Happy happy joy joy

at least that's what I keep telling myself.

Happy that G is arriving back home today, just in time to help Sam participate in his last ever Pinewood derby.  {He's been in Arizona this week at Thunderbird, learning all about being an international man of mystery + about doing business in Saudi Arabia.}

Happy that it's Friday, that I am halfway through the semester and the class sessions just keep getting better (with a few learning-curve moments thrown in there).  It's lovely to get a good measure of energy and feedback from the students every week. I'm learning a lot.

Joy in the contradiction of eating sourpatch kids and drinking diet Coke. (I know, neither the pinnacle of health.  I promise I ate beets and broccoli for dinner.)  In the fabulous sunrise yesterday as I drove Lauren to seminary.  In polished toenails and taking my girls for their first-ever pedicures.

Joy in finding out that Louie and the dog next door have been passing their toys to each other under the fence (how fabulous is that?!).  In wearing my red shoes on a gray day.  In realizing (yet again) that I really am in charge of my own life, my own happiness.

(l to r) Maddy, me, Lauren.  They got their long toes and limbs from their father.  While I have sausage toes. And limbs.

Those natural consequences

Last year Lauren and I had lots of run-ins about things. Things she felt entitled to own, things we either couldn't afford or couldn't justify.  Every "no" was received like we were denying water to the thirsty.  Or stingily holding back oxygen.

On one level, Greg and I both understood how she felt.  We both remember those desperate teenage feelings, the conviction that this one thing will change my life, my status, my very self.  (For me, it meant "borrowing" sweaters from my dad's closet even though I knew he'd be angry; G remembers throwing a fit in a shoe store [not as a teenager though] when he couldn't get the cool shoes).  But still.  The constant hunger for the next thing, coupled with a sense of entitlement and lack of gratitude, was driving me crazy and coloring many of our interactions.  Oy.

So at the end of the summer, we introduced a new plan, Lauren's New Deal.  We would pay Lauren a fairly nice monthly sum of money (not that much, not too little) but she would be responsible for purchasing her own things.  We would cover food and lessons and essentials but she would buy the extras: clothes, social activities, texting charges, clothes, little incidentals.  She could fritter it away on little things or save it over time for big things.  It's up to you, darlin'.

Exhibit A: See her cell phone up there?  It's taken a beating (an outright understatement). She's dropped it (multiple times), put it through some heavy conversing and texting, left it where Louie could try his chops on it, even lost it a couple of times.  It's not pretty but it still works. Since replacing it would come out of her funds (and when weighed against a new dress for the semi-formal or a new ipod or jeans)--she doesn't feel the desperate urgency to get a new one.   It makes me laugh every time I see it.  And proud.  

The unexpectedly hardest part for me is letting her live with the consequences of her choices without swooping in and saving her, supermom with amazing + heroic spending powers.  At this very moment, she has no jeans that fit.  None.  They are all high-waters, bless her heart and growing limbs.  She has spent her funds on lunches out with friends, shirts, gifts for friends. Doo-dahs, forgetting her one real need: new pants. This is the hard lesson, the one that I desperately want to soften.  But softening it would only undo the learning, right?

So I keep my unhelpful rescue superpowers to myself, letting life teach her a few lessons while she's safely nestled under our rafters.  Unless there's such a thing as the outgrown jeans fairy?  

I guess not.

GWI*

The boys of the family are off to the wintry north for a boy scout camping trip.  We girls, here at home, are settling in for a fun couple of days with just us.  There are pedicures scheduled. And haircuts.  And renting The Secret Life of Bees. Generally having a hygge time.  And maybe a few other surprises.

Have a great weekend.  

{And thanks for your comments and emails about my last post.  As it turns out, a lot of people have been feeling the same way.  Reminds me (yet again) of the Marjorie Hinckley quote "Be kind.  Everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle."  Not a bad piece of advice to follow for the rest of my life, really.}

*=girls' weekend in

The middle place

I just finished reading Kelly Corrigan's The Middle Place this morning, a memoir about the middle place where being a mother and being a daughter overlap. At the end she includes this fabulous essay on the transcendence of women's friendships. As luck would have it, I found a video of her reading it aloud and had to share {hanky warning--but it's worth the 5 minutes}:

I can't help but think of my grandmother and her 8 sisters, my mom and her 4 sisters, my mom and her long-standing group of friends who have seen each other through...well...everything.

