The Christmas Ruiner

                

             Ahh Christmas.  What a wonderful time of year.  Lights ablaze on all the houses, glowing trees in the windows, Bing Crosby on the radio and overpriced eggnog lattes, this is what Christmas is to me.

               Christmas to my husband?  Over-commercialization, overspending, and fire hazards at every turn....  How do two people who have such different ideas of the season come together so they can both enjoy the holiday equally?  They drink and fantasize about smothering each other with the Christmas stockings.

               But after they do that, if they want to stay married, they talk, they argue, and then they compromise, which is the secret to any relationship, isn't?   Meeting in the middle. Sure he may bitch about the money we're spending a few hundred times and I may have to scream, "YOU'RE RUINING CHRISTMAS!!" every couple of days, but now it's like tradition, and it probably wouldn't seem like Christmas without it.

             One of the biggest dilemmas we face is the friggin' Christmas tree, the very symbol of the holiday for Chrissakes.  Now let me back up.  Doug, my husband, never quite had the Norman Rockwell Christmas like I did.  I was extremely fortunate to have all the traditional "traditions".  Every year my mom, dad, brother and I would pack up the car and drive those 17 torturous hours to Seattle to spend the week with my mom's family.  With all aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents counted there were about 20 of us, each one more filled to the brim with Christmas cheer and hot buttered rums than the last.

           We listened to carols, we showed off our new walk-mans, we ate the same old Christmas cookies that the family has been making since the dawn of time, and we sat around the Christmas tree and reveled in the Spirit.  It was a wonderful time and something I will treasure forever.

         My husband didn't quite have the same experience, however.  Because his parents split up when he was young, and since they moved around a lot he rarely had Christmas in the same place, so their repeating traditions never really got established.  Half the time he and his brother would be with his mom, who had the tree and all the good stuff, but the other half of the time was spent with their dad, Leon, who was "unconventional" to say the least. 

         Most of the time their dad wouldn't buy a Christmas tree, no no no, that was too expected, after all, the man was no sheep.  What he'd do was buy a string of Christmas lights, pick a piece of furniture and blammo!  It became the Christmas Entertainment Center!  They also had the Christmas Bike and The Christmas Broom (but if you ask me his heart just wasn't in it that year).  They'd sit around the Christmas Bike and sing carols, so I suppose they did have a few semblances of tradition, just a little different than what I was used to.

             Keeping all that in mind I didn't quite know what to expect with Christmas when I first moved in with Doug.  So, travel back with me to early December 2003, won't you?

             There I was, spending our first Christmas in Maryland with Doug in our new home.  The living room was large, with great corners for a tree, which is really what we look at when we buy a house, am I right?  Maybe that's just me.

            It's early December and I announce to Doug that we need to go out and buy a tree for the house.  He gives me an uninterested look and says, "Why don't you just stop on your way home tomorrow and pick it up, you have a much better idea of what you're looking for, the tree thing is all you, babe."  This is his way of saying, "don't wanna."

           So, my visions of us strolling arm in arm through the tree lot in our mittens, hats and scarves while sipping cocoa and listening to the canned carols over the crackly loudspeakers were quickly dashed.  It was just be me, party of one, for the tree shopping.  "Hey Earl, can ya help the single lady load up her tree?  She's obviously crying too hard to do it herself." Not exactly what I had in mind....

           But, I was trying to convince myself that it was ok, we were getting a tree, and that was all that mattered.  So the next night after work I stopped by Home Depot to look at the trees as planned and as I'm walking through I'm getting more and more irritated. I'm passing all the couples doing the romantic tree shopping bullshit that I was supposed to be doing!  SCREW THEM!  MY HUSBAND SUCKS!
       
           As the minutes ticked by and the more couples I saw smiling and checking trees for needle droppage I lost it.  I started crying, right there, in the Home Depot tree lot.  Pathetic.

           So, I got upset, then I got MAD.  I stomped out of there, got into my car, sped home, flung open the front door, pointed to Doug and said, "YOU.  IN THE CAR.  NOW."  So he didn't want to come with me, TOO FRICKEN BAD.  It's Christmas and you will get into the goddamned spirit if it kills me!

        And what do you know, he got in, we went to the lot, picked out a tree, put in on top of the car, and drove home, our hands sticky with sap but our hearts light with love and Christmas joy.  Okay so that may be over exaggerating a tad, Doug was irritated at the price of trees and I was irritated at him for being irritated at the price of trees, IT'S CHRISTMAS, GET OVER IT.  But whatever, I had my tree and I was happy, despite whiney boyfriend.

