I was putting Mia to bed last night and we were finishing up our routine. I was laying next to her, books already read, story told, day reviewed. I whispered, "Mia, I love you so much. You are my special girl." She smiled and said, "Love you too." There was a long pause and she almost inaudibly said, "I really love that chocolate milk from the restaurant."
On the subject of restaurants...
When Mia demands something to eat for breakfast, lunch, or dinner, I gently remind her that I am NOT a short order cook and this is NOT a restaurant. I refuse to become so accommodating to her palette that I'm up and out of my chair every ten minutes trying to please her every whim. I know now that she gets this. This morning, as she was turning on her light and excitedly already chattering about everything that she was going to do in the next 90 seconds, she said, "And I am not going to have a smoothie this morning because this is NOT a restaurant, right Mama?"
Right.
Mia is almost as anxious as I am about Baby Pellegrino's arrival. I asked her the other day how he was going to get here. I was just curious what a 2 year old's understanding of birth really is. She looked at me, looked at my belly, and then said, "He's going to open the door." Her expression read, "Ummmm...give me something actually difficult to answer."
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Celebrate the joy
So I think I deserve some type of award for hosting Easter dinner at 9 mos. pregnant with a 2 year old and no husband the evening before to help prep because he was working. Now, here is where I should mention that I only made the salmon, which consisted of unwrapping it and putting it in the oven, and dessert, which was more complicated than the salmon but hardly difficult enough to feel award worthy. (The cake was award worthy though I must say. If you put 2 1/2 lbs. of cream cheese, no lie, into a cake...how can it not be award worthy?) My mom and sister outdid themselves with amazing side dishes. And my mom, who really should go down in history as being THE BEST at making holidays special deserves props for bringing Easter goodies to the kids AND her all time crowd pleasing sugar cookies shaped like chicks and bunnies.
The day was really really nice. The meal was super delicious and such a community effort. Mia played with her cousins and surprisingly, they didn't tear the house down as a trio. A few shoves, a couple of meltdowns during the egg hunts in the basement, and some whiny moments that a handful of jelly beans cured but overall, they held up - even with my strict calling after them, "The rule here is if you take it out - you pick it up!" (I'm SO not the fun aunt.)
Happy Easter. A day to celebrate the joy. And a look through the years of Ms. Mia on Easter. My how time changes us all.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Dear Economy,
No one likes you.
Love,
Meg
P.S.
I just got this forward from work and thought it was hilarious....
"Due to recent budget cuts and the cost of electricity, gas and oil, as well as current market conditions and the continued decline of the U.S. economy, The Light at the End of the Tunnel has been turned off.
We apologize for the inconvenience ."
Love,
Meg
P.S.
I just got this forward from work and thought it was hilarious....
"Due to recent budget cuts and the cost of electricity, gas and oil, as well as current market conditions and the continued decline of the U.S. economy, The Light at the End of the Tunnel has been turned off.
We apologize for the inconvenience ."
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Vince Charming
So he's at my rescue once again. Several times actually.
I, in my pregnant and highly emotional state, attempted to raise the crib from the lowest mattress setting to the highest about a week ago. I have blogged about this crib in the past and have bored you all with the complexity of such a seemingly easy task. I took the entire thing apart again and then cried for V to come into the room to help. He took one look and said, exasperated, "I really don't know what to do here." I made some type of animalistic noise and threw several screws and shouted something about having to pay someone to come and help us. I stomped up to our room while mumbling about all the things I could do with the ninety dollars it would cost to get the guys from the shop where we bought the crib to come out to the house (I know the price because I've called them before in another highly emotional state - that time not pregnant.)
V, in all of his calm glory, came into the room and told me to relax. He said he'd take care of it. Low and behold, 24 hours later, the crib sat in the room gleaming in the corner with the mattress set to the highest setting. Ninety dollars saved. Husband in full suit of shining armor, and quite proud of his handy work.
His next rescue endeavor occurred when he caught me screaming obscenities at the slow draining sink in our bathroom. I shrieked that it was ruining my life...that I just couldn't sleep at night knowing this sink was taking it's sweet time to gurgle down my toothpaste drippings. It was the bane of my existence. The very thing that was causing me the most distress. I told V that I called a plumber and was quoted at ninety dollars. I poked at the sink and moaned about all of the things I could do with ninety dollars. I then slunk off to our bedroom with V dutifully following after me.
He told me to relax. He said he'd take care of it. And he did. The sink now swallows with gusto. Ninety dollars saved. Husband who is quickly becoming the most handy many I know.
