When a Childless Gay Man from England Visits an American Suburban Housewife for 9 Days, Fun Things Happen

First, you immediately abandon your healthy eating/alcohol abstinence plan for the first couple of weeks in July.  You plan to pretend you aren't an American suburban housewife with three kids for those 9 days, to the extent possible.

The next thing to go is sleep, which became apparent on Day 1 of the visit.  You set a self imposed curfew of midnight, then you extend it by 30 minutes.  And then another.  And another.  Then you lose track of time and say fuck it and stay up into the wee hours talking and laughing about anything and everything.  You realize how much you have missed your friend, who after 16 years, is more like family.

You wake up completely hungover on Day 2, the 4th of July, but resolve to do something fun, because you can't have a British visitor come to Washington, DC for the 4th and not see fireworks or do something American-y.  You look outside and see pouring rain.  So you spend the day at the Winery at Bull Run instead, with kids in tow and a husband willing to be the designated driver.

When your kids start to get restless, your friend introduces them and you to snapchat and you all become obsessed with the pictures feature where you can do weird things to your face.  Much laughter ensures, the loudest by the adults.  Hours of enjoyment were had.

That evening, you set a bedtime again, and once again abandon it.  You realize that this is just how it's going to go for 9 days, and it's entirely worth it to spend time with a best friend you rarely see. You cancel your reservation to go to a Precision Running class on the morning of Day 3.

After two days of drinking, you vow to have a chill day.  You bring your English friend along to preschool pick ups and drop offs, and he even agrees to babysit for a brief stint, after you promise him that the 2 year old will sleep the whole time anyway, and even if he wakes up, he wouldn't have pooped. (You lie about both, and your friend changes his first ever diaper).

Around 5pm, you decide that going out to dinner can still constitute a chill night.  You walk into Bethesda and go to Passion Fish and upon arriving see camera men and lights and HOLY CRAP THEY ARE FILMING THE REAL HOUSEWIVES OF POTOMAC AND YOU AND YOUR FRIEND MAY BE THE ONLY TWO PEOPLE IN THE WORLD THAT ACTUALLY WATCHED EVERY EPISODE.  Excitement ensues and must be quelled in order to enter a sophisticated, quiet restaurant.  You discourage your friend from "accidentally" tripping on the floor near the filming and proclaiming his love of the show in an exaggerated English accent.  The fact that you didn't take a picture is criminal, but this was the housewife that was there (with an unknown friend - perhaps a new cast member for the second season?):

Robyn Dixon - she looked absolutely fabulous in person.

You decide cocktails are in order for the occasion, and the night follows the pattern of the previous ones.

By Day 4, you are exhausted, but you power through.  You've endured childbirth, newborn induced insomnia, and working at a law firm.  Sleep is for the weak, and you have big plans for Wednesday night - tickets to see the 90s cover band, White Ford Bronco at the National Building Museum. Your friend is excited that he will be able to say he did one cultural thing during his visit, and to prove it you take fun pictures within the Iceberg exhibit...

You watch with disgust, horror, and mild interest as a random couple make out....

See back right.  

And you dance like crazy to 90s hits that shockingly your British friend has never heard before.

Corrina and I breaking it down to a Blink 182 cover.

By Day 5, your friend has fully embraced the suburban lifestyle and has accepted the disgusting mess of crumbs and wet towels that fills your minivan. The two year old now believes he has joined the family, and asks for him immediately at camp pick-up.  His babysitting duties are once again employed when you take your older two to swim practice, and you soon realize that he and your toddler in love.  It's fitting, given that said toddler was named after him, and the whole thing melts your heart a bit.

Colin Samuel with his friend Sam.

Another attempt at a chill evening - a dinner date and a movie - ended in more Snapchat fun :

On Day 6, you give your British friend the quintessential Friday night suburban housewife experience.  First stop, a home in Chevy Chase, DC for Friday movie night with the kids, and second stop, cocktails on the patio at a friend's house in Potomac (sans kids).  You put on makeup for the occasion (and explain that this is basically the only time you do that), and your friend is extremely patient with you and your mom friends as you gossip about schools and paint colors and when you will once again start the Whole 30, if ever.

