Three times a mother

I shared an essay of Anna Quindlen’s Mother’s Day thoughts over at Moms@Work, but here are some of my own.

It’s late as I write this.  I should probably pick up my book as a reliable prelude to falling asleep, but I have a coupon for a nap that I can cash in, as necessary.  The coupon, stapled together with a half-dozen others, was one of my Mother’s Day presents.  I’ve already used one.  I went with the “Mother’s choice” and requested a little assistance with vacuuming. Apparently the coupons are valid because it (he) worked and I returned from my run to find the vacuum out and plugged in.  It may even have been turned on.

It’s been a sweet weekend, kind of watercolored feeling.  Friday was my Griffin day – lacrosse, fried chicken, a new favorite movie, his physical self present in each of those activities.  Like the two brothers he is sandwiched between, he has his own personal refrain which has inspired me to nickname him “It’s not my fault.”  Like the eye-roll he mastered at age 11, he uses his mantra a bit self-consciously, knowing his lack of responsibility only confirms his position as man-boy.

There was a late morning soccer game, in a rain that didn’t relent until the kids were sodden and soaked with their own ability to tough it out.  My little guy, Mr. “I’m lazy,” ran that slippery field like nobody’s business, a constant smile on his face.  When he finally gave in to sleep, much, much later, he did so with happy satisfaction.

And Herr “I don’t know,” the oldest of the Lilly boys, finished the weekend with a solo trip to NYC, conceived and planned by himself.  He promised not to talk to strangers and despite his thoughtfulness, I asked him to not travel to Bleeker Street to get coffee for me from my favorite place.  The surprise of a dozen roses, prior to our departure for the train station early this morning, was evidence enough of his ability to plan.

My three sons, I don’t know, It’s not my fault, I’m lazy.  I’ll keep ‘em.

March Math

Since when did March have so many holidays?  Check out my most recent Moms@Work post for my take on math, family and spring holidays.

St. Patrick’s Day ~ 2013

image: http://www.heraldry.ws

On the weeks when I work two double shifts, I struggle to get my miles in.  In addition to being somewhat obsessive about exercise, I am also mistress of the rationalization so, I console myself on these alternating weeks with the fact that I get some physical activity running up and down the stairs at the Wine Bar.  Guilt assuaged.

I had planned to take a run yesterday, but between a super late Friday night, an array of errands and a soccer game (we won), I just knew I didn’t have it in me.  Sunday was essentially looking wide-open and I decided I’d experience that long run which had become almost mythical in my mind – my house to Delaware to Whitehall to New Scotland to Slingerlands and the bypass, to Kenwood and back to Delaware and then home.  I finally had the time and today seemed the ideal day to give it a go.

After a relaxing morning, I put myself in the mindset that my run was a St. Patrick’s Day treat akin to soda bread and a pot of tea from Bewley’s.  I particularly appreciated that any residual March 18 discomfort would be the result of muscle exertion rather than beer over indulgence.  My weather app kept promising clouds, but luckily they never materialized.  I think the somewhat aggressive wind may have kept those moving right along in the blue sky.

John McMenamin

What kept me moving over the 9.5+ miles?  Good music, thoughts of my late Uncle John McMenamin, a man who loved a good brisk walk along the Irish Sea, and my sense that the sun was in complete approval of my efforts.  I allowed myself to move at a pace that I could keep moving at and I am absolutely content with my outing.  If Uncle John and I were able to sit down together with a couple of bowls of his wife Bridie’s creamy vegetable soup, I’d say today was just about an ideal St. Patrick’s Day.  I hope yours was equally enjoyable.

Gute Reise!

image: http://rememberingletters.files.wordpress.com

After months of anticipation, my oldest son and I are finally really getting ready for a European adventure.  Our passports are handy and we’ve got an itinerary, but it is a loose one.  I’m really not a fan of creating a detailed travel plan much preferring to familiarize myself with possible activities but not filling in each day until we’re actually there.  I mean who knows what the weather is going to be like or how we’ll be feeling?  It’s vacation, not work, right?

Our plans include Easter in the Black Forest with family, hopefully a day trip to Alsace, touring some of the WW II sights in Belgium and Luxembourg and a couple of days in Amsterdam to get a little crazy wrap things up. The only specific commitment I made in advance was to purchase tickets for the Anne Frank Haus and book hotel reservations.  The hotel reservations, incidentally, were made using Priceline and I was really pleased with the rate I paid and the hotel’s appearance and location.  Stay tuned for how that all works out, ok?

