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 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. 

Day 283

In my circles, discussions of why it's good to keep work at work, separate from life - or, sometimes, why that's not good - comes up a lot. For better or worse, my "work" and "life" have always been intertwined. (Most markedly when I'm freelancing full-time: then, I do laundry and go for runs during the day between interviews, which leaves me writing and editing at 1 a.m.)

But lately, my work and family lives are in some ways synergizing on parallel tracks. It's actually kinda cool.

At work, I'm on a team that's developing (delicious!) nutritionally balanced meal plans. At home, I'm trying to create a system of rotating healthy menus that are actually doable for our chaotic schedules. (Joanne: Stay tuned.) 

Stuffed!

At work, I'm establishing my next-year's goals - setting aims that are just out of reach so that I can grow and contribute to growth. At home, I'm drafting lists of little-boy responsibilities that will help channel outbursts of "itching for independence" into pride and confidence. That's big-time growth.

Jules, proud to be Jon's painting apprentice.

At work, I'm collaborating with colleagues to figure out efficiencies that will make everyone happier and more sane. At home, I'm collaborating with Jon to figure out efficiencies that will make everyone happier and more sane. 

Guess I'm not a compartmentalized kind of girl... 

Day 276

Expectations will get you no where more often than not result in feeling frustrated... disappointed... guilty... or shitty in some other way. Right? I know it's better not to have them, to ground myself in the present, to absorb and embrace each moment as it comes, never assuming that I'll even make it to the next moment, much less imagining every detail that will define it.

But I'm a planner. And when things don't go according to plan, my tendency isn't to do a quick course direction - or forge a new whole path to some equally awesome destination. What I do, typically, is to drive around in circles until I run out of gas. Or something like that. 

In any case, this weekend taught me - again - that when I expect something (a day, an event, a trip) to be absolutely amazing, I'm setting myself up to be let-down. Least to some degree. But if I can just keep on, keeping on, catching whatever awesomeness comes my way, I have much more fun. 

Here's how this theory played out over the last three days.

Friday: Plans to hop the art with a friend (for which I had unreasonably high expectations) got messed up so I hit a few studios with the boys - just the little boys. (Think: grubby preschooler fingers fondling fruit and cheese platters, whining, running through crowded hallways in opposite directions). Went home, had dinner, put the boys to bed and read the fine print of the FDA's Code of Federal Regulations (for real) while Jon watched bad TV. Lame. Ruminated over how lame it was that I didn't rally and get my ass back downtown. Then... I got a text that one of my best friends had just delivered a perfect little girl. Yes, she was expecting (and a day overdue) so, no, this wasn't "unexpected" ... but it was awesome.  

Saturday: Unexpected invite to a super awesome Mad Men party in the 'hood, where I drank gimlets with lovely ladies (including the fabulous Steph D!) and dapper men. We somehow secured a sitter last-minute, threw together "costumes" from what we had on hand and had a blast. No expectations = incredibly fun night. 

"Don" did buy skinny tie special for the occasion.

Sunday: It was a perfect September day so, of course, I expected all fantastic things. A certain unnamed little person who lives with me threw a wrench into that outlook. It was bad. I tried all of the usual tricks recommended to combat bad behavior. Nothing worked. Finally, our fam of four made it out of the house for a hike, and Mother Nature - a wiser parent than I... obviously - smoothed things out. For a time. Then her magic wore off too. Still, the afternoon ended up better than I could ever have expected if I were to have predicted, at 10 a.m., how the rest of the day would go. 

Talking this little imp down out of the tree proved difficult.
But it makes for a pretty cool photo now, right?

A view this gorgeous exceeds all expectations. (Taken from the spot where Jon and I got married 8 years and a little less than 2 months ago... while Julian was dragging me by the arm back onto the trail. Whaddya you expect?) 

