It's not surprising that my kids' heads are as full of random thoughts as mine. Or, perhaps more accurate is the fact that my head functions like the brain of a toddler or young child. Hmmm...There's a chicken:egg conundrum for me to ponder for the day: are my kids random like me or is my brain = a brain of a young kid. (!?!?)
Last summer I spent the entire 10 weeks as a stay-at-home-mom for the first time since I have had kids (previous summers I was writing my dissertation), and I was a broken woman by the end of August. These two little people had exhausted me beyond any classroom/school/principal/student/reform stress had ever done. I was scratching at my front windows to go back to work.
But this summer has been a totally different experience. One, I put the kids into daycamp for four weeks (the month of July), therefore they only have six weeks at home. And then they went to CT for one week of the six weeks of home time and stayed with my in-laws, a treat that I appreciate greatly both because it gives me time alone to clean, dejunk, focus in our apartment and because my children truly love love love their alone time with their grandparents--something I never got as a kid. That makes me deeply happy. All said, I have really only had three weeks at home with my kids, and, at risk of the crap hitting the fan if I put this into words, it has been blissful. No lie. I have loved it.
These little people of mine are simply amazing. They are fun to hang out with, we have hilarious conversations, we can do so much more this summer than last summer, and I am just reveling in the amazement of the people they are becoming and how their brains work. So much that I am actually sad that I don't have more time with them this summer. What a difference one year makes. They are truly more "kid" than "baby" now, and it's really super fun.
Nico is particularly hilarious as he learns and begins to master language and humor. He is currently obsessed with his penis (Alert men: He thinks chocolate milk will make his penis grow. Try it!) and when he plays he has conversations between his horsies that are just...random but also brilliant. I just stand quietly to the side, spying on him.
Here's my favorite horsie conversation of the week:
Horsie 1: I have boobies.
Horsie 2: No you don't.
Horsie 1: Yes, I do.
Horsie 2: Let me see them.
Horsie 1: No, my mom said you can't see my boobies.
Horsie 2: My mom is dead.
Horsie 1: Oh, that is sad.
Horsie 2: Yes, I'm sad.
Horsie 1: I'm sorry your mommy is dead.
In an analysis of his imaginary conversation between two plastic horses I observed many pretty astute things. One, he understands that nobody can see your private parts but you, two, some people's parents are dead and that is sad, and three, you express compassion to someone whose mom is dead.
Pretty insightful for kid who isn't even yet three!
I go back to work on Monday, August 27th. Next summer I'll have to figure out how to spend more time with these little guys. I can feel the ground of parenthood shifting beneath my feet with them--they are, honestly, growing up so fast.
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Thursday, August 16, 2012
Cleaning Grandpa's Car
A year and a half ago we inherited a 1999 high-end Acura with leather seats and 60K from Adam's then 94 year-old Grandpa, Vincent Watson. Right after Christmas of 2010 he received a diagnosis that he had congestive heart failure--he could go at any time and the doctor gently told him that it would be advisable to stop driving because he certainly did not want to take anyone out with him. As a mother who drives with two little kids in the car, I was relieved by this news. Grandpa, amid his grief over losing this independence, generously offered us his car. We got the Acura and named it "Vinny" after Grandpa but with a Brooklyn twist.
Vinny smelled like old man. Everytime we got inside the car, Alexandra would exclaim, "Vinny stinks!" Soon that old man smell would be mashed together with the smell of copious amounts of kid puke after a weekend odyssey to North Carolina for my cousin's wedding. Then Vinny really stank. Last summer, while in North Carolina, I cleaned Vinny for hours. While cleaning, I found so many strange little relics of Grandpa and I realized that as much as the contents of a woman's purse might define her, the contents of a man's car define him.
When cleaning Vinny again this summer in NC, I was reminded of these relics. Here's what I found last summer and felt compelled to write about this summer:
1. Grandpa spent his days--right up until he gave us Vinny--making calls on the sick and those stuck in their homes due to old age. A retired Methodist minister, Grandpa's desire to service his community was deep. He would drive towns away to visit folks in hospitals, at home, or to attend funerals. In the center console of the car, I found a worn index card with a list of names, written by Grandpa's squiggly hand in faint red pen. It reads: 4/24: Barb Hentz, Howard Bradley, Elsie Lyons, Phyllis Taylor, Betty Dorman, Archers, Mur. Hass Church? Muriel Chard? (question marks his) and on the flip side another date with more names. No doubt, these were individuals whom Grandpa visited during his rounds. Rounds made by a man in his 90's who still felt called to be of service to others less healthy, less able, less mobile than him.When I think of Grandpa, I think of this need of his to be of service to others.
2. Also tucked in the console was an obituary, cut from the newspaper--a slim column that reads off the life of on Francis Edward Morse, who died at the age of 103 in 2002. Mr. Morse had been born in 1898! What an amazing century to have lived through.We got the car in January of 2011, so this obit was pretty old. I am not sure how Grandpa knew this man, but I do know--from talking to Adam's grandparents and my last living grandparent, my 90 year old grandma--that when you make it to your 90's, not many others do. Your friends and family die, and you continue to live. A strange blessing and a very intense way to end your life.
