Weekend in paradise

What a weekend. One of those weekends that you wish you could relive over and over again. A weekend that passed too quickly, and that left me breathless and exhausted in time for the work week to begin. A whirlwind of family, celebration, food, cocktails, hugs, scenery, cocktails, dancing, reminiscing, cocktails, freedom, playing dress up and did I mention cocktails?

This was the weekend of my cousin Rachel's wedding. My mother, stepfather, sister, and brother in law, flew in for the festivities. This was no ordinary wedding. This was a very elegant, elaborate affair at The Ritz in Half Moon Bay. In a word, Beautiful. I drove up sans husband and children on Friday afternoon for the rehearsal dinner. This was a lovely event. Fantastic Greek food, wine and great company. But if I am to be honest with you, the very best part of the whole day was the fact that I had a hotel room all to myself for 24 joyful hours. No we did not stay at the Ritz, but the Best Western, which was kindly paid for by my parents. It was actually the nicest Best Western I have ever set eyes on. I guess that is what you get in Half Moon Bay. After the dinner I came back to a clean, totally peaceful room. A remote control with my name on it. A bed just for me. I watched smut on television. The kind of stuff my husband would cringe at. I turned out the lights at 10:30 and did not get out of bed until 8:45, which is just about a world record for a mom of two under five. I dressed and went out for a run along the coast. I jogged to the sound of waves crashing and watched the fog roll over the ocean. Serene. Cozy. Bliss. After my jog I grabbed coffee and a bagel which I enjoyed on the patio of my hotel room while reading USA Today. (More trash).

It was the most relaxing morning I have had in years. Years.

The rest of the day was spent with my family, wondering the quaint main street area, lunching and sight seeing.

Then it was time for the main event. We dressed and arrived in time for family photos. We watched the bridal party snap shot after shot of magazine worthy photographs. Rachel was gorgeous. We sipped $16 fruity drinks and awaited for my husband to arrive. Our anniversary. What a way to celebrate.

He arrived looking handsome in his one and only suit, reserved for such occasions. The rest of the evening passed quickly. A light-hearted, sweet ceremony, exquisite colorful bouquets of flowers. A backdrop of the sea, waves crashing on the cliffs. There were delectable appetizers, and free flowing drinks. We danced to 80's pop, and the DJ played our own wedding song, Louis Armstrong, A kiss to build a dream on. Eleven years ago, this was our day.

It was amazing to spend time with my family like this. Most of our visits together are harried, balancing the needs of which ever kid is screaming the loudest. Wiping noses, changing diapers, cleaning dishes. This was different. Time for the grown ups to connect and chat and celebrate love and romance.

And now it is over. My sister and her husband have boarded a plane and are headed for home. My parents will follow suit tomorrow.

The house will be somehow empty, and everything a bit too quiet. Our day to day lives resume. But we will always have Half Moon Bay.

Crush

Ahhh Facebook. Beloved Facebook. You are the giant cyber space high school reunion. So many good uses for Facebook.

And yet. Yet, you ruin the mystique of long lost friends and make our cloudy memories crystal clear. You give our childhood enemies and crushes an adult face, and we are forced to see the bullies and heart breakers for who they are now. Grown ups. Nice people. Real estate agents. Balding. Unmistakably average. Kind.

I had a recent run in with my sixth grade crush. I promised him I would not use his name on my blog, so I am changing it to Stevie. (Hint that isn't much of a change from his real name). Stevie was the topic of many a three hour phone conversation with my best friend, Erica (pictured with me above). Erica and I were smitten. Stevie was so cute. Stevie was so funny. Stevie looked at me yesterday, what do you think that means? We prank called Stevie on several occasions. Giggling wildly into the phone screaming "we love you!" and quickly hanging up before we could hear his response. Ahh... Stevie. Stevie didn't like me. Boys didn't like the sixth grade me. Well except for Eli who I kissed on a double dare and "went with" for a grand total of two weeks. But Stevie had his eyes on prettier faces. He was never mean to me. Not really. It was his not -as -cute side kick who had an evil streak. Stevie broke my sixth grade heart at the school dance. He agreed to a slow dance with none other than my BFF Erica. Erica was thrilled. So I thought that I would take my chances and when "Say You, Say Me" was played I asked my heart-throb for a dance. He was too tired. Too tired? Even at my age I knew better. Liar. Jerk. He picked Erica over me.

