Happy Birthday, Friend

by Patti

“A friend is one that knows you as you are, understands where you have been, accepts what you have become, and still, gently allows you to grow.” 
― William Shakespeare

It's no secret Cathy and I did not become friend immediately. After all, I kissed her husband. And I had a waist. And I was far too perky to be allowed to live.

But seven years later, here we are. Friends. Really, really good friends.

On this day, my really, really good friend's birthday, I want to not only celebrate the fact that she has been granted another year on this earth - one with a few extra grays and maybe a new line or two, but another year nonetheless - I also want to celebrate who she is as a friend.

Because Cathy is a good friend; a true friend.

She not only makes you laugh, but she will also laugh at your jokes and your ways and make you feel like the funniest person alive.

She will listen to you, offer gentle advice if asked, and, if needed, help you see things differently - without making you feel like you are wrong about it.

She will lend you a helping hand when you need it - sometimes literally.

She will tear up when you are sad, because she really feels what you are feeling.

She will light up when things go right for you, because she is really happy for you.

Yes, Cathy is a good friend; a true friend.

She is also a wife and a mother; a daughter and a sister; a cousin and an aunt - one who deeply loves her husband, her daughters, her parents, her sister, her cousins, her niece.

She is fiercely independent, yet cannot live without her family; without her friends.

Cathy with her (from left) husband, sister, and brother-in-law

Beloved daughters

A night out with some friends

She is who she is, and on this day, her birthday, I'm glad for it.

Happy Birthday, Beeyotch!

Love,
Your Friend

Be Calm and Keep Your Perspective

by Cathy

Life is a lot like that proverbial half glass of water: you can view it as half empty or half full. It's all in your perspective.

Perspective is such a key component to life; how we view things in relation to something else. You can get lost in your own world of seemingly gargantuan problems until you hear about the problems of others and suddenly, yours don't seem so big. You can feel like you don't have enough, or feel lucky enough to have a lot, depending on how you look at things based on what others have/don't have. The same logic can be applied to the size of the house you live in, the job you are lucky to have and in this case, the age of your children and how fast they are growing.

This past year has been a milestone of sorts for my girls. This was the first year they attended the same school together as Ari started kindergarten; this coming school year will be a huge deal for Bella as she takes on middle school (or junior high as she pointedly refers to it); and last week, Ari turned six.

Since the 1st of July she has been excited about her birthday. "Mommy! It's July! It's my birthday!" I've heard since July 1st. She's requested to hold meetings on how we will celebrate her birthday, who will be invited, what will be on her cake and in the goody bags. I even received gift requests: "Mommy, let me tell you what I want for my birthday," she mused as she crossed her little arms behind her head contemplatively at bedtime, her mind drifting.

I would lie if I said that I wasn't sad that my girls are growing up. MIDDLE SCHOOL?! Attitude. More serious conversations and issues. Essays on the The Illiad and The Odyssey for homework. Hormones. Bigger kids = bigger problems. On the other hand, it could be worse...they could be off to college.

So, I just keep my perspective to help me through these milestones: they are getting older but they are not "old" yet; compared to the feather-weight size of my five-month old niece, they look "old" and giant and adult-like and heavy when I carry them, with lanky limbs and long arms that don't fit as perfectly around my neck anymore, but when I compare them to other people's grown kids with braces and pimples and drivers licenses and proms and college, they are still babies.

Bella, my 11-year old who still sleeps with her favorite stuffed animals tells me all the time as she sighs towards the direction of her goofy, carefree sister, "I wish I was still little."

"What do you mean?!" I practically shriek. "You ARE still little!"
"No, I mean little like Ari, you know...little."
I decided to throw some perspective her way. "Honey, one day when Ari will be 11 and you will be 16, you will look at her and say, 'I wish I was still little like Ari.'"

She paused as she took that in, my conviction registering just enough for her approval, and she cocks her head to the side and nods, mouth turned downward in that 'you may be right' sort of way.
"So enjoy your years now!!" I finish her off with a cheer.