         So the tree looked great in our house and smelled great too, this is the reason why we get real trees, isn't it?  The pretty stink of it, that's Christmas, man.  I was glad to see that Doug, once he got over grumbling about the price, enjoyed the tree as well.  First thing he'd do when he got up in the morning was plug in the tree, and, although he said it was no Christmas bike, it was nice to look at.
 
        We go to enjoy our tree for the next couple of weeks before leaving for Seattle where we would spend Christmas with the family, who were all waiting there, sipping hot cocoa in their holiday sweaters. 

        So there we are, getting ready for our trip.  I'm packing the warm coats, wrapping the presents, and picking out the  pajamas that will look best in all those Christmas-morning pictures. I'm going about my merry way, eating cookies and listening to carols while we pack when Doug suddenly announces that it's time to take down the Christmas tree.  Wha?  Huh?  Wha?  Take down the Christmas tree?  Why?

Me:   "I'm sorry, I must have misunderstood you.  It almost sounded like you said it was time to take take down the Christmas tree."

Him:  "I did.  It's a fire hazard."

Me:  "How?  If we unplug the lights it'll be fine."

Him:  "Not necessarily.  It could still catch on fire."

Me:   "No it won't."

Him:  "Yes it will."

Me:  "BUT HOW WILL IT CATCH ON FIRE IF THE LIGHTS AREN'T ON AND IT'S NOT NEAR ANY OPEN FLAME?"

Him:  "It's just smart thinking, we just can't take the chance."

I mean honestly, the tree was next to the bare wall in the living room, not near ANY open flame or fire source.  What the hell was he expecting?  Punk kids to break in and flick their lit cigarette butts at it?

                              
                                 Maybe a meteor could fly through the window and light the tree on fire.



            Smart thinking?  Who ever heard of such a thing?  I mean honestly.  Isn't everything a fire hazard?  My old stack of People magazines?   Our mail bin?  Box of Cheez-its?  What's to prevent those from spontaneously combusting as well?  Maybe we should just empty out the entire house while we're at it!

          But, he wouldn't budge on this mysterious tree igniting story, so what could I do?  I eventually just threw my hands up and gave in, because honestly, it's Christmas and who wants to argue. And unfortunately, as much as I hate it sometimes, this is what you do in a marriage, you compromise.......even when it's over something so ridiculous like the magical fire fairies who might sneak down our chimney and blow up our tree. 

         So I took off the ornaments and horrifyingly watched as he tucked our beautiful, now naked little Douglas Fir under his arm and deposited it on the curb for the trash truck SEVEN DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS, all the while figuring that this was probably just his passive aggressive way to buck tradition.

He really, after all, just wanted a Christmas bike.

             So, in light of this story we made another compromise when it came to future Christmas trees.  We now have a gloriously tacky little ultra bright white tree that we put up every Christmas and store in a box in the garage for the rest of the time.  I mean, if you're going to go fake, might as well go SUPER DUPER fake.  My compromise was that I had to live without the nice tree smell, and his compromise was that we could leave the tree up until New Years (as long as the lights were unplugged).

            When I get annoyed at the weird little things my husband obsesses over I stop and think, "Hey, this is what makes life interesting, right?"  Who wants a husband who doesn't check whether the stove is on, the doors are locked and the fridge is open a hundred times before we leave for a trip?  Not me.  I'll take my slightly paranoid, mildly obsessive compulsive, unofficial fire marshal any day. He keeps it interesting......and totally fire free.
          









     

Target Peeping

                                    There’s a peeping Tom in Target

I love Target.  I do.  I can get anything I want for under three dollars.  Shampoo?  Three dollars.  Oil for my car?...three dollars…Tool shed?...three dollars….. 

The thing I love most about Target is the cheap, excuse me…inexpensive, underwear.  Since being introduced to the wide variety of low priced inventory of undergarments at Target, I find it hard to go anywhere else for my frilly underthings.  Victoria Secret?  Whats the big secret?  That she charges twenty-five bucks for a thong?  Hey, I’m not proud, if it’s cute and $3.99 I’ll buy it and brag about it and hey, I might even show it to you.   I AM the definitive bargain shopper.

Living in San Francisco is not cheap.  Finding bargain underwear in San Francisco?  Nearly impossible.  So, to satisfy my urge to get out of the city AND replenish my boudoir I often found myself traveling south to Daly City to find my cheap goods...  So, one foggy day (are there any other?) I got up, fed my cat, put on my snappy blue denim dress and head on out.  My target?  Target.

 I have about $40 bucks to spend, so, the world (the universe that is Target) was my oyster!…discount oyster that is.

