Adelaide, at the tender age of 3.25, is learning to read music. I wasn't sure if the piano would be a good choice so young, but we had a very laid back few tries in the summer attached to Gillian's lesson when G's school music teacher did the rounds to give teach in people's homes. Addie loved it. So, we continued into this year. Their music teacher is fantastic, and the girls have a wonderful rapport with her. So, without further adieu, here is Addie actually reading the notes to "Merrily We Roll Along" or for most of us, Mary Had a Little Lamb. Note: she isn't there yet with figuring things out by ear, so, she was really reading the notes. Gillian's violin teacher told me that the siblings always pick music up faster. She says "it's almost not fair" how much better they do in Suzuki as a result. If all goes according to plan, Addie will start cello next Fall when she's 4. Like Gillian, I hope the piano provides a good foundation for her musical beginnings with string instruments! I need to post a video of Gillian, who started violin in mid November of 2011. She has progressed at warp speed with a very excellent, very strict teacher, and a very dedicated father to help her learn.
Thursday, October 18, 2012
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Hanging On
I feel like someone who has Alzheimer’s and is totally aware of that, but can’t stop a runaway train hurdling toward the abyss of cognitive dystrophy. Except it’s with my kids. I am acutely aware of how I won’t get this time back, but somehow I can’t get to a place of blissed out motherhood these days the way I did when Gillian was little. I remember with fondness watching her in absolute peaceful happiness personify rocks, but those days are long, long gone and have been replaced with a constant feeling of Just “hanging in there”. I guess I know the various factors contributing to not feeling super connected and tender every second. They go kindof like this:
1. Whining-constant
2. Fighting and bickering-constant
3. Selective listening-constant
4. Resistance to acquiescence-constant
5. Mess making-intermittent
6. Saying no when we ask them to do something-more often than not (which = Time Out)
7. Meltdowns-for whatever reason, more frequently of late with Addie
8. During said meltdowns, zingers thrown about like “I DON’T LOVE YOU”; “IF YOU SAY THAT I WON’T LET YOU PLAY WITH MY PONY”; “I HATE YOU IF YOU DO THAT”, “I WILL ONLY LOVE YOU IF YOU APOLOGIZE” (the apology usually follows something unfortunate she did to ME-I have yet to know how she figured out how to be so hurtful; each one is followed up by me with a “Well, I’m sorry you are feeling that way. I love YOU.”).
9. I never get enough sleep
10. We have lots of stress having to do with changes that are putting a serious financial strain on us.
11. Don’t need to say it but: EVERYONE IN THIS HOUSE THINKS THEY KNOW EVERYTHING (including yours truly). Yeah, that’s a big one.
Add that all together and VOILA! Skipping record quality of correcting the children, asking them not to hurt eachother, putting them in time out, all of this while I am feeling blaringly exhausted, stressed, and overextended. It makes sense, then, that the kids’ behavior isn’t nearly so tolerable in this state of existence. With of all this surficial BS distracting me from living and connecting with my family, you can add a heaping serving of guilt to that tall order (oh, that and the added guilt of knowing I am whining about a situation that could be approximately 90 million universes worse in a slew of other infinite possible circumstances-the proverbial White Whine).
So, what do we do? Well, I would say take a deep breath and know it won’t last forever, except we have had a pretty good run of disruption lately. It all started with that oven fire in July (I haven’t told you about that yet-needless to say, we finally got the house put back together in September). OK, so I’ll just say we need to take a lot of deep breaths and have faith that this is in our deck of cards, that it is just a part of the plan en route to sunnier days. Because there are no accidents, you know.
Another good thing would be to show myself some compassion, but that has never been one of my better virtues. I think a good bit of parenting your second child when you have a first child pleading for your every extra second of energy involves operating in survival mode. All the time-which gives the second child the shaft, completely, and makes you feel like an absolute failure most of the time as a mother. I’m not sure if it’s that or the fact that our psychological angst is manifesting itself in all kind of crazy in their behavior that makes it feel worse.
So, here I am, having my usual October-where things are drastically in flux, where I am feeling melancholy at best, and where God is asking me to step off the cliff and have faith he will provide. I need to take better care, get some sleep, do some yoga on top of my walking, restart the meditation, and put our current brand of crazy in perspective. I need to have more afternoons like the other weekend when the girls and I made a giant mound of leaves and played in it for hours. I know when I do that, my lenses will be clear to see my beautiful little girls being beautiful, and silly, and sweet, for me to see my blessed life, and so that I can recapture my usual iron clad tenacity for dealing with what the world throws my way.
