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.

Done with Mother’s Day

Yet another benefit of drinking – flower boxes!

Screw Hallmark – as far as I’m concerned, May 5th was my ideal Mother’s Day. No matter what happens next Sunday, I will cherish the day I had, from the scandalously late start to the fortified-with-an-afternoon-nap late ending – perfect! Let me be a little more specific…

Saturday night, I shot a SEEN gallery down at Prime 677.  The occasion was a fundraiser for the Huntington’s Disease Society of America and it was a lovely event.  The food was spectacular and the folks at Empire Wines rallied the troops to put on an extraordinary wine tasting.  It’s been noted by some astute Times Union readers that whenever an event involves wine, I’m usually there.  Guilty as charged.

I got home from the party working at about 10:30 only to find my little guy desperately upset that he had been denied a ‘s’more from the neighbor’s party, a situation I was able to correct with a soothing shower and some ice cream.  Tucking him in at such a late hour gave me the first gift of Sunday – he slept until 10:00, which gave me an incredibly quiet morning.  Soft music, strong coffee and the paper comprise my personal morning bliss trifecta.  So far, so good.

After the boys departed at noon for their Dad’s, I got busy in the front yard with mulch and some annuals.  The sun was glorious, birds were chirping and the simple joy of getting a little dirty made my heart sing.  I had a mid afternoon visit from the person I most love spending time with and the day moved along at a pace that was completely enjoyable.  I accomplished some other chores, including eating a fantastic lunch salad, and punctuated the afternoon with an indulgent nap on clean sheets. But, wait – there’s more.

Caesar salad with shaved Romano and grilled asparagus

As the day cooled down a bit, I tied on my running shoes and hit the streets for a 5-mile lap through the neighborhood.  I had intended to go a bit further, but contented myself with not pushing myself too hard and tried to just enjoy myself.  Done.  A shower, a quick visit with the neighbors for a glass of wine and then home again for finale of the only reality show I would ever want to be on, The Amazing Race, and I was in bed by 10:15, thoroughly relaxed and satisfied with my day.

There weren’t any tulips or handmade crafts, but nonetheless it was a lovely day with a wonderful mix of boys, friends, productivity, relaxation and good food and wine.  Mother’s Day 2013 is a done deal, as far as I am concerned.  Any additional gifts are truly unnecessary, although I do have a fondness for the imperfectly made card along with a hankering for a French lilac bush.  Just saying.

14 Things I want Griffin to know (in honor of his 14th birthday)

1.  Birthing you was one of the most satisfying experiences of my life.
2.  Acknowledging, and acting upon, the fact that you’re not the only person in the universe will only make you a better man.
3.  You can do anything.  Anything.
4. Being able to do anything doesn’t eliminate the reality of life that you will still have to make choices because you really can’t do
everything.  At least not simultaneously.
5.  Cool hair and charm will only take you so far.  Maybe it will be far enough, but that’s a big maybe.
6. Your braces should be considered a very expensive gift – not a punishment.
7.  You remind me of me, which is why I am watching you ever so closely.
8.  I can’t wait to go to Ireland with you this summer.
9.  When you finally get a j o b, you don’t have to pay me back for things I’ve bought for you.  Those were gifts.  You do, however, owe me
$14 for those library books you lost.
10.  Speaking of books, I am so proud that you are a reader and love talking about books with you.
11.  Your (nearly) lifelong concern with your clothing and what you’re wearing makes you fun to shop with.
12.  Watching you play with little kids – and enjoy it, makes me smile.
13.  You’re growing up too fast.
14.  You’ll always be the little boy who liked to whisper “hi” in my ear.

Happy birthday, Griffin Hudson Lilly.

April Moms@Work & Women@Work catch-up

My byline snap

Notice I said catch-up instead of catsup or ketchup.  We all (or those of us who hang on every word of dialogue in Mad Men at least) know there’s only 1 ketchup.

I digress – anyway, here are some blog posts from my other spot out here on the internet, Moms@Work.

• Would you do it all again?  (“Probably not” was the impression I apparently conveyed in this one.)
• Travels in parenthood (Includes a nifty picture of me doing a ringer of  Molly Ringwald impersonation.)
• Tests of spring  (Where I talk about the NYS math assessments, but don’t acknowledge that I can’t do 8th grade math.  I saved that for FB and Twitter.)
• What do you think about a “good enough life?” (Even if you don’t read my post, read the one which inspired it.  Please.)

Also, excitedly enough for me, the print edition of the May/June issue of Women@Work is now available in all sorts of lobbies and waiting rooms around town.  Grab one, why don’t you and read my piece on page 59.  Don’t forget to linger over my name on the page listing of contributing writers!

16 Shades of Liam

That man-boy of mine will probably never cease to amaze me.  Out of all of my children, Liam is the one who takes me most by surprise.  From his premature birth to the fact that he was a boy instead of the girl I had blindly expected using my underdeveloped maternal instincts, he always has been a bit unpredictable.

In recognition of his sixteenth birthday, please allow me to present sixteen characteristics of Liam which cause him to be anything but grey…

1. When we shop, he automatically carries my bags.
2. He loves opera.
3. And NASCAR.
4. He lacks artifice which can be awkward or charming depending upon the circumstances.
5. His experiences have shaped him into a wonderful travel companion
6. When faced with options for dining he will always choose fish.  Unless its tuna.
7. His worlds collided recently when the Daytona 500 and the Academy Awards both aired on the same day.
8. He is always responsible for the luggage check because I reliably lose it.
9. When he doesn’t know something he enthusiastically makes shit up, a tendency shared with the teenaged version of my brother.
10. His familiarity with the world’s airports is impressive.  Who says you don’t learn anything from video games?
11. He has perfect attendance.
12. Always rely on him for navigation, subways included.  His sense of direction is remarkably accurate.
13. His ADD no longer demands pharmaceutical attention daily as he develops his own techniques for dealing with all that unfocused mental energy.
14. He has been deeply influenced by both of his grandmothers.
15. His sense of humor is a blend of subtle and slapstick.
16. He has spent the last sixteen years somewhat patiently teaching me how to be a mom.

