End of the Season

Mia's soccer shot this year. 

The fierce Cheetahs.  They will be back prowling the fields this fall. 

Co-Pilot

Going....

Going...

Gone...

Luca loves his new bike seat.  We didn't have one before because I didn't like the idea of a trailer, as you'd need with two kids in tow.  I always envisioned it falling off and me biking on, obliviously.  Irrational fear, I know.  I forgot about it and then realized that this will be last summer with a tiny kid in a seat behind me.  I have a feeling by next summer, Luca will be peddling his own two wheeler, thinking the seat is for babies.  Luca is a great biker on his trike and gets around quickly on his balance bike too.  But not quite as fast as Mom, big Sis, and Dad.  Now we can all head out together for longer rides or he and I can go on adventures while Mia is at school in the fall.  We'll be dropping Mia off and picking her up from Kindergarten too.  The parking lot at our school gets what the school affectionately calls "congested" during drop off and pick up times.  I call it like I see it - traffic hell.  While we can walk to school, biking will be quicker.  So, to avoid drop off mayhem, we'll be on two wheels thank you very much.  He and I set out for a nice ride this afternoon and we have a date to bike to a cafe tomorrow.  Pretty great day for a still slightly under the weather kid!

Painting

Painting cement stones for a walkway. 

I couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of the paint plate. 

The Eyes

When I was little, my mom would sometimes place a hand on my forehead - a cool welcome hand - and say, "You're sick.  I can tell by your eyes. The eyes say it all."  When you're all of 5 or 8 or 12 years old, you think, 'My eyes???  What can you see?'  Was she seeing that they were suddenly green or red?  Was she seeing that they were doing something totally abnormal, like wiggling or bugging out of my head?  Now that I'm a mom, I understand. 

The eyes tell it all. 

When they are clear and bright, you've got a healthy kid.  Alert.  Ready to take on a day's adventure.  When they are slightly cloudy, glassy, and weak, you've got a sick kid. 


Luca, with paint on his nose, painting.

And this, my friends, is a sick boy.  I took this shot a few days ago when Luca had enough energy to move from the couch onto the back patio to paint stones for a pathway along the side of our house.  We pulled out the paints and set up, Mia squealing and chattering about what she was going to create on her stone, and Luca - silent.  He looked at me with these eyes, so clearly not well, and eventually quietly disappeared upstairs to bed, falling asleep on his comforter with his light on.  Doggy safely tucked under his head. 

I took him to Urgent Care tonight as he writhed, literally, in my arms - begging for the doctor to help him.  He has a vicious and unrelenting stomach virus that just won't give the kid a break.  As we walked in, the receptionist said it.  The nurse did too.  And the doctor said it as well.  "Those eyes" they cooed, as he starred ahead with a vacant and empty look.  "I know," I said each time.  "They are just heartbreaking....so clearly a marker that the boy is in pain."  And each time I said it, I was met with a glance back and the words, "Yes but I was more commenting on how pretty they are." 

I smiled each time because it was just a reminder at the intimacies we mothers carry around with us about our children.  We can look past our children's physical attributes, their personal strengths and weaknesses, and we can see just who these small people really are.  While Luca has beautiful eyes, this week I never really noticed that as he stared at me,  searching my face and crying for me to make his stomach aches go away.  I just noticed how obvious it was that he was very sick.  Because, as my mother said years ago during my childhood, and her mother said to her during hers, "The eyes tell it all." 

Side note: Thank you to my mom who so lovingly swooped in to tend to my other babies as Luca and I headed out into the unknown of an Urgent Care waiting room on a Saturday night of a holiday weekend.  She took care of Mia and also warmly watched over Bijou, who is immobilized with a torn ACL and resting comfortably on her dog bed.  This blog post is dedicated to you Mom, for always being such a source of comfort and such a caretaker still to me. 

The Graduate

Pre-K graduation was at the park today.  Instead of diplomas, the graduates were handed sand buckets filled with memorabilia from the year.  The donned their handmade caps and sat in a group on the green grass.  They grinned up at their teachers who stood before us all sharing warm thoughts about each child.  When Mia's name was called, she jumped up and stood in front of her classmates and the gaggle of parents with cameras aimed at these tiny students.  Her teachers told us all the things parents want to hear about their child.  That Mia was kind and thoughtful.  Motivated.  A leader.  You know what I loved?  Mia never looked over at us to see our reaction.  She never looked at us seeking approval or validation.  She simply smiled at the group and squinted up at Ms. Joanne, sharing an intimate moment with one of the teachers who has helped her grow so much this year.  She confidently carried her bucket back to her seat in the grass and I called out to her.  She turned my way, happy, so grown up, and this is the picture I caught.   

