364 days till departure

364 days I did not sleep last night. 

The anticipation of this milestone was so built up that I could not get my mind to shut off. I spent a lot of time thinking about the past and how bizarre time is. A memory that I kept turning over was when we were in our baby play group and you were a newborn and I was horrified when a toddler came over to our blanket to touch you. Our group was for parents of new babies but the baby didn’t have to your first-born. Many parents brought their newborn along with an older sibling. At the time, the toddlers stood out to me; they were like wild monkeys just roaming around touching everything, putting everything in their mouths, just being sticky and smelly. (For the record I had some undiagnosed post-partum depression at that time, toddlers of the world please forgive me.) I remember thinking how pure and serene newborn life and routine was compared to the world of parents with toddlers. Then at some point I blinked and the next thing I knew I was in the same group but with your newborn sister and you were the toddler monkey, touching other people’s babies. 

The time warp just keeps happening. I can remember when our friends with older kids were seniors (now they are college graduates) and decorating their cars to arrive to school on the first day declaring their senior status. I swear to you, it was just yesterday, but somehow time screwed with me again and it was actually today that it was your turn to go off to your senior year in your decorated car. 

When you came home today you seemed very content. I tried to pry every detail out of you, not because I care who wore what, or ate what, or sat next to who, but because every single moment that I am with you I am aware of that trickster time, and I do not want to blink again and find myself wondering what happened to this last year.

365 days till departure

365 days till I presume you leave me. It may actually be sooner, it may actually be later, but I do know that it is inevitable and I don’t like it. 

Tomorrow is the first day of your senior year, your last first day of high school as a student, (I will not rule out the possibility that you could be a teacher, let’s be honest you can be anything you want) and it is the start of the beginning of your life that will be separate from me. 

I am going to write you a letter each of these 365 days. I know that the time will come when we don’t live together, but if there is ever a time where you need to hear my voice and you can’t get me on the phone, where you need to be comforted and I am not there to hold you, you will have my words and my thoughts and I hope that it will provide support until we can be together. 

I am going to put these out in public so you can always find them and so others can remind you, to never forget your mother :)

Achievement At The Highest Level

Yesterday, I peaked. Seriously I accomplished one of the major goals of my life. Quite frankly I am in awe that it happened at all and a bit worried about where I go from here. By now you are probably wondering what this major accomplishment is, and yes, I will tell you, but first---you must promise not to laugh. Yesterday, I was able to French Braid my daughter's hair.

This may not seem like much, but believe me when I tell you , this really is a proud moment. Growing up in a house of males there was not much braiding going around; in fact there was not much personal hygiene to speak off. I suppose that is unfair, my dad did take two showers a day, but somehow his cleanliness never rubbed off on my brother or I. I can not recall a single incident in our lives where he ever told us to "wash-up," "brush our teeth," or "take a bath." I think he assumed that peer pressure would take care of us, that we would feel shame at being the smelly kids in school, and in fact he was right. But though we may have known to wash, brush and bathe, we did not necessarily do it well. And though you could always wear clean clothes over your unbathed body, keep your mouth shut if your teeth were not brushed, it was a whole other thing to try and hide an unwashed, or worse, unbrushed, head of long tangled hair.

My dad was clueless about my hair, and with no one at home to show me, I was left to figure out hair grooming by myself. I had very long, black hair. It could have been pretty, but as it was uncared for, it always seemed to be a liability to my social status, rather than an asset. In a classroom full of girls who's moms would braid, barrette, feather, or (the height of glamour) banana curl their daughters' hair, my tangled "rat's tails"--so aptly named by my classmates was an on-going sore spot for me.

To illustrate how clueless I was about hair I offer this story....After weeks of complaining about the tangles and knots in my hair, my neighbor's mom bought me a bottle of Prell conditioner. I can still recall how beautiful the pearlized mint green conditioner was, and how excited I was that I finally was going to tame my hair and become one of the beautiful and popular girls in my class. I took that bottle home and told my dad and brother to stay out of the bathroom as I was going to undergo a transformation. About an hour later my dad knocked on the door to ask what I was crying about. It didn't take him but a moment to realize what I had done. Never having had conditioner before, I did not know how to use it, and I used the entire bottle on my hair. That lovely pearlized mint green PETROLEUM product would not wash out. Needless to say there were a lot of hats worn for the next two weeks.

This is just one of many stories I could tell about my hair mishaps. Somehow, as is human nature, I was able to adjust and get over my hair misfortunes. That was until I had a daughter.

