Just Between You and Me and 850 of Our Closest Friends

After she read the last post, Lauren said, "It's not that we're not creating memories to inspire the blog, it's just that they are spread out on the phone or they all happen at once when I'm home to visit. They just get postponed sometimes."

She was so right. And she forgot to mention Facebook. Case in point: *

LAUREN

I really DON'T understand how it's so difficult to follow simple instructions. Honestly, the military is the EASIEST job on the planet. You are told what to do, all you have to do is do it.

COLE

That's funny. Substitute "childhood" for military, and you have the exact thing I said about you to my friends.

KHRISTOPHER

Your mom's website is cool. I read everything on there last night. Funny shit.

LAUREN

Mother...just...shh!! I see this now. But these kids are ridiculous. They want to be treated like adults but they show no reason to.

COLE

"But these kids are..." Again, you quote me.

LAUREN

You don't even know, Mother!!!!

KHRISTOPHER

Christopher Meloni called, by the way.

LAUREN

...............

* Transcript contains minor editing.

And so it continues. Now I can sleep better.

Oh, and Lauren? Christopher Meloni left a message here, too.

Sunrise, Sunset

I have to search the young woman's face longer, now, to see my little girl. Legally, she's been an adult for almost a year, though I still question so many of her choices. But then, I'm sure my parents still question mine.

I stopped coming here, stopped posting, because it made me sad to think that Lauren and I are no longer creating the kinds of memories that inspired the title of this blog. And then I found this picture, from Christmas 2010.

This blog, like my life, is exactly what I choose to make of it.

Here's looking at you, Poots!

Poetic Payoff, Nine Years Later

Lauren and I were sitting at the same table using laptop computers the day she joined Twitter. Because I had given her a hard time about my having "out-teched" her when I joined Twitter, she had taken great pride in choosing her user name, closettweeter, and she patiently waited—for about an hour—for me to notice her new web presence. Alas, I was busy writing and did not discover her cleverness on my own, forcing her to ask me a question about Twitter so I could be amused with her new identity.

Considering that Lauren could wait no more than an hour to see the results of her actions, I had to marvel at what I discovered yesterday:

Using a style similar to mine, Lauren wrote this nine years ago in a poetry journal I started when I was 12. It took me a couple minutes to decipher the last word (bundles), partly because the handwriting belonged to a 10-year-old and partly because my eyes had sprung leaks. And, since I have moved the book a number of times over the past nine years, and have cracked it open more than once, I am completely amazed that I never noticed the poem until yesterday.

So there you have it, Poots. I finally found what you did, you clever, clever girl.

Typecasting

I bought the DVD Death at a Funeral to watch while Lauren was home on leave. I told her a little about the movie, and then she asked who was in it.

COLE
The only people I can think of that you'd know are "Steve the Pirate" from Dodgeball [Alan Tudyk] and Peter Dinklage from The Station Agent.

LAUREN
Peter who?

COLE
Peter Dinklage. He also played the "angry elf" in Elf.

LAUREN
Why does he play a dwarf in all the movies?

As soon as she said it--and I nearly crashed the truck, laughing--she tried to clarify her question. But it was too late; she knew it was going to end up here.

LAUREN
You have to explain it! You have to tell people what I meant to say!

COLE
Oh, no. They'll know what you meant. But what you said is so much funnier.

LAUREN
Thanks a lot, Mom.

Free Advertising

When Lauren was in high school, she had a collection of pins on her backpack. I added one that said, "My mother is a goddess." She found it a few days later.

Ah, glory days.

And the World Laughs with You

The beautiful thing about approaching life with a sense of humor is that you never know when you might brighten a stranger's day.

A few nights ago, four of us sat at the large community table in a local restaurant. Lauren and I engaged in our typical jabs at one another even as we visited with friends.

Midway through our meal, a woman sat down next to our party and quietly contemplated her iced tea. She seemed to be working on her powers of invisibility, as though she had been stood up and hoped nobody noticed.

As our group was winding down, Lauren left to use the restroom, leaving her lip balm on the table. (She is addicted to ChapStick and the like. Seriously. Addicted.)

Porter said, "You should salt her ChapStick," which I promptly did.

The woman next to us could remain invisible no longer. She watched me cover the tip with salt, press it in, and carefully replace the lid. She laughed even as she avoided eye contact.

When Lauren returned to the table, four of us waited for the payoff. It might have been a full minute before she pulled off the cap and started to put the salted stuff on her lips.

