Day 341

Happy #36 Olin!!! This one is a milestone: 36 was JO's football number. He was a cornerback. He was a Carmel Ram. I'm a numbers person. So I recognize stuff like this. And let's not forget that this is a 36 celebration... and this is 366days of... 36. 

Last year, for JO's, we celebrated with a crazy cake made by a (then three-and-a-half-year-old) Jules. Funfetti (Jon's fave. No comment). Topped more candy than you could possibly imagine. So this year, I decided to take a half-day to repeat the situation/establish tradition and prep the lasagna for dinner with Chris and Ri. I picked up both boys at lunchtime. Julian announced that we had all of the candy we needed, at home in his loot bag. I was proud. And psyched. This might mean an easier way of navigating around rationing him out a piece of candy every day until Christmas.

Happy 36, Olin! Today. The now-traditional cake-by-Julian (and sort of Kai, who mostly subtracted icing and toppings) celebration was last night. 

At home, things got crazy. Kai wanted in on the action and I wanted to include him but supervising a a 4- and a 2-year-old cracking eggs (with salmonella potential) is beyond my scope of parenting skills. So I put on a video for Kai. And then Jules wanted to watch it. I let him. They wanted to watch another one. I felt annoyance creeping up my throat, started feeling itchy. Why did I leave work early? I had tons of stuff to finish. I tersely reminded them that I didn't pick up anyone early to watch videos. Then I realized that I sounded like a tightly-wound cliche and reminded myself that Kai is already a "big and strong big kid" who gets out of bed and walks downstairs in the morning. I went back to the kitchen to crack and mix myself. A few moments later, Julian joined me. Lesson learned. Chill out.

The real fun came with the decorating. Jules was a rockstar: unwrapping snack-size packs of licorice and Swedish fish and M&Ms, cutting fun-sized Nestle bars into small chunks with his safety scissors (not the most hygienic of cakes). I wrote a message in icing: "Happy Cake Day, Olin." (Jules wanted it to say Olin.) Kai did his part by swiping off the message with his shirt sleeve and then proceeding to "drink" a small container of orange Halloween sprinkles "all gone." Which I let happen. Because this was a special day. In the end, the cake was perfect. And the boys were overflowing with excitement - which make for much wrestling and climbing and running, eventually in superhero capes. 

I am grateful for this tradition. And grateful for Olin, who appreciates these small gestures and whose favorite holiday is Thanksgiving because it's all about family and friends and gratitude. November is a great time to focus on gratitude. And this year, November is also my vegan test run. I'm doing it: aiming to be vegan through Thanksgiving (just me, not the boys - but we eat a largely plant-based diet so it's easy to blend). Several peeps have asked me why, and I don't have a really awesome answer. The short one is this: I've aspired to eat "more vegan" for awhile. 

Maybe it's because Dempsey's eyes are human. Maybe I know that there are benefits to following healthful  plant-based diet, having written/edited a lot on this topic, including this book (which I edited) and this article (which I wrote). Maybe it's just because I love vegan cookbooks, especially this one. Or because I have several friends who follow vegan diets and keep bringing the most amazing dishes to girls' nights and book club gatherings. Whatever the reason, I'm trying a vegan diet till Thanksgiving. And I'd be grateful for any suggestions and favorite recipes. 

Last night was also the annual lasagna JO birthday dinner. I also served pasta with marinara, topped this vegan cheese alternative (nutritional yeast, mixed with ground toasted walnuts and salt). YUM. Thanks, Mindy!

Kai "likes juice." And I love oats. Katie sent me an amazing pumpkin steel-cut oat slowcooker recipe and I adapted slightly. To this:  5 1/2 cups of water + 1 1/2 water + 1 can of pumpkin + 3 TBSP maple syrup + cinnamon + nutmeg. Cook on low for 6 hours. Add raisins and toasted walnuts. 

New Moon latte. With soy. Sweeter than milk. More than acceptable substitute. 

Day 322

I've let 11 days lapse without a post. In part because I've set some rules of engagement. Time flies so fast and sometimes I feel like I spend so much of it tethered to this device, or that one, missing what's most important, the goings-on as they unfold. So I vowed to unplug more. And I have. A bit.

And in the last almost-two-weeks...

I've flown across the country, marveling at the fact that we can actually do that: be whisked through the air, offered a birds-eye view of life below. How small it all looks. How small we all are, really, in the big grand scheme. It makes you think. 

I spent wonderful days with my mom, Grandma Kath, grateful that my boys have her in their lives, a different kind of mom than me. A better one in lots of ways.

