To bring you a terrorist attack...
Two bombs were detonated at the finish line of the Boston Marathon today...
But I want to tell you a couple of better stories...
- Last week, Katy's parents were here and ran the boys around like thoroughbred animals. Sometimes they were so tired that at dinner their eyes would drift to one side and their heads drift to another and they would almost fall over (I'm speaking of the boys, but the grannies were also similarly, joyfully worn out).
- Saturday was Gram'ma Bella's 89th birthday party (at the local Italian place we've nicknamed: 'Spooch"). We dressed our boys up in their cute, cute, cute 4 piece suits and had such a wonderful meal with the extended family. During that time, my great aunt approached both Katy and me separately to let us know that friends of hers were complaining that "no one dresses their kids up any more" and then she added: "But I tell them, my nieces- they dress their boys up so nice!" Katy and I were tickled. I love it so much when older relatives get it... "my nieces" (sigh).
- After Gram's party, Jake went to a Karate-themed birthday party and was so Thrilled when he broke a board in half with his bare hand. He said to Katy: "Maybe there was some kind of little line in it that I can't see that made it easier to break". She replied: "I think you just aimed right through it and broke it all yourself." And then he kind of beamed.
- Later that night, my sister and I took all our kids to see the Croods. It was Milo's first time in a movie theater and when he walked into the lobby he gasped like he was little orphan Annie seeing the Warbuck's mansion for the first time, and told us, "I've never been HERE before." We sat all through the long, loud, cute movie and about 5 minutes before the end a VERY TIRED Milo turned to me and whispered/whined: "When do we get to pick out a movie?"
Me: Sweetie, this is the Movie... we are AT the movie.
Milo: NO, the REAL movie
Me: (laughing with love and empathy) no. really... this is LITERALLY a "real" movie
- Sunday, we hiked up sleeping Giant park Tower Trail (3.2 miles round trip). Both boys did AWESOME. Jake did the entire hike- up and down all on his own two feet (it's probably his 6th time on the trail- first time that he walked all on his own without being carried even ONE INCH!). Milo did ALL THE WAY UP and MORE than HALF the way down only getting carried on my shoulders for about 10 minutes. I was seriously, so proud.
Showing posts with label Birthdays. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Birthdays. Show all posts
Monday, April 15, 2013
Monday, August 20, 2012
On birthdays
Birthdays are strange creatures.
For many years I was perpetually disappointed by my birthday. There was so much hype about the day, likely created in my own mind, that it could never live up to my expectations. The presents were never quite right. The person I wanted to call didn't. The day got swept away by some other more pressing need. I understood my birthday to be the one day when it was okay to embrace the conceit of wanting others to celebrate me. Pre-social media, it was more difficult to navigate that celebration. Walk around announcing the day? Hope others would somehow just know?
I've had a very contemplative last month, touched off by the 5 year anniversary of the murder of my colleague's family. I had stashed that grief away in self preservation, stuffing the suitcase full and taking off at a moment's notice. This summer, it decided to unpack itself and land on me like a tidal wave. It was a long time coming, but it felt like I'd been sucker punched. There are some things in life that are beyond explanation, that challenge my scientific-leaning understanding of the world. Trying to make sense of it is about as fruitful as a dog chasing its tail. Normally organized into predictable and controlled parcels, I was suddenly scattered. It was as if someone grasped the string at the end of a knot I thought was impenetrable, and suddenly there were marbles all over the floor. It was dizzying. Tucked in that insistent wall of tears, though, was an opportunity to gather my wits and dig back in to life.
I spent the first several hours of this birthday holding a screaming child as he seemed to have night terrors (but what turned out to be a full bladder). It made me laugh, because somewhere in those hours 35 years ago I was causing a similar ruckus. It seemed to solidify for me that parenthood is at least one part payback. Tracy and I spent almost an hour on iChat last night with some of our closest friends, Kate and Adam, who are exactly 2 years behind us in the parenthood game. Between us we have a 5 year old, two 3 year olds, and a newborn. We spent a good deal of time acknowledging the strangeness of feeling overwhelming love and crushing frustration all in the same moment, over and over and over. Before we had Jake, people used to try and explain to us things about parenthood: how tired we'd be, how happy he'd make us, how much we'd worry, how much small children vomit, how hard it would be once he was mobile. You can't warn would-be parents. There are chemicals that prevent people attempting pregnancy or who are pregnant from hearing any of it. It doesn't register. It blows past them like a wisp of hot air barely noticed. It's a good thing, too, because no one would choose this kind of insanity without those blinders. I left the conversation overwhelmingly thankful for our friends. There is a comfort in knowing you're not the only one who can't stand their own kid some of the time. There is also a simple elegance in being able to share in that sweet love for the heart that walks around outside of your body. This morning, the aforementioned screaming child came down the stairs, stood on his tippy toes, gave me a two-handed kiss, and said "Happy Birthday to you, Mama". Turns out parenthood is also at least one part sweetness.
Despite my determined efforts, there are things I cannot control or change. Timing that cannot be reset to fit my own version of daylight savings. Events that cannot be prevented, and a similar number that cannot be forced into existence. I feel a physical discomfort in the severity of that understanding. I get it, but I don't like it. And sitting with those two realities is a constant battle. I continue on the learningcurve roller coaster, though, sometimes eyes open, sometimes hands up.
In recent years I have had a much more Zen approach to my birthday. Turns out, when you stop plotting out every minute, every minute starts feeling like a gift rather than a disappointment. Say what you will about Facebook, but the near constant stream of "Happy Birthday!"s feels like points of light carrying me through the day. Messages flow in from people who I may never see in person again, and from friends who will sing to me later today, and from people I only know because I kicked their ass in Fantasy Football, and people who know me as Katy, KT, or (smile) Tierney. At worst, someone steals my identity. At best, on my worst day I'll be able to see that light shining a path in front of me.
Birthdays are, indeed, beautifully strange creatures.
Poem list:
cruel, cruel summer (D.A. Powell)
Difference (Mark Doty)
Sublunary (AE Stallings)
Playlist:
Exile Vilify (The National)
All This and Heaven Too (Florence and the Machine)
To Just Grow Away (The Tallest Man On Earth)
Lorraine (Lori McKenna)
Helplessness Blues (Fleet Foxes)
Sticks and Stones (The Wheels)
Kiss It Away (Kris Delmhorst)
Gentle Hands (Thieving Irons)
For many years I was perpetually disappointed by my birthday. There was so much hype about the day, likely created in my own mind, that it could never live up to my expectations. The presents were never quite right. The person I wanted to call didn't. The day got swept away by some other more pressing need. I understood my birthday to be the one day when it was okay to embrace the conceit of wanting others to celebrate me. Pre-social media, it was more difficult to navigate that celebration. Walk around announcing the day? Hope others would somehow just know?
I've had a very contemplative last month, touched off by the 5 year anniversary of the murder of my colleague's family. I had stashed that grief away in self preservation, stuffing the suitcase full and taking off at a moment's notice. This summer, it decided to unpack itself and land on me like a tidal wave. It was a long time coming, but it felt like I'd been sucker punched. There are some things in life that are beyond explanation, that challenge my scientific-leaning understanding of the world. Trying to make sense of it is about as fruitful as a dog chasing its tail. Normally organized into predictable and controlled parcels, I was suddenly scattered. It was as if someone grasped the string at the end of a knot I thought was impenetrable, and suddenly there were marbles all over the floor. It was dizzying. Tucked in that insistent wall of tears, though, was an opportunity to gather my wits and dig back in to life.
I spent the first several hours of this birthday holding a screaming child as he seemed to have night terrors (but what turned out to be a full bladder). It made me laugh, because somewhere in those hours 35 years ago I was causing a similar ruckus. It seemed to solidify for me that parenthood is at least one part payback. Tracy and I spent almost an hour on iChat last night with some of our closest friends, Kate and Adam, who are exactly 2 years behind us in the parenthood game. Between us we have a 5 year old, two 3 year olds, and a newborn. We spent a good deal of time acknowledging the strangeness of feeling overwhelming love and crushing frustration all in the same moment, over and over and over. Before we had Jake, people used to try and explain to us things about parenthood: how tired we'd be, how happy he'd make us, how much we'd worry, how much small children vomit, how hard it would be once he was mobile. You can't warn would-be parents. There are chemicals that prevent people attempting pregnancy or who are pregnant from hearing any of it. It doesn't register. It blows past them like a wisp of hot air barely noticed. It's a good thing, too, because no one would choose this kind of insanity without those blinders. I left the conversation overwhelmingly thankful for our friends. There is a comfort in knowing you're not the only one who can't stand their own kid some of the time. There is also a simple elegance in being able to share in that sweet love for the heart that walks around outside of your body. This morning, the aforementioned screaming child came down the stairs, stood on his tippy toes, gave me a two-handed kiss, and said "Happy Birthday to you, Mama". Turns out parenthood is also at least one part sweetness.
Despite my determined efforts, there are things I cannot control or change. Timing that cannot be reset to fit my own version of daylight savings. Events that cannot be prevented, and a similar number that cannot be forced into existence. I feel a physical discomfort in the severity of that understanding. I get it, but I don't like it. And sitting with those two realities is a constant battle. I continue on the learning
In recent years I have had a much more Zen approach to my birthday. Turns out, when you stop plotting out every minute, every minute starts feeling like a gift rather than a disappointment. Say what you will about Facebook, but the near constant stream of "Happy Birthday!"s feels like points of light carrying me through the day. Messages flow in from people who I may never see in person again, and from friends who will sing to me later today, and from people I only know because I kicked their ass in Fantasy Football, and people who know me as Katy, KT, or (smile) Tierney. At worst, someone steals my identity. At best, on my worst day I'll be able to see that light shining a path in front of me.
Birthdays are, indeed, beautifully strange creatures.
Poem list:
cruel, cruel summer (D.A. Powell)
Difference (Mark Doty)
Sublunary (AE Stallings)
Playlist:
Exile Vilify (The National)
All This and Heaven Too (Florence and the Machine)
To Just Grow Away (The Tallest Man On Earth)
Lorraine (Lori McKenna)
Helplessness Blues (Fleet Foxes)
Sticks and Stones (The Wheels)
Kiss It Away (Kris Delmhorst)
Gentle Hands (Thieving Irons)
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Happy Birthday, Jimbo
But these last few summers have been some of the best of my life.
Having kids- even little kids that aren't in school yet- has made me realize how ingrained in our memories a concept like "summer" can be. And how important "living" (spending time with people you care about, splashing and playing and trying not to get sunburned) is to learning about the world. The experience of "summer" is a blessing that I am proud to be able to share and pass on to my kids.
I imagine if we didn't know Jimbo and Sue, we would have figured out another way to create a summer for our children. But I'm so grateful that we have these friends.
Jimbo and Sue open the pool in May and close it well into September. The pool is heated and I mean to at least the mid-80s. There's a full size refrigerator, a shaded TV area to watch the Red Sox, and enough seating for at least 25 on a daily basis.
There was a "TBR pool" in my childhood (that was owned and operated by Jimbo's parents). The rules at that pool were simple:
- Please come to the pool
- Come to the pool anytime, day or night
- Bring anyone to the pool that you wish
- Bring anything to eat or drink
- If you do not bring food- some will be provided for you
- Please don't even call- just come over if you want to swim
- If we aren't home, you know how to get in (to the pool and the house) no need to wait for us to take a dip or have a beer out of the fridge.
