I hate packing. I fucking hate it. I always said I'd pay to have the movers pack for me if I had to move again, but considering how impractical that all seems, we decided to do the majority of it ourselves. I'm dreading those final boxes that we pack labeled "MISC."... and the annoyance that results when you can't figure out the right way to pack garbage cans, power strips, brooms, telephones and perishables at the last second. And then it's usually impossible to find that very box when you get to your final destination... what box did we put the dish rack in? Oh, and did I even consider to pack clothing in something other than a "wardrobe box"? Because I might be wearing the same black tank tops for the next 3 months...
My home that I made cozy over the last 2 years is being dismantled and is crumbling into dustbunnies. Our walls are empty. I'm dreading the wrap-up party for the fragile shit in the china cabinet. Padding the champagne flutes makes me nervous. And the antique sugar bowl from my mom's cousin...
The kids toys and the kitchen will be the last things to get packed, for fear of bringing on too much emotional trauma too quickly in the mind of the 4 year old! Meanwhile, I'm feeling on and off sick... trying to piece together the "right" way to approach this relocation. Will it be permanent? Do I want it to be? Am I going to throw in the towel and settle on being a Vermonter for the rest of my life? Will I ever EVER get to visit Manhattan in the next 2 years? Why is the Manchester airport 1.5 hours from Norwich? Why is Nantucket even farther than that?
In this swirl of Unknowns I'm frightened of how apathetic I am. I don't really care about my own mental health because I'm too concerned about my sensitive little monkeys that have to leave their best friends and excellent school. I literally have gotten really good at shrugging my shoulders over this process... we moved to NYC in 2001, we moved back to Burlington in 2002, and then again to another Burlington spot in 2003, and then left Burlington for Providence in 2006. Experts! Myles likes to tell me that the average American family moves 3-5 times in their lifetime. But that just gives me another reason to believe that Americans are a bunch of misdirected loonies!
On that note, I've killed my reserve battery power... goodnight.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Monday, May 19, 2008
High Speed Countdown
Where does all the time go? Already we have tackled many of our spring "milestones"... Wheeler School Field Day, our "Going Away/Birthday Party", Teacher Appreciation Day, many friends' birthdays. My sister moved into her new house (she's expecting a baby in the fall), we have pretty much sold ours (lucky!), Penny can climb the stairs and has started to sign some words. Now all we have to do is manage a trip to Manhattan this weekend, prepare for 2 "Star of the Day" days at school, have a goodbye function at school, go to a final swim class and have an end of the year ballet performance. Oh, and we have to pack up this entire house.
What the hell people?
I cannot believe I have to leave this place. I have such a love of Providence and all things Rhode Island. I'll be leaving with my brand new bottle of Autocrat Coffee Syrup... to make coffee milk with good VT dairy! Now all I need is a case of frozen "stuffies" and a shipment of gingerbread muffins from Seven Stars Bakery. What about all of my sweet neighbors and all of Ruby and Eloise's lovely friends? What about my glamorous consignment shop that pays me good money for my old clothes? What about my cat? Will he be eaten alive in the woods of Norwich?
So many unknowns... but as the clock ticks, I'm pretty good about living in denial and coasting along like nothings really going to change. I did the same thing when we left Burlington, and it seemed to work out alright.
I'll let you know when I stop eating and break out into hives.
Stay tuned for my photo posts.
What the hell people?
I cannot believe I have to leave this place. I have such a love of Providence and all things Rhode Island. I'll be leaving with my brand new bottle of Autocrat Coffee Syrup... to make coffee milk with good VT dairy! Now all I need is a case of frozen "stuffies" and a shipment of gingerbread muffins from Seven Stars Bakery. What about all of my sweet neighbors and all of Ruby and Eloise's lovely friends? What about my glamorous consignment shop that pays me good money for my old clothes? What about my cat? Will he be eaten alive in the woods of Norwich?
