16 Years Young

Just over sixteen years ago (16 years and 2 days to be exact!) my world became a better place and I was blessed with an amazing and adorable gift. My identity changed perceptibly the moment I was inaugurated mom. However, the role I have undertaken as parent has not been a fixed one. As my son has moved from one phase to another, my parental role has changed immensely. During these independence-gaining transitions I’ve had an influx, an ebb and flow, of happy and sad. Knowing that someday soon (too soon, I reckon) I will be a partial empty-nester!  And this is where I am today. Feeling forevermore proud of all that he has achieved in his 16 years young, but grieving the chubby cheeked, bluegrass dancing, yellowboot wearing, little boy. And it’s hard. Hard to feel as though I’m loosing just a teeny bit of myself and at the same time, feeling so much love and joy for who this amazing boy has become. So, I will choose the latter. Because to feel anything but excitement and happiness for his bright future would be a dishonor to him and all of the years we’ve spent growing, learning, and loving.

Spring break 2012

One of my biggest concerns about going on spring break with our college friends AND my children was that it wouldn’t be as fun. Why? Because. Because presenting drinking games and buzzed behavior to a tween and teen all weekend long seemed like a recipe for therapy. And so, without alcohol, would the weekend be (as much) fun? So many of the good times in my life—college years, parties, weddings, have been beer and wine soaked and I think, I know, I had come to assume that to really live, to really party, to really celebrate, one must imbibe.

Well, this spring break was the true test. We went to Colorado with some of our college friends and stayed at a gorgeous home right on the 4 O’clock trail in Breckenridge. We planned this trip many months ago and at first I thought it was an “adult only event.” So, when it turned kid-friendly, I contemplated forgoing booze, wondering if I really wanted to experience it without drinking. As Thursday approached, I grew more thoughtful about this one question rising to the surface of my consciousness: Will this be as much fun as our usual gatherings? 

You see, I knew this weekend would be about getting away and kicking back and having a good time. But this would be the first time that we would be tempted to party for 3 days straight! Sure, we have had house parties and BBQ’s. We’ve been to weddings and holiday parties. But this was different. This was college friends. A completely different mentality. Did I mention we went to WVU? I knew there would be plenty of drinking, Bloody-Mary-at-noon kind of drinking. I was excited and nervous wrapped into one. And I wondered how this would be for me, whether I would feel quiet, protective of my babies or awkward. I wondered how our friends would respond to my decision to drink less alcohol and more sparkling water. I wondered about a lot of things.

Shortly after we arrived on Friday, we began to catch up. About our kids of course. About our lives. About what we have been up to for the past year. Then it hit me. 2 of our friends were pregnant. Duh! Of course there would be others not drinking. Dumbest A-Ha moment I’ve had in a long time. And there it was, just like that. The confirmation I needed—this weekend would be just what I intended it to be. Fun without (much) alcohol. 

That was that and the weekend was underway. And it was a fantastic and fantastically fun weekend. We hung out and caught up. We slept in. We played Trivial Pursuit. Made s’mores, built a fire or two. We grilled amazing food and moved around the kitchen seamlessly as if we’ve lived together for years. We soaked up sunshine while skiing/snowboarding our hearts out. And we watched countless games of March Madness basketball. We had fun.

The nights were filled with story telling and reminiscing; the good, the bad and the ugly. There was some inappropriate but very funny commentary. And my boys got to see it all. 15 years worth of friendship wrapped around a large round table, filled with gut wrenching laughing (sometimes turning to tears.) Memories made new. Camaraderie. This was fun. 

And so I went to bed most nights smiling. I was smiling because my tummy hurt from laughing so hard. And I was reminded, keenly, that we can be young, young and wild and free, even when we are getting older. I was smiling because I realized, and powerfully, that a spirited existence has nothing to do with spirits. Wildness can exist without wine. 

This was, and is, major for me. I am a believer in living life to its fullest, in finding fun, in staying young. And to know that these things can be done, really done, without much drinking is a welcoming mindset.

And so. I want to thank eleven wonderful people and my handsome Husband for a tremendous and telling long weekend, a weekend where I felt embraced, aware and rejuvenated. Aware of simple and complicated things: joy, choices, time, growing, friendship—weaving nicely into this layered chapter in my life.

Cheers to life, sun fun and friendship.

