Glad to See the Sun Again!

After three days of constant snow, and cold so cold that our shower pipe froze, even with the heat on, I woke up today to see the sun! It is glorious be be out of the gloom, I was simply getting depressed with all the gray. Perhaps I have seasonal affective disorder, I almost started crying yesterday. However, now that the sun is back with blue skies, and bright white snow sparkling all around, I am smiling again. Part of my sadness probably had to do with being trapped in the house. There was too much snow to drive for three days, and we live on a hill that the snowplows completely ignored yesterday, until late afternoon.

So, we spent the day baking. We made Macaroon cookies, brownies, and jello with bananas. This was my husbands idea, since Christmas is coming. I am not a big fan of having tons of sweets around the house, because I know I will eat a little piece here, a little piece there, and before you know it, Mom has eaten half of the desert herself. But, I let him do his baking, after all it is a Christmas tradition. I also over heard him on the phone asking my mother in law to make whoopie pies and snicker doodles. "Tell her to only bring a Few of each," I told him. I don't want to fall victim to those too....

So, last night after dinner, the kids were excited because they knew we were having desert. My husband decided to make a nice presentation with each person's plate containing one brownie with mint topping, one scoop of strawberry jello with bananas, once scoop of orange jello with bananas, one macaroon cookie, and to top it all off, a spoonful of ice cream.

Now, it had been snowing all day, and the kids had gone out earlier to play while the younger two napped, and mom frantically tried to start her Christmas wrapping. Then, our oldest boy went out again to shovel the walk again, so they had worked up an appetite. Dad had not yet snowblowed the driveway since the day before, because the snow had not stopped. I had just spent the better part of the last two hours making Risotto. So, we sat down to dinner, then Dad brought out the desert. The kids loved it, and asked for more jello, and another scoop of ice cream. I wasn't sure if this was really a good idea, but agreed since it was a Christmas time desert, and we normally don't have any desert. But I really should have reconsidered, because my husband decided right after desert was the time to go out and snowblow the driveway. "Now," I asked? "Yeah, why not?" he said. "You just gave them three pounds of sugar and now you are going to leave?" Great. And I was right, as soon as he left the sugar hit, and they all went a little crazy.

Right after dinner is not my favorite time of the day, it's when I have to clean up, do the dishes, clean up the baby, get everyone settled down, and start thinking about bedtime for the kids. I knew they were a little excited, and school vacation had started, so I let them play for a while. I started doing dishes till I heard Thomas crying. I walk into the living room, and he said someone hurt him. I also discovered that he had pooped, and that they had dumped out the puzzle bin, containing 20 puzzles and at least 300 pieces on the floor. A little dismayed, I took Thomas, grabbed the baby, and went upstairs to give Thomas a bath. I started his bath, but he did not want to come out, so I said he could play a little longer and changed baby into her pajamas and started nursing her. This did not last two long before we were interrupted by noise, so I gave up and put her down to play while I got Thomas out of the bath and ready for bed. He didn't want to brush his teeth, but I had to insist due to the sugar just consumed. So I managed to brush his teeth, and get him changed and into bed to look at his books. Then I went back to the baby's room to nurse her to sleep, this time with success.

I headed back downstairs only to discover that none of the puzzle pieces had been put back into their box. So, I told the boys they have to clean up the puzzles. This didn't work too well at first, until I reminded them that they have to clean them up or Santa won't come. So, they started making a game out of it, throwing the pieces into the box. This was not what I wanted to see, with my nightly exhaustion setting in, and the snow blower still groaning loudly. I threw out some more reminders about Santa, insisting that I would call him if needed. Eventually, I layed down of the couch and started falling asleep. One of my sons came over for a hug, and we snuggled for a while. Then the other wanted a turn so I told Patrick to go lay on the other couch while I snuggled Joe. I was too tired to go upstairs and put them to bed, I was just out of energy.

After a power nap, and waking up to noise again, I was ready to mean business and we got the rest of the puzzles cleaned up. Then the boys heard the snow blower stop, and Daddy coming in. Joe ran upstairs, and I took Patrick to his room to get on his pajamas.

Now that they were in bed, I decided to resume my wrapping. I opened my bedroom door that had been barricaded to keep the kiddies out of the presents. My husband came up and took a shower to warm up from the cold (now that our shower was finally defrosted). He was happy to be done with the snow, and smiled for the first time in a while. My mood was starting to improve, knowing that the snow was done. Now that our driveway was free, we would not be stuck at home forever, as it had previously seemed. I asked him if he would mind picking up a prescription for one of the children that we needed for the morning.

So, as I look out now, I am glad to see clear roads, and blue skies. We are out of the darkness, but I won't be giving out any deserts to the kids today, at least not until Dad gets home.

The Ice Storm, Beautiful Destruction

All through the night we heard cracks and booms. We had heard there would be freezing rain, but expected nothing like this. The first big bang we heard was a transformer blowing. The rest of the noises were trees falling and branches breaking. Every time I fell back asleep, I awoke to a few more trees breaking. I had no idea of the time, because the power was out. At one point, we were wide awake, so I checked the cell phone. 3 am, in noisy darkness.

At first light, he got up and looked out the window. "Come here, you have to see this," he said. Reluctantly, I got up from bed and came to the window. Wow, what I saw was amazing. The whole world was covered in ice. The trees, the grass, everything. Branches were coated an inch thick.

