Fireworks

When we lived in our last home, every Fourth of July we'd go to a neighborhood adjacent to ours. They have an Independence day tradition that has been going on for thirty-some years, and since we have good friends who live there we were invited to join.

The festivities start at the end of one street which is shaped like an elongated C-shape. Folding tables are pulled out, and at nine in the morning people start arriving, heaping breakfast dishes onto them. There is always a ton of delicious food to choose from, along with coffee and juices.

Sometimes this is the only time these neighbors see each other; so some ways it feels like a yearly family reunion. Of course, best friends who see each other daily are there, too. Regardless, there is always a lot of hugging and exclaiming about how big the children have become, exchanging of life stories, both big and little. Newcomers to the neighborhood invariably express surprise at how welcoming and connected this community is. Throwback to the fifties is often expressed as a way to describe it.

After an hour and a half of mingling, the magic continues. Whhhhiiiiiirrrrr! Whoop! Whoop!

Around the corner comes a shiny red pumper engine.

"The firetruck is here! The firetruck is here!" children and adults alike exclaim.

The firefighters hop off the truck, the kids climb on. It's often the very same firefighters (they love this gig), and so people catch up with them as well, compare notes on how this year's weather compared to last year, marvel at this year's feast.

The crowd starts to gather behind the truck. Kids hop on their decorated bikes, strollers, skateboards, whatever, and The Parade has begun!

The firetruck rolls slowly down the street, a few dozen people behind it. The street is tree-lined, with a thick canopy of branches that did a great job of shielding us from the morning sunshine. Those with older kids are often sitting on their front lawns to wave and be waved at by the passing procession.

At the far end of the street, the engine hooks up to a hydrant and the kids take turns manning the hose and squirting water high into the air; ultimately, it rains down upon their friends who are dancing and laughing and generally enjoying getting doused from a fire hose.

When it's time for the firefighters to move on (laden with tons of foodstuffs as a gesture of thanks), the party continues all afternoon. There are games hosted in front yards, open BBQ's and swim parties.

Even though we aren't living within walking distance to this, we drove over this morning. We wouldn't miss it even if we had to drive an hour, or two. It's that special.

And you know what the best part of the day was?

When people hugged and greeted us this morning, they said this:

I am so excited that you're moving to our street next month!

If I'm not mistaken, today was the first time I kissed a French woman

This morning was the last day of my daughter's preschool class; as it was a special day, and a bittersweet one at that, it was a session primarily without restraints. The kids needed it, the parents needed it, and the teachers needed it.

A lot of the parents worked; I took the reigns in the kitchen. Instead of a set snack time, the kids were allowed to wander into the kitchen and nibble whenever they wanted. I scoured the cupboards and the refrigerator, gathering foodstuff that wouldn't survive the lonely summer months without the laughter of children echoing beyond the closed door of their dark shelves.

I set a table as if I were entertaining company; because really, I was. In the center I arranged bowls overflowing with pretzels and popcorn and sliced apples and goldfish and raisins and all manner of yummy preschool delights. In a nod to being a bit fancy, I schmeared generous amounts of cream cheese on flour tortillas, rolled them up, cut them sushi style, and decorated a platter with them (the kids weren't impressed, but the other volunteering parents gobbled them up).

As I scavenged, cut, poured, rolled and decorated, I watched through the kitchen windows at the children playing outside. There were games played, faces painted, tokens liberally handed out which were then exchanged for "prizes," and of course plenty of cameras flashing.

My daughter flew around the yard, her golden hair (which, par for the course, she refused to allow me to capture in a a pony tail as we got ready for our day), flying behind her. She clutched a paper bag with her name on it; when she first found it in her cubby she wanted nothing to do with it, but once she understood it would soon be filled with trinkets, she was all over it.

She had a rainbow painted on her forehead; that fact made me thrilled because it was a testament to how she's blossomed over the past months. The shy little girl who had started in this school last fall, no matter how much she might have wanted to join in, would have never gathered around a table begging, "Me next! Me next!"

When the morning was drawing to a close, I cleaned up the kitchen and joined my daughter and her class on the big carpet, to gather round for one last time to sing songs and say good-bye. Almost every child was sitting on the lap of a parent; as I looked around I realized how lucky these children are to be in a community with such active and involved parents.

