Spring. It's here. I feel it. Sunglasses and flip flops. Short sleeves and tank tops reveal skin that has been hidden from the sun for months.
I stand with my face lifted to the sun. I stand atop a playground in an overly busy Denver park filled with a "Can you believe how nice it is today?" buzzing energy. The grass areas are filled with volleyball nets and picnics - the playground is filled with giggles, squeals, chasing and climbing. It's a great day.
My five year old son is climbing, crawling and sliding. He is on the level below me, making a new friend. I witness the scene from above, trying hard not to seem like I'm hovering too much - but I am hovering, just the same. I listen in as the new friends exchange names and ages and wonder, "When do we actually stop exclaiming with glee 'I'm five too!'?" (It might seem odd to excitedly cry out to a colleague "I'm 38 too! How cool is that?!")
The conversation continues and there it is..."What's wrong with your arm?" Logan's new friend backs away and asks him the question that I've been anticipating all morning. My mom brain swirls around thoughts ranging from "Oh, sweetie, you are only 5 and you have asked a natural question when confronted with something out of the ordinary" to "Nothing is wrong with his arm, you big jerk." Thankfully my son has remembered the response we have practiced and replies with a shrug, "Nothing, it's only my birthmark."
Great. Nice job, Logan. Done. Wrong.
The boys begin climbing the chain ladder that is leading them both to me. Logan's friend reaches the top first and offers his hand down to help Logan, "Here, let me help you...but not with that arm...that one," pointing instead to Logan's birthmark-free left arm. My son climbs to the top unassisted and proudly stands at the top. My heart is breaking but I keep my poker face, "Awesome job Logan, that ladder is tough!"
Just when I think the moment has passed, my son's new friend says, "Are you a werewolf?" I feel like I have been kicked in the stomach. Without the slightest bit of reaction, Logan replies, "No" and the two boys run off together leaving me to my thoughts.
I remain on the upper level of the playground, my mind repeating the common question "What's wrong with your arm?" Nothing is wrong with Logan's arm, but something is certainly different about it. He was born with a large birthmark on his right elbow, extending onto most of his upper and lower arm segments. The birthmark would not be so unusual if it was simply a discoloration of his skin but what makes it so unique is that it grows a considerable amount of hair, as well. During the winter months, it is not an issue - no one sees it. Spring brings out the short sleeve shirts and the questions begin.
Logan learned from the time he could talk to reply with the standard phrase "It's my birthmark." Some kids respond with "Cool," and move on...others ask more questions. I'm usually nearby to swoop in and stop the questions. Some days Logan is more sensitive than others, tucking inside his shirt to hide his arm and running away. Other days, like today, Logan shrugs off the questions and gets down to the business of playing. That's my boy.
And like Logan, some days I can shrug off the questions because I understand the curiosity of children when they encounter something different. When adults ask, or point, or say things about his birthmark, I'm more sensitive - you could say I have less tolerance.
Today, I'm a bit sad. I'm watching my son run and chase and climb and slide...and laugh. I'm remembering the day he was born. I'm remembering comments from various family members - polite suggestions to "remove it" or to "hide it." I'm thinking that most moments, I don't even see it - I see my sweet, perfect, healthy little boy, not his birthmark.
The werewolf comment hurt me more than it hurt Logan. He shrugged it off and I'm still thinking about it. Even though I do not see his birthmark, I need to remember that the rest of the world does see it. So, we will embark on our annual Spring/Summer routine and we will shave the hair off of his birthmark. That is one thing I can do to make it a little less noticeable. I know that I cannot protect my son all of the time....I can only do my very best to make his hardships as minimal as possible.
It is with these thoughts that I retrieve my son and we walk hand-in-hand across the park to meet our family - basking in the Spring sunshine together.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Monday, March 19, 2012
Vinyl Records; Vintage Memories
I own a small collection of old jazz records. They belonged to my grandma. I also own her old stereo.
I love the stereo. It is big and heavy and old. It's roughly 6 feet long and maybe 2 1/2 feet tall - dark wood with a sliding top that reveals the turn-table on one side and record storage on the other. Most days it is a lovely table of sorts that holds knick-knacks and photographs. Every now and then, I plug it in.
Today, I plugged it in, selected a favorite album and was instantly transformed back in time 20 years or more.
I loved to visit my grandma - she and I were buddies. I spent many weekends at her house as a child and I continued to visit after I had a driver's license and a car of my own. I loved to drop by unannounced because it made her so happy to have a surprise guest but also because it gave me a chance to see what she was "up to." Sometimes I'd catch her gardening in her yard, other times I would see her hanging laundry on the line. Sometimes she was watching television while working on a cross-stitch but every now and then I'd catch her dancing.
These are my favorite memories - like the one that came to mind today. I drove up to see my grandma in Golden. I parked my little car next to hers in the driveway and snuck up the porch - I could hear the music as soon as I turned off my engine. Jazz. As I crept up the porch steps, I could see her in the window - dancing to her favorite Jazz musicians. My grandma loved jazz. Her sister married a jazz musician (who played with Louis Armstrong back in the day!) and the two sisters loved to listen to music together. And she loved to sing and dance. I stood on the porch for a few minutes before knocking - watching the pure joy, the free style crazy dancing of my grandma to much-too-loud music. Awesome.
