Mom et al

Musings of a Tech Family Snuggle

Maria — Fri, 27 Jan 2012 00:30:17 +0000

When I had risen, all that I heard was silence. Unease swept over me. They had to be awake by now. I paused at their empty bedrooms and crept downstairs. I found them lying together on the couch. Each head was propped at an end on pillows, their bodies stretched towards each other; toes touching. Draped across them both was my favorite afghan, handmade by my grandmother at least 40 years ago.

Neither heard me enter the room, for they were both fully occupied. Hands at the ready and eyes focused, she cradled her DS and he clutched his Leappad. I wished for an instant to have been a fly on the wall as they situated themselves; imagining them in a moment of seemingly perfect sharing.

After breakfast we returned to the couch and this time I joined them. We snuggled together under the blanket, bathing in the cozy warmth of the wood stove nearby. She cradled her DS, he clutched his Leappad, and I glided my finger across the screen to turn the pages of my Nook. We settled in quietly. Only the occasional “WOO HOO!” or “OH YEAH!!!” or “AW, COMMON!!!” could be heard from my Littles as they clicked and tapped through their games.

I smiled as I continued on with my book. I have been rereading Little Women, which may seem like an odd choice, but it is one of my favorite classics. When I purchased my Nook the good people at Barnes & Noble offered the choice of 12 classics to get me started. As such I have been losing myself in the language of the 19th century; words that do not come up in everyday conversation now, such as spandy and skylarking.

I thought of the March sisters, and of the simplicity of their lives. Hands or minds rarely idle, they spent their evenings sewing, writing, reading, philosophizing, playing music, and acting out stories for their own amusement. What would they say about our Saturday morning tech snuggles? We were together, but we were not engaged with each other. Would we appear disconnected?

I pondered this for a while and decided that Jo would embrace the new technology, and want desperately to have a turn. Meg would shun it as improper and insist that our time would be more wisely spent in the service of deeds that would benefit our family. Beth would be too afraid to try, preferring her tattered dolls instead. I struggled with Amy; she would want to do right by Meg and follow her example, and yet the temptation to have such lovely toys may have been too much for her to resist.

I thought of my childhood and the hours I spent in front of our Atari playing Pong and Qbert. Never could I have imagined the toys my children now find commonplace. I chuckled as I glanced over at the small stack of DS games I have for myself. The technology may have changed, but I haven’t. Lucky for me she doesn’t mind that mommy plays sometimes while she is sleeping.

I sit and marvel our new technology and wonder what will be next? Looking far into the future, should I be blessed with grandchildren, what will be their game of choice? I can’t wait to see. I hope I will still want to sneak a turn.

New Year’s Quiz 2011

Maria — Sat, 31 Dec 2011 02:29:15 +0000

It is likely ill advised to complete my annual New Year’s Quiz and yearly recap while suffering a head cold and a brain crippling NyQuil hangover, but alas, it is time. The year 2011 is coming to a close; am I the only one who feels as though it was gone in a blink?

OK, so here are the previous years if you are actually that interested in my life: 2010; 2009; 2008

And as always, be sure to hop on over and see Linda at All & Sundry, who has been doing this for much longer than me.

And now we get down to it:

1. What did you do in 2011 that you’d never done before?

This feels so much less about me, but then again isn’t being a parent of young children all about not being about you? I watched my little girl start her first day of kindergarten this year as she marched head high into a building of strangers without even once looking back.

We finally, WOO HOO FINALLY, potty trained the boy. That was the biggest, most unexpectedly long pain in the ass (pun intended) task that ever was, and it took pretty much all of 2011 to accomplish.

Oh, I did go to my high school 20th reunion, which I didn’t talk about here on the blog, but was a truly rewarding experience. The result was that I have rekindled some lovely friendships and made new ones as well.

2. Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

I had to go back and look at my last year’s quiz to find out if I made a resolution, only to find out that I promised myself I would become more organized. I also mentioned that I forgot to bring my kid’s lunches to school two days in a row this time last year. Now, just last month I only forgot to bring my kid’s lunch to school ONCE! So that’s like, a 50% improvement! GO ME!!! Guess I’ll be sticking with the same resolution for 2012, or perhaps I’ll just make it a little more generic and promise myself to suck less.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?

Yes, I have two new second-cousins that have joined our ranks. Welcome to the world, little ones.

4. Did anyone close to you die?

2011 brought good fortune for our family, but I have friends who lost dear ones. I hope this year brings health and peace for us all.

