She was there to tuck me in at night, reading me a story over and over.
She was there to pluck me out of the closet when I was having nightmares.
She was there to put bread bags over my tennis shoes, when Atlanta got a rare snowstorm.
She was there to make my lunches, while I ate breakfast before school.
She was there to dye the macaroni green on St. Patrick's Day, just for giggles.
She was there to drive us to Six Flags over and over one summer, so we girls could hang out all day.
She was there to take us to the mall on Saturday, to put up with our wanting and wishing.
She was there to teach us how to walk with confidence, even with a shopping cart.
She was there to coach basketball, or softball, or tennis, whatever we were playing that season.
She was there to help me pick out just the right outfit, so that she could take our photo on the first day of school.
She was there to make sure we were doing our homework, propped on our bed with a lapdesk firmly in place.
She was there to decorate my room, resplendent in Pepto-Bismol pink, because that was how I wanted it.
She was there to repair the hole in the wall after I'd slammed the door open one too many times.
She was there to let me put posters and clippings from Teen Beat and Tiger Beat and Seventeen magazine on my walls.
She was there to tell me that one day, I would grow into my height, if you know what I mean.
She was there to teach me right from wrong, but give me enough room to figure it out myself.
She was there to listen while I cried from a heartbreak, without saying that it was just puppy love.
She was there to teach me how to drive, reminding me to look in the mirrors at more than my lip gloss.
She was there to answer my questions about sex and love, even when it made her blush ever so slightly.
She was there to laugh at my jokes and put up with my stories, despite the fact that I'd lost track of the point.
She was there to witness my graduations, ceremonies and awards shows, to tell me she was proud.
She was there to cheer from the sidelines, and drive me home from the far away basketball games on Friday nights.
She was there to cry with me over romantic comedies, and Christmas commercials, in the dark of the living room.
She was there to drive me to college, setting up my dorm room and leaving me to grow up on my own.
She was there to give me the space freshman year, because she'd read a book that advised parents to do that.
She was there to support me, to teach me, to let me make my mistakes as I should.
She was there to move me into my first apartment, and my second, and my third, and my fourth...without looking back.
She was there to say goodbye, as I left my hometown for a bigger, brighter future in a new city.
She was there to listen while I sobbed after getting laid off, being dumped, or just plain hurting.
She was there to spackle, paint, refinish, tile, reorganize, decorate my new condo, even when nothing seemed right.
She was there to calm my nerves, ease my worries, comfort my doubts, just when I needed her.
She was there to remind me that being smart was more important than being pretty, that being confident was more valuable than being right.
She was there to urge me to be myself, to love me no matter what and to always answer the phone when I call.
She was there.
And, today is her birthday, and I have nothing, not enough money, not enough time, to tell her properly how much she has meant to me.
Because, like mothers should be, she has always been there.
Our relationship has ebbed, flowed and changed, and I am so thankful that we've arrived at this new place. Where we're friends, equals, partners, peers, and family.
Today, on her birthday, I celebrate my Mom. I know that I inherited a lot from her—on the outside, yes, but more importantly, on the inside where it really counts.
I have officially published 280+ blog posts, and I can't believe it hasn't occurred to me yet to write about this yet.
Let's chalk that up to to timing, shall we?
This time of year, it is all about Christmas (or Hanukkah) and New Year's. Nothing more, nothing less.
And I get it, alright?
But, some of our parents got freaky in the months of March or April (spring fever, anyone?) and therefore, a few of us unlucky ones have a birthday that is square in the middle of the holidays.
And, don't go telling me that would be so great because:
a) you were never in school on your birthday
b) you are not working on your birthday, likely
c) all those presents at once? egad!
Because the truth is, it is hard.
As I get older (eek, it keeps happening to me!), the pain lessens, but seriously, it is tough to have a birthday that is wedged perfectly, symmetrically, evenly between Christmas and New Years.
For you geniuses, and those of you that went to Math Camp (Laura!), this means my birthday falls every year on December 28th. Three days after Christmas, and three days before New Years.
What does that mean for me?
It means that when my birthday hits, people are:
a) out of town
b) tired of eating too much fattening delicious food
c) over the whole "presents thing"
d) saving up for New Year's Eve
e) not interested in buying you a drink, they're hungover and broke
f) who are you - you're not Baby Jesus - why do I care?
So, the bottom line is this. It sucks.
And, even as I age past 30, a few birthdays past 30 that is, I still feel like it is a lousy time to be saddled with a birthday. I have never had cupcakes for the whole class on my birthday, I have never had a pool party birthday, I have never gotten to spread the gift haul out over the course of a year, I have never known what it was like not to be wedged between two more important holidays.
