Little Bites of a Big Apple

How I wish I’d been braver in my early twenties. I would have loved to live in Manhattan, darting in and out of subway stations, perching on the steps of an old brownstone balancing my laptop and dreaming about tomorrow. A mid-90s Carrie Bradshaw.

Each time I return to New York, I am filled with an overwhelming desire to go back twenty years. I want to take my younger self by the shoulders, look her in the eye and tell her it’s okay to dream, it’s okay to go after what you want in life, even if it seems impossible, even if you don’t think you’ve got what it takes. Now is the time to try! Be brave! There’s so much out there! But, knowing myself as long as I have (almost 38 years now), I know that I’d have looked my current self in the eye and said “yeah, okay, whatever,” shrugged her off, rolled my eyes and kept walking.

Now when I walk down 5^th Avenue, up 42^nd street, across Times Square I think about how far I’ve come and I realize that while I have gained the intelligence and self-confidence to do it, no way in hell would I move to a city where my current mortgage payment would get me about 450 square feet of space. Where I’d have to take two subway rides and a train to and from work every day…

Those Big Apple dreams I have for my younger self aren’t going to come true for her. She was afraid to step outside her comfort zone. She wasn’t sure that she had what it takes to make something of herself and she was afraid to try. Maybe, at 18, that girl had no desire to see the world. Not like I do now. And while it took some time, she did find herself. ..right here in West St. Louis County. She’s still got big dreams – to wander through Paris, to write a novel, to afford a little luxury in her life.

I wonder if, twenty years from now, I’ll look back on this time in my life and wish for something more. Something different. I hope not. I hope this path I’m on is exactly where I’m supposed to be.

If You Are A Dreamer...

I just received my second acceptance letter from Chicken Soup. Apparently my story “A Healing Friendship” has made it to the final round for the “Dog’s Life” Anthology coming out next spring. It’s a story of our three-legged dog, Biscuit, and my middle son, Jack (yep, that's him in the picture). I wrote it several months and many stories ago, so I went back to read it this morning. It made my own eyes misty (PMS mood notwithstanding), so I guess that’s a good thing.

In his book of poems, “Where the Sidewalk Ends,” Shel Silverstein writes: If you are a dreamer, come in. If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar, a hope-er, a pray-er, a magic bean buyer…

Speaking of Jack, this child of mine is a dreamer (not unlike his mom). A day-dream believer, if you will. At ten and a half he still has all the faith in the world that Santa will shoot down the chimney on Christmas Eve.

Case in point: A few weeks ago, Jack came into my bedroom as I was getting dressed for work, holding up a tooth he’d just lost.

“Gotta put it under my pillow!” he said, showing me the most recent tooth-sized space in his smile.

The next morning he came into my room (looking just a bit dejected) holding up the little snack-sized ziplock bag with the lonely little tooth inside.

“She forgot.” I said, mentally kicking myself. Damn, damn, damn! I always forget! Damn Tooth Fairy! I decided that at 10, Jack was old enough to know the truth. I’d just have to tell him that I was the tooth fairy. I went to the kitchen to grab my purse, and called out to Jack as I pulled out a couple ones from my wallet. He came in, saw the money, and asked, “What’s that for?”

I sighed. Here goes, I thought. “Well. I’m gonna buy your tooth off you.” I waited for the questions, the disbelief.

“Cool!” He grabbed the dollar bills, flashing the hole in his mouth yet again and started out of the room. “Hey mom?” Okay, now it’s coming. “Yes?”

“Maybe I’m just too old for the tooth fairy now,” he decided. “Would you buy all the rest of my teeth from me?”

“Sure, buddy.”

“Yes!”

On the way to school, he turned to me from the passenger seat, one eyebrow raised, “Mom? Are you the Tooth Fairy?”

“Well, Jack,” I answered matter-of-factly, “If I am, I’m not a very good one.”

He smiled, leaned in to kiss my cheek, and that was that.

