What Words With Friends Has Taught Me About Life

No introductory paragraph needed for this one.

In my years of playing Words With Friends, I have learned:

1. Humility...because I suck at Words With Friends (even though I pride myself on having an expansive vocabulary).

2. Dignity.  I pretty much take losing in stride (and no one can hear the expletives in my head or see me hover my finger precariously over the resign tab when I'm really getting my ass kicked).

3. Perseverance. Even when I am down 100 points, I still forge onward and turn BAT into BATS for 7 points...making me 94 points closer to being in the lead.

4. About the glass ceiling. Boys are better than me at Words With Friends, like 98% of the time.  Go figure.

5.  Resolve. When life or your tile bag hands you lemons, make lemonade...or za, qi, haj, xi, xu, and jo and then keep on keepin' on.

6.  Optimism. With each new WWF challenge I accept, I believe the universe will take care of me, just like after my divorce.  I know that one day, I will get the perfect tile lineup and make a 100+ point word.   That day just doesn't seem to be today.

Up-to-date Updates

Wow, I've been doing this for a year.  Well, for a little longer than a year.  The anniversary was in February, but I'm too busy paying attention to other time milestones in my life--how old EJ is, how long I've been divorced, how long my current relationship has lasted, etc.--not how long I've been on blogspot.  For any anniversary in my life, I like to take some time to acknowledge, celebrate (read, eat dessert in honor of), and reflect on whatever it is that's made it for a whole year. So, in honor of my poorly-named blog's anniversary, I perused my story inventory and have decided to share some updates, in case some of you have been up at night wondering how things have turned out.  Here goes:

I have hit or exceeded 10,000 steps on my Fitbit exactly seven times (picture the monkey covering eyes emoji).

I am no longer out on the dating scene.  I've been in a relationship for over a year, so I have no new good material about awkward first dates.  One thing of note: I never heard from the pretentious boyfriend again after his break-up email, which I know is a shocker.  And, in case you are wondering, pinky swear, I have never looked him up and have no idea what places he checking into on Four Square now (is that still a thing?).

EJ's sleeping is a bit better, but it's still pretty jenky.  However, what's jenkiest now is his eating.  He no longer eats pasta, so the main staple of every meal is an open jar of peanut butter with a spoon shoved inside because he doesn't like bread.  Thank goodness for yogurt too, but other than that, all he will eat is fruit, those damn pouches, and snack foods.  I'm told it will get better and can only hope for the day when he will bite into a processed chicken nugget. My favorite (sarcastic italics) thing about the eating debacle is people's well-intended advice.  Kind friends and strangers are hoping I can change EJ's food aversions with these profound tidbits of knowledge:  "Have you tried making him a sandwich?"  "Have you given him mini waffles?"  "Do you know they make character-themed fish sticks?"  Yes, yes, and hell yes, but thanks anyway people.

I am getting away again in June, so stayed tuned for a new toe shot with a turquoise ocean in the background.  To keep it interesting, I will select a different nail color.

My best roomie, Mom, is very healthy and feeling great!

And now the big one: my post-divorce where are they now? update.  I don't know why I haven't gotten around to mentioning it, but, wait for it...EJ's father married the woman with whom he had an affair and they have twin daughters who are sixth months younger than EJ (pause for a quick math calculation).  I guess I took so long to tell because I was waiting for Jerry Springer to accept my submission to be on his show (is that still a thing?).  They lived in California for a year and a half, but moved back to the east coast last January and now see EJ every other weekend.  There is a lot more to tell here (I'm baiting you!), but I will tread carefully as my ex-husband and I are co-parenting successfully and getting along for the sake of our son.

Oh, and spring didn't friggin' come in Febrrrary.  Or March.  Boo.  But it's here now.  Yay.

Now, onto year two.

Febrrrary

I can't even stand it.  This month has been endless.  Icy, filthy snow covers every surface. Biting, frigid winds make you long for balmy 30-degree days.  Summer seems like it never happened. Spring feels like it will never come.

Winter is not a shock to me either. In the northeast, cold and snow are to be expected, but not like this. This is a soul-crushing sort of winter.

I think EJ feels it too.  We've been cooped up for what seems like eons...and mind you, I work full-time and still feel this way.  He and I are bored.  We've played with all the toys/games and done the crafts (and unfortunately, that idea pool is limited...a two-year-old ain't playing Candyland or doing decoupage).  EJ's grandma even got him into baking, and he had a pretty good run with that. Unfortunately, he ate nothing he created, so I got stuck eating cookies and muffins that I knew had eggshells and sneezes in them.  I put the kibosh on that activity four pounds into January. Soon after, the game "Blanket" became a hit.  For about 45 or so minutes, EJ would either cover me in a blanket and run in for hugs, or roll himself in it and walk around like some sort of Grecian philosopher.  I don't know what the allure was, but it sure helped pass the time.