We presented the teachers with flowers and gift cards as a small gesture to show our gratitude.  This is the part that kind of had me holding back some tears.  I looked around at all of us grown ups - these people with careers and professional success - complicated lives - and the one thing we most certainly all have in common is that we love our children so much that none of us would even know how to begin to articulate it.  We all watched these tiny human beings, our tiny human beings, navigate their way to the front of the group to be handed their bucket, and to be told these tremendous things about themselves, and we all felt that same rush of immense pride.  These teachers shown in this picture recognize the good in each and every child.  The positives.  I remember early on in my teaching career when I went to my principal, needing advice on how to handle some tricky kids.  She smiled at me and said, "You know, parents send the best child they have to school.  The only child they have."  She then laughed and said, "They don't keep the good one at home all day and decide to only send the ones who appear difficult."  That resonated so much with me, and now even more so as a parent.  When we pack our children off to school each day, making sure their lunch money is in their pocket and sunscreen is on their nose, we are truly sending out our very best.  Even on our child's worst day, we are hoping that those we pass them too can see all the good rolled up inside the challenges. 

I wished my dad were here to see this picture.  Mr. Garcia, a dedicated volunteer, is a vet.  Now he comes to the school to color pictures and plant seeds with small kids who just adore him.  I love that his plant reflects that we know about his past experiences, his other life. 

Often, my students will slip and call me "Mom".  In a moment of heavy concentration, with their gnarled and chewed pencil perched near their lips, they may say, "Mom?  How do you..." They catch themselves before they trail into their question and laugh.  "I called you Mom!" they squeal.  I always smile and say, "I heard you" but I never tell them how honored I am.  In that moment, just for a second, I am the one that reminded them of home.  Safety.  Unconditional support. 

Thank you to the teachers who have acted as my child's mother when I'm not there. 

Luca braved a bit of a stomach bug as he watched his big sis graduate.  He'll be heading to the same preschool in the fall so I don't have to say goodbye to this sweet chapter in their academic journeys just yet.  I have more cardboard hearts and egg carton caterpillars to cherish.  More handprints and googly eyed creations.  More stories of snacks and sandbox play.  And, most importantly, more time with the teachers who I have grown to really love. 

This is it folks.  The best shot I could get of both of the kids.  Luca is spitting out the offense part of his turkey sandwich and Mia is being goofy.  I kind of love it. 

Happy graduation day Mia!  You'll hear people say, "I expect great things of you..." or "I know you'll do great things...."  Well, kid, I just want you to pursue your truth, whatever that may be.  I hope you include us in these opportunities to celebrate with you as the years march on.  For whatever you do, and wherever you go, we'll be a part of it. 

Happily. 

Proudly.

Designing

We went to the art museum on Sunday as a family.  We mosied and meandered.  Strolled and stopped to study.  V and I reclined on the huge ottomans while the kids played in the well appointed kid sections.  We talked about big things and little things as Mia and Luca made dragon puppets and built a castle out of large foam bricks. 

I left Luca with V so that I could bring Mia into the Yves Saint Laurent exhibit.  I wasn't sure how well "shhhhh!" would go over with both Luca and the other museum goers inside the beautiful and very quiet homage to the great designer.  So, Mia and I left the boys while we held hands and walked through the glass doors.  My mom and I had already been to the exhibit and I found it so moving, both visually and emotionally.  I wanted Mia to see it.  Literally walking through an artist's process is really powerful.  I crouched down next to Mia as we entered the "tuxedo room", which is floor to ceiling women's tuxedos, and explained that Yves helped to revolutionize fashion by making menswear accessible to women.  I explained that not too long ago, women weren't even wearing pants; it would have been seen as inappropriate.  "Like you Mom" Mia said.  "You like to wear pants."  She's right.  I feel pretty and powerful in pants.  Strong and feminine.  I feel like me.  I thought of all of the things I model for Mia, that so many women model for her.  Voting.  Working.  Pursuing dreams and education.  Being athletic.  Being opinionated when we want to be.  Outspoken.  Being self reliant, capable.  Authentic.

"Yup.  Like me." I said. 

We then entered the final room, filled with gorgeous and lux dresses and gowns.  We both ooohed and ahhed and I had to smile. Because isn't that our right too?  As women, don't we have the right to embark and succeed in formerly men's only areans but also indulge in things that have historically belonged only to women?  Like fashion? 

