December 21, 2009

The holiday season is well underway (I missed Hanukkah completely!) and another year is coming to a close. It's been a busy one filled with joys and frustrations, milestones met and challenges overcome, and plenty of mundane moments to balance the highs and lows. It is always a struggle to condense 365 days into a couple of pages, and this year the process isn't coming easily. So I am hoping a picture really is worth 1,000 words. If that is the case I'll never have to speak or write again, as the family tendency to document everything in photos would translate into millions of words. Here are a few of the stories of this waning year...

We celebrated many family highlights this year, including Alice and Dave's engagement and Alice's installation of her BFA thesis show at California College of Art. Evan joined his first t-ball team; Lydia discovered a talent for working behind the scenes in her school play. Andrew's chickens and garden are thriving, and he bought a sit-on-top kayak which he's taken out on local lakes and looks forward to launching in the Bay and, eventually, the ocean. I continue to be an active volunteer at the kids' school, and appreciate that they are on the same campus and have the same schedule this year. That will change when Lydia moves on to junior high next year.

We also weathered another of Uncle Chris's (Tullar, not Dadd) life-threatening adventures. In March, after moving back to Montana, he set off and survived an avalanche. We are grateful for the tree that stopped his wild ride (even though it broke his left femur) and the one other crazy soul who was up on the mountain that day (who got him out of the tree and called in the rescue helicopter). Chris must have several extra guardian angels on his personal squad. He was back on his feet in characteristic record time, and joined our family retreat to Bodega Bay in June...

It was a true “family cuddle” (as my grandmother called such gatherings) when nine of us headed up to the Sonoma Coast: Tara, Andrew, Lydia, Evan, Alice, Dave, Ava, Gigi, and Chris (Tullar) enjoyed a week of sun, sand, surf, and seafood in a beautiful house above Doran Beach.

The rest of the summer passed in a whirlwind of swim lessons, trips to the roller rink and water park, play dates and barbecues with family and friends, and even a trip to Bear Valley for Andrew and the kids. September returned us to the routine of school where Evan is now in first grade, Lydia is in sixth, and I am in my second term as PTA President. I was a bit too enthusiastic in the first months of the school year, and intend to scale back starting in January. I do enjoy the ways I contribute at school, especially the time I spend in the classrooms.

Gigi came again in November, just in time for Thanksgiving which we hosted at our house. It was a big group! Aunt Karen, Uncle Chris (Dadd), cousins Jonathan and Jacob, Auntie Alice, Uncle Dave, and Gigi were all here for a huge turkey and too much other food to list. Alice's photography show opened the following week, and the week after that was Lydia's 11^th birthday. No wonder it took me until now to get started on this letter...

This year has filled me with an appreciation of family, which I believe is created by birth, by choice, and by serendipity. Family is one of nature's masterpieces, and we wish you joy in yours during this season and throughout the coming year.

Do undocumented milestones mean I'm a bad mom?

Just putting the words together makes the question look ridiculous. Yet it has been lurking in the back of my mind since the first day of school ~ to which I did actually remember to bring my camera, and yet I only managed to take two pictures of Evan at his new, first-grade desk and a few more at recess (I was still at school at 10:00, after finishing up First-Day Orientation and then cleaning up and putting things away). I don't have a single photo of Lydia, or of the two of them together. Still, I'm trying to tell myself it is better than last year, when I forgot completely to even bring my camera to the FIRST DAY OF KINDERGARTEN. I know. Who forgets the camera on the first day of Kindergarten? Me. I do. I felt so bad last year... and I took pictures on the second day! But it's not the same.

Back to the present. A week into the school year I am still experiencing two reactions: my common-sensical side says, enthusiastically, “You were there! You saw your kids head off to their new classrooms on a gorgeous September morning. They had yummy, nutritious lunches and looked super-cool in their new school clothes. You hugged and kissed them both, told them you loved them, and wished each of them a great first day. And you were there to collect them at the end of that first day (just 5 hours later ~ minimum day), with more hugs and kisses and open ears for all the stories of the start of a new school year. That is what was important, not the fact that there isn't a photographic record.” But just as I start to relax, my “I'm never doing enough” voice whispers, wickedly, “How could you not have taken two seconds to get a photo of your two children with their smiling, clean, sunscreened faces as you left the house, right on schedule, with a little time to spare, even? How hard would it have been to stop for a minute in front of the school marquee, or the Warwick Wizard Spirit banner, for one quick shot? That was a big day, and you had your camera right in your bag! What an ass you are!”