So how do I repay him? By offering him an envelope with some photos of myself....taken by the photo radar speeding police in the school zone near our house. The grainy photo of me staring absentmindedly out the window of our car at 2:52 on a clear day at the end of January was my gift to V. That photo is the very reason I owe a ticket. For the amount of ninety dollars.
I, in my pregnant and highly emotional state, attempted to raise the crib from the lowest mattress setting to the highest about a week ago. I have blogged about this crib in the past and have bored you all with the complexity of such a seemingly easy task. I took the entire thing apart again and then cried for V to come into the room to help. He took one look and said, exasperated, "I really don't know what to do here." I made some type of animalistic noise and threw several screws and shouted something about having to pay someone to come and help us. I stomped up to our room while mumbling about all the things I could do with the ninety dollars it would cost to get the guys from the shop where we bought the crib to come out to the house (I know the price because I've called them before in another highly emotional state - that time not pregnant.)
V, in all of his calm glory, came into the room and told me to relax. He said he'd take care of it. Low and behold, 24 hours later, the crib sat in the room gleaming in the corner with the mattress set to the highest setting. Ninety dollars saved. Husband in full suit of shining armor, and quite proud of his handy work.
His next rescue endeavor occurred when he caught me screaming obscenities at the slow draining sink in our bathroom. I shrieked that it was ruining my life...that I just couldn't sleep at night knowing this sink was taking it's sweet time to gurgle down my toothpaste drippings. It was the bane of my existence. The very thing that was causing me the most distress. I told V that I called a plumber and was quoted at ninety dollars. I poked at the sink and moaned about all of the things I could do with ninety dollars. I then slunk off to our bedroom with V dutifully following after me.
He told me to relax. He said he'd take care of it. And he did. The sink now swallows with gusto. Ninety dollars saved. Husband who is quickly becoming the most handy many I know.
So how do I repay him? By offering him an envelope with some photos of myself....taken by the photo radar speeding police in the school zone near our house. The grainy photo of me staring absentmindedly out the window of our car at 2:52 on a clear day at the end of January was my gift to V. That photo is the very reason I owe a ticket. For the amount of ninety dollars.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Contest Winner
I came across a writing contest not too long ago in a magazine. The question read, "What has been the most important moment of your life?" Of course, I had this one nailed. I am unique after all. Dare I even say special? Aren't we all reared with this belief? My experiences are so utterly my own, and some so powerful, surely one of them has to be the most important, not only to me, but to a panel of unknown judges. I began my research, which involved sifting through the very fabric of what makes me, me. I unfolded my life and reached behind me to smooth every bump and wrinkle out of the sheet of past moments.
I thought back to all of the moments in my life that were moments. Those instances that leave you tingly and breathless. I've given birth to a pretty remarkable kid, and watched her grow into a toddler - full of maddening curiosity and heart warming love. I've held my dad's hand as he gulped in his last breath. I've paced the hallways of a hospital, fearing my mom was about to embark on the same fate. I've driven in the rain through rural Vermont at night, with only 40 dollars in cash and less in an account I loosely called a "savings" account. I drove that drive with a man I would one day marry, but at the time, in that moment, we sat quietly as the drops pounded the roof and I think we both just hoped that love really could carry us as far as we imagined. As far as we needed. I've lived to tell that 10 years later, love can and will carry you as far as you let it. I've danced with Italian men in Rome and laughed with French ones in Paris. I've even told a Spaniard that I loved him, when he told me the same thing. I've understood that some moments are just that....fleeting and fun instances of circumstance. The dance was lovely. The laughs were hearty and real. And the I love you was silly and awkward. While other moments never really cease, but become more like small lifetimes requiring a daily acceptance.
I've run miles and miles at dusk on trails through the foothills, knowing that I had only myself to count on to get home. One time even stopping at a Starbucks to use the bathroom because the couple miles I set out to run had quickly become 12. I've swum in the Pacific, the Atlantic, and the Gulf. And other oceans too but I'd need a map to verify just which ones, embarrassingly. I've said "I do" to the right person. I've discovered what I truly wanted to do professionally while sitting at a desk in a job I loathed. I quit that crappy job and I pursued what I thought to be a whim and low and behold, I was right about really wanting to do it. I've stuck out shitty jobs with shitty pay. I've scored good jobs, and learned that some of the good ones still have shitty pay. I've had that moment at work that cemented the knowledge that I am not defined by my salary, no matter how meager to others, because my work is important. I've found honor and dignity in places I never thought I would. And discovered that places you think should have it, somehow ring empty.
