Saul Good and Co.

Check Your Mailbox

Well guys I read my way through a fraction of the box of letters and I shed some tears but what I took away, more than anything, is what a rare treasure I have and that I need to get it all into some kind of fireproof enclosure, STAT. I love email and texting. Those are my two favorite modes of communication. But when I look through my letters, I can't help but feel like I should be writing down everything I feel about every person I love right now and send it to them for keeps. To have this physical proof, the handwriting, the clear-headed thoughts and intentions of the most important people in my life right there, to revisit whenever I want. The paper they touched. The pen they chose, the stickers and asides and grammatical mistakes and misspellings. The words. Those are all mine to own forever, and like I said, I love electronic communication, but this is wayyyyyy more special. 

When I did my semester abroad, it was 1996 and though email existed, I wasn't able to access mine, and besides, 90% of the people in my life didn't have it. And so I communicated entirely through mail and once-a-week phone calls with my parents and with Mike. What a different world now. All I'd need to take abroad was my phone and you'd see me on the Eiffel Tower in real time, we could text whenever I felt homesick. Communication, and life in general, would have been easier in a lot of ways. But I'm glad for the experience, not only because the waiting made me stronger, but now I have this amazing collection of words meant just for me. Mike, of course, was my most faithful correspondent. But the most frequent writers besides him--all six--are gone now. And I have exquisite records of our relationship to cherish. 

I'm not done writing about this by a long shot. I have so much to say, and I never ever write about my time in Paris, which is crazy, because it changed my life. But for the moment this will have to do. I'm about to go underground for awhile for work-related reasons, and all my writing will suffer for the next couple of weeks, but I'll be back for sure and I'll tell you more whether you want to hear it or not. 

Before I go, just a few words from my darling grandfather, who was so thrilled that I was studying French, his native tongue, and that I would have a chance to visit the landmarks he saw during the war.

Pup starts his letter with his typical, simple manner,

"So nice to hear that you're adjusting one day at a time. We know that you will be OK. You're smart and brave."

If you ever wonder where I ever got my confidence, or formed this idea that the world wants to hear what I have to say, or that I'm worthy of love, well, that is just one passage from one letter I've received out of hundreds. Maybe I didn't earn it. Maybe I didn't deserve it. But someone, more than one person, showed me and my siblings and cousins every day, in actions as well as words, and that makes a deep impression. I didn't actually have to leave the country, or even the house, to have it made known. But to be able to look back and have that evidence of the rock solid foundation I was given, it's breathtaking. Like I said, I should be putting pen to paper for everyone who is dear to me right now, just to make sure they know. 

It Takes a Village

Life's been really, really good. 

The writing project has been going well. 

Work is... yeah.

Everything I have left for here is bupkus. But I do want to keep working in this electronic medium for whatever reason, so I'm going to do a couple of things to challenge myself and shake myself out of the ennui festival that is this blog.

1) Remember that box of letters from my semester in Paris that resurfaced last summer and I couldn't bring myself to read them and it's almost a year later and I still haven't read them? No? That's OK. I accidentally on purpose forgot about them myself. To have a box of writing from the world's dearest people, people I'll never read a word from again,  that I haven't clapped eyes on in 20 years (literally 20 years this year, holy cow!), that's seems ultra bananas. I think the time has finally come for that catharsis. Stay tuned. 

2) My brother gave me the idea for an exercise, he did it with songwriting, wherein he asked for a band/artist and he would write a song in their musical style, just to get the juices flowing. He reported great results. And so I will copycat his copycat prompt and list five authors in whose style I could write an entry. The author that gets the most votes gets my crack at mimicry. And so they are:

V.C. Andrews

Francesca Lia Block

Armistead Maupin

John Green

Jane Austen

Cast your votes and see what happens! (I will also accept write-ins). 

With a little help from y'all we'll get the old girl wheezing back to life yet. 

 

Talk Less, Smile More

I've been in a productive writing cycle, spurred by my brother and his own furious creatively prolific time. As you know I am his biggest fan and thrilled about his success, and for my own part, it is so motivating both to see him reap the rewards of his hard work, and to have him as a de facto art buddy/cheerleader/sharp-eyed editor. We get each other, and we've set up a nice productivity-feeding assembly.  He's been reading my pages the last couple of weeks and though he's not holding me to my self-imposed deadlines, I've been holding myself to them. It helps me tremendously to have someone to whom I'm accountable for my "work," even if it's an illusion of demand. It lights a fire under my ass. Yes, my ass has an optimal temperature, and it's in the "toasty" range. Not that my output is voluminous, I'm talking 2-3 pages of new content a week, but it really feels like something. Sometimes a little something is everything.

