Sunrise, Sunset

Dear Lucy,

I wrote the following while on vacation this summer:

There is comfort in resting my ear against the fingered tines of your ribs, my body next to yours, sleeping - so small in this moment - curled into the blankets, like a seashell found buried in the sand at the shoreline. This is me, listening to the air moving in and out of your lungs - it's what we do sometimes, us Mothers. We listen to the breath of our children, the rhythmic pull and rush, like waves rolling in on themselves, steady and even. There is solace here. And what I hear, the rush-rush of your breath, is juxtaposed to what I'm seeking against the rainbow pajamas you chose because they're cooler, and summer nights spent sleeping in Nana's sewing room are warm. It's this rush I want to moderate, measure out in half beats so that I may inhale all of who you are and were, who you are becoming amidst the thief that is Time. If there was a way to rewind your body into the velvety soft bundle smelling sweetly of some illusive combination of talc and milk and spit up, rewind you into the cradle of my elbow, when we spent long snowy days together, your body tucked neatly into the curve of my arm - I would. 

But this is not how it goes, my love - this rush is not to be damned, impossible. This is all you, rushing, rushing away, and into your own person.

We have spent a magical summer together, so many adventures, each one better than the last. Everything from airplanes, hiking to incredible heights, baking cakes, swimming, and sleepovers. 

In a few short days you will begin Kindergarten. The uniforms hang neatly, a new lunchbox and backpack await, a small desk area has been prepared, you chose to pierce your ears, and dye your hair a wildly fabulous hot pink.You have memorized mine and Daddy's phone numbers, our address. You are ever so close to reading, and you love "plus" and "minus" numbers. Your vocabulary will blow them away.

You are ready.

But I am not.

I was not prepared for the overwhelming wave of emotion that has grabbed hold of me. I wrote to my superiors letting them know that I'd be into work a little late on your first day, as I would not miss sending you off on the big yellow school bus. And when those doors close behind you, swallowing you whole, I know you will do well. In your education, I have full confidence - you will be fine.

It's all the other parts of school that are terrifying to think of. Ad nauseam, I have repeated that it's your soul I want to protect. That self-worth and confidence we have worked so hard to nurture - will it remain intact as the world of school and friends do their thing, sometimes so painfully cruel?


Did I do enough? 

I have learned to let others love you. It started with the morning I dropped you off at daycare, entrusting your care with those wonderful women as I returned to other people's children. It began then, I know. But this feels vastly different.

My Blueberry Girl, I hope you know, deep in your bones, that you are loved fiercely, that you remember all the times we told you, you were brave, and strong, and kind, and generous, that it is okay to fail, that you will fail, that struggle is necessary, to stand up for yourself, speak out against the bad, and compassion for others goes a long way - that you believe all these for yourself.

This is my wish for you.

I hope I have done enough.

Love, Mama.

She's Five

Pamela Salai Photography

Dear Lucy,

Today you are five years old. Half a decade. A whole hand. If you look up numerology, five is described as being the most dynamic and energetic of the single digit numbers. 

My gal, you are just that.

This past year you have grown in ample strides. Intellectually, your need to understand the world around you is insatiable, your ability to hear, remember, and put into use new vocabulary, is remarkable, and your independence has touched every part of our lives. You are growing up right before my eyes.

Like a rolling stone, milestones this year evolved at an alarming pace as your neared your birthday:

·         You can now draw stick figures that actually resemble people, and have created several family portraits of our trio.

·         You conquered your fear of being submerged in water, and now freely jump into pools, and swim below the surface.

·         You can take care of your basic hygienic needs, including successfully showering yourself.

·         You read your very first words: “hero” and “jumbo.”

·         You can get your own snacks and glass of water.

·         You know how to work the TV and access your favorite shows on Netflix.

What is most memorable for me was the summer – you and me. It was, by far, the most enjoyable summer as your Mama. In the past, I often struggled to come up with activities that we could both enjoy, that you would be able in which to participate, and that were appropriate for your age. This summer blew the lid off of all those previous parameters. You are old enough now that the activities we can do together are fun for the both of us, and the places we can go are with minimal preparation, and your willingness to experience new adventures is awesome.