5. What countries did you visit?

There were times where I could have sworn I’d traveled to the depths of Morhdorh, but my feet have in fact been firmly planted in the good ole US of A.

6. What would you like to have in 2012 that you lacked in 2011?

Last year I wanted a Droid, and I am happy to report that my situation improved beyond my wildest dreams when Tony bought me an iPhone for Mother’s Day. Yay for Moms! Yay for technology! Yay for me!!!

This year I’d like to step away from the gadgetry and focus more on myself. I would like to find more motivation towards improved health. I am not overweight, but I am not exactly in shape either. I know how the process goes, a more active me is a healthier me; is a more energetic, happier, less tired, and more patient me. So I’d like to find me some more of that.

7. What dates from 2011 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?

December 6, 2011. I saw Tori Amos in concert at the Orpheum Theater in Boston, and wept like a baby pretty much from her first to last song. I don’t know how many more opportunities in this life I will have to see her play again, so I cherished every moment of it.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?

I just don’t really see this as a year of accomplishments for me. I feel as though this year of my life has been very stagnant in terms of my own growth; I have been so focused on the development of my little ones. And yet, are not their accomplishments in part some evidence of my own? If I am raising two well rounded, caring and respectful children, do I not have cause to pat myself on the back just a little?

9. What was your biggest failure?

For every parenting moment I have to pat myself on the back, there is a slip of the tongue, a screech of the owl, a dark and cold well of patience that has been exhausted of every last drop and yet somehow filled with the echo of my own angry words; words I can never take back. I am sorry, my little ones. Oh, how I do try to be a better mom.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?

Does this insufferable head cold count? Otherwise, Lady Fortuna has smiled upon me.

11. What was the best thing you bought?

Our digital piano; I love having a piano in my home, and watching my six year old practice her lessons is like a 32 year flashback. Awesome.

12. Where did most of your money go?

Daycare, mortgage and car payments, oh my!!!

13. What did you get really excited about?

Seeing Tori, attending my high school reunion, and buying our piano.

14. What song will always remind you of 2011?

Although it has no personal connection with me, that Adele song Someone Like You, because it was playing on the radio every frakking time I turned it on.

15. Compared to last year, are you:

happier or sadder? Happier. Last winter was dark, very dark for me. I have a feeling the improved weather is a huge factor, but I don’t feel like I’m teetering the same downward spiral that was threatening me last year.

thinner or fatter? Thinner! I’ve actually managed to, uh, manage myself pretty well these past few months.

richer or poorer? That’s a tough question to answer right after the holidays, but I would say we are better off compared to last year.

16. What do you wish you’d done more of?

Writing! I’ve been a total slacker these many months. Part of it is a struggle with privacy. When my six year old starts saying things like, “Don’t Facebook or blog this!” I must comply.

17. What do you wish you’d done less of?

Worrying, over-analyzing everything, questioning everything after I have finished over-analyzing everything, and then worrying about all the worrying I did about over-analyzing everything.

18. How did you spend Christmas?

This Christmas was bittersweet. We were only 11 people instead of our usual 20-25 people crew. We missed our extended family, but it was cozy and quaint at my table this year. It was a nice and relaxing day with loved ones.

19. What was your favorite TV program?

Oh, I could no sooner choose a favorite star in the heavens! Seriously, that is a tough one because I watch way too much TV and love far too many shows. But I think the one that I most looked forward to without disappointment was Dexter; Sons of Anarchy coming in at a close second.

20. What were your favorite books of the year?

I’m probably going to make a sad showing of picking the same book as most teens across America, but I just stumbled upon The Hunger Games trilogy this summer and I basically read all three books in five days with minimal sleep. I had some issues with the character development of the third book but otherwise it was a boatload of awesome.

21. what was your favorite music from this year?

I’m a total loser when it comes to new music, which basically means that I barely listen to it. Now that I have my snappy new phone with a built in ipod I have been loving iTunes. Instead of listening to the fantastic new stuff I am sure is out there, however, I have been reclaiming my long lost Suzanne Vega albums, circa 1985-1987. I know. I’m cool.

22. What were your favorite films of the year?

Breaking Dawn. Ha! Kidding. Although I did see it in the theater and I do have to say that it was simultaneously so good and SO VERY BAD. Super 8 was pretty good, and of course the finale of Harry Potter. And that’s pretty much all that I remember.

23. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?