I will say this. As an adult, it is nice to be at home (or on vacation with my family) celebrating the "holidays" while we tack on my birthday at the end. I appreciate that. I realize it is far better than being stuck at work in an office with fake "happy birthdays" and bad store-bought cake.
I get it.
But, I urge you all (you June birthdays especially!) to recognize the hardships we late December birthdays have endured. It has been rough. Tough. Painful. Touch and go, even.
The one saving grace is this: (ok, it is a few things)
a) my Mom and Dad have always made it a big deal no matter what month it was
b) they even chose "birthday paper" instead of the leftover Christmas wrapping paper
c) they hid the birthday gifts until the morning of, to build suspense
d) I got to eat off the red "You are special today" plate every year
e) it is still in that time of year when we eat whatever we want and that includes two pieces of cake
So, I'll be ok. I'll survive. I'll even manage to make it a whole "fun day for us all" if you insist.
But, just remember. Don't ever, under any circumstances, combine gifts. Don't try to pass that off on us, we're smarter than that. It doesn't matter that you spent more this way. That whole "I thought you'd get more this way" shenanigan is not lost on us.
We know we got screwed, and you know you got off easy. Does this look like a kid who wants to be messed with?
Yes, today is my birthday, and now you feel so guilty that you're obligated to say something. Anything. Just put it in the comments and I will feel so loved.
Just don't use green or red wrapping paper when you do.
Today was a good day, as unemployed days off in the middle of December with a huge storm forecast for tonight go.
I heard back from a company that I'm dying to work for, and while I wasn't quite right for the one position, they liked me so much that they want me to come and talk to some other people for another position on what sounds like an even more interesting account, and I'm going in tomorrow at 1 pm.
This is the part where I must admit that I jumped up and down in my bedroom (the only place in my apartment that doesn't currently drop every single call I make) and actually let out a "whoop" that would have scared small children if I were the type to keep small children hanging around in my apartment.
I realized I haven't shared with you the photos from my friends' Ugly Christmas Sweater Party last weekend, so here's the best. Brett and I were in the front of the "portrait" and clearly were going for "serious faces" while the back row went with "jazz hands." We're grown-ups, I swear.
Ok, now that that's done, back to today.
Much to my surprise (since when do eBay and UPS ever do you any favors?), the two long-awaited packages came that are the final two parts to a very complicated, but extremely thoughtful, gift for Brett's birthday this weekend. With not a minute wasted, I tore open the packing boxes, put the entire gift together, and wrapped it all up with shiny non-Christmas paper and matching ribbons. We Christmas-week birthdays get sortof ticked off when people do the "it's wrapped in Christmas paper but it is really a birthday gift, I promise" kind of thing. Trust me.
More to come on the sad state of affairs when your birthday is wedged in between Christmas and New Years next week.
Then I placed the gift under the tree (the Christmas/Birthday rule doesn't apply when it comes to placement of the gifts until the giving happens, especially when you want your tree not to get lonely), and I figured now would be as good as time as any to share the photo I took last week before my gifts were all shipped off. Here you go. My little tree, with the bright star on top that I cut off inadvertently. Not in real life, just in the photo, silly.
Finally, I ran to the store for the final ingredients (culinary and otherwise) to complete Brett's birthday surprise tomorrow night. We're having the party at one of my favorite bars, Matilda, and the owner is so cool that he's offered us 50 free drink tickets and I can bring my own food (hint, hint) so I will be stopping by there tomorrow if the snow will allow that.
So, I'm bought, wrapped, lists made and ready for tomorrow's culinary expedition, which will now come after my interview. Woohoo! Yep, there it goes again. That outward burst of excitement.
After the fun weekend we have planned, if I have any brain cells left, we're celebrating Christmas early here together, and then I will leave him to his holiday with his family in Michigan, and I will head south like a snowbird to my family in Atlanta. I'm looking so forward to time with them, and my mom's mini-cheesecakes, not necessarily in that order.
Can you tell my mood is significantly better today? I can barely type as fast as my little brain is going today, and it is all good news. Thank you, Interweb, for the kind words, support and good vibrations. It's working!
Even the 10" of snow we're expecting tonight can't dim my bulb. This was the view of the lake from my apartment on Tuesday, and it will be even whiter out there tomorrow, if what Tom Skilling says is true. And, isn't it always? (Chris, you are nodding, aren't you?)
And, as the final sign of my mental improvement, I haven't given dirty looks to any unlit holiday decorations* today, so I'm clearly on the up and up.
*See Tuesday's post if you have no idea what I'm talking about.