I, too, have one of those milestone birthdays coming up this year.  I have been lucky to have some really incredible women to call dear friends.  But I've moved a lot.  And so have my friends.  I have to admit I've felt a little forlorn and lonely lately, since most of those close friendships--formed in my own growing up years, or at the playground, in play groups and babysitting groups with my children--are now far away.  

Somehow I find myself in this other, "middle place" where the demographics of my neighborhood, church congregation, and school make me the outsider, the other.  I'm at an awkward age for new friendships, like a 14-year-old in kindergarten.  I'm not young enough to be included and invited on the get-togethers with the young moms or grad students (and I realize they consider me practically ancient, with a 15-year-old and all) and most of the women my age in town have lived here forever and already have their go-to people long established, including extended family, those luckies.

So I'm left with a long Christmas card list of long-distance-yet-close connections, people who would step in, give me a hug, recommend a doctor/hairstylist/parenting tip, watch my kids, and vice versa, if only we lived closer.  These relationships transcend distance, except when they don't. When I just want to go to a movie with a girl friend who really gets me.  

So this is for the group of women who don't even know each other--my posse of lifelong "Pigeons" who I'm sure would love each other if ever we got in one big room: 

Shelly~Debbie~Sue~JenA~Kelly~JenW~Trina~Christin~

JenJ~Deirdre~Christie~Jessica

{plus a few more iFriends whose friendships

 sustain me although we've never really met}

I would totally jump on a red-eye flight and fly anywhere for any one of you.  Looking at that list, I realize I really don't have anything to complain about.  I'm blessed to know each of you. But the world's on notice: I've got my eye out for some new Pigeons...come out, come out, wherever you are.

19 mileposts

This morning we have been married for 19 years.  19. One, nine.  To celebrate, here are 19 short snippets from our married life, one mile marker for each year. 

1.  on our first married Christmas, our little old green station wagon, fondly named "gumby," is on the fritz so G bikes in a blizzard downtown to Christmas shop, riding home on the slick roads with the purchases slung over his shoulders (90).

2. we give up our $200 a month basement apartment and move to the big city for my first big job and G's law school (91)

3. I quit the big job to accompany G to London for the summer (wouldn't you?), where he completes a semester of international law study abroad and we live on love and Tesco pot pies.  The concierge at our cheap hotel calls me his "lady friend" (I'm sure it doesn't occur to her that we are married) and suggests we push the twin beds together. (92)

4. Back in the States, G continues law school and I work and start a master's degree program.  Also: Baby hungry.  G, in his wisdom, suggests that I wait until I've really wanted a baby for at least three months in a row (somewhat fickle person that I am). Later: Lauren is born. (93)

5. G finishes law school, passes the bar, and we pack up and move east to Boston. (94)

6. G leaves for a long duty assignment with the Air Force.  Shortly after he leaves, I discover I'm pregnant and Lauren and I slog through the first semester+ by ourselves (whenever I hear the opening song of the video The Snowman, it still takes me back to tired nausea and headaches). Later: Maddy is born. (95)

7. Maddy scares us with a long "atypical seizure", emergency room trip, and worrisome testing over the coming months (years, really).  We discover the achy, helpless, tender side of being parents. (96)

8.  Move ourselves to DC, pocketing the moving stipend from the Air Force.  Decide never to do that again.  {Advice: always take the paid-for moving service.}  My brother Matt lives with us while he works in DC. (97).

