Genetics

I love hearing my longtime friends see something in Sadie and say that it reminds them of me from way back when.  For instance, the picture to the left made a college friend comment "I recognize those moves!" remembering me dancing around one sorority party or another. I hope it is not an ego thing (I love to dance, but it is clear that I am not talented in that area).

Over the last two weeks, both Sadie and Mark have come down with wicked colds. Mark's promptly turned into a sinus infection, as it has the last 5 years according to his doctor's records, in the very same week.  He started his second round of antibiotics yesterday. Sadie's drained into hear ear and her eye, and today she started her second round of antibiotics. While I love that the four year old has learned the skill of blowing her nose (instead of letting it drip out, which is what happened for the first three years). But Sadie loves blowing her nose, so much that she mostly does it without a Kleenex in hand and then runs to me and yells "tissue!" for me to wipe it. More than once I have thought (or probably uttered) "why did you have to get your father's sinuses??"

I have had very few sinus infections/colds over the years.  But Sadie and Mark... they both seem to catch every cold and it always escalates.  She clearly has his genetics here.

But I have been exhausted from it all. Because generally, I am the one that gets up with her at night, feels the forehead, and gives her Tylenol.  And then after she falls asleep in our bed, I am the one that lays awake on a 9 inch wide place in our bed worrying about why she is getting sick again. Or worrying about how I can schedule a doctors appointment and fit it in with everything else going on the next day. Or wondering how we will survive the plane flight to Disney on Sunday if she still has ears full of fluid. It isn't that Mark is not inattentive to these issues (so he tells me). But what sense is it to have both of us fretting away?

This is one trait that I honestly hope I don't pass down to Sadie. I have no comfort at all with living in uncertainty. None. Zilch. Nada (those who know Veggie Tales will know that I sound like A Pirate Who Doesn't Do Anything).

I believe this is different than being a worry wart -- I have come to realize the distinction just recently.  Because I don't fear bad news, really, at all.  I am actually much more comfortable with the receipt of bad news than I am in the grey zone of waiting for the good or the bad. Once the bad news comes, I don't fear the consequences of it... not really. I make my plan accordingly and then act. I am honestly very comfortable once the unknown is... well... known!  Good or bad. Remove the uncertainty, and I can get moving in the necessary direction. But in the land of grey between black and white, the nighttime when I lay awake obsessing about the signs of viral versus bacterial infection and debating which it could be, when it started, how she seemed fine when we were reading a story but didn't eat anything for dinner... the area of wondering is where I find myself in full blown obsession.

I simply hate the lack of certainty.

Once we got to the pediatrician again this morning (I say again because we were there two weeks ago tomorrow at 6 pm for an ear infection, and then at 9 am the next morning for pink eye), all of my angst disappeared. This was now in the hands of someone else. A medical professional. I would soon know what to do. The grey phase was gone, and this was to become black or white. And it was -- another ear infection. Another prescription, a stronger medicine, the recommendation for a pro biotic and also a script for a nasal steroid spray. We had a plan. I was relieved, in the best mood I had been in a week (as this new cold had been slowly taking over). Sadie sensed my feeling of control and was also happy and lighthearted, notwithstanding that she has very little hearing out of her blocked ear and is blowing yellow gook every few minutes.

Living in the grey zone... that is something that I wouldn't mind she inherit from her father. He does it far better than I do. He doesn't dwell or worry like I do. And he can take the time to live in the grey to let the black or white outcome slowly... come out!  Not me. I will hurry along the answer just so it will be an answer.  Doesn't really matter if it is right or wrong, as long as it is resolved, I rarely look back. I have accepted jobs like this, bought cars like this, even bought houses and moved away (and back) like this. My positive spin is that I am perfectly comfortable with spontaneity.  Mark's not so positive spin is that I can't live with uncertainty and act rashly sometimes.  So far I haven't gotten burned.  He delays and thinks everything through for a long time (note that we got engaged after we dated off and on for many years).  Maybe we provide a nice balance to each other.

I do hope that Sadie learns something from Mark's way of action (or rather, inaction), and doesn't fear the grey stage between black and white as much as I do. But if there was anyway to change what has already happened... I would give her my sinuses in a heartbeat.