When Jim and Maizie (Jimbo's parents) sold their house and the pool of my childhood memories sometime around 2000 or 2001 (I think), my mom called me:
"I don't want to forget to tell you," she started, "The TBR's sold their house. They are moving next month."
My mouth went dry. I was a little sad in that "end of an era" kind of way, but mostly, I was stunned into the realization that had my mom not made this call in a timely fashion, I might have been on the business end of some handcuffs and fingerprinting ink.
As I walked into their new pad, the experience of greeting total strangers who were acting completely "at home" in the TBR's house would not have tipped me off. I can imagine the change in furniture might strike me as surprising, but it wouldn't stop me from checking out what beverages might be in the mini fridge on the porch. They would have had plenty of time to call the cops as I laid my towel on the fence, disrobed, and dove into their new pool...
Fortunately for my family, Jimbo and Sue continued on the "mi casa es su casa" tradition. Same pool rules with at least one bizarre addition: No plastic cups or dishes at the pool. (What can I say, Sue really likes to wash dishes and clean up broken glass, poolside...) With 4 children age six and under, my sister and I have negotiated our way around this regulation.
I've known Jimbo my entire life. I've actually known him longer that that. He and my dad were best buddies in high school. When we were young, my parents didn't do that surrogate "aunt" and "uncle" thing that Katy and I are inclined to do as a way to introduce our very close friends to our children. As one of 8 children and one of 4 children, respectively, I guess Mom and Dad figured, there were enough uncles and aunts to keep straight without adding more titles. If Jimbo was like an uncle to me, it was mostly because his sisters were like aunts to me and by the power of the transitive properties, the brother of an aunt has to be an uncle...
But I was so shy when I was little, and Jimbo is not exactly a chatterbox. I'm not sure I said more than 20 words to him until I was in high school. His kids were in need of babysitters when I was just exiting that "babysitting age", so for a couple of decades, our 2 families had very little in common, except some cherished holidays that we spent together.
Fast forward 20 more years. In some ways assisted by the "staggered" generations, there is an extended family here that we have chosen, and it is as strong as any family forged in DNA or bonded by blood. When I think of my dad eulogizing his parents, I see Jimbo and Sue in the pews behind us in a church that was foreign to them, and then scampering about, helping with food, acting as a protective presence after the services as well.
When I think of our children being born, I look right past the huge gift basket that Sue presented us to the beaming, excited smile on her face, and the chiding "My little dog
comes first, but I am going to love these kids!!!"
So similar to his dad before him, Jimbo is successful and proud- yet, humble. He is quiet yet fun. He is generous as to make generosity seem obvious. I've never seen him lose his cool. Even when I've seen him in tumultuous situations and/or embroiled in conflict, I've never seen him riled up or contemptuous or even the slightest bit indignant. He's not particularly religious (that I can tell) but he generally acts out the "do unto others adage" without giving it a moment's thought. He has fed and clothed and bathed (and offered a pool to) not only me and people he loves, but any stranger that any of us leads onto his property.
Last summer we watched Jimbo's mom slip mostly away- deeper and deeper into Alzheimer's. I'd sit by her with the kids explaining over and over who we were. Even under a veil of memory loss, she was who I've always know her to be: polite, full of smiles and gentle laughs, occasionally opinionated and strong-willed. She'd sit poolside in the evening and when Jimbo walked in, she'd light up. She'd go straight to him or call him over... It became clear that Maizie frequently thought Jimbo was her husband. Son or husband, she wanted to just be near him. And there they often sat, hand in hand for a bit of time. It was hard to watch but harder to look away from: Heartbreaking but thoroughly endearing. As he ages, it is impossible not to see why his mom would be confused. If you didn't know G'pa Jim (Jimbo's dad), it won't mean as much, but the apple did not fall far from the tree, as they say.
Whether golfing or riding a motorcycle, or watching a movie, a ball game, playing a board game, just being in his presence helps me appreciate the healing powers of socialization, of community Rest and Relaxation. To be with him is to see a man SIT and experience joy and contentment, to appreciate the little things (and the big things). Spending time by his side, I feel I have learned to be better at relaxing at having fun.
Because of Jimbo and Sue, our recent and current summers are not just long and lazy, they are full and rich. They are not trite. The pool is where we bring our laughter and silliness, but also where we bring our stresses and sorrows, where we share and try to swim away our anxieties. It's where I bring my boys to cool off and learn to swim and to experience a certain civility that might be dying out in the world; and where we are lucky enough to watch a lot of our dreams come true.
Happy Birthday, Jimbo! We love you!
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Conversations with kids: Birthday edition
Today is Milo's 2nd birthday.
We've been prepping him for several days:
Moms: Who's bday is tomorrow?
ML: Noooo
Moms: Milo's birthday is tomorrow!!!
ML: No, Mommy... Mama
Moms: Not our b-day... Milo's birthday
This morning, we snuck into his room before his brother was awake and with quiet enthusiasm sang "Happy Birthday" to him. He actually acted shy, smiling but sort of hiding his head with his arm; and then pointing to us and saying, "No... YOU... Mama... Mommy." It was some combination of:
"Why are you guys singing to me? I don't want a birthday, YOU have one..." and
"I'm not completely comfortable with this attention and recognition."
It was cute but confusing- this patten is a few days in the making. Milo, embarrassed?!? Could that be right? What does it all mean? But just so we know were we stand in the order of things, when Jake woke up, he approached Milo. In a sleepy (almost like an over-tired teenager) voice with a vaguest modicum of excitement, he scratched out a single (non-musical) phrase:
"Happy Birthday, Milo."
The response came without any hesitation. Completely pleased with his brother's acknowledgment, Milo gave a full grin, "Thank you, Jake-Jake".
(sigh)
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Coming home tonight
Almost a week since my last post, but a lot has been happening...
I've been away.
I came home from Texas last Friday night (3/18). Spent Sat with the family: did some running around, playing with the kids, grocery shopping, etc. Went to a baby shower for my cousin's wife, spent a few hours with my CT cousin-friends (That's a word I just made up... It's like "sister-wife" in Mormon country, and is used to describe people that you are related to by birth, but more and more as you grow older, they are your friends. While we're here, I think I'll also coin the flip side: "friend-cousins": These are people like the Tabors/Menzies/Priors and the Vuolos... people who fate has so kindly intertwined your families' lives that you are friends with them, but you think of them as cousins...)
Then Katy's parents arrived (Granny and Granna) and we had dinner and I got to the business of packing a fresh suitcase, and bathing, smelling, and snuggling my kids enough to carry me though this week that I have also been away. Katy and I woke up at 3:30 in the AM (last Saturday) to get me to the airport for my 6am flight to Sunny and Warm LA county. The trip with layovers and waiting times on the tarmac to "replace computers on the plane", and flying around in circles to avoid weather patterns, and the harrowing shuttle journey to the hotel took over 15 hours.
It has been neither warm, nor particularly sunny.
But, I have been working my tail off (so to speak).
Only as this week has wound down (Thursday night, Friday, and now) have I truly started to feel the weight of my- not "homesickness" exactly- but yearning to have my babies near me. I think I just compartmentalized it fairly well at the beginning. Also, I knew that (between Katy and my in-laws) the boys were not only in good hands, but they would be distracted and having fun in my absence.
Still, attending these two conferences back to back, I have been away from my family for 11 out of the last 12 days. Even Katy and I have not spent this much time apart since we started dating.
And it has been weird to miss a week that my in-laws took to spend with our family. I've been wondering what I have missed in terms of "bonding opportunities" with them, and while I was out here in CA, my God-daughter and sweet Mac-a-doodle turned 5 years old!!! So, I felt a little sad that night that we weren't all together celebrating.
I've done my best to put the time to good use. I've met a lot of interesting and fun people. I've networked and bonded. I've gotten to spend this last week rooming with (and joking and laughing and theorizing and scheming with) Tara. Tara has been a BFF of ours since Katy's and my grad school days. This week only confirmed why: she is good people. She is real and full of brain and heart power, and loyal and honorable, and not only hilarious- but appreciates (and plays off of) my particular brand of wit. She is funny, without being trivial, and carefully measures the weight of her words and actions like only a soul-sister of mine could.
It is absurd that we ended up here this week together, and I can't help but thank God (The Tiny Baby Jesus, or whatever older version of him you prefer) for the way this trip took T and I out of our other lives and put us here, together for a week.
I also tried to use the time well- to appreciate the things a mom of small children loses out on: Sleep, "Quiet time", complex and extended adult conversation, "me time", I've done some list making and sorting through of things in my head, a kind of spring cleaning of my brain. I've also hit the gym whenever possible and done some sweating- and yesterday got myself onto some of the beaches of Malibu for a little hike.
At the end of this, I am eager to get home. But I think I am going back a little bit of a healthier person. Maybe more focused, more grateful for what I have, more (possibly?) full of energy (though taking a red-eye tonight might put a damper on that).
I can't wait to see my sweetie and our kids!
I've been away.
I came home from Texas last Friday night (3/18). Spent Sat with the family: did some running around, playing with the kids, grocery shopping, etc. Went to a baby shower for my cousin's wife, spent a few hours with my CT cousin-friends (That's a word I just made up... It's like "sister-wife" in Mormon country, and is used to describe people that you are related to by birth, but more and more as you grow older, they are your friends. While we're here, I think I'll also coin the flip side: "friend-cousins": These are people like the Tabors/Menzies/Priors and the Vuolos... people who fate has so kindly intertwined your families' lives that you are friends with them, but you think of them as cousins...)
Then Katy's parents arrived (Granny and Granna) and we had dinner and I got to the business of packing a fresh suitcase, and bathing, smelling, and snuggling my kids enough to carry me though this week that I have also been away. Katy and I woke up at 3:30 in the AM (last Saturday) to get me to the airport for my 6am flight to Sunny and Warm LA county. The trip with layovers and waiting times on the tarmac to "replace computers on the plane", and flying around in circles to avoid weather patterns, and the harrowing shuttle journey to the hotel took over 15 hours.
It has been neither warm, nor particularly sunny.
But, I have been working my tail off (so to speak).
Only as this week has wound down (Thursday night, Friday, and now) have I truly started to feel the weight of my- not "homesickness" exactly- but yearning to have my babies near me. I think I just compartmentalized it fairly well at the beginning. Also, I knew that (between Katy and my in-laws) the boys were not only in good hands, but they would be distracted and having fun in my absence.
Still, attending these two conferences back to back, I have been away from my family for 11 out of the last 12 days. Even Katy and I have not spent this much time apart since we started dating.
And it has been weird to miss a week that my in-laws took to spend with our family. I've been wondering what I have missed in terms of "bonding opportunities" with them, and while I was out here in CA, my God-daughter and sweet Mac-a-doodle turned 5 years old!!! So, I felt a little sad that night that we weren't all together celebrating.
