Hindsight. You know what they say.
Recently I've been encountering something huge inside that has been welling up for years. I'm growing into a new me by reconnecting with the old me. The original Ms. Nelson is attempting to make a comeback... like, maybe, Ms. Nelson: The Revised Edition.
When I took this shot of Penny she had just celebrated her 1st birthday. It blows my mind to reflect on her physical skills - to know that Ruby and Eloise were taking their first wobbly steps at 12 months, and it would be several months after that when they would even dare to throw a leg over a rocking horse. I believe Eloise finally decided to tackle a playground ladder at 2.5 years - and Penny climbs to the top bunk at 13 months. We all talk about how little Pickle has a lot to look up to, big girls to learn from and model after, but what strikes me as odd is the degree to which I forget how I used to be about Ru and El's "developmental milestones". And to know now how meaningless many of those things can be! I love to look back on what I have learned during this mom gig and laugh. My concerns and paranoia and my "will it ever end?"s...
Hopefully I can be supportive and helpful when my sister gives birth to her first child this September, but I have decided to remind her that in parenting, the advice and wisdom from other sources only makes sense once you have endured the worst: those sleepless nights, the lonely days, the first fevers, the family-wide illnesses, the horrific car rides and the aborted vacations. How about the day I decided to throw away my parenting books? Relief.
And if my mom had told me to stop reading online parenting advice, I would have proclaimed how "it's just what my generation does." In the end, she was right though. For me, the best solution to my mommy-woes was finding friends and shooting the shit.
Perspective.
That's where I'm at these days. The air in the house starts getting colder at around 4:45 pm, and by 7 pm I've closed the windows up for the night. Right about the time when one season ends and another is about to begin I get full of self-reflection and I start completing tasks and getting creative again. I do the big check-in and try to make a step forward... or a step somewhere.
But in reality the end of August hints at fall way too early in these parts. If I could only bottle this kind of productivity and energy and take a shot of it when the Vermonters start to hibernate. Or when my Procrastination Demon comes for an extended visit and Penny has mastered ice skating at 18 months.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Thursday, August 07, 2008
Mamarama
I just have to put this out there: having a bunch of great conversations about my last post with moms and non-moms alike, I realized how difficult it is to get here to post words about my sorry-ass Webster life. I am pretty hard on myself I guess, and for no good reason. I read too many mommy blogs (and no, if you are a friend of mine, I don't compare myself to you... it's those random links to moms that I don't know) and they drive me AWAY from this medium. When I'm feeling dark and pessimistic other mothers articulations of my exact feelings bring me down down down... into a terrible, stupid, teenager kind of place. When I'm feeling decent and empowered, other random momblogs make me feel connected to this lovely (almost underground) society that we have created as modern day computer crazy mothers.
But I"m thinking about this: real connectedness. I mean, connectedness shouldn't even be a word it sounds so horrible... but I like to think back to times when mothers took care of one another in a different way. When we didn't have technology and instant internet gratification, what did our moms do? That's the good stuff - (and occasionally the BAD BAD stuff because there were those moms that were in the dark and isolated, I know) and what I'm talking about are those badass mothers that did fucking everything because that's all they had to do. That's all they could do. They were technically sad and oppressed as far as feminism might be concerned... but for someone like my mom, or Myles' grandmother, they had serious survival skills. These ladies had husbands who expected dinner on the table every night. They didn't get to sleep in on weekends and give the kids over to dad so they could go to yoga class. They did all the shopping, cleaning, cooking and they didn't get their husbands to partake in "babywearing". Kids were their profession in a way. Homemakers. Remember?
Well, what did they do to deal with their identity crises, failing marriages, infidelities, ppd, anxiety, and recreation an/or loss of self?
What I'm getting at is this: they took care of one another face to face. Or they listened to one another's voices over the telephone...
Make a spinach and sweet potato-laced brownie out of these thoughts now, m'kay?
But I"m thinking about this: real connectedness. I mean, connectedness shouldn't even be a word it sounds so horrible... but I like to think back to times when mothers took care of one another in a different way. When we didn't have technology and instant internet gratification, what did our moms do? That's the good stuff - (and occasionally the BAD BAD stuff because there were those moms that were in the dark and isolated, I know) and what I'm talking about are those badass mothers that did fucking everything because that's all they had to do. That's all they could do. They were technically sad and oppressed as far as feminism might be concerned... but for someone like my mom, or Myles' grandmother, they had serious survival skills. These ladies had husbands who expected dinner on the table every night. They didn't get to sleep in on weekends and give the kids over to dad so they could go to yoga class. They did all the shopping, cleaning, cooking and they didn't get their husbands to partake in "babywearing". Kids were their profession in a way. Homemakers. Remember?