Bottom line, I cannot turn back the clock and re-do last Wednesday. That ship has sailed. And I do know, even as I beat myself up for missed moments like these, that it doesn't make me a bad mom to have not taken more photos. I realize that the root of this angst is that I am disappointed that I haven't established some sort of “first day of school” tradition. After all, this is Lydia's sixth grade year! I've had plenty of first days by now. I certainly started off well when she entered Kindergarten ~ that momentous day is well documented, even the trip we took to Cold Stone Creamery for ice cream after school. And this is the one year that both kids will attend the same school and follow the same schedule. So I'm making a two-part promise to myself: one is to keep my camera with me and remember to take it out of my bag, and the second is to try to get over it (and myself) when I forget. Which I know I will. Acceptance of my own mistakes has always been a challenge. I'm sure there's a big old significant message in that statement...

Well, I must be off to collect the kids. At the same time, from the same place. I'm going to enjoy this while it lasts.


Happy start of the school year to all you students and parents and teachers out there!

~Tara

"The family is one of nature's masterpieces"

That's a quote from George Santayana, a Spanish-born philosopher who lived and wrote in the US during the late 1800's and early 1900's. I didn't know who he was until I looked him up online (I love the internet), though when I went to his Wikipedia page I immediately recognized a few of his other aphorisms ("Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it" was one).

Recently I've been looking up quotations on particular themes. The last time I remember doing this was before my wedding in 1995. It is so much easier now, thanks to the internet! It can also suck me down the rabbit hole... more than once I've looked up from my computer and realized I'm spending waaaay too much time seeking out someone else's words to perfectly capture something I hope to communicate.

I am constantly reminded of the power of words. It reminds me so much of my dad to think about language and expression, both verbal and written. I think as much as I wish for world peace, I wish for the world to acknowledge the gift and power of words. In fact, I doubt the former will ever be possible without the latter. One quote I'd love to erase from all recognition (and from all schoolyards) is "sticks and stones can break my bones but words can never hurt me." Bull. Words can cripple. It's interesting to me that I can't find a source for this particular bit of "wisdom." Not even on the internet!

I wish I knew (or could find!) a similarly catchy phrase to convey the opposite, more positive concept: words given kindly and at the right time can heal many wounds. Words can't erase pain or undo damage, but they can ease and soften things gone wrong.

I'm sure this seems especially resonant to me since I'm coming to the end of summer vacation. I've spent many weeks in the almost constant company of my two children, with all the associated ups and downs of siblings in proximity and inconsistent schedules. I've heard the full spectrum of their interactions, from the heartwarming to the infuriating. I am pleased that they are mostly kind to each other, and even when fighting they rarely call each other names or attack each other verbally. But they do get on each other's nerves, and I've realized the bigger trangression in my eyes than physically striking out is using words meant to hurt.

And while I know I maintain a level of control (on both the verbal and the physical) in our home and within our family, I also recognize we're in the countdown to back-to-school. The playground is a whole new territory for Evan, which he'll share 3 times each day with hundreds of other first through third graders. Lydia will be in the sixth grade this year, and I wonder how she will inhabit the role of "big kid on campus." I hope my children will continue to be thoughtful of each other and all others. I hope they will think before reacting to whatever frustrations they encounter. I hope Andrew and I have done right by them and given them the foundations they need to be good citizens.

Well, I've gotten far off topic from my Santayana quote. It's a quiet August weekend and Andrew and the kids are away. I'm home alone (deja vu from last August). Yet this whole rambling flight of words all makes perfect sense to me and the paths my thoughts are travelling. I see so much responsibility in the role of family. I know things cannot get measurably better in the "outside world" if we aren't working on the things in our inner worlds.

I'll close with these words of (somebody else's) wisdom: "Children will not remember you for the material things you provided but for the feeling that you cherished them." ~Richard L. Evans

Happy almost end of summer to all...

Ahhh... Summer.