I've done my best to put the time to good use. I've met a lot of interesting and fun people. I've networked and bonded. I've gotten to spend this last week rooming with (and joking and laughing and theorizing and scheming with) Tara. Tara has been a BFF of ours since Katy's and my grad school days. This week only confirmed why: she is good people. She is real and full of brain and heart power, and loyal and honorable, and not only hilarious- but appreciates (and plays off of) my particular brand of wit. She is funny, without being trivial, and carefully measures the weight of her words and actions like only a soul-sister of mine could.
It is absurd that we ended up here this week together, and I can't help but thank God (The Tiny Baby Jesus, or whatever older version of him you prefer) for the way this trip took T and I out of our other lives and put us here, together for a week.
I also tried to use the time well- to appreciate the things a mom of small children loses out on: Sleep, "Quiet time", complex and extended adult conversation, "me time", I've done some list making and sorting through of things in my head, a kind of spring cleaning of my brain. I've also hit the gym whenever possible and done some sweating- and yesterday got myself onto some of the beaches of Malibu for a little hike.
At the end of this, I am eager to get home. But I think I am going back a little bit of a healthier person. Maybe more focused, more grateful for what I have, more (possibly?) full of energy (though taking a red-eye tonight might put a damper on that).
I can't wait to see my sweetie and our kids!
Thursday, February 03, 2011
Our BABY turns 5 years old!
Today is the 5th (FIFTH) year since our first blog post!!!
We'd like to celebrate!!!
So here's my proposal...
For everyone that comments here today on why they read the blog, Katy and I will randomly select 5 (FIVE)comments and make a $20 donation in your name (or not if you prefer) to the non-profit organization of your choice..
You have until MIDNIGHT PST (that's 3 AM EST) to comment...
Say anything you want in the form of a comment and include your @1 pet cause De jour.
We will throw the numbers in a hat an randomly select 5 comments and give money to those FIVE places to celebrate the GSO's FIFTH YEAR!!!
Start commenting NOW!!!
We'd like to celebrate!!!
So here's my proposal...
For everyone that comments here today on why they read the blog, Katy and I will randomly select 5 (FIVE)comments and make a $20 donation in your name (or not if you prefer) to the non-profit organization of your choice..
You have until MIDNIGHT PST (that's 3 AM EST) to comment...
Say anything you want in the form of a comment and include your @1 pet cause De jour.
We will throw the numbers in a hat an randomly select 5 comments and give money to those FIVE places to celebrate the GSO's FIFTH YEAR!!!
Start commenting NOW!!!
Monday, November 15, 2010
Newsletter: 14 months AND 37.5 months
Dear ML and JB,
Let me start by saying, I love you both way more than it may appear (having missed writing you newsletters on the occasion(s) of your first and third birthdays, respectively.)
ML- today you are 14 months and one day old:
JB- today you are 37 months and 13 days old:
Today, for most of the day, I felt 2,352 months old. But after spending a few hours with you this evening, you brought me back closer to my actual age (448 some-odd months).
We set our clocks back 2 weeks ago and now at 5pm it is dark, darkie, dark-dark... Like the lining of a wool, dress coat that is wrapped around your face in a basement closet when you are starting to worry that the other kids moved on to another game without yelling, "come out, come out where ever you are"...)
I hate it.
I am not one of these people to complain about the weather and usually, there is nothing i like more than a change of season, but the darkness has hit me hard this year.
I hate picking you up from day care in the dark. I hate waking you up and rushing you out of the house in the (mostly dark) morning so that Mama and I can get to work on time. I hate these two things so much I've started to contemplate what you would miss out on if I quit my job and stayed home to take care of you. Aside from the obvious (food, heat, and new underwear when you grow out of your current size) there is quite a bit at school, I'm not sure I could replicate for you at home all day.
It makes me a little heart sick to imagine you without the groups of boys and girls your age to play with; learning to negotiate and socialize with peer groups. You have the older kids to look up to, and the younger kids to look out for. You have grown dependent on the many layers of structure: the schedule, the group activities, the various play stations; the rooms you are looking forward to moving into and the rooms you lovingly look back on; the assortment of teachers who are caring and loving, but who see you as precious members of precious groups and not the "answer to all of their prayers"... I mean, I could duplicate a curriculum, but I worry about the rest of it.
Together right now, you two (ML and JB) are so perfect: so much work, so demanding, downright exhausting, AND so loving, generous, full of joy, and forgiving all at the same time. You also really compliment one another's personalities and are remarkably tolerant of each other. At least once a day, one of you smooches or climbs on or swats at the other one, and no matter which of you is on the receiving end, there is no swat back, practically no protest... I know there is fighting in your future, but it is hard to believe to see you interact right now.
ML:
You might be the happiest baby I've ever seen. Not surface happy, but an attentive, clever, mischievous version of the happiest baby on the block. You are a beast and there is practically no end to the nicknames your mama and I have for you: We still call you Senor Destruction, but also Hoss, Biff, Chunks, and baby dragon. It's not really your stature (you have definitely slimmed down and dropped from the 95th percentile in height and wt to the 50th percentile.) It is more that you have no fear, but you are full of opinions. You are demanding, but laid back too. If you fall, your frustration is more apparent than your self-pity, fear, or physical discomfort.
You want nothing like you want electronics. You want the phone, you want the remote, you want the phone. You get really pissed off if you see a phone and we don't give it to you- you fall to the floor and cry like someone stomped on your hand. (Well, like another kid might if someone stomped his hand- I think if we stomped your hand, you would not cry the way you cry when we withhold an iphone from you. I think if we did one day stomp on your hand, you would look at us, you would look at your reddened, crushed hand, you would cock your head as if to say, "That seemed somewhat unnecessary," and then you would reach beseechingly for our mobile phone before deciding to cry.)
You are active. You will run right for the stairs, you will run away from us without looking back, you will head just to the place you know we don't want you to go. And some of the time you will look back briefly to send a giggle our way before forging on.
You have big hands and feet and maybe they aren't as big as they are oddly shaped - your pinkies are nearly as long as your pointer, and not only is your second toe longer than your first, but your 3rd is longer than your second. I inspect these hands and feet every night and it still makes me laugh, but because they suit you: strong, goofy, undeniably unique, and somehow not baby-like.
You have been walking for months. You are smart and curious, and climbing - into cabinets and on stools and furniture. You learn really quickly. If we show you how to do something, you try to do it. Even if we don't show you, you usually watch us and then try to do something. You have started climbing into the refrigerator. You follow instructions like, "Go put this book on the shelf." There were about 12 weeks there when you never had less than 3-5 bruises on your forehead. They were all in various stages and colors- something green, something browning, something bright blue. Just as one went away, you nailed a door or chair with your noggin' and earned another one. But that seems to have slowed down..
My favorite part of the day is in the evening around 7pm, when we say to you, "ML, Are you ready for your bath?" Whatever you are doing, you drop it and turn and head up the stairs. You go into the linen closet, you grab a wash cloth that we keep on the low shelf for you to reach, you shut the door, you walk into the bathroom and throw the washcloth into the tub. Then you wiggle until I take your clothes off. Your Mama and I giggle at this charade. Every day.
You say practically nothing, but you have learned lots of signs: more, all done, please, thank you, bath, milk, diaper, brother, drink, eat. You make a lot of noise and can use a Kazoo (for realz), but verbally, there still is only the occasional accidental "Mama". Once I put a bit of brownie in your mouth and the "MMmmmmm" sound was so precisely expressed and so lovingly drawn out, that I'd be lying if I didn't say I felt a little dissed. ["He KNOWS how to say it," I quipped to your mama, "He just doesn't want to say it to us..."]
You sing and shout, but you're indiscriminate in your noise-making. For sure you have "Da" which is your go to word. "Da" is used for everything and when pointing, as if to say, "That...that... what's that". You also have "Daw" (dog), "grrrrrrawww" (the answer to "What does a dragon say?"), and Gee (soft gee not hard G) which is what you call JB. You will look back and forth at your moms to answer the questions "Where's Mama? Where's Mommy?" Showing us that you know we have names, but no matter how many times we beg for you to say, "Ma" or "Mama", you proudly answer with "DA! Dada!!" so. funny.
You make us laugh every day! Usually just by grinning or laughing. You chortle and giggle and belly laugh. If your brother trains his eyes on you and lowers a brow or curls up one of his lips, you belly laugh in anticipatory encouragement. You offer the sweetest, welcoming smiles when we walk into the room. And for all your bluster - pretending you are comfortable walking right away from us in our home- I've seen you stand in a doorway for 10 minutes rather than walk in a place you don't know; only passing through the threshold when you put my forefinger in a vice-like grip.
You cry if the vacuum cleaner is standing silently in the living room, and fall apart (in apparent terror) when we turn it on. You don't mind wrestling with me and JB, but you whimper a little if a tower of cardboard blocks come tumbling down. And yesterday, you shit in the tub... just so it's out there on the internet... I don't want you reading this someday and coming back to me about how perfect you were.
Also, you do this odd thing where you will slap yourself and occasionally bite your hands and arms. It's very exuberant of you, but recently, the thing that you get reprimanded the most for is biting yourself. I know some would say, "Just leave him alone and he'll stop," but left to your own devices, you do draw blood.
Weird, right? I have no idea...
You are about 23 lbs, have 2 bottom teeth and 4 top teeth (and I've already described the fingers and toes). You have the greatest head of curly blond hair. You are very ticklish. All the normal tickle points work, and I can even get a belly laugh by rubbing your cheeks the right way or gently scratching the palms of your hands. You are eating everything now. You get to eat things that we never allowed JB...candy, fried food, chocolate. With him, he just didn't know it existed, but you have a brother who likes treats, and a brother that doesn't mind sharing that much either.
When I look back on these times, I will think of you in the tub- cherub like and soft- splish splashing happily andgrabbing at your tiny junk making sure we end our day with sweetness.
We love you more than we can express!!!
Mommy and Mama
JB:
...To be continued
Let me start by saying, I love you both way more than it may appear (having missed writing you newsletters on the occasion(s) of your first and third birthdays, respectively.)
ML- today you are 14 months and one day old:
JB- today you are 37 months and 13 days old:
Today, for most of the day, I felt 2,352 months old. But after spending a few hours with you this evening, you brought me back closer to my actual age (448 some-odd months).
We set our clocks back 2 weeks ago and now at 5pm it is dark, darkie, dark-dark... Like the lining of a wool, dress coat that is wrapped around your face in a basement closet when you are starting to worry that the other kids moved on to another game without yelling, "come out, come out where ever you are"...)
I hate it.
I am not one of these people to complain about the weather and usually, there is nothing i like more than a change of season, but the darkness has hit me hard this year.
I hate picking you up from day care in the dark. I hate waking you up and rushing you out of the house in the (mostly dark) morning so that Mama and I can get to work on time. I hate these two things so much I've started to contemplate what you would miss out on if I quit my job and stayed home to take care of you. Aside from the obvious (food, heat, and new underwear when you grow out of your current size) there is quite a bit at school, I'm not sure I could replicate for you at home all day.
It makes me a little heart sick to imagine you without the groups of boys and girls your age to play with; learning to negotiate and socialize with peer groups. You have the older kids to look up to, and the younger kids to look out for. You have grown dependent on the many layers of structure: the schedule, the group activities, the various play stations; the rooms you are looking forward to moving into and the rooms you lovingly look back on; the assortment of teachers who are caring and loving, but who see you as precious members of precious groups and not the "answer to all of their prayers"... I mean, I could duplicate a curriculum, but I worry about the rest of it.
