On the Other Side of the Door

Dear Lucy,

In March of last year, Big Red took down your crib and I transformed your nursery into a big girl room, the hallmark of which was a twin bed. You loved it. There were little, if any, bumps in trying to convince you to sleep in the new bed. In fact, I don't recall anything at all.

And then three and a half months later we went to California for two weeks in which the three of us, me, you, and Nana, slept together in one bed. Upon return to your room, you decided sleeping alone wasn't cool anymore, so into our bed you migrated. You stayed there until your third birthday, in October, when I created this elaborate scheme to get you back into your own bed. Luna your personal fairy arrived, replete with a fairy door, and a picture of the two of you together while you were sleeping (thanks, Photoshop). Luna also left you a letter in which she explained that she would watch over you as you slept, and that three year-olds are brave and sleep in their own beds. She also left you a new night light that projected stars on your ceiling.

It was a hit, and back into your bed you went.

Until the novelty wore off, and somehow I found you right back at my side again a few months later. Shadows you said. You needed me, you said.

You needed me.

To feel needed is sublime. To know that my presence has the power to cure all your fears is, frankly, intoxicating. You and I both love Wonder Woman, and it's in these moments that I actually feel as powerful. I was never ashamed of the co-sleeping, and I enjoyed sleeping next your warm body. It was equal parts survival and IDGAF. It was, for the time being, working.

Then it wasn't. For a while we dealt with the tossing and turning, kneeing Big Red, and landing elbows on my nose. We were losing sleep. And then it got dramatically worse: you decided the act of going to sleep, at all, was purgatory, and by doing so, took us with you into the pit of hell.

Every single night was an ongoing battle to go to bed. Gone were the calm evenings of stories and songs. In their place were tears and screaming. We bargained, we pleaded. In our worst moments we stomped away frustrated, we yelled. I became angry that I was losing my nights to your hysterics. My darling, I love you in ways words cannot even touch, and yet in those moments, I wanted to mute your cries, to teleport myself out of our sweet home and into someplace, anyplace else. Some nights I was able to call up the patience that you required, and I saw you for exactly what you were: a little girl who felt safe at her mama's side. I would repeat to myself, a mantra: this is what she needs right now, lay with her, it's just a phase, you'll miss this when it's gone. That would get me through a few evenings, but surely as still waters run deep, that ball of anger and frustration would gurgle and rise like a geyser. Again I'd be all rage and fury.

Earlier this month, Big Red and I spoke after a particularly difficult evening and agreed it was time to help you back into your bed. We would draw a line in the sand upon our return from our annual trip to California. I would be as transparent as possible, and we would hold our ground. And by golly it worked. The day you went back into your bed, I told you what would be happening, and true to form, you responded with angry tears and arms crossed over your chest. Proclamations of I WILL NOT! filled our house. I explained there'd be a prize for which to work, which seemed to help.

As the day progressed, I remind you of what would happen. That night we read books, sang songs, and chatted. You asked if I would be in my bed. I explained that I'd be downstairs with Daddy, but eventually I'd go to bed, just like you were doing, and I'd be on the other side of your door.

You have successfully been in your bed since.

The last night you slept in our bed, I watched you and was drawn to the pulse in your neck. The way the rush of blood, sweeping back and forth, made the skin leap up and down. I tried to remain as present as possible, not projecting what would happen the next night, if it would work or not, but rather just being your mama, next to you. You are a fiery, independent, strong-willed little girl, Lucy. In those moments as my eyes traversed the beautiful contours of your perfect face, I thought about how I could best support you. Not just in that hour, but as you continue to grow into yourself, whatever self evolves. I asked myself how to always remain a reflective mama so as not to stand in your way, to never unintentionally clip those dazzling wings. My girl, light always finds you, and I never want to be the one who casts a shadow.

As I wrote earlier, it's absolutely marvelous to feel needed. There will come a day though, when your need for me will change. But darling - you take the lead. I will follow as you are not mine to hold onto; you are your own. Know though, that I am always here, your soft place to fall, just on the other side of the door.

Love, Mama

Aylan Kurdi

I was scrolling through my FB feed this morning, as I normally do, and came across a friend's post that showed a hand-drawn image of a young boy among stars and an ocean, face down. Immediately I knew this had something to do with the drowning of the young Syrian boy, Aylan Kurdi. For selfish reasons, I'd been avoiding the image, and I knew bits and pieces of the story, but it wasn't until this afternoon that I read the article in the New York Times, that I saw the picture and got the full story.

And I couldn't stop unseeing it.

Maybe it's because I'm exhausted, not having slept well this past week, but this picture has affected me, viscerally. My daughter has been getting up in the middle of the night, shaken awake by a cold she's getting over, coughing, calling out for me. In those moments, I'm frustrated, sometimes even angry, just wishing that she'd sleep so I could sleep.

That image of Aylan, the waves falling over his cheeks, in one instant, has made me profoundly grateful of my first world problems, of the fact that I have a bed to sleep in soundly and safely, and mostly of the fact that my daughter is alive and well and capable of calling out for her mama.

I am sick to my stomach, and the tears just keep pooling.

