One of Those Days....

Vacation is over. Camp is over. Swimming lessons--over. But that's okay, because in three short weeks my son will be starting kindergarten and I will miss him terribly. So I'm happy to be spending all day, every day of these next three weeks with my two favorite people. BUT (big but)...that doesn't mean my kids don't drive me insane daily now and then. 

Take today, for example. The day started out so well. My youngest had her last toddler music class, and my son tagged along. Nice. Then a short walk through the woods and a fun splash through a stream to the Chappaqua library (luckily we wore our rain boots!) to watch a series of short films based on kids' books. The mini-movies were cute and we laughed. Then we investigated whether there could possibly be anymore Angelina Ballerina books that we hadn't yet read, and--SCORE!--checked out two new ones.

Things went smoothly when we got back home--the three-year-old was successful with the potty (a sticker for her Potty Chart and three M&Ms, yay!)--and no one complained about lunch. But before long, things slowly began going downhill. 

It's never one big thing that changes the tone of the day, but rather a bunch of tiny, annoying occurrences that, added up, are enough to push a mother over the edge. A toddler who won't nap (but desperately needs to), a kid (or two) begging for just one more cookie, removing the husk from the corn-on-the-cob that's supposed to be for dinner to discover it rotting inside, trying to weed the overgrown mess that passes for the backyard and getting pricked by the weird, thorny vine that is slowly asphyxiating all the nice plants. The small snowflakes build up into a massive, dangerous avalanche.

Then the whining starts. Mostly from the three-year-old, but the five-year-old isn't too old to chime in with the occasional well-timed moan just when I'm about ready to crack. The half-hour before my husband gets home from work consists of me trying to give my son positive reinforcement on the marble run he's just built and read my daughter Dora and the Snow Princess (for the five-millionth time), all while eye-balling the oven to make I'm not burning dinner. 

Then they whine throughout dinner, and I end up not even tasting the food I made, or else I'm up and down so many times that it's cold by the time I get to eat. By this time, not even the bottle glass of wine I'm drinking is helping me chill out. 

I love, love, love my kids more than anything else on this earth, but bedtime cannot come soon enough. The three-year-old whines until the last possible minute but I bite my tongue because I know if I get testy with her right before lights-out, it will only delay things. So I take a deep breath and just get through it.

Then, on the way from my daughter's room to my son's so I can kiss him goodnight, the cat slinks up and makes her "PET ME" noise. It's somewhere between a meow and a purr (it sounds a little like hoochie-coochie Charo rolling her R's), and I can't help but laugh because I thought I was done, I really did, but now here's THE CAT demanding my attention. 

But with the cat, at least I don't have to look or listen or talk or read Dora. I can just sit and enjoy the peace and quiet. Phew.

Awesome Song Lyrics: Suzanne Vega Edition

I just got back from a relaxing, lovely, sun-, sea-, and beach-filled vacation on Cape Cod. It's been hard getting back into the routine of everyday life in our land-locked, middle-class, suburban town, and my mind has been wandering back to Cape Cod. But I've also been thinking about other wonderful summer vacations--some from the recent past, some from many, many years ago.

I took this photo in 1988 of the
beautiful white cliffs of Dover.

One of my fondest summer vacation memories was a trip my family took to England in the summer of 1988. Because my mother was born and raised in England and most of her family still lived there, we visited England every few years throughout my childhood. They were always great trips, but this particular vacation in 1988 was different. It came after I'd been away at college for a year. My universe was expanding and, as a result, I was finally mature enough to fully appreciate the rich history and pristine beauty England had to offer. (And after being away from my family for a year, I could actually stand them for once.)

We spent about a month driving all around the country: London, Bristol, Dover, Hampshire, Stratford-Upon-Avon, Wells, and Devon, just to name a few. And while the cathedrals, castle ruins, and historic monuments were certainly magnificent, it was the countryside I loved the most. I sat in the backseat of our rental car, listening to my Walkman and watching the thatched cottages, tapestried farmlands, fluffy white sheep, and blooming wildflowers from the window.

We drove down narrow country roads where the hedgerows scraped our car on both sides and bounced along lanes that suddenly went from light to dark as we entered tunnels formed by the curved branches of tall, ancient trees. It was magical. It was hundreds of years after Henry VIII had beheaded his wives, yet the countryside still felt medieval and primal. I half expected to see a hobbit or perhaps a rabbit wearing a waistcoat emerge from the hedgerows at any moment.

My soundtrack to this vacation was Suzanne Vega's self-titled first album, which had come out in 1985, but I'd only discovered after "Luka" (from 1987's Solitude Standing) became a massive hit. I thought Solitude Standing was okay, but the first album absolutely killed me. And it was perfect for England. We'd visit castle ruins and learn about the royals who ruled there and the battles that were fought, then I'd cue up Ms. Vega's "The Queen and the Soldier" and the castle and its inhabitants would come alive in my mind:

The soldier came knocking upon the queen's door.

He said, "I am not fighting for you any more." 

The queen knew she'd seen his face someplace before

And slowly she let him inside.

He said, "I've watched your palace up here on the hill

And I've wondered who's the woman for whom we all kill.

But I am leaving tomorrow and you can do what you will

Only first I am asking you why."

Down the long narrow hall he was led

Into her rooms with her tapestries red

And she never once took the crown from her head

She asked him there to sit down.

He said, "I see you now, and you are so very young,

But I've seen more battles lost than I have battles won

And I've got this intuition, says it's all for your fun,

And now will you tell me why?"

The young queen, she fixed him with an arrogant eye.

She said, "You won't understand, and you may as well not try."

But her face was a child's, and he thought she would cry

But she closed herself up like a fan.

And she said, "I've swallowed a secret burning thread,

It cuts me inside, and often I've bled."

He laid his hand then on top of her head

And he bowed her down to the ground.

"Tell me how hungry are you? How weak you must feel

As you are living here alone, and you are never revealed.

But I won't march again on your battlefield."

And he took her to the window to see.

And the sun, it was gold, though the sky, it was gray

And she wanted more than she ever could say.

But she knew how it frightened her, and she turned away

And would not look at his face again.

And he said, "I want to live as an honest man

To get all I deserve and to give all I can

And to love a young woman who I don't understand.

Your highness, your ways are very strange."

But the crown, it had fallen, and she thought she would break

And she stood there, ashamed of the way her heart ached.

She took him to the doorstep and she asked him to wait,

She would only be a moment inside.

Out in the distance her order was heard

And the soldier was killed, still waiting for her word

And while the queen went on strangling in the solitude she preferred

The battle continued on. 

Here is Suzanne Vega performing the song: