The holiday letter I'll never send

Dear friends, family and those people who will be offended if they don’t receive a holiday missive but from whom we’ve really grown apart:

This year been good to the short people, with both kids reaching major milestones: Madelena started preschool and Shawn Joaquin entered kindergarten. Gregg and I can claim no such accomplishments.

Shawn Joaquin has been described by his teacher as the “soul” of his class and is apparently very social and into film. He can describe in great detail plots from movies he’s never seen, and startles me with facts about places he’s never been. He recently told me all about Coney Island and how exciting it is; he garnered these Coney facts from his friend Nyeli in one of their many Deep Conversations in Small Chairs.  At home he is the cuddler in the family, unable to see anyone else hug without launching himself at them to join in. He is constantly concerned with others’ feelings and goings on, which will either make him an exceptional husband or an equally exceptional stalker. Only time will tell.

Madelena is special in her own way.  Thanks to her bilingualism, she’s able to tell me what’s what in BOTH languages, and is either called “Loquita” or “Miss Screamalot”, depending on how lovely she is that day.  She is the boss of the household, and while her intelligence is sometimes used for evil (please give Mama back her keys and turn the engine off), it is more often used for good. While I am maddened by her defiance, I am equally impressed by her conviction. Since the world needs more smart, strong women I have decided not to squash her little soul like bug and instead to teach her how to use all that power in a more positive way. Until then she will get out of many close calls by being too cute for words.

Gregg and I continue to muddle along, doing boring but important things like working and bringing home the money to keep our children in bilingual schools and Gymboree clothing. In between we medicate our aging cat, rescue the new kitten from the window he fell out of, or chase down the dog that has once again run away thanks to her Pervasive Anxiety Disorder. We have both realized our mortality and work out religiously to stave off humped backs and atrophied muscles; one of us looks 20 years younger than reality and the other simply enjoys eating more to make up for the increased calorie needs. Every once in a while we have a Date Night, which often consists of going to a café to read in blessed silence and being back home and in bed by 10pm. To sleep. Ah, romance.

There were a few major events, with all of us but Gregg ending up in ER or the hospital for a few days. We had a couple of vacations with great pictures of children but with seemingly absent adults. Shawn Joaquin learned to cast at Packer Lake and left only one fishing pole at the bottom of the lake. Madelena learned how to tap dance and dance ballet, and delights in making everyone sit down to watch her dance in the predawn hours after we have been summoned there with a shriek.

All in all, we are glad to have each other and even more glad to have friends who have helped us get through, get over and to celebrate the many events of this year. So here’s a shout out to a few people who have helped us survive and celebrate:  Kristel, who stayed up all night with me in ER and saw so much of me that we should just go ahead and get married. To Krista and Anna for their DVD deliveries for Shawn Joaquin during his recovery. To Jennifer, Marvella and Carrie for the delicious meals. To Rick and Christie for the poolside chats and afternoon champagne. To all the friends who I have not named and who will feel slighted and angry and think up ways to get back at me, but will put down that TP and shaving cream and forgive me long before they reach my house at midnight with evil in mind. 

Happy holidays.

The Good Wife's Guide....Again

Originally posted on the blog in 2006, and the most searched for and viewed posting in the archives. I give you...my version of The Good Wife. Just in time for the holidays.




Someone sent me this Good Wife's Guide, originally published in 1955. I ask you, what wife doesn't need a handy dandy guide to know just how to succeed in her role? Isn't it enough that advertising and publishing tell us what to wear, how to pluck, preen and clean, how to improve our sex lives, our financial future and the appearance of our skin, hair and teeth? I was so inspired by this guide to being a Good Wife, which of course I aspire to, that I updated it for our times. To really understand how thoughtful my update is, please read the 1955 version first.

The 2009 Good Wife Guide

Have dinner ready.
Call your husband on his way home from work, and tell him in specific detail what you’d like him to pick up, and it better be hot, DAMNIT. If your husband is like many others and needs a list for three items or more, write up your dinner request on a post it note the night before. Place the post it note on his steering wheel and repeat on the dash, in his daytimer, on his cell phone, his underwear, wallet and the inside both of his shoes. Unless he shows up naked and on foot, he has a pretty good shot of actually bringing home 50% of what you asked for and some disgusting fruit pie that was on sale and next to the register.

Prepare yourself.
If you’re looking bedraggled from your commute home or from a long day of wrestling short people into clothes, naps and behaving well, so be it. Less chance he’ll hit you up for sex in the first five minutes. If you’re looking particularly hot from a client meeting or a ladies-who-lunch day, immediately change into sweats, preferably his. Top it off with a ripped sweatshirt to ensure a good night’s sleep.

Be a little gay.
Not too gay, because men LOVE that girl-on-girl action and might get enthusiastic. Try just being just “I wear sensible shoes and fleece” gay, not San Francisco “I wear great shoes and glasses and designer clothing” gay.

Clear away the clutter.
Gather all the newspapers he’s left strewn about, last night’s beer can and perhaps some stale snack food found on the floor and put them in his favorite chair so he can be a dear and clean it up when he tries to sit down. Gather up school books, toys etc and throw them into the kids’ beds so they can be a dear and clean up before bed.

In the cooler months of the year, light a fire to provide a pleasant environment.
The fire needn’t be made of traditional kindling and wood, but can be comprised of all the smelly socks, sports jerseys made for young and lithe bodies no longer found in your house, and ripped underwear that you can’t bear to see one more time. If you use lighter fluid or kerosene (highly recommended for the greatest burn possible) be sure to open the damper. No need to knock anyone unconscious so early in the evening.

Prepare the children.
Let them know their father will be physically present but may not be engaged, and to just write down all of the little slights so they have a better record for their future therapists.

Be happy to see him.
Or at least the hot meal he better be carrying.

Greet him...
with the recycling or garbage that needs to go out. Lord knows that once he steps foot inside the door it’s a lost cause.

Listen to him.
This is a tough assignment, but practice listening in front of the mirror. Many people think that listening is done with the ears, but no, it’s all about facial expression. If possible, draw eyebrows slightly higher on your forehead so you also appear to be interested.

Make the evening his.
Turn on a game, SportsCenter or a Victoria’s Secret infomercial. He will enjoy himself while you have the bubble bath you so richly deserve. Be sure to lock the door to keep those pesky kids out, and immerse your whole head to block out any annoying screams.

Your goal: make it through the day without anyone dying and you’ve done your job. Pat yourself on the back on the way to the bubble bath.

Don’t greet him with complaints and problems.
See note above about garbage or recycling greeting.

Don’t complain if he’s late for dinner.
Call for delivery and enjoy the free dessert all by yourself.

Arrange his pillow.
If he is uncomfortable, he can put the pillow BEHIND his head all by himself.

Don’t ask him questions.
That will just start needless conversation that stands between you and your bubble bath.

A good wife always knows her place.
In the tub, with a glass of wine in one hand and People in the other. A pop-culturally literate and sweet smelling, albeit slightly tipsy wife is a happy wife. And one most likely to get up and do it all again tomorrow.