            I enter the store with big dreams!  First I peruse the purse department as it’s on the way to the lingerie racks…then it’s on to the girly accessories…then on I trek to Mecca: the underwear section.  I’m enjoying myself, making sure to give myself plenty of time in each section….heck, it’s my day off so I’m shopping at Target!  The world is mine!  I have $40 and I can afford anything in this store!  I cruise from rack to rack, picking up this, disregarding that, humming and hawing through the red, green, and purple items, fitting the title “discriminating customer” to a tee.

 Finally, when I think I’ve found some real beauties I head into the dressing room with my customary 7 items (I don’t think I’ve ever gone into a dressing room with less than the maximum amount, I mean, if I’m going in I might as well take along as much as possible….)  So, on this fine day, I’m humming a little tune, trying on my braziers, happy as can be when all of a sudden, I hear a knock on my dressing room door.  Unaccustomed to visitors in my home away from home, I muster a timid, “Um, yes?” 

“Uh, the manager… he want to speak to you.”

“He does? Oh, Ok….uh, I’ll be right out.”

This is an odd turn of events.  It’s funny the things that flash through your mind when you think you are in trouble.  My thoughts automatically jump to, “did I accidentally steal something?  Do they think I’m stuffing cheap, uh, inexpensive, underwear into my thrift store satchel?”  I have no idea. 

Well I put on my snappy little snap dress once again and exit the dressing room.  Sure enough, there is the Target Manager waiting for me, looking a little uncomfortable….I have no idea what this could be about.

He says to me, “Miss, would you come with me please?”

Oh crap, what have I done?  Did I win a prize for being such a cherished customer of Target?  Am I the millionth shopper?  I’m doubtful this is the case as I’m feeling more and more like the kid summoned to the principals office after writing “I love Rob Lowe” on the outside of her locker.

So there I am, being led to the security room in Target.  And for those of you who have never been in one of those things, well, let me be the first to tell you, you haven’t lived.  It looks like the control room at NASA, or at least my image of what that might look like.  This has changed my life.  If you ever thought you could get away with, oh I don’t know, an inappropriate body scratch, maybe a little nose pick, dislodging a wedgy anywhere in a desolate section of Target and nobody would know about it?  Wrong.  Just because you are standing in an aisle alone, doesn’t mean no one can see you. You can bet your every move is being recorded as they have security cameras on every inch of that store.  Every inch people!

 I’m standing there my eyes are darting from screen to screen, back to the manager’s face, back to screen, so on and so forth.  My mind is racing trying to recall my every second I spent in the mega store that morning.   I’m a bit scared by this point mainly because the dude hasn’t said anything to me yet!  The manager, sensing my fear, calmly says to me, in his most comforting voice, “We here at Target hate to have to deal with situations like these…we feel just terrible when anything like this goes on in one of our stores….just terrible…”  Oh crap, WHAT IS IT ALREADY!

“Uh, miss, as you were shopping this morning in the ladies undergarment section…did you happen to see anyone, uh, strange near you?”

Strange?

I’m thinking, “aside from the employees and regular customers?”  No.

“Not that I recall, sir”…important to be polite when in a precarious situation….

He then replies with, “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but as you were shopping in the underwear section not ten minutes ago, a man was down on his hands and knees looking up your dress.”

OH…MY….GOD.

No, really….ohmygod!!

“No, I didn’t notice anything.” I say as I try not to pick up any dirt as my jaw hits the floor.

Turns out, the local pervert was shadowing my movements throughout the store, and when he saw his opportunity to sneak a peek, he got down on all fours and saw clear up to Christmas “with no pies baked”, as my mother would say.  I have no idea what this means but I’ve heard it my entire life.

            Granted, I was shocked at hearing this news, but not for the reason the manager thought I was.  I guess he was expecting me to break out in tears, appalled that I would be the target of such a disgraceful act!  But honestly, I almost started laughing.   I mean, yes, that is terrible and really disgusting, but come on, kind of funny too. The fact that there I am, totally oblivious to the guy who has his nose two inches from my bum and all I’m concerned with is whether or not I can find a pair of panties to go with this cheap blue bra!  AND IT’S ALL ON CAMERA!  EVERY SECOND OF IT, AND THEY WERE ALL WATCHING ME IN THAT NASA CONTROL ROOM!

The manager goes on to tell me that as soon as I wandered away to the dressing room, his crew of security tackled this guy and dragged him off, and still, I’m totally clueless.  I mean, that’s funny!  I have no idea as all this ruckus is happening right behind me!  No clue!  I didn’t hear a sound!  Too captivated by the bargains I guess.

I was so embarrassed I had to leave.  I mean, all I could think of was those guys, watching me from their security room, watching me shop for sunglasses saying to each other, “Hey, there she goes, that’s the one….she didn’t even know it….right up her dress…..I mean right in there!….look at her….his head, totally up her dress!….unbelievable!”

