Day 302

The other day Jules asked me if we knew everyone in Vermont. 

It's a funny question because sometimes it feels like the answer is yes. Burlington, in particular, is a relatively small community and, because our lives right now are focused on places and activities that are family-friendly - farmer's markets and farms, playgrounds and the ECHO - we tend to keep running into the same people over and over. And for better or worse, I'm the kind of person who believes that, if our paths have crossed (in person or otherwise), two or more times, I should know you. So I introduce myself. (If you've been a target and felt accosted, um, I'm sorry.) In any case, we know a lot of people in Vermont--or at least this little corner of it. 

But what constantly surprises me is how many new people I keep meeting - many of them friends of friends who've been moving in circles concentric to mine for years. Which seems crazy. And then I remind myself that, for almost half a decade,  I've been living under a little rock that is a needy young family. (Don't get me wrong, this has been awesome. Most of the time.)

I'm a classic extrovert, and I need to be connecting constantly to keep happy. Hunkering down at home, no doubt, is a big part of why I have felt so ambivalent about staying in Vermont these last few years. But lately I've been able to dip back into the worlds that feed my spirit: I'm dancing again. I'm going to out to hear live music, to book readings and art exhibits. I'm lingering over long dinners with old friends: irreverent ones with creative tendencies, my favorite kind of people.

And I remember now: This town, this state, is packed with passionate people who make me feel normal. And engaged. Inspired. 

So, no, Jules: We don't know everyone in Vermont. But the more people we meet, the more I love this place. 

Day 300

It's late and I'm tired and tomorrow is going to be a long (but not at all in a bad way - guest lecturing at UVM, Christina's book party, date with Manova and, um, work)... but it's Day 300. How can I skip Day 300? In the interest of capturing things fast, I'm bullet-pointing it. Here's what I discovered today:

• Watching a Presidential debate counts as a bona fide date, as it demonstrates that, indeed, Jon and I are on the same page. And that we each think the other is pretty effing funny. (Even if we're the only ones.)

• Speaking of love (yeah, I was) and crushes: apparently this all starts when you're four-ish. It's then when your "heart starts beating really fast" when you see your favorite girl. The girl that you love more than ice cream but not more than gummies, the one who is approximately 20 years your senior. 

• I don't really want a pixie cut. What I really want is the sort of reverse mullet - party in the front, business in the back (with an little Alfalfa situation at the crown) - that was my last cut. Hannah - if you happen to be reading -  I take full responsibility for this current style ... you perfectly executed my "go short! go short! my hair grows superfast!" direction. But here's a good visual for next time:  

I love this haircut. And these earrings. And the guy on the left.
(The dark under-eye circles and big zit on my neck - not so much.)

Day 299

Dear Me,
Next time you feel that icky, itchy, angry, anxious feeling, stop spinning. Do one of the following:

1. Dance to Tom Waits. (Thanks Lo!)

2. Take off the ugly shoes and put on the motorcycle boots.

3. Ask Kai who the vice president of the United States is. (His answer: Batman.)

That is all.

Day 297

Today started off great (helping cute, cooperative kids make whole-grain pancakes and art, lots of snugs) and ended badly. Those who witnessed the drama at a certain birthday party know what I'm talking about. And it didn't get better at home. 

But now the house is quiet and I'm able to piece together some perspective. It helps to think of yesterday: our annual apple-picking chili "cook-off" fest.

Backstory: My family has an awesome tradition of apple picking - I actually wrote about it for EatingWell a few years ago - which inspired me and Jon to start our own apple-picking tradition with our family, here in Vermont. Before we had kids. 

Here's how it's been going, for the last six or so years: A bunch of us hop in cars mid-morning and caravan to the islands. Our first stop is Allenholm, where we visit the yak that isn't (just this year, we discovered that it was a Scotland Highland) and hang out with the horses and donkeys while we wait for the tractor that will drive us back to the orchards. In the rows of trees, we pick for 10 minutes or so - Cortlands for us, and I pretend they're organic (they're not) - and then settle in on blankets to feast on wine, cheese, peanut butter, from a big plastic tub that Nate always brings, and, of course, apples. (We skipped the picnic this year: it was a rainy day.) Then, in a progressive dinner of sorts, we walk down the road to Hackett's for course number two: cider and cider donuts. There, we pick out pumpkins and mums and, when it's not wet, play on the on-site playground before loading back up for Burlington.

Later we gather at someone's house - this year, Chris and Ri's - for chili (several kinds, as it's sort of a "contest") and baked goods: apple crisp and apple pie, a la mode (except for Jon). I make the pastry part and everyone chips in peeling and chopping apples for the fillings. 

I cannot put into words how much this annual tradition means to me - at least not tonight (I'm fried). But the pictures below do a pretty good job of capturing it.  xoxo 

When I look at this photo, I can't help but think about how my 2009 essay in EatingWell talks about how I hope Julian will someday pick apples with a little sib. This almost makes me teary. 

Ri and Lauren sipping cider (or coffee?)

"I picked it!" (Kai was so proud of himself.)

Silly faces. (Kai was too obsessed with drinking "warm" chocolate through a straw to participate.) We missed Chris and Mikey, who were at a football game, this year.

"Really, ignorant humans: you all thought I was a yak?"

First pie of the year before it went in the oven. (Missed the shot after it came out.)

"I want that one."

The wig was a new touch for 2012. Will it stick? Only time will tell. 