Tonight, I introduced my children to records. We chose one together, opened the stereo and turned it on. They were in awe of the turn-table and kept returning to it to watch it spin. Of course, they couldn't resist touching it. The first scratch sound startled them and they thought they broke something. Then we danced. Joy filled the room as they boogied to old jazz tunes and ran around laughing. I sat down and watched and listened. Nothing beats the sound of a vinyl record playing - not even the high fidelity sound of CDs and Ipods. The sweet sounds were comforting - in the same way my chiming clock is comforting - grandma is here.
I felt a bit melancholy watching my children dance to the same jazz music, played on the same stereo. My grandma never met my children, she passed 3 months before I conceived Madison. More than once I have thought that my grandma hand-picked my little Madison, just for me, because she would have loved her crazy spirit. And Madison kinda dances like my grandma :)
I love the stereo. It is big and heavy and old. It's roughly 6 feet long and maybe 2 1/2 feet tall - dark wood with a sliding top that reveals the turn-table on one side and record storage on the other. Most days it is a lovely table of sorts that holds knick-knacks and photographs. Every now and then, I plug it in.
Today, I plugged it in, selected a favorite album and was instantly transformed back in time 20 years or more.
I loved to visit my grandma - she and I were buddies. I spent many weekends at her house as a child and I continued to visit after I had a driver's license and a car of my own. I loved to drop by unannounced because it made her so happy to have a surprise guest but also because it gave me a chance to see what she was "up to." Sometimes I'd catch her gardening in her yard, other times I would see her hanging laundry on the line. Sometimes she was watching television while working on a cross-stitch but every now and then I'd catch her dancing.
These are my favorite memories - like the one that came to mind today. I drove up to see my grandma in Golden. I parked my little car next to hers in the driveway and snuck up the porch - I could hear the music as soon as I turned off my engine. Jazz. As I crept up the porch steps, I could see her in the window - dancing to her favorite Jazz musicians. My grandma loved jazz. Her sister married a jazz musician (who played with Louis Armstrong back in the day!) and the two sisters loved to listen to music together. And she loved to sing and dance. I stood on the porch for a few minutes before knocking - watching the pure joy, the free style crazy dancing of my grandma to much-too-loud music. Awesome.
Tonight, I introduced my children to records. We chose one together, opened the stereo and turned it on. They were in awe of the turn-table and kept returning to it to watch it spin. Of course, they couldn't resist touching it. The first scratch sound startled them and they thought they broke something. Then we danced. Joy filled the room as they boogied to old jazz tunes and ran around laughing. I sat down and watched and listened. Nothing beats the sound of a vinyl record playing - not even the high fidelity sound of CDs and Ipods. The sweet sounds were comforting - in the same way my chiming clock is comforting - grandma is here.
I felt a bit melancholy watching my children dance to the same jazz music, played on the same stereo. My grandma never met my children, she passed 3 months before I conceived Madison. More than once I have thought that my grandma hand-picked my little Madison, just for me, because she would have loved her crazy spirit. And Madison kinda dances like my grandma :)
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Friday, March 16, 2012
An Indulgent Morning
It was a bleak, cold morning as I drove to work teaching 3rd grade at my new school. I'd been teaching there for 3 months and was beginning to adjust to my new surroundings. My first 5 years of teaching were done at a Title I school in Denver - I rarely saw parents. My new school was swarming with parents. It was easier to get used to than I had originally thoughts.
Each Wednesday morning, I arrived to work to a hot mocha latte on my desk....seriously. I had regular parent volunteers - the Wednesday volunteer brought the coffee and stayed all morning, the "I'll grade your weekly spelling tests" dad came on Fridays, the engineer that loved to pull math groups came on Tuesdays, the list went on and on...
I arrived to work that Wednesday morning to find my coffee on my desk as usual. As students trickled into the classroom, I realized that I only had 11 students...out of a possible 25. The rest had the flu. The epidemic has begun the day before but this was a little extreme. My Wednesday parent helper was the mother of a sweet child that looked a lot like D.W. from the Arthur books. The mom and I had a quiet chat about how I might change the plans for the day.
My parent helper took out her purse, handed me a $20 bill and suggested, "Why don't you take them all down to Starbucks for some hot chocolate?"
So that is exactly what we did...we bundled up, walked the block and a half to the Starbucks on the corner, sipped hot cocoa together. The students were squished two to a comfy chair, all smiles. We then proceeded 3 blocks east to the branch library. We spent an hour and a half, in the children's section, curled into quiet spaces, reading books...talking about books. It was truly an indulgent morning.
Each Wednesday morning, I arrived to work to a hot mocha latte on my desk....seriously. I had regular parent volunteers - the Wednesday volunteer brought the coffee and stayed all morning, the "I'll grade your weekly spelling tests" dad came on Fridays, the engineer that loved to pull math groups came on Tuesdays, the list went on and on...
I arrived to work that Wednesday morning to find my coffee on my desk as usual. As students trickled into the classroom, I realized that I only had 11 students...out of a possible 25. The rest had the flu. The epidemic has begun the day before but this was a little extreme. My Wednesday parent helper was the mother of a sweet child that looked a lot like D.W. from the Arthur books. The mom and I had a quiet chat about how I might change the plans for the day.
My parent helper took out her purse, handed me a $20 bill and suggested, "Why don't you take them all down to Starbucks for some hot chocolate?"