Friday, October 5, 2012
All about the teeth
On Wednesday, October 3 Gillian lost her first tooth. As fate would have it, I happened to be there at lunch helping out in the classroom when Gillian said "OUCH! Mama-I bit my tooth and it HURT!". Then a second later she said "Oh, here it is! It came out!". Instant celebrity. All the kids gathered around as if it was the hottest ticket in town to see her tiny little tooth, freshly plucked from her little mouth with a drop of blood on the bottom for legitimacy.
The teacher, Mrs. K., immediately went into tooth loss mode: whipped out a ziploc baggy and a little cardstock tooth board, wrote the date and "Gillian-congratulations on your first lost tooth!", stuck it in the baggy, and Gilllian proudly displayed it throughout the rest of lunch time. For this was a SPECIAL day-the day she became a big girl (in her own mind, anyway-let me tell you, a lost or wiggly tooth is a status thing in the jetsetting Kindergarten crowd). For me, well I was both proud and verclempt, though above all, relieved-this is proof that Gillian is not enough of a biological Colledge to freakishly hang on to her baby teeth into middle age like her Aunt and Grandfather (the Aunt, into her 50s, had her canines removed and had braces pull the adult teeth down; people like to tell the story of how the grandfather lost his last baby tooth when he was in the war, or something), or lose them really late, like everyone else. I was proud that she was delighted with her bloody little tooth and not freaked out by it. I heard her tell someone that the tooth fairy brings gold coins, and made a mental note for later to get me to the bank for some gold dollars.
And then y'all-after lunch was done and the floors and tables were clean I got in my car and wept like a baby about that little tooth. I wallowed in the realization that my little girl is growing up-a visceral feeling of loss. What can I say- I remember this toothless sweetness:
Gillian decided the box should go under her pillow. We had a discussion about how big the tooth fairy is, and Gillian was a little worried she wouldn't be able to lift the lid of the box (interestingly, she was NOT worried how the tiny fairy would lift her melon sized sleeping head and pull the box out from underneath the pillow, but I digress). I assured her the tooth fairy was hella strong and not to worry, but also at least as tall as her hand is long. Luckily, all the excitement on earth couldn't keep Gillian awake, so she was asleep before she even got her evening back tickle. Still, I waited a bit to swap things out. I fashioned a tiny scroll and wrote this (I wonder if she thought it curious how everyone always seems to nag her to be nice to Addie-maybe Santa gave the TF a heads up that this was a recurring issue):
I tied it with a little ribbon and put it in the little box with the wrapped gold coins. Later, we discussed that the fairy was probably a good 6 inches tall given the size of the scroll and handwriting. At any rate, the fairy left sparkly pixie dust everywhere, and Gillian was beyond herself waking up and discovering this. Faith in magic and everything else, preserved!
(While we're on the subject, I would also like to mention that Addie's teeth have really realigned since the num num went away. They almost look like she never had an oral fixation.)
Every since the tooth loss day, Addie has wanted to read Dr. Seuss' The Tooth Book. Addie likes to look at Gillian's dental crater (and enjoyed marvelling at the tooth itself before it got taken by the TF), but doesn't seem to be wishing for her own. That tells me she's a little creeped out by it, because she always wants everything Gillian has. Anyway, new Milestone-came and went on our high speed trajectory to adulthood.
Friday, September 21, 2012
The Epic Appliance Circle of Hell
We had an oven fire on July 12th. With a 1 day old oven. Let me explain our summer of appliance hell.
Our old oven that came with our condo stopped baking a few weeks before, and when we did the math it seemed like getting a new one was a better value than paying hundreds of dollars for a service call for the old one. So we called a locally owned appliance store with a sterling reputation, and it was delivered and installed expeditiously. Sears should take notes-because by the time July 12th rolled around we had two dishwashers (yeah, the dishwasher had up and died in May) we had bought from them-all backordered, finally delivered, and then they died-either they never worked or died within days. The third one was a charm. Well, it seemed to be by July 12th, anyway.
So, we had our oven for approximately 22 hours when I decided to bake the kids some chicken nuggets for dinner. I preheated the oven to 350 as directed, as I had a million times before. Except this time, it started to smoke as it approached 350 degrees. In fact, smoke started pouring out and my sad, weak ventilation fan did nothing. The smoke smelled toxic. I told the kids to get out of the house. I turned off the oven and called Sean (who worked in the basement) and told him I thought the oven was in fire. He ran up the stairs and told me to get out. The smoke was dense and thick and I grabbed the cat and got out. He had brought out a one way fan and blew the smoke into the back yard, but the damage was done-there was soot all over the house and the smell of burnt plastic and chemicals was nauseating. I made Sean wear my respirator because no one should be breathing that.