Day 294

I deal in words. But numbers move me. Literally. I run faster on the treadmill or toting my iPhone with an app that allows me to see (or hear via a mechanical-coach voice) that I have a chance to break my personal-best pace. I lost my post-pregnancy pounds after both boys were born by tallying the calories of what I ate - and I sort of saw it as a fun game. Sort. Of. (Now, when my jeans start to get snug, I use an app to do that.) I kind of like budgeting money. 

Last night, Jon presented his case study to me. I didn't understand 86% of his words ... because they were numbers - and Greek symbols - (look up and see!) But the fact that he can speak this language so fluently is quite sexy, I think.

I totally dig the fact that reading on a Kindle allows me to see exactly how far into my book I am.  (Right now, for instance, I'm through 67% of Kristyn Kusek Lewis's new book, How Lucky You Are. Good stuff.) Earlier this week, I learned that my wellness screening results put me at a "health-related age" of 32. I am 36.8. This should have made me happy but instead, here's what I thought: "Next year [when I'm 37.8], I want to have a 'health-related age' of 29. Bet I can get there if I meditate or something..." Ha!

And speaking of being 36.8 years old, I am on Day 294 of the 366 days of my 36th year. (Assuming I haven't messed up the math. I deal in words, remember?) This means that, by definition, this blog is about to end soon. Which sort of makes me sad. What next? 

Day 292

He was screaming my name as I walked through the door after dance class.

First thought: Oh no... One of those nights. It was 9:30. And we'd already had one of those mornings.

I headed for the stairs, preparing for requests for water, the fan, more music... in whatever the night's random order might be.

"He has something for you," Jon called to me from the other room.

Jules met me in the doorway of his bedroom, where just outside - in the fully lit (!) hallway - Demps stood guard. He was beaming, in avocado-green lumberjack-monkey PJs. Sort of shyly, he extended his little hand which held a carefully taped purple package.

"I made it for you, Mama. It's art for your work. And I wrapped it so you couldn't see it. Like Christmas."

Wrapped it he did. When I gently unfolded the Scotch-secured construction-paper outer envelope, there, inside, was another present, packaged up in a gold-embossed elephant design, paper I purchased years ago when my friend Beth was selling it as a fundraiser for little Marty's pre-school. Marty will be 11 in a couple of weeks. Damn.

While Jules leaned in proudly, I got to the center of my surprise: a piece of driftwood, artfully colored with what looks to have been lush oil-based crayons. Apparently he made it at school, "the end of the day, Mama" and, according to Jon, insisted on spending most of the evening wrapping it up. For me. (Which means a lot to this Mama of a Daddy's boy.)

I will cherish it forever.

Day 291

Oscillation defines me these days. 

I look forward to the day when everyone in this house (including Tina the fluffy cat) can wipe his/her own @ss ...  but then I get nearly teary thinking our days of diapers will soon be done. (Gross but true.)

Some moments, I want to move into an old Victorian, or a modern bungalow with few walls, downtown somewhere... or back in Pennsylvania. Then I think about my NNE posse, the proximity to the bike path, the house where Jon and I grew from two twenty-somethings with a bad-ass orange tabby who hailed from Harlem (RIP Chuck)  into a family of four (humans) with the sweetest Dempsey dog and two quirky kitty sisters. I can't imagine living anywhere else. Which alarms me. I don't nest. Settle in. I'm the girl who pretty much kept her college dorm room decorating to a poster or two because I was going to move along in two semesters. And I always expected to live in this house just a few years. Yet here I am. 

My dance class makes me feel alive, like "me"; my online gamification course, interested, eager, thrilled by possibilities. And then I consider what maybe I should be doing instead: coming straight home to kick around a soccer ball while it's still a little bit light outside, investing my energies into investigating four-year-old behavior, looking into kindergartens. Sleeping more so I'm not so snippy. Or doing work that's tied to actual deadlines and deliveries. 

And then there's that work: so many cool projects, ones that allow me to use both sides of my brain, to draw from all of my disparate interests and the patchwork of "liberal arts" experiences I've pieced together over the years. It's awesome. And engaging. And exhausting. And then I start to wonder: should I be expending so much energy on this right now? 

These - these - are the thoughts that have been muddling around in my brain for days. And, then, today, when I opened my lunchbox (a hand-me-down from Julian, no less), I found this a little yellow taxicab. 

And for whatever reason, I felt better about it all. I realize that this makes no sense. 

But this is what it is. And then I started thinking: maybe the comfort of lunchbox surprise had to do with the idea that I'd started thinking of the little car as the manifestation of an important message... 

That I'm still me - the girl who loves New York City and the fulfilling career that started there and being a mom to two crazy little boys in Vermont.

When I walked through the door at the end of the day home, Kai welcomed me with, "Mom, how was your work today?" So sweetly, punctuated with his double-dimple smile. Like he really wanted to hear about my day at the office. Like he loved his little life in which both of his parents work. And kind of a lot. 

And after the boys were in bed, I reached into my mailbox to find a single hot-pink envelope, which held inside this card from my godmother, "Aunt" Judy. 

Inside she'd written ... "It reminded me of of your blog entry and how I often I felt this way while working." 

Here's the thing: My childhood memories of Aunt Judy - Mark's mom and basically a second mother to me and my sibs - was that she was there, always, with homemade baked goods and Band-Aids and the best books. Cheerly loudly in the bleachers. Offering advice in just the right ways. And all the while she was working as a school librarian and working on her PhD.  

I'm going to choose to intepret this second surprise of the day as follows: Give up the guilt. Work really hard to be present. There's not enough time to waste any of it second-guessing. And if you need a reminder of just how fast things change, peep that old dot-matrix up there.