I turned 38 this year, and while I admit that it took me a good 15 minutes to remember what I did on my birthday 4 months ago, I can proudly say that I do in fact recall! Tony was home sick with pneumonia, so I escaped to dinner for a few hours with the kids and some dear friends. It was not ideal without the hubby there, but it was still a nice way to spend the day.

24. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?

I’m trying not to be a grass is greener kind of person. There are many things I could say that would make life more satisfying, but immeasurably so? To eat all the nachos I want and never gain a pound? Well, I suppose then I would just get sick of nachos, and that would suck.

25. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2011?

I love it when it gets colder and I can show up at school drop off and pick up in a skull cap, sweatshirt, slippers, and multi-colored slipper socks. In related news, I seem to have no shame.

26. What kept you sane?

Singing, dancing, laughing, crying, beer, and of course my husband who keeps me grounded whenever I am leaning too far over the side of the deep end.

27. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2011.

You never fully appreciate things until they are gone; like the ultra sweet silence that was the NBA lockout. Bollocks.

Even though I haven’t been at it as much as I would like, it’s been another great year of blogging. If you’ve been following along and you’ve actually stuck with me this far, thank you! I wish you a Happy New Year filled with good health and prosperity.

Creative Elf Syndrome

Maria — Thu, 15 Dec 2011 23:19:48 +0000

Brace yourselves, a new epidemic is upon us, and you could be next. Each night, all across the country moms and dads can be found holding a tiny red dude and muttering to themselves, “No, I did that already…that won’t work…why won’t it stay up…I can’t use tape, they’d know if I used tape…”

Yes, it is a sad truth that Creative Elf Syndrome (CES) is taking the nation by storm, and once you have allowed yourself to become afflicted, there is no turning back. You are done for.

I used to be one of those moms who didn’t know any better. It was an elf, it sat on a shelf. It was happy to move from one ledge to another each night, and that would be on the nights it actually remembered to move. The children thought it was great, but on the nights it didn’t move, oh the guilt I experienced in seeing the disappointment in their eyes the next morning. It was a giant crock o’ FAIL.

This year I vowed to be better, to make it special. I had no idea that I was falling down a very slippery slope.

Our elf comes out the first night the tree is up on the weekend after Thanksgiving, which is where he makes his very first appearance, and is on the job all the way through Christmas Eve. From there he moves about from shelf to curtain rod, from room to room. The first thing my six year old daughter does each morning is rush downstairs to find the elf. She runs throughout the house scouting his location. When one morning she said, “Oh, he’s on the window like last year”, I knew I had to step up my game. Not to mention that her friends in kindergarten all have a little recess-time powwow to discuss what their elves did last night.

I could no longer stand idly by and allow her only contribution to that conversation to be, “He was on the bookshelf. Again.”

So the next morning he pulled something rather mischievous and was found holding the Wii Band Hero microphone.

Well, the children crazy loved it! When they brought me over to see him I replied, “I thought I heard someone singing last night!” Their eyes grew wide as they stared open-mouthed at the tiny elf.

And that was the moment right there when I became infected. That was when visions of green and red color-coded spreadsheets outlining the brilliant things I would do from night to night all the way up through December 24th danced in my head.

Well, the spreadsheet only ever came to pass in my brain, but the next week I did scour the dusty recesses of my mind searching for ideas on what to do next. Each night had to be better than the last! He’s taken a ride on Barbie’s horse, in a helicopter, on a T-Rex, and on a fire truck. He has sat at the piano (“I thought I heard the piano playing overnight!”) and even spent an evening with Belle.

How you doin?

To which Sofia exclaimed, “I bet they got MARRIED!!! I bet the got married ALL!!! NIGHT!!! LONG!!!” Oh, just, oh.

But I was becoming exhausted! Each night after I prepped my coffee and started my climb up the stairs to my bed I would have to stop myself. Oh yeah, the elf. Last night (and if you have succumbed to CES you can definitely relate to this) I made it all the way up to bed before I remembered! You know that feeling when you climb in, fix your blankets, twist and turn until you have found the ultimate comfy position, and then feel yourself sink into the pillow as your mind goes blank and you are drifting, softly drifting…

EYES SNAP WIDE OPEN, SHIT I FORGOT TO MOVE THE ELF!!!

Fucking elf. You then throw back the covers, trudge downstairs, grab the elf, and just stand there in your living room searching your brain for inspiration, coming up empty.