3. The most curious item from the car was Grandpa's Topdog/Underdog ticket from a matinee viewing at the Hartford Stage. Now this just seemed to illustrate Grandma and Grandpa Watson perfectly. These two attended the March on Washington, shook Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.'s hand, and were staunch advocates of the Civil Rights Movement. They currently attend a Methodist church in Bloomfield, CT mostly populated by Jamaicans. The fact that they would choose to go see a play like Topdog/Underdog--a play about race relations in our country--isn't surprising. I hope to be as curious, involved, and seeking as they are if I make it to my 90's.
These three relics, along with Grandpa's hairbrush, are tucked in the glove box of Vinny, our Acura. They are our talisman, and I do derive a strange comfort from having them there. They are joined by motion sickness bracelets for Alexandra, a box of Hello Kitty bandaids, a clam shell from a mother's day beach trip, and other artifacts of our little family. The family line grows and shifts, even in our glove compartment of our car.
Grandpa is now 96 1/2, but each year in one's 90's is like 10 years of life from 0-60. Grandma (who is 91 and still drives a candy apple read, two-door Honda) and Grandpa are still living independently, together, gardening and reading, but aging very quickly. We treasure our times with them because we all recognize that each visit could be the last. We tell them we love them a lot. And we do. Deeply.
And Grandpa, who is still alive a year and a half after giving us his car, tells us every time we see him that he wants his car back. He is only somewhat joking, and we cautiously hide the keys each visit, just in case he decides to go for one last joyride in the last car he owned.
Vinny smelled like old man. Everytime we got inside the car, Alexandra would exclaim, "Vinny stinks!" Soon that old man smell would be mashed together with the smell of copious amounts of kid puke after a weekend odyssey to North Carolina for my cousin's wedding. Then Vinny really stank. Last summer, while in North Carolina, I cleaned Vinny for hours. While cleaning, I found so many strange little relics of Grandpa and I realized that as much as the contents of a woman's purse might define her, the contents of a man's car define him.
When cleaning Vinny again this summer in NC, I was reminded of these relics. Here's what I found last summer and felt compelled to write about this summer:
1. Grandpa spent his days--right up until he gave us Vinny--making calls on the sick and those stuck in their homes due to old age. A retired Methodist minister, Grandpa's desire to service his community was deep. He would drive towns away to visit folks in hospitals, at home, or to attend funerals. In the center console of the car, I found a worn index card with a list of names, written by Grandpa's squiggly hand in faint red pen. It reads: 4/24: Barb Hentz, Howard Bradley, Elsie Lyons, Phyllis Taylor, Betty Dorman, Archers, Mur. Hass Church? Muriel Chard? (question marks his) and on the flip side another date with more names. No doubt, these were individuals whom Grandpa visited during his rounds. Rounds made by a man in his 90's who still felt called to be of service to others less healthy, less able, less mobile than him.When I think of Grandpa, I think of this need of his to be of service to others.
2. Also tucked in the console was an obituary, cut from the newspaper--a slim column that reads off the life of on Francis Edward Morse, who died at the age of 103 in 2002. Mr. Morse had been born in 1898! What an amazing century to have lived through.We got the car in January of 2011, so this obit was pretty old. I am not sure how Grandpa knew this man, but I do know--from talking to Adam's grandparents and my last living grandparent, my 90 year old grandma--that when you make it to your 90's, not many others do. Your friends and family die, and you continue to live. A strange blessing and a very intense way to end your life.
3. The most curious item from the car was Grandpa's Topdog/Underdog ticket from a matinee viewing at the Hartford Stage. Now this just seemed to illustrate Grandma and Grandpa Watson perfectly. These two attended the March on Washington, shook Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.'s hand, and were staunch advocates of the Civil Rights Movement. They currently attend a Methodist church in Bloomfield, CT mostly populated by Jamaicans. The fact that they would choose to go see a play like Topdog/Underdog--a play about race relations in our country--isn't surprising. I hope to be as curious, involved, and seeking as they are if I make it to my 90's.
These three relics, along with Grandpa's hairbrush, are tucked in the glove box of Vinny, our Acura. They are our talisman, and I do derive a strange comfort from having them there. They are joined by motion sickness bracelets for Alexandra, a box of Hello Kitty bandaids, a clam shell from a mother's day beach trip, and other artifacts of our little family. The family line grows and shifts, even in our glove compartment of our car.
Grandpa is now 96 1/2, but each year in one's 90's is like 10 years of life from 0-60. Grandma (who is 91 and still drives a candy apple read, two-door Honda) and Grandpa are still living independently, together, gardening and reading, but aging very quickly. We treasure our times with them because we all recognize that each visit could be the last. We tell them we love them a lot. And we do. Deeply.
