Not So Fast

Last time I sat down to write one of these things, I was filled with optimism. That's what a good day will do for you. You see that light at the end of the tunnel, you slap on those sunglasses and head right for it. Too bad the little sucker's batteries die just as you get close enough to touch it.

It's tough to see your kids struggle. But it's even tougher to see them making the same mistakes over and over again. Stepping in only makes matters worse and butting out is impossible. Especially when they're sleeping down the hall. You're caught in that "no mans land" they talk about on the tennis court and no matter what you do, somebody ends up feeling lousy.

And until somebody turns that light back on, it's me.

They Might Surprise You

I don't want to start spouting cliches or anything (I can hear you haters out there saying, "What is she talking about . . . start?") but that old saying of "being darkest before the dawn" feels like truth right now. Just when you're ready to throw your hands up in the air, believing that your kids will never get it; that they will never accept responsibility for their own lives and grow up, something miraculous happens. They blow you out of the water with a random act of kindness or they step up and show themselves to be the kind of amazing human beings you felt sure they were all along.

I'm convinced that God loves to mess with our heads; to give us one encouraging, uplifting day that makes us forget about a few of the other ones. And this one did. From my son's willingness to share information about a fact-finding mission at the local college to my daughter's unexpected generous offer to partially subsidize the cancelled cruise I so whiningly described in a previous blog, I found it hard to wipe the smile off my face.

In the days following, I've had several interesting (if not particularly long) conversations with my son about a wide-ranging set of subjects and a quick game of Yahtzee. I know, it doesn't sound like much but it sure beats what passed for our recent communication. And, as for my daughter, we didn't take her money (as much as I might have wanted to) but we did accept her promise to treat us to an anniversary splurge at one of the specialty restaurants whenever we reschedule that cruise. Surprisingly, she didn't even look remotely relieved when she returned the money to her purse.

Now, if I can get them to put their dishes in the dishwasher or pull the vacuum out of the closet once in awhile, I might not have anything else to write about.

Reality is Highly Overrated

I've been hunkering down for the last couple of months with Italian guidebooks and cruise brochures - my favorite reading materials. I've mapped out possible train routes, visited Trip Advisor for the latest review of hotels in the Cinque Terre and calculated how to use our remaining frequent flier miles in the most efficient manner. I'm one of the those people who LOVE to plan vacations. I love the minutiae of picking out the right hotel; the best cruise ship; the perfect itinerary. And the best part - knowing that that travel date is out there in the future just waiting for me. I can put up with a lot of disappointment and stress when I know that date is on the calendar. It doesn't matter how many months down the road it might be - it's out there. As far as I'm concerned, you can have expensive jewelry, uncomfortable shoes and over-priced clothes - give me a memorable trip to a far away land any day.

But now I have to face the facts. As much as I want to throw reason out the porthole, I can't ignore the reality that now is not a good time for us to go. As much as I want to celebrate our upcoming birthdays and anniversary, the festivities will have to wait. It's funny. Many times I have been the voice of reason when my children were ready to jump into something without thinking it through; many times I have cautioned them to think with their heads instead of their hearts; many times I have warned them that they would be sorry if they didn't save their money for a rainy day.

Well, it's raining. And I have to listen to my own advice. And it sucks.

To Be or Not to Be. . .

As a mom you're kind of conditioned to put your kids' needs in front of your own. You shower when they're napping, you go to Disney World instead of a cottage in Fiji and you share the last chocolate cupcake even when you're deep in PMS I'd-kill-for-chocolate mode. When you've been behaving like that for a couple of decades, it's not easy to come to terms with your dormant selfish side.

Case in point: I'm celebrating a big birthday this year. I won't say which but it's not 50 and it sure as hell ain't 70. Ditto my darling husband. We're also celebrating our 30th anniversary. Any one of these events would be worth celebrating (translation - drinking heavily through) but all three in the same year deserve some special attention - at least they do in my book. Naturally for me, that means a trip to Italy. And therein lies the problem. I want to go. I deserve to go. But I just may not be able to justify actually doing it. Not this time.

