Up a creek

Have I already mentioned how much I love summer? Mia is learning the ropes quickly - when you see a fun splashable creek, you get in and splash.

Three Cheers to Fancy Hotels

We finally made our big escape for a night alone to celebrate our fifth anniversary on Wed. night. We went to the Broadmoor in Colorado Springs and were blown away by how fabulous the hotel is. We were also blown away by the fact that we could do whatever we wanted, for how ever long we wanted, with nary a toddler to interrupt us. Truth be told though, we did miss Mia, a lot. We would periodically check in with one another, "Do miss her too right now?" we would ask. When you have a child, your lives so revolve around his/her well being. It's easy to fear that on your moments alone, you'll lapse into talking about him/her. We did on occasion of course but we also connected so beyond our deep love for Mia. We were reminded of the fact that we are madly in love with each other - still. V is all class. And hysterically funny too. I savored every indulgent moment of alone time with him while I had it. A big shout out to our babysitter who took care of Mia on her first overnight without us.

Loveseat, anyone?

It's nice when things have multiple purposes. I don't know if Bijou thinks it's too nice though.

Together

My sister took this the other day at the cemetery - Mia and I sitting next to Dad with "beep". I don't linger over too much...but Mia not knowing her papa has caused me to pause on more occasions than one. Not knowing him is something I just can't imagine. I do plan on passing on every little bit down to her, I just wish she could hear a lot of it first hand.

Writerly Thoughts

I have a catalog in my brain of absurd moments. Those moments that grab hold of you by the throat and shake you to your knees...yelling to you, "Why do you take all of this so damn seriously?" Now that I don't have my dad to say "lighten up Meggie", I need these moments to keep me in check.

One of those moments was when I was at my acupuncturist's office several years ago while we were desperately trying to conceive. I felt a hole in my heart from the miscarriage. That hole radiated throughout my body and left me feeling empty. I was particularly upset one afternoon so he pulled out the red carpet for me...there must have been a hundred needles plugged into my anxious body. I was on my back, arms outstretched against my sides, needles everywhere. If I had an itch, I would have been up a creek. He dimmed the lights, turned on my favorite tunes (Dylan...need you ask?), and leaned in as he touched my shoulder so gently, "you comfortable?" he asked. There I was, with a broken spirit, but a strong dummy strapped to my chest for appearances sake, full of needles. I chuckled. And then laughed with a belly laugh that reverberated throughout the serene little room. I couldn't stop. The laughter poured out of my soul and my mouth twisted up at the sides and did that thing that mouths do when you are hysterical. I wanted to pull my hands up to cover my mouth, embarrassed at how ugly it must have been - baring my teeth and knowing my double chin that I keep tucked away was waving wildly, happy to be out. My knees yanked to my chest in reaction to knowing that my arms and hands couldn't and I howled as tears poured from my eyes. My acupuncturist was actually laughing too. I just thought the moment was so surreal. So funny. Comfortable? No. Not really. At all. A moment that I loved because I'm a writer.

I cataloged another moment into the ABSURD file as I sat at my dad's death bed, with a hospital grade breast pump humming and whirling as I pumped breast milk for my infant daughter to drink later on. My father was dying, intubated, his chest rising and falling so unnaturally, and I remember tentatively pulling the curtain around him and trying awkwardly to lift my shirt and adjust the pump on the other side of the curtain while I laughed and told him that this is indeed ridiculous, isn't it? There I was, not knowing what was causing my milk to let down...the damn pump or my dad's breathing machine. I remember feeling angry at the absurdity of it all...of life...but also knowing that this was a moment that a writer wouldn't let go of. It was a moment that made me feel acutely alive, so in pain yet able to recognize that pain and push it in all of it's cumbersome weight into a lighter moment. Push it into a liquid that would somehow feed another moment. It breaks my heart writing about that particular absurdity. The juxtaposition of life and death almost too obvious, and too heavy to really say anything else about - even for a writer.