When it was all said and done, the culprit of our fire were rubber-handled grilling utensils Sean put in the bottom drawer out of habit. Except in THIS stove, the bottom drawer was a broiler, not a storage drawer. Even though the broiler wasn't on, it got hot enough to ignite our rubber utensils. Sean and I both earned a Darwin Award that day-him for putting the utensils in there in the first place, and me for believing the salesman who told me that we could store stuff in it. I called their customer service department and told them what happened and they said "fire" (and I assume, "stupidity") is not part of the warranty.
Anyway, instead of having Gillian's friend over for dinner, the girls and I spent the night at her friend's house. This is important because it illustrates that no one is an orphan in Rogers Park (and man, do I adore our community of neighbors). I called our insurance company next to see if "stupidity" was a covered benefit, and indeed it was. I was so grateful I nearly wept because our house was a disaster. But I started getting an inkling of what was in store when they told me the professional cleaning and decon team would be at our place at 7:30 the next morning. I was giddy at the idea that not only would our stove be covered to replace, but the whole house would get cleaned! And we could stay in a hotel for the duration of the cleaning-which, amazingly, was four solid days. Booking a nearby hotel proved to be a challenge-there was nothing with a kitchenette or separate bedroom available anywhere...so we got to shack up in one room (the kids did not go to bed before 11 pm any of the nights we were there). But before that, when we arrive at the hotel they told us we didn't have a room (thank God for printed receipts) and after over an hour at the desk, the rate I was given over the phone was not honored, which equals another 30 minutes if irritation. We had no toys, a little food we tried to keep on ice, and not much clothing. Luckily we were near the gym where the kids take swim class, and could go swimming. Also, on Saturday we had arranged to spend the next day at a friends place going to a kids concert and generally hanging out.
At some point the insurance company told us they would cover all the food losses and anything destroyed in the oven. I was to inventory everything in the cabinets. I made a Type A spreadsheet and threw lots of things away. They also decided to cover the microwave, and eventually the refrigerator (both had so much soot in them that it was more expensive to clean them than replace them). They also covered the window units, which had stopped working after getting gunked up. After the cleaning crew came and went, we went home. The house had definitely never been so absolutely spotless. My online claim told me that USAA had paid $8,000 for my house to be spotless. At some point, a professional dry cleaning came and took all our curtains for professional cleaning to get the soot off.
The kids had a doctors appointment on Thursday. We came home to a strong plastic burning smell and I noticed that the faceplate where the industrial air cleaner had been plugged in was melting and turning black. I freaked and we turned off all the breakers and called an electrician. Within a couple of hours someone got our here and took care of it, but told me he didn't think that fix was permanent or safe, and that it was a systemic issue-which he linked to our oven fire "surge" (which I wasn't surge was true or not, but he seemed very interested in making it part of the claim). Generally, our crappy wiring was a fire hazard. The electrician said he thought we should redistribute the electrical because most of the condo was on 3 circuits. Some of the wiring looked like it was 50 years old or more. He said it was a tinder box waiting to go up. USAA said he needed to do work that was to code and in order to bring the condo up to code he was authorized to redistribute the lines, which he estimated would cost $1600. So, a crew of two men who didn't speak English worked on the electrical for two solid days. Then they billed us $6800-which was a LOT more than they estimated. The electrician blew it off and said they ran into more than they bargained for in the walls. USAA didn't sound alarmed. At 6:30 the next morning our neighbor downstairs (who had a 2 day old baby) knocked on our door and told us water was pouring out of his ceiling. I had officially had enough and this was the last straw. Our dishwasher line had become electrified and the holes resulted in an enormous amount of water going into the walls and ceiling below us. Our overpriced electrical job had made things even worse. And to top it off the damned dishwasher had died. For the third time in two months.
So, I called USAA and the electrician in a panic, and they came back out. USAA again told him to fix the issue, which he determined was a grounding problem. They worked two more days and billed us $5,000 more. Our $1600 job turned into a nearly $12,000 job. I was furious. USAA routed our claim to the fraud department and threatened not to pay since the electrician didn't get preauthorization for the work-anything past the $1600. I called the electrician and told him to call USAA or I would put a stop payment on our Visa and he wouldn't get a dime. He called them, they relented, and decided to pay. It was a screaming nightmare. And they left spackled holes all over our house. USAA said they would pay to paint the house, so I went with a really respected painting company. By the time the house got painted, it was September. The haggling, the house being in shambles, the lack of normalcy, the delivery of two refrigerators (yes, one of them didn't work for us either), two more dishwashers (even the one they delivered after the ceiling incident for the neighbors was a dud-that made four dead dishwashers from Sears), the stress of not getting reimbursed for all the work, but finally getting reimbursed, the haggling with contractors who did more damage even while they repaired things (like the wall damage from when they moved appliances to clean the walls), electrical, and painting, and endless negotiation took 11 weeks. And then we got to deal with being stiffed by Sears who had reimbursed us for one dishwasher and charged us for four more. I spent many hours on the phone and finally spoke with the store manager. She had the money back in our account within 24 hours.