Oh, but we should fear not, for there is help! Unfortunately it comes from people who are much more severely afflicted than I am. There are websites dedicated to elf ideas that range from the basics (look at my elf actually sitting on a shelf!) to the totally outlandish (look at my elf cooking a four course meal!) and mildly disturbing. These people are in desperate need of an elftervention, and of course they don’t have the slightest idea how insane they have become.

Truth be told, these people are a threat to us all and must be stopped. I like to think of myself as hovering somewhere around ELFCON 3. I am creative, I put a lot of pressure on myself to best last night’s elf placement, but I don’t put myself in situations where I will spend an hour cleaning my kitchen of flour dust from making fake elf snow angels, or washing dishes the next night when the elf fails to clean up his mess after baking cookies and cakes.

Back when I sporadically remembered to move the elf, I was happily living at ELFCON 5. Oh, those were the days. These people? And these people? And these people who spend all day on the Elf on the Shelf Facebook page??? They have no hope in sight; ELFCON 1 all the way.

I chastise them all for making life difficult for the rest of us, except for this lovely couple; these people are just plain genius. Feeling inspired, I took a leaf out of their book:

AHHHHHHH!!!!! NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

OK, I couldn’t go through with it. I’m already going to be spending enough dough on their future therapy sessions based on this blog alone, never mind adding elf slaughter into the mix.

Ten nights to go, People! Here’s hoping ELFCON 3 will hold. And for those of you enjoying your ELFCON 5 status, remember my cautionary tale whenever you start to feel a twinge of creativity. That bookshelf is indeed a lovely place to be found.

I Spy Crazy People

Maria — Tue, 15 Nov 2011 23:35:48 +0000

When children spend at least 30 minutes in a car every day they find ways to entertain themselves. For my kids, what started out as an ordinary game of I Spy is now an obsessive hunt. What are they hunting? The title may give you a clue, but let me explain how this all came about.

The first item of their search is a commonplace, albeit powerful and noble object: The American Flag.

I don’t know if the same holds true for other areas of the country, but the Northeast is a very patriotic place to live. American flags are everywhere. Take a ride through the back roads of a few of our towns and you’re bound to pass at least 50 of them. I would know. I spend day after day listening to hollers from the back seat:

AMERICAN FLAG!!!

I SAW IT TOO!!!

No, you’re not supposed to look on my side of the car; you’re supposed to look on your side…

AMERICAN FLAG!!! ANOTHER ONE!!!

That’s on my side! Look on your own side. OOH! AMERICAN FLAG!!!

AMERICAN FLAG!!!

Trust me on this, patriotism is alive and well.

The most recent addition to I Spy is a holiday favorite: Christmas lights.

Last year a family on our street placed lights in front of their house that were rather unusual. They were all tulips sticking out of the ground and were comprised of vibrant springtime colors. The kids went bonkers over them.

Why tulips? What do tulips have to do with Christmas? Why aren’t they at least Christmas colored tulips?

They just could not wrap their heads around WHY TULIPS, so much to my own amusement I eventually told them that it was because crazy people live there. They are crazy people, and crazy people do crazy things; like put yellow, pink, and blue tulip lights in their front yards in early December.

Well, I am pleased to report that this theory was joyfully accepted. The children stopped inquiring “Why tulips?”, and instead started asking if we could take another drive by the crazy people. This request was of course completely unnecessary; we drove by them every time we hopped in the car.

To make life even more exciting, last winter was the worst that Southern New England had experienced in a number of years (at least within my children’s lifetime). Snow blanketed those tulip stems from December all the way through April. At one point the snow was piled so high all you could see were yellow, pink, and blue hues shimmering underneath the sea of white. Yes, those crazy rabble rousers left those tulips lit all the way through April until the snow had melted, and then removed them just in time for spring.

So that is how it came to be that we spent five months looking at the home of crazy people.

Last week my daughter and I were driving along and saw a number of houses that already have Christmas trees up, candles glowing in windows, and twinkling lights strung on bushes. As we passed each one she shouted from the backseat:

CRAZY PEOPLE!!! CRAZY PEOPLE live there!!! It’s not even Thanksgiving yet. Those people are CRAZY!!!

Yesterday after we picked up the boy from daycare she immediately formulated and shared her plan:

Hey Dominic, let’s look for American flags and crazy people.

He was totally on board.

I spy American flags and crazy people. Welcome to Massachusetts!

