My love letter to them*

*I've been reading so many of your beautiful blogs about how in love with your children you are, and I could never fully imagine what that might be like until a few days ago...

Mamo and Tato came to visit me in London a few days ago. They arrived on Sunday morning and left on Wednesday afternoon. It was like medicine. I got plenty of hugs and kisses, plenty of dinners out with the whole family here, and plenty of time to look at their beautiful faces and marvel at how cool they are sometimes.

Mamo and Tato are like chalk and cheese sometimes. Tato is a cuddly man who reminds me a bit of Tommy Lee Jones. Tall, salt and pepper hair, and dresses like a guy who lives on a sailboat 24/7. He has a fantastic sense of humour, and loves going out and playing host to people. He can talk your ear off about pretty much any subject, loves parties, and loves filthy jokes. He can also have a horrific temper, but I've only seen it a few times (mostly when as a child, I pissed him off to the point of utter ridiculousness). But he has always been quick with a loving word and fierce hug, no matter what, and he likes nothing better than just being with Mamo and relaxing with a good book on a boat.

Mamo is a diminutive, sharply Scandinavian-looking woman with a runner's body, very muscular. Blonde wavy hair, blue eyes, and dresses like a horsey-woman (which she is): dark jeans, button-down shirts, good leather boots. She is fiercely independent. She was the one who spanked me when I was out of line, she was the disciplinarian. The one I always had to work hard for, the one who always wanted to see the best out of me. She threw me into sports, she made me challenge myself. She wasn't always quick with the hugs, she was more of a "pick yourself up and do it again" kind of person. She was always honest with me, no matter how much I didn't want to hear it. But the few times that I've briefly seen the silly, giggly side of her that sends me letters with stickers, it absolutely yanks at my heartstrings.

They seem like opposites in so many ways. Yet I can't imagine two people more perfect for each other and more in love. They've been married for 36 years.

These are the people who have molded me, who have shaped me into the person that I am. I have my mother's exact speaking voice, but I have my father's tall, boyish build. I have my mother's impatience, controlling nature and insecurities, but I have my father's naughty humour and romantic side. I have Tato's dark hair and eyes, but Mamo's face structure. I exist only because these two people met quite randomly, decided to get married 2 months later, and then decided to have me a few years after that. That's the only reason I get to be on this planet. That's mind blowing.

Please don't go, don't ever go, I thought to myself as the car pulled away to take them to the airport. I waved them off, smiling, but I was slowly realising that my 30-something years on this planet have gone by much too quickly. I can't understand how that happens. I feel like after 3 days in the UK, they were only here for 3 minutes.

I think there's a "click" that happens in your thirties, when you stop thinking of your parents as these immortal, omniscient creatures, and start realising that they're just these two people that tried their best to help you out. Two people, a couple, with a life that has an end point, just like you and I (depending what religion you believe). And thinking about them like that makes me realise how much I've always needed them, how much I've always looked for their advice and their hugs and their kisses. I've been lucky every single day of my life. I hope I tell them that enough.

We tend to say "oh, I hope I'll never be like my parents...", and I will still have moments of saying that. But sometimes I can't stand that they're getting older, because, selfishly, I'll always want them around and hanging out with me and the mister when we're 60. It seems like yesterday I remember Mamo being 44, and in the blink of an eye, we're celebrating an age where they should be grandparents soon.

I guess what I'm saying is that no matter how tough I pretend to be, and no matter how much I tell myself to not pay attention to it, I miss them so much sometimes it's a physical pain in my heart. It's indulgently sweet and acidic at the same time. It's as if a tiny part of me doesn't live in this country, it lives with them. I still feel like their little girl, their baby. And I know I'll always feel like that.

Seconds before they jumped in the taxi, Tato grabbed me in a tight hug, held me back from him to look at my face, and then pulled me tight again, saying "oh, my sweet girl, sometimes all I need is a hug."

I know. Me too.

I love you.