I must say I've been enjoying our summer weather this year. It has been really great... I'm almost afraid to write that for fear of upsetting the cosmic balance (like when Andrew remarks how well traffic is moving on 880 and suddenly it seizes up completely), but it has to be acknowledged. Almost every day has been sunny and warm, but not too hot. I've actually been cool enough some days to wear long sleeves mid-day! There was a pretty good heat wave in the end of June, which we managed to enjoy because we were in Bodega Bay: while it was 90-plus around the Bay it was more like 75 on the Sonoma coast. We also had a few sprinkles of rain earlier this month (unheard of in July in our area), and we had a few hot days the week Lydia was in Girl Scout camp. But overall it really has been wonderful, particularly when compared with the weather I experienced in July last year, when the kids and I were travelling throughout MA, CT, NY and NH. Humidity. Rain. Thunderstorms. Oppressive heat. Anyone who has spent more than three days in the northeast in July will know what I mean, because while there certainly can be beautiful summer weather there, it rarely lasts more than a day or two before the humidity rolls in again. Seventeen years in the northern CA climate have spoiled me.

But I'd brave that weather again if I could, because it was such a special trip. We went so many places and managed to arrange a remarkable number of visits and reunions with so many people... I find myself missing all that a year later. The way my memory modifies events is funny: we walked miles through sunny, muggy Boston and I remember the kids' hot red cheeks and tired faces, and I know they complained about walking so far, but when I look back I am more likely to recall how much they loved the gelato we got in the North End and ate soooo sloooowly as we walked across the Charlestown Bridge on our way to see the USS Constitution. I remember returning to our hotel all sweaty and jet-lagged, and feeling surprisingly revived to see my friend Paul had beaten us there and was ready to join us for dinner. We ate mediocre Mexican food (again, CA has spoiled me) but the company and conversation more than made up for any culinary shortcomings.

After Boston we headed down to CT, where we stayed with my uncle John in his beautiful house in Short Beach (outside New Haven). It was muggy there too, but that is not what comes to mind when I look back: I remember how much we love the little playground down the street from the house, and the day we spent exploring Mystic Seaport, and walking to "Uncle John's beaches" every day. Evan used his Spiderman umbrella for the first time there, and we ate every meal on John's perfect front porch.
We then spent two days on Long Island, reconnecting with my college friend Sheila and her family. I had the best night's sleep of the entire trip in her home, and Lydia and Evan were in heaven playing with Olivia and Harrison (Sheila's children). The hours flew by in their gorgeous back yard (one word: trampoline), and even Evan had fun poking though the shops in Northport. We enjoyed the loooong train trip to upstate NY, where we were collected by Evan's dear friend Patrick (and his mother, my dear friend Kate). Patrick's family left Fremont in 2006 and shortly thereafter doubled in size when his two brothers and sister were born in April, 2007. This was our first meeting with the triplets and it was a boisterous visit, yet in many ways it seemed as though we'd hardly been apart. It was indeed a reunion, but it felt completely seamless to merge our families again. This was the point at which Andrew's absence was especially hard. We were more than halfway through our trip, and we missed him a lot.

From New York we headed to New Hampshire for a full week with Gigi! Lydia attended an art camp and Evan accompanied Gigi to her fitness classes. I should have done more of that, but I took advantage of my first opportunities to be alone! I also got to visit a bit with my brother, who was giving New England one more try. As I've noted in other posts, he has since confirmed that his true home will always be where the mountains are much bigger. While in NH we wound our way to Cornish, to see another high school friend. Chet Newbold and his wife and sons were great company, and an afternoon in Chet's parents' pool was delightful. As we were preparing to leave Evan discovered the tiny toads that live under their porch, and it took some major persuasion to get him home that night!

All too soon we were down to our last few days, which we'd decided to spend in Gloucester, MA. We got there just in time to have lunch at the Bass Rocks Beach Club, courtesy of another high school friend. Larry Oaks introduced me to Good Harbor Beach back in 1987, and so it made perfect sense to meet up with him and his wife and sons there ~ another highlight. The kids played on the beach and then in the pool while the adults chatted and laughed (and ate!), and when my two finally crawled into their beds at the Good Harbor Beach Inn they slept like logs. The weather turned absolutely gorgeous and we had a picture-postcard north shore beach weekend, a story-book end to our time on the east coast.

We flew home on July 31, one year ago today. It is hard to believe a full year has passed, and I would so love to see all those friends again! At the same time so much has happened and the kids have grown so much. I'll have to be more conscientious about posting, since there always seems to be so much to share...

Happy summer wishes to all! I hope to enjoy these last few weeks before school starts up again...

