family

Give It Away

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I learned a lesson today.  My father has a philosophy that if someone is desperate enough to stand and ask you for money, you should give if you can.  Once you give, the money is no longer yours to judge what that person does with it.

This was on my list today:

  • Return zappos shoes that were a back up for Patrick’s father’s day present.
  • Hit the Bath and Body Works sale and stock up on antibacterial soaps.
  • Get finger paints to do cool ziplock project for the tiny one that my friend showed me.
  • Buy orange chicken at Trader Joe’s because I’m addicted.

All of these things involve money, and are a part of my life that I do not worry about.  Nothing is extravagant, but nothing on the list is a cause for monetary consternation either.  I hit the sale and scored an extra .50 cents off each soap and decided to stroll to Starbucks because I have serious insomnia.  On my way, there was an old man who was clearly down on his luck.  He was wearing a straw fedora and took it off and held it out as we passed.  I did not stop because of the tiny one and my mama bear instinct, but continued to think about him and how skinny he was.  I decided I would buy him coffee.  What if he doesn’t like coffee?  Ok, they have these cooler drinks; I’ll get him one of those.  No, Patrick says that men don’t like those kinds of drinks.  All right, I’ll get him a $5 card and he can get a coffee and pastry or whatever he wants.

I got my coffee and the card and went back to find the man.  He was there and I gave it to him and said there was enough for coffee and a pastry.  His face lit up and he asked me which restaurant the card was for.  I told him.  He thanked me and hurried towards Starbucks.  I got in my car and cried.  He was so skinny.  Why didn’t I do $10?  That would have gotten him a sandwich.  Why didn’t I do $20?  That would be breakfast for a few days and it wouldn’t have changed my financial situation in any way.

My heart breaks for this hungry man who still got up and dressed himself for the day, and I am thankful for his presence in my life today.  It humbled me and allowed me to think of the lessons from my father and to have a conversation with the tiny one that I am certain he did not understand, but will, someday.  I added compassion to my goals of happy and healthy for his life.

WHY A MUSICAL THEATER GIRL SHOULD NEVER CAMP

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I was not raised in an outdoorsy household.  We were ‘sporty’ but not ‘outdoorsy’.  My mom played tennis at a club, we rode bikes, skied regularly, and my dad even went on fishing trips.  He rested in a very nice condo at night, however.  I had no desire to camp and it was never something that our family even attempted.  When we moved to Omaha, we found a lovely church and one of the youth highlights for the entire year was this church camp thing.  My mom signed us up.  It was a good way to meet and bond with new friends.  We went to Walmart and I chose a sleeping bag that had my favorite shade of green for the lining.  We didn’t ask about temperatures it was suited for, or if I needed a head zipper thingy because we were not campers.  It was cute; I felt prepared.  I packed my matching green nightgown and some hot rollers.  I was set for camp.

The age bracket I fell into slept on “the hill”.  This was something my fellow campers had spent years waiting to do.  It was a big deal.  The kids on the hill did not sleep in cabins.  You dragged your cot into the middle of a field and all slept together.  Oh, and you had to hike to get to the hill.  I did not see the fun in any of this, but went along sure that it would get better.  The hype was that serious.  The first night, I failed to notice that everyone was piling on layers before going to bed because it was dark and I was preoccupied with myself.  I slipped into my nightgown and hopped into my cot.   I froze my tail off.  It was miserable.  My sleeping bag was about an inch thick and my synthetic satin nightgown felt like a layer of morning dew.  Everyone else had bags that cinched around their heads and were toasty with all their layers.  (Thanks for the preparation non-outdoorsy family.)  Making do, I hiked down to the showers with my trusty hot rollers.  Guess what?  No electricity up on the hill.  So I am going to wake up each morning freezing cold and spend the entire day with horrible, frizzy hair, and this is just going to repeat itself for an entire week?  AND there are cute older boys here too?  Super.Fun.Camp.  Just when I thought it could not get worse, I find out you play morning games before hiking all the way back down for breakfast.  One of the games involved filling your mouth with flour and spitting at other people.  DO MY PARENTS HATE ME?  Why am I here?  I am a musical theater nerd with no interest at all in this nature crap and I am stuck here for a week.  I ended up enjoying the friends up on the hill, but I hated the camp.  I hated it the next year too, but at least we got to sleep in cabins with electricity.  It just wasn’t my thing.

