Cowboys, bison and grizzlies… oh my!

Posted on June 29, 2011 by Dawn Quyle Landau

We are now packing for the upcoming road trip that we begin this week.  Little Man is putting his gear together with his dad and I am updating my iPod . There will need to be lots of music (I’m thinking Chilli Peppers  and Arcade Fire may dominate this week) and things to entertain us (7 hrs of  This American Life podcasts), while we both withdraw from constant internet/tv stimulation.  I know, trading one drug for anther, but we will be in a car for a long time!  It’s a 15 hr drive to Jackson Hole.  We hope to see some bison in Montana, en route, stop when we want, and get in to town by Sunday night.

After I drop off Little Man with his group on Monday, I’m on my own. Right now, I’m giddy with anticipation. The idea of getting out of my house and out of the mire that has dominated of late, is so exciting that I feel as if my blood is carbonated!  However, no doubt, once I say goodbye to Little Man, I’ll have to actually figure out what I want to do with myself.  It’s not that I have any reservations about the saying goodbye. I’m not one of those movie moms who is getting all maudlin about letting her baby go.  I know he’s ready (even if he doesn’t know it yet) and I’m definitely ready as well.  How will I spend the time? (And how much time?) As stated previously, some hiking, lots of writing, some reading and sightseeing… but then what? I’ve never been one to avoid eating alone in restaurants, going to events (did someone say rodeo!), or spending time on my own… but how much of me can I take?  One of my favorite sayings seems appropriate right now:  You can’t handle my undivided attention! Can I handle my undivided attention?

Now that it’s sunk in around the house that mom is actually doing this (“we thought you were kidding!”), everyone’s taking a little more notice. No doubt, there are wagers that I’m just being passive aggressive, out to make a point… that I’ll be home within a few days.  Someone’s gonna lose that wager. I feel a little like I did right after I impulsively bought tickets (solo) to Africa a few years ago and then took off 4 days later… with a last minute hotel reservation, plans up in the air and no real idea how I would spend the 2 weeks… aside from the two days when I would meet up with my then 17 yo daughter, who was there for 4 mths.  I hit send on line, bought the tickets and then panicked. But what an adventure I had!  No doubt, Yellowstone will not be anything like the airport in Johannesburg, but I definitely feel a familiar buzz, a whisper of nerves, a restless adrenaline fueled excitement to… go.

I’ve figured out, these last few years, that I am not meant to be the Martha Stewart version of mom. I can do it all that well, and have for years.  I just don’t want to keep all those balls in the air anymore!  I NEED to be out there in the world and get my fix of adventure, independence and solitude.  For me, solitude may come at a rodeo or pow wow.  The point is to be removed from the roles I play at home and in my social groups,  a break from performing, in every sense.  It becomes to easy to fill the role of “designated bitch” (see previous posts) when that’s the performance everyone is paying to see. To be the funny, outrageous one at a book group or social gathering because others expect it and I’m most comfortable in that spot.  To fill in the spots that are familiar in my day to day life… it’s what I do naturally.  But, after a while, I get tired of it all and I just want to be alone and quiet… even if my surroundings are not.  I want to be stimulated by the world around me and not be the stimulant.

So, we’re packing. For Little Man that’s all kinds of high tech equipment and camp gear.  He’ll take 2 pair of shorts, 3 t shirts, 5 underwear (as if any of those 12 boys will change their underwear very often!), some basic toiletries, etc.  I need to think about my iPod, a couple of good books, a big bag of hot tamales, some grapefruits, vodka and tonic for watching the stars at night, my laptop to write on, and some clothes and comfort items. I haven’t even researched the area yet, wanting to just free fall in to the experience. Little Man’s afraid of the potential grizzly bears, I’m dying to see one.  Like the lion is to Kruger, it is why you go to Yellowstone. So bring it on!  Get me out of here! I’m ready to detox on all levels.  Who knows, I might figure out that I just want to be back home sooner than I imagined. Maybe I’ll miss the roles that I’ve been starring in for all these years. Miss the predictability of dirty dishes in the sink, shoes in the middle of the floor, snarky comments and rolled eyes… but somehow, I doubt it.

