Secrets

My friend told me about it and I was intrigued. But then I got busy and never looked it up. Then yesterday while taking my 5 minutes to myself in the bookstore's art section (my husband was reading to the boys in the children's section) it caught my eye. Not due to the word Secret, but due to my hometown's name and zip code: Germantown, Maryland 20874 scrawled on the cover of the book. I spent most of my life in this zip code (ages 3-22, give or take the college years). In fact I only live about 30 minutes away from the house I grew up, which my parents still own and take my children to see their grandparents frequently.

So I pick up this book of secrets and thumb through. What a marvelous idea. To send an unsigned postcard to a specific address confessing you deepest secret. "What would I write?" I asked my self. "How would I decorate it?" "Would the art work coincide with the secret? " "Would anyone (horror) know it was mine?" Remember, I grew up in this zip code!

Then I start thinking of the secrets, after showing Ryan the book and he agreeing, "Yeah, that would be a fun book to get this Christmas." So on the way home, I tell him. Not my deepest darkest secret, but a little one that has been nagging me. Simply, it was uncharacteristic of me. A couple of months ago on a weekday, that I was off from daycare, but very much on with my sons, we went to McDonald's for their lunch then walked across the parking lot to the Chipolte for mine (Happy Meal boxes in hand). It was the hectic lunchtime crowd and the kids were hungry. As I approached the soft drink machine to get my lemonade the entire drink squirted all over me. I found the plastic do-hicky that had come unscrewed and after I dried off my arm re-attached it to the machine and got my drink. There were no more tables left outside on this beautiful day so we sat by the flag poll near the entrance, them with their Happy Meals and me with my meal that made me happy. They finished their lunch and started running around-chasing the stupid Chinese manufactured toy that was placed in the meal by the McDonald's Corporation (why are there always two pieces to those toys?). They were getting wild and I started shoving my soft taco down, before they actually hurt a passer-by with the flying toys. We cleaned up our spot, and approached the trash bin, when I looked at the bottom of my drink and saw another plastic do-hicky. What to do? My pre-baby, honest self wouldn't have even thought twice and walked into the restaurant, giving it to the cashier explaining their soda machine was broken and I have the one vital, missing piece to make it work. But my post-baby, tired, frustrated, mom self took over and I chucked it, with a little flourish into the trash bin. I felt guilty all the way home, but honestly, would the low-wage workers at a chain restaurant really care that I found the vital piece to the soda machine? Probably not. So there it is.....one secret.

Of course I have done far worse things, mean, hurtful things. Like the time I told David Goetz, the summer after 6th grade, to never, ever, ever call me again! That was a little harsh. But, I was learning. And hopefully there are some good things that I have done in secret, like returning items to the rack in clothing stores, or putting away someone else's grocery cart, just because somebody should do it.

And there are so many more secrets that I can't and won't print here....I am saving those for my postcard. Now what should it say?

Moms and Dads at the Park

I took the children to the city park today and observed an unusual group: three stay-at-home dads and their offspring. Of course the park was filled with the usual other moms which included, the frazzled mother, the fit bod work-out all the time mom, a hot mom or two and an overweight mom. I sat down to watch my group and was seated not far from men….I didn’t mean to eaves-drop, it just happened. They began talking about what percentile their children were in for weight and height and then the topics changed to ADHD. One of the men was new to the group so I assumed this was all preliminary, get-to-know you talk, before moving into “man talk”. So as I was listening to the three men behind me, I kept expecting the conversation to move to different topics. During my thirty minutes at the park, the closest I heard the conversation diverge from parenting was when one mentioned re-doing his kitchen. I was amused when one of the father said to his daughter, “Go play, there are a ton of kids here and you are with me all day!” How many times have I voiced that to my own children or heard another exasperated mom say that?

This came two days after I spent a morning at my local park where I know the faces of the moms and kids. I am not one to engage people in a conversation a lot especially this particular group, simply because I know where it will go. The topics for the day were: food allergies, preschool admissions, and potty training….STIMULATING. I turned to my one friend that I have made through park visits and told her about my latest photography project of a shooting a favorite musician at a night club.