We have friends who invite us to RV with them.  I will not go.  We have friends who invite us to camp in the desert.  Absolutely not….  Why would you go somewhere where you “dig a hole” to go to the bathroom?  How is this fun?  What I do enjoy immensely now, however, is hiking.  My husband and I hiked when we found out our first round of ivf failed.  We hiked on my birthday when I was 6.5 months pregnant.  We hike after an argument.  I can see the beauty in being outdoors and revel in it.   We have branched out a few times, but there is a secret trail in La Canada, CA that we find ourselves drawn to.  You begin with a tree covered path, next to a dancing stream with fallen logs.  It is straight out of a fairy tale.  The best part?  I go home ready for a hot shower followed by my huge, comfortable bed indoors.

hiking

Brush Your Hair

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This is simply a tale of caution to let you know that your personal paparazzi can pop up anywhere, at anytime.

The tiny one has an ear infection that started last week.  He had been waking up multiple times during the night for about a week.  It hit its peak Thursday evening and he could not sleep at all.  I held, sang, cuddled, and fed him most of the night.  I have no complaints about that evening, but I was a walking disaster the next day.  He was a crawling disaster and needed extra love.  I brushed my teeth and washed my face with him clinging to my leg and sobbing.  This repeated when I needed to get dressed.  I grabbed shorts off the floor and the first top I could reach.  I debated skipping changing my underwear, but thought that I should have a small amount of personal pride.  I put on mascara for my post pictures and called it a day.  I did not brush my hair and was pale as a ghost.  I did not care.  I felt proud of the small achievement of the updated underpants.

Patrick came home and the tiny one was adorable and charming.  He may have thought I faked the sobbing and clinging.  We decided to go get frozen yogurt because it was a lovely evening.  I looked like a transient and was fine with it.  Just get me sugar and out of this house!  I was excited to try out my new Ergo carrier too.  (It is awesome, by the way.)  Yogurt was a success, the weather was a success, the ambiance of South Pasadena is always a success.  My appearance, not so much, but who would know?  My husband snaps a picture of our son’s cuteness and posts it to Facebook.  I scream that I am supposed to be knowledgeable about fashion and beauty and in one snap, my street cred is gone.  I am pale, smelly, have visible roots (isn’t it called ombre when you brush your hair?), horrible outfit, and the angle makes me look a good 10 pounds bigger.  I threatened to post my nudie of him holding the tiny one, but got paranoid about being arrested for child pornography.

The moral of the story?  While I appreciate the fact that my husband finds me attractive at my worst, take the time to feel good.  5 more minutes to bronze my cheeks, brush my hair, and put together a decent outfit would have made for a picture worth posting, and quite frankly, pulling myself together physically keeps me pulled together emotionally when I am bone weary.  Patrick, I challenge you to a retake this weekend.  Bring it.

Rest Assured, The Toilet Is Clean

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If you have a planned visit to my home, rest assured that you will have an extremely clean toilet to sit on, should the need arise.  I always clean toilets before anyone comes over.  It’s my thing.  There is a difference between messy and clean.  I sometimes fail the messy part, but I never fail the clean.  Dirty base boards and a dirty kitchen sink bother me, a lot.  I keep my dogs’ hair shorter than I would prefer because it means my hardwood floors are cleaner.  I would much rather walk down the street nude than go to bed without cleaning up after guests.  I think one of my mother’s proudest facts about her children is that we all are this way.  Some of us, ahem David, hire it out, but we are all fastidious.  There are moments in life that have stuck out for me regarding my need for cleanliness.

