The Middle of the Night

I was up in the middle of the night last night. I didn't feel well. As I tried to get comfortable in bed and convince myself that I didn't have to throw up, I thought I heard birds chirping. Now it was nowhere even close to dawn so those tweets and caws got my attention. I peeled myself out of bed to go to the window where I confirmed I was hearing birds. Songbirds. I know all about the dawn chorus, but now I'm familiar with the dead of night chorus too. It's lonely and often unnerving to be the only one up in the middle of the night. I can work myself up about all sorts of things when the house is full of shadows and strange sounds. Last night I listened to the birdsong and was soon sung to sleep for a few more hours of sweet dreams. I didn't think about the boogey man or my bank account or my belly.

About the same time Sunday night I was woken from deep sleep with a startle. I was sure I heard a gun shot and that it was just across the street. Tigger, who was asleep beside me, jumped and I could feel his fur swell under my hand to twice his normal size in an effort to appear more intimidating. Mike woke too. He assured me it was just thunder, but it wasn't until another crack sounded that I felt assured. Assured despite the fact that this boom was even louder and closer. I felt such relief that my kids were tucked in safe and sound down the hall of our dry house. That I know where they are and what they are doing is an easement. It's not that long ago such a nighttime disturbance would lead to a parade of tears and fears. Instead, Monday morning we all carried on about the intensity of the line that we listened to from our own beds. Turns out we all were awake in the middle of the night.

Mother's Day

This is the very first picture of me with both my babies. Proud big brother is meeting hours old baby sister for the first time and I am one happy mama. That smile says, "If this is a dream, don't wake me."

I still feel that way at least 10 times a day. The love I have for my children is a living, breathing stream that flows through me continuously. The abundant joy they bring me is how I know that I'm doing a fine job. 

There are times I get on my case about doing more and better, but then I look at them...what beautiful people they are...and I know that even though I'm flawed, I've passed on the parts of me I'm most proud of.

The words they wrote to and about me in the cards they made me today...well, they tell me that they see the best parts of me and that is the only gift I'll ever want or need.

Some mothers wait their whole lives to hear the things they told me, but I'm grateful I don't have to. I'm also grateful that I told my mom the things I needed to when I did. You never know when it's simply going to be too late.

I had a good day. Mostly happy, but a little sad. Bittersweet. It's the way I'm wired and it's my legacy too. My history. My story.

Blue

Every spring my mom hung baskets of sweet bluebells on her porch. The sometimes periwinkle and other times violet blooms looked perfect with her blue and white bungalow. When I moved into my own quaint bungalow, she would deliver a couple baskets to me every Mother's Day. Yes, before I was even a mom. They popped against the pale yellow and lannon stone facade and they flowered all summer long. They were happiness in a basket.

The spring after my mom passed I visited her nursery to see about getting some bluebells myself. This tradition was one of many I felt more than compelled to continue, but the clerk had no clue what I was talking about. I scoured the perimeter of the place never to find what I was looking for. It felt like another death. I burst into tears. I had angry words with you know who about enough and fairness and breaking points.

I made phone calls, I searched every other nursery in the area, I prayed. That spring I had to go without my bluebells. It was a lesson I was becoming familiar with. I heard my mom many times in that confusing season of rebirth. She said, "It is what it is." That was her line.

Fast forward a year, maybe two. I'm at this massive nursery in the middle of nowhere. To this day I'm not sure in what town despite the fact that I've made my way there every year since. I just get in my car and head in that direction and will my way to Groths. It seems I never take the same way twice, but I always find my way. I find my way there because they have my bluebells. Only they're not exactly called bluebells. They're called strepto carpella and that explains a whole heck of a lot, but, of course, they'll forever be bluebells to me.

Last year I was too late. I waited too long and all the bluebells were hanging on other homes. I was under the false impression they grew them just for me. I've never seen them in any other yard or garden ever. I was sort of devastated. I left with nothing except sadness.

That was not happening to me this year. I've been thinking about my bluebells, worrying about them,  and talking about them. My guy heard me. He drove out to Groths after a long day at work to pick up three and bring them home to me for Mother's Day, and it was just about the nicest thing he could have done. Except, then last night he brought my babies into the garage to protect them from the cold and I fell in love with him all over again.