Well, I scurried out with a blush and still with $40 dollars in my purse.  I learned one thing that day, though: always be aware of your surroundings and never, ever go shopping at Target in a short dress.

   

I hate your cell phone.

        If I have to talk to the top of someone's head again I'm leaving. I don't know where I'm going but it's away from here. I know cell phones serve a purpose, keep us in touch, are great in case of emergency, blah blah blah but man, they are absolutely ruining it.  R-U-I-N-I-N-G it. Why do people think it's socially acceptable now to be checking your cell phone right in the middle of a conversation?  Is it me?  Am I not charming?  Am I not engaging?  Am I not worthy of five minutes of your undivided fucking attention? No? Even the most boring person on the face of the planet deserves respect, so maybe at least be polite and tell me that your house is on fire and excuse yourself before checking your phone.  I'd much rather be lied to than being passively told I'm boring, which is essentially what you're saying by checking your phone. I want to wear one of those signs that you see at cafés and stores, “No cell phones beyond this point.”  That would make a great shirt. You heard it here first, folks.

      There's a woman I've met here recently, and believe me she's not the only one who does this, she's just the worst offender, who checks her phone constantly during the ten minutes I see her at my son's swim class.  I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen her without her phone clutched in her hand or tucked into her bra (I could say something cheeky about this except that I often use my sports bra for a purse.  Everything is in there, phone, keys, sandwiches).  The funny thing is when I get home and actually log onto Facebook I can see that she's tagged me and updated her status to say "Talking to Kristin at the YMCA!" she's posting that she's talking to me instead of actually talking to me.  It's bizarre.  Why do we care so much about telling everyone what we're doing at the exact second we're doing it?  "Kristin is picking up a prescription for her yeast infection at CVS - feeling itchy".  Pbbttt.  And you can't tell me that you can still listen to what I'm saying when you're logging on.  It's gotten to the point now where I just stop talking, and the sad thing is most of the time they don't even notice.  They just check their texts, look up at me, and start an entirely new conversation.. You might as well be saying, “You’re not interesting enough to warrant 100% of my attention but I can give you 60%, right after I tweet about how much I love Maroon 5."

    

         I'm completely convinced that we need to start teaching cell phone etiquette in school.  At least how to say, “Excuse me” and step away if you need to answer your phone or check something. These kids today (she says as she looks up from her bifocals and wags her withered finger) seem to think that it’s perfectly acceptable to be looking at your phone when you’re face to face with someone. IT IS NOT ACCEPTABLE, IT'S RUDE AND WE ARE BECOMING A SOCIETY OF ASSHOLES. We’re so concerned with keeping tuned in we’ve totally lost the ability to politely interact with other live humans. I wonder what Gertrude Stein would say about our generation now. She’d probably just tweet something macabre and then jump into the Seine.  

       And with all the new gadgets and "Google Glass" and a whatnot it's only going to get worse.  Which is why I'm currently researching what it takes to become Amish, where social networking means building a barn with your neighbor instead of updating your status.  And when someone says they're on a Blackberry it means they're just sitting on an actual blackberry.  The full length house coats might be a little warm but I think I could rock those head bonnets.  

"Kristin just churned some butter and is heading to chapel with grootmoeter - feeling pious, wink!"  

      

Cutting the umbilical cord six years later.

                                

                  

          We did it!  We successfully packed our stuff, said goodbye to our friends, and moved all of our crap from San Diego to the Geeeeorgia!  It's hot here, where are the cool ocean breezes? And why do I have mosquito bites all over me?  And what's all that racket out there?  Georgia is noisy, like really noisy, but it's not traffic or The Dixie Chicks shooting their guns off, it's that great southern noise: it's the bugs, mostly the cicadas.  They sit in trees and wiggle their butts, or rub their legs together, I don't remember but it's loud and pretty cool to hear.  The place is ALIVE, and hot, did I mention that?

         With our big move across country comes big changes, especially for Henry who's starting a new school and trying to make new friends.  Thankfully I never had to move as a kid.  Growing up in the same town your entire adolescence lets you keep all of your old friends that you made in the previous years, well except when you accidentally lose their favorite brown Wet 'N Wild lip liner and they stop talking to you WELL EXCUSE ME WE ALL MAKE MISTAKES YOU'RE NOT PERFECT YOU KNOW.  No, I'm over it, it's fine.