I leaned down to Mia and said, "You know Mia....I do love pants but I think I could rock one of these dresses too.  You too.  We'd blow this joint away."

Mia and Luca working on the design dolls in the "design center" below the Yves Saint Laurent exhibit.

Three cheers for those who inspire small children to do big things.  Mia wanted to be a designer after seeing this exhibit.  The kids got talent too!

Luca with his "corona" (Spanish crown) and his parts to make a dragon puppet. 

We love waving to the giant broom and sweeper in front of the museum. 

Game On

I'm not a baseball fan.  Truthfully, I find the game slow.  And somewhat boring.  Which is all very funny considering I've been to more ball parks than some true fans.  New York.  Boston.  Chicago.  Montreal.  San Francisco.  Baltimore.  Jacobs Field in Ohio. Ameriquest Field in Arlington Texas.  And, of course, to see the good ol' Rockies here in our fabulous state.  Why so many stadiums?  I married a fan.  A true old school baseball fan.  Despite not even really liking the game myself, watching his love for it is one of the things I find most endearing about V.  He is the best kind of sports fan - studious about the game, quiet in his passion, kind to others about their opposing viewpoints.  All the while being ridiculously attentive to me as I sit beside him reading a magazine.  He always tells me he finds my disinterest just as charming as I find his interest. 

I watched my two boys out back playing and my heart swelled.  He wants to share with both Mia and Luca his love for athletics.  Currently, Luca is more interested in baseball than Mia, and that may change.  We truly don't care.  But, for now, there is something special about a boy and his dad throwing the ball around.  Before Luca was born, V casually asked one day if I'd ever consider naming our son, "Carl".  Now, don't get me wrong, the name is just fine.  I just couldn't see myself calling after a tiny Carl.  But I actually considered it because I knew why V wanted to do it.  When V was a boy, propped on a stool shredding mozzarella in the hot back room of his parents speciality Italian deli and import shop, Carl stood sweating next to him making sausages to sell that day.  Carl was a fellow Italian.  A longtime employee.  A friend and mentor to V.  A baseball fan.   The old radio stood on the counter across from them crackling out the Yankee games that they couldn't watch at home because they were hard at work at the shop.  As a boy growing up in the store, V ducked under the elbows of jovial Italians chattering away in their native tongue, he scurried out back to hide so he wouldn't have to work.  He helped customers and then snuck the delivery van out on a few occasions to catch a rest.  And he listened to the Yankees.  With Carl.  Those Yankees helped raise V amidst capicola, prosciutto and aged Parmesan.  Carl helped raise V.

Carl died when V was in college.  After his father had died.  His grandfather.  And uncle.  Four men that V had looked to in ways that young people look to older people.  Baseball remained though.  Those Yankees couldn't die.

While I am not a fan of the sport myself, I am a fan of the camaraderie it can build.  The sense of community.  The sense of commitment.  I like the idea of tradition.

We obviously didn't end up naming our boy "Carl".  I did tell V however that our kids will know about Carl, and his influence on their dad.

First Concert

Some people always gravitate to asking the obvious questions.  What do you do for a living?  Where do you live?  How do you know so and so? I so appreciate those random questions fired at you when you least expect it.  I find it genuinely refreshing.

Here's one to keep in your back pocket.  What was your first concert?

I love that Mia's response for ever more will be, "The Fresh Beat Band at the Paramount in Denver when I was five.  They pretty much rocked." 

Just for the record, my first concert was Motley Crue.  8th Grade.  And yes, being there, in that moment of my youth, life couldn't have gotten any better. 

Besties pre show.  They were warming up here, getting their groove ready to dance in the aisles.   

Both of them carefully picked their outfits.  Watch out world. 

I love this photo.  They were holding hands mid dance.  Today they are both recovering from sugar hangovers, but still buzzing about seeing their favorite band, "For Real Live!"  Rock on tiny birds.  Rock on. 

Baseball

Eating Cheetos in the back of Uncle Andrew's truck which was parked right next to first base.  Pretty great seats if you ask me. 

Watching cousin Owen at bat. 

Luckily there were some good climbing trees nearby when the littles got bored. 

Happy Mother's Day!

Happy Mother's Day to all the mamas of the world!  My peony bushes are exploding right now, which makes gift giving extra fun.  I like the idea of going shopping for the perfect bouquet in the backyard.  This one was delivered to my mom this morning.  I came across the quote below and thought it was really a lovely sentiment.  Enjoy!

Most of all the other beautiful things in life come by twos and threes, by dozens and hundreds. Plenty of roses, stars, sunsets, rainbows, brothers and sisters, aunts and cousins, comrades and friends - but only one mother in the whole world.

