#12- Waiting for the 'L'

The other day I was watching an old episode of How I Met Your Mother. If you aren't familiar with the show, its about a group of friends in their late 20s / early 30s living and learning in the city of New York. In the episode, Robin and Lily are seated at McLaren's bar hoping to meet new men, and Robin says to Lily...

"Guys are like the subway; you miss one, another comes along in five minutes."

My immediate reaction... EXCUSE ME?!? What the hell is she talking about? Clearly she's lying, or maybe things work differently for the single woman in New York. I wouldn't know.

I'm from Chicago.

Chicago. A city where public transportation is sub-par and a good man is hard to find. I've spent countless hours out in the cold waiting for the 'L' to show up, and countless nights in a cold bed waiting for the 'L' to show up. The love. What is all this "another comes along in five minutes" bullshit? New York women have it easy. If men were coming my way every five minutes, even awful ones, I doubt I'd still be single. Statistically I would have met one decent, good-looking, funny, smart man by now who wanted to be with me too. And if the train showed up every five minutes? Forget about it. That would be even better. A medium cup of coffee and that stupid heat lamp only keep me warm for so long out there on the platform.

Ah the two L's in my life. Both are unreliable, both are messy, both guarantee an interaction with a crazy person, and both frustrate me to no end. But guess what? I need them both. To get where I want to go, to where I need to go, I have to have the 'L.' Both are essential to my existence in this city, and no matter how frustrating they may be, I'm not ready to give up on Chicago public transportation or Chicago men just yet.

So this is my response to the How I Met Your Mother theory on guys...

"Guys are like the L; you miss one, sucks. You'll catch one eventually. You just have to be patient."

#11- 23 and Brand New

I love my new job. I'm teaching preschool, two and three year-olds, in Chicago and I am having a blast. Children have always been my passion, playing with them and teaching them and making them laugh. They're sweet and funny and loving and fucking adorable. But my favorite thing about them...

Kids are new.

Every day my preschoolers learn something new. Sure, the same could be said about adults, but my kids learn something new each day that they will use every day for the rest of their lives. They are fascinated by every little thing; the texture of food, soap bubbles, the smell of play-dough, the weather, the moon, the L, underwear... You name it, they think it's amazing.

Sometimes I assume they know everything. I say, "Knock-knock." They respond, "Knock-knock." And then I realize they have never heard a knock-knock joke before, one of the most basic forms of comedy and something they will find hilarious once they understand. And I get to teach them that!

At times it can be hard working with newbies. When they rub dirt in their hair or play with their poo or put rocks in their mouth I think, "What the hell are you doing kid?!?" I want to say, "You should know better," but how are they supposed to know better if they have never done it before? There is a first time for everything, and I am very fortunate to bare witness to the first time they learn the most basic life skills, even if that life skill is not touching your feces...

All of this has changed me. Since I started working at a preschool I've noticed a difference in the way I walk down the street. In my early teens I walked with my head down, shy and self-conscious. Once I gained more confidence in college, I walked with my shoulders back, looking straight ahead ready to take on anything. But now, since these beautiful new minds have come in to my life, I have begun to walk like I did when I was a small child; looking up. I look at the sky, at the birds and the trees. I finally notice the tops of buildings I've passed a million times before. I study everything, and everything makes me wonder.

And I feel things more deeply. I don't mean emotions. I don't think it's possible for me to feel emotions more deeply. What I feel now is the world around me. Colors are brighter, sounds fuller, the wind blows in fascinating patterns. The air is fresher. Everything about my walk to work is new to me each day. You name it, I think it's amazing.

I am 23 and a half years old, and I am brand new.

I'm not going to encourage you to go out and explore the world as if you are a young child experiencing things for the first time blah blah blah. We feel things the way we feel them, and I happen to have been given a wonderful gift for the time being. Eventually it will fade and I will go back to walking past store fronts without looking up at the achitecture, not caring how the wind is blowing the leaves because it's messing up my hair. But for now, I will enjoy my second childhood and re-learn the life skills I thought I'd already mastered.

If you ever find yourself doing the same, I salute you.

#10- "Well, well, well..."

