Owen’s son is having his first real ‘relationship’ and as he’s 17 years old, that’s probably a good thing. A good thing so long as he keeps his hands in plain sight at all times and doesn’t get so distracted by a girl that he takes the focus off school, grades, and his sports interests. So far, it’s been working out well. He seems enamored enough of this particular cheerleader, but he’s still uber-focused on softball and (like father, like son) weekly skiing, racquetball, and golf. In other words, he seems to have his head on straight about the whole thing and hasn’t gone so far off the deep end that he’d rather sit around mooning about a girl than reading the latest Sports Illustrated.
This is a good thing. As Owen put it, it’s time for his son to move into this phase of his life, and while I often tease him about, ‘It’s eight o’clock, do you know where your son is?’, he handles it well.
“Baseball,” he replied the other night.
“Oh, really? In the dark?”
“It’s an indoor baseball field, I’ve been there and seen it myself.”
“Hmmm….but…I mean, are you sure?”
World weary sigh, and then, “Let’s put it this way. He wouldn’t put a cup on to go see a girl.”
I couldn’t argue with that one.
Now that Parker has entered this more adult, more independent stage of his life, it’s made life a little more interesting for his dad. Owen’s life has basically gone from driving his son to various places and events every day to being driven by his son to various places and events, now that he’s got that all important learner’s permit. I suppose the next step is a car, and it’s inevitable, it’s just not happening yet. But I’m pretty sure it’s not too far off, because for the first time, I’m hearing Owen comment that it’s probably time he got a new car himself.
“And this one would go to Parker,” I said.
“Of course.”
“But not for a while,” I observed. “I mean, it’s just me but I’m not sure he’s ready for a girl AND a car. I mean, not a car with any kind of back seat or anything.”
For that one I got ‘the look’, but it’s ok. It’s OK because ‘the look’ is and always has been Owen’s way of telling me without saying a word that he was thinking the same thing, he just wasn’t ready to verbalize it yet. “I’m still,” he said, “treating this as a learning experience. It’s important to me that he understands relationships can be wonderful, but they’re a lot of work, and there’s a lot more to them than….”
“Than backseats,” I finished for him, and got ‘the look’ again. To which I could only nod in sympathy and think to myself the fact that I’ve never had to parent a teenager really hasn’t been that terrible of a thing. I’m not sure I could stand that kind of stress and worry. I have a tough enough time watching Basil get older.
My personal opinion is that Parker is a good kid and he’s certainly had a pretty solid foundation put out there for him his entire life. He’s never had time to get distracted by alcohol, drugs, and the other diversions that can take a kid off track, probably because he’s been in skis and golfing since he was something like two or three years old. He’s made a few mistakes but he’s learned from them very quickly and certainly never made them twice. Like his dad he’s very competitive, but he’s also a very courteous guy. I think he’s far more considerate than he’d admit to being because it’s just not cool, when you’re 17, to admit that. So I think he’s going to come out of this whole thing just fine, although the fact that he’s got an independent, and perhaps even a romantic, life away from home has changed the parameters of the time I spend with his dad.
In short, his dad spends a lot more time at my house. Number one, I have the better cable and finally a very nice television. Number two, my house is a refuge from the always-unscheduled, semi-irritating bouts of teenage angst and non-communication you can be subjected to when you share a roof with a seventeen year old. By comparison, the antics of my two cats and one ridiculously spoiled dog seem almost soothing by comparison. Number three, being at my house is one of the few times Owen can spend any amount of time and not be worrying or otherwise occupied with being a single parent and I think he appreciates that.
My take on it is, if Parker is going off into the world and entering the angst of dating, etc., I think it’s a great time for his dad to keep his own private life private. So it’s better if I don’t spend much time at their house. This also keeps me from having to answer embarrassing questions, an embarrassing question being any question Parker might ask me about relationships. Usually, this works out well. Sometimes it works out strangely, as it did a few Saturdays ago. Parker was out on a ‘date’, due home at eleven. Owen was on my couch, trying to figure out how to operate my DVR and watching episodes I’d recorded of both Entourage and Curb Your Enthusiasm. I’d ordered two pepperoni pizzas earlier, mainly to use the yet another ‘Dominos MVP’ card I’d received in the mail, and also because you could put a filet mignon in front of Owen and a pepperoni pizza in front of Owen and the pepperoni pizza would be his choice. It was also time I’d reciprocated on buying dinner, although Dominos was hardly a fair trade as opposed to, say, seafood and cocktails at Market Street.