PS: This "Roll With It and Win" theory, by the way, would never really hold up 100% to my scrutiny (I believe that we all, to a large degree, shape our destinies) but generally, I think it's a pretty good life philosophy. 

Day 258

I have two nieces and two nephews (courtesy of Jon's sisters). They're awesome - and it makes me so happy to see the great relationships that my boys are developing with their Olin cousins. But all of those warm fuzzy feelings are rooted in the present... well, some, I guess, are prospective (I think of all of the fun times ahead for this next generation). Still, there's no mixed-in nostalgia, no mind-blowing memory-flooding of "holy shit... remember when 'they' were us, when we were those kids, hiding and chasing and role-playing and pinching and lobbying for 'the biggest cupcake'? "

But I totally get those powerful full-circle feelings when I'm with Mark and Jen, Vinny and Gianna... Mark is my "god-brother" (the son of my godparents "Aunt" Judy and "Uncle" Davy), my unofficial third sibling. No doubt, our kids - Mark and Jen's and mine and Jon's - Vinny (5, tomorrow), Jules (4), Gianna (3), and Kai (2) are "cousins." 

An today, it was utterly fantastic watch the four of them playing and hanging for hours and hours... like family.

Day 255

Before we got into the car this morning, the boys ate pancakes shaped like Mickey Mouse, said good-bye to Papa Jon, Grandma Val, cousin Anna, Dad and Demps. When Ri rolled up in the Swagger Wagon, we hopped in. It was 8:30 a.m.

The day was gorgeous and the early part of ride was wrapped in Adirondacks... falcons soared, the sky was blue.

About an hour or so in "Kai throwed up." It was Cheerios induced and luckily we had a suitcase full of clean clothes and a fresh blanket. The incident occurred right at a spot where - serendipitously - there was a pull-off (with picnic tables, even!) along the highway. Luck was on our side.

I drove till lunch, easily - a notable feat ... highway driving makes my heart flutter, my jaw tense. After PB&J sandwiches, Ri's deconstructed Edible Arrangments birthday treat and chocolate milk, we piled back in. Ri took the wheel. The boys fell asleep and I tuned the XM to Lil' Wayne. 

We dropped off Ri somewhere near Northeast, a land full of "wine trees." (Seriously, that's what I called the grape vines today. Not for fun. Because that's how my brain was registering them. Sometimes I worry about my brain.) Memories came flooding back - a visit to these shores of Lake Erie with my admissions-office friends, the summer I was 19 ... the one I first felt like an adult.

I drove down 79, the familiar highway stretch - traveled often during my Allegheny days. Then onto 80 West for that short connection... so short I missed my usual exit... and started to worry. At the peak of my panic, Kai started freaking for me to take off his shoe. That was impossible with all of the big trucks and the long Swagger-Wagon stretch between the driver's seat and the bucket seat behind. I kept my eyes on the road and my hands on the wheel. Kai kept up a steady wail, while Jules told him to shush. A doe appeared at the edge of the trees and my heart leap into my throat. She paused, we passed. Big exhale. 

And then... a promising exit that wound round to another familiar stretch. Ultimately the roads spit us out right by the driver's testing facility where, 20 years ago, they gave me my first driver's license... which I'm not sure I actually earned, just driving around that small circle and pulling up beside the curb.

We arrived "home" at just after 7. And all of those hours in the car... they were worth it. 

For reasons like this: 

And this: 

Plus more fun to come... 

Day 215

"Picture perfect" - it's a saying for a reason. That is, life isn't so neat. Even when it's pretty damn perfect.

Tonight, I sit here feeling sorry for myself that both boys insisted that Daddy do the book-reading and back-patting. Feeling dejected and rejected, I headed downstairs and mindlessly started fiddling with my phone. To find the photos I snapped over the weekend. To be reminded that we had a most amazing couple of days: fresh healthy meals on the picnic table followed by ice cream at Burlington Bay, gorgeous walks through forests and fields, skirt steak and Mojitos (tomorrow, we eat clean) at Chris and Ri's. 

