23. Don't Put Off Today, What You Can't Do Tomorrow

This one comes hard-learned. In the photo to the left is my friend Ken Ober, who died this past weekend (also in the photo is my friend Stephanie). I hadn't talked to Ken in a couple of months, but maybe it's been longer. There'd been email exchanges, perhaps a random phone call here and there, but I always thought there'd be time. He wanted to get together awhile back. He was willing to drive over, pick me up at whatever time I wanted, and bring me home. Yet somehow I managed to not go. It wasn't about him. It's sort of been like that with most people lately. I blame it on not having the time; life is too busy, I have too much to do. But somehow, over the past couple of years, I've just let things slip past me. Friends I adore, things I love to do, have just little by little started to fade away. Partly this is because I am busy - that's what happens when you're a single parent for most of the week. Single parents are in worker bee mode. That alarm rings at 5:45 a.m., and you are on the go until 10:00 p.m. There's not an ounce of spontaneity on those days.

However, I do have two nights a week to myself so why have I let this happen? I write this not really having an answer. This is, perhaps, self-examination on the fly. And why is it so many of us don't really stop to think about things until something terrible has happened? In this case, the death of one of the kindest, funniest, most generous friends I've ever known.

I used to be one of the most social people I knew. In my 20s, I was out every night. I loved crowds, parties, clubs. I even loved the packed subway. I found it exhilarating. Everyday was an adventure I couldn't wait to explore. Of course, by 31 I was pregnant and life took a different path. Now I was up in the middle of the night not because I was rolling in before the sun came up, but because I was breast-feeding. Yet I was still social; dinner parties, drinks with friends, art openings. When I was in Austin, I was going to see my friends play music or hosting parties at my house all the time. I met new people constantly.

Now, at the time when I probably should be social (single, in the last few years of being somewhat okay to look at, still in possession of bodily and mental functions), I'm the most isolated I've ever been. It's not that I don't go out - it's just that I go out and I'm home by 9:00 p.m. most of the time. No kidding. Now there's a nice little life I've carved out for myself, right? Meanwhile, life goes on. My son gets older, I get older. Time doesn't stop because I have.

If I constantly say no, eventually no one's going to ask. If I don't answer the phone, it will stop ringing. If I don't go see friends I've known for nearly 20 years, they will go away and that is a very, very sad lesson to learn.

I vow to call my friends, make plans to see them, and open myself up to the adventure that life still is.

That's probably the corniest, most embarrasing line I've ever written and I am cringing, but it's message is important. To me, anyway.

Everyone is probably blogging about this...

But, just watched the season finale of Mad Men, and how is it that I'm siding with Don? Especially given that my own situation with my parents divorce was not so simple, not so cut and dried that either one was right, really. It was a complicated situation, and I probably do side with one more than the other, but for the sake of my own peace in the family, and my son's place in the family, I don't choose sides. It was hard, it sucked - and I know that because my own relationship didn't work out. I made bad choices that affected my kid, and will likely haunt him for the rest of his life. I mean, again - we're Upper Middle Class in a First World Country so really, how hard can it be? His parents broke up, that wasn't great, but he still gets love, good education, basketball shoes and utter devotion from both of his parents. When he comes to me later with his problems with me, I'll step up - but I'm saying now that he has it pretty good, under the circumstances.

Having said all that, watching Don Draper cheat for the past few years, seeing how he grew up and how his family life has played out - I don't know. I don't think he was so bad. So he cheated. Big deal. I mean, okay - commitments are made, vows are spoken. I guess I get that. But don't both people have to hold up their end of the deal? As in, love and understanding and friendship and compassion? And yes, I know - he lied about who he was. That was a big one. But in my viewing of the show, what I took from it, Betty absolutely loved getting that information about Don's past, learning he was Dick. She wanted OUT. I get that too. It was the 60s. Women were being subtly, and then not so subtly, told that their lives as housewives were meaningless - they should think about themselves for a change. It was the beginning of the "Me" generation (of which I spoke about in the blog just before this). In my view, Betty took that and ran with it. But she's sealing her fate - running from one guy to the next. That was absolutely not the point of the women's movement - from what I got, it was to go on without the men. Make it on your own. Whatever. None of it worked. Betty and Don are just the T.V. version of many of our parents, though ours not so glamorous - but at least, for the first time in my memory, portrayed realistically and sympathetically.