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Blink

Posted on June 28, 2011 by Dawn Quyle Landau

Today, I was talking to a friend about the fact that we both have our 30th high school reunions this year.  My class has put together a Facebook page, where we are all reconnecting.  Frankly, some of us were never connected in the first place– aside from the fact that we all attended this one high school.  It’s been fun and interesting to actually get to know some of these people thirty years later, and to fill in the gaps with others, who I knew better.  My 14 yr old son overheard part of this conversation and couldn’t fathom that it could be thirty years since I was where he is now. No shit. Depending on the day, and sometimes the hour, neither can I.

It is a true cliché that so many parents say, upon seeing their kids go through various life stages: “it all goes by so quickly, in the blink of an eye.”  Hmm, I have to really think about that, even though I have used the same phrase myself.  When my friend used it today, I told her that I think it is really more like a long, slow, lazy blink… or better yet, it’s a:  let me rest my eyes for a moment and BAM! My kids are going through all the rituals that still feel so fresh to me, as I look at my year book and chat on line with these people I haven’t seen in thirty years.  As I see my own kids sneaking out; trying out for sports; hoping to get asked out by this guy, that girl; graduating high school;  applying to colleges and waiting to hear… so many moments when I want to scream:  Wait a fucking minute!  I did that too!  It wasn’t that long ago.  Then, the thirty years since I graduated, let alone the twenty-one years since I became a parent does seem like a blink.

I don’t feel that old. The clichéd blink is real only when I see it in the context of the years since I was where they are now. I sound old to myself, let alone them, as I try to draw comparisons between the two. Looking at the years between when they were little and now, is the slower blink.  There is Principessa, at 20 months, boldly walking along the perimeter of Lincoln Park in Chicago, never looking back to see if we are there. I can still hear my younger self say:  “She’s so damned independent! It makes me crazy now, but I hope she maintains it later… she’ll need it.”  She did. It still makes me crazy some days, but mostly I’m proud that she is so adventurous and independent.  Blink, and she heads out the door, to explore Irael (for 11 mths), Egypt, Jordan, NYC, etc, rarely asking us for help, sometimes not calling.  She’s still not looking back.  The 19 years since that little girl took off across the green grass outside the zoo, is truly a blink… a lazy one, the hazy boundaries defined by: countless days of whiny monotony, when I often felt trapped in my own life; glorious peals of laughter and learning to swim; chasing fire flies in our yard in Michigan and hiding from violent storms that brought thunder, lightening, occasional tornadoes and thrills galore; broken bones and trips to the ER; long, deep chats about getting her period or falling in love; realizing there was someone in our house, competing for my role as Queen B: Queen Bitch; the heart breaks in high school that dragged me right back to my own dark places; watching her take off for college and trying to figure out what my role was when she left. Blink, Blink.

It’s been the same with each of my three kids.  Endless periods where the time drags and I have felt like I am drowning in a life I can’t keep up with and that isn’t what I imagined.  Endless periods when I appreciate being just where I am and love what I’m doing. Periods when I close my eyes for a moment and the time has passed at warp speed.  I am dizzy some days, just trying to wrap my mind around it.  Can that really be me in the mirror? Where did that line come from? When did that stop fitting? No point in counting the white hairs that have changed my “orange” hair to a muted auburn, on good days.  The image rarely matches the image in my head. The blink and you’ll miss it thing means things now that it didn’t mean twenty-one years ago when my baby was growing so fast, but the rest of my life was a blur.

Thinking of a reunion, celebrating thirty years since we graduated, is unreal when I try to imagine another thirty years.  Try not to blink, knowing the changes that may come.  Thinking ahead to those next thirty years, if I rest my eyes for a moment, will I wake up?

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Some days are diamonds, some days are stone.

Posted on June 26, 2011 by Dawn Quyle Landau

Summer seems to be finally here.  Here in the Pacific Northwest, that means that it’s not as cold, not raining and we are all giddy for that alone. Officially, none of us really expect summer until after July 4th, which is almost always cold and gray.  Then, miraculously, each year, summer just arrives. To get sunshine, and a temperature near 70 this year (this year being a particularly dreary spring and so far cool summer) can make people pretty damned happy. Throw in a trip to the Farmer’s Market (just ranked #1 in the West, by Sunset Magazine), a bike ride, or a day in the garden, and it’s a real diamond.