9. We travel to Germany and Denmark on a space-available basis on a military transport plane (a nice perk of military service but not the most luxurious ride, as my then-6-month-pregnant body attested).  We have a "no room at the inn" incident in Hanover Germany, where G invokes the pregnant wife excuse and gains the man's pity and a room at "Uncle Tom's Hutte."  Later in the year, Sam is born. I'm the lucky patient who is on the receiving end of an intern's first ever epidural. I hold G's hand really tightly. (98) 

10. G is recruited by a DC law firm and leaves the Air Force to take the job. I am at home with three kids under the age of 5 and mostly love it. (99)

11.  We buy our first home.  Toddler Sam treats his dad like a stranger, since G works crazy DC law firm hours (leaving at 6 a.m. and home at 11 p.m. most days, including Saturdays) and serves as Stake Young Men's president. Something's got to give, we both think. We miss each other.   (00)

12.  9/11 was very scary for our little family, as it was for so many.  G finally makes it home at the end of the day in walking-train-walking-train mode.  One of the partners at his firm is killed on one of the planes.  We feel a new desire to reshuffle our lives to spend more time together and prioritize what matters most.  A few weeks later, we take the chance to move back to Boston, where G will be in-house counsel for a vaccine company.  And work better hours. Whew. (01).

13. Welcome to the this-old-house school of home ownership!  All of our $ and free time is spent trying to insulate/update/de-draft/repair our 110-year-old home.  Loved the character, but not the absence of insulation (02).

14.  I decide to try to go back to grad school, take the GRE, and start.  G is a phenomenal support and encourager and talks me down from panic several times (03).  

15.  Following our list of hopes & dreams compiled when we were first married (item #5: show our kids the world & value experiences over things), we take the kids to Denmark, the land of our ancestors.  And so the transfer of wanderlust to the next generation begins... (04).

16.    The year of the deer.  We hit two deer in a one-year span, totalling the car in one of the unfortunate incidents. (And the kids and I also get hit by a drunk driver later in the year).  We try to steer clear of dark evening drives and the deer mafia, who obviously have a hit out on us. And I graduate with my masters (05).

17.   I get into the PhD program.  See #14, rinse, repeat.  We look around and realize we've reached the parenting nirvana years: in-house babysitter, kids who get our jokes and who have a degree of independence (read: we can take a Sunday nap and know they will not get into trouble in the meantime).  Plus, they all still want to hang out with us!  (06).

18.  We decide to move: the kids are bigger, their friends are bigger & we need a little more space than our townhouse can give.  Three crazy purchase-and-sale agreements later (and a fair amount of roller coaster emotions + a couple of months of temporary housing), we land in our current happy place (07).

19.  G and I run a 10K together up and down a mountain in Vermont (to be clear, Greg runs it and I stagger in).  G takes a great opportunity and changes jobs, I take a semester off from my grad program and then start back up again.  Life is good. (08)

-->You are here! Let the 20th year begin. Our most memorable dance song played by the big band at our wedding reception?  The wonderfully cheesy country-western "Can I Have This Dance For The Rest of My Life?" Well,  here's to the best partner a gal could ask for.  I feel lucky that we've grown and worked and laughed and adventured together for these years, with the anticipation of many, many more.  We're still dancing...

Winter light

After school today, the kids were watching t.v.

(their Friday afternoon tradition)

& going through their valentines

(read: eating their candy).

Flopping and fighting.

Pretty blah.

Then the afternoon sun

started glowing in our backyard, 

the ground newly exposed from the melting snow.

My heart did flipflops

and I grabbed the camera and dragged them outside. 

This boy always needs a haircut.

It grows over night.

When he saw this picture, 

even he admitted it's time to visit the barber again.

{And look! My brown-eyed genes showed up here!}

Ah, that winter light. 

It does my heart good.

So do these faces.

It feels like the scene at the end of the Selfish Giant

when winter blankets the earth

but there's a burst of hope in the corner of the garden.

Things are looking up in winter land.

My Funny Valentines

Just a little clip of G and me, doing a little Valentine's Day dance in the rain...