The question I have for myself and all the other park moms and dads (and the parents on my street too for that matter), is; "How long do we have to talk shop, and isn’t there something more to our lives than our kids?" I guess, being Thursday with a crying daycare baby on my lap (really!) I feel these moments more intensely. Also, maybe I was only cut out for this stay-at-home mom gig for a particular period of time. I know when it is over I will miss it, but until then, can’t we all just talk about something other than what size diaper you kid wears?

September 18, 2008

Influence

I keep spinning the same artist on the CD player, until I have nearly worn her two CDs out. Luckily a third arrived in the mail today, so there will be some relief on listening to the same songs over and over. I get to see her in concert in a few days at a small venue where I’m sure I’ll be able to meet her and chat with her. She also happens to be good friends with a dear friend of mine, so of course there is some commonality there.


In listening to her, she writes about a lot of the same things, primarily broken hearts, yet somehow she is able to create a new version of the same story each time. Of course I am sure that the story is different to her and involves different lovers, but I feel for her and am completely on her side of each of the break-ups. I relate to her lyrics and feel a lot of the same thoughts, or went through something similar ages ago.


So that leads me to this: How many different ways can I express my frustration in my current life? I know deep down, my life is not bad, and I should be savoring these times, yet I feel so trapped in my current responsibilities as a mother. And of course there is the guilt too. I feel like I should be giving my all to my children, but I am exhausted and beat down by the prospect. Then there comes the “what now” after I get these kids enrolled in school. I was speaking to another mom of two at the park today, whom I had just met. I asked if she had a career to go back to after she ends the stay-at-home mom routine or would she embark on something entirely new. She, like me, will try something new, mainly due to being a mother and needing to be close to home or in her case at home. I was hoping she would tell me what she was going to do, and then it would click and I would say, yeah, I want to do that too. I have no idea what to do in my future career. I would love to work in the arts, but the field is so small and pays a pittance. Then there is the photography field, but to be honest it scares me, doing it on my own as a career.


I had a few hours to myself this weekend and spent it at the bookstore. I purchased an old CD of artist that was new to me, and a pack of blank gift cards that looked like I would have designed and photographed them. I spent the majority of my time there roaming from section to section with the middle aged salesclerk asking if she could help me find anything. I felt like screaming, “Yeah how about a book that describes all that I am going through RIGHT NOW.” But instead I politely said, “I’m just looking”. So I started at the Women’s Health section, but I am neither battling cancer nor going through menopause. Then onto the Self-Help section, which whenever I approach I do so with the stance of “I’m looking for a book for a friend, not for me.” I was getting closer, but again there was nothing there that I wanted to read, even though maybe I need to read it. Honestly it is sort of a boring section with all of its eleven and twelve and probably even thirteen-step programs. So then I walked over to the Pregnancy/Motherhood section expecting to find a book written just for me. Nope. I remember when I used to peruse the books in that section, with so much hopefulness for my future baby. Of course there were plenty of books on raising boys, which I could and should use, but again, that doesn’t even really touch what I was looking for. I walked out of Borders thinking maybe I just need to write the book myself.

Happy Birthday To Me!

Who knew anyone was reading this? Apparently at least one person is. I have also shared other writings with her that I have not made public, which have meant more to her and were better constructed. I'm just not willing to share it all with the world though.