And then February hit.  The temperature stayed in the single digits.  The skies were perpetually gray. The blanket game became stale for EJ, as did some other favorites like pretending to pencil in his toddler furniture.   A week into the month, our morale was sunk and our crankiness escalated.

But, something happened today while I stayed home to nurse EJ back to health after his tenth cold. We'd been awake since four, so by eight, I could tell he wanted to hit up the Dunkin' Donuts drive-thru for a large coffee, I mean a treat for himself, and I decided to oblige him.  

As we walked through the frozen tundra to our car, I squinted my eyes.  Wait a minute. What was that color?  Blue.  And that bright thing?  The sun.  In the car, the thermostat read 20 degrees.  A radio announcer said something about March Madness.  I thought I was hearing things.  At dusk, when I closed the blinds, I realized it was well after five o'clock. Eureka.  

These simple, unrelated things are all faintly whispering "Spring."   It is coming.  It is coming, and it's bringing with it renewal and freedom and fun and hope and warmth. And this year, I won't wait for the clocks to change, or a certain temperature, or a certain date to say Spring has arrived.  I'll know it's here when the whispers become louder and more self-assured.  I know it will be a while, but for now, in the monotony and drudgery of Febrrary,  I'll scour the scenery for signs and just listen.   

Not Fit One Bit

It's winter, and as the temperature has dropped, my weight has gone up.  I can list my reasons (ahem-excuses) for this.  It's really cold.  It gets dark at 4:30.  Cookies taste good.  EJ wakes up too early. My gym is crowded, and that's annoying.  I don't have any Lululemon workout clothes.  I think my running sneakers are old and I could get shin splints.  I'm tired. Wine tastes good. Bread with butter is everything.

So one morning, when I once again couldn't find pants that fit, I decided that I'd had enough and did what any other true American would do...I threw money at the problem.

I drove, not walked to my nearest electronics store and bought a Fitbit.  It was going to be a real game-changer, I could feel it.  I charged the device and downloaded the app on my phone as I ate veggie straws.  I felt fitter already.  I then scoffed at the goal of 10,000 steps daily...of course I could do that...I'm an ACTIVE teacher constantly flitting around nurturing young minds, and, wait for it, my classroom is on the SECOND floor, so I'm walking up and down stairs everyday...make it  more like 20,000 steps, Fitbit.

Astonishingly, I've been Fit-bitter, err, a Fit-bitter for a few weeks, and my pants are still tight.  I've only hit 10,000 steps once. It's quite shameful.  One day, it was only 4,000.  Gulp.  I thought I was SO much more active than that.

I've done everything except actually workout to try to up my step count.  I made a board on Pinterest about getting in shape. I read health magazines. I march in place as my students answer questions.  I climb the stairs a few extra times during the day.  I walk to the faculty bathrooms in the farthest bowels of the school (pun!).  But, 10,000 steps continues to elude me.

I've thought about strapping my Fitbit onto an animal while I sleep.  That has to be good for a few thousand steps.  I have also considered purchasing a Shake Weight (those things work, right?) in the hopes that I can at least tone my arms while the shaking motion increases my step count.  But, I've stopped myself from this type of scheming because when you cheat your Fitbit, who really wins?

So, I'm back to step, err, square one.  I guess all I can really do to reach 10,000 steps is move more.  Maybe even go to the gym once in a while.  I guess some good old fashioned hard work and mild sacrifice is called for...sacrifice beyond wearing a rubber bracelet that clashes with my outfits and jewelry.  I'll let you know how it goes.

In Memoriam

I remember you dancing a lot.  Whether it was a group or solo performance, it didn't matter.  The rhythm spoke to you...even that damn Electric Slide song.  My favorite dance compilation was to the Dirty Dancing soundtrack.  Please find Patrick Swayze up there and show him your moves.

I remember you taking us skiing for the first time...four kids to only one parent.  We got into a car accident on the way there...flew over a snow bank and into a ditch.  After we were towed out, you felt like we still needed to hit the slopes and not waste the trip.  What a trooper.

I remember you telling us to just "let it go"...way before Frozen came on the scene.  You urged us to be more carefree and less uptight.  Very important lessons for Type-A worriers.

I remember you on vacation.  You had fun, which you always did, but it was really heightened by tropical drinks and sunsets. Good times.

I remember you being a good sounding board.  A second mom.  You offered me a fresh perspective on my life, another fork in the road I could take.

I remember Friday night sleepovers and pizza dinners.  We could stay up later at your house, and you were always willing to let us spend the night and try to get out of Saturday morning cleaning at ours'.

I remember summers with you.  Beach trips and backyard BBQ's.  Days that started early and ended late without formal props and plans, but were magical just the same.