It happened again yesterday. An absurdity that was given to me because I think some higher up knows I'm keeping track. I told Mia gently to stop hitting me. She then hit herself in the head. I placed her on the time out step (the bottom step) and said, "Now, this is called a time out. You need to come here when you do something that isn't right. You just hit me, and yourself, and now you need to sit here." She sat happily and then I called her back to me after a minute. I hugged her and told her I was proud of her for being a big girl and sitting on the step. She hit me square in the face and then ran toward the step and sat down, with the biggest smile of pride on her face. She waved and said, "Hiiii Mama." My face stung. My time out energy broken. How could I be angry? It was a moment that burned of life....the smell of those flames of happiness, confusion, sadness all mixed together that just reminded me of how crazy this all really is. A moment for a writer.

I catalog because it makes me feel complete and in control. I catalog because where else would these moments disappear too if I didn't call them something? If I didn't give them the shelf space they so deserve? I catalog because my most prized loved ones love this stuff. This is why I like having my family and my friends around a lot. We share the absurdity of it all. In good times and bad.

Ice scream, You scream, Mia just sometimes screams

An ice cream outing last week. Let's all take a moment of silence for the magic of summer. And then let's all hope for ice cream days to come to an end so that weird back fat above my bikini bottom will go away.

The Petting Zoo

We went to Belleview Park the other day which is such a darling little park. A choo choo train meanders through it (a ride for a buck folks...what's a dollar anymore these days?). A petting farm is also there. Mia loved it. I watched her with all of the animals and felt such pride. Some of the dirty kids without supervision were throwing rocks at the helpless ducks swimming in their pond while my sweet sweet Mia was squatting, the way I do, near the sheep saying, "Hiiiiiii baaaa! Hiiiiii baaaa!" She would put her hand out and walk really tentatively up to them the way I do, talking all the while...saying things like "shhhhh" and quietly clucking her tongue, the way I do. One little girl had run a frantic chicken right into the corner of the lot. I wanted to explain to Mia how that little girl was being cruel and invasive. I could just see that Mia got it though. Cruelty to animals is number one on my list of "can't stands" so seeing Mia be so sweet to them made me really happy. I felt our kindred DNA do a 'high five' right there in the park.

Behold..."The Beep"

Mia has gotten herself a new stroller. She has loved playing with other strollers so I broke down at Target and began the downward spiral into the buying of worthless plastic stuff that I swore I would never do. She is in heaven though. It doesn't matter where we are going, she begs for "beep" to come. She does occasionally call it by its given name, "drollo" (for stroller). Somehow though, more often than not, it is called "beep". We really have no idea why. I think I said, "beep! beep!" once when I was playing with one at a friend's house.

V commented that it's now like traveling with an elderly person when we go anywhere. Mia must have her sippy in hand, hat on her head, and "beep" to walk with. She pushes it into neatly stacked cans at the grocery store, bulldozes into books at the library, and barrels through weeds on the dirt road path behind our house. All of her favorite stuffed animals are packed squarely into it and usually a balloon is secured to it's handle (our grocery store gives her a balloon every time we go, which is often).

Welcome Beep. We love having you.

This face...

Despite the fact that I often can't finish a conversation anymore, or even start one - I love you. Despite the fact that I can't get to the mall to buy new summer clothes, let alone new underwear - I love you. Despite the fact that I can't really cook anymore because it becomes a juggling act that even the most accomplished chef is incapable of handling - I love you. Despite the fact that I often collapse into bed at the end of the night saying to V, "by the way...how ARE you?" - I love you. You make me feel failure like I've never felt it before (like when I got irritated at you for not giving me three minutes of peace so I could apply some eyeliner and brush my teeth) and at the same time, you make me feel like the most successful person on the planet (like when I'm at the park and I see you say to the baby next to you, "Hiiiiii there baby!") You just make it all so real Mia. Keep on keeping on kid because I see big things in our future. Big things.

It's really very simple....