At any rate, as much as I am for the girls and always ready to take it for them, I'm on Don's side on this one.

22. It's not all about you.

This picture is from Hideous Kinky, which to me is the ultimate depiction of the "Me" mothering.

Okay, this might not be typically on blog point, but I think that what I am feeling and planning on conveying is related to aging gracefully, even if in a round about way.

I've had an interesting couple of weeks and I'm just now beginning to process all that's happened. I don't need to tell everything, but some of it is important, and it's particularly important if you're someone who questions every move you make, every word you utter, every look you give or breath you take. Some of it's private and would hurt people I love, and therefore, even if I find it important to a point I'm trying to make, out of respect for those people, I will refrain.

My birth mother is terminally ill and two weeks ago my son and I got on a plane to visit her, likely for the last time. I met her when my son was a baby, and he's now 11. I've kept in touch with her over the years, including a few visits and many phone calls and emails. I have siblings, one whom I don't know very well because he is, sadly, in jail and has been for a long time. One sibling died before I had much of a chance to get to know him, but there are two girls - much younger than I - and we are close. I've written essays and emails to friends and talked to therapists. I have left no stone unturned when it comes to figuring out what I feel, how it affects my life, and more importantly my son's life where this family is concerned.

Yet, when it came time to face the situation - to take a look at this woman who gave birth to me and was now dying, I wasn't sure how to feel. No one had told me what this would be like. There was no guide, no road map. What the hell was I supposed to be feeling? I felt like an outsider, to be honest. Was there something I should be feeling? Shouldn't I want to do everything in my power to help, to caregive, to pitch in, to be a good example to my son? What was I so scared of? But then something amazing happened. I was able to see her for who she was for the first time since I'd met her. There was great freedom in this. I didn't have the growing up issues my sisters did - I was removed, in a sense. We all shared blood, yes - but I'd had a whole other life. Other parents and siblings and a lifetime of memories with them, some good, some bad - some life altering. But a whole other family, nonetheless. With that came power and knowledge and compassion and perhaps some perspective I could share.

The thing is, for those of us born to parents of the 60s, those of us who grew up in the 70s and 80s, we really had to figure life out for ourselves. We were, in a very real sense, on our own. That "Me Generation" was very real, and I was a part of it. I know now how much my parents loved me and I have spent many years working through it and trying to overcome my alienation from that life. It's worked. I'm close to my family, we talk a lot and I see them twice a year and they're always there when I need them. But growing up, and my mom admits this, it was about them. Their needs, their desires, whatever worked for them and however us kids fit into the picture was kind of how things went. I'm sure, in fact I know, they thought they were doing a good job and I have too much love for them now to tell them "You know what? It sucked. It hurt. I was lonely. I had no idea what to do and no encouragement and way too much opportunity to get in trouble."

Back to Santa Fe and my dying birth mother. After seeing the dynamics that I missed by not growing up there, it finally occurred to me why I was there. I was there to assure her that I did not hate her for giving me up, I was there to try and convince her to let go of her wound and anger, and to start letting her daughters go so they weren't left with those same wounds after she was gone. It was now her gift to be able to say to them "I'm sorry. I was wrong. I messed up. You didn't deserve that." It is our job as parents, after all - to let our children have a voice. Let them tell us how mad they are and take it in the gut. It. Is. Our. Job.

One day my son will come to me with a list of all I've done wrong, and you know what? He'll be right. I will have to look him in the eyes and say "You're right, I was wrong, I'm sorry.

I hope it's not hard, because in the end it's not all about me. Or you. It's about them. Children or friends or siblings. Take it in the gut. It's the parting gift, I believe.

21. Costumes to avoid if you're over 35

1) Playboy Bunny. Or, any bunny for that matter. Leave the ears and the fluffy tail to the pre-schoolers and the Millenials.

2) French Maid. (see above, minus the ears and fluffy tail)

3) Amy Winehouse. She's younger than you. If you really have a hankering for a f****d-up rock and roll chick, try Debbie Harry or Nancy Spungen.

4) Cheerleader. Aside from the obvious , it's just boring and unoriginal.

5) Prostitute*

6) Princess. Um...well, it seems pretty clear, doesn't it?

7) Naughty Nurse. Again, there's simply no reason for it. It's not tasteful, and it's clinging to a bygone era.

8) Flapper. Another one to leave for Generation Y.

9) Catholic School Girl. Not much to say about that except: Don't.

