The Secret Desire of All Adults

A good friend and I were recently discussing that #1 desire of all adults.  Well, it is the top of the top on the list of wants for all adults living with another human being.  And absolutely it is the numero uno wish of anyone living with a child.  I am discussing, of course, the yearning to pee alone.

Put much more elegantly, my friend mentioned that all she wanted in life is to "pi$$ in peace."  We were discussing the fact that her beautiful daughter is going through a "mommy is best" phase.  Which is awesome for the ego--not so awesome for the ability to do anything.  Anything at all.  And this, sadly, includes using the restroom.  I had a similar experience the other day.  I was very excited to have the bathroom all to myself (no hurrying, no diving to save the Kleenex brand tissues from the full bathtub, no retrieving the toothbrush from the litter box...you get the picture) when the stupid cat started scratching on the door until she had finally pushed her way in.  I was completely, irrationally irate.  I actually yelled at the intruder "WHY WON'T ANYONE LEAVE ME BE FOR 5 ***** MINUTES!"  The cat just looked at me like I was clinical (which I deserved) then scratched on the cupboard in which her own litter box is located.  I had shut it so that the baby wouldn't get into it.  Ah.  My bad.  I was mad because I couldn't pee in peace, and she was mad because she couldn't pee.  Advantage, cat.

But, seriously, this is an issue many people have to live with daily.  And I'm talking about people with kids, with spouses, with siblings, with roommates--it never ends.  Yes, I admit I am particularly touchy about the subject, as I am an only child and have space issues.  But come on.  Particularly if you have kids, and particularly if you have kids and no kind sentry post outside the door to run interference, here are your options:  (1) have him/ her climb all around the bathroom as though it were the Magic Kingdom and you Space Mountain, all while you hurridly attempt to do your business without making it weird or icky (potty training--straight ahead), or (2) listen as he/ she screams outside of the thin bathroom door and sobs as though the cat had a special taser that it brings out the moment any door in the house closes.  Not very promising, either way.  So unless you have 15 bathrooms and 22 nannies for your one child (if this is the case, call me--we could totally be BFFs), you've had to deal with this at one point or another.  And my understanding is that spouses are no different.  Except in that scenario you're the Indiana Jones ride.  Nevermind.

And so, dear readers, it seems that we have unearthed the greatest desire of all adults since....well, since ever.  If you ever achieve the incredible feat of alone bathroom time, please don't tell your friends to brag.  They may close off your litter box out of irritation.  And you will be stuck on It's a Small World over and over and over again.  Nevermind.

The Myth that is "Baby-Proofing"

Sorry we have been a bit off-air, folks.  Sadly, we have been experiencing the funfest that is the wholesale destruction of all things electronic.  For example, did you know that when a one year old sits on your laptop for an extended period of time, the screen dies?  Just a little FYI....

When I had a baby, I bought no fewer than THREE books on baby-proofing the house.  I learned all kinds of tricks on how to close off cupboards and lock up all goodies.  I bought packages of door locks and toilet securers and outlet coverers.  And they worked great.  Until, of course, he could walk.  And until he became much, much smarter than I.  Which didn't take long.

I like to think of toddlers as mini-King Kongs.  They're smart, they're crabby, they have a ton of strength, and they don't really get that smashing buildings isn't the most productive way to spend a morning.  In fairness to my kid, my electronics smashfest was started by myself.  I dropped my phone and shattered the screen.  Yay me.  But he quickly took up the slack.  The computer was next.  Followed by the DVD player.  And then the camera.  In short, if it has a battery or plugs in, it was targeted this week.

Which brings me back to my point--there is no such thing as "baby-proofing" anything.  You can try to "baby-repel" but really you're just drawing attention to the good stuff. Case in point:  my kid was fascinated with trying to drop things in the toilet when I had a child lock on it.  But after he demolished the lock (AND, I might add, flushed pieces of it), he really didn't care.  No lock = not interested.  Empire State building destroyed.  Mission accomplished.  King Kong happy.

I'm starting to wonder what other "parenting advice" nuggets are huge myths.  Don't get me wrong--I completely agree with the need to try to protect our mini-monkeys as they go on their warpaths.  But the idea that they can be stopped altogether is terrifyingly insane.  Unless, per usual, it's just me.  Has anyone out there succeeded in stopping your child from destroying your house?  If so, please call.  If not, I wish you the least destroyed house on the block.  And if you don't have kids--go buy a bunch of stuff and enjoy it.  Because if you ever change your mind, prepare to battle.  And to lose.

Hoping for Hope

Have you noticed a slight lack of hope lately?  Do you find yourself straying from the "everything's going to be ok" to the "f*7k it" side of the spectrum?  If so, I am quite certain that you are not alone.  And so I find myself hoping for hope, for all of us.

I have a good friend who is generally on the sunny side of things.  He can get extremely emotional and have outbursts of the-world-is-ending-ness, but for the most part when things get down, he is relatively up.  He has been through some pretty horrible stuff and yet he just keeps going and keeps up his faith in others (sometimes to the shock and misunderstanding of those watching).  But he just keeps plugging along, trying to get through the days.

But the other day, we were talking about unimportant daily droll, when he said something to the tune of "that will happen if they're lucky.  Not that I believe in luck any more."  It was horrible.  This person who I had taken for granted to always look for the silver lining was admitting that he (like many) sees nothing but gray.  No other part of his demeanor or conversation betrayed this undercurrent of despair.  But that solitary comment made me really, really sad.

I, too, have been unable to see the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.  And when opportunities come, lately I have been afraid to let myself hope for the best.  I used to be the most irritatingly cocky person in the world--I somehow knew "the secret" (puke) and knew that things would work out.  But after a few years of being smacked around, it's hard to dare to hope.  For ME.  But hearing that sort of emptiness out of others makes me want to fight.  I want to beat the heck out of anyone and anything that dares stand in my friend's way of happiness.  He deserves so much good, and I can't bear that he doesn't see it coming his way in the future.  We all do.