Today Mia and I walked to the park. We poured sand into her bucket many many times. We said, "Dog!" every time we saw a dog (the same one who was circling the park with her owner jogging behind her). We sat on the two swings - first the one on the left, then the one on the right, then the one on the left again. I couldn't have been happier being there....with her....doing really nothing. Reminds me of Anna Quindlen when she said....

“The biggest mistake I made [as a parent] is the one that most of us make. . . . I did not live in the moment enough. This is particularly clear now that the moment is gone, captured only in photographs. There is one picture of [my three children] sitting in the grass on a quilt in the shadow of the swing set on a summer day, ages six, four, and one. And I wish I could remember what we ate, and what we talked about, and how they sounded, and how they looked when they slept that night. I wish I had not been in such a hurry to get on to the next thing: dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less”(Loud and Clear [2004], 10–11).

Here is to just DOING. Forget about the rest of it. Just simply be in the moment and be damn happy that you've got a moment to be in.

Happy Father's Day

Happy Father's Day to all the dads I know and love. Mia and I met V downtown at the Brown for our surprise afternoon. I had grand plans of showing up with a scavenger hunt for him to follow. I never got around to creating the clues so I basically showed up with Mia in tow and said, "You wanna go to the art museum and then dinner?" He was so excited with this little show of spontaneity; it almost made me feel guilty for not being clever and creative more often. Mia was a doll face at the museum and discovered all of the cool little nooks and crannies for kids that are built right into the exhibits. V lingered over obscure artists and told me bits and pieces about them from the bios listed near the work. I'm a scanner - I walk into a particular showing, look around, and decide immediately if I want to walk in further. I do the same thing with clothing stores. V is a true discoverer - he likes to peek behind corners, walk all the way to the end, glimpse at all of the work, study pieces he truly likes. I admire that about him. He is so much more patient than I am. We both did love one piece, a lithograph by Melissa Harshman. It's always kind of a moment when you and your partner both gravitate to the same thing. We walked simultaneously toward the wall and then had that second where we looked at each other, 'fancy meeting you here' spread across our faces. We have a lot of those moments together. It's like meeting someone new even though you knew them all along.

We went for pizza afterward and we all ate with total abandon. I love being out with V and Mia. It's always a memory...an occasion that I think, 'remember this.'


Despite feeling such happiness at our day, I felt the weight of my dad's absence more than I usually do. We were at his grave today to plant flowers with my mom and being there just made it all so concrete again. Of all of the things I am, of all the identities I connect with - teacher, wife, mom, neighbor, friend, etc - I still connect so strongly to being Roger and Ellen Padden's daughter. Deep deep down that's who I am. You strip away all of my experiences, encounters, chance meetings, and travels and I'm back to being theirs. The beauty and structure of my life are built upon this foundation that is them. In my grief, there is such awe too. Even in death, my dad is such a daily part of my life. Happy Dad's Day to you RMP.

One short of a half dozen

Happy Fifth Anniversary V! I forgot to post something special on June 7th. We were in D.C., sweating and chasing a 1 and 1/2 year old, so we barely had time to really reflect on the HALF decade that has passed us. When we got home from our trip, the first thing I did was run downstairs to find the bottle of wine that some of besties gave to us as a wedding gift. Lil, Meg, and Rach, my ladies that I met in college, gave us a really cool gift - a bottle of wine to open on our fifth, a bottle to open on our tenth, and a bottle to open on our 25th. The wine was excellent (am sipping some right now actually) and so worth the wait. It made me a bit sad to open up the box and discover the wine, with the tag that is slightly bent from having been moved and removed time and time again. It feels like just yesterday at times, and then, at times, it feels like a different lifetime ago. Five years ago, we just moved into our house now, we didn't have Mia, we didn't have Bijou....we had my dad. A day can change your life. An hour can actually. I look back to that day and think that I was so different then. The same. But different.