It's as if birthing my daughter split me open. There is a fissure that exists, a permanent fracture that reaches to the blackest darkest corners of my very existence and understanding of the world around me. Seeing that little boy, just a year older than my own daughter, face down, dead - there are no words. Literally none. No poetry, no language, no lyric can define what grips me and reaches far beyond the barbed borders of fear and terror.

It is impossible to remain present, every single second of every day - I am human and I forget, but tonight, should my daughter call out to me, I will try to remember how very lucky we are.

Image: Yante Ismail - UNHCR

Like a girl.

True story. When Big Red and I went in for our 20 week ultrasound, the big one that reveals gender, I was certain we were having a boy. Years before I’d even gotten pregnant, I had a “feeling” I’d be having a boy. This had long since been confirmed by a bearded man who held my hand on the strand in Venice Beach, CA, in the summer of 1999. After placing rough-edged stones in my palm, turning them, and with his finger, tracing the lines that had worked themselves into my flesh after 21 years, he said, “You will have a boy and a girl, in that order.”

Done. The bearded oracle proclaimed it so. So you can imagine my disbelief when the ultrasound technician announced we were having a girl. My reaction was literally along the lines of: Are you serious? Really? Really. We were having a girl. It was a plot twist for which I hadn’t planned. Our baby’s gender still hadn’t sunk in that afternoon as I shopped the isles of Target looking for a ribbon and some bow to tie around my belly for the gender reveal to family and friends I’d been planning. It was not until I was standing in line ready to check out that I realized I’d grabbed a blue bow and ribbon.

Having always been a fervent liberal and champion of women’s rights, the bra-burning, Rosie the Riveter in me kicked into overdrive.  And because I am a woman of action, I quickly took this girl business by the reigns, jumped two feet in, and haven’t looked back since.  My daughter’s room is painted in a bold navy color and is decorated with images of her great-grandmothers, Amelia Earhart, Wonder Woman, and Frida Kahlo. Lucy has the traditional ABC style books, as well as Rad American Women A-Z. Her current favorite letter is “O” for Odetta Holmes. Her little bird voice can be heard saying, “O-detta, O-detta.” She wears a mix of boys and girls clothes, and every night before she goes to bed I say to her: What’s the best part of Lucy? Her head and her heart, because she thinks with her head and loves with her heart. She knows this ritual and pats both her head and heart when she hears the words. My girl is brimming with moxie, she is fearless, and cultivating some sass. In moments of frustration, I try really hard to remind myself that all those qualities will serve and empower her well as she learns to bust through and shatter any glass ceiling she encounters.

To say that I’m hell-bent on raising a woman who knows that her worth does not begin or end with her looks, that her strong thighs will be what propels her to run harder and faster (past the boys), and that she will stand up to those who attempt to keep her down – is an understatement of paramount proportions. While I definitely steer away from an overabundance of pink, frills, and princesses, I will never stop her from those things. That’ll be her prerogative, and the days she chooses glitter over grime, I'll get fancy with her.

Since birthing my daughter, I’ve also become keenly aware of the rising trend in incredibly empowering campaigns to promote women. As I come across them, I’ve bookmarked the clips for future use and reference, and because I fiercely hope that we all continue to champion strong women, know strong women, and raise strong women – they are all here for you.

Like A Girl (love, love, love)

I Will What I Want
I'm Enough

Choose Beautiful

Real Beauty Sketches

Legacy

Strong Is The New Pretty

Potty-Mouthed Princesses (explicit)

And because Mother’s Day is just around the bend, here are some campaigns to remind us that mothers need to be celebrated often, and even when they are taken for granted – lord knows I’ve done so plenty of times with my own – they are still there for us. Sacrificing, worrying, protecting, and loving us. Always.

The Unique Collection
Slow Down

A Beautiful Body Project

Mom's First Birthday

Something To Be Proud Of

Thank You Mom I

Thank You Mom II
P&G Thank You, Mom (Rio 2016)
Best Job

Now play THIS. Loudly. Rock on.

New Look.

In the spirit of spring, and refreshing old looks, I've updated this blog with a new name, These Marmalade Skies. It's an homage to my daughter, and to the kind of mama and woman I'd like to be. Change is never easy, but a good test of the spirit, and keeping the pulse fresh.

And so it happened, that as the month of March went out like lamb, so too did my little lamb. My sweet Lucille sat for her very first official haircut. In a matter of a few skillful snips by my awesome stylist, Leah, gone were my baby's locks. In place was the darling bob of a toddler.

It was another, in a series of so many hallmarks, a first. As I snapped the shutter far too many times, because god forbid I miss the perfect shot, a knot sat in my belly, and I wondered -what happens when the firsts are over? What then? What will I use to mark the passage of time, the images and moments that have anchored me through this cyclone of Motherhood? Those firsts are the eye, the calm, the only way I know I have not missed anything, that she's still little.


On this day, as my baby toddler sat in the chair, a booster seat making her tall enough for Leah's skilled hands, I watched her eyes widen with fear as the locks of her hair fell down the colorful cape draped around her neck. I watched those blue-green eyes bloom with tears as the hair dryer, a new experience, blew her wisps dry. I exhaled a small sigh of relief when I saw that the piece of hair that likes to flip outwards, only on her left side, was still there. Leah offered Lucy a sucker, and the reparation was quickly accepted. And then just like that, it was over.