Songs were sung, dances danced, smiles and hugs exchanged.

When it came time for the last song, it was one I hadn't heard before at our school. At first it seemed like another sweet preschool song, which it is...but it isn't just another sweet preschool song. As I listened to the teacher sing, and I allowed to words to seep in, I realized it was a love song she was singing to each and every one of our children, and the class as a whole.

"I remember when you couldn't count to three.

I remember when you were only as high as my knee.

I remember when you were learning how to sit.

I will always love you, every little bit."

Her voice was cracking, and she was putting up a valiant effort against the tears that were straining to be released. The tears were coursing down mine as soon as I looked at her and understood how hard it was for her to let this class go. Around me a lot of the mothers and fathers were also reaching for tissues.

I stayed around late, along with some of the other working parents, to help clean up. When it was time for us to leave, I hugged my daughter's teacher good-bye, and gave her a smooch on her cheek. I resisted the urge to go all European on her and kiss her other cheek, and back again,

"Thank you so much for all you've done this year," she said in her gorgeous Parisian accent.

I think I was able to squeak out my own thank-yous without shedding too many tears.

Linking it forward...Suri Cruise ladybug shoes style

This blogger's story has been knocking about my head the past twenty-four hours.

If you're not inclined to follow the linky (but I recommend you do), it's about Katja Presnal, a blogger and mompreneur who owns an upscale children's boutique in Colorado called Simbaco. It seems that not too long ago a friend of Tom Cruise was in her shop, and purchased some gifts for Suri Cruise, including a pair of ladybug shoes,

That would be pretty cool in and of itself, no? Knowing that TomKat's kid was running about with some of your shop's shoes on her celebaby tootsies?

How about when Tom Cruise mentions to Oprah during his recent interview at his home that those ladybug shoes are Suri's favorite.

Can you image THAT kind of unexpected publicity for your wares? I mean, geeze, does it get much better than that?

The thing is, Katja is making it better.

She's spreading the love to other mommy bloggers...rather than having a huge giveaway carnival driving traffic to her blog, she's linking it forward and having giveaways of some of her fabulous boutique items on the blogs of some of her friends. Aaaaaaaaaand, here they are:

The Daily Grind of a Work @ Home Mom
A Cowboy's Wife
Ultra Beauty Boutique
Notes From My Nest
New Urban Mom
Hello Happy Pittbulls
Celebrity Baby Blog
So A Blonde Walks Into a Review
Baby Gear Today
Mamanista
A Girl's Gotta Spa
Bambina Ballerina
Superdumb Supervillain

So, in tribute to mommy blogger/mompreneurs everywhere, happy clicking and I hope YOU are one of the winners of some Katja's stuff.

These are the days of our lives

Earlier today, I was IM'ing with a good friend who lives on the other side of the country, and I was asking her advice about another friend, whom she's never met. More specifically, how I should be responding to a particular situation in which I find myself regarding this friend. A situation that has slowly devolved and become potentially insurmountable to our friendship, unless we suddenly are able to turn back the hands of time. I'm still working on that Master of Time, Space, and Dimension thing.

Then later I was talking on the phone (sooooo last millennium *yawn*) to another friend who also lives far away, about another friend who lives even further away. This phone conversation revolved around our concern for this friend and his declining mental and physical health. We spoke for nearly an hour, while his friends in the background chastised him for not hanging up and enjoying a Cinqo de Mayo drink with them.

(I must stop right here and emphasize that both of these conversations revolved around helping the party about whom we were speaking...this wasn't just idle gossip, people...it was very, very busy and industrious gossip.)

Anyway, these two conversations left me feeling strangely happy yet unsettled.

I love that I have friends in my life, however frequently we talk, that are part of my chosen, extended family. I revel in the fact that our stories are woven together inextricably, and that the fabric that is created will keep us warm in our coldest moments, and serve as a hammock when we want to kick back and relax.

But these two conversations today also reminded me of others that were once a large part of my life whose thread, for whatever reason, frayed away forever from the fabric that is my story.

And I worry that the two people about whom we spoke will also, one day, be a part of my history instead of my present.

Destroy Words

My four year-old is soooo post-modern.

Earlier today I was on my elliptical, and my four year-old daughter kept asking me how to spell the words "destroy" and "words." She was playing on Word Paint, and frankly I was getting a bit annoyed having to spell and respell the same words over and over.

Hours later, I found this on my laptop screen:



See what she did there? She destroyed words. Including the words "destroy words."

In the words of a former filibusterous acquaintance (who unendingly bragged about how advanced her children were, but would cut you off and roll her eyes when you mentioned the fact that your kid, oh I don't know, stopped eating their own boogers), "Oh, Chris, I'm sure your kid is a genius."

(She still eats her boogers. I'm proud of that, too.)

Feel the bloggy love. Really, FEEL it!

The thing I love most about blogging is YOU.

This amazing, ever-expanding community full of wonderful people...coming together despite the miles, building strong friendships without meeting in person, and changing the world for the better together. I can't imagine what my life would be like without all of you.

To that end, I'd like to share a few things with you:

Have you heard about Lotus (aka Sarcastic Mom...that's her rack to the right by the way), the mold that was infesting her home, and the landlord who refused to do anything about it despite the fact her family was getting sick? Bloggers to the rescue! Angie from A Whole Lot of Nothing, Dawn at KaiserAlex and Victoria at VDog and Little Man have teamed up and provided the interwebs a few different ways to help Lotus and her family get some cash together to help them get out of that mold pit and into a new home. Wanna help? Click the link below (or if you're feeling randy you can click on that aforementioned rack ---------->).



I also suggest visiting the sites of these amazing women who are banning together to help a fellow blogger...I know I am. It's what it's all about.

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On a more personal level...

Jill at Caffeine Court was kind enough to bestow upon me her Slammin' Post Award for one of my pee stories (I am soooooooo highbrow): "One more time when I really, really had to pee."



I'd like to hand it over to Marjorie at 280 Main Street for her touching post Random Kindness. Her kindness, warmth, and humor ooze out of her every post; this one is no exception.

I'd also like to extend it to Sarcasta-Mom at The Adventures of Sarcasta-Mom for her oh, so perfect post about being broke. Not frugal...broke. As I know all too well, there's a distinction and she not only explains the difference, but offers up some tips on dealing with it.

"Slammin' Post" doesn't do this post from Casey at Moosh In Indy justice. This is one of the most gut-wrenching and yet inspirational things I've ever read. It's haunted me since I first read it back in November. It starts with this, "I overdosed on prescription medication when I was seven months pregnant.

On purpose."

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The love continues...HRH at June Cleaver Nirvana awarded me this:




How awesome is that? I'm extending this bloggy love to one of the most beautiful (inside and out) bloggers I know and am honored to call 'friend.' Loralee from Loralee's Looney Tunes...I puffy pink heart you big time!

I'm also sending it to Domestic Chicky...for a lot of reasons including the fact that her blog is always a fun read and the fact that she loves Eddie Izzard (whom I've met and is super nice. And hot).

And Jennifer from Playgroups are No Place for Children for a consistently hilarious and touching blog. Plus, she's genuine and loyal. You just have to love her.

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And yet more love: Liz at Pink Lemonade of Life was kind enough to send this one over:



Now, I'm just blushing. Robin from Around the Island, this one's for you. I can't read her blog without feeling a little better about the world, knowing there are people like her in it.

Mrs. Flinger gets one as well. If you don't read her, you should. She's funny and insightful and super nice and she looks great first thing in the morning, too!

And last, but MOST definitely not least, Mrs. Incredible from In the Fast Lane because her writing is super and entertaining and I after reading her posts I sometimes wish I were her. Or at least, that I'd written what she did.

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Now, time for a meme!

J over at Take a Walk on the Childside, a loooooooooontime online friend from my pre-blogging days and a big part of the reason I started blogging, has tagged me for a meme.

So here are the rules for this little one.

1. Grab the nearest book of 123 pages or more.
2. Open it to page 123.
3. Find the first 5 sentences and write them down.
4. Then invite 5 friends to do the same.

