Jul 19, 2014 | moments & memories
Nineteen years ago, I was 19 years old.
And right about this time, I was at a now defunct nightclub in Media, PA with some friends from my college basketball team. We were meeting up with a bunch of people two of them worked with, including a guy that one of my friends liked. I was just along for the ride. The original plan was to go watch the guys play basketball, but their plans changed and they were heading out instead…so we did, too.
A funny thing happened. The guy my friend liked had a bunch of other guy friends with him (go figure). And one of those guys kept waving to me (in a hilariously goofy way) from across the room. I remember thinking that he was SO handsome, he couldn’t possibly be waving to me. But he was. Again and again. I can still picture his face, his outfit, his giant smile and funny wave. I can still picture who I now know as his best friend, standing next to him, egging him on. Finally, we got up the courage to speak to one another.
We hit it off.
He was nice.
He was funny.
He was a gentleman.
And today, 19 years later, he’s still all of those things.
Today, Kenny and I have known each other for half of our lives. Pretty cool, right? Tomorrow, we’ll have known each other more than half of our lives. Pretty amazing, right? Maybe even more amazing – we still like each other. Very much. 🙂
That summer – way back in 1995 – changed my life. Kenny and I started dating just a few short weeks before I was set to leave to go to Penn State Main Campus. We parted ways that first evening with plans for him to call me the next day…and he did. And the day after that. And the day after that. From our very first meeting, I knew in my heart things were different this time. From the very first time we spoke, he made me happier than anyone I’d ever met before. (And he still does.)
We went our first official date a short while later – over to Pennsauken to see Dangerous Minds.
I remember being completely giddy that evening getting ready for our first date. Even my mom could tell something was different. I remember being silly and sitting on the floor in the front of my living room, sneakily peeking out the curtains so I knew the exact moment when he pulled up.
At the time, he drove his father’s old pick up truck. My mom commented about it when he pulled up. And I remember not caring AT ALL what the heck kind of car he was driving – I only cared about who was behind the wheel. (I will say that one of my favorite memories is when he asked me if I wanted to listen to the radio and pulled a good, old-fashioned, battery-operated radio out from under the driver’s seat and handed it to me. Hahaha.)
We watched him try to parallel park on our street and I was so nervous. He finally nailed it and hopped out of the car. He knocked, I answered. He was wearing nice shorts, with a belt. (Read: his boxers weren’t hanging out the top of his pants like so many first dates before. Score.) He introduced himself to my parents, complete with some handshakes. (Score.) He answered all my mom’s questions about where he lived, where he went to school, if he worked, etc. etc. with a smile. (Score.) When he dropped me off – he walked me to the door and made sure I got in safely. (Score.)
He said he’d call me tomorrow. And he did. Every time he said he would. (Score. Score. Score.)
We spent as much time together as we possibly could over the next few weeks. And during that time, I had the good fortune to meet some of my closest friends today (his best friends and one of their wives). I loved everything about what was happening around me…and sadly, I had to pack up and move to central Pennsylvania towards the end of August.
He went to school at Temple, and honestly, we weren’t sure if a long-distance thing was going to work out. After all, we were young and in college…in two cities / towns that were very far away.
We wrote each other letters everyday. Our parents funded some pretty hefty phone bills. I went home as much as I could; he came to Penn State as much as he could. We were making it work. However, I wasn’t crazy about Penn State and living so far away from almost everyone I loved. I missed him (and my family – haha) so much and I knew, deep down, I just needed to move home. I lived for mail or phones calls or packages from home. I hopped into any car that was heading to the Philadelphia area, and quite often, made my poor Dad drive to Allentown to pick me up from a friend’s house…because the ride from Penn State Main Campus stopped there. I finally mustered the courage to ask my parents about transferring home for the following school year. They said as long as I wouldn’t get too far off track, I could transfer.
So the very next year, I did.
Yep.
To Temple. (Go ahead – insert a shocked face here. Haha.)
And, yep, now we’re living happily ever after. Haha.