I suppose it was that second episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm that made us both forget the time because it was just short of eleven when it ended so Owen hurriedly grabbed his jacket, both pizza boxes, and went out the door. As it turned out, he pulled up to his house just as a car was dropping off Parker, who did a double take when he saw his dad was also just getting home.
“Where have you been?” he asked, expressing his shock that anybody over seventeen might actually have somewhere to be on a Saturday night.
“What do you mean?” Owen held out the pizza boxes. “I was out getting dinner for you.”
This was accepted as logical and sensible in a way it could only be accepted as logical and sensible when heard by someone seventeen years old and too caught up in their own world to really consider anyone else’s. It was quick thinking on Owen’s part, and the kind of quick thinking he’s going to need as the next few years go on, I’m sure. I’m sure because Parker is very nearly a clone of his father, a veritable ‘mini me’ albeit just a shade taller than his dad’s 6’. You can see a bit of his Mom in his eyes but his mannerisms, coloring, sense of humor and overall personality are strictly from Owen. Along with, I have to add, a smile that could melt butter at twelve feet. All of which combined tell me Owen’s going to have his hands full with Parker and all his ‘learning experiences with relationships’ because I wasn’t the only female in the valley who developed a grown woman crush when his dad was flashing the same smile on the TV screen during the sports section of the local evening news broadcast and as I said, they’re very much alike.
Sometimes, all I can offer by way of support is a comment that at least he didn’t have a daughter. Imagine how tough that would be. And at least he hadn’t had two kids and the second was a daughter, because if one teenager was this challenging, imagine worrying over two, especially if the second was a willowy brown-eyed teenaged girl with a winsome smile. Of course I get ‘the look’ again for that, but that’s OK. They’ll both survive the whole thing, I’m sure. And in the meantime, I get to use up all those Dominos MVP coupons, and finally take the time to watch all those programs I’ve recorded.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Temporarily Out Of Touch: The Blonde Moment
Let’s just say it was a blonde moment that went on all evening long.
We pulled into valet parking at The New Yorker at 5:00pm as I silently debated over whether or not to bring my purse inside. We were headed into one of those Business After Hours Chamber of Commerce networking events (Translation: Use your free drink tickets, hand out a business card or two, and go home) where your time is spent standing unless you’re fortunate enough to get a table while one is still available. Carrying a purse or a coat is cumbersome as within a half hour or so of the event’s start it’s standing room only and elbow-to-elbow until it’s over. It should be noted that I don’t enjoy these types of events and avoid them where possible. It’s just that this year, my boss decided our goals (goals are important as when you have your annual review, you’d like to have at least one or two things to point to as real accomplishments after so many years of doing the same thing) were to include attendance at one seminar related to work and a minimum of one social networking event outside of regular work hours. That’s how I’d found myself at a Zig Ziglar seminar with Diane for an entire afternoon in November, and mingling my way through an “It’s A Wonderful Life”-themed networking event in December. Technically I could have said my goals were achieved, but when Owen invited me to this one if for no other reason than to see the restaurant and try the food, I thought one more couldn’t hurt.
“Do I get points for this?” I asked Liz after printing Owen’s email with details about the event, “because if it counts, I’d like to go.”
She looked at it for only a moment. “It’s networking, it’s a chamber event….sure. That counts.” And that’s how I found myself standing outside The New Yorker debating with myself over a purse.
“Just leave it,” Owen advised, holding open the back door of his car. “I’ll throw my coat over it.”
I hesitated, then decided against it. “They’re not responsible for anything left in the car,” I said, not sure if that was true or not and not wanting to say anything to offend the valet, who looked perfectly trustworthy and was patiently waiting for the keys. “I’ll take it in,” I said. “It’ will give me somewhere to put my phone.”
It was still in my hand and had been since I left my office. I dropped it into my purse, we headed inside, and the blonde moment began.
As far as those events go, it was enjoyable. Claire and Meg were already there and we wound up getting a table by the windows in front. We were each handed our two complimentary drink tickets. “Good for beer or wine,” the perky brunette at the registration desk announced. “If you need hard liquor, you’ll have to pay for it.”
“If you need it?” Owen observed drily, and I poked him with my elbow.
“That’s OK,” I assured the brunette. “It hasn’t been that tough of a day.”
