Take Me Back...

In this last week I have I reveled in my new freedom -- gone are the Acai berry juice samplings and Fair Trade chocolates and the menopausal relief products. Praise Jesus! But don't think I wasn't busy, because I was...oh, I worked, went right on to consulting again without missing a beat...but that's not what really kept me busy. No, no...much more important matters at hand...after a spotty performance these past months, I have finally re-entered the social scene and frankly, it's about damn time. So let's see...there were afternoon walks with the girls, coffee breaks, dinners, bridge games, fundraisers and the all important Friday night ladies-only food, booze and gossip fest at my house....And you know, I decided not to reveal much of what my girlfriends and I discussed that night over bacon-wrapped scallops and chocolate fondue, because, well....I think it's best we perserve the fantasy that we are all a bunch of suburban MILFs, always ready for a good time...not that far off base, right? Oh, ok guys, I'll throw you a bone -- we raked every last one of you over the coals...but you know, deep down we love your oblivious preening and your delightfully daft ways...

So anyway, one night last week, I met one of my oldest (in duration, not age...) friends on the Upper East Side where she lives now with her husband and nine month old son. We grew up together in Franklin Lakes, our families very close friends (that old Indian Trail Club tennis group...), we had picnics and pool parties and Fourth of July parades and Game Nights and Christmas Tree trimming parties together for years. So yeah, Jen and I had a lot in common -- youngest daughters in big families (I am the fourth of five and she is the baby of six)...and our moms were, well, sort of over it by the time we were tugging at their skirts. We could pretty much take care of ourselves (and did) by age six. While our older, cooler siblings were probably all sharing a joint on Jen's family's tennis court and swapping dates at the Freshman semi-formal, she and I and my younger brother, RJ, performed in fake toothpaste commercials in the master bathroom, sang songs from Saturday Night Fever, rifled through the hidden Christmas gifts and whined to our parents. So when Jen and I met at Orsay on Lex and 75th (yet again habitually early, I was parked at the bar dowing Prosecco, flirting with the geek-chic Euro bartender, fondling my Blackberry until she showed up), it had been two years since we had last seen each other and we squealed uncontrollably at the sight of one another...like a bunch of sorority sisters. And in a sense that is what we are.

So the minute I saw her it all came flooding back -- my childhood in the 1970's....the bad clothes, disengaged moms in tennis whites, dads working all the time, every kid in town piling on a bus to go two blocks to school, the "see and be seen" at the 11:15 Mass at Most Blessed Sacrament on Sunday....and the town politics. Oh yes, Franklin Lakes was like a WASPy version of a some Mississippi backwater -- complete with the prominent family who lorded over the town, owned all the land and populated it with their relatives and friends, a boozy band of entitled n'er-do-wells. Those were the days! Jen and I talked all about what it was like for me living back here where we grew up...being surrounded by the things and people of my childhood. A little stifling? Maybe sometimes. Comforting? Yeah, that too... And we talked about how it was back then, growing up in the 70's in Franklin Lakes....only 18 miles west of New York City, but back then, like the pristine countryside, big pretty houses on vast, leafy lots. Our whole worlds revolved around summer barbecues at the Grove and after school ice skating on one of the many lakes of Franklin Lakes. On Halloween we trolled the neighborhood with the other kids, no adults in sight. We used to ride our bikes barefoot to what was Kilroy's Wonder Market then, and is now the famous Market Basket, where we bought family-sized bags of watermelon Jolly Ranchers and hoarded them like we were on a desert island. The old Urban Pharmacy had charge plates on file for every family in town and we would rack up endless bills buying wax bottle candies, Razzles and Charleston Chews. We rode our bikes by ourselves to the Club for summer camp each morning and spent the whole day there. We ate everyday at the Indian Trail Club snack counter...extra salty fries and soft serve ice cream cones. We swam at the lake without any supervision whatsoever, except for the teenaged lifeguards, who were always off making out behind the paddle house. Our parents would eventually show up to check in after a few sets of tennis.....We were all of nine years old.

