Yesterday my youngest son turned 11. I wish I could remember exactly what time of day he was born, but it’s honestly kind of a blur. I think that happens once you have more than two children, some of the specific details no longer stick. In complete honesty, I sometimes have to pause to recall if his birthday is the 5th or the 9th of February. I guess I’ll never win Mother of the Year, but I do think I have a shot at Mother of the Day based upon my efforts yesterday.
The morning started with the scent of chocolate chip/ M&M cookies baking. You know what? Everyone should wake up on their birthday to a warm kitchen and the smell of freshly baked cookies. Quinn had Nutella crepes for breakfast, his favorite and he loved the Gryffindor scarf I had bought for him. When he left the house for school, he kissed me goodbye and thanked me for a “wonderful” morning. Pretty sweet, right?
I went to Quinn’s school a short while later to join his class for a field trip to the Albany Institute of History and Art. I know that my chaperoning days are coming to a close and felt really fortunate that he wanted me to attend. We rode the bus together and I think I succeeded in providing my son with special attention while also giving him his space, a balancing act which becomes more challenging as a child grows. The exhibit was nicely done and the activities were active and hands on, perfect for a group of 5th graders. It was a nice day.
Our big plan for the evening was dinner out. Quinn has a thing for Korean barbeque and had been anticipating gorging on dumplings for days. We trucked up to Colonie, hungry and excited for a special meal, but were disappointed to see that the restaurant was closed. I had never even considered that possibility! We sat in the car laughing about our luck and I was incredibly impressed with Quinn’s ability to join in the mirth and indulge his brothers as they teased him about his misfortune. After a moment’s consideration, Quinn decided that Chinese would hit the spot and we turned around and headed towards Ocean Palace, placing our order as we took the long, leisurely drive back down Central Avenue.
Our indulgent order (Peking Duck, squid with salt and pepper, beef chow fun, 2 orders of steamed dumplings, Chinese broccoli with ginger sauce and sesame chicken) took about 45 minutes to prepare, leaving us with about 25 minutes to kill. That much time simply waiting can be deadly, but my sons were remarkably chill about the entire dinner fiasco. There wasn’t a moment of complaining or whining or kvetching and I was left feeling ridiculously proud of their good natured flexibility. My boys are growing up.
PS – Dinner, as always, was great. Happy Year of the Monkey, y’all!
Filed under aging, Albany, birthdays, Boys, Dinner, Eating, family, favorites, Food., Local, Recommendations, Uncategorized
I’m a little ashamed for thinking, much less saying, this but … I really kind of detest the science fair. It isn’t because science isn’t really my thing, or that I’m opposed to exploring a topic of interest, it’s just that it turns into so much work without much reward. It’s hard to be excited about a process that comes with as many demands as a science experiment. Eh, maybe it’s just me.
Part of the science fair process involves observations which must be documented. In the spirit of research, I’ve got a few observations to share from my weekend. They’re in no particular order.
- I’m not a bad feminist because I like Bernie more than I like Hillary.
- The same is true when it comes the fact that I think it’s ok for a woman to want to look pretty when she leaves the house.
- A winter walk with a friend and the dogs at the golf course makes for a perfect afternoon.
- On a related note, lipstick has become my friend in a way it wasn’t until I was in my 40s.
- Wearing a hat can be a real act of bravery. I’m not talking about a baseball cap, I mean a more bold chapeaux – something in a vivid colored felt or a generously proportioned straw number.
- I don’t completely understand why folks get so uptight about getting older. I kind of think of adding years like putting another notch in my lipstick* case. It’s an accomplishment.
- Recently, Delaware Avenue has been interesting to walk on, but scary to drive on. People really need to slow the hell down and stop being so aggressive behind the wheel.
- In theory, I love brunch. What’s not to like about day drinking and someone other than me cooking and serving a meal? In reality, though, I just don’t have time for day drinking and a big meal midday. Maybe on vacation?
- I thought the ribs I made on Saturday were pretty banging until I ate ribs at Jay and Karen’s. Never mind.
- I’ve got an idea for this year’s science fair which just might be fun. I’d say more but don’t want anyone co-opting our experiment. Hint: it involves soda.
*what’s my obsession with lipstick?
Filed under aging, Albany, Boys, Delaware Avenue, DelSo, Exercise, Local, moms, Observations, Random, Schools, Uncategorized, winter
Despite this snow-less winter, Jeter and I have been spending a lot of time at the golf course. Instead of skiing, though, we run over trails and on paths which I’ve never explored before without my skis. It’s been a good consolation for a frustrated cross country skier and a dog who loves water, be it liquid or powder.
The route we’ve been taking to the golf course varies but a favorite path is the yellow brick road. There’s something about that road, whether I’m going up or down it, which inspires me to be optimistic and positive. I mean, that brick was covered by asphalt yet has still managed in places to break through and remind the observant of its presence. To me, it’s like the sun refusing to allow the clouds to prevent it from radiating. It never fails to lift my spirits and motivate me to invite the good stuff to come out, to allow my inner light to shine. To be love, shall we say?
It isn’t always easy to commit to freely sharing the good stuff. In all honesty, it’s kind of a new state of being for me and I have moments when I struggle with releasing the gifts of my soul without mentally measuring the anticipated return. I think it’s human nature to consider and weigh the risks involved with giving love to the universe without any expectation, don’t you? Allowing one’s self to be open and vulnerable is scary as hell, but you know what? There’s no punishment in this world for loving too much and, when I think about those crumbling yellow bricks peeking through the black top designed to cover them up, I feel brave. I’m going to let it shine.