  1. Patrick and I took a fabulous trip throughout France, concentrating in Paris.  I was appalled that Notre Dame and other religious, historical houses of worship were not dusted regularly.  How can you invite tourists in and allow them to see mounds of dust collecting EVERYWHERE?  Patrick asked me how I supposed they would clean regularly.  I did not have an answer, but is it not embarrassing for the tourist board?
  2. I shared an apartment with my beloved C and another lovely girl, and I was the bath tub cleaner.  I was also the only one who sat in the bath tub.  C came home and found our roommate bathing her python in the bath tub.  C assured her I should not know about this and she should scour the bath tub after the python exited.  Thank the Lord I did not know about this until much, much later.
  3. A selling point in the ad for my first apartment in NYC (34th and 9th) was that it had a dishwasher.  When we looked at the apartment, it was filthy.  There were animal excretions on the carpet and the dishwasher had standing water and dead insects (the worst kind) inside.  The landlord assured us this would all be fixed by the time we moved in.  I came from renting apartments in Texas, so I believed him.  Nothing had changed when we moved in.  I referenced the selling point of the ad being the dishwasher and he said that I still had one; it just didn’t work.  I sat on the curb and rocked myself while sobbing.

One of my very favorite go to products for quick cleaning is Dr. Bronner’s Peppermint Oil soap.

Dr. Brommer's Peppermint Oil Soap

It comes in a huge bottle and I squirt 1 big squirt in a spray bottle, mix it with water, and use it for a million things.  I clean my counter tops multiple times a day, clean T’s high chair, wipe up spills off the floor, clean the living room table, and my base boards!  It leaves zero residue, but a fantastic minty clean smell.  It is my most favorite cleaning product.  A big bottle lasts 2 years.  They make several scents, and while reading about the company, I learned that many of the ingredients are certified organic and the company fully supports fair trade.  I love that you can use it to clean your home and your body.  They have an unscented version that I plan to try with the tiny one the next time we need soap for him.  They have a fantastic website I recommend checking out as there are many products and interesting articles to read.  www.drbronner.com.  Would it be presumptuous to email this to “whom it may concern” at Notre Dame?

Motherhood Is A Gift That Doesn’t Come Easily To All

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Last year Patrick and I decided not to celebrate Mother’s Day. We thought it could jinx our pregnancy. We had lost the tiny one’s twin early on, and he had been in jeopardy as well. It was too raw for us to celebrate with any confidence. This year, I cannot wait, but I don’t see it as a day about me. I see it as a day dedicated to being grateful for the opportunity to be T’s mama. I see jokes online about how it’s a day to not have to wipe rear ends or be awakened early, and I know there is truth there, but I see this day differently. Maybe it is because aside from a no napping stretch early on, T is an easy baby. Maybe it is because I only have 1 child, which is infinitely easier than 2. Maybe. I think it comes from all the stress, prayers, and the emotional roller coaster ride we took to create this beautiful baby boy. My greatest luxury is this wonderful little family I am a part of, so today my post is in answer to the trite articles written about the difficulties of being a mother. I can tell you that there is a vast population of would-be mothers out there who’s greatest desire is to clean poop off their own child’s bottom or live with sleep deprivation.
• Today I want you to wake me up in the middle of the night from a deep sleep. I am grateful to be the person you want to comfort you. This time goes too fast and I will take any opportunity to spend time with you when the night is dark and still.
• Please twist on the changing table while your bottom is still dirty. It makes me laugh to see you curious about your world and lets me know that you are growing stronger.
• Please make a big mess today with your food for me to clean up. It is better than any movie I could be watching to see you discover how to squish watermelon and then drool it out.
• Please cry a few times today and reach for me. You will not always want me this much and I savor it.
• To my husband: please do not buy me an expensive gift. I stay home with our child every day. That is the best gift you have ever given me, including my Manolo Blahniks and UCLA gymnastics tickets. Besides, when do you have time to shop? You work constantly to make sure I can stay home. Thank you.
• Please chuck your toys across the room. I have been waiting to see your arm strength.
• Please don’t take a nap today. It will panic me enough to research a million things online and learn something I did not know. It may even help me get in touch with friends I haven’t communicated with while seeking their advice.
• Please bite me while nursing. You are the only human in life who has been able to teach me patience. I love you.