I mulled over all of the moments in my head. Which one was the most important? Which one defined me? Which one spoke to me on a level that the others didn't? Which one would win this damn writing contest? I pulled at each moment, becoming increasingly anxious that none of them seemed to be remarkable enough. Or maybe they were all too remarkable to even remark on.
I mulled and never actually wrote. The contest rules which I had ripped out from the magazine lay in the drawer next to my bed and I would pull them out every night and glance at them, all the while growing increasingly angry at the question. That's absurd to choose one moment. That's ridiculous to choose a single defining action or thought that would somehow reign superior over all of the others. Crap, I declared. I stuffed the contest rules deep into the abyss of my nightstand and gave up. Vindicated and full of valor....and free to lounge as I wanted to lounge, with no responsibility to create something that just may or may not win some contest. I didn't enter. I didn't lose. But I also won nothing.
I forgot about the contest but stumbled across the edition of the magazine with the winning essay not too long ago. There I was, in bed relaxing, while that winner's picture stared back at me. Did she know something I didn't? Was her life somehow more remarkable than mine? What was so enchanting to the judges about her moment?
I didn't understand how anyone could possibly answer such a question. I just didn't believe that people were struck so suddenly with such profound, and winable, thoughts. Those people who say, "and I turned to my left, and suddenly, understood the importance of God in my life." Or, "I ordered my coffee, and just knew that truth was so attainable, if only I sought it out." Don't be mislead here; I am FULL of profound thoughts. But they come to me slowly, because of my compliance to a steady routine of thinking and reflecting. The only thoughts that really jump out at me while bending over to get something out of the produce bin of the fridge are thoughts like, "did I switch the clothes from the washer to the dryer?" Here was the essay winner, telling me she understood grace when she glanced at a bulletin board. I dont' know if I believed her or not. I didn't know what my moment of true recognition was. All of the moments I had considered writing about were born from that initial experience, yes, but they were reared from a long time of marinating in my oversaturated mind. Birth. Death. Forgiveness. Redemption. Pain. Love. All of the moments I have had took time for me to process and truly embrace.
Then, weeks after reading the winning entry, my moment struck me. I was driving to work, toying with some of my experiences as I often due when I'm given solitude and good music. I often revisit my saddest hours while driving. I guess I have a penchant for melancholy. Or perhaps drama. I've written my own damn eulogy on some long drives. On this particular drive though I let all of the moments kind of collide in my mind. I wasn't focusing on one, as I usually do. And that's when my moment struck me in the face.
The moment that has perhaps been the most important in my life thus far has been the moment on that drive a few weeks ago. I recognized that I am not unique. That my experiences, no matter how defining, how magical, how tragic, are all simply experiences that cause emotions that link people to one another. Pain, laughter, love, happiness, joy, and loss....they are the human condition. They are what we all strive to avoid, to capture, to treasure, and to gain. They are not mine to claim, as they belong to everyone - equally. As I drove to work, still mulling over this wretched writing contest question, the answer so plainly crossed my path. I am not lucky. Nor blessed. Not even special. My moment of true recognition was so bittersweet. I did indeed have a moment, one in which I could remember the time, the place, and the exact conditions which caused it- work day - early morning - not too much traffic. But it was a bit hard to swallow that I'm just like everyone else.
This may sound like such a heartbreaking realization. Quite the opposite though. I recently read a famous Hollywood actress quoted as saying she was "truly blessed and living an enchanted life" - something to that effect. I can smile now. Because she's wrong. While she may have struck the genetic lottery and travel to places that I don't travel to, her life is no more blessed or enchanted than mine, or anyone else's. She has access. That's it. She was not, however, somehow granted with more of the ability to dance through the myriad of emotions that are at the very heart of being human. She simply is one of us. (Fine, she's better looking, I'll give her that.)
While I can so appreciate the winning essay, I wish I had had my moment of clarity before the contest window was closed. I would have written in and told those judges that my life is not a set of moments in which I can rank, but rather a story with lots of highs and lows and more questions than answers. My moment in the car that day just highlights that life is about linking events, not pulling them apart. It's about trying to find some sense of a pattern in our chaotic lives that can lead us to someone else who may have something enlightening to say or share. All of us merging at some point on our journeys to have a chat and a shoulder to lean on, because we're all heading to the same destination after all, aren't we?
Maybe I would have won if I would have written that. Or even if I didn't win, I would have tried. I would have shared and reached out to some unknown ghost reader and perhaps connected with him or her somehow.
That's what writing is all about.
That's what life is all about.