My summer does not feel real yet, frankly.  The weather is great and does a lot for the spirit. Glad to see the sun and happy to get a chance to do things I love. However, I keep looking at he calendar and hoping for September. I think it’s because having two college age kids at home has taken a little bit of the shine out of summer.  I think it must be because school is out for pretty much everyone now that more and more of my friends are sharing similar gripes. The idea that summer break will be this wonderful, restful, fun-filled vacation with our kids, just doesn’t pan out. Younger kids are not always thrilled with the fantastic camps or activities we’ve found.  My youngest would be over the moon if I just let him sit in the basement and play the X-Box360 all day, with occasional shifts spent on the computer in our kitchen, or getting meals that he will not clean up. I truly believe that he would only leave the house for brief burger outings, and would otherwise sit with his head gear (not the one he’s suppose to wear for orthodontics, but the headset that hooks him up with other “gamers”) on and occasionally tell me about the great new people he’s “meeting” while playing. The point: See mom, it’s social… I’m not just hooked up to a computer.

Add to the sense that I am being battered a bit each day, by college kids who think they now know what’s the what and why they don’t need to put dishes in dishwashers, until they feel like it, there is dad.  He is working all day and does not witness said events. So, I am the designated bitch for him too, because, by the time he comes home each day, I feel pretty damned bitchy.  I am not sun tanned and relaxed. I have a chip on my shoulder and I dump it at his feet. I spread the wealth. I repeat the same stories each day about the injustices of kids who don’t appreciate what I do, but resent everything I do. I’m tired and cranky. I complain. I don’t like me, so why should he?  No doubt, it’s true foreplay. NO?  Hmm, note to self, not romantic either.

That being said, and please note that I did list my enormous short comings first, dad does seem to get off very easy around here. Yes, as I said, he works hard. And, he works a lot. BUT, he also spends quite a lot of time working out and doing things he likes. This weekend alone he has been Mt Biking with a friend and spent the entire day today (7am-10:30pm) climbing with the college kids and his friends. I did laundry, made lunch for my sick mom and took AJ to get the fishing gear squared away (something dad promised to do).  He seems to look awfully good to the kids lately too, as he is not here all day to say put your clothes away, put the dishes in the dishwasher, do something!  He hates clutter and mess and tells ME, but he does not tell them. I get that, as it comes under Designated Bitch.  He doesn’t stay up making sure they get in ok– Yes, old habit, and I could choose to just go to bed like dad, BUT in my defense, Middle Man was caught up in the Vancouver riots, needing stitches and other medical care, and Principessa locked herself out of her car late one night this week. It’s not like I sit up and nothing happens!  I will leave out illegal substances and possible girls.

Back to our youngest, Little Man:  while I thought that a 2 week Fly Fishing course in Yellowstone (yes, your read that right… and I too would love to do that!) would be every (almost) 15 yr old boy’s dream:  nope.  Instead, I am spending each day, trying to get him excited. We’ve bought the gear, started breaking in the new hiking boots, and tried looking up fun details that should get him all sparked up.  While he is coming around, I just didn’t think this would be so hard.  Don’t even bring up the 2 week sailing camp he’ll do in August. According to him, I did that to beat him over the head with all of his worst fears (deep water, cold water, sailing… when I thought the fears were heights, going outside, climbing, etc).  It seems I unknowingly set out to ruin his summer. While I did in fact sit down with him and tell him that we were looking at various options, and that he could have some say in the choices, he has completely forgotten that.  The goal was to let him have an experience away from the rest of the family, one that would help him build self-esteem/ confidence, get him outside to do something wonderful, and have it not be a alpha boy driven experience (which he is not) where he might feel like the weak link and come home miserable.