Happy Fourth Birthday

My baby turned four at 7:48-ish this morning.  It feels like decades, and yet just moments, have passed since the most wonderful doctor in the world greeted Mark and I at 7:30 am on the first floor of Henrico Doctors Hospital with his confident grin and assured us that Van Morrison indeed would be playing on cable radio in the OR for my entire C-section and that he was about to present me with a beautiful healthy baby girl, completely pain free. And he was right!

Such a remarkable contrast to dark memories of just about two years earlier when I laid on a similar hospital gurney curled up into ball onto my side as a wonderful, but far less cheerful doctor performed a spinal tap and then quietly told my husband that I was very sick. It took a long time to recover from meningitis and all that came with it. It took a long time to trust that God had a plan that had more than pain and shortcomings meant for me.

And then randomly one July evening in 2006, with no pre-planning, no supportive studies, no doctor visits, no proven techniques... I took a pregnancy test and saw the undeniable line that literally and figuratively started the path of the journey for the rest of my life. With that line, my life that was all mine ended and was replaced by a life whose most important job was to lead a unit of us.  A cohesive unit unified in all purpose...? Mmmm, not always.  Not during the moments when she wanted to be awake in the middle of the night and I wanted to be asleep! Or the moments I am trying to get the bed time routine accomplished and she is trying to explain a make-believe story taking place in her mind. Or when I am trying to get us out of the house to go to school in the mornings and she is baking a pretend cake in the oven that is almost ready, and then simply must get frosted and not in a hurried sort of way mommy, and I need to learn to be patient.  Some days I feel nothing more than a lamppost, lighting the way, or maybe even a guardrail on an interstate, with my job to be to keep just one car on the road (but withstand a lot of slamming into during bad weather).

I love so many things about my Sadie at four years old.  I love her steel trap memory and keen observation skills, I love her empathy toward animals (both real and stuffed) and vegetables (also both real and stuffed), and friends. I love that she has a sense of performance and vigor (for shows often in front of said animals and vegetables); I love her love of learning and adventure. I love that she asks why some people say "I don't care" and then says "Caring is what you are supposed to do, silly!" I love her look of determination when she rides her bike down steep hills and overcomes certain fears. And I the grin that appears on her face when we compliment a picture she has recently drawn or a list of words that she has written. I love the look on her face every night moments after she falls asleep, when she takes her thumb out of her mouth and rolls towards me unconsciously and I can study her eyelids and her cheeks and her hairline from inches away, and her sweet mouth that still relaxes in a sort of smile just like it did when she slept as an infant in my arms. I love that when Mark asks her to stop growing up so fast she looks at him thinks for a minute and says "Well Daddy I have to grow up, but I will stay little awhile longer so don't be sad OK?"

And I love that she has made me a better person. I love that after 37 years of putting myself first and my own goals and successes first in my own mind, I am no longer identified by them, or even guided by them. Now, even if fail at numerous other things in my life, like professional accomplishments, a clean and orderly house, a svelte and healthy body, etc., that I can go to bed every single night knowing that I succeeded at something far greater than those other things combined. I played some role in raising my daughter for another day. I assisted on her journey for another day.  I kept her on the interstate and out of the ditch.

Yesterday at Sadie's school was dress as your favorite Bible character day. There was no doubt in our minds that Sadie would choose to be Jonah, or rather, Archibald Asparagus dressed up as Jonah from the Veggie Tales movie. Sadie loves the Veggie Tales and we spend every day reading the stories and listening to the CD, but Jonah has an especially high ranking in her mind. Interestingly, she actually understands the most difficult concept for me as an adult which is at end of the movie (or the end of the Bible story which we all know) in which Jonah really doesn't learn much after all and still wishes that God would wipe the people from Nineveh from the face of the earth. While she loves the middle of the story, and its lasting messages, where a team of angels with incredible voice and singing talent tells Jonah that God is a God of second chances, and knows every word to that song, she has this really great way of understanding that at the end, Jonah still has a hard time understanding that God is the God of second chances. And so do we.

Sadie's costume was wonderful and I was so impressed with it all (thank you Tyler who worked endlessly on designing it, I am sure, with demands from Sadie ringing in her ears). But best of all is the scroll which is here. Sadie wrote the words on it herself.

She is, unmistakeably, my message from the Lord.

And I am thankful.

Nearing Four...

Four years ago almost exactly, today. As I tell the story to Sadie as one of her often chosen bedtime stories, on March 7, 2007, Mommy woke up feeling a little bit weird. This was the last picture Mark took right before we left the house to go to the hospital.

