Be Cool

Early January 1987

"Be cool."  That's all I requested of my brother and his two friends after we got into the bar.  Joe and his buddies were 17 and I was 20.  We all had fake IDs, but Joe & Company didn't look old enough to drive.

I was living in a condo at the Continental Country Club in Flagstaff, Arizona, pretending to attend college that year.  Joe and his friends came up from Phoenix to ski for a weekend and partay with the big kids.  Classes hadn't resumed after first semester break, so the town was relatively dead.  Getting three young-looking boys into a bar with obvious fake IDs, and using my own ridiculous alias of Lupita Gonzalez wasn't difficult when I knew the bouncer at Senior Frog's.

My boyfriend at the time was a nice SAE who lived in a neighboring condo with about 457 other guys.  He was amused by my brother and his friends, also knew the bouncer and thought I might need some help.  SAE-Boy and a couple of his roommates joined us that night.

I wore my cutest Belinda Carlilse "Mad About You" outfit [black leggings and black hip-covering turtleneck] with a 3/4-length red wool coat.  Joe and his friends looked very preppy.  Sweaters tied around their necks, spiffy loafers, coiffed hair and they smelled niiice.

The bar wasn't crowded but there were enough people to make it interesting.  I mingled with strangers, found a few familiar faces and lost track of SAE-Boy, my brother and his friends.  I tossed my coat over a seat at the bar next to an old guy [he was probably 30].  The old guy told me he'd keep an eye on it for me.

Throughout the evening I noticed the bartender making big fruity drinks.  Very unusual in a small, college town bar in the middle of winter.  I also noticed the bartender and the bouncer exchanging glances, shaking their heads and appearing generally irritated.

SAE-Boy approached me and said, "That old guy threw-up on your coat."

The old guy had leaned over [aiming for the floor], emptied his stomach, and some of his yack had gotten on my red coat.  Time to go home.

I went to find my brother.  Joe and his friends were sitting in a corner booth, at a table that was a little too high for them, emphasizing their youth/still small-ish stature, sipping giant blue drinks decorated with umbrellas, swords, fruit and bendy straws.  They were laughing and flirting with a couple of obliging college girls.

Mortified, I walked over to Joe and said, "What are you doing?  I told you to be cool."

He gave me a sincerely confused look.

"What are you drinking?"

"Blue Hawaiians.  Wanna sip?"  As he offered me his glass, I thought how much he and his friends looked like various versions of Anthony Michael Hall.  They were a scene from a John Hughes movie.

I took a sip.  "We need to go.  Some old guy threw-up on my coat and you guys should be drinking beer.  Nobody orders Blue Hawaiians."

Joe and his friends conspicuously and happily finished their drinks, sucking all the alcohol out of the pineapple pieces.  They grabbed the paper cocktail parasols along with their coats, and we left Senior Frog's.

**********

My brother turns 41 today.  Our birthdays are less than two weeks apart so as adults, before life separated us by a state or two, we usually celebrated together at Mom and Dad's house.  I have at least a dozen pictures of the two of us holding our shared cake while Mom takes our picture.

Happy Birthday, Joe.  When I see you this July, let's go out for Blue Hawaiians.

I Like Her

Admittedly she wasn't the type of mother who volunteered to host puppet shows in the basement on a rainy day, but she taught me that a Bloody Mary and a Coke would ease my motion sickness on bumpy plane flights. The carbonation in the Coke relieved excess air/gas in the gastrointestinal tract, the sugary soda and the vegetable juice provided some "oomph" to coat my stomach, and the vodka [just a little] calmed my nerves.

There have been occasions over the years when I have been tough on my mom. There were parts of her that weren't conventional. When we lived in the Midwest in the 70s, she looked different than the other moms. She didn't wear her hair permed and cut short or carry Wyler's out to the backyard on a tray with a big smile. She macramed hanging plant holders and matter-of-factly told us to drink out of the hose if we were thirsty. Her long pony-tails and Doris Day-like features caught people off-guard when she politely but firmly told a few folks in Indiana that she did not want them to say the "N" word in front of her or her children.

[Mom and me - Christmas 1967]

As each year passes, I appreciate my mother more and more. Trite but true. I now recognize that she mothered conventionally in many ways -- the important ways -- by encouraging us to be kind, to laugh in general (and at ourselves), to read, to try new things, and ultimately to be independent.

Mom doesn't share my love of running, triathlons, skiing, or hiking, and there are many aspects of our personalities that are different. But we are "one" when we shop, and I can't think of a single person that, despite everything and anything I could have ever said or done to hurt them, remains in my life, other than Mom. She also makes me laugh. Contort my face in ugly ways, laugh. I make her laugh too.

[We were trying to get a picture of her dog, Judy, in the tree. (Mom's idea, for the record.) Every
time Mom got close to the tree, Judy stepped on her head.]

We've been cooking together for years...

She's held the bowl not only when I've had to vomit, but has wedged herself between two car seats to help a sick boy on the way to the doctor's office. [It was serendipity at its finest. She happened to be at our house for a visit.]

 

Mom was just here for a few days for Mother's Day weekend. We had a wonderful time. We become better friends as each year passes. We understand one another. I love that she's intelligent, funny, interesting ... and pretty. She has good taste and a solid sense of self. She's always been a strong person [probably why we've had our challenges over the years], and that remains, but there's an increasing softness. A sensible softness, not an ooey-gooey saccharin softness. Difficult to describe.

[Getting ready to go to brunch on Sunday. The four-year-old boy refused to have his picture taken with us.]

