Had to Choke to Get Woke

This was taken mere minutes before choking on stage

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"And lastly... can we get.... Sheevani down please..."

I tried to keep my surprise invisible as I took the four steps to the edge of the stage alongside two of my cast mates. Was I that bad tonight? I was certainly off my game, but I thought I held it together pretty well. I had to push my inner monologue to the back of my brain as the awareness of hundreds of eyes on me came into focus.

The harshness of the spotlight mirrored the harshness of the situation. I listened to my critique while nodding at each statement about why I was chosen to be standing in that spot. None of it was wrong, all of it was fair.

In true reality show fashion, the pause before revealing the eliminated contestant seemed to last about 28 seconds. At last, a name was called and it wasn't mine. The simultaneous relief for myself and sadness for my departing cast mate consumed me and I walked back to the rest of my fellow improvisors.

Opening night was over and instead of a star, I felt like Denver's Next Improv Sham.

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I'm unpredictable under pressure. How I wish I was one of those people who always thrives under the weight of competition, but my track record is pockmarked with a handful of chokes that frustrate me beyond belief. Nothing feels better than succeeding under those circumstances, and while I've had a good amount of those triumphs as well, they tend to fade under the glare of my failures.

I'm currently competing in a show called, "Denver's Next Improv Star," where improvisors are challenged and judged on various improv skills and someone gets eliminated each week. As told in the introductory story, I barely made it to week two and my mind has been on analytic overdrive trying to figure out how to quiet the negativity in my brain in order to regain my confidence.

Expectations and Excuses
Human nature is to defend ourselves against criticism with excuses. At least, that's what I'm telling myself because I mentally listed about 25 of them after leaving the theater last Saturday. I knew the healthy thing would have been to take deep breaths, let it go and be thankful I had survived to redeem myself the following week. Instead, I cried for 2 hours on the drive back to the mountains. Oh yeah, because I was technically in the middle of a vacation with my family that was planned far before I knew this show would be opening on the same weekend. That day had started at 5am and was filled with packing, driving, coordinating, bundling up my children, carrying ski gear for 3 hours because apparently my kids couldn't do it, comforting cold kids, trying to negotiate my way in skis for the first time while helping my kids negotiate skis for the first time and then driving white-knuckled through snow squalls down a mountain in order to get to the show on time. Whew.

So yeah, those were my excuses. I was exhausted. The stress of that day wore down my instincts. I hadn't eaten a proper meal since breakfast... and so on and so on. The problem is, none of that matters to anyone involved in the show. All that mattered was what I brought to that stage. Even while we were warming up, I could feel something was off. I was trying my hardest to rally, but it only led to a weird forced energy that was trying to slam the door on the fatigue that was trying to push through. My nerves were overwhelming and I felt that if I stopped moving, I'd lose my energy. My body was saying, "Yeah... yeah... you got this! You GOT this!" while my mind was saying, "Oh man... you're gonna go on stage TONIGHT? Yikes."

More than anything, I felt incredibly embarrassed about being in the bottom three. When it comes to performing comedy, I expect a lot from myself. For the past 7 years, this has been the chosen path to which I have dedicated so much of my time and energy because... well, I'm not that good at anything else. Just ask any of my former bosses at my corporate jobs, they would agree. Not to mention it's my lifelong dream to be successful in this field. No biggie. The stage could be the size of a postage stamp with 2 people in the audience, it doesn't matter to me. Making people laugh has always been my passion and well, I don't give myself a lot of leeway to screw that up. I was pissed at myself and myself only as I walked out of that theater on Saturday.

Rookie Mistakes
The term "choke" is so perfect. Much like the actual physical act, there is a panic in your body and mind that's impossible to correct once it's happening. While it may have not been obvious to the audience, there was a panicky edge to my performance that I could not shut off. It was as if all my training jumbled into a knot and the bits that were coming loose somehow translated backwards in my brain. At the same time, the awareness of the judges, my scene partner(s), limited amount of time, etc, was banging on the walls... I could feel it all at once while trying to maintain the integrity of the scene.

One of my favorite things about improv comedy is the tenet of "yes, and." It's a support mechanism where by your actions in a scene will be honored by your scene partner(s), no matter what. Thanks to my incredible cast mates, my flaws from that night were supported by the people on stage with me. One of the main things I was upset about was how I probably failed as an effective scene partner. I didn't sabotage or deny anyone, but I didn't do much to help them find their own footing. In my heightened state of panic, I was dictating the scenes without allowing for their own choices to be heard. Tsk tsk tsk.

Oh Yeah... I Don't Suck
The disappointment of that night lingered for a few days, I can't deny it. The rest of the trip with my family was fun, but the nagging debrief about every detail of my performance tugged at me. If you haven't guessed, I'm a pretty emotional person and I found myself doubting everything about my abilities and even if I should be an improvisor at all.

Then I kicked myself in the ass. Shut up, Sheevani. It was an off night. Every damn person has an off night, day, hour, afternoon, week, month, year, whatever. Last I checked, there's blood running through my veins and I'm a human being. I'm choosing to focus on this one show versus numerous shows where I didn't choke. As my friend said when I tearfully returned to his cabin in the mountains, "I've never seen someone so bummed about advancing!" His bourbon-induced statement rang in my ears and got louder as the doubts got quieter. I did advance. I had a shitty night. And next time I could crush it. Or I could do well enough to be safe in the middle. Or, hell, I could be in the bottom again. No matter what, I won't allow myself to doubt my talent. Not only do I owe it to myself, but I owe it to the cast of talented folks who I care so much about.

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A few weeks ago, I heard an interview with D'Arcy Carden, an actress who stars in "The Good Place," on NBC. She is one of the funniest actresses on the scene today and I admire her a great deal. In this interview she told a story about performing at Upright Citizens Brigade Theater, which is an improv and sketch theater in New York City. It was her first time on stage with the "heavy hitters," or MainStage cast who she idolized. Ensconced in nerves, she dropped a really vulgar joke early on in the set just to get a laugh. As we improvisors know, trying to be funny or going for the easy joke is a one-way ticket to crickets. That night, she cried herself to sleep at her mistake and thought her career in improv was over. As she told this story, I knew exactly how she felt and why she felt that way. When you love an art form so much, the disappointment of failing at it is very intense. Her story helped me so much these past few days... hell, if the brilliant D'Arcy Carden f*cked up on stage, maybe I'm allowed to as well.

The fastest way to get over a sh*tty show is to get back on that stage and try again... and that's exactly what I'm going to do.

Dear Paul...

Babies with a lot to learn

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"You about ready?" he asked as I put the finishing touches on my lipstick.

"Yeah, give me a minute." I said with a bite.

We were going on a date for my birthday and I wasn't feeling particularly excited. Anxiousness and irritation ensconced my emotions as I tried to steer my thoughts to a calmer place. If it doesn't happen tonight, it's not the end of the world. You know it's coming at SOME point.

"Well, the reservation is for 7, so we should try and get going," he called from the living room.

I stared at myself in the mirror and felt the tears well up with worry. I tilted my head back and fanned them away so as not to smear my mascara. Because apparently we didn't have time for me to fix it! We have a reservation that HE made! Because I guess everything has to be on HIS timeline! Shhhhhh, calm down. It'll happen eventually.

I had become one of those waiting-around-to-be-proposed-to girls and I was pissed about it. So, of course I took that out on the responsible party. I swore I would never become one of those ultimatum nags I had seen around me for the past few years. No, my attitude about getting engaged/married was super laid back for most of our relationship. Paul and I had been together over 4 years and, during that time, we took it moment by moment without the pressure of a cliched timeline. That is, until I felt a bride itch about a year earlier.

"Are you okay?" he asked as we drove to the restaurant.

"I'm fine, I'm just hungry," I managed to squeeze out in a lighter tone. Not light enough since that was all I said on the 10 minute car ride and my silence was shouting volumes.