Well, what did they do to deal with their identity crises, failing marriages, infidelities, ppd, anxiety, and recreation an/or loss of self?
What I'm getting at is this: they took care of one another face to face. Or they listened to one another's voices over the telephone...
Make a spinach and sweet potato-laced brownie out of these thoughts now, m'kay?
Friday, August 01, 2008
bloop
Ew! I've become that blogger who abandons their readers for too long... and then I get enveloped in this battle of how to re-emerge into your lives, how to update you on our hectic scene. Clearly I'm at a loss. My camera has been found, but now I'm battling technology with a 5 year old computer and a hatred for "backing up" files on disc and deleting them. If I upload 200 photos to this thing it might explode... but I'm dying for the freedom to inundate this fucking blog with my new pics.
The girls have grown again - all three of them. I continually ask myself who these creatures are that I've created... and how did I bring them into the world? Each one so different. They surprise me daily with their observations - particularly the twins with their commentary on gender:
"I don't think Boppy (a.k.a. grandpa) likes unicorns very much. Does he? Maybe we could draw him a boy unicorn with a beard."
Wait, do I have two four year old daughters who can already draw unicorns and rainbows? How the hell did this happen? And Penny! Holy shit what a fucking handful of squishy insanity! She's constantly on the move and into mischief... making car and truck sounds, falling down, climbing stairs, opening and closing EVERYTHING, insisting on using her own utensils at meals, saying, "yeah" when you ask her a question. And eating more blueberries than necessary... which brings me to the title of this blog.
To those of you who have kids and who have fed them blueberries (or anything round that has a "skin" on it) you know what I mean. The poopy diaper is not filled with just plain poop. It's BLOOP. And it leaves their cute little butt crack in a baboon-like situation. Same thing for feeding them strawberries and oranges... if you aren't careful you can give your child's ass a citric acid burn. And those raisins you fed your kid... re-hydrated on the other end they are grapes. Oh and corn... CORN! A corn filled diaper is a disaster. The bulk is completely overwhelming and you wonder if there's really any nutritional value to corn in the first place. (I know, actually, corn has no nutritional value. Corn is corrupt. But nowhere is it more evident than in your child's diaper. Or on your muffin top.)
So we have been blueberry picking, we have been pond swimming, we repeatedly go to farmers' market, we hop on our neighbors trampoline. I do a lot of cleaning up, feeding, shuttling, yelling, scolding, apologizing, tickling. When I have a second to myself I can be found emailing, checking my facebook page or watching So You Think You Can Dance and the new Project Runway.
Facebook has actually made me feel like a sad old housewife - looking at some sweet shots of my hectic youth posted by high school friends hurts in ways I never imagined possible. (Which leads me to think, how do you feel when you are 65?) But I could sit and obsess about how svelte I used to be, how stoned, how carefree, how clueless or I could take a deep breath and realize how much I've learned in the last 15 years... the greatest enlightenment arriving with motherhood. (ugh. I said motherhood. Isn't that the name of a maternity clothing store? Makes me think of unflattering nursing bras and cheesy floral print acrylic "blouses" ...) So I've had almost 5 years with my new persona... and please fellow mommies, agree with me here that YOU become a new person when you bring a child into the world... and I finally feel comfortable both mourning the old Ms. Nelson and cultivating the new one.
For the moment my girls are asleep, I've fed and bathed all 3 of them, I've settled into my couch corner, and I am alone in this house in the woods, listening cautiously to the noises outside (and no, I don't like that branch-breaking sound I just heard) and feeling fortunate to have a husband who spends a couple nights a week at the hospital. (In the immortal words of Brian Fellow on Safari Planet: "Get him away from me!")
Don't get me wrong - this quasi-single mom gig is tough - but it reminds me that I'm capable of anything. And in what seems like 2 minutes, my kids are older and more independent, and my glory days have yet to come.
The girls have grown again - all three of them. I continually ask myself who these creatures are that I've created... and how did I bring them into the world? Each one so different. They surprise me daily with their observations - particularly the twins with their commentary on gender:
"I don't think Boppy (a.k.a. grandpa) likes unicorns very much. Does he? Maybe we could draw him a boy unicorn with a beard."
Wait, do I have two four year old daughters who can already draw unicorns and rainbows? How the hell did this happen? And Penny! Holy shit what a fucking handful of squishy insanity! She's constantly on the move and into mischief... making car and truck sounds, falling down, climbing stairs, opening and closing EVERYTHING, insisting on using her own utensils at meals, saying, "yeah" when you ask her a question. And eating more blueberries than necessary... which brings me to the title of this blog.
