Goodbye, Summer, It's Been Nice

The past couple of weeks have felt like Autumn. The weather's been cooler, rainier, windier, and less humid--and that was even before the hurricane. This weekend, however (although it wasn't particularly cold), chilled me to the bone. That's because, while the main story this weekend was undoubtedly Hurricane Irene, the unspoken story was Summer's End. It's eight o'clock and pitch black out there. And that bums me out.

I've always been ambivalent about the end of summer. Summer is absolutely, without a doubt, my favorite season. Except for the bugs, I love everything about summer--even the humidity. You will never hear me complaining about the weather on a 105-degree day. Yet all good things must come to an end. Back when I was a kid, Autumn meant finally seeing my friends again, new school clothes, and getting back into a routine. I've always liked a certain amount of structure in my life--and I'm also about 50% nerd and loved school--so rather than be sad about saying good-bye to summer, I would happily welcome Autumn's imminent arrival.

That changed when I graduated from college and got a job, because the end of summer no longer represented an exciting transition. Fall's arrival just meant doing the same job day in and day out but with less exposure to sunlight, crappier weather, and no one willing to pay for a new fall wardrobe. That was the only period of my life when I'd get majorly depressed at summer's end. Every August 15th, I'd start stressing out: I hadn't been to the beach enough, or taken enough trips, or visited all the outdoor bars and restaurants I'd wanted to try, or perfected my tan, or, or, or....

But now that I have kids who go back to school each Autumn, my feelings about summer's end have changed once again. Once again I'm not completely unhappy to be saying hello to fall. Sure, I will miss the hot-n-hazy-n-lazy days, wearing flip-flops, relaxing by the pool, trips to the beach, sweet-n-juicy peaches, and having nowhere special to be. But yet the idea of having a few precious hours to myself during the week is utterly intoxicating. My son will be in Kindergarten and my daughter will be in preschool three mornings a week. That only comes to about eight hours of Me Time, but that will surely feel like a lot after the ZERO hours I've had this summer. I'm not complaining--I chose not to sign both my kids up for camp and I don't regret it--but it's been exhausting.

And it's not just me who needs Autumn to arrive. The kids are starting to get at each other's throats. They  are normally about as lovey-dovey as a brother and sister can be, but I've noticed more pushing and "Get away from me!"'s lately. They need space.

Sure, this week is going to be gorgeous--warm and sunny, no rain in sight--but that doesn't change anything. Fall is right around the corner...all the more reason to relish and savor this last week of freedom and unstructured days. I plan on enjoying it.

Nightmare House

The day began at 4:40 a.m. I was awoken by murmuring sounds coming from the other side of the bed. Our five-year-old son was whispering something to my husband...and I tried my hardest to ignore it. After spending all day with the kids (not to mention the years of night feedings my husband got to sleep through when they were babies), nowadays I pretty much make let my husband deal with the nighttime interruptions.

Is this what my son's nightmare looked
like, I wonder?

My son has been having nightmares lately, and that's what was going on early this morning. I heard my husband walking around, setting up a "bed" for my son on the floor of our room. Soon all was quiet again. Ten minutes later, however, just as sleep was beginning to envelope me, I heard more whispers. The same nightmare--of our house about to be engulfed by flames--had interrupted my little man's sleep once more.

Clearly, he needed a little extra TLC, so I idiotically offered up the bed. My husband could sleep in the spare room and my son could cuddle up with Mommy. I kept my hand on his warm, smooth, little back as he fell fast asleep.

Soon I began to wonder if my boy was now dreaming perhaps of riding his bike or of having ants in his pants, because he was twitching and wriggling up a storm. Grrrrr. Over and over again, just as I'd begin falling down that blissful rabbit's hole of slumber, the bed would jiggle and shake. How is it possible for a 44-pound boy to make it feel as though I were experiencing a 7.2-magnitude earthquake?

I weighed my options: stay in my bed and not sleep, or go elsewhere but risk my little man waking up again and being extra-scared by my absence. I chose the later, and snuck down the hall to my son's room, falling with happy abandon into his red race-car bed with the dinosaur sheets. By now it was 5:30, and beginning to get light out.

Minutes later, I heard wailing. Yup, my son had woken up and found the bed empty. I trudged back into my bedroom, laid down next to the Wiggle Monster yet again, closed my eyes, and watched the inside of my eyelids slowly go from black to reddish as the day dawned.

I must've fallen asleep sometime around 6:30, because next thing I knew, I was waking up and my little man was staring at me. "Is it my time?" he asked. I rolled over and glanced at the clock: 7:05, his normal wake-up time.

"It would be your time if you hadn't been up half the night." I groaned, immediately falling back to sleep.

