So I'm a single girl and I've managed to make it through yet another Valentine's Day with minimal blood, sweat and tears. How I Met Your Mother, one of my favorite shows on television, had a whole episode, calling February 13th "Desperation Day" when all single women just try to hook up with a man, ANY man, to avoid loneliness. Furthermore, Barney illustrates how men can get past it by making sure any hook-ups end by 11:59pm on Feb 13th. While I would hate to agree that women get a lil... shall we say peckish around Valentine's Day, the show makes a good point. I've been known to over romanticize any date-like outings in and around the holiday. I still get annoyed when certain people don't call me to at least acknowledge the day and wish me a good one. And heaven knows that I will always be a sucker for the big gesture. Afterall, I'm a woman who wrote a college application essay about the greatness of romance novels.
However I think this year, for the very first time, I've separated out all the things that I have always dreamed about and wanted from the "perfect" Valentine's day from all things i really need in a "perfect for me" kinda love and commitment. How do I explain this better? Don't get me wrong, I love me some flowers (peach roses or orchids), candy (white chocolate peanut butter cups) and some jewelry (I'm old school, i like yellow gold). But now, when I see my friends partnering up, getting married, and ultimately finding their right for them mates, I realize its more about the small things. The Common things. Common Interests, Common Decency & most importantly, Common Sense. It less about who's got the balla with the MBA, and more about who shows up when they say they're going to and who makes you feel like his/her personal "Win" every single day.
And these relationships are out there. Hell, I'm going to four of those weddings this year (seriously guys, I'm all for wedded bliss and all, but if one more friend tries to sneak in a wedding this year, I'm taking a bat to your fiance's legs for delaying purposes). I see love when a woman embraces an entirely different culture, and agrees to wed on mountains, in castles and on different continents all with the same man. I see love in the ever present shared kind looks without a care to who else is watching. I see love when a woman ill at ease with the words of love will still say them in a church in front of God and all witnesses so her fiance's mom can see a dream come true. And I see it when a woman steps up and becomes not only the partner, but the crutch her love needs when he has to relearn how to walk and grow as a man earlier than anticipated.
These little moments and a million more give me faith and help me redefine my fairytale. It's not Cinderella's story (seriously he was a cutie with some nice danceskills and some stalkerish type tendencies) or Snow White's (a guy with a bad sense of direction who could put it on a girl with one kiss) or even Ariel's (I bet once she started talking, he lost interest real quick, and wasn't she like 16?). No, these are the stories that get beat up a little but still come out shiny.
These are the stories you stake a lifetime on.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
The Revolution will not be Televised...but it will be tweeted
I'm not a political person. Really, I'm not. In general, I move forward existing off of news recaps and article titles. I went to a couple of "good schools" that produce presidents like Detroit used to produce cars so I'm never supposed to admit this. But I tend to shy away from things that depress and politics often do. Unless it involves the West Wing, which I loved with burning passion. I'm fairly liberal and definitely a democrat and I live in New York City. I vote in all major elections because of civic duty mumbo jumbo, and because I ALWAYS reserve the right to complain. And generally, as long as my political leaders are not dumb, I'll be ok.
So, with everything that has been going on in Egypt, I feel like the blogosphere has erupted with commentary on nation building and the responsibility of social networking and preserving histories and what have you. And I've just been listening. Instead I've been thinking about rebellion on a much smaller scale. Specifically, with my grandmother.
Now far be it for me to compare the two things AT ALL. That's not what I'm trying to do (although I may try at the end of this, just for continuity's sake). But I have noticed that the more that my mother and I try to do "what's best" for my grandmother, and the further along in the disease she goes, the more juvenile her forms of rebellion.
I've mentioned before that getting Grandma to bed is an issue, all the time. Well not true, when she visits other people, she's a perfect guest. Just in our apartment. So this weekend, my mother and I both decided we weren't doing the battle, my mother because she was tired, and me because I had morning commitments both Saturday and Sunday. Cue Saturday night, my grandmother never comes to bed. We share a bedroom, and she takes an hour to settle down, so I always know when she's made her way in, even if I'm in my deepest drunkest sleep. I do one of those mini wake-ups that all caregivers do at 7am (guilt and nerves kill sleep like an evil wench). The bed next to me is still made up, and the pajama top that Grandma forgot to put on last night is still resting on the bed. I go out to living room, Grandma is sitting with an Enquirer/People magazine. Cue Scene.
Me: Grandma, why didn't you sleep in your bed last night?
Grandma: (Pause, thinks to herself for a moment) Yes I did. How would you know? You were asleep.
Me: No you didn't. Your bed is made up.
Grandma: How do you know I didn't make it up while you were sleeping?
Me: Because there's no way you came into the room, changed into your pajamas, pulled down the sheets, slept, woke up and made up the bed without me knowing.
Grandma: (No answer)
I went back to bed. Fast forward to Sunday night. My brother's girlfriend and her daughter are staying by our house for the night. The little girl is 12. When she comes over she sleeps on a couch in our living room. The one my grandmother's behind is usually glued to. When we tell Grandma that its almost time to for the little girl to go to bed, Grandma get up with her Enquirer and moves to the dining room table. My apartment is not that big. In fact there is no "dining room". Its the table 8 feet away from the couch. Fast forward to midnight, I turn off the lights. Grandma throws a fit. She smacks the magazine against the table and says "Why you always have to bother me so?" I try to explain reasonably. She doesn't care.