As the youngest of three dynamic, intense and generally driven kids, Little Man has had his moments of being the low man on our family totem pole. He is very bright, incredibly thoughtful and kind (unusually so, for a boy his age), funny and outgoing and has a generally good attitude about most things.  He does tend toward the “glass half empty” perspective on many things, but he’s a great kid overall. He has pretty significant ADHD  and that has made high school pretty hard for him. While his teachers tell us he’s very smart, his grades seldom reflect that intelligence.  Measured up against his older brother, Middle Man, who is a “golden boy” in almost every respect, it has not always been easy for Little Man to feel successful and competent. We are not doing the measuring, but it is clear that he compares himself to his older brother and that said brother does not always help Little Man feel good. It’s just a pattern they’ve developed, that we hope will ease with age and will heal with more years.

Fly Fishing, a focused and quiet activity, in the back-country of one of our nations most spectacular parks, Yellowstone, struck me as the ideal place for Little Man to help find his groove.  There will be back packing to help him build some muscle (he is now 5’8″ and 104 lbs!), lots of fishing for quiet contemplation and the excitement of a catch, and some white water rafting, for extra thrills.  He’s excited about the rafting and working up some enthusiasm about the rest.  Today, a good friend who is a highly sought after fly fisherman, took a little while to set Little Man up with some gear and show him how to use it. The short lesson went a long way toward helping my son start to get in to the idea of this trip.

The plan was that I would make the 16 hr drive to Jackson Hole with him, drop him off and head home.  Two wks later, my husband and I would head out together (B taking a wk off work), making some stops along the way and taking some one on one time away from the kids. However, having the college kids home (yes, I’m finally getting back to that point!) has already worn me thin. I have become the “designated Bitch” at home, who reminds them that breakfast/lunch/snack/dinner dishes are still sitting out; laundry needs doing; socks and other clothes do not belong in the middle of the family room floor; we are a family and everyone must pitch in; milk, eggs, bread, nutello, humus, and all the other things they can’t live without do not buy themselves and I do not like hearing “mom, when are you going to get more milk, eggs, nutello, humus..” … you get he gist.  A list needs items when I go to the store. I go, no items, I pick up what I think we need… or, I frequently call home and say, “what do we need?”  However, when kids are on computers or watching TV,  they forget all about the Eggos they were desperate for this morning (which, ARE NOT ON THE LIST)… So, I don’t buy them.  Later that day, I hear “MOM!  When are you going to buy…”

It sucks. It really, really sucks.  Here comes the cliche part:  I did not get my Masters to be answering that and 100 other monotonous questions each f’ing day of summer.  I did not work this hard to finally be Designated Bitch. This is not my beautiful house!

“And you may ask yourself
What is that beautiful house?
And you may ask yourself
Where does that highway go?
And you may ask yourself
Am I right?…Am I wrong?
And you may tell yourself
MY GOD!…WHAT HAVE I DONE?”

Thank you David Byrnes… I REALLY get so many lyrics now, that I thought I got when I was twenty… but didn’t.

So, Where does that highway go?  It goes to Jackson Hole, Wyoming, and that is where I am going too!  I am taking Little Man to camp (we depart this Friday) and I am going to keep driving. I’m going on a road trip, to find some sanity. I’m going to hunker down in Jackson Hole for a few days. I’m going to drive thru’ Yellowstone (I’ve never been), do some short hikes and see the sites. I’m going to bring my lap top and WRITE.  Yes, maybe I’ll actually finish that book that I’ve been working on for so long (and am so close to finishing). I’m going to enjoy sunshine and heat. Days with no condescension or snarky comments… unless they come from waitresses who deserve to be snarky.  I’m going to drive across the Tetons Pass. I plan to see Bozeman and explore the area.

My goal is to spend at least a week, but I told my kids and husband that I may stay the entire 2 wks that Little Man is in camp.  I am going to truly follow the road and follow my own whims. I am not going to worry about eggs, unless they’re on the omelet buffet; I’m not going to worry about clothes on the floor, unless I find someone else’s  on my floor (Just kidding!, probably); I’m not going to worry about whether Luke (I doubt he minds me using his real name) the dog was walked, I’m sure that if he shits all over the kitchen, they’ll get the hang of it.  I’m not going to worry about much. I plan to really savor this experience and see what I do alone with myself… besides any of the things one generally does alone with themselves.  No schedule. I will come home when I’m good and ready. Like I said, I may just stay the whole two weeks.  If I do, then husband can fly out to meet me and we can still have our away time. This I can be pretty sure of, if that happens, I expect that I will just be much happier to see him… then if I stay home and continue on the path outlined here.