Shockingly to nobody who has ever read this blog or anything else either fiction or nonfiction that has escaped from my quill, what I've been writing about concerns heavy and difficult subject matter.  There's an overall bleakness that I need to purge before it takes on a more nuanced shape, before I can make it fit into my overall vision for the work-in-progress. Not that the sadness won't always be part of it, but life isn't all gloom, and a straight up catalog of misery just isn't interesting to read, or write, and plus it's just not honest. For me, it's necessary to be mired in it right now, to face the most gutting aspects of my history, and do the excruciating business of getting it on the page because there has to be a start and that's the start. Plus, it provides an inadvertent outlet for my darker tendencies.  If you've noticed that my blog has been suspiciously full of levity lately, that is why. On that note, here are the things positively lighting my life right now:

-I got the Hamilton original cast recording as a Mother's Day treat and it's on day 7 of nonstop play. Oh my god. Oh my GOD. It deserves every accolade out there and also ones that nobody's made up yet. I walk around bursting out, "Lafay-ETTE!" for no reason other than, well, Lafayette. I could nerd out about the whole thing for a long time, but the internet has already done that for months and months before me so I'll just be over here quietly rap battling with myself.

-The Red Sox. Classic, peak, prime time to be a Sox fan. Big Papi. JBJ. Xander. Steven Wright. The "click click" thing when they get on base. If I were not a long suffering fan already, this would be about time to board the bandwagon. I would not hold it against you. (I totally would.)

 

-Happy Neighbor cocktails - exclusive to the restaurant where Mike works. It's a shandy-ish drink, but not sweet, made with Narragansett and ginger liqueur and some other things. It's mad refreshing, and I know the guy who invented it so I can get the recipe and stay happy all through the spring and summer.

 

-Log Cabin Living - have you watched this? Neither Mike nor I are big on reality shows, especially not of the house hunter variety, but this one, in which people seeking a log cabin home are shown three properties and have to choose among them, is so soothing and delightful. Sure it's formulaic and rehearsed, and "log cabin" doesn't even necessarily appeal to my personal home aesthetic (it does to Mike's), but the scenery is usually breathtaking and some of those places appeal to my primal hang-out-and-read-in-front-of-the-fire inner self. There's usually a marathon of the show once a week, coinciding with Mike's return from working a trivia gig, so when he gets home we take an hour or two to unwind and watch a couple. It's always such a bummer when there are reruns, but I guess there are only so many log cabins out there. (Though more than you would think in 2016). I guess it's the ritual and the time spent together more than anything that I enjoy, but it is fun to peek into those rural retreats.

-HR and his HR-isms. That kid, so aggravating at times, so capable of being a pain 10 to 100 separate occasions during his given waking hours, but he's also so sweet and thoughtful, so unpredictably funny. He made a new friend at the playground yesterday afternoon and I was holding back, watching them do their thing, and suddenly he stood up and said, to nobody in particular, "Oh my gosh, I just remembered I have to go to school tomorrow!" Later in the evening we were having spaghetti for dinner, and I was psyched about it because pasta is my life and I barely eat it anymore because my metabolism does not support unlimited pasta consumption. I told HR that when I was a kid, we had spaghetti at Gram's house every Sunday. He said, "You must have loved that." He was quiet for a few seconds, and then said, "I have an idea! We should have spaghetti together every Sunday." The way he puts all the pieces together, his interest in forging traditions, the subtle headpat he gave me, he's my living, breathing spark of everyday magic. 

OK back to the dungeon. 

 

 

Cosmetica

I'm finally reading Mindy Kaling's second book, Why Not Me?, and I'm enjoying it a lot. She's one of my heroes because she's so successful in what she does and she makes no bones about how hard she works, and what went into getting her where she is. She's mega talented, smart and confident, and seems like a genuinely good person. It's not a coincidence every adult woman wants to be her best friend. Not for nothing, she always looks amazing, and she unapologetically embraces the fashion and glamour perks of the job while being totally badass in all other aspects. She addresses this in an honest and self-deprecating chapter early in Why Not Me?, she addresses her "beauty secrets," which are mainly having stylists and good lighting at all times. She closes the chapter by saying, "There, I've spilled all my beauty secrets and it feels really good. Like, benevolent even? Maybe I will count this as my charity thing for the year. If you found this helpful, then great, and I am more than a little bit surprised. If this all sounded ridiculous and you are laughing at what an idiot I am, that too is great. Because talking about looks isn't important. It's just supposed to be fun."