And that was just our time as a four-top fam. I also got in some great girl time... including a ladies' night/kiddo sleepover at Ri's. And how quickly I'd forgotten that all of Friday night, my boys snugged me into a 2'-wide edge of a king-sized bed. 

Ok, whatever - the little dudes love me. And I am incredibly lucky.

Day 211

Today, my family got together for a BBQ in Bessemer. Angelo and Casey drove in from Akron, Kate came up from the 'burgh and my "Aunt" Judy, "Uncle" Davy, their son (and my "god brother") Mark and his family gathered at my parents' place to celebrate the 4th.

I texted photos of my boys to them. I followed Kate's Instagram action of the party. And was bummed. I wanted to be there.

But I also wanted to be here, with the awesome "family" and friends we've made in Vermont. Celebrating our independence on Reinhold and Pam's porch, watching the parade, eating popsicles with Mike B. Grilling ribs and dogs on Chris and Ri's deck with Jeff and Lauren, the boys mesmerized by Chris's backyard firework show. When I was a kid, it was lamb and loads of vegetables from Grandpa Patsy's garden at his place, followed by an insane fireworks display by "Little Theresa's" husband Ralph. All of my (dad's side) cousins - and most of my dad's cousins - were there. It saddens me to think that my boys won't have so many big family memories to look back on... 

Family friends.

But, I suspect (hope!) that Jules and Kai will have awesome memories of their childhood in Vermont - and many of these memories will  include the amazing people here in Vermont that we're lucky to call friends, old and new. The "family" dinners and parties 'round the fire pit. The hikes, the bikes and trips to the beach, the farmer's market, the waterfront. BBQs, parades, camping trips... and that's just the summer stuff.

Some days, I can't imagine ever leaving Vermont. But I also hate thinking about never being closer to our "real" families. Such is the price we pay for freedom, I guess. The freedom of so many choices. 

I had this thought earlier this afternoon. And then I had another thought: All of the men and women who are (and who have been) responsible for ensuring the freedoms that we as Americans enjoy often live (or have lived) far, far away from their families -- and without the option of hopping on a plane for a random visit or picking up and moving to be closer to their parents, their siblings, the people who matter to them most.

And to all of these people, I am grateful. 

Happy Independence Day!

Day 197

Today, I am grateful for...

• An extra hour with Jules in the a.m.
• Soccer coaches who recognize the extreme importance of hydration on a 90-degree day.
• Awesome colleagues who make putting out a fire-drill proposal feel like an invigorating, fun challenge.
• A husband who happily embraces expanding guest lists with little (or, um, no) notice.
• Little boys who still love to snuggle.
• Unexpected texts from a favorite college friend.
• A sister who's back stateside.
• That my mom recognizes it usually takes 3 days to connect by phone--and takes no offense.
• Friends who accept impromptu dinner invites, arrive with Fiddlehead IPA, embrace cold pizza and interrupted conversations ... then leave behind artful little notes on napkins reminding me of all of the important points on which I need to follow up. #superlucky 

I agree: It's a good song. 

Day 188

Today, I was a little cranky and on edge. Why, who knows... but when I sat down to write about what I've been doing for the last eight days, the gratitude came easily. In the last week, I've connected with so many loved ones (and I use that term quite literally) I hadn't seen in a long time. A very long time in some cases. And it was AWESOME. Here are the highlights. (And they're not in order.)

That's John. In the late 1990s/early 2000s, he was the Robert Benchley to my Dorothy Parker. We may or may not have been quite as witty as the original Park Bench but we did work in magazines and we did sip martinis in the Algonquin's Oak Room. Now John and his awesome partner Jason run a wildly successful design firm called madcapcottage. Here with John is Jasper. He of the one blue and one brown eye is supposedly a nipper of strangers but he did not bite me. I think he liked me a lot, actually.