"Me too! It's gonna be gooo-ooood!" he said with a goofy smile.

His chipper mood only exacerbated my ire. But wait, perhaps he's upbeat because he has something planned? Normally this type of mood would deaden any inclination for him to be giddy. Stop, don't get your hopes up.

As we entered the restaurant, there was a bustle of activity with crowds of people waiting for tables and waiters darting around at the peak restaurant time. Paul told the hostess his name and said there was a reservation.

"Paul, party of 6, right?" she said as another hostess quickly pointed to something on the reservation book. I looked at Paul since I thought it was just going to be the two of us. His commitment to avoiding my eyes in that moment quickened the pace of my heart. Hmmmmmm.

"Oh, that's... a-noth-er Paul... right... Paul party of... 2, " the hostess pathetically recovered, "Right this way!"

Paul took my hand in his as we turned the corner and I saw my family sitting at a table in the back of the restaurant. It's finally going to happen. We're getting engaged!! And I've been a total bitch all night.

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Marriage is hard. I don't care who you are or how fairytale your romance may be, it takes constant work and attention. Back in my single days, I'd hear the "old" women in my office (ya know, in their thirties- GASP!) lament about their husbands, kids and all the woes of their lives. Drowning in naïveté, I remember rolling my eyes and resigning those whiny women to a foreign realm the likes of which I would never be a citizen.

Fast forward a few years later and I'm fully entrenched in the highs and lows of marriage; learning a valuable lesson that you really never know how things are going to turn out until you take the proverbial "plunge." But this I can say for certain... I have never once regretted taking that plunge. Marriage is a never-ending intensive workshop where you are forced to examine parts of yourself that are super ugly, super awesome and everything in between. I've seen a lot of sides of myself during the last 11-ish years and whooo-boy am I lucky that I chose someone who puts up with it all.

Since starting this blog last October, I've looked into my own sacrifices and struggles, but in this post, I want to explore a different perspective: being married to me is not easy. It is something of which I'm continuously reminding myself, because it's so very important. Throughout this road-trip of matrimony, I've been the one who has caused the stops along the way and Paul has been my rock through it all... and many times when I didn't deserve it. This Valentine's Day, he needs to know why I'm so lucky to call him my husband.

No Sense of Direction
When we started dating, I was smack dab in my "should burden" stage of life where I really believed I could, I dunno, break some glass ceiling of the Merchandise Planning corporate hierarchy. We met at a music company in 2002, where he was a buyer and I had taken a position in data entry right after college. From what he saw, I was a goal-oriented career-woman who had her sights set high.

Shortly after we got married, the company went under since it was in the business of selling CDs. Remember those? Nope? Me neither. Anyway, in 2008 I found myself in limbo and not sure what I wanted to do. Paul, being sensible, had set up his next gig with his start-up music label while I thought I should "take time off" and figure out what I really wanted to do. This was before we had kids, it was just the two of us and I was thankful for the freedom to dive into my dreams. Only... the fear of pursuing those dreams hung heavy in me, so instead I fell into a deep rut the likes of which Paul had never seen.

For a year and a half, Paul stood by me and supported my aimless existence even though I knew it frustrated him. I was in a dangerous spiral of sadness, feeling inadequate, shame, self-loathing, regret, hypochondria and it all manifested itself by transforming my usual positive self into an anxiety-ridden nightmare. If the circumstances had been reversed, I'm not sure I would have been so forgiving. What am I saying... I know I wouldn't have been so forgiving. Paul never judged me or belittled what I was going through... he simply carried me forward and gently guided me toward a path that worked for both of us.

Baby Mama Drama
We had our daughter while Paul was getting his EMBA from the University of Michigan. Smack dab in the middle of his program our daughter arrived and we were consumed by a love so deep it practically scared us. Starting a family while Paul was in such an intense program was not recommended, but I was already 31 and I was not going to put it off until the program was over. Nope, as Marisa Tomei taught us in her Oscar-winning performance in My Cousin Vinny, there's a biological clock that ticks pretty loudly in our ears after a certain point. Since Paul was working about 50 hours a week and then studying roughly 4,000 hours a week, we agreed that I'd take on the brunt of baby responsibilities until he graduated.

Stop... stop laughing. What? You mean that sounds unrealistic for our first experience as parents?? Um yeah, we found that out within the first month. It didn't help that Paul and I produced a kid who wasn't fond of sleeping... naps or through the night. Nope, if there was such a thing as "baby FOMO," our daughter invented it. Pretty sure her infant eyes watched most of the first season of The Walking Dead while I bounced her for hours like a zombie (JOKE!). Living on about 5 hours of broken sleep for 14 months straight took it's toll on me and our relationship. In Paul's eyes, he was just living up to the agreement we had made. In my eyes, well, they were bloodshot and unable to focus from being so painfully exhausted.

A few years later, our son was born. Aversion to sleep occurred again, replace EMBA program with consultant business travel, add colic, stress of living in a cramped apartment while our house was under construction, moving when he was 8 weeks old, caring for a toddler... and to top it all off, I was suffering from postpartum anxiety.

I felt like a totally different person after each of our children arrived. My attention was pigeon-holed on the kids and my self-sympathy, so you can imagine how much effort I was directing towards Paul's needs or what he was going through. In the haze of survival mode, Paul and I got into some intense arguments where he was genuinely trying to help me, but in that altered state, I saw those attempts as attacks. Oh, you want to start formula to calm our son's colic? That must mean you think my breast milk is bad for him!! You want your mom to come for a couple days to help me? Because you think I'm a terrible mother?! You want to take the kids so I can get out for an evening? Why, because YOU want me out of the house?!?! Sigh, he couldn't win.

Not once did Paul suggest I was doing a terrible job or criticized my level of stress. He offered help and no matter how much I fought him, he stood by and reminded me that our kids were lucky to have me as their mother. He must have been going through so much pain of his own, but he certainly didn't let that affect his unwavering support and love for his zombie wife.

They're Snaps
I need to learn to keep my big mouth shut sometimes. Especially when it comes to snapping at my family. Look, have I gotten better? Sure. Does it still happen? A lot. Will it ever go away? Doubt it. The thing with snapping at Paul is that he never returns fire. So yeah, I'm just the verbally aggressive spouse who cannot seem to keep her trap shut when he hasn't heard me for the 3rd time, or cannot find something that's in front of his face or gets confused about my schedule even though it's on a shared calendar. Even though, yes, these things are annoying, the gentle art of explaining rather than spewing an insult is rarely my path.

"It's not what you said, it's the way you said it." This line was joked about in a an episode of Friends where Joey was "becoming a woman" thanks to his hot roomie played by Elle McPherson. Well, that old chestnut is not exclusive to the ladies, believe me. I've got the acid tongue that stings while Paul will calmly clarify. Or, he just lets it go. Not all things need to be said... at least that's what I keep telling myself but usually after I've said the thing that didn't need to be said.

Our differences in temperament is something I wrote about in another post and it's, by far, the most frequent point of contention in our marriage. Paul often points out that he would never respond to something the way I do and "never speak to you that way." Ugh, it's a knife through the heart every time. I'm sure he'd find this hard to believe, but I swear I'm trying... really, I am. One day, I'll just repeat myself for the 7th time in a very calm and steady tone. What? No, I'm not getting annoyed just thinking about it. ;-)

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Dear Paul,

First, I love you.  I know in the doldrums of everyday routine I probably don't show or say that as much as I should, but please know that I'm completely draped in love for you... much like George Costanza draped in velvet, if it were socially acceptable.

Thank you for allowing me to be a witness to your life. When I think about those first few months of getting to know you to now, the sheer volume of things you've changed for the better is nothing short of inspiring. Not the least of which was your acceptance that you're a size Medium and not XXL. I'm surprised I could even find you in those shirts!