Jen and I cackled for a full two hours remembering...like, what were our moms thinking? What were all of those 70's moms thinking? I mean, Franklin Lakes was a safe little haven -- and it still is -- but today's moms wouldn't consider allowing their little girls to explore the town, ride bikes along "busy" streets, spend the whole day unsupervised. My first born will be nine on New Year's Day....and some of her friends' moms are appalled that I let her ride her bike around the corner by herself....around the corner, not even 20 yards from our front door. My generation has been conditioned to live constantly in fear of some invisible threat -- I'll be on the playground and lose sight of my jealous and possessive five year old for no more than two minutes when I start to wonder if he's been kidnapped....like, really...in front of 80 people the kid is going to be snatched away? But I admit that deep inside I am fearful that any lapse in proper parental judgement is inexcusable -- on a regular basis I fully expect DYFS to show up at my door for some minor infraction -- like a few weeks ago when Rob told me he left my daughter in charge of the boys for 10 minutes while he ran to CVS. Well...I think my mom and dad had me watching RJ by the time I was seven....right, we laugh now, but it was kind of acceptable then.

When we were kids there was no such thing as an organized playdate, you just rode your bike over to your friends house after school...And we took dance and piano and played rec sports and joined school clubs, but our moms certainly didn't have us in French classes and acting lessons and speed school by the time we were three. They may have been overwhelmed with huge families and no household support from their husbands, our dads, but sometimes I think moms in the 70's kind of had it better than we do in a lot of ways. Things were just sort of more relaxed...they stayed home all day and cooked and cleaned and not one of them worked outside the home. They were rarely expected to sport anything fancier than golf skirts or tennis clothes and their husbands took them out every Friday night. And their kids were allowed to just be kids. So maybe a few of us ended up crawling onto the roof or falling out of windows or getting lost at Sealfon's in Ridgewood...but we ended up ok, right? And the memories are priceless, no?

So I am thinking that maybe we can return to the 70's...I mean, hell, my friends and I are on a mission to singlehandedly bring back fondue parties, which is a good start. You know -- the guys can go back to being the men of the house, never picking up a broom or changing a diaper...and we ladies can spend the entire day making casseroles and phoning up our neighbors with the latest goings on...and no pressure on the kids...no more undying control over their every move, who they befriend, what they think. You know, this might work -- the guys would probably love it if we wives stayed inside and never have another dinner, drink or committee meeting for the rest of our lives. And maybe the kids would flourish in this new freedom. But what about the women? I mean, come to think of it, without a steady stream of Vicodin, I am not quite sure that I could go back to the simpler times...I kind of like having a profession, as willy nilly as it is...and I am totally committed to all the committees I am on, so I don't want to stay inside cleaning all week long...and I'll be damned if I am going to give up those nights out cocktailing and laughing with my friends...And besides, the shoes are much hotter these days than they were back then, so there you go...that settles it right there.

Photo 1: The suburban MILFs...nothing is hotter than a bunch of women clamoring for molten chocolate on banana chunks...

Photo 2: Me, Jen and RJ...most likely playing with matches or knives...our parents most certainly nowhere to be found...Don't you love the snotty sidelong glance she is giving me??

Photo 3: Some of Franklin Lakes' finest, fresh and innocent...on the way to booze up in the back of some cheesy 70's limo...

Photo 4: Scenes from a Key Party??? Looks that way...Jen's mom and dad up front with my mom, sporting her 70's permanent wave...Dad poking his head through...those crazy b*stards in the back were months out from joining some cult (swear to G*d!!)

Photo 5: Our Jolly Rancher stash....looks depleted somewhat...

Photo 6: Over-protecting my jealous and possessive five year old...at least someone out there thinks he can't live without me...

Photo 7: The Fourth Grade Franklin Lakes posse...just coming off a mammoth prank calling session...so very 70's...

Photo 8: Ritteresier siblings circa 1972, pre-RJ....my mom on a Vicodin drip (allegedly....)