Last night Sadie went to bed at 7:45 pm.  Mark had to go to the office to get some things for a presentation he has today, and I had to do two loads of laundry and wrap Sadie's birthday presents.

Last year at this time, Sadie had a double ear infection and we spent the equivalent of yesterday at KidMed. I was thinking last night at 8:15 pm, as I was sitting in the kitchen with a glass of wine procrastinating on the laundry folding, that at that instant one year ago, I was likely cleaning up the puke that had resulted from me giving her Motrin on an empty stomach (this went on for a few days, I was a slow learner of that fact).  We had Sadie's 3rd birthday party the day before her birthday (so the equivalent of today) since it was a Sunday.  A house full of adults and kiddos and my child retreated to her bed 5 minutes into the dinner party for the next 2 hours. She proceeded to throw up while she was opening the presents. All over the leather couch.

Two years ago, for her second birthday, she was also sick with some virus. That year, I had the forethought to cancel her friend birthday party. So instead we went to Williamsburg and a cake that I had made with both sets of her grandparents.

On her first birthday she was healthy, but didn't nap for three days before her birthday at all and pretty much gave up morning naps all together after she turned one. I remember enjoying the day, but being worried sick that she was not getting enough sleep (a running theme for her first three years).

So this year, knock on wood, is a seemingly healthy and relaxed lead-up to the birthday.  Which led me to too much time to think.

I am fundamentally opposed to living life with regrets. I can honestly say that up until Sadie was born, I didn't have any regrets. Because I like to talk, to write, and have never lacked having "the last word" when a last word needed to be said, the periods in my life that had closure... well... they never lacked closure. Often life has been like my training for marathons. I put time into things and they yielded the corresponding results. I honestly didn't have any regrets about anything I had done.

But last night, I could feel loads of regrets entering my mind. Why didn't I savor the days? Why was I so ready for my infant to eat more, grow more, smile more, sleep more? Why did I spend hours in front of the computer diagnosing health problems that eventually often remedied themselves? Why did I keep hoping she would develop some trait faster, enter the next stage, do this or do that, then... then things would be perfect. Where did those four years go?  My mind raced on last night and still is this morning. I am not sure that these are regrets as much as they just are reflections. A lot of snapshots just entering my mind one after the other. A newborn, and infant, a toddler, a little girl... looking bright eyed to the future. And a mother in the background, worried about something or other.

I have recently gotten somewhat addicted to the show called Mad Men. Part of my love is of the fashion, the clothing from the 1960s Madison Avenue lifestyle is just incredible! But part of my fascination is seeing what really was a completely different lifestyle that most of the wives and mothers lived from what I am living right now. I often look back at my childhood with rose colored glasses, thinking that things were simpler then, easier then. But the women were bitter, lonely, and most of them not enjoying motherhood like I think I do.

So, I am not sure if I have regrets now, or if I am instead just finally but tearfully grateful for the moments that have passed.  I find it interesting that Sadie is probably just entering the age now that she is making memories that she will have forever. I remember a few things from then I was four, and then a lot more from five on.  There is a comfort in knowing that the times of the past, where I have regrets about not enjoying them more, are times that she will not ever recall. These times now, the times that I am there more than I am away, the times where we have a rock solid care giver and a great school setting, the days of awesome art projects and fun games and toys... these are the days that she will remember. I hope in these pictures, I will appear less worried. And happier. Because I am.

Its called Life.

This was what my husband said last night as I was laying across our sitting room sofa lamenting on how hard my days seem right now. How stressed out work has become, how there are 12 non-work things that all seem to need to be done in the next 2 months and no time to get to them, how people have been letting me down by lapsing on their parts of the bargain expecting that I will be monitoring things, etc. He was unpacking his suitcase from his 3 day stay at the Hotel Mandarin in Washington DC for a seminar, half listening to me, and probably half wondering why he came back to a woman who sees the glass not only as mostly empty, but leaking profusely and chipped all at the rim... "Its called life" he said. This, I took to be, a combination of "end of conversation"  and  "do you think the rest of us don't have some stress these days too?"

I went downstairs and ate the top centimeter (give or take) of a pint of gilato and watched the last 10 minutes of Biggest Loser. Doing that, out of the carton with a spoon, makes me feel like this is not really a serving that needs to be counted. And I do it standing up.  And it did make me feel better. As did the 8 hours of solid sleep that I got thereafter. And the shower that I took this morning. And having Mark take Daisy for her walk, Daisy exiting her depressive state that she stays in every time Mark travels (note she was my dog for years before Mark and I got married, how does she think this makes me feel) and Sadie waking up happy too. All things that weren't really happening when he was gone. The day looks slightly brighter.