So many unknowns... but as the clock ticks, I'm pretty good about living in denial and coasting along like nothings really going to change. I did the same thing when we left Burlington, and it seemed to work out alright.
I'll let you know when I stop eating and break out into hives.
Stay tuned for my photo posts.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Hit the B Square
I love the idea of tackling this kind of dance project. A few weeks ago I was at a "book group" night with my lady friends discussing the very importance of our choreographed pop songs on bad boom boxes. We all had stories and favorite soundtracks... like my friend Heather who fondly remembers doing her Billy Jean routine to her dog (the only family member who cared).
Did I ever tell any of you that I thought this song was called "Hit the B Square"?
Did I ever tell any of you that I thought this song was called "Hit the B Square"?
Friday, May 09, 2008
"Movin' On Up"
NO, we aren't moving quite yet, but I though I'd post a photo or two of our future home. This will be our kitchen. I CANNOT believe we are lucky enough to deserve such a space. It freaks me out just looking at those windows! Will this really be ours?
Monday, April 28, 2008
Stinky Cheese Face
Ru and El went to the most insane Princess birthday party a few weeks ago. The goody bag was enormous and filled with at least $15 worth of crap... and there were at least 12 little princesses in attendance. Princess Belle came and painted their faces, sang songs and played games with them. They were served a healthy lunch and a gourmet birthday cake (that looked like it was made by the Ace of Cakes on the Food Network)... all of this at the fucking Agawam Hunt Club. It was amazing, but I have to say I'm excited to get our asses to Vermont so we can bring some perspective back into our kids lives.
Wait until I tell you about their first sleep-over at their best friend Sophie's house. (It involves a large bubble bath, Baby Bulgari Perfume, dinner at a Japanese steak house, etc.)
This particular photo was taken after the birthday party. Ruby's new thing is to make stinky cheese face for pictures. Oh, and don't you love that she wanted a pink unicorn painted on her cheek?
My house is overflowing with unicorns.
Wait until I tell you about their first sleep-over at their best friend Sophie's house. (It involves a large bubble bath, Baby Bulgari Perfume, dinner at a Japanese steak house, etc.)
This particular photo was taken after the birthday party. Ruby's new thing is to make stinky cheese face for pictures. Oh, and don't you love that she wanted a pink unicorn painted on her cheek?
My house is overflowing with unicorns.
9 months of Penelope
At this point, some of you have already seen this photo... and considering that Penny will be 10 months soon, I thought I should post this dumpling shot.
I cannot explain how hard it is to keep my teeth off of her. Her Fleshy-ness has magical powers over me. Sometimes I refer to her as Ms. Fleshypants, or DJ Fleshy Flesh. Wait until her thighs tan up this summer... she can't keep the sun away!
I cannot explain how hard it is to keep my teeth off of her. Her Fleshy-ness has magical powers over me. Sometimes I refer to her as Ms. Fleshypants, or DJ Fleshy Flesh. Wait until her thighs tan up this summer... she can't keep the sun away!
Sunday, April 13, 2008
needs and wants
I got my hair cut yesterday - and despite my requests to have a cut like Padma's on Top Chef, I ended up with something shorter and slightly more "suburban-housewife" than I had hoped. Now, Providence isn't exactly the hippest place on the planet, but there is a nice little downtown area that is trying to establish itself as a Soho-like place to shop. Needless to say, I haven't done any shopping there (or anywhere for that matter) in the last year, and there are some lovely little boutiques with pricey clothes and jewelry. After feeling slightly "updated" into a more cosmopolitan status with my freshly cut locks, I walked out of my glam salon and browsed a couple of these shops. What a bad idea! It hasn't occurred to me how hideous my wardrobe has become because I just don't get out much... clearly shopping with 3 kids is impossible, and convincing Myles that I need to go shopping doesn't cut it. He always says, "Oh. So you NEED pair of jeans?" I'm tired of convincing him that jeans from 3 years ago don't make me feel good... and that the knees are all blown out and make me look like I'm an extra in Footloose.