Do you ever have days where you...

Burst with love? Like it's coming out of your ears and you might as well just wear a sign on your back?

I know I sound sappy, but I can't help it. Mamo and Tato raised me in this really touchy-feely environment. They were always encouraging me to be creative, to think out loud, to laugh and to love strongly. Mamo is a tough one, but Tato showered me with kisses and hugs all the time. To the point of saturation, really. Always with an "I love you" before bed, before a flight, etc.

The mister came home last night from a 3 day business trip, and I was so happy to see him I was almost numb. I always steel myself for when he goes away, because it happens a lot, and I get a bit lonely sometimes. So I was deep into doing my own thing when he came back, and it took me a bit to adjust. But then I allowed myself to feel vulnerable, and I crawled into my nook (the space between his head and shoulder) in bed, and smelled his skin, his t-shirt, his hair.. it all smelled like home. I was giggling, it made me drunk with happiness. He kind of laughed and said "I've only been gone for 3 days, silly" (it's his way of telling me to stop being so clingy), and though technically that's true, we've been working so hard that we haven't had a proper cuddle for what feels like two weeks.

I think sometimes it would be nice if he were always as mushy as I am, to reciprocate every kiss and cuddle and adoring look, but he's not that kind of person. I think he feels a bit claustrophobic when I say " I need you, I need you, I missed you...". But all of our partners are people that are meant to be ours for a variety of reasons, and never obvious ones. Our witness to our lives, our best friend, our confidante, the person that looks over at us in the morning and would be happy just to lie next to us and hold our hand. We all feel the same in our hearts, but we all express it differently.

I am a hopeless romantic, a person that loves kisses, hugs, and hand-holding. I am a person that needs a mushy word at the end of a stressful day to help me smile. And I love with my whole entire being. I will never apologise for it, because that's just me. And today, I am positively bursting with love. Love for today because it's sunny. Love for a blessed life. Love for the fact that I am in my 30s and I act like I'm 5. Love for my family. And most of all, for being so in love with my wonderful husband that I want to shout it from the rooftops and kiss his face a million times.

Should I tell him that? Nah, I'll just relish the glow.

Sunny days and random musings

It's a really sunny day today, and I managed to break free from the prison of my office (not really that bad, but I get so busy I tend to forget to even pee) and take a walk in the park with a friend from work. She and I talked about life, love, politics, weather, work. It was a lovely conversation, and much needed.

Slowly, I've been making friends here in London. Right now I have a lovely girl at work who's really down to earth and very genuine, and just a great buddy. I've never had girlfriends, so she's a nice change from the usual list of men that I've known through the years (men are just easier to be friends with). She's not a backstabber, no agenda, and I feel totally myself with her.

I also have a girl that I met in New York, who's a Brit, and she lives in Notting Hill, so last night I saw her for a glass of wine and snacks at her place/studio. She's a photographer, and how I met her was that I wanted to do a series of black and white nude photos of myself last year, and she's extremely talented at what she does, so she'll do them for me at some point this year. So that's how we met and got to chatting, and she's another really lovely girl, very funny and very cool. Why the sudden burst of exhibitionism you ask? Well, though I am getting older and I do have a few scars, I'm proud of the strong, beautiful body I have. I'd like to get them done before we have kids at some point in the near future. It would just be a nice little splurge for me, a present to myself after quitting smoking cold turkey and not even taking a drag of a cigarette for 6 months. The mister would probably like it as well, which is a nice bonus.

Anyway, life is rather good. I love my new job (though the hours are long), I'm healthy, and I feel like I'm settling down and not having to impress people all the time.

It feels good to be content. And to like myself. And, yeah, feel a bit sexy. *blush*

Romance has officially gone down the toilet in this world. Literally.

Okay, for the people who know me, I'm a romantic. For the people who don't, my romantic-ness can be explained like this: I cry at soppy films, I love hearing about people's love stories, I have kept every single love letter and poem the mister has written me, and I get goose bumps every time the mister walks into a room. Granted, I may possess industrial-strength romanticism, but I do believe a little should exist in every relationship, to keep it interesting.