So, by mid-September the house was finished. New electrical, new paint, new appliances, clean (only after Sean and I scrubbed everything after the drywall patching and sanding, which unfortunately happened after the professional cleaners came and went). The relief was palpable. And that is the story of our anything-but-simple oven fire.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Happy Birthday to My Gillian
My beautiful girl:
Today is your birthday. Again. Every year I am in awe of how short the spaces are between the days we celebrate your crazy entrance into this world. How you are growing up too fast, and how I wish I could slow it down long enough to savor these sweet days more. This year I am going to promise you something: I am going to slow down. I am going to let things go so I can savor these moments more-the things that ultimately don't make a bit of difference in the grand scheme of things...Nothing matters to me as much as you and Addie, and nothing anyone has to say could possibly have to say is as important as what you have to say.
I am telling you this because it's a hard lesson. You see, adults are a little foolish sometimes. Sometimes we try to control things, and we can get wrapped up in stuff that isn't nearly as important as just BEING while you are over there growing up at the speed of light...and find ourselves remiss at threading ourselves through that. These are the years where you WANT us to be wound up in you, and you want to be wound up in us. I try to always stop when you need me to stop and BE with you. I try. For what it's worth-I see you, and I love you all the way through. Just last night I asked Papa to let you stay just a little while longer in our bed so I could watch you sleep, and so I could breathe with you and fall asleep etching your angel face into my mind for later. Some moments when I watch you, I am still amazed that you were given to me to guide and protect-I am humbled by that responsibility.
Right now, you are like light-a prism of color, and joy, and imagination. Your favorite gift was a pair of butterfly wings you could lace around your upper arms and pointer finger that flutter when you flit around the house, light as a leaf. You are an artist and are creative and intuitive. You are becoming quite a fine musician with the hard work of Papa every night with your violin. You are doing well with piano too, but the practices aren't as structured as at the Music Institute, so I think you violin skills will surpass piano before too long. I may even take piano lessons so I can help you better.
You have stubbornly NOT learned to read, and I have let that go. But you will catch up and run past kindergarten in no time with that. And oh, I imagine that the library will be a place of wonderment for you when you realize each of those books will come to life when you open it up-a private joy of your own. You decided in the past few months that pants and jeans are tolerable, and sometimes you even prefer them. This is huge because you would have rather eaten rocks than put on a pair of pants before that. You sat down and wrote your alphabet, upper and lower case, and wrote your numbers to 50 until I told you that you were probably ok with the homework assignment to write the alphabet in capital letters and write your numbers to 10. You love to make people proud-you aren't showing off, you just love to please people (this is a misconception people had about me at your age). You have lots of friends, and have become so easy going in social situations. You make new friends easily, and have taken to your new classroom full of new friends like a fish to water. I like seeing you manage so well. Makes me feel like we are doing something right.
You are tolerant, and I feel like we have prepared you well to be kind to others, and to try to stand in non-judgement of their choices (except smoking, but I understand why you can't get behind that). For example, the other night we were playing the Game of Life and Addie was the first to get to marriage and you asked her "do you want to marry a boy or a girl". I was so proud of you. And of your world view that love is love, and people build lives with those they love. And it was a no-brainer that people who love eachother should get married, regardless. I teared up, honestly, because while this may be the world you know as you grow up, it was not always that way. But you know that right is right, and you are fair and honest.
So, happy birthday, my sweet girl. You are SIX years old. SIX!!! We love you, so much. We are proud of the person you are and the person you are becoming.
