Finally Fall

Fall, at last, it's you and me.
I should compose a sonnet about you every year...but I'll have to freshen up on my Shakespeare first.
Because of you, my color of choice year-round is orange. Ooh, and citrus orange season is around the corner. Drool.
I still wish I could celebrate my birthday during leaf changing splendor.
I adore you more than those brown paper packages tied up with string.
I need you like apples + cinnamon need a buttery flaky pie crust.
I relish your mornings filled with chilled crisp air that pinken my nose, your afternoons that warm my face while my neck cozies into a soft scarf, and your evenings filled with haunting quiet stillness.
You're all I yearn for during the winter, spring, and summer.
You're the most wonderful time of the year--shouldn't there be a song for that?

Fall, I love you. Let me count the ways...

the notches/kancamagus highway/white mountain state park white mountains, nh

woodstock bridge, vt

watching apple ice cream being made at billings farm, woodstock, vt.

misty morning on the connecticut, dartmouth rowing, nh/vt border

norwich, vt

Fall is no doubt the best season of the year in New England. My home hosted two sets of visitors last month...I'm hoping to entice more. Let me know, and I'll book you on my wide-open calendar.

Fall, please stay a little while. Christmas can wait.

New York a la Ephron

"Above all, be the heroine of your life, not the victim."
--Nora Ephron


My fingers have been too lazy to prop themselves onto the computer--and computer time is not conducive to precious husband time either. In fact, my blogging negligence is due to snuggling with my man on the couch and watching the first season of Prison Break. I say there's nothing better to end the day for a confined-at-home mother than by watching other people use desperate means to escape their prison. Wink, wink.

[source]

So, I am lagging behind to say a few words about the late Ms. Nora Ephron. I was going to sit down to collect my thoughts on Tuesday night when I first read about it, but my brain was too pooped. It's now Friday and I feel a bit reluctant having to say anything at all because a popular blogger, who I share similarities with, had beat me to the chase*. It left me feeling unauthentic, again. I may expound upon this another time, but to any of my friends who happen to read both blogs: my writing and ideas are not plagiarized--they are my own. Blogging is a work of my heart, and not a business-like or a notorious agenda. *If this doesn't make any sense, it's not a big deal. I say it for my own peace of mind.

I have a lot to owe to the reputable Ms. Ephron. After reading many news columns devoted to the memory of this celebrated author and screenwriter, I reflected on what influence her work had on me:

--It was her who instilled in me the lofty desire to run a little book shop of my own. Yes, I said lofty, but it's never too late.

--It was her who modified my perspective of New York City from a crime-infested metropolis to a charming big city filled with flower stands and nonthreatening Brownstones.

--It was her memorable one-liners and ideal scenes of life in the Upper West Side that had me watching You've Got Mail more times than she likely had.

--It was her romantic representation of NYC that had me striving for years to make it there.

After years of school, meticulous attention to my copy editing portfolio, and money being stowed away into my savings, there came a time that I started the so-called 'spreadin' the news.' The plan was finally in motion: airplane tickets, a publisher job agency meeting, a clean bill of health, and no emotional baggage keeping me in Utah. New York and I would be together at long last. But she and I were not meant to be together. I never imagined that my pair of vagabond shoes would decide to walk in any other direction, but it did. And the course of my life changed forever because of it. Yet, Nora's New York will always be an imprint on who I am. 

I have come to terms that my writing is a pile of sawdust, but if there's any hope for me, her work inspires me to dig deeper. And that's okay. There is always a story to tell about who we are and every thing we do. Write about what makes you happy. If it's not happy, write so you can laugh about it later. Never be the victim. In the next lifetime, I'll be taking a writing class from her and somehow figure out how to be half as clever and entertaining as she was...

Such as brightening someone's day with a bouquet of newly-sharpened pencils. Ah, wouldn't that be nice.

Good Health

Six whole years ago in June, I carried a golf-ball sized tumor in my pelvis all the way down into the Grand Canyon and back up again. Red mountains, aqua blue waterfalls, nights sleeping under the stars--it was the best vacation of my life. After conquering those wicked switchbacks like a desert mule, I had convinced myself that I was in good health. That protruding little devil from my abdomen, in my mind, was nothing more than a bubbled-out muscle that stuck out of place for the time being. Denial became my bosom buddy. I laugh now at my ridiculous way of thinking, but when it comes to my health, taking immediate action requires a painful and necessary trip to the Emergency Room. And that, is exactly how it all went down several weeks later. I don't need to fill in all the deets, but two surgeries followed and I had my first encounter with Percocet. Let me state right here that if I were on Percocet for the rest of my life, my storytelling would fall within the genre of Agatha Christie. In my constant drowsiness, I dreamed of thrilling mysteries with elaborate plots that ended with a twist. Kids, don't do drugs.

After six years and seven post-surgery CT scans, I'm done with this whole shindig. Throughout it all, I've successfully gagged down several liters of contrast fluid and I now don't bat an eyelash when somebody stabs my arm with a needle.