We did so much!! Most notably, we took our first “girl’s trip,” where we drove down to Pigeon Forge, TN, to meet up with my long-time friend and her daughter. It was a lengthy drive down, but you managed like a seasoned pro, exceeding all my expectations. My girl, you were in fact, good company. We listened to stories on a CD and discussed what happened. We laughed a whole lot. Our visit to Tennessee was incredibly fun, and you made fast-friends with R, who is several years your senior. From Tennessee, we headed to Asheville, NC, for a couple days and you continued to enjoy the adventure just as much as I did. When all was said and done and we were home, we both decided that an annual girl’s trip was going to have to become our tradition.

At five years old, your love of music continues, and you thoroughly enjoy artists such as Imagine Dragons, Lady Gaga, Camila Cabello, and Taylor Swift. I see a concert in your near future, darlin’. With music comes dancing, and you are often twirling and creating routines. Crafting is your go-to pastime, and the table you occupy in the living room is often happily covered in markers and remnants of whatever picture you created or construction paper you’ve cut and glued. A slight obsession with makeup has developed, and this one has been a challenge for me. It’s not that I believe makeup is bad; I have grown to love it as I’ve gotten older. I just don’t want you to ever feel the need to wear it, to hold yourself to some unrealistic and unhealthy standard. For now, we allow you to play with some makeup, but when you exit the house, for the most part, we don’t allow any. For special occasions, a select almost translucent eye-shadow, with some sparkle, is allowed, and perhaps a touch of lip gloss. I won’t pretend to know that I know the best way to approach makeup in terms of developmental appropriateness; I’m trying very hard to tread the line with what I think is acceptable, and not squelch the fun you have with it. When asked the other day what you wanted to be when you grow up, you said, “A hair and makeup lady.” Frankly, I think that’s fabulous, and I will champion this path should you someday actually walk it.

You tried out soccer for the very first time, and decided it wasn’t for you. Totally fine. I’m not seeking a legacy in you, nor do I care if you ever love soccer. My girl, I just want you to find something to love, to be passionate about - something to make your own. Gymnastics continues to reign as the desired activity. We took a break for several months, partly because I did not want you to be over-scheduled, but mostly because I wanted to give you an opportunity to try a new sport (soccer), and I wanted to be sure that your participation in gymnastics was because you wanted to be there, and not just because Mama had enrolled you. It’s clear you enjoy bouncing and flipping around. Our living room has become your personal gymnasium, and I chuckle when I see you flip onto the couch, almost knocking the picture frames off the wall. Lucy – it’s as if I’m looking at my past self – I did the very same thing. You have learned how to do a cartwheel, and are working towards a solid handstand.

Pamela Salai Photography

You are so well-immersed in your current pre-school setting; you’re top dog - but the concept of kindergarten has found its way into our world. It’s right around the corner.

This is your final year as a pre-schooler, and while I know you’ll be more than ready to enter the halls of traditional schooling, I understand it’s a little terrifying. You have asked on more than one occasion, “What if I don’t know what to do in Kindergarten?” I try my best to explain that a teacher will be there to help, and that you are a wise girl, and will figure things out as they come, but also that asking for help is all part of the journey.  Next fall will bring big changes, and I will ride them out with you as much as I can, but for the most part, it will be on you, big girl. You will have to navigate new spaces, new friends, and new rules. It won’t all be easy, and some of it may be quite trying. My Mama heart aches knowing this fear floats around inside of you, and I wish with everything to absolve you of this pressure, but I also know it is necessary, and will be good for you. My sweet girl, we only grow when we are pushed outside of our comfort zones.

A month ago I broke my ankle participating in the Tough Mudder. You asked why I had to, “do the race.” My answer was that I do these races because I enjoy challenging myself – this to which you replied, “But you don’t need to challenge your body anymore, because you get boo-boos.” It was sweet and I understand it’s uncomfortable for you to see me hurt, but I needed you to know that this is a fundamental part of who I am. I explained this to you, explained that the fear of getting hurt should never stop you, as it has never stopped me. If I stopped “races” then a part of who I am would cease to exist. I know in your young mind this doesn’t make total sense, but at the very least, I hope you see a Mama who put herself out there, fell hard, and came back to be even stronger. It’s not the fall, Lucy, that defines who we are, but rather the way in which we rise afterwards. We are strong women, cut from the same cloth. We are here to blaze through this world, both warrior and woman.

In June, just a few weeks before I turned forty, we did a photo shoot together. We had such a blast, and I’m so grateful to Pamela Salai Photography for creating and capturing such stunning images. I hope in these you see how good this life really is, how fierce and exquisite you are, and just how much your Mama loves you.

Pamela Salai Photography

You’ve recently taken to falling upon me, hugging and kissing me, and saying, “I just love you so much, and I never want to let you go.” As if my heart could not swell any bigger, I find it doing just that. Growing exponentially, five years and counting. 

There is an image that Pam captured which perfectly encapsulates parenthood. You, twirling in all your tulle and moto jacket glory, and me, your Mama, just slightly behind, looking on in admiration at the remarkable girl you have become.

Someday you will let go, and move on to your own life, but I will always be there. Giving you space to create your world, but always within reach, championing your radiant spirit, always ready for hugs and kisses. And baby, I will always believe you. Always.

Happy Birthday, my sweet Lucille - love, Mama

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

Summer 2015

It would be no stretch of anyone’s imagination, least of all mine, to regard the summer of 2015 as remarkable. We did everything. Literally. I’m not kidding when I say that there were planes, trains and automobiles involved. As well as oceans, both the Pacific and Atlantic, museums galore, plenty of sugar, ice cream, trips to McDonald's, not enough carousel rides, swimming pools big and small – lessons too, movies, hikes, crafts, injuries (a really ugly scrape to the knee), and some major milestones achieved.

My sprite of a human has a capacious personality; vibrant and intense, she knows what she wants when she wants it, and Lucy has been blessed with the ability to articulate such desires. While on one hand this is fabulous for communication, it can also be a distraction. I often have to remind myself that despite the fact that she can speak in sentences, she’s still not-quite two years old. She may be able to tell me about with whom she played or the dinosaur she colored purple at school that day, and repeat, from A to Z, all the rad American women in her book, but when she’s pissed or frustrated or tired, this 23 month-old is not above throwing a gargantuan tantrum.

And oh my, how those meltdowns have tested me. They have brought me to the brink, and have forced me to use every ounce of patience within my possession and then some. These moments are my kryptonite.

Because of all this – a little girl with advanced language skills, a robust personality, a strong sense of self and desire, I’m often hit with the commentary that sounds like, “You’re going to have a tough time with her when she gets older…” Why is the assumption that because, by all intents and purposes, my toddler is behaving like a toddler, that she’s going to be difficult? She’s (almost) TWO. Why wouldn’t I expect her tiny brain to go haywire when she can’t cope with big emotions? And why doesn’t anyone expect a “quiet” child to be problematic? I refuse to label my daughter. In fact, I try to see her big personality as one that will be the backbone she relies upon as she navigates the world successfully.

We hit some pretty major milestones in this young lady's life. She pooped on the potty, and we got rid of the binky. The first one is self-explanatory, so I’ll spare you the details. But the second was HUGE. It had been a while coming, and this binky business was starting to create issues. We’d relegated it to the crib for just sleep, but this wise child figured out that if she asked to go in the crib, she could enjoy some time with her most beloved possession. At first it was a non-issue, but recently the requests to go in the crib began to increase, and when it was inconvenient, major fits were thrown. The last straw was the day after our return from California. All she wanted to do was go in the crib and chew on the damn bink. I hit my breaking point. We made the decision then and there to take it away. Cold turkey. No lead up. No “binky fairies,” no party, zero fanfare.

That first nap without the use of the pacifier was the undiscovered tenth circle of hell. She pitched the Armageddon of tantrums. She banged her water bottle against the wall, then chucked it across the room. Then, she hurled every single stuffed animal and pillow out of her crib. She howled and wailed, begged and pleaded for her bink, non-stop, for forty minutes. FORTY MINUTES. And for forty minutes, I cried. I was wrecked. I had all the mama guilt in the world. I was certain she would hate me, that she’d forever hold this against me, that she would never ever say again, “I wuv you, mama.” I feared I’d screwed her up somehow. I was awash in doubt.  And then just like that, it was over.  At the forty-first minute, she quit. She lay herself down and she passed out cold, not moving a single muscle or appendage for an hour and a half.

She had exerted her will, did her best to compel me to change my stance – she had been a worthy opponent, but this was a battle I wasn’t going to lose. Nighttime was easier. She only cried for ten minutes. Since that Sunday, the bink has been gone, without much ado. And since that Sunday, she’s laughed with me, told me she “wuvs” me, and has in her own lovely way let me know that I’m still in her good graces.

That night, the first night of no pacifier, Big Red looked over at me and commented on how he was surprised how much this had all affected me. That I’m normally so strong in my convictions and so assured of myself, but that a thing as small as a pacifier had brought me to my knees.

It’s because of her, I told him. That instinct to want to protect and not bring harm or pain is overwhelming, and to know that I may have been the cause of her frustration and her discomfort, however small or large they were, was horrifying. Now that the fiasco is behind us, I’m beyond glad we did what we did when we did it. But damn, it wasn’t easy.

Currently, Lucy is nursing a cold, caught just in time for the start of the school year for me. Nights have been a little rough, but they seem to be getting better. I’ll go into her room if she’s having a coughing fit to try and help her out of it, give her some water, and hold her for a bit. She still fits against my body – I haven’t lost that yet. She’s bigger, she’s heavier, she’s more of her own person, but she still needs me. In the wee hours of the night, last night, I went into her room and lifted her out of the crib. I gave her something to drink and held her against me. We rocked in the chair for a bit and I rubbed her back until the coughing stopped and she settled. As I stood up to put her back to bed, through a tiny hoarse voice, in barely a whisper, she said, “no mama, in da rock’n chair pease.”

So I sat down, fighting my own internal battle – the one most mamas know – the face-off between wanting to want to hold onto her and desperately needing to go back to sleep, and rocked my almost two year-old a little longer. As I listened to her breathe, I tried to recall all the best of our summer. She’d run me ragged, but I’d do it all over again with a smile on my face. When our plane took off from California, climbing high into the early morning, still-dark sky, I thought it apropos that the final scene of summer would be the image of gold sequenced glittering lights of a city below. That was our summer – sparkling, expansive and forever etched into my memory.

My sweet Lucille won’t remember how she laughed at her Papa’s donkey noises, how she ran to her Nana’s arms for “huggies,” or how she rode her first ride at an amusement park with her Grandma. She won’t remember her terror during her first swimming lesson, or how she sat through half of a movie in a movie theater before asking to be “all done.” She won’t remember the carousel rides and how she never wanted to get off, how we hiked together, made crafts together, and ate too much ice cream. She won’t remember how gleefully happy she was to run around naked and splashing in her pool.

In one month, she turns two years old.

She won’t remember any part of this summer.

But I will. 

Dear Olive,

I don't know if you can sense it or not, but summer is rapidly coming to a close; Monday I turn back into a pumpkin and return to work, and you fall back into your school-year routine of long napping hours in a quiet house. Not only was this a wonderful stretch of time for us, but it was special because it was our last together as just you and me. Next summer it won't be just us on the couch, or on a walk - a little girl will be with us. 

Our lives will soon be shaken up by the arrival of this little girl, but I want to promise you that you will not be ignored. Every now and then someone will remark to me that after the baby is born, you will "become a dog again." And I'm going to go out on a limb here (naysayers have a field day if you wish) and say that you, Olive, will never be just a dog. You are so much more to us than a four-legged furry animal. You have become an integral part of our home and our lives. You are family. I'm not saying that there may be times when this little girl will have to come first, but keep patient and I promise I will come for you as well.

Olive, how can I put into words, words you won't even read or understand, what an amazing creature you are? You provide laughter on a daily basis, your unfaltering loyalty is second to none, and let's face it - you're too freaking adorable with your perpetual puppy look and floppy ears. You have endeared yourself to us in a manner neither of us was expecting, and I will never for one second forget that in Big Red's darkest hours it was you, Olive, and only you, who could make that man smile. For that I am in debt to you. I will un-apologetically admit that since bringing you home three years ago that I have become one of those people - someone who probably loves their dog a little more than is socially agreeable to most. And I don't care cause you're awesome. I'm fine with that label.

I hope I've done right by you this summer, lavishing plenty of pets and hugs and snuggles, walks and playtime, and more than just an occasional special treat. My summer pal, my furry best friend - you have taught us how to love beyond ourselves in a way that I know has given us a tiny glimpse of what we are in for in the next few months. And who knows, you may even share a birthday with your human little sister - her due date is just two days after your birthday! 

Thanks for a great summer, thanks for being the galloping calamity of hilarity that you are, thank you for you. I can only hope my actions somehow translate these thoughts into something you can understand.