But all of this does raise a question in my own mind, and that is... is it right to convey to a 4 year old that her mother is stressed out and has an unpleasant outlook, at least some of the time?

See, to Mark's point of "Its called life," I always remark that my parents never appeared this stressed when I was little.  My father was home by 6:05 every night (sure he left at 7:30 am) and there was no blackberry or cellphone or computer for him to work on later in the evenings. I remember his routine of watching the news every night (CBS) for 30 minutes, and then catching up on reading the paper, and my mother often having a glass of wine over a bucket of ice and reading her romance novels. I don't do either of those things. 

Two nights ago I ironed one half of a linen table cloth that we used for a birthday party in our dining room a few weeks go, and that felt like 30 minutes of luxury. I say half the cloth because it quickly became apparent that there was no good way to make sure that the part that I ironed stayed clean when I was having to loop it over this skinny ironing board in our basement laundry room where a shedding Daisy had been bathed recently. I gave up and will take the table cloth to the cleaners and have it professionally pressed I think. But at least now it is folded instead of draped over our second floor landing where it was for over a week.

But I digress. From my eye as a child, my parents weren't stressed and had it all taken care of. They weren't necessarily effusive with their happiness either, most of the time. But I can count on one hand the times that I have seen either of them cry (the death of each of their parents) from sadness. Sadie probably sees my eyes well up with tears of frustration weekly. OK, daily.

I don't ever want her to think that she is the reason for my distress. Because honestly, she isn't. I have two friends who are struggling with infertility at 44 and 40, and I know that their stresses are so much greater than mine. When I stop to think and really reflect, we are so incredibly blessed.

But then I am at work, fullish time instead of partish time like I bargained for, with a husband who travels a lot either for work or for family matters, an ailing mother in law who I am so sad for but who I also probably resent for entering this life stage right now when I would rather Mark and I be frolicking with a happy four year old, taxes to do, a Disney trip to finish planning, a dog with a mole growing over her eyelid that seems to irritate her cornea now once a week, a house that can't ever get uncluttered, 5 weeks before said house and yard needs to be decorated for the Virginia Garden Tour, a soccer team to coach, yada yada yada.

I feel so very behind. And I never feel like I am catching up. Sure I could take time off (and likely, probably will have to) to do my taxes, get the house and yard ready, and finish organizing our itinerary for Disney. But who wants to take time off for administrative matters like that. It just seems so overwhelming to have so much "admin time" just to be a 41 year old married mother of one these days! And that's not counting work admin time. I just remembered I have to check on a carpet we ordered that was supposed to be in during the first week of February. How shocked I would be if just once, just once, someone called me to say "you know that carpet that you ordered, I just wanted to tell you that it would be coming in in X days" instead of me, four weeks after the time frame, frantically remembering in my mind "that carpet should have been in a month ago, I wonder who I need to call to find out what the status of that is?"  It is just baffling to me how many lists of outstanding items that I need to keep going. And those of you who know me know that I was never one to earn the Most Organized award.

So that's my lament. That's the flip side of the coin.

This morning Sadie was slow to leave for school, wanting to finish building a parking garage out of Magnitiles.  She is methodical and each garage has a swinging door where matchbox cars fit in, all per her design. We have to go, I kept telling her. Her remark back to me "Mommy, you are not being very nice, and if you keep saying that, you are not going to be my mommy anymore."  OK I have never threatened that, ever --- not even in my mind where a lot of threats reside and don't get uttered. And she said it in this calm fashion, not even out of anger, and continued to build her garage. I took off my 4 tote bags (purse, lunch, gym clothes, work) plus my return box to send back to Zappos and built the rest of the garage with her. We then left for school and listenened to the Veggie Tale cd in the car that is still playing in my mind. When I dropped her off in her classroom, she was the second child there... not late as I had been threatening after all.  Now if only I could put her in charge of doing our taxes.

The Beauty of Part-Time

This morning Mark and I were in the bathroom together while Sadie was writing the grocery list (thank you St. Valentine, as I can't tell you how many times she has said "How do you spell cupcake? We need to get more of those so I am putting those on the list!... How do you spell chocolate?..."). I was wearing my Lululemon running pants and a sports bra top. Mark was in a suit.