So that is exactly what we did...we bundled up, walked the block and a half to the Starbucks on the corner, sipped hot cocoa together. The students were squished two to a comfy chair, all smiles. We then proceeded 3 blocks east to the branch library. We spent an hour and a half, in the children's section, curled into quiet spaces, reading books...talking about books. It was truly an indulgent morning.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
The 21st Century June
June Cleaver. The American Mom.
June Cleaver I am not.
I picture Mrs.Cleaver, in black and white, in her dress, apron and pearls - smiling as her sons come into the kitchen for breakfast before school each morning. She greats them with a healthy breakfast and sends them off to school with a smile.
My normal morning routine consists of dressing sleeping children, hurrying them down the stairs and into the van where their breakfasts greet them - in plastic bowls: a fruit of some sort, a cheese stick or Gogurt and a bakery item - Logan's favorite? Pancake on a stick (I know...yuck!) Frozen waffles or pancakes are the norm...that is, unless we go to Starbucks for breakfast. (If you've read my previous entries, my average grade for breakfast routines = C-)
Not today - today, I felt a bit more like June. Today, I woke up early and baked cinammon muffins for my children. My normal sleepy faces were replaced with bright smiles as we sang our way to school eating a warm treat. That's right - I served my children fresh-from-the-oven muffins this morning. June would have been proud :)
Unless she knew my secret - this awesome new product at the grocery store. Krusteaz makes something called "One Step muffin mix" - a creation developed, no doubt, for crazy busy moms like me. It comes in a plastic can. You open the lid, add 1/2 cup of water, replace the lid and shake for 60 seconds. Pour into a muffin tin and 14-16 minutes later you have warm muffin smell filling your kitchen.
For just one moment, this morning, I felt like June Cleaver - the 21st Century June - a busy, mini-van driving single mom of two amazing kids working hard each day to make it better than the last - sending my children off to school with a warm breakfast and a smile.
June Cleaver I am not.
I picture Mrs.Cleaver, in black and white, in her dress, apron and pearls - smiling as her sons come into the kitchen for breakfast before school each morning. She greats them with a healthy breakfast and sends them off to school with a smile.
My normal morning routine consists of dressing sleeping children, hurrying them down the stairs and into the van where their breakfasts greet them - in plastic bowls: a fruit of some sort, a cheese stick or Gogurt and a bakery item - Logan's favorite? Pancake on a stick (I know...yuck!) Frozen waffles or pancakes are the norm...that is, unless we go to Starbucks for breakfast. (If you've read my previous entries, my average grade for breakfast routines = C-)
Not today - today, I felt a bit more like June. Today, I woke up early and baked cinammon muffins for my children. My normal sleepy faces were replaced with bright smiles as we sang our way to school eating a warm treat. That's right - I served my children fresh-from-the-oven muffins this morning. June would have been proud :)
Unless she knew my secret - this awesome new product at the grocery store. Krusteaz makes something called "One Step muffin mix" - a creation developed, no doubt, for crazy busy moms like me. It comes in a plastic can. You open the lid, add 1/2 cup of water, replace the lid and shake for 60 seconds. Pour into a muffin tin and 14-16 minutes later you have warm muffin smell filling your kitchen.
For just one moment, this morning, I felt like June Cleaver - the 21st Century June - a busy, mini-van driving single mom of two amazing kids working hard each day to make it better than the last - sending my children off to school with a warm breakfast and a smile.
Monday, March 12, 2012
Behind the Smiles
My walls are lined with pictures, family photographs, portraits.
My children's milestone years are captured and hung in matted frames: 3 months, 6 months, 9 months, a year and so on...
Now that Logan is older, the pictures are hung together - both kiddos at 2 years, both at 3...both at 4.
I have a stack of frames on the kitchen table, just waiting to be lovingly filled and hung in just the right place. Logan turned 5 and Madison is almost 9. I split the months and had their birthday pictures taken on the same day. The pictures are beautiful - smiling faces, cute poses.
A small amount of rearranging will be necessary to make sure the "5 year old" pictures are hung together - nothing too major, just a few changes.
I survey the walls, strategizing the arrangement when a giggle escapes me...these pictures are great - of course they are - why would anyone hang bad pictures, anyway? But these smiles were hard earned. The irony is inescapable.
Each photograph shows a smiling child. Just moments before there may have been tears, arguing, pleading, chasing, yelling - well, not too much yelling, just a little. Children must be clean and well groomed for these pictures, right? The rushing to bathe, dress, fix hair, drive to the photography studio, re-do the hair, plead with them to smile - these days are simply exhausting.
When my children were smaller, I was one of those moms that brought a change of clothing and took pictures in front of multiple backgrounds. Now, the outfits are chosen carefully but there is only one. I have taken a curling iron with me to re-curl Madison's hair while we were waiting our turn. I have tucked in Logan's shirts countless times. We have had new fancy shoes and there were times that we went with a "no shoes" theme. We take pictures of Logan...then Madison...then the two of them together...mom sneaks in for a few too.
Madison is, and has always been, a complete ham. Ever since her first photo shoot at the age of 3 months, she smiles on cue. It's so easy.
The poor photographers use all the tricks in their bag to get a good picture of Logan - they have been known to call in a teammate for backup. There have been stuffed animals on their heads, goofy sounds coming out of their mouths - all to try and get a little boy to smile. Something he does all the time, mind you, but rarely on cue.