Together right now, you two (ML and JB) are so perfect: so much work, so demanding, downright exhausting, AND so loving, generous, full of joy, and forgiving all at the same time. You also really compliment one another's personalities and are remarkably tolerant of each other. At least once a day, one of you smooches or climbs on or swats at the other one, and no matter which of you is on the receiving end, there is no swat back, practically no protest... I know there is fighting in your future, but it is hard to believe to see you interact right now.
ML:
You might be the happiest baby I've ever seen. Not surface happy, but an attentive, clever, mischievous version of the happiest baby on the block. You are a beast and there is practically no end to the nicknames your mama and I have for you: We still call you Senor Destruction, but also Hoss, Biff, Chunks, and baby dragon. It's not really your stature (you have definitely slimmed down and dropped from the 95th percentile in height and wt to the 50th percentile.) It is more that you have no fear, but you are full of opinions. You are demanding, but laid back too. If you fall, your frustration is more apparent than your self-pity, fear, or physical discomfort.
You want nothing like you want electronics. You want the phone, you want the remote, you want the phone. You get really pissed off if you see a phone and we don't give it to you- you fall to the floor and cry like someone stomped on your hand. (Well, like another kid might if someone stomped his hand- I think if we stomped your hand, you would not cry the way you cry when we withhold an iphone from you. I think if we did one day stomp on your hand, you would look at us, you would look at your reddened, crushed hand, you would cock your head as if to say, "That seemed somewhat unnecessary," and then you would reach beseechingly for our mobile phone before deciding to cry.)
You are active. You will run right for the stairs, you will run away from us without looking back, you will head just to the place you know we don't want you to go. And some of the time you will look back briefly to send a giggle our way before forging on.
You have big hands and feet and maybe they aren't as big as they are oddly shaped - your pinkies are nearly as long as your pointer, and not only is your second toe longer than your first, but your 3rd is longer than your second. I inspect these hands and feet every night and it still makes me laugh, but because they suit you: strong, goofy, undeniably unique, and somehow not baby-like.
You have been walking for months. You are smart and curious, and climbing - into cabinets and on stools and furniture. You learn really quickly. If we show you how to do something, you try to do it. Even if we don't show you, you usually watch us and then try to do something. You have started climbing into the refrigerator. You follow instructions like, "Go put this book on the shelf." There were about 12 weeks there when you never had less than 3-5 bruises on your forehead. They were all in various stages and colors- something green, something browning, something bright blue. Just as one went away, you nailed a door or chair with your noggin' and earned another one. But that seems to have slowed down..
My favorite part of the day is in the evening around 7pm, when we say to you, "ML, Are you ready for your bath?" Whatever you are doing, you drop it and turn and head up the stairs. You go into the linen closet, you grab a wash cloth that we keep on the low shelf for you to reach, you shut the door, you walk into the bathroom and throw the washcloth into the tub. Then you wiggle until I take your clothes off. Your Mama and I giggle at this charade. Every day.
You say practically nothing, but you have learned lots of signs: more, all done, please, thank you, bath, milk, diaper, brother, drink, eat. You make a lot of noise and can use a Kazoo (for realz), but verbally, there still is only the occasional accidental "Mama". Once I put a bit of brownie in your mouth and the "MMmmmmm" sound was so precisely expressed and so lovingly drawn out, that I'd be lying if I didn't say I felt a little dissed. ["He KNOWS how to say it," I quipped to your mama, "He just doesn't want to say it to us..."]
You sing and shout, but you're indiscriminate in your noise-making. For sure you have "Da" which is your go to word. "Da" is used for everything and when pointing, as if to say, "That...that... what's that". You also have "Daw" (dog), "grrrrrrawww" (the answer to "What does a dragon say?"), and Gee (soft gee not hard G) which is what you call JB. You will look back and forth at your moms to answer the questions "Where's Mama? Where's Mommy?" Showing us that you know we have names, but no matter how many times we beg for you to say, "Ma" or "Mama", you proudly answer with "DA! Dada!!" so. funny.
You make us laugh every day! Usually just by grinning or laughing. You chortle and giggle and belly laugh. If your brother trains his eyes on you and lowers a brow or curls up one of his lips, you belly laugh in anticipatory encouragement. You offer the sweetest, welcoming smiles when we walk into the room. And for all your bluster - pretending you are comfortable walking right away from us in our home- I've seen you stand in a doorway for 10 minutes rather than walk in a place you don't know; only passing through the threshold when you put my forefinger in a vice-like grip.
You cry if the vacuum cleaner is standing silently in the living room, and fall apart (in apparent terror) when we turn it on. You don't mind wrestling with me and JB, but you whimper a little if a tower of cardboard blocks come tumbling down. And yesterday, you shit in the tub... just so it's out there on the internet... I don't want you reading this someday and coming back to me about how perfect you were.
Also, you do this odd thing where you will slap yourself and occasionally bite your hands and arms. It's very exuberant of you, but recently, the thing that you get reprimanded the most for is biting yourself. I know some would say, "Just leave him alone and he'll stop," but left to your own devices, you do draw blood.
Weird, right? I have no idea...
You are about 23 lbs, have 2 bottom teeth and 4 top teeth (and I've already described the fingers and toes). You have the greatest head of curly blond hair. You are very ticklish. All the normal tickle points work, and I can even get a belly laugh by rubbing your cheeks the right way or gently scratching the palms of your hands. You are eating everything now. You get to eat things that we never allowed JB...candy, fried food, chocolate. With him, he just didn't know it existed, but you have a brother who likes treats, and a brother that doesn't mind sharing that much either.
When I look back on these times, I will think of you in the tub- cherub like and soft- splish splashing happily and
We love you more than we can express!!!
Mommy and Mama
JB:
...To be continued
Tuesday, October 05, 2010
When religious conservatives preach that to be gay is to be disordered and not in the image of God...
At least 5 times in the last 2 months, there have been national stories of teenagers committing suicide. They have become national stories because the kids were bullied, targeted, and harassed because they were gay or perceived as gay, and because for the most part, the parents, friends and communities of those children have spoken out after their deaths to say, "We complained about the bullying but no one did anything to stop it."
Not that one should be picked out as worse than the others, but the most recent was a Freshman at Rutgers University who was secretly recorded by his roommate and another classmate having an intimate encounter with anotherman boy. Tyler Clementi was 18 years old when he changed his status on Facebook to read: "Jumping off the George Washington Bridge. Sorry." His body was fished out of the water a few days later.
Justin Aaberg, 15, of Anoka,
Minnasota, hung himself July 9th
Billy Lucas, 15, of Greensburg,
Indiana hung himself in his parents' barn on Sept 9th.
Seth Walsh, 13, from Tehachapi, California, hanged himself from a tree on September 19th and died 8 days later.
Asher Brown, 13, of Cypress, Texas, shot himself in the head on September 23.
It is hard to look at these faces and hear these stories and not get sick with regret and dark with rage that we live in a society that tells (especially boy) gay kids that they are not worthy of love and life. In fact, the message in a lot of anti-gay rhetoric is "you don't exist... God did not create you, you are deciding to be immoral- you can be fixed".
To tell someone they can be fixed is to tell them they are broken.
Ask nearly any adult gay man (many to most of the women too) and they will tell you the harassment they faced, the physical danger they were in growing up in school systems across this country was almost too much to manage. Now even though there is more support for gay equality and more awareness and "tolerance" there is this overt backlash and religious movement to proclaim that civil rights for gay citizens are somehow in opposition to the religious rights of zealots. That gay civil rights somehow means the end of religious freedom.
While the LDS and the RCC are pouring millions of dollars into trying to prevent civil marriage in the US and around the world, they are not only perpetuating thebullshit very-fucking-scientifically-negated notion that being gay is a choice, they are seriously over-reaching by extrapolating out that this (determined by conservative clergy, who very often are closeted and sexually repressed) "lifestyle choice" should not get legal "validation" or protection...
'Cause like, yeah... if I choose to eat shellfish, or get a divorce, or not marry the brother of my dead husband, or eat meat on fridays, or have sex during my period (all lifestyle choices that are frowned on by g-o-d in the bible) then I should expect it's okay for my neighbors to beat me to death when they get too upset about my immorality. Oh, and I should expect there to be a referendum on election day where everyone gets to vote on whether or not I am immoral and have a right to exist in my actual form.
Here is how "religious" people are getting led down a dark ally by their leaders that will some day be appropriately equated with the cross-burnings and terrorist activities of the KKK: A cycle of proselytizing against gay identity requires suicide of gay individuals to 1) continue to demonstrate (in the face of practically eroded evidence) that to be gay means to be mentally and spiritually unstable; and 2) since most religions see suicide as the final sin- there is no way a person that killed her/his self could have been spiritually worthy...
See how that works? Chicken, egg, chicken, egg... got it?
Let me try one more time:
So HERE's the letter that I'm writing to my kids, and the advice that I'm giving to all parents within my reach...
If you enjoyed this rant, you might also enjoy something similar from Dan Savage. If you have never heard of Dan Savage, he is a potty-mouthed gay, sex advice columnist that came up with the greatest idea I have heard in a long time. A YouTube channel called: IT GETS BETTER. This is a way to try to stop kids from killing themselves... a way that any kid with the internet has access to a bunch of videos from LGBTQ adults that can tell them from experience that the best years of your life happen after high school.
The videos are amazing. Here is the video that Dan and his husband started it all with (it is worth 8 minutes of your life- pass it on):
Not that one should be picked out as worse than the others, but the most recent was a Freshman at Rutgers University who was secretly recorded by his roommate and another classmate having an intimate encounter with another
Justin Aaberg, 15, of Anoka,
Minnasota, hung himself July 9thBilly Lucas, 15, of Greensburg,
Indiana hung himself in his parents' barn on Sept 9th.Seth Walsh, 13, from Tehachapi, California, hanged himself from a tree on September 19th and died 8 days later.
Asher Brown, 13, of Cypress, Texas, shot himself in the head on September 23.
It is hard to look at these faces and hear these stories and not get sick with regret and dark with rage that we live in a society that tells (especially boy) gay kids that they are not worthy of love and life. In fact, the message in a lot of anti-gay rhetoric is "you don't exist... God did not create you, you are deciding to be immoral- you can be fixed".To tell someone they can be fixed is to tell them they are broken.
Ask nearly any adult gay man (many to most of the women too) and they will tell you the harassment they faced, the physical danger they were in growing up in school systems across this country was almost too much to manage. Now even though there is more support for gay equality and more awareness and "tolerance" there is this overt backlash and religious movement to proclaim that civil rights for gay citizens are somehow in opposition to the religious rights of zealots. That gay civil rights somehow means the end of religious freedom.
While the LDS and the RCC are pouring millions of dollars into trying to prevent civil marriage in the US and around the world, they are not only perpetuating the
'Cause like, yeah... if I choose to eat shellfish, or get a divorce, or not marry the brother of my dead husband, or eat meat on fridays, or have sex during my period (all lifestyle choices that are frowned on by g-o-d in the bible) then I should expect it's okay for my neighbors to beat me to death when they get too upset about my immorality. Oh, and I should expect there to be a referendum on election day where everyone gets to vote on whether or not I am immoral and have a right to exist in my actual form.