To make matters more celebratory, the large bottle I had to consume this time around was by far the best-tasting contrast I've had. In the past, my puke reflexes have been told to behave themselves, but chugging on this new metal-flavored water was improvement--to say the very least.

The latest results showed everything clear. It feels good. I wish I didn't have to battle my body the way that I do, but at least this particular one is over. Here's to hoping for more healthy years and no more scary stuff.

Zero Productivity

Today was another one of those days that I was happy for it to end. However, I do recognize that I should be grateful for another day to breathe air. Another day of being with those I love. Another day of being a mother. Another day of spilled milk. But, I'm going to be practical here and suggest that not all days are created equal, nor are they equally snuggled up to my heart. Today was just not one of those Hallmark card moments.

Dialogue around the house went roughly like this:

"She's pushing me."
[Wailing]
"I want a drink."
"Not the yellow cup! I want the blue cup!"
[Shouting]
"I need to pee."
"Ow! Ow! I fell down, Mom!"
[Obnoxious fake crying]
"Kiss my owie, Mom."
"Where's my blue truck, Mom? Find it."
"Look, Mom! It's an ant on the ground! Come see!"
"Watch me, Mom."
"Come here, Mom."
"She's screaming at me. Tell her stop."
[Joint screaming]
"I'm hungry."
"I need to pee."
"I need a Kleenex."

My baby girl doesn't talk a whole lot, but her presence is sure to be known. Here's her contribution:

"Mamaaa! Mamaaa! Mamaaa! Mamaaa! Mamaa!" (repeat as many times necessary before acquiring a migraine.)
"Up! Up! Uuuuuup!" (meaning to pick her up)
And plenty of high pitched girly screams enough to perk the ears of all the neighborhood dogs.

I was forced to think about the things I had to say today, so the next several phrases summarize the best of what I could come up with:

"If you don't want your sister to push you, don't push her in the first place."
"The blue cup is dirty. Choose another color."
"Either drink from this cup or no drink at all."
"Can you ask nicely?"
"You're not bleeding. Stand up and shake it off."
"Stop taking toys away from her. Please, give it back."
"That was naughty."
"Time out."
"Please share with your sister."
"Where did you put your blue truck? You have two feet--you look for it."
"Those rocks can't come into the house; they need to stay outside."
"Who turned the hose on? You need to ask permission first."
"Go sit on the stairs."
"Was that a good decision or a bad decision?"
"Where should you be using your chalk? Yes, very good, on the ground. Should you be writing with it on the screen door?"
"Hey, stop shutting the door on your sister!"
"Time out."
"What does stop mean?"
"Can't you see that she's crying? That means you should probably stop."
"I'm serious."
"I mean it."
"Both of you need to chill out."

It takes an inner skill to not let certain repetitious moments get the best of me--I'm working on it. As I lugged around the lingering cold that I've had for a week now, I would have to say that I performed 80 percent of my parental duties, single handedly, on auto pilot. Not bad for a tired and sick mom such as myself. While the kids were napping, I took a nice, long, hot, and long overdue shower. And I did my hair. Pretty soon, my sinuses were clearing up, my hair was all purtied up, and I got my bang on. Bangs like Zooey, that is.

I used to like Z.D. as an actress, but her overexposure lately kinda kills it for me. She may or may not have influenced me to cut bangs over a year ago. And she may or may not have influenced our long list of baby names either.

At the end of a fantastically whiny day where the only clean thing in my house is the kitchen sink, I can rock out in my bangs and feel somewhat good about myself.

And maybe even laugh about it.

On Being a Mother

[source via pinterest]

I am a full-time, stay-at-home mother to a three-year-old and a twenty-month-old. Is it possible that I've signed up for the easiest possible gig in the world? Well, gee golly--thank my lucky stars, I chose wisely because I have yet to work a day in my life. 

My home is a Utopian paradise. I wake up each morning discovering that my army of cleaning fairies have left every room spic and span. All grocery shopping is conveniently delivered by owl post. Home organization and meal planning comes through osmosis. And just so that I don't break a sweat over teaching and disciplining matters, the lovely Mary Poppins drops in for the afternoon setting everything right. I lay my head upon my pillow at night never worrying my pretty little face about a single thing. Success is so easy to achieve in my world. I don't know why I went to school all those years, because I don't use any of it!

"Get a job and be paid a salary? No way!
"Sacrifice my time and my whole existence to love, nurture, and teach little humans? Doesn't that scream antifeminism to you?

I tell you, one of best perks in my life is cashing in on my sick day. I simply call in sick, and my two little bosses oblige. My toddlers--who, by the way, have superb immunity systems--will drive to the pharmacy for me, tuck me into bed, fix me some warm broth, and let me sleep for as long as I darn well please. And those vacation days? Don't get me started. Being with my children 24-7 is already a vacation. 

***

Sarcasm aside, happy Mother's Day to mothers everywhere. No one type of mother has it hardest. Should we really be putting each other down about this anyway? There may be critics who scorn you for staying at home, or for working outside the home, or for not homeschooling your kids, or for breastfeeding too long, or for not breastfeeding at all, or for being a single mother, or for having too many kids, or for not having enough--despite what the world thinks, be proud that you are called Mother. 