Me with a little bit of make-up.  

Your friend meshes with everyone (as he always does) and you start to wonder how you ever will get on without him.  You attempt to convince him to leave London and move into your basement. He considers.

On Day 7 your friend joins you on an overnight trip to the Eastern shore and stands in as husband and father for you and your two older children (as the actual husband and father stayed back with the toddler).  He manages to wake up before 8am and not kill your kids on the two hour drive to a beautiful house your friends have rented right outside of St. Michael's.  He meets 4 of your best friends and a couple of their husbands upon arrival and everyone loves him immediately.  One thing you've always loved about him - you truly can take him anywhere.

You take nice photos on the dock.

You nearly die together when you allow your 7 year old to drive a golf cart (this may very well be the funniest video ever taken - watch until the end):





You partake in plank competitions (all groups of friends do this, right?).  Out of 6 participants, your friend wins (you come in third at an impressive 3 minutes).

Your group plays a riveting game of Cards Against Humanity, which your friend also wins.  No pictures were taken (which was probably for the best).  But, it must be recorded for posterity that the best card played during the two hour session was "Dick Fingers."  You finally go to bed around 1:30am only to realize that the king sized bed you and your friend are sharing is miniature in length and your legs hang off at the shins.  The involuntary laughter that ensues keeps you both up for even longer.

On Day 8, you wake up in pain.  You realize that the reason your friend has been able to keep going so well all week is that he gets to sleep in as late as he wants.  As you get out of bed at 7am to make breakfast for your kids, you hate him and love him at the same time.

You pack up, you rally, you drive home (your friend is lucky enough not to have a driver's license), and you manage not to have a panic attack navigating the Bay Bridge.  Your passengers are irritatingly chipper, but you realize it's because they've finally bonded.

You know it's your friend's last night in town, and you vow to go to bed at a reasonable hour, as surely you cannot go on.  But somehow, after all the kids go to bed and your husband has passed out, you push back your bedtime in 30 minute increments once again.  And before you know it, both you and your friend are crying because it will all be over soon.

You would think that Day 9 would be a mundane, standard day since your friend has to leave for the airport at 4pm, but you would be wrong.  Unfortunately, there are some stories from that day that cannot be shared, including a video of the craziest uber driver ever.  Your friend is holding that video close so that he can start a website about crazy taxi/uber drivers and earn enough money to fly back to the U.S. whenever he wants.

That evening, with life back to normal and the opportunity to get a restful, full night's sleep, you are depressed.

You are depressed because once again, you are alone.  Having a co-stay at home parent for 9 days has been wonderful, and the solitude of making the kids dinner and putting them to bed by yourself, with your husband working late, is stark.

You are depressed because as exhausting as the past 9 days were, they were fun.  More fun than you have had in any consecutive 9 day period since God knows when.  Your friend brings you back to who you were before having kids - before settling down, and being responsible, and worrying about getting enough sleep.  To the time when you were free and young and energetic, and you miss that person.  Sometimes it's hard to fathom that that person could have ever been you.

You are depressed because you have gained 5 pounds in 9 days.

But you are also happy.  You are happy because you had 9 days with a lifelong friend, filled with laughter, deep talks, and memories you'll reminisce about for years come.  You are happy to have a husband that pitched in to allow you to do all of that.  You are happy that you have three amazing kids kids that truly love your friend, and that the feeling is mutual.

You are also happy because you realize that soul mates don't only exist in romantic relationships, they come in many different shapes and forms, and that your friend is the yin to your yang.  You realize how lucky you are to have found that person, and that friends never lose their importance in your life, no matter how old you get, and no matter how entrenched in motherhood you become.

You are just happy.

And then, you sleep for 10 hours straight.

We love you, Sam!

***************************************************************************

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When the World Becomes Scary

I was living in London on April 20, 1999 when the Columbine shooting happened.  It was all over the London tabloids.  And I remember it not primarily for the horror of it all, though that's of course its legacy.  I remember it because it's the first time that a world event scared me.