There's no place like home

We returned yesterday from a week on the beach in Bodega Bay. As anyone familiar with northern CA weather knows, June on the coast can actually be quite foggy and dreary, but we had gorgeous weather. It was a great trip and a welcome family reunion: my mother flew in from NH, my brother came from NH via MT (he had to see his MT doctor for a post-broken-femur check up ~ see my April 9 post for some backstory), and my sister, her fiance, and my niece came up from Oakland, too. We had rented a beautiful house with stunning views and I look forward to reflecting and writing more about our time there, but for now it just feels really good to be home.

This morning, after waking up in his own bed, Evan spent nearly an hour playing happily in his room. Lydia also got a good night's sleep, which she sorely needed after some midnight allergy attacks on the road. She's caught up on missed episodes of "So You Think You Can Dance" (thanks to our DVR) and is planning to create a photo journal of our adventures.

I'm grateful that I was able to do enough laundry at the rental house that I don't have to get straight into that chore at home. I'll likely start tomorrow, though, since there is never a lack of laundry with this family. Andrew is already back at work, but is glad to have a long weekend ahead.

Happy summer to all!

Mama told me there'd be days like this...

...which is to say, good ones.

It has been a lovely Mother's Day. I was allowed to sleep in (sort of), and we had decided we would go out for brunch today. This is a Mothers' Day tradition we last tried in 2000, when we tried to take Andrew's mother (and me) to Skates in Berkeley. We'd made a reservation and arrived 10 minutes early, and then had to wait more than an hour for our table. With a 17 month old. Not good. But I digress.

Today as I languorously stretched in my bed, alone, and began to ponder getting out of it, a small (fully dressed) boy crept into my room and asked, "Mama, when are we going to grunch?" This was at about 7:30 (I did say sort of, and this is late in our house), and the restaurant didn't open until 10! But we had a nice easy morning. I was given an abundance of handmade gifts and cards from my children and husband. It may be cliche, but the things the kids make are treasures. We eventually got to the restaurant at 10:05 and had a scrumptious "grunch," including two mimosas for me! Yippee!

It was a beautiful day ~ perfect weather, really. After "grunch" Andrew and Evan headed up to Berkeley to visit Granny Mary and then do a bit of manly fishing. Lydia and I stayed home, which was exactly what I wanted to do. She worked on her state report (on Missouri) and I did lots of tidying and sorting and clearing out that sounds dreadful and dull when I write it but was actually very satisfying. I've filled several recycling bags and added to our large pile of give-away items, and I've got lots of paperwork filed away where I can actually find it again when I need it. It was a productive and peaceful afternoon for the ladies of the house.

I also had a loooong conversation with an old friend (and fellow mom), which brightened my day so much. I spoke with my mom, and later with my brother ~ it always feels good to check in. My sister is in Italy (lucky girl!) so she and I will have to exchange Mothers' Day wishes when her cell phone minutes aren't being billed at international rates.

Lydia made me a delicious late lunch: an egg salad sandwich featuring eggs from our chickens (she made the whole salad herself, from boiling the eggs to chopping and mixing all the ingredients, including juice squeezed from a lemon off our tree) and romaine lettuce from our garden. So yummy!

Andrew and Evan returned shortly after our late lunch. In case anyone is interested, the fishing the report was that Evan caught a bat ray and Andrew got skunked. And Evan still needs to work on his good sportsmanship, because he was quite vocal about the discrepancy in their record. I then headed to the grocery alone (I know, another lame event, but one I genuinely enjoy), where I was complimented by no fewer than four people on how nice I looked, and perfect strangers wished me a Happy Mother's Day.

Now I've got one kid in bed and another on her way, and I'm getting ready for a(nother) busy week. All in all I realize I have much to appreciate, and I am happy in my skin tonight.

Cheers!

Happy Mothers' Day!

Two very clear Mothers' Day memories kept coming up for me this week: 1998 and 1999. Maybe it is because the 2009 calendar is mimicking the May dates from 1998... Read on and see what you think.

On the Saturday before Mothers' Day in 1998 (which was May 9, the same date as yesterday), Andrew and I had a party at our house. We hadn't had any particular event or theme in mind. We weren't even necessarily thinking of Mothers' Day, because we didn't have kids yet. Those were the long-ago days when we did spontaneous things like invite 15-20 people (and their various spouses and significant others) to come and hang out for an afternoon, with vague promises of food to be served at some point, accompanied by plenty of beer, music, and good company. If anything, we may have used Andrew's May 5 birthday as a reason, and his mom, Mary (whose birthday is May 6), came down for the party as well. She was a frequent guest in those days, and we always welcomed her company.

