the life – Page 15 – the chelsea chronicles

war and rememberance

When the news broke last week that Osama bin Laden was dead, it was hard for me not to reflect upon my own generation’s “where were you?” moment. And the answer is that on September 11, 2001, my nine-month pregnant self was at work in the Dirksen Senate Office Building.

It was a crisp fall day. I remember the sky being a vivid blue when I opened my eyes after the 40-minute nap I routinely took in the car on the commute into the city. (Did you catch that I was nine months pregnant?) I remember driving (well, riding) on D Street, NE, approaching 2nd Street, heading to the Hart Senate Office Building where my now ex-husband used to drop me off because the lines weren’t as long there as they usually were at the doors to my own building. As always, that morning I lamented the end of the nap, and this particular morning, I marveled on the perfection of the weather.

By the time I got to my desk, I was greeted with a chorus of “oh my god, did you hears” as the first WTC tower had just been hit. We all promptly congregated in one office (mine) to follow the live coverage on CNN. We had no idea that we were watching the worst terrorist attack on American soil occur. But then that second plane hit and reality quickly sank in.

We were numb. Our first reaction was “back to business as usual” but then there were smoke plumes reported at the Pentagon, mysterious reports of car bombs at the State Department, the internal “hotline” announced evacuation of the Senate complex, and my contractions were coming on strong, albeit erratically, every 5-9 minutes. As my colleagues and I were about to leave our suite, my ex bounded in, and we made an executive decision that retrieving our car, three floors under in the parking garage of the Rayburn House Office Building, made us sitting ducks since we didn’t know if there were other planes headed for more DC destinations. With uncharacteristic calm we quickly reached a unanimous decision.

Call Brigid.

Brigid lived on the Hill, but far enough away from the epicenter that we figured if a plane was heading for the Capitol, we would not be in the carnage. Again, in retrospect I marvel at our relatively detached demeanor in such a tense moment. After 16 or so tries on my cell, walking as we speed dialed, we finally reached Brigid and got the green light to head to her place. As I lumbered from the Senate-side to the House-side, past Eastern Market, I pleaded with my baby to stay put and not be born on this terrible day. I also hoped that at Brig’s there would be space for an enormous pregnant woman to sit down.

We made it to Brigid’s. I was given a seat on the couch. And history unfolded before our eyes. I found out later that the 25 Hill staffers crammed into her tiny apartment secretly took bets on whether I’d go into labor. The contractions stopped (adrenaline suppresses pitocin) but the day perpetually plays in my mind, like the black and white films that run on a loop at Ted’s Bulletin. As we all know now, there was indeed a fourth plane. And to this day, I believe that plane was destined for the U.S. Capitol. The passengers of United Flight 93 saved not only my life, but the life of my unborn son.

Four days later, with a newborn in my arms, I wondered what kind of world awaited him. As I have grown to begrudgingly accept over the years, I can’t protect him from everything, and for this reason, I applauded the President’s decision not to release photos of Osama bin Laden’s dead body. My kid reads the paper. He has an email account. He is observant. Had that photo been released, he would have eventually seen it. The greatest generation didn’t need to see pictures of Hitler’s charred body to believe he was dead, but my child is growing up in a YouTube world that has to see, hear or google everything to believe it. As for me, even though I loved 24 with its crazily unrealistic conspiracies, I’m going to take the Administration’s word for it on this one.

While I can’t say I have closure on 9-11 or feel that the world is a safer place, at least the success of this mission reaffirmed for me that sometimes, the good guys still win. And that’s the kind of world I want for my sons.

super mommy blues

Mars Needs Moms. And moms need wine. If you are my Facebook friend, then you know that my schedule this week is: Monday Jack had little league practice, Tuesday both kids had practice, Wednesday Jack has a game, Thursday both boys have practice, Friday Jack has a game, Saturday Colin has a game, and Sunday both boys have practice. Just writing it makes me tired. In addition, Tuesdays are musical theater practice rehearsal (yes, I am a stage mom). This Saturday is Touch Truck. (If you live in the DC metro area and have a child obsessed with trucks, you need to come to Cheverly for this annual event.) Saturday is also the annual Cheverly Garden Club sale and this month’s “Weekend Warriors” day. (Weekend Warriors is a group of friends who once a month tackle a household project or projects at one family’s home. I have been trying to break into the club for six months, but with all the back brace issues, this is my first opportunity for an appearance.)

That means that on Saturday, I need to be in four places at once (garden sale, little league, warriors, touch truck) and Colin needs to be in two places (little league, touch truck). I almost had an aneurysm when Jack picked up the phone today to arrange a play date for this overbooked day.