Anyone who knows me well knows that I am "the Beyonce of all the single ladies." I am single, for over five years now, and I am fierce. I have had one boyfriend, the relationship went south, I cut him out of my life the night of high school graduation and never looked back. I will not go in to detail about who this boy was, what he did to me or how it made me feel. None of that matters. What does matter is that because of that horrible relationship I was able to redefine my ideal relationship and my perfect partner. For the last five years I have been free to explore my options, to meet new guys, and to figure out where I stand as a woman; turns out, I'm pretty fucking desirable.

The pain did not go away immediately. In fact, not two weeks ago I found myself upset, not over him per say, but over the fact that no one else had come along. But despite moments of weakness, I did shake off the hurt and built myself back up. I am strong, I am confident, I am amazing. I am super nanny pushing two infants in a double-wide stroller down the sidewalk and I look totally nanny chique; worn-in jeans, makeup-free face, sweet Crocs. I have made it. Five years of clawing my fabulous, deserving ass up the mountain...

Guess who was waiting for me at the top.

I knew it was him the moment I turned the corner. I got this feeling in the pit of my stomach like a lion was stalking me in the tall grass. And there he was. I gripped the handles of the stroller tightly, and planted my eyes on his girlfriend walking toward me at his side. I said to the babies, "Girls. Deep breaths. Nobody throw up." Suddenly I was very aware of how short my jeans were, how dry my lips were, and how ugly (and four years ago, hello?) my Crocs were. I was dressed like the 18 year-old version of me. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen.

I had pictured this moment a million times in my head, imagined every possible way our first run-in since high school could play out. For a while I was dead-set on kicking him in the balls, shoving him to the ground and then just beating his face to a bloody mess with my fists, screaming. After a while that urge melted away and all I wanted to to was snub him, pretend he didn't exist. For the past few years I had planned to be overly sarcastic, make some comment that made it clear he was not to come near me and hope he kept his distance. In all these scenarios I would run to the bathroom and vomit immediately after... or throw up on his shoes. But no matter what, I had to look incredible for the point to land; I was fabulous. Sadly, it was not to be.

Have you ever cut someone out of your life? Was it someone who at one point was your entire world? Because you can not speak to a person for nearly five years, but that won't erase the sound of their voice from your memory. The face might fade, but the voice... It echoes between your ears for an eternity.

"Well, well, well..."

It was happening. He was speaking. To me. He was speaking to me and I had to respond. Decision time. Snub? Sarcasm? Kick to the balls? All very strong options, and had the situation been different I may have chosen one of them. But his girlfriend, who I like, was there, as were two little babies. I could not expose the children to the evil that is bitterness. So... I smiled.

I can't tell you what was said exactly, only that I kept my eyes on his girlfriend the entire time and the conversation was over within two minutes. He asked a question, I responded, and we were speaking. The boycott was called off, the wall crumbled to the ground. A part of my life I had left in the past came flooding in to my present. And it should have been scary, and I should have been shaking and sweaty and tearing up like I always do. But instead I was calm, and friendly and totally pulled together. And as I walked away I gave myself a mental pat on the back. I'd done it!

Two blocks later I was sobbing. It had happened so fast. Was it really over? I pushed the stroller up to the porch stairs of the house and sat at the bottom, facing the babies. "Girls," I blubbered through the tears. "That boy you just met. He hurt me. He made me so miserable, and I hope that no one ever hurts you the way he hurt me because you don't deserve it. You are too beautiful to deserve anything that-"

Laughter.

I looked up and both baby girls were smiling at me, Eleanor giggling and pointing. Apparently my pain was hilarious. I smiled. "See girls, big kids cry too." They laughed more. I laughed. And I cried. I laughed again. We were laughing madly on the front porch and I felt so alive. And so silly. Why did this have to be a dramatic moment? Why couldn't I just laugh about the whole thing? So I did, then and for the rest of the afternoon, and I gave the girls hug after hug for saving me from myself, something I have never been able to do.

So here I am on the other side.

I no longer fear the surprise run-in with my ex, I no longer feel I have to have a boyfriend or look amazing to show him I'm fabulous (because that fact is widely known), and I no longer feel the need for closure; I got it, in the form of two beautiful little girls who don't know the meaning of the word "hate." They are the only reason my knees didn't buckle under the pressure, but now I think I just might be able to stand sturdy on my own next time.

Oh, and lucky for me, I did not throw up that afternoon; Harper, however, did spit up all over herself for my ex to see. It was a great way to distract from the Crocs. Thanks baby girl.

To all the single ladies!

#9- All I want for Christmas is a toy.