For every one annoying thing I point out about you, I'm sure there are 50 about me that you never mention. In fact, even when I try to suggest something I do is annoying to you, your response is usually to smile and say, "It's cute." Thanks for lying, Paul.

Your presence in my life has saved me numerous times. Saved me from myself, saved me from bad decisions, saved me from deep pain from my past and present. In life, we all make critical decisions where the course of our lives are forever changed. You're the best critical decision I've ever made.

You and I are similar in that we've always felt "other." I've seen you struggle with not being a "typical guy," and how that puts you on the outer rim of the social circles. You don't watch sports, drink beer, play golf or tout your masculinity as a badge of honor. Who the f*ck cares? Your passion and tireless quest to evolve as a human being is more attractive to me than any bro-dude could ever understand.

As you know, I'm a hypochondriac and tend to think I'm going to die about 5 times a year. Well, to go further down that bleak path, if I did die and you were to be the only parental presence in our kids' lives, I really couldn't think of a better example for them to follow. My god, they are so fortunate to have you as their dad I can hardly put it into words. Not a day goes by where I cannot see and feel your love for them... be it through a smile, a look or all-consuming snuggle.

Thank you, Paul. Thanks for sticking by me. Thanks for being in my corner. Thanks for coming to my improv shows and being my biggest fan. Thanks for believing in me. Thanks for your patience. Thank you for witnessing my life with pride. Thank you for never letting me forget your love for me. Thank you India. Thank you clarity. Thank you DISSS-ILLLUUSIONMEEEUUHHNNT. Oh wait, that's naked Alanis Morissette, sorry.

Happy Valentine's Day, Paul. xo

If You Film It, I Will Come

Even the movie posters get me excited!

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Upon opening the door, the smell of plastic and urgency filled my senses. The bright lights illuminated the shelves and the boxes upon them. A quick survey of the room revealed this was not going to be easy: I had to be furtive in my movements if this was going to be a success. A short walk around the curved counter showed promise given the stack of blue and white before my eyes. Alas, the words I so desired did not appear as I scanned the stack. In one swift movement I walked over to the most populated area, unafraid of the throng of slow-moving bodies before me. Given the late hour, I had faced the reality that my efforts were probably in vain, but I would not be able to depart the store without the knowledge that I had tried everything in my power. My suspicions were correct, unfortunately, and all the boxes were flat against the shelves, with no laminated partner propping them forward. With my head hung low, I turned to push through the crowd and leave empty handed. Just then, I looked up and saw a being walking towards me. An angel in blue and khaki with his arms full, careful to not drop the rectangular spoils to re-stock.

"Do you have..." My query was halted when I saw the title jump out at me like a fawn eager to nourish from mother's teat.

"Right here... it's all yours," the angel responded... Mike was his name, as the tag upon his chest revealed.

I grasped the treasure tight against my body, fumbled for my pocketbook to retrieve the card which would allow for me 2 nights of viewing. This is why I came and against all odds... I succeeded to find a New Release on Friday night at Blockbuster Video.

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Escapism is something that started pretty early for me. Movies, especially, helped me break free from the confines of childhood into the worlds I wanted to explore. As early as I can remember, I've always had a favorite movie that hooked me and didn't let me go for a long time. I'd watch it repeatedly until I had it memorized, shot for shot and line by line.

The following movies are some that shaped my childhood into the teen years. Given the sheer volume of movies that hold that title, this is a pared down list. They are the movies I could watch at any time, any place, all the while mouthing the dialogue. Also, there are spoilers in this post, but if you haven't seen or at least heard of what happens in these movies, then I'm sorry you've been trapped in a bunker, ya bing-bong. 

The Wizard of Oz

"There's no place like home." -Dorothy Gale

The moment Dorothy opens the door to the color-drenched Munchkinland, I was in love. I was probably no older than 4 when I watched a VHS tape of The Wizard of Oz sitting on the floor of my living room. My eyes fixated on everything Judy Garland did, from the way she snuggled a chick to her cheek to her swimmer-kicking legs when the flying monkey nabbed her from the forest. To me, it captured the perfect amount of adventure, courage and love. 

Besides being captivated by the magic of it all, this was also the movie that solidified my dream to be an actor. It was the beginning of my almost subconscious habit of watching while studying... or studying while watching, I'm not sure. I had no clue I was doing this until later in life, but even at the tender age of 4, I knew I didn't want to be Dorothy; I wanted to be Judy Garland playing Dorothy. As time went on I wanted to be Molly Ringwald playing Andi, Mayim Bialik playing Blossom, Julia Louis-Dreyfus playing Elaine. 

I'd get the chance to be in a production of The Wizard of Oz in the 4th grade. Mrs. Meriverta put the show on every year and ever since Kindergarten, I hoped to be in her class since only her students made up the cast. When I was in 1st grade, my brother landed the role of Tin Man and at 6 years old, I helped him perfect his introductory line of, "Oil Can," without moving his lips. Being his acting coach was a no-brainer given my expertise on every detail of the film. When it was my turn in that 2nd floor classroom right off the stairs, my sights were set on Dorothy. Maybe I wasn't quite nailing long division, but I knew I could nail this.

During the audition process, which was held in front of the entire class, Mrs. Meriverta would call us up in groups and bounce us around in multiple roles based on what she was seeing. I noticed I kept playing the Wicked Witch of the West while a handful of girls would rotate as Dorothy. By that time, I had probably watched the movie around 70 times, so my inclination to be a mimic helped me master that witch voice. In the end, Christy Maywhorter played Dorothy and I played the Wicked Witch of the West. That experience taught me a couple things; sometimes what you think you want isn't meant to be and... playing the villain is always more fun.

The Breakfast Club

"Well, it wouldn't have anything to do with you activities people being assholes, now would it?" - John Bender

I probably didn't see the unedited version of The Breakfast Club until late in high school. But, even with bad curse-dubs and commercials, I spent countless Saturday afternoons watching that movie on a channel reserved for late night infomercials. Imagine my shock when I found out it was elephantitis of the "nuts" and not "butt." Masterful how the dub still applied to the next question: How do you think he rides a bike?

I fell in love with The Breakfast Club before I was even in junior high. From a young age, I often wished to fast forward time to be older and The Breakfast Club, oddly enough, made me so excited for high school. It's a movie about how misunderstood a kid can feel and that under a very thin surface, there is a lot of pain they are all trying to figure out. WAHOO! BRING ON HIGH SCHOOL! I thought. Perhaps the boredom of elementary school brought that on. Not surprisingly, I wanted to be the princess, Claire, played by Molly Ringwald. Of all the archetypes of high school, she seemed to have the best life and while my experience at that time showed zero promise of reaching that strata of high school society, my mental image of how I should look and act were drawn out in that movie. Even in the scene where they all share the woes of their lives, hers didn't seem that bad. Come on, Claire, being popular couldn't be that hard.

My favorite performance is by Judd Nelson as John Bender, the criminal. By the end of the movie, you see him in a totally different light. That happens with all of the characters, but Judd Nelson had the toughest job making that transition with Bender. He may have not crossed over to the likability side with the audience, but the vulnerability he brings while maintaining the edge he started with is something I savor whenever I watch The Breakfast Club. He saves the group from being caught by Vernon in the hallway, but then attacks Claire during the most serious scene in the movie. He's so conflicted, so angry... and by the end, you just want to give him a hug. (Or do him in the closet, as many theorize Claire did).

I've revisited The Breakfast Club many times and watched it at every stage of my life. Today, I watch it and think of my kids. Sure, times change and problems are different, but those archetypes will always exist and my hope is that my kids embody some part of all of them. I mean, I'll drive them physi-physss-physics club after they successfully make their elephant lamp in shop class. Then, off to their team sport event with a bag packed full of shit in case they have to jam. Of course no leaving the house unless lipstick has been applied with cleavage. After all, Stubby's party is tonight... should be pretty wild.

