Aha on Aisle Seven (An Ode to Almaden)

I always imagined having a life-changing epiphany during a grand moment of adventure. Whether I'd be staring down the barrel of a gun like Clint Eastwood, blinded by the light of an oncoming train a la Harrison Ford, or clutching the sheets during a passionate exploit like Sharon Stone, I expected that clarity would overcome me in a made-for-Hollywood moment... and then change me forever.

I never thought it would happen while doing something as mundane as shopping for groceries in my adopted town's local Safeway.

Yet I'm so glad it did.

The backstory begins when my husband Russ and I were raising our two young daughters in Almaden Valley in a barely there sort of way. We lived month to month with a suffocating mortgage payment, but we were technically getting by. In fact, twenty nine out of thirty days each month, we were quite happy. But eventually it was time to pay the bills again.

During the twenty-nine-day reprieve from reality, we spent our time they way many parents of young children do-- keeping the kids in perpetual motion with activities that could reveal their hidden talents while giving them less time to fight.

For us, this meant soccer and dance class and Girl Scouts and swim lessons and playdates. What we didn't really appreciate at the time was that we weren't just socializing our children-- we were socializing ourselves. Our involvement with the school and these organizations allowed all four of us to meet many friends and neighbors who added fun and a sense of validation and connectedness to our lives.

Our mistake was not placing an equal amount of value on these relationships as we did on the idea of getting ahead financially. 

As has always been our pattern, Russ and I spent the weekend mornings discussing articles in the newspaper over coffee. One leisurely Saturday morning, we started reading the Home section. Not because we could afford to renovate ours, but because there were often articles and ads for communities an hour or two away from our pricy Bay Area. 

Before we knew it, the idea of moving a few hours away became our escape hatch whenever we felt overwhelmed by the cost of living. Once we allowed the possibility of a move to settle in, it baby-stepped its way into becoming our reality.

When I look back at this decision now, all I can say is that we got greedy. We decided to shake up our day-today living in order to live larger for less. We were consumed with the idea of finding a bigger house with a smaller mortgage.

It sounds so foolish to me now, but it seemed to make perfect sense at the time. We really thought we could replicate our rewarding and connected life on a dime.

Don't get me wrong-- we were very sad to say good-bye to the wonderful friends we had grown to love over the preceding five years that we'd been raising our kids in the area. It's just that we must've thought that great people who would want a platonic love connection with us would be on every single corner of any given town.

They weren't, of course. Or perhaps they were, but we just couldn't see ourselves finding them. Alas, many of our new neighbors were perfectly content to continue the life they had been living before the Moores landed on their street.

I just never could have envisioned how lonely this would make me feel.

And though this town was just two and a half hours from our home in the Bay Area, the culture was entirely different. The friendships I had stumbled my way into at home were made possible by simply showing up repeatedly on our daughters' elementary school campus. By helping in the classroom or getting suckered into committees I never intended to get involved with, I met dozens of like-minded people who would become my lifelong friends.

The new school had a different way of doing things. I'm sure it made perfect sense to the people who lived there, but it certainly didn't work for me. All of the children there arrived by bus, unless they lived a block away and could walk alone safely from their home. What this meant to me was that the blacktop at that school was a veritable ghost town for parents. And so it came to be that they only way I knew to connect with people in the same stage of life I was in was now unavailable to me.

I felt like I had Dr. Phil on replay, asking me over and over again: "How's that workin' for ya?"

The answer was: Not so much. In fact, I went so far as to start identifying with stalkers. Whenever I got a glimpse of a woman who had a spring in her step, I couldn't help but watch her and try to run into her around town. Would she be fun? Would she get my quirky sense of humor? Would she be horrified that my family lives off a rotation of just five dinner "recipes"?

I wanted to write to my friends at home and request that they send me some testimonials, vouching for my normalcy. "Shana is fun. Shana won't hurt you. She will make you feel domestically gifted in comparison. Let her in as your BFF."

I can't imagine that I was giving off a vibe that read "emotionally stable," especially if I was really going to present my friend resume at a first encounter.