Andrew and I had a secret back then, which we hadn't shared much outside the family. As I looked around at our group of friends and family I decided to spill the beans. I stood in the doorway of our big glass slider, so I could be heard by those inside and out in the yard, and I thanked everyone for coming. I mentioned the birthdays. I can't remember exactly how I said everything, but I noted Mary's presence as a reminder that this could also be a celebration of Mothers' Day and then I announced that I was pregnant, and this would be my first Mother's Day. We were hugged, kissed and congratulated, and one of our wittier friends noted that I was also barefoot and had spent a good part of the day in the kitchen!

The next year, 1999, we spent Mothers' Day weekend in Connecticut. Lydia turned 5 months old on May 9, which was Mothers' Day that year. On that day she and Andrew and I were at my Uncle John's house in Short Beach, CT, with my mom and my grandmother. We had a four generation Mothers' Day, and that is one of my most precious memories. So much had changed in one short year! And ten years have passed since then. Sometimes it seems like the blink of an eye, but at the same time it is almost impossible to recall what my days were like before I became a mother. Or to imagine how different my life (our lives) would be if we had not had children. For me, motherhood has been very defining.

Another prominent Mothers' Day in my life was May 13, 2001. My sister, Alice, spent the entire day in labor, trying for a home birth. I'd gotten the call at about midnight on Saturday, May 12, notifying me she'd been having pretty regular contractions for about an hour. Our mom was at my house, so we got in the car and drove up to Berkeley. Soon after we arrived we called the midwives, and the day progressed from there. With us by her side Alice labored for nearly 24 more hours, supported by a rotating cast of friends and loved ones who stopped in as time allowed. We walked with her through the neighborhood and rubbed her back and got in and out of the birthing tub... But by midnight Sunday Alice was exhausted, and she decided a home birth was not going to work. So I bundled her into my car and drove to the hospital around the corner, where she was able to get a little pain relief and sleep a little, and she finally delivered her daughter on May 14 ~ our grandmother's 86th birthday. None of us had gotten much sleep in the 30+ hours leading up to Ava's birth, but we were ecstatic and elated when she arrived. Hers is the only birth I've observed as a spectator, and it was an absolutely amazing and appropriate way to spend Mothers' Day (and the day after...).

So I send a Mothers' Day shout-out to all of you in my life who have been with me for the different parts of this journey that has led me to where I sit today. Thank you to my mother, and her mother, and so forth. Thank you to my sister and my brother. Thank you to my father, and to his mother. Thank you to all my friends and to all your mothers. Thank you to my husband and to his mother, and thank you to all the fathers too. Thank you to the aunts, biological and honorary, and the teachers and the mentors.

Now I must go fold laundry, and as I do I will reflect on what it means to me to wear this title, "Mother."

XOXOX

Is it Spring Break yet?

Hurrah! Bravo!! We all survived School House Rock LIVE, Jr. and it was a terrific show. Our school is incredibly fortunate to have people who gave generously of their time and energy to get the show up and running: a dedicated director in Mrs. Bishop, an inspirational musical director in Ms. Chang, and an energetic choreographer in Mrs. Reed. Mrs. Thornton and several parent volunteers offered great leadership to the crew and props teams, and the kids themselves showed wonderful teamwork and responsibility. I am immensely proud of Lydia, and she also earned some very high praise from Mrs. Bishop and Mrs. Thornton, as well as other adults (and kids!) involved in the show. The performances went very well, and if I had any doubts about the theater bug having bitten my firstborn they are completely dispelled now. Though I do think she prefers being behind the scenes to being under the lights. But she says next year she'll try out for Cast rather than crew... Time will tell.

Anyway, the Friday night of the play was also the night my mom (“Gigi” to the kids) flew home to NH after a two week visit. This year her spring break did not coincide with any of our spring breaks (our school's, cousin Ava's school's, or Auntie Alice's school's!) so it was a somewhat hectic visit. It was fun, though, and she got to see one of Evan's baseball games as well as the Warwick school play (see former post). I had a little bit of time alone with her, which is rarer and rarer with each successive visit on either coast. I am so pleased with the bond my kids feel with my mom, but I do wish that they would see a little more significance in the fact that she is my mom just as much as she is their Gigi.