The studios are always packed, too - families all doing the same rush-yell-plead-comb dance, all in hopes of capturing a moment - a single frozen-in-time moment in a quickly fleeting childhood - a frozen moment to hang on the wall.
I treasure these pictures - both for the record of my children growing up and for the "behind the scenes" craziness that occurs on each picture day.
My children's milestone years are captured and hung in matted frames: 3 months, 6 months, 9 months, a year and so on...
Now that Logan is older, the pictures are hung together - both kiddos at 2 years, both at 3...both at 4.
I have a stack of frames on the kitchen table, just waiting to be lovingly filled and hung in just the right place. Logan turned 5 and Madison is almost 9. I split the months and had their birthday pictures taken on the same day. The pictures are beautiful - smiling faces, cute poses.
A small amount of rearranging will be necessary to make sure the "5 year old" pictures are hung together - nothing too major, just a few changes.
I survey the walls, strategizing the arrangement when a giggle escapes me...these pictures are great - of course they are - why would anyone hang bad pictures, anyway? But these smiles were hard earned. The irony is inescapable.
Each photograph shows a smiling child. Just moments before there may have been tears, arguing, pleading, chasing, yelling - well, not too much yelling, just a little. Children must be clean and well groomed for these pictures, right? The rushing to bathe, dress, fix hair, drive to the photography studio, re-do the hair, plead with them to smile - these days are simply exhausting.
When my children were smaller, I was one of those moms that brought a change of clothing and took pictures in front of multiple backgrounds. Now, the outfits are chosen carefully but there is only one. I have taken a curling iron with me to re-curl Madison's hair while we were waiting our turn. I have tucked in Logan's shirts countless times. We have had new fancy shoes and there were times that we went with a "no shoes" theme. We take pictures of Logan...then Madison...then the two of them together...mom sneaks in for a few too.
Madison is, and has always been, a complete ham. Ever since her first photo shoot at the age of 3 months, she smiles on cue. It's so easy.
The poor photographers use all the tricks in their bag to get a good picture of Logan - they have been known to call in a teammate for backup. There have been stuffed animals on their heads, goofy sounds coming out of their mouths - all to try and get a little boy to smile. Something he does all the time, mind you, but rarely on cue.
The studios are always packed, too - families all doing the same rush-yell-plead-comb dance, all in hopes of capturing a moment - a single frozen-in-time moment in a quickly fleeting childhood - a frozen moment to hang on the wall.
I treasure these pictures - both for the record of my children growing up and for the "behind the scenes" craziness that occurs on each picture day.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
It's Not the Doorbell
It's not the doorbell.
There is no one at the door.
Seriously, it's not the doorbell.
It's my clock.
A very mini-grandfather-clock
Sitting on my fireplace mantle
Pendulum swinging back and forth
Chiming every fifteen minutes.
It's not the doorbell.
Everyone that is new to my house
Always asks
What's that sound?
My favorite sound
A sound from my childhood
From my grandma's house
A clock that chimes every 15 minutes.
Grandma was my favorite
I was her favorite, too.
I loved to spend the night with Grandma
Sleeping on the couch to the sound of her clock
Playing cards with grandma
To 500 or midnight
Whichever came first
The clock's chime forever in the background
My clock was a wedding gift
A time in my life long past
The sound is what is special
Because it sounds like Grandma's clock
As I sit and read
As I sit and write
Grandma is with me
Because the clock reminds me
There is no one at the door.
Seriously, it's not the doorbell.
It's my clock.
A very mini-grandfather-clock
Sitting on my fireplace mantle
Pendulum swinging back and forth
Chiming every fifteen minutes.
It's not the doorbell.
Everyone that is new to my house
Always asks
What's that sound?
My favorite sound
A sound from my childhood
From my grandma's house
A clock that chimes every 15 minutes.
Grandma was my favorite
I was her favorite, too.
I loved to spend the night with Grandma
Sleeping on the couch to the sound of her clock
Playing cards with grandma
To 500 or midnight
Whichever came first
The clock's chime forever in the background
My clock was a wedding gift
A time in my life long past
The sound is what is special
Because it sounds like Grandma's clock
As I sit and read
As I sit and write
Grandma is with me
Because the clock reminds me
Saturday, March 10, 2012
To buy or not to buy...
To buy or not to buy...a trampoline
Pros Cons
Kids would love it It would take up a huge amount of space in my yard
Kids would love it Is there a home owner liability issue for other kids?
Exercise - jump out the squirrlies They are so big
Fairly inexpensive Will it fit in my backyard?
I grew up with a trampoline I can't really enjoy a trampoline the way I used to
Kids want one Will my grass die?
It's not hard to notice the glaring trends in my pro/con list about purchasing a trampoline.
This issue has been swimming around in my mind for most of the day and I wanted to actually get it down on paper - to help sort out the emotion from the objectivity.
I have enjoyed my new backyard for just about a year now - I love mowing it - I love watching my children run around in their very own space. It makes me happy to know that they have this space to call their very own. The yard is not huge - in fact it already contains a sizeable swingset and a playhouse with a sandbox underneath. Adding a trampoline might make my yard look like a circus training facility. (Which side does that belong on in my list?) Grandma is a clown...what the heck? Circus it is :)
Pros Cons
Kids would love it It would take up a huge amount of space in my yard
Kids would love it Is there a home owner liability issue for other kids?