I want a Crayola Crayon Maker for Christmas.

This thing is AWESOME. You put little bits of old, worn-down crayons in and it melts those worthless nubbins down, pours them into a mold and makes a whole new crayon! I saw the ad on TV and I said to my roommate, "Wow! That's so cool!" And it was! It was so incredibly cool. And for the first time in as long as I can remember I was over-the-moon excited about a toy.

You might be thinking, "But Maggie, when it comes down to it, your iPod and your lap-top and your cell phone... These things are all essentially toys." Yes... essentially. But they're NOT toys, like toy-toys, like toys you buy in a toy store toys. They're valuable and fragile and, at this point, necessary. True toys are relatively inexpensive, durable and totally pointless, other than to bring joy to children. All these gadgets adults use are fun, sure, but they serve a purpose. They make life easier somehow. True toys don't make life easier- they make life more fun!

Now you might be thinking, "But Maggie, video games and game systems are expensive, fragile and (for pathetic males in this country) necessary. And they make life fun." NO! Video games are not toys! Stop it! Just because you play video games does not mean you are a child at heart. It means you have no imagination and have to have some nerd make up a world for you to exist in via a controller. Sad. (And while we're on the subject, video games are destroying the modern relationship. Never again will I sit silently next to my guy while he and his friends play Madden. Never. If your idea of the perfect woman is one who likes to watch you play video games... you will die alone. Or at least you'll never be with me.)

Anyway... My point is, true toys are ones that have no significance in this world other than the significance you bestow upon them. I have had many significant toys in my life, dolls and stuffed animals and building blocks and tea sets, that played a huge part in my childhood. They taught me how to imagine, to believe, to create. They taught me how to be anything I wanted to be.

I want a Crayola Crayon Maker for Christmas. I want to make crayons. And then I want to draw. No, not draw... color. Kids color. And I want to color. I want to color a sun and clouds and grass and a house and flowers. I want to color my family and my dog and my friends and a fairy princess and a pony and a rainbow and a ballerina and a butterfly and for a moment forget that I'm on my own now, and I'm scared, and all I have to protect me are these "toys," these devices grown-ups invented to make life "easier." I want to color every moment from now until eternity so I never have to face the fact that I can't go back to the way it was.

All I want for Christmas is a real, fill-me-up-with-glee toy. And strangely, that's how I know that I'm growing up.

(Check it out; http://www.crayola.com/products/splash/crayon-maker/.)

UPDATE!!!: I got my Crayola Crayon Maker for Christmas from my aunt Lucy. I am overjoyed.

#8- Children care about Barack Obama; that's important.

With a Monday-Friday, 8-4 job comes a morning routine. With a morning routine comes a morning commute. With a morning commute comes a number of interesting characters that walk the same stretch, ride the same train or take the same bus. I have many; guy I see everywhere, boxy ginger girl, friendly bus driver. But my favorite people that I see on my way to work each morning are two elementary school-aged brothers that take my bus.

I call them "the Obama boys."

They earned this title because every day these two kids are wearing winter hats with 'Obama' written across the band in what look like tiny red and blue rhinestones. I think one of their beanies may even have his face bedazzled on it as well. No lies. Check it out:

So every morning these two boys get on the bus, and every morning I notice their hats and smile to myself. What other president in our nation's recent history has impacted the youth of America like Barack Obama? I wrote an essay last year about how I heard two preschoolers talking about how great Obama was in a St. Louis laundromat. It's incredible. When I was four years old I don't think I knew who the president was. When I was in elementary school I knew Bill Clinton was a better choice than Bob Dole, but I wasn't rocking a glittery 'Go Clinton' tank top. I honestly did not care.

Children care about Barack Obama; that's important.

Everyone is all bitter that Obama has been in office almost a year and hasn't really done much. All right, that's fair, but I do think he's done a lot in terms of unifying this country, hence the peace prize. Not only has he brought minorities closer, but young people closer to old. He has gotten children interested in how our country is run. Unheard of.

The president of the United States should be someone who kids look up to, who they admire and aspire to be like some day. You never heard a child say, "George Bush is a great man. I want to be just like him when I get big." I heard a child say that about Obama! I heard it. Those words came out of a tiny little boy's mouth. I almost cried.