Whether you are a stay-at-home-mom (a job that I don’t think I would ever be awarded should I apply for it), work part-time, work from home, have a nanny or have kids in daycare/school, being a soccer mom (that title sounds so much better than little league mom) is no easy business. And if you home school, you deserve the Nobel Peace Prize for not killing your children at some point in the curriculum and educating them in the process.

I am a single parent, but only 50% of the time. With our week-to-week schedule, that means that I get a break that not all single parents get. It isn’t the every night break that a two-parent family balances out, but a shift from managed chaos to solitude. Some kid-free weeks, my nights are filled with happy hours and dinners. In the pre-Beatrix days, I went to the gym (in particular, Jess’s spin class is better than any happy hour special). Most nights, I work late. When I go home on my off-nights, my house is clutter-free. (I know most of you think this all sounds appealing.) But one thing is constant and that is that whether the boys are home or not, at my own bedtime, I instinctively head to their room to tuck them in because I’m always thinking of them and sleeping soundly in their beds is where they should be.

Usually, I am a multi-tasking genius. But this week, it’s only Tuesday and I’m already overwhelmed with our pending schedules (work and extracurricular) and to do list. I am feeling a little like the mom in Mars Needs Moms. The tyrant mom, that is, not the beautiful, green-eyed mom gasping for breath on Mars, inspiring the life-saving action of her previously unappreciative son. But still, regardless of the schedule or the demands, I can’t imagine a life that doesn’t have my boys in it. It’s just that some nights, that life needs an extra glass of wine.

sun goddess

Meghann is finally getting her glow from bronzing products and not human microwaves.

Who doesn’t love that sun-kissed look that says you spent the day outside playing in the sun? People will go to great lengths to acquire that look. Some do it the old fashioned way. Who from high school remembers crawling out my bathroom window to lay out on the roof of my house? Kim? Debbie? Jen? We used to spend our summers worshiping the sun (Debbie always had a gorgeous summer tan) and often lathering ourselves with canola oil to attract the sun because we were out of, um, baby oil. We also went to the beach and laid out at Sheila’s pool without using SPF-loaded products. (I always justified this by thinking the Maine sun was less harmful than the California sun.)

It was the 80s. Everyday products like body lotion and foundation didn’t have SPF. Or maybe it did and we didn’t pay attention. Maybe it was the invincibility of youth.

But really, I should have known better. When we were little, my mom was putting sunscreen on us (I can still envision the bottles of Sea & Ski) in the 70s before it was vogue to do such a thing. We even had our noses routinely painted with a healthy dose of zinc oxide before going to the pool. But that didn’t stop my teenage self from absorbing a sun that we did not acknowledge would give us the wrinkles we now curse.

While these days I’m more or less a direct sun-evader, there are many who embrace its deceiving glow. If you want or need to be in the sun, all your skin asks of you is to use sunscreen. And something better than SPF 4. For me, I’m a big fan, for everyday use, of the Bobbi Brown Brightening Protective Face Base. I use serious sunscreen if I am going to the pool, but for everyday under-the-make-up purposes, the Bobbi Brown provides SPF of 50, goes on lightly and doesn’t smell like Coppertone (after all, who needs an olfactory reminder that they’re going to work and not the beach?)

I have also been a devoted fan for many years of Laura Mercier’s tinted moisturizer. While it only has SPF 20, and thus is not sufficient by itself, the product is superb, and when combined with the aforementioned face base, I feel protected enough to sit outside at the Cafe Berlin and enjoy a seasonally appropriate Spaten after work.

What I am trying to say is: if you need to be in the sun, be smart about it. Take it from someone in her early 40s who still gets carded. While I have not but on a handful of occasions in my irresponsible youth visited a tanning salon, it seems that these beds of aging have a draw that is undeniable for the Millennials. I have to admit to watching a dreadful episode of a TLC show called My Strange Addiction in which a young woman was seriously addicted to tanning. Her need for a UV fix was so bad that she would travel to more than one salon a day, because no one place would not allow her to tan twice daily. She might have been 21 (if that) but her skin looked much older than mine does at 41. Long ago, I gave the anti-tanning bed advice to my 25-year old sister Meghann and it seems she has finally switched to self-tanners (or so she tells me). But on that note, if you are going to do liquid tan, take time to apply it evenly. Even super cute shoes can’t hide a streaky orange ankle.

With the money you save by not going to the tanning salon, you can save up to fund a trip to the Greek Isles. Just don’t forget your sunscreen.

something blue

I know that it’s cliche to write about weddings today of all days. While I did not get up at 3:00am to watch the royal wedding (though I did wake up at 3:00am for other neurotic Chelsea reasons) by the time I got out of bed at 6:00am to do my physical therapy exercises, I caught more or less the meat of the royal event without being intentionally in a sleep deficit. But if I had had others to join me in the drinking of the Iron Horse Wedding Cuvee, trust me, I would have made the move from bed to living room a tad bit earlier.