Steel Magnolias

"Oh, get with it Clairee, this is the eighties! If you can achieve puberty, you can achieve a past." - Truvy Jones

A movie had never made me cry until Steel Magnolias. And boy did I cry. My mom wanted to rent it because so many of her favorite actresses were the stars. Dolly Parton, in particular, was special to my mom since it was her music that comforted her during those first years after arriving in America. At 12 years old, I didn't quite know what to expect... a bunch of older ladies who are friends being sassy and Southern? Cool, I'll watch it.

Little did I know how much this movie would sink it's ever so charming teeth into my soul. From the opening credits where Annelle is walking through insanely gorgeous Southern neighborhoods to the heart-wrenching monologue M'Lynn delivers at the end, I was glued to every single facet of these women and their relationships. As a little Indian girl trying to figure out her way, who would have thought I could find such a foreign landscape appealing. I learned a lot from that movie, but nothing more than the strength of women both individually and as a union of friends. All the men in the movie are secondary to how these 6 women navigate through some of the toughest transitions in their lives. It's a story about how badass women come from anywhere, in all shapes, sizes and ages. I can't think of anything more perfect for a 12 year old girl to watch.

I recently watched Steel Magnolias for the first time in probably 10 years. I was giddy with a smile stretching across my face as the score swelled over the opening frame. My husband joined me later into the movie when Shelby was in ICU and nearing her death. I could already feel the emotions coming in hot in anticipation of the emotional climax a few minutes away. Finally during the cemetery scene when Sally Field unleashes all her anger and sadness about her daughter's death, I full on started sobbing. Watching Steel Magnolias as a mother is a totally different experience and that scene just gutted me. Paul didn't quite know what to do and I started laughing and crying at the embarrassment of my outburst. I mean, we're taking audible sobs and gasps. And well, sometimes you need that in life.

To this day, I can mentally play the salon scene in my head when I'm having trouble falling asleep. Within that one scene where Shelby's getting dolled up for her wedding, you learn so much about each woman with such a perfect flow of heart and humor. I recited that scene for a couple friends on a road trip once and their expressions were a mix of disbelief and confusion as to why anyone would take the time to memorize something so insignificant. Ah well, perhaps it's not for everyone, but to me, Steel Magnolias is like a warm hug from a Southern aunt I didn't know I needed. Now, where's that recipe for Cupa-Cupa-Cupa?

Field of Dreams

"Oh lord, you don't have to build a football field now, do you?" - Annie Kinsella

I know, I know... so obvious, right? Field of Dreams is on every woman's list of impactful movies in her life. Yeah, this one even surprises me at times. To explain, I developed a huge crush on Kevin Costner after the Dances with Wolves phenomenon, so I decided to rent Field of Dreams. I was fully prepared to just superficially watch a movie for some K-Cost eye candy, but turns out... IT'S AN AMAZING MOVIE!!!!

Let me be clear, you'd be hard pressed to find someone who cares less about baseball than me. Technically it's a baseball movie, but it's about so much more. Field of Dreams is about upending your life for passion, and there have been countless times in my life where I've thought about Ray Kinsella and his fear of dying bitter and unfulfilled. He's slowly crumbling under the weight of practicality, which is something to which so many of us can relate. I guess you could say I've done my own "plowing under my corn to build a baseball field," a couple of times in my life. Leaving my job, pursuing comedy, abandoning my flat iron for wavy hair.... I mean, it's not easy stuff.

The last scene is easily one of the most heartfelt moments ever captured on film. Say, "Hey Dad... do you wanna have a catch?" to anyone familiar with this movie, and if they don't immediately break down in tears, they are dead inside. Holy shit, it's so incredibly beautiful. From the sunset backdrop to the music, it's absolute perfection. All of Ray's internal battles about his own life were born out of the way he saw his father, and through a simple game of catch, he gets the closure most of us dream of. Is this heaven? No, it's Field of Dreams. Oh, and KC does look damn good in it, too.

Dirty Dancing

"You just put your pickle on everybody's plate, college boy, and leave the hard stuff to me." - Johnny Castle

I was not allowed to watch Dirty Dancing in its entirety due to my innocence and the fact that there was a lot of crotch-grinding going on. Since I didn't let up on my begging, my mom finally relented and agreed to watch it along side me with her finger perched atop the fast forward button to skip any racy parts. The first viewing went this way, and then a couple years later I feasted my eyes on all the vertical dry-humping I wanted!

I've included this movie because it was the first time I really fell in love with romance. Sure I'd seen other movies with love in it, but for whatever reason, Dirty Dancing was the first movie where I fully fantasized about being the object of desire. My obsession was timed perfectly with the beginning of my own sexual curiosity. Plus, I love to dance and everything about dance. That scene where Penny and Johnny first dance in the ballroom to sell lessons was when the movie really got me. Sometimes I still just look up that dance to cheer me up. I learned some life lessons as well.. I found out what "knocked-up" meant, what an amazing actor Jerry Orbach was, how abortions used to be illegal and probably most important, a well-timed butt graze can be sexier than any R-rated nudity.

If we ever meet and I have just the right amount of alcohol in my system, I may perform a snippet of the "last dance of the season" for you. It's where P-Swaze and the rest of the dancers are coming up the aisle and Jennifer Grey is awaiting the right moment for the famed lift she failed to do at the Shelldrake. Those 10 seconds took me about 12 hours to perfect by playing-rewinding-playing-rewinding. I finally did get it and I've busted it out at many a-weddings. To this day that movie cheers me up. I love the feel of summer, the mountain resort shenanigans, forbidden love, the fairytale happy ending... it all just allowed me to have had... yup, I'm doing it... sorry not sorry... here it goes...  the time of my life.

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Like I said, these are just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to movies that made a strong impression on my life. Some honorable mentions are Top Gun, Pretty in Pink, Ferris Bueller's Day Off, the Indiana Jones trilogy and both Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure and Bogus Journey. Oh, and Ace Ventura: Pet Detective... and Tommy Boy... shit, and Reality Bites. Okay, I could go on for a long time here...

One could argue I spent way too much time watching and re-watching movies growing up. And one would probably be right, but I wouldn't change anything about how I spent that time. Movies helped shape my world and I look back on them not as time wasted, but rather a masterclass at learning about characters, story structure, narrative arcs, dialogue, cinematography, acting and most of all... they helped me feel like I could do anything. I was watching people live my dream of being an actor and telling stories beyond their own reality. I'm pretty sure if everyone could peek through a window into their desired future, they would do it a lot.