The night before Ari's birthday, I cuddled up close to her and held my little five-year old for the last time, for tomorrow, she would be six - an age that can no longer be counted on one hand, an age where she's not a toddler but not yet a girl, an age where she is still in limbo enough for me to balance the scales backwards towards my preference.

I tucked her in as a toddler and the next morning, she woke up a little girl. They literally do grow overnight - in a series of nights that meld into days and into months and into years. But if I keep my perspective, I'll see that they will always be my little girls.

Forever 21

 by Cathy

“Youth is wasted on the young.” – George Bernard Shaw 

Patti’s birthday was this past Sunday.

Although I was keenly aware of it, it quietly went uncelebrated this year – without nary a balloon to be popped, a piece of cake to be relished or a glass of bubbly to be sipped. Why, you ask? How can a friend just let another friend’s birthday slide by with just a facebook wall post and a quick ‘Happy birthday, girl!’ thrown into a hectic phone conversation?

I know, I know. 

I am her other blog half and self-proclaimed female spouse. (As the enlightened Oprah had professed on her show, women need wives.) I should have done something more. However, in my defense, I couldn’t do a hair’s-width more to celebrate my dear friend’s birthday - even if I tried.

Patti’s birthday falls on national tax day – April 15^th. But this year, the looming tax deadline wasn’t the issue (not that it was an issue on any other year, but it's a stressful, deadline-induced hell of a date). This year, her birthday fell on my Easter Sunday. And because of that, although she completely understood the hectic craziness that went along with what that entailed, I didn’t want her to assume that her birthday went unnoticed or worse yet, unrecognized.

We tried in vain to plan a Saturday night out for the celebratory birthday party, but between Easter, bachelorette parties, gigs, dinner plans, errands and everyday obligations, we were now looking at a Saturday night in June. How could it be that we are as booked as Obama? In my book, you don’t officially tack that extra year onto your age until you celebrate it with your friends. Now, it seems as if Patti would remain forever…21. 

And for those of you who know Patti, (and aside from the fact that she does frequent the namesake store on occasion), how truly fitting IS this? She is the quintessential 21-year old but with the maturity and wisdom that girls that age could only hope for. Her humor, style, personality, attitude and zest for life all resonate with the youthful characteristics of a 21-year old. She loves laughing, making people laugh, music, singing, dancing, eating, cocktails just because, and just plain being and having fun. What’s more? All of these mood-boosting traits effortlessly rub off on her friends and even onto fleeting strangers who have the good fortune to cross paths with her. For all these amazing twenty-something characteristics and so many more for me to get into in one, solitary blogpost, I love my forty-something friend.

So…regardless of when we celebrate her birthday, it won’t matter. Because even though her birthday has come and gone, celebrated or not, she will always remain forever 21.

Cheers to you, beeyotch and happy birthday!!

P.S. I love you enough to post this crappy pic of myself, but as usual, you are rockin' it. It's a damn, foolish shame that youth in fact belongs to the young, but it will always belong to the young at heart. Stay forever young, my friend. xoxoxo

Gracias a la Vida

by Patti


Gracias a la vida, que me a dado tanto.
Thank you to life, which has given me so much

One of my favorite songs of all time is sung by the incomparable Mercedes Sosa (may she rest in peace), the Argentina folk singer with a voice like buttah and a delivery that will shoot straight through your heart and up into your brain and down into your feet and back out through your eyes in the form of tears. The song is called "Gracias a la Vida" (Thank You to Life), and if you are so inclined, you can hear the whole thing right here:



It's days like yesterday, the day of my birthday, that this song really hits home for me. I woke up feeling.... blah. A little freaked out at being closer to old for real this time, and a little farther away from youth and its dewy glow and world of promise. This getting old stuff, it ain't for the weak.

There are people like my mom who tell me I'm wasting the precious prime of my life worrying about getting older, or my dear, gorgeous girlfriends who tell me I'm way too obsessed with age, but who are nearly a decade behind me and don't yet get that jittery feeling that comes with the recognition that OHMYGOD it's happening, I'm getting old. But let me tell you, when the truth hits, it's a scary feeling, it truly is.