We all laughed as Lauren said, "What the?" and inspected the lip balm. She laughed, too, as she shook her head and wiped off the salt with her napkin. And I gave credit to Porter when Lauren said, "Good one."

After we left the restaurant, Lauren agreed that the laugh at her expense might have been just what the woman at our table needed.

I hope so.

Phone Messages and Other Lies

If you see my daughter, tell her that Christopher Meloni called.

She'll understand.

Who Sings That?

The game went like this:

LAUREN
(singing along with radio)

COLE
Who sings that?

LAUREN
Avril Lavigne.

COLE
Can we please let her do it?

After a few rounds, it turned into this:

COLE
Who sings that?

LAUREN
Me.

COLE
No, seriously. Who is that on the radio?

LAUREN
Me.

COLE
Who recorded this song?

LAUREN
I did.

We played the game for a couple of years. And then it happened.

A few weeks before she left for boot camp, Lauren was riding in a car with her recruiter and another Marine. The radio was on.

LANCE CORPORAL
Who sings this?

LAUREN
(tentatively)
Me.

LANCE CORPORAL
(turning around to look at her)
Did you just say "Me"?

LAUREN
Yeah.

LANCE CORPORAL
Why?

LAUREN
Uh, my mom and I have this game where we try to get the other person to say who it is, and then we say to let them sing it.

LANCE CORPORAL
That's dumb.

I love my daughter. I love that she tells me this stuff! The only thing that made it better was that she had a big crush on the Lance Corporal.

Riding the (Decidedly Un-PC) Short Bus

The following exchange occurred a few days after Lauren started a new high school.

COLE
You ride the short bus.

LAUREN
(exasperated)
It's a short route!

COLE
(laughing)
No way! You DO ride the short bus!

No, I had no idea, nor would I ever have known if she hadn't given it up.

Clucking to the Oldies

Aside from the “How much longer?” routine, the radio station battle might be one of the biggest sources of strife between parent and child on road trips. Or trips across town. While Lauren and I shared some musical interests, too much time dedicated to her favorite stations (or singers) tended to make my ears tired.

Even after she was old enough to drive, the battles continued when we were in the car together. Because at some point it is every mother’s job to thoroughly annoy her children, I began to cluck like a chicken along with her music, from time to time. This generally produced something between a look on her face that said, “My mom really is nuts,” and outright protest, “Knock it off!”

Each time, I told her that the melodic clucking was really fun and urged her to join me.

“Um, that’s okay,” was always her reply.

And then it happened.

Lauren was driving us somewhere, we were listening to agreed-upon music, and she said, “I really don’t see what’s so fun about the whole chicken thing.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The chicken thing. That clucking thing you do.”

“What about it?”

“I tried it the other day when I was driving to the mall, and I just couldn’t figure out what you get out of it. I didn't think it was that fun.”

The mental image of her sitting in the car clucking tentatively to her music made me laugh until I hurt.

Thank you, Lauren. Thank you for always giving yourself up when you take the bait. What’s a setup without a payoff?

Top 5 Reasons My Daughter is My Hero

5. Funky Shoes
As a child, Lauren proudly wore loud, funky shoes, even if classmates laughed. She gave me the courage to be a little bolder.

4. Ridiculously Dark Eyeliner
As a teen, she was never afraid to overdo the eye makeup, even when I suggested she'd fallen for the old sooty binocular trick.

3. Discussing Mistakes
Lauren has always been willing to talk about her mistakes to people she thought might learn from them.

2. Making Her Dreams Happen
At 10, she wanted to become a Marine. At 18, she did.

1. Making Others' Dreams Happen
She knew she wasn't ready to have a child; she had him for people who were.

True Lies

A friend said Lauren should start a blog, Lies I Told My Mother, with a series of one-line posts:

"I went to all of my classes today."

"I’m going to Melissa’s house to watch The OC."

"My friends and I are going to In-N-Out."

"I already finished my homework."

Something like this, published anonymously, would likely ring true for far more people than I'd care to imagine.

got yams?

In case you wondered: the Creamy Yam Soup at Govinda's Buffet looks very much like Tomato Bisque.

Ask my daughter.

Superhero Incognito

When Lauren was 14, I shared a secret with her. “You know, I really am a superhero. I just decided to carry these extra pounds so that you could have a normal childhood.”

She responded to my news by rolling her eyes and saying, “You’re a loser, Mom,” launching the volley of name-calling that continues to be our trademark way of saying, “I love you.”

“Moron!”

“Imbecile!”

