The Valley Advocate: Standing in the Shadows

Fifteen

Mon, 20 May 2013 7:14:00 AM MST

15 Things I adore about my 15 year-old:
1. What he loves, he really, really loves a lot.
2. He reads the newspaper.
3. He is funny and mostly sweet with his younger sister.
4. He is absolutely sweet to small children.
5. He understands math the way I don't think math can be simply understood and always has.
6. He doesn't make me feel *too* bad about #5 most of the time.
7. Not only does he make beautiful pottery, he has given many of his favorite pieces to his grandparents as gifts.
8. If he makes money babysitting, he may well spend it on mushrooms.
9. He cleans up really well, as witnessed when he took on the Model UN including the required wardrobe (a suit).
10. He participates in really neat activities at the high school.
11. When he comes home from school, often he says that the day was really good and his classes were interesting. And he means it.
12. He likes to take walks with his mama.
13. He has become strong and agile and focused through karate.
14. He's at the heart of our pick-up soccer game (along with Alex, who turns 15 tomorrow).
15. He can tell you anything you'd like to know about the West Wing.
+ one more: I'm the happiest that I get to be his mama and even say so on this blog.

Bowls, Babies and Turnips

Tue, 14 May 2013 4:25:00 AM MST

The thing I like about our mismatched ceramic bowl collection is not only the aesthetics of those different colors and styles and even textures, but also the fact that when anyone requests yogurt or granola or sorbet or cereal or pudding or soup or fruit or what have you, there’s a suitable bowl for that purpose (if, of course, any number of bowls are clean).

It’s Tuesday, which seems to have become blogging day and now, coincidentally is Tuesday Market day—with its propensity to fill my bowls with nifty things. To wit, salad turnips are back.

Talk about a small happy event: the salad turnip’s spring arrival counts. So do the babies’ appearance at the Market each spring—it’s so fun to greet them and glimpse them and smile at them.

The simple three this week: grateful for bowls, babies and turnips.

The three links to make you think harder include this one about the Gosnell verdict, about which I feel somewhat appalled at the way there’s so much vitriol toward him—and not enough toward the agencies that were supposed to regulate clinics not to be like his, but didn’t. I just read Angelina Jolie’s brave op-ed about her decision to have a double mastectomy to decrease her very high odds of breast cancer; every time I read about someone doing this I feel such awe at a clearheaded decision and such frustration that this is the best prevention we have so far. The if-the-tables-were-turned feminist in me goes into the if-men-got-pregnant realm of thought. That’s never a good thing, is it? Mothers’ Day is over, yet I still have carry echoes of Jennifer Finney Boylan’s powerful piece about having been father and mother—and in between.

Late Monday Night Recap

Tue, 07 May 2013 4:20:00 AM MST

When your daughter naps at preschool, is it possible she’ll stay awake until 11:34 PM? You bet it is.

Put another way, you know it (and PS it SUCKS).

I knew it’d be bad. I grocery shopped while she stayed home with the brothers and then we went out to dinner. We didn’t leave the restaurant till nearly 9PM. Worried Union of Concerned Mothers would cite me for this late night outing on a Monday night. Instead, we saw the Mayor on Main Street as we went toward the car. The Mayor showed no concern. (Phew).

Did I mention the papa was away for five days? He returned just as she fell asleep on that fifth night. I’d say evening, but it sure as hell wasn’t… evening any longer.

However, when you wind up on the couch with your five and your seventeen year-old at 11 PM and he tells you not to back down with her, lest you be a permissive parent—and adds she’s in the Electra Phase and raises questions about her penis envy… And she meantime enjoys the word, ‘penis.’ She tosses in ‘vagina’ a few times, too, and is pretty much in hysterics because she’s saying these words at this hour. She’s punch drunk. Soon, she’ll be pulling clothes off (wait, that happened at 10 PM) or dishing about the preschool set.

Hi-lar-ious?

Sure.

Here’s something that happened earlier on the walk home from preschool.

Sammy (through the car window): "Bye, girlfriend!"

Saskia: "Bye!"

Me: "Why'd Sammy call you his girlfriend."

Saskia: "I'm his girlfriend; he's my boyfriend."

Me: "What's a boyfriend?"

Saskia: "I don't know."

Grateful for the fact that these people keep me so well amused and grateful the teenager’s insights about psychology, thanks to the AP test in psychology. Grateful for the mail, which brought me both Brain Child Magazine—with my essay on the back page—and Volume 2 of the Nashville Soundtrack.

Let me link you to Brain Child Magazine. Let me suggest that it’s Mothers’ Day-able and it’s new baby gift-able and it’s congratulations your child graduated-able. Or it’s I-deserve-a-great-read-able, so if you subscribe for someone else get yourself a subscription, too. To support smart, funny writing is a fine cause.

I’d be remiss not to link you to Volume 2 of the Nashville soundtrack, because it’s awesome. There are only a few episodes of the show left so you might just watch.

Lastly, my friend Andrew Harkins would have been 51 last week and before he died nearly 20 years ago he’d already created a body of work as a photographer that’s stunning. Another friend, Jordy Rabinowitz, pulled Andrew’s images together into a book. I wanted you to know about. There’s a page on Facebook, too, to learn more. PS Jordy's a terrific photographer.

Sleep, Diapers, Sailing, But Not Together

Tue, 30 Apr 2013 3:58:00 AM MST

I wanted to write something but then I got too sleepy.

Here’s the most compelling read about that I’ve read recently, a piece that argues ADHD diagnoses may in fact be about not sleeping adequately.

Y-A-W-N.

Rather than write a bunch, I’ll add that you should sleep more. That’s what I chose to do.

Before ending this very short post I’m writing Monday evening for Tuesday, you might want to read this beautiful essay by my friend Liv Rockefeller about her mother, Kon Tiki and much more.

When you read this piece (written by my fab friend Rachel Simmons) you may chuckle in some places but you won’t laugh: how to change a diaper at 30,000 feet as a solo mom when the airline offers no changing area or changing table in the bathroom? It’s not so funny (PS: been there, done that). Embedded in the piece is a link to sign a petition to get Delta to join the 21^st century and update their WIFI-accessible airplanes accordingly.

Lastly, because I haven’t linked to it here, I have to add a link to my latest piece for the NYT Motherlode—about how Saskia and I visited a friend’s new baby in the hospital just after he was born and she told the room she came from my tummy. You can read what happened next.

Three things I’m grateful for this very minute include every bit of sleep I do get (here’s to more), the awe I felt watching the very talented very creative Northampton High School theater folks with leadership (well, directorial duties) by senior Bailey Lathrop present Alice in Wonderland this past weekend, and the jaw-dropping show that is spring. I am hearting every single bud, every cool morning, and every change of hue in the sky. I’ve realized that this little moment is the absolute nectar (for me), the pinnacle of excitement and beauty—from the siren song of the forsythia to the frothy not-yet-leafy leaves, I’m riveted. Have you really looked?

Bowling is to Abortion Access Like __

Tue, 23 Apr 2013 3:33:00 AM MST

A week of three kids on break, a dear friend’s wedding in New York, ended with… bowling.

Yes, it did.

We bowled as part of the National Network of Abortion Funds’ bowlathon for abortion access. Without access, abortion is only technically legal, as in on the books legal, as in not really helpful if you need actual health care. While I did not win my round, my team—No Wire Hangers—won as top fundraisers.

You can still give (please do) this week. It’s so easy.

That’s link number one to share this Tuesday morning.

Link two is an article that puts perspective upon our fear of terrorist attack—and plane crashes versus the much larger killers of guns and cars. I could say something more. There’s not that much more to say. We put our fear in all the wrong places in this country.

Link three is the obituary for E.L. Konigsburg. If you ever dreamt of your overnight at the Met, it’s thanks to her.

Three things that have me grateful this steely grey morning are the leaves, which are leafing by the day. I am bowled (get it, you can still give!) over by spring every year. The longer live in New England, the more intense spring becomes. I forget you don’t get insta-green, that instead the ramp up includes swaggers from forsythia while trees are still bare. Except, daily, the leaves charge in. Fiddleheads roll up all curled up and then… unfurl like Mr. Bean in some sketch about careful eating habits. You get the idea. It’s really a show, this spring phenomenon.

Baby Walter and his mama, Anne Marie cheered our team on

Of bowling, I am grateful for the community that supports reproductive justice. The babies and kids in spirit, the college students though, well, hooray and then the moms, the women, the men, the grandmothers… Equality is justice is freedom.

I’m also grateful to be reminded that bowling is a lot of fun. We should just bowl more often—for no other reason.

Introducing

Thu, 18 Apr 2013 1:18:00 PM MST

Sometimes you don't need to say much. Meet Leo (the latest and last nephew).

In Which I Visit the Dentist and Confront Middle Age or Something

Thu, 11 Apr 2013 6:35:00 PM MST

Monday morning I got a phone call from my dentist’s office that I had a cleaning scheduled for Wednesday morning at 8:30. “Oh,” I said, “Hmm. Well, I don’t write these appointments down because otherwise I’ll get too anxious. My husband’s going to be out of town. Can I just call you back in about an hour? I have to work this out,” I said.

Just to be clear—I felt like a total idiot as I confessed to the depths of my dentist anxiety (maybe phobia) and then scrambled to work out the logistics so that I could indeed attend my cleaning. I babbled to Joanie on the phone that I have the number memorized so that I can make referrals to the practice (which is something I do, regularly; if they offered incentives for referrals, I’d probably be able to get some free cleanings or something by now).

I walked up the stairs at the same time as a man who was headed in for his cleaning—and I held the door since I reached the entrance first. We appeared to be roughly the same age.

Once in the room—right away, because the 8:30 appointment really is the way to go—I let Linda, my awesome hygienist whom I pretty much trust with my life do her thing. I would be more chatty or engaging, but I really can’t do more than shut my eyes, open my mouth and cope.

I used to need music via earphones and contemplate something like Valium, but my friend Penny told me her Manhattan dentist gave her numbing gel and I made a request for it, and it helps. Let me repeat: numbing gel is brilliant stuff. If you’re anxious about routine checkups at the dentist, request some. If you are refused this request, switch dentists. I tend to remind myself not to let my neck lock back and I try to stay calm. I don’t open my eyes till it’s over, more or less. Linda—and my dentists—tells me I’ve come a long way.

Notes: if someone else confessed to anxiety at nearly phobia level about the dentist (or whatever), I would be compassionate toward that person. I mean fear is part of the human condition. It’s nothing to be ashamed about. However, I really do feel ashamed that I am this afraid of my visits to the very nice Linda and Carina and Marty. I have gone so far as to tell Marty, “I could have a hundred babies if I never had to sit in this chair again.” For the record, that’s 100 labors not 100 pregnancies.

Also, the office had classy, soothing music piped in rather than pop music—old pop music or new pop music, and for what it’s worth, I found the soothing music was much less soothing than the pop music of any era.

Toward the end of the cleaning before I received my check-in with the dentist, Linda said she needed to chart my gums for bone loss (she said it in a much more technical way, but since I never ever ask anyone about gums—like when a friend has gum surgery, I just insist that I not hear details, none as in stop right now, say NOTHING). I surely appeared—expression-wise, not in any other way—just like Kerry Washington in Scandal when she realized she was stuck in the apartment of the man she just slept with who happened to have set up a huge number of surveillance cameras in her apartment—this kind of distressed woman meets deer in headlights bug-eyed look.

Linda assured me this was routine and nothing to worry about and that it was simply a thing they watch. Meantime, I was busy processing BONE LOSS IN YOUR MOUTH. I am pretty fine about this whole middle age thing, but it’s possible—and I wish I felt more tongue in cheek than I sound—that dental issues could be the catalyst for real undoing about age for me. For now, Linda checked and I should floss not harder but longer and all is well. Yeah, PHEW is right.

Notes: the thing about aging is that you have to work harder to not even stay in place. That’s just what it is. You’re lucky to get to work harder to not even stay in place, though. So, you work. And you floss longer, apparently.

Also, if you can’t tell by the insertion of Kerry Washington in Scandal in the midst of this dreary and somewhat pathetic dentist visit tale that I am completely obsessed with the show, please know that I am and I personally invite you to watch it. It’s addictive. That’s all I’ll say. Don’t judge, enjoy. And as has been the case to the point of trend, I did get enticed to watch it via Twitter.

As I paid for my visit, the man who walked into the office at the same time I did came to the receptionists’ desk and he scheduled his next appointment—for four months (other patients, they’re just like me!). He held the door. We walked down the three flights of stairs and outside, and compared notes: he’d just had that mapping thing done for the first time, too. He, too, was somewhat (I almost wrote totally, but that’s assuming he is as anxious as I am about the dentist and he appeared to be in a more normal range of anxiety) freaked out by this development he’d never known was part of the aging process.

Off we went back into our middle-aged lives. I’m so grateful for mine, even the part where despite my dentist anxiety, I’ve kind of figured out how to manage it well enough that I can go back to my day without a fuss and compartmentalize this anxiety until my next phone call from that office. It’s nice to learn how to live with your very own quirky self. If only I didn’t have to wait until April 25^th or something like that for a new Scandal I’d be all set.

