Can’t Be.

All the parents I know have those moments where they briefly deny their children. Usually it’s during a screaming fit in the middle of the mall, a food-throwing episode at a restaurant, or as the child is using “colorful” language around the grandparents.

Well, I had a moment this week. A moment when I was most certainly SURE that A cannot really be my child. That he had been switched at birth in the hospital and replaced with someone else’s kid. Because what happened was so utterly shocking to me...and so foreign among our family...that I really had concerns about where he could have come from. This CANNOT be my offspring, half my genes, and half D’s.

What happened, you may ask?

He tried on size 5 SLIM jeans. And they were too big in the waist.

You could just SMELL Monday all over.

8:00 AM IEP meeting that the parent didn’t show up for. All that rushing around and making D take the kids to their respective Monday places...for nothing.

The terrible twos have hit with J. And I’m afraid they haven’t really hit hard. Or as hard as they’re going to. I asked her to stay downstairs with me (because, frankly, if she goes upstairs by herself, she tears the whole place apart), and she turned around at the bottom of the stairs, smiled the sweetest 2-year-old smile you’ve EVER seen, and said “Mama, be right back!!” And up the stairs she went.

A’s 2-day fever of 102 finally broke today. He’s left with swollen tonsils and a sore throat (of which we are reminded rather frequently). He went to school anyway, because D said he should.

The best happened at work, though. I was working with a preschooler on those blasted k’s and t’s. I showed him a coffee cup. He called it a “toffee tup.” The rest of the conversation went like this:

me: It’s a what?
him: A toffee tup. My dad drinks toffee.
me: He drinks WHAT?
him: Toffee!
me: I think he drinks COFfee.
him: Yeah! TOFfee.
me: COFfee or TOFfee?
him: No...beer!

Hill? Over What Hill?

D turns 40 tomorrow. How I ended up married to such an old man is beyond me ;). I haven't got anything planned for his day tomorrow, although we are going to enjoy a new restaurant tomorrow evening...sans kiddies!! It should be fun.

We celebrated the occasion this weekend with a surprise party attended by friends, family, and co-workers. It was really great...I hope it made him feel special, even if for just one night!

Here are 40 things I love about my husband, in honor of his 40th birthday!

40. He makes the coffee.
39. He cleans the litter box.
38. He doesn't laugh at my craft projects, and doesn't grump when I start one and don't finish it.
37. He never complains when I go shopping.
36. He pays the bills.
35. He knows more song lyrics than anyone I know. Seriously. The man could have his own website.
36. He TOTALLY doesn't look 40.
35. He indulges my need to watch reality TV.
34. He can hang light fixtures.
33. Our daughter is crazy about him.
32. Our son thinks he hung the moon.
31. He can call in antibiotics on a moment's notice.
30. He introduced me to old movies.
29. He enjoys my cooking.
28. He lived single long enough to know how to cook, clean, do his own laundry, and iron his own clothes. So even though I do all of that stuff now, it's nice to know he could if he had to.
27. He's waaaaaaaaaaaaay smart.
26. He can fix lots of things. Even things I don't think he can fix...he usually can.
25. He gets along well with my mom.
24. He makes me laugh.
23. He endures my "download" every night at dinner, wherein I rehash the day's events.
22. He loves 'em kids.
21. He secretly understands that my college is superior to his. Well, maybe not. But he pretends to. Sometimes.
20. He bought, and happily drives, a minivan.
19. He encourages me to do whatever I want.
18. Lots of people genuinely like him.
17. He took me to Europe.
16. It's highly convenient to have him around when someone in the house breaks out in a fever, rash, vomit episode, or infection.
15. His job is to take care of people. There's something fabulous about that.
14. He can do algebra, calculus, and chemistry, but he can barely put a barrette in our daughter's hair without breaking into a cold sweat.
13. He always tells me I look nice. Even though I'm sure sometimes it's hard.
12. There has never, ever been ONE time in the 8 years we've been married that he hasn't answered "I love you" with "I love you too."
11. He thinks I'm smart.
10. He never complains when I don't feel like cooking dinner.
9. He procrastinates better than anyone I've ever met.
8. He drags the trash to the curb every week.
7. When he puts his mind to cleaning the kitchen...holy crap!
6. He made two great babies!
5. He's pretty much always right, but hardly ever smug about it.
4. He is hilarious.
3. He endures my whining about our house.
2. He makes us go to church.
1. He loves me.

Happy birthday, sweetie!!

9/11

There are just a few big news events that have happened in my lifetime that I remember where I was and what I was doing. The Space Shuttle Challenger disaster, Ronald Reagan’s assassination attempt, and probably a few others. For me, nothing shook me to the very core of my being as much as the events of 9/11/01. I was in the final weeks of my first pregnancy and completing 3 long months of waiting between my former life (graduate school) and my future life (mother). I was in the beginnings of post partum depression even though my son was still 3 weeks from arrival.