I hope Obama is the first of many presidents that children in this country truly adore with all their hearts. Being president should be right up there with astronaut and fireman on this list of things kids want to be when they "get big." Eventually the decision of who to vote for might actually be a difficult one because we will have so many worthy, motivated candidates who have dreamed about the opportunity since they were four years old sitting in a laundromat, or riding the 206 bus with a bedazzled Obama hat.

The future is bright. I blame Barack.

#7- My boyfriend will not make me fat; he will make me happy.

This morning I was riding the train to work, and on the seat next to me lay today's edition of the Chicago RedEye (a Chicago Tribune publication targeting 20-somethings). Anyway, the headline on the cover was something along the lines of, "Your boyfriend is making you fat."

This intrigued me.

I turned to the article which was entitled "Big Love: Your boyfriend could be giving you love handles" by Leonor Vivanco (see bottom for link). It basically states that when a woman moves in with her boyfriend, her risk for weight gain and obesity increases...

Uh, duh. And more importantly, who cares?

I know that working out and eating right isn't necessarily all about physical appearance and attracting potential mates... but it kind of is. I mean, the only reason I freak out when I feel a little fat (which I am not- see affirmation #1) is because I'm worried that I am not as attractive as I could be. I'm single, I'm waiting for love to find me (see #2) so I want to look my best. No I don't want to die of a heart attack, but being healthy on the inside is the least of my worries right now.

My point is, obviously women are likely to gain weight when they move in with a boyfriend- they can stop caring!!! They can eat and not worry that they will die alone under a mountain of cheeseburgers and fries. They've found someone, they're comfortable, and if the guy loves them enough to move in with them, then that extra weight shouldn't make a difference.

Also, the title of the article is such crap. Nobody's boyfriend makes them fat. They can encourage you to eat more if they like you thick, but unless they are shoving cookies down your throat they are not making you fat. It makes women seem so helpless. "Living with my boyfriend made me lose control of my life!" Bullshit. If women want to exercise after work, they'll exercise; if they want to go home and have sex with their boyfriend, they will have sex with their boyfriend. Eat right, don't eat right; just do what you want to do, and be thankful that you have found a man that wants to be with you. Some of us aren't as lucky, you fat morons.

I eat, and I eat in front of guys, and if I find myself in a serious relationship there is a good chance I will stop caring and gain a little weight. At my wedding reception alone I will put on five pounds. During my pregnancy I will consume everything in sight. I want to be beautiful, but I find that I'm most beautiful when I'm not thinking about being beautiful, when I'm focused on the people around me. If I have a good man, a wonderful family and a happy home then I will be gorgeous all of the time, even if I weigh a million pounds.

My boyfriend will not make me fat; he will make me happy. If he doesn't, then he's the extra weight I need to get rid of.

(http://www.chicagonow.com/blogs/redeye/2009/10/big-love-your-boyfriend-could-be-giving-you-love-handles.html)

#6- My mug tells me I'm fabulous

This is why I am a total nerd: I love making word collages.

It's true; I'm twenty-two and I love clipping out words from magazines and pasting them on to a piece of paper. This summer during camp I got way in to cutting words from newspapers, gluing them down and then painting over them with bright colored paint. It looks so cool.

Anyway, tonight I completed a new, super nerdy collage. And I must say, it is pretty sweet. Yesterday at Starbucks I purchased a new mug or 'tumbler,' and although I felt it was made for crazy middle-aged moms, I chose the "design-your-own" mug. You take out the paper lining and cover it with pictures of your dog at the beach or your kid's graduation.

I covered mine with words clipped from the October issue of "Cosmopolitan"; hottest, sexy, fearless, fun, perfection, delicious, love, better, diva, passion, creative, crazy, beauty, sister, radiance, fierce, bitch, insane, strong... The list goes on.

They are words that I think describe me, sometimes describe me or I would like to describe me. And suddenly my mug is a source of self-confidence. I can hold it in the palm of my hand and carry it with me every day. My mug is an embodiment of this blog; affirmations all the time. When I look at it I'm proud of the kick-ass job I did, and I feel great because of the positive phrases in front of my eyes. It's an amazing gift I have given myself.

If you have the time, the patience, and the twelve bucks, I recommend making one of these mugs for yourself. Paste pictures, paste words, paste fall leaves; paste whatever makes you happy. Buy some great tasting teas, brew your own coffee and enjoy.

Who says an inanimate object can't give you compliments? My mug tells me I'm fabulous. It is the perfect way to start my day.