Somehow, I picked up the pieces of my shattered heart and moved on. My friendship with Erica was not tarnished and we both went on to have many other crushes, but you don't forget your first.

And then there he was. A grown man on Facebook. He looks like any one of my friend's husbands. (And yes, "Stevie", you have aged well). And he was nice. He remembered my name. He remembered that dance. He accepted my friend request and did not tell me he was too busy or too tired to be my friend. He is an adult. So now the memory of my little sixth grade crush has transformed. Stevie has an adult face, and he is nice. It kind of ruins it doesn't it?

Scooby Snacks (Sort of)

Before I had kids I would never have eaten a package of "Fruit Flavored Snacks" in SpongeBob SquarePants shapes. But I did tonight. And they were tasty. Mmmm Mmmm good. Before I had kids, we went through a stick of butter and a dozen eggs about every two months, now, I shop for both on a weekly basis. Little growing bodies need fat to grow on. Before I had kids I would clean my living room in the morning and return home to that same spotless house. These days, a tidy space transforms to chaos in a matter of mere seconds. Seconds. Before I had kids I had long hair, died to a shiny sun-bleached shade of blond that I flat-ironed on a daily basis. Today I haven't enough hair to be styled at all. Before I had kids I would take a walk with the husband under a sky full of stars and return home at 11pm, just in time for bed. Today, I can't leave the house past 8:00. We have blessed, sleeping responsibilities upstairs. Before I had kids I would join my colleagues for happy hour after work. We gossiped and griped about the day and drank our blues away. These days I rush home as soon as the clock strikes 5pm. Little mouths to feed. A nanny who needs to be relieved.

Before I had kids life was simple. Life was about me. What I needed.

I can't lie. That was nice. At times, I miss it terribly.

But before I had kids, I never knew how it felt to be admired and loved so wholly. Before I had kids there was no one who would beg for more tickles and demand for my arms screaming "Uppy!". Before I had kids my refrigerator was stark and barren, no homemade artwork to clutter it's surface. Before I had kids I never experienced the wonder of a child learning to read and write.

Before I had kids life was quiet, life was mine. And yet, I have learned so much from the wee-ones, and along with the fuss, the tantrums and the mess comes the joy. So much joy. And the freaking awesome fruit flavored-SpongeBob Squarepants snacks.

In the mirror

I hate this picture. Hate it. So it is surprising that I am posting it on my blog. Why would I place this unflattering photograph of myself up for all of you lovely visitors to view? Because I was inspired by an old high school friend's facebook status update. It said:

"The other day my daughter said she “was playing with her friend in the mirror” and it got me thinking…. When was the last time I saw a “friend”in the mirror?....."

Good question. Because when I see this picture, or when I view this face in a mirror my thoughts are something similar to: "Your arms look fat. Look at those laugh lines. Your teeth are too yellow. Your smile is too big. Your eyes are too droopy, and your face lacks definition. You look old." God help me when I get in front of a full length mirror.

So is that a friend? Hardly. I would never speak those words to a friend. Can you imagine? No if I were sitting across from that girl in the picture, I might complement her on her earrings or her sassy haircut. I would find something positive to share with her.

And yet everyday I criticize myself. I am not pretty enough. I need to do sit ups. I talk too much. I talk too loud. I am a terrible housekeeper. I have cellulite. I am lazy. The list goes on and on. If any friend talked to me like that, I would give her a nickname. Bitch.

I don't want to be a bitch. It's time to be kinder.

It's time to be a friend.

Random thoughts

To the tanned half naked jogger from yesterday:

Yes, you are fit and athletic and I understand the temptation to show off the fruits of your labor, but dude, it is 50 degrees and drizzling, do you really need to take your shirt off? You're that hot? Come on. Have a slice of humble pie and put some clothes on.

To my children:

Listen I want to raise kids that are comfortable with bodies. I am not a prude, but boys I am starting to wonder if all this constant nudity is going to lead to social services knocking on my door. Can we at least put on underwear for taco night?