Somehow, though, I managed to meet a couple of women who weren't trigger happy with the writing of restraining orders. I had a few women over and was invited a few places in return.

The slowness of it all was killing me. I had no idea how much I would miss the utter comfort of knowing and being known. 

I even tricked myself into believing that I would see familiar faces in the new local Safeway like I always did at home. What a contrast it was to look into the eyes of strangers ever single time when, at home, I needed to plan for an extra thirty minutes to visit with all the people I'd run into from soccer and school while giving the avocados and tomatoes the squeeze test.

I'd never felt so lonely in all my life. And the irony wasn't lost on me that I'd moved away to afford a bigger house with a smaller mortgage, yet now that I had so much space, I had no one to invite over to frolic in it with me.

I was officially riper than one of those tender avocados for an Aha moment.

The first phase of it happened when I decided that I owed it to myself and my family to carry on with the various holiday traditions we had enjoyed at home. For the kids, it meant a Halloween party with games and crafts. That was easy enough to accomplish since children have that delightful way of living in the moment.

With me, it was going to be more complicated. My tradition had been to invite my mom friends over on the first weekend of December for an ugly ornament exchange. The basic idea is that everyone buys the ugliest ornament they can find and wraps it up to look pretty. We then draw numbers and steal from one another in the same way you do at a white elephant party. We take pride in taking home the trophy for having brought the year's ugliest ornament and laugh so hard at the worst the retail world has to offer. It's sassy, irreverent, and a hell of a good time.

Not wanting to hole up and wallow in my sadness, I decided that the show would have to go on. My intention was to invite any woman whose first name I knew, which would still have made it an intimate gathering. As the invitations churned out of my printer, I dissolved into tears. Would any of these women understand the charm and humor of this event? My gut said no. From what I had seen so far, the townswomen who supported the idea of a first-grade class holiday party decorated by interior designers weren't likely to rally behind ugly.

All of a sudden, this party became the litmus test for my sense of belonging to this community. My Aha moment was rising even faster than Bay Area housing prices.

The next morning, with the tear-stained invitations tucked away in a drawer to dry, I put on my best suck-it-up face and made my regular trip to Safeway for the week's groceries. As was my habit, I scanned as many faces as I did packaging labels. And then it hit me right in the middle of the salad dressing and condiment aisle... 

If I dropped dead right there, would anyone even care? Sure, there would be the mother of all cleanups on Aisle 7, but then?

The answer was an unequivocal: "No, Ma'am, but can I help you to your car with that cart full of reality?"

I needed to get out of there. In fairness to the fine people of this new town, I hadn't given myself the chance to become endearing to any of them yet. And I never would because I knew I needed to go home. How had it never occurred to me that I was a deep root kind of girl? That it was essential for me to feel understood and connected where I spent my time?

I called Russ at work and asked if he was sitting down. The man was already beyond stressed because he was still working in the Bay Area and living with his parents during the workweek. This was our only option after the agreement he had come to with his employer about working remotely fell through following the sale of our home. But I think he held out hope that this arrangement would be short-lived. 

The plan was that he would interview in this new town and ultimately leave the high-tech world to go back to teaching, the career he wished he had never given up. But, as we already knew, raising two children and affording a home in Silicon Valley was nearly impossible to do on a teacher's salary.

My phone call to his office with my desperate plea to leave this place didn't fall on deaf ears, but it did fall on a muted voice. Had I just contributed to the death of him? He drove back up to see us and talk things through.

I poured out my heart that night. I told him how much I had underestimated the importance of belonging. He questioned me, for sure. After all, we moved into that house in August and would have it for sale after Thanksgiving. Who does that? 

By anyone's account, I didn't give myself enough time. The problem was that I didn't want to. My gut told me that we'd made a huge mistake by moving into a town that saw itself as exclusive when we've always been an inclusive, humbled-by-our-mortgage kind of family. As a lifetime Bay Area resident, I knew that giving it a year would price us out of ever going back. I viewed this as a now-or-never undoing of a mistake.