** my absolute favorite picture of Olive **

Last Summer of Me

Today is the first day of summer. A year ago today I wrote about all I had accomplished on day one of summer 2012. This time around has been even more leisurely; this summer is going to be a little different than last because it's my last one as just me.

Today marks 24 weeks in my pregnancy. Baby girl is just four months away from making her big debut. Her room is virtually complete, just a few minor odds and ends to tie up. Invitations for both showers, one on this coast, one on the other, will all be out by the end of the week. We've signed up for birth class (to begin in August), and I'm taking my maternity leave paperwork in tomorrow to my midwife to have it signed. Aside from some small craft projects and the organization of our storage room, there isn't much left for us to do before she arrives other than enjoy these last few months as just us.

This morning I woke up with Big Red, had breakfast and lounged around watching the morning news. Olive and I went for a walk and then I did some yoga. I've got a book next to me that I might get into, Wild, by Cheryl Strayed, but I don't have an agenda of any kind. There are no goals this summer other than to enjoy the quiet and calm, and try to do some kind of daily exercise (yoga or the elliptical) besides the ritual morning walk with Olive. I've been craving a pineapple upside down cake lately and yesterday my trip to the grocery store resulted in a basket full of plenty of fruits and veggies, a couple of steaks, and the ingredients to make my cake. Pineapple has appeared throughout my pregnancy - probably the one consistent craving I've had. Fruit really. I have a hard time if I don't have access to fruit. Don't worry, I'm not complaining. I'm well-aware that this is a fine craving to have versus that of pizza or candy.

I can only imagine how my summers after this one will be markedly different and forever changed. Neither one of us is ignorant to this fact and it's absolutely beyond irritating when folks try to tell us how it's going to be. The full gravity of the addition to our family has certainly not yet hit us, and probably won't until she's here. We get that people, we get it. It doesn't frighten us as we know our normal will just become a different kind. As for me personally, I'm sure there will come a moment when a summer day with my daughter will seem as it always has been.

Summer Project: Wingback Chair {Part I}

Because I love (attempting) to be crafty, I'm taking on my first - and maybe my last depending on how well it goes - summer project. Drum roll please...the reupholstering of a wingback chair.

I scored this Paul Robert original at the Goodwill some months ago and it's been sitting in the spare craft bedroom. It wasn't that I was putting it off, I was just waiting for the long lovely free hours of summertime before I delved into this project.

The chair itself is extremely well made and in good shape. The fabric, not so much. Kind of gross actually with a pretty horrifying musty smell. Blegh.

Two days ago I set out to begin removing the fabric and the millions of staples holding it in place. The work to remove the staples and fabric is not difficult, it's just incredibly tedious. And when I say millions of staples, I mean it. Literally. Millions. Nevertheless, I got it done, and the bones of the chair were visible after 2.5 days of serious staple removing.

Last night, Big Red and I took a little field trip to JoAnn Fabrics, where I scored, thanks to a sale and my teacher discount, some super cool bright fun fabric. After doing some research online, I discovered that the recommended yardage for a project like this is 6.5 yards. I grabbed the bolt of fabric took it to the cutting counter and was faced with a tough decision. The cutter revealed there was only 5.75 yards on the bolt.

When I verified that I could return the fabric, so long as I didn't alter it, I pulled the trigger. My plan was to lay out all the old pieces and if they didn't fit, I'd return my $40 score and search for something new. As luck would have it, everything fit:

This afternoon I began the careful task of cutting each piece. I pinned the old panels onto the new fabric and then cut. Making a mistake was NOT an option. Thankfully, I did just fine. Then I decided I'd take on the deck (the bottom part of the chair that's underneath the seat cushion). I was again really careful to mark any and all necessary points of interest, cut carefully, repined even more carefully and then fired up the sewing machine. After a dry fit, it became clear, I was on my way. The new deck fit and was a huge confidence booster. I'm going to leave the chair over the weekend as I don't want to get sick of it, therefore losing my patience (of which I have little to begin with), then getting angry and making a costly mistake.

My cool new fabric. I'm thinking maybe a lime green or black fabric for the piping to add some fun contrast...

Dry fit deck fits beautifully! Don't worry that it looks a little lumpy; that will all right itself once the fabric is pulled taut.

Summer 2012: Day 1

Day one was a success. Got up at 8:30 am, walked Olive, hit the elliptical, ate breakfast, showered, figured out how to submit an application for my Level II teaching certificate, booked two new photography gigs, went to the grocery store and lounged the afternoon away on the big brown couch watching Sex and the City 2. Never you mind that I've seen it already a handful of times. It's fun. And it's summer. And I've got not a care in the world!