I'm Taking a Ride with My Best Friend

My rock since the age of 10

~~~

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"I swear, I almost lost it today." I said as we walked down the back alley to where I was parked.

"Oh, the moaning guy?"

Kavita and I had just finished an intense yoga class at our favorite studio, which was walking distance from her house. Our hair was slick and our faces aglow with sweat.

"I was right across from him today... and I got eye contact mid-moan!"

She laughed her perfect, feminine laugh that had the pitch and time signature of a commercial jingle. Our yoga classes together were the perfect combination of attention to fitness and bonding over the farcical aspects of it all. The studio we frequented sometimes felt like we were in an SNL sketch, but we were also in on the joke.

"So, hey... I wanted to talk to you about something," Kavita said in a sing-songy voice tinged with a hint of serious.

"What's up?"

"Well, you are one of my closest friends ever.... and for my wedding, I was wondering if.."

|| PAUSE

Brain Voice: This is it! My first time as a maid of honor! Yay!

|> PLAY

"... if you'd be my bridesmaid?"

Brain Voice: Oh. Um... oh. Keep your face pleasant, keep your face pleasant. Don't look shocked, don't look bummed, don't look shocked, don't look bummed. ACT YOUR ASS OFF!

"Oh my god, totally! I'd be honored!"

"Great! You mean so much to me, Sheevs. I couldn't imagine my wedding without you in it!'

"Like I'd ever say no! You're only my best friend!" I tried to sound breezy, "Who else is in your wedding party?"

"My bridesmaids are you, Carolynn..."

Brain Voice: DAMMIT LUMP, GET OUT OF MY THROAT! THIS IS FINE! SO WHAT IF SHE WAS YOUR MAID OF HONOR! SHE'S ALWAYS HAD MORE FRIENDS. SHE HAS MORE OPTIONS!

"... and my maid of honor is going to be... Amy."

The moment she said Amy's name I could have sworn I saw a hint of guilt in her eyes. Or perhaps it was just what I was searching for in that moment. Either way, there was a moment of pause and I knew I had to break the awkwardness with reassurance.

"So awesome, Kav. It's going to be so much fun!"

"I know! I'm so excited!" she said. Another awkward pause.

Brain Voice: This lump is getting bigger and the tears are a-coming so get the hell out of here!

"Okay, well I should go. I need a shower bad!"

"Okay! Thanks for saying yes, I love you." Kavita came in for a hug despite the breeze-dried sweat coating our bods.

"I love you, too," I squeaked out as I closed my eyes in a futile attempt to dissolve the oncoming tears. We parted and I looked down at the concrete as we said our goodbyes.

I sped-walked to my car about 100 yards away hoping she couldn't sense my trembling lip and flooded eyes through the back of my head. Even though I reacted pleasantly and said all the right things, I knew deep down that Kavita could tell I was hurt. That's why we've been incredibly close for so long. Best friends. Well, she was my best friend... at that moment my heart was breaking knowing I wasn't hers.

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Welcome to the post I've been dreading for a long time. In fact, I'm still not ready. This is a hard thing to write about because it cuts into those recesses of my soul that make me cringe. Even though I'm confident about the progress I've made, it still doesn't make it any easier to reflect on times of great selfishness. But I cannot deny it, for most of my life... I've been a shitty friend.

Pride's-maid
The opening story was a turning point for me. Jealousy was an emotion I had long dismissed as useless and beneath me, and I had been cruising on a jealous-free streak for years. But, I had to admit on that drive home... I was jealous. I couldn't deny how close Amy and Kavita had become, but I took for granted that our history would carry more weight for that kind of decision. Throughout our friendship, Kavita had that quality which drew people in, so her friends-circle was always larger than mine. The girl's social life was constantly jam-packed. While there were times of feeling a bit lost in the mix, I never thought for a second that our bond could be weakened by her robust social circle. That conversation in the parking lot launched me into a deep dive on how I've contributed to my lack of social circle. And it hasn't been an easy one.

The Early Days
It was the late 80s and another Indian party was in the weekend plans. I figured I'd see my usual friends, eat the usual Gujurati fare (or pizza, if the host was feeling generous) sitting on a newspaper island, watch the Saturday night line-up on tv (Golden Girls followed by Empty Nest) holed up in one of the bedrooms, and wait until my parents were ready to leave sometime during SNL's Weekend Update.

I had no idea this particular party would be where I'd meet Kavita and the trajectory of my life would change. She was a tiny thing with shiny brown hair and big brown eyes who had just moved to Michigan from California. My memory betrays me as to every detail of our meeting, but I know we bonded over the fact that we were both gymnasts and it snowballed from there. We had all but abandoned the rest of the kids at the party and were in our own world. Our conversation easily rolled from one subject to another and we laughed all throughout the night. Little did we know how many laughs and chats we'd enjoy together for years and years to come.

Kav and Sheevs
Kavita and I were inseparable for the better part of our tweens and teens. Countless weekends spent at each other's houses, sleepovers, movies, going to the mall, you name it. It was as close to a sister as I could have imagined. We had our own language, tons of inside jokes and plenty of in-depth conversations about every trivial concern that youth presents. I mean, was Tom Cruise hotter in Top Gun or Cocktail? (Always Cocktail) She was my refuge from the mean girls in junior high, the nice girls with whom I couldn't seem to connect and really, from myself. As I wrote about in a prior post, I never felt like I belonged, so sometimes I'd recoil and feel sorry for myself. Kavita changed all of that. It was a friendship the likes of which I had never known before, and from the onset, I knew it was very special.

As you grow up and learn about yourself, the same happens with the close friends in your life. This was no different for Kavita and myself. Once we broke out from under our parents' roofs and our worlds broadened with college and beyond, so did the situations that tested our friendship. We saw sides of each other that were surprising and, sometimes, we didn't like what we saw. We got through those strenuous times, but not without some temporary bruises and permanent scars to our relationship. Looking back, I know I could have handled so many of those times with more maturity... after all, Kavita had been the one constant in a revolving door of friends, and many times, I neglected her needs in favor of my own.

Shit Streak
Sigh, here's the tough part. I've never been under any delusion that I'm perfect, but looking into yourself and facing all the shittiness is on par with watching a sex scene with your parents. It's uncomfortable and you just want it to end. Unlike watching simulated humping next to your mom, the outcome of this soul-searching is positive and totally worth it. So... here goes:

The Ways I've Sabotaged Friendships:

• Avoided calling friends back
• Put boyfriends ahead of friends
• Never reached out to friends in need 
• Forgot milestones and special occasions
• Pretended to be too busy to help friends out
• Took friends for granted
• Avoided conversations to address real concerns
• Lied in order to maintain an image
• Got defensive if any of these shitty actions were confronted and never took accountability

All of this started in junior high and continued from there. In a nutshell, I was selfish. If I wanted to hang out with my boyfriend when I had plans with girlfriends, I'd ditch my girlfriends. If a friend was going through a hard time to which I couldn't relate, I'd make up excuses to avoid them. I hated talking on the phone, so I lost some friendships because my selfish ass couldn't be bothered to call someone back. Now, I know these could be a lot worse. I wasn't shitty in the sense of starting rumors about people or stealing dudes away. It was the lack of nurturing that slowly eroded relationships that, believe it or not, I did care about. But, I didn't put in the work, took them for granted and then played the victim. So gross, right?

A Deserved Honor

~~~

I met Amy in college through a mutual friend. She was a casual acquaintance until my last year at MSU, when we became very close. I introduced Kavita to Amy, and their bond solidified after Kavita moved into a house just a street over from where Amy lived. For awhile, we three would all hang out together and have the best times; parties, dinners, bar nights, movie nights, long chats about anything and everything, etc. But, me being me, my attention strayed to my new boyfriend (now husband), and I selfishly left that incredible friendship behind. Amy was one of those friends who could turn your mood around with one conversation. She was soft-spoken, wise beyond her years, incredibly thoughtful, funny and a damn good time. While I was off in new-love bliss, Amy and Kavita's friendship blossomed into a beautiful relationship I didn't fully understand until years into it. That day when Kavita told me Amy was going to be her maid of honor, I finally got it. I had been too busy nurturing my relationship with Paul, all the while starving my friendship with the one person who really understood me from the age of 10. I could be as jealous as I wanted, but I could never deny that Amy deserved to stand next to Kavita on her wedding day. She was there for her in a way I wasn't for some of the most transformative years of Kavita's life. Sure, I checked in every now and then, but if you'll refer back to that list above, I'd also committed some crimes of friendship that no real best friend should ever be guilty of.

Amy died of cancer at the age of 37. I attended her memorial and it was one of the most beautiful events I've ever been to. In a huge tent on her front lawn in Traverse City, over 300 people gathered to remember her and say their goodbyes to this incredible person. By the time Amy had been diagnosed, she and I had grown apart to the point where our only contact was "say hellos" through Kavita. I was so angry that she was robbed of the long life she deserved. I was also so angry at myself, for squandering what could have been an amazing friendship with Amy. As I sat and listened to person after person speak about how Amy impacted their life, I couldn't help but think of how idiotic it was to let that friendship slip away for absolutely no good reason. That day I vowed to carry on how Amy had lived, and become a friend who isn't selfish and who shows her love every chance she gets.