Luckily my first daughter was born bald, and actually stayed that way until two years old, when some adorable auburn brown curls began to appear. Alleluia!, the gods had spared me, they gave me a child with curls, and curls, so I thought, have a way of taking care of themselves. That was until she went to pre-school, and I saw all the other girls in barrettes, pig-tails, freaking banana curls-still!--and of course braids. My daughter is beautiful, inside and out, and she never asked once for anything to be done with her hair, but I was damned if she was going to be that girl who dumped a whole bottle of god knows what into her hair because her mother never taught her anything. So I began practicing my braids. I practiced on the dolls in our house, on some of my friends, and on my daughter, who never once complained as I tugged and pulled to try and hold the tension in my braid. As the adage says, practice makes perfect, and they were right. Yesterday, I sent my daughter to school with not one, but two, near perfect French Braids!

I know I have many more milestones to go as a mom. And it is not lost on me that the true measure of my parenting is my well-adjusted, happy, kind child. But I would be lying if I didn't admit that it also feels really great to exorcize those old demons too!

Out with the old---FOR GOOD!

So here we are on the verge of a New Year, and I feel the need to speak about some of the difficulties of the past three years, in the hope that by naming them, and throwing them up to the universe, I can start 2012 with a free mind and heart.

So......

1. To job loss. You totally suck and I took no comfort in knowing that we were suffering right along side the other 9% of America's unemployed. I felt no camaraderie as my family and I tried to figure out how to exist on a quarter of what we used to earn and without health insurance.

Though I am proud to say that I can work four jobs at a time and I will not break, that I absolutely know the value of a dollar, and a dollar menu, that it is okay to feed your children pasta, a lot, and riding your bike really is not only healthy but cost effective, I hope for god's sake I have learned all there is to learn in the unemployment chapter of life's book and 2012 will bring full-time and permanent employment to us all.

2. To loss of life. To my family and friends and friends' family who have passed on. The world does go on, but not easily. Every day does get a little brighter but never bright enough. You are missed, you are loved, and you will never be forgotten.

3. To health. I swear to god I could have lived very happily never having to have heard the words, " you have cancer," but that wasn't to be. The thing that makes me the most upset about these words is that they can never be taken back. Yes I had cancer and it was easily taken care of and cured, but it was the scariest time of my adult life, and I think that I am forever going to live in fear of tests and results. I hated to be reminded that I am vulnerable and that I always will be. A part of me did die that first day, and though things are now better, I will never be the same.

4. To time. This is such an awful paradox that continues to plague me. I hate the awareness of time passage. I hate knowing that days, weeks, months and years go by and yet so many minds stay closed, so many behaviors go unchecked, so many people continue to harm and regress all around us. I hate knowing that time forces me to look at all that has not been accomplished and may never be accomplished. Mostly I hate the awareness that my time is limited.

And yet, time has brought me a husband and two children who continue to grow and thrive and evolve. Time has given me the chance to make right my wrongs, to develop my relationships further, and to have yet another new year, where I can wish for peace, health and happiness for myself and those I love.

So here I am again, humbly acknowledging the passage of one year and hoping for wish fulfillment in the year ahead. Out with the old..........and PLEASE, in with (the better) new.

Is this the beginning or the end?

Here it is 4:52 am and I have been up all night. I can't sleep because in about 3 hours I am putting my first born on a school bus for her first day of Kindergarden. There are so many emotions floating around inside of me and as I muse on each one I can't help but think how remarkable a thing it is to watch your child grow.

I am so happy and excited for all the adventures and growth in Sadie's future. This summer she has really changed from my little girl into a kid. She is so sweet and funny and fascinated by her surroundings, I know that she will flourish in school and I am so jazzed to experience this wonderfully delicious time with her.

But I am sad thinking about the baby that she will never be again. She is sleeping in my bed right now, and I can't help but think how many more nights do we have where she wants to crawl into bed with us to seek comfort.

And I am nervous worrying about the environment that she is about to enter that is so much bigger and beyond my control. What if she hears a bad word, sees someone being unkind, learns an offensive saying, or gets teased? What if she cries or gets sick at school and I am not there?

There are so many emotions, so many thoughts. I keep thinking back to the beginning, when I was sick during my pregnancy, I had no idea who Sadie was and I kept wondering how I was ever going to love this baby that was causing so much difficulty. Knowing her after just a few days the question became how could I not love her. But just like that transition, from pregnant to parent, I know that this too will exceed anything that I could imagine.

So it is the end; end of the baby, end of the preschooler, and end of mom and dad being the center of the universe. But it is also the beginning......

Damn you Disney!