And then just like that,
the baby was gone.

And then just like that, 
she grew up.

This has been another incredible week of firsts: haircut, lollipops, baking, seeing farm animals, and the big kid swing. As I draw a silent line through each one, cataloging the event with words and pictures, I quietly hush the momentary pannic when I remember that there are still plenty more. She may not be a baby, but she's still little. 

On the drive home from the salon, my mother who is visiting us this week, was sitting in the backseat with Lucy. We were both marveling over the darling new do, when she asked, "You don't want to get her ears pierced?"

No, I said. Not until she asks.

I still have that first.

2015

The profound, Day #1 of the new year, proclamation.

Nope.

No new diet. I ate leftover Chinese take-out for breakfast AND lunch. And I’ll eat it again for dinner.

Not going to find that here. Far too many times I’ve made some pretty bold statements about new leaves I’m turning over, sins I’m giving up, and how many pounds I intend to lose. Sure, I can make a list of resolutions if forced to do so, but if Motherhood has taught me anything it all, then I know to keep my mouth shut…for the most party anyhow.

The best teacher: my kid.

Before I had my kid, I had all kinds of notions of the things I would or wouldn't do as a mom; how quickly many of those notions flew out the window when the day-to-day reality of this squirming, mewing newborn – now turned babbling, spunky toddler – arrived on the scene. 2014 has been the single most humbling year of my life. Harder than any rehab after knee reconstruction, harder than getting up at 4 am in the bitter cold to train before heading to class, harder than moves across the country, harder than my first year of teaching. It’s been HARD.

But – I’ve been a keen student and have grown marginally wiser to this new normal. I’m still learning, though. Learning to let go, mostly. To let go of what other mothers are doing and to not compare myself to them; we’ve each got our own gig going, and what we do is the best for our own kids. To let go of the dog-hair tumbleweeds that taunt me in the corners of the stairs, to let go of the dishes that haven’t been scrubbed, to let go of the office that sorely needs to be reorganized. I’m not a “let go” kind of woman by nature. In fact, I’m quite the opposite. I’m the get shit done, every square inch of my home is organized, kind of woman – at least I was. I’ve had to clear out the clutter in my psyche and make room a whole other human being, one that needs me much more than the dishes, the dog hair, or the messy closet.

I’m just going to continue on this journey with Lucille and Big Red. I will do my best to take care of myself a little better, and to continue learning to let go of the small things. Okay, so I lied. That previous statement sure did sound like a resolution, but I’m alright with what I’ve put out into the universe.

Happy 2015.

Fall 2014

Once again we have found ourselves in coats and scarves, the traces of autumnal colors all but gone. We crossed the threshold of one year as parents, and I personally gave myself a pat on the back for surviving. Not that we're out of the woods; we're still very much deep in the trees, often in the dark, guessing at which direction we should head.

Miss Lucille continues to grow and thrive despite the endless stream of colds, coughs, and annoying germs from daycare. She loves her friends at "school," and she adores her teachers. We often get reports that our kid is the "life of the party," and is quite content to entertain. Big surprise. Not much is different at home, and my blue-eyed babe makes me smile and laugh on a daily basis. She is growing her personality more and more, and learning just as quickly.

To date, Lucy now says: mama, daddy, ball, apple, happy, car, go, yeah, bubbles, baby, doggie, ducky, birdie, book, woof, good girl, and nana. She understands a ton, and can point out or go and grab most of her toys when asked. Her current favorites are Piggy (a stuffed pig), Tiger (a stuffed tiger), and any of the cars Big Red gave to her from his matchbox collection. Lucy continues to enjoy books, and we've added Chicka Chicka Boom Boom to the rotation. For now the pacifier remains (say what you will), but we're down to just an am and pm bottle of milk. Lucy knows the signs for more, food, help (a modified version), and milk. She gets her teeth brushed every night, and continues to be a good sleeper - that is, when there's no illness thwarting her efforts.

In the month of December alone she added four teeth, for a total now of six, and there appears to be a few more on deck. Lucy quickly learned to climb into the Learning Tower Big Red made for her, and most evenings she keeps me company in the kitchen while I put dinner together. She is content to play with a bowl and spoon while mama cooks.

A few other notables this fall season:

• first trip to the pumpkin patch
• first trick or treating Halloween
• she's using a utensil to eat more often
• she can identify the eyes, nose, ear, mouth, and belly
• stacks rings on a stick
• working on throwing a ball
• getting better at walking faster and close to running
• she had her first unofficial haircut - I trimmed her bangs
• she rode her first pony

Personally, I'm still struggling to find a balance - Motherhood and Myself-hood. I joined a gym, and the goal is go twice a week. Out of two weeks, I made my goal once. Baby steps. Most evenings I'm exhausted by 8 pm, but Big Red and I have gone out a couple of times, and I went out with some girlfriends a week ago - no husbands, no kids, just the gals. We had a lovely time. Tonight as I sit here and write this, the monitor next to me, an ear keenly tuned to any chirps my kid makes, there are dishes in the sink, and plenty of tidying up to do. There just aren't enough hours in the day to get it all done. So I've decided I can cry about it (which sometimes happens), or I can pick and choose what I feel really needs attention, and then let the rest go. Letting go is difficult. VERY difficult, but so necessary at this stage in my life. As I've said before, perfection is unattainable and a dangerous bar to set.