Love, Mama
Thursday, September 6, 2012
A Letter to Mrs. Woods
Addie had a note in her backpack with an update about her class and what was going on, and what they were learning. The teacher asked us to write them a letter from the child about the child. This is Addie's letter:
Dear Mrs. Wood and Mrs. Korni:
Hi, I’m Addie. You probably know that already, but just thought I’d introduce myself and tell you a little about me. I have a mama and a papa, a sister named Gillian (who is Nearly Six), a cat named Booger, and a hamster named Brownie. We live in a condo in Rogers Park near the Beach, Park, and lots of playgrounds (they’re my favorite!). I am playful and mischievous, and probably never stop talking from the second I get up to the second I finally get tired of trying to get out of bedtime and crash mid-sentence. Mama is pretty sure I’m going to give her a heart attack before I’m 10 because I have lots of courage and no sense of caution (case in point: Stitches in my mouth Easter Sunday because I fell at my beloved playground-at least we did our Easter Egg hunt pictures and Easter Mass beforehand). I am very different than Gillian, who was in Mrs. Woods’ class for two years. I am not as bossy, more independent, and less reasonable. I am equally as precocious, pigheaded, stubborn, and creative. My favorite things in the world are: animals (particularly doggies and horses, but our hamster Brownie is pretty fantastic), snuggle time with Mama, singing about the injustices of the world (example refrain, “I don’t wanna eat my bro-co-leeeee; no-no-no-no-no!!!!!!!”), playing at the playground with friends (though I am happy to play alone for hours), and playing Starfall on the computer (great learning website by the way-but you probably already know that: http://www.starfall.com). Things I don’t like to do: eat (I like about 10 food items, and mama tries, unsuccessfully, all the time to get me to try new things, plus, I’m way too busy), get my teeth and hair brushed (especially my crazy hair), and get up for school in the morning. I could care less about girly things, though I like Gillian’s Barbies more than she does (you will find me as the one acting like a dog in a playdate sea of princesses, for example). I am very physical, very talkative, and love to play pretend with my animals, Polly Pockets, and Barbies.
I am also very sensitive, and crumble immediately when both parents show disappointment or chastise me for something (this manifests itself with a weird, fake laugh while my eyes fill with tears). I like to zoom in for a hug and quick affection every now and then before getting back to the business of being me-playful, silly, and focused on the things I am interested in. Please be patient with me if I’m belligerent-it’s in my DNA. My security rests in routine, like all kids, and knowing I am loved (also like all kids) so firm, but lovingly enforced boundaries (and a hug every now and then) work best for me.
I left the care of a nanny I have had since I was born the Friday before school started (that Haukie shared with me), so we are both having a hard time acclimating, though we are doing better this week. You probably notice that we’re besties and are attached at the hip-we have always gotten along beautifully, and have known eachother since we were 13 months old. Our mamas thought a familiar face in the class would make this easier on us since we’re such young preschoolers.
Thanks ahead of time for all the love and all the patience.
Love,
Adelaide
Off we go, into the wild blue yonder
The girls-both of them-started school this week. Gillian in Kindergarten and Addie in pre-K. To say it was rough going is an understatement. To say I question every day whether or not Addie should be starting such long days (8a-5p) is also an understatement.
We talked things up to Addie and she did great Monday and Tuesday-it took her until Wednesday to join in the Chorus of Wailing at drop off. They had to pull her off of us Wednesday, and Thursday, and Friday. It feels inherently wrong to let that be how the morning starts for everyone, but I know she has to get used to a new situation. The girls are at aftercare for two hours after school three days a week, together (PreK and K are in the same part of the school), which is awesome. Tuesdays they have piano and Wednesdays I pick them up, so no aftercare. We're trying to have a balance, at least.
On the first day, Gillian looked so grown up in her uniform. She looked a little nervous, but was brave and filed into class with her teachers. Her teacher is a favorite among parents and kids I have met who are older, and was the one who conducted her assessment in 2011 for kindergarten readiness. This makes me happy because: 1) She is a child development specialist; and 2) If Gillian is a pain (because she's a HUGE know-it-all), then the teacher should have to deal with that because she's the one who suggested Gillian wasn't socially quite ready to start kindergarten last year. For example, at orientation, the teacher read the book The Kissing Hand and got to the part where Chester goes to school. At that part of the book the little animals are heading to a big oak tree for class and it was nighttime (because he's a raccoon) and she said "some animals are awake at night and sleep during the day". To this Gillian chimed in "yes, because Chester is NOCTURNAL". Good luck, lady.
Addie, on the first day, thought this was pretty cool. She thought her doggie backpack was cool, that she was pretty awesome for being *So.Big*, and that she could go with Gillian to school. She couldn't even be bothered to turn around and give me a kiss as she hurried in the door. By Day 3, the novelty had worn off, and it occurred to her that this wasn't just a fun activity-it was THE NEW ROUTINE. Every Day. Plus, everyone else was a crying mess, so that must be the thing to do. Maybe it was because I was the one that took her. Who knows. It just wasn't good. One redeeming thing about the whole setup is that the child we shared Anna's care with is in her class (his mom and I requested that) so they have each other as familiar faces in a sea of Newness. This week, she cried the first two days, but not the last two. Maybe she's getting to be ok with this whole school thing now.