Perhaps I was more naive than most, but at age 20, I was impervious to the news.  It flowed off of me.  Back then, I was young and indestructible and everything in the news happened to "other" people.  I had come from a protected midwest city and gone to a protected college town and finally to London, a place, notwithstanding its peppered history, that was a safe haven among the plethora of other places to study abroad as a college student.

And maybe it's because I had been living for a few months in a place where guns were actually illegal, but Columbine scared me.  I actually had nightmares about returning to the United States and being gunned down.  It wasn't the first of my irrational fears, and it certainly wouldn't be the last, but it left a mark on me.  These innocent suburban American high school students weren't immune to harm, and neither was I.

Two years later I was living in London again on 9/11.  I was at the LSE library, searching for jobs, when I came across a curious news story on the internet.  The World Trade Centers were on fire.  I turned to the person sitting at the computer next to me, a stranger, and told him that planes were crashing into buildings in New York.  He thought I was crazy and changed seats.  That night, scared as to what was going on in the world and at my mother's recommendation, I avoided the tube and took the bus home, adding 45 minutes to my journey.

That night I was harassed by friends and family urging me to come home.  Come home to what?  I thought.  How do you know home is safe?  How do you know London is not safe?  Where is safe? The whole world seemed like a scary place that day.

I made the decision that night that I was going to stay in London.  And in doing so, I would have to set my fear aside and just come what may.  It was a release of control uncharacteristic of me at the time, but one of emotional survival.  I needed to live my life, and so I did.  I rode the tube, I frequented tourist destinations, and when I went to Egypt that spring, against the urging of loved ones, I did so with the same attitude.  It's not that I was oblivious to risk, it's just that I weighed it and then moved on.  That old adage of the most dangerous part of your travels is your drive to the airport?  It became my mantra.  I felt fear, but did it anyway, and it paid out in spades.  My years in London were some of the best of my life, and my trip to Egypt was fantastic.  I went home to live in Manhattan, work in Times Square, and ultimately move to Washington, DC.  Not exactly a path of the terrorist risk-averse, but it's where life has taken me.  When I hear of a terrorist attack, I take a minute to feel the fear go through me, to reason with myself, to mourn, and to move on.  Life is scary, the world is scary, and we can either live our life constantly aware of that fact, or we can just live.  I try my hardest to do the latter.

But my resolve was put to the test on March 22 - the day of the Brussels bombings.

European Adventures

Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, I was a world traveler.

Nothing extreme, mind you - I wasn't a solo backpacker criss-crossing the globe and becoming a bartender at random cities that struck my fancy (though I did fantasize about it).  Instead, I was a more intense version of a college student with a Eurail pass.  I lived in England in my early 20's and I explored all of Europe, many times over, and then I added in a bit of Egypt, Southeast Asia, and Australia.  When I wasn't traveling, I was researching and planning my next trip.  It was my passion, my hobby, my avocation, and seeing the world - at least part of it - made me feel humble and free.  

Slowly but surely, adulthood crept in, and instead of traveling internationally for months at a time, my trips took the form of week long beach vacations, visits to family, and Disney World expeditions.  It's not that I don't appreciate or enjoy these holidays, but they are for relaxation and fun, instead of discovery.  At times, when I would really think about it, my lack of ability to travel the way I used to would depress me, or leave me feeling trapped.  But I would quickly remind myself that those days are over.  My life, now, is my kids, and that's okay and wonderful and someday I will travel again, if I even want to by the point I am able.  

Then last year, I went to London for a long weekend without the kids.  It was my first time abroad in nearly five years, and it absolutely invigorated me.  Being there - in my old stomping ground, so far away from home - reminded me of who I had been before motherhood had taken over me.  It was like a breath of fresh air, and I returned home determined to not let it go so long ever again.  It was a first step in a journey of reclaiming me again, and one that is ongoing.

But what about the kids?  Though London for a weekend was wonderful, I yearned to do a longer trip where I could actually get over the jet lag.  And who is going to watch my three kids for 10+ days?  And could I really be without them that long anyway?  

There's only one solution - take them with us.  

Surprising Myself

There have been three times in life that I've really surprised myself.