10) G0-Go Dancer. (see above)

* An exception to this is going as a rode-hard, hung-up-wet street-walking hooker. But, that would take a very healthy ego to pull off. God bless you if you can do it!

There are plenty of options out there, if you're still into dressing up. I can't remember the last time I did, simply because my son begs me not to do anything that might call attention to the fact that I'm his mother, and even a benign witch's hat or Zorro mask would, according to him, scar him for life. However, if I were going to dress up I might try something a little more original than an angel or a devil or Cleopatra. I don't know. Maybe I'd just get a little baby powder, put it under my nose, and pretend I was in Miami in the 80s.

Of course, I'd have to do that an an adults only party. And who knows when that might be?

Wherever you are, whatever you are, be safe and Happy Halloween!

A Deviation From My Norm...

I've decided that once in awhile, it's nice to hear what someone else has to say :), so I've invited my friend Allison Burnett to answer a few questions.

I’ve known Allison since the early 1990s. We’ve weaved in and out of each other’s lives over the years, always staying in touch. We’re both highly opinionated people, and we’re both parents. You’ve seen my thoughts in this blog about parenting and aging, so now let’s hear what Allison has to say.

Q. Los Angeles has as many nannies as gardeners. Any thoughts about that?

A. Anyone who can afford either or both should thank his lucky stars. If nannies and gardeners are used as helpers instead of substitutes, they are a wonderful thing. Chloe and I both work at home, so our parenting of our two little boys is continual, and yet our nanny is a god-send.Similarly, Chloe has begun an organic vegetable garden, and yet we are relieved to have a gardener to tend to everything else.

Q. The Catholics have Pre-Cana before they are allowed to marry in the Church. Do you feel an equivalent, say "Pre-MamaDada", might be a good idea and possibly change the direction of this world? (oops, no leading questions, Sarah!)

A. I think people should have children with their eyes wide open, so if you are a parent and you have a friend contemplating having children you should try to talk them out of it. Tell them in gut-wrenching detail about the sleeplessness, the years-long house arrest, the rounds of flu, the vaccination worries, and the overall complete subjugation of your needs in favor of the child's.If you succeed in talking your friend out of it, then you have done the world a great service. The last thing the world needs is more unprepared or ambivalent parents.

Only those who welcome these sacrifices with open arms are ready for parenthood. I think the same thing about owning a dog, by the way. So many people buy dogs and have children for the same reason: to get love. In fact both are about giving love. I think a person should have children when his heart is overflowing not craving.

Q. What are your pet peeves when it comes to modern parents?

A. I am militant to the point of frothing when it comes to maternal abandonment of children from birth to about five. And by abandonment I mean spending a single night away from them, unless it is an absolute necessity, such as when the mother is giving birth to another baby.

I know I am in a tiny minority here, but I think leaving a young child without its mother is playing Russian Roulette with a kid’s sense of well being for the rest of his life. Many parents think nothing of taking a few days off, or even a whole week, from parenting. They fuck off to Europe or Mexico, and, after they get back, all they talk about it how hard it was for them to leave the baby, how they worried so, but that they knew it was so important for their marriage, and, thank God, they had their sister/mother/nanny to take care of the baby.

In their narcissism, it becomes all about them and their fears, worries, and needs, without a moment’s concern for the psychological well being of the child. And there is no one to correct them, because the child cannot speak, or, if he can, he is reassured, smooched, and gifted into silence. Any damage that has been inflicted goes underground. But not forever.

Premature separation from mother can be devastating. Even apes show lowered serotonin levels when separated from their mothers! Why do we think we are any different? Can you imagine what it is like for a small child to reach for his mother night after night and find her absent? What does this tell this child about his importance in the world, his self-worth, and his mother’s priorities?

Who knows, maybe your kid is resilient and it won’t damage them, but you are playing Russian Roulette, all the same, and you will not know if the bullet was in the chamber for years to come.

Just so you don’t think I am singling out mothers, I think it’s crummy when fathers take off, too, but there is no doubt that the maternal bond is far more powerful. I do not travel. and am entirely entwined in my boys’ daily lives, and yet when they are in distress, she is their only true comforter. She is the only one whose physical proximity heals all wounds.

There are as many bad parents as there are bad actors and bad drivers. Everyone thinks that the bad parent is the other guy. Even when we make stupid mistakes, we console ourselves with “Well, I did the best I could.” One thing is crystal clear to me: if you are going on vacation without your small children, you are not doing the best you can.