In an effort to share the highs and lows of blogging, as well as to momentarily travel back to the commuting theme, I present to you today a guest blogger. Yes, that pun was intended.
You know her from my previous posts. Elizabeth is one of The Posse, was part of the Costa Rica adventure, and has been featured many other times in blog posts, stories and references. She is a regular reader and a hilarious commenter. We've been friends since the 9th grade, despite the fact that at first, we were like oil and water. She quickly became one of my favorite people in the whole world, and I couldn't be happier that we're now in our 17th year of friendship.
So, I am proud to offer up today's post from Liz, in her words. My notes are in italics, because you know I can't keep quiet THIS LONG without saying at least a few things.
-- How to commute to Chicago...in a snow storm! By Elizabeth Norris
In August 2006, Colleen's friends in Chicago, Jill and Josh, began contacting her friends, family and coworkers about throwing a surprise 30th birthday for her in December. Four months before the party date, there were 15 out of towners who had booked plane tickets for the big surprise. The bulk of the party goers were traveling from Atlanta, LA and St. Louis. Needless to say, everyone was very excited and found it challenging to keep the secret from Colleen. She's quite the crafty, nosy, smart girl...whatever you want to call it.
I'd call it sly and brilliant, but that's just me.
The party was scheduled for a Friday night, the first weekend in December, so most guests had plane flights departing their respective cities early in the morning. The Thursday before the party, a massive snow storm decided to visit Chicago.
Slam into the city is more like it!
This created a huge mess for travelers all over the country. Four girls traveling from Atlanta (me ---> Liz, Mandi, Heather, Lauren) were lucky to get on the 8 AM flight to Midway. This was the ONLY Delta flight out of Atlanta heading to Chicago that was not canceled that day. Lauren was using a buddy pass and made it on the flight at the last minute and was forced to ride First Class with our world traveler and Delta Sky Mile collector, Heather. Rough life.
We were so excited to be on our way to Chicago because a great panic had set in that we may not make it. The flight was marvelous and the smells of poop filled the plane. It seemed a passenger had a "grumpy" in the bathroom and it circulated throughout the air system of the plane. It even made its way to the cockpit and the pilots were phoning the Flight Attendants in the cabin asking what the hell was going on out there.
The plane made it to Chicago and circled and circled and circled. And then..landed in Indianapolis! Yeah! This is where everything got interesting.
The flight crew informed the passengers that:
a) the plane was returning to Atlanta, and b) nobody was allowed to get off the plane.
Angry passengers began shouting and some finally just bailed past the flight attendants and left. One man, with carry-on luggage, kept saying that he'd rented an SUV and was driving to Chicago and demanded they let him off. He was quite attractive and was standing next to our first class passengers, Heather and Lauren.
In his frustration he began talking to Heather and explaining to her that he had a car and they could not hold him on the plane. Heather jokingly asks "well, can you take us to Chicago, too?" "No problem," he says, and pushes past the flight attendant and onto the jetway.
So long, Mr. Cute Man with the Rental Car.
At this point, it was clear that the crew could not hold us captive on the plane so we began crafting our getaway plan. We needed to know what would happen to our luggage if we got off in Indianapolis. Originally, Delta told us our luggage was going back to Atlanta—no questions asked. While this was not 100% appealing to us, we were ready to bail on our luggage and make-up for the entire weekend and hit the first H&M we saw. The excuse for a shopping spree was thrilling to us.
Side note: then, I broke the plane.
It was a very nice new plane but my booty broke it. I'm packin' some heat in the "trunk" for those of you that don't know me. Therefore, I plead genetic defect.
To sum it up, I was up in first class with Heather and Lauren, trying to feel superior and rich, leaning against the wall of the plane. I was leaning over with my hands on my knees, so I was applying a decent amount of pressure to the cabin wall. Next thing we heard was "POP" and the wall collapsed in a little. I have concaved the wall and separated a seam of the airplane wall. Freaking genius. I knew Delta was gonna make me clean out barf bags and pick up tiny peanuts 'til I paid for the damage. Luckily, I used my massive rear to conceal the damage from the crew.
Remember, this is Liz talking. My booty isn't quite this powerful.
At this time, 45 minutes had passed since we'd landed and Delta finally said that we could all get off the plane. They agreed to unload all our luggage and said they were trying to organize buses to Chicago. These buses were going to be there to pick us up who knows when (they were predicting 3+ hours). The plane was still going back to Atlanta for those who would like that option.
Poor Lauren, with her buddy pass status, knew that her chances of getting on a flight back to Atlanta from Chicago on Sunday were slim. She could have been stranded there 'til mid- week. So we waved good bye to our friend as she headed off to complete the most pointless plane trip of her life.