Before I even got dressed, I grabbed my camera and my snow mocs and stepped outside. It did not feel cold, after being in the cold house all night, the air felt warm. Excitedly, I walked around the yard in my pajamas taking pictures. The early morning sky was slightly gray, but the ice was beautiful nonetheless. The mailbox, the trees, the tricycle, everything was covered; the basketball hoop sported icicles. After a quick lap, I came back in to share the excitement with my family. He noticed the broken branches and took a turn to step outside. I sent my oldest outside too, but he came back in and said, "Dad doesn't want me out here, it's too dangerous."







After getting dressed, I took the camera outside again. This time the sky was a little brighter, and the neighbors were out too. Our street was now blocked by a 25 year old pine tree that wasn't there an hour ago. Tire tracks adorned the edge of our yard where someone tried to get around the tree. As we stood, more trees and branches fell around us. We heard cracks and witnessed the destruction as weighty branches fell.

As amazing as the landscape was, I had to go back in and check on the kids. I quickly snapped pictures of blades of grass covered in ice. Looking out the back windows of the house, I saw power lines sagging, more trees down.







When I went in, he came out with his chainsaw to clear the road. A few minutes later, our neighbor came out to help, and together they chopped the pine tree away. For an hour, they chopped, and shoveled the tree and icy branches off the road. The city truck came by surveying the damage, and then a bulldozer came to take away the remains.

My neighbor said she had never seen anything like this in their 12 years here. Our street on the hill does get more wind and wild weather than our old house, but this was an anomaly. The city of ice, beautiful destruction. For all the crazy weather of the world, hurricanes, tornadoes, tsunamis, snowstorms, I'll take an ice storm any day, at least it's pretty.

I sit in my parents house now, two days later, typing away. We have checked the power grid, 8,000 people still without power in our city. A call to the neighbor revealed that our street is still in the stone age, no electricity. We drained the water before we left, so are hoping for no pipes burst upon our return. If anything, we are enjoying out visit with my parents. It is nice to be warm, and the fellowship is good too. All summer I tried to get us here, and as my husband said, "it took for Hell to freeze over," but we're here. :)

We have been having a great time at Grandma and Grandpa's so far. Twice they babysat the younger kids while we went for walks with only two, or one child; first down by the harbor, then around the block. We got to go out to lunch with no kids, and today we built a fire outside and roasted marshmallows. The 3 boys are having a fun sleeping on air mattresses all in one bedroom. The husband and I are enjoying the view of the pond, and the kids love all of grandma's toys. Last night, I got out all the photo albums from my childhood, and took a trip down memory lane. I saw myself at the age that my children are now, and tried to see the resemblance.

Soon, we will have to go back home, and get back to our usual routine, of school, and work, and housework. As for now, we are enjoying our emergency vacation, and time with those we love.

The Sunday Paper

Every Sunday, the paper comes, and inside are the inevitable coupons. I’m not sure if these are a blessing, or a curse. I always feel obligated to look through the coupons, and cut out the ones I might use. However, being able to actually use them is the question. If I cut out a coupon, I put it in the coupon drawer in the kitchen. This is the drawer we are supposed to look in before we go grocery shopping. On a good day, we will, a.) know in advance that we are going grocery shopping, b.) have our menu all planned out for the week, and c.) remember to check the coupons before we leave, and d.) find the exact item on the coupon in the store, and have it be the brand on sale this week, qualifying the coupon as a good deal.

On this day of course, we will also remember to bring our reusable grocery bags into the car, and remember to bring them into the store when we get there.

Then there are the coupons that make it into the envelope in my purse. These are the ones for something I would be the one to buy. If I’m lucky, and the planets are in alignment next time I go to buy lotion, I will remember to check the envelope and will find a coupon that is valid for what I am actually purchasing, that has not expired. This is becoming increasingly hard these days though, because most of the coupons expire within a few weeks, and by the time I am ready to use them, they are no good. Then there are the coupons that require you to buy 3 of the item, to save a total of 50 cents. Is that really cost effective? I don’t need three bottles of bathroom cleaner at a time, and do I really want to doll out $12 now when I can just go back in a couple months to buy another bottle?

I like the diaper coupons, where I can save $5 at BJ’s on a box of Luvs, something I actually use, and don’t want to run out to the store every week to buy. This is a good, fair coupon. But as for saving $1.00 on three boxes of cereal when I only need one, well, that’s questionable.

Still, I will continue to check the coupons, and on a good day, I will have enough time to read the meat of the newspaper as well. As for now, we glance at it and most of it is recycled, or used as kindling, or under painting paper. And sometimes, after routing through the coupons, we might read an article or two.

Memoirs of my Father

I heard a Jackson Browne song on the radio today. I couldn’t help thinking about my dad. Long ago, Dad boosted Jackson Browne’s career a little without his knowledge. One night at a home party Dad noticed when Load out/Stay started to play that everyone reacted to the second part of the song. Dad cut the song in half, and played the second part on the radio. The edited version was an instant success and became a hit. Stations all over the country started playing the short version of the song, and soon Jackson Brown was a hot ticket again.

My Dad likes to travel to warm places. Year’s back, Dad went to Jamaica. There was a man and his band playing an unfamiliar rhythm and Dad liked what he heard. He bought their album, brought it back to the states, and had it played on his station. He was first to play Reggae on white pop radio, and many other stations followed. You know that man as Bob Marley.

When Dad was in high school, his father, an Ear Nose and Throat Dr., influenced my dad to go to Notre Dame for pre-med. Unfortunately, or fortunately, for Dad, he wasn’t any good at Chemistry or Biology. He transferred to NYU and switched to Communications where he DJ’d at the College Radio Station. He was the only student to get fan mail since he gave exam answers over the air.