So we went to Disney on Ice last night. Let me first say that I went as a child and I have really fond memories of seeing Linda Fratianne skating next to Mickey and Minnie in her gold sequined dress, but beyond the adventure of seeing a live show I never really though much about it. As we sat in our seat I couldn't help but be moved by all the happy parents and kids. Before the show had even started I was caught up in the beauty of the experience, an experience that included all races and classes of people who's only common link was their devotion to their kids. And then the show started. Balloons and lights and singing and I was hooked. It was so theatrical, so special, and when Mickey and Minnie finally popped out of the giant box in the center, and the whole arena erupted in applause and cheers, I couldn't help myself, I cried. Yes, it is true, I cried at Disney on Ice.

I was just so moved by it all. The whole time I was watching I was thinking about how if we could all just see Disney on Ice there would be no war, no famine, no poverty. We could all hold hands and sing, and be happy. I thought about Walt, and if he had envisioned the peace on earth that could be had if we all embraced the Mouse. Of course I heard my brother's voice in my head saying that Disney was a soul-sucking corporate giant who feed on the innocence of children, but I was so able to dismiss that thought, as I watched the joy in my daughters' eyes as all the princesses skated around with their princes. I had worked myself up so high that it was a very hard fall when the last number came on.

It was presented as the best time of the year, a time when everyone is happy and joyous and we are all connected, and then they skated out the tree and the presents and a fire place with goofy falling in as Santa. I was so disappointed! I mean how can we all live happily ever after in a Disney world if only the Christians are allowed. That would mean pretty much 80% of the people I know would be left out. The Christmas theme snapped me back to reality and and it was with a heavier heart that I watched the finality.

This morning I woke up, and in-spite of the obvious insult to all my friends I was somehow back on board the Disney train. We listen to some Disney music on the way to school and we had a great morning. I dropped Sadie off at school, Charlotte and I did some chores, we went to the doctor's, and even though Charlotte got a shot, she didn't cry. I was again climbing that ridiculously high ladder of joy, and I started to think maybe if I just kept all the good things about Disney in my heart, then my dream of a perfect utopia could still exist.

We picked Sadie up at school and while I was talking to one of the teachers two boys had cornered Charlotte and were poking her with some wood chips. Now in my head it was a gang of boys and they were stabbing her with sharp shivs that they had whittled out of a giant oak tree, but I assure you my reaction at the time was more in-touch with the reality of the situation. I told the boys that wasn't nice, I talked with Sadie about speaking up for her sister, and I alerted the teachers to keep an eye out. But in my heart I had taken those boys and kicked them right out of my Disney dream and watched with joy as the crocodile from Peter Pan ate them up!

In the end, it turns out, I am no better than Disney on Ice. I too have tremendous room to love, but apparently it is with limits. Damn you Disney for reminding me that I am human, in a human world, surrounded by people not puppets and plushies; .......although considering that last part maybe I should be glad.

BSC=Beautiful, Secure, Confident

Today was the first day of the new job, teaching at BSC. I really spent no time worrying or wondering what things were going to be like or how I would do, because all my energy was spent thinking about my clothes. I got lost in the idea that I had to invent a new version of myself to put in front of the class; as if having the right sweater, shoe, purse combo, was going to be content enough to sustain me through the 100+ hours that I have to teach this semester.

How wrong I was. As I was driving to school with my Ed Hardy bag, my H&M retro sweater, my Banana Republic pants, and my Feragamo shoes I realize I should have spent more time on what I was going to teach today than on my outfit. Though I looked good, I felt awful! I was in a panic. I realized that it really didn't matter what I wore, the students would see right through my costume and realize that even if I took off my clothes I still was covered in MOM, and quickly they would come to see that I was not smart enough to teach them anything except how to play nice, eat broccoli, or change a diaper.

But the one thing I have learned as a mom is how to ask for help, so I called on my standard posse of positive supporters and of course true to form, they were all there to tell me that I was in fact smart enough, and that this was exactly where I was supposed to be. Several of them reminded me that I was born to act and teach and that even if I hadn't been doing it for a paycheck, I hadn't really left the career behind while doing my time in stay-at-home land.

With my renewed confidence I walked onto campus and into my building, only to find.......

no one. Not a single person in the building. The panic started to set in again, maybe I got the day wrong, maybe I was in the wrong building, maybe this was all a cruel joke. I wandered around and after climbing many stairs I found the classroom where seated inside was Wendy, my first student, and looking more nervous than I. We talked and I found out that she was petrified about speaking in public, and she was very worried about being the oldest person in class( this was Wendy's first day back at school to finish her degree after a 20 year absence).

And so I kicked it into gear. I don't know if it was the mom in me, the teacher, or the actor, probably all three, but I do know that I was in the right place, at the right time, and that it worked. I felt secure and confident , not to mention beautiful, and I think Wendy left feeling the same.