I'm missing my mom something fierce this year. I'm pretty sure the many happy milestones we're celebrating remind me so poignantly of my loss. In the excitement of taking prom pictures of my handsome 6 foot something son or shopping for an 8th grade graduation dress with my long-haired, leggy daughter, I feel this quiet sorrow. It's there too when I watch my son at the altar receive the gift of the holy spirit knowing that so much of this faith journey started with her receiving her last rites. It's present when we move forward further from lives she was a part of...lives she loved being a part of. That's the thing: no event or occasion was too small or insignificant for her to miss. She wanted to be there for all of them. They all mattered. And as much as I miss her as my mother, I miss her a million times more as their nanny.

Grateful Friday

Today I give thanks for...

Meeting a good friend for happy hour last night and staying until long after dark catching up on our lives, and the fact that we could have closed the place and not run out of things to talk about.

As I'm writing this Peanut is curled up at the foot of Lily's bed. Tigger's in my bed, but the other night when I went to turn off a sleeping Teddy's light and computer, he was curled up next to Ted. This is not usual. The cats love the kids, but they don't often venture into their rooms for long. This sort of tickles Lily.

I just texted this picture to her at school.

Lily presented her graduation speech to me and I was impressed by her delivery and her message. She compared middle school to a game and her classmates to teammates. Her message was that this game is over, but there are new games and challenges in the purview. She urges her classmates to get up off the sidelines, make new teams and strive to win. She's a brave, kind, wise one that girl of mine.

Lily on the mound. I love cheering on team pony tail. It was not a win, but a close, competitive game.

 Nice form.

Strike!

Both Ted's AP exams went well. Chemistry is known to be nearly impossible, but he thinks he passed. Psychology was also challenging, but less so. Junior year is winding down. High school is winding down.

Sheet Pan Spanish Chicken. It's a one pan dinner with so many flavors.

This Carbonara Pie cooks in a single spring-form pan, but I had to use three pans to make it. It was a fun experiment, but I think I'll just stick with traditional carbonara when we have the taste for Parmesan and pancetta.

 That salad dressing is our family favorite: Dijon, balsamic, EVOO and S&P all to taste. Minced garlic if you like.

A little crunchy and dry. The kids didn't love the broccoli incorporated within.

Churros cake, and the fact that when Teddy's friend heard I made one, he suggested he might like a slice. I sent him home with 2 huge pieces. Compliment my cooking and it's yours.

It makes up in taste for what it lacks in appearance. It's almost gone too.

I found saffron at Costco this week. Reading Lolita in Tehran inspired me to read Lolita and also to learn more about Iranian cooking, which inspired me to buy some saffron. Reading Lolita in Tehran is our June book club selection. I'm hosting and I'm planning to serve a Persian dinner. This weekend I'm going to try my hand at Barbari and Lavash breads.

Oh, the things this will inspire!

I finally finished listening to The Woman in the Window. I'm sorry I cannot give it more than a 2. It was not very well written or compelling. It was predictable and far too long for the climax. I started The Great Alone this week. This I'm going to devour.

I picked up the cutest pair of pants the other day. A Mother's Day gift to myself and I think I'll wear them on Mother's Day. A cute new pair of cheaters too. They are black frames with bamboo arms, and I think they look good with my blond hair.

They look good on Lily too.

The way he let's her hold him like a baby.

Their love is special.

Kitty paws.

Cuteness overload!

A really great day in Madison with my guys. It was emotional too on many levels and for many reasons, but suffice it to say that I am grateful for them all.

If this hill could talk.

Sunsets.

Endings and beginnings.

weekending

the weekend started early.

we set off for madison to take teddy on his first college visit.

my mood was a little foul like the weather.

it was a gray, rainy day so I wasn’t looking forward to traipsing around campus.

i left the umbrella at home because we departed in such a hurry...

it's the wegehaupt way.

mike, our resident weatherman, assured me that we wouldn’t need it, but on the way the rain seemed heavier and the skies darker.

i wasn't convinced.

while the guys parked the car, i found a shop in union south that sold umbrellas.

i bought two.

i was about to buy a rain jacket when they caught up with me.

again, mike expressed his complete confidence in a beautiful day.

i passed on the pullover and returned one of the umbrellas.

ye have some faith.

we gathered for a large-group presentation in a theater.
the kids all looked so young...too young...and a little overwhelmed.
i wanted to hug them all and tell them everything would be ok.

i was prepared like a boy scout with a pad of paper and a pen.

i wrote exactly one sentence before my pen crapped out.

sometimes we prepare and still fail.

it turns out there wasn’t much to write down and when we left the union some 20 minutes later, it was a sunny, glorious day in madtown.

we were the only ones dressed for the weather.

my guy didn't let me forget it all day.

the tour took us in a loop around campus including grainger hall where ted will spend lots of time if he chooses madison.

about 6 miles around, up and then down bascom hill. 
i don't miss that trek, but i have missed the view.

  

 it was the last day of spring semester so the campus was charged with excitement and anticipation.

nothing quite compares to madison on a beautiful friday afternoon.

mike and i resisted the strong urge to spend too much time reminiscing, but we did show up in bucky gear.

ted even let us buy him a t shirt.

i think the tour went well.

i think teddy could see himself fitting in there quite seamlessly.

after a housing tour, we meandered back on the lake shore path to state street.

we thought we’d find a fun place for some lunch.

it was 3 o'clock and we were hot and hungry.

ted vetoed state street brats, tried to suggest pot belly and then we gave up and agreed to try a breakfast all day joint almost to the capitol.
it was forgettable, but the day was not.

turns out ted was anxious to come home and catch up with his friends for a round of golf and wing stop wings post match.

it was 3 o'clock and there was still plenty of time to golf.
dah!

it’s what’s on his mind these days and nights.

we didn’t take it personally though because we know his passion.

and we were dog tired too.
emotionally exhausted.

in fact, i was in bed early, woke long enough to pick lil up from a friend’s and then went straight back to bed.

that meant i was up extra early saturday morning just the way i like it.

mike too.

we felt refreshed and decided to invite some friends over spontaneously for cinco de mayo.

ted and a couple of his golf buddies joined us after a day on the course as well.

we planned a simple menu and had a great night talking a blue streak, laughing until crying and singing old songs.
we never left the kitchen and before we knew it, it was dark and late and time for siesta.

mike’s fajitas were a hit, my salsa was a favorite and the churros cupcakes were good and gone.

i learned that subbing beef stock for the water in a pot of pinto beans makes them sort of special.

i also learned that juicing your own limes is a nice touch for margaritas so long as you remember to make the simple syrup.

sunday i was up early again and out weeding the garden soon after coffee.

everything is coming up and filling in and every year it sort of amazes me.
it also amazes me how very much satisfaction i get from pulling weeds from the ground.

teddy had another golf date or two, and lily and mike had softball practice.

i cleaned up for a date with the ladies to see a gentleman’s guide to love and murder.

the performance started off slow, then picked up midway through the first act, and by the end, i had a big smile on my face.
i obviously enjoyed it.

post show festivities took place at jackson blue ribbon, a crowd favorite.

only we had the place to ourselves and that was nice.

i was a real lady ordering wings, which i washed down with chilled chardonnay.

a real happy lady.

after a little one on one time with my aunt, i came home sunday night happy and tired, but eager to get things ready for the busy week ahead.

i put together a banana bread to bake for monday morning breakfast.

ted had two ap exams that day and i like to feed him well especially on test days.

never mind that the half hour early I rose wasn’t enough time for the monster loaf to cook.

i put some chicken in the over to bake for lil’s daily lunch salad.

then i drifted off and it cooked to hockey puck perfection.

i tell myself it’s all about intentions.

best intentions.

it's really all that matters.
the end.