Here is how "religious" people are getting led down a dark ally by their leaders that will some day be appropriately equated with the cross-burnings and terrorist activities of the KKK: A cycle of proselytizing against gay identity requires suicide of gay individuals to 1) continue to demonstrate (in the face of practically eroded evidence) that to be gay means to be mentally and spiritually unstable; and 2) since most religions see suicide as the final sin- there is no way a person that killed her/his self could have been spiritually worthy...
See how that works? Chicken, egg, chicken, egg... got it?
Let me try one more time:
- God hates it/you (as determined by me)
- If God hates it/you, we can't exactly expect others to be okay with it/you
- If those others beat you up or harass you... well, see what I mean about you/it being messed up? millions of God-loving people can't be wrong...
- What you think you are can't be real because God is not okay with you/it
- If you kill yourself, you must have somehow known this to be true
- oh, and also- those people telling you that it's okay to be gay are confusing you and they are also part of the thing God hates and most of the reason you probably killed yourself is because they confused you...
- No one who thinks that "being gay is okay" should teach you, or talk to you, or be alone with you, or be in a position to influence you because 1) God would not want that, 2) Those people are immoral, unstable, and dangerous 3) They are out to recruit you (since you were NOT created gay, the only way into "gay" is through RECRUITMENT!)
- PS- I'm not intolerant, God is...
So HERE's the letter that I'm writing to my kids, and the advice that I'm giving to all parents within my reach...
If you enjoyed this rant, you might also enjoy something similar from Dan Savage. If you have never heard of Dan Savage, he is a potty-mouthed gay, sex advice columnist that came up with the greatest idea I have heard in a long time. A YouTube channel called: IT GETS BETTER. This is a way to try to stop kids from killing themselves... a way that any kid with the internet has access to a bunch of videos from LGBTQ adults that can tell them from experience that the best years of your life happen after high school.
The videos are amazing. Here is the video that Dan and his husband started it all with (it is worth 8 minutes of your life- pass it on):
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
ONE YEAR OLD!!!
ML,
Today is your birthday!
There will be a newsletter later today (or this week) that will talk about how much we love you and how grateful we are for all that you have brought into our life!
But also to tell you how impressed we are by you-
You are strong
You are resilient
You don't mind getting knocked over all that much
You like attention, but don't necessarily DEMAND attention.
You are sweet and full of laughter
You have great hair!
Happy, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Birthday Boy!!!
We love you more than we can express.
Mommy and Mama
Tuesday, April 06, 2010
8.6 Decades
Today's my gram's birthday.
She's the last living parent of my parents, and I'll deny saying it if ever comes up in the afterlife (I don't think they can read blogs from there) but she's the one I needed to live the longest.
My gram can talk smack (and laugh and joke about people) with the best of us, but generally, she gives people the benefit of the doubt and speaks about shortcomings of others from the perspective of "They are probably trying to do their best..."
I've heard stories that as a parent, my gram wasn't as- should we say "ZEN"- as I know her to be... but my relationship with her has always been one where she loves me in a demonstrative yet quiet way. I notice her giving people a lot of breathing room without cynically lowering her expectations of them.
Lately, I've spent a little too much time thinking about how I'm going to handle it if/when she dies. She has a friend that just turned 99 this year, so this doesn't have to be "around the corner," but I'd be foolish not to consider some of the implications of her 86th birthday. I've realized some things that I tried to convey to her tonight when I was driving her home from dinner.
T: Gram, you know I really love you.
G: I love you too.
T: It's not just a 'gram' thing, you are like, one of my best friends. I've learned so much from you, but also, still now- mostly every day- I'm still learning things from you...
This is true. I call her for recipes, to ask her about plant life and growing or buying food. I ask her about varmints and soil and trees and flowers, and where to buy different things that I can't seem to find. I ask her about remedies and her opinion on politics and how to handle relationships. I talk to her about grief and what works to heal hearts... Which reminds me, I've got to call her about this chirping sound...
My gram has a lot of children and grandchildren and she has different relationships with all of us. Not "closer" to some or any hierarchical system of worth; the relationships simply manifest in different ways. She lets all of us be who we are and doesn't compare us to each other in a judgmental or unhelpful way. She doesn't ask us to be who she wants us to be in her presence. At some point, I learned that my cousins talk to her about subjects that I shy away from. Example: sex, sexuality, their sex lives and even my gram's sex life. That revelation was kind of cool for me because i didn't even realize that there are ways that I edit myself out of polite "respectfulness" and there are things they get to know about her just by asking and dipping their toes (and feet and ankles) into topics I might not.
Tonight in the car, my gram talked about ML and how grateful she is that he is okay after his illness. She told me: "Both your boys are beautiful... They are just like miracles." Then she paused and said, "you did pretty good with your (turkey) baster." Sweet laughter.
She knows the story of the year of unsuccessful infertility doctor attempts and the "last-ditch effort" at home before we planned to buy new donor sperm that resulted in JB. Tonight I filled in more details about our friends L & F and how L mocked our nursing credentials after she knocked up her wife at home using nothing but a frozen swim team, her fingers, supplies and info found on the internet (and, i think, a head lamp.) I also told her about katy's other friends from College who after hearing our story and us tell L & F's story, they went home from reunion last May, stopped a years-long cycle of infertility treatments and procedures, and got pregnant the (almost) old fashioned way. My gram laughed at these tales and said, "Good for you!"
There it is.
If someone would have told me that my gram and I would be giggling about how me and my lesbian friends got ourselves knocked up, as I drove her home on her 86th birthday... well, let's just say I would not have believed that person was dealing from a full deck...
But my gram knows what is important and that is people, relationships, laughter, and love.
I am blessed to be of this line.
When I think of this song (below) I think of my gram, her love of flowers and her life as a gardener and how she has raised, protected and 'tended to' all of us:
Thank you, Gram.
Happy Birthday!
She's the last living parent of my parents, and I'll deny saying it if ever comes up in the afterlife (I don't think they can read blogs from there) but she's the one I needed to live the longest.
My gram can talk smack (and laugh and joke about people) with the best of us, but generally, she gives people the benefit of the doubt and speaks about shortcomings of others from the perspective of "They are probably trying to do their best..."
I've heard stories that as a parent, my gram wasn't as- should we say "ZEN"- as I know her to be... but my relationship with her has always been one where she loves me in a demonstrative yet quiet way. I notice her giving people a lot of breathing room without cynically lowering her expectations of them.
Lately, I've spent a little too much time thinking about how I'm going to handle it if/when she dies. She has a friend that just turned 99 this year, so this doesn't have to be "around the corner," but I'd be foolish not to consider some of the implications of her 86th birthday. I've realized some things that I tried to convey to her tonight when I was driving her home from dinner.
T: Gram, you know I really love you.
G: I love you too.
T: It's not just a 'gram' thing, you are like, one of my best friends. I've learned so much from you, but also, still now- mostly every day- I'm still learning things from you...
This is true. I call her for recipes, to ask her about plant life and growing or buying food. I ask her about varmints and soil and trees and flowers, and where to buy different things that I can't seem to find. I ask her about remedies and her opinion on politics and how to handle relationships. I talk to her about grief and what works to heal hearts... Which reminds me, I've got to call her about this chirping sound...
My gram has a lot of children and grandchildren and she has different relationships with all of us. Not "closer" to some or any hierarchical system of worth; the relationships simply manifest in different ways. She lets all of us be who we are and doesn't compare us to each other in a judgmental or unhelpful way. She doesn't ask us to be who she wants us to be in her presence. At some point, I learned that my cousins talk to her about subjects that I shy away from. Example: sex, sexuality, their sex lives and even my gram's sex life. That revelation was kind of cool for me because i didn't even realize that there are ways that I edit myself out of polite "respectfulness" and there are things they get to know about her just by asking and dipping their toes (and feet and ankles) into topics I might not.
Tonight in the car, my gram talked about ML and how grateful she is that he is okay after his illness. She told me: "Both your boys are beautiful... They are just like miracles." Then she paused and said, "you did pretty good with your (turkey) baster." Sweet laughter.
She knows the story of the year of unsuccessful infertility doctor attempts and the "last-ditch effort" at home before we planned to buy new donor sperm that resulted in JB. Tonight I filled in more details about our friends L & F and how L mocked our nursing credentials after she knocked up her wife at home using nothing but a frozen swim team, her fingers, supplies and info found on the internet (and, i think, a head lamp.) I also told her about katy's other friends from College who after hearing our story and us tell L & F's story, they went home from reunion last May, stopped a years-long cycle of infertility treatments and procedures, and got pregnant the (almost) old fashioned way. My gram laughed at these tales and said, "Good for you!"
There it is.
If someone would have told me that my gram and I would be giggling about how me and my lesbian friends got ourselves knocked up, as I drove her home on her 86th birthday... well, let's just say I would not have believed that person was dealing from a full deck...
But my gram knows what is important and that is people, relationships, laughter, and love.
I am blessed to be of this line.
When I think of this song (below) I think of my gram, her love of flowers and her life as a gardener and how she has raised, protected and 'tended to' all of us:
i was born a garden rose
it was the only life i'd known.
i felt the touch of tending hands,
got my rain from a watering can.
From the time I was a seed, I have had everything i need
And I grew up and i grew strong,
Till the day I saw past the garden wall
- Kris Delmhorst, "Garden Rose"
Thank you, Gram.
Happy Birthday!
Friday, March 26, 2010
Birthday Shout out- dos
Now before I go to bed,
to rest my very weary head.
I'll take a sec to show respect
to the speaker of the house that I like best.
Happy birthday, Nancy P!
Hope you know that we all see...
In the 70th year since you were born
Without you there'd be no health care reform.
Happy b-day!
She's my weekend crush too!
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Birthday Shout OUT
Today's my mom's birthday.
3.7 decades ago she was a newly-wed waiting for me to arrive.
She had a whole life before then, but let's focus on the part that includes me, shall we?
My mom worked hard to protect me from danger and to shield me from her fears...
She made sure I learned how to swim so that I could enjoy the ocean without anxiety...
Also, i didn't learn that she is terrified of heights until years after she accompanied us on that crazy pirate-ship amusement ride that we wanted to go on.
My mom worked hard to develop my self esteem and teach me about my worth.
Even though there were times in my life when her hopes and dreams for me felt like heavy "expectations", I never felt like I wasn't enough. Even though my childhood didn't really prepare me for the day I might realize I was gay, I never had a moment of doubt that I deserved every bit of the torrential amount of love that poured down on me.
My mom worked hard to better herself for the financial and emotional stability of our family. She attended night classes for years and never settled for a "B" if an "A" was within her reach.
She (and my dad) taught me that there will always be someone better than me;
and better off than me.
And there will always be someone worse than me;
and worse off than me.
There will always be people smarter than me;
and always be people not as smart as me...
... Insert: Rich, kind, lucky, wise, talented, musical, successful, etc
For me, that was a really helpful way to understand the world.
A slightly different take on the golden rule.