I think it’s no surprise that I worked hard to get a shot of Lila’s gap on account of her missing two front teeth, the most cherished look in all of lost teeth. This was later the same day, at our very first (Saskia and mine) HooteNanny. Now, that was fun.

Balancing Acts of All Sorts

Tue, 09 Apr 2013 3:50:00 AM MST

The week starts and if I have something to do, I’m focused. If I am on the chase to tie up loose ends, after a busy weekend I often feel completely frazzled.

Am I alone in this or is it a Monday-ish thing?

I noticed that two nights of relatively decent sleep left me rather exhausted. I think the deep meaning beneath this is that I need more sleep. I know I am not alone in this.

A low point this weekend became kind of an okay point: the small and I’ll be honest sometimes bratty to her next biggest brother girl kicked at him and this made the granola and milk slosh out of the bowl. He was mad. I was mad. It was a mess I had to clean up while I was in the midst of the dishes, which is of course another mess I cleaned up. He had to clean himself up, get new clothes, separate from his beloved blue fleece and feel cheated of his granola and milk. In a sharp—really, truly sharp, stern voice—I told her to go upstairs and wait for me. She burst into tears but she went.

People, she went upstairs and ten minutes later (because I cleaned up granola and milk and finished the dishes) I found her in her room, seated on her giant stuffed gorilla Harry with Llama clutched in her arms. She had some music on the CD player. She wore a pretty upset expression, so sad, on her face. I took her into my lap, and while I comforted her, I also told her that such bratty behavior to her brother was a problem—for her, because she’s five and she doesn’t have to reach out to him to pester him when what she really wants is to play with him.

We snuggled a bunch over the next hour or so.

On she went.

I’m more of a mush mom than a toughie. But I am committed to a little more firmness going forth.

Three things I feel grateful for this week: one is the happy arrival of my new nephew Leo (don’t you love the name; Ezekiel and I lobbied for it, so we are practically clucking over it). He’s had a bit of a rocky start but he’s strong and I can’t wait to meet him next week. He is really, truly just fine. So, two, I am grateful for wonderful hospitals. Three, and unrelated, I’m grateful to the Y. Saskia spent about an hour at the open gym on Sunday. She not only walked across the high beam; at the end of the way across, she ran and leapt off, but finished with a nice safety stop. She did so again and again. She flipped on bars, jumped and turned cartwheels. She told me, “I’m sweaty,” about three-quarters of the way through the hour. This little girl needs her some physical exhaustion. Thank goodness it’s so easy to obtain right around the corner.

Of course, on Friday, she got it when the teenagers had her run around our next-door neighbor’s driveway circle 20 times.

It being Tuesday, and me having let you down last week, let me link you to a Modern Love essay about happy endings of the unexpected sort—and the power of friendship, which I found a totally engaging read.

In less than two weeks, I plan to bowl in support of abortion access. How does that work? Readers of this blog know that I virtually bowled on behalf of abortion access—it’s the National Network of Abortion Funds’ fourth annual event, virtual and real—before, and I’ve done the virtual one and the team real-life bowling event (last year). This year, I will bowl for No Wire Hangers. And when I ask you again before our April 21^st bowl, I’ll tell you where I met—in real life—one of my team members for the first time this past weekend—or feel free to guess in the comments. I hope you’ll support my team! And more so, I hope you’ll support the amazing work NNAF does to ensure women access to reproductive health care.

If you need a laugh, this tumblr called Reasons My Son Crying is your click of the day. For me, the whole thing validated every crying tot photo I’ve ever taken—and I have taken my share.

Singing Stella Sisters

Fri, 05 Apr 2013 3:53:00 AM MST

Are you ever allowed to say on a blog you have nothing coherent to say?

Indulge me the click to my favorite song of yesterday, courtesy of Nashville and that adorable and super talented sister duo Lennon and Maisy Stella.

No Fooling

Mon, 01 Apr 2013 6:18:00 AM MST

One boy got sick, the fourth grader. He has a slight fever this morning. However, he has begun to yo-yo again, so I think he’s on the mend. He felt quite hot all day yesterday so he can’t go to school. The whizzing sound of yo-yo in motion will be mine all day long. It’s nice to see him stand on two feet and to hear his voice again above a whisper.

Didn’t he look “peaky” yesterday?

Saskia hung with her adorable and wonderful cousins and aunt and grandparents on Saturday. For whatever is complicated about family—any family, to be sure—that line I’ve clung to from the start—more love is more love—remains, to my thinking and in my heart, true.

Teenagers and conflict-averse, constitutionally placating parents make a poor pairing. Say that three times fast.