I became obsessed with a house. A house that is not my own. One that most likely will never be my house. It's not that I like it better than my house. But I like it. And I like imagining that it could be my house. Probably because that sort of imagining entertains my brain. Which isn't so entertaining to Jon. Which I totally get.

I cried. Parenting is hard, and opening the door to self doubt lets in a lot of shit that's better shut out. Just do it. Keep moving. Don't show weakness. Beginnings of a new manifesto (some of it borrowed... thank you, Nike.)

I saw my dear friend and her awesome kids, which reminded me that with certain people it doesn't matter how long you go without seeing each other or how short your meetings are, they're among your favorite peeps for reasons that transcend day-to-day circumstances.

I learned of others' losses - really major, heartbreaking losses. Several of them. I cried for people I hardly know. I could only imagine their pain. 

I spent the whole night of the last presidential debate slave to a stomach bug. Damn daycare germs. It was ugly. For HOURS. Through the night. I stayed home from work the next day and slept most of it. I rented a movie: The Painted Veil. It was good. It was about cholera. The irony. 

I stressed about work. I collaborated with colleagues. Really amazing, smart people who know the meaning of team. I am lucky.

I've landed at a place that's more content and grateful than the one I was circling around 10 days ago. But I suspect that the cycle will begin afresh. Up and down. High and low. Because, well, that's sort of how I roll... 

We can fly. Isn't that amazing? 

I spent half my childhood in a gym like this.

My boys are lucky to have Grandma Kath.

The miles (and miles) their moms have seen together... 

Jules' surprise pink petals softened the blow of Sunday night blues.

With some better perspective.

Jules: "Mama, It's bare."
Me: What? Thinking he's talking of an animal. An imaginary friend.
Jules: "The tree." Pointing to this guy up here. "There's only one leaf left."
Kai: "It's bare. It's a Mama Bear and a Papa Bear."
THIS is why I blog.

Day 311

I use the word "awesome" entirely too much. (I once worked at a teen magazine - what do you expect?) But there is so much in the world - and in my world - that is  awesome. Awesome in the true definition of the word.

Things like...

This sky (and I captured not even a fraction of its majesty on our drive down to New York Friday evening:

And this bridge. Any bridge for that matter (said with a nod to Olin and structural engineers everywhere): 

The fact that these kids exist (to play with a deflated b-ball found at the park)... these offspring of two sets of Forest Hills roommates who swapped roommates and made them. (Um, I think this must sound weird and strangely inappropriate. Translation: Approximately a dozen years ago, HT and I met Todd-o and Olin at the Irish Cottage in Forest Hills. The rest is history.)

Like I said, stuff like this: incredibly awesome. I am grateful. So grateful. Always grateful. But often not in the moment. In fact, rarely in the moment. I get stuck in the weeds (the tantrums, the demands for daddy, the laundry and the clutter). And the same thing happens at work (OK, no demands for daddy there). I get overwhelmed. I get sad. These days, easily and often. I lose sight of the big picture. Of the awesomeness. The true awesomeness. How to keep that close? You tell me: How how do you keep  your head in the clouds (keeping dreaming, wondering, marveling)?  

Day 307

Yesterday on the Instagram feed of some random photographer whom I follow but do not know, I saw this quote: "Comparison is the thief of joy." Teddy Roosevelt.

And I thought, yessssss. 

I've been there, measuring myself up against the Joneses, thinking things like, 

Wow, she's like 25, and has produced four novels and four children, WTF have I been doing?   

All my organic chemistry study buddies are making a gazillion dollars a year as chemical engineers and anesthesiologists while I am earning the same word-rate as I made in 2000... to write about carrots. 

Why didn't I stick with teaching dance - or get that MFA instead of the MS? That creative life seems so much... better. 

Then I get real: I count my blessings. I acknowledge that I have a great life, that I have accomplished many of my goals, that I am truly happy for these other highly successful people. And then I mostly move on. 

So I was thinking this... and suddenly I was realizing that comparisons, done right, don't thieve joy at all. They can inspire, they can empower, they can highlight the unique qualities that make you - or the people you love - awesome. 

You can compare yourself to that co-worker who does not necessarily have extraordinarily mad athletic skills and who just rocked her first marathon and think, "I can do that."

You can watch your friend grow an awesome business and realize, "If I am willing to focus all of my energy and loads of time into that one passion that consumes me, I can do that too." 

You can make caramel apples, using the recipe from EatingWell, compare them to the photo and say, "These look like shit  - probably because was too impatient to thoroughly dry the apples. But they taste great, so who cares?" And then realize - happily - that you're not a TOTAL control freak. 