Thank you for loving me V. I was going to write "thank you for tolerating me" but you do so much more than that. I have a feeling that you actually and truly really love me. I can be terrible sometimes: I'm tempermental, opinionated, inflexible at times, so annoyingly routine oriented, and to be frank, incredibly and so obnoxiously BOSSY. I don't know how you do it. You never make me feel small. You never retaliate when I say angry things. You never linger in bad moments. In fact, just today when I called a truce over something, you reminded me, "We don't look back - only forward." So, here is to looking forward....Who knows what it will hold but I'm sure it will be funny, charming, bright, loving, hopeful, and very very sincere....because you'll be there. Happy fifth anniversary.

D.C. trip

We're back from D.C.! It was a nice get away but it feels good to be home. Mia was a super star traveler from start to finish. She loved her cousins and really like being in a new place. Even the weather didn't slow here down - high heat - high humidity. She wanted to play outside a lot. We stayed with V's sister and brother in law and they have this unbelievable backyard, something from a fairy tale. It's essentially a small forest with trees at least 50 feet high. There was a play house and swing set back there that Mia loved. She would look out the window and beg to "run." She calls playing outside "run"; she must hear us when we say we're going to take Bijou for a run. We spent a morning at a cool little park that had a train for kids and a carousel. Mia loved both. We also squeezed in a trip to Mt. Vernon and a brunch date with Anne and Thomas at their very cool condo. We can't wait for their baby to arrive in just a few months. The trip was a success. I think we want to conquer NYC with her next.

Summer and the quest for freedom

I love summer. Really. Truly. Deeply. I like the flip sound that flops make on your feet. I like ponytails. I like ice water when it's really hot. (Believe it or not, I do like a cold beverage now and again.) I like watching moms at the pool chasing their cheetoh stained kids. I like the tan life guards and their totally disinterested gaze. I like remembering my own summer time youth, but I like not being young anymore even better. There is just something satisfying about the whole season of summer. It means freedom.

I'm reading a fascinating book that speaks a lot about freedom from a totally different perspective...Loving Frank by Nancy Horan. It's historical fiction...based on Frank Lloyd Wright's affair with Mamah Cheney, a married woman who he fell for while doing some work for her husband. It is so well written and headier than I thought it would be, which makes it intriguing. The writer really delves into convention and what is expected of women. Remember that Wright was working in the early 1900s so this affair rocked Chicago society. Anyway, in the book, Mamah Cheney finds a woman, a writer, an intellectual, who philosophizes about "modern" women and what it means to be truly free. Mamah takes this woman's writings to justify her own infidelity. She uses it to excuse her affair with Wright as a necessary next step for her own personal evolution. This woman, Ellen Key, says, "Men have been trained to have the courage to dare, while women on the other hand, are stuck being the keepers of memories and traditions." I can see the truth in this statement, especially for the time period in which it was stated. But, now, being a modern working woman, I have to ask, is it so bad to keep memories and maintain traditions? Is it just women's work? I think of my dad so fondly right now - that man was a vault of memories AND traditions. Just what I'm thinking about this early morning - Cheetoh stained kids at the pool and out there progressive feminist thinkers of the early 1900s.

Cheese

When Mia sees me with the camera now, she comes strolling over saying "cheese!" She will then immediately push my hand out of the way to examine the image. Seriously? Already? I love it though because she always gives a belly laugh and points as if to say, "No way. That's really me on that little screen." I'm delighted that she has begun to understand the whole picture taking thing. For months we have had many shots of what Emily loving calls, "the Romanian baby waiting in line for bread" look. Mia would stare directly into the camera and give a look of total fear mixed with defiance. She would immediately morph back into her fun loving self once the soul sucking device was put back in its carrier.

Side note: the reason she's in her diaper with a stick standing in the empty baby pool is beyond me. She walked out onto the deck in a dress with no stick and when I went to get the camera and come back, she was as pictured. Don't call social services just yet please.