I was at home that morning. I was alone. I was having breakfast in the living room, watching the Today show, and planning my morning, which consisted of going to the store to pick up D’s birthday present. He was at work. Like millions of others, I watched the coverage in shock. I went ahead with my plans, but arrived back home before I knew D would be gettting home for lunch. One of the most vivid memories I have of that day is of D, leaning with one arm outstretched against the woodwork in our foyer. He was watching the TV and crying. I just remember him saying “This is awful.”

I remember being insanely worried about my family across the country and about my friends who lived in Washington. I remember that feeling of being afraid to turn on the TV because I didn’t know if something more terrible could happen. The way the news happened that morning, with first one plane, then another, then another, and another... I remember feeling like there was another shoe out there, just waiting to drop.

My best friend was living overseas at the time. I remember talking to her on the phone and telling her that I wanted the news coverage to stop. I didn’t want to hear any more. I just had an intense desire, and need, really, for the world to go back to the way it was. Facing a tremendous life change as it was, I didn’t need the stark reality of how cruel the world can be to be thrown in my face every time I turned the TV on.

It saddens me to think that my children will grow up in the suspicious, damaged, frightened culture that is post-9/11 America. I want them to enjoy the freedom and innocence I knew as a child. And what frightens me even more is the thought that perhaps they could witness tragedy even worse than 9/11/01. It seems unimagineable, but could anyone have imagined the events of that day?

I Just Think This is Beautiful.

“Creed” by Meg Kearney
from An Unkindness of Ravens
© BOA Editions, Rochester, New York, 2001.

Creed

I believe the chicken before the egg
though I believe in the egg. I believe
eating is a form of touch carried
to the bitter end; I believe chocolate
is good for you; I believe I'm a lefty
in a right-handed world, which does not
make me gauche, or abnormal, or sinister.
I believe “normal” is just a cycle on
the washing machine; I believe the touch
of hands has the power to heal, though
nothing will ever fill this immeasurable
hole in the center of my chest. I believe
in kissing; I believe in mail; I believe
in salt over the shoulder, a watched
pot never boils, and if I sit by my
mailbox waiting for the letter I want
it will never arrive—not because of
superstition, but because that’s not
how life works. I believe in work:
phone calls, typing, multiplying,
black coffee, write write write, dig
dig dig, sweep sweep. I believe in
a slow, tortuous sweep of tongue
down the lover’s belly; I believe I’ve
been swept off my feet more than once
and it’s a good idea not to name names.
Digging for names is part of my work,
but that's a different poem. I believe
there’s a difference between men and
women and I thank God for it. I believe
in God, and if you hold the door
and carry my books, I’ll be sure to ask
for your name. What is your name? Do
you believe in ghosts? I believe
the morning my father died I heard him
whistling “Danny Boy” in the bathroom,
and a week later saw him standing in
the living room with a suitcase in his
hand. We never got to say good-bye, he
said, and I said I don’t believe in
good-byes. I believe that’s why I have
this hole in my chest; sometimes it’s
rabid; sometimes it’s incoherent. I
believe I’ll survive. I believe that
“early to bed and early to rise” is
a boring way to live. I believe good
poets borrow, great poets steal, and
if only we’d stop trying to be happy
we could have a pretty good time. I
believe time doesn’t heal all wounds;
I believe in getting flowers for no
reason; I believe “Give a Hoot, Don’t
Pollute,” “Reading is Fundamental,”
Yankee Stadium belongs in the Bronx,
and the best bagels in New York are
boiled and baked on the corner of First
and 21st. I believe in Santa
Claus, Jimmy Stewart, ZuZu’s petals,
Arbor Day, and that ugly baby I keep
dreaming about—she lives inside me
opening and closing her wide mouth.
I believe she will never taste her
mother’s milk; she will never be
beautiful; she will always wonder what
it’s like to be born; and if you hold
your hand right here—touch me right
here, as if this is all that matters,
this is all you ever wanted, I believe
something might move inside me,
and it would be more than I could stand.

First Day of School...and Endearing, She Is

Today was A’s first day back to preschool. His fingernails nearly curled with excitement. The best part of the morning (I took some time off to take him in today) was when he saw his best friend from last year, J. A took off running across the room the minute he saw J. It’s really awesome to see one’s own kids developing friendships...

The preschool room was like mass chaos. It reminded me of a busy little anthill, although at about two thousand times the noise level! I’m so glad he’s back in the school routine. I love school. I love everything about school, and I always have. I hope he grows up to realize how lucky he is to have the benefit of a good education and parents who value its importance. Not to mention loving teachers and a caring community...

J was so excited to help send A off to school that she forgot to put down her rolling pin and potato masher.



She, Miss Thing, has developed a new and rather...well, endearing, activity. She finds things she knows she’s not supposed to have (keys, cell phones, CD-ROMs out of my briefcase, markers, DVDs, you name it...), brings them to us, and says “Can’t have it!” At least she gets that part... And she’s really putting words and phrases together. She’s much less intelligible than A was at this age, but that’s part of her charm. And hilarity. She remains, by far, the funniest kid I’ve yet come across.