Tag Archive | privacy

Everything I Know About Window Treatments (I Learned From Not Having Any)

Image credit: wikimedia.com

Image credit: wikimedia.com

Here’s everything I know about window treatments:

  1. You need them on your bedroom windows if you want to walk around in your birthday suit.
  2. If you buy a house with zero window treatments, you should adjust your budget accordingly ASAP or you will never have sex again.
  3. If you don’t have them in the kitchen, your neighbors will see you feeding your children Pirate’s Booty for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
  4. You may start skipping those extra servings of ice cream you hide in the freezer because EVERYONE CAN SEE YOU.
  5. They are incredibly expensive.
  6. I’m obsessed with them.

We moved in to a town home.  Town homes are known for their verticality and for being situated rather close to other town homes.  For example, there’s a row of town homes 12 feet in front of us and 12-feet behind us. That means we are surrounded by neighbors.  I can look out my living room window and see what the other units are watching on TV (Dancing With the Stars) and I can tell when their dinner is over (five minutes after it started). 

I am cool with the urban reality of living very close to other people.

And if I get sick of the view, I can just shut the blinds.  EXCEPT for we don’t have any.  Our new house came with zero window treatments.  When we first looked at the house, it was occupied by the previous owners, and they had nothing on the windows except smudges and dust.  Curious, right? I’m not sure how you function in your bedroom without window treatments. I guess they never had sex walked around in their birthday suits.  Needless to say, we scrambled to find some temporary Ikea curtains for our master bedroom because a girl’s gotta be able to ambulate nakedly as needed.

The rest of the windows, however, are going to have to wait.  I need to catch my breath, collect a few more paychecks, and get my kids in school.  I would say that window treatments in the living room and kids’ rooms will probably go up before peace is reached in the Middle East but after Congress resolves the Syrian crisis.

Negative me would be railing against this.  It would be an obnoxious, first-world rant about something as trivial as what shit to hang on the windows.

Luckily, positive me is at the helm.  I’m actually thrilled there are no window treatments in my kitchen.  Let them see me burn tomato sauce so thoroughly that I scorched a Le Creuset dutch oven beyond repair.  Let them see that I eat most of my meals with my fingers while standing up. 

I’ve lost all pride at this point so why not throw open the scene for all the neighborhood to see?

Tune in tomorrow, when I discover the silver lining of having kids in two different schools, both of which start WEEKS after everyone else.  (Hash tag: Why are there no kids over the age of 2 at the park? and My kids are sick of me and I’m sick of them.)


Dear Diary: I Am Obsessed With John F. Kennedy, and I’m 10 Years Old

When I come across my children’s diaries, I am going to read them.  I will apologize for intruding and violating boundaries later, but when the time comes, I am so going to read.

And, if either of them write the type of things in their notebooks that I wrote in mine back in 1983, then we are marching, not to a family therapy session, but to family in-patient treatment.

Vintage Hello, Kitty diary.  Are you there, God? It's me, Psycho Pants

Vintage Hello, Kitty diary. Are you there, God? It’s me, Psycho Pants

I like to think that I was an eccentric little lady, prone to dramatic emotions and morbid obsessions– all consistent with my artistic temperament.  Cute obsessions, like unicorns and add-a-bead necklaces, not weird shit like black birds of prey or the taste of my own blood.

But, when I started reading the pages of my old diary, I couldn’t help but wonder if I needed something I wasn’t getting.  Like very strong medication. Or electro-shock therapy.

Here’s my favorite entry :

My journal depicts my mournful journey to let go of John F. Kennedy, a man who died 10 years before I was born.  (I got a B in handwriting that year, and now you can see why.)

My journal depicts my mournful journey to grieve John F. Kennedy, a man who died 10 years before I was born. (I got a B in handwriting that year, and now you can see why.)

Real journalistic pieces were my bread and butter back when I was 10. This entry really captures the nation’s mood on the 20th anniversary of John F. Kennedy’s death.  I had read an article in the Dallas Morning News, which lit a fire in me that raged for the next 12 months.  I became an expert on the details of the assassination.  I bored fascinated my 4th grade colleagues with facts about the grassy knoll and Lee Harvey Oswald’s last meal with his Russian-born wife (Marina Prusakova Oswald).

Surely my parents never read this, right? Wouldn’t you wonder about the mental health of your daughter if she was brooding for hours over John F. Kennedy, while listening to Juice Newton albums?

Personally, I think my use of quotation marks around the word “hating”is the creepiest part. Why did I do that?  Was I playing fast and loose with punctuation, or was I making some vague reference to culturally constructed notions of nationalistic rage?

Shouldn’t I have been curled up on the shag carpet reading Judy Bloom and wondering about my breasts like every other girl my age?

The good news is that after the obsession with Kennedy waned, I went full-bore into an Anne Frank phase that I am still traumatized from.  I am not sure that 10.5 year olds are supposed to do archival research on Holocaust victims without adult supervision.

But, you gotta admit, this explains some things, doesn’t it?

Heaven’s Door: My Mother’s Day Retreat (To The Bathroom)

Heaven's Door

Heaven’s Door

This may look like nothing more than a picture of a closed door to you, but to me, and to many mothers out there, this is a view from Paradise.

This closed door, which is actually also locked, is the culmination of my Mother’s Day dream to spend some quality “me-time” alone.  In the powder room.  Doing what? Well, any blasted thing I please. Without an audience.

It happened for me yesterday for the first time since I was on an airplane, where federal rules prohibited my children from following me to the bathroom.

Oh sweet alone time in the bathroom!  You are my dream deferred for 364 days a year.   Oh sweet Privacy! I love you and will see you next year on Mother’s Day.  I will miss your silence and your space and your solace.  I will think of you and yearn for you everyday.  During our painful separation, dear Privacy, just remember we will always have those 37 minutes we shared on Mother’s Day 2012.

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PS: For a very special guest post I wrote on a darker time in my life, check this out– see my vulnerable side.

PPS: For one more day, you can check out my guest post for Scary Mommy.