New year; new thoughts

The end of the year has come and gone. The new year is here. Fast and Furious. And most of us have plotted and planned what 2012 might look like. We're picking words for our best intentions and at the same time we're looking back at the year behind us; reflecting on our proudest moments as well as those we let slip through our fingers.

I feel myself a little in limbo as I am looking both back and forward. I want to give the past year it's due respect; to fully honor it and make a mental note of how far I've come. How far my kids have come. And yet I am starting to plan for what Feb, March, even July will bring. Each month being a strong stepping stone to the next chapter; I want to be really ready for it.

With all that, I am recalling all the many seemingly two-sided debates we grapple with in our daily lives. Two sides of the story. Now or later. Empty or full. Sunrise or sunset. Inside, outside (or upside down.)

Or, sometimes. We prefer a happy meduim. Maybe these choices we wrestle with are more about striking a harmonious balance. Whatever your angle, there is no denying the many sides.

Cheers to a new way of looking at things today!

Judging and Discerning

The other day I published a brief post, with a small mentioning that our children were away for the week. Away at a beloved summer camp. One that has been in existance for 75 years. One that apparently has been recongnized as an elite summer camp (news to me.) After conversing with a fellow co-worker about said camp and all of the 'plans' husband and I had for our kid-free week, the conversartion took a turn. A turn I wasn't prepared for. A turn that marked, well, a turning point.

"You send your kids to a private camp in the summer and a private acedemy during the school year, must be nice to live such a charmed life." Really? Nice curveball. Frankly, I could anticipate being judged for my decision to send my kids to private school, but camp? Seriously?

I'm still trying to connect the dots of how a benign conversation goes from an exchange of weekly plans; a plate of summer happenings, if you will, to this. To a conversation about whether I am doing my children a disservice by wanting them to have more choices in there education. More responsiveness.

So, I wonder. Am I spoiling my kids or just loving them?

And so I muse....

"I guess I assumed that when it comes to life and parenthood we all do things differently, that there are many legitimate and contrasting ways to approach existence and child-rearing.

How silly of me. How silly of me to not see this coming, this visceral and predictable reaction to my words.

Today I am thinking about judgment and whether it can be avoided. I’m not sure it can. As humans, we have the ability to reason and to judge. It is these very critical faculties that define us as a species. We would not survive a day in the world without the capacity to judge – whether a person is trustworthy, an action is safe, etc. To put it very simply (too simply, I reckon) to live is to judge.

Fine. But what about moral judgments? What about judgments about the way other people carry themselves and speak to others and raise their children? What about judgments about things that are not black and white and obvious, but exquisitely gray in essence? What about judgments about areas as complex as choice, as amorphous as affection? What about these kinds of judgment?

I don’t pretend to know all the answers. It may turn out that these judgments are rooted in who we are as people or who we were taught to be. I imagine this is the case. But don’t we also have discretion? Isn’t discretion a kind of judgment? Isn’t it up to us which judgments we articulate and which ones we keep to ourselves, tucked safely in our whirring minds? I think so. I know so.

And when is it okay to voice our moral judgments? Again, I only have a few clues. But I think this is an important question. One worth thinking about. Particularly as it relates to very sensitive topics like parenting.

Parenthood is a messy and treasured land. For the most part, we all live in this land with good intentions. We adore our children and want what’s best for them. We hope that our kids are happy and healthy and safe and grow up to be the same. Every day is an exercise in effort toward these important ends. And we all take different paths toward these more singular goals, don’t we? Some of us stay home. Some of us go to an office. Some of us home school. Some of us send our kids to private, some to public.

No mater what your choice. It's yours to make. Yours to live with. But one thing we can agree on is we all work for this decision.

Because parenthood? It’s work. Incredibly important and intangible work. Work that compels us and confuses us. Work that makes us cheer and makes us cry. Work that is never ever over.

And so. I’m not sure this post has a tidy point, but that’s okay. These words – it turns out – are as murky as the topics they tangle. And perhaps that’s appropriate.

If there’s a message here, maybe it’s that we are human and fallible and that we are wired to make judgments. Perhaps it is up to us to step back and evaluate our own judgments when and if they come. To pick them apart a bit and try to discern their origins. In the end, I think harsh judgments are unfortunate and fracturing and, for the most part, spring from insecurity. None of us are perfect.