teddy 4months 16.2 lbs

When the Day Fails You, You Can Still Smell Good

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This was my day yesterday. I woke up feeling thin. I put on my favorite pink skinny cords with a plunging white tee and my Parisian scarf. I felt good. The tiny one and I headed to an open play class at his gym and, luck of all luck, his daddy met us there!teddy balls

I made a friend at class and told her I had never been happier in life. I swear I could hear music backing up my perfect day. We got into the car and the tiny one started softly crying. I sang “Who Built the Ark” over and over as it tends to keep him calm. (The storm clouds were forming.) We arrived home and the crying turns to wailing. We entered the house and it smelled funky—time to change the diaper pail? I walked into our tons-of-time-and-money spent nursery to see a room that had been s**t bombed. (I apologize for the language, but it really is the only apt description.) Everywhere.

szurpicki-nursery-2-walls

 My long pile rug and my mother’s quilt were covered in canine diarrhea, AND my child was sounding like an abused child at this point. I stood in the room and screamed.
Needless to say, I was brought back down to earth and the music stopped playing in my head. I had a half glass of wine at 2:00 in the afternoon after dragging the quilt and rug outside to clean. At the end of the day, feeling putrid, I sprayed on my perfume to try and feel like the woman who started the day off perfect. Burberry London never fails me. I get excited every time I approach the bottle to spray. I bought it the first time on accident. I went to buy the Burberry scent my friend introduced me to, and bought the wrong one. It was a fantastic mistake.

burberry london

Burberry London is not an easy going scent. It is not a hipster or new scent. It is a rich, primal, and feminine scent. Like a day that encompasses a variety of engagements, it covers all scent arenas. There are layers of florals, citrus, and musk in the scent. If it were a color, it would be a deep plum. It is not a scent that you wear to work, or give to a young girl as her first scent. It is the scent a young girl watches her mother spray while getting ready for an evening out, or a scent an exhausted mother sprays at the end of the day to recapture a little magic.

Jo Annette, My Grandmother

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pikes peak

I took the train from Scottsbluff, NE to Denver, CO in the summer to see my grandparents.  They lived in Colorado Springs, which continues to be a magical place in my mind.  Sometimes my cousin Kerry Jean met me there.  Sometimes I was by myself.  It was something that I greatly looked forward to doing.  My grandmother, Jo Annette, was a great grandma to a young girl.  She was the first beauty queen I personally knew.  She showed me the picture of herself in her OSU yearbook and she was a stunner.  I remember hoping I looked like that picture when I grew up.  Grandma put me in a light blue room that had big windows and was filled with antiques that I was allowed to touch.  She had jewelry boxes in every bedroom filled with costume jewelry.  Kerry Jean and I used to quiver with excitement waiting to get our hands in those boxes.  I always felt very grown up because Grandma would take us to fancy lunches or teas downtown and we went to all of her favorite antique stores and did lots of shopping in general.  She never talked down to us.  It was perfectly normal to do all of these things just like we were adults.  If shopping is a genetic trait, it certainly came from her side.  Grandma and Grandpa took us high into the mountains to a town called Cripple Creek.  It’s an old mining town and we would pan for gold, certain our financial fortunes were about to change.

cripple creek

These are only a small taste of what Grandma and Grandpa planned for my visits.   It was an important part of my childhood.

Time and aging were not kind to my grandma.  A lot of sadness is attached to her later years, and frustration too.  Even in things you wish did not happen or happened differently, there is an opportunity to learn from them and, hopefully, allow you to pursue your own life differently going forward.  Grandma died in her sleep on Wednesday, and what is interesting, is that all I think about in regards to her now, is how much fun she was when I was little.  One last gift, perhaps.

I’ll have another post again next Wednesday.

Can I Conceal This Morning??