I think it’s really cool that we’ve known each other – and have been together! – half of our lives. I am still amazed that I knew – in my heart – from the very first time we spoke that we ‘fit’. I knew he was the one from that very first encounter. I don’t think either of us would have ever imagined we’d be living in Oregon with our two awesome kids…so far away from so many of our loved ones, especially given that I couldn’t hack it four hours away in central Pennsylvania for a few months. But, we’re doing it together. Just as we have for half of our lives. And that still makes me happy. And I imagine it will for 19 more years, and hopefully, 19 more after that. And maybe, just maybe, 19 more after that. 🙂
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Jun 20, 2014 | yup, i really did that
One of my friends let me in on a hot tip: you can reserve library books online and they will pull them for you and have them waiting for you to pick up. This may not be a hot tip to some, but to me it is a new, life-changing discovery. It’s probably been in existence since libraries have been around, but I don’t go to the library frequently enough to know all the ins and outs.
Recently, my kids have been into the library, so I have taken them a few times. However, I find that when we get to the library, it typically entails Grace begging me to get every crappy Barbie and Disney Princess book out there and us leaving with 50 books just so I can balance the whining with some solid reading material. (As I covered here, my beef with these is that they are terribly written.) I also feel like I have a hard(ish) time finding what I am looking for, so we wander and wander and wander. You can see why I kinda love the idea that I can pick books out online, drive to the library simply to pick them up, and later have two kids come home to a slew of fresh reading material without going through the whole “going to the library” process.
We are doing a ‘summer reading challenge’ in our family (and by family, I mean the kids) over the next few weeks, so I figured I would test out this “new” system out. I went online and reserved the books I wanted. I waited a few hours, then got a few emails telling me my selections were ready and waiting for me to pick up. I went to the library and picked them up – it took about 10 minutes tops from car to pick up to check out to car.
It was AWESOME.
Except, apparently, you need to pay attention to some of the finer details when reserving your books.
See?
Yea, that Madeline is in Spanish. While the kids do take Spanish in school, I am not sure the once-a-week classes bring them up to ‘reading level Spanish’. Yay, me!
And this:
Pretty sure that’s one of the world’s largest books right there. Seriously? Seriously. To give you perspective on just HOW big this book is – it’s sitting the passenger seat of my car. Pretty sure there was a seat belt requirement that I ignored for the drive home. Also, is the ‘big book’ sticker necessary? I mean isn’t it obvious?
Funny story about that giant book.
I had to pick up my library order in two stops. One yesterday, one today. No big deal because I am typically in the area every week day running errands and such.
Yesterday, I picked up my first batch and saw this thing with my name on it. Naturally, I chuckled to myself because a) it was HUGE! and b) I didn’t even know they made books in this size, let alone LOANED books this size. Who the heck knew book size was a factor when reserving books online? Here’s where it gets funny (funnier?) I was embarrassed by the size of this book, so I left it there. That’s right, I didn’t want to carry that giant book out of the library and into my house because I was embarrassed, so I simply left it by the bookshelf. That’s right – I didn’t turn it back in and say, “Oh never mind – I meant to order the normal size book, not the one that’s up for the Guinness Book of World Record’s Most Giant Book Ever Printed award.” I didn’t want my face attached to the small slip of paper that bore my name. I have no idea what my problem is – who cares, right? Apparently, I do!
Cue karma.
I got another email today telling me the rest of the books I reserved were ready for pick up. Forgetting about the giant pigeon book like every fiber of my being wished for yesterday afternoon, I stopped in the library on the way home from an appointment today. I headed over to the bookshelves to get my selections and I saw it. Still there. KARMA! Ugh. I tried to ignore it again.
So…I picked up my books from the shelf when a lovely, lovely librarian came over to see if I needed help. Crap. I thanked her and said I think I found what I needed. You know what she did next, right? YES. She picked up the giant pigeon book and said, “OH, sweetie! Don’t forget this one – looks like this one is yours, too.”
Face palm. “Oh, right! It does have my name on it. Thank you.”
I took it with me.
I had to.
Why wouldn’t I say I didn’t want it, that I wanted the normal size one? No idea. I couldn’t do it.