Now and Then

I went for an early morning walk yesterday. I took the river trail. I usually avoid it when I'm alone, but something was pulling me closer to the banks. Since spring is slow to arrive in these parts, the branches are still bare. The sight lines give me some measure of security when I'm alone in the woods. I forged ahead on familiar paths listening to my book, but I kept finding myself distracted by the longing ohr ohr ohr of the morning dove, or the blue jay's angry jeer, or the chip cheer of the cardinal as I moved deeper into their territory. I was noticing things. That's not always my modus operandi. Many days - many more than I prefer - I barrel through my busy life the taskmaster with tunnel vision, but not yesterday. Yesterday, I was present.

It was a smell that stopped me dead in my tracks. A familiar smell that brought a memory back to life. And then memories. I was deluged by a flood of intense emotion. The kind that builds endlessly and then rolls over everything in an instant. It's akin to your life flashing before your eyes in that telltale moment only instead of images, it's sensations. Feelings not facts. Samskaras waiting for just the right stimuli to rise up and out ebbing and flowing like waves. At first it was faint, a trace, but unmistakable. I silenced my book to get a stronger whiff. It was a fecund scent. Loamy and lush. It was fertile earth and bursting buds and metallic river water. It was what was to come, but also all that had ever been, and it sent me back to my childhood along the banks of this very same river. I remember it as the smell of spring mornings. That first nostril-chilling trace of the world as you open the door to the new day. It's a commonplace smell that stirs some things deep within me. So deep I cannot get to them, and yet, I know they are there. They will always be there. 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

March, 1974. Just such an early spring morning. Humboldt Avenue, our compound on the river. My brother and me with a random cat. A cat that Mrs. K. would surely catch and relocate if she caught sight of it. She was a birder. Cats eat birds. It was one of those days you bundle up in the morning and then shed layers as the day gathers steam. I distinctly remember the smell from that morning over forty years ago. It's a smell that made me feel quite a discernible way. A feeling I now know as wistfulness. It's the smell of growth and decay: some things are rotting and some things are maturing. A smell that hints of longer days, raspberry bushes bursting with fruit, dirty feet and bare arms. A smell that suggests soft breezes through open windows, Big Wheel races down a driveway that seems never ending to my 6 year old self, and walks through the gardens fragrant with irises and snap dragons and roses down to the river. The smell...it's called Promise.

But the little girl in this picture already knows that promises aren't forever or even for better. She has her first pang of nostalgia as she grasps that winter is ending and spring is coming and then it will be summer. It's the first time she thinks of her August birthday not with excitement over where the party will be, but rather with a sense of sadness that she'll be taking another turn around the sun. She doesn't know what it means to long or yearn, but she pines nonetheless. In a couple months, she'll cry herself to sleep after a candid conversation about death with her mother. Now it's not just childhood that's impermanent, but life itself. Soon she'll watch her dad disappear down the front walk a suitcase in each hand. Love can be elusive.  Some day she'll hold her mom's hand as she exhales for the last time grateful that she understood the promises of this life from such an early age.

We exchange vows and rings, we pinky swear, we cross our hearts, we put up collateral, we make pacts, we sign guarantees, we take oaths, but in the end, the only certain promise is that we are one day closer to death. Knowing this can and should inform the way we live.

Pay attention. Notice things. Stop and smell the roses, or breathe in the first spring air. Be.here.now. Fully. Only. Laugh, cry, hold hands. Forgive. Don't give up trying every day to be better than the person you were the day before. Promise me this.

weekending

the highlight of this weekend was celebrating teddy's confirmation.

we woke to a beautiful spring morning of bright skies and bird song.

it would have been the perfect day for golf, but ted knew better than to suggest that.

i want to believe that receiving this sacrament was important to him.

i believe that the true importance will reveal itself as he matures.

it sure wasn't lost on me as i sat through the two hour ceremony with kleenex in hand.

there were 64 celebrants from many different parishes and ethnic backgrounds.

the service was presided over by bishop schuerman and celebrated in spanish, akan and karen.

there was an evangelical edge to the service, which was a nice touch given the diversity of the church and the celebrants.

ho! hosanna!

after the ceremony, there were some apologies offered and accepted among at odds family members all crammed together in the same pew.

peace and forgiveness were things i prayed for during my time in church.

prayers answered: a beautiful thing.

the gift of the holy spirit: the best gift of all.