Despite all the exhaustion of parenthood and life, my crowning achievements this season have been putting together Lucy's first birthday party, and finishing a project that had been in the works since she was born: I edited and put together all the live-action clips of my daughter's first year in a finished piece. It's 30 minutes long, would probably bore anyone who isn't blood related to this kid, but I LOVE IT.

Christmas is around the corner and I have a sneaking suspicion Santa will make a stop here for Lucy. She's too young get to get Christmas, but I still look forward to seeing her face light up each night when she flips the switch that turns on the Christmas tree.

I'm going to hit the "publish" button on this post, change into my comfy clothes, ignore the dishes in the sink, and head downstairs to relax. Because if I don't take the opportunity to relax tonight, then it won't really ever happen.

Rattled.

I belong to a network of working mothers and we have a space on Facebook that’s closed to the outside world where we can post whatever rants, frustrations and successes that currently pepper our chaotic lives. Recently, a member posted a link to an article that revealed some statistics (as collected by a survey done through Care.com) about working mothers. First of all, I could have written several portions of that article, but what startled me the most were the following two revelations: 1 in 4 working moms cries at least once a week, and 11% are late or call in sick to work at least once a week. Before my daughter was born, I was the archetype of timeliness to work. Not anymore. Just this morning, my alarm went off, as it always does, at 5:30 am, but it wasn’t until 6 am that I pulled what sorry sack of a human I currently am, out of bed. In order for me to get to work on time, I need to be pulling out of the driveway by 6:20, and definitely no later than 6:30. Today it was 6:45, and that included skipping breakfast. 

Early on in the article, the author recounts a rough evening where after a long night at the office she comes home to discover that there isn’t enough milk left in the house and that come morning, her kids would wake wanting their milk and there would be none. Fatigued, and ready raise the white flag, she “[shuffles] into the living room, [crumples] into an exhausted heap on the floor next to a pile of toys no one had cleaned up” and cries. This morning as I was frenetically getting myself together (which involved grabbing the nearest work-reasonable top, one that I wouldn’t notice until it was too late, had dried Lucy snot on one shoulder), I passed by the living room and was also confronted with a scattering of toys that had not been picked up. That chore falls under my list of responsibilities, but last night I’d made a deliberate choice not to pick up her toys because I needed to get a lasagna into the oven. And the reason it had to happen last night was because attempting to put it together this evening, baking it, and having it be ready for a 5:30/6 pm dinnertime would be impossible. So it had to happen last night. By the time Lucy was in bed, and the lasagna was bubbling in its Corningware, it was nearly 8:30. I had just a paltry thirty minutes left to speak to and hang with the man I call my husband before my eyelids would become too heavy to keep up. These days I turn to dust around 9 pm. 

Motherhood itself is tough stuff, but more than motherhood itself, it's the rattling motherhood does to your life. The secondary expense. All that stuff I got done on time, had organized, remembered - well, I can't seem to get a handle on it. Any of it, and it's rattled me because I've always been the one who has their shit together. There just isn’t enough time anymore.

I’m late to work on a regular basis, I haven’t exercised in god knows how long, I eat crap (breakfast this morning was chocolate chip cookies and a Sunkist – leftovers from Lucy’s party this past weekend I shoved in my bag on the way out the door), I forget stuff, and the house is constantly verging on disastrous. Here’s the good news. My daughter is healthy, happy, thriving, and loved immensely. My marriage is solid, and we have an understanding that while most days we can only muster a quick conversation and check-in, for now it’s about survival.

I know that so much of this, motherhood, parenting, life, is all about perspective. If I take a moment to pause and examine the details, the conclusions are a lot less dramatic. Late to work for me means not getting there with time to exhale before running down to do bag duty. Am I technically late? No. But to me, it feels like late when I don’t have some leisurely time. While I occasionally replace some meals with total shit-bag food, not every meal I shovel into my pie-hole is without merit. In fact, tonight’s lasagna is made with grass-fed beef, and plenty of vegetables. And the disastrous house is not tragically disastrous, it’s just lived in and not always picked up with everything in its place. What can I say? My standards are my own prison.

Too many plates are spinning, there are far too many balls in the air. Something has to give. And not only does something have to take a backseat, but I need to pick a starting point. A place from which to reassess – find and hit the proverbial reset button. Instead I’m faced with what feels like my own personal Everest of a mission, and I have no idea where to begin. If I could just get 48 hours - 48 hours that included an acupuncture session, a full-body massage, and time to regroup, that would be perfect. Instead I’m Clarice Starling in Buffalo Bill’s basement, in the dark, pointing my gun at nothing in particular. 

Class of 2013

This is my requisite end-of-the-year post. Normal though, it is not. The faces you see above are the faces of the very first graduating class of our little school. 55 seniors will walk across a stage tonight and receive their high school diplomas. Some of them are fortunate enough to know exactly what they want to do with their lives, others are still searching. All have something special to offer the world.

I started with this group four years ago, teaching them as freshman and have been their teacher since. They have grown, both physically and emotionally. On more than one occasion I have wanted to punt their asses down 5th Avenue, and likewise, I'm sure they cursed me to hell. It has been a love/hate relationship, but somehow, despite whatever bumps we've had along the way, however many eye-rolls and f*ck-yous have been slung at my head (or silently, slung at theirs - let's be honest, I'm human), this motley crew has endeared themselves to me. How apropos the epithet this class chose for themselves: "Never Before, Never Again."

Never before have I been with a single group of students for four years, and never again will it happen. They are our first pancakes - you know the one that either turns out too blond and under cooked, or burnt altogether. These kids took a chance on us, and we did our best to educate and instill in them enough tools and tricks of the trade so that they have a fighting chance at making something of themselves. Tonight we send them off on the wings of Pomp & Circumstance. This group has challenged me, and in many ways, prepared me for motherhood.

My first lesson comes tonight.
55 reminders that while they were mine for a short while, I still have to let them go.

Lucky.

A new year. And of course the inevitable reflection of life and my existence within it. I said back in September that I was going to consider dismantling this blog. As of right now, I've decided against it. There is still a strong sense in keeping some of my life off the screen, but there is also a want and desire to write about it. The author in me, perhaps seeks to share, or at the very least engage in the act of writing. And "publishing" on this blog holds my writing accountable to me. For now, that's good enough to remove this blog from the chopping board.

Every new year's eve, I find myself saying, "this year will be better, I can feel it." I felt that on December 31, 2011, and I felt it again last night. 2012 held both sunshine and rain. Big Red took a giant courageous leap and made a career change and also got a brand spanking new car! I got healthy, lost a bunch of weight, and then began fostering a romantic vision of starting down the road to a family. It happened quickly for us, near the start of summer, and just as we were beginning to wrap our heads around the idea - after 11 weeks, it was gone. Just like that.

And then school started; my "kids" were now seniors, this would be our fourth year together! I had incredibly high hopes for the first semester. Alas, it fell hard, and has fallen quite flat. The class I was/am teaching has missed the mark. I know it and that has been rough. As for forging on towards a family when we were cleared for take-off once again, the family train became a mission. Too much of a mission. My personal life and professional life, both for which I had grand visions, became blurred and disappointing. I was trolling through a fog and it sucked.

This winter break was exactly what I needed, and somehow I've convinced myself to pull my ass out of the muck at work, just enough to get through the remainder of the semester, making the best of what pieces of the course I can salvage. I'm determined to end the semester on a positive note.

As for the personal, I am giving myself permission to step off the train and attempt to relax a bit. I don't want to hear, "just don't think about it," because that's virtually unattainable. In fact, it IS impossible. Trust me, I'll be thinking about it all plenty, but I'm working hard not to allow this vignette in my life to become all-consuming. I don't want to hear questions about how is it going. That's incredibly infuriating, regardless of the source: friend or family. I'm inquisitive myself, and love to know about the lives of others - I understand that. This journey in life is incredibly personal - more so than any other. I know people care, and I know they want to know - but tough titties. If I've got news I want to share, trust me, I'll share it. Moving on.

My eyes are not averted, just refocused on the other just as important pieces of my life: my husband, my Olive, my family, my friends, my health, my creativity, and my peace.

On the advice and encouragement of a friend, I'm going to my very first acupuncture appointment next weekend. Totally excited! Even Big Red was intrigued (I think I may have even detected a hint of some interest from him...). It's a new year and I can't think of a more appropriate time to have my chi or "life energy" realigned and balanced. I'm completely open to it.

My resolution intentions for 2013 are to remember (thanks Mia) that this is just how it is right now, live in the present without projecting, seek to find balance, and to enjoy.

This year will be better, I can feel it.

Spring Break 2012

Awesome.

That's what spring break 2012 has been for this gal.

First things first: a word on friendship. A little over a year ago I wrote about the friendships in my life. Specifically one that had fallen by the wayside, one that I'd all but given up on. It was hurtful, but I didn't know any other way to make it better, so I did my best to move on from the loss - and a loss it was. This was a friend who held an incredibly important history in my life, and her absence was deeply felt. I'm happy to say that through a series of emails, we have slowly begun to reconnect. I wanted to do something for her son who turns four years old tomorrow so I put together a little slideshow of pictures of him over the past few years. I burned the slideshow and put it in the mail. This is what I found inside my inbox this morning:

What absolute and utter delight! That little face, those silly and kind words. It made my week. I responded to my friend letting her know how glad I was that he enjoyed the video, but more so that she enjoyed it as well. While it was a gift for her son, this was also another hand extended, another small brick put back into the foundation of our friendship. I couldn't be happier.

The next best part of my week was photographing newborn, Jack Michael. At just 8 days old this fine young man slept through the entire session allowing us to pose and repose him. My friend Z was on hand, as this was her new nephew, and I was able to snap a few that included her. Jack could not have been a better baby and it was a perfect session. The images I was able to capture were fantastic and in my opinion, my very best work to date.

My photography website is now completely functional and I have my own domain! I also created a Facebook page on the encouragement of Jack's proud mom. Slowly I'm growing my gig and it's tons of fun.