I won't take issue with the idea of importance, because there are ways to talk about appearance that indeed warrant serious discussion, but for the moment I agree that there's fun to be had in talking about what goes into the way we  show ourselves to the world, and it doesn't make you vapid to care about it or enjoy it. I mean if that's all you care about that's one thing, but we're all such complicated snowflakes there's a way to reconcile it and still be taken seriously. 

Personally, I'm fascinated by other people's routines and the products they use. If I've ever been in your bathroom, I've checked out your stuff. If I've showered at your house, I've used your fancy shampoo. It's all so interesting to me, the way we engage with the beauty industry. And because it interests me, I'm going to take you through my daily toilette in case it interests you as well. I promise it won't take long, but I won't be offended if you peace out now.

Behold, my entire stable of everyday products. I forgot toothpaste (dual purpose - I also dab it on zits), floss and shaving cream. Oh, and Aquaphor (I know it's petroleum based but it's the only thing that really works for my weird lip skin).  Those aside, this is my toolbox. 

I'll break it down. This is what I use in the shower in the morning. 

Cetaphil, obvs. Everyone uses that, and it's always on special at Costco. The body wash I get at Trader Joe's. It's inexpensive, organic and biodegradable, and really delivers on the tingle. Occasionally I get gifted scented body wash and I use that, but when I run out that's what I buy for myself. Shampoo/conditioner - I use whatever cheap stuff Mike buys for, well, he uses them for his beard. My hair hasn't been my crowning glory since adolescence so as long as it's clean I don't care what's doing the cleaning.

After shower:

 

Aveeno Daily Radiance is the best. Highly recommend. The body lotion is pricey by my personal standards ($20/tube) but a little goes a long way. It delivers super softness and it's become my signature scent. If we haven't met, well, that's what I smell like. 

Maquillage: 

One coat of mascara, a quick eyebrow cleanup, and I'm good to go. My Tweezerman is my prized beauty item. And this mascara is fantastic - good for every day and dress-up occasions alike. It was the one good thing that came out of my "professional makeup consultation" at Sephora. They made me look like a khaki lovin' business mom who used a spoon for a mirror, but I was introduced to Roller Lash by benefit so it wasn't all bad. I'm nearly out so I picked up a tube of Revlon Ultimate All-in-One at Walgreens for backup. Don't buy it, it's garbage and flakes all over my under eye area in an hour. benefit, I will never stray from you again.

Bonus- my fancy occasion arsenal:

I have never not winged it when it comes to eye makeup. Sometimes I like the way the contouring comes out, sometimes less so. But when I go to a wedding or whatever I like to give the appearance that I tried. This palette supposedly works with my eye color. The lipstick is new. After years of neutral-ish lipstick that can barely be seen even close up, I decided it was time to get bold. This dark magenta, called "Euphoria," works well with my skin tone and really sends the message that my face has shown up for the party. 

After hours:

These remove makeup easily and make you feel refreshed. Plus they smell like a tropical dream. 

And there you have it. If you want to Single White Female me, I've made it pretty easy for you. 

Now share with me your favorite products. I might never buy them, maybe I will, but it's more interesting to me what goes into making the sausage, so to speak. What body parts get priority. Why you like what you like. 

FUN. 

Just to Say

Two things would have made the my Mother's Day, or a weekend by any standards, utterly perfect:

-if Mike didn't have to work

-if my own mother wasn't down with a cold so she could have been there too. 

Otherwise, it was magnificent, everything I could ever want. I got to spend time with my family and get my baby fix on my sister's first Mother's Day, see the ocean, rock out at my brother's wicked impressive CD release show and read most of Carrie Brownstein's Hunger Makes Me a Modern Girl on a train, sipping a glass of wine while HR chilled at my side. We got back to Boston and reunited with Mike, intending to go to our favorite pub for dinner but it was too crowded, so we have that to look forward to tonight. And then to wrap it all up, David Ortiz was a beast against the Yankees (and that Stephen Wright kid is no slouch either) after a frustrating series. Sometimes everything just comes together. 