To those of you who have kids and who have fed them blueberries (or anything round that has a "skin" on it) you know what I mean. The poopy diaper is not filled with just plain poop. It's BLOOP. And it leaves their cute little butt crack in a baboon-like situation. Same thing for feeding them strawberries and oranges... if you aren't careful you can give your child's ass a citric acid burn. And those raisins you fed your kid... re-hydrated on the other end they are grapes. Oh and corn... CORN! A corn filled diaper is a disaster. The bulk is completely overwhelming and you wonder if there's really any nutritional value to corn in the first place. (I know, actually, corn has no nutritional value. Corn is corrupt. But nowhere is it more evident than in your child's diaper. Or on your muffin top.)
So we have been blueberry picking, we have been pond swimming, we repeatedly go to farmers' market, we hop on our neighbors trampoline. I do a lot of cleaning up, feeding, shuttling, yelling, scolding, apologizing, tickling. When I have a second to myself I can be found emailing, checking my facebook page or watching So You Think You Can Dance and the new Project Runway.
Facebook has actually made me feel like a sad old housewife - looking at some sweet shots of my hectic youth posted by high school friends hurts in ways I never imagined possible. (Which leads me to think, how do you feel when you are 65?) But I could sit and obsess about how svelte I used to be, how stoned, how carefree, how clueless or I could take a deep breath and realize how much I've learned in the last 15 years... the greatest enlightenment arriving with motherhood. (ugh. I said motherhood. Isn't that the name of a maternity clothing store? Makes me think of unflattering nursing bras and cheesy floral print acrylic "blouses" ...) So I've had almost 5 years with my new persona... and please fellow mommies, agree with me here that YOU become a new person when you bring a child into the world... and I finally feel comfortable both mourning the old Ms. Nelson and cultivating the new one.
For the moment my girls are asleep, I've fed and bathed all 3 of them, I've settled into my couch corner, and I am alone in this house in the woods, listening cautiously to the noises outside (and no, I don't like that branch-breaking sound I just heard) and feeling fortunate to have a husband who spends a couple nights a week at the hospital. (In the immortal words of Brian Fellow on Safari Planet: "Get him away from me!")
Don't get me wrong - this quasi-single mom gig is tough - but it reminds me that I'm capable of anything. And in what seems like 2 minutes, my kids are older and more independent, and my glory days have yet to come.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
And Still No Photos...
Our Nantucket "vacation" will be over in 2 days - and although I know we will be back again, it always hurts a little to leave this paradise. As I mentioned before I am without camera... and having fallen in love with my digital SLR last summer (literally, rediscovering some instant creative gratification) I have had to digest every visual moment that passes here in a different way. I'm constantly adding to a mental list of all of the things I would have taken a picture of: Penny's sweet face with birthday cupcake all over it, Ru and El twirling in their fancy twirly skirts in the grass, giant, frightening waves at Miacomet beach, tiny wet stones at low tide, drip castles on the sand bar, jellyfish and hermit crabs, my mom's 65th birthday cake and this lovely old funky house. We are headed for a big kitchen and 3 bedroom renovation here come September and I'm feeling kind of torn about it. This kitchen has been part of my summers for 28 years - and I can't tell you how many naughty shenanigans have taken place on the center island table. How many quarters were bounced... that circular burn from a bong... the tequila shot messes, etc.. If my camera were here I would do my best to record the nuances of our crowded old kitchen, the over-stocked and disorganized pantry that you have to duck into.
Maybe it's just me, maybe I've been one of those lucky few who gets to return year after year to the same fantasy place of our childhood. But now I get to share that nostalgia with my children and it makes me completely nutty and contemplative. I get THOUGHT HEAVY when I'm here. Sometimes I even think I hear my heart beating like a ticking clock as I lie on the beach (which nowadays lasts for 30 seconds before I have to rescue a baby from the perils of the ocean) and wonder how in the world did I not cherish every youthful, sensuous, gorgeous second on this island. I can see that the twins have fallen in love with Nantucket already. They tell me what smells yummy on the way to the beach (in all the right spots) and they obsess over the same toys and board games that I played with when I was little. They are consistently spoiled and given sweets by their doting, delicious and cozy grandmother. My mom packs the most excellent cooler full of food for the beach... napkins included.