My mom is an overprotective worrier by nature. But she is KICK-Ass in an emergency or if there is a problem to be solved. When I worked in the ICU, she always told me, "I could never do what you do." But I'm not sure why she didn't realize it: That I learned the level-headedness required in that role from watching her: pull together Hopi Indian dioramas the night before they were due, create last minute costumes for a cast of 50, organize impromptu meals on wheels rotations for friends with chronic illnesses, drives to the hospital with grandparents in the middle of the night... When you think about it, applying pressure to a geysering femoral artery, throwing a hemodynamically unstable patient into a trendelenburg position, starting ACLS logarithms while simultaneously getting family members to step outside their loved one's room- these are the ICU nurse version of the same "mom" techniques - it is all about keeping internal panic and external chaos at bay and taking it one step at a time.
I don't know if maybe all moms are good at this,
but my mom is GOOD at this!
When my mom taught me about life I think she tried to be as honest as she had the words to be.
It's not always fair.
It's not always as bad as it seems.
Most things are more complicated than the people on either side of a debate would have you believe. Related to sex and puberty, there were specifics (with accompanying drawings) and conversations that were more esoteric and vague. I don't remember what was said, but I know I was taught to expect passion and desire that no one could rightly describe, for my experience would be unique. I know I was taught that intimacy shouldn't be left only to those new feelings and passions, that you should PLAN to give your brain a say too. It was conveyed to me that sex was better labeled as "un-erasable" than as "good" or "bad": a decision or event that cannot be taken back or un-done. These frank conversations helped guide me into strong, healthy relationships; and to a place of knowing that my mind, heart, and body each had a role in determining my destiny related to loving other people.
The first time I remember being truly heartbroken Mom told me: It will never be the way it was before, but it will turn out better than you can imagine right now. In all of my heartbreaks, she has found a way to tell me or show me a similar message. Without coming off like a know-it-all, she offers a quiet wisdom that is respectful of the pain of the moment while affirming the general value of difficult circumstances, and the benefits offered by the passage of time.
She has watched me grieve - standing close by, resisting the urge "try to make it better".
She has witnessed me wounded- biting her own lip in pain.
She's spent time waiting for me to come out of my various funks.
She has lived in confusion when she didn't know what was going on with me or how to relate to me.
She's has shared her friends with me, and taught me how to cook for and entertain crowds of people.
She's taught me how to worry, AND how to push anxiety back down for utility's sake.
She has always welcomed anyone I brought into her home, often feeding and mending the parts of my friends and companions that were hungry or scared. She has encouraged me to mend rifts and not let pride or selfishness get in the way of relationships.
Because of her, I trust God.
Because of her, I believe in love.
Because of her, I am not afraid to ask for help.
Because of her, I know I am not perfect, but I know I can do better.
Because of her, (let's face it) I enjoy food a little too much;
and always feel a little guilty going to bed early.
I have always had a good deal of gratitude and admiration for my mom, but when I had kids of my own, something shifted. As a Nana, my mom cares for these little ones physically and globally. And she supports their parents with gentle humility. One day a short while ago, she took care of 4 babies on a snow day, made us all dinner, and then still had the energy/patience to call me later that night (I had been complaining a little about a frustrating phase JB was going through) to tell me, "These times are hard, hang in there."
I guess I just never expected to still continue to feel this much love and nurturing beyond the womb.
i love you, mom.
Happy Birthday!
3.7 decades ago she was a newly-wed waiting for me to arrive.
She had a whole life before then, but let's focus on the part that includes me, shall we?
My mom worked hard to protect me from danger and to shield me from her fears...
She made sure I learned how to swim so that I could enjoy the ocean without anxiety...
Also, i didn't learn that she is terrified of heights until years after she accompanied us on that crazy pirate-ship amusement ride that we wanted to go on.
My mom worked hard to develop my self esteem and teach me about my worth.
Even though there were times in my life when her hopes and dreams for me felt like heavy "expectations", I never felt like I wasn't enough. Even though my childhood didn't really prepare me for the day I might realize I was gay, I never had a moment of doubt that I deserved every bit of the torrential amount of love that poured down on me.
My mom worked hard to better herself for the financial and emotional stability of our family. She attended night classes for years and never settled for a "B" if an "A" was within her reach.
She (and my dad) taught me that there will always be someone better than me;
and better off than me.
And there will always be someone worse than me;
and worse off than me.
There will always be people smarter than me;
and always be people not as smart as me...
... Insert: Rich, kind, lucky, wise, talented, musical, successful, etc
For me, that was a really helpful way to understand the world.
A slightly different take on the golden rule.
My mom is an overprotective worrier by nature. But she is KICK-Ass in an emergency or if there is a problem to be solved. When I worked in the ICU, she always told me, "I could never do what you do." But I'm not sure why she didn't realize it: That I learned the level-headedness required in that role from watching her: pull together Hopi Indian dioramas the night before they were due, create last minute costumes for a cast of 50, organize impromptu meals on wheels rotations for friends with chronic illnesses, drives to the hospital with grandparents in the middle of the night... When you think about it, applying pressure to a geysering femoral artery, throwing a hemodynamically unstable patient into a trendelenburg position, starting ACLS logarithms while simultaneously getting family members to step outside their loved one's room- these are the ICU nurse version of the same "mom" techniques - it is all about keeping internal panic and external chaos at bay and taking it one step at a time.
I don't know if maybe all moms are good at this,
but my mom is GOOD at this!
When my mom taught me about life I think she tried to be as honest as she had the words to be.
It's not always fair.
It's not always as bad as it seems.
Most things are more complicated than the people on either side of a debate would have you believe. Related to sex and puberty, there were specifics (with accompanying drawings) and conversations that were more esoteric and vague. I don't remember what was said, but I know I was taught to expect passion and desire that no one could rightly describe, for my experience would be unique. I know I was taught that intimacy shouldn't be left only to those new feelings and passions, that you should PLAN to give your brain a say too. It was conveyed to me that sex was better labeled as "un-erasable" than as "good" or "bad": a decision or event that cannot be taken back or un-done. These frank conversations helped guide me into strong, healthy relationships; and to a place of knowing that my mind, heart, and body each had a role in determining my destiny related to loving other people.
The first time I remember being truly heartbroken Mom told me: It will never be the way it was before, but it will turn out better than you can imagine right now. In all of my heartbreaks, she has found a way to tell me or show me a similar message. Without coming off like a know-it-all, she offers a quiet wisdom that is respectful of the pain of the moment while affirming the general value of difficult circumstances, and the benefits offered by the passage of time.
She has watched me grieve - standing close by, resisting the urge "try to make it better".
She has witnessed me wounded- biting her own lip in pain.
She's spent time waiting for me to come out of my various funks.
She has lived in confusion when she didn't know what was going on with me or how to relate to me.
She's has shared her friends with me, and taught me how to cook for and entertain crowds of people.
She's taught me how to worry, AND how to push anxiety back down for utility's sake.
She has always welcomed anyone I brought into her home, often feeding and mending the parts of my friends and companions that were hungry or scared. She has encouraged me to mend rifts and not let pride or selfishness get in the way of relationships.
Because of her, I trust God.
Because of her, I believe in love.
Because of her, I am not afraid to ask for help.
Because of her, I know I am not perfect, but I know I can do better.
Because of her, (let's face it) I enjoy food a little too much;
and always feel a little guilty going to bed early.
I have always had a good deal of gratitude and admiration for my mom, but when I had kids of my own, something shifted. As a Nana, my mom cares for these little ones physically and globally. And she supports their parents with gentle humility. One day a short while ago, she took care of 4 babies on a snow day, made us all dinner, and then still had the energy/patience to call me later that night (I had been complaining a little about a frustrating phase JB was going through) to tell me, "These times are hard, hang in there."
I guess I just never expected to still continue to feel this much love and nurturing beyond the womb.
i love you, mom.
Happy Birthday!
Saturday, September 19, 2009
5 years ago...
We got married.
Five years ago at about this moment in the morning, the big party was just about ending. Our friends helped us set up an after-party in the crappy hotel that shared a lot with the reception hall, and it was about this time- 4:30 or 4:45 in the morning that I remember kind of "waking up" at the end of the party and finally being alone with Katy. I looked across the room at the queen sized bed. Two of our bridesmaids were fishing bobbi pins out of her "up-do" slowly, methodically, lovingly releasing her long, curly locks as she fell asleep on one of their laps. Thru my drunk-ish, hazy gaze, I sighed. It was one of those moments of beauty you just don't expect. I was consumed by love. My love of this pretty woman. And these other women who stayed with us the entire day. And all the people that celebrated with us (their empty cups dotted the room) It was just the four of us. And it hadn't been that quiet since I woke up the previous morning. And they tucked us in and we slept...
In a crappy motel room suite... but as if in a fairy tale.
September is a busy month:
Sept 13 2000 - our first date. We had known each other for a year, so it wasn't really a clear cut "date". We had planned to go away together for the weekend as friends, and we came back as more. Sept 13th, we shared a kiss and always considered that our "anniversary" until we got married on Sept 18, 2004.
Then JB was born on Sept 28, 2007.
And now ML on Sept 14, 2009.
We will likely never get that many chances to go away to celebrate our anniversary with these kids' birthdays falling 14 days apart on either side (and don't forget cousin Cam's birthday is 14 days after JB's) but I guess that's a small price to pay...
September will always be the month we celebrate.
Celebrate until our heads and wallets and hearts hurt...
Celebrate the anniversary of our family's birth.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
He's here
.jpg)
Video killed the radio star...
And by that I mean, FaceBook has really changed how attentive I am to the blog.
Sorry for those of you that have been on standby...
----------------------------------------------
Our beautiful baby boy was born at 3:27am September 14, 2009.
His name is ML (well of course that's not his name, but his GSO name)
Katy took a long time to dilate, and went on pitocin and by 1:30 am (19 and 1/2 hours after we got to the hospital) was ready to push.
He came out with a gush of blood (sorry about that, honey) and a fat, translucent cord around his neck. He was the gray-blue of old blueberries, and the first Apgar was five. It was several minutes of rubbing and suctioning before he was pink and several more minutes before he made a noise. The 5 minute Apgar was a respectable "9". The plan for me to cut the cord fell by the wayside when I was told to "look away", just missing a smallish geyser of blood as they worked on him before he was completely born.
Katy did amazing. She is a warrior. There was a point when she was pushing (early on) where I had to quell the inner worry wort. "We are screwed," I thought. "I don't' see how anyone does this..." I knew enough to keep it to myself; and after an hour and 10 minutes the unspoken question, "When is it too late to get a c-section?" finally stopped drumming in my mind. At some point, I was like, "Holy shit, she is really going to do this!"
And she did.
ML was 9lbs even, 22" long. He is really amazing and adorable and latched on within an hour. Big brother, JB is unsure and a little more whiny than usual, but seems to be thrilled to get to hold him.
Pics to follow. Now we march down into a few weeks of sleeplessness. I crave the intimacy and the "it's all that really matters" of it all.
So relieved, so excited, so blessed, so in love
.jpg)
(sigh)
Monday, June 29, 2009
Sweaty sunshine and random musings
Dear peeps and GSO'ians out there reading...
Sorry for all the Internet silence.
I miss you too.