Q. What do you consider graceful aging?

A. Understanding that your job is to help the younger generations grow up, not to upstage them. Living from the knowledge that you had your turn; now it's theirs.

Q. Finally, what do you consider ungraceful aging?

A. Chopping your face up with a scalpel, injecting fat into your face, sucking fat from your thighs and stomach, dying your hair in an egregious way, appropriating the slang, fads, and fashions of the next generation, and having sex with people young enough to be your kids.

Peace out, yo.

Allison Burnett is a novelist and screenwriter, living in Los Angeles. His first novelChristopher was a finalist for the 2004 PEN Center USA Literary Award. His latest novel,Undiscovered Gyrl, was published this summer by Vintage Books. It is a must read and you should buy it immediately at Amazon.com: http://www.amazon.com/Undiscovered-Gyrl-Vintage-Contemporaries-Orig/dp/0307473120/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1250271119&sr=1-1

Please also visit Allison’s website: http://allisonburnett.com/

Thanks Allison, and I must admit to agreeing with 99.9% of the above. Readers, we welcome your comments - agree, disagree, violently agree or disagree, approve or disapprove, violently approve or disapprove. Bring it on!

20. To paraphrase Catherine Deneuve: You have to choose your fanny or your face

It's one thing to be in shape, but quite another to be a silhouette. And by the way, this applies to men as much as it does to women. At least three shows on T.V. this past week featured guys in their 40s who used to be hot, but have now become manorexic. What happened? Am I just old-fashioned for preferring my men not to have an eating disorder?

Actually, I dated a guy when I was in my 20s who, after every meal, would get up from the table and disappear to the bathroom for at least fifteen minutes. It took me years until I put the pieces together and had that "Oh, yeah!" moment. It wasn't as pervasive then, though he would look in the mirror and proclaim how fat he was (which even in my denyeverylittlebadthingabouttheguyI'mseeing frame of mind was a jump out), but I just chalked that up to his being an actor. Hey, I thought I was fat too. What girl in her 20s didn't?

To stay on point, though, Catherine Deneuve was right. Once you get to a certain age, and of course that varies, you need a few extra pounds. People argue about this because of all the options there are now that didn't exist when Ms. Deneuve made that statement: Restylane, Botox, surgery, etc., but the options can be dangerous. Of course, a little here and a little there is fine, it's even refreshing. But the problem is, people do too much of it.

Did you know that, according to some studies, forty-two percent of girls in 1st - 3rd grade want to be thinner, and eighty-one percent of 10-year-old girls have restricted their food intake so as to be thinner? It's not just girls; boys account for five - ten percent of anorexia and bulimia cases. I find that horrifying.

I also find it horrifying that if this keeps up, in 40 years Western Civilization is going to look like the set of the movie "Brazil". And yes, this is the second time I've used that reference in recent history, but is there a better one?

19. As hard as it may be, don't be bitter

There's nothing graceful about being bitter. It's also completely understandable if you are. Life can be hard, disappointing, not what you thought it was going to be, painful and at times dull (though I welcome the dull moments, frankly).  You get to a certain point and if you're not where you thought you would be, it can be infuriating. What happened? What didn't happen? What did I do wrong? What wrong was done to me? Relationship failures, career letdowns, family issues, and of course these days the horrible economy and devastating state of the world. It's truly enough to drive you insane or, become bitter.

Here's the thing, though: Don't. Don't let yourself become angry and spiteful and hateful. It's the most aging and unattractive quality you can have. Despite how you look to the rest of the world, it feels horrible to be that mad. And if you have kids, look at the message you're sending them: I didn't get exactly what I want, so I'm going to stomp my feet and hate the world. Guess what that's going to do? One of two things: either they'll grow up and feel the same way about life, or they'll grow up and pity you for having behaved that way. Either scenario, it ain't pretty.

I'm not saying this is easy. I'm not saying I haven't had my moments of being pissed off and feeling sorry for myself. More than I care to admit, to be honest. But it does nothing for my life, it does nothing for my outlook on life, and it certainly doesn't change anything. All it does is take away the light at the end of the tunnel, add some wrinkles, and increase my chance for an early death.

Life might not be exactly what you want it to be, but if you're too busy being mad about that, you've no chance to change it. 

As my friend told me, "The windshield is bigger than the rearview mirror".