This is my cousin and me before life got complicated.
I’m the brunette and she’s the blond – and, thus, the matching color-hued dolls.
It was always such.
We often wore matching outfits. Our mothers, sisters, shopped together.
Relatives would often give us the same gift but just slightly different – different color, scent or style. To the point where we had to coordinate gift opening on Christmas to prevent either of us from ruining the surprise for the other.
She is 4 months and 4 days older than me. Her daughter is 4 months and 27 days older than my son. You would think we coordinated that but it actually happened quite naturally.
A cousin is a little bit of childhood that can never be lost.
Yes. I love my cousins, my special, special friends.
In fact, I’m not really anywhere. I don’t know which way is up, or down, or sideways either. I can’t tell if it’s morning or night, and the work days seem to blend into the weekends.
I no longer have much interest in interacting much on Facebook, Instagram or Twitter. I try. I fail. Miserably.
Friends? Socializing? Huh? What are these things you speak of?
Eight years ago I thought having a toddler, a baby, a working spouse and a full-time job was difficult. That was until I had 8 & 9 year olds, a full-time all-ohmyword-consuming job and a husband who acts in community theatre.
This post is brought to you by 7 weeks of my husband having nearly daily rehearsals and essentially leaving me as a solo mom at night and on Saturdays. And it’s brought to you by a vast well of work disappointment (that I won’t speak about here but trust me, it’s vast.) It’s brought to you by a perpetually messy house and some sleepless nights. It’s brought to you by loneliness. And it’s brought to you by Ally McBeal.
Yes, Ally McBeal. The TV show and the character. My best friend and I used to watch Ally McBeal together. Well, technically, I was living in Idaho and she was in California and we would call each other on the commercials to talk about what had JUST happened. Then we would hang up. Then call back again. It was one of those things.
Ever since Netflix came into my life I’ve wished that Ally McBeal was available for streaming. I’ve checked a few times a year. Last week my wishes came true. YES.
As I type this I’m sitting on my sofa with my laptop in front of me and my iPad streaming Ally next to me. With headphones, though, because my kids are watching Spy Kids in the same room. (So, yes, I’m sort of keeping an eye on them. That’s enough, right?)
And I’m loving this.
I’m watching Calista Flockhart in all her floopiness. She was the original Zooey Deschanel, you know. She was quirky before quirky was cool.
Oh, and the unisex! Fishisms! Do you remember, “knee pit?” The dancing baby. Vonda Shepard. The biscuit! And Barry White. “We got it together, didn’t we? We got it together, baby.”
And , of course, Robert Downey Jr. before he was Iron Man. Younger and devastatingly handsome. And crooning. I just watched this clip:
There’s something very comforting about watching this. I loved him on this show. He and Ally were magical.
For the length of this 40 minute episode I’m not an exhausted mommy anymore. I can forget about work frustrations, I can throw a blind eye to the laundry, and I can even, temporarily, keep myself from saying, “Don’t stand on the sofa! Don’t throw toys at the TV! Don’t fart on your brother’s head!”
(You’d be surprised how often that last one comes up).
So thank you Netflix and thank you Ally McBeal. Thank you for being the escape comforting me today.
You know how you hear a specific bit of music, for years, and it’s just background noise with very little impact and then one day you hear it, REALLY, REALLY HEAR IT and you’re blown away? Just absolutely floored?
So I realize it’s sad to admit that this was the catalyst but nevertheless here goes. Several weeks ago I caught a re-run of Glee with Kristin Chenoweth guesting (OMG, LOVE HER) and she was singing Dreams by Fleetwood Mac. And it was her voice and the music in that moment and as she sang:
Now here you go again You say you want your freedom Well who am I to keep you down It’s only right that you should Play the way you feel it But listen carefully to the sound Of your loneliness Like a heartbeat.. drives you mad In the stillness of remembering what you had And what you lost… And what you had… And what you lost
I fell in love. With the song. With the moment. With the feeling. I was crushed and moved.
Then I remembered how much I love Stevie Nicks. That chick rocks. She’s bad ass and she just does her own thing and doesn’t apologize for it.
Then, back to Glee, they did Never Going Back Again with like 12 guitars and it freakin’ rocked. And I loved it. And, hello, the original is Lindsey-freaking-Buckingham.
So I downloaded both songs (the Fleetwood Mac versions) to my iPhone and I’ve had them on repeat. They just seem to perfectly fit right now. Does that make sense? You know how music can match a time or a feeling at a certain time? Yeah, that. I really just need to download the whole album. That’s next.
This post brought to you by collar bones, 80’s hair and heart-shaped rhinestone earrings. Oy.
This was my first junior/senior formal. I went with my “boyfriend” from jr. high. He was the kid that had lived around the corner and we would “go out” for a while (like a week) and then break up and then “go out” again. And again. He was a year older so I think I bullied him into taking me since I was only a sophomore. 😉
I keep this pic and one other tucked into the mirror on my dresser. Sometimes I wish I could take that girl, shake her, and tell her all the things she should or shouldn’t do in the next 15 years! Just so she would have an easier time. Just so she won’t have regrets.