I thought back to all of the moments in my life that were moments. Those instances that leave you tingly and breathless. I've given birth to a pretty remarkable kid, and watched her grow into a toddler - full of maddening curiosity and heart warming love. I've held my dad's hand as he gulped in his last breath. I've paced the hallways of a hospital, fearing my mom was about to embark on the same fate. I've driven in the rain through rural Vermont at night, with only 40 dollars in cash and less in an account I loosely called a "savings" account. I drove that drive with a man I would one day marry, but at the time, in that moment, we sat quietly as the drops pounded the roof and I think we both just hoped that love really could carry us as far as we imagined. As far as we needed. I've lived to tell that 10 years later, love can and will carry you as far as you let it. I've danced with Italian men in Rome and laughed with French ones in Paris. I've even told a Spaniard that I loved him, when he told me the same thing. I've understood that some moments are just that....fleeting and fun instances of circumstance. The dance was lovely. The laughs were hearty and real. And the I love you was silly and awkward. While other moments never really cease, but become more like small lifetimes requiring a daily acceptance.
I've run miles and miles at dusk on trails through the foothills, knowing that I had only myself to count on to get home. One time even stopping at a Starbucks to use the bathroom because the couple miles I set out to run had quickly become 12. I've swum in the Pacific, the Atlantic, and the Gulf. And other oceans too but I'd need a map to verify just which ones, embarrassingly. I've said "I do" to the right person. I've discovered what I truly wanted to do professionally while sitting at a desk in a job I loathed. I quit that crappy job and I pursued what I thought to be a whim and low and behold, I was right about really wanting to do it. I've stuck out shitty jobs with shitty pay. I've scored good jobs, and learned that some of the good ones still have shitty pay. I've had that moment at work that cemented the knowledge that I am not defined by my salary, no matter how meager to others, because my work is important. I've found honor and dignity in places I never thought I would. And discovered that places you think should have it, somehow ring empty.
I mulled over all of the moments in my head. Which one was the most important? Which one defined me? Which one spoke to me on a level that the others didn't? Which one would win this damn writing contest? I pulled at each moment, becoming increasingly anxious that none of them seemed to be remarkable enough. Or maybe they were all too remarkable to even remark on.
I mulled and never actually wrote. The contest rules which I had ripped out from the magazine lay in the drawer next to my bed and I would pull them out every night and glance at them, all the while growing increasingly angry at the question. That's absurd to choose one moment. That's ridiculous to choose a single defining action or thought that would somehow reign superior over all of the others. Crap, I declared. I stuffed the contest rules deep into the abyss of my nightstand and gave up. Vindicated and full of valor....and free to lounge as I wanted to lounge, with no responsibility to create something that just may or may not win some contest. I didn't enter. I didn't lose. But I also won nothing.
I forgot about the contest but stumbled across the edition of the magazine with the winning essay not too long ago. There I was, in bed relaxing, while that winner's picture stared back at me. Did she know something I didn't? Was her life somehow more remarkable than mine? What was so enchanting to the judges about her moment?
I didn't understand how anyone could possibly answer such a question. I just didn't believe that people were struck so suddenly with such profound, and winable, thoughts. Those people who say, "and I turned to my left, and suddenly, understood the importance of God in my life." Or, "I ordered my coffee, and just knew that truth was so attainable, if only I sought it out." Don't be mislead here; I am FULL of profound thoughts. But they come to me slowly, because of my compliance to a steady routine of thinking and reflecting. The only thoughts that really jump out at me while bending over to get something out of the produce bin of the fridge are thoughts like, "did I switch the clothes from the washer to the dryer?" Here was the essay winner, telling me she understood grace when she glanced at a bulletin board. I dont' know if I believed her or not. I didn't know what my moment of true recognition was. All of the moments I had considered writing about were born from that initial experience, yes, but they were reared from a long time of marinating in my oversaturated mind. Birth. Death. Forgiveness. Redemption. Pain. Love. All of the moments I have had took time for me to process and truly embrace.
Then, weeks after reading the winning entry, my moment struck me. I was driving to work, toying with some of my experiences as I often due when I'm given solitude and good music. I often revisit my saddest hours while driving. I guess I have a penchant for melancholy. Or perhaps drama. I've written my own damn eulogy on some long drives. On this particular drive though I let all of the moments kind of collide in my mind. I wasn't focusing on one, as I usually do. And that's when my moment struck me in the face.