The sun came out yesterday and again today. I think I understand why ancient people might have been afraid of the sun. It is so powerful and when you haven't seen it in like 36 days, it can really freak you out! Just kidding. But I don't think the seasonal depression is just going to silently wash away with the first drops of summer sweat or the faint heat of a minor sunburn.
Since I've written last, I had a birthday. No biggie. I'm still in my mid-30s and believe me, I cannot WAIT for the 1st season of Thirtysomthing to come out on DVD in September. I feel like if I can just watch that show NOW (as opposed to when I was addicted to it in my late teens and early 20s) it will unlock some true secrets of personal success and happiness.
This morning my car's odometer read 171717. And at that exact moment in time, the "trip mileage" (which I had just reset at the beginning of my work commute) read... wait for it...
17.7 miles!!! (I.shit.you.not!)
I don't know what this means, but despite how my desk at work looks, I love symmetry and order, and isn't that it's own reward?!? Not to be too pessimistic, but I'm sure that means the car will die soon.
Katy is pregnant.
For those of you that just fell off your chair, you need to read the GSO more often.
For those of you that are like, "yeah, we know that..." What I mean to imply with uncapturable inflection, is...
No.
For realz.
She. Really. Pregnant now...
She is waddling, belly out-to-here, swollen, all "don't-you-dare-touch-me-and think-that-type of-RELATIONS-is going-down-after the-word-cankle-came-out-your-mouth"...
She is adorable
and...
uncomfortable.
And I just try to walk the yellow line; expressing love and support, but not too much love or too much support, if you know what I mean; cause I don't want to be any more annoying than I have to be. With all my breathing and sleeping (right there in the bed and not even getting a leg cramp) and with my flip flops still fitting me and all... I mean she's got a point, that must get annoying!
IBO and husband and the baby (LABO) are doing really well. It is a relief and I will fully exhale in about 2.5 weeks when he is 36 weeks gestation. As an extra slap in the ass for them, A tornado touched down in their neighborhood and left a trail of destruction. Fortunately, (they are eternal optimists) they just went and slept at the hospital with their baby- since there was no power at their house.
I'm working on a newsletter. For those of you that are counting the missed months, Katy and I agree that JB is old enough for this to become a "quarterly" newsletter and not a "monthly" newsletter. So really, I have not even missed a deadline! He's done some super adorable things in these last few months, so stay tuned!!!
BONUS BELLY SHOT:
"My Morning view" 29 WEEKS:
Sorry for all the Internet silence.
I miss you too.
The sun came out yesterday and again today. I think I understand why ancient people might have been afraid of the sun. It is so powerful and when you haven't seen it in like 36 days, it can really freak you out! Just kidding. But I don't think the seasonal depression is just going to silently wash away with the first drops of summer sweat or the faint heat of a minor sunburn.
Since I've written last, I had a birthday. No biggie. I'm still in my mid-30s and believe me, I cannot WAIT for the 1st season of Thirtysomthing to come out on DVD in September. I feel like if I can just watch that show NOW (as opposed to when I was addicted to it in my late teens and early 20s) it will unlock some true secrets of personal success and happiness.
This morning my car's odometer read 171717. And at that exact moment in time, the "trip mileage" (which I had just reset at the beginning of my work commute) read... wait for it...
17.7 miles!!! (I.shit.you.not!)
I don't know what this means, but despite how my desk at work looks, I love symmetry and order, and isn't that it's own reward?!? Not to be too pessimistic, but I'm sure that means the car will die soon.
Katy is pregnant.
For those of you that just fell off your chair, you need to read the GSO more often.
For those of you that are like, "yeah, we know that..." What I mean to imply with uncapturable inflection, is...
No.
For realz.
She. Really. Pregnant now...
She is waddling, belly out-to-here, swollen, all "don't-you-dare-touch-me-and think-that-type of-RELATIONS-is going-down-after the-word-cankle-came-out-your-mouth"...
She is adorable
and...
uncomfortable.
And I just try to walk the yellow line; expressing love and support, but not too much love or too much support, if you know what I mean; cause I don't want to be any more annoying than I have to be. With all my breathing and sleeping (right there in the bed and not even getting a leg cramp) and with my flip flops still fitting me and all... I mean she's got a point, that must get annoying!
IBO and husband and the baby (LABO) are doing really well. It is a relief and I will fully exhale in about 2.5 weeks when he is 36 weeks gestation. As an extra slap in the ass for them, A tornado touched down in their neighborhood and left a trail of destruction. Fortunately, (they are eternal optimists) they just went and slept at the hospital with their baby- since there was no power at their house.
I'm working on a newsletter. For those of you that are counting the missed months, Katy and I agree that JB is old enough for this to become a "quarterly" newsletter and not a "monthly" newsletter. So really, I have not even missed a deadline! He's done some super adorable things in these last few months, so stay tuned!!!
BONUS BELLY SHOT:
"My Morning view" 29 WEEKS:
Sunday, December 07, 2008
Simply the best
My birthday present last June was tickets to last night's Tina Turner concert.
Katy took me out to eat (accompanied by Connecticut's most popular and widely-read music critic and his lady-friend... She's gonna love that that's her title.) We had a wonderful meal. We opted out of stealing the bread bucket that we liked from the restaurant and then we hit the XL (Don't ask me who owns the civic center now) for some ass-kickin' music.
I love Tina Turner. She rocks the world and she is the real reason I want to get to know Oprah better. B/c I think Oprah can put me in touch with Tina. The concert did not disappoint. There were some noticeable breaks and a 30 minute intermission where we envisioned the 69 year old icon hooked up to a little oxygen and perhaps IV hydration with some PT massaging her limbs backstage. Katy and I both woke up sore from the clapping, screaming, and dancing around we did in our seats (they were GREAT seats btw) so we can only imagine how fit this lady is to put forth the show she did.
As we were listening, cheering, smiling, enjoying the diversity in the audience, laughing that some of our peeps coincidentally had tickets only a few rows away in the same section, it was a celebration of the most pure variety. At some point, katy turned to me, grabbed my hand and said with a squeeze, "I have a great life." I agreed: "me too."
This past week has been a little of a time warp for me. The work week flew by, but my life outside of work seemed to be infinitely full of not-so-mundane events. My mind is never really away from our friend Adam who is hospitalized in a wreck of a (reversible but) devastating and terrifying diagnosis. Our friend IBO who is maybe pregnant again but nervous about what happened last time and in a good amount of physical discomfort. Our friends in Brooklyn who are waiting for their twins to gestate fully and will now be waiting on "bed rest" for the next 8 to 10 or 12 weeks or so. My friend LCD who's been trying to coordinate emergency care for her father in law. Then there's KK, whose mom started her first round of chemo... should I go on?
At 32 Our Street, JB this week has seemed to blossom yet again, somehow increasing his sweetness, his understanding of things, and his ability to interact with the world. He is a joy. He has an ever growing sense of humor. He is getting physically stronger and more coordinated.
I think there is an older version of me that would have perseverated on some of the difficult things our friends are going through right now as compared to our life right now, and tended toward the, "some bullshit is bound to ruin everything" state of numbness: Fear of the other shoe dropping, a dash of guilt, and a general discomfort about living in such a degree of contented happiness. I feel encased in and embalmed with gratitude and a kind of warm empathy. I do not feel outside of the difficult times that my friends are going through. Though we are not in their shoes, we feel sad and worried and stressed a little with them. But our friends are also the type that weave their blessings and gratitude into their woes. And I am somehow with them, sending positive energy without "steeling myself" or making it about my anxieties and powerlessness.
Katy and I and our friends are statistically (literally) some of the luckiest people to ever crawl the earth. Considering the nation, the wealth, the opportunities, education, and experiences that we have been exposed to, from a broad view it is hard to imagine what there is to not be blissed out about... But at the same time, we (and our friends) are no strangers to tragedy either.
Last night, beaming, I looked around the arena and realized that the last time I saw Jennifer P was in that room. Her husband, kind of lost to us now, is facing another Christmas without her or their kids. I stayed there with her, but pushed us both out of that "last time" and back into the joy and the driving pulse of a Tina Turner concert. It was not as much to deny sorrow as to bring her memory into a place that is about life and not about death. That is about Joy and not about grief. That is about living in the peace of a moment not the anxiety of the past or the future.
There was a lot of talk this fall about Hope. In my opinion, the word got knocked around a little, and walked away with yellowing bully-bruises and the caked on mud of mockery. I can't help but feel, though, that a climate of hope is what gets people through not only difficult times but happy, peaceful times too. Hope as a premise works in any season. The promise that things will change means that luck will run out, but luck will blossom again too. Time might appear as your enemy and then will rescue you out of the deepest hole; a gift for healing or rest or adventure. The musculature of hope is love and friendship that will hold you up when you can't stand (or feel your legs.) Hope exists in the web of community that is built not only when you offer to help but more substantially when you find yourself brave enough to ask for it.
Tina Turner is an icon not exclusively for her talents or powerful vocal presence, but her lasting power. Also, the humanity and personal frailty that she chose to share with the world and her fans... Her guts. Everyone's got at least a little of that inside of them, and sometimes you need some appropriate music to help drive it out.
Thanks for the wonderful night, baby. ily.
Katy took me out to eat (accompanied by Connecticut's most popular and widely-read music critic and his lady-friend... She's gonna love that that's her title.) We had a wonderful meal. We opted out of stealing the bread bucket that we liked from the restaurant and then we hit the XL (Don't ask me who owns the civic center now) for some ass-kickin' music.
I love Tina Turner. She rocks the world and she is the real reason I want to get to know Oprah better. B/c I think Oprah can put me in touch with Tina. The concert did not disappoint. There were some noticeable breaks and a 30 minute intermission where we envisioned the 69 year old icon hooked up to a little oxygen and perhaps IV hydration with some PT massaging her limbs backstage. Katy and I both woke up sore from the clapping, screaming, and dancing around we did in our seats (they were GREAT seats btw) so we can only imagine how fit this lady is to put forth the show she did.
As we were listening, cheering, smiling, enjoying the diversity in the audience, laughing that some of our peeps coincidentally had tickets only a few rows away in the same section, it was a celebration of the most pure variety. At some point, katy turned to me, grabbed my hand and said with a squeeze, "I have a great life." I agreed: "me too."
This past week has been a little of a time warp for me. The work week flew by, but my life outside of work seemed to be infinitely full of not-so-mundane events. My mind is never really away from our friend Adam who is hospitalized in a wreck of a (reversible but) devastating and terrifying diagnosis. Our friend IBO who is maybe pregnant again but nervous about what happened last time and in a good amount of physical discomfort. Our friends in Brooklyn who are waiting for their twins to gestate fully and will now be waiting on "bed rest" for the next 8 to 10 or 12 weeks or so. My friend LCD who's been trying to coordinate emergency care for her father in law. Then there's KK, whose mom started her first round of chemo... should I go on?
At 32 Our Street, JB this week has seemed to blossom yet again, somehow increasing his sweetness, his understanding of things, and his ability to interact with the world. He is a joy. He has an ever growing sense of humor. He is getting physically stronger and more coordinated.