"No, precisely no!" He leaned forward of their coffee cups, his voice low and fervent. "What could be rarer, more precious, more compelling than unmasking these hacks for what they are? Than an instrument to trumpet that the emperor has no clothes, and the grand vizier has not clothes, and the empress is starkers, to-do you get my point? Debunk the lot of them."

Oddly, that paragraph speaks to the title, which is The Emperor's Children by Claire Messud. I just started it and am really enjoying it.

And in the spirit of bloggy love, consider yourself tagged! Unless you don't want to, then you aren't tagged!

It's 9:15pm, I'm home from our Thanksgiving dinner, and I don't know what else to write

I'd had a couple of other things planned, but the combo of tryptophan and Zinfandel has left me less than inspired.

So in acknowledgment of the holiday, the following is my top ten list of things for which I am grateful (in NO particular order):

1.) I am thankful for (despite my disclaimer that there is no particular order, first and foremost)my family: FBNOML, my son and my daughter, my wonderful husband, my amazing mom, my darling and inspiring brother, my cousins and in laws and aunts and uncles and ALL.
2.) I am thankful for my friends...I've been crazily lucky throughout my life to have made friendships that will last forever, even if time has taken it's toll.
3.) I am thankful for the fact that we sold that last home and found this one.
4.) I am thankful for epipens.
5.) I am thankful for my elliptical.
6.) I am thankful for my hair stylist.
7.) I am thankful for the California town in which we live; I always knew I was a California girl at heart...who knew that meant Northern California, which isn't the California I thought I meant?
8.) I am thankful for my decision to leave medicine.
9.) I am thankful for my ability to gain muscle mass quickly.
10.) I am thankful for this bloggy world, or as my daughter said when asked what she was thankful for, "Princesses and ponies and our puppy and YOU!"

Blogging and friendships and networking, oh my!

Blogging to me started out as a way for me to organize my thoughts and put my writing out there...I've always had journals, I've always written, but I'd never shared them before. This blog came about once I was ready to share...scared to put myself out there, but ready for the challenge. Sometimes my posts are like this one, just blathering about stuff. Other times I'm feeling a bit more introspective, and my posts reflect that. No matter what, each and every time I hit that 'publish post' button I feel vulnerable. I'm putting ME out THERE.

It's been amazing. I had no idea how many friends I'd make with the push of that button, real friends. It's not about my Technorati score, it's not about how many comments per day I get (although I do love them, of course, and the more the merrier!!!), or emails from readers, Google rank, or what my stats are per my counter. It's about connecting. Sure scores and rankings and comments and whatnot are an indication of that connecting...but they don't reflect the depth of friendships made, and that's what I'm finding I love about this blogging world. REAL connections, not stats.

You've perhaps heard the buzz about cre8Buzz (Novembrance termed it "Facebook for grownups"...couldn't have said it better myself). I've mentioned them once before (because they allow images of moms breastfeeding!). Over the past few months this social networking site has also become a place where I 'get together' with some of the friends I've made here, and a place where I've made new friends. It's also been a place where I've connected with photographers around the world, which has been indescribably inspiring. I've even started a monthly photo assignment, where over the course of a week members of the photo community (and moms community, and women's community, and others!) take photographs on a specific theme and then we share our images. Cre8Buzz is going live tomorrow...participation is still by invite only (I have invites, so let me know if you're interested) but will be viewable by anyone. I'm thrilled and honored to have been a beta user (thank you Suburban Oblivion for the invite), and excited to see what the future holds. Stop by tomorrow, surf around the profiles and communities. You can start with mine!

P.S.: Thought I'd cozy up the joint for autumn.

Ooooooooooh, Spooooooooky

*cue supernatural-sounding music here*

The following is a story about some weird shit that happened to me many years ago:


I was 20 and rooming in Southern California with a friend who had an eighteen month-old daughter. Due to a cascade of events she was doing the single mom gig, and I helped her as much as I could with her little girl. That was my first glimpse into the love that comes with parenting; I haven't seen her since she was six, but I feel that I know her in a way that few can.