It was while attending NYU that Dad met Mom. There was a party that Mom’s friends were going to, and Mom didn’t really want to attend. But in the end, she agreed to go, and while there a boy named Vince asked her to dance. She said yes, and before he took her out to the dance floor, he went over to the record player to change the music. After that, Dad asked if she wanted to go into the pantry to look at the moon. Mom said, “absolutely not.” Despite that, Dad was in love, and he went home that night and put a sign on his parent’s door that read, “I’m going to marry Petie.” He set out to do that, and called Mom at her college in Tarrytown. There was a phone in the hallway of Mom’s dorm for all the girls to share. Dad would call, and Mom would not be in her room, so he would leave her a message with one of the girls.

Mom, being a southern girl, had been taught never to call a boy and wouldn’t call him back. So, in desperation, Dad called Mom’s roommate and told her to call him back next time Mom was in her room. This was the only way he could call back at the right time and talk to Mom.

Mom was a year older than Dad, but he wanted to get married. So after Mom graduated Marymount College, (Dad still had another year of college to go and had to ask The Commonwealth of Virginia permission since he was under 21) they got married in Richmond, VA and set off on their Honeymoon. Dad was a little anxious to get to that honeymoon, because Mom was a virtuous girl, and would never let him get very far. So he says they missed a great after party at Mom’s parents house after the wedding reception. Their first meal alone together as husband and wife was at a roadside truck stop on the way to Cape Cod that served drinks in styrofoam cups. Looking back, Dad regrets this, but he has since made up for this meal by taking mom to numerous resorts and nice restaurants.

I don’t know if his father ever knew how much of a good choice switching colleges was for Dad. He died when my father was 24 years old. Dad talks about him sometimes, how he wishes he had been a better son. How he wished he had done some things differently as a kid; he regrets installing a Glass Pack muffler in his father’s Buick. Sometimes he gets a tear in his eye as he talks about his father.

If Dad’s Father had lived longer, he would have seen that his son had made a good choice. After Dad’s college graduation, Dad went to an agency to see about getting a good job. He sat down at the table, and filled out some forms. One of the questions was, “would you be willing to relocate?” Dad started to write, “C –a – l – i.” The counselor said right away “I have a job for you.” That is how my parents ended up in Hollywood. It was a job selling commercials at radios stations and for magazines. Dad had one suit and it became very shiny because he wore it every day. He made a total of $96.00 a week. He would go to the Brown Derby restaurant using his expense account, order a big steak for lunch then take most of it home to feed his family. My parents had a baby, and an apartment with no furniture; I think they had a bed and a stove. For entertainment on a Friday night, my parents would take walks down town and read the big bulletin boards at the local supermarket. They did have a turntable, and some records in their apartment. That was a must for my Dad. He has loved music his whole life.

After a few months in Hollywood, my Mom became pregnant again. My second oldest sister was born a California Girl. They lived in an apartment building with other people just starting out in life. Across the hall there was a woman who was trying to get into the film business. Sometimes my parents would invite her over to their apartment for dinner. She had one favorite interview dress and eventually, she made it also. It is always fun to hear the story about my parents neighbor Raquel Welch.

After my parents had lived in Hollywood a short time, my Dad’s Father became sick, and Dad asked to be transferred to the East Coast to be near him. This is how Dad ended up working in NYC. He worked at NBC, WPIX, and some other stations. Two weeks before I was born, my family moved to CT because my Dad took a job at a struggling AM station called WICC. Dad was the General Manager, and he took the station to the top.

A few years later, Dad was hired to start a station from scratch. A losing station number 107.9 was purchased. I didn’t know much about it at the time, I was seven. I do remember people coming over for Dinner, and having to be quiet as they met, and talked, and made phone calls. They were planning the new station. My dad brought home a list of available call letters and we all looked through the list. It was my brother who noticed W – E – B – E was available. WE - BE he said. That stuck. They decided to name the station WEBE 108. For the next several years, Dad and his partners built that station. They tried something different with the music program, and everyone liked the sound; it was immediately copied. It is the format now know as Adult Contemporary and played at stations across the country.

Dad enjoyed his career in radio. Ironically enough, my mom was not too into music, so he used to bring me to events and promotions. Many times he bought or was given tickets and would bring me to concerts. He took me to see Billy Joel, Joan Baez (one of his all time favorites), Chuck Berry “The Father of Rock and Roll”, Willy Nelson, the Rolling Stones and Elton John. I think there were a few others.

When we went to Billy Joel, Dad took me back stage to meet Billy. I had no idea what I was supposed to say to this man who I had been hearing on the record player and the radio my whole life. I just stood in awe and quietly shook his hand.

Early one Saturday morning my Dad noticed a line of people out the door of the record store. When he found out they were selling Rolling Stones tickets, he ran over to his barbershop. “I need to borrow $600 in cash right away,” he told Tommy. His barber gave him the money, and that is how my sisters and I ended up going to the Rolling Stones Steele Wheels tour in ‘89. It was a grand event. Dad, in his hipness, got a limo for the occasion. I had never been in a limo before. This made the concert extra cool.

As a little girl, I would sit with my dad in the Den as he listened to his records. He had eclectic taste and he would play different things for me to hear. He called it my musical education. He played all artists, all kinds (sometimes the Rock and Roll, sometimes Classical, sometimes Big Band and Jazz). I was also allowed to make requests. Every day he played me Yellow Submarine and Puff the Magic Dragon. Sometimes we would dance. I would reach up and hold his arms as he twirled me around, slowly. I would smell his Old Spice cologne, which I loved. He kept it in a cabinet in the kitchen and put it on every morning as he was leaving for work, before he kissed my mother goodbye.