It's Not Me, It's You
I tell you what, being a shitty friend sure gave me a heightened awareness of when I'm being treated like a doormat. I've given myself a well-deserved flogging in this post, but I do have to recognize that there have been a good amount of relationships I needed to kick to the curb. While I spent a lot of years trying to get validation from the wrong people, this self-exploration into my own actions has helped filter out a lot of folks who I didn't realize were toxic to my well-being. Also, I don't need a ton of friends... and that's okay. I still enjoy nights by myself and rather than seeing that as a flaw, I choose to own that as a part of who I am. People like Kavita are just naturally social, and I've spent a long time feeling lesser than because my calendar didn't look like hers. I'm finally learning that as long as I'm tending to those special friendships that enrich my life, I'm on the right path.

Never Let Me Down Again
My best friend is Kavita Desai Mears; always has been, always will be. I feel so fortunate that my missteps of the past didn't sever the bond we established back at that Indian party. She has taught me so much about love and friendship purely by example, from dropping everything to be by my side during my father's last days to frequently checking up on me after the move to Denver...  and about a million other little things. I hit the jackpot with her and I'll never take her for granted again.

Today, I know I'm a better friend. I'm not looking to tally up a social circle that will fill a sports arena, but rather surround myself with positive influences with whom I can genuinely invest my time and love. I check in, I help when they're in need, I listen when they need an ear... I show up. Life is too short to be a shitty friend.

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I recently found a note in my daughter's backpack that she had written to a classmate. In it, she stated that she didn't appreciate the way this girl was treating her and that she "didn't deserve it." My eyes immediately welled up with tears for a couple reasons; first, I hated that some little twerp was being mean to my sweet girl, and second, heart-swelling pride for how she confronted it. I asked her if she'd just written the note or gave it to the girl. She told me she gave it to her, but the girl just flung it back at her after reading it. We discussed how that made her feel and some of the specifics of the situation. It wasn't anything major, just the normal crap that starts around 3rd grade. She sighed and looked at me with her sad eyes and I saw myself.

"Sweetheart, if someone shows you they aren't interested in being your friend, just let them go. But for the friends who are kind to you, take care of them and return that kindness and love... always."

The Good Wife

A blissful moment captured during our first dance as husband and wife. 

~~~

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I stood in the bathroom shaking my head at myself in the mirror. My mind was filing through the adjustments and rearrangements for the next 4 days. Behind me in the reflection, Paul emerged slowly, head down and hands in his front pockets.

"I feel like I can't tell you about my business travel without you getting pissed at me," he said.

This was about the 98th time we'd had this discussion and I was exhausted. He'd been a consultant for over 4 years, so you'd think I'd be used to the travel. As his role evolved, the travel had lessened, but it was often enough and always seemed to come up at the last minute, leaving me in a lurch to scramble for babysitters or rescheduling appointments. Once again, my plans and commitments came in second.

"Would you rather I jump up and down with glee every time you go out of town!?" Oh man, I chose the bitch lane. Paul's eyebrows were raised with concern and, unlike me, he took a few beats before responding.

"Well no, but you know this is part of my job. I'm never going to have a job that doesn't involve some amount of travel."

I couldn't deny that.

"Yeah, because that's what you choose and I have to just re-arrange my life to accommodate it."

He couldn't deny that.

There we were, saying the same things we'd said for years knowing the other wouldn't change his or her mind. Correction: I knew he wouldn't change his mind. I could argue against his travel and demanding career until I was blue in the face, but deep down I knew it was up to me to hold the door open for him to achieve his goals. It was his career paying for our lifestyle, so I didn't really have a dog in this fight. At least that's what I've told myself for our entire relationship. Money = Power, even in marriage.

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If I were a superhero, I'd be The Over-Compromiser. As I reflect over the past 11 years of my marriage, I see evidence of my buried feelings all around me. There are several reasons why I do this; lack of self-worth, lack of confidence to voice my thoughts, and probably most common - keeping shit calm and easy. The path of least resistance may as well be called, "Sheevani Boulevard," since, when it comes to relationships, I never want to be the cause of conflict. I keep the peace by not saying my piece.

Breadwinning
While parenting takes the cake for how deeply you learn about yourself, marriage is a very close second. Since we had been together for a full five and a half years, Paul and I knew each other pretty well prior to taking our vows. During our time as a non-married couple, we each had our own lives; our own friends, our own places, freedom to spend our money however we saw fit. I knew there would be an adjustment to living together and figuring out how to combine our single selves into a joint venture. The surprising part, for me, was how much I'd lose myself in the process. And that's on me, folks.

I did not marry a controlling, stubborn jerk-face. In fact, Paul tirelessly reminds me that our marriage is an equal partnership. Years of self-imposed blindness to that fact has caused this current thirst to re-define my identity in our marriage. I'm a lucky woman who has the support of a partner in every sense of the word, but sadly, that hasn't been enough to thwart these struggles brought on by my own issues. On the surface, things seemed easier if I absorbed his needs as mine... or so I thought.

I'm hella awkward when it comes to money. So awkward, I use the word "hella." Please know that I'm making a "smelled a fart" face while I'm writing this, because I'm so uncomfortable. But here goes.... My husband makes a lot of money. I don't make a lot money. We all know how money creates an imbalance of societal power, but I naively never expected to feel that in a marriage. I figured since he works hard for the money (so hard for it, honey), my input is worth very little. I've quietly given him most of the power in our marriage and now, 11 years in, I'm trying to win some of that power back.

Look, I'm no victim here. I knew what I was marrying into. Paul was never withholding about his lofty career goals or the lifestyle he wanted. So many things on which I've compromised are things that have allowed for a very comfortable life for our family. Paul has earned his EMBA, worked his way up the corporate ladder, we've built a couple houses that are the exemplification of my childhood dreams. Am I suffering? Not in the least. This is more a realization of how burying my needs took a toll on myself and our relationship. I mean, I went to a Nickelback concert for f*ck's sake. By the time Paul introduced the idea of moving to Denver, I had established such a pattern of "giving in" that the inevitability of me agreeing opened a Pandora's box of resentment.

The Denver move was our biggest test... by far. While I had always fantasized about moving out of Michigan, it was more the situation of it being Paul's idea that got under my skin. I knew Colorado was beautiful and Denver was very cool, but this decision was the heaviest one in our entire marriage. I felt the weight of all my past compromises crashing down on me. Haven't I already given enough? What if I hate it? Would I ever forgive him? My emotions would bubble over with every Denver chat. Lots of tears, listing my personal sacrifices, more tears, and plain avoidance. I had paved such a smooth road for Paul throughout our marriage, that when he ran into these potholes after 9 years, he didn't quite know what to make of it.  He was unaware of so much I had been holding in, of how lost I felt and how much I was resenting him for things that could have been remedied had I spoken up. Since he always welcomed my thoughts and feelings, there was confusion on his part about how much I hadn't said.

"I've always told you this was a partnership... you have as much say as I do. Especially when it's something as big as moving to another state."

"Not really," I said through tears, "You'd hate me if I said no to Denver."

"I honestly wouldn't," he said while rubbing my feet, "Your happiness is the most important thing."

"Look, you make all the money. I'm just along for the ride... and it's a ride you've always controlled."

So many of the rough patches in our marriage can be traced back to our flawed communication skills. Before any actual discussion, I had assumed so much about how Paul was feeling or how he would react if I voiced my point of view. I also burdened myself with the guilt of my own emotions. Sure, I was the one who re-arranged my goals and expectations to accommodate his, but given our secure life, wasn't that the right decision? Am I a brat to complain about my perceived lack of power? Would I have felt better if he'd left his consulting job, abandoning everything he'd worked for?

I'm a true believer that everyone is in exactly the right place in their life at every moment. The move to Denver forced Paul and me to re-examine how we approach each other about everything from pillow selections to when our kids should get phones. We don't let each other get away with a dismissive, "I'm fine," response anymore. Those years I spent over-compromising taught me so much about myself and what I'm capable of. And frankly, I NEEDED that because I spent years doubting my potential. I mean, when your basement floods while your colicky baby and sick toddler are screaming and your husband is across the country, you can't waste your time feeling sorry for yourself... you just gotta figure it out! And I did. I figured a lot of things out by myself.

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There's always a more adaptable person in a marriage, and in ours, that's me. I'm okay with that, as long as that doesn't mean I'm suppressing my feelings. Earlier I said I felt I'd lost myself in the process of combining our lives, but today I can honestly say I'm in the process of finding myself.. my true self. I've hung up my Over-Compromising cape and am simply an equal partner in a marriage that is a work in progress. It may not all be easy, but it's hella worth it.

Why So SERIOUSSSSAH?

Here's a go-to funny/goofy/horrifying/boner-killing face when things get too heavy.