I'm a lucky bean, and don't I know it.

Mama Feels

I know I'm borderline freakish in my need for regular alone time, always have been, and the lack of it has been an ongoing series of adjustments for me, and overall probably the biggest challenge I've met so far in the motherhood journey. I make no bones about how excited I get when I get a few hours of solitude, it's rare (though not as rare as it is for some people, I won't act like I've got it rough or don't have a crack support team) and I enjoy it without guilt. But lately I've noticed a trend creeping in, mostly through social media, of constant mommy martyr-ing and dissing one's kids basically for existing. It's particularly prevalent right now as we lead up to Mother's Day and there are a blitz of advertising campaigns and memes touting what all mothers want. A typical cutesy "Mom's Wish List" (I took this verbatim from the womenirl instagram account):

 

1. Sleep
2. A moment of peace
3. Clean house
4. Folded laundry
5. Mother's helper 24/7
6. Mute button on kids
7. Magic baby weight remover

On one hand, I can relate to a lot of this. On the other, UGH. There are many lists submitted this account, some are funny and not terrible, but they mostly give me the UGHs because so few actually mention kids--the kids that technically elevated you to the status of mother--in a positive way. Nobody mentions spending time with their kids on their wish list. Maybe I'm not understanding the purpose of Mother's Day correctly? 

Like I said in the first paragraph, I likes me alone time very much. And sometimes it annoys me how much HR needs my attention. But I've been hyperaware lately of the fact that he just really loves me and wants nothing more than to be around me. It's really that simple. And my god, how much longer is that going to last?  I am working with him to establish physical boundaries and the need for privacy and space and all that, things he'll need to know going forward to be a person in the world, but I'm working on being more patient and tolerant when he wants me to sit and snuggle instead of, like, do the tidying up that's nagging at me but can wait for later. Not in a "you are the most important thing and center of the universe" way, but in a reasonable, not-demand-y sense. Just paying attention, being more focused on the true value of time. Most importantly I would hate, absolutely hate to find out that he felt rejected by me, that he was getting the message that he's a burden and a pest. And for him to read someday that I wrote something implying as much, that would kill me. 

I don't think I'm a better person or mother than anyone writing these wish lists, because the joke is--we all know at the heart of it--that the love of our kids is rock-solid and understood. Unspoken. But we know that as mothers,  not as kids. I think really I just have a bee in my bonnet about what's cool and socially acceptable among my peers and it helps me examine things I don't particularly like about myself and what I pass off casually.

My Personal Mother's Day Wish List: for my kid to continue to absolutely take for granted that he's loved. And then when he's happily asleep, wine and alone time. 

Moms: we are all goddesses, we are all jerks, we all love our kids. Happy Mother's Day!

 

Birthday in a Half-Shell

In my expert opinion, sixth birthday parties are the reason people have kids.There's nothing more gratifying to me as a parent than to see my kid utterly happy. Not Veruca-Salt-spoiled happy, though I don't deny he is pretty spoiled. I just mean getting to witness that on-top-of-the-world feeling. HR was so into his birthday this year, in a way he's never been previously, and he had a fantastic day with some pals and cousin/pals (even keeping the guest list to a local friends and immediate family, it was a mighty throng). I don't think the specifics of the party mattered, he would have felt the same no matter what because he took so much of a role in the planning and anticipation, but it was a roaring success, less one minor freak-out at cake time. I personally really enjoyed myself, after surrendering to the chaos, because the birthday boy was on cloud nine and we were surrounded by A-plus people and the weather gods smiled upon us for the 5th year in a row, allowing us to utilize outdoor space for the masses. I'll do it again every year until he's 30 if I get to see this face. 

After taking that picture, he told me it was the best birthday EVER, and he seemed to be really appreciative of everything that went into it. So while every day in parenting can't be a celebration, the ones that are make all the rest of them bearable. 

A few other highlights:

Pinata improv! Or, you can take the family out of Waldo Street but...

Pre-party jam session with his new guitar

Happy birthday my sweet! 

He fully committed to that TMNT theme, I had to remind him to take off his mask in the evening. 

In all, I'd say turning six has been a magical experience. I'm going to post one last picture that I love but haven't posted anywhere out of respect for the snake-phobic among us (MOM I'm giving you lots of warning, don't scroll any further). 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Family snake train!