15 Minutes

Maria — Wed, 09 Nov 2011 00:35:55 +0000

Each weekday morning is the same. It starts with the antagonizing alarm, and continues through the bustle of getting everyone up, dressed, fed, gathered, and out the door. Somehow we manage it all in under an hour and it’s very much like clockwork at this point, but oh so hectic. Ask me an hour later what we talked about as a family and beyond the orders to get dressed and the negotiations over what to have for breakfast, I can hardly recall.

Conversations are rushed and when they veer from necessity are mostly controlled by a six year old force of nature, whose mouth runs from the moment her eyes open until her last good-bye and I love you are hollered as she and her father rush out the door. All morning the little guy desperately tries to keep up but always winds up falling behind, or should I say in step. He even picks the vitamin color she tells him to.

After the door shuts and half of our family has left for the day, it is quiet. That is when he comes to sit by me, and that is when we share a lovely 15 minutes together each day before it is time for him to leave. It is sweet, and it is special, and I never could have foreseen that I would come to cherish this time as much as I do.

Every morning I take him to daycare, but before that we have 15 minutes of quiet time, just the two of us. We talk about various subjects and I can see it in his eyes that he finally has the time to formulate his thoughts, to truly think about what he wants to share, and to let me know just how much of this world he has come to understand.

My sister and I have five years between us, so even though I am the younger sibling I did not experience what is like to become a shadow. It took sharing these 15 minutes each day to make me realize just how much it is happening to my son, and beyond some bedtime cuddling just how little one on one time he was getting from me.

I cannot tell you how many times in a day I have to tell my older child let her brother speak, to give him the time to come up with the answers. What is 3 + 3? She knows, and it kills her to keep quiet. He knows too; he’s just not as quick yet and never has the time to blurt it out before she rattles off the answer.

This morning we talked about dinosaurs. I could have died from the cute as I watched his brow furrow while he shook his head and told me about how there are no more left; that they died a long time ago. Oh, these 15 minutes, just me and my son. What an interesting and funny little dude he is. Who would have thought this change in schedule that I was so dreading could turn out to be such a blessing?

……………………………………..

In the blink of an eye the end of October came and we were all sick; my house a hopeless infestation of untold viruses. Yet somehow we managed to get through Halloween and still enjoy the little guy’s birthday.

Four years old. Happy Birthday, Little Man. We are so lucky to have you.

Finding Middle C

Maria — Tue, 25 Oct 2011 19:59:39 +0000

She sits next to me on the stool, her tiny fingers spread over the ivory keys, her thumbs gliding across the span of an octave in search of that elusive Middle C.

“This one?”

“No, that’s the A. Where is the C?”

I catch myself because I know that I just sounded frustrated. I am only human after all and we begin her lessons by searching for Middle C daily. Sometimes she gets it right away, other times not so much. I have to remind myself that she is only six and is doing so well. To a six year old, all those keys can be an overwhelming sea of black and white.

Those who have the patience to teach piano to children are saints. Saints, I tell you. Sadly, I am not one of them.

She gets it on the next try and I make sure that this time my tone is full of praise as she begins her exercises. I continuously remind myself that it is my encouragement that will play a big part of keeping it fun for her. Learning to play piano is no easy feat at any age.

But oh, she has that natural ear. She stops reading the notes after she plays them a few times through and goes on memory alone. She knows how it should sound and recognizes when it is wrong. It is going to be a gift but also a hindrance when she dives deeper into theory, so I remind her again to keep her eyes on the page.

After we finish her exercises she asks me to play for her. My fingers dance across the keys, muscle memory at its finest, as I tap out a few pieces from my childood that I would never have believed were still in me. Yet here they are.

“Play the Toy Story one Mommy!”

We have a few books of modern music and while some of them are beyond my skills due to 25 years of neglect, surprisingly with just a little effort I was able to hop right back on that bike.

“Someday I want to play like you,” she says.

“No Sweetie, if you practice a lot and try real hard, someday you will be better than me.”

“No, I want to be just like you.” Pride and sorrow stuck in my throat.

I looked at my husband later that evening and said, “But I don’t want her to be like me. She can be so much more.” And right there I recognized in myself for the first time that desperation for her to have it, to be it. I have always heard of parents who want more for their children than what they had for themselves. It is human nature; of course we all want that. Even before I was a parent I knew I would want that. Yet this was the first time that I truly, deeply felt it. And it was desire and caution wrapped up into a complex little bundle of hope. Knowing that I am, as I should be, forever destined to encourage, to guide, to stand aside. Understanding what I gave up and what she could have, and recognizing the fine line between her dreams and mine; our thumbs resting on Middle C.