And so, my valliant cohorts in life, if you have any suggestions on keeping the faith, I'm all ears.  And with all of my might, I will hope for you to be given the most elusive of gifts these days--I will hope with all of my might that you can see lights at the end of your tunnels and sunshine through your clouds.  Because if the Cubs can come back from an 8-0 defecit as they have tonight, anything is possible.  Sure, they'll lose the game by 1 in extra innings.  But at least there was a small sliver of hope and it was enough to keep the TV on.  And in the hours, days and months ahead, may you have your own glimpse of a bright side.

UPDATE:  The Cubs won 10-9, without need for extra innings.  Have faith, ye faithless.  Have faith.

My Life Sucks More Than Yours

As you are well aware, I have been having one hell of a pity party for quite some time now.  I have wallowed, I have wailed and I have wept; sometimes accomplishing the incredible feat of doing all three at once.  And as we have discussed, there are plenty of people out there with crap going on as well.  In fact, I quite literally am not aware of any friend or acquaintance who ISN'T going through something big.  Call it "life," call it "the recession," call it "George"--whatever it is called, there's a lot of stuff going down.

That said, there is a growing trend that is starting to drive me insane.  It's the "my life sucks more than yours" contest.  And this whopper of a competition is taking place all over the country--likely, the world.  I have been absolutely dumbfounded at some of the comments I see people making to one another.  We're talking about "no, you can't possibly be as sad as I" comments, in the middle of conversations about nail polish.  The zingers come from all over. Stay-at-homes stake their claim to having it worse than working parents who demand that they have it worse than the rich who have it worse than the ill who have it worse than the medicated and so on and so on.  I completely GET feeling like you have it worse than everyone around you.  Heck, like I said, my self-pity party rocks 24/7.  But to tell others that their pity parties don't have the beautiful decorations that yours sports?  That's insane.

First and foremost, none of us has any clue what is really going on in someone else's life.  It would baffle you to know that the head of the PTA was arrested a few months ago for vandalism.  You would be shocked to learn that your colleague is on a cocktail of anti-depressants that make Judy Garland's medicine cabinet look like a Baskin Robbins.  And it would blow your mind to know that the beautiful baby your neighbor won't shut up about is actually the mailman's kid.  I'm only partly joking--you just never, ever know what someone else is going through.  Even when he or she does the occasional (or frequent) sob story, you're rarely getting the entire picture.

Second, do the comments really make the speaker feel better?  I know how scary things are right now.  But by trying to let everyone know that you're "superior" in your misery, do you convince yourself?  I doubt it.  I can't believe that by explaining to the woman at the grocery store that the fact she worked the Fourth of July doesn't compare to your uncle's drunken admission that he has a love child, you feel better about the family secret (true story, actually--the woman in front of me had this conversation with the checker yesterday).  I just can't see the purpose of trying to rain on someone else's thunderstorm.

I am 100% guilty of doing the above.  But I have also been noticing it a lot lately in people who are far better humans than I.  Maybe we can all cut each other some slack?  I'm going to try to assume that every person I come across has a life that sucks more than mine on that particular day.  In which case, welcome to my party.  Please bring beer.

Harry Potter, My Friend

It is with only the slightest bit of shame that I admit that I am obsessed with Harry Potter.  I think the books are absolutely brilliant.  I enjoy the movies because they (for the most part) embody the books very well.  But lately I have been thinking about Harry Potter more in terms of its placement in my life.  Bear with me.

As many of you fellow dorks know, the final film based on the books is coming out in a few short weeks.  And for the first time in the history of Harry Potter, I will not be experiencing it with a very distinct group of my family.  This has caused me to think back on how much things have changed for all of us since Harry Potter, the wizard who lived, entered my life.

I was in law school when a younger cousin lent me one of the books.  I personally became obsessed.  I loved getting lost in the world of wizards and general wonder.  It was a great respite from the rather boring world of law school.  And, much to my delight, a number of my friends eventually admitted they found the same release.  Over the years, we became Harry Potter groupies.  Midnight book releases, hours-long lines for the latest films, possibly a costume or two (you know who you are, J) were all part of our bond.  The occasional member of our group disappeared--some from the obsession, others from our lives.  But together we shared this crazy, child-like joy for these fictional characters that we had embraced as our own.

As I sit now, miles away from this little family that I will always have, I can think of nothing but pure joy for having them in my life and for these awesome connections.  And I have to say thank you to Harry.  To say that each of us has been through a lot is like saying Voldemort is a bit crabby.  Marriages, kids, illnesses, losses (some indescribable), joys (also some indescribable) and so many ups and downs have entered each of our lives.  But the constant that has remained, and that always will no matter where we may be, is "us."  This fictional world has reached out of pages and film and has joined us for eternity.  Every glimpse of Daniel Radcliffe makes me think of how happy we all were at K's gorgeous wedding.  Every page I read that mentions Dobby brings a smile to my face because I remember laughing with S as we sat on the beach and burned ourselves to a crisp.  Every time I pick up a glass featuring Voldemort, I tear up with happiness at memories of Venice with J.  The others are all there, too--BBQs and laughing with L and fights and heartbreak with B. 

Wrapped up in this "childish" world of fiction is my reality.  And I am grateful to the boy wizard for each and every second of it.  In imagining his fictional life, I have lived my very real one.  And through it all has been my own group of Gryffindors (and Hufflepuffs and...you get the picture, or you think I'm insane).  The best part is that, though the movies may be concluding (for now, anyway), this connection that brought us even closer will remain for the rest of our lives.  And who could ask for more magic than that?