This is my cousin Corinne, who came to visit from Vail last week with her guy Skipper. When my Aunt Steph was pregnant with Corinne, I told her (my aunt) that if the baby was not a girl, I wanted to "send it back." I was nearly eight at the time. It was the beginning of my bitchy years. Which lasted awhile. Corinne, on the other hand, was never a bitch. She exudes warmth and chases fun. Always. 

These are the freshly mani-ed hands of the some of the greatest ladies I know. They came with Jon.  Seriously... I married a man who, as a kid barely older than Jules, knew how to pick truly amazing lifelong friends... these friends, in turn,  excelled at choosing truly amazing lifelong partners. Once a year, we ladies hang out while our great men watch the kids at home. #luckygirls

This is a photo I snapped at the MoMA. In the best city. Ever.

This is my girl Jenny. We should see each other lots given our relative proximity but lately syncing our schedules has been tricky. Last week, I went to help her baby proof for Kid #1 before Kid #2 joined the fam. We ended up leaving the cabinet latches for Scotty to install and sat on the couch laughing. (Some help I am.) Two days later, Baby Julia was born. Yay!

Me with HT, my PFL. Whenever we get together, it seems, we shoot another Twolander (Zoolander x 2) shot. At least we're no longer dressing as Charlie's Angels. On not-Halloween. 

Day 120 - Day 125

Last week was full of prep: gearing up for an insanely exciting work-related launch and packing up for an "epic" trip down the East Coast with my boys. All of them, including Demps.

We've been on the road since Friday at 4, and it can't believe how amazing it's been. (Knock, knock on the table.) 

Highlight of Days 124 and 125: Observing Jules and Kai hang with their big-cousin Liam. Feel like I'm getting tiny glimpses into the future. 

Today, grateful for family memories in the making. And for uber-cool 7-year-old nephews.

Medium, small, extra-small. (And, yes, everyone
gets his own ball.)

Day 108 - 111

Is it normal to worry that you're going to totally f-up your kids? Oh, of course it is--to a degree. But I'm pretty certain that parental-failure-fear plagues me more frequently than it does the average mom. Because, via nature or nurture, I'm a worrier--an anxious, ruminating fretter. Which, in my mind, justifies my fear of f*cking up the boys: will they inherit my neuroticism? My fear of (fill in the blank)?  (Well at least they can print off this blog and hand it straight over to their therapists.)

But then I read something like Jeanette Walls' The Glass Castle  (amazing book) and I think: Jules and Kai are going to be just fine. And I remember, too, that who my boys grow up to be, yes, depends a lot upon me. And Jon. But we aren't going to teach them everything they need to know about the world and how to make the most of it. We can't possibly. And so I hope that they'll learn from a young age, to gravitate toward others, too, worth emulating. Folks like UB (ewe-bee), from whom I've learned many a great lessons. For instance... 

Day 109: UB dancing off the Dark Ages.

 ... you show up for family. Maybe you're wearing an Austin Powers costume. Perhaps you're sporting a tux. Sometimes it's an enchanted evening and other times it's an awkward event, but you get yourself there. And you make memories. And, by god, you take lots of photos. LOTS of them. And videos. So many that people start treating you like the paparazzo that you are and hand-blocking the camera. And then you jet out for a run. Or to visit an old friend. Who is thrilled beyond words to see you.

... when someone comes to visit, you shine the silver, thaw out some nut bread and draft an itinerary that can't possibly be completed in the allotted time. But somehow it is. And along the way, this  full-velocity living is slightly uncomfortable for some. It sends others down a path just shy of a coronary. But they're always glad they were dragged along for the ride. Or at least they get over it. Aggravation fades way to fond memories.

... "friend" your friends' friends. There's a reason they like you and they like them. The more the merrier. Colliding worlds are cool.

... to thine own self be true. Life is too short. Live it up. Sip a St-Germain cocktail. The night is young. And there's coffee in the pot.