"Casual day at the office dear?" says dear husband.
"No, its Wednesday, its my part time day so I am not working this morning." I reply.
"Lucky you!" he says.
"Well, I pretty much only get to drop Sadie off to school, get in my work out, get Sadie's bike tire fixed and maybe grab Daisy some more food at the store, and then I have to be at work. Its no vacation." I say.
"I would love to do that today. Sounds like a great morning to me!" he replies.

And as I sit here now, cooling down from a 6 mile run in the sunshine... I realize, it really is a great day. And I am lucky.

When I first went part time, I had these dreams that the house would have a whole new level of color coded organization. I would have these to-do lists on fancy modern looking post-its and I would check things off with red sharpie pens that would always be right where I left them.  I would write notes to friends and mail them off, letting them know how much they mean to me and apologizing for not keeping in touch so well as I worked my tail-end off as a lawyer for a decade, then insisted they all come play bridesmaid to me when I got married while most of them were popping out children and thus, popping out of the trim dresses I required them to wear, and then demanded their attention when I had my own child at 37 and couldn't figure out what to do with an infant. All these things were going to come together. I was going to have fresh flowers on the kitchen table instead of a glue stick, a tennis ball complete with Daisy slobber, and two sippie cups from who knows when. I was going to have both time and energy.

None of those things have happened. Though, thanks to Mark and Tyler, there are fresh flowers on the kitchen table, the island, and in the dining room!  But the house is still a mess. I still haven't reached out to my friends with notes, but instead have dialogues with them in my mind as I am going to bed, or going for a run.

But two things have happened, and as I sit here now, I know that they are far more important than an organized house. First, my daughter is spectacular. Yesterday the nanny left me a note about their great day, complete with Sadie singing a song that she made up with a refrain "Believe in the Lord, believe int he Lord."  The teacher told me this morning that Sadie has been singing it all week. I said "Is that a problem, I mean is she distracting others?"  "Absolutely not!" she said. They are all about singing, all about Joy, all about the Lord there.  My daughter appears to have been "zonked by the Holy Spirit" as my mother used to say. She is happy, she is well behaved, she is inquisitive, she is thoughtful.  She reflects the personality of her happy nanny, and her happy parents. I could want for nothing more.

And the second thing, I get some me-time. I get my exercise in. I get those endorphins. I am slowly losing the 10 pounds that I have wanted to lose for nearly 4 years. And I get some time with Daisy, who won't be with us forever.  And I call Mark a lot more to say "I love you sweetheart" onto his voicemail. And a lot less to say "I am so stressed and I hate my job and why can't I get anything done anymore."

Life is good.

Things to Teach

When I decided to leave partnership at my old firm and become a part-time senior counsel at my current firm, I never made an actual list of pros and cons. This was a gut decision, not lending itself to effective list making exactly. After all, I left a job with a lot more money, a lot more friends, a lot more responsibility, to come to a job where hmmm... I would have less responsibility but more time off??? But my "time off morning" yesterday consisted of a brief workout and a walk in the 30 degrees with Daisy and then a rush to work to meet some very rushed deadlines that someone else dictated (a role that I used to enjoy and no longer get to do!). Some days, the visions of my extra teaching time with Sadie, or hours to organize the closets and get together with friend more... they just don't come to fruition. I kept thinking I was going to discover a new passion, a new calling maybe? Instead I feel like I am  largely stuck on number 2 of a 12 item to-do list for projects around the house. I guess the good thing is, generally now I have time to get the lists made, whereas before, I rarely even got that accomplished.

But I digress... one of the known cons to this job is not having an assigned parking space. Ever since I made partner at my old firm, I had an assigned parking space. Now I enter on the ground floor and I often don't find a space to park until the upper part of 3, so you can envision all the right turns I take to get up there (and left turns to leave). And since I drop Sadie to school in the mornings before work and leave to meet the nanny in the evening, I am always in a hurry.

Which brings me to the real point of this post... and that is how well I can drive in parking garages. I drive well. I am slick. I go fast, I make narrow and tight turns. I have never had a wreck. I cut around poles.  I do the things that the signs say not to do. And I despise following someone closely who rides his or her breaks all the way up and down, even pn the straight-aways. One might think I sound reckless, but I am not. Because I was taught exactly how to drive in parking garages.

My father taught me.