Holy shit though. Even if did buy the new jeans I wanted, it would cost me over $100. This is the kind of stuff I want. I don't want Old Navy and Gap. I don't even want J Crew. What is wrong with me people? I gave up my super-trashy weekly magazines, but I cling to my tacky subscriptions to Lucky, Domino and Vogue. I know that's partly what makes me WANT WANT WANT. Otherwise I'm not sure I'd pay much attention. But these crappy periodicals are like my little lifeline to my former self. Miss Nelson. Remember her? I kind of do. She liked living in the city, shopping for trendy shit at sample sales and blowing money on expensive dinners and drinks... she took good care of her fingers and toes, she smelled nice and had good haircuts. Always appropriately waxed. But then Miss Nelson had kids.
Poof!
Miss Nelson is still missing...
My materialism has become so complicated that I decided to reconsider my "wants" and narrow them down to true "needs" - Because ultimately there are more important things to consider - like how you pay the bills and maintain good credit so we can buy a house. But no matter how hard I try to give up some of my former obsessions, I can't ignore that voice in my head that says, "Who have you become? And how did you become this new person so willingly?"
There's nothing like a move back to Vermont to make me feel in touch with my inner City Girl. (Perhaps it wasn't a haircut that I was looking for yesterday, but a confirmation that I'm still ME deep down. And when I say haircut, I'm talking about the kind of salon that gives you a latte when you arrive and scrubs your head for 15 minutes... aaahhh.) So yes, despite my recent dry and frugal moments, I'm still a crazy glutton. I appreciate over-priced fashion. I still can easily spend $20 on import cheese without guilt. What will Norwich VT do with me? Fuck. I mean, I think we are buying a house from a Mormon family! (Any suggestions on how to cleanse the house from the spirit of Joseph Smith?)
Well, back to my initial point, I have decided that I can't let a location change take any of the remaining sass out of me... I'm so afraid to be stuck in hideous footwear for 8 months out of the year. When there is snow on the ground most of the time, you become practical and frumpy - how BORING.
Clearly I'm exaggerating about this Fear of the Frump, but I see it as a reflection of some other pending adjustments that I have to make in my mind. Like how I am afraid of taking Ruby and Eloise out of an incredible school and plopping them into a mediocre 4 day a week program... ew.
see! I'm such a fucking snot.
Busted.
Holy shit though. Even if did buy the new jeans I wanted, it would cost me over $100. This is the kind of stuff I want. I don't want Old Navy and Gap. I don't even want J Crew. What is wrong with me people? I gave up my super-trashy weekly magazines, but I cling to my tacky subscriptions to Lucky, Domino and Vogue. I know that's partly what makes me WANT WANT WANT. Otherwise I'm not sure I'd pay much attention. But these crappy periodicals are like my little lifeline to my former self. Miss Nelson. Remember her? I kind of do. She liked living in the city, shopping for trendy shit at sample sales and blowing money on expensive dinners and drinks... she took good care of her fingers and toes, she smelled nice and had good haircuts. Always appropriately waxed. But then Miss Nelson had kids.
Poof!
Miss Nelson is still missing...
My materialism has become so complicated that I decided to reconsider my "wants" and narrow them down to true "needs" - Because ultimately there are more important things to consider - like how you pay the bills and maintain good credit so we can buy a house. But no matter how hard I try to give up some of my former obsessions, I can't ignore that voice in my head that says, "Who have you become? And how did you become this new person so willingly?"
There's nothing like a move back to Vermont to make me feel in touch with my inner City Girl. (Perhaps it wasn't a haircut that I was looking for yesterday, but a confirmation that I'm still ME deep down. And when I say haircut, I'm talking about the kind of salon that gives you a latte when you arrive and scrubs your head for 15 minutes... aaahhh.) So yes, despite my recent dry and frugal moments, I'm still a crazy glutton. I appreciate over-priced fashion. I still can easily spend $20 on import cheese without guilt. What will Norwich VT do with me? Fuck. I mean, I think we are buying a house from a Mormon family! (Any suggestions on how to cleanse the house from the spirit of Joseph Smith?)