Okay, actually it's Neve Campbell and Domingo Rubio in a beautiful dance scene from the movie The Company. I love this cello & piano arrangement of My Funny Valentine (it's a great soundtrack all around, actually) and it's one of my favorite dance scenes ever. So romantic and the rain makes it even more dreamy. {If I've posted this here before, just pretend I haven't.}

In reality, our Valentine's Day will be spent chaperoning a youth dance. Sigh. Maybe we'll try a few of the ballet moves to show those kids what's what. Now that would be a funny valentine (pa-dum-pum). Our anniversary is on Monday, though, so we'll just celebrate Valeversary then.

* * *

photo via Ali Edwards

Other My Funny Valentine favorites:

Chet Baker

Miles Davis

Elvis Costello

Kronos Quartet (couldn't find links for the last two)

What songs would be on your Valentine's mix?

Facebook in real life

My friend Wendy sent me this very funny clip.  What would happen if Facebook was actually played out in real life?

POKE!

Vday is coming! Vday is coming!

...as Paul Revere would say, urgently.
I love Valentine's Day.  Growing up, my mom would find ways to secretly put things on our front porch (when she "went to take the garbage out" maybe?) and then ring the doorbell and run.  We would open the door to an assembly of fun little gifties (a heart-shaped pin, a little pencil with a heart eraser, some candy).  Lovely.

Then I grew up a little more and Valentine's Day was all about reading between the lines of the class valentines.  Sure, everyone gave one to everyone but was there an underlying reason that Eddie gave me one with "doggone it, you're wonderful, valentine" on it? (Answer:no.)  Or why someone signed their name love, Mark??  (Again: no.)  Oh, the code breaking (and the heartbreak)!

I still love Valentine's Day. But sometimes it kind of sneaks up on me and I run out to CVS on 2/14 for some quick Valentines treats.  If you're in that boat, too, here are couple of easy + fun ideas I've spotted.

First, if you have kids who need to take a little Valentines card or goodie to school, consider our favorites: Valentine airplanes.

 I posted here (and the year before that but who's counting?) about how to make them.  Basically smarties + a piece of gum + two lifesavers + a cute tag = low fuss Valentines sweetness.  We have made them for--oh--7 years now and they really are a hit.

I've been trying to think what to make/give G for Valentines.  Then I saw this today and decided it could be the perfect thing.  We used to be faithful letter writers--we dated long distance for quite a while, after all--and it's something I'd like to revive.  An envelope book with lots of places to tuck notes and letters, past and present seems like just the thing. Love this!  I think kids would love one as well, a Jolly Postman-type book filled with letters just for them.

~via oh, hello friend

Just wondering: What was your best Valentine's Day ever?

 

Smallish pleasures

~ pictures of children throughout the decades ^, via Life Magazine's photo library, and wondering where they and their progeny are now

~ attending the 5th grade choral concert, where eager high-pitched voices coming from animated and excited faces blended with reluctant mumbly, too-cool-for-this ones. What a study in the different rates of child development!

~ sunshine on the new glitter-snow, making everything look fresh again

~ a perfect avocado--not too mushy, not too underripe-- on my melted cheese tortilla today

~ going out with G last night (on a Tuesday!) to meet our friend Sugata, who was here for business. Relatedly, being reminded how sweet it is to know someone for so long (for over 24 years!) and feel really known. What a good heart he has.

~ having everything go wrong technologically with my class on Monday (Murphy and his law came and camped out: my computer wouldn't work with the projector, so no powerpoint and the internet wasn't working either so we couldn't listen to the clips I had prepared) BUT making it through anyway. Now I know the answer to the "what if" fears. I still survived.

~ receiving kind emails from my students

~ planning a get-away trip with G {any great suggestions for a destination?}

~ holding nummy babies

~ the sight of two of my kids wearing headgear every evening (I keep thinking of you, Andrea). I find it endearing.

~ my 89-year-old grandparents on Facebook

~ receiving a Valentines package today from those same grandparents

~ junky Superbowl food and funny commercials

~ Friday Night Lights (I still love that show.)

~ replenishing the toilet paper supply in every bathroom (no one else seems to notice when we're out!)

~ my newish black fitted motorcycle-style jacket

~ breaking icicles off of the roofline of our house (satisfying!)

And you? What are your small pleasures these days?