Maybe just maybe, it behooves us to realize that we are all really more alike than we are different. That we are all trying and failing, thriving and fumbling, living and loving and learning. The best we can."

Up close

My Luci.

Some of you may know my little girl already. When home, we are virtually inseparable. My children comment "she loves you best, mom"

She's just the cutest little pup. So gentle and loving. Sweet and full of character. There's just so much to love about Luci.

Today, while missing my boys (they are at a week long camp on Lake Erie) I decided to distract myself. I pulled out my macro lens...it's been awhile! As I was taking close-ups of all the pretty flowers in our yard, Luci was right there with me. I just had to take her pic.

Her beautiful golden lashes make me swoon. I mean. Seriously. Are they not to die for?

Maybe just maybe. It might be time. Time for Luci to get a playmate.
To be continued....

Proud Mama

Among a number of other milestones that have taken place around here lately, my son was promoted from Middle School to High School today. My husband captured this moment of us after the ceremony. It's one of *those* pictures that speaks a thousand words.

I have so much on my heart I'd like to share, a million photographs and numerous blog posts swimming around in my head but for now, this one photo is enough.

Happy Easter

Happy Easter to all those who celebrate today! May your day be blessed.

My baby is 10

Dear Kian,

2/11/11

Ten years ago you made me a mother, again. TEN. Hard for me to believe because, in so many ways, it was yesterday. That snowy and dark winter morning. It was our fourth trip to the hospital. Yes, you kept us guessing and on our toes from the very start. But this time it was real. You arrived in a hurry, pink and screaming. 6 pounds 11 ounces. Immediately, I could tell. You looked nothing like your brother. Tiny, in comparison and brightly blued-eyed. The pictures are proof. How else do we record our moments, our magic? How else do we stop time and mark our memories?

Thanks goodness for pictures.

It seems like you have always been one of my very favorite companions, the person who accompanies me more then almost anyone else, providing commentary from morning to night. Singing. Giggling. And joking. You seem both infinitely older than last year and utterly the same. You grow ever more liminal, shifting between the ages you have been and will be. But it makes perfect sense. That you are ten. Because you are so big. So witty. Your intuition intrigues me. Your determination sustains me. And your songs make me chuckle. Highs, lows, intensity, tenderness, discord, harmony, all woven together in a unique concerto that has become the sound track of our lives.

You mean so much.

I know the days of holding hands and tucking you in are numbered. I know that someday soon I will definitively be mom, not mommy. But today. Today I look back– at your first day and first smiles and first steps. Today I am reminded that as you enter into double-digits, I will always have pictures. Many, many pictures. And words. And stories. Thank goodness. And so I sit here, celebrating the present moment in my PJs, imagining a future when you care to read these very words, words I write so you know how much and how impossibly I love you.

Happy Birthday, Kiwi

Hibernates

A blizzard, then an ice storm. Then rain, then a cold snap, and everything freezes solid. Foliage is dead and buried, brittle or frozen. Everything hibernates.


Go ahead, says February. Find my beautiful. Oh, how I am trying.


Thanks to my new friend Photoshop; I'm looking at winter in a whole new way. A wide-open aperture. A deliberate shoving through of foreground. Focusing on the middle.

Lying in the snow has a whole new meaning!

Waiting for spring

After the holiday rush, January is always a bit of a let down for me. The days are short. The air too cold and everything seems drab. And dark. Wanting spring and all its glory to be here now, I find myself searching out color anywhere I can. Be it the finches that populate my bare trees or the spring catalogues that fill my mailbox on a weekly bases. My anticipation of the new season is palable. And I find it difficult to wait for the colors of spring.

Thanks

"This is the time. To stop. To think. To rest. To realize.

We all have so much. So many things. So many treasures.

We also have moments. Stretched before us. Not unlimited.

Take these moments. Take this time. Open your heart.

Let it breathe. And see. And feel.

It’s more than a word: Thanks.

Be conscious of your treasures.

Be alive in these moments."

Happy Thanksgiving!

Fourteen

Fourteen.

Literally, it doesn’t really sound much different then thirteen. But figuratively, fourteen IS different. It signifies so many changes. The last year of middle school. Ability to get a REAL job. T-minus 2 years until driving, Challenging academics. The building blocks to high school. And so on.