The only thing more hilarious than karma biting me in the behind was me trying to scan that thing on the self-service check out counter. And yes, I purposefully chose my scanner based on how many people would be able to see me checking this monstrosity out. I have issues. I know.
Right now? I am sitting here watching the clock and counting minutes until the kids come home. I am hoping their laughs over the size of this thing will make my embarrassment worth it. Haha.
Later? I’ll have them read Madeline to me in Spanish, followed by a lovely rendition of Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus! I assume they’ll have to stand and that it will take both of them to hold it. Dinner and a show! Lucky parents out here in Portland tonight. 🙂
Jun 16, 2014 | trying to raise humans
Ah, the last day of school has come and gone. Whoosh. It went that quickly.
And, as another school year passes, I again sit here reflecting on the year and the seemingly break-neck speed at which my children are growing – both in size and of mind.
This year is particularly poignant for me. It marks my full-on transition from being a “mom with young kids” to being a “mom with school-aged kids”. Grace’s successful completion of kindergarten fully jettisons me into a new arena, which I am sure will be every bit as fulfilling a journey as the preceding years.
Yet, still, I feel a little sad: it’s the end of a momming era for me. From my view, it’s one of those points in time where I am irrationally questioning whether my kids will need me anymore. I mean, of course they need me (they are only seven and six) – but you know what I mean…the uncertainty and unchartered course of the parenting path that lies ahead feels a little jarring to me.
I officially no longer have “little ones at home”. Or, I guess, really, as a full-time working mom, I no longer have the OPTION to have “little ones at home”. Haha. Ah, the constant internal mental battles of a working mom, right? Nonetheless, my point stands – my kids are getting older, and my momming is evolving as a result.
With a cursory reflection, I realize my role has officially shifted…
….from inducing baby / toddler sleep by singing lullabies, saying “shhhhhh”, patting bottoms and rocking little ones cradled in my arms
….to softly tickling arms and faces while tucking young people into bed and whispering good thoughts for sweet dreams into small ears, graciously indulging one last story from the day past, and gently quieting the resulting giggles. Secretly, though, I am absorbing every second to recall when memories of happy times are needed in the future.
*****
…from reading baby books in silly voices
…to having books read to me in the tiny, shy voices my kids pull out when I actually WANT to hear them. (If their reading decibels mirrored their whining decibels, we’d be on to something here.) And as painful as early reading comes across to “sophisticated” adult ears, there’s something to be said for it – I am so amazed that MY CHILD is reading to me. And it’s awesome to see their confidence grow with each successful page read.
*****
…from happily and carefully picking out sweet baby / toddler / pre-school clothes each morning for the day’s adventures ahead
…to slowly nodding my head in agreement for kid-selected outfits that don’t match (and honestly, usually make me cringe), but that I know make their small wearer very proud – if only because they get to wear their favorite shirt with their favorite shorts or skirt with their favorite shoes all at once or because they “matched” two completely different shades of blue or pink together.
*****
…from easing toddler frustration borne from a quick hit, bite or snatched toy at a play date or play group
…to easing playground fears or discontent about the burgeoning social scene that elementary school seemingly brings. (Yes, already.)
*****
…from math not being part of my daily repertoire in any meaningful way
…to panicking when it’s homework time and my two math-loving kids start challenging me to do quick addition and subtraction in my head “for fun”. (Not my strong suit. Never has been. And it’s even worse because they are taught to figure it out differently than I was. I am more one for words and history and the like. ;). And, yes, we are talking about Kindergarten and First Grade math here – still makes me panic.)
And so much more. So much more.
As my kids continue to grow and mature, I realize that our relationship is growing and maturing right along with them. I am finding that if pre-school parenting is about creating foundational emotional bonds, then early school-age parenting is about building on that foundation to create strong relationships. I am also finding that parenting is one of those things you only begin to understand with the wisdom that comes from experience (which explains my mom’s giggling when I would quote sleep books to her when Gavin was a newborn). So, today, as I reflect upon the school year, here’s what I am learning as I embrace my growing children and move into my new school-age momming era:
I am needed for hugs – and now that they are older, I find they hug for a reason and they hug with awareness: love, happiness, hurt feelings, the comfort a mom hug brings when something’s uncertain. They know when they need a little extra love and if I am not having a particularly perceptive / in-tune mom day, they ask for it. This makes me happy. And, as a bonus, they no longer leave a boogie trail on my shoulder. (Well, most of the time.)