As a child, every night at dinner dad would ask the same question. “What did you learn today?” I had to come up with one thing I had learned in school. “Nothing,” or, “I don’t know” was not an acceptable answer. So I learned to always remember something I had learned at school. Sometimes I will ask this question of my children. “What did you learn today?” I will always think back to my childhood, answering the question for Dad.

Dad has a pattern of helping people make it. Not always publicly, not always in obvious ways. He tells people to go for it, encourages their talents. Over the years, he hired many people who became very successful. He taught me to speak up for myself, and to have confidence. He taught me (by word and by example) to go to church every Sunday (or Saturday night with the better music), and don’t be afraid to sing loud and clear. He always told us, “don’t be afraid to order the most expensive thing on the menu on a date,” (providing the boy can afford it).

Dad is still with us, and I hope he will be around for another Twenty years. We will see Mom and Dad in the summer, and they will come for Christmas some years. We will always see them at Thanksgiving, with my five siblings, their spouses, and the 15 grandchildren – soon to be 16. We will laugh, and joke, and tell stories, and Dad will sit down and play chess with one of the grandchildren. I don’t know when he will go to the Virgin Island in the sky, but I didn’t want to wait to tell him how I feel. I love you Dad, and Thank you for all you have given us.

Mealtime Melodrama

Sometimes I want to trade my three year old for a starving child from Africa who will not care if his sandwiches are cut into squares or triangles, or ask for the crusts to be cut off; but will simply be glad to have food.

Pie for Breakfast

Today we ate apple pie for breakfast. There just wasn’t time to eat it last night, after our second Thanksgiving. By the time we finished mashed potatoes, turkey, gravy, stuffing, cranberry, yams, and squash, everyone was full. The kids had already gone back for thirds and fourths, and Mom and Dad were stuffed from two heaping plates each.

This morning we came down and thought about breakfast. I saw that unopened apple pie on the counter. I said to my husband, “I want to eat pie for breakfast.” “Go ahead,” he said. “No,” I said. “It would be a bad example for the kids.” So I asked the kids, “do you want eggs?” “No” they say. “Toast?” “No.” “What do you want?” No answer.

“We’re having pie,” I said. “Yay,” they proclaimed. Smiling kids came running to the table. We sat down and cut 4 slices from the pie and ate them. Then two more slices each. “There’s one slice left for dad,” my oldest announced. Dad was not even ready to think about eating again after last night. Or maybe he is not a fan of pie for breakfast. “Ok, I’ll have it later,” he says.

I think we will start a new tradition; we should do this every year. Thanksgiving dinner is so good, that we don’t always have room for the pie. That’s a very good reason to have pie for breakfast.

Lunch at McDonald's

The parents sit at the tables chatting, and glancing over at the tubes every once in a while. Occasionally, one will stand up, walk over to the tunnels, and announce that it’s time to go home. They scan the climber, looking for their Allie, or Timmy, or Julia. Sometimes the appointed child will come out. Other times, the parent will stay there for a while, reminding the kid to come now, or else, we’re not coming back next time.

The kids are happy, climbing, and sliding, and playing their games. Groups of three or four will come out of the slide at once, then climb back up through the tube entrance together.

The mothers will look over, and smile, recognizing their child, knowing that they are still ok.

Occasionally, a child will cry, and we will check, to make sure it isn’t ours. Sometimes, one of our children will be the one crying, and he will say, “Someone was not nice. Right here,” and point to his forehead. But before we can even hug him, he has run back to the climber, having forgotten the atrocity. I guess it wasn’t that bad.

It is loud, the room echoes with excited laughter, yelling, and noise. The mothers can’t hear each other to well, so we can’t have a real deep conversation. We say, “Now I remember why we only come here once in a while.” But we know that it is worth it; what else are we going to do with our kids on this cold day before Thanksgiving, the ground wet from yesterday’s rain? We know that when we get home, the kids will be calm, and content. They will go color or read books, and no one will fight. They have got their energy out, and besides, we didn’t have to make lunch today.

My husband, the chef

When we first started dating, I would be driving home from work and he would call. “Do you want to go to dinner,” he would say? “Yes” I would say, smiling. This lasted for a while. Then one day, he called and said, “I’m cooking dinner, you have to come over.” When I got there, I was impressed. He was making mashed potatoes, and Brussels sprouts, and pork chops, on a weeknight! I had never had a Brussels sprouts before, but I loved them! Growing up we only had mashed potatoes on Thanksgiving – and they were somewhat lumpy. His were smooth, and creamy, and perfect.

When we were first married, on a Saturday, I would say, “I’m going to the grocery store.” “I’m coming too,” he would say. He wasn’t just coming to keep me company; he wanted to be involved with the food selection.

When it was time to cook dinner, he would help. We would cook together. He had a few recipes his mom had written for him, some of his favorites. He would cook these foods for me. Some I had never had before. Some I never knew how to make before, and had only eaten in restaurants.

This was only the beginning of our culinary adventures. Last Christmas, I gave him a cookbook. He likes cookbooks, and can be found looking through or reading them sometimes. He does this with concentration, tasting the food in his mind. When he opened the cookbook that Christmas, he was excited. That night he brought it up to bed with him, and read it there. That winter, he tried some of the gourmet recipes from the cookbook. He shopped for the special ingredients, and made things with delicate sauces, and exotic spices. He made things that took two active hours to cook, stirring, adding ingredients, and gently whisking. These special Sunday dinners we ate in the dining room, with a white tablecloth, and cloth napkins.