Once Owen slipped the waiter a couple bucks (“Nobody’s tipping,” he said. “No wonder they’re slow with the service”) we had his complete attention and nodding and smiling at people I vaguely remembered from one program, event or meeting over the past nearly eight years became a lot easier. I even found myself enthusiastically agreeing with a gentlemen who was recounting that ‘great meeting we had in your office just three months ago, about that October program’ when in actuality I was convinced we’d never met in my life. Somehow, when you’re surrounded by a thousand conversations, what feels like a thousand people, and a table full of shrimp and tiny meatballs, little details like sincerity somehow fall by the way side.
Claire and Meg left early, leaving Owen and I alone at the table but only very briefly. We were soon joined by a saleswoman from a local hotel, one of Owen’s golf buddies, and two sales reps from a temporary employment service who’d done business with Owen for years, staffing his winter and summer retailer shows. The saleswoman and I connected immediately. However it came about, conversation turned to where we lived, and I said I’d bought my place during my divorce. I suppose the ‘D’ word was what made the connection. She was divorced as well, had no interest in getting married again, really enjoyed her life, and after about twenty minutes along these lines we exchanged cards and decided we should get together socially very soon. By the time she left the golf buddy had departed (but not without quietly patting Owen on the back, thereby affixing his stick on name tag to the back of his jacket. “There’s a sign on your back,” I told him when the golf buddy was out of hearing range. “I know,” he said. “So long as it doesn’t say ‘kick me’ I’m fine with it.”) and we were left with the ladies from the temporary agency. A half hour or so later and another half glass of Chardonnay and we left them with our unused drink tickets, Owen begging off with an evening meeting with his son’s softball coach.
“Well that was fun,” I said as we pulled into the lot. I opened my purse then and rummaged for some lipstick, “and my goals are completed. Even better.”
After dropping me at my car, Owen left for his meeting and I drove home. I dropped my purse on the desk, gave Basil a hug, quickly changed clothes and took her out for her walk. It was only when I returned that I realized I should take my phone out of my purse and put it on the charger. The only problem with that it wasn’t in my purse. I actually took everything out of my purse and laid it on the counter and the phone wasn’t there.
There are a few things in life that completely unsettle me and for whatever reason, one of those things is losing my phone. I’ve had terrible luck with phones over the past few years, having inadvertently dropped one in a toilet, one in a swimming pool, and having had a Blackberry go out on me completely, relegated to doing nothing but making buzzing noises while the track ball moved around the screen randomly on its own. This last had happened only a month or so earlier and now it seemed it’s replacement had been lost. Which meant I’d have to go to work the next day and throw myself on Holly’s mercy, explaining what I couldn’t explain myself – that my phone had vaporized at some point during the night while it was inside my purse.
I’d opened my purse exactly twice. Once to get business cards, and once in Owen’s car. It had to have fallen out during one of those times.
The new neighbor across the hall let me use her phone to call Owen. He checked his car, and it wasn’t there. My neighbor suggested I call my phone with her phone, and I did. “Do you hear yours ringing?” she asked, and I didn’t. Of course, the fact that I was standing in the foyer between our apartments, calling my phone against the background noise of her television and my stereo probably made this one of the bigger blonde moments of my life. “No,” I said, and thanked her for use of her phone, resigning myself to the fact that mine was lost for good.
It was only by telling myself it could be so much worse (it could have been my car keys, my debit card, my entire wallet) that I was able to pretty much put it out of my mind, and get some sleep. I found not having emails to check throughout the evening wasn’t all that bad, and neither was missing a few phone calls. Waking up to my regular alarm instead of the cell phone alarm wasn’t terrible either, and I’d almost convinced myself I could probably do without a phone altogether, but only until I got to the office and realized it was time to go see Holly and let her know I’d had another round of bad phone karma and needed yet another replacement.
She wasn’t at her desk, so I returned to my office, thinking about my phone. Wondering who had it, wondering if it would have a good life with this new person, wondering if I had any embarrassing text messages saved on it and hoping not. I missed my phone and I entertained the ridiculous notion that maybe if I called it one more time, whoever had it would actually answer. So I dialed, and on the second ring, I heard it.
Faintly, yes – but insistently, softly ringing from somewhere close by….somewhere under my desk…somewhere…inside my purse. Feeling like a complete idiot, I hung up on myself, retrieved my purse, and stared at it. I’d emptied it the night before. Completely emptied it. And yet, my purse had just been ringing.