Well, back to my initial point, I have decided that I can't let a location change take any of the remaining sass out of me... I'm so afraid to be stuck in hideous footwear for 8 months out of the year. When there is snow on the ground most of the time, you become practical and frumpy - how BORING.
Clearly I'm exaggerating about this Fear of the Frump, but I see it as a reflection of some other pending adjustments that I have to make in my mind. Like how I am afraid of taking Ruby and Eloise out of an incredible school and plopping them into a mediocre 4 day a week program... ew.
see! I'm such a fucking snot.
Busted.
Monday, April 07, 2008
Monday, March 31, 2008
Live Free Or Die
Apologies for my lack of photos... they have yet to make it onto my computer after our long trip.
But more importantly, we are headed back into the mountains. Myles ended up having to scramble into a Pediatrics residency spot at Dartmouth. I guess the anesthesia programs of the northeast weren't ranking him, so he chose the best possible option. And the funny thing is that I think it's ultimately the best fit for him. He just doesn't know it yet.
People keep asking me how I'm doing. I'm responding with a lot of nervous grins and uncomfortable "you know, I think things like this happen for a reason" comments.
Do things like this happen for a reason? Maybe they do for the sake of showing Myles that he has a gift for working with children...
But what lesson am I learning?
Occasionally in a relationship there is compromise... and other times we throw up our arms and surrender.
But more importantly, we are headed back into the mountains. Myles ended up having to scramble into a Pediatrics residency spot at Dartmouth. I guess the anesthesia programs of the northeast weren't ranking him, so he chose the best possible option. And the funny thing is that I think it's ultimately the best fit for him. He just doesn't know it yet.
People keep asking me how I'm doing. I'm responding with a lot of nervous grins and uncomfortable "you know, I think things like this happen for a reason" comments.
Do things like this happen for a reason? Maybe they do for the sake of showing Myles that he has a gift for working with children...
But what lesson am I learning?
Occasionally in a relationship there is compromise... and other times we throw up our arms and surrender.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Thursday, March 13, 2008
and we're off...
All five of us Websters are headed to Disney World for a week starting Saturday morning. My mom and dad and my brother's entire family will be there too - and coincidentally another family from Ru and El's old Montessori school. There should be lots and lots of ridiculous princess crap happening... as well as disgusting unhealthy food, overtired, spoiled and misbehaving children, the occasional rash or sunburn and a lot of laughing. Oh, and swimming. And spending money. (ouch.)
The idea that I have to pack for myself and 3 little girls is pretty overwhelming, which is why I need to get off this fucking machine and get to work.
Did I mention that Penny can crawl AND pull herself up now? And Ruby and Eloise turn 4 tomorrow. And we find out if we have to move again on March 20th. Lots going on in this head of mine.
Prepare yourselves for some super special photos and an update on our future when we return...
The idea that I have to pack for myself and 3 little girls is pretty overwhelming, which is why I need to get off this fucking machine and get to work.
Did I mention that Penny can crawl AND pull herself up now? And Ruby and Eloise turn 4 tomorrow. And we find out if we have to move again on March 20th. Lots going on in this head of mine.
Prepare yourselves for some super special photos and an update on our future when we return...
Friday, February 29, 2008
A Light in the Attic
Shel Silverstein. Genius! Who remembers the book "The Giving Tree"? You all MUST remember that one, right?
It begins, "Once there was a tree... and she loved a little boy..." and the tree gives all of herself to the boy as he grows and grows into a greedy grown-up and eventually chops her down to a stump. And it continues from there, "And the tree was happy... but not really." Eventually the boy returns as an old man and needs a place to rest, so he sits on the stump. Again, "the tree was happy".