My father grow up one of five boys in Pittsburgh. He is as close to all of his brothers now in friendship as he was to them in age growing up (typical Catholic family, these children were born one immediately after the other). They get together at least once every couple of years and we, their 13 descendants, sit in rapt attention listening to them telling the stories of their youth.  In fact, if you don't listen very closely, you won't hear the story, for they often break out in laughter and struggle to tell the end, just slapping each other on the shoulder as they tell the tale, which probably has grown taller through the years. Weddings of my cousins have always been great as everyone attends, and the reminiscing goes late into the night before and after the wedding. In fact, I will confess, that as the bride, I really did miss out on the rituals of hanging out with everyone in one hotel room and sharing stories (though being the bride was fun in so many other respects!).

Here they are at someone's wedding comparing their bald spots for the photographer!  I also have several pictures from different functions where they are comparing their backsides (clothed). They are rarely serious, always laughing, always happy.

My Uncle Jim, who is the third in age (my Dad being the second), loved cars. So the brothers somehow managed to pool some funds together (coming from a middle class family, they were all working at young ages) and bought a car, probably before Uncle Jim could legally drive. Needing to keep this a secret from their very strict father, they hid the car for years by parking it on a neighboring street. They worked on this car though to keep it operational, and drove it all over town. Can you imagine now, in the day of "helicopter parenting," how 5 brothers could keep this secret effectively?  They did. And they sold that car and bought others. These boys were banded. They would never snitch on each other to one of their parents. They were a troop that would do anything to support the others. I believe they still would.

So my Dad and his brothers, some of them worked in downtown Pittsburgh's parking garages. And they have stories to tell on how the joys of this job. Those days, as I understand it, people didn't park their own cars but instead, the attendant (and his assistants, like my father in his younger days) parked them, often like sardines in a can. And when it came time to move one car and others were in the way, well it was an art how they did this effectively and quickly, worthy of a tip! The stories of others' mishaps parking cars made us all laugh.

So my father,  he knows how to drive in a garage. And he taught us to do the same thing. Quick but safe. Confident... but fun.

This morning I was behind a poky person (on his cell phone) and I was exasperated. I needed to get to work and was already running late. For a minute I contemplated passing him on the straight away, but instead I got lost in a few minutes envisioning how my dad must have felt. A teenager, with a job on a Saturday night parking cars for all the movie goers heading to the theatre. Getting behind cars then that were expensive, luxurious, ones that he could only dreaming of owning one day. Driving them up and down the ramps, safely but confidently. Veering around poles to find the right space, backing into tight spots for ease of pulling out or moving later.

It makes me a little sad that he won't be able to teach Sadie the art of driving in a parking garage.

I love the relationship that Sadie has with my Dad (to her, he is Papa). Like the nieces and nephews before her, she views him as a very calming influence to the firestorm that is often my mother (said only in the nicest of ways). As babies, Papa could hold his infant grandchildren safely swaddled in their blankets and get the fussiest babies to calm down. My mother says he did it to us too, as children, and I watched with awe as he did it to my own child. He would come visit Sadie on the early days of my maternity leave when I couldn't fathom a shower or load of laundry and he would pick her up and wrap her in some blankets and say "I am taking her outside, she needs sunshine and a walk." And I would watch from the window as he would walk with her slowly up the block on the sunny side of the street. Sometimes he would put her in the baby stroller but a lot of the time he would just hold her up on his shoulder, so she could look out at the world around her, and yet feel the pressure of his shoulder on her tummy and his hand on her back. He would talk to her the whole way, about things that he was seeing, cars that were passing, houses that looked nice or flowers that were blooming (this was March, most likely, or early April). In a soft and calming voice. He was magic.

This is a picture of when we told my parents that were expecting Sadie.

He won't be able to teach her to drive in a parking garage in all likelihood. But one day, I will. And I will tell her how he taught me to do it. And I will tell her as many of the stories I know from my dad and his brothers growing up. And the joy and friendship that they all had with each other. And how it is that positive outlook, that sense of brotherhood, that keeps you alive and happy. As it has for them.

We have had a tough few weeks with relatives growing older and decisions needing to be made. My parents, God bless them, seem to be in a window of good health. But it doesn't last, we know that. One of the prices that I have learned must be paid for having a child late in life as we did with Sadie, is that you deal with caring for your parents at the same time you are caring for your toddler. My own parents didn't face these things until their own children were largely grown.  This will not be us. And the more I watch and learn how to deal with these difficult issues, the more I fear that one day my own child will face them. And that she won't be as old as I am!

