Wednesday, April 30, 2014

Some are like water, some are like the heat. Some are the melody, some are the beat...

Post-prom at the Gunghroo disco in Delhi
This weekend we are having a little unofficial high school reunion right here in DC.

I don't know what I'm going to wear! I mean, none of them are going to care. I could turn up in a jute sack and they would still love me.

But naturally, I want to look like my cutest self with the people around whom I am my favorite self.

I have been counting down for months. Months. Then weeks. And now we are down to days. Really, even hours if one were mathier than I and wanted to do it that way.

At this point, we're going to have about 43 people, some attending both Friday and Saturday, and some of whom can only make it one night. A lot of us are local, or anyway on the East Coast, but a surprising number live in Texas. One guy is coming from Sweden and another from Costa Rica! 

We've got private space for both nights - Friday in a bar/restaurant, and Saturday in an Indian restaurant.  We have the whole place, and the manager said that we can totally turn it into a dance party after dinner if we'd like. We can play whatever we want. He does DJing on the side, and said he'd bring lights.

People have been making playlists. Random songs I have not thought of since the disco in Delhi are surfacing. I mean, Brother Louie by Modern Talking?! Yes, please!

I am beyond excited.
I've poured my heart out before about how I feel about these people. About how they are home for me.

At the end of high school parties, we used to get in a big circle - I mean all of us - arms around each other, and sway to Lionel Richie's All Night Long (All Night). All connected, all glad to be together.

Can you tell how much I cannot wait for this?

Tuesday, April 29, 2014

Yeah, and she's probably a West End girl...

So this morning my old friend Richard shared this on Facebook.
Photo credit:
Loving all things 80s (except shoulder pads) with a deep and abiding passion, I could not resist jumping on the thread.

And she wore her Sunglasses at night...

While riding on the Metro...

Wanna play?

Thursday, April 24, 2014

Whatever may come and whatever may go that river's flowing

Every once in a while I say something to myself like, "I am so over suicide." Or, "The problem with suicide is..."

And then I have to laugh at myself. Yes, duh, Lisa.

It's like when I said to my dad, "Hang in there." And he responded with a twinkle in his eye that perhaps that wasn't such a great thing to say to someone like him.

And then, you know, he did.

The hilarity, it abounds.

Anyway. Suicide. Suicide is a heavy topic. It's soul-sucking. It's dreadful. Talking about suicide will pull you down every time. So, you know, hang in there.

Really, without any protective humor or sarcasm, I will say that what shocks and saddens me is that when I open up about my dad's suicide, I hear so many stories from people I know, although not well enough to know, if that makes sense. And blogging, I've gotten quite a number of private messages about it.

It is everywhere, and nobody talks about it. And people feel better when they feel like they can talk about it. When they do not feel alone.

Once you start talking, you learn that so many people know the crushing pain of suicide in their lives; even if they haven't experienced the tsunami of the loss of a loved one, they have felt the far-reaching ripples caused by the death of a colleague, acquaintance, neighbor...I hate that this is the case. And yet, it is.

Which brings me to the point of this little missive.

Once again I will be walking all night long (all night) to raise funds for the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. This year it's going to be in Philadelphia, a city I love. I don't know it well, but I suppose I'll know it a whole lot better after June 28.

This year I've set a goal of $5,000 - to commemorate five years of loss. It is sometimes hard to believe that next month, my dad will have been gone for five years. I have almost reached my goal. And honestly, I'd like to surpass it. But symbolically, the number five felt right.

A number of you so kindly supported me last year, and in fact have already done so this year. Thank you thank you.

If you have the resources, I would be so grateful if you would donate to this cause that is so terribly near to my heart.  Here is the link to my page and my story.

Most importantly, though, resources or no, would you spread the message that mental illness is no cause for shame? That silence and shame are killers, and that everyone deserves the love and support they need?



Wednesday, April 23, 2014

Our visit to the White House accompanied by many pictures of varying degrees of smiliness

We were lucky enough to get tickets in the lottery for the White House Easter Egg Roll.


Will we get to meet him? Probably not.
But then why did he invite us to his house? Well, he's invited lots of people.
Will we get to see him? I don't know. Maybe! Wouldn't that be awesome?

By the time they were all dressed up, they were kind of...tired.
But then we got all jazzed again! We were going to Daddy's office! Where we would see the fish! And then we would go to the White House! And it would be awesome!

Mama was foolish enough to wear 4" heels. Because she lacks judgment.  And why is she currently writing about herself in the third person? Hell if she knows.

In any case, I wore, the heels, and there was a TON of walking just to get to the point where you get in an exclusive line with 6 kabillion other Easter Egg Rollers.  Which we were in for an hour and a half.

Which didn't go over so well with the kids. India wanted to be held almost the whole time. By me. Finally Nick convinced her to ride on his shoulders.
They were temporarily entertained by the program.
Eventually we got in the gates, and the parents were the only ones impressed by the backdrop.
We got in line for the Official Egg Roll, which is also where you can take an Awesome Photo. The volunteers tell you to Keep It Moving. So you tell your kids to SMILE. And they basically say FUCK YOU WE ARE TIRED OF THIS NONSENSE.

I think if we can get tickets again when the kids are older, it will be great. As it was, they weren't interested in any of the activities beyond the egg roll, in which India sat down and tried to eat the egg, and Jordan wanted to throw it.

They were both too scared to take pictures with the big fuzzy characters. Even the awesome Lego ones. Even the compelling and odd green elephant.
Jordan was crushed that we did not see President Obama. Crushed. And tired.
And then on the way out, to the tremendous delight of our kids, we got boxes of Peeps, a frozen yogurt sample, and a commemorative egg.