End of story. So was the tree really happy? Were we all destined to be greedy like the boy?
Today "The Giving Tree" makes more sense than it did when I was young - on so many different levels. When you are young, you relate to the boy, but as a parent now I feel completely in touch with the tree! I understand unconditional giving. You give and give and give every moment to your child that you can. At times I've felt like I wanted to burst from the pressures of self-sacrifice - initially it was such a hard adjustment for me and I was so angry at the world. Why did I feel like I was throwing away my former self for my kids? Why did I have to do this, and why did I feel so guilty about NOT liking the process of giving? I was happy... but not really.
Well, last night Ruby and Eloise recited a short poem to me from memory. It was a Shel Silverstein poem about taking a snowball under the covers - "and when I woke it had wet my bed" (insert goofy kid laughter). So I went and got out Myles' tattered copy of "Where the Sidewalk Ends". More Shel. We picked poems and I happily read all of these memories to my girls. At times I didn't even have to look at the words because they were pouring out of an odd memory bank in the back of my brain. It felt so good. Here were these things that I vividly remember from my childhood! These excellent nonsense poems about dogs with two tails, three guys who go for a ride in a flying shoe, and the unicorns who missed their ride on Noah's ark. Ru and El have hit the age where I will be able to share and appreciate these excellent pieces of literature, not just picture books.
The sacrifice we make for our kids has extraordinary payback. I got another glimpse of that last night - those milestones along the way, like the first "I love you, Mom" out of your kid's mouth, or the first time you realize you wish you could take on all of their pain or illness so that they didn't have to live through it, - those are the things that make being a parent completely rewarding. Recently I've been so pre-occupied with the fear of moving to yet another place, juggling Penny's schedule (or lack thereof) and dealing with financial paranoia that I've almost forgotten to recognize how mature Ruby and Eloise have become. Sharing this old favorite book gave me a small wake-up call.
Last week Eloise said, "Mom, we don't like having curly hair. We want straight hair like Sophie." Shit, I thought. This garbage already? I tell them it's not about the outside, it's the inside that counts... corny corny, I know... but to identical twins that has even more resonance.
And for another grown-up comment, Ruby told me I should return my bruised squash to the market, "like you did with the LAME pistachios." (They WERE lame pistachios for the record. Almost all of the shells were sealed shut.) Note to self: don't say things like "lame", "butt-crack", or "bummer" in regular everyday speech. Fortunately they haven't figured out that I'm the F-Bomb Mommy - at least not yet. I'll let you know when someone says fuck. (Watch it be Penelope's first word. Seriously, if she could talk I think she'd say, "GIVE ME THE FUCKING CHEERIOS! NOW!!!)
So there it is. My kids are my life. I can complain about how hard this job is day in and day out, and how I think society pressures mommies to give too much of themselves - but it is refreshing to know that even reading them a book can remind me how I'd be happy to give them the world; to let them virtually chop off my limbs, and use me as a resting place.
Infinitely happy indeed.
It begins, "Once there was a tree... and she loved a little boy..." and the tree gives all of herself to the boy as he grows and grows into a greedy grown-up and eventually chops her down to a stump. And it continues from there, "And the tree was happy... but not really." Eventually the boy returns as an old man and needs a place to rest, so he sits on the stump. Again, "the tree was happy".
End of story. So was the tree really happy? Were we all destined to be greedy like the boy?
Today "The Giving Tree" makes more sense than it did when I was young - on so many different levels. When you are young, you relate to the boy, but as a parent now I feel completely in touch with the tree! I understand unconditional giving. You give and give and give every moment to your child that you can. At times I've felt like I wanted to burst from the pressures of self-sacrifice - initially it was such a hard adjustment for me and I was so angry at the world. Why did I feel like I was throwing away my former self for my kids? Why did I have to do this, and why did I feel so guilty about NOT liking the process of giving? I was happy... but not really.
