Bounce, Skip. My trip. A Little More-Just a Bit.
Muscle Mix
Steve, “I bought strawberry protein powder so nobody will drink it.”
Sarah, “Nobody is drinking that muscle mix. It could be flavored with Nutella and promise, we will not touch it.”
Fitbit: Boom! You just crushed 143 steps!
Really? I’m driving. That’s exactly why this relationship works. As always, I love you.
Mom Dates
M: Sarah, are you making friends?
S: Michelle, are you my friend?
M: Yes.
S: Then, yes. I’m making friends.
“Sarah, there are two kinds of people day drinking in bars. There’s moms like us, and then college students.” We live in a college town. Pointing, “Like those two. They’re definitely college girls.” My mom date and I laughed hard. The college girls were lying their bodies, specifically, their upper halves across the table, lifting shirts and taking photos. I was not judging, but the timing of the scene was spot on. “College kids, like those two.” And Boom! Social media regrets. Made me cry. Made me cry with laughs. Therapeutically solid laughter erupted! I did not judge. Been there. I try, try not to judge because there are stories. Like, at the treadmill, at the gym, the runner next to me was drinking diet coke as their quencher. But she was kicking my butt! It’s ironic, the biker smoking. But, I do not know their stories, nor they mine. The exact reason we meet life with kindness.
I told my friend the “painting the Cathedral blue” story. Boorishly, we laughed. “Sarah, you cannot make this up, can you?” “No, Michelle. Walk by my house, you will see a huge paint spot outside my door. It is a light grey-blue.” “I want to be a tour guide and say this is where my friend, Sarah lived, and this is where she left her mark. You literally are leaving your mark at a thousand-year-old historical site.” I’m leaving my mark in more than one way.
Another mom date, with a different, gut busting, witty mom was at Pilates. I have been to the class before and am in a new kind of love. I try to share this emerging crush with moms that are available. All newbies need to see the Pilates teacher before class and it’s always the same pep talk. “If you want a stomach like this and a bum like this keep at Pilates.” The instructor of course, speaks of her beautiful bum and stomach. She has lovely visuals.
Pilates is a wonderful challenge. I evoke a wonderful sense of accomplishment after. But times during……there’s the instructor saying, okay put your hands just below your belly button. If you feel a bubble you’re doing it wrong.
I feel that bubble all the time. Bubbles pop. Mine is more like an accent pillow. Are you saying that I should literally stop exercising altogether?
Again, Pilates is a splendid challenge. We spend 15 minutes unyielding on one side, exercising, pushing strong, solid as a rock. “Okay, take a break.” Yes,thank you, much needed! But……but, now I must do it on the other side. What the what?!
After Pilates, Christina and I had tea with her mom at the café in the gym. She told me about the pep talk. I sympathized, “I know isn’t she such a bitch. My stomach never looked like that, even before kids.”
And again, understand, I love my Pilates teacher! Because of her, and the awesome sauce in her class, I want to be a Pilates “lifer.”
Every Thursday recycling and trash punches the clock on time! 7:00 sharp! If I forget, I hear the glass clinking into the truck and run to get my rubbish and recycling curbside. By 10:00, if they are not there, I am confident they are not coming. Honestly my confidence stands at 8:00 a.m. If they are not there at 8:00, they are a no show. It’s happened in the past due to bank holidays.
A few weeks ago, I was driving home from Pilates. It was minutes after 13:00. My lovely neighbor was on her phone and walked her two rubbish bags down, setting them outside my stoop. She passed other neighbors’ houses to smitten my rubbish bags with her addition. I pulled up to her, unrolled my car window and asked, do you think rubbish is coming? On her phone she gave a wave, illustrating, oh yes! I parked. Unlocking the front door to my house, I heard her on her phone across the street, I’m trying to get the Housewives of Cheshire together. She did not say “real housewives,” a reality show here, but I can only presume. I shared this story on my mom date. We snickered. We snorted. Our interjected commentary brightened this short piece! Apologies, if, read it was dull-drum. Live story telling adds a grand spin.
I do though, I do adore my neighbor. We have lovely talks and she is there for me when I need her.
A kind compliment I generously received from a fellow mom: “How many places have you and your family lived?” “I have lived in Michigan my entire life, this is my first time living anywhere else.” “Seriously. I watch you and I pegged you, that you and your family are transferred about every three years. You handle this well.” “You’re very, very polite. Clearly, you have not spent enough time with me. Every time, I’m late for a birthday party, I want a cigarette.”
