So, there's this whole turning-40 thing looming in my near future. Eight days less than 3 months from now, I'm going to hit that milestone. Luckily, I already enjoy the magazine More, and I think my face is standing up reasonably well. The rest of me, though . . . I'm not so sure. In some ways, I'm really looking forward to it. It's as if I think that on my birthday, I'm going to wake up and discover I have a reservoir of wisdom and confidence that I didn't know I possessed. In reality, I will probably have more of those things in my forties than I did in my thirties, but I'm sure I won't experience any more frequent epiphanies than I already have.
Speaking of epiphanies, Abigail has had a few lately. She is now thirteen months old. She is affectionate, adorable, curly-headed, and in that incredibly cute phase of walking where she sort of waddles with both hands in the air. She gives sloppy kisses, is extremely stubborn, adores the cat and dog, and is surprisingly skilled at making herself understood through hand signals and noises. I fully intended to teach her sign language, but all she knows how to say that way is "More," ironically enough, and even that sign has sort of morphed into a general sign for "I want something," even when she hasn't had any of it yet. I guess it's like what I'm looking for from my fortieth birthday -- more of something I really haven't had.
Abby also speaks. She has about a 12-word vocabulary, at last count, although she understands pretty much everything we say, and she can tell you that a sheep says "Baa" and a cow says "Mmmm" (We're still working on that one.) I am extremely disappointed that I won't be able to take her to the Inauguration, but I finally had to admit that it would be dangerous for her and for me, even if Dave is with us. So I intend to make her a video explaining and memorializing the momentous occasion.
R had his Christmas concert at preschool today. They sang 15 minutes' worth of Christmas songs, including "Happy Birthday to Jesus." R was adorable and Daddy videotaped the whole thing. He has a cute little blonde buzz cut, but it is uneven and shaggy because his mother insists on doing it herself. He loves making up stories to tell his sister, which I think is amazing and wonderful. He also is incredibly astute, and misses nothing. I took the kids shopping for a gift for Daddy that they would pick out. We headed for the DVD section of Borders (my favorite store), and I said, "What kind of DVD do you think Daddy would like?" and Ryan said, "A movie of an old football game that he never saw or that he saw lots of times but that he really likes." I guess he's been paying attention after all . . . . Tonight, on the way here to the mountains, he announced, "I have to go poop, and I have to p*ss." Lovely. He's still a little boy -- my little boy-- though. He was scared here tonight, the first night in a long time that he's spent at Grandbob's mountain house. He wanted his Blue Doggie, and Blue Doggie he got.
Shannon is an attention hog. She dances, jumps, sings, throws herself around, demands games, annoys the heck out of everyone, does anything possible to gather attention, and then more attention. A truly beautiful girl who can't get enough attention -- uh oh.
19 December 2008
Al Fresco
The color of my new makeup foundation is "fresco." Is that a nice way of saying that my face looks like plaster?
12 December 2008
Laura
It is strange and wonderful, I think, the way that sometimes people come into our lives and make a great and magnificent impression on us, all out of proportion to the small amount of time we are privileged to spend with them. One person who is like that for me is my husband's paternal grandmother, Laura. The first time I met Laura was also the first time I met Dave's father and stepmother, by spending an entire weekend with them in the mountains! (Horrors, but that's another story.) I stayed in our room a bit longer than Dave did that first morning (yes, we stayed in the same room -- also horrifying), mostly because I was afraid to come out. Then I heard David and Laura downstairs discussing something in urgent tones. Dave was, sweet man that he is, in the kitchen trying to make my cup of Irish breakfast tea that I enjoy every morning. Laura, elegant lady of earlier times that she is, was instructing him brusquely but eloquently in the right way to brew said cup of tea. I knew then, at least, that I would have two allies during my stay, David and Laura.
Later that trip, we were out on the boat. The menfolk were horsing around and towing each other behind the boat in a large inner tube, making for a jouncy and hilarious ride, often dumping the towee in the water with a splash. I was the only woman who dared do it, although I professed my concern that I'd find myself in the water, too, and not too gracefully. I enjoyed the ride, though, and didn't fall in, much to my amazement. However, as I climbed up the ladder back into the boat, Dave suddenly abandoned his pretense of chivalry and instead of helping me up, he let me go with a flourish and I toppled unceremoniously back into the drink. As I sputtered and flapped my way back up the ladder, I heard Laura. She had stood up on deck and was confronting David even as she looked down at me with utmost concern. "David!" she exclaimed. "I can't believe you did that! Shame on you!" I imagined how affronted Mrs. Bennett would have been had Mr. Darcy tossed Elizabeth overboard.