As for me-well, I have been taking Wednesdays off since Gillian was born (to try to minimize the number of days we went without nursing all day), and work 4 days that, with commute (including morning exercise), are 12.5 hours start to finish. I know it seems silly, but I am so excited about what I will do with those 8 hours between dropping the girls off and picking them up on Wednesdays. I'll be able to do school activities with the kids without taking annual leave, I'll be able to blog more, to do art more, to pick up music again... I am finally rebounding from using all my annual leave when Addie was born. Not going into a whole other topic, I can't imagine us starting over again with a baby. We have gotten to a logistically and financially easier place (the nanny cost way more than the private school tuition), and we all get to sleep through the night. That is heaven.
So, my babies aren't babies anymore. Which makes me want to weep and do a happy dance at the same time. I wouldn't change a thing-life is settling down (read-the house is no longer in disaster cleanup mode) after a Very Eventful Summer (and by eventful, I mean very disruptive, which is another post). We have a nice routine these days, and it will get nicer the more worn in it gets.
Friday, August 24, 2012
To Anna
[Dear reader, this note is for Anna-our nanny of four-and-a-half years...The girls start school on Monday and Anna won't be watching them for us anymore. But, I hate even writing the word "nanny" because she is so much more than that to us. Nannies are people whose job it is to provide care for children. Anna is not our nanny-she is the girls' second mother. She is kind, and good, and patient and loving. Especially that last thing. LOVING... how we love, and we love, and we love everything she is..].
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I can't believe our time is done. The time with you helping raise our babies day in and day out, I mean. I swear, making your photo book, I was near tears the entire time thinking about just how much of our parenting lives you have shared-how every waking day of Addie's life she has known you and how Gillian doesn't remember a day without you near.
I remember worrying about letting someone else take care of my child, my precious Gillian, but how we were kindof forced to do it because Sean's business could never grow without more work hours. How we worried about affording it and we worried about finding a share so we could afford it, but even more we worried that people couldn't care for her or love her like we do. But one thing I have realized, truly, is that the universe provides-always.
I answered your ad on Craigslist, and we set up an interview; after a few flat interviews with people who didn't speak to or make eye contact with my child, you were a breath of fresh air. You shook my hand, but were more interested in meeting HER, and got on the floor with her and talked to her, and your genuine interest won her over immediately...you had a sweet picture in your purse of your own girls. You were also so humble and real. And I was sold-I knew I needed you to be the one with Gillian. I did your background check here in the living room right then. And so it was.
Gillian was 18 months old then. I articulated the heaviness of that decisions well here. But I shouldn't have worried because of subsequent posts like this and this. You and your sweet Julie (who was 4 at the time, and came with you every day for almost a year and a half-which was GREAT for Gillian's development) were such welcome additions to our home, and Julie and Gillian became like sisters immediately, and have been ever since.
I have always found comfort in knowing that Gillian, and then our precious baby Addie, would always be ok with you. As a mother, you know that is such a tremendous relief. They were in your very capable hands. The more we got to know you, the more we realized how gentle and kind and good you are. We realized how important having a mother look after our daughters was. Mothers just have a different sensibility, and I would tell any new mom that hiring a mother adds to the quality of care a child gets. Over the years I have gotten amazing advice and suggestions from you on any number of parenting topics (potty training, transitioning to a big bed, and eating come to mind), which came from your expert mommying of Julie and Monika. And what beautiful young ladies they have become-a testament to excellent parenting skills :-).
When I sat down to write this, I couldn't see through my blurry eyes-and I have been worrying about Gillian and Addie's transition! I hope the book of photos of the girls since you joined our family made you laugh a little and cry a little like I did making it. The life of our family was made richer and sweeter the day you joined it. I mean that. I really want you to know that you have never been just a nanny. You have been so much more to us, to me. A confidante, a friend, an advisor, and an angel...I just want you to know I would sing your grace from the rooftops if I could. I want you to know that I believe you crashed into my sphere to put your stamp of patience and empathy on my children. I want you to know we don't take anything you have done for us for granted. And Gillian and Addie love you all the way to the bottoms of their little hearts and through every cell in their bodies. They love you. We are all just so grateful. Thank you-and visit often.
Then:
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
My Sweet Baby Addie
Dearest Adelaide:
Today you turned three! THREE! I can’t believe that you are so grown up. Already.
I imagine you like a comet, streaking through my life, burning, on fire, lighting up my sky. I know what kind of person you are. I KNOW. Your passion moves you, your full heart spills over, you love expansively. You are fair and kind, and generous. You hug me a million times a day, and pucker up your rosebud mouth and kiss me over and over and over again, little arms around my neck-you pull back to look me right in the eyes and touch my face gently and whisper “MY Mama, my Best Big Mama”. I respond, “MY Addie, my Sweet Baby Addie” (this never fails to make tears sting my eyes). This is what I imagine pure bliss is. Loving someone the way we love each other. You are quick to laughter, and quick to cause mischief, and good at deflecting attention from your initiation of that mischief. You are clever.