The driving and trying to find new locations stresses me out. Sat Nav gets me in the general area. It’s not door to door navigation. I always rely on my friend to talk me through the rest of the drive. And, the last party, I refused to ask for help from my friend, determined to find the birthday hall by myself. Surprisingly, I couldn’t. 😉 I stopped at an intersection, found a place to park and went into a restaurant. I showed the manager the birthday invite. Can you please help? “Well where are you now?” “Uhhh, is that a trick question? Because, I’m here. I’m right here. I’m at your bar with my six-year-old.” “No, no, where are you parked?” “Oh, gotcha! I’m parked across the street in your carpark.’ He kindheartedly gave me effortless directions.
Reflection: You know when Kate told me that she spelt her spelling words the way I taught her, it was the first of, it’s your fault. You ruined my life.
I’m going to put you in therapy, one way or the other.
Steve: If you hit a bush, I’m telling you, you are going to fail your driving test.
Sarah: I’m telling you, if it’s between a car and a bush, I’m running into the bush. I’m failing either way in that “hypothetical” scenario. I will not hit a moving object.”
Tiny, tiny country roads
Drivers education is helping loads. Ian understands how I received a discount for my car insurance. I had a box plugged into my car to track my driving. Steve, “How did Ian know you received a gold star for driving? How did he know about your discount?” “I have no idea. Clairvoyance. He’s multi-talented!”
There are four parking maneuvers I must accomplish. One; I need back into a parking space on a 90-degree angle. I think that should be an Olympic sport.
Sarah to Steve: “You might not need ten hours of driving instruction. You drive more than me and have more experience.”
Steve: “You’re right. I think next time I’m going to let you drive to Liverpool and I’ll tell you how hard it is to sleep while riding shot-gun.”
I love when I walk into the share shop they know my name. The workers, “Sarah, you have not been in for a bit.” It is a good reminder that I need to make regular visits. The share shop feeds the homeless and is a second-hand store raising funds for the homeless. We have a lot of heartwarming stories abounding from the share shop. We enjoy contributing our American cuisine, or aka “my cooking.” My sugar cookies were a big, big hit! Safe to say, a 10!!! The owners took our names and our picture (myself and the girls), after tasting the cookies. One time we dropped off ham sandwiches. Upon entering, there is often a suitable gathering eating or waiting for food donations. When we dropped off the sandwiches, we made, I told the crowd what was in the bag. A homeless friend started laughing when I said sandwich. She said, could you say that again? Sandwich. Again? Sandwich. And a good five more times. And my day was free, I was happy to entertain for as long as needed. I have a strong American accent in the UK.
Since following recipes in the kitchen, and just cooking better in general, at one share shop drop-off, I made sausage rolls and breakfast sandwiches. A favorable group was gathered in the shop. I find it necessary to try to “sell” my food.
“I have sausage rolls. And, I also made breakfast sandwiches. I used ciabatta rolls. I lightly brushed with olive oil, seasoned and toasted the rolls in the oven. I sautéed peppers before adding eggs. You’ll taste the white cheddar in the eggs, and gentle seasoning. I topped it off with fried ham. What would you prefer?” I think I did a great “sales” job. The appetizing breakfast rolls flew into hungry hands. I’m going to make my world-famous mac-n-cheese next.
My over confidence in the kitchen spills into my invite to my friend and her family. I asked if they would like to come over for dinner. I would cook. We will work it out later, but they were busy and could not accept on short notice. My friend, later went out of her way to tell me how ballsy I was. She did not say that at all, she commented how nice it was because……..her husband is a five-star chef at an up-scale hotel. Yes! That was really, really bold of me to offer. She went on to tell me, her husband thought that was extremely sweet, kind and nice, since they are usually the ones cooking for everyone. I was going to follow a recipe, like I do every Friday night. “One-part vodka, two parts cranberry juice, and one-part lemonade.”
Every Sunday when we walk, particularly in our neighborhood we dodge vomit. I did add to this backdrop one day. It was in Abbey Circle and it was not alcohol induced. I think it was our third day in our new place and I was waiting for Ikea in the middle of the day. Running to check the gate, and out of luck, I walked home. I got sick right there and it was loud. I tried to get to the outer side of the circle. Big tourist area. One passerby, tried to walk by, stopped and proceeded to watch the whole scene. I did. I got sick for weeks here. Everyday. It would be a baby Jesus miracle if it was morning sickness. I do not ignore strong signs. I saw a GP. Stress. My emotions always have physical side-effects.