On the Big Red front: he started his new job, and guess what? It's going so well! We're both relieved and excited for the many opportunities that will be coming his way. Although this new job will include travelling which will take him from me and Olive every now and again, I am completely and fully supportive of this endeavor. He more than deserves his chance to shine and dammit, I believe he'll finally have his moment.

Lastly, and I can't believe I'm listing this last because it's certainly not LEAST - I'm just 0.4 lbs. shy of hitting another weight loss milestone: 25 lbs. I'm pretty sure it's in the bag and hopefully this weekend or early next week, I'll cross that threshold. I feel fabulous, astoundingly phenomenal. My clothes are hanging off me, and I'm able to pull out pieces that had long since been buried at the back of my closet. I'm not quite slinking into the jeans I wore for my bachelorette party, but no doubt, I'll get there.

The life that Big Red and I have created is really coming into its own. We are both collectively and individually hitting our strides; I have great hope that more goodness is just on the horizon.

Cheers.

Thanks.

First and foremost, Happy Thanksgiving.

It's nearly 8 am, and I'm the only one up this early. Which is kind of ridiculous since I'm not even cooking anything today. There's a thick scarf of fog outside and the grass has been painted white with frost. When I let Olive outside this morning, I skipped the slippers, and my feet nearly burned from the chill of the concrete. Can you say, "winter?"

I haven't been around this blog lately, mostly because I haven't had much to write about. I guess that's a good thing in some respects. The biggest news as of lately is that I had an essay published on page 2 of the newspaper. It's the closest I've ever gotten to page 1. I received some lovely responses from readers, but the best response was a phone call from an 86 year-old man. He said he'd been the very first principal of one of the oldest high schools in our district. He told me he also took my same approach with students. He then said he was a little mad that he hadn't written the essay himself, as he saw it from his own voice. It was a tremendous compliment.

Big Red continues to slowly make progress on the bathroom downstairs. The walls have been insulated, the plumbing has been worked out. The next big step is to install the shower. We might even get to that today before heading over to his mom's house for dinner! He's also been making great progress on his personal happiness. I wrote about it some time ago, how he'd been struggling, and while I didn't outline all his daemons - those are his to share, I will say he has found himself in a much brighter space. There is a lightness about him that had been absent. His smile has returned and he's been able to tolerate work in a way that doesn't seem to drag him down.

As for me, a door may have opened for an opportunity to photograph a wedding - a small wedding. Just the groom and his fiance and whomever marries them. In all actuality, it would probably be more like an engagement session. While the simple utterance of the phrase photograph a wedding makes me want to turn and run, this scenario isn't the typical one. The couple may decide to go with someone else, and that's all well and good. I honestly don't know if I'd choose me either. In the email to the groom I basically laid out my current skills, my current equipment - one camera and one lens. Not so much to scare him off, but just to make sure all expectations are super-duper clear. But if they do choose me, I'll be grateful for the opportunity to continue working on my photography and for being the person who gets to document their special day. I'll let you know what happens.

I am grateful for a job in this very volatile economic climate, especially in my school district where a measure just passed to close several schools therefore cutting 400 jobs. Yes, 400 - and I still have my job. I am grateful for my students and their willingness to let me be me in the classroom.

As silly as it may sound I am grateful for having had the means to purchase my camera - a little piece of wondrous technology that allows me to have fun, express myself and record tiny slices of peoples' lives, as well as mine.

I am most grateful for modern medicine and its ability to bring smiles back on sad faces.

There is so much to be grateful for this morning, and every morning, really. To list them all would seem cliche.

Student taken photograph of me at my desk.

I love and I am loved. For this, I am most thankful.

first snow

untitled.

There are events in life that prompt you to come to a screeching halt. And after that, in a vacuum of quiet, you are afforded a moment of contemplation. And after that moment, if you are lucky, you are awash in thanks.

Today I am thankful for the two parents I had growing up. Two parents who sometimes drove me nuts (no doubt the inverse is more than accurate as well), and asked questions, and showed up for parent/teacher conferences, and drove me to soccer practices, and girl scout meetings. Two parents who sat down every single night at the dinner table and spoke to me and my brother about our days. Two parents that threw birthday parties and kept up the masquerade of Santa Claus long after we already knew. Two parents who took us on summer vacations and showed up at games and who bought us back-to-school clothes and supplies.

As a teacher of eight years, by my best approximation, I have known somewhere in the vicinity of 900 students. 900 lives. Today, it's one particular life that stands out.

Imagine you are a teenager and have not one single adult in your life who cares about you and bothers to check up on you. Imagine that you've lost your mother to a life of drugs and mental health problems. Imagine that your father works six of seven days a week and doesn't come home until late. Some nights, drunk. Imagine you have no siblings, cousins, aunts or uncles with which to speak or confide in. You are sixteen and responsible for your entire life.

Imagine how lonely you would be.

I know this student. It's maddening. I asked Big Red how he would feel if I brought one sad case home with me for Thanksgiving. He was incredibly hesitant and I can understand why. I realize it's not my job to save students, but I can't help but want to. And I'm not talking about save in the educational sense. I'm talking about saving a kid from their own life. But it's bigger than just a trip home for Thanksgiving. The responsibility of crossing over from teaching life into personal life might be too big at the moment. Too dangerous. And this fear stops me.

So I do other things.