Anyway, one weekend afternoon my roommate and I were meandering along a beach; at one point we stopped and spoke face-to-face,trying to decide if it was time to turn around and head back to our towels. I was facing my friend with the ocean behind her, my back was to the rolling dunes. The little girl was propped on her left hip and the waves calmly lapped at her feet while I wiggled my toes in the dry sand.

Suddenly, OUT OF NOWHERE a wave that must have been five feet high engulfed her and her daughter.

And then they were gone.

The ocean was back to looking calm, and there was no sign of the two of them. I stood there for an instant, stunned, and then (here is where it gets weird) I ran out about five feet into the water, stopped, abruptly made a left turn, ran about 10 feet parallel to the beach, stopped, bent down, put both of my hands out, and waited. I couldn't see anything, I just was acting without knowing why. A few seconds later the baby emerges from the water, still being held by my friend (one hand under each of her armpits)...all I could see of my friend was about half of her forearms. She then released her grasp on her daughter, who was now in my hands as well (I grabbed her by the waist).

Her arms disappeared and my friend was gone again.

I stood still for a second, checked on the baby girl who was now on my left hip who was sputtering but fine, and inexplicably I started running parallel to the beach again, about 15 feet from where I had been standing. I stopped, bent over again, put out my right hand...and waited. Then, out of the water and directly into my waiting hand, my friend's right hand appeared. We clasped and I pulled her out, and the three of us stumble back to the shore and my friend and I discussed what we had separately (yet somehow together) experienced.

She said she was tumbling and turning and didn't know which way was up; she just clutched her baby as tightly as possible. Then, she didn't know why as it was counterintuitive and against all of her maternal instincts, she pushed her daughter away from her body and extended her own arms as far as she could...and then let go of her little girl. She didn't know why she was doing so, as she couldn't see me didn't know I was there; she didn't know I'd grabbed her daughter any more than I knew what she was doing. She just acted without thought. As I had been doing.

She tumbled around a bit more, then stuck out her right arm, felt my hand in hers. The rest you know.

If this hadn't happened to me I wouldn't believe it. If I hadn't written it down at the time I would doubt my recall. If this friend and I hadn't over the following years occasionally rehashed it I might think I had exaggerated my memory.

I don't know what was at work there, but something was.

(We came to understand later that this was a particularly dangerous beach with an odd shelf and these types of waves happen occasionally. So that explains that. The rest...your guess is as good as mine).

SobHer '07

I feel like the little sister whose big sister just came home from a date and told me she DID IT. Lost her virginity. I'm thrilled and want to hear ALL ABOUT IT, but I am also envious.

You see, I didn't go to BlogHer. A lot of my bloggy friends did...and the photos and stories are trickling in. Dammit, some of them make me SAD because I am so bitterly jealous. I'm not too proud to admit it, even if I should be. I totally missed out on what was not only a fun time, but a great learning opportunity.

And I'll make sure I get a pedi.

Feeling all patriotic. And self-absorbed (What? Me? On my blog? Surely not!)

Happy Fourth, everyone.

If you asked one of my friends from high school (or college, or through my twenties for that matter) what my favorite holiday was they'd unhesitatingly answer, "The Fourth of July." There was something about the electricity of the day, the "Oooohing!" and "Aaaaahing!" over the fireworks, and the consistency of the celebrations that appealed to me. No matter where I lived, I could count on fireworks.

Probably because it meant so much to me, I remember every Fourth of July since I was very young. I'll spare you the entire list, but here's a sampling:

When I was six we laughed as our dog, a huge husky, jumped into our car through an open window at the first fireworks boom. We discovered then that he hated loud noises. Sorry about that, Bandit.

At eight, I listened to the fireworks as I snuggled in my bedroom; it hinted at adult things about which I had no idea.

When I was thirteen, I peeked at the the fireworks from my bedroom window and felt connected (in the visceral, obsessive way only an adolescent can do and still be healthy) with a boy I liked who I knew was at the festivities downtown.

At fifteen, three of my friends and I laid on a picnic blanket, staring up at the West Point fireworks show over the Hudson River. I was moving from New York to the Midwest a few days later...the fireworks were my last hurrah with my friends.