Happy birthday, to my oldest son.  Thank you for being exactly you!

A nightmare and two dreams or how I spent my February break.

image: http://img.docstoccdn.com

Our lice thing turned into a week of laundry and hair combing and ultimately a prescription lotion, Ovide, which I elected to use prophylactically on the entire family.  FYI: if you ever need to get this lice and nit killing potion, start at the pharmacy at Walmart because that was the only place that had it in stock.  Insert socioeconomic targeted population wise-ass remark here.  I am optimistic that we have eradicated the problem, but will remain vigilant.  Please keep your fingers crossed that the nightmare is over and in return I will pray that your house is never visited by this plague.

Now, for the dreams…

After my recent dropping of the hammer on my underperforming son, he has really been making strides in the right direction.  His grades and attitude have improved and I felt comfortable recognizing his efforts with a reward.  His cell phone has needed an upgrade and I was thrilled to have the opportunity to buy him one that he is equally thrilled to own.  I will hold tightly to the spontaneous (and public!) hug he gave me during the future’s more challenging moments. And that gushing text he sent me?  I’m keeping that forever!

Making a dream come true can be as simple and spontaneous as agreeing to purchase a smart phone or a more involved process requiring reservations and tickets and an overnight bag. The latter describes the realization of my oldest son’s birthday request, albeit an event we marked a week prematurpely. Shortly after his 15th birthday last year, my boy-man asked that we go to NYC’s Metropolitan Opera House to take in a performance.  You’ve got to applaud a kid who can begin to plan a NYC adventure a year in advance – that’s my boy.

Our trip began from at the Rensselaer train station where we popped our figurative MegaBus cherry – overall not a bad experience, but it would have been nice if the Wi-Fi had been more consistent.  We stayed at a classic NYC hotel, the Ramada New Yorker, which was comfortable and convenient.  But, really, it was all about Carmen.  Our box, with its ever so slightly impeded view was remarkably comfortable and I think I only dozed for a minute.  Twice.  The show was beautiful – the voices, the orchestra,  the setting.  I wouldn’t have changed a thing about the night, which concluded with a cab ride back downtown and midnight snack eaten at the hotel.

Isn’t he handsome?

So, two out three isn’t so bad.  I’ll take it.

Nit picky

Let’s talk about something typically verboten, ok? I’m not asking you to out yourselves or throw your own children under the proverbial bus, but I did want to start a conversation about a topic generally not discussed in a volume above a whisper….shhhh….lice!

About 2 months ago, I noticed that my youngest (fortunately the child with the least emotional attachment to his shiny, straight hair), was scratching at his scalp. Immediately, I recalled the note I had recently received from his school about unnamed classmates being treated for the annoying little critters. Great, guess who had climbed into my very own bed just last night? I took action…

After a quick trip to the pharmacy, armed with RID treatment, I went to work. I washed his hair and got to business looking for something(s). Despite the results from my Google image search to guide me, I wasn’t really confident that I even knew what I was seeking. I couldn’t find anything though – no crawlers (lice don’t have wings), no eggs (gross), no evidence of anything other than a dry scalp. To be cautious, I went ahead and did two weeks worth of laundry in a single day washing sheets and towels and coats and everything else I could fit into my front loader. We moved on feeling lucky.

Last week, our luck ran out. As Quinn and I sat at the table Friday morning, something literally fell out of his hair and landed on his spelling homework. This time, though,  there was no doubt. Horrifyingly enough, the poor boog was just loaded with them – live bugs and the promise of more to come. Yuck. I began the process from the last time, but this time I had the added satisfaction (?) of knowing that there was, in fact, a real problem to treat. Without a doubt, my boy had bugs.

Recognizing that the nit-picking process would be simplified if there were less hair with which to contend, I decided (after consulting with his dad, a master nit picker, as it turns out) a semi-dramatic haircut would lighten the burden. Since the barber shop refused to accommodate my little pariah, I took matters into my own hands and, with a friend’s hair clipper set, buzzed my boy within an inch of his life. Or maybe it was the 5/8″ attachment we used? Whatever, the end result was a boy with a charmingly uneven buzz cut and a winning attitude. He really rocked the whole process without complaint and made me seriously proud.

Now, here’s the thing, the stigma of lice is HUGE. I remember my own childhood experience, I believe it was 3rd grade. I sat between twin brothers who lived in an area we called the Club Car. This was not a compliment. As a 9 y/o I knew that I was getting lice from them because they were dirty. From my current vantage point, I know that is not necessarily the case and I sincerely regret any meanness I showed the Edwards boys.

And a final observation, thoroughly eliminating lice and their remarkably sticky and minuscule eggs is a tremendous amount of tedious work. I think I’ve done 7 or 8 loads of laundry and the time involved with combing and picking the nits out is ridiculous. I really think there is opportunity for an entrepreneurial type to develop a service to address some of these challenges. Maybe a discreet van that could pull up in front of the house and whisk the infested child away, returning them deloused and perhaps even fed? Seeing that lice are kind of a nightmare, it only seems reasonable to counter that reality with a dream, right?