Saturday, March 24, 2007

The Glamorous


Attention to self: I now putting myself at serious risk of being made fun of and dated if some future posterity stumbles upon these entries because I am about to mention a song that is a part of current pop culture of my day:

GLAMOROUS….by Fergie/Black Eyed Peas.

I’m already embarrassed. But, there is a point.
Lori (Nonna) watches Lily every Tuesday while I’m at work. In addition to being an already wonderful and helpful grandma ( along with Lily’s other wonderful Gamma Lexis, we are too spoiled), Lori watches Lily at our house in order to save me the drive and keep Lily in her favorite surrounding: home.
There is a particular favorite part to these Tuesdays with Nonna, for me: The sparkling blue Cadillac Escalade truck I get to drive to work. Lori and I trade cars so she will have the properly mounted, Emergency service checked and approved, Eddie Bauer car seat for our darling girl. Leaving Lily is completely horrible, and it must be said that I cannot wait for the day to be a stay at home mommy, but driving to work in plush leather interior, seat warmers, a sun roof, and a navigation system that I have absolutely no idea how to actually navigate does help to dull the pain slightly. I put on my oversized sun glasses, and cruise down the highway thoroughly basking and enjoying the stares of other people, whom I can only assume are thinking, “How the heck did that 20 something year old end up in such a nice car…lucky (fill in the blank).”
And I must shamefully admit that I love every second of this narcissistic royal commute among the lethargic peasantry as they make their way to Starbucks and onto work. Even if it is a figment of my imagination. It is fabulously fabulous.

One day, while driving to work in the Escalade, the “Glamorous” song came on. As Fergie herself would coin it, I was my Rachelicious self in “my ride” while imagining driving along some posh boulevard in Hollywood with Papparazzi en tow while blasting the song away. Reality: Driving down the Pyramid Highway in Sparks, Nevada heading for Hansen and Sons Plumbing to begin handling the paperwork over a severe toilet leak in a disgruntled contractor’s home. If this isn’t pure delusional bliss, I don’t know what is.

I pull up to Hansen and Sons as if I were Charlize Theron (what a glamorous name…) walking into the Ritz Carlton in NYC. Once again, loving it.

After completing a day’s work, Tyler called me to let me know it he was going to be home first. We decided he would stop and trade cars so I could run a couple of errands after work and he would get the Escalade back to his mother.
All too quickly my fantasy day came to a close as Tyler drove away and left me with reality: a 1995 Buick we purchased from Great Grandpa Don. And not just any Buick according to his grandfather, this one has automatic windows. Uh huh. And an auto theft protection key lock, as if we should be so lucky. The body of the vehicle is a gem as well, the front end actually points out in the middle, as if it was a swordfish driving dominantly among a sea of shrimp and flounder. Thank you, humility once again in check.
As I drive to the nearest TJ Maxx and Walmart (alas, not Louis Vutton or Kitson boutique) I can feel my face turning as red as the stop lights I confront. I look side to side and hope nobody I know is around. Once again, my favorite song is blasted:“Glamorous”.
Irony. Mr. McNew (my 10th grade English teacher), I finally get it! And to you, Ms. Katie Hagan ( bitter girl in high school, angered by her inability to reconcile intelligence with good looks and a friendly personality....therefore voluntarily eliminating her potential good looks and friendly personality), I'm not the dum chearleader you always thot I is.
In the song she talks of first class flights and champagne, etc. etc. As I parked my Buick in the Walmart parking lot, I began thinking. What is glamorous?
Driving in the Escalade with toasty buns is definitely more than comfortable. But was I happier? Is that what life should be, or what I think the pinnacle of achievement really looks like? No! Does money really buy happiness? Of course not! Should I be in Hollywood? Absurd!
Or worse, am I coming up with this self reflecting nonsense only as a coping mechanism due to the fact that I simply can’t afford the glamorous, and therefore need to make those that can afford the first class flights all over Europe seem shallow and empty?
I consider myself a happy, extremely fulfilled individual. Whether driving a Buick or Escalade, neither of those two have ever factored into my equation of a + b = happiness. However, I never even knew this in its fullness, this depth about myself until having Lily. This enormity of realization that came over when my purpose in life really began, the day I became her mother, gave me the perspective I have always needed. I put on my oversized, generic sun glasses and flipped my hair as I strutted into Walmart for the latest rollback savings.
While driving home in the Buick, which happens to purr beautifully like a kitten and only costs approx $27.00 to fill up on gas, I began smiling and laughing as I thought a previous evening when Lily pooped in the bath as I was bathing with her. Tyler came in and couldn’t seem to get a grip on the situation as he squealed like a girl in disgust, “What are you going to do?!!! What are you going to do?!!!!!”
Glamorous. However, Fergie failed to mention that part of the song….

I thought of how she turns and runs with an item she knows she’s not supposed to have when she is caught. I thought about how she gives kisses with her mouth wide open, the most slobbery and delicious of all kisses. I thought about how short and mini and cute she looks in her princess pajama’s before bed. I thought of how she attempts to reach down my shirt, whether in public or not, when she wants nurse. I thought of how she dances to the Wiggles, and blows kisses bye bye, even to the passer-bys who aren’t saying it to her.. So many things…so many glamorous things.
As I pulled the Buick into the garage after purchasing the $49.00 worth of groceries we could actually afford, I greeted my husband and baby who had already fallen asleep together in our bedroom lazy boy chair. He was snoring, and her little fat face was laying sideways on his chest so that her mouth was slightly open with her cherry cheeks and puckered pink lips, slowly dripping sweet baby drool onto his T shirt. I smiled and thought to myself, “Fergie, you don’t have anything on this.”

However, that does not mean I won’t be driving my own Escalade someday.

1 comment:

MOM said...

It is scary how some things can be genetic!
When I was about 17 I would drive around fantasizing how my best friend and I would be the female version of Starsky and Hutch (ala Charlie's Angels...we had great hair)...I would drive my Subaru stationwagon...yep, you heard that right...around the streets of crime infested Sparks with "Saturday Night Fever" soundtrack blaring from my JVC 8 track player, peeling out from stop lights (it was a 4 speed on the floor!), just sure that the time was not too far off that Sparks would get with the times and soon have two hot chick cops on their payroll....Then I would pop the clutch unexpectedly - and be jerked back into my reality...Driving home to my trailer...err...mobile home in Sun Valley after working a shift at the Truck Stop as a hostess...Hostess? Were did that job description come from? Hostess...hosting what? Cigarette smelling truck drivers axiously awaiting their chicken fried steak?
Fergie and Farrah...aint got nothing on our pod-licious life!
MOM