The moment that has perhaps been the most important in my life thus far has been the moment on that drive a few weeks ago. I recognized that I am not unique. That my experiences, no matter how defining, how magical, how tragic, are all simply experiences that cause emotions that link people to one another. Pain, laughter, love, happiness, joy, and loss....they are the human condition. They are what we all strive to avoid, to capture, to treasure, and to gain. They are not mine to claim, as they belong to everyone - equally. As I drove to work, still mulling over this wretched writing contest question, the answer so plainly crossed my path. I am not lucky. Nor blessed. Not even special. My moment of true recognition was so bittersweet. I did indeed have a moment, one in which I could remember the time, the place, and the exact conditions which caused it- work day - early morning - not too much traffic. But it was a bit hard to swallow that I'm just like everyone else.
This may sound like such a heartbreaking realization. Quite the opposite though. I recently read a famous Hollywood actress quoted as saying she was "truly blessed and living an enchanted life" - something to that effect. I can smile now. Because she's wrong. While she may have struck the genetic lottery and travel to places that I don't travel to, her life is no more blessed or enchanted than mine, or anyone else's. She has access. That's it. She was not, however, somehow granted with more of the ability to dance through the myriad of emotions that are at the very heart of being human. She simply is one of us. (Fine, she's better looking, I'll give her that.)
While I can so appreciate the winning essay, I wish I had had my moment of clarity before the contest window was closed. I would have written in and told those judges that my life is not a set of moments in which I can rank, but rather a story with lots of highs and lows and more questions than answers. My moment in the car that day just highlights that life is about linking events, not pulling them apart. It's about trying to find some sense of a pattern in our chaotic lives that can lead us to someone else who may have something enlightening to say or share. All of us merging at some point on our journeys to have a chat and a shoulder to lean on, because we're all heading to the same destination after all, aren't we?
Maybe I would have won if I would have written that. Or even if I didn't win, I would have tried. I would have shared and reached out to some unknown ghost reader and perhaps connected with him or her somehow.
That's what writing is all about.
That's what life is all about.
Some have the blue period...we have the circle period
I asked Mia to draw a picture. She drew a circle and said, "It's Daddy." I added the eyes, nose and mouth and Mia added the hair. I was so impressed with her ability to draw people that I asked her to draw the rest of the family. She happily obliged, making three more circle type shapes with lots of hair. I, again, added the faces. I added the labels too.
I was amazed. I began thinking that surely this must be talent. Look at those faces. I was studying her art work when I looked back over at the table and there were more circular figures with hair. Brilliant, I thought. It must be the extended family. I asked her who else she had drawn. She said, "No. It's a house and a chocolate bunny and Bear."
Oh. I guess I jumped the gun in wanting her work to hang at the MOMA. While I still think her rendering of our family is spectacular, apparently ALL subjects with Mia begin in the circular form. Even houses and chocolate bunnies and portraits of Bear.
Progress though I think. We no longer are just scribbling back and forth but have moved on to making real shapes.
Overheard....
Mia was playing with two wooden turtles she has. One is a bit bigger, so, natually, that's "Mama". The smaller one is "Mia". I heard her making voices for the turtles and she said, "Hi Mia. I'm Mama." The little turtle then replied. "Hi Mama, I'm broke."
Immediately, I thought, dear God, has my child somehow been exposed to the turbulant economy? Should I sit her down and explain the term recession? Where is this coming from? I leaned over and asked, "Mia, what did baby turtle just say?" She repeated...."Baby Turtle said she's broke." She turned to me and the turtle's head was completely missing. "See? Daddy said he'll take her to the turtle hospital."
Ahhhh. Of course.
Immediately, I thought, dear God, has my child somehow been exposed to the turbulant economy? Should I sit her down and explain the term recession? Where is this coming from? I leaned over and asked, "Mia, what did baby turtle just say?" She repeated...."Baby Turtle said she's broke." She turned to me and the turtle's head was completely missing. "See? Daddy said he'll take her to the turtle hospital."
Ahhhh. Of course.
And who said stickers weren't motivating?
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Thank God for ol' tried and true behavior modification techniques. Mia started a very unfortunate habit of waking up several times throughout the night and shouting out for me to come and get her "cozy." This involved me waking up, going to her room, putting her back in her bed, and covering her up...all the while cursing why toddlers don't share the same deep deep love of sleep that we adults do.
In stepped "Mia's Sleep Chart". She gets a sticker on the nights that she sleeps through the night WITHOUT calling for me. So far, 13 stickers and only 3 sad faces. When I asked her one day why the face was sad, she matter of factly replied, "Because Mia waked him up in the middle of the night."
Precisely my sweet.
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