          I was lucky that I didn't have to start all over every three years, which is the lot in life for these military kids, but I'm hoping it does good things for our guy, sort of forces him to be flexible and outgoing.  Plus it builds character, at least this is what I'm telling myself.  Thankfully he's only six and still at the stage where making friends is pretty easy, he can just go up to someway and say, "Hi, will you be my friend?  Yes? Cool."  and then that's it.  I wish it were that easy as an adult!  Unfortunately you get strange looks at the gym when you go up to strangers and say, "Hi, I'm looking for friends, you want the job?"  I have yet to receive a positive response to this, mostly just panicked looks and then they start pretending to talk on their cell phone. Whatever.  Who needs you.  I suppose I could always put an ad out on Craigslist for new friends, but honestly I'm just not in the mood to be murdered by a psychopath today.

          But, my main concern is not whether I make friends in our new place, it's more about Henry making friends, because let's face it, friends are important when you're six.  You can have wicked awesome Playdoh fights, car smash ups, bed jumping contests, and fart parties, basically life rules at this age.

          We arrived in town about a month before school started and although we didn't know anyone here we were holding out high hopes that Henry would meet some same age kids on the street.  This neighborhood is perfect for playing, lots of houses with big lawns and big driveways, very little traffic, speed bumps galore (not only good for slowing down traffic but also good for super awesome bike jumps).  Unfortunately there appear to be NO kids on this street.  Zip.  Zero.  What we do seem to have an abundance of are the senior citizen set who, although very nice and welcoming, don't seem to have too much in common with the world's most awesome armpit farter.  I mean the lady next door who brought me a welcome to the neighborhood house plant seems very kind, but she didn't strike me as the armpit fart type, although I don't know this for sure, suppose I could always ask her.

         Needless to say Henry was pretty bummed to find out we'd moved to what appears to be essentially a retirement community.  How were we to know?  No one was outside when we came to look at the house, actually no one is EVER outside in this neighborhood.  All the residents drive up to their house, open the garage door, drive in, close garage door, and go inside.  That's it.  There's no "howdy neighbor!" business to be had, no one ever stays outside long enough for you to wave at them, it's weird.  I'm hoping that this is just going to be the case during these hot weather months, maybe they're all just huddled inside by the AC trying to keep cool and bug bite free.  Doug and I have tried prompting them to come out, we open the garage door, we set up the lawn chairs, we drink the wine, we talk.  What do we get?  Bupkiss.  They're probably all sitting in their houses spying on us through the blinds, "What are those wackadoodles doing out in their garage?  Don't they realize they could be inside with the AC?"

          Obviously we were not making much progress in the neighborhood friend department so we decided to join the local YMCA with their plethora of family fun opportunities we couldn't go wrong.  After much begging a pleaded for Henry to join one of the summer camps there he just wouldn't do it.  "Henry, look at all these kids running around, you could be having fun with them!  There are all kinds of camps we could do before school starts, you could meet some new friends!"

"NOOOOOOO!  Don't make me!!  Please!  I DON'T WANNA!"

        Well what am I going to do, force the kid?  "YOU WILL JOIN AND YOU WILL LIKE IT, DAMMIT!"  Typically I run under the "mommy knows what's best for you" credo but this time I just couldn't do it.  I figured hey, school is starting soon, he's bound to meet some kids there, I'll just leave him be for now.  We'll just spend these last few weeks by the YMCA pool (which is totally amazeballs by the way) before I start forcing him to do other activities like Tai Kwon Do, gymnastics and soccer, which of course is just a sample of the many things he doesn't want to join.  (He only wants to swim and play baseball, that's it.)

          The summer was fun, albeit short, and as all good things must come to an end school was about to start.  August 6th for crying out loud, who ever heard of such a thing?  I don't get it.  In my day we started in September, like normal people. Regardless of this ridiculously early start time his school is great, first day went swell, the teacher is terrific and just after one week she already emailed me to say how "precious" he is and how she's really glad he's in her class.  Awesome!  Score!  We have the world's best kid! WE RULE.  How did this become about us?

        This is the first time Henry has gone to a public school, he did pre-K and Kindergarten at a private Lutheran school in San Diego which was really small and awesome, I felt very comfortable having him there. It sucks that these days we have to worry about things like safety while they're in class.   But, the school had all those delicious private funds with which to hire security and take extra precautions to make sure all was well on the school grounds.  Plus, as it was run through the Lutheran Church, having Jesus there full time helped too.  I sort of felt like kids were less likely to bully knowing that they have to go to Chapel later on in the day where they're taught that Jesus is watching their every move.  (although I think this backfires in some of the kids, per example when Henry came home one day and said, "Mommy, do you know that you can do a bunch of wrong stuff whenever you want and Jesus will just forgive you?"  Uhhh, that's not exactly what that means, son.)
    