When your husband is "restructuring his career" (read temporarily unemployed), your two grown kids have set up camp in their old rooms, and you can't find a cruise itinerary that thrills you, maybe the universe is trying to tell you something. While I might like to kid myself into thinking that it's trying to tell me: a) he needs to get away, b) they'll be just fine and c) take that great deal anyway, I'm realistic enough to know that maybe it's telling me that this is not the right time; that my patience will be rewarded if I just step back and wait for the timing to be better. Maybe I need to put everyone else's needs ahead of my own one more time.

Or maybe I have to realize that there never is a perfect time to do anything and just go for it.

When All Else Fails. . .

Whenever I'm feeling down and out, I try to buy myself a little something - nothing extravagant (unless you count that Italy trip when I was really, really depressed) just a small treat to remind myself to look on the bright side. Since today hasn't gone well, I'm thinking I'm ready for that indulgence and tomorrow I'm going shopping - for a new lipstick.

Before you think that this blog is turning into a commercial for cosmetics (my last one was about finding a great foundation), I have to confess that my search for the perfect lipstick is a never-ending journey of frustration and disappointment. And I have come to the conclusion that there is no such thing. They're either too dry, too wet, too dark, too light, too pink, too brown or too glossy. They're either too creamy or not creamy enough. They either make your lips tingle (and not in a good way), wear off within minutes, bleed into the wrinkles above my upper lip or taste terrible. They've landed on the moon, invented the internet and made Honey Boo-Boo famous and no one has been able to create a perfect lipstick. At least not for me.

But I'll keep trying. The other day, when I bought the foundation, the gal tried one of her line's lipsticks on me. Close. It was creamy, it didn't taste bad and the color was flattering. I was almost ready to bite. And then she told me the price - $24.

Like I said, they can't make a perfect lipstick.

Face Value

Anyone who's been reading this blog for awhile knows how much I love a good bargain. I'm only exaggerating slightly when I say that buying retail is against my religion. I'm crazy about nice clothes but I buy them only when Talbots or Ann Taylor has an end-of-season clearance sale. I scour the Sunday flyers for deals too good to pass up and most of our household items started out on the shelves of TJ Maxx or Homegoods. So how, I ask you, does an inveterate bargain hunter like myself plop down $39 for foundation? I'm about to tell you.

I can't even say I was coerced. No over-the-top cosmetic consultant pressured me into this insanity. No, this time I was completely on my own. I had already bought a high-end concealer a couple of weeks back (when it was buy one, get one free - I keep these moments of lunacy to a bare minimum) and had returned to the store to exchange it for a different shade. That's when the helpful salesgirl got me. "Are you set on using this one?" she said. "If not, I think I can get you something that you'll like a lot better". Having a little time to kill I thought what the hell, let's see what she's got.

She took me to a line of cosmetics that I had never heard of called Napoleon and introduced me to a stick foundation that could double as a concealer. It didn't hurt that the consultant had flawless skin and swore it was all thanks to the product that she was now brushing all over my face. When I finally got a look at what she had done, I had to admit I looked better - not OMG I look forty again better - but the lines looked finer and the pores looked smaller. As she told me the price I remember thinking that I could have four bottles of my previous foundation for the same money but found myself telling her I would take it.

As I got closer to the door, my guilt got the better of me and I turned around and handed it back to her saying, "You know what, I think I'm going to think about it". Walking out with nothing except the product I had brought to return, I settled into the driver's seat and took a look in my rearview mirror. There was no denying that the make-up looked great, even in the harsh afternoon light. My skin looked smoother and had a nice glow. Hell, even the bags under my eyes looked better. That's when it happened. I got out of the car, marched back into the store and informed the stunned salesgirl that I would take that nicely packaged miracle stick after all.

And at that moment, forty bucks felt like a bargain.