Exercise - jump out the squirrlies They are so big
Fairly inexpensive Will it fit in my backyard?
I grew up with a trampoline I can't really enjoy a trampoline the way I used to
Kids want one Will my grass die?
It's not hard to notice the glaring trends in my pro/con list about purchasing a trampoline.
This issue has been swimming around in my mind for most of the day and I wanted to actually get it down on paper - to help sort out the emotion from the objectivity.
I have enjoyed my new backyard for just about a year now - I love mowing it - I love watching my children run around in their very own space. It makes me happy to know that they have this space to call their very own. The yard is not huge - in fact it already contains a sizeable swingset and a playhouse with a sandbox underneath. Adding a trampoline might make my yard look like a circus training facility. (Which side does that belong on in my list?) Grandma is a clown...what the heck? Circus it is :)
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Gathered in the Moment
New York City - I'd always wanted to go there.
My traveling buddy, Monica, had a friend with an apartment on the Upper West Side...or was it the Lower East Side...who knows? I do remember that it was 1 block away from Central Park and in a very nice part of town. I fell in love with the city.
I was fortunate to visit New York with a great friend - a friend that had been there before and knew her way around. We played the tourist game, taking a boat tour on the Hudson River, taking pictures of the Madison Avenue street signs just to take home to my daughter, purchasing expensive shoes at Bloomingdales and catching a Broadway musical.
In the Heights was absolutely fantastic - I hated for it to end! The characters, the music, it was magical. Monica and I dressed up and took the subway to Broadway. We took pictures in Grand Central Station, had late night dinners at swanky restaurants and late morning breakfasts at trendy diners.
The trip was also filled with humorous and zany moments. We had taken a taxi to an ever-so-fancy hip New York restaurant and as I stepped out of the cab in a sexy little black number, my heel caught in a grate in the sidewalk and I sprawled to the ground, my purse flying open. The pain of twisting my ankle was overshadowed by the horror I experienced as a very handsome man bent down to help me up - handing me my small clutch purse and a handful of contents he had picked up off the sidewalk: lipstick, ID, tampon. Enough said.
However, the trip will forever be remembered for another moment in time. Monica and I had just exited our Broadway show and stepped into the epi-center of the city: Times Square. I was in awe. The lights, the people, the electric energy.
We noticed that the street was being blocked off by gray fences and there were people lining the sidewalks with signs. Something was going on. I asked Monica, "Is someone famous nearby? What's going on?" She shrugged back at me.
We continued to walk, pushing our way up the sidewalk into the center of Times Square. Cars were driving slowly up the streets, with windows down, music blaring out as dangling arms swung in rhythm to the music. Still - we had no idea what we had stumbled upon.
A woman in front of me turned ever so slightly to reveal a cardboard sign with the letters RIP Michael Jackson written in black marker. We looked up - a larger than life movie screen showed a silhouette of Michael Jackson and the story began to unfold. Monica and I had stumbled upon a memorial of sorts - it was the day Michael Jackson had died and the city began to flood with mourning fans - some crying, some celebrating by playing his music on car stereos and handheld boom boxes. As we walked along the streets, my friend and I realized that every story we walked into, every restaurant played Michael Jackson music on a loop. We were frozen, just feet below the MTV studios on the day a music icon passed from this world. We were taken in - physically embraced by the overwhelming outpour of compassion for a lost soul.
An increase in police presence was evident and a thought passed through my mind "Might there be a riot?" No riot. Just a lot of people - here to pay their respects. People continued to come for hours - Monica and I found a place to sit and we watched and the scene was moving - some singing, others sharing stories. Every now and then an audible "I just can't believe it," could be heard among the crowd. A gathering of fans mourning the loss of their idol. The large screen continued to flash enormous images of the star - and we all just watched and gathered together in the moment.
My traveling buddy, Monica, had a friend with an apartment on the Upper West Side...or was it the Lower East Side...who knows? I do remember that it was 1 block away from Central Park and in a very nice part of town. I fell in love with the city.
I was fortunate to visit New York with a great friend - a friend that had been there before and knew her way around. We played the tourist game, taking a boat tour on the Hudson River, taking pictures of the Madison Avenue street signs just to take home to my daughter, purchasing expensive shoes at Bloomingdales and catching a Broadway musical.
In the Heights was absolutely fantastic - I hated for it to end! The characters, the music, it was magical. Monica and I dressed up and took the subway to Broadway. We took pictures in Grand Central Station, had late night dinners at swanky restaurants and late morning breakfasts at trendy diners.
The trip was also filled with humorous and zany moments. We had taken a taxi to an ever-so-fancy hip New York restaurant and as I stepped out of the cab in a sexy little black number, my heel caught in a grate in the sidewalk and I sprawled to the ground, my purse flying open. The pain of twisting my ankle was overshadowed by the horror I experienced as a very handsome man bent down to help me up - handing me my small clutch purse and a handful of contents he had picked up off the sidewalk: lipstick, ID, tampon. Enough said.
However, the trip will forever be remembered for another moment in time. Monica and I had just exited our Broadway show and stepped into the epi-center of the city: Times Square. I was in awe. The lights, the people, the electric energy.
We noticed that the street was being blocked off by gray fences and there were people lining the sidewalks with signs. Something was going on. I asked Monica, "Is someone famous nearby? What's going on?" She shrugged back at me.