However, some things I keep sacred, just because that's how I carry myself, and I've heard that many women find that this enhances the mystery for some men. For example:

I don't leave the door open when I go to the bathroom.
I have my face cream/makeup/shaving before we go out rituals that I keep to myself, behind the bathroom door.
I can't say certain words without blushing out of embarrassement (funny thing is that I'm fine with filthy ones, it's the run of the mill ones, go figure..).
If I have to burp, I don't do it as loudly as possible to be funny, I turn my head the other way.
I don't talk about my sex life/size/shape/habits/types of sex toys I use, etc., ala Sex and the City.
I make sure the bathroom smells nice after I've... you know.

To some, I may sound like a prude, but everyone has their own way of doing things, and this is my way. But I think you'll all agree, that this has to be the end of romance: the Twin Toilet.

I swear, every day in this country I read something even more amazing than the day before. Is this for real? Do we really want to take a dump next to our husbands/life partners? Is THIS how we're supposed to communicate in our relationships?

Hey.. how was your day today?
*grunt* Great, great..*grunt..ugghhh* Today was tough.
Yeah, mine too. *thrrrrpppp* I'm so tired lately..*fffrrrrppp*
What do you want for dinner?
*grunt* ummm..*fffrrrrr* I don't know, how about rice and beans?

I'm sorry, but I don't care how much you love your significant other, please tell me that romance hasn't gotten to the point where if you get an extra sheet of toilet paper handed to you from your toilet buddy, that's considered romantic.

Chocolate bunnies, possible snowstorms, and Guitar Hero.

I've had a blissful 2 days off of work. Good Friday and Easter Monday in the UK are public holidays, and everything pretty much shuts down. And where we live, it gets like a ghost town: no cars, no tourists, no nothing. Heaven.

We're not particularly religious, but we do appreciate the holiday and appreciate that people get a chance to spend it with their families. So we've been spending the time together with absolutely nothing planned. We were going to go away, but the mister has been travelling a lot for work, so when he does get a chance to be at home, he'd rather not be subject to itineraries and just relax and let his brain empty out(sometimes I can be very Type A and insist on activities. Yes, I used to be a camp counselor).

So, we've been going for walks, going to the gym, planning for a possible snowstorm, eating the ears off a giant chocolate bunny that was a gift from my mum-in-law, and playing Guitar Hero.

Yes, Guitar Hero.

The mister used to be in a rock band, and still plays guitar. And I saw an advert for this game on TV, and I thought it would be fun to get. So get it we did. And it is so much fun, a total brain-drain. And to justify to everyone why I'm playing it, it does test your hand-eye coordination, I swear. And makes me feel really rock and roll, okay, I admit it.

Also, on the day of the vernal equinox, Mamo celebrated her 60th birthday. I wish I had a picture of her when she was my age, but in my biased opinion, she's an amazing and beautiful woman. She's my confidante, my best girlfriend, and my inspiration. She swims 3 miles every day, trains horses, teaches elementary school, has been married to Tato for 36 years, and in her pale blue eyes, I can see the vulnerability that simmers under her steely exterior. It's amazing the stuff she's experienced in the course of her 60 years on this planet. And I only hope I can be as cool as she is when I'm that age.

I love you, Mamo. Mno Haya Lita.

Okay, now... back to Guitar Hero.

What's disturbing about this headline?

In this morning's paper (a free one they give out at the tube stations), this is the headline I saw:

A LINE OF COCAINE IS CHEAPER THAN A PINT OF BEER NOW THAT THE ALCOHOL TAX RISES TOOK EFFECT YESTERDAY

And they had a photo of someone doing a line.

Now, I guess someone can interperet that in two ways:

Hurray! Call the dealer, we can save some money!!

or

Holy crap. Is Class A drug-use viewed the same as a night out drinking some beer?