To the fool who hacked my hotmail:

Beware. I am consulting with a voodoo doctor shortly. You messed with the wrong mama.

To the barista at the coffee shop where I often work:

When I ask you about your favorite dessert, please do not shrug your skinny shoulders and say "the fruit cup". You're not going to make any friends that way.

To my blog readers:

Talk to me! Comment! Don't be so shy. I'm lonely.....

Why August Rocks

August is a pretty good month if you're me. And since I fit that bill it suits moi just fine.

Why August? Because it is a month of Kargas family celebrations. August 14th: Our anniversary. This year is our 11th anniversary. (Please hold your applause until the end folks). Of course that means last year was the BIG TEN. I had high hopes for the BIG TEN. A second honeymoon back in Portugal or perhaps a week at a luxury resort in Hawaii. Reality set in. We were contemplating a move to California, had two small kids at home and a (very) limited budget. So, a hasty, fun, yet unmemorable trip to Vegas was the end result. (Photo above). Not what we had in mind, but heck at least we were celebrating ten years. This year it is of course, 11. And instead of a couple's night out we are attending a family wedding in Half Moon Bay. Without kids. And staying over night. Well all-right!

August 21st (drum roll please) the celebration of the anniversary of yours truly. MY BIRTHDAY. (Applause is now appropriate). I have already referenced my affection for birthdays in earlier posts, but let me reinforce that this is MY BIRTHDAY. The best day of the whole long year. The day I anticipate starting right about now. I never hesitate to remind those around me of the upcoming event. I don't like to leave anything to chance. If Molly Ringwald looked like a spoiled pout in Sixteen Candles, I assure you that it would pale in comparison should anything be amiss on my special day. Last year was a mixed bag. 8/21/09, I had a girls party planned at my favorite Champagne Bar (Corridor 44) in Denver. A group of fabulous women accompanied me for a fantastic evening, which sadly became marred by the job offer my husband received that very day. The job offer that would ultimately leave me far away from my ladies this year. So there will not necessarily be a Rachel Love Fest this year, but believe-you-me, I ain't letting it go. Nope. I am eagerly anticipating an amazing 24 (plus) hours of pampering. Which means, honey, if you are reading this, pressure is on you babe.

Happy August Everyone!!

Nothing to do but cross your fingers.

We worry through our pregnancies. Will I miscarry? Will my baby be healthy? Will it have down syndrome? A healthy heart? A disability? And then by some insane miracle most of us have healthy babies. We breath a sigh of relief at their arrival and then turn our concerns to SIDS, kidnapping, autism and a whole host of other tragic maladies. If we make it through those tense few years, we should be allowed to let our guard down and relax a bit... right?

Wrong. My guess is that any parent of a teenager or a grown child knows that the worry does not cease. The love for your child, the fear for their well being does not surrender with the numbers of candles on a birthday cake.

Last night a police officer awoke us at 3:30 am. He rang the bell of our home and inquired about next of kin. Next of kin for someone who used to live in this home and who shares the same last name of our landlords. Presumably, their adult child. We provided the officer with all of the information that we could to put him in touch with the owners of our house.

We went to bed believing that our sweet landlady was receiving word that her son had passed tragically. The worst moment of one's life. The moment we all picture in our heads. The car accident. The drowning. The overdose. The murder. Anything is possible in the imagination of a parent. And the thing of it is, it is not fantasy. These things happen, they happen every day. Children get cancer. Teenagers drink themselves to death. Families die in car accidents. It is reality. A fact of life that is simply out of our control.

We were relieved to find out that our landlord's 29 year old son merely fractured his skull after some accident in the middle of the night. He will survive. We know nothing more. Of course I speculate that there is more to the story. An attempted suicide. An alcoholic carelessly leaning over his balcony with a bottle of Jack in hand. Who knows. The fact is, his parents arrived at the hospital with almost no information about their son's prognosis, and they are now thanking their lucky stars that their boy is alive. But whats next? They will scratch their heads and wonder what they can do to steer their son out of harm's way in the future. How can they protect him from his own stupidity, or from random dumb luck?

Truth be told they can't. None of us can. At some point we must let go of our children and pray for the best. Cross our fingers and hope that we will be the lucky ones, the ones who never receive that call in the middle of the night....