          Anyway, what you should be saying to yourself is, "Kristin, it's only kindergarten, I don't think you have to worry about bullies just yet."  Yeah yeah, well I DO worry, I worry about everything when it comes to this kid, I can't help it.  What if he gets bullied?  What if he runs with scissors, what if he gets a paper cut and they can't stop the bleeding, what if there's a malfunction at the drinking fountain and water sprays all over his pants and the kids think he pee'd himself???!!!  What if what if what if!!???  I have these what-if scenarios going through my head at all hours of the day, do other parents have this?  It freaks me out, I love my kid so much I can't help but constantly worry about him.  Which brings me to the main point of this post: kids riding the school bus for the first time or AKA how to incite crazy anxiety in your mother.

        As I mentioned this is Henry's first experience with a public school, and therefore he gets the option of riding a bus to school, for free no less!  Amazing.  I never took the bus when I was kid, even though I went to public, the school was just close enough for me to walk.  (can you imagine WALKING to school?  Absurd.)


                                               

                  

 

                                           


        For the first week of school I drove him, just like I've been doing for his entire life, but when the second week rolled around we said he was going to try riding the school bus. This idea was being pushed along  by my husband, an "old school" school bus kid.  My only experience with the big yellow buses were from what I saw in movies.  The cool kids sit in the back and beam spit balls at the ones in the front.  Bus kids also smoke cigarettes and tattoo themselves with razor blades and Bic pens.  This will all be in my next book: Things I learned from John Hughes movies.


                                                    

                                                                    Obviously a bus rider.



        Despite all my trepidation about this my husband put me at ease, assuring me the bus was safe and fine (except for that seat belt things, seriously, WTF) and that Henry's capable of doing this alone now.  (He thinks I hover too much, he may be right.  He also should go to bed, it's getting late.) For Henry, being a kid who has always been OBSESSED with massive vehicles like semi's, dump trucks, and school buses, the dude was stoked to ride the bus.  Me?  Not so much.  I mean come on, he's my little guy!  I always just drive him to stuff, that's how it's always been.  I know exactly where he is, who he's with, what the other kids look like, it's comforting.  I'm in control of this situation when I drive him.  When he takes the bus?  I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT'S HAPPENING!!!.   I'm just supposed to send him off with this strange man who pulls up in front of the house in a yellow bus?  BUT I'M ALWAYS TELLING HIM TO AVOID STRANGERS!   And where will he sit?  Will he have a tattoo when he comes home?  And what if he forgets his backpack and/or lunch on the bus?  Then what will happen?  And what happens when they GET  to school?  They drop off in front, I always dropped him off at the side!  Will someone be there to walk him to his class?  DOES HE EVEN KNOW WHERE HIS CLASS IS??   And what happens at the end of the day?  How will he know which bus to get on????  HOW WILL HE MAKE IT HOME WITHOUT HIS MOMMY THERE TO HELP HIM???  Ahhh!  It's too much, I can't do it! ( Boy maybe I do have a problem.)  But, for a first time bus rider mommy, this is a lot of stuff to deal with.  This is some big letting go.  I just had to assume that it would all work out, kids ride the bus everyday and live through it.  They all manage to get to school and home again perfectly fine.  It was just very stressful, I've never let out this much leash before and it's hard.  I keep saying, "But he's only six!"  I have a feeling I'll be saying this until the day I die.  "He's not ready to live on his own yet, he's only twenty nine!"

          But as much as I hate to admit it, he IS growing up, and he IS capable of doing some things on his own now and not wandering off.  We go over the "what to do if a stranger tries to give you candy to get into his car" routine all the time.  First time I asked him this his answer was, "You go with him.  Duh.  He's got candy."  (So, my worry isn't TOTALLY unfounded here, people.) I just have to have confidence that he's taken to heart the things we've taught him and will remain alive during the time he's out of my direct line of sight. 
 
          All this has been a good learning experience for me, it's helping me to let go a little bit, which is something I NEED to do if I want him to be a confident independent kid, but part of me is just not ready to let my baby go yet.  What's next, letting him ride his bike around the block, where I can't see him?  I don't know about that, seems extreme. 

          Needless to say he DID arrive home alive and tattoo free the first day of taking the bus.  He loves it and doesn't ever want to ride in any other kind of vehicle again.  He's likes his school, hopefully he's learning some new things, and enjoying his new independence.  He's already making some new friends, when I asked him the other day if he had a best friend at school yet he said, "Yep, the bus driver."

For all the young lovers.....

        People are constantly asking me, "Kristin, what advice would you give to all the young people out there thinking about getting married?"  Okay so no one has ever actually asked me that, but you know, if they did this is what I'd tell them:  If you can help it, do not get married too young.  Wait, wait, wait, wait, go figure out who you are first, live your life, THEN get married, you know, if you want to.  No pressure.