Barbie and Rapunzel Get Married

Maria — Thu, 29 Sep 2011 22:38:09 +0000

On today’s episode of As the Bathwater Cools, Barbie finds herself in a rather awkward situation.

Ariel: Hi! Want to be friends?

Barbie: Yes! Oh, I love your hair.

Ariel: Thank you! I love your hair too.

Barbie: Thank you very much!

Ariel: Say, do you want to get married?

Barbie: Yes! Oh yes, let’s get married!

Ariel: Yay! Let’s go get ready for the wedding tonight!

Rapunzel: HEY! You said you would marry ME!

Barbie: Oh, that’s right. I’m sorry Ariel; I already said I would marry Rapunzel.

Ariel: Oh. *sigh* That’s OK.

END SCENE

My husband stuck his head into the bathroom with an unmistakable did-I-just-hear-what-I-think-I-heard expression on his face. I just sat back from the tub after listening to this little bath-time enactment of an amicable lovers quarrel with a slightly sheepish grin on my face. Yes, perhaps I had a hand in this one.

Sometimes you find yourself having conversations that you never intended to have, at least not yet. Why do I feel like I am saying this all the time now? I find myself having these conversations a lot lately.

Let’s back up a few months.

It started with a simple question, which of course did not have a simple answer. I had about 10 seconds to decide how I was going to handle it (during which she repeated the question over and over) followed by hours to come of wondering if I handled it right:

“Can girls marry girls?”

Oh man! How are you supposed to provide this answer to a five year old? This is one of those instances where everyone has a very strong opinion not only on how it should be answered, but also on what the answer should be. With that opinion come facts but also religious belief and personal or family values. I usually have a policy with myself that when the life questions that perhaps shouldn’t be asked yet come about; I will answer truthfully with as little embellishment as possible followed by a healthy dose of distraction (Look! It’s a tree!). And yet on this one I just kept talking.

I told her the facts, and I added my opinion; all of it. One answer raised another question followed by another, and before I knew it I was hosting her first lesson on human rights. I thought, I hoped, she was ready to hear it.

You see I struggle with how we should teach our children about the tough subjects, and when certain conversations are age appropriate. There is so much information that comes at our little ones from all angles; parents, siblings, extended family, friends, teachers, spiritual advisors, television, not mention life observances at the super market, the park, etc. I worry about what information will stay with them, and who will get to them first. I think of The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie all of the time:

“Give me a girl at an impressionable age, and she is mine for life.”

As that spontaneous conversation between my daughter and I unfolded, I had the sense that whatever I said right then and there would become a part of her foundation. She would build her own belief system throughout her life, but a piece of me and what I said to her would always be there. So I told her everything that I believe on that topic and brought it down to her level as much as I could, and I decided not to worry about other people’s views or what she could repeat. This is who I am, what I believe, and what I hope for my child. If anyone is going to lay down that foundation, for better or for worse it should be me.

I told her that of course girls can marry girls, when they are old enough. I said that if two people love each other we have no right to keep them apart. I explained that I believe that the rules which apply to me and her father as a married couple, and what we get to do or not do because we are married, should be the same for every citizen of this country. I also told her that there are people who do not agree with me, and places in this world and in this country where girls are not allowed to marry girls and boys are not allowed to marry boys.

Of course her follow up was to ask where in this country this important human right is not allowed. She has been learning about our states, so I explained that it was most of them. Leaving out the ones that allow some form of civil union, I rattled off the few that I could remember which do allow same-sex marriage, mostly in the north east. We talked about how proud I am to live in Massachusetts where everyone has this choice, and wise beyond her years she wondered why girls just don’t come here if they want to get married.

Wow. I responded that it is my belief that by time she is an adult many laws will change, and that more states will allow it too.

Fast forward to a few weeks ago, and as much as I can recall exactly, this is what she randomly announced to me:

“We are lucky, because we live in Massachusetts, where girls and boys can get married, and boys and boys can get married, and girls and girls can get married. Because not every state lets you do that. But maybe someday more will. By the time I am older hopefully they will.”

I just smiled at her and said, “That’s right Sweetie.” At that moment, I knew in my heart that I did right thing.

Even if I have to watch her dolls fight their way to the altar every bath.