“Nincompoop!”

“Dunce!”

“Dolt!”

The last one threw her off her game. “Dolt? What’s a dolt?”

“Look it up in the dictionary,” I said. “It’ll be—”

“—right next to your picture,” we finished, in unison.

Alternative Medicine

My daughter is due to provide a wonderful, childless couple with the ultimate Mother’s Day present in about two weeks. I can’t say enough about open adoption (or closed adoption either, for that matter). Has this made me less ruthless with the “lies” I tell her? Hardly. Her pregnancy worries provided me with lots of opportunities like this:

LAUREN
I’m craving onion bagels and the store is out of them!

COLE
You can’t eat onion bagels anyway.

LAUREN
Why not?

COLE
It has to do with the way they are prepared. It’s not good for the baby.

LAUREN
You’re lying.

COLE
No, I’m serious. Ask your doctor, or look it up online.

And she continues to fall for my stories and walk into my setups, always with grace and a well-developed ability to laugh at herself.

Two weeks ago, she asked me what she could do about her swollen feet and ankles. First, I gave her authentic advice and told her to see her doctor if it didn’t get better. Then, I told her not to get freaked out if she had to have “that more aggressive treatment—for the life of me, I can’t remember what it’s called” and began to describe a 12-inch square platform covered with surgical steel pins that was similar to a bed of nails. I explained that the doctor would place it beneath her feet as she sat at the end of the examination table, and then help her stand upright in such a way that her weight would be evenly distributed across the pins. When Lauren said she really hoped she didn’t have to have the treatment, I further reassured her that it was not at all painful, comparing it this time to the interactive Pin Art toy.

Lauren took my initial advice. The next morning, she reported that the swelling had gone down and that she was scheduled to see the doctor three days later, anyway.

COLE
Would you do me a favor? When you see the doctor, will you ask what that treatment is called? I still can’t remember, and I even tried Googling the description so I could send you the information, but I couldn’t find it.

LAUREN
Okay. I tried to find it on Google, too.

COLE
Thanks. It’s driving me crazy that I can’t remember the name. You know how I get.

LAUREN
I’ll ask on Thursday.

It was a long three days, and I have to admit that it didn’t go down quite the way I’d hoped. When I casually asked Lauren if she’d learned the name of the treatment, she said that the doctor had never heard of it. I pried a little more, to see how the conversation went and, sure enough, Lauren had tried describing it (“It’s not acupuncture.”) only to be met with, “No, I’ve never heard of anything like that.” If the doctor had suppressed laughter or given Lauren funny looks, it had been completely lost on her.

COLE
At any point in the conversation, did your doctor say, “Does your mom like to mess with you?”

LAUREN
No. Why?

COLE
Because I made it up. It was supposed to be a “cantaloopy” thing.

LAUREN
Oh. You’re a dork, Mom.

Yes, yes I am.

Eunichs: Part II

INT./LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

COLE and LAUREN sit on couch watching television.

LAUREN
Thanks a lot, Mom.

COLE
What?

LAUREN
Eskimos. Eskimos come from Alaska.

COLE
Eskimos?

LAUREN
Not eunichs.

COLE
(laughing)
Did Mr. Szmidt clear that up for you?

LAUREN
Yes. Yes, he did.

Eunichs: Part I

INT./EXT. NICOLE'S CAR - DAY

COLE drives LAUREN to high school. Junior year.

LAUREN

Where do eunichs come from?

COLE

Eunichs?

LAUREN

Aren't they from Alaska?

COLE

(suppressing laughter, avoiding eye contact)

I really don't remember. Ask Mr. Szmidt today.

LAUREN

Okay.

It's Not a Lie, It's a Gift for Fiction

Credit David Mamet for helping me to set the record straight. After all, lying is wrong. (Ditto for stealing. The title of this article is a line from Mamet's "State and Main.")

Much of what shows up here will likely come straight from the annals of mother-daughter exchanges, because truth is so much funnier than fiction.

Take my kid, for example.

When Lauren was in her early teens, she and I began affectionately trading insults and name-calling, each trying to outdo the other. After I told her the hospital staff had made me take her home, because she was scaring the other babies, she laughed and said, "Good one, Mom."

She delivered the come-uppance a few days later, in response to the lie, "By the way, you're adopted." Without missing a beat: "Yesssss!"

I dedicate whatever follows to my redheaded, quick-witted muse. No longer a teen, she is one of "The Few, the Proud," and a living example of one willing to follow her dreams. I love you, Poots!