~~~

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It was sunny and 53 degrees in March, which meant every single person in Michigan was outside in shorts. I took my kids to the nearby park to enjoy some fresh air after a 3-month hibernation under gun-metal grey skies. This was the type of day not to be wasted by true Michiganders, because another deep freeze probably wasn't far off and it would last for at least 10 days.

"Isn't this amazing?"A fellow freed mother said to me as we were pushing our kids on neighboring swings.

"Oh my gosh, I needed this SO bad," I said.

"Right? My kids were driving me nuts being indoors all the time!"

"HIGHER MAMA!" my son yelled.

"Okay.. get ready!!" I reared my arms back and gave him a hard shove. He squealed with glee as he soared into the air.

"Poop! Fart! BUTTS!" said the little girl on the next swing. Adorable dimples sank into her cheeks as she laughed and laughed at her outburst. I giggled with her and looked over at her mom, who was not on board.

"Lauren, no thank you. Let's not use those words, please!"

"I have a farty butt! I have a farty butt!" she continued. I laughed even harder which only encouraged her impromptu comedy set: Lauren! Live at the Swings!

"I have a poopy butt!!" my son added as he swung past and they both cackled with laughter.

"I'm so sorry!!" said the mortified mom.

"Oh, don't worry about it. My son is a big fan of all of those words!"

The kids continued with their poop-fart symphony, laughing and swinging the whole time.

"Lauren Marie! We do not use potty words like that! Stop it now!" said the mother who was getting angry now.

"POOP BUTTS!" my son yelled.

"Buddy, that's enough poop talk," I said out of obligation for Lauren and turned to the mother, "I'm sorry."

"Oh, don't worry, my daughter started it. I think she's learning it at pre-school or something. It's so annoying!"

"Farty poopy," Lauren whispered to my son and they giggled that perfect kid-giggle that always puts a smile on my face.

"Okay... off the swing. We're leaving, Lauren. You know Mama does not like that potty language."

Lauren's face fell as she slid off the swing. Her mother continued to lecture her as they walked away and into their car.

"Is she in trouble, Mama?" my son asked.

"Well, her mom just didn't like her saying those potty words, buddy."

"Oh. Mama?"

"Yeah, bud?"

He jumped off the swing, let out a clapper fart, laughed and ran to the slide. I laughed, too... I mean, farts are funny.

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For as long as I can remember, I've always been a total goofball. Making funny faces, contorting my body and speaking in accents or voices that aren't my own, were just the pastimes of my childhood. Back in 2nd grade, I'd do impressions for my brother of the kid who always fell off his chair in my class (everyone had that kid, amiright). I'd do a physical comedy routine mimicking how that boy fell off his chair almost everyday. I'm sure my body took a beating constantly tumbling off our kitchen chairs, but seeing my brother double-over in laughter to the point of barely breathing made it all worth it. He was my first audience and I was totally hooked. From a very early age, I knew I needed comedy in my life, and if I wasn't able to watch it on tv, I'd create it myself with a mirror and my nutball brain.

Growing Pains
Being an adult is serious business. Just ask Linda. Don't know Linda? Wrong... we ALL know a Linda. She's the person in your life who never lets you forget how depressing being an adult can be. Whether she's going on about her property taxes or the thrill of curbside grocery pickup, she paints that picture of adulthood that makes you long for a time when you didn't think about your cholesterol on the regular. Don't get me wrong, all of those things are important and as boring as they may be, I've performed my adult duties pretty well; I give firm handshakes, have real wine glasses in my house and own at least TWO blazers. I was always in a hurry to grow up... but I knew I never wanted to be a Linda.

What I mean is, I never wanted to lose that goofy side of myself. As a child, it always seemed like adults were very serious drones who only talked about the news, house upkeep and their office jobs. As a lot of us know, getting older means more responsibilities where things just naturally get more serious; health issues, aging parents, money, marriage, kids, insurance jargon, retirement planning, etc. While I can't really brag about doing all the "adult" things perfectly, I can proudly say that my fun side has remained intact.

What's the DEAL with Cancer?
Easily one of the most grim times in my life was my father's battle with and subsequent death from prostate cancer. There were so many dark days full of fear and helplessness, but thanks to my father's innate comedic sensibilities, he could also lighten the mood while the rest of us were struggling to keep it together.

My Dad treated his oncologist appointments like a social visit. He always made a point to make every nurse or medical assistant smile by cracking a corny joke. At his memorial, his oncologist shared a particularly funny moment after she had informed Daddy that chemotherapy was the only option. "Well, I'm already bald, so that's fine," he had said. For a cancer doctor, patients like my dad who could bring levity were a necessity for survival, she expressed.

My darkest day with his illness is burned in my memory. My mother was working late at the salon and my dad had had an accident in the bathroom. Given his physical limitations from the cancer along with his terrible eyesight, he wasn't sure if he'd cleaned it up very well, so he called and asked if I could stop by after work. I heard so many emotions with each crack in his voice; shame, sadness, anger, frustration.

"I don't want Mummy to have to clean it up after working all day," he said.

"Of course, Daddy, I'll come straight from work."

A couple hours later, I walked into the dark house and found my father sitting on the couch in silence. I didn't say a word, just got the supplies and cleaned the bathroom until it was spotless. After I was done, I sat next to him on the couch and turned on a lamp.

"Was it really bad?" he asked.

"Not at all," I lied, "You pretty much got all of it." He nodded slowly, refusing to make eye contact.

"How about some dinner? Can I make you something?" I asked. Daddy said he hadn't eaten all day and was pretty hungry.

"Okay, I'll see what's in the kitchen... as long as it's not refried beans considering what I just cleaned up in there..."

Not at all sure how that would land, I turned to Daddy and poked his arm jokingly. A slow smile crept across his face and he nodded for a few seconds.

"No chocolate either..." he responded with a chuckle.

It wasn't much, but it was enough.

Children At Play
Once you have kids, you change. I don't care who you are or where you come from... parenting is an all-consuming test of will, patience, stamina, gag-reflex and a host of other crevices of your mentality you had never exercised before. Since I waited until I was 32 to have my first kid, I saw friends go through those tough first years of parenting while I was still baby-free. The change was subtle, but I could sense the vibe was much more serious as their priorities shifted to the needs of their progeny. I wondered if I'd go through the same thing when I became a parent. I wondered this while laying in bed at 10:45 am on a Sunday because I had just woken up... sighhhh.

Cut to a few years later and YUP, I had boarded the same boat as those dear friends. I never judged their seriousness; it was just an observation of how fast people "grow up" once a kid is in the picture. And you SHOULD grow up and be serious. My kids quickly shoved my priorities into the correct lane. Sure those all-nighters binge-watching Dexter were fun, but I'd always feel bad about my-- nope, those nights were awesome and I'll never regret them.

Kids see the world so differently and it's a much better view than our old-asses have. I wasn't prepared for, well, a lot of things, but especially the fun of experiencing life vicariously through them. In those moments of adult seriousness, they remind me that not everything needs to be so heavy all the time. My days are full of goofball antics like salsa dancing around the kitchen as I prepare a meal or speaking in a dopey voice when I ask them about their day. The type of fun is different from the pre-kid era, but it's no less enjoyable.