Rustle, wiggle, twitch.

"Fine. You can get up. But go wake daddy. I need to sleep."

My son climbed off the bed and scampered out of the room.

Ahhhh, alone at last.

Meeeoooow.

I know I'll Miss This Someday, but Right Now....

Our neighborhood's annual block party was last night. It's always a fun day (and night) filled with live music, food, drinks, and good conversation. Well, at least for most people there's good conversation. Me? Not so much.

I was too busy dragging around an extra appendage (that looked an awful lot like my three-year-old daughter) to talk to anyone at length. I began a few conversations, but before long, my demanding, wants-me-all-to-herself little girl would start tugging on my hand, trying to pull me away. It was very distracting. And annoying.

I spent a good part of the day frustrated with her. I did understand that she was freaked out by all the people around and wanted me close by for security, but that didn't make her any less of a buzz-kill.

My girl during what was pretty much her only social
moment of the whole day (with her brother & a friend)

I was envious of my husband, who kept himself busy drinking beers and chatting with neighbors. Our five-year-old son spent the day happily playing with friends and riding his bike up and down the closed-off street, so my husband was free to drink and be merry. He attempted Daughter Duty a couple of times, but after just a a few minutes, darling girl would want her mama again.

And now that she's getting older, little princess has begun playing me. I'd ask if she needed to use the potty and she'd say yes. Then once back at the house, she'd sit on the pot for ages and ages pretending to try, when really she was just stalling. This happened a couple of times.

"C'mon hon, let's go back to the block party," I'd suggest.

"I no like block parties," she'd announce, as if she's been to so many and they are just so tiresome.

I struggled with her all day, and it put me in a bad mood. I was pissed off with her for ruining my block party. Bedtime was not pretty.

A couple of hours later, I looked in on her. She was facing the door, fast asleep, and as I opened the door wider, the light from the hallway fell upon her, illuminating her sweet and innocent little face. Tears sprung into my eyes as it hit me how stupid I'd been.

My daughter adores me and wants to be with me every second. I'm her best friend. This precious time I have with her will be so, so short-lived. God, I know that, yet last night I was dying to be unencumbered and free from her grabby little hands and whiny little voice. For what? So I could easily and breezily chat with my neighbors and have a few drinks? What the hell was I thinking?

Because I know...in what will feel like a mere instant, poof, it'll be gone. I'll blink and she'll be starting kindergarten, then I'll blink again and she'll be rolling her eyes over something stupid I said.

One morning I'll wake up, and this time will be over. And then I'll be pining to have it back, to have my baby back. My extra appendage. My shadow. My echo.

My best friend.

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:

To "Summer" or Not to "Summer"?

I am spending a nice, relaxing week at the beach with my family. The first thing I always notice upon arriving at the quiet corner of Cape Cod where my parents have their beach house is how straight-out-of-the-Polo-catalog-adorable the kids are. They are altogether blonder, preppier, and more outdoorsy than the kids where we live. The kids who summer on Cape Cod do not look like they spend hours playing video games in their bedrooms.

Then, just as I've gotten used to the angelic blondness of the local kids, I notice the moms. Wow, are they pretty! You remember that girl in college who excelled at field hockey, took extra courses because of her double major, did loads of charity work, yet still managed to be friends with everyone and was always smiling? Well, it appears that every single mom around here was "that girl" at her college. If life were a rom-com, the moms where I live would play the loud, funny best friend, but these Cape moms would all be leading ladies.  

Pretty soon my mind begins to wander back to when I was a girl and my family would spend a week at the Cape--we'd stay at a house in a neighborhood where the families often stayed for the entire summer. I'd spend the whole week playing catch-up with the few beach "friends" I had and most of the time feeling clueless and pale. I didn't know the rules to the games they played and their inside jokes went right over my head. I so desperately wanted to be one of them: all sun bleached hair, golden skin, and freckled noses...sharp tan lines and perfectly worn rope bracelets. 

And now I'm all grown up, yet spending a week in this insular Cape town can make me feel like that child again. The moms all know each other--most of them spend the summer here with the kids, waiting for their husbands to drive down every weekend. They are on local committees, they plan parties and set up play-dates between their kids, and their adorable spawn take swimming, tennis, and sailing lessons through the local yacht club. For the most part, they live in wealthy Boston suburbs; because we live a four-hour (at least) drive away in New York, this arrangement could never work for us. Which is too bad...because once, just once in my life, I really want to try the whole "summering" thing. 

I will probably always be an outsider here. Which doesn't bother me so much now that I'm a grown up. But I do wonder how spending a week or two here each summer will affect my kids as they get older. Will they experience the same sort of alienation I did? Will the wealthy and beautiful kids here make my kids feel inadequate? Or worse, will seeing all those silver spoons cause my children to resent living in the middle-class town we call home?