I didn't start the reupholstering of the two wing back chairs I picked up a couple of months ago. Nope. Didn't get around to it. I'll start tomorrow.

And I didn't make it to Sam's Club to buy the second and third installments of 50 Shades of Grey. Finished book one yesterday and am considering reading the rest of the trilogy. These books are definitely not going to be canonized, and the writing is redundant. Let's face it, how many times can you write, "my breath hitched," before it loses something? Yeah, like I said, these works of fiction ain't going to be revered or taught in schools. Not even close.

I have no mighty plans for this installment of summer. Really just relaxing, reading, working out, trying out some new recipes and a couple of fun crafty projects. I hope that Big Red and I can get away for some short weekend stints, but if I'm around, you'll probably find me on the big brown couch.

Let Summer 2012 commence!

the end.

Today marks the official last day of summer for this gal. It's been a good one. I wanted the summer of 2011 to be a productive one, one that I felt didn't slip through my fingers.  I feel good about the past nine weeks; I accomplished much of what I set out to do, and even added a few bonus items that I wasn't anticipating. One of those bonus accomplishments was learning to knit. Mom, while here, helped me get started on a blanket. I only know two knot/stitches, but it's a start. The blanket on the other hand is going to take me a long, long, long time to finish.

This morning I put Mom on plane back to California. The alarm went off at 4:45 am, and we were out the door by ten after 5 am. I just got a call from her about half an hour ago - she'd already landed, had her bag and was waiting for Dad to pick her up.

I miss her already. Ouch.

I've said before that I don't regret our choice to move out here, but forever and ever I'll carry with me the debt I have paid to make our life out here happen. The cost was leaving behind my family. It isn't something I'm constantly thinking about, but it sure sucks when I have to drop Mom off at the airport after a fabulous 10 days together.

Oh, and that shirt she set out to make? She finished it last night. Just like I said she would.

I requested a couple more tops and sent her home with some money for fabric. We'll see what she comes up with! Big Red and I are hoping to make it to California for Christmas this year. I'm definitely going, but we've got to play it by ear as far as Big Red getting time off from work. Thankfully, Christmas is just a few short months away. Actually four. Not that I'm counting or anything.

After dropping off Mom I came home for a nap, then went out for a little retail therapy and some back to school clothes shopping. I love what I got and am looking forward to wearing it. In fact, I'm looking forward to the start of the 2011-12 school year. Who knows what stories, what laughs, what frustrations year 8 as a teacher will bring me. I welcome it all (at least as of right now). As much as I'm ready to get back into the classroom, I'm definitely going to miss my summer pal:

I so enjoyed hanging out with Olive these past couple of months. I hope she knows how much I love her, and what happiness she brings to our home.  I plan on continuing our daily walks, just swapping out the morning time for evening. Perhaps even Big Red might join us.

This summer brought so much relaxation, plenty of good reading, some quality writing, two house projects finished, I tested out some new recipes, and I added a couple of new toys including my newest baby - a Cannon EOS Rebel T2i. So LOVING my new camera. I've even got a few photography projects on the horizon including another friend who is pregnant and is going to let me shoot her maternity photos this Autumn when the leaves are at their prettiest.

Sweet summer, you've done right by me.
See you again next year.

Fallingwater & Ohiopyle

It was another beautiful day in the neighborhood! Today's outing: Fallingwater and Ohiopyle. In order to get out of the house a little earlier, we skipped walking Olive - I know, cue guilt trip - and left at 10 am. The turnpike was clear and we quickly made our way to Frank Lloyd Wright's spectacular creation known as Fallingwater. Instead of getting gouged and paying for the full tour, we opted instead for two grounds passes. At only $8 a piece, and with access to the entire external portion of the property, including one of the terraces, we felt it was a better deal.

Then it was on to Ohiopyle for some lunch, walking, more picture taking, and time spent cooling off in the water.