Even though I felt pouty about GETTING OLD (are you over me yet?), I spent my birthday doing things I wanted to do, like going to the gym and a little shopping, and then spent the evening with my husband, my daughter, my in-laws, and my mom, eating a fun dinner together, polishing off a bottle of Prosecco, and gorging on dessert. I had fun, but there was a hole where my father used to be. It's not the first birthday I've had without him, but somehow, the older I get, the sharper the realization of his death is.

And it was feeling this hole that made me realize it's time for me to cut this crap out. After all, my father? Doesn't get any more birthdays. I'm still here, and, God willing, I still get to wake up and, even though the subtle sagging of my face may send me into the narcissistic doldrums, I still get to decide what to do with my day and how to feel about it. I also get to log onto Facebook and find 100 birthday greetings from friends and family, old and new, near and far; I still get to receive beautiful texts and voicemails, all remembering me on the very day that had me foolishly pitying myself; I still get to eat pizza and drink a bottle of champagne and eat birthday cake; I still get to look around the table and see people that I love, all love me right back; I still get to live.

And in doing so, I have the opportunity every day to say gracias a la vida, que me a dado tanto. Because it's true: Life has given me so much. And for that, I'm thankful.

Full House

by Patti


I live in a 2-bedroom, 2-bath, charming little house. To give you an idea of just how charming, when I was in real estate, those in the industry knew that the word "charming" in any description  meant that the house? Was Ti. Ny. So yes, our house ain't no mansion, but it suits our little family of three just fine.

Fortunately, we have a finished basement, and a family room in addition to a living room, so even though our house is small, the layout makes it seem deceptively big. Until you throw in three grandparents and 11 screaming 11-year olds. Then, suddenly, that charming yet deceptively large little house becomes a clown house, with people spilling out of every nook and cranny while wacky circus music bleats its beats right into your head.

This past weekend was S's birthday party. In true Aries style, it's not enough for her to have a little gathering around a small, candle-lit cake. No, the kid has to have every human she has ever known admire her as she blows out her candles, and if they can all spend the night afterwards to further extend the festivities, the better. I figured, eh, it's her 11th- the big "tween" birthday - so let's let her have her night of horrors fun! This party was planned weeks ago, long before I knew my in-laws would be popping in for a surprise visit from Argentina, so imagine my freak-outedness when they appeared and I had to figure out where the hell to put them. Normally, they sleep in the basement when they come, but this time around, the basement would be teeming with tweens. M suggested we give up our room to them, give the basement to the tweens, and we would sleep in Sofia's loft bed. Her bed is one of those Ikea numbers, where the bottom part is really a fort with a mattress on the ground, and the top part, while suitable for a 50-something pound 10-year old, is a rickety Fear Factor experiment for anybody over 95 lbs. But we knew it'd be for one night only, because as soon as those tweens were gone, S would be back to her bed, and we'd be in the basement for the duration of M's parents' visit.

SO. This was the plan.

The party commenced, and while I ran around like a freak on fire, and M slung pizzas into and out of the oven, and my mom snapped pics, and my in-laws stepped over and around various bodies that were sprawled out all over the place making scrapbooks, the girls had an absolute ball. As luck would have it, it turns out that half of the invited guests had to be somewhere early the next morning, so only five girls ended up spending the night. WHICH WAS JUST FINE BY ME. As soon as the scrapbooking part of the party was over, and the going-home girls went home, the rest of them were relegated to the basement, where they sang karaoke, played board games, danced, and drowned in prepubescent hormones.

The house groaned all night with the weight of people, but it also danced with the laughter of girls experiencing that first delicious taste of freedom -- the kind that makes you feel that the world is yours and everything in it holds possibility. As I wandered around upstairs in the wee hours from couch to bed to couch to bed to, at last and for good, couch, I smiled through my exhaustion. The laughter floated up from the basement through the floor, and I remembered that feeling so sharply - those nights of giggles and late-night games that consisted of sticking the hand of the first girl to fall asleep into a bowl of warm water to make her pee in her sleep, and ghost stories, and whispered gossip about the red-headed, freckled-faced Gary that suddenly got cute, and it was all completely worth it, the sacrificed space and sleep.

My house was full, oh, so full. My heart, more so.