A couple times, he wanted to try special crock-pot dinners on weeknights. These were more work than my usual Tuesday or Wednesday night meat, starch and vegetable dinners, so he bought the ingredients, and set out all the spices for me in the morning. He went over the recipes with me, just to be sure I knew his variations before he left for work.

I like his cooking, and I like to copy the things he cooks. Once he’s made something a few times, I can usually make it next time. But he does something special in his cooking, and he can invent recipes. He enjoys making extraordinary creations, and experimenting with ingredients, and techniques. I like to follow set recipes – usually simple ones with not too many ingredients. He can look at a spice jar, and tell you 5 other things to combine with it - and how it will taste when it’s done.

He knows how to throw dough up in the air, and catch it again; and he does it with style. When making a pumpkin pie, or meatballs, he will call the kids in to help. He will let them mix, and pour, and add ingredients. He will set up the counter like a cooking show, with little containers for each spice so they can pour them in the bowl one at a time. He will make sure they smell each spice before it is added.

I am learning from this. I try to be patient with the kids, and let them help me when I cook. I measure out the water and let them pour. But secretly, I want to cook alone. I want the kids to be playing happily while I cook peacefully, undisturbed, with no interruptions. Cooking is not always a choice for me; I have to do it every day to feed hungry kids. But for him, it’s a love, it’s joy, it’s art.

Little Yellow Ticket

Sticking out of the little drawer in my car’s dashboard is a little yellow ticket from the dry cleaner. I keep it there so it will not get lost. It is supposed to remind me to pick up the clothes. I see it as I sit in the car, and tell myself I will stop at the cleaners on the way home. In this same drawer, I keep my outgoing mail. I face the letters stamp side out. I tell myself I will mail them when I get to the store with the mailbox out front.

Needless to say, upon my arrival back home, as I pull the lever into park, there is the little yellow ticket. I forgot to stop at the cleaners. I will have to get there tomorrow. That is, if I can remember. Under the ticket, is the stamped mail. I could put it in my mailbox at the end of my driveway and pop up the flag. But that means it won’t get picked up till afternoon. I can do better than that. I’ll be sure to mail it in the U.S. mailbox in morning when I am out. They pick up at nine am. That will be faster.

Wedged in the cracks of my steering wheel is a note. Occasionally, while waiting at a traffic light, I will think of something important. I will find a scrap of paper in the storage area in between the passenger seat and mine and write in big letters, “Call the babysitter” or “check when library books are due.” When I get home, I will be sure to take the note inside and put in next to the phone, so I will make that important call.

I remember the essential things. I make myself a calendar on the computer, where I fill out events and dates. It is posted on the fridge. I consult it every morning, and it keeps me on track. I remember to pack snacks in my kid’s backpacks. I remember to pick them up from school on Wednesday so we they can go to their lessons. But as for getting myself to the dry cleaner on the way home, well that might take a few days. So if you see a little yellow ticket sticking out of my dashboard, please remind me to pick up the shirts. And if there is a letter under that, please tell me to put it in my mailbox.

Chess

My son almost beat me at chess today. He gave me a good game. At one point, I thought I was going to lose. I made a mistake, and he got my Queen. Later, he was careless, and I got his Queen. Then I got his Rook. I could see him getting distressed. “Mom, you are making moves like the computer.” I am? I did not know. I don’t play computer chess. He does. When it’s his turn to play a computer game, he will go to Chess Titans first, and play a few rounds. Then he will go onto to something else.

I know he will beat me some day. It might not be next week, maybe not next month, but soon. I will be proud. Because when he wins, it will not be because I let him. It will be because I put up my best fight. He will win on his own merit; he will outwit me, and I will be glad. Maybe I should brush up on my skills and play some Chess Titans. After all, I have to be prepared for my son. I don’t want him to beat me too soon.

Playgroup

Today was the first day of my new playgroup. My 10 month old daughter met her first friend of her same age, and they sat on the floor and played together. A baby a few months younger was nursing next to them. In a few months, he will be on the floor playing with them. The three of us Moms had never met each other before, but it didn’t matter. We got along fabulously. How could we not? We were sitting here with three babies, watching them play. Two of us had three year olds present. One of us said we have a three year old who’s in school today. Maybe we should have the playgroup on a different day of the week so he can be there. We talk about our schedule. We say we can do that. We are flexible.

I know that my daughter will grow up with these babies. That she will see them every week. When I say we are going to see your friends, she will think of these two children. One of them already has teeth. One is a little younger than her and has not tried baby food yet. We mothers are paying close attention, and will discuss each of these matters and milestones over the next few months. We will get to know each other and we will become friends; over tea, and water, and animal crackers.

My first Mommy friends, some of which have moved away, some of which I have moved away from, are from playgroup. My very first playgroup was the most care free. There were three of us, each with one baby. The other two moms had actually met each other in child birth class, that’s how far back they go. They are still friends today, 7 years later. They live on opposite sides of the country now, but can find each other over the phone, or on Facebook. I can find them there too. We look back, and we remember what life was like with one child. How hard we thought it was. We were there with each other, when each of us became pregnant with number two. We hugged and congratulated each other. We gave each other baby clothes. We looked forward to playgroup day each week. A few months into that first playgroup, I met another mom at the playground. Her daughter wore a helmet as we pushed our babies on the swings. I asked her what it was for and she explained it was for a plagiocephaly. She was nice and I asked her to join our playgroup. That was all it took, she fit right in.

I was sad when I moved to a new town away from my friends. I was close enough that we could still get together, and meet once a week or more for a play date. But I felt distant, like I needed some more friends in my new town. I looked around, I searched the Internet, but I couldn’t find anything. I asked around and someone mentioned a regional mom’s club. That sounded promising. I called and talked to someone and they told me about a playgroup in the next town. I went to the host’s house on the appropriate day. There must have been about 20 or 30 moms at the playgroup, and they all new each other. A couple talked to me but I felt overwhelmed. I didn’t go back - this was not quite what I was expecting.