I am needed as an audience – no longer to look at a tiny car, or small stuffed toy or block tower, but now to check out their art work or watch “performances” – usually dance performances (God help us all!), but also singing, plastic instrument concerts, and the occasional school project rehearsal.
I am needed for bedtime snuggles – I know the days are coming when good night hugs and kisses will be replaced with grunts that sound like good night, eye rolls and sighs. I know the days are coming when we’ll have to remind our kids to give us a hug or kiss good night, so I try my very hardest to relish the bedtime routine they delight in today. And, let’s be honest – at the end of long days, it’s pretty awesome to have two happy little faces telling you they love you and squeezing their arms around your neck just as hard as they can. Again, absorbing happy memories.
I am needed as their cheerleader – building confidence is hard, and it seems my kids are quick to throw in the towel when they mess up (either really messed up or perceived that they messed up). For now, I love that they flick their eyes over to me for encouragement when they need it, but I also know that, in time (and with practice), they’ll be able to draw from themselves the courage / strength / belief that’s needed to keep going when things get hard.
I am needed as their voice of reason – but now it’s less about pretending they aren’t mine when they are having a complete meltdown in public (kidding!) and more about helping them calm down and see alternate view points when things aren’t going as they hoped or planned. Or helping them overcome a mental hurdle around homework, a play time situation, or a sports game. Trying to channel their passion (read: tears!) in the right way is one of the harder things to manage, I find. I try to tell myself that it’s good they have conviction, right?! haha.
I am now needed TO LISTEN, as opposed to being simply being LISTENED TO (on good days!). With growing children comes growing two-way communication. There’s interaction – and questions, oh so many questions – but there’s also understanding and comprehension. And this might be my favorite part of my evolved momming gig: we have conversations as a family. And, equally as important – our kids can legitimately make us laugh. Good to see that all our joking around and sarcasm and teaching them what being a good sport means is taking off…so far (and most of the time. We’re still learning to joke with friends vs. getting upset sometimes!).
Phew. That was a lot.
So…Now that I am fully through pre-school, I find I am once again amazed at the various stages kids go through. I think the jump from pre-school to Kindergarten in terms of growth and learning is enormous. Not quite as dramatic as the growth from newborn to one year, but still pretty impressive. Let’s take a quick look at one example.
Grace entered Kindergarten not knowing how to read, and today, she sits beside me, reading book after book, chapter after chapter. She has all the skills to sound out tricky words. And she reads with tone and inflection to make the stories interesting. (And thank goodness for that with some of the books she picks out at the library. For the record – Barbie and Disney Princess books are simply APPALLING – lacking cohesive story lines and rampant with blatant typos. Our kids – and in this case, our girls! – deserve better. Subject matter aside – no book for children should ever be published with typos. We’ve made a deal that Grace can get one junky book (i.e. those I’ve just described) as long as she also brings home some better selections. Luckily, in the last months of school, she found the animal section and has been regaling us with facts about puppies and raccoons instead of torturing us with made-up nonsense about Barbie and her 12 dancing sisters. But I digress. )
I remember being amazed at Gavin doing this with reading last year, too. This year, I am in awe of his math skills. If he keeps going at this rate, he’ll be doing math more quickly in his head than I can with pencil and paper. In fairness, though, I favor writing over numbers – and always have, as noted above.
And, so, herein lies the infinite joy of being a parent: your kids will never cease to amaze you. Although my children are only seven and six, I am convinced that my heart will always swell with unending love and pride when I see them experiencing and conveying something new. And as I enter the next phase of parenting – “mom of school-age children”, I am sure they will always need me for something. Our relationship will look different and feel different than it did yesterday, but I am more convinced than ever that being there is actually what they need most. We’ll figure the rest out together.