Day 86 - 90

Over the last few days, Jon and I have been talking a lot about buying less and buying used--which is exciting to me for a variety of reasons, including the fact that I love hand-me-downs. I love that second- (or third-) hand clothes, books and kitchen items have had a life before my life with them. I love that in this former life that they were loved just as much as I love them, likely for different reasons. But--who knows?--maybe for the same ones too.

Using the same baking sheets my Grandma Mary and Grandpa Bill used to bake nutbread is, well, a special treat in itself.

Jon, making the nutbread that's been in my fam forever. Its path:
Us < Uncle Bill < Grandma Mary and Grandpa Bill < Kuma Peloza
That pot? Jon's sis Jen gave it to us when she got married--and new pans.

I dig that Julian, and now Kai, are connected to my friends' kids--through Sumner's snow pants (and pretty much everything else he ever wore) and Marty's fireman shirt--even if they don't often (or ever) play together because they're separated by too many years or too many miles.

It delights me to think that when when we page through Goodnight, Gorilla (as we did tonight) the words Julian and Kai come up with to describe the images are likely similar--but not identical--to the ones my friend Jeffrey's girls used to tell the story when they read the book eight or ten years ago. Or that when Julian sings "Jingle Cats" (as he's done pretty much every night for last couple of weeks), he's as least as jubilant as my friend Val was to receive this book as a gift, Christmas 2008. (Ha!)

The other day, Jon and I were talking about whether or not we should save a few of our boys' favorite outfits from when they were very young. We didn't really come to any real conclusion. But the more I think about it, the more I feel like passing these cherished duds along to someone else will sort of (to paraphrase a favorite band) prolong their magic. What do you think? 

Day 85

My Grandma Mary was a rockstar. No, she wasn't really a musician but call your grandma "special" and you risk people thinking she was just an older lady who read you books and baked you cookies. Which she did. And really delicious cinnamon rolls. But that's besides the point. 

Aunt Cora, Grandma Mary
 and Mom (with the cute cat-eye glasses).

Mary Mickler was my grandmother, yes, and Cora/Bill/Kathie/Melinda/John's mother. She also took care of her mother and her father, who had Alzheimer's. (I think.) She helped her brother, who had ALS and played nurse to my Grandpa Bill who had multiple multiple bypass surgeries. (And, no, the repeated word is not a typo.) She worked as a psych nurse at St. E's. There was no shortage of folks for Mary Mickler to take care of, including me, Angelo and Kate. She lived down the street and watched us all the time, encouraging impromptu dance shows and other dramatic play. She was sort of like a big-sister figure: responsible and manners-demanding but fun. In, second or third grade, I opted to have my birthday sleepover at her house instead of at my own because she was, I believed at the time, much cooler than my mom. (As it turns out, my mom is pretty cool.) Grandma Mary taught me how to drive. 

In her early 20s, she lived in Washington, DC. I need to learn more about this time in her life and generally more about her from others who knew a different Mary Mickler than I did. Like my mom and my Uncle Bill. And definitely my great-Uncle Frank, Grandma's youngest brother, a brilliant and hilarious, art-loving, politically astute man who lives in Costa Rica. But here's what I remember about Mary Mickler, separate from her various caretaking roles: she read lots of novels, drank coffee (light, with sugar) and wore snakeskin pumps. She liked modern design. She loved to travel. She wanted to visit Alaska but, alas, never made it.

My grandmother passed away 20 years ago this month--a couple of weeks after sustaining what turned out to be fatal injuries in a car accident, just a few days shy of her birthday. She would have been 17. Happy (Leap Year) Birthday, Grandma Mary. I so wish you were here to have a cupcake (and a cup of coffee) with me and Jon, Jules and Kai. You'd love the Olin boys and they'd love you.

Day 39

SURPRISE!!!!!!
 (We pulled it off!) Woot woot!

KMom + chocolate = True Love Forever