About a year later, I heard that my town was starting it’s own Mom’s club. Great! Something local. This is perfect. Apparently, we had a Mom’s club years ago, but it had disbanded, and joined with other towns. But now we were getting our own. Fabulous. I went to the recruiting meeting at the playground and I signed up. I anxiously waited for the first meeting.

A few weeks later, I got a phone call about joining a playgroup. The lady and I chatted and found out we had two boys the same age. She said she was placing me in her playgroup, and I asked her if she waned to get together before the planned meeting so the kids could meet each other sooner. She said sure, she was hosting an activity at her house next week, so I was welcome to come. That is when I met her; my first mom’s club friend in my new town. We have been friends ever since. She has since moved away, but we still get together.

Since then, we have been in many playgroups. Some were large, others small, most lasted about a year or so. Some stopped when kids went to preschool. Some stopped when one of the moms got a job.

In one of my small playgroups, we began hugging each other when we arrived at the host’s house. Every time we got together, that was the first thing we would do. We were so happy to be together, and to share our weeks news. We discussed things about school with our older kids, and things that our younger kids were doing. We discussed everything. I was a little sad when that playgroup ended because one of the mothers started a new job. But the three of us still get together occasionally, at the playground, at one of our houses, or at least on the phone. I know these women will always be my friends.

So today, it is with joy, that I look upon my new playgroup, and watch my daughter play with her new baby friends. I know that this is a special time, to smile, to laugh, to enjoy. These new mothers will become my new friends and our children will become friends too. It will all happen at playgroup.

As Dad calls her, "Mother Earth."

Almost every childhood memory I have of my mother, she is in her brown apron, and in most of them, she is standing at the kitchen sink, doing dishes. It seemed like she was always doing dishes. And now that I am grown, I can attest that she was. She raised 6 children, I am number five. So there was always a lot of dishes.

She also did a lot of laundry. Every morning, she could be found, at the washing machine scrubbing clothes. She would have a shirt in one hand, and a toothbrush in the other. She kept her detergent in a squirt bottle. This way she could squirt on a little when she needed it. Most people would just dump in the clothes, add detergent, and leave. Not my mom. She scrubbed. She got out every stain. Next to the detergent, she also had bleach and a plastic cup, one she had saved from a restaurant or somewhere that gives out sturdy plastic cups. To this, she would add a little bleach. She would dilute the bleach with water, and she would scrub.

When my sister was a baby, mom used cloth diapers. These she would keep out in a pail on the porch untill it was time to wash them. Sometimes she would ask me to carry one out to the pail. I would hold the very tip of it with two fingers, carrying it out as far in front of me as I could.


My mother never yelled. She spanked me a total of three times in my life. I can’t remember why, or what I did to deserve it, but I’m sure it was something worthy.

Occasionally, I was told to stand in the corner. I don’t remember why. She would never leave me in there very long. She wouldn’t yell at me to go there. She would just casually say, "go stand in the corner," so there I would go.

Most of the time if I was acting up, or being energetic, she would tell me to go outside and run around the house 10 times, so I would run. I would come back in, and verything would be ok. That was that. Sometimes my sister was sent out with me. We would do it together - it was fun. We would run until we were out of breath.

Once she washed my mouth out with soap and water. I had said a bad word. I didn’t say bad words after that.

If I asked, my mom would put shaving cream on the kitchen table for me to play with. She let me play with in while she washed dishes.

Every day I would also draw pictures at the kitchen table. When I was done, I would show them to my mom. She would always stop what she was doing, and look at them. “That’s beautiful” she would say. I would draw some more. I soon moved onto paint. She would let me paint whenever I wanted. She never told me no, not now, or wait to later. She just let me paint. I started out with watercolors, the kind for kids. Mom saved every one of my painting, and drawings.

As I got older, and became more interested in art, she signed me up for an art class on Saturdays. She bought me canvas and acrylic paint. She took me to the class every Saturday at 9 am, and at noon she came to pick me up. I would always have to bring home my wet canvas. The teacher had to make room for the students in her other classes. Mom helped me find a safe place to store my canvas. When I finished a painting, she would find a place to hang it in the house. She showed them to everyone who came over.

After school, she would be there to open the door when I walked in. She would always greet me with a “hi” and a smile. She would ask me about my day. Then she would give me a snack, usually apples or something like that. Sometimes, if I asked for a cookie, she would get the box that was hidden in the hall behind the laundry room. I would be allowed to have a couple.

Mom didn’t keep junk food around the house. She did have a small jar of peanut M+M’s in the jar cabinet. Mom did not have Tupperware. What she did have was a collection of deli Containers that she saved every time we got cream cheese or potato salad, or anything from the deli. They were heavy plastic and came with lids. She used these to store things. She could not bear to throw anything useful away. This was in the days before recycling. It you went up to our attic, there was a collection of gallon milk containers that had been washed. She could not throw these away either. Lucky for us, and our house, the recycling program eventually came to our town.

20 years before it became the popular thing to do, Mom was bringing her own bags back to the store. She would save the plastic bags from shopping and take them with her the next time. When she got to the check out, she would give the cashier the bags to reuse. Sometimes it would embarrass me, like when we were clothes shopping and she would buy me something and then tell the cashier that we didn’t need a bag. I learned to tell ask before we went into the store, “can we get a bag today?” I was a teenager. I wanted to walk out of the store with my clothes in a bag.