My hopes for the trip are:

• Quality time with my family and Liam

• Good beer, wine and food

• Decent weather

• Lots of relaxing, along with some fun runs

I haven’t been to this part of Europe in many, many years and I’m excited.  The area of Germany where my family is from is beautiful and I can’t wait to see it again with my son – and eat some of that delicious wurst, of course!  This is actually Liam’s third trip to the homeland, but it is the first one he will (hopefully) remember for the rest of his life.  He is really looking forward to seeing where the Battle of the Bulge was waged and gaining some firsthand knowledge of a period of history that he finds fascinating.  I’m just thrilled to be able to provide Liam with an opportunity to actually see something that holds such a deep interest for him.  And get him his first beer.

If any of you have any suggestions – where to get a great Rijstaffel in Amsterdam, tips for minimizing fees to exchange currency (beyond using an ATM card to get local currency), suggestions for phone/internet access or things you think we should try to fit in, please share.  Like any restaurant server, I’m always happy to get a good tip.

Not shaken or stirred, but blended

Q’s favorite Bond

My 7 y/o is currently obsessed with James Bond.  He gave up Star Wars at about the same time that George Lucas sold the galaxy to Disney.   Coincidental?  Perhaps.  If you offer him something to drink, it is completely plausible that he will request a martini, shaken not stirred.  It’s adorable.  Well, to me it is because I’m his mom.  Someone else might find it obnoxious or cheeky, but I’ve always had a soft spot for 007.  And my children, of course.

Over the recent holidays, I did some reflecting on my own memories of the Christmas season and I thought about a family from my childhood who taught me what a blended family might look like.  There was a mom and a dad and a daughter.  And an ex-husband and the children shared by he and the mom.  And the ex-husband’s son from his second marriage.  And also the son from the Dad’s first marriage.  The kids all referred to each as brother and sister and the relationships seemed pretty relaxed and fluid, kind of like a well mixed martini.  They were Italian-American and Westchester Jewish, a combination which resulted in great food and wonderful traditions. I loved them and everything they taught me about family and love and backgammon, truly.

As a divorced parent*, I might one day find myself in a similar position.  You know, blending children and families and friends with a partner.  I’d like to think  I can do it with as much tasteful grace.  I know that none of those relationships was perfect, I mean what is?, but the central thread of children which wove them all together created an inspiring family fabric, a patchwork quilt that gave at least as much comfort as a familiar cocktail, I imagine.  How about you?  Do you have any experiences like this to share?  Grab yourself a cocktail and share, why don’t you?

*I’m not a “single mom.”  The boys very much have two parents.

Holidaze 2012…

A dozen images, 12 words, one great Christmas season.

steamy

hot

radiating

candlelit

majestic

lexi

apples

joy

silvery

velvety

glittering

shiny

Ghosts of Christmases Past

Christmas always makes me feel melancholy.  I don’t think it is a lack of presents or cookies or family or traditions – I have as much of those things as I desire. Each year when this emotional deflation occurs, it surprises me.  The unanticipated sobering, despite festive bubbles imbibed, seems to sneak up on me when I finally have met, to the best of my abilities, my holiday obligations.  The shopping, cleaning, prepping, wrapping, cooking flurry has come to an end and what’s left?  A sense of … not quite disappointment or dissatisfaction, just a slightly disconcerting hollowness.  There’s something missing.

In years gone by, I’ve been able to look to physical and mental tiredness as likely culprits for my reflective mood.  Lack of sleep and overindulgence certainly could be held responsible for my feelings.  For many years, we hosted a decadent dinner party on Christmas Eve, which, naturally, was followed by a too brief night’s sleep and a midmorning drive east to join family.  That’s not the case, though, now.   My house is quiet and a nap beckons.  The boys are gone – they even took the dog.  They’ll continue to make the drive East for the foreseeable future, a realization that makes me smile.

Last year, I flew to the desert on Christmas Day.  I spent 5 days running and doing yoga and absorbing sunshine and love from a dear friend.  It may have been my favorite Christmas ever.  Self-indulgent without being an orgy of commercialism or consumption, it was stimulating and relaxing in equal measure.  I came back to New York renewed and satiated.

Thinking about that trip makes me feel happy.  So, today, I’ll snuggle back into my flannels, close my eyes and hopefully dream about the magical desert mountains where the sand flies when my sneakered feet pass through.  When I wake up, I’ll pull on my running clothes and make the dusting of snow outside do something similar.  As I count off the miles, I will remember Christmases gone by and imagine Christmases future, but mostly I will try my best to enjoy the present of today.  Merry Christmas.