A pictorial

I handed my camera back to Mia to document our drive home. Life through the eyes of a five year old. Love these shots.

Mother's Day Brunch

Mia's Pre-Kindergarten hosted a Mother's Day brunch for us today and it was so sweet.  Mia was so excited to go.  She excitedly pulled out her "fancy bracelet", the one I gave her for her 5th birthday with charms, and even requested some lipstick.  Her preschool teachers are excellent and really went all out to make sure this was a fun and meaningful event.  They shared with us some of the advice the kids said we moms have given to them.  The teacher shared that Mia said my advice is always, "Take your little brother and please go play."  Yup.  Sounds about right. Mia made a very traditional mother's day art project with her little handprint.  I'm a sap, as we all know, and I felt that old familiar rush of happiness as she stood at my side and whispered, "Do you like my gift Mom?  Do you like it?"

I adore it sweet Mia.   



The gift that Mia gave me along with the handprint.  When you open it up and it says, "you give me hugs and kisses".  The teachers had typed up each child's response to "Why do you love your mother?" and enclosed it inside the boxes.  After my initial reaction of love for the darling handpainted box, I thought about the ungodly amounts of work being an early learning teacher is! 

Mia and her teachers.  Ms. Lauren, Mr. Garcia (who volunteers), Ms. Joanne, and Ms. Barb.  I can't thank them enough for all they've done to make school such a positive experience for Mia!

How are you prepping for summer?

The way I get ready for summer?  I pull out the pumice stone, turn on the sprinkler system, and pack away winter clothes.  Luca?  He requested his duck be blown up and the two have been inseparable for a few days now. 

Body of Work

Remember a time when you never ever thought about how your butt looked in jeans?  Or if your stomach looked strange all pressed inside a fitted t-shirt?  Remember when you were embarrassed about someone actually noticing you were wearing a bra rather than the slight little pudge poking out underneath the back of it?  Remember when appropriate clothing choices were clothes that were clean and swimsuit shopping was super fun? 

Yeah.  Those days are hard to remember aren't they?  But dig deep.  Tap into it.  Took me a few minutes but when I hit that sweet spot of nostalgia, I smiled. 

As I picked up Mia from school the other day, I noticed that they had created a bulletin board of sweet cards the kids had made for their moms.  I scanned the wall, looking for Mia's.  Looking for what it was that she would say about me.  To me.  I found it and instinctually ran my hand over the smooth white paper, pausing on the picture of the two of us that was glued into the corner, remembering the day it was taken.  I read her words and was paralyzed for the briefest of moments. 

Right there in plain print, for all the world to see, Mia shared that my most beautiful feature was my body.  That same body that caused hot shame as a teenager when it developed more slowly than some others, that same body that was never really good enough in my own eyes for a lot of years, that same body that I would sometimes make self deprecating jokes about for the sake of humor.  She thinks it's pretty damn perfect.  She doesn't love it because it looks great in bikinis or is unmarred by years of sun exposure and life.  She loves it because it can cook, and cook well.  She loves it because it can drive, sometimes to fun places and sometimes only to the grocery store.  She loves it because it can carry her across grassy fields piggy back style.  She loves it because it can swing really high with her on my lap, as we both yell "SPIDER SWING!".  She loves it because it gives "Papa tickles" at night right before bed.  It can reach all the high cabinets to get what she needs and it can drag all the backyard play gear and put it away at the end of the day. 

She thinks it's beautiful because I have told her it is.  I spent years bemoaning my very average physical fate.  I spent years wishing I were longer, leaner.  Prettier.  That day that I welcomed my baby girl to this world, I swore I would do my best to begin loving myself so that she could in turn love herself.  We eat healthy so we can be strong.  We exercise so we can breathe well and sleep well.  These are the things I tell my kids everyday.  "Our bodies are beautiful" is what I have always said.  I say it for my own sake just as much as I say it for theirs.  Because even though I do believe my body is a magical gift, there are days that old habits are hard to break.  Days when my eyes go right to the parts of my body that I have deemed flawed.  Luckily, those days are few and far between, and when I'm feeling those old evil feelings crop up, I just need to look down at the wide eyed three and five year olds by my side to realize just how beautiful I really am. 

As a mother, there are very few things more rewarding than seeing that your messages have been internalized.  That your children believe you. 

And, just so you know, according to Mia's card, if I ever turn up missing and you find me, please return me to V's work.  There will be a trophy for your efforts. 