Russ saw it as a permanent goodbye to a dream. As I type this, I realize this moment could easily be looked at as the first step down the path to divorce. By moving back home, we would be flushing some $90,000 in realtor fees and moving expenses down the drain. And to a family that was just getting by before, losing that amount of money in equity was dramatic. 

Even more profound than the loss of money, though, was my husband's acknowledgement that he would never get to return to teaching. For a man as stoic as Russ to say that out loud while a few tears wrestled their way out of his eyes was something I will carry with me the rest of my life.

As difficult a decision as it was for him to make that sacrifice for me, he did it. While it made the job situation easier in the short term, his longer-term hopes disappeared. He took one for the team. A whale of what at that.

As scary and stressful as it was to make this decision, the following six months were worse. We moved into my parents' house while waiting for our home to sell so we could make an offer on a house back in our old neighborhood. As we waited, we watched the Bay Area housing market get tighter and tighter. We lost out on several houses due to bidding wars.

Six months later, we wound up with a house that was slightly more expensive and significantly smaller than the one we had originally sold in the area. But the upside was that it allowed our girls to return to the school we all knew and loved.

I started to feel like we had rescued ourselves from the biggest mistake of our lifetime.

I am sure that many people -- heck, every person we knew -- whispered behind our backs. Some of the questions people asked insinuated that we should be ashamed of the mistake. I honestly never looked at it that way. If anything, I thought our story would flatter people to know that our connection to them and to this place was worth the huge financial and emotional price.

Looking back, some ten years later, I see how much the experience changed me. I've become more actively and vocally involved in this community because I know what it feels like to have loved it and lost it. I'm sure that my involvement is half done in celebration and half in trying to prove that the tough choices were worth the sacrifice.

I discovered, in time, that this mistake might not have started like the plot of a Hollywood blockbuster, but it certainly became a life-changing one for me. By reconnecting with friends and rolling up my sleeves to do good work within our community, I have found happiness in the smallest yet most meaningful ways.

And I feel a priceless sense of peace in knowing that I will never have to think about anything weightier than the choice between Balsamic Vinaigrette or Ranch on Aisle 7 again.

Motherhood H.S. Class of 2015

Esteemed colleagues, visiting dignitaries, and families: Today is my day to walk the stage.

Our youngest graduated from high school in June, and today – the day after we’ve dropped her off at college – it’s my turn to don the cap and gown. To turn my tassel in honor of all the enduring and all the endearing moments we’ve shared throughout these two decades of living and learning together as a family.

While there have certainly been some aspects of this mothering thing that make me feel like throwing my cap into the air in celebration, most of me wants to drag it out and become a super senior.

A super, duper senior.

 

To the uninitiated, I know it can’t possibly make sense that anyone would want to draw out a job that feels like the mother of all catch and release programs. After all, we parents act like it’s reasonable to catch and coddle and keep them alive as newborn babies, love the living heck out of them (even when they become know-it-all preteens), correct their behavior, forgive, forget and love again anyway, and then release them into the wild as freshly minted adults to go forth and continue the cycle on their own.

From beginning to end and all through the middle, the challenges in raising them are sometimes little and sometimes big, often frequent, and always heart wrenching.

And the compensation to us parents for staying on the job? You guessed it—It’s sometimes little and sometimes big, never frequent enough, and always heart swelling.

In the earliest of my 20 years on the job, we endured big challenges like ventilation tents courtesy of croup, ear tubes, re-implanted ureters, broken bones, and pre-mature nap surrendering that brought on the kind of tantrums that made us wonder if an exorcism was still an actual thing.

The little struggles, which only feel little after a decade or so of distance from them, were fights over who got to be the pink one, non-conformist circle time at preschool that raised the are-we-raising-a-sociopath flag, and a slip and fall into another child’s puddle of vomit that stopped just short of requiring sedation for mother and daughter alike.

There were sad days when one of our girls was targeted by the mean girls, and sadder days when we had to accept that ours was the mean girl de jour.