But back to me being thought-heavy... ugh. It gets heavy! I keep wondering what the next step is for me and when I'm going to feel ready to get back into a creative career... and WHY I need to plan this out. I wish it would just unfold, but I'm finally certain that I am a bad planner, and if I could organize my thoughts for the future adequately then maybe, just maybe some day we could buy our own Nantucket cottage down the road. Maybe I could have an art show here one day. Maybe I could have a print studio and give print classes to kids for the summer. Maybe I could let go of being "a really good mom" as a profession.
I honestly cannot conceive of the balance and organization that it would take for a person like me to be a part-time working mom. It sounds spoiled, I know... most people have it way worse than I do... but I am owning up to my complete and total incapacity when it comes to pursuing my career. I have been enabled by my incredibly generous mother! That's the sad reality.
It feels both good and horribly embarrassing to say all of this.
So Damn you Nantucket for drawing overly sappy, introspective blog entries out of me. And Fuck You Nikon D40 for disappearing and making me write too much.
Maybe it's just me, maybe I've been one of those lucky few who gets to return year after year to the same fantasy place of our childhood. But now I get to share that nostalgia with my children and it makes me completely nutty and contemplative. I get THOUGHT HEAVY when I'm here. Sometimes I even think I hear my heart beating like a ticking clock as I lie on the beach (which nowadays lasts for 30 seconds before I have to rescue a baby from the perils of the ocean) and wonder how in the world did I not cherish every youthful, sensuous, gorgeous second on this island. I can see that the twins have fallen in love with Nantucket already. They tell me what smells yummy on the way to the beach (in all the right spots) and they obsess over the same toys and board games that I played with when I was little. They are consistently spoiled and given sweets by their doting, delicious and cozy grandmother. My mom packs the most excellent cooler full of food for the beach... napkins included.
But back to me being thought-heavy... ugh. It gets heavy! I keep wondering what the next step is for me and when I'm going to feel ready to get back into a creative career... and WHY I need to plan this out. I wish it would just unfold, but I'm finally certain that I am a bad planner, and if I could organize my thoughts for the future adequately then maybe, just maybe some day we could buy our own Nantucket cottage down the road. Maybe I could have an art show here one day. Maybe I could have a print studio and give print classes to kids for the summer. Maybe I could let go of being "a really good mom" as a profession.
I honestly cannot conceive of the balance and organization that it would take for a person like me to be a part-time working mom. It sounds spoiled, I know... most people have it way worse than I do... but I am owning up to my complete and total incapacity when it comes to pursuing my career. I have been enabled by my incredibly generous mother! That's the sad reality.
It feels both good and horribly embarrassing to say all of this.
So Damn you Nantucket for drawing overly sappy, introspective blog entries out of me. And Fuck You Nikon D40 for disappearing and making me write too much.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Visuals Down!
Oh how sad. I've lost my camera... and i'm too lazy to deal with uploading my iPhone photos for the moment. But without a visual record I'm paying extra special attention to all of the details of our Nantucket vacation.
I missed my 5th anniversary with Myles. He was post call anyway so I figured he might have slept the day away and we aren't necessarily the ceremonious type. This time apart gives me a little more time to sit with the concept of a PAPER gift to commemorate 5 years of marriage. ( I'd be happy giving a paper gift every year.)
Ruby and Eloise are incredible little 4 year olds enjoying all of the details of a charmed summer vacation space.
Penny will be 1 on July 3rd - and no longer nurses. Three days of not nursing and no big deal. She's more interested in cars, bicycles, balls and walking to be bother with boobs.
Sad I guess, but she wasn't a huge nursing fan anyway. I kept trying to make it a cozy time for us to share together, and eventually i felt like I was forcing it into our routine. Weird. Considering that I probably won't have another child, that portion of my life is over. (Feast on that thought fellow women... your child-bearing and useful mammary phase is over... what next?? Mid-life crisis?)
For final notes I'm going to address three topics that have occupied my mind recently, and you can discuss them with your friends:
*Why are 12 year old babysitters the best babysitter?
*What is the significance of having children if you (and your partner) don't spend the majority of your time taking care of them?
*What is the importance of having lots of STUFF? What is it like to be able to afford anything you want?
I missed my 5th anniversary with Myles. He was post call anyway so I figured he might have slept the day away and we aren't necessarily the ceremonious type. This time apart gives me a little more time to sit with the concept of a PAPER gift to commemorate 5 years of marriage. ( I'd be happy giving a paper gift every year.)
Ruby and Eloise are incredible little 4 year olds enjoying all of the details of a charmed summer vacation space.
Penny will be 1 on July 3rd - and no longer nurses. Three days of not nursing and no big deal. She's more interested in cars, bicycles, balls and walking to be bother with boobs.