This is the time of year for a lot of new beginnings. School is back in session now or soon for most students. My oldest son begins preschool in less than two weeks (Hallelujah!). His orientation will be on Tuesday, September 2, which also happens to be my birthday. Seems like a good beginning in a lot ways.
I always try to write something in my diary each year on my birthday (or the day after). This year won't be much of a problem for me due to the fact that I seem to be writing a lot these days. The beginning of September was always a mix of emotions for me. Of course I was excited for my birthday, but since I was never really liked school and the first day typically fell on my birthday, the day was always met with something close to dread. Even as an adult, when I decided on a teaching career, that lasted a mere two years, the old anxiety crept into my body. That was not the career for me. Every day felt like the first day of school. No one needs to live like that.
Birthdays are the best time for New Year's Resolutions. Just because you don't vow to exercise more, eat less or whatever you yourself always promise yourself on the first of the year with millions of others, doesn't make it any less important. It is more personal to make Birthday Resolutions.
So looking back at this past year (because isn't that what birthdays are about-glancing at the past and turning toward the future?) I can say how much I have changed and grown. Of course I still tend to judge people when I should give everyone a little more slack, nag my husband, complain about annoying things, and yell at my kids. But I have also changed for the better too. Trying to carve out a little bit of a place for myself. This year it has struck me how I have lost my true self as I was busy trying to establish a teaching career, birthing and raising kids, starting an at-home business and focusing on everyone but me. So this year I resolve to put even more time into me. Hopefully that won't take away from my family, but it might even do us all good, if I can slip away for a bit and come back refreshed and ready to go. Happy birthday to me!

Burst

I’ve had a sudden burst of creativity. It’s different then what I’ve had at other times of my life-primarily because it involves writing to describe the visual. Not like when I used to apply the visual to capture life.

In talking with my therapist, she noted that my oldest son Liam, who seems to know how to press every button to aggravate me, may require the same creative outlet that I need. We have always known that he does better when given a job to do and while he is only 4 years old I am try to come up with jobs to keep him active. The other day I handed him my point-and-shoot digital camera in order to distract him during a visit with a friend. He had spent the first two hours of the visit whining and throwing tantrum after tantrum. But once he started photographing his mood changed. He must have taken 40 photos and some of them were good! So I need to somehow guide Liam to use those talents for constructive creativity (does cutting his brother’s hair count as constructive?).

In the meantime I am left with a flood of my own creative ideas that need to be expressed, yet at the detriment to my family, since it takes time. Of course when I was younger I had time to devote to art and myself. Now as a mother of two my life is filled with serving my children. How can I take the time to be creative when I can’t even use the bathroom in private?

I don’t know who I am writing this for, other than me….it’s a diary of sorts.

Heat of July

Yesterday I gave up or I like to think gave in. I sent my 2 1/2 year old son out-of-doors in the pajama shirt from the night before, a diaper and sandals. He is at the stage when he is exploring his new found independence and does not like me to dress him. He just says, 'I do myself", legs flailing.

It was a hot day. My four-year-old spent the entire day in his swim trunks so why bother putting shorts over an already hot, sticky diaper on the toddler. Giving in-yes. I always saw it as low-class when parents wouldn't bother to cover a baby's diaper. Just think, how many times have you been in your local Wal-Mart (one reason I boycott the store) only to see that family lead by the screaming mother as the older kids run up and down the aisles and the half-clothed, dirty baby sits in the front of the shopping cart sucking on a toy, or soda or maybe the mom's lighter.

Improper. But we were home and playing in the dirt and sprinkler all day. Why bother? I'm a mother of two rowdy boys and run a daycare from our home. I'm tired and it's hot as the devil outside. I gave in, but that's okay.

Hungarian Jews

I opened The Washington Post today to see an article in Style section dedicated to the saving of most likely 30,000 Hungarian Jews during the Holocaust. It was a weird occurrence and you'll just have to read the article or see the new documentary "Glass House". It is how a Salvadoran diplomat gives out 9,000-10,000 nationality papers at the Glass House (Üvegház) that freed Hungarian Jews before the Nazis were able to destroy them.

So why does this resonate with me? My father was born to a Protestant family and grew up in Budapest in the 1940s-1950s. In 2001 my husband and I had the privilege to travel to Hungary, with my parents as our tour guides. It was an incredible journey for me. It not only opened my eyes to my heritage, but also helped me connect the pieces of a puzzle of my past. My father, Zoltan Bagdy, was never like the other dads, just a little off-beat, is one way to describe him. So my trip to his homeland suddenly solidified a lot of his quirks/idiosyncrasies. Finally it all made sense (I did say that the entire trip).

My father and his parents, Laszlo and Elizabeth, and his sister, Hedy, escaped Hungary on foot when the Iron Curtain fell in 1956. That in itself is such an incredible story, one that my father needs to put in writing. The fact that my grandfather decided that the family should leave their homeland and a lucrative construction business in order to live freely says a lot about their beliefs. This is where the Hungarian Jews come into play.