Cheers.

summer writing

Los Angeles, 1988

Green dish soap swiped off the cracked white tile

counter was Dad’s genius answer to our pleas of

 faster, faster! The Slip ’N Slide, a runway of plastic

stretched across our yard and (with permission) onto the

neighbor’s.  A beautifully perfect green lawn that made Dad

shake his head on several occasions. Water from the hose

made the yellow contraption work well-enough in July,

but we wanted more.  We were free,

we wanted to fly. Just a few drops from the bottle

and Dad’s cockamamie scheme sent our summer

browned bodies rocketing across the two lawns. With reckless

abandon we threw ourselves over and over again,

only Dad’s cautions about the approaching sidewalk, louder than

our squeals of delight. Ours was a city of cement and right

angles, neighborhoods basted in perfect patchwork quilts, tiny

squares of real estate stitched together, every inch

exploited and accounted for. We dreamed of huge

backyards, settling instead for the sun-warmed hose

water out of the sprinkler, taking turns leaping through the umbrella

of mist—our imaginations filling in the small spaces with fat

cavernous swimming pools and yards wide
enough to keep us safe from skinned knees. 

© Ilene, 2011

Laundry Room Makeover

At the end of May I made a list of all the things I wanted to accomplish this summer. I wrote about my fear of it passing and not having anything to show for it. I wanted this summer to be productive. Of the 14 items on my list, I'm confident that I've fulfilled 10 of them. The most recent of which I crossed off my list today: pretty up the laundry area.

We don't have a dedicated laundry room in our house, but more along the lines of a laundry niche housed in our storage room (the room between our finished basement and the garage). It was ugly and it bothered me. The cinder block walls were painted a pasty green and it was dirty from years of use:

It sorely needed a face lift. Yesterday I hit the pavement and went to Home Depot to pick out some paint. I was tempted by colors in the purple family, but I couldn't bring myself to chose one. I settled on a bold and bright turquoise-blue called "Jamaican Sea."  When I got home I immediately got to work. My plan was to get the first coat up and then make a valance for the window. I had some leftover fabric from earlier projects, so I turned to my remnants and settled on a fun paisley print:

It didn't bother me that there was no hint of Jamaican Sea in the print, as this laundry niche was supposed to be bright and cheery. The more colors the merry!  While the first coat was drying I managed to bang out the valance in about forty-five minutes.

This morning, after walking Olive, I finished up the niche throwing on a second coat, hanging the valance and adding some small potted plants to the window. I am satisfied with the transformation:

I found an old Borax advertisement on a tin via eBay and it should arrive by the end of the week. I have a couple other kitschy items to hang, but that'll be about it. It's just one corner of our storage room and it doesn't necessarily make me want to do multiple loads of laundry, but at least when I do it will be a fun and cheery space.

As for the four remaining items on my summer to-do list:

• Use my yoga pass purchased on Groupon. I have to activate it by October. I've revised my start month to September. I work really close to the yoga studio, so I plan on taking classes after work.
• Write every day. I just haven't. No excuses, just haven't. Although - I am writing MUCH MORE than I was during the school year. 
• Listen to This American Life. Have the podcasts on my iPod, just don't think to listen to them. I'd rather pick up a book and read. 
• Rethink & revise wardrobe. Will be doing that before the start of the school year in a few weeks.

And life continues.

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.

summer: day 30

I don't have much to write about these days. Perhaps it is my woman of leisure status, but honestly there ain't much to scribble out. It's been humid in a way that I haven't experienced in a long while. When I step outside to let Olive relive herself at 8 am, it already feels as though mother nature herself has gotten a bee up her bonnet about nesting and has unnecessarily (and cruelly) bundled the world with a sopping wet wool blanket. Poor Olive. After she relieves herself she wants little to do with investigating the leaves and branches in the yard. She promptly returns to my side as if to beg with those melt your heart eyes: Can we please go back inside where there's air conditioning? And that is what we do. Return to some semblance of breath-ability and comfort. 

I have been reading and finished my second summer book, Half Broke Horses, by Jeannette Walls. She also wrote the very popular memoir, The Glass Castle. Read that one too. Super good read. Her second book, a novel by technicality because it is written in first person, is at heart, her grandmother's memoir. It had me from the very first page until the very last. Once again, I have read a book that leaves me wishing I wish I could have written that! But a novel? I don't know if I have the patience for all that detail and all the in-between that belongs to a novel. I am a poet by nature. I like the concise nature of its form. I can pack a punch in ten or twenty lines without having to give readers all the filler. Although...I will say that I am attempting to branch out a little more. This blog, for instance, is an example of that growth. I want to hone my skills as writer of creative nonfiction. I'm dipping my toe in the Gilbert - Sedaris - Didion pool. Whether or not I'll be able to perform an effortless butterfly in said waters remains to be seen. I'd like to believe I have the chops to give it a worthwhile attempt. One of my first attempts is the essay, "B&B." 