May 23, 2014 | moments & memories, trying to raise humans
…holds a lot of memories.
I am doing some cleaning up and cleaning out around the house. Admit it. You’re jealous of my rockin’ start to the unofficial kick off to summer, right? 🙂
With both kids occupied downstairs, I took the opportunity late this afternoon to sneakily clean out the ‘stuffed animal’ farm we have in our toy room. If you have kids and they are anything like mine, you know why I had to be sneaky:
a) if they saw me doing this activity, they would fall in love with every single stuffed animal that was stashed in there. It wouldn’t matter that they may not have played with it for over a year…or more!
b) if they knew I did this, they would want to pillage the giveaway box and save practically every last item. And, naturally, they’d only play with said items for about a day or so, and we’d be right back in the same predicament of being overrun with stuffed animals come Monday.
When we’re looking to donate toys, I typically let them decide which toys are ready for a new home, and which toys they’d like to keep. When it comes to stuffed animals, they – especially Grace – tend to love them all and, because of that love, we’d never be able to share any with children in need. Every so often, I like to clean house – typically around birthdays and Christmas.
I understand why it’s hard for them to part with their things, even if they’ve long since outgrown them. I can be quite sentimental, and it’s usually strange things that set this off. I find it funny that sometimes their old toys do this. I can usually recall a great memory involving an item or a toy, and then I, too, am hesitant to pass it along to someone in need. Kenny loves this. So much. 😉
Today, this guy made me sentimental.
My mom and dad sent Gavin this little red monkey for Valentine’s Day right after we moved to Portland. (Grace got a pink one.) For Gavin, though, it came at a perfect time – we moved at the end of October, spent three weeks back in Philadelphia for the holidays that year, and then headed back to Portland in early January. It really wasn’t until January that the move felt real, and for sure, by February, it hit most of us that we actually lived in Portland now. 2,865 miles from everyone we loved in the world (except for each other).
Gavin had a bit of a tricky transition when we left Philadelphia, At four going on five when we moved, he was more aware of things than Grace, and his old soul, at times, seemed to understand how big of a deal it was to move away from our entire family. He’s not a guy for change – he likes routine and likes things how he wants them. Despite starting school (child care at Nike) in October, he was still crying most days when Kenny dropped him off in February. It was really pretty sad. He was definitely less of a disaster than when we first moved, but still had moments where Kenny and I would worry that we made a terribly wrong move and he’d never adjust to the change.
But along came this monkey, with a note from my parents sending hugs and kisses for Valentine’s Day. I can still picture Gavin’s face when he opened it. His grin grew wider when I showed him he could velcro the monkey around his neck like a hug. (Don’t panic, don’t panic – it was loose and the velcro did not securely fasten by any stretch – really just enough for a brief ‘hug’ before it unfastened and monkey hopped back down into Gavin’s arms.) Monkey went to bed with Gavin that night. And to school the next day. And to the dinner table that night. And sat on the side of the tub while he bathed that evening. And, so, an inseparable friendship of sorts budded.
Gavin and Monkey.
Monkey and Gavin.
Everywhere. Together.
For months and months.
And as this friendship budded, Gavin seemed to gain more confidence in his new surroundings. It was like a Philadelphia / familiar things / familiar people security blanket, and Monkey arrived at the very moment he was needed.
You can see how loved Monkey was.
His fur is matted.
His face pilled.
He is missing his nose.
His threaded mouth unfurled, so we drew him a new one.
These days, Monkey hangs out in our stuffed animal farm along with some of his new friends.
Gavin wandered into my office after Monkey’s blog photo shoot. He smirked when he saw him, then picked him up. He stared at him for a few minutes as his fingers traveled over the matted fur of his arms down to his dirty white felt hands. Gavin’s neck was too big for a Monkey hug. 
He asked, “Mom, do you remember him?” I told him I did. Secretly hoping the answer would be no, I asked him if he wanted to give him away to another little boy or girl who might need him. Gavin looked at Monkey, then at me. He shook his no and said, “No. I want to keep him.” I asked why. He said, “Because I got him when I was like four and I want to remember that time.” Man, I love that little guy. Pass a tissue.