I kid you not this is what happens next.
She sits in the dark for a while. She comes through the bedroom to use the bathroom and returns to the dining room table. She then puts her head down on her arms on the table "Seven's Up" style because she's "not ready to go to my bed yet." Fifteen minutes later, she comes into the bedroom, takes a pillow and decides she's going to watch Phineus and Ferb on the TV (what the 12 year old is watching) and sleep on our loveseat (which cannot hold her) opposite the girl on our full sofa. I wasn't even willing to fight that battle.
The whole time, all I could think is "Wow, way to creep out the little girl Grandma."
Later that night, when i thought about it more, I realized that my Grandma was only trying to strike out against her "oppressors". We were her Moubarek, with our holier than thou, trust us, this is the way it should be system. We keep telling her when she should go to sleep and insisting she does so in her own bed, she feels she knows whats best for her and that we don't have the right to dictate to her, so she's taking back her freedoms where she can. Right now, it sleeping uncomfortably in chairs, watching cartoons with 12 years olds and reading about Brad and Angelina "breaking up" again to her hearts content.
I guess its my job to learn that as long as she's safe, I cant take these rebellions personally, and that ultimately, if we don't let her act out occasionally, we'll have coups and anarchy all the time, pretty much destroying any comfort in our own homes. So cheers to you, Grandma. You won that one.
Now, go to bed.
So, with everything that has been going on in Egypt, I feel like the blogosphere has erupted with commentary on nation building and the responsibility of social networking and preserving histories and what have you. And I've just been listening. Instead I've been thinking about rebellion on a much smaller scale. Specifically, with my grandmother.
Now far be it for me to compare the two things AT ALL. That's not what I'm trying to do (although I may try at the end of this, just for continuity's sake). But I have noticed that the more that my mother and I try to do "what's best" for my grandmother, and the further along in the disease she goes, the more juvenile her forms of rebellion.
I've mentioned before that getting Grandma to bed is an issue, all the time. Well not true, when she visits other people, she's a perfect guest. Just in our apartment. So this weekend, my mother and I both decided we weren't doing the battle, my mother because she was tired, and me because I had morning commitments both Saturday and Sunday. Cue Saturday night, my grandmother never comes to bed. We share a bedroom, and she takes an hour to settle down, so I always know when she's made her way in, even if I'm in my deepest drunkest sleep. I do one of those mini wake-ups that all caregivers do at 7am (guilt and nerves kill sleep like an evil wench). The bed next to me is still made up, and the pajama top that Grandma forgot to put on last night is still resting on the bed. I go out to living room, Grandma is sitting with an Enquirer/People magazine. Cue Scene.
Me: Grandma, why didn't you sleep in your bed last night?
Grandma: (Pause, thinks to herself for a moment) Yes I did. How would you know? You were asleep.
Me: No you didn't. Your bed is made up.
Grandma: How do you know I didn't make it up while you were sleeping?
Me: Because there's no way you came into the room, changed into your pajamas, pulled down the sheets, slept, woke up and made up the bed without me knowing.
Grandma: (No answer)
I went back to bed. Fast forward to Sunday night. My brother's girlfriend and her daughter are staying by our house for the night. The little girl is 12. When she comes over she sleeps on a couch in our living room. The one my grandmother's behind is usually glued to. When we tell Grandma that its almost time to for the little girl to go to bed, Grandma get up with her Enquirer and moves to the dining room table. My apartment is not that big. In fact there is no "dining room". Its the table 8 feet away from the couch. Fast forward to midnight, I turn off the lights. Grandma throws a fit. She smacks the magazine against the table and says "Why you always have to bother me so?" I try to explain reasonably. She doesn't care.
I kid you not this is what happens next.
She sits in the dark for a while. She comes through the bedroom to use the bathroom and returns to the dining room table. She then puts her head down on her arms on the table "Seven's Up" style because she's "not ready to go to my bed yet." Fifteen minutes later, she comes into the bedroom, takes a pillow and decides she's going to watch Phineus and Ferb on the TV (what the 12 year old is watching) and sleep on our loveseat (which cannot hold her) opposite the girl on our full sofa. I wasn't even willing to fight that battle.
The whole time, all I could think is "Wow, way to creep out the little girl Grandma."
Later that night, when i thought about it more, I realized that my Grandma was only trying to strike out against her "oppressors". We were her Moubarek, with our holier than thou, trust us, this is the way it should be system. We keep telling her when she should go to sleep and insisting she does so in her own bed, she feels she knows whats best for her and that we don't have the right to dictate to her, so she's taking back her freedoms where she can. Right now, it sleeping uncomfortably in chairs, watching cartoons with 12 years olds and reading about Brad and Angelina "breaking up" again to her hearts content.
I guess its my job to learn that as long as she's safe, I cant take these rebellions personally, and that ultimately, if we don't let her act out occasionally, we'll have coups and anarchy all the time, pretty much destroying any comfort in our own homes. So cheers to you, Grandma. You won that one.
Now, go to bed.
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