All in all, I'd say it was a great success.

Tuesday, April 22, 2014

Two, my love. And wuv, two wuv, will fowow you foweva...

Dear India,

You are two and you are in charge, and boy howdy, are you TWO!

I feel like every morning you wake up saying new things. Your latest ones are: "I want to taste it." "I no like it." "Sorry, Jordan. I no mean it."

You have such strong opinions and wants, and you cannot yet voice them all, but you can SHRIEK! Basically, you do a great job of making yourself understood. Lately you've become obsessed with lip balm. "Lips, Mommy. Lips! LIPS!"

Apparently we have your little friend Colette, or rather her mother, to thank for this one. It's not that I mind sharing lip balm; it's that you spread it all over your face and then start eating it.
Like the rest of the universe, we are in love with Frozen, and you will request it by saying, "Frozen fractals all around!" We listen to it in the car and you and Jordan sing along. You both love the first song where they're splitting the ice.

I always put it on while making dinner or when I need to get something done, so sadly, I've still not seen it all the way through.

One of these days I'm going to watch it start to finish when everyone is asleep.

Here you are using the potty (which you've expressed extreme interest in - hello, kid #2!) and riveted by those fractals.
 The words I often use to describe you are "firecracker" and "bulldozer" - and while both are true, they're kind of unfair. Because you're also incredibly sweet and loving and so very affectionate. You give hugs and blow kisses and like nothing more than to fling your arms around Dad's or my neck and hold on like a little monkey on a branch. Until you see something you want, and then you are off like a shot.

You are a terrific eater, but so was Jordan, so I fear the days of spaghetti are coming. Right now you love mozzarella and tomatoes drizzled with olive oil, and you love tabouleh. You're a big meat eater as well.

Sleep has gotten better, thank goodness. You're still not the sleeper your brother has always been. Nana says that in fact, you are just like me as a kid. And Pat, who has known me my whole life, says seeing you in action is poetic justice.

You sometimes make me very tired and you can drive me crazy and you are an absolute beam of pure joy. All swirled together like a rainbow with sprinkles on top and wrapped in puppy kisses.

I tell you and your brother a story in the dark every night before bed. You and your friends are the main characters, but often you're mad about the lead-up to bed, and refuse to be in the story. Until it gets good, like they're eating ice cream or riding on a train or something, and then you say, "India! India!"

It's hard to believe that we only met you two years ago Saturday. It feels like you've been here forever, and I can't imagine my life without you.

I love you like sunshine.



Thursday, April 17, 2014

India, that's not for playing with!

We have this rule at our house that you cannot take off your underwear until you get inside the front door.

Now, this would apply to all of us, but really, the rule is only necessary for the under-four-foot set. Because typically, Jordan just can't wait to get his pants off. They're sandy. They're wet. They're green.

And then, then it's a short leap to the removal of underwear.

Now India likes to do this as well. And since she's starting to use the potty, which we want to encourage, there is a lot of running around half-nakey.  The other day I walked into the kitchen and Jordan was wearing nothing but one sock.

They have a bath just about every night, partly to get clean, but also because they have such a good time playing together. I'm not sure at what age the joint baths stop.

And I don't know about you, but we've called his penis a penis ever since the beginning. I remember visiting Maude's family in Tunisia when I was about eight or nine (I think). This is also the trip where their maid tried to force Maude and me into smoking a cigarette. 

Anyway, the important point for this story is that their mom said something to my mom about Adam hitting his tallywhacker on a doornob.

I remember this for two reasons: one, I was fascinated by the word tallywhacker. And two, how on earth did he manage to hit it on a doornob? At a year younger than us, there's no way Adam's tallywhacker was anywhere near the doornob. Did he leap off the bed and hit it on the way down? Was he standing on a chair right by the door?

I never asked, and I still wonder. Not that I spend my time thinking about Maude's brother's penis, but well, actually, I guess I do.

Anyway, in the bath my kids play with bubbles and boats, and cars, and princesses. They scoop water. They brush teeth (sort of). Sometimes Jordan will lay back in the tub to get his own hair wet, rather than me washing it.

So the other night India looked over at Jordan's reclined body, noticed his penis, and gave it a yank.

I could see why. It was just right there. I doubt they still have cigarette vending machines, but I remember seeing the nobs and pulling on them out of curiosity. It was kind of like that. Hey, there's something sticking out. Pull!

Jordan was surprised and outraged, as one might be. He sat up right quick. "INDIA! That's my penis! It's not for playing with!"

(Oh, my sweet boy, are you in for a surprise.)

Thursday, April 03, 2014

Which is fine as I've never grown out of the 80s really anyway

Today I linked to this post from when I was 21 weeks pregnant with Jordan - which was FIVE years ago today! Five years!

Five years ago I was pregnant and thinking I was enormous. Ha! And five years ago today my dad was still alive, and would be for another six weeks.

Five years ago we hadn't yet signed our lives and first-born away to buy the grand hotel and sink our blood and sweat and tears into it for, well, ever.

Five years ago we hadn't so many things. There's a lot to chew on.

One of my friends remarked on my post that it was the golden age of blogging in DC back then, which was true. It was so much fun to blog and meet other local bloggers.  I was very immersed in it and made a number of friends who became in-person friends that I still see, even though some of them have left blogging behind.

I wonder periodically if I should do the same. I read a line somewhere recently about blogging being so eight years ago or something of the sort, and I was thinking, well, yah. But I like it. I don't do it so much anymore, particularly as I'm trying to focus on other writing, but...I like it.

So at the moment, my little corner of the Internet is still here. No matter how eight years ago I might be.