If I may, let me muse for a moment over the whole “should we watch it or should we not” pressure. In my opinion, it’s a world event. Prince William will be King of England. He may be a king in name only, but let’s give respect where respect is due. Second of all, I personally am very up to speed on world events. I don’t watch the Jersey Shore. (I don’t even watch American Idol.) I understand what the “debt ceiling” is. I watch C-SPAN for god’s sake. So let me enjoy something light and happy. Don’t judge me for wanting to see two people express a very public display of affection and commitment.

In 1981, my almost 12-year-old self watched Lady Diana marry Prince Charles. I had never had a boyfriend (and was probably just on this side of thinking that boys didn’t have cooties) but I was enamored with all things royal. I cut out of magazine photos of presumed designs of what her dress would look like. I had a coffee mug commemorating their engagement. I woke up at 2:00am to follow the coverage. But given all that, I cannot say in all honesty that even at that age I was bought into the fantasy. Did Diana’s later courage to divorce Prince Charles in the most public of ways give me the validation to terminate my own marriage?

I can feel you rolling your eyes, but at the same time, I cannot for sure say no, just as we can’t today predict how today’s betrothal of Prince William and Kate Middleton will impact weddings to come. Will brides imitate her dress? (Personally, I think Kaitlan could totally pull off Kate’s look. And bridesmaids… you should demand a dress as flattering as that worn by Kate’s sister.) Prince William and the new Princess Kate are a modern royal couple. She is older than he is. One can presume they have had sex. (Does anyone else remember the release of the details of Diana’s embarrassing examination that showed she was a virgin?) She rattled off his obnoxiously long name in the right order. And held her flowers with seemingly steady hands. An inspiration.

The one question I have, which I am sure would be answered by a quick Google search, is what shoes did she wear? While her dress was timeless, how fun would it have been to mix it up with a sassy pair of shoes in an exotic color? Maybe even use it as her something blue. I know that if I ever get married again, I will pay way more attention to the shoes than the dress.

But the bottom line is that while today millions worldwide fawned over the ceremony joining this couple, it was really a private moment between two young people in love. Their demure pubic kiss may have passed with the blink of an eye, but I have faith that in their alone time, they were able to embrace the significance of the day. And hopefully, in the process, she flashed him a rocking royal blue satin heel.

something new

Kaitlan getting engaged — Adam and Kaitlan, captured seconds after the proposal (and acceptance)

Love is in the air. While some fear the arrival of spring for its pollen-laden ways, Adam, the young and handsome suitor of Kaitlan, whom I refer to more as “my former LC in the Warner office” than I do by her current title in our present office, took advantage of the soft pink canopy provided by the cherry blossoms to get down on one knee and pop the question.

So last Monday morning, amid the “how was your weekend” questioning, it didn’t take us long to notice that Kaitlan was sporting an eye-catching gem on that one finger reserved for such magnificence. The requisite screaming, oh-my-godding, jumping up and downing and hugging ensued. And by lunch, the past issues of Trading Carbon and National Journal on our office coffee table had been replaced by copies of Martha Stewart Weddings and Southern Living Weddings. (We did keep the publication Wills and Kate: A Royal Love Story that Sara kindly brought us back from the UK on her last visit.)

After all, we are an office of almost all women, joined three days a week by one of the company’s founding fathers (whose own daughter is getting married this summer) and four days a week by Max the Intern, whom we are constantly apologizing to for our female-centric conversations. Let’s just say, Max is learning about not just energy policy, but heel heights, purse colors and outfit accessorizing.

Wedding bells toll for us daily now as we grill Kaitlan on updates to her planning. We are happy she has a date set. We peruse her dogeared pages of said magazines to see what dresses have caught her eye. We’ve all shared our worst bridesmaid dress story, a conversation that has been held more than once since we all have more than one worst story to share. (My worst story isn’t my own, but belongs to my friend Chris, who at her brother’s wedding had a wear a teal-colored sheath that just reached over the socially necessary places to cover, with a purple-colored skirt that you tied around the waist and could take off for dancing later, and purple shoes. But then when you took the purple skirt off, you were wearing teal and purple in the days before color blocking was stylish.)

It’s hard to not dispense with a dose of unsolicited advice when someone young is getting married. Just today, when Kaitlan told me that she promised her maid of honor that she’d pick a dress that could be worn again (haven’t we all heard that) I advised her to not bother. Really, no one ever wears the dress again. It’s an honor to be in someone’s wedding, and that’s worth the price of a bridesmaid dress you will wear once. I mean, how many times have you worn a non-bridesmaid dress only once for a less significant event? I’m certainly prepared for whatever dress I buy for the happy occasion (Janna, be on the lookout please) to not necessarily come with a second-wearing in mind.