You can look at your two little boys and recognize how the same they are  - and how so very different. How one is sensitive, passionate and uber-perceptive and the other, an ever-pleasant hot-mess who can smile himself out of any sticky situation. A Bert & Ernie of sorts. (They actually dressed as the duo last Halloween.)

And through comparison, you begin to pinpoint the awesome qualities that define each of them, those two boys you love so fiercely. You love them the same. But differently. I get it now, Mom. Maybe you don't really have a favorite. (But I still think it's Kate. And that's cool... )

#fail - or not? 

Guess which one? (Hint: he's sort of our Bert)

And Ernie... 

Day 304

Jon's parents came to visit this weekend - it was the last time we'll see them before they head to their "alligator house" in Calabash, North Carolina. We all were looking forward to the visit - Jules and Kai, especially. Grandma Val and Papa Jon were supposed to arrive at 10 a.m. but rolled in closer to 11. During this hour of waiting, which coincided with a downpour outside, unfortunately... 1) Julian sat in the bay window impatiently watching for their red Highlander and 2) the little-boy energy in this house increased to explosive levels. When my in-laws arrived, pent-up excitement erupted into hugs and kisses, songs and show-and-tell situations. And after all of those positive ways of channeling energy had run their course, the boys started rolling around on the floor and beating the shit out of each other. All in good fun, of course. Until Jules slammed Kai's head against something and suddenly everyone was crying. Including me. Not really. But close.

Bless them, my in-laws volunteered to shuttle the boys out somewhere so that we could "get some stuff done." (Later we learned it was to the mall for merry-go-rounds and candy.) They left. Jon and I breathed in a collective sigh of relief, exhaled a few breaths of gratitude and decided, "chores be damned... we're going out." And we drove through the South End neighborhoods where, right now, we're scheming to live and we stopped for a leisurely lunch at The Spot (nice work, Chantal, if you're reading!)... 

Now it's Sunday afternoon, our house is still a mess, there's enough dirty laundry round here to clothe an unhygienic army...I should be watching gamification videos or writing content instead of blogging, also what I should have been doing an hour ago when I let Jules watch a video and snuggled next to him with my Kindle while Kai napped. Chris and Ri are arriving in an hour for family dinner and the Patriots game. 

But whatever. Buzz off "coulds" and "shoulds" - we're all going to be dead soon. Sounds morbid, yes, but it's really just a more direct way of saying "life's too short," no? 

Here's to seizing lazy days. (And being okay with the idea that I'll probably be working tonight past midnight.)

Psst... Sister Kate: I bought you one of these mugs. xo

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 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 250

Here's what I haven't been doing: sleeping enough, exercising (at all save for one 4-mile walk/run last Friday), resisting too much wine and chocolate. 

Here's what I have been doing: bursting into tears over stupid things, getting snippy with Jon and co-workers who, like me, are just trying to make do in stressful situations. (Re: co-workers, you know who you are and I said it before but I'll say it again: I'm sorry. And, seriously, I was only deep breathing to clear my head, not exasperatedly sighing at you. Pinky swear.) 

Here's the bottom line: Life is short (see below). I so know this. I mean, look at the dark circles and wrinkles around my eyes. I'm not so young any more. I also know that it's my job to figure out how to put a cap on the chaos, to find the fun, to learn when and how to say no (I am infinitely - yes, infinitely - grateful to those of you who helped on that front today) and when to say yes... (e.g., to dance-party requests from the boys, to signing up for this Cabaret Jazz class with Lois after a five-year hiatus)! 

To that effect - making the most of this life - there's a lot of great advice on the poster behind me in the photo below. And while we're on the topic of life mottos and manifestos: 1) my friend at work and I are working on an awesome one ourselves 2) I am so in love with this print. 

But, tell me: How do you do it? How do you make the most of your every day?

If you've been to my house, you know that this overly dramatic self-portrait
was taken in my bathroom (lame cliche, yes). I snapped it while Jules was singing
equally dramatic songs in an empty (already drained) tub. He appreciated the extra minutes. 

Day 243

I got a handful of compliments on this dress today: 

Here are its secrets:

I bought it for $7 on the sale rack at TJ Maxx. When I was 7 months pregnant. And then proceeded to wear it at least twice a week during weeks 36 to 40 of my pregnancy. At the time, my big belly filled out the drop waist, the fabric of which now drapes nicely the way it was intended to hang. The top is a little too big. Unless I wear the dress backwards. Then, it's just right. #reinventyourcloset #lovewhatyouhave

And... today, I am grateful for my date with Mike B. and Kristen, and also the fine folks who took the stage at the Anecdote Storytelling event tonight (so many cool and creative peeps in Burlington!), to Jon for making sure I could get there and for the two little boys who gave me giant hugs on my way out.