Three Good Things

Chris and I were talking this morning about how heavy things feel,
for all of us.  None of us [or very few of us] are completely insulated
from what's happening with the economy.  It's a difficult, stressful
time and not knowing what the next several months will bring, compounds
the heaviness.

There are always things for which we are
thankful.  We know this.  And after we have discussions where we review
the worst case scenarios, we take a breath and remind ourselves of the
good things.

Mom and Dad lived for a few years in Caracas,
Venezuela right after Chris and I were married.  As a Christmas gift
one year, Dad flew Chris, my brother Mallory Joe and me to South America for a couple of weeks.  I think it was a gift for Mom and Dad too.

On
the surface, everything appeared wonderful.  Mom had spent much of her
childhood in the Philippines so she spoke Spanish well and had
experience living as an expat.  Mom and Dad lived in a beautiful
penthouse apartment overlooking the new U.S. Embassy, had a full-time
driver, maid and memberships to a prestigious country club.  Two months
prior to the move Dad had been diagnosed with kidney cancer, had
surgery to remove a kidney and was sent to Venezuela with a clean bill
of health.  Life is good!  Right?  Well...

Mom's birthday is
three days before Christmas and she was turning 50 that year.  She
missed her friends, understandably.  Navigating life in a foreign
country where only 3% of the people spoke English [statistic per Mother, at the
time], required her to rely on the Spanish she hadn't used for years and it exhausted her.  We were out for lunch one day and she was trying to
order sandwiches for all of us.  She became frustrated, looked at me
and said, "I can't remember how the hell to say mustard in Spanish.  Can we lose the mustard?"

One afternoon, Dad was at work, Chris and my brother Mallory Joe were playing ping-pong, drinking Venezuelan beer [Polar tasted good.  Chris and Mallory Joe consumed it daily while playing ping-pong.] and Mom and I were sneaking a smoke on her veranda.

Mom said, "I don't know what to do.  This has just been so difficult."

We
discussed various solutions, all involving travel and being away from Dad longer than she felt was reasonable.  She
recognized she was tired and in a funk due to the many life stressors
she'd just endured.  A major move, culture shock, a husband with a
cancer diagnosis, finding homes for three animals she loved dearly
prior to the move, turning 50, and missing her family and friends.  She
knew she simply needed to keep moving forward.

She vented about the difficulties of living in Caracas.  There were many - all legitimate.

I said, "But Mom, there are some neat things about living here.  Can you think of just three good things?"

She thought...

"The birds are beautiful.  I love seeing parrots and macaws flying.  Free."

"And the orchids.  I can grow orchids on my veranda.  I've
never been able to grow orchids like this.  Aren't they beautiful?" 
[Mom has always loved gardening, so this was important and valued.]

She was looking a little perkier as she lit another cigarette.  We sat quietly while she thought.

Finally
she said, "And when your father and I go out to eat, and I order a
drink... anywhere... they bring you the whole bottle, even if it's Grey
Goose, and set it right. On. The. Table."

There's airborne, and then there's Airborne.

The two older boys didn't have school on Friday due to Parent Teacher Conferences, so even though Oldest Boy and Toddler Child were "sick" with colds, they rallied to go sledding.  Funny how that happens.

The sky was blue, the air was clean and we headed to a park with a hill big enough for the older boys to enjoy but small enough for Toddler Child to manage.  There's nothing worse than a 40-pound toddler asking to be carried up a hill, when it's hard enough getting your own, old butt to the top.  This hill was every man for himself, and my selection strategy saved my back.  When the older boys needed more excitement, they built a jump.  Which hurt their backs.  Even Toddler Child's.

I refused to go over the little jump which disappointed the boys.  It's not my first rodeo, Kids.

Friday night we went to bed and I woke up at 1:38 a.m.  Oldest Boy's and Toddler Child's cold was now mine.  Frustrating to go to bed feeling perfectly healthy, then be hit with illness, recognizing the exact moment it infiltrates the body.  I'm sick.

As Chris and the older boys left for snowboarding on Saturday morning, and Toddler Child seemed exorcised of his cold, I thought to myself, maybe I should have taken the jump...

I'd like one. Seriously.

Last weekend while in Arizona, Mom and I were standing in the kitchen in our pajamas one evening, chatting as we thumbed through some magazines.  The new People had arrived that day, which Dad had quickly grabbed and was reading in his bed.  I was loitering before going to bed myself, knowing Dad only takes about 10 minutes to get up to speed on the celebrities he doesn't know, so I could take the magazine to bed with me.

Mom was looking at Time magazine, she shook her head and said, "Idiots.  Anyone who would buy this is an idiot." 

Curious, I moved closer and looked over her shoulder.  I said, "Those are great!  It's simple genius.  Someone's rich because of that idea.  I actually want one."

"Are you serious?  All it is, is a robe backwards."

Looking at the robe she was wearing, I said, "No it's not.  The neck's specific to the Snuggie.  The seaming on your robe would strangle you."

She removed her robe.  "Allow me to demonstrate. [she put her robe on backwards]  Wa-lah!  IT'S A ROBE BACKWARDS!"

Her's was a blue, crisp-cotton, not-fuzzy, belted robe with a collar.  I said, "That's not right.  It looks like it's strangling you.  The Snuggie's seaming is better.  Plus your fabric's not cozy.  I think the Snuggie's genius."

She rolled her eyes and said, "Follow me."

We walked into her bedroom.  Dad comfortably reading his People magazine said, "I'm almost done, then you can have the magazine.  [poor guy]  What's so funny out there?"

"Mom's all uptight about the Snuggie.  She says anyone who buys one is an idiot because all you have to do is wear your robe backwards.  She flipped hers around, but she looked strangled and uncomfortable."

Mom appeared out of her closet holding a blue, fuzzy robe.  "THIS.  THIS COULD BE A SNUGGIE."

I was still skeptical.  "It looks too short.  The Snuggie people have their legs covered, and can tuck a child in there with them.  It's roomier."

"IT'S A ROBE BACKWARDS.  You're telling me you'd schlep a long Snuggie through the dirt to sit by a campfire.  Who does that?  It's a waste of money.  There's plenty of room in my robe for a child.  Look!"

She put the robe on backwards.  Then she put it on my Dad.

She made me try it on, too.  And I have to admit, it was comfortable, roomy and a nice length.

Mother had made her point and felt victorious!  [Notice her smug thumbs-up and all-knowing grin.]

After Mom's victory prance and "I told you so" and "uh-huh" rhetoric, I said I still thought the Snuggie was genius and I'd like to have one.

Dad sympathetically said, "Kaye, we should get the girl a Snuggie."

"Idiots," Mom said.

NOTE:  Chris forwarded me this article from Advertising Age.  It basically attributes the Snuggie's success to advertising and marketing [surprise surprise].  There's a waiting list for Snuggies!