You and Gillian have a volatile relationship, though time alone with either of you is calm and quiet. I might hear sweet singing and giggling when you are together or I might hear you fighting big, and loud, and full-throttle (the other day, you got so mad at her you bit her-hard-and left bruises on her arm (but I also want you to know it wasn’t out of meanness-rest assured that she deserved it)). Both of you have so much passion-both of you are larger than life, and believe what you believe, and have a very clear picture of what you want your worlds to look like. I believe you love each other. I believe one day you will be grateful that you have a sister to face the world with. And she loves you, even if she resents the fact she has to share us with you.
My Sweet Baby Addie-you aren’t a baby anymore. When I say you are so big and it makes me sad, you reassure me that you will be my baby again one day. And maybe you will. I tell you that you can never stop being my baby, because no matter what, I will look back and remember you right now. Even the day you graduate from college, or get married, or have your own little girl. I will remember your tiny little face, and the way your mouth moves when you sing, and the way your gold curls frame your angel face as my three year old girl. I will get the same knot in my throat I have right now, just thinking about those days to come, the ache to have you in my arms the way I do these endless numbered days. I hope you are never too big for my arms, my little love.
At this moment I am looking forward to the second I get home and you will run to me; when I can engulf you in all the love I harbor-like a deep red blanket, and get those kisses, and hear those whispers, and look into your intelligent eyes that crinkle in the corners when you smile, just like mine.
And so, Adelaide, I want you to know, I am madly, stupidly, crazy in love with you. You are the manifestation of every love dream I have ever had. You are my gift. And even if you ever stray, or get lost, or lose hope in your own journey, I will be right here for you to come home to. And I will always ALWAYS love you.
Love,
Mama
Thursday, June 21, 2012
The Big Picture
I love this picture. I love that I came to this farm when I was a child, and all the magic and beauty that awed me then, awes my children now. I love that I had the opportunity to share this place with them. This place that (during my first visit) is where I saw wild kittens, and my first live deer, turkey, vegetable garden, held my first baby chick…and ate my first truly fresh produce that we picked or dug right out of the ground. I think about how many beautiful nights catching fireflies I had running around with the most breathtaking, peaceful green backdrop anyone could ask for. I remember crying that summer when I stayed for two months because the idea of going back home-going back to my father’s house-literally almost broke my heart right in half.
The farm belongs to my grandmother’s brother, Jewell and his wife Louise. Today, they are 90 and 83 years old, respectively. They have worked hard all their lives, first on the farms of their parents, and then on the one they built together where they raised chickens and have grown vegetables for more than 60 years together. Louise saw Jewell’s picture in the paper when he returned from World War II and decided she needed to meet him, but that happened serendipitously one day when she was walking to a church event one night-he drove up in his convertible and asked her if he and his friend could take her and her friends to the event. Not long after that, they got married by a sweaty, overalls-wearing preacher who was still in his farm clothes because Jewell has always been early to everything-and they had an appointment to get married on his porch that one Sunday (Jewell declined the preacher's offer to change into clean clothes before they got started). The rest is history, and lots of it.
I never knew my mother’s family; couldn’t even tell you what all her sibling’s names are. I know there were eight of them. I met them when I was 4 and I saw them the last time when she died 18 years ago at her funeral. We don’t keep in touch, even though I know they live in the same part of Pennsylvania they have lived for literally hundreds of years (thank you, ancestry.com). My father has a sister, and I knew her growing up, but she is a lot like him, so I have never been that close to her (except when I was young and didn’t know any better). Oddly, I was always super close to my dad’s parents. Although they raised my dad in Georgia when he was little, did a brief stint in Pennsylvania and then returned to Georgia to raise my aunt (who was 15 years younger than my dad), they always lived close to us when I was growing up in Florida. So, desperate to know some family, ANY family, I took to Georgia and that branch of my family like a fish to water. We went the first time when I was a young kid-I have no idea what possessed my dad to actually want to bring us around family. He had deliberately kept my mother from hers for the 33 years they were married (her sister simply told me that they “didn’t get along”-nope-no more detail than that). I just remember that my world broke open. I had family. And they were like movie characters-with the stories, and humor, and grace, and simply fantastic north Georgia accents (and say things like "them calves was a-squallin'")! I couldn’t get enough talking to them. Luckily, they love to talk too…just like me.
