering — trying to say no this man — this brave man who wants to produce my play so badly, he’s sneaking it out from under me.

Still, I tried to tell him no and I begged him to do it later, when we had time to really make everything perfect. “Why can’t we do the play in October, when we have time to make it great.” He wouldn’t budge. “It’s great now and the actors love it.”

It fit the bill for the moment, I guess. It was replacing Closer. He had the cast and the actors all set.  It was go time. I either just scream no and take it back (assert myself), or I just let the wind take me. And this was Tony. He was going to produce my play whether I liked it or not. And it might be terrible and it might be amazing. Holy Shit.

If I were basing things on history, there was much more of a chance that the play would end up horrible, but something in my gut told me that it would be okay.

This was around the time when I really saw the essence of my friend Tony. It was February, I think. Much like today. It was cold and we were standing outside, down by where I live. Tony wasn’t nearly wearing enough to keep him warm. He had a simple light black trench coat. He had an issue with his leg, too. He limped and he was especially bad on stairs. You see, Tony was already fading before our eyes. I could see this quite clearly, but there was nothing I could do about it. But he wasn’t fading at the same time. It’s like he could see how important every minute was. Like Hamilton, he was running as if he was running out of time. He was putting in life what he wanted out. And he was squeezing it like a lemon. He worked it. He was old school. He was taking my play out the depths of me, taking my fears, my excuses and squashing them. He was throwing my talent out into the universe. Simple. Splat.

What’s more to that? I thought. My mouth open to say no, but I said nothing but “see you later.” On one of these days, it could have been this day, I threw my own scarf around his neck and buttoned his coat. “You need to take better care of yourself.” I couldn’t say no to Tony – my clown, my dreamer, my angel.

I’m back, if only for a moment to write a tiny post about life and motherhood and adulting and, well middle age. I might as well make a quick stop here because a few years from now I’ll be past this.

Here I am, sitting in front of a beautiful lake in a nearly quiet hotel, just a few days away from my 48th birthday. Sometimes I’m too busy for reflection, but this year, this feels like a good time and place to sneak a moment to myself to write on my blog. I know, I’m not to the end of my forties yet, but I’m close enough. And the way it goes, there isn’t time to write like there used to be when my kids were small. By the time my mom was my age, I was a senior in high school and here I’ve got young kids still. We are in the thick of it, almost more than we were when they were tiny babies, which seems impossible to say. It’s just different. Bigger kids, bigger problems.  But this is also the fun time too, the “easy years” as many parents say. My kids are 7 and 9 and we are busy with the school schedule and all the activities — soccer, ballet, tae kwon do, tutors, piano, after school and the big ELA test. My husband is the soccer coach and running the talent show. I am choreographing my younger daughter’s dance as I’ve done for the past three, no four years.

Last summer, my very astute and sensitive then 8 year-old informed me that she wanted to wear a bra. She didn’t need one and I tried to protest, but I was also happy that she wanted to talk about it and knew what she needed. “A bra will make me feel more comfortable.” How can I argue with that? If my daughter finds her way, she just might make a good lawyer. No one can argue and come up with an argument like she can. I certainly could never just say what I wanted or needed when I was young, or not that I remember. Maybe I wanted a bra and my mom wouldn’t get one. I remember how I finally got a bra (maybe a year after I actually needed one) was stealing on from a store with my girlfriend. We wanted bras and our parents were unaware or we were too embarrassed to just tell them.

I’m happy that my daughter has found a way to communicate her needs.

School started last September.  I felt bad that I let her have a bra because I figured the next thing we all knew all of the 4th grade girls will be wearing bras. I was right, but I’m not sure that she was the culprit. At the start of the year, she was one of just a few, by December it was half the girls and by now it’s 90%. See, I didn’t get a bra until I was 12, so to me this is kind of sad. My mom would always say “don’t be in such a hurry to grow up.” I’m mourning her childhood as I’ve been since I cried putting away her 3 month baby clothes 9 years ago. I want it to last a bit longer.

Six months later, she still doesn’t need that bra only a minute more than she did when she got it. But the other day, I came to hug her and I distinctly noticed adult body odor.  She doesn’t like to bathe. Her sister loves baths, barbies and princess dresses. My intensely smart 9 and half year old only wears pants and almost specifically doesn’t match. She’s got dreamy blue eyes and beautiful long hair that is always matted. So she’s her own perplexing self, the most beautiful mangled child. Under all those mismatched clothes and tangled hair and sometimes nasty comments is the smartest, most beautiful girl. Mornings with the brush are a fight. I always knew she was smart. I mean, I knew this from one look at her as a tiny baby next to me in the hospital. I was almost afraid of her. She looked up at me with this intensity and all I could see was her angry, intelligent eyes. To teasingly call her stupid is the wrong word indeed.  In school, she’s smart too, likely the top 10% of her small class, but with seemingly not New York (meaning not type A and pushy parents) she lands somewhere slightly lower than that. Sometimes just being smart isn’t enough and it’s how we help her, and how do we do that? With her anger, she also has social problems sometimes — to the point the school got involved and together and co-captains I felt we started to make progress. I hope. Perhaps it’s the education she’s able to get, but she knows so much more than I did at her age, including another language. She can translate Russian for me. I speak a bit, but I’ve never gotten past a kind of rudimentary Russian. My daughter understands everything (without a lot of push on our end).  It’s remarkable. But many of these choices of help, listening, understanding and considering the next choice did start with the mother, with me.  The constant issues that enter the mom mind, I can’t tell you.  MY mind is busy with my kids’ issues — from knowing the moment when she was 6 and I had to start her on chapter books because she was getting bored. When I think about myself for awhile or feel sort of sad or missing out on something, I quickly shift back to my kids. It’s a sense of purpose that is going somewhere.

I’m changing too. Turns out, as luck may have it, I might be going through my life change as my kids go through puberty. Our house will be fun times!  I’m quite hot these days and moody. My skin breaks out like I’m a teenager. I can’t lose weight; my back hurts. I actually have a slipped disk. I don’t sleep. I need alone time; I feel kind of despondent and depressed at times and at the same time I’m buried in laundry and housework like I always was. In short, it’s all overwhelming. We don’t have a regular babysitter anymore, so much more is on me — getting my younger daughter to that fancy ballet class that is way up town, keeping up with the housework and the homework. But thankfully we are a team. I can’t see doing this on my own at all.

It’s time to go already. But this was a nice stop at almost 48. I’m grateful, really.