In middle school, there was experimentation that tried to stay underground but couldn’t because Mama has a certain set of skills that are admittedly more Nancy Drew than Liam Neeson, but managed to do the job. The crippling worry that came along with my discoveries carried the added bonus of embarrassment, since I led the parent group tasked with building developmental assets in youth to help them stay away from high-risk behavior and didn’t manage to see the signs in my own child.

This is when strange coping thoughts started entering my mind, like: “If irony had a flavor, I wonder if it would taste like bile?”

There were wars to wage, too, like the one against the PE teacher who humiliated kids and nicknamed our daughter “Shelby” as a code name for Chubby.

Then, there was high school. Even though the turmoil in our house quieted significantly by sophomore year, the topics of cyber-bullying, slut shaming, sexting, dating, and partying swirled like funnel clouds around the school. And occasionally touched land at home.

All of this plus the insane level of academic pressure on this generation that we parents never experienced at that age. At the tender age of 14, they get this message: “If you want to go to a good college, be a school leader, volunteer 100 hours per year, win awards in sports or master an instrument. But don’t forget to be a 4.0 scholar with AP classes.” All the striving and nerves over measuring up make this a category five, duck-and-cover phase of parenting.

Now, BAM, mine are gone and I sit in the quiet after the storm in a cloud of mixed emotions— shell-shocked that all of this has happened, nostalgic for the times when I was their everything, a tiny bit relieved to focus on myself, and concerned that I will never feel so important to another cause again.

Each of the challenges in mothering brought feelings that ranged from angst to outright suffering. Depending on the event and the emotions that came with it, I’ve been brought to my knees sobbing with worry, and invented streams of profanity that would’ve made George Carlin proud. I’ve sought solace in counseling and Chardonnay. I’ve strengthened the sense of partnership in my marriage, confided in friends who comfort and validate me, and I’ve whispered to God.

That said, I cannot imagine a richer ride. To have sacrificed myself so much for my children’s wellbeing brings a depth to me that I couldn’t have gotten in any other way.

I have been humbled, scared, honored, and blessed during these two decades of helping them learn to…

vRise healthy from each of their medical maladies;

vFace setbacks and losses without tantrums (or holy water);

vEmbrace colors other than pink and, more importantly, no longer care what their sister is wearing;

vChoose when it’s best to conform to the grownup version of circle time and when it’s okay to fight the system, even if it leaves a few people wondering if they are sociopaths;

vAnticipate and prevent the figurative and physical slipping in vomit puddles;

vKnow in their hearts that mean girls target people because of feelings of unworthiness inside themselves, not because of anything their victims have done to “deserve” their wrath;

vKeep experimenting because that’s how they figure out who they are and who they are not (while realizing that it’s probably best to keep the exploits from their retired sleuth of a mom);

vOpt out of activities and people that seem cool but are actually hazardous to their wellbeing;

vAnd make peace with the options they have in front of them and just keep moving forward.

It is that last lesson that I must now re-learn for myself as I walk the stage and shake hands with my next chapter today.

I toss my cap – not out of a rejoicing spirit over leaving the day-to-day mothering years behind – but out of determination to make sure that the emptying nest is replaced with new and rewarding experiences.

To my fellow classmates of the Motherhood Class of 2015, I raise my glass to our shared accomplishment and our new opportunities to grow!

Mamma’s Womanly Wisdom from A-Z

Dear daughters of mine,

If you wake up at night to the sound of me whispering in your ear, I promise I’m not trying to be creepy. I’m just trying to instill all the wisdom I can into your psyche before you move out and take on the world without me.

And while I know you don’t have to agree with me, I’d at least like you to know where I stand on some subjects that matter. Since you started your schooling with a pre-school version of the ABCs, I offer you a grown-up version that will keep you on track for living life with a whole heart.

A is for Awesome: The universe has an infinite supply of awesome. Don’t feel threatened by other people’s success. Use theirs as inspiration to go after your own.