        I was 32 when I got hitched and if I had to do it all over again I'd do it exactly the same way.   Your 20's are for having fun and finding our who you are, not for committing yourself to "forever". I don't know why everyone is in such a big hurry to do this. Is it the fear of being alone?  Alone can be a good thing sometimes. If it's love and it's real, it will last.  Man, someone should be writing this stuff down.

        We, as far as we know, only live once and your youth, once it's gone, that's it, poof, it's gone, and now it's time to take your teeth out and go to bed, grandpa.  You NEED to enjoy it.  This is imperative to your future happiness, trust me. Go out, be stupid, stay up late, pass out on friends couches, travel the world, live in different places, make bad decisions, work weird jobs, make out with strange people at parties and then knock over the Culligan water cooler because you and that guys name you can't remember both fall into it.....not that I've ever done that, um, but, you know.....I heard about someone doing it...

        My point it, THIS is the time to be young and make bad decisions, this is how you find out how to make GOOD decisions later on.  And I'm not even talking about all that good stuff that comes with age that makes it even smarter to wait:  better self control, better financial stability, and of course lower divorce rate for those that wait.  Sure all that is great, but what I'm talking about is this:  Go find out who you are first before you decide to strap on the old ball and chain (I really do love being married, but I also love making it sound like it's a pain in the ass. My husband and I say this stuff to each other all the time "Have we only been married nine years?  Jeez it feels SOOO much longer."  Then we fall on the couch laughing and make out.)

                                                               They're almost ready.

        Back to my point, your late teens and twenties are such a great time in your life, take advantage of it!  THIS is the time you get a free pass where no one will try to enroll you in treatment programs or counseling sessions, do the stuff now that you can't do later on.  I mean, sure, you COULD go out to clubs until 2am and knock over water coolers when you're 52 but I can tell you you'll look pretty stupid. At 21 it's acceptable, at 52 your family is holding interventions for you and people are saying, "Who's that old guy?  Shouldn't he be home with his family?" 

         When my husband and I started dating he was 29 and I was 28.  We'd both lived an entire life before we'd dated and when we met we were just ready, there were no questions of "what if" or "but I haven't done____ yet" because we'd both done what we'd wanted and had already had all those crazy/stupid/questionable adventures and we're just ready.  I know my husband is who is he because of all those crazy things he did in his twenties, as I am.  Do I have to worry about Doug wanting to go out to bars until all hours of the night or trying to find himself at hipster coffee houses?  Nope, you know why?  Because he already DID all that stuff, and guess what, after too many adventures and wrong roads gone down, with some right ones thrown in, he found himself, and thank God for that, because shortly after that he found me, and isn't he lucky? I really feel as though our marriage has benefited from both of us truly being grown ups when we got married.  I'm happier than I could have imagined I would being married to him, because he knows who he is, and I know who I am and our marriage is stronger for it.

        Now that we're in our 40's it's fun to sit back and reminisce about the old days.  It's great to have those memories about the things we did in our youth, would I want to go out and do that stuff NOW?  Heck no, but I sure am glad I did them, some good, some bad, but all learning experiences.  They taught me a lot about who I wanted to be and also taught me about the kind of person I wanted to be with.  You have to date a lot, and you have to be alone a lot too.  Being alone is one of the greatest things you can do for yourself.  It gives you confidence and an ability to really know yourself, without relying on another person to define you. This stuff is so important to your future happiness and to the health of your future marriage, if that's what you choose to do, again, no pressure. 

          The reason why I felt compelled to write about this is because I recently came across an old journal of mine from my college days at UCSB.  I was taking some sociology class that required us to keep a journal of what college life was like for us on a day to day basis.   I only have one word for this thing:  Hilarious!  I don't even recognize the girl who wrote this thing, and if it weren't for the familiar curlicue writing I would almost swear it wasn't me. I was 19, a freshman living in the dorms on campus, first time away from home, fresh out of high school (from a town I'd lived in my entire life), playing on the school softball team, trying to pass my classes, enjoying the fact that I could ditch school if it was sunny and go to the beach without my parents getting a call from the principal, you know, living the dream.  This is what I loved so much about college, no not the beach (although that was freaking great, I could see it from my dorm room window, beckoning me) it was the freedom I was given.  It was like, "So you're telling me I can go to bed whenever I want, I can eat chips for dinner, and not clean my room, ever, and no one will reprimand me?  Yahoo!  I LOVE COLLEGE."

       It was a great time.  It's like one day you're a kid, then the next you're an adult..... It really is the first day of the rest of your life.  You just have to learn to harness that freedom, something that took me two years to do.....see, who says academic probation is a bad thing.  It taught me to simmer down now and get my ass in gear.  "You don't have to make your bed if you don't want to but you do have to DO THE FUCKING CLASSWORK OR THEY WILL FAIL YOUR ASS."  Ah.  Point taken. 