Check up on this particular pound puppy, give them my cell, ask if they're doing alright. Offer hugs and a quiet classroom at lunchtime if they want/need to talk.  There are so many pups I want to throw my arms around and bring home to sit at the dinner table with me and Big Red. I want to show them a warm home, a lovely dog, and a hot meal. I want to give them my couch to lay down on, a thick blanket to throw over their shoulders, a movie in the DVD player. A house filled with conversation, not silence.

Teaching can be just about teaching if that's all you allow. You can deliver content, grade your papers, enter marks into the computer and print out a report. But how can anyone ignore the human side of teaching? The sometimes screwed-up, tangled mess of beauty each kid is that walks through the classroom doors? How can I ignore that?  The simple truth is, I can't. As frustrating and infuriating as it may be, I consider getting to know these kids, hands down, THE BEST part of my job. It's cool if I can turn a skeptic onto poetry, but learning about their lives and finding out what drives them, what frightens them - what makes them people, is awesome. Unfortunately, this excavation and discovery often brings harsh truth. Realities of abandonment, drugs, death, discrimination and all the other horrors of the world.

Tonight, as I snuggle under an over-sized blanket on the big brown couch, Big Red on one end, Olive somewhere between us, I will be thankful for the stroke of a lucky life I've been given.

Christmas, last year at our house. I wish all my students had a picture like this they could call their own.

September 11, 2001: I was there.

September 11, 2001

I am there.

It is a Tuesday. As a graduate student in the Steinhardt School of Education at NYU, I am scheduled to go in for my student-teaching. The school is located on East 22^nd street, between Madison and 3^rd Avenue. Right near Gramercy Park.

Just about 2.5 miles from the World Trade Center.

I get up, eat breakfast, get dressed, and gather my materials. I leave my rented room with blue walls, a tiny room on the third floor of an old Victorian house, in Flatbush, Brooklyn. I hop on the D train at Beverly Rd., and take a seat near the window as I always do. There is graffiti scratched into the window of the train’s car. Maybe done with a key? Someone bored on their way into the city? On their way home from a long day? We move underground for some bit and then pop up again as the train rises to cross the East River by way of the Manhattan Bridge.

At some point the lull of the train stops. We are stopped on the bridge. I don’t make anything of it as trains often do funny things like stop for no apparent reason. But then people scream. And then the screaming people all get up out of their seats and move to the left side of the train, their faces pasted to the windows.

Just as I look up and see the smoke, a woman sitting near me, with fingertips pressed to her lips, and  utter disbelief in her voice, says, “Oh my God. That’s my office.”  Something turns inside me.

Because the memory of what I saw and the time at which I saw it is hazy, I don’t remember if both towers had been hit yet. At the very least, one was already blaze. Probably both had already been hit.

Black smoke spirals from the mercurial obelisk into the sky.

The train begins to move again. I am unnervingly uncertain of what I’ve just seen, but am feeling a nagging suspicion that something is very, very wrong. There is talk on the train of a “small” plane “accidentally” crashing into the tower and honestly, it seems plausible given the closeness of the skyscrapers to La Guardia and JFK. They share airspace. After getting off the train at my stop and walking to the school, I quickly make my way into the classroom. My friend Chris is there. We have the same Master teacher. If I remember correctly, he is finishing up his class. The bell rings and students shuffle out of the classroom into the halls. My class comes into the room. I whisper to Chris that the World Trade Center is on fire, and that a plane (or two?) has crashed there.

And then this is what I remember happening next:

The voice of the principal crackles over the PA system.

He says that the school is on lockdown.

A student takes out an electronic device of some kind that has a radio, and he/she listens.

I lean out of a classroom window trying to look downtown towards the WTC.

The student reports that the South tower has collapsed.

Chris and I look at each other.

Our Master teacher becomes hysterical talking of war and being under attack.

We try to calm her down explaining that she cannot lose it in front of the students.

The student with the radio reports that the North tower has collapsed.

I may or may not have leaned outside the window again.

I think I remember smelling smoke.

The students are confused.

We are incredulous.

At some point we are all released, and I walk the empty streets of Manhattan with Chris. There is virtually no body, no car to be seen anywhere. Manhattan is an empty movie set long since abandoned after the director has called it’s a wrap. I try a payphone on our walk back to his dorm room, but there is no dial tone. Silence on the streets, silence on the phone.

All I can think is to call Big Red who is living back in the Steel Town.  We have been dating just a year and a half at that point. I am unaware that another plane has gone down near our Steel Town.

All I can think is to call my parents and let them know I’m okay.

We walk some more. There is no train service. All transportation is shut-down, Manhattan itself is on lockdown. We make it back to Chris’ place, and I try my cellphone to no avail. Chris points out that he has internet via his cable line. I send out an email to friends asking them to call both Big Red and my parents. I find out later that someone has reached them all and let them know I’m okay.

But I am still stuck on Manhattan. But I am not scared. I just want to get home.