We continued to walk, pushing our way up the sidewalk into the center of Times Square. Cars were driving slowly up the streets, with windows down, music blaring out as dangling arms swung in rhythm to the music. Still - we had no idea what we had stumbled upon.
A woman in front of me turned ever so slightly to reveal a cardboard sign with the letters RIP Michael Jackson written in black marker. We looked up - a larger than life movie screen showed a silhouette of Michael Jackson and the story began to unfold. Monica and I had stumbled upon a memorial of sorts - it was the day Michael Jackson had died and the city began to flood with mourning fans - some crying, some celebrating by playing his music on car stereos and handheld boom boxes. As we walked along the streets, my friend and I realized that every story we walked into, every restaurant played Michael Jackson music on a loop. We were frozen, just feet below the MTV studios on the day a music icon passed from this world. We were taken in - physically embraced by the overwhelming outpour of compassion for a lost soul.
An increase in police presence was evident and a thought passed through my mind "Might there be a riot?" No riot. Just a lot of people - here to pay their respects. People continued to come for hours - Monica and I found a place to sit and we watched and the scene was moving - some singing, others sharing stories. Every now and then an audible "I just can't believe it," could be heard among the crowd. A gathering of fans mourning the loss of their idol. The large screen continued to flash enormous images of the star - and we all just watched and gathered together in the moment.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
The Music of My Youth
I love the 80s on 8 XM Satellite radio
Bon Jovi
Madonna
Cyndi Lauper
The Bangles
Prince
Whitney Houston
Wham
Guns N' Roses
Journey
Salt N Pepa
Janet Jackson
Rick Springfield
Def Leppard
When did the music of my adolescence become the new "oldies?"
I am only 9 years older than my sister but when I took her to a Bon Jovi concert 6 years ago she was clueless...she only knew a few songs - seriously???
"Livin' on a Prayer" is a classic 80s Hair Band Anthem and a #1 hit song!
It was dark tonight (around 8:20pm) as I danced and sang my heart out driving north on I25...don't tell my daughter - it embarrasses her when I sing and dance in the car. "Livin' on a Prayer" took me back to my younger days if only for 3.5 minutes - I was there and I loved it!
Bon Jovi
Madonna
Cyndi Lauper
The Bangles
Prince
Whitney Houston
Wham
Guns N' Roses
Journey
Salt N Pepa
Janet Jackson
Rick Springfield
Def Leppard
When did the music of my adolescence become the new "oldies?"
I am only 9 years older than my sister but when I took her to a Bon Jovi concert 6 years ago she was clueless...she only knew a few songs - seriously???
"Livin' on a Prayer" is a classic 80s Hair Band Anthem and a #1 hit song!
It was dark tonight (around 8:20pm) as I danced and sang my heart out driving north on I25...don't tell my daughter - it embarrasses her when I sing and dance in the car. "Livin' on a Prayer" took me back to my younger days if only for 3.5 minutes - I was there and I loved it!
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Mom Grades
What kind of grade do I get as a Mom?
My children are in bed and I'm at the kitchen table with my laptop - two sleeping golden retrievers at my feet...grading paper after paper and presentation after presentation from my Regis students and I started thinking...what kind of grade did I get today?
My day started with the usual rush of morning routines and I was running late again...just as I begin to yell up the stairs I hear my 5 year old ask his sister "Madison, I can read this book, do you want to hear me read it?" I freeze. Without yelling, I waited patiently as Logan read his little "I Can Read" book to his sister. With a warm heart, I hustled them both into the car and sent them both off to school without yelling. I was officially late to work...employee grade? C Mom Grade = A
After work, the plan was to pick up my children, take them to the daycare at the gym and actually get a workout in this afternoon...this would have resulted in double-daycare visits for my children but doesn't it actually benefit the kids when moms choose to do something for themselves? I might need a standards based rubric to truly assess this one...
I couldn't resist the sunshine this afternoon. I skipped the gym. Picked up both kids, drove home, changed clothes, pumped up 6 bike tires and the kids and I were on the bikepath to the park by 4:35.
Mom Grade = A+
Logan rode his bike, with training wheels, all the way to the park..then the learning began. If I thought, by skipping the gym, I would be missing out on a workout this afternoon, I was mistaken. Teaching a 5 year old how to ride a two-wheeled bicycle is a lot of work. Lots of running, bending over, more running.
We started in the grass - Logan rode his bike down a slight slope with his mom holding onto the back of his seat...then his waist...then his shirt...then nothing! Success! Mom Grade? A! Well, not so fast.
The whining began early on - Logan gave up, stomped away, hid under the park slide. I began with encouragement "Logan, I know you can do it! Let's give it another try! Just once more - you can do it." You get the idea. Mom Grade? Definitely an A.
Then I realized that Madison brought (aka SNUCK) a small bag of Oreos with us on our journey.
ME: "Hey Logan...you can have a cookie if you make it all the way to Madison on your bike. Wanna try again?" Yikes - food bribery for bike riding? Mom Grade = D
Then I noticed the bag of goldfish...cookies and goldfish - bribing my child to ride his bike without training wheels - it was working! Success and guilt ran through my mind but the adreneline masked it all!
Picture this: Logan and Mom at the top of a small grassy hill - Madison at the bottom, waving bags of cookies and goldfish...and Logan begins to waiver again. This called for a new tactic.