I expect to find a whole lot of diamonds next week and the only stones I’ll be looking at will be the Grand Tetons.  Carpe Diem. Ready for an adventure. Giddy with excitement– I did in fact use that word two times in this post, but who’s counting.

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First post, Check. Crows and other nests.

Posted on June 22, 2011 by Dawn Quyle Landau

Just setting up this Blog, is a major check on my “things to do list” (a bucket list item too) that is either on a yellow note pad (always present in my kitchen) or keeping me awake at night, bumping around in my head. So, Check.

I’ve been mulling over the idea of a blog for ages.  I’m a freelance writer, who wants to write more. For a while, I was writing food and travel articles for our local paper.  I loved the work and while I had no illusions of greatness there, it was satisfying to write something and have it read by others. To get positive feedback, which happened from time to time, was extra icing. I loved the writing first. Unfortunately, as is often the case, there were some differences of opinion regarding my payment, and I stopped submitting work.  While I did it for ethical reasons, it was the classic “cutting off my own nose to spite my face.”  I miss the work. I miss the writing.

I’m currently working on a novel. There, I’ve said it… even if no one is reading this. I’ve been writing said novel, on and off (too much time off) for nearly six years now. While it’s taken a while, right now, I’m in a groove and really moving forward, with only a few chapters left to work on.  In a nutshell, it’s a work of fiction that looks at the life choices we make in our youth and how we live with those choices as we age. Specifically, it looks at the choices the main character, Maya, who is very similar to me, has made as she looks back on her life and deals with a mid-life crisis of sorts. If you read my bio, you can see the similarities.

I am part of a fantastic, very dynamic writing group, that currently has five members. We submit work as we desire and the other members edit the work and we all discuss it.  We meet twice a month, so I am writing or editing every week… a great motivator to keep pressing forward with the novel.  These are sharp women with a variety of extensive writing experiences and educations.  What they are writing and submitting varies, but they all bring amazing honesty and direct feedback to the other members of the group. I’ve grown so much from their edits and I feel the novel is actually moving toward a completion, that at one time was daunting to even imagine.  Don’t get me wrong, there is still a LOT of work to do on the novel, but I feel like I can see the light at the end of the fictional tunnel.  While I still have terrible days where I can barely get a paragraph out, other days I am truly in a groove and I feel really good about the story.

In the meantime, I kept coming back to the idea of a blog.  Not just any blog… that would be a journal.  I find that so many of my conversations, for the past 21 years have been focused on my role as a mother and how it has defined me.  That theme has dominated my life for a very long time. If you skip the years where I was raising my sister and brother, and felt like a parent (age 9 on) and look at the years since I gave birth to my daughter EL (to maintain some privacy for them), it seems that 75% of my conscious activity, conversation, motivation, action, non-action, joy, anger, you name it, has been focused on my experiences in the role of mother.  The rest would come under wife, woman, survivor, character, bitch, good friend, creative person, you name it.  No doubt, those numbers fluctuate, but the truth is, being a mother has defined me for far more than half of my life now, and I have a lot to say about that.

For ease, I’ll give you characters:  EL, I’ll call her Principessa here,  is my oldest, a daughter. She is 21 and attends an excellent college back East (we live in the Pacific NW, something that brings infinite joy to me).  EM, Middle Man, is our middle child. He is 19 and attends an excellent college on the West coast.  AJ, Little Man, is our youngest, nearly 15. He will be sophomore in hs next year.  B,  is my husband. He’s a successful surgeon and will be 50 this year.  We met in college and have been married 25 years next February.  While I am tempted to give bios of each of the main characters, if I write well, this blog will do that, over time.