Well, last night Ruby and Eloise recited a short poem to me from memory. It was a Shel Silverstein poem about taking a snowball under the covers - "and when I woke it had wet my bed" (insert goofy kid laughter). So I went and got out Myles' tattered copy of "Where the Sidewalk Ends". More Shel. We picked poems and I happily read all of these memories to my girls. At times I didn't even have to look at the words because they were pouring out of an odd memory bank in the back of my brain. It felt so good. Here were these things that I vividly remember from my childhood! These excellent nonsense poems about dogs with two tails, three guys who go for a ride in a flying shoe, and the unicorns who missed their ride on Noah's ark. Ru and El have hit the age where I will be able to share and appreciate these excellent pieces of literature, not just picture books.
The sacrifice we make for our kids has extraordinary payback. I got another glimpse of that last night - those milestones along the way, like the first "I love you, Mom" out of your kid's mouth, or the first time you realize you wish you could take on all of their pain or illness so that they didn't have to live through it, - those are the things that make being a parent completely rewarding. Recently I've been so pre-occupied with the fear of moving to yet another place, juggling Penny's schedule (or lack thereof) and dealing with financial paranoia that I've almost forgotten to recognize how mature Ruby and Eloise have become. Sharing this old favorite book gave me a small wake-up call.
Last week Eloise said, "Mom, we don't like having curly hair. We want straight hair like Sophie." Shit, I thought. This garbage already? I tell them it's not about the outside, it's the inside that counts... corny corny, I know... but to identical twins that has even more resonance.
And for another grown-up comment, Ruby told me I should return my bruised squash to the market, "like you did with the LAME pistachios." (They WERE lame pistachios for the record. Almost all of the shells were sealed shut.) Note to self: don't say things like "lame", "butt-crack", or "bummer" in regular everyday speech. Fortunately they haven't figured out that I'm the F-Bomb Mommy - at least not yet. I'll let you know when someone says fuck. (Watch it be Penelope's first word. Seriously, if she could talk I think she'd say, "GIVE ME THE FUCKING CHEERIOS! NOW!!!)
So there it is. My kids are my life. I can complain about how hard this job is day in and day out, and how I think society pressures mommies to give too much of themselves - but it is refreshing to know that even reading them a book can remind me how I'd be happy to give them the world; to let them virtually chop off my limbs, and use me as a resting place.
Infinitely happy indeed.
Monday, February 25, 2008
a bright bright sunshiny day...
One of these blogs that I follow suggested that you shoot your photos into the sun as an experiment. Like a rule-breaking kind of thing. So I quite like this photo of Eloise. It captures her essence just perfectly. (As I write this I'm feeling guilty for not posting a link to the blog that I read regarding photos, life coaching, creativity... not because I don't want to share this with you, but because I'm being an ass about the norms of the blog medium. That is another potential topic entirely... norms of the blog medium. I find myself hooked on a relatively link-free style for many reasons... but really, that's another entry on another day.)
But yes. I just said BLOG as a medium. Currently I work in "blog" and I'm struggling with all that entails and how I've become this blogger of sorts. I don't get many comments posted directly to blogger, which is fine, but I do manage to hear feedback from my pals around the world (yes, you are all around the world) and that is precisely why I do this. You are all so fucking far away and this is a decent method to let you know how my brain and family unit is functioning.
The inspiration for my photo post was an experiment, so I have decided to make a experiment of my own and encourage many of you non-bloggers just to start writing in a blog format to see what happens (you don't have to share it with anybody). Really, this type of writing began as a Doogie Howser, M.D. kind of computer journal I could use to document my days... and then it became a means to communicate... and now it has become a place of curiosity for a tiny community. Many of you are friends, but some of you are quasi-strangers. I invite you upon this entry to let yourself be known in my comments box (and that's okay if there are only 2 of you) and ask me some questions. Or send me your links. Discuss amongst yourself, and in the meantime mess around with shooting into the sun.
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