Logan reluctantly climbed back on his bike. Standing right behind him, I lean in close and whisper, "Hey Logan - do you think you can take out your sister?" A sly smile creeps onto Logan's face and he slowly asked, "Reeaally?" I whispered again, "Yeah - sure - you can do it. Focus on Madison and ride right into her - knock her over." Mom Grade = F
In my defense, boys are different - boys are motivated by physical responses. This strategy kept Logan on his bike and focused and I also knew that Madison would move if he ever got close - in fact, she was so excited about his success that she would move closer to where he would fall so it looked like a better run than it actually was...adjusted grade based on additional evidence? C
The evening progressed with a flurry of excitement and celebration - Logan learned how to ride his bike! The ride home was an adventure: I would get Logan started, run back to my bike, ride to where he stopped/fell and start again. Once we got home, we threw his bike in the back of the van, drove to Grandpa's house so we could show off Logan's new talent. We enjoyed a McDonald's dinner with Grandpa - stopped for ice cream on the way home and the kids went to bed without brushing their teeth. (The above events could easily average out to a grade of B.)
So what is my overall, grade as a mom today?
It was all clear when my little guy threw his arms around me at bedtime and said "Thank you, Mommy, for teaching me how to ride a bike! You're the best mom ever!" A+
When it's all said and done, being a mom is hard work. I have good moments and not-so-good moments, successes and embarrassments. But each day, I'm in it - 100%.
My children are in bed and I'm at the kitchen table with my laptop - two sleeping golden retrievers at my feet...grading paper after paper and presentation after presentation from my Regis students and I started thinking...what kind of grade did I get today?
My day started with the usual rush of morning routines and I was running late again...just as I begin to yell up the stairs I hear my 5 year old ask his sister "Madison, I can read this book, do you want to hear me read it?" I freeze. Without yelling, I waited patiently as Logan read his little "I Can Read" book to his sister. With a warm heart, I hustled them both into the car and sent them both off to school without yelling. I was officially late to work...employee grade? C Mom Grade = A
After work, the plan was to pick up my children, take them to the daycare at the gym and actually get a workout in this afternoon...this would have resulted in double-daycare visits for my children but doesn't it actually benefit the kids when moms choose to do something for themselves? I might need a standards based rubric to truly assess this one...
I couldn't resist the sunshine this afternoon. I skipped the gym. Picked up both kids, drove home, changed clothes, pumped up 6 bike tires and the kids and I were on the bikepath to the park by 4:35.
Mom Grade = A+
Logan rode his bike, with training wheels, all the way to the park..then the learning began. If I thought, by skipping the gym, I would be missing out on a workout this afternoon, I was mistaken. Teaching a 5 year old how to ride a two-wheeled bicycle is a lot of work. Lots of running, bending over, more running.
We started in the grass - Logan rode his bike down a slight slope with his mom holding onto the back of his seat...then his waist...then his shirt...then nothing! Success! Mom Grade? A! Well, not so fast.
The whining began early on - Logan gave up, stomped away, hid under the park slide. I began with encouragement "Logan, I know you can do it! Let's give it another try! Just once more - you can do it." You get the idea. Mom Grade? Definitely an A.
Then I realized that Madison brought (aka SNUCK) a small bag of Oreos with us on our journey.
ME: "Hey Logan...you can have a cookie if you make it all the way to Madison on your bike. Wanna try again?" Yikes - food bribery for bike riding? Mom Grade = D
Then I noticed the bag of goldfish...cookies and goldfish - bribing my child to ride his bike without training wheels - it was working! Success and guilt ran through my mind but the adreneline masked it all!
Picture this: Logan and Mom at the top of a small grassy hill - Madison at the bottom, waving bags of cookies and goldfish...and Logan begins to waiver again. This called for a new tactic.
Logan reluctantly climbed back on his bike. Standing right behind him, I lean in close and whisper, "Hey Logan - do you think you can take out your sister?" A sly smile creeps onto Logan's face and he slowly asked, "Reeaally?" I whispered again, "Yeah - sure - you can do it. Focus on Madison and ride right into her - knock her over." Mom Grade = F
In my defense, boys are different - boys are motivated by physical responses. This strategy kept Logan on his bike and focused and I also knew that Madison would move if he ever got close - in fact, she was so excited about his success that she would move closer to where he would fall so it looked like a better run than it actually was...adjusted grade based on additional evidence? C
The evening progressed with a flurry of excitement and celebration - Logan learned how to ride his bike! The ride home was an adventure: I would get Logan started, run back to my bike, ride to where he stopped/fell and start again. Once we got home, we threw his bike in the back of the van, drove to Grandpa's house so we could show off Logan's new talent. We enjoyed a McDonald's dinner with Grandpa - stopped for ice cream on the way home and the kids went to bed without brushing their teeth. (The above events could easily average out to a grade of B.)
So what is my overall, grade as a mom today?
It was all clear when my little guy threw his arms around me at bedtime and said "Thank you, Mommy, for teaching me how to ride a bike! You're the best mom ever!" A+
When it's all said and done, being a mom is hard work. I have good moments and not-so-good moments, successes and embarrassments. But each day, I'm in it - 100%.
Monday, March 5, 2012
I've been thinking a lot about "perspective" lately. How two people perceive the same event in different ways - all of our students perceive the same lesson differently as well...I heard a brain scientist recently claim that Howard Gardner's Multiple Intelligence Theory was a crock - that we have the same number of learning styles as people on the planet because every brain develops uniquely - shaped around our perspectives and experiences.