I need the humor just as much as they do to cut the tension of being a grown-up. It's a form a self-care... much cheaper than the spa or gym membership!

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Back to the opening story. I probably sound super judgey of the mother and her potty language rules. All I saw was two kids just having fun, but she saw her daughter breaking a rule and that's her motherly prerogative. Just because I don't mind those words (in the proper setting), doesn't mean she should feel the same way. My hope for her and Lauren, however, is that whatever does bring them joy and levity is held onto with great might and not to forget the fun amidst the rules.

As you get older, things only get more serious. I've seen many people in my life abandon that lighter side of themselves and it bums me out, because I knew those friends before the metamorphosis occurred. I'm not saying people should never grow up, but I'm living proof that one can be a responsible adult and still perform a flawless fart fake-out. That's where you tell everyone to quiet down in a serious tone and then rip a huge fart to cut the silence. It's a classic Janak Desai trick that I'm honored to keep alive and hopefully my children will do the same after I'm gone.

If it's not my real children pulling me down out of the dark clouds of adulthood, then it's my inner child, who so desperately wants to stay alive and well. I nurture all of them the best I can... and, by all means, protect them from Linda.

Farts.

Old Yeller

The carpool pickup line is often where I find frustration, but deep breaths help. The more I don't lose my shit, the better for everyone in my life.

Click here to listen to this post

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I didn't dare move him from the changing table. For whatever reason this was the only place he wouldn't scream and cry. Was it the fuzzy cover pad? Was it the cradled shape of the cushion? Was it the view of our popcorn ceiling? I didn't know and I didn't care... he was quiet and that's all that mattered.

Paul was quiet as well. He was sitting in the rocking chair next to the dresser staring off in the distance. Even though I had been consumed with the colic nightmare of our newborn son, I could always tell when something was bothering my husband.

"What's wrong?"

"I... I just can't take this anymore."

"Take what?"

Paul gulped and I could tell he was afraid to answer. An outsider would have confidently concluded that he was referring to our son's colic, but I knew better. Communication has never been our strong suit and the fact that he was diving into a serious conversation was a sign that something was pretty far gone.

"You," he said and looked up at me.

"What do you mean?" I asked even though the answer was blaring in my head.

"I know it's been hard with him being so fussy... but the constant yelling and snapping at me... I can't take it. It's too much." His blue eyes were watery, his tone careful and controlled, no doubt bracing for my reaction, which lately hadn't been careful or controlled. I looked at him and the guilt came crashing down on me all at once.

"I'm sorry," I choked out.

"It's like everything I do just pisses you off and I'm just trying to help." His voice was low and shaky and my eyes prickled with tears. Dammit, I'm f*cking this up too. The funnel of my frustrations with the baby was aimed right at him, and lately it had been overflowing.

He went on to tell me a story about the night before his biological father left his mother. Standing at the top of the basement stairs as a child, he heard the fight between his parents. He was too young to remember what was being said, but what he did remember was the yelling and how desperately he wanted it to stop. We had been together for 11 years and it was the first time I had heard this story.

"If this doesn't change... I don't know. I mean, the doctor says the colic could go on for weeks and..." he closed his eyes.

"And... I need to deal with this better, I know... I'm so sorry," I said.

Choking back tears, he looked up at me with mild relief that I admitted how unbearable I had become. I mean, I couldn't deny it. The difference in our temperaments was well known by both of us, but this was the first time I could see it unraveling our relationship... and it would be all my fault.

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I come from a yelling family. My parents were both hot-tempered people and unfortunately that character trait doesn't seem to skip a generation. What would start out as a regular chat could quickly escalate into a loud argument after an eye-roll or dismissive head-shake. It was as normal as watching Jeopardy every night. My parents constantly bickered and we kids were no different. I was more severe than my brother, that's for sure, but we all had that fiery temper that would get the best of us.

My husband grew up in the exact opposite environment. Things were discussed in a calm tone and everyone was patient with each other. If there were disagreements, they just, like... talked about it. When Paul and I were in that tell-each-other-about-our-families stage of dating, I would casually mention some big fights between myself and my parents. Paul would look surprised and ask, "You'd yell at each other?" I'd be confused at his confusion, "You didn't yell at each other?" I'd respond.

Mental Parental

Sigh, I've yelled at my kids more times than I'd like to admit. I yell and I immediately hate myself.  But, it happens because my nerves can only take so much on certain days. When I thought about being a parent, I vowed to be like Paul's mother who is this embodiment of calm and patience. I've never seen that woman raise her voice or get visibly annoyed. "Yes, that's how I want to be.. I don't want to be a yelling mom." Cut to a few years later when I'm running late for work, my husband is traveling for business, I have to pack everything for daycare and my 1-year-old daughter won't stop whining and squirming out of her coat. "COME ON!!! JUST LET ME PUT ON YOUR COAT! GOD!!!" Her little face turned to mine with a look of horror. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry," I said as I hugged her tight. Ugh, so much for being the zen mom.

I wish I could say that I've found the magic formula that quells my penchant to lose my temper, but alas, no such luck. I do employ deep breaths, yoga, meditation, which does help, but there are times where even 1,000 deep breaths will not do the trick. The yelling is usually about not listening, hurrying up, cleaning up, too much whining or the rare occasion when they have broken a house rule. I've never insulted them, called them names or belittled them in the least. It's the normal cliché sitcom mom type shit. I regret it every time, which is why after the situation has settled, I sit down and have a calm discussion about why I yelled. Is.. is that better? I don't know... probably just trying to save face here, but I think my explanation to my kids as to why I get upset helps them. Believe me, I'm working on the scenario where the whole yelling part doesn't even happen, but until then, I do my best to be openly vulnerable in front of my kids about my faults.

Paul's temperament has helped me tremendously throughout our relationship, especially as a parent. His approach with the kids is very different and much quieter. I know observing his patience has drastically helped me flip many situations where I would be inclined to lose it. I've also learned that coming from a non-yelling household has it's downsides as well, like rarely expressing your emotions and keeping them all inside. We agree that we both are works in progress when it comes to communication, and further agree that we want a household where our kids can feel comfortable discussing anything with us.

Yell Hard, Love Hard

I'm afraid I've painted a picture of my childhood where we are all yelling constantly, flipping tables and slamming doors. Nope, not accurate. We fought and argued, yes, but that was balanced out with so much love and affection. I never faulted my parents for having short fuses, it was just a part of who they were and as weird as it sounds, I kind of appreciated the emotional release of it all. That's very hard for people like Paul to understand, but I guess that's the beauty of family. None of the unconditional love we felt for each other was lost in our arguments. Reflecting back on my childhood, I am now aware of so much stress that both of my parents were going through that I couldn't fathom at the time. Plus, I was pretty damn bratty... I needed some of that yelling, trust me.

Some of you reading this may be surprised to learn that I have this temper since, well, for the most part I reserve my baditude for the ones closest to me. The ideal scenario would be to harness the calm I easily demonstrate to friends and strangers, and apply it to my loved ones. It's not that I don't get annoyed with people other than my family, but I suppose that societal decorum takes over and I handle myself in a much better way. Why are we harshest to the people we love the most? Seems like it should be the opposite. I guess it's the security of their love that makes us feel we can get away with it? Or all the rage we've held inside while out in society has to be released somewhere. Either way, if I snap at you... it probably means I love you!

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I've come a long way with my temper and Paul is a huge part of that improvement. Conversely, I honestly think I've shown him the benefits of expressing his frustrations every now and then. I still get annoyed and impatient with things pretty often, but I'm trying to meet those circumstances with an intention to calm the F down and express myself in a productive manner.

These things don't change overnight, BUT I'M GETTING THERE, DAMMIT!!!!!!!!!