Laura is one of those stand-out people for me. I don't see her often enough, and over the span of her long and fruitful life, I have been only the most minor player. But for me, she was love at first sight, and that impression has only improved over the 3 or so years I've known her. She lives alone in a large house, at one point dragging herself back to the phone from the outbuilding after having fallen and broken a hip, and she is always clear-eyed, and sharp, ready for a laugh. Laura is also quite beautiful -- she is always put-together, her porcelain skin is delicate and her snow-white hair enhances her light blue eyes. She is by no means particularly jovial or fun-loving, but for some reason she feels like a kindred spirit. From the moment I met her, I have loved, admired and respected her. She is the kind of strong, confident, independent woman I aspire to be.
The thing about those people who flit in and out of our lives but leave such an imprint is that the observer never knows for sure whether she has the whole picture. I haven't known Laura for many years, much less a lifetime. Maybe she was a Scrooge, a floozy, a frivolous, giddy girl, a layabout, a slob. Maybe she was a lousy mother or disinterested student. (She did believe those Obama mailers about his being a Muslim terrorist.) Maybe when she was about to turn 40, as I will in a few months, she was as confused and frightened, yet optimistic, as I am now. Or maybe she has always been the same. The beauty of this narrow vision is that we both benefit -- I get an unsullied role model, and she gets to be a heroine in my eyes. I see in her now the qualities that I would like to develop in myself, and on her 93rd birthday, which she celebrated this week, she is the one who has given me a gift.
Later that trip, we were out on the boat. The menfolk were horsing around and towing each other behind the boat in a large inner tube, making for a jouncy and hilarious ride, often dumping the towee in the water with a splash. I was the only woman who dared do it, although I professed my concern that I'd find myself in the water, too, and not too gracefully. I enjoyed the ride, though, and didn't fall in, much to my amazement. However, as I climbed up the ladder back into the boat, Dave suddenly abandoned his pretense of chivalry and instead of helping me up, he let me go with a flourish and I toppled unceremoniously back into the drink. As I sputtered and flapped my way back up the ladder, I heard Laura. She had stood up on deck and was confronting David even as she looked down at me with utmost concern. "David!" she exclaimed. "I can't believe you did that! Shame on you!" I imagined how affronted Mrs. Bennett would have been had Mr. Darcy tossed Elizabeth overboard.
Laura is one of those stand-out people for me. I don't see her often enough, and over the span of her long and fruitful life, I have been only the most minor player. But for me, she was love at first sight, and that impression has only improved over the 3 or so years I've known her. She lives alone in a large house, at one point dragging herself back to the phone from the outbuilding after having fallen and broken a hip, and she is always clear-eyed, and sharp, ready for a laugh. Laura is also quite beautiful -- she is always put-together, her porcelain skin is delicate and her snow-white hair enhances her light blue eyes. She is by no means particularly jovial or fun-loving, but for some reason she feels like a kindred spirit. From the moment I met her, I have loved, admired and respected her. She is the kind of strong, confident, independent woman I aspire to be.
The thing about those people who flit in and out of our lives but leave such an imprint is that the observer never knows for sure whether she has the whole picture. I haven't known Laura for many years, much less a lifetime. Maybe she was a Scrooge, a floozy, a frivolous, giddy girl, a layabout, a slob. Maybe she was a lousy mother or disinterested student. (She did believe those Obama mailers about his being a Muslim terrorist.) Maybe when she was about to turn 40, as I will in a few months, she was as confused and frightened, yet optimistic, as I am now. Or maybe she has always been the same. The beauty of this narrow vision is that we both benefit -- I get an unsullied role model, and she gets to be a heroine in my eyes. I see in her now the qualities that I would like to develop in myself, and on her 93rd birthday, which she celebrated this week, she is the one who has given me a gift.
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