GP: Tell me how you spend your days.
Me: Doing whatever it takes!
Helen, “mom does this song ever end?” It’s on repeat, so no. Music gets me through a lot, and I change my playlist often and sometimes not at all. Days I can listen to the same song on repeat. And right now, CAM’RON is getting me through jogs, a jog against a fellow runner, and his music is pushing me to goals. I love a variety of music! Saturday night at the Botanist bar two young hipsters played acoustic. Amazing. I love Tom Petty’s songs! I love Train!
I bought a new green toothbrush. Three days later Steve bought a replica. I’m okay if there’s a mix-up every now and then. We have three girls together. Why is that gross?
I will share three more thoughts—one random memory. All irrelevant, but……but is any of this……
- I loved the creative genius that went into the video, “Family Feud.” I thought it was amazing and progressive and absolutely genius to think in a distinct manner. I would love to see women that represent all skin tones that God gifted us, sitting at a round table thoughtfully analyzing, rewriting parts and honoring sections of our constitution. I could dig deeper into the subject matter, but I thought the art and brainwork in this video are ahead of our time. And, and, they should not be.
- I was born in the late 70’s. I was an 80’s child and a 90’s teen. When I was in elementary school, stir-up leggings were on-trend. I always desired a pair. But, alas, I had a lot of hand-me downs from siblings, church friends and my mom made a lot of our clothes. Hot pink corduroy bell bottoms were not an on-trend style for a fourth grader in the mid-80’s. But that was what I “kind of” had to wear to school that day. I used my creative problem solving, fashion savvy ways, and put rubber bands around the ankles. Problem solved, tight pants hugging my ankles. I do not see any bell bottoms here. Do you? In the hot lunch line, a sixth grader came up to me. Tone, strong, in her voice, “Hey girl! You have rubber bands around your ankle.” Sure, everyone around heard. A good many. I put my hands in my pockets, swallowed and as cool as I could, “Yeah.” Pregnant pause. “I know.” And I think now, it was funny–à”yeah, I know.” Who do you think put them there? She lived in the same neighborhood as me, we went to the same neighborhood school. We both grew up poor. She received the same free hot lunch as me. I’ve worked relentlessly, not because of that experience per-say, but in addition to, because I really enjoy fashion, therefor I work(ed) to earn money. At an early age I furnished my wardrobe and continue. I rise, I do not hide.
- I think you can draw any sea animal from your imagination. I think you can draw whatever you want. Whatever you dream. I think chances are a 100% that if you google and research long enough you will find a sea animal that looks like, or darn close to what you just drew. I think if you dream something it can be a reality.
I dreamt up a company, Green Kite Books. I wrote a business plan. I bought ISBN numbers for books. My dad designed the logo and I registered it at the US patent office. I own the website. I was in constant talks with publishing companies. And I had a lot of believers in me. It fizzled, and I’m ready for it to sizzle again.
I love that my daughters tell their friends I am an artist and a poet. POET, I love that’s how they see me. I love that I live a writer’s life and it trickles. They also tell their teachers. It’s a beautiful ode!
Life has taken me to places I have never wanted to go and brings me back exactly where I desire to be. I find no regret in circumstances, or battles I fight. I connect the dots. I need all those splotches, patches, and smooth rings to bring me to my standing spot. Strong. And a big thank you to my mom and dad for the degree in hard knocks life. I love color. I live a colorful life. I have amazing parents, husband, daughters, family, true friends. I carry that with me and my/our love creates a strong and tight #sextonfive.
Green Kite Books started after literally hundreds of rejection letters from publishing companies, big and small. I have every rejection letter packed away in Beverly Hills. A lot of them were generic form letters. Some took the effort to insert the title of my book. And when I got that rejection letter from Scholastic someone wrote in blue ink, on the rejection letter, “very nice poem.” That did it for me. I reach!
Like a kite, all dreams soar. That is my motto. In my opinion, a kite is the perfect visual, as well as parallel thought illustrating dreams. Children love dreaming, watching kites soar and reading children’s books. I, any of us, control our dreams with strings. You must grind. Kites dive. You try again. The kite is in flight again, not solely your effort. You need the strength of the wind. Your deep belief, drive and support of love from others will get you to reach. I reach. When it is the perfect windy day, I will go fly my green kite.
Abbey Row 