[A full belly (and a sucker from Kay-Kay) helped him change his mind at the restaurant.]

As a teenager, many years ago, I had been particularly sassy and disrespectful to Mom. Through gritted teeth, she said, "You may be my daughter, Christina Hautem, so I have to love you. But I don't have to like you. Right now, I don't like you very much."

I understood what she was saying then, but I understand the difference between "love" and "like" when it comes to family members more and more.

I suppose all I'm trying to say is ... Mom's fun. I like her.

**********

[The video shows Mom's picnic attempt with the four-year-old on a cold, windy day. She was also kind enough to bring me a set of her old golf clubs.  A friend invited me to play in a fundraising tournament. I don't golf... but Mother did her best to teach me.]

Mother's Day 2010 from Chrisy Ross on Vimeo.

In Sync

I'm not exaggerating when I say our three sons were all dreadful sleepers as infants and toddlers.  Even now, at the ages of 12, 10 and 4, we rarely make it through an entire week without a middle-of-the-night blood sugar issue, bed-wetting incident or nightmare.  Sleep deprivation is debilitating, especially when it lasts for years.  Not that it's a competition, but it takes a lot for someone to trump the length and extent of sleep deprivation that Chris and I have endured.  Regardless, we muster compassion for anyone who's experienced lack of sleep, even those on the less severe end of the spectrum.

Chris' career hasn't required him to travel much over the years, which means we've been able to enjoy most of the hellish, sleepless nights together.  Recently Chris has been traveling a bit more.  With the boys a little older and all of us better rested, a sharp contrast has emerged in how I physiologically react when Chris tells me he has a trip approaching and how I ultimately manage the challenge.

**********

NEWS OF THE TRIP
Then - Seize, whine, then apologize to Chris for seizing and whining, and immediately start mini-therapying myself by repeating affirmations of my patient mothering skills and ability to function on zero sleep.

Now - Calmly say, "No problem," plan what shows I'll watch after the kids go to bed and debate internally if it's poor parenting to have a glass or two of wine when Chris is out of town.

ANTICIPATION
Then - Knowing Chris had a trip planned created tremendous anxiety for me.  I lost precious sleep worrying about the fact that I would get even less sleep when he was away.  I always managed my single-parenting days and nights better than I thought I would, but with the fear I might "fail" [not knowing what that would look like, but knowing I didn't want to find out] sitting on my shoulder.

Now - I don't hyperventilate anymore when Chris gives me his travel dates.  Occasionally the boys and I have a long night or complicated day, but we don't have multiple challenging days stacked one on top of the other, week after week, month after month, year after year.  I can deal with "typical" curve balls.

SLEEP
Then - I simply didn't sleep well, if at all.  The kids were up many times a night.  Someone usually threw-up.  If it wasn't a child, it was a dog.  When the house was quiet for twenty minutes at 2:00 AM, instead of sleeping, I tortured myself with envious thoughts of Chris sleeping soundly in a hotel bed while simultaneously missing him in ours.  I struggled with bad dreams, so I rarely slept deeply.

Now - I sleep great.  Sometimes a boy needs something in the night, but it's manageable.  I still have a vivid imagination and experience a nightmare once in a while, but it seems better now.  Maybe because I'm getting more sleep.  It's also much easier to make my bed in the morning.  I enjoy that.  Bonus!

SCHEDULES [Chris takes the older boys to school when he's home.]
Then - Awakening a baby who slept poorly the night prior, placing him in a backward facing car seat when what he really wanted to do was nurse [ALL DAY], was difficult.  The four-year-old [then baby] was a car screamer.  It upset the two older boys and lasted until he was three-years-old.  No joke.

Now - I prepare the four-year-old the night prior, explaining his father is out of town so we get to take the big boys to school.  This reverse psychology worked a few times but now he groans.  He doesn't like being woken from a deep sleep, pulled from a warm bed and placed in a cold car seat.  But he does it without protest.  Sounds small, but it sends me to the moon.

**********

Chris is out of town.

Yesterday morning as I uncovered my four-year-old son's warm, sleeping body, I whispered, "Good morning.  It's time to take the big boys to school.  I'll carry you."  He rolled towards me, eyes closed, hair sticking up like a rooster and reached out obediently.  I picked him up and drew in his scent  --  clean sheets and lavender soap from his bath 12 hours prior -- and I reminded myself to never forget this moment, how perfectly we fit together as he clung to me.  I felt happy and content.

I carried him downstairs and put him in his car seat, the big boys quietly helped me by opening doors, handing me the four-year-old's blanket, and double-checking the house for lights that needed to be turned off and doors that needed to be locked.  We were in sync.

Five minutes into the thirty-minute drive, the four-year-old's eyes were open and he looked peaceful.  Oldest Boy wanted to know if we could listen to his iPod, but asked if we could call his dad first.  We called Chris and left a voice message telling him we missed and loved him, and wished him a good day.

Chris will be home late tonight, maybe even early tomorrow morning.  I used to memorize or have handy flight details, hotels, meeting times, etc...  It's not that I don't have that information... somewhere, I'm just... I don't know... busier, better rested, able to send and receive texts [finally].

The boys and I are glad Chris doesn't travel much or for very long.  But now when he does, we all work together to fill in the gap created by his absence.  Sleep helps; so do restaurants.  I might not be hyperventilating waiting for his return like I used to, but just like then, it's nice to have the other guy home so I can poke him in the middle of the night and groggily demand, "Cuddle me.  I had a bad dream."