We watch some of the news and sometime later the city decides to reopen a select few train lines.  I am able to find one that will go to Brooklyn. Unfortunately the closest stop is still miles from where I’m living. Miles through some shady areas. I have no choice but to ride anyway.  The train is crammed with the ragged and the weary.  The train lurches to a stop somewhere in Brooklyn. I do my best to orient myself as I climb the steps out of the ground, trying to figure out in what direction I need to begin walking.  After what seems like several blocks, I am still uncertain if I’m headed in the right direction, and that is when I spot an ambulance. I knock on the window startling the two men inside. The passenger rolls down his window. I explain my situation and ask them if I’m headed in the right direction. They confirm that my instincts are right, but that I still have a long way to go. I thank them and continue.

By now it is dark and I don’t want to dillydally any longer in suspicious neighborhoods. So I walk and walk and walk some more, keeping a quick pace. And then lights began to flash: blue and red. The ambulance. They pull up beside me and tell me to get in. They take me all the way home. I thank them profusely. I don’t know if they felt sorry for me, if they knew I’d be walking through danger or what. All I know is they chose not to ignore me.

I turn the lock with my key, and go inside. 

on the rivers

Last night will probably go down as Mom's favorite night here. Big Red's BFF, Josh, has a boat and he was gracious enough to take the three of us out last night. We couldn't have scripted a better evening if we tried. The weather was warm enough that we didn't need sweatshirts, the sun set itself in a bold crimson sky, we could hear and see the Pirates game (PNC Park is right on the river), and the best part? A fireworks show. All seen from the best seats in the house on Josh's boat.

First class, orchestra seating, going down the Allegheny River towards the city skyline. Dig the shoes? Those are a Payless BOGO special circa 2006. I know. You're jealous.

Our pretty little city and one of the river boats.

Josh hit a proverbial home run last night and Mom thanked him profusely. There's something magical about being out on a body of water. Is it because that's where we first started? It feels natural; the quiet bob of the water's life as it crests with breath and falls back into itself. It was a wonderful evening, no doubt. And we have Captain Josh to thank for it.

Found these pics on Mom's camera, and thought I'd add them. The first one is me photographing Daisy, sweating like a hog because it was an inferno upstairs in T's house, and the second one is Mom doing her 'thang. Um, can you tell she's ready to be a grandmother??

More on Mom's trip later.

Mom Time.

Mom is coming for a visit later this summer!! We have been searching online for weeks now, putting in bids on priceline in hopes of finding a super rad ticket deal. Prices were looking good, but not good enough to click the purchase button. Yesterday I hit the jackpot. I decided to switch our tactics and tried Kayak. BINGO! Thank you Delta. Round trip airfare from her house to ours: $280, and that included all taxes and fees. I rang Mom up and told her what I had in front of me on the computer screen - she said GET IT!

So I got it. Which by the way, is how things work in our family. If something needs found online, typically I'm getting a phone call from California for some aid. I will say that my parents have gotten better, more independent and confident in their use of the World Wide Web. But airline tickets - I think I've purchased all of theirs.

Mom will be here for a lovely 10 days. I warned her: since she'd be visiting right up until it was time for me to return to work - not to expect a daily schedule chalk-full of sight-seeing and outings. I was more than happy to take her on a few excursions, but I was hoping she'd be just as happy hanging out. Mom was more than amenable to my proposed agenda. Selfish as it might be, I don't want to spend the last few hours of summer running around, my free time being zapped by a shopping trip. I wanted to savor it, enjoy it, and I couldn't think of a better person with which to spend it. Quietly and peacefully - not in the car on the highway.

She said all she wanted to was to be with me. Done.

I don't get to see Mom very often, just once or twice a year. 2011 proves to be a real treat. I saw her in April, she'll be here in a few short weeks, and Big Red and I have plans to be with my family out in California come XMAS. Three whole times in one year. Sweet deal if you ask me. You know, most days I don't miss my parents in a way that's longing or desperate. I don't need to see them all the time. In fact, we probably work better with a little space between us. Now, 2000+ miles is quite a bit of space. I wasn't necessarily looking for THAT MUCH space, but it's just the way life has worked out. We talk on the phone every couple of weeks, sometimes more often, sometimes not. We use Skype every now and again, and that's fun. I can only speak for myself when I say that I've grown, for the most part, accustomed to living far apart from my family. Most days we all just go about our business doing our own things. Occasionally I will feel the absence of my family; those moments can be difficult, but they are not impossible. I imagine that when Big Red and I have our first child, it will be then that the missing becomes more pronounced. Flagrant in your face, can't ignore it kind of missing. The casual drop in, when you actually want it, won't/can't happen. But isn't that usually the case? The day Big Red and I got married, I felt his brother's and grandmother's absence. Both passed years before we were married. Daily life is manageable. It's when life presents its biggest celebrations and milestones that we want to share with the ones we love most.

I'm sure my parents were not thrilled when Big Red and I told them we were planning on moving back East. I can imagine they were pissed, hurt and angry. Dad is much better about keeping his opinions to himself; Mom - not so much. She let us know she didn't like the fact that we were leaving. Mom questioned how we would remain a family, and how would her grandchildren know her? She did not want to be a stranger to her own kin. While we haven't crossed that bridge yet, I have confidence in modern technology and our ability to remain a tight unit despite the miles between our physical selves. I've tried to put myself in her shoes, tried to feel the hurt of letting a daughter go and live her own life.

The shoes just don't fit yet.
No doubt someday the tables will turn.
And I'll know.