My 9/11

Maria — Sun, 11 Sep 2011 13:39:03 +0000

It was approximately 8:50 in the morning when my office phone rang on September 11, 2001. I could tell from a glance at the caller ID that is was my fiancé, now husband. I barely skipped a beat as I raised the receiver to my ear and continued a scan of my morning email. I acknowledged him with my usual, “Hey”.

“The World Trade Center is on fire.”

“Huh?”

“Turn around and look at the television.”

Having spent the first several years of our courting working there himself, he knew my office well. He knew that directly behind me on an elevated platform where I spent most of my day was a television broadcasting market updates. I peered around and looked at the television that I subsequently would not remove from my sight for the next seven and a half hours, and saw what I was missing.

What’s always bothered me the most about me in that very first moment when I saw the flames and the smoke, was my initial reaction; a sort of weird rush of excitement. Call it years of blockbuster movies, call it desensitization to images on TV, call it if you must just being a terrible person, but it took me a good minute to understand that what I was seeing was not a harmless explosion on television like we all see on the average evening program.

I looked around my office, already buzzing with activity. Coworkers were busy at fax machines and copiers. Some were on the phones or carrying breakfast and coffee to their desks. Others were visiting each other’s cubes or chatting around proverbial water coolers as they prepared to start the day. It was just before 9:00 AM on a Tuesday morning in a financial building. Of course there would have been countless individuals in the World Trade Center doing just the same thing.

We hung up the phone, and as I seated myself on the platform I was quickly joined by others. I remember the initial rumor that it was a small plane and the comments around me that there was simply too much damage to be something as tiny as a Cessna. I remember a dozen conversations bouncing back and forth as I watched the second plane hit; an unmistakably very large plane.

And then there was that sinking feeling, the understanding that this was no accident. For the next half hour, watching the chaos, I was consumed not only by the grief and fear I was watching on screen, but also by the stories that were flooding in around me. There was a coworker who had a relative on one of the top floors. There was the knowledge that one of our related companies had offices high up there as well. There was the report that one of our best friends was supposed to be on a fight out of Logan that morning bound for California (he wasn’t). There was the rumor that other cities could be affected, and the fact that my soon to be husband was sitting in a skyscraper in Boston, along with several other close friends in tall buildings nearby.

As if that wasn’t frightening enough, all that worry changed to outright terror at 9:37 when the Pentagon was struck. As a young American, this is something that I had never experienced before. This almost ready to settle down Generation Xer had never known what it felt like to have my way of life or liberty in peril from tyranny. That is just something that does not happen to us. It happens to other areas of the world, places which at the time I couldn’t even name, but most definitely not to The United States of America.

I felt woken from a deep sleep, unprepared, uneducated, and shaken to the core; I could not for the life of me understand why this was happening. Al Qaeda? Never heard of him. The World Trade Center had been bombed previously? Missed that. Taliban? Gesundheit. Oh, how very quickly I learned that my freedom had bred my own complacency. How blind I had been.

The rest of that day was a blur: watching one tower collapse, then the next, hearing about the plane in Pennsylvania. The order has become fuzzy, but throughout the day we tracked down loved ones, got word from my husband that his building was evacuated and he was carpooling it home with friends, and call it strange but to this day every time I look up at the sky I think of that day when I stepped outside, looked up at the crystal blue, and did not see a single plane flicker against the sunlight. No planes! It was a quiet and eerie feeling.

The next three days were numbing. Tears, work, tears, CNN, tears, Fox News, tears, ABC, tears, and newspaper article after newspaper article. They are all in a box in the attic now. Somewhere in that box is an image of an upside down man falling from the building, head first, his tie flapped outward, his arms resolutely by his side. I need never look at it again to remember that image. It is forever imprinted in my brain.

I remember discussing the photo with a friend who said to me, “how bad did it have to be in there for that jump to be your best option.” Oh, God, those poor people. Whenever I think of 9/11, it is not the smoke, it is not the flames, it is not the second plane crashing into the building, it is not the towers collapsing, it is not the throngs of people covered in debris and running for their lives, it is not the police and firemen walking towards instead of away from the flames, and then later the more who came to help search for civilians and their own. All of those images follow, but it is that of the falling man that is always my first visual recall. I hope with all of my heart that his family did not see or recognize him in that photograph. I wish that I had never seen that photograph.

That Friday night after 9/11 we gathered at our bar. On that particular evening there was a universal vigil, and as I was driving through some back roads to meet my friends I remember seeing a family of four standing outside at the end of their driveway. They stood close together, arms about each other and candles in hand. In that moment I had such love for that family I did not know, and I knew that my pain was theirs.