When I was seventeen I went to a fireworks show on a first date with a boy that became My First Boyfriend. We dated for nearly three years; next to my husband he is by far the sweetest boy I dated.

At nineteen I celebrated the International Freedom Festival (a joint celebration between Detroit and Windsor over the Detroit River) with My First Boyfriend's family on their boat; the wakes of barges tossed around the private boat we were on, music blared from adjacent yachts, I was young and in love.

At twenty-one I watched fireworks from the rooftop of a 19th century Michigan State University lecture hall onto which my friends and I had climbed via fire escapes. We smoked, drank beer, and felt exhilarated in the way you only can when you are free, confident, and the world is before you.

When I was 23 I spent the Fourth of July on a beach in Greece, toasting my friends back home. I did the same at 27.

At 31 my husband-to-be and I spent a Fourth of July with a bunch of friends, watching fireworks from a golf course that we had snuck onto.

At 33 we watched fireworks from the second story balcony of our new home, barely visible above the trees in our backyard. Our baby son slept.

At 35 we watched the tips of our new city's (new state as well) official fireworks from our second story window. Our toddler boy slept.

At 38 we were in our present home, same city (same state as well!). We drove to the opposite end our street, about 1/5 of a mile from our far west cul-de-sac, from which we looked past the corn, the protected wetlands, the rice farms, towards the Sacramento River. We could see the explosions of a nearby city's show. Our baby daughter slept and our son was thrilled he was allowed to stay up so late.

Today all five of us walked to a neighborhood block party...potluck breakfast followed by a "parade" behind a firetruck. A quarter mile later, the kids took turns alternating between squirting the fire hose and being squirted. It's a tradition that has been going on for over thirty years now; our family has participated for the past four years.

I still love the Fourth, but it isn't my favorite holiday anymore. It's not as exciting to me. I don't need it anymore; I don't need its electricity, its "Oooohing!" and "Aaaaahing!", its consistency. I have it in my life everyday now.

Or, maybe I'm just old and lame. I dunno.

Human parents of human babies

Many years ago, I frequented a board for new moms...I found it crazily helpful and much needed.

My son, who is now 8, was an infant; I was struggling with so many things, things which I now realize are normal for a new mom, but at the time made me feel like I was alone in my uncertainty. After all, shouldn't I ONLY be REJOICING in my newborn? Why am I struggling with things like nursing, and sleeping, and my body image (that is, the fat I retained after his birth and how oddly it was distributed...how can I be so shallow as to care about my body when I have this amazing baby boy?), and my new role in society (that is, from a very well respected professional to 'just' a SAHM), and being bummed that I wasn't going to the concert that my best friend was attending (I don't need to see Jane's Addiction, I should be content to stare at his beautiful face all evening), and the unexpected BOREDOM of spending hours on end with a person who can't speak.

There must be something wrong with me, I thought, how can I not love every single second with this precious babe that I love more that I ever thought I could love anyone?

The guilt was excruciating at times.

If you are a parent, you know.

Why is it that when it comes to parenting we expect things to be all good, all the time? I've seen friends suffer disappointments that come from having such unrealistic, fuzzy bordered expectations of embarking on the parenting journey...not getting pregnant as easily as hoped, losing pregnancies, pregnancies being difficult for one reason or another, births going a direction unexpected and perhaps disappointing, hospitalizations being less than ideal to say the least, postpartum periods consisting of depression and sleeplessness, and more.

What I don't know is how to talk to friends who are having their first. On the one hand, I have a desire to warn pregnant friends that despite the fact that they are embarking on the most wonderful time of their lives, that despite the unfathamable joy they will experience becoming a parent, despite the fact that having children truely taught me the meaning of life, it isn't all Hallmarky-card all the time. But let's face it, they don't want to hear it. And what kind of a jerk tells people who are about to enter parenthood, "It ain't all roses. Just you wait!" That's the bitter old person in the office who says with a superior smirk, "Sleep now. Once that baby is here you won't sleep for years." I don't want to be that person. That person annoyed the piss out of me.

If we had more realistic expectations about parenthood, like we do in other aspects of our life, we could save ourselves so much pain borne out of that feeling of loneliness.

And even in writing that sentence I feel a bit guilty.