I wonder what my relationships with my kids will be in 25-30 years, and how my hypothetical grandchildren will fit into the equation. My mom's relationships with me and my siblings are so strong and I hope the same will be true of mine with Lydia and Evan. Though I sincerely hope Evan will require less supervision than my brother from whatever guardian angels seem to (thankfully) feel an allegiance to the family. While my mom was here my brother managed to survive (just barely) an avalanche in the Bridger Mountains of Montana. He was literally saved by a tree into which the snow threw him, breaking his femur in the process, from which he hung for some time by his broken leg before the only other crazy fool up on the mountain (who happened to be an EMT with a functioning radio) managed to chisel his way down to my brother's tree and get him out of it. The EMT/angel in disguise called in a helicopter which airlifted my brother to a waiting ambulance, where they had to set his leg while bouncing down the rest of the mountain en route to Bozeman Deaconess Hospital. The neurologist who worked with my brother when he broke his neck in 2004 stopped in when he saw my brother's name on the surgery board: a small-town touch in a brilliantly staffed medical facility. My brother now has a titanium rod in his left thigh. I wonder how much he's worth in parts? The point of this story is that there was some unexpected stress during my mom's visit, on top of the usual busyness of all the schedules and events and excitement.

The good news is Spring Break starts on Friday, and we have absolutely no plans! I, for one, am not terribly sad not be going to the mountains. I don't think I'll tell Andrew or the kids, but I'm feeling like I need to steer clear of the snow for a while. I think we may have used up the family quota of angel points for one ski season!

There's no business like show business...

Lydia was very busy throughout the month of March preparing for the school play! The Warwick Elementary Performing Arts production this year is School House Rock LIVE, Jr. and Lydia is one of the 12 crew members. She was also on the Production Team, a group of students who created an amazing number of props for the show. Her job on the crew is props master, and as such she has done a terrific job organizing all the special bits and pieces that define each scene: hats, capes, vests, jackets, giant cardboard train cars, microphones, pop-guns, sunglasses, bunny ears, numbers divisible by three, an entire solar system's worth of planets, a Statue of Liberty costume, a giant stuffed bear, and much more... There were so many elements to arrange and coordinate! This morning was the first performance (an assembly for about half the school) and there are three more shows before the curtain comes down. My mom is in town and was in the audience this morning ~ she said it was really great. I was busy on the other side of campus, cleaning out the PTA closet. Uugh (aahh-choo!). But if I can't make tomorrow morning's assembly, I will get to attend tomorrow night or the Saturday matinée, so I will get a chance to see the results of all the hard work of the 70-plus kids on the Cast, Crew and Production Team.

Take me out to the ball game...

... take me out to the (t-ball-sized) park, buy me hot cocoa and extra socks... Oh, wait, that's not how the song goes!

But a hot drink and winter layers were necessary at Evan's first baseball (well, t-ball) game today. It was really cold out! More importantly, though, it was a lot of fun. This is his first actual team sport experience and he is having a blast. His coach is a great guy, with the perfect temperament for working with a bunch of squirrely 4-6 year-olds. I think Evan is actually learning some fielding skills. He's been a solid hitter since he was about 2 years old and hit his first wiffle ball over our back fence.

Games at this level are very simple. Each player on the team gets a turn at bat (they're given 4 pitches to try to hit, and then they get to use the T). A hit (from a pitch or the t) gives the batter a chance to run to base. If a succesful defensive play is made, the player does have to go back to the dugout, but outs are not counted and neither are runs. The kids progress around the bases as hits are made by their teammates, and most end up crossing the plate at least once. Once their team's at-bat is up they rotate out to take the field for the defensive half of the inning. The goal is for them to actually follow the action, try to catch balls hit, and perhaps make a play or two. We'll see how that goes. ;-)

The games run a maximum of 3 innings or 90 minutes, and I seriously doubt we'll get to more than 2 innings in a game this season. Evan played shortstop for their first inning today, and he was proud of being assigned such a prestige position. So far I am having fun being a baseball mom...

Go Giants!