I called myself again, unzipped the purse, and located the phone, finally. Wedged way down in the bottom, still in its black leather case, wedged firmly against the black leather compartment built into the purse to ‘keep items organized’. That’s when I realized two things simultaneously: 1) Sometimes I can be a real idiot, and 2) I don’t think my vision is all that it could be up close anymore. That bothered me only briefly, and was soon displaced by my happiness to have my phone once more back in hand.
Of course, calling Owen to let him know I’d found it was more than a little embarrassing. “It was in your purse?” he asked, “the whole time?” Yes, the whole evening, actually. Even the part where, after talking with me, he’d called the restaurant back and sent a waitress not only over to our table but to the valet parking area, thinking I may have dropped it there, then sent me an email, then given way too much thought to hoping I wouldn’t be in a mess at work for losing another phone. In short, he lost more sleep over the whole thing than I did.
Which I feel bad about, I really do. But at least now I can call him, and tell him I’m sorry to have caused the worry.
We pulled into valet parking at The New Yorker at 5:00pm as I silently debated over whether or not to bring my purse inside. We were headed into one of those Business After Hours Chamber of Commerce networking events (Translation: Use your free drink tickets, hand out a business card or two, and go home) where your time is spent standing unless you’re fortunate enough to get a table while one is still available. Carrying a purse or a coat is cumbersome as within a half hour or so of the event’s start it’s standing room only and elbow-to-elbow until it’s over. It should be noted that I don’t enjoy these types of events and avoid them where possible. It’s just that this year, my boss decided our goals (goals are important as when you have your annual review, you’d like to have at least one or two things to point to as real accomplishments after so many years of doing the same thing) were to include attendance at one seminar related to work and a minimum of one social networking event outside of regular work hours. That’s how I’d found myself at a Zig Ziglar seminar with Diane for an entire afternoon in November, and mingling my way through an “It’s A Wonderful Life”-themed networking event in December. Technically I could have said my goals were achieved, but when Owen invited me to this one if for no other reason than to see the restaurant and try the food, I thought one more couldn’t hurt.
“Do I get points for this?” I asked Liz after printing Owen’s email with details about the event, “because if it counts, I’d like to go.”
She looked at it for only a moment. “It’s networking, it’s a chamber event….sure. That counts.” And that’s how I found myself standing outside The New Yorker debating with myself over a purse.
“Just leave it,” Owen advised, holding open the back door of his car. “I’ll throw my coat over it.”
I hesitated, then decided against it. “They’re not responsible for anything left in the car,” I said, not sure if that was true or not and not wanting to say anything to offend the valet, who looked perfectly trustworthy and was patiently waiting for the keys. “I’ll take it in,” I said. “It’ will give me somewhere to put my phone.”
It was still in my hand and had been since I left my office. I dropped it into my purse, we headed inside, and the blonde moment began.
As far as those events go, it was enjoyable. Claire and Meg were already there and we wound up getting a table by the windows in front. We were each handed our two complimentary drink tickets. “Good for beer or wine,” the perky brunette at the registration desk announced. “If you need hard liquor, you’ll have to pay for it.”
“If you need it?” Owen observed drily, and I poked him with my elbow.
“That’s OK,” I assured the brunette. “It hasn’t been that tough of a day.”
Once Owen slipped the waiter a couple bucks (“Nobody’s tipping,” he said. “No wonder they’re slow with the service”) we had his complete attention and nodding and smiling at people I vaguely remembered from one program, event or meeting over the past nearly eight years became a lot easier. I even found myself enthusiastically agreeing with a gentlemen who was recounting that ‘great meeting we had in your office just three months ago, about that October program’ when in actuality I was convinced we’d never met in my life. Somehow, when you’re surrounded by a thousand conversations, what feels like a thousand people, and a table full of shrimp and tiny meatballs, little details like sincerity somehow fall by the way side.