At the bar we drank, we cried, and when it started to get dark we lit candles on the back deck. We sang God Bless America together, an entire bar full of people; strangers, friends, coworkers, all gathered together to help ease a shared sorrow. I remember saying to my girlfriends, “Things will never be the same.”

I longed so badly in that moment for 9/10, as I have every day since.

This was my 9/11. I wrote it down to remember. For the lives that were stolen that awful day, and for the families who remain to mourn their absence, my prayers are sent from my still aching heart. God Bless America.

Six!

Maria — Wed, 07 Sep 2011 23:27:46 +0000

I crept into her room so early it was still dark, but I could tell she was awake. I saw her little eye peek over to make sure it was me. Yet she immediately feigned sleep; my princess likes to be woken with a kiss.

I gave her a smooch on her cheek and sang her a little birthday song in her ear. A smile spread across her face.

“Wow, yesterday you started kindergarten, and today is your birthday! You are six! Why don’t try it out? Say, ‘I’m six!’ Go on and feel how it sounds.”

She hopped into a sitting position and proudly proclaimed, “I am six years old!” Of course she would respond in a complete sentence; it’s just her way.

I was so nervous for her first day of kindergarten. It is a new school, new friends, new everything for her. When I dropped her off she walked tall and went willingly when they lead her away from me, never looking back. All that worry was all so needless.

But that’s just her way. She has little fear of change. She accepts and looks forward to new experience. She is so much braver than I ever was at her age.

I have a bag of assorted Dum Dum lollipops at home. On the occasion when I let her have one I rattle off a few flavor options, but her response is always the same.

“I want the mystery one!”

And that right there is a major difference between us. Those question marks all over the wrapping, they scare me. I would never take the mystery one, because what if I don’t like it? What if I am disappointed?

She always takes the mystery one and never worries if it’s not her favorite flavor; she would rather take a chance and be surprised by what life has to offer. It’s seems so fitting to break it down into sugary treat options, because truly she already knows how to enjoy the sweetness of life.

It’s certainly not something that she learned from me. In fact, I remember the first time saying to her, “Are you sure you want the mystery one? You won’t know what you’re getting! What if you don’t like it?” I regretted it right after I said it, but it didn’t matter.

She was sure, and relished tasting the mystery pop and figuring it out for her self. After all, it is just her way, and a great way at that.

Happy 6^th Birthday to my sweet Sofia. I hope you always enjoy life’s mysteries.

Tick Tock

Maria — Tue, 23 Aug 2011 21:14:00 +0000

I have been feeling the ticking of a clock. No, not that kind of clock; you bite your tongue. This shop is CLOSED. I’m talking about the passage of time, a season that has run its course, the end of one phase of life which can only lead to the beginning of the next, and for good or bad all the anticipation that comes with it. Things are about to change.

Sofia starts kindergarten in two weeks. She will be leaving the learning center where she has spent Monday through Friday of almost the entirety of her life and moving on. She is excited about the change, because we have played it up as nothing short of awesome, but I know she is a little sad to be leaving her friends. I try not to show it, but I am a little sad for her as well. It is hard to walk away from all that you know.

I think it’s different for the working mother. I don’t feel the mourning or emptiness that a lot of stay at home moms experience. It doesn’t feel as though she is leaving me. The amount of time we spend together on a daily basis will not differ. Instead it means getting up a hell of a lot earlier and carting two kids off in separate directions on a daily basis. It’s all about logistics. I know we will work out a schedule, but it is going to be very hard for a few years until the little guy is old enough to join her.

That is the stress of the change, but when I sit down and really think about what it all means, this change does affect me in emotional ways. As I focus on her days ahead and all that I must to do get her ready, I am suddenly struck by how tall she looks.

I felt that most when holding up her fall uniform and marveling that her legs could not possibly be that long. Yet they are. Then over the weekend I was watching her run across the beach and I swear I saw glimpses of a young woman’s gait. Oh, how she has grown.

On the average day she may have magic marker on her cheeks and a milk mustache over her lips, but behind those glasses are large, inquisitive brown eyes that have become wiser and more challenging by the day. Questions have become more complex, and more often than not I find myself without answers.

No, our time together is not changing, but she is. I feel how she is just beginning to slip through my fingers. For now, at least, she is still holding on.

First attempt at play makeup.