Hey, perhaps witnessing all that wealth will make my kids appreciate our less-adorned life at home. A mother can hope, you know.

What I Miss Most About the 1990s Is....

There's an article in tomorrow's (8/7/11) The New York Times Magazine titled, "My So-Called Adulthood" about how Generation X--like every other generation before it--has become nostalgic for all things 1990s (the era of its youth), despite the fact that Gen X was famous for reviling the nostalgia it grew up with: the Baby Boomers fondness for all things 1960s.

Here is the link to the article.

The author Carl Wilson wonders how our generation can proudly embrace retromania when we grew up listening to the Baby Boomers talk about how great the 60s were: how their generation created the best music, ended segregation, were activists, and truly "believed in something, man." Back in the early 90s, didn't we hate the way they always reminisced about the good ol' days, then called us slackers and pointed out that by the time they were our age, they'd already marched on Washington five times and been thrown in jail for protesting something-or-another? They even insisted their drugs were better.

Yay! Beavis and Butthead are
coming back!

And now here we are, 20 years later, in the midst of a 1990s revival. Limp Bizkit, Faith No More, and Third Eye Blind (just to name a few) are touring this summer, plus MTV is bringing back some of its old programming, like "Beavis and Butthead" and "Pop-Up Video." It makes me laugh because we slackers are now the demo with the disposable income. HA! You love us now, don't you?

Mr. Wilson asks the following question in the article: "How does an anti-nostalgic generation deal with the human reflex to sentimentalize its youth?" Of course when I read that sentence, the only thing that popped into my head was, "The reflex...is in charge of finding treasure in the daaaark!"

Right Said Fred: Amusing
yet oh so embarrassing

The answer, according to Mr. Wilson, is mix-tapes. Apparently, some young musicians are creating music called "hypnagogic" or "hauntological" (I swear, I'm not making this up), with melodies that sound like pop songs from previous decades, but recorded to simulate old age by sounding fuzzy or staticky. And many of the artists are recording this music on the practically-extinct cassette tape. (I bet they are really proud of themselves, too).

I have a better idea: How about we Gen Xers join Facebook, post the original videos of all our favorite 80s and 90s songs, share comments about what that song means to each of us, and have fun honestly reminiscing about the good (e.g. Nirvana) and the bad (e.g. Right Said Fred) that our generation had to offer?

Oh, duh.

Brown Paper Packages Tied Up With String

Here are a few things I'm loving these days:



FurGOPet

Before we got our cat three months ago, I'd never had a pet that shed, so I was clueless about how to deal with all the hair that kept flying off Paulina whenever we touched her. A regular wire brush worked pretty well to remove all the dead hair that had accumulated on our Princess Paulina while she sat at the shelter waiting for us to adopt her. But this hot summer has required a more powerful device...and FurGoPet is it! The first stroke down my kitty's back yielded the most massive hunk o' fur I've ever seen. After a regular grooming session, I'd almost collected enough fur for an entire new kitty! And Paulina loves it--she's been much less scratchy and rubby since I've been using it on her. It comes in small dog, big dog, and cat models. Also reduces hair balls. $20-$25.

A Song of Ice and Fire Series

How the hell did I miss the original publication of the four novels in the A Song of Ice and Fire series, by American author George R.R. Martin? (I was working in children's publishing and following the adventures of a certain boy wizard, that's how.) I'd never even heard of George R.R. Martin or his books before reading an article about him in The New Yorker back in April. This was a few weeks before the HBO series aired, and it piqued my interest. I'm currently almost done with the second book, Clash of Kings, and the ongoing adventures of the knights, princes, queens, and "cravens" who live, love, and kill throughout the Seven Kingdoms (and beyond) get better and better with every page I turn. If you enjoy a good fantasy, pick up Game of Thrones and see if you get hooked. It's sort of like Tolkein lite: more sex and incest, less highbrow Englishness. The highly anticipated fifth book in the series, A Dance With Dragons, was just recently published.

Mission Tortillas--Whole Wheat Life Balance Flavor

Kids love carbs (at least mine do!) but plain bagels aren't exactly nutritious. I'm always looking for foods that pack a punch--that are loaded with vitamins, minerals, and other good stuff. Ideally, the foods should come by these nutrients naturally, but that isn't always possible. That's where Mission’s new Life Balance™ tortillas come in. These yummy tortillas are fortified with 23 vitamins and minerals, as much calcium as a glass of milk, have 3 grams of fiber, and 4 grams of protein each. They even contain heart-healthy omega-3 fatty acids. Roll up whatever healthy filling your kid prefers and you are good to go.