Highest honor of my life. 


"Motherhood is near to divinity. It is the highest, holiest service to be assumed by mankind."
--Howard W. Hunter

Change of Heart?

To the most Ridiculous Holiday of the year,

I made heart-shaped pancakes for my kids this morning. They would have been just as thrilled with circle-shaped pancakes, but because I made them into hearts and didn't serve them Cheerios again, I'M A PRETTY GOOD MOM.

For the first time in my adult life, I felt okay with the lovey dovey-ness of your day.
     One of St. Valentine's cupids left some gifts on our doorstep today.
     I have a red paper heart garland draped over my window, but that's it.
     My wee ones and I are going to roll out little heart-shaped sugar cookies as soon as they are up from naps.

The little Grinch heart inside of my chest has grown two sizes since February 14th, last year.

Still, I am not convinced of your marriage of red and pink, nor am I going to adopt any stuffed monkeys hugging a satin red heart that nauseously says, "I'm bananas over you". Don't creep me out more than you already do.

Love,

A Change of Heart

p.s. On second thought, for those nights when Boy is on call and I'm lonely without him, I wouldn't mind being wrapped up in the arms of a giant Vermont Teddy Bear.

I Think I Get It

"A Fox Books Superstore."
"Quel nightmare."
"It has nothing to do with us. It's big, impersonal, overstocked, and full of ignorant salespeople."
"But they discount."
--dialogue from You've Got Mail.

When I blogged about needing to buy a cow to supply my family's milk drinking needs, I soon discovered a much more practical, and more affordable answer: Walmart.

Uggh. Does anyone really like Walmart? It's the Mother-of-them-all Superstores. The "but they discount" excuse drones into my head every time I step inside. I can get a nice gallon of skim milk for $2.09. Drinking our calcium has never felt so good. Thanks, Walmart.

But that is not the "Vermont Way". I've heard the phrase often, but I would ne'er be so bold to define it. Two years ago, during my first visit to Burlington (VT), a local I met at a chocolate store defined the Vermont Way as "growing your own food, preserving your own jam, and hunting your own venison." From my observations, Vermonters religiously follow the days of yore American motto "Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without." They are also well known for their passionate boycotts of big box enterprises such as Walmart and Target. You will find thrift stores around here to your heart's content. This same attitude applies to rural New Hampshire. I would dare say that the state's motto "Live Free or Die" speaks volumes about a lifestyle promoting a dependence on self. Here in the Upper Valley, I see a satisfaction and pride behind buying most things local and supporting the family farm just down the road.

And I love it.

What? This city girl transplant is loving it?

Didn't I mention this before?

I fear that I've all too often been one of those shoppers, Fox Books Superstore bags in arm, passing by the window of The Shop Around the Corner, while Kathleen Kelly is hanging up her twinkle lights. For a movie that I've seen hundreds upon hundreds of times, that sad scene tugs at my guilt every time. I wanna leap right into the screen to save Christmas.

So, rescuing The Shop Around the Corner I must! "One, two, three, four! We don't want this Superstore!" While I still frequently enter the previously mentioned evil chain store (the shame!), I'm trying to mend my ways by evaluating how I shop. Some of my favorite products:

Killdeer Farm--my CSA that I support.
Cabot. (The best dairy ever.)
Stoneyfield Farm organic yogurt.
King Arthur Flour.
Vermont Country Store. (It's even Martha Stewart endorsed.)
Garnet Hill (I lied. I haven't made a purchase yet. Everything in their catalog is on my wish list.)
Ben & Jerry's ice cream.
Pure Vermont maple syrup.
Pick Your Own Farms.
Farmers' Markets.
Local diners--for the occasions that we go out to eat.

This past Christmas was the first year that I was able to kick Fox Books and Tom Hanks to the curb. Not perfectly and completely, but a couple of locally made purchases created some New England flavor to our Christmas magic.

These toys will be treasured forever. I dread the day when expensive electronics will take its place. In a few years when a job may take us away from New England forever, I'll be extra glad that we have these as reminder of this time. But, as I've timidly confessed to my mother who lives over 2,000 miles away, I love this place and would stay if I could.

Even if Target and Costco are over an hour's drive.

P.S. As much as I hate to see The Shop Around the Corner going out of business, I support American capitalism.
P.P.S. Kathleen Kelly still had a happy ending. Happy endings come with time though.
P.P.P.S. It may sound like I have a hidden agenda, but I do not.
P.P.P.P.S. Vermont has the best cheese on earth. They need to do a better job at capitalizing on that. I've spent my entire life wasting my cheese experience on less worthy cheese.
P.P.P.P.P.S. I prefer drinking the delicious milk from the local dairies, but quite honestly, I can't spend that kind of money to feed my family. Walmart wins.
P.P.P.P.P.P.S. I really don't have a hidden agenda. This is a family-friendly, politics free, and self-indulgent blog. Pinky swear.

And another thing...wanna take a guess what my favorite movie is? Nora Ephron is kind of a big deal to me.