The first was when I studied abroad in London for the first time, as a junior in college.  Two years prior, I scoffed at the idea, and even changed my initial major since a semester abroad was a requirement.  I was timid and risk averse and joined at the hip to my high school/college boyfriend, and living abroad was definitely not for me.  Then, after two years something made me change my mind.  I took the leap and spent a few months in London, and I haven't been the same person since. Not only did I return to live in London for two years, but travel became my passion, and it still is (even though I don't get out and about like I once did- that second trip to Vietnam will have to wait a decade or two).  The further out of my comfort zone I get, the better.  

The second was when I walked away from my law firm career.  I've written various blog posts about this, so I won't rehash what I've already said multiple times, but if someone would have told me during my law school days (or any other days, for that matter), that I would quit my job as an attorney to stay home with my kids - three BOYS no less, I would have laughed in their face.  I was as ambitious as one gets at one point in my life, and I had a stellar resume to prove it.  I was on a trajectory upward - getting off was not an option.  But yet, here I am - I got off and then some.  And I am embracing it, enjoying it, and not looking back.

And now, I'm experiencing another unexpected surprise in my life.  I'm embarrassed to admit what it is, because it's such a cliche.  

To London and Back

I went to London this past weekend.

About fifteen years ago, when I lived in London, a weekend trip abroad wouldn't have been that out of the ordinary.  Travel back then was easy, frequent, and carefree.  It was what I loved most in the world, in fact.

Now, life is very different.  And so am I.

As a mom of three, travel is complicated, whether with or without kids.  Since this trip, precipitated by a conference my husband was attending, was going to be without kids, the childcare factor was the issue of the day.  And who knew that once we had that third child people wouldn't be jumping up and down to come and play mom for a few days?  After much stress, I ultimately secured a team of 3 to care for my 15 month old, 4 year old, and 6 year old, for four days.  The manifesto I left for all of them was 12 pages long.

Notwithstanding the complications, I was dead set on taking this trip.  I believe when my husband came home and told me about the conference, my response was: No way in hell are you going to London without me!  London is my city.  Having lived there for three years, I know its streets, its restaurants, its cheesy touristy bars, and a handful of incredibly awesome people that inhabit it. This may have been my husband's work trip, but it was my homecoming.  And I wouldn't miss it for anything.

I booked the ticket, did a little ankle click celebration, and then something weird happened.

I got scared.

I was actually scared to go through with this trip to London.  Which is preposterous on its face - I have been yearning for a trip away, and have been meaning to go to London forever.  But the kids....  what is it about leaving the kids that seems so unsettling?  I am not one of those parents that refuses to leave my children with babysitters, and my husband and I have taken weekend trips away before.  But the general notion of being far - very far - away was unnerving. The idea of them falling and needing a hug, or doing something incredibly cute, or waking at night crying - and I being so far away left me feeling anxious.

But that wasn't the whole picture.  The truth is, I wondered who I would be in London without them.  

TV Debut

So remember that crazy celebrity wedding I wrote about a few months ago?  The one with the nine foot wedding cake?  The one that is actually going to be televised on the TLC series, DC Cupcakes, this Friday at 10pm?  You may remember, I went a bit crazy preparing for that wedding.  Weight loss.  New dress.  Spray tan.  Hair and makeup.  The whole spiel.

A few weeks ago my husband got a consent form in the mail requesting consent for his appearance on the reality show.  It was addressed to him and his guest.  Ooooo, how exciting!  I knew all my preparation was worth it!

But it wasn't to be.  My husband's colleague, who actually married the celebrity bride, quashed all my dreams last week when he informed us that though my husband will make a split second appearance on the show, I will not.

WTF!  Did my husband stand naked spread eagle for some random stranger to spray his innards with a can of brown paint?  No he did not.

Whatever.  I am over it.  Because you know what?  I've already had my time in spotlight.

You probably don't know this about me, but back in 1999, I was a celebrity in my own right.  For like, a whole minute.  While studying abroad in London, I was featured on the BBC show "World of the Secret Camera," which is Britain's version of "Candid Camera."

How?  Why?  Where?  I was in London walking through a Pottery Barn type store, when I passed a shelf of glassware and heard it all crash to the ground.  Convinced I caused the demolition (because I had an enormous "I am an American backpack" on my back), I freaked and offered to pay for the damage.  Little did I know it was all a big joke and I was being filmed.  Apparently, my reaction was unique, and I was invited to be a guest on the show itself.