I am not sure I will ever be able to put Monkey in the giveaway pile. Not any time soon, anyway.
He’s symbolic of our move, and a sweet reminder of the time period during which Gavin finally started to come into his own as a Portlander.
Apr 28, 2014 | yup, i really did that
Truth be told, I feel like I only recovered from jet lag this past weekend. Crazy, right? I’ve been back for a week…but honestly, I didn’t really sleep when I was in London. Lucky for me, the early years of having babies who are only 16 (and some change) months apart laid a solid foundation for adaptable sleep patterns, right? Haha. Save for last night, I have been in bed by 9 p.m. at the latest every night since I got back. Today is the first day where I don’t feel like I need a nap in the middle of the afternoon. I am really only telling you this because I wish I had the energy to blog some of this stuff before now. 🙂
As I’ve covered here, I am not well-traveled internationally, so with that comes a healthy does of self-consciousness about ‘fitting in’. I already knew my accent would give me away the moment I opened my mouth (as it does here in Portland – haha!). But I didn’t really account for those ‘awkward American’ moments where I felt I was being pin-spotted and the entire country was looking upon me aghast. (Yes, yes – this is very dramatic, I know, but I mean it.)
Anyway, I arrived in London sleepless, but excited. And kinda shocked that despite the fact that there was no excuse for me NOT to sleep during the 14 – 15 hours I was on a plane, I only dozed off for small periods at best. No matter – I was an American gal in LONDON – something I’ve looked forward to for many, many years. But with my arrival came some of those awkward American gal moments that I am pretty sure could / would only happen to me. Read on, friends. 🙂
American gal moment #1: You have to turn on the electricity in your hotel room before anything that requires it will work.
Upon arriving, I really thought I was a moron as I stood in my room waiting for my bag to be delivered and couldn’t get any of the lights on. There were all sorts of buttons and switches and slots on the wall just off the entry, but none seemed to be the magic switch that turned the lights on. I was, however, extremely delighted by the fancy ‘Do Not Disturb’ / ‘Service Room Please’ switches that would light up a placard outside of my room to state my preferences if / when the electricity worked.
When the bellhop arrived, I was still in the dark (-ish…it was 3 p.m., so there was a decent amount of natural light coming through the window). Using my best attempt to be casual and cool, I mentioned that I didn’t think my room had electricity, and wondered if I should call the front desk for help. The very polite gentleman grinned and asked if I received two room keys. I said I had and he asked, “May I have one?” I made giant bug eyes as I smirked and said, “You want one of my room keys? I am married. And, we just met like two seconds ago.” (See? American. With a side of East Coast quick-wit.) Luckily, he was good-natured and cracked up, and said, “No, no, miss – sorry for the misunderstanding. I need one of your room keys to operate the electric.” He didn’t wait for me to hand over a key at this point, rather he gave me a Billy Elliot / Victoria Palace Theater promotional card and showed me where to insert it to turn the electricity on. He then told me I have to do this each time I enter and remove it each time I exit.
Aha! Pretty genius, actually. I am not sure of the reasons why you have to turn on the electricity, but it seems to be a good way to conserve, at the very least. This is probably also something that should have been explained when I checked in, but let’s take the lack of instruction to mean that I look like a savvy international traveler, shall we?
American gal moment #2: There was a short period of time where I questioned whether Londoners preferred cold showers because I couldn’t figure out the super fancy shower controls in my hotel room.
Yep, my first shower was lukewarm at best. As I was shivering through this torture, and wondering why Kenny hadn’t warned me about this, I remembered my Grandmom Newman telling me (tall) tales about European women taking cold showers to “keep things firm”, so in the midst of my own cold shower, I started thinking that her (tall) tales weren’t actually tall at all. Perhaps an affinity for cold showers was indeed a cultural difference?! (Yes. For real. I had this conversation with myself. What can I say? I was delirious from lack of sleep and hypothermia at this point, so it made sense at the time.)
In fact, I was so convinced that cold showers might actually be a thing here that I asked one of my friends / colleagues back home about it.