While Kaitlan has to be on the dress ball, it’s a little too early for me to plan what to wear to a wedding that’s a year away. In the more immediate term, I have to break the news to Jack and Colin that their beloved Kaitlan is getting married. I’m not sure whether they will be disgusted (because getting married is totally gross) or disappointed (because they both nurture a serious crush on their former babysitter). This is one subject her wedding magazines don’t cover.

closure

Monumental Bokeh — photo courtesy of Tom Lawler

All last week, those of us living and working in the nation’s capital and some beyond waited with some combination of dread, fear and anticipation to see if our nation was headed toward a federal government shutdown. Not to make light of the very serious implications of a shutdown, but in the spirit of how I approached my confinement with Beatrix, I was preparing a post on “shutdown chic.” Some offices had pools on how long the shutdown would last. I even saw that local eating and drinking establishments were offering shutdown specials. Of course, others were taking more serious measures, like trying to figure out how they were going to support their families if the furlough lasted for any extensive period of time. We jested, but not really.

While most cheered, some actually groaned when The Powers That Be, running the shot clock to the very last second, reached agreement (for now) and averted shutdown. During this preceding week of uncertainty, my first real shutdown threat since I moved to Washington in 1997, I myself took some time to reflect on the services the federal government provides, those things that are just expected and which most people probably don’t realize cease to be performed under shutdown conditions.

I mean, everyone thinks they hate the government, right? But aren’t they just confusing the government as a whole with the government’s role as tax collector? I have never heard someone say, “you know, I just don’t pay enough taxes.” But on the other hand, I’ve never heard anyone say “wow, I am so thankful for a national defense.” The bottom line is that those taxes we pay fund the operation of so much we take for granted in our daily lives. Our federal government might not be totally efficient. There is definitely waste. But given the size (and I’m sorry, it isn’t going to get smaller folks) and scope of what is provided, I think we get a pretty good bang for our buck.

Let’s take, for instance, something that my own children were concerned about regarding the shutdown threat: the Smithsonian Museums. You know, the ones you get to go to for free when you visit Washington, DC, or if you live here, where you go on a bad (too hot or too cold) weather day? There are nineteen Smithsonian museums (which is why it’s funny when one is approached by a tourist with the question, “where’s the Smithsonian?”). In addition, there are nine Smithsonian research centers and the National Zoo. Have you ever noticed that you don’t have to pay San Diego Zoo-style admission prices to get into the Zoo in DC? Well, it’s a federally funded institution, supplemented in great part by private donations. And in the event of a government shutdown, the entire Smithsonian system in closed. If you planned your vacation to see you favorite mega-fauna frolic in the bamboo and there happened to be a shutdown, no admission. Your child has been dying to visit the Air and Space Museum? In a shutdown, it’s closed. There was even some question as to whether there would have been a Cherry Blossom parade this weekend if the government had shut down. All those high school bands from across the country that practiced and fund-raised all year to come here and march would have been sorely disappointed.

My kids, of course, were concerned as to whether someone would be there to feed the Zoo animals. It seems this type of worker is what we call “essential.” But I don’t see how you choose. At the risk of coming off too existential, can’t you make a case that everyone is essential?

Let’s take something that is a little less warm and fuzzy. Literally. I know border protection is important to many people. Being first generation American on my mom’s side of the family, I have to admit to having a soft spot for those foreigners wanting their own taste of the American dream (and now that I have put that in writing in a public domain, I guess I can never run for elected office). Many of the functions of the Department of Homeland Security (such as border control) would have continued as usual under a shutdown, but I highlight it here because I wonder how many people actually realize that this is one of the many services that mainstream America considers important that are paid for out of the federal coffers your tax dollars fund.

How about the National Institutes of Health? Would they be able to accept new patients? In a shutdown, would passport applications or renewals be processed? How about Federal Housing Authority loans? Would tax refund checks be sent?

I don’t mean to sound all DC-preachy, I just think that the federal government could use a little more love thrown its way because for all that it does that you hate (like collect taxes) it actually performs a lot of services that you just may like. And use.

I won’t say we are out of the shutdown waters forever. There may still be a discussion on shutdown chic. But at least for now, on Monday morning, federal workers will be riding the Metro and driving on our federal highway system, making their way to work. I am happy that the Giant Pandas will be fed, and of course, that at the U.S Capitol, it will be business as usual. If only business as usual included a little less partisan bickering. I think that is a style we can all agree needs to be shut down.