Some might say, it’s the beginning of the rest of his life.

I will now take a BIG, belly-breath sigh!

Although our family is in the midst of all these teenage-year changes, I am grateful that life makes these changes slowly. That I am able to fine tune my life as the wind blows in a different direction. We will adjust as needed.

Landin has done us proud over the years. I’m eternally grateful for his hard-working, judicious and kind spirit. He warms my heart with his. I marvel over all of his accomplishments, big or small. He is my pride and joy. And although life sometimes gets sticky, it's always sweet when he's around. Happy Birthday. Always, your mommy.

Wildness

St. Simons Island, GA

"I have a mild allergy to adulthood" I heard someone say on the bus the other morning. I didn't quite understand the context in which this was being referred. I did however, keep that statement in my back pocket. It spoke to me. But it wasn't until this past weekend that I realized just how much.

Deadlines? Chores? Taxes? Wrinkles? Schedules? These things give me existential hives.

And yet. I tolerate adulthood because I must. Because though I've definitely whined like a toddler, I am an adult. Because at thirty-five, I am a big girl. I have no choice but to act like one.
Why the allergy you say? I'm not entirely sure. It's complicated, I suppose. And the answers may be cop-outs, but they are mine and I hold them dear. I think there are many reasons why I occasionally have a hard time with this growing up business. One of them?

Wildness

We adults - and particularly we perfect parents - are not encouraged to be wild. We are implored to be prudent, responsible and organized. We are supposed to make lists and plans and beds. We are expected to live within our boundaries. We are supposed to color inside the lines. To be civilized and to use our inside-voices all the time. We are supposed to be healthy and rested and drink lots of water.

We are expected to be good boys and girls.

But here's the thing. Sometimes I don't want to be a good girl. Sometimes I want to go out and drink wine (or margaritas) and dance and be young again. Sometimes I want to stay up past my bedtime and swim in deafening music. Sometimes I want to scribble outside the lines and celebrate. Sometimes I want to break the rules.

Sometimes I want to be wild

It was a wild weekend.

And I’m tired. So tired. But I can’t stop smiling. Literally. Can't stop.

It all started with an invitation. Inviting a reunion of sorts. 15+ college friends conjugating to witness wedding vows. The anticipation was immutable.

Friday night? We settled into old habits quite effortlessly. Laughing and teasing. Beer and beer pong and quarters. More laughing. You get the picture. It was a late night and we had a lot of drinking, I mean catching up to do. But Saturday night? It was nuts. For me at least. I got dressed up. (Roar.) I even wore heels. I sipped wine with good friends while making new friends. I played more drinking games. I danced. And I laughed ceaselessly.

My cheeks hurt for hours. It was wild.

Sunday was a bit tamer. A bit. I held court in the kitchen for the first half of the day. Monitoring and offering various foods and beverages to all of the football watching couch-potatoes. But I was happy. I can't explain it. Maybe it was because I was just an adult that weekend. Just me. Not mommy or home organizer. With no expectations. No hard pressed rules or agendas. Later that evening we witnessed a beach wedding with a beautiful couple. And once again, the festivities began. Dancing. Cocktails. Drinking games.

And Monday? For the first half of the day, I was a shell of a person. I was a bit melancholy and my sentences had holes. But I stuffed them with husband snuggles and a good open-mouth airplane nap.

And Tuesday morning? I was beyond shredded with exhaustion. Moving slowly. But quaking with awareness. That life is good. That I am where I should be. That this adulthood thing? It’s actually not half bad. I sit here, sipping a 140 degree cappuccino. Still smiling.
As I write this, I realize that it is okay to go back, to regress, to get wild once in a while. If only to remember. If only to realize that this place, this here and now, this tame territory, is quite lovely.

So. I sit here. A person. A parent. An adult. A wild thing.

Cheers to your inner wild thing!

falling back

I haven't taken my camera out. Much. The beginning of the school year seems to do that to me. I'm so preoccupied with getting organized and into a school routine that I can't seem to find the time. I know. A poor excuse. However, whenever the leaves start to do their thing and I can smell the neighborhood fires, that all changes. New sceneries beg to be photographed. And my camera falls back into its proper place; my hands.

The new school year

One summer ends, another school year begins.

Aye de mi!

Welcome 8th and 4th grade!