Teeth

We take our teeth seriously around here.  Luca had his first visit with the dentist and handled it like a pro.  He loved it, which confirmed what I have known all along, and that is that love for dental care is genetic.  I ADORE the dentist. 

Seriously?  The kid did exactly what they asked with the spotlight blazing and then sweetly asked what kind of prizes they offered.  Atta boy. 

Sissie was thrilled with her visit too.  She gloated that she's lost more teeth than anyone else in her class.  She felt so grown up as the dental team fawned over her teeth. 

Last Day of School

Luca had his last day of "Parent's Day Out"today.  Here he is with his teachers, Ms. Brandie ("Ms. Bandee"  and Ms. Mary ("Ms. Murry").  He loves them.  Sometimes during the week if he was totally ignorning my words, I would remind him that Ms. Brandie and Ms. Mary expect him to listen all the time, not just at school.  His behavior would immediatly change.  Hats off to these ladies.  To corral a group of 2 year olds and actually earn their respect is a job and a half. I am forever grateful to those who chose early childhood education as their path, for these early years are the most important. 

My birthday cards

Mia drew the two of us cooking in the kitchen on my birthday card.  She said that was her favorite thing to do with me.  In the picture, we're making the birthday cake.  Complete with the lit candles.  See how we've each got a mixing bowl?  I think I'm the one in black. She has no idea that receiving this sweet card was one of my favorite moments on my birthday. 

V gave me a gift card to Nordstrom and included his own hand made card as well.  I loved it!

My birthday note to myself

I told myself I'd write myself a birthday letter this year.  As a writer, I write for an intended audience, and that audience is always top of mind as my fingers whisk across the keypad.  This blog?  Well, my audience is, as I've stated before, two tiny people who bear a strong resemblance to me.  Mia and Luca, these words are for you.  There are days I think I should start a cooking blog, because I love to cook.  Or maybe a blog about books, because I read and love to discuss what I'm reading.  A personal blog filled with some of my most intimate thoughts.  And, obviously, I would have different audiences in mind for each of those blogs.  In the spirit of writing with the purpose of capturing who I am on my 36th birthday, I thought I would write for the older me.  The me I hope to become someday.  Grayer.  Smarter.  Wiser.  And let's hope more fit too.  I don't mind envisioning myself with some more money while we're at it.  A little cash never hurt anyone.

So, me, if you're listening....here you were just days after turning 36. 

What I've learned during my 35th year

I've learned that the wrong foundation can make you look older and matte lipstick should only be applied with really well hydrated lips. 

I've learned that you should never, and I repeat never, compromise who you are in an effort to make someone else feel comfortable.  Being a chronic identifier, I've learned to stop identifying when I truly no longer do. 

I've learned that bonding over negative talk is a dirty practice and that long coffee dates in where such conversation occurs should be eradicated. 

I've learned that skinny jeans really truly are flattering and if someone tells you otherwise, they're scared.

I've learned that a seven minute mile is not only achievable.  But sustainable. 

I've learned to listen to a sore heel after sustaining a seven minute mile for too long. 

I've learned that it is beyond important to like your partner just as much as you love him/her.  If you like each other, you never run out of things to talk about. 

I've learned that life is too short to think that someone's actions are intended to hurt you.  Maybe they were tired.  Or hungry.  Or angry at someone else.  It feels good to say, "This isn't about me."

I've learned that pictures should be hung about 60 inches from the floor to the center of the art in order to create a "gallery" feel.  Believe me, my walls now have enough holes from nails to prove that I actually researched this fact. 

I've learned that parents of only girls aren't trying to be mean when they eye me judgementally when my small sweet boy is hanging from a window shutter making rocket ship noises.  I've learned to smile politely and say, "We're so proud of his creativity and athletic prowess" while throwing, "Just don't break it Luca!" encouragingly over my shoulder. 

I've learned that one of my favorite things to do is laugh.

I've learned that terrible hurt can go away, and that forgiveness is a beautiful quality. 

I've learned that we are who are and even though we are riddled with flaws, we deserve compassion.  All of us. 

I've learned that some things will just always be uncomfortable, and that's o.k., because just as many things will always remain true sources of comfort. 

I've learned to relish the good times.  Look past the bad.  Forgive. Forget even.  Promise.  Promise again.  Mix baking soda with my cleanser for a cheap exfoliant. Make my espresso in the morning and refrigerate it for my afternoon iced drink. Photograph a lot.  Try to document a lot.  Stay in touch.  Say thank you. 

And finally?  I've learned I have so much more to learn it's overwhelming. 

Me.  36 years old. 

What's in your backseat?



This is what mine looks like.