And Grandpa, who is still alive a year and a half after giving us his car, tells us every time we see him that he wants his car back. He is only somewhat joking, and we cautiously hide the keys each visit, just in case he decides to go for one last joyride in the last car he owned.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Constants
Earlier this summer I had dinner with an old friend. I'm not talking about and old friend as in we went to undergrad together, or even high school--this was a friend who had lived across the street from me from age 9 to age 12 and we literally hadn't spoken since. But, due to the advent of facebook we had reconnected. He is an consultant and has been coming to Brooklyn for work weekly. We finally made plans and got dinner.
Before our dinner date, I was nervous. I wondered, "What will we talk about? What if this is agony? Why haven't we spoken in 26 years--was I a total bitch to him and I've blocked it out?" I made a list of things I could ramble on about if need be. I had an excuse to get myself home quickly. All of this was totally unnecessary.
Ian Heiman, whom I knew for about four years of my life long ago, came over, met my family, and then we walked to my new favorite pizza place. We talked for HOURS, easily. We walked to get ice cream, still talking. We walked up to the park and ate our cones, still talking. I think our conversation could have lasted longer if it hadn't been edging towards 11pm. After all these years, we had so much in common--our relationships past and present, our kids, our beliefs on faith, our families...It was truly astounding. And heartwarming. After I walked Ian to the subway, I was in awe at how lucky I am to have people like that in my life, folks I can reconnect with--after a looooong time away--and we just click.
I just drove down to North Carolina to see my family with a pit stop in Virginia to stay with my friend Kimmie (a friend from middle school). Our friend Amy (friend from high school) drove 17ish hours from Chicago to Virginia with her four kids just to see me. Now that's love. We ate pizza, drank beer and wine, and caught up as our kids age 14 to 2 swirled around us. In NC and got brunch with my friend Sarah (friend from college) and her lovely architect husband David; they bought, rennovated, and live in my favorite apartment from undergrad on Mulberry Street. I hadn't seen Sarah since my friend Andrea's wedding in 2001, but our reconnection was seamless. I went to the Museum of Life and Science in Durham with my friend Abigail (friend from Americorps/Public Allies/Center for Documentary Studies) and her daughter Liberty, and our kids played in the mist exhibit, saw a black bear, and sweat in the August heat as Abigail and I shared stories and questions about jobs and location and life. Lastly, I had a lovely lunch, antique, and Target date with my dear friend, Erin (high school in NC). We have as much fun together at 38 as we did at 18.
This montage of friends and places and dates made me feel so lucky to have such good people from all chapters of my life. Friends I can pick up with after many years without a smidge of awkwardness. These relationships ground me in a way that's hard to explain in words--they are akin to a compass, or an anchor, or mirror, or all of the above, but having people who have known you through many versions of yourself whom you can hang out with and still feel that connection...well, that, my friends, is what this journey is all about.
You guys are my constants. You make this whole experience of life richer and more worthwhile. Thank you for that.
Before our dinner date, I was nervous. I wondered, "What will we talk about? What if this is agony? Why haven't we spoken in 26 years--was I a total bitch to him and I've blocked it out?" I made a list of things I could ramble on about if need be. I had an excuse to get myself home quickly. All of this was totally unnecessary.
Ian Heiman, whom I knew for about four years of my life long ago, came over, met my family, and then we walked to my new favorite pizza place. We talked for HOURS, easily. We walked to get ice cream, still talking. We walked up to the park and ate our cones, still talking. I think our conversation could have lasted longer if it hadn't been edging towards 11pm. After all these years, we had so much in common--our relationships past and present, our kids, our beliefs on faith, our families...It was truly astounding. And heartwarming. After I walked Ian to the subway, I was in awe at how lucky I am to have people like that in my life, folks I can reconnect with--after a looooong time away--and we just click.
I just drove down to North Carolina to see my family with a pit stop in Virginia to stay with my friend Kimmie (a friend from middle school). Our friend Amy (friend from high school) drove 17ish hours from Chicago to Virginia with her four kids just to see me. Now that's love. We ate pizza, drank beer and wine, and caught up as our kids age 14 to 2 swirled around us. In NC and got brunch with my friend Sarah (friend from college) and her lovely architect husband David; they bought, rennovated, and live in my favorite apartment from undergrad on Mulberry Street. I hadn't seen Sarah since my friend Andrea's wedding in 2001, but our reconnection was seamless. I went to the Museum of Life and Science in Durham with my friend Abigail (friend from Americorps/Public Allies/Center for Documentary Studies) and her daughter Liberty, and our kids played in the mist exhibit, saw a black bear, and sweat in the August heat as Abigail and I shared stories and questions about jobs and location and life. Lastly, I had a lovely lunch, antique, and Target date with my dear friend, Erin (high school in NC). We have as much fun together at 38 as we did at 18.
This montage of friends and places and dates made me feel so lucky to have such good people from all chapters of my life. Friends I can pick up with after many years without a smidge of awkwardness. These relationships ground me in a way that's hard to explain in words--they are akin to a compass, or an anchor, or mirror, or all of the above, but having people who have known you through many versions of yourself whom you can hang out with and still feel that connection...well, that, my friends, is what this journey is all about.
You guys are my constants. You make this whole experience of life richer and more worthwhile. Thank you for that.
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