B is for Boys: Thank the ones who display their badness with an EBBAS (Early Bad-Boy Alert System), in the form of bling and saggy pants. They’re warning you that they are trouble, so don’t be surprised that they would treat you badly.

And, by the way, even the good ones will break your heart. The movie “He’s Just Not that into You” is right on. If a guy really likes you, he will find time to see you. If he’s clearly not feeling it, move on and find someone who is.

C is for Choose Happiness: Having fun at an event doesn’t just happen upon you. Your attitude and actions are what determine if you have a fun time or not. And it’s not just parties—life itself will serve you challenge after challenge. It’s up to you to decide if you’re going to be an Eeyore or a Tigger about them.

D is for Darkness: Physical darkness affects your mood. Open the blinds and open your window. The light and fresh air will lift your spirits. For the record, you know how it sometimes smells funky when you walk into someone else’s house? Well, yours smells the same way to them. Air it out.

Figurative darkness works the same way. If you fill your head with movies, TV shows, and books filled with crime and despair, you’re bound to feel sad and anxious. Choose light whenever you can.

E is for Exercise: Your blood needs to circulate. Endorphins need released. Don’t just do it when you feel fat—make it a regular part of your life. It’s too easy to sit and rot. Move.

F is for Friends: Always, always make time for your girlfriends. They will understand you in a way that no family member or boyfriend ever could. Yes, they will sometimes piss you off, but remember that it works both ways. It’s a lot easier to be forgiving toward them when you stop to realize that you’re not always a sweet Georgia peach to be around either. Love these friends and let them love you back, flaws and all.

G is for Gratitude: End each day with thoughts of appreciation for the people in your life and whatever comforts you enjoy. It’s impossible to be happy if you focus more on what’s missing from your life than what’s already there.

H is for Honor: Honor other people’s time by being on time. Honor their strengths by noticing them and articulating them. Your life will be so much richer if you can bring people up by noticing them and their talents. We can all use a “feel good” moment, and it will make you glad to be known as someone who notices and appreciates the accomplishments of others. While you’re at it, honor their lives by making choices that won’t harm them: Slow down. Getting somewhere five minutes faster isn’t worth the risk of hurting yourself or others.

I is for Integrity: Integrity means that the way you walk lines up with the way you talk. Nobody respects a hypocrite, so do what you say and say what you do.

J is for Jesus or Not Jesus: Believe in someone or something that makes you want to do better and be better, and accept that every outcome isn’t within your control.

K is for Knowledge: Focus on knowing things and being curious instead of worrying about getting good grades. Any smarts you have will be proven in your interactions with people, not on a transcript archived in an electronic file somewhere.

L is for Looks: Be kind to yourself, knowing that perfect doesn’t even exist. No one looks like an airbrushed version of a super model (even that super model), which means we all have physical features that we should highlight, and others we should downplay. This means that just because a trend calls for micro shorts, it doesn’t mean that you’re doing yourself a favor to wear that style.

M is for Mean People: People who are mean to you are saying way more about themselves than they are about you. Hurt people hurt people—it’s as simple as that. They can’t help themselves. But you can help yourself by limiting the time you spend with these toxic people.

N is for Never:  Never expect someone to be there for you when you are stressed or hurting if you’ve never been there for them. It’s okay to be the one to start the cycle.

O is for Own It: Part of maturing is being able to see your role in any arguments you get into. Whether it was your hormones, exhaustion, or hunger that were the accelerant that took your angry spark to a five-alarm blaze… make sure you go back to your friend, family member, or partner and own it. Apologizing when you’ve done wrong is a sign of strength, not weakness.

P is for Present, as in Fully Present: In this age of constant texting and social media, giving someone your real-time presence and focus is the ultimate connection. When you gather with people, put your phone away and prove to them that they matter by giving them your full attention.

Q is for Quiet: It’s important to shut up when you don’t really know what you’re talking about. We’ve all been around the annoying person who spouts off like they’re the expert about something they know little or nothing about. Ick. And while it’s fun to be the kind of person who makes easy conversation, it’s just as important to stay quiet so you can really listen to the people you’re with. Your likeability index goes up tenfold when you express genuine interest in the people you’re with.