39 is the new 35

So according to a facebook "real age" quiz, my body thinks I am 35 years old. But I recently got an e-mail from a high school friend who thought I'd turned 40 this year. We graduated together, but as I had skipped a year in elementary school I was younger than most of my classmates. 40! I've got another 51 weeks to go (not that I'm counting)! As she and I e-mailed back and forth we compared notes on age and milestones, contrasted ourselves with our mothers, and generally hashed out our thoughts on life's chronology and the timelines we create.

In such comparisons I often begin with the similarities between my mother and me: we are both eldest children, both daughters (duh), and we both married at age 25. But while I (with my husband) bought a house at 26, my mother still does not own a home. And I am still in the same house more than 12 years later. When my mother was in her 30s and my siblings and I were young, we moved constantly. In fact, I can't come up with an exact count of places we lived.

More minor differences: I was almost two years older than my mother was when we had our first children (both daughters, so a similarity within a difference): she was almost 27 when I was born, and I was three months shy of 29 when Lydia was born. She'd also been married only a few months when she got pregnant; Andrew and I waited until after our second anniversary. She went on to have my brother at age 29 and my sister at 32; I was 33 when Evan was born. And two children will be it for us!

Moving into comparisons between our husbands... my dad was 3.5 years older than my mother (29 when they married, 30 when I was born); Andrew is nearly 7 years older than I am (32 at our wedding; 35 when Lydia was born). Andrew had just turned 40 when Evan came along, while my dad was 2 weeks shy of 36 when my sister (the baby) arrived. My dad died at age 51, and Andrew is a youthful 45 now. It freaks me out to think my dad was only 6 years older when he died. Especially in that context, I can't reconcile Andrew with the age 45, and I always want to say he seems young for his years, whatever that means.

My parents separated shortly after their 15th anniversary. My mom was 41, my dad 45 (funny, I hadn't thought of this before but that is Andrew's current age). I will celebrate my 14th wedding anniversary this year. Though marriage is hard work, I am happy in my relationship and can't imagine not being with this person for the long haul. I hope I am not tempting fate by saying that...

Regardless of the similar or different ages at which we reached various points along our paths, for much of my life I have felt like more of a "grown-up" than my mom. I am sure this qualifies me for a ton of therapy, but mostly it just makes me really want to let my kids be kids! And it is even better when I can let them pull me back into feeling younger and more carefree, too.

Today, however, I am home with Evan who pulled the classic Saturday-night-at-midnight barf attack. He last threw up around 9 am Sunday, but was courting a fever all day, and kids have to be fever-free for 24 hours before going back to school. So we've watched a little old-school Christopher Reeve Superman and I will soon have to come up with some other mildly entertaining (but not TOO much fun) home-sick activities.

I think the esoteric generational comparisons are over for now...

Happy Birthday to Me!

I am somewhat shamed by Lydia's entry into the blog-o-sphere. We recently started a blog for her and she has been submitting fairly regular entries ~ certainly at a much better rate than I have. In an attempt to redeem myself, I will try to follow her lead by just throwing in a few thoughts when I have the time, rather than waiting for (1) inspiration and (2) the time in which to pursue it. I should know by now, those two luxuries rarely strike at the same time.

I suppose a birthday should count as inspiration! And today was mine. It was a busy day, as any Wednesday in the life of the mother of two school-aged children is likely to be. It is funny how the kids still seem to think the world should take notice of little things like birthdays. Having officially hit 39 (ack), I will be content to let all future birthdays pass with minimal fanfare. Though I am enjoying the birthday shout-outs from dear ones near and far, via facebook and otherwise! ;-)

A Kindergarten field trip was scheduled for today (just for my enjoyment, I'm sure): all 120 Kindergarteners were bussed from our elementary school in Fremont to the Children's Discovery Museum in San Jose (about a half hour away). For many of the kids the bus ride was equally as exciting as the museum! Roughly 30 parents drove down to chaperon, and I was among those lucky adults. It was an adventurous two hours in the museum. I caught occasional glimpses of small playgroups and individual families who had come for the day, having no idea that it was "field trip day" for our lot. This prompted flashbacks to the days when I was the mom with a little one (or ones) at such a place, feeling completely overrun by behemoth school-aged children and fuming about inattentive parents who were not keeping them under control.

I can proudly say that Evan and the other two boys under my care were closely supervised and nothing untoward happened. I was a bit surprised, however, by the "lunch" packed for one of "my" boys: a chocolate eclair (the size of Evan's thigh) and a 16-oz bottle of NesQuik chocolate milk. Oh yeah, that was his lunch, or at least it was the only food he was given for a day that lasted from the 8:28 am drop-off until the field-trip-extended late pickup of 1:00 pm. Yikes! Apparently he is a picky eater and this is his mother's way of handling his refusal to eat lots of other foods. Wow. Enough said.