The summer after that initial visit was a family reunion. We went to that. Wow I thought-even more family!! I wrote letters to Jewell and Louise for a couple years afterward, and they invited my grandmother and I to come up and spend the summer one year when I was 10 or 11. I couldn’t get there fast enough. Nothing had changed from my memory of the place-Jewell was still hilarious, Louise still the most loving woman on the planet, the veggies still delicious… I don’t know how many afternoons Jewell and I just sat overlooking the fields and talking about the world. I don’t know how many walks through the 200 acre property we took (he had sold more than half the original farm by that time), him telling me stories about his father the bootlegger, or stories about his childhood, or stories about finances (this made a huge impression on me-one conversation when he told me about his shrewd financial decisions, and said “it’s not how much you make, but what you do with what you make”). At some point during that summer-that endless, wonderful summer, he said to my grandmother, “Ader,” (her name was Ada), “I do believe that little girl is going to be somebody some day.” And how that single comment was more proud and loving than a single word my father had said to me my entire life-how at any cost I wanted to fulfill his prediction to not disappoint him. I know that at that place, it didn’t feel weird to be engulfed by giant bear hugs or to say “I love you” (my family didn’t do or say either). I know that I woke up, excited to tag along to the garden to plant seed or harvest our meals for the day, at the crack of dawn without complaint-because who knew what that day might bring. I couldn’t wait for the day’s stories, the instructions about how to plant, pick, or cook things…how to can and preserve things…how to live your life WELL. There is nothing more I can say about how that affected my world view so profoundly. That summer, I lived without the shadow of my father, and I had a glimpse of how clearly and deliberately life could be lived if a person really thought about something before making life choices. I learned that hard work gets you choices, and that having a choice lets you live the life you want to live; That having choices is the key to happiness; That choices are not always about external things-that just as often, they are about how you choose to perceive what is around you, what happens to you, and how you will let it shape you. Louise and Jewell are frugal, and have built security. When I was there that summer, and Jewell proudly had told me about his holdings, I said “Jewell, what are you going to do with all that money when you die?” and he laughed a good long time, probably appreciating my candor, and said “Well, I reckon I’ll take it with me”. They have always just lived simply, and made good choices. I also remember asking Jewell about whether or not he had ever travelled. His response was “I saw the world during World War II, and that’s all the travelling I ever wanted to do”. He doesn’t need to leave his home, because he lives in an oasis [insert tao quote about the master who never needs to leave his home]. Louise, on the other hand, decided she wanted to go to New York City (she had never left her home town). Jewell told her to “go ahead, then”, and she did with a tour group. She decided that was as much of the world as she needed to see outside home, and never travelled anywhere else except to visit her sons afterward.
So, I have these memories. These acute memories of the smell of the place, of the laughter and stories, of the love of their home that is so palpable. I want my girls to feel those things. I am tremendously sad that they might not have the longevity of experience there that I have had, but so grateful that I brought them there to plant seeds and eat country cooked meals, to hike through the rolling green hills, to marvel at the 19th century houses and barns on the land (one of which my great-grandparents lived in), to ride horses, and to catch fireflies there. I will tell you that if we had had a son, one of his names would have been Jewell, and that it would have been an honor for me to name a son after a man like my great uncle.
I’ve been thinking so much about family. I’ve been thinking about how they have been married 62 years. I’ve been thinking about how superficial we can get with what we EXPECT from our spouses and our children, and how that is a luxury of this generation. People like Louise and Jewell have arrived at a place where any subplots or undertones or their marriage are water under the granite foundation of a life well built together. I’m not sure if they ever had self pitying moments of not feeling cherished enough or not communicating in ways that didn’t hurt each other’s feelings-they were too busy getting things done, raising children and chickens, and generally approaching life like superheroes. They knew that the rule is love, and the exception was everything else. They seem to have never questioned their commitment to one another. After changing my life so much, they continue to influence my thinking-that the place they are is where I aspire to get to in my own marriage-to add some reinforcements to my emotions and keep my eyes wide enough for the big picture. I will never forget, ever, how meeting that part of my family changed the entire trajectory of my life-channeling my resolve for better, to strive for choices. In particular, I am reminded to not forget the simplest beauty, one of the greatest of which is family.
Addie, not caring that we needed to get to music class yesterday, bent over on the sidewalk and took a good, hard look at some ants working. And she said “Awwww! Mama, Look! Baby ANTS! They are SO BEAUTIFUL!!!!” and that comment just made me swell up with grateful tears (and maybe also the lady gardening, who then complimented me on my beautiful children). Kids don’t miss a thing. Worldly preoccupation doesn’t have anything on them. They are wide awake, their lenses are clear. If we learn to sit still, we return to that clarity of perception.
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