So we are grateful for what we have right now. I am grateful for the memories. Even as I find myself going through them as I drive around the parking garage. After all, my father taught me how to dream and drive at the same time. I, on one hand, am reliving some memories. He, on the other hand, he would look to his future. He probably had the better approach, even then!

More Winter Memories

This weekend, Mark set up a fire-pit that he had bought a few weekends ago in our back yard (which isn't really a yard, but an assembly of pavers, patio-style, with lots of shrubbery). Does it look like we are cold and it is smoky? Both are true, and yet we had the time of our lives. Sadie LOVED it the most!

We are slowly leaving the Christmas season. And I mean, slowly.  I have never experienced a holiday like this one where I had not transitioned to the next thing coming by its end. Well, maybe our wedding. I remember the day after our wedding wanting to replay it all in my head over and over again, so this is kind of like that. But give me a break, am I really equating one year's Christmas break with something as important and live-changing as my wedding was? And by the end of the day after our wedding, I was on a plane to Italy very much looking forward to an awesome honeymoon. And honestly, by the end of our honeymoon I was kind of ready to come home and get settled again in our house.

But for some reason, I am having a really hard time leaving Christmas this year. The Boden spring line did help me for a few moments, they have some wonderfully springy new kaftans in there, but still, I go back to my Christmas CD in my car every chance I can. Sadie's still lugging around her Rudolph and Clarice reindeer dolls everywhere around the house (two nights ago, we made a card for Rudolph because yesterday was to be his birthday, and the kitchen table was completely set for a party).  She took them to her grandparents this weekend, and only allowed Rudolph not to come to Red Lobster because we convinced her that Daisy would be lonely in Grandmom's house without him there.

So Mark set up the fire pit this weekend, and we all sat outside for an hour or more and toasted marshmallows and watched the flames.  No hurries, no need to speed anything along. Fire pits are wonderfully warming... all of us had 'toasty buns' as Sadie kept saying.
Even Daisy wasn't scared of the fire, which is amazing considering that she freaks out usually when the oven is turned on if it has any remnants in there or when a smoke alarm battery is about to die.

We truly had the most amazing Christmas ever. And it wasn't made that way by one gift, or an assortment of them even. Or spectacular weather. Or even anything extraordinary, like a surprise visit by a long lost friend or family member (though having Aunt Carolyn with us is special every year). On paper, this Christmas was no different than the ones we have had before (except the Great Pine Beetle Infestation, requiring an 11 foot tree take down, rebuy, and redecorate in 14 hours).

But it just was a great time. 

I have a lot in my life that I am really grateful for, and nothing in my life begging change, right now. That is so rare for me, and particularly rare considering some of the changes we went through in the last year. But everything is great right now. Sadie is just at an incredible stage and age right now, reminding me of a mother at the pool last summer with a newly turned 4 year old who told me "When she will turn 4, you too will realize that you have the daughter you always wanted."  It is true, for us at least. My new job is going well.  No part of me really misses being a partner or fully engaged in the practice of law. I love my part-days off. I love time to exercise, to organize something in the house, and most importantly, more time with Sadie. I am fully 100% in love with my primary role as Mom right now. I don't regret moving to this sooner, but I am sure happy I made the change when I did.  Just in time to spend some afternoons sledding!

Sure I could be 12 lbs slimmer, and have a lot less gray hair (that is the most disappointing thing about turning 41, I am going gray rapidly!!). The lines on my face seem to be etched more. And my house is never tidied up. I wish my husband were less stressed and had more free time too... but I am thankful that he finds work rewarding and fulfilling, and that his commitment allows me to be less committed. Our parents could be younger and healthier, but this is what happens when we are older parents ourselves. I hate watching our parents falter, but they have lived long long lives and they all watched their children, and several of their grandchildren, grow up and prosper. I can think of many friends who have already lost a spouse, it seems pretty much the norm to be watching a declining parent at my age.  Our house is decorated just the way I want it to be. Sadie's childcare situation is just perfect. The list of things that I am truly thankful for now, and the people that I am thankful for, goes on and on.

I do love the concept of bucket lists. And as Sadie grows older, I think I will start one. Something that will replace our trips to Disney one day with things more adventurous for Mark and me. But for now, it is so great to be just where we are. And I am incredibly thankful.