We exited the plane, celebrating our escape, but wondering how we were supposed to get to Chicago. As we left the jetway we saw a beam of light from the sky that created a glow around...Mr. Cute Man with the Rental Car!
The Hallelujah Chorus was heard in the background and we ran in slow motion toward him with our arms outstretched. Ok...not really, but that's how it felt when we saw him still waiting at the gate for us. He was with a flight attendant who had been riding as a passenger next to Heather and Lauren. She also needed a ride to Chicago. The two of them had waited on me, Mandi and Heather, and we could not believe our luck.
Doesn't hurt that I have attractive friends.
We grabbed our luggage and all piled into the mid-size SUV rental car. There was a snowstorm going on and we had a two-hour drive to Chicago. A two-hour ride with strangers is something I recommend everyone do. It was quite the experience. I learned that Indiana is flat...VERY flat. We talked a lot about Colleen's party and how we'd been friends for so long. We knew almost all flights into Chicago were canceled and were keeping our fingers crossed that all the other party guests were going to make it.
Throughout the ride, Rob (AKA Mr. Cute Man with the Rental Car) was getting a lot of business phone calls. We could tell he had an interesting job so we all began quietly trying and figure it out amongst ourselves. Even the flight attendant in the front seat was turned around whispering to us. It was very funny.
Finally, one of us just asked him what line of work he was in. He replied, "I'm a reporter for Dateline." THE Dateline we were all thinking? Yep...THE Dateline that, at the time, was on NBC two or more times a week. His name is Rob Stafford, and he lived in Chicago. He currently does the weekend news for NBC5 News in Chicago, and yes...he's pretty darn cute and charming.
We talked about some of the stories he'd covered. In Georgia, he did a special on the Bart Corbin trial and the Amy Yates investigation. He explained that his phone calls were with a P.I. he was working with trying to locate a suspect. They were plotting how they could approach him with cameras at his job and confront him about the murder of his girlfriend. Rob had worked for Dateline for ten years and knew Stone Phillips, Chris Hanson and Ann Curry quite well. He was a mini-celebrity who had saved us from Indianapolis and nicely driven us to Midway.
He dropped the four of us off and Midway and rode off into the sunset.
Considering that we had gotten about 12 inches of snow that morning, let's assume this is the proverbial sunset, ok?
Not sure if Rob even knows what his generosity meant to us that day. How many grown men would even volunteer for a long car ride with some giggly girls excited about a surprise party, drinking the night away and a cheap clothing store? Brave soul. I bet his wife is pretty cool...like us.
We shared a taxi to the city with the flight attendant and made our way to our friend Jenny's Dad's condo on LaSalle St. Jenny had arrived the day before and avoided Snow Storm '06.
Sadly, the four of us were the only out of town guests who made it. Colleen's parents and sister were stranded in the Atlanta airport for more than 13 hours, Aunts and cousins never left St. Louis, a friend didn't make it out of South Carolina, an Aunt and Uncle didn't make it from Michigan and old friends and more cousins never made it off the ground in LA.
What was going to be 15 strong had become only 4 visitors from out of town. But, three of us had managed to write our own version of planes, trains and automobiles. Quite the unexpected but memorable adventure!
Luckily, Colleen is blessed with a wonderful group of friends in Chicago. There was no shortage of people at the party and we had a great time. If Colleen is brave enough she'll post the video of her running in and seeing the four members of "The Posse" in the room. I highly recommend watching this bit of comedy. Judging by her reaction it's probably a good thing all 15 out of town guests weren't there. I'm not sure she could have taken it! --
Thanks, Liz! She's right. However, it was one of the best days of my life. What a surprise. And, what amazing friends I have! Somewhat embarrassingly begrudgingly, here's the video of my arrival. All my friends are tucked behind the camera-girl hiding behind the bar. Laugh away.
Yes. I'm prancing. That is some gen-u-wine emotion, people. And, my guest blogger Liz is the one in the black short sleeved blouse with the loud contagious laugh.
Since today is your birthday, and I can't be there to celebrate with you, instead I'm treating you to a slow walk through memory lane. It'd be a jog, but with our bad knees, we'd both be hurting. A walk will do.
My earliest memory of music is you playing the Eagles album in our old house—the one with the brown paperboard cover that had the name of the band embossed on it. I recall sitting there rubbing the letters while you sang the words out loud. I don't recall any dance moves, and given your "hands above the shoulders" style at weddings of late, that may be for the best.
Your musical tastes today often are the subject of fodder for us now—I am pretty sure you are the only person who loves Jon Secada, Rick Astley, Pilot of the Airwaves, and that obnoxious Six Flags commercial song. You redeem yourself slightly with your steadfast appreciation of good acapella tunes, and any rendition of Amazing Grace that iTunes has to offer.