Along this line of thinking...it came to mind this weekend that people experience the same loss in unique ways, as well...from their own perspective.
Saturday afternoon was gorgeous - a little windy, but still. After my son's basketball game my parents (Dad and Stepmom) and I were hanging out in the school parking lot chatting - while Logan dribbled the basketball all around the empty lot. We were talking about stuff - nothing deep - nothing serious. I mentioned that Logan wanted to start T-ball in April and that I had signed him up. My dad's silence was very noticeable and he stopped making eye contact. (I made a mental note that this was the second time he looked uncomfortable at the subject of T-ball starting soon...hmmm.) I kept talking..."So, I was wondering...Dad...if Grandpa wanted to buy Logan his first glove or if I should talk to his dad about it..." Nothing. Really? My dad lettered in four sports in highschool, played college ball and baseball is his FAVORITE sport - he takes Logan to countless Rockies games and loves to play basketball with Logan...why, nothing?
Cindy piped in, "I will buy his heart guard - for sure - count on me!"
Then it hit me...and I thought "Geez, Meredith, this is not rocket science - duh!"
23 years ago...I was 15...my brother, Matt was 12, my sister, Katie was 7 and my youngest brother, Patrick was 6 years old. Patrick was an amazing athlete - played every sport that required a ball and was good - so good that it was not uncommon for the family to walk to the nearby park and play a game of baseball. On June 29, 1989, my step-mom hit a fly ball to Patrick and when he went to catch it, the ball missed his glove, hit his chest and stopped his heart.
Of course Cindy would volunteer to buy the heart guard - the very heart guard that was invented after Patrick's accident and is a required piece of sports equipment because of his tragic accident. "It doesn't matter how much it costs - grandma will buy the heartguard" and she said this out loud in that school parking lot on Saturday afternoon while my dad wandered off with Logan to play basketball - never saying a word.
I drove away thinking about perceptive on Saturday afternoon - how each member of a family can perceive and react to a loss in unique ways - of course, we were all devastated and sad is too bland of a word to describe the feeling but the fact remains that my loss was that of a sibling and my dad's loss was one of a child. Two very different perspectives.
It's been 23 years - of course I think of Patrick - he comes to mind often on the predictable days of his birthday and anniversary date. He comes to mind more as I watch Logan grow up with the same athletic gifts. But I know, for my dad, he comes to mind daily - still.
So, I will understand if he misses a few T-ball games this year...and even next and I will look forward to seeing him at soccer games and basketball games. I have a feeling, however, that he will do what he does best - he will be there - stoic and thoughtful but he will be there - for Logan. Because Love is a Common Perspective Shared by Mankind.
Along this line of thinking...it came to mind this weekend that people experience the same loss in unique ways, as well...from their own perspective.
Saturday afternoon was gorgeous - a little windy, but still. After my son's basketball game my parents (Dad and Stepmom) and I were hanging out in the school parking lot chatting - while Logan dribbled the basketball all around the empty lot. We were talking about stuff - nothing deep - nothing serious. I mentioned that Logan wanted to start T-ball in April and that I had signed him up. My dad's silence was very noticeable and he stopped making eye contact. (I made a mental note that this was the second time he looked uncomfortable at the subject of T-ball starting soon...hmmm.) I kept talking..."So, I was wondering...Dad...if Grandpa wanted to buy Logan his first glove or if I should talk to his dad about it..." Nothing. Really? My dad lettered in four sports in highschool, played college ball and baseball is his FAVORITE sport - he takes Logan to countless Rockies games and loves to play basketball with Logan...why, nothing?
Cindy piped in, "I will buy his heart guard - for sure - count on me!"
Then it hit me...and I thought "Geez, Meredith, this is not rocket science - duh!"
23 years ago...I was 15...my brother, Matt was 12, my sister, Katie was 7 and my youngest brother, Patrick was 6 years old. Patrick was an amazing athlete - played every sport that required a ball and was good - so good that it was not uncommon for the family to walk to the nearby park and play a game of baseball. On June 29, 1989, my step-mom hit a fly ball to Patrick and when he went to catch it, the ball missed his glove, hit his chest and stopped his heart.
Of course Cindy would volunteer to buy the heart guard - the very heart guard that was invented after Patrick's accident and is a required piece of sports equipment because of his tragic accident. "It doesn't matter how much it costs - grandma will buy the heartguard" and she said this out loud in that school parking lot on Saturday afternoon while my dad wandered off with Logan to play basketball - never saying a word.
I drove away thinking about perceptive on Saturday afternoon - how each member of a family can perceive and react to a loss in unique ways - of course, we were all devastated and sad is too bland of a word to describe the feeling but the fact remains that my loss was that of a sibling and my dad's loss was one of a child. Two very different perspectives.
It's been 23 years - of course I think of Patrick - he comes to mind often on the predictable days of his birthday and anniversary date. He comes to mind more as I watch Logan grow up with the same athletic gifts. But I know, for my dad, he comes to mind daily - still.
So, I will understand if he misses a few T-ball games this year...and even next and I will look forward to seeing him at soccer games and basketball games. I have a feeling, however, that he will do what he does best - he will be there - stoic and thoughtful but he will be there - for Logan. Because Love is a Common Perspective Shared by Mankind.
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