       So, this journal.  In it I go on about all the kids in the dorms and how much "partying" they were all doing all of the time.   If you're not familiar with UC Santa Barbara it's one of the top party schools in the country, or at least was when I went there.  Sure I'd been to parties in high school, I even got drunk once or twice AND, gasp, even used to smoke cigarettes but it was nothing like what I was to experience in the college dorms.  In the dorms people were drunk A LOT, some all the time...definitely overdosing on their new freedom.

       I saw, and inhaled, sometimes knowingly, sometimes unknowlingly, my fair share of pot, ate uncooked Top Ramen for dinner (it's oddly tasty) so that I could afford a sixer of Keystone, saw friends drop acid, drove them to go buy ecstasy, and once babysat some friends in the mountains while they went on a mushroom trip.  It was very entertaining, me and two other girls agreed to be the caretakers in case anyone tripped too hard, we sat up with them all night while they stared at the trees (which they said were crying and sad about humanity.)  Those harder drugs always freaked me out, I stayed with the soft stuff, but I still had fun and got to experience all this on the peripheral. I got pretty good at bringing my friends down from bad trips.  I wonder if I can put that on a resume... 
 
       College dorm life was much different than what I was used to and I think I'd probably watched too many after school specials as a kid because, according to my journal, in the beginning I thought everyone was "in trouble" and "had a serious addiction problem and should seek help".  Talk about dramatic. I apparently was even giving out pamphlets to my friends on the dangers of drinking and smoking!  Pamphlets! Ha! I don't even remember doing this but according to my journal, I did.  My friends all were gracious and took the reading material even though I'm sure they threw it all away as soon as I left.  I just cannot picture myself doing this, oh brother, it's amazing I have any friends from those days left.   I just was not used to the partying and this new "lifestyle" and obviously went a little overboard on my judgements.  Sorry, everyone, I only judge you because I care.

       The journal was a really fun read, I went from Miss Goody Two shoes trying to sign my friends up for rehab to passing out fully clothed only to wake up with a penis drawn on my face.  Okay so that didn't happen to me (some of my friends weren't so lucky) but you get the picture.  By the end of my freshman year I'd fully embraced the college life.  But that's a good thing, I got to experience all that stuff I was supposed to experience, and after too many fun "adventures", you realize that maybe this isn't something you want to do for the rest of your life.  But if I HADN'T done it, maybe I would always be chasing the dream of "what if"....the dream is always more glamorous than the reality, but if you don't do it you don't know that.  Do this dumb shit when you're young so that when you finally DO settle down you can be content with your decisions and don't have to sit around wondering.  At least this is what it's done for me.  You change so much in that time frame of 16-27, and if you marry too young you're still going to grow and change, but you both may not grow in the same direction.  And I'm not saying you have to go out and party, but go out and do SOMETHING, travel, chain smoke in coffee shops while writing your novel, move to a different town, live on your own, dye your hair orange, just do something!

       If you DO get married young my hope for you is that you are able to find that person you can go out be adventurous WITH, so you can both grow together, on the same path.  I know this can happen, I've seen it, sadly it's just kind of rare.  Too many times couples grow onto different paths, which is natural, but soon enough find out they've become totally different people and ultimately end up splitting.  You change so much over the course of your youth, don't limit yourself, find out what's out there and what your place is in it.  THEN settle down and be that person.

      Now that I'm a parent I think of the future possibilities for our son, and all the things I would love for him to do. I want him to go to college, I want him to travel, I want him to make some iffy choices and as long as he calls him mommy everyday, I will help bury the body.  But if he ever tells us he's getting married at 19 I will lock him in his isolation pod and take away all of his micro chips, flying cars and stuff (because this will be way in the future) until he sees my point of view.

       Okay so maybe I won't be that harsh, but I will STRONGLY recommend that he waits....Of course he'll be allowed to do what he wants...and if he wants to get married at 19 so be it....but only if we approve of the girl....or guy.....whatever....we're cool....just as long as they're not an asshole, and that they live together before they get married (imperative), they have to have traveled, and have gone to college, and have lived in big city at least once in their life.....jeez I have a lot of requirements..

    So kids, love is great, love is grand, and if it's real it will wait for you.  Go live your life, and when you DO decide to settle down remember to pick a good one.  It's not easy to be with the same person day in and day out, and you'll probably want to kill them sometimes, but just make sure your desire to make out with them on the couch is just as strong as the murder thing and you'll be fine.

And don't forget to floss.