A Couple of Perks

So now that we've gotten over the surprise (I wanted to say shock but I stopped myself) of our son's return to the old homestead, I'm trying to concentrate on the positives. Let's see. . .hey, don't rush me. I'm thinking. Well, I'm not feeling very positive about tripping over the assortment of childhood possessions that now litter our hallway and living room instead of his old bedroom. I'm also not crazy about moving vehicles every time I want to get out of my garage. And one more thing. . . Oh, wait, this is supposed to be about the positives.

Okay. Here's one. Yesterday, I happened to mention that I needed new tennis shoes. Surprisingly, he suggested heading over to the PGA Superstore (one of his favorite spots) to check out what they had. More surprisingly, he wanted to accompany me. Okay, he really wanted to go check out all the racquets and tennis gear but he put on a good show. Not that he had to twist my arm - I'm always a sucker for throwing plans out the window if it means I get a chance to spend a few hours with one of my kids. So, off we went in pursuit of new (marked down) tennis shoes and any other bargains we happened to run across.

But he wasn't the only one with an ulterior motive. I figured that once we were out running around, he would have to get hungry. And he couldn't make it through an entire lunch without a little conversation. And so it came to pass. A search for shoes (successful, thank you very much) gave way to a leisurely lunch at one of our favorite Italian (is there anything else?) spots where I gingerly questioned him about his plans and offered a few words of encouragement and even fewer words of advice.

Funny how even tough conversations go down easier when accompanied by a meatball sub and tortellini.

Harder Than I Thought

I really don't want to be a nag. I want to be done with hovering. But what is any self-respecting mom supposed to do? They're here. They're doing stuff under my nose and expecting me to ignore it. But they're giving me no choice - leaving the house without eating, going out in a snowstorm without a hat and gloves, wearing shorts when it's below zero. I'm telling you, it's making me crazy.

I do my best to bite my tongue. Honest. Let them learn I tell myself. Let them freeze their asses off and maybe they won't do it again. Let them go through an eight hour shift without food. If they weren't here, I wouldn't have a clue. I'd go on my merry way under the umbrella of blissful ignorance, safe in the assumption that I'd taught them what they needed to make it out there in the cold, cruel world. But everyday, I'm reminded that I have not. And I'm not crazy about that reminder.

I wish I could find a way to stop worrying. I know I can't fix anything anymore - they're way beyond the band-aid stage where everything could be fixed with a Spider Man or Cinderella band-aid (although I think I still have a few in a drawer upstairs, just in case). I know they're here because they're trying to figure out what to do next and how to do it. I know I have to sit back, shut up and let them come to me.

Or not.

Turning Back the Clock

Okay. Time for another apology. I promised myself I would write three times a week and unless you count the grocery lists and telephone messages I jotted down, I have failed miserably. My last blog, written two weeks ago, was a short, pitiful attempt that didn't make up in the slightest for my subsequent neglect. In my defense, I have been busy writing for that website that's paying me for my work but that's a pretty hollow excuse considering that I've had plenty of time to watch a few sessions of Dr. Phil and get better acquainted with my new Kindle.

The funny thing is, since my last blog I've been thrown back into the motherhood I've been trying to move out of. Once again, we are a family of four living under the same roof. The kids (if I can get away with calling either of them that) are back in their old rooms. The reasons for each of them being there are different but the reality is the same. They are here because they are in need of a place to sleep while they figure out the next steps in their lives. They are here because they've had a temporary setback. They are here because this is their home.

Today, while I was making my son a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, I had to laugh. After all that angst about moving out of the motherhood and dealing with my feelings about becoming an empty-nester, here I was standing in the kitchen making my child's lunch. (To be fair, I was making my husband one, too - I may be an enabler but at least I'm an equal opportunity enabler). Later, when I walked around my discombobulated household, filled with boxes of children's books and clothes that no longer fit (at least he cleaned all that stuff out of that room before he moved back in) I took a deep breath and reminded myself that all this chaos would be temporary.

I think I believe that.