One of mom’s favorite things to do was to shop at a tag sale. Anytime we were driving anywhere on a weekend, and we passed one, she would always slow down to look. Sometimes we would stop, and get out and have a real look. Sometimes it would be “just junk,” as she would say, but sometimes there was something good and we would buy it. No bag of course.

One day one of our neighbors down the street was having a tag sale. They had a big sign at the end of the street. Mom decided we were going to have a tag sale of our own. She started assembling stuff and put it out in the driveway. She put up a sign that said “Mini tag sale” and when people stopped she told them this was not the tag sale on the sign, but was our mini tag sale and to go to the other one also. We could have had ten more tag sales and our house would not have been empty, but my mom usually just gave stuff away.


There was a woman from the next town who mom always talked to at Grand Union,. She got to know her, and found out she had a daughter a little younger that my little sister. Mom also knew that she took the bus to work at the store. So, next time we went shopping, my mom brought all my sisters outgrown clothes and gave them to the bagger. I asked her why, and she said that she could use them.

Mom was friends with the baggers at all the grocery stores. Mom was not the type of person to make a list, and do her weekly shopping in one day. She usually went to one grocery store or another every day. I of course, went with her to the store. She knew to buy the milk at Finast, the meat a Grand Union, and other stuff a Walbaumbs. She always brought her coupons too. I knew the bagger at Walbaumbs, and he always talked to me. He was slightly mentally challenged, but he was nice, and my mom was always friendly to him. Sometimes he would pat me on the head or something, which I didn’t like, but I didn’t say anything, because he was my mom’s friend. Mom would make friends wherever she would go. Not just with the people you were supposed to be friends with, but the ones that most people overlook.

Changes

We sit in her big back yard. The babies are on the blanket. They are not really playing together, but they are aware of each other. We have a few toys on the blanket, and are trying to keep the babies from wandering off.



The older boys are on the swings. They are dirty. The sprinklers are on. The boys are wet and going down the slide. They are riding in the cars. They are sometimes sneaking into the garden. The garden has dirt patches so we let them play. I don't know how she has time to keep this big garden. We talk about organic food. We really can't afford to buy organic food. But we wish we could. We talk about going to Davis Farm. Maybe we will get passes from the library, and go one day. We talk about the boys. We talk about the babies. We laugh. It is sunny and warm. We are happy.



We talk about houses. We talk about Extreme Makeover Home Edition. I tell her I should nominate her from the show. We laugh. She says they are looking for a new home. She is not sure if they can stay in town. Her family lives an hour away. It would be great to live near them. But she is torn. All her friends are here. All her kids friends are here.



Time goes by. She calls on the phone. We are talking, as usual. They are leaning towards moving near her family. They have been looking for houses everywhere. She talks about all she they will leave behind here.



She calls again. It is definite. She is going to move away. Her husband and family start renovating their new house. They work on it all the time. She has to pack. We get together for more play dates. We talk about how we will still get together when she moves. It's only an hour away. Moving day comes, and they move. She is no longer five minutes away. We talk on the phone. We talk about getting together after they get settled. We talk about meeting in the middle so no one has to drive to far.



I go about life. I take the kids to school. I go to Mom's club. I remember how we used to go to Mom's club together. I chit chat with the people I know. I introduce myself to the new people. But something is missing. Something is not quite right. I go home. I cry.



I call my friend. We make plans to meet at a McDonald's with a play area halfway between us. It takes both of us longer than we thought to get there. We meet. The kids play. I take lots of pictures. It is right before Easter. She asks if we have any plans. She invites us to come to her house. I say I will check with my husband.



We arrive at her new house on Easter. Everyone is outside in her new backyard. She has all the cars and riding toys outside. She has an egg-spoon race set up. And tons of games for the kids. We are celebrating one of the boys birthdays also. The kids are happy to see their friends. They pair up with their buddies of the same age. I take more pictures. We eat birthday cake. We say goodbye and promise to get together soon.



Months go by. We talk on the phone. There are screaming kids in the background. We don't care. We are used to talking on the phone like this. We talk about how the kids are driving us crazy. We talk about what we have been up to. We get off the phone due to the screaming kids.



I go about my life. Do my chores. Take the kids to school. Chit chat with people I know. Go to mom's club.



A card arrives in the mail. It is a pretty picture of a garden. It says "Thinking of You." I smile. It is so pretty, I don't want to lose it on my desk. I think about where to put it. I stand it up where I can see it in my kitchen. I smile.



It is January. My new baby is due to arrive soon. I pick up the kids from school and am driving home. There is snow on the ground, but it is sunny. We are driving by the playground, and they ask to go. I say ok. Why not? I see there is one other car there. We get out of the car, and the boys run to the Big Dinosaur. There is another mom standing there, with 4 kids. She waves. She smiles. These all yours I ask? No she says, the two boys are hers. The girls she is watching for a friend. We chat. She seems friendly. I ask how old the boys are. Turns out, they are a the same age as two of mine. Her two boys have their birthdays a week or two after my two. We talk. She is new around here. She doesn't know any other moms. I tell her about Mom's club. I give her my phone number. She joins mom's club and comes to my playgroup. The kids play. We are happy. We talk about getting together again.



I am getting ready to have my new baby. I talk to my friend on the phone. I tell her about my new friend. She is glad. We talk about the kids. We talk about the baby. I tell her I am nervous. I don't know how I will handle four. She says better you than me. We laugh.