I am also trying to get through my first issue of The New Yorker. I bought a subscription as a gift to myself for completing seven years of teaching. It is definitely a magazine of superior writing quality, but - not all the articles are of interest to me. There are a couple I'm going to scan or simply skip. Is that wrong? Can I not call myself a reader of The New Yorker if I commit such atrocities? Is it really an atrocity to skip articles in a magazine? I also subscribe to People (goes along with my quality TV watching lineup). I read every single article in People. Yeah, I know - it appears I still have a long way to go. Working on it.

I continue to exercise, walking Olive first and then either going for a run myself or hitting the elliptical. Although the scale says nothing is happening, I feel so much better than I did in June. I'm eating healthy, attempting to keep my cuisine simple and enjoyable. Occasionally I'll indulge in a summer treat here and there. I've also decided something. I'm done with counting calories. I'm done with doing "diets." I don't mind the occasional fast or cleanse, but I'm done with all the other crazy fads and whatnot. I know what to eat. I know how much of it to eat. I'm going to listen to my body and how I feel. The scale will always be there, I haven't been able to throw it out, but I'm not going to live and die by it anymore. You can hold me accountable on that one.

Today is day 30 of my beloved summer. I'm not panicking just yet, but I do feel a sense of the passage of summer time. I've got a few fun things lined up for August: Lunch with MJ, a trip to The Fake Beach (read: Lake Erie), T will be giving birth to Miss Daisy, and Mom is on a hunt to find cheap tickets so that she can come out for a visit. 

Summer is NOT OVER yet.

Not no way, not no how. 

Guess I did have a few things to write about.

Backyard Nature

When I let Olive out yesterday afternoon to do her business, this is what I found sitting in the yard:

Two baby deer waiting for their mamma to come back and get them. Maybe she had to stop at the grocery store for milk. They were so well-behaved and entirely unafraid of me with my camera, or the neighbors on their deck next door.

While we regularly see wild turkey (so incredibly loud sometimes), groundhogs, skunks, raccoon, chipmunks, moles, squirrels and deer, we have never seen such young deer before. This isn't something we would have ever seen back in Torrance, CA. We have a veritable zoo right in our backyard. It's quite nice. I'm not a fan of the skunks or the raccoon, but the other animals are great. And to be honest, it's not like we're in "the cut." We're just seven miles from the true city; we're barely touching upon the start of the suburbs. I have to proudly report that Olive did not take off like a wild banshee when she saw them. I called her back into the house and she followed my directions. My instinct says that the fawn would not have been as excited to play with her as she would have been to play with them. And I didn't know where mom was. Lord knows what a crazed mamma deer would have been like coming out of the trees.

There you have it. This week's edition of backyard nature. I have to include the following picture of Olive, lazying the day away as I write in my office. To her credit we did go on a walk this morning, a little later than usual and it was sticky-gross hot out:

Yeah, that's right girl. Kick up those paws and relax. It's summertime.

writing & craft room

My writing & craft room is complete. I enjoyed making it over and I love being in the room even more. Although the curtains were a novice sewing project, I'm happy with how they turned out. The next task I'd like to conquer on the sewing machine: zippers. I think I'm going to try and make pillows with removable covers. I see gorgeous pillows everywhere and I nearly vomit when I see how much the cost.

Virginia Woolf once titled an essay: A Room of One's Own. Women need their own spaces. This room is mine. It's mine alone in which to be quite, to be creative and reflect. I expect that as my life becomes more complicated (read: family life), I'll want, more than ever, a space of mine own.

My room.

Pretty, pretty pink and green curtains.

Writing space; I made over the chair! It was garbage left on the sidewalk, now perfectly usable.

Accessories. 

Craft area. The slipcover was something I created and sewed (hides an old desk).

     Cork board re-purposed. Old picture frame spray painted white, and fabric over the cork.

Bookshelf storage: books, fabric, sewing supplies. The bookshelf was a cheap find - only $30. It's a tad rickety and I fear for how long it may/may not last.

Sewing machine all folded up becomes a display table with antique typewriter, some books, a framed California postcard, and the machine's manual. 

     Representing my roots.