I think there is an older version of me that would have perseverated on some of the difficult things our friends are going through right now as compared to our life right now, and tended toward the, "some bullshit is bound to ruin everything" state of numbness: Fear of the other shoe dropping, a dash of guilt, and a general discomfort about living in such a degree of contented happiness. I feel encased in and embalmed with gratitude and a kind of warm empathy. I do not feel outside of the difficult times that my friends are going through. Though we are not in their shoes, we feel sad and worried and stressed a little with them. But our friends are also the type that weave their blessings and gratitude into their woes. And I am somehow with them, sending positive energy without "steeling myself" or making it about my anxieties and powerlessness.
Katy and I and our friends are statistically (literally) some of the luckiest people to ever crawl the earth. Considering the nation, the wealth, the opportunities, education, and experiences that we have been exposed to, from a broad view it is hard to imagine what there is to not be blissed out about... But at the same time, we (and our friends) are no strangers to tragedy either.
Last night, beaming, I looked around the arena and realized that the last time I saw Jennifer P was in that room. Her husband, kind of lost to us now, is facing another Christmas without her or their kids. I stayed there with her, but pushed us both out of that "last time" and back into the joy and the driving pulse of a Tina Turner concert. It was not as much to deny sorrow as to bring her memory into a place that is about life and not about death. That is about Joy and not about grief. That is about living in the peace of a moment not the anxiety of the past or the future.
There was a lot of talk this fall about Hope. In my opinion, the word got knocked around a little, and walked away with yellowing bully-bruises and the caked on mud of mockery. I can't help but feel, though, that a climate of hope is what gets people through not only difficult times but happy, peaceful times too. Hope as a premise works in any season. The promise that things will change means that luck will run out, but luck will blossom again too. Time might appear as your enemy and then will rescue you out of the deepest hole; a gift for healing or rest or adventure. The musculature of hope is love and friendship that will hold you up when you can't stand (or feel your legs.) Hope exists in the web of community that is built not only when you offer to help but more substantially when you find yourself brave enough to ask for it.
Tina Turner is an icon not exclusively for her talents or powerful vocal presence, but her lasting power. Also, the humanity and personal frailty that she chose to share with the world and her fans... Her guts. Everyone's got at least a little of that inside of them, and sometimes you need some appropriate music to help drive it out.
Thanks for the wonderful night, baby. ily.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Newsletter: month 13
Dear JB,
Today you are 13 months old.
This month has gone by so fast. It seems like we just completed a newsletter 3 days ago. I'm glad the newsletter is due today because if it was due yesterday, oh boy... yesterday you were a real piece of work...
Yesterday you showed an impressive capacity for stubbornness. You had a lot of opinions and could communicate none of them effectively. All three meals were accompanied by tears; real, "drawing tiny rivers on your face" tears. There was pointing and shouting and gesticulating and no rhyme or reason to your behavior. To be fair, you are on day 7 of another 10 day course of antibiotics - Maybe you are just cranky and tired or uncomfortable... There's no way for us to know what discomfort (if any) you are experiencing. There's a chance we've been medicating you unnecessarily, but we gave you a dose of motrin last night and then again this morning. You don't have a fever, but between your teeth and your ear(s), there's no way of knowing if it is pain that has contributed to the disappearance of "Mr Mellow" and the visitation by the "Tiny dictator".
Your mama tells me to chill out and let you have a bad day every once in a while without worrying that you're "turning" like a glass of milk on the front porch in the hot summer sun. Even though you ran her around the ring yesterday too (she said you pointed at the fridge, shouting angrily as she pulled out several types of food, until she found the one you were after) she's right to defend you.
For most of this month you have been perfect and adorable. When we had a house-full of friends come to visit a few weeks ago, the childless-but-trying-couples present declared, "We'd like to order one like him, please." Tonight was a great example of "adorable JB". I came home from work at about 6, and you and I played - I think you belly-laughed and giggled for an hour straight. You especially like when I nuzzle your head or belly with my head, when I "nibble" on your cheeks and jaw, when I put the juggling ball into my mouth and pass it into your mouth. You like to explore the drawers around the house, pull the books out of the shelves, touch and push any buttons on any electronic devices, throw and roll balls to us, and you are getting very good at walking while holding on to only ONE of our fingers.
It seems like you will walk at any moment, but we've only gotten about 2-3 steps out of you at a clip. You are 21.5lbs and something like 31 inches. You are in the 75th percentile on the growth chart for height and 30th percentile for weight. You handled your one year visit like a champ. They had to give you 4 shots which seemed to really hurt you, but prior to the immunizations, they checked a lead level via finger-stick. I swear, you didn't even make a noise. You just looked at this lady who was squeezing the blood out of your recently lanced finger with a furrowed brow and an expression that seemed to say, "Are you qualified to do this?" When we hit the pedi practice last week, you didn't really appreciate at all that they had to inspect your aching ears and Mama said you whimpered all the way home, lulling yourself into a two hour, unscheduled nap.
I'm gonna wrap this up and keep it brief this month, because God knows if I don't, the next newsletter will be upon us. You turned one year old, and then I blinked my eyes and now you are 13 months. These four weeks might have been a mirage. Time passing this quickly is inconceivable. But somehow four weeks have passed, and in the breakneck pace of a full schedule, our hearts have gotten a little more full because (there's no other truth) of the ways you keep us grounded, in awe, and smiling.
We are anxiously waiting for the election next week. The polls have Senator Obama winning in an un-heard-of-in-the-modern-day landslide. We hope with fingers crossed and not-so-silent mumbles to the Lord above that this will really be the result. We have been dreaming that other citizens would be as affected, inspired, and motivated by this man as we are. Nothing would make us feel safer or more proud than for your next four years- the years you learn to walk and talk and reason and dream- to occur in the atmosphere of a President named Barack Obama.
As new parents, fully immersed in change, overwhelmed by the possibilities of what might be, and concerned about the opportunities that await you, it is appropriate to hope for this - for this man to assume his place in history. We have insecurities - yes, but mostly we have dreams for our future, for the future you will grow up in and inherit. These include living in a nation that comes through on the promise that any child-citizen can grow up to be the president, regardless of race or background. We also seek a president that shares our values, that wants to unite this nation and not divide it; who sees intellect and education as inherent building blocks of success; who will put you and all children first and remind parents to do the same; who protects our stakes in the world, but doesn't stain our country's well-earned reputation as a proponent of good will and an honorable, trustworthy nation. Contrary to the policies that have recently guided our leaders, your mommies believe that pacifism, environmentalism, health care as a right, economic safety nets, and a healthy dose of government accountability are moral and patriotic... It has been almost 3 generations since a US president has reminded citizens that they should be charged not with getting rich, not with achieving the 'American dream' at the expense of others, not with asking 'What can you (or the US) do for me?' But instead asking, 'What can we do together for each other?'
So, keep your chubby, sock-less legs crossed...
Maybe next week we'll have something new to celebrate.
We love you little boy,
Your mommies
Today you are 13 months old.
This month has gone by so fast. It seems like we just completed a newsletter 3 days ago. I'm glad the newsletter is due today because if it was due yesterday, oh boy... yesterday you were a real piece of work...
Yesterday you showed an impressive capacity for stubbornness. You had a lot of opinions and could communicate none of them effectively. All three meals were accompanied by tears; real, "drawing tiny rivers on your face" tears. There was pointing and shouting and gesticulating and no rhyme or reason to your behavior. To be fair, you are on day 7 of another 10 day course of antibiotics - Maybe you are just cranky and tired or uncomfortable... There's no way for us to know what discomfort (if any) you are experiencing. There's a chance we've been medicating you unnecessarily, but we gave you a dose of motrin last night and then again this morning. You don't have a fever, but between your teeth and your ear(s), there's no way of knowing if it is pain that has contributed to the disappearance of "Mr Mellow" and the visitation by the "Tiny dictator".
Your mama tells me to chill out and let you have a bad day every once in a while without worrying that you're "turning" like a glass of milk on the front porch in the hot summer sun. Even though you ran her around the ring yesterday too (she said you pointed at the fridge, shouting angrily as she pulled out several types of food, until she found the one you were after) she's right to defend you.
For most of this month you have been perfect and adorable. When we had a house-full of friends come to visit a few weeks ago, the childless-but-trying-couples present declared, "We'd like to order one like him, please." Tonight was a great example of "adorable JB". I came home from work at about 6, and you and I played - I think you belly-laughed and giggled for an hour straight. You especially like when I nuzzle your head or belly with my head, when I "nibble" on your cheeks and jaw, when I put the juggling ball into my mouth and pass it into your mouth. You like to explore the drawers around the house, pull the books out of the shelves, touch and push any buttons on any electronic devices, throw and roll balls to us, and you are getting very good at walking while holding on to only ONE of our fingers.
It seems like you will walk at any moment, but we've only gotten about 2-3 steps out of you at a clip. You are 21.5lbs and something like 31 inches. You are in the 75th percentile on the growth chart for height and 30th percentile for weight. You handled your one year visit like a champ. They had to give you 4 shots which seemed to really hurt you, but prior to the immunizations, they checked a lead level via finger-stick. I swear, you didn't even make a noise. You just looked at this lady who was squeezing the blood out of your recently lanced finger with a furrowed brow and an expression that seemed to say, "Are you qualified to do this?" When we hit the pedi practice last week, you didn't really appreciate at all that they had to inspect your aching ears and Mama said you whimpered all the way home, lulling yourself into a two hour, unscheduled nap.
I'm gonna wrap this up and keep it brief this month, because God knows if I don't, the next newsletter will be upon us. You turned one year old, and then I blinked my eyes and now you are 13 months. These four weeks might have been a mirage. Time passing this quickly is inconceivable. But somehow four weeks have passed, and in the breakneck pace of a full schedule, our hearts have gotten a little more full because (there's no other truth) of the ways you keep us grounded, in awe, and smiling.
We are anxiously waiting for the election next week. The polls have Senator Obama winning in an un-heard-of-in-the-modern-day landslide. We hope with fingers crossed and not-so-silent mumbles to the Lord above that this will really be the result. We have been dreaming that other citizens would be as affected, inspired, and motivated by this man as we are. Nothing would make us feel safer or more proud than for your next four years- the years you learn to walk and talk and reason and dream- to occur in the atmosphere of a President named Barack Obama.
As new parents, fully immersed in change, overwhelmed by the possibilities of what might be, and concerned about the opportunities that await you, it is appropriate to hope for this - for this man to assume his place in history. We have insecurities - yes, but mostly we have dreams for our future, for the future you will grow up in and inherit. These include living in a nation that comes through on the promise that any child-citizen can grow up to be the president, regardless of race or background. We also seek a president that shares our values, that wants to unite this nation and not divide it; who sees intellect and education as inherent building blocks of success; who will put you and all children first and remind parents to do the same; who protects our stakes in the world, but doesn't stain our country's well-earned reputation as a proponent of good will and an honorable, trustworthy nation. Contrary to the policies that have recently guided our leaders, your mommies believe that pacifism, environmentalism, health care as a right, economic safety nets, and a healthy dose of government accountability are moral and patriotic... It has been almost 3 generations since a US president has reminded citizens that they should be charged not with getting rich, not with achieving the 'American dream' at the expense of others, not with asking 'What can you (or the US) do for me?' But instead asking, 'What can we do together for each other?'
So, keep your chubby, sock-less legs crossed...
Maybe next week we'll have something new to celebrate.
We love you little boy,
Your mommies
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)