My baby is born. My parents come to stay with us. Life is easy for a couple weeks. My parents leave. Friends visit me and the baby. A big box arrives in the mail from my friend. It is full of pink baby clothes. I smile. I can't believe how much clothes she sent me! I call her on the phone. We talk. We laugh. There are screaming kids in the background. We don't care. We are happy.

Monday Morning

Monday morning I have to be up by 7 am. If I want to take a shower before the school bus comes, then I have to be up at 6:30. But, that will usually wait till later. On a typical day, I wake up to some sort of noise. Either the kids are making train noises with the Geo trax, (loud noises), making car sounds, someone is throwing something, or they are fighting over a toy. That is noise I have learned to live with. Not life threatening. But, then the baby will chime in with her cry, "Ahhhhh. Wahhh." wanting to be let out of her crib. That one is more pressing, since I also want to nurse her. So usually it's her that gets me out of bed. So I get her, and change her diaper. If she lets me, I put her down in the co-sleeper/playpen in my room. But if this evokes cries that will annoy the still sleeping husband, then I will take her with me to see the boys. So I have her under one arm, grab two school uniforms under the other arm, and go to the oldest boys room. He's still in bed, looking peaceful and angelic, wrapped like a burrito in his blanket. So I open his shade, and very nicely pull the covers off of him. "It's time to get up." I say. "Mmmmm" he says, and grabs the covers back around him. "Now" I say, and pull the covers off completely, onto the floor. "It's time to get dressed. You have to get up." He gets up and runs to the bathroom. I leave the school clothes on his bed, and go to the next room.



Here, the younger two boys are playing. They are building cities out of Geo trax, wooden blocks, and cars. The second boy is told to get ready for school. He takes offense that I am interrupting his creation. I tell him I am leaving the clothes on his bed, get dressed. I leave to go check on boy number one.



He is back in bed. Under the covers.



"Get up now. You have five seconds or I'm getting Daddy. One, two, three....." He jumps up. Starts scampering around the room. "Take off your pajamas. " By now, it is past seven. He gets dressed, and I help him with his buttons. On goes his sweater. I send him downstairs to put on his shoes. Back to boy number two.



I find him in his room in his underwear, playing with the blocks. I tell him to finish getting dressed now. Now time to take care of boy number three. I am still carrying the baby around with me. I tell number three it's time to get dressed. He has no interest. I decide to wait till later. Time to go downstairs.



I start making eggs and toast. The kids are now running around the living room, playing. Meanwhile, Dad comes down dressed and ready and says goodbye. "I want a hug" they all say. They line up at the top of the basement stairs to hug him. I hug him too. Then he is gone. I am alone with the kids again.



The food is ready, and I call them all to the table. Tuck napkins into their shirts so they don't get their school clothes dirty at breakfast (this I learned the hard way). With a few reminders to stay in your seat with your feet in front of you, they start eating. I take a minute to pack two snacks each into their backpacks. I turn on the Keurig and use it to get hot water for the baby cereal. I plop her into the high chair, and start feeding her, armed with two extra spoons for her to hold. I ask boy number to to call her so she will look at him and be distracted while she eats. The older boys eat finish their food and start playing again. I try to convince number three to go to the bathroom. I remind him he can have stickers if he pees in the potty. He doesn't want to go. I am willing to let him wait till later, and hoping he does not have an accident in the meantime.



Ten minutes before it's time to go to the bus, I call one and two over to the bathroom to wash their hands and faces, and remind them to dry off of the towel. Then it's over to the other side of the baby gate that blocks the stairs and the front door to put on shoes, coats and backpacks. Meanwhile, number three starts climbing on the outer side of the stairs. The baby is singing from her high chair. After several reminders to get your shoes on now, number one is ready to go out to the bus. He zips up his jacket, then I tell him to stand on the third step I want my hug. I hug him and tell him to be a good boy today. He gives me a kiss and I send him out to wait for the bus. I zip up number two, and help him with his shoes. He climbs on the stair for our hug, and jumps on me. I kiss him and send him outside too.



Number three wants to watch for the bus, so I send him over to the window. I rescue baby from the high chair and we watch the boys at the end of the driveway. They go over to the mailbox and one comes running up the path with the newspaper. I open the door and let in a bunch of cold air, and take the paper. I tell him to have a good day. Baby and I watch, then the bus finally comes. The boys wait for it to stop, then they cross over and get on. Baby and I wave bye bye to the bus. Ok, breathe, breathe, breathe, now we are down to two kids!



Now it's time to chase number three back to the bathroom. I remind him he can have stickers. He takes the bait, and he goes into the bathroom, "Ok, get out." he says. Yes sir, I will. "I did it!" He proclaims. Success!



Baby and I run upstairs to find clothes for number three. Once upstairs, I see the laundry on the floor and decide to start one load. Plop baby into the co sleeper/playpen and tell her it's just for a minute. Then proceed to collect all the laundry from the basket, the kids bedrooms, and the kids bathroom. Put them in, then go back to open all the shades, and make my bed. Empty the clean clothes our of the dryer onto my bed to fold. Remember that I have a half naked boy downstairs. Right, get him some clothes. Try to leave baby in the playpen, but she sees me and protests. Take her in one arm, and bring her with me to get number three dressed. Find number three in the living room, playing cars. Manage to put his pants on without him stopping his play. Get him to put the cars down long enough to put on his shirt. Plop baby down in the living room to play. Back to the kitchen - time to clear the table, and now have a sink full of breakfast dishes and Dad's snack dishes from last night, after I had already cleaned. Decide to empty the dishwasher. As I am taking things out, hear plop plop plop of little hands crawling in. Hmm. Do I cage her in the exersaucer and finish this? No, close the dishwasher. Can do it later. Pick up baby and hug her.