Ever since I can remember, you have opened Christmas presents with the glee usually reserved for small children, and the biggest, floppiest bow usually ends up stuck to your head. I wouldn't trade that for anything.
Summers meant airshows, and I can thank you for my love of the fighter planes zooming overhead every August at the Chicago Air & Water Show. The sound alone makes me smile, and recall hot Atlanta summers standing in the middle of a field staring straight up. My skinny legs always itched from the tall grasses, we inevitably got cricks in our neck from the frozen posture, and my shoulders grew increasingly more freckled over the years, but the time spent with you was undoubtedly worth it.
Playing sports was our way to make up for you not having a son, and we loved being out there on the court/field/pool to represent your love of the game. Hearing you call out "Come on, Tiger!" was enough to make me forget the lousy shot I'd just taken, and hustle my way back into the action. If only I'd been as good at any of those sports as another famed "Tiger," I may have been able to give you a bigger gift this year.
Road trips, typically to St. Louis, were long and arduous, but you always knew how to earn some giggles. With your extra long arms (yet another trait I inherited), you'd reach back and grab our ankles from the driver's seat, causing us to erupt and shriek, making the stretch across the Chattanooga mountains more interesting.
You remain the only grown adult I've known to consistently order a glass of milk with your dinner at a restaurant. The look on the waiter's face is often worth more than the tip.
The smell of Home Depot will forever remind me of those Saturdays when Mom gave you a "honey do" list and you decided to drag us along, letting us ride the big orange flat carts, while you shopped. Who knew sawdust and plywood could be so much fun?
As with your car building obsession now, I was always the only girl I knew who could wander down to "Dad's shop" and find model airplanes stretched across the basement, made of balsa wood and super glue, featuring two Barbie pilots—one blonde and one brunette—proving once again that you liked having your girls along while you explored your hobbies. I finally have recovered from the time that you admitted you had to chop off Barbie's legs to get her to fit in the cockpit.
In addition to car building, your devotion to X-Files, Star Trek, Grease and Speedvision ensures that you are a unique individual. With control of the remote.
Getting emails from you now guarantees a laugh as you explore the hilarious world of text lingo. OMG, I'm not sure who in your office taught you, but I'm guessing their daughter is 14. LOL.
Since I'm not there, I can't run in the room and give you a giant bear hug, only to curl up later and sit as your "lap dog" despite the fact that I'm way too old for it and the club chair creaks under our combined weight. I can't help you grill the burgers with the screen door standing open, doing anything I can to evoke your Woody Woodpecker laugh. I can't fight over the last piece of chocolate cake, only to succumb because it's your birthday, and you're bigger than I am. I can't share in your latest achievements on the hot rod, and tease you for your Einstein-wacky eyebrows. I do, however, know that you're proud of your girls, and your encouragement means so much to me, even across the miles.
Ever the efficient lady, I love when you can knock out several celebrations at once. With my birthday landing just three days after the birth of Jesus, it always gives us days of reasons (excuses) to party. I'm now in St. Louis, celebrating even more.
Last night was my birthday, and seeing as I'm with my mom's ginormous family, there was no shortage of fun.
My aunt offered us "girl beers"—small, 7 oz. holiday dressed Bud Lights—and while they are petite and cute, I must admit that they make me a tad self-conscious.
It didn't take long for me to have several dead soldiers of "girl beers" lined up next to my place at the table. Had to move the evidence so no one counted them and started the "you must be the birthday girl" conversation. Not that anyone can blame me—I'm in a huge Irish family and right after taking your coat, you're handed a drink.
Tonight is O'Brien Christmas, which means yet another party.
There will be approximately 70 people there, I kid you not, ranging from 2'5" to 6'5"—and 15 months to, ahem, the older set. Lots of blondes, lots of freckles, lots of cute fashions, lots of loud voices, lots of hugging, lots of laughter.
There are doctors, pilots, writers, lawyers, designers, realtors, artists, marketers, web gurus, sales executives, retirees and hardworking stay-at-home moms. Oh, and one cousin that is so smart and successful but that no one quite understands what he does for a living. All we know is that is passport is full of stamps from countries that end in "stan." And I am pretty sure he's fluent in 9 languages. The rock climbing hydrogeologist will not be here this year, and that is a shame. His stories rock.
Gotta love family. I need to read up on everyone's kid's names just to be sure. Maybe I'll hold off on the girl beers until we've said our hellos, to ensure that no one is erroneously greeted.
Because tonight is NOT my birthday, and I can't play the birthday girl card anymore.
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