So, rather than give a long introductory entry, where I set up the characters, provide back story, etc, I’d like to jump in… start with today:     My two college age kids are home for the summer. I knew it wouldn’t be easy. I did not set myself up for some wonderful, Hallmark moment, where they would arrive home and we’d all be so happy to see each other, after months (a year in Principessa’s case, as she was in Israel for 11 mths) of separation, I guess I didn’t really understand that it could be this lousy either. Ok, so I am prone to bigger words than I need to use… lousy, may be a bit of an overstatement, but in various moments, it is a gross understatement as well.

After another argument with Middle Man this morning, about how I feel she and her brothers are treating me… went something like this:  “Principessa, no matter how I say this it will turn out mean, BUT, I know that you are going to be the strong, successful woman that I’ve always imagined, there is little doubt. So I truly hope that one day, you look back on this time together and, as a women, realize how really shitty you are being. I hope that really hits you right between the eyes and you see that putting another woman in this position of always having to play the bitch/nag/angry person/whiner/etc/name your cliche, really sucks.  When it hits you, I hope you feel badly and maybe get it finally.  BUT, I’m not your grandmother, and I will not continue to take all this and go down with the ship.  I haven’t figured it out yet, but I am not going down.”

Can’t say that there was a whole lot more conversation after that.  Apologies come hard in our family. We’re a hard family, no doubt. So, she didn’t offer some made for tv realization that my eloquent words drove home, or say, sorry mom. She sat silently as I drove her to pick up her car, having found a pair of spare keys, that she’d lost the night before…before racing off to a drs appt myself.  A less enabling mom might have said, “get on your fucking bike and go get the car yourself. Figure out how you’ll make it to your first day at work today without my help…since you’re being so snotty to me” (after asking you to pick up your stuff before you leave).  A really nice mom might have said: “I’m sorry you have to deal with getting the car, worrying about where your set of keys are, and getting your breakfast dishes put away… do you need some help?”  I warned, my words can be a bit inflated. Not many moms would use “fucking”… I do. I am also inherently sarcastic.  Be warned.

So, after I dropped her off and headed for my appt… I began to chew, again, on this whole issue of being the mom. Being the mom I am.  There are 48 years worth of reasons that I’m not good at letting things go, that I let myself get upset by the same old stuff over and over (I am working on that), that I feel resentful of the role I’m playing… but man it sucks to sit there and feel it most days. Having some awareness of what is typical of kids their ages (I do have an Masters of Social Work, I studied psych and child/adolescent development, a hundred years ago), and having some self awareness (years of therapy, years to go), makes it harder I think.  I know I should let half the bs my kids toss my way go and focus on the fact that all three appear to be heading in the right direction, overall, in life. They are great people, in young, obnoxious bodies right now. I know they love me. I love them. But, I don’t feel very appreciated and I feel pretty crapped on many days… and I still have not mastered the letting it go thing.

That got me thinking about the crows that have been waking me very early each morning. They’ve clearly built a nest in one of the giant pines just outside my bedroom window. Throughout the day, I can hear them outside my house,  squabbling… trying to rob other bird’s nests and make general nuisances of themselves. The sound is a constant. When it’s missing, I wonder why. Crows, generally, are not popular birds.  Most of us prefer the lovely robins and finches that come to our feeders. The loud jays and crows are annoying.  But man, they sure don’t let other birds maraud their nests. They seem to call the shots around here. I’ve even seen crows go after an eagle in our neighborhood. Crow balls for sure.

Thinking about birds made me think about the whole nest image… empty nest, building a nest, nesting, leaving the nest… we humans seem to gravitate toward bird metaphors.  Well, I have one:  The reason growing fledglings leave the nest is because when too many big birds share a nest, there’s just too much shit for the nest to survive.  Little birds shitting in the nest can be cleaned up after… bigger babies make big doo doo in the nest and mother and father crows say, time to fly.  Today, I felt like a crow. I wanted to just shove a few chicks out of my nest and get back to the calmer nest I had a few weeks ago, before school got out.

Don’t quote me, no doubt, if things are nicer tomorrow… I’ll be glad my babes are home.  But today, fly babies, fucking fly.

 

 

Posted in Honest observations on many things, Mothers, Parenting, Women's issues | Tagged , , , , | 6 Comments