The Only Thing Better than an Hour of Tennis is Two Hours of Tennis


The Facebook, G+ and Twitter fast is going better than I’d ever imagined. I have seen a drop off of readership here and I’m sorry about that but I try to tell myself that at some point my friends will think, “I haven’t heard from Jessica in a while. Maybe I should check her blog.” Or maybe not. Maybe I’m missable. That’s okay with me too.

I had a tennis match at 9 this morning and typically you have 90 minutes on the court before someone gives you the boot. Sometimes that’s frustrating, sometimes 90 minutes is more than enough time to humiliate yourself. This morning I had a match with an actress. The pro had told me she was an actress and he’d also told me that he expected her to win the ladies 3.5 singles tourney (in which I’m competing). Actresses are my least favorite people, they’re sort of like bloggers with body dysmorphia thrown in and have a habit of actress avoidance.

The actress was very unactressy and that was just the beginning of a mostly perfect day. Of course she was tall and thin and she sort of lept across the court and she even beat me (but I really don’t think that will happen again). She was really nice, really fun to play tennis with (we were stuck at deuce a zillion times) and when we stopped to chat and catch our breaths she was really insightful and curious. So when I got a text that my 11am meeting was pushed to 11.15 and it was 10.40 and 4-2 I was thrilled to be able to finish the second set. Of course it was a 55 degree morning and my arthritis hates the cold so it was absolute kismet that I would have a 1.45 acupuncture appointment.

Is there any cliche I haven’t become?

From tennis there was a meeting with Glass Elevator and every so often I pinch myself because I realize that I’m working with women who are bright and creative and articulate and I’ve somehow fooled them into taking me along for the ride. We are SoClose to being able to share an exciting new project with the world that will have you laughing and loving the way we communicate.

And to round out the perfection it’s my husband’s first night away. I love that man but I love the first night he’s gone. I’m going to sleep diagonal after watching Downton Abbey or some other estrofest and in addition to not having put on any makeup I haven’t brushed my hair nor do I plan on it. That first night away is good for both of us. The second night I really miss him and the third night is downright lonely. The fourth night is miserable and I usually start inviting people for dinner and I’m thrilled to say that this time there will be no fifth night. He’ll be home for Super Bowl.

Which reminds me of my own pending travel and the fact that I’ve booked airline tickets for myself and my son but not Mr. G. His new work schedule has been so awful that we are doubting that he’ll come along for spring break so rather than buying and not using a ticket we’ve decided to roll the dice and if he can join us he will. Jane will be in London and Alexander and I will return to Amelia Island with a friend of his. It’s our first time doing anything like this and I see it as a sign of marital strength even though it has me feeling lonely and overwhelmed in advance.

2013 will be the year of independence. Unwanted independence for both of us. I’m not worried about if we can do it. I’m just a little pissy that we have to.


Spring Broken at Spring Break


Last week was our first week of spring break. I love having my kids home. I love watching them play, hanging out with them for hours with no schedule. I love just being with them. The first week of spring break was fabulous.

This second week is going to break me.

I was up at seven this morning and I had to get reasonably cute so that I could tape for Momversation. Then I had to tape again, in the meantime the kids were making themselves breakfast and somehwhat destroying the house. They seem totally incapable of rinsing their own cereal bowls, which is not that much of an issue now that I have a new dishwasher, but it is an issue because Sparky the hired assassin will jump on the counter, lick the bowl clean and promptly throw up.

Which is disgusting, but not nearly as disgusting as when Junior comes loping around the corner for the delicacy known as cat vomit. This is all before 10am.

By 10am Alexander’s friend has come over to play, they are undecided if they want to be inside or out. This can only mean they leave the sliding door to the back yard open 800 times, and I’m constantly yelling, “there are bugs coming in.” And now I’m that yelling mom and Alexander turns into that kid who ignores the mom who always yells and I’m not living the life I want to live.

We leave the house at quarter to twelve, well, we leave three times actually because we keep getting to the corner and remembering what we forgot. We drop Jane off at volleyball practice where the girls are happy to see each other, except a few who can’t get along. I feel for the coach.

The two boys and I run to the bank and then to two open houses. Remember the move? One is a mistake because I’m too frazzled to bother using the navigation so I’m all buggy with my realtor but in reality I’m two blocks away from the house I’m supposed to be at. I pull up to the house that Doug recommended I see, get out of the car and start to walk up the hilly driveway. I realize I don’t want to walk up a hilly driveway today or any other day. I skip looking at the house.

The boys want Subway for lunch and since it’s a playdate I agree to take them there, but we pass Carneys on the way. They want to eat in that godforsaken train. Defeated before I begin, I say yes, and one has two hamburgers, one has two hot dogs, and they each have an order of fries. They ask me for thirds but I tell them they aren’t hungry. They believe me, and I pray that I’m not starving them but instead putting off an eating contest where one is bound to vomit, like the cat.

We race from Carneys to the park where Alexander has a pitching lesson, the friend and I drop him off and run back to fetch Jane from volleyball, it’s been two hours. From volleyball we see another house and I think I like it. I don’t love it because I see flaws, but I see flaws in everything. The bones are good, it’s a U Shaped house with nice floors and new kitchens and bathrooms. They’re pretty, but they’ll look dated in 10 years. They’ll be like my mother’s avocado refrigerator in 1982. My realtor tells me I look good. I thank him and silently congratulate myself on finding a realtor who compliments me.

We leave the house, and run to Alexander, it’s been almost an hour, his pitching lesson should be over. Alexander hops in the car and the kids start arguing. It’s an old argument. Alexander things the Ferrari Enzo is an instant classic. Jane thinks it will be passe by the time Alexander is allowed to drive. I drive humming along to the horrible music they’ve forced me to endure on Hits 1. Pink tells me that I’m Fucking Perfect and a tiny part of me actually believes her.

3pm. All that activity puts me at 3pm.

I miss school, I don’t work this hard when they’re in school.