Alas, I wouldn’t be who I am today if she hadn’t plunged on, heedless of the consequences, and experienced all that she did. There are more good memories than bad, thankfully.
I was actually pretty tame in comparison to a lot of people my age but, like everybody, I have things I would have done differently.
When I was young I used to hang out at my best friend, Erin’s, house across the street and watch the movie Eddie & the Cruisers over and over. AND over. We would lay on the floor in front of the TV in her parents’ family room and people had to step over us to get through the room. Erin used to push the buttons on the VCR with her toes. Odd the things we remember, isn’t it?
Anyway, I loved the movie then and I still do now. Here are some clips for you:
If you haven’t seen it then I fully recommend watching it some Sunday afternoon when it’s raining, the kids are sleeping or gone, and you’re feeling a little introspective. And drool over Michael Pare in tight jeans and leather jackets (long before he turned into the asshole, cheating husband in Hope Floats). Note: the Eddie & the Cruisiers sequel isn’t even a fraction as good as the first one, but it does tell you what in the hell happened after the somewhat ambiguous end to the first one. Personally I LIKE the ambiguity; I don’t need to know the whole mundane story. But maybe that’s just me.
This is the house I grew up in and it’s currently for sale. The house looks different than when I lived in it. We didn’t have so many flowers. Holy cow. But it still looks like my house. My old bedroom is behind the arch closest to the garage. There were Spanish style shutters inside the bedroom windows – which was a really interesting concept for a 7 or 8 year old. We eventually took them down.
I lived there during the majority of my growing up years. My “formative years,” I guess. My best friend lived across the street and then moved next door (and gained a pool. bonus). I had several other friends that lived in the neighborhood. The street used to dead end and we always played in that field as kids. My best friend’s stinky older brother and his friend used to pick on us and throw things at us in that field. There was one tree that had a tire swing on it that we loved (and was the best tree to use as our “fort”). Oh, and one time I found a porno mag in that field. Was that ever elucidating! Eeek. (My mom found me with it and I’m sure she must have completely freaked out).
Then, in my early teens, my friends and I would sneak out of my bedroom window during sleep-overs to go tee-pee friends’ houses. Or just go meet with boys. It was innocent stuff though, thank goodness, because I got caught every time. (The darn screens on the windows were SCREWED IN and do you know how hard it is to screw them back in in the dark?) (When I got older I didn’t have to sneak out AND I learned how to not get caught when I was being ornery. But that’s a different story.)
So many memories at this house. My dad mowing the lawn every Saturday morning. Our big half Golden/half Bernard dog Shawna who we got when I was two and died when we lived there. My first ten-speed bike. My best friend and I sitting out there on the grass under the stars in 1987ish listening to our radio and crying because our parents wouldn’t let us go to the Bon Jovi concert (we were about 12 or 13). Watching the neighborhood teenagers with envy and wondering when I would be that old. Then, when I was that old, my first formal date coming to pick me up here in his ’73 Mustang fastback. I loved that car and I loved the dress I wore that night.
My old house is for sale. Somebody with kids should buy it and love it. Then their kids can have precious memories of living there like I do.
In conjunction with my sisters post last night, here’s a family themed Flashback Friday:
From left to right, that’s my brother, my mom & dad, me holding my nephew, my sister holding my niece and my brother-in-law. I think this was when I was in 8th grade. I loved those white pants! They had zipper pockets just above the pleated front. Eeek. Go 80’s fashion.
This was back when our family was fairly normal. Or so I thought. My brother & sister were from my dad’s first marriage and I was from my mom’s first marriage – but then dad adopted me as a baby so he’s the only dad I know. Because I was a baby when this family “merged” it was a long time before I realized that we actually were a combined family.
I was only 7 when my sister got married so my brother-in-law has almost always been my brother-in-law, you know? (Except now they are divorced, after 27 years of marriage, and he’s set up housekeeping (antiquated terminology – love it) with my cousin on my mom’s side. That’s another story for another day. At least he’s still in the family.)
I’m on the right, and my long, long-time friend, Sham, is on the left. Winter Formal 1992. I cropped out the boys. They don’t matter so much.
We had FUNNNNNN that night. More fun than we should have legally had at that age. (Literally).
I loved that dress. L.O.V.E.D. I miss it. There’s a dispute over what happened to it. I think I left it in my mom’s care, while she’s sure I had it. Hmmm. Whatev – letting it go. (See? No Negative Nelly here).
Can I just point out how prominently my collar bone is standing out? I mean, I thought I was fat then. For reals. (Which is my phrase of the day. For reals.) In other news: I have a PROJECT. I have officially decided to strip my bedroom to bare bones, paint, and re-flippin’-do the whole room. Which has never officially been “done” because we always intended to “do” it and, guess what, it’s been 5 years. I will be shopping for inspiration this weekend. I need to choose some bedding to get a color scheme going. Stay tuned.
Wise Sass 