I wasn't nervous at all for the taping.  I was over-confident in fact.  And then I totally choked.  CHOKED.

You want to see for yourself?  Here you go (I come in after 8 seconds):



A few notes on this:

1) The reason I had a big fat backpack on was because I was on my way to the airport to go to Paris.  I met my ex boyfriend at the airport and was like, "Um, a crazy thing happened to me today."
2) Oh my God was I skinny.  No muffin top at all?  None?  Me?  How?  Why?
3) I still have that necklace.  I wore it a few weeks ago.
4) In the "candid" version of the video, where I didn't know I was being taped, I was wearing contacts.  And I looked showered.  With makeup on. And painted nails (!).  Who is this girl?
5) Shortly after this interview, five of my friends and I wreaked havoc on the green room and showed the British what 20 year old unable to drink in the U.S. girls can really do when they have access to free, legal alcohol.  They ended up giving us a car to take us into Covent Garden just to get rid of us.

So will my husband make a fool of himself on camera as I did?  We can only hope.  Tune in on Friday night to see.

A Lovely Color

When I lived in London back in 2001, I worked at a small public policy research consultancy.  The pay wasn't great, the job was at times mundane, but the atmosphere was awesome.  It was an open plan office, and everyone was friends, regardless of age or seniority.  When the company won a new project, champagne was brought in (no matter the time of day).  There were office pranks and inside jokes.  There were well attended weekly happy hours at The Fox, our local pub down the street.  And our work actually did something to better society.  It was a great job.

I was young, I was energetic, and I was loving the fact that I was the only American at the company. It was before law school.  Before meeting my husband.  Before kids.

It was back when I was me and just me, and okay with that.

Easy Tonight

Sometimes life has a way of leading you to where you need to be.

The summer of 2000 was a somewhat tumultuous one for me.  I had graduated from college.  I was anticipating heading to London, all by myself, for graduate school.  And I was living at home for a few months - for the first time in four years.  It was a time of major transitions.

A huge part of that major transition was a break up with my high school, and college, boyfriend. We had been together for six years, gone to the high school prom together, and stayed together through four years at Penn State.  But as of that summer, our break up was inevitable.  While I was headed to graduate school in England, he was moving to LA to pursue his dreams in the film industry.  We were going to be more than just bi-coastal.  We knew it was going to be over.

What We Used to Do

Before you had kids, what did you do on a sunny, warm, Saturday?  Do you remember?  Because for the life of us, my husband and I cannot.

We were married right after law school, and enjoyed two years together as a married couple before kids.  In the grand scheme of things, that's not that long.  But still, it's two years.  Two years of "freedom" - and we have no idea what we did?  This is what our children have done to us!

I can tell you what we were not doing.  We weren't exercising.  For better or worse, that's just not our thing.  We weren't shopping - we hate malls and crowded stores and prefer to buy online.  We weren't seeing the sights of our two former hometowns, Manhattan or downtown DC.  (You know how when you live somewhere you never end up doing the touristy things?)  We weren't going to movies, because my husband flat out refuses (weird).

I guess some of the time we must have been working.  We probably watched tv, but certainly not all day (I don't think!).  Then I suppose there was the occasional visit, trip away, get together with friends, etc.  And sleeping in - we definitely did that.  But a general routine?  No clue.  Having kids has changed  our world so much that it is literally hard to remember life before them.  It's just such a world away.  Can you imagine having every Saturday and Sunday to spend exactly how you want?  What on earth would you do?  The possibilities are endless!

Reminder

The next time I decide to stay up past midnight drinking wine with my best friend from London, please remind me of the following:

1) I am no longer in my twenties, and can't hack it like I used to.
2) There is no "sleep" button for my daily 7am wake up call. 
3) I have two children, who are going to have a ridiculous amount of energy despite a hangover.  And they have to be fed.  And supervised. 
4) Advil can only do so much.  Only so much.
5) I will not be able to return to bed until 8pm this evening, which is a long, long time away.

That's all.