Naturally, she replied she didn’t remember having to take cold showers, but in a show of what I can only assume was pity for her moronic colleague, she couched that with a statement along the lines of ‘but I don’t really like hot showers anyway, so maybe I didn’t really notice.’
This American gal spent about 15 minutes the next morning trying to find hot water. I eventually figured things out and enjoyed hot showers the rest of the week. I especially enjoyed that I thought this was a cultural difference instead of a simple user error. Totes American. Haha.
American gal moment #3: I am so accustomed to the cross-walk buttons not working in American cities, that I didn’t even try them in London.
And I definitely stood at my first cross walk way longer than I should have as a result. Someone finally came along and pushed the button and I was trotting across the street in seconds. Duh.
American gal moment #4: I had to ask my first cab driver to help me sort my local cash.
Americans are more bill-oriented than coin-oriented, so I didn’t realize that coins were pounds until my cabbie explained it to me. I just assumed that coins had smaller value and you couldn’t really use them for anything of real value. However, there are pound coins and two-pound coins in London – perfect for tips!
American gal moment #5: I had no idea where to get a forgotten item.
One of the charming things about London is that it seemed to be a series of small shops vs. the mega-brand stores we have here in America. However, if one forgets say….their hair brush, this makes it difficult to discern which shops might carry such items.
Since I had already embarrassed myself with one of my friends / colleagues back at home, I decided that I could ask my London-based friend / business partner where one could procure a hair brush. He graciously took me around town to secure one before we headed out to dinner that evening and then helped me select a good brand. I went British with my selection because, well, I figured if I was adding to my brush “collection”, why not go international?
American gal moment #6: I had no idea where to get cash. And how!
I stupidly figured 100 USD in cash would be fine for the week since I was on a business trip and would use my corporate card for most expenses. I am pretty much cash-free all the time, so this seemed reasonable. And it was a fine plan until I realized that black cabs don’t always take cards and they are crazy expensive. I used almost all of my cash on two cab rides to / from the office on Monday (my first full day there).
So, I needed cash AND a hair brush by the time dinner rolled around. Which means the poor fella who had to take me hair brush shopping also had to take me to get cash.
Naturally, my bank card didn’t work, which was simply fantastic. It was past operating hours in the US when this happened, so I would have to wait to call the bank until the morning. BUT – I needed cash that night for my cab ride home.
Yes. It happened. This American had to borrow cash from a local friend after I already made him take me hair brush shopping.
As he was throwing me in the cab (quickly, to get himself out of any other possible crazy requests I might have), I made some jokes along the lines of ‘Hey, thanks for dinner…and the hair brush…and the cash. Aren’t you glad I came to visit?” Hahaha. Oh my. Awkward American. He’s still speaking with me (and pleasantly), so I guess he didn’t mind too much. (Or it could be that we’re currently partnering on the largest event we produce every year and he has no choice. Haha.)
American gal moment #7: Tipping isn’t really a big thing in London.
But, because I am American, I am mentally programmed to tip for services. I was definitely a fan-favorite with servers, cabbies and bellhops by the time I left!
American gal moment #8: I walk on the wrong side of the sidewalk.
Which causes a lot of close / unwelcome contact with strangers. I mentioned to my hairbrush-shopping, bank-rolling friend that I felt like Londoners walk very close to each other and there wasn’t a ton of personal space to be had. I told him I was going to start walking down the street like this <picture me walking with elbows out to the side, even with my shoulders> (if you don’t know me, but are reading this, picture someone you do know doing that pose – haha). He quipped, “This isn’t America, man. This is an ISLAND – precious space to be had.” Hahahaha.
It wasn’t until the next afternoon that I realized I was actually walking on the right, like all Americans do. Muscle memory. Haha. Once I figured out that I should be on the left, all was right in my world. (See what I did there?) Sure, people still walk closely to one another, but in a normal ‘this is a crowded city’ kind of way vs. a full body contact kind of way.
All-in-all, nothing too embarrassing, right? Sure, sure a few laughs to be had, but I think I’d be welcomed back. 😉