I like a new beginning. A page turned in a calendar, sharp pencils and a book’s unbroken spine can fill me with promise and hope for what may come next. Possibility is a good thing and sometimes it’s the only thing that inspires me to stay resolute in looking forward rather than to the past. It isn’t always easy.
In life, every day provides us with an opportunity to make positive changes. Today might be the day that you start paying more attention to how you’re treating yourself and others. Maybe you’re ready to take a chance on something which you’ve previously rejected as too scary or a person who has proven disappointing in the past. It’s a new day and anything is possible, right?
So, take a deep breath and let it out with a sigh, expelling the stale and negative air that has been filling your lungs to make room for new energy and inspiration. Maybe take a minute to give yourself a pep talk reminding yourself of your strength and all the other challenges you’ve made your way through already in life. You’ve got this; you’re a survivor, right? You aren’t inclined to settle for less than you need or want, are you? Be your best even if you have to fake it until you make it. Believe in yourself.
Today is a new day to commit to being who you want to be. Be your best you.
Last Friday, we played a Spotify station to celebrate David Bowie’s 69th birthday. Less than three days later, he was dead. I guess that’s how it goes. We never know how long the journey from birth to death is really going to be, do we?
I can’t claim to have been the biggest Bowie fan in the universe, but I always liked his more pop stuff. Songs like “Let’s Dance,” “Young Americans,” and “China Girl” were definitely a part of my younger years and are still able to transport me to those simpler days of being a teenager. Some of his stuff was a little too avante garde for me, like this song which freaked me out as a kid but completely wowed me years later in Inglorious Basterds. I always appreciated his range and talent, though. He was very clearly a deeply gifted artist.
Bowie managed, over a career that lasted for decades, to find his way from being a flamboyant, hyper sexual rock star to living a private life as a musician, actor, husband and father. Does this sort of transition simply occur with age? Was it satisfaction with his personal life? Had he merely grown beyond his previous narcissistic need to share himself with the world in an over exposed fashion? Were his over-the-top antics merely a role he was playing for public consumption? Don’t we all do the same thing, projecting an image to the world outside, on some level?
I don’t know the answer to any of those questions, but it has me thinking about achieving a new balance between my public and personal personas. When I consider the unsatiated hunger for fame that is present in contemporary American society, I find myself feeling uncomfortable. No longer is the goal to achieve success on a personal level. Instead, for far too many, it must be accompanied by public recognition and notoriety. It’s kind of sad in a vulgar way and I think I may need to wrap myself a little tighter in the future than I have in the past.
That being said, in no way do I consider myself to be famous or a rock star. I’m just feeling the urge to create a new balance between living life out loud and ultimately dying, hopefully many years from now, with grace. You see,
Fame makes a (wo)man take things over
Fame, lets him loose, hard to swallow
Fame, puts you there where things are hollow.
different dog, same boy.
Two years ago, we let our 12 year-old lab, Cassidy, go. She made it clear that day when she laid down on the cold, snowy sidewalk and refused to get up, that it was time and she was ready. To this day, I so appreciate that she clearly communicated her need to be done to me. Just like the decision of when to have a baby, the right time to say goodbye to her probably would never have arrived for me. I still miss her and sometimes find myself calling our “new” lab by her name despite the fact that she was a she, and black, and Jeter is all boy and nearly white.
Jeter will be two next week. We celebrate his birthday on Christmas Day although we’re not 100% certain if he was actually born on the 24th or the 25th. His mom delivered 16 puppies and having a litter of that size was a bit chaotic and exhausting for all involved. Regardless of which day he was born, he was a true gift to our family and we love him dearly.
Those couple of months between losing Cassidy and bringing Jeter home, were uncomfortably quiet around here. On the days, and especially the nights, when the boys were at their dad’s house, my house echoed with their absence. I didn’t like it and can’t imagine the day when my house will feel like home without the presence of my children and a dog. Since the plan is for my boys to eventually move on and out, it looks like I’ll always need to have a dog. I hope I get to keep the one I have now for a good long time.
I’ve long known that when I die, I want to be cremated. It doesn’t make sense to me to take up space in the ground of our already crowded Earth. As a matter of fact, I’d rather not have my remains contained to an urn, either. I’ve already asked my three sons to divide my ashes into 3 vessels (Ziploc, Tupperware, whatever) which they are to use to transport me to my favorite places – Greenwood Lake, the Hudson River and the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of Wellfleet, MA. Upon arrival, and probably under cloak of darkness, they are to scatter my physical remains. I hope my sons do it together and make a road trip out of it – maybe with a special play list.
The other night, as I was dozing off, I decided that post-organ donation and prior to cremation, I’d like to donate my body to science. That sounds kind dramatic, doesn’t it? That’s not my intention, what I mean is that I’d like to give medical students the opportunity to dissect and study my body. Not because I’m some phenomenal physical specimen, but because I think I’d like for my body to be appreciated and respected for all the wonderful and challenging experiences it has had during my years of living.
Don’t you think it’s fascinating how much can be gleaned about a person’s life by their body? The scars we each bear are evidence of traumas we have faced and survived, some minor and others graver. The condition of our muscles speaks of their strength, a woman’s pelvic cartilage may reveal the number of children she birthed, and our teeth provide evidence of our overall health and diet. I just find it all so much more interesting than any graveside service could possibly be!
No rush, though. I’ve got a few more scars to collect before I’m ready to go.