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This has been my last 12 hours: I couldn’t sleep very well and when I did, I was negotiating visual space in a store to remerchandise their floor.  If you have worked with me, I know you have had this dream.  Teeny woke up at 4:45 a.m. and after feeding him, I walked into a wall.  It has been a while since I have done that.  I couldn’t sleep after that so I got up to make coffee and could not, for the life of me, figure out why I was only pouring water after I had clearly been signaled that the coffee was done.  It turns out, if you do not pour the water from the carafe into the machine, coffee doesn’t happen.  I redid my effort and then put Splenda into my coffee.  With cream in hand, I was confused as to how the top of the Splenda container got on top of my coffee cup.  Yup, it’s that kind of morning.  Teeny is sleeping and I am still awake.  Needless to say, I have circles under my eyes that are terrifying and I should not drive a car today.

When I was little my mom used to tell me how she hated dark circles under her eyes.  I remember being very afraid of this condition, as if it were a disease.  I am so happy that it is not a disease, or painful, because I too suffer from it.  I have found a miracle concealer that I get very excited to use, and even better, it’s a total bargain.  I have tried so many concealers; Lancome, MAC, YSL, Kat Von D (huge fail), and none of them work as well as….Cover Girl.  Yep.  Cover Girl Concealer Balm, with Olay.  It comes in a lipstick shape and goes on incredibly smooth and creamy, but not oily.  My dark circles magically disappear for at least 6 hours.  Now, with the way my day has been going so far, I am hoping I do not confuse this magic balm with real lipstick under my eyes.  Wouldn’t that be pretty?

cover girl concealer

Humor In Parenting Creates Humor in Adulthood

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This was one of the earliest games we played with our mother:

Mom:  Everyone is dying except you.  You have one pill that can save someone.  Who do you give it to? (cue non subtle gesturing to self)

Katie: I don’t know!  Ok you!

Josh: I’d eat it.  (Apparently he wanted a back-up plan for himself.)

David: I’d give everyone a piece of it. (Everyone being our family.)

Mom: Then we would all die, David.  You have to choose.

This was an early lesson on how to make a firm decision and one of the many reasons why I have an incredible mom.  Having the tiny one now, I have spent a lot of time thinking and reading about how to raise him.  The best thing about my mom was her creative humor in raising us, and I hope to have that too.  All three of us are productive, voting members of society in professions we enjoy.  We turned out normal with firm opinions on most things in life.  There is a belief that within the first few years of life, your parents positively or negatively affect your self-confidence.  Thank you, Mom and Dad.  Here are luxuries in life my mother gave us that I plan on continuing with T.

  1. Mental health ‘sick’ days from school are a necessity once in a while.  There wasn’t an intervention scheduled if we needed one of these.  She let sleeping dogs lie and gave us a day off to regroup.
  2. We lived near school.  We were given a note to go home to use our own bathroom as needed.
  3. Set limits but give freedom.  When I had the chicken pox, I was allowed to scratch only one, but I could choose which one.  God bless her for keeping her mouth shut when I chose the one square in the middle of my forehead.  It makes me smile every time I see the scar.
  4. Our neighbor had crap grandchildren.  They just didn’t get the neighborhood rules.  My mom set us up along the perimeter of their house and, on her signal, we all made monkey/witch/scary noises and watched them run screaming into the house.
  5. She set up paper along the entire side of the house, gave us paints, and let us go at it free hand.  Such freedom was an amazing feeling as a little kid.
  6. She got to know our friends.  It was annoying at the time, but now I get it.  Stalk without letting them know you’re stalking.
  7. The importance of earning, not just receiving.  I was little when the Cabbage Patch Kid phase hit.  My mom bought one and then gave me a list of chores I could do to earn it.  I thought it was quite unfair at the time, but as an adult I have a very strong work ethic, as do my brothers.
  8. She let us pursue our own interests without ever negatively judging.  Not all parents would support, emotionally and financially, a career in performance, but she did.  She drove across the state and country for auditions and contests and never once doubted me.  I never received care packages once I got to New York without a little cash slipped in for a treat.  She also included stuffed animals molded into compromising positions, but this is just my mom and it is funny.