R is for Respect Your Elders: While it’s tempting to say that people older than you just don’t get it, realize this: A person learns at least one new thing every day, whether it be book learning or people learning. If someone has been alive 30 years longer than you, this means they have some 10,000 nuggets of knowledge more than you do. Respect this. Really listen to their advice and then make a deliberate choice whether to follow it or not.

S is for Self and Surroundings: When you look frumpy, you feel frumpy. Always take the time to put a little effort in your appearance. The same is true for your nutrition: Eat like crap, feel like crap. It’s a lot easier to control the amount of fat, sodium, and those delightful but diabolical carbs when you cook your own food. If you can read, you can cook. So find healthy recipes and follow the directions.

If your physical surroundings are a mess, your mind will be too. Time yourself doing chores you hate and you will see how small of a time commitment they really are. The day I realized I could empty the dishwasher in the time of a TV commercial break was liberating. Why waste any energy dreading a task you can complete in 2.2 minutes.

T is for Tone: Your mood can completely change the intended tone of a text you read. If you really care about someone, make sure you talk with them at least by phone, if not face to face, to hear their intended tone. If you can’t do that, try reading the text out loud in a cheerful voice before you assume they are giving you attitude.

U is for Being Utterly Festive: Life can be hard and just plain boring. This is why it’s so important to celebrate any event you can. Some will argue that holidays were invented so that Hallmark can make more money. I say poppycock. We’re all busy with day-to-day living and it’s never a bad idea to stop and be more fun and silly than you otherwise would by putting up a few decorations, making a special dessert, or telling someone how much they mean to you.

V is for Values: It’s so important to spend time thinking about what you believe in and who you want to be because situations can change in a blink of an eye. You will make better ethical decisions on the fly if you define, in advance, the person you are (or want to be). What do you stand for?

W is for Worthiness: Nothing is more attractive than people who believe they are worthy of your love and friendship. Never confuse this with arrogance. Anyone who believes they are better than someone else ought to be escorted out of your life by security. Also, our worthiness doesn’t mean that we don’t have habits we can improve upon—it just means we are inherently “enough” as we are. If someone doesn’t want to be with you, don’t take it to mean that there’s anything wrong with you—just with this particular pairing of people.

X is for Ex-Out Reliance on Drugs and Alcohol: You already know people who’ve ruined their lives with drugs and thrown away any hope for a successful and happy future, so I will focus on the one drug that’s legal: alcohol. One cocktail is enough. Any more and you will say and do things you regret, which includes fast food and fast boys. If you are comfortable in your own skin, you don’t need to put on an alcohol disguise to be able to connect with other people and have fun.

Y is for WHY Waste Your Time Feeling Jealous of Other Girls: Anyone who wants to be with you is with you for a reason. Don’t waste your time and energy feeling threatened that they will cheat with other girls. If they do, you will eventually find out. So just enjoy the person, and know that you are worthy of loyalty. If they aren’t interested in a loving and trusting relationship with you, let them go. As a side bonus, people who are confident enough to shelve jealous thoughts and behavior are the sexiest people you’ll ever meet.

Z is for Keep It Zipped: One-night stands offer you nothing. You’re sharing your biology and sense of self worth with someone who doesn’t know anything about you. There is no chance of turning it into a relationship since you’ve done the most intimate acts with someone who doesn’t know anything about you. Where do you possibly go from there? Other than to a doctor to deal with an unwanted pregnancy or an STD. So keep your pants on and wait for an invitation for a real first date. And then at least 99 more. (Sorry, I am your mom after all.)

It took me more than 45 years to accumulate this wisdom. I know you’ll have to make mistakes – just like I did – to learn life’s lessons on your own. I’m just hoping that my whispers echo through your mind when you experience these moments for yourself so that you’ll learn your lessons the first time they feel real to you. If you learn them early enough, you’ll continue living your life with a whole heart.

Love,

Mom