Claire and Meg left early, leaving Owen and I alone at the table but only very briefly. We were soon joined by a saleswoman from a local hotel, one of Owen’s golf buddies, and two sales reps from a temporary employment service who’d done business with Owen for years, staffing his winter and summer retailer shows. The saleswoman and I connected immediately. However it came about, conversation turned to where we lived, and I said I’d bought my place during my divorce. I suppose the ‘D’ word was what made the connection. She was divorced as well, had no interest in getting married again, really enjoyed her life, and after about twenty minutes along these lines we exchanged cards and decided we should get together socially very soon. By the time she left the golf buddy had departed (but not without quietly patting Owen on the back, thereby affixing his stick on name tag to the back of his jacket. “There’s a sign on your back,” I told him when the golf buddy was out of hearing range. “I know,” he said. “So long as it doesn’t say ‘kick me’ I’m fine with it.”) and we were left with the ladies from the temporary agency. A half hour or so later and another half glass of Chardonnay and we left them with our unused drink tickets, Owen begging off with an evening meeting with his son’s softball coach.
“Well that was fun,” I said as we pulled into the lot. I opened my purse then and rummaged for some lipstick, “and my goals are completed. Even better.”
After dropping me at my car, Owen left for his meeting and I drove home. I dropped my purse on the desk, gave Basil a hug, quickly changed clothes and took her out for her walk. It was only when I returned that I realized I should take my phone out of my purse and put it on the charger. The only problem with that it wasn’t in my purse. I actually took everything out of my purse and laid it on the counter and the phone wasn’t there.
There are a few things in life that completely unsettle me and for whatever reason, one of those things is losing my phone. I’ve had terrible luck with phones over the past few years, having inadvertently dropped one in a toilet, one in a swimming pool, and having had a Blackberry go out on me completely, relegated to doing nothing but making buzzing noises while the track ball moved around the screen randomly on its own. This last had happened only a month or so earlier and now it seemed it’s replacement had been lost. Which meant I’d have to go to work the next day and throw myself on Holly’s mercy, explaining what I couldn’t explain myself – that my phone had vaporized at some point during the night while it was inside my purse.
I’d opened my purse exactly twice. Once to get business cards, and once in Owen’s car. It had to have fallen out during one of those times.
The new neighbor across the hall let me use her phone to call Owen. He checked his car, and it wasn’t there. My neighbor suggested I call my phone with her phone, and I did. “Do you hear yours ringing?” she asked, and I didn’t. Of course, the fact that I was standing in the foyer between our apartments, calling my phone against the background noise of her television and my stereo probably made this one of the bigger blonde moments of my life. “No,” I said, and thanked her for use of her phone, resigning myself to the fact that mine was lost for good.
It was only by telling myself it could be so much worse (it could have been my car keys, my debit card, my entire wallet) that I was able to pretty much put it out of my mind, and get some sleep. I found not having emails to check throughout the evening wasn’t all that bad, and neither was missing a few phone calls. Waking up to my regular alarm instead of the cell phone alarm wasn’t terrible either, and I’d almost convinced myself I could probably do without a phone altogether, but only until I got to the office and realized it was time to go see Holly and let her know I’d had another round of bad phone karma and needed yet another replacement.
She wasn’t at her desk, so I returned to my office, thinking about my phone. Wondering who had it, wondering if it would have a good life with this new person, wondering if I had any embarrassing text messages saved on it and hoping not. I missed my phone and I entertained the ridiculous notion that maybe if I called it one more time, whoever had it would actually answer. So I dialed, and on the second ring, I heard it.
Faintly, yes – but insistently, softly ringing from somewhere close by….somewhere under my desk…somewhere…inside my purse. Feeling like a complete idiot, I hung up on myself, retrieved my purse, and stared at it. I’d emptied it the night before. Completely emptied it. And yet, my purse had just been ringing.
I called myself again, unzipped the purse, and located the phone, finally. Wedged way down in the bottom, still in its black leather case, wedged firmly against the black leather compartment built into the purse to ‘keep items organized’. That’s when I realized two things simultaneously: 1) Sometimes I can be a real idiot, and 2) I don’t think my vision is all that it could be up close anymore. That bothered me only briefly, and was soon displaced by my happiness to have my phone once more back in hand.
Of course, calling Owen to let him know I’d found it was more than a little embarrassing. “It was in your purse?” he asked, “the whole time?” Yes, the whole evening, actually. Even the part where, after talking with me, he’d called the restaurant back and sent a waitress not only over to our table but to the valet parking area, thinking I may have dropped it there, then sent me an email, then given way too much thought to hoping I wouldn’t be in a mess at work for losing another phone. In short, he lost more sleep over the whole thing than I did.
Which I feel bad about, I really do. But at least now I can call him, and tell him I’m sorry to have caused the worry.
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