Anyway, we all survived and it was nice to actually have a field trip. Who knows if we will ever get one again, with the state of the economy and the education "budget" (as our government manages to call it with a straight face) continuing to compromise our kids' opportunities.

This segues very well into my evening's engagement: a PTA mini-training at the District Education building. Not necessarily the first thing that comes to mind for a birthday evening outing, but nevertheless it's where I was scheduled to be. PTA is gearing up for the CA State PTA convention next month, and it's looking like I will be serving a repeat term as President at our school next year. So I left the kids and Andrew to have dinner at In N Out Burger while I headed up to get inspired by fellow volunteers and eat some surprisingly good lasagna (and cake, because there just cannot be a PTA event without some cake involved). Again, it was a perfectly nice way to spend a Wednesday evening that just happened to also be my birthday.

Another year older, another year wiser. Right?

Blogging is... cheaper than therapy

... but not necessarily as effective! Certainly not as interactive. But it is readily available on a Sunday afternoon when I feel I need to vent, and to question myself a bit.

So, I ask my imaginary blog-o-sphere analyst, am I a bad mother for the agonizing frustration I felt toward my daughter for committing the grave transgression of making blueberry pancakes (from scratch!) for the family this morning? Yes, since it is important to be truthful in therapy, that's what I felt. Well, earlier on I did actually enjoy the delicious pancakes. And even earlier I noted how Lydia's little-girl cuteness has almost completely matured into the much less definable (but equally adorable) characteristics of a pre-teen, and I was proud of they joy she clearly took in meticulously preparing a lovely breakfast for Andrew, Evan and me. But later, after we'd eaten and the three of them went out for a while, I discovered just how colossal a mess I was left to handle after this culinary escapade. It's a good thing I was alone, because I let fly a few words I REALLY try not to use anymore, especially when the kids are in earshot.

I remember being in a family therapy session at some point in my late teens. I've long since forgotten the reason(s) for the session, and which of the various turbulent and transitional moments we were weathering, but I recall being in room with my mother, my brother, my sister and a therapist or counselor (I've also long since forgotten everything about him or her). He (or she) asked a question along the lines of what kind of help I was hoping we would get, and my answer was that I didn't even want to start a process or form a relationship I feared I'd never be able to outgrow or escape. I envisioned myself re-hashing the same issues and problems over and over, never actually solving anything. The definition of insanity (I think I'd recently been told) is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. To my very young self that sounded like what it meant to go into therapy.

To my present-day self, doing the same thing over and over often seems like my typical day as a homemaker. And at the moment it's driving me a little crazy! Hence the question (and the self-doubt): am I a bad mother? This is what mothers do, or at least that's what I hear: we encourage our children to grow, to gain new skills, to exhibit generosity, to experiment in different areas. So much the better if their explorations bring them into the kitchen, where we moms can certainly use the back-up. But I did feel a little over-run by today's project, which left the entire sink and a good amount of counter littered with dirty dishes (and mixing bowls, measuring cups, spoons, etc...), baked-on batter dribbled between the range and the cabinet, and a fair amount of flour sprinkled about on the floor (a bit treacherous and slippery). Cleaning the kitchen is something I do over and over (and over and over and over and over), but it still needs to be done at least two or three times a day. Is that insanity, or is it just life?

Well, I leave you, my cyber-therapist, to mull that over while I sweep up the last of the crumbs and start the dishwasher. Our tax accountant is due shortly to do our annual return, which reminds me how glad I am that there are SOME horrifying tasks that I don't have to face.

Happy February,
XOXOX
Tara

Don'cha Wish Your Weather Was Hot Like This?

Sorry, that is really obnoxious. But I couldn't resist, given our weekend activity on this January Saturday: we drove to the coast (Half Moon Bay) where the kids built sandcastles, Andrew had his favorite fish & chips (at Barbara's Fish Trap) and we actually ate ice cream cones ~ outside!

You can see from the photo how GORGEOUS it was today...

We used to get to the beach more often, which makes a day like this all the more special. Being able to do it in January makes up for many of the not-so-terrific aspects of northern CA living!

Come and visit us!