Early in his life my father lived with his family in a comfortable house on the Pest side of the city. The home was located on a tree lined street in a pretty neighborhood layed out in city blocks. When we visited his first home, it must have looked much like it did when my father was a boy, except for the height of the trees. This was the house, I assume, that my grandparents made the risky decision to hide a family of Jews in their attic during WWII. My father, even though a young boy, has memories of the time period. I am not sure how long they lived in my grandparents home in hiding, but I know it happened. I can only hope and assume that the family were able to escape the horrors of the Holocaust due to my grandparents generosity. Generosity, is that even the correct word to use in the case of saving another's life?

I am not writing this because I am trying to turn my grandparents in martyrs, even though I too believe in their cause of freedom for all regardless of religious beliefs. I am putting this in writing because I think it is a story that needs to told and remembered. I am not the best person for it, that would be my father, but at least this is a start.

Keeping it all in order

When I was about 11 I started keeping a diary. It was pink, with a couple of little girls on the front cover and had a lock and key...as if anyone really wanted to break in to read it. I began writing on mundane things such as what I did that day in school, about my 6th grade friendships and silly dreams and ideas. It was really very dull. The following year I entered 7th grade and quickly became obsessed with a particular British rock group....my second diary became filled with thoughts of these men and snip-its of my friendships of that time. Again, possibly not too intriguing, yet I thought I was the next Anne Frank. Writing as if someone would surely publish these entries long after my death these volumes kept increasing....I think I ended up filling about 13/14 journals. I wrote on a daily basis until I became an adult, got a job and became distracted with life . Once I became pregnant for the first time I did a great job journaling and tracking the pregnancy so that my first born son has detailed description of my growing girth and thigh size as well as memories of certain cravings (breakfast foods of all kinds). After he was born I tried to keep it up in some form and then became pregnant again. As a second born child ,I know that each subsequent child has less in that memory box than the first born. So my journaling tapered off again until it finally came to a standstill after the baby was born. Looking back (it took me a year to figure this out) I think I was suffering from postpartum depression, yet I somehow managed to keep a calender of the little events/milestones for both of my sons.

So here I am a 35-year-old mother of two who has finally unearthed the box of old journals from the basement storage room. It all started last year when I broke a ten-year long silence and reconnected with my first REAL boyfriend. We spent five tumultuous years together through the end high school and he even followed me to college only to break my heart by leaving me for a freshman girl. Of course there was more to it then that, but that is the jist of it. So after contacting him I was forced to pull out the diaries and all the letters he ever wrote me. I am very anal so each letter was kept in order from the time we first began dating up until he moved far away to Seattle with the girl he left me for. Thrown into the mix are little love notes on scraps of paper and numerous photos of us as a couple. I spent about a month combing through these letters and diaries only to find out that it wasn't all his fault. Yes, he should have been more respectful, and yes I should have left him before he had a chance to leave me, but after re-reading everything describing our life together, I realized that my memory over the past 15 years had downplayed all the mistakes I made and amplified all of his shortcomings.

A year later I have put that section of my life away in the basement boxes only to rediscover another time in my life.....middle school. While this was probably not as exciting as re-living all the "firsts" with my first boyfriend it has been strangely comforting to read what I was like at 13. All my hopes and plans for myself that had been long forgotten....I was going to move to NYC, become a famous interior designer and marry a rock star....what happened to that plan? The good news is that I have not only re-discovered myself, but also reconnected with some very special people from that time in my life. Some of these friends were my very best friends at the time in middle and high school whom I just lost track of ,while others were with me for only one very happy 8th grade year. It has had a domino effect in who is getting in touch with who and we are now planning a reunion 20 years later. I have re-read and copied certain passages from my diaries and shared a few. It offers a snapshot of that time and place and also sets the record straight on what really happened and how it occurred. Yes, memory is a funny thing. It plays tricks on you, blocking out the bad and remembering the good.....but my diaries hold the truth. Now if only I can find that key.