Ten years ago I was parenting an almost three year old (he turned three at the end of January) and living in a decrepit but adorable little rental across from the elementary school my husband went to when he was a kid. Noah was a delight (he’s always been a delight) with elfin eyes and a terrific fondness for his stuffed Tigger. I was just starting to write for cash instead of barter and had scored a nice handful of clips in MomsOnline.com, AOL’s parenting portal destined to be bought up by Oprah’s media company. I wrote about friendly romance on the playground (where you fall in love with a new friend in minutes and drop her just as fast), evangelical haunted houses, multilevel marketing to moms and something about breastfeeding that I don’t remember anymore.
I was volunteering at La Leche League and thinking about trying for another baby. Noah was about to start preschool and no longer wanted to hold my hand on the way to the library, (which was just across the street) and I was yearning for another sling baby. We were broke and without a car (I’d pull the wagon the mile to Wild Oats and then drag it back with a whiny preschooler dragging along next to me). We’d been married going on six years and together for nearly ten and we were happy.
It hasn’t been an easy decade since but it’s been a good one what with Madison’s arrival, more freelance success, a new house and then an upgrade and friends, friends, friends tagging along.
Twenty years ago I was just about to turn twenty. I didn’t know it but I was about to meet the man of my dreams. More immediately I was about to take a trip to New Orleans to hang with my then best friend Lisa. She wanted me to move there but a Tarot card reader in the French Quarter said it was not to be and that I’d make a bigger move in a couple of years. (I moved to Portland two years later with Brett.)
At twenty I was at the end of a great big transition. I was no longer chasing boys (much) and had decided to start dating nice guys, which is why I picked up Brett a couple of months later. (He was so not my type not being a completely arrogant ass.) I was seeing a therapist after dropping out of college because I was walking into traffic and coming apart at the seams. As part of my “get my shit together” efforts, I was also trying to make friends with women. Smart women. Ambitious women. Women like Kimmb and Ann Henderson and Mary H. and Shari and Judit and the rest of the Katzinger‘s retail crowd. You know, the kind of women who wouldn’t throw me over for some guy or hit on my boyfriend. I wasn’t used to being friends with women instead of being in competition with them. It was a whole new world and for the first time, I quit trying to be the leader all the time. These women had something to teach me and I was finally ready to learn. (That picture is a cheat. I was actually 21 in that shot.)
I met Brett not just because I was ready to date nice guys but also because I was no longer looking for a man to save me. Ironically though, he was the man who did.
Thirty years ago I was in fifth grade. It was not a good year. It was medium math. It was “Liberty is America’s Rainbow.” (That’s the parade where that pic was taken.) I was awkward — check out that outfit! Check out those glasses! And sad that I wouldn’t get to spend recess with my best friend Annie. My parents were about to divorce and I sure wasn’t going to be prepared for it. Funny to look at that grinning little girl and know that things were going to get worse for a few long years instead of better (they didn’t really get better until I turned twenty). But I was busy with my writing and my stuffed animals and my Ginny Sweet Shoppe. I had a crush on Rob A., who I would later dance with at my friend’s wedding where he was a groomsman and I was a bridesmaid. (I made the mistake of mentioning my fifth grade crush to his wife who got jealous — seriously! — and insisted on sitting at the bridal party table with us just in case I decided to throw over my own husband and make a move on hers.)
Forty years ago I was likely making my mother very uncomfortable because I was just about to be born. I can’t find a baby pic or I’d scan that in, too. But I generally looked like any old blond baby only stubbier.
Clearly my life has gotten better as it goes. It has definitely improved with every decade!
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What a great post, cheating on the pictures or not. I wish you had the baby photo, though.
I think this is a good post to write, maybe sometime soon I’ll have a similar one. I can’t believe mine is the first comment. Things seem to be pretty quiet in blogland today.