…If you’re a pretender come sit by my fire, for we have some flax golden tales to spin. Come in! Come in!

I love my little day-dream believer.

May 18, 1997 - May 18, 2010

I am lucky enough to have a few very dear friends and a handful of incredibly supportive, family members. Today, I am thinking about one of them in particular. He is kind and generous. He is quiet and thoughtful. He has a wicked good sense of humor, great taste in books, and a talent he doesn’t yet realize with the written word. He is blessed with a great amount of patience that serves him well in life – and on the golf course.

He is my son.

Happy Birthday, Connor! Thirteen years ago today, I became a mom for the first time. As the first born, Connor has had to grow up with a mom who didn’t quite know what she was doing. I held him a little closer, rocked him a little longer, expected more, questioned everything, and made what I am sure were a great many mistakes. But Connor has exceeded every expectation I ever had in a son. And has given me more joy, more love, more happiness than I ever dreamed possible. Watching him grow from a quiet, timid child into a thoughtful, kind, generous young man has been nothing short of amazing.

Where has the time gone?! I’m looking forward to watching you mature as a teenager. You’ll make mistakes along the way. But it isn’t the mistakes that will shape you, but what you learn from them, that makes all the difference. Once again, your brother and sister have the advantage (or disadvantage?) of watching you go through these years first. So, we’ll learn together. I think we’ve done okay so far…

Letter to my Children

Dear Connor, Jack & Ella,

I promise to give everything I have to each one of you. I promise to walk ahead of you, creating the most calm, nurturing path to adulthood that I possibly can, so that you have a strong foundation on which to build your very individual lives. I promise to walk beside you, holding your hand for as long as you’ll let me, to be there always. And I promise to stand behind you, to catch you if ever you start to fall.

I will fight to instill in each of you strong morals, integrity and compassion. I will work twice as hard to prove that honesty is always the best policy. That family is the most important thing. That sentimental value is worth so much more than monetary value. That even when bad things happen – and they will – that it is the way we handle those situations that builds true character, and over time, shows our true selves.

I will teach you through my actions, much more so than my words, that taking care of yourselves and one another is vital to your own health and peace of mind. And that building relationships based on mutual respect, trust and love - while hard work - is worth every moment and will see you through even the worst of times.

I will show you through my actions that kindness, compassion and understanding fosters love and acceptance, while violence and anger can only grow more of the same.

I will love and respect each of you always. For you are each such beautiful people, inside and out. Watching you grow is the most incredible of joys. I am honored to be your mom.

Rehab, Schmehab

This just in: Jesse James has checked himself into REHAB. Seriously? First Tiger (okay, not FIRST, but you get the point), now Jesse James. So now, every time someone has an affair, we should assume therein lies a sex addiction? Every time someone screws up royally, or does something they know they should absolutely not do, they must have a “problem” – there must be a “name” for that problem, and it will take a week (heck, maybe a month) at a spa, possibly even an appropriately named pill, to cure it?

Everyone these days looks for an excuse, someone or something else to blame for their own decisions. When did we decide that we don’t need to hold ourselves accountable for our own actions?

C’mon folks. How big a collective fool are we? If that’s the case, then I am closing my MacBook right now and heading off to my own Rehab – shopping addict’s rehab, that is. I admit it. I can’t go a full week without at least logging onto Ann Taylor, J Crew, Gap, DSW…you name it, I’ve got a bookmark for it. I know I shouldn’t. I know I’ve promised myself that I won’t. I know that my bank account is begging me to STOP ALREADY! And yet, I am still unable to pass up that perfect pair of Lucky Brand jeans that – for the LOVE OF GOD – are on SALE – Today Only! How could I NOT? What right do I have to TURN AWAY from a deal like that? And oh, the SHOES! Don’t even get me started!

Let me get this straight: a day’s worth of shopping followed by a half-hearted apology and a week at a spa on the coast? Hmmm…somebody’s on to something here…

Hi, my name is Beth and I’m a shopaholic.