Sad I guess, but she wasn't a huge nursing fan anyway. I kept trying to make it a cozy time for us to share together, and eventually i felt like I was forcing it into our routine. Weird. Considering that I probably won't have another child, that portion of my life is over. (Feast on that thought fellow women... your child-bearing and useful mammary phase is over... what next?? Mid-life crisis?)
For final notes I'm going to address three topics that have occupied my mind recently, and you can discuss them with your friends:
*Why are 12 year old babysitters the best babysitter?
*What is the significance of having children if you (and your partner) don't spend the majority of your time taking care of them?
*What is the importance of having lots of STUFF? What is it like to be able to afford anything you want?
Saturday, June 21, 2008
"back-to-the-land"
We are here and we own land. Ten acres of real land. We have a lawn that leads down to some woods, which lead down to a meadow. I thought having 3.5 bathrooms was exciting... but then I saw the meadow and I realized that this new home is all about the OUTSIDE and not necessarily the inside. (Well, the inside is incredible to... but wouldn't you rather hear about a meadow?) I mean, when was the last time you saw a meadow? (A Central Park meadow does not count.) Once I find my camera I'll take a picture of the girls standing in the grass. It might reach their chins, and is probably filled with ticks, but we'll head out in the tall grass so you get the idea.
Ruby and Eloise have adjusted really well to this new place. They have helped me set up my herb garden, they have taken a couple of good walks in the woods looking for snails, mushrooms and deer tracks, they have written letters to friends from school... it's been pretty great. My friend's sister already scored us a nice babysitter last night and Myles and I went out for the first time in about 6 months. I'm actually waiting for something terrible to happen because I'm feeling extremely lucky. Maybe this brief moment of "happiness" is just payback for the turmoil and uncertainty that we've been presented with Myles' career path over the past few years. Whatever it is - I cannot describe how elated I feel when I wake up in the morning to birds chirping all around, and I can see nothing but trees, hilltops and sky. Our bedroom makes me feel like I'm at a spa. I kid you not.
Maybe my dark cloud lurks just around the corner, when I'm stuck managing 3 kids and Myles isn't home for 30 hours at a time. But owning this property is a crazy crazy treat. I suppose I should enjoy the sunshine while it lasts.
Oh, speaking of treats... Miss Penny has figured out how to walk on her tiny, pudgy feet - and she's fast! She also has discovered how to hold a crayon and vandalize when nobody is looking. Perhaps she was watching Ruby drawing "E"s with craypas all over the Little Tykes play house and decided she wanted to play naughty too. Which leads me to ask, did Ruby really think that I'd be fooled with the E's? (That kind of cleverness deserves it's own post. My girls have become quite the smartasses.)
So to punctuate this entry I am going to invite any of you to come and visit whenever you can. There is plenty of room - and I'd like to take you for a little walk in our woods. By then I'll have learned how to forage for wild leeks and morels... savory tarts all around! No really. The best thing about our land is that I get to share it with people. So call now to book your weekend.
Ruby and Eloise have adjusted really well to this new place. They have helped me set up my herb garden, they have taken a couple of good walks in the woods looking for snails, mushrooms and deer tracks, they have written letters to friends from school... it's been pretty great. My friend's sister already scored us a nice babysitter last night and Myles and I went out for the first time in about 6 months. I'm actually waiting for something terrible to happen because I'm feeling extremely lucky. Maybe this brief moment of "happiness" is just payback for the turmoil and uncertainty that we've been presented with Myles' career path over the past few years. Whatever it is - I cannot describe how elated I feel when I wake up in the morning to birds chirping all around, and I can see nothing but trees, hilltops and sky. Our bedroom makes me feel like I'm at a spa. I kid you not.
Maybe my dark cloud lurks just around the corner, when I'm stuck managing 3 kids and Myles isn't home for 30 hours at a time. But owning this property is a crazy crazy treat. I suppose I should enjoy the sunshine while it lasts.
Oh, speaking of treats... Miss Penny has figured out how to walk on her tiny, pudgy feet - and she's fast! She also has discovered how to hold a crayon and vandalize when nobody is looking. Perhaps she was watching Ruby drawing "E"s with craypas all over the Little Tykes play house and decided she wanted to play naughty too. Which leads me to ask, did Ruby really think that I'd be fooled with the E's? (That kind of cleverness deserves it's own post. My girls have become quite the smartasses.)
So to punctuate this entry I am going to invite any of you to come and visit whenever you can. There is plenty of room - and I'd like to take you for a little walk in our woods. By then I'll have learned how to forage for wild leeks and morels... savory tarts all around! No really. The best thing about our land is that I get to share it with people. So call now to book your weekend.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Strong Dislike
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.
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.
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
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