Reading further, I had quite the dose of education: apparently, having a hit of heroin or a tab of ecstacy is around the same price as a pint, with cigarettes topping the list as the most expensive.

Hmm.

I understand that Hollywood tends to just swim around in pools of drugs and everyone turns a blind eye, and the last video of Heath Ledger at a party shows him smoking a joint next to someone hoovering up a line, but when did it become so common that it's de rigeur to have these drugs on offer at a random party? Has it always been like this? In the UK, I've seen pictures of celebrities blatantly holding small square packets, and people put it on the gossip pages saying "ooh, that cheeky so-and-so, wonder what he's up to...?"

I'm not judging anyone for doing what floats their boat, to each his own. And all of us have been to college, it's not like we've never heard of this stuff. But to have it covered in the media so much, what kind of example does this send to teenagers who read about these cool people? Personally, the amount of times I've heard drugs talked about and photographed here in the UK, I might as well be living in Amsterdam. I'm not saying that any celebrity should be a role model, but nevertheless, they're doing something really private very publicly, and kids are watching them. And after a while, they'll be numb to all of it. People do justify it and say "well, it's just like getting drunk, that's a drug too", and I guess you could say that Sex and the City was like that with casual sex, and with Samantha taking hits of ecstacy or viagra, and maybe that's just as bad. I don't know.

Funny thing is, I'm not even a parent. I will be someday, and I guess it worries me a bit about how quickly kids will have to grow up in the generations to come. It feels like they'll be confronted with all of this a lot sooner than I was, and it feels like a lot more pressure. As for me and this issue, I just get tired of seeing it all the time, and hearing about it from people who do it just to show everyone that they're very cool, very rock and roll. It's as if it's a hobby that everyone wants to do and they talk about it like it's as normal as saying "Hey, I am totally addicted to making ceramic bowls! Let's make some together! Everyone should get into this!" Whatever.

If it makes you feel fun and happy and cool, great. But try and keep it out of the spotlight, because you may be making a very big impression on someone (and not in a good way).

Okay, okay, I'm off my soapbox.

If you don't go through the chair, you won't learn anything.

When I was in theatre school in New York, my acting coach did this exercise with my class: we had to walk diagonally from one corner of the room to the other. But he put a chair right in the centre of the room. So, most people, including myself, walked around the chair, getting from one corner to the other.

Wrong, he said. Instead of seeing the chair as the obstacle that you have to get around, see it as the thing that is making you learn something. And use it to get from point A to point B.

So I went first, and walked towards it, stepped on it, stepped down, and kept walking towards the other corner.

Yes, he said.

I never forgot that lesson, to this day. And yesterday I used it.

I was facing a difficult decision: I was offered a job that isn't entirely right up my alley, but it sounded interesting and it would give me a good career move, or; I could take a freelance gig for a month and see what other permanent jobs would come up in a month's time (if any).

I was writing lists of pros and cons (both lists turned out to be equal), I was pacing, I was panicking... I had to let them know soon, and I was running out of time. I started to cry, because I felt totally overwhelmed and pathetically indecisive. The mister, as supportive as he was being, and as much as he would listen to me rant and freak out, he was starting to get fed up with me and said "stop stressing, you're not accomplishing anything. At some point, no matter how frustrated you feel, you will have to make a decision, and no one can do that for you."

He was right. I got it together. And I thought of my chair. What could I do with it? How could I manage to get through it? How could I take back control and not let circumstances control me?

So this morning I put in a call to my potential future boss (someone who really doesn't have time to take calls from someone like me on the weekend), and I had all my fears answered. And he took the time to hear me. And I took back control and made myself feel better. All by myself.

So no matter what decision I make about this, I finally realized that I have absolutely no fear of whatever happens- I used the obstacle and made it malleable. I made it work for me, and learning how to do that was the best thing I've done in a very very long time.

I'll keep you posted on what happens. Watch this space.