I remember your "every day is a gift" attitude.  You really felt and lived this way.  I always found it remarkable...partly because I'm pretty cynical, partly because you'd been through so much.  You  never let things get you down for long.  You always stood back up and truly enjoyed life, grateful for the tiny moments of each day.  Coffee on the porch, sunsets, a good book, sharing Facebook messages.

I remember you always encouraging us to live freely and love fiercely...whilst maintaining our independence and self-reliance.

I remember you being there when EJ was born.  And at his first birthday.  And at his second.  Thank you.

One week ago, a lovely, loving, brave, funny, smart, sassy woman passed away. She will be dearly missed by those who loved her, and even if you didn't know her, her life and what she stood for should be remembered by us all. 

I'm On A Plane

Where to begin?  Let's start with the where. Newark to LAX to visit my sister and brother-in-law for Christmas.  

My days pre-trip were plagued with high anxiety about flying with a toddler--so much so that I almost pulled the plug on the trip twice. And yes, I know "everyone does it" (eye roll), but that didn't offer my virgin mom-flyer self any solace.  

The trip to LA is the longer of the two legs. Astonishingly, It was a breeze. People were friendly. And helpful. No lines, no hassle, no shoes removed, and not a lot of idle waiting around. I almost expected sparrows to fly up and hand me a card at the gate that said we'd been bumped to first class. And, on the flight, EJ was a dream. Like poster child, front of Sky Mall catalog dream (minus the yorgurt stains on his shirt). Sat in his seat the whole time. Displayed enough excitement to be cute but not annoying. Didn't cry once. Napped for two hours. Became an expert finger manipulator of i-Pad toddler puzzles (hello, Harvard). I actually watched a movie and read a magazine. I don't even get to do that at home.  In fact, once we landed, I decided that EJ and I were going to travel all over the world. And, since flying was so simple, I could start to dress like those posh, stylish traveler ladies I envied as I double-knotted my Nikes and the waistband of my sweatpants. 

Then we landed and our trip happened.

And now I'm back on a plane. And reality has hit. Apparently my first flight was a unicorn of air travel experiences. This time, I got the real deal, dawg. Crowds. Lines. Endless waiting. Everyone coughing and sneezing. Grumpiness. A toddler perpetually on the brink of a meltdown. No personal TVs. An understocked drink cart. No nap, which means no bathroom for me, as EJ cannot know walking in the aisle is an option. I am frazzled, smelly, achy, and tired, and now my first flight seems like a mirage in the desert (probably because I'm thirsty). As I curl my knees to my chest and position the i-Pad so that EJ can watch "Planes" from an angle that doesn't make him cry, I am thanking the lord for my sweatpants, and now that stylish lady two rows up in the houndstooth cape and skinny Hudson jeans just looks ridiculous.

We'll be landing soon. And I know flying will become like so many other parental experiences--from childbirth to driving lessons. I'll be proud of myself for getting through it, forget all the rough parts, and want to do it again. See you soon, friendly skies.

Deeds and Monuments

In the midst of the hustle and bustle of this holiday season, I've been reminded about what's really important.  Unfortunately, poignant reminders often come on the wings of sadness, tragedy, or despair, but if some good is garnered from bad, then so be it.


Since the only books I am reading lately are about first plane rides (EJ and I will be visiting LA for Christmas), magical elves who race to tell Santa when you refuse to eat your peas, and various animals using the potty for the first time, I will once again refer to a book I'm reading aloud to my fifth grade class.  My genius is profound, I know.

I'll spare you a synopsis of  R.J Pallacio's Wonder, and just say it's a phenomenal book with so much depth, substance, and humor.  Really good stuff. Anyways, the chapter I just finished reading to the kids revolves around the precept/quote YOUR DEEDS ARE YOUR MONUMENTS.  I keep thinking about that as myself and people everywhere race around to purchase, wrap, and give away stuff, stuff, stuff.  And sure, the stuff is great.  Big or small, expensive or simple, gifts bring joy to those around us.  I'm seeing this firsthand as my two-year-old receives presents and squeals "Whoa!?" for every single thing he opens...from a racecar track to the pack of AA batteries that powers it. But what happens in the weeks and months after the holidays when the new stuff is old hat and broken in?  What are we remembering then? Not the stuff.

We are all surrounded by temples, totem poles, and towers.  They are the monuments of those we love...unseen manifestations of legacies built up brick by brick by their words and actions. I've been lucky enough to know so many wonderful, strong, funny, good people who have left me a plethora of heartwarming memories....enough to fill dozens of museums and be archived in my memory forever...free to visit whenever I need.

I sometimes wonder what my monuments look like...what memories I'm leaving behind for my family and friends.  And, as I get caught up in the business of December, I'm trying to leave scraps of kindness and good deeds that will certainly outlive anything I can put in a box and wrap. I hope you do the same.  Happy holidays.