More pics

Does this pie not look like it's from a magazine? It was cooked in the dutch over next to the open flame. And how cute is the butter that we churned from cream? The museum guides were super cute too. V went up to the bar to get them a beer because they too couldn't get their own drinks, only men. When I say "bar", I mean two slats of wood over several bales of hay with a man who would pour you some water from a pitcher or give you a cup of lemonaid made from vinegar and essense of lemon. The forbidden booze was actually awesome pear cider kept in ice in a tin bucket. You know the guides went home to their husbands, ripped off their old time gear and poured a nice stiff cocktail before logging on to find out if Angelina did in fact have her twins. Being modern has its advantages.

Pioneer Girl

The evening I had been waiting for for over a year finally arrived....yesterday. The 1860s dinner. As anyone who reads this blog regularly knows, the Littleton Historical Museum is one of my favorite places and has been for years. I have been obsessed with history, specifically the pioneering of the West, since I was a kid. Laura Ingalls Wilder was the first character in a book who really spoke to me. I felt a kinship with her and desperately wanted to be her, even for a day.



I saw this dining experience in the museum calendar with a big "Sold Out" stamped over it. I asked the little old ladies who sit behind the reception desk how I could go about signing up. They told me the waitlist was over a year long. They explained that the dinner was only held a few times a year. They told me how amazing it was and how authentic as well. They continued on and on about it, making it out to be extremely exclusive. I told them to get that waitlist out; I wanted my name on it. (V and I were laughing yesterday,
even the hottest restaurants in NYC and LA don't have year long waiting lists.) Little did we know that this experience would blow any trendy eatery out of the water.



I signed up for 6 slots, out of 20. I had a feeling that my ladies Amy and Melanie, and their respective darling partners, would be our dates. The six of us have been talking about going out to dinner for over a year and this seemed like the perfect spot. They are all experience seekers, non judgemental of me and my extreme dorkiness at times, and terribly funny. It was a given that we would have a blast. Plus, I've known Amy and Melanie for about 20 years. You'd think that would make me feel old but it just makes me feel lucky.



We all walked in, with waivers in hand (yes....waivers....detailing that we might actually fall, get burned, get kicked by a stray sheep, or even perhaps die, which was a bit extreme), and nervously handed over our money. I guess we didn't know what to expect. Once we started, it was truly everything I had hoped. (See....this is where the extreme dorkiness is really apparent.)



There were about 8 employees of the museum, all in authentic garb, helping out. There were "stations" set up inside and outside of the 1860s cabin. It was set up the way an actual meal would have been prepared. We used kettles and pots over an open fire and dutch over to cook and bake. We also used a homemade smoker which consisted of a hole in the ground and an old barrel to smoke our meats. You could meander around and choose what you wanted to help prepare, there was even a little saloon set up. There was butter churning, cheese making, vegetable preparing, pie making (vinegar pie, rhubarb pie), bread making (yeast bread, rye bread, and spoon bread). There was chicken to smoke and pork too. Recipes were set up next to the things that needed to be baked. The employees taught along the way too. It was truly fascinating. There was no conventional way to measure anything so they taught us how to do that. I made the vinegar pie and V rolled out the dough. It was funny seeing him, looking all modern, churning the ice cream and rolling out dough in a teeny tiny actual cabin from the time period. I'm kind of blanking on all of the incredible little bits of information they gently told us along the way. I just kept thinking how interesting and fun the whole evening was.



The food was delicious and it was fun understanding the term "organic" from a truly organic approach. EVERYTHING we used was from the farm. The wheat that was ground was actually from the fields. The chicken and pork was from the animals, the eggs from the chickens, the butter from the cream from the cows, the veggies from the root cellar that were pulled from the garden. You get the point. The homemade ice cream kicked it into high gear as well. Did I mention the homemade outrageous chocolate sauce? Because that was there too.



This night was so seriously great that I'm actually writing the coordinator a letter today. Writing a letter either shows that something was down right terrible or the opposite, terribly fun. I do have to give props to our dates for really making it what it was. They really did set the tone. So, cheers to our friends, I hope we have many many more dinners to come. And hopefully most of those dinners will allow women to drink freely and openly and we won't have to send our men up to the bar to sneak us our drinks, as we did at our authentic dinner last night!