In the Immortal Words of Ferris Bueller: Life Moves Pretty Fast...

It all seems to be happening very fast now.  First the long gray hairs peeking through.  Then the enlarged pores in the T-zone.  Now the crows' feet.  The past few years have been the slipperiest of slopes, with the steepest incline seemingly coinciding with these two years of T's existence.  Coincidence?  I think not.  It's like my body decided to crap out one feature at a time while I was otherwise occupied with growing a human being.

I wish someone could teach me how to grow old gracefully.  Call it vanity, but I really struggle with it.  But I'm doing my best to transcend it, to live in the moment.  I have these moments of clarity sometimes and suddenly I'm at peace with myself and the inevitable passage of time.  I remember years ago being on the 72nd Street crosstown bus.  As it passes through Central Park, there is a moment where the trees part and you can see the skyline of the buildings bordering the Park on the south.  It was always that moment that, as a young thing in New York, I always felt that clarity, that suspension of time.  It was that moment that I forgot where I was going just long enough to appreciate where I actually was.

Central Park South Skyline at night

I'm having one of those moments right now actually.  I'm sitting in the wings on stage at the Metropolitan Opera House while Paloma Herrera, one of American Ballet Theatre's world-class ballerinas, rehearses for Sleeping Beauty.  I've got a photographer here shooting for a magazine, but watching her, it's easy to forget time and space.  Again, it's a moment to savor - even if you're not a ballet fan, you'd appreciate the athleticism, the artistry and the dedication when viewed at this distance.

Photo: Rosalie O'Connor

It's these experiences that are teaching me just what "one-day-at-a-time" actually means.  It means forget about the crows' feet.  It means enjoy your little boy.  It means make the most of the ride because before you know it, you've reached your destination.

Dads I've Known

Forgive me, I'm about to reach new levels of cheesiness.  You know that song "Just the Two of Us" by Will Smith?  You know, the one where he sings about his first and apparently least talented child, Trey?  You know.  This one:

 

Well...it makes me tear up a little when I listen to it.  It's not just about my deep and inexplicable affinity for all things Will Smith.  (FACT: I know nearly all the words to "Gettin' Jiggy Wit It" - admittedly, there are still some rough spots.)  For one thing, I think it was incredibly brave for him to record a song about his kid when his contemporaries were singing about drugs and sex.  It was probably also very self-indulgent.  C'mon, we all know our kids are not nearly as interesting to anyone but ourselves.  But most of all, I like that he's singing about the things he feels he has a responsibility to teach as a parent - not all parents feel that they do.  I also like that he talks about the different aspects of being a dad.  And I think I like that especially because I can see bits of the men that I know and love who are dads in his lyrics.

My father-in-law is the big softie.  Always laid back, I've never seen him angry in the 10 or so years since I met him.  He was a teacher, so he knows all the tricks of the trade and how manipulative kids can be.  So I never had him figured for the big pushover that he is with his grandchildren.  Though perhaps I'm not giving him enough credit.  More likely, he knows perfectly well when they're trying it on, but he lets them get away with it anyway.  Because he can.  It might be the most decadent luxury a granddad can have.  He's also a camera buff.  He'll shoot anything - still-lifes, landscapes, portraits.  But it's such a treat to watch the care and pride with which he photographs his grandchildren.  He works hard to capture their individual personalities - quirks, foibles and all.  And the photos are perfect, because he loves his subjects.

My brother is the disciplinarian of sorts.  He can be tough on his kids, but I know it's because he wants them to be well-behaved, respectful and appreciative of what they have.  He wants to give them everything he had and more and he's aware that every holiday, birthday or special outing is a chance to make memories they'll have all their lives.  I especially love to watch him with his girls - when his softer side emerges and he lets himself be wrapped around little fingers.

I kind of think of my dad as the teacher - the one who's taught me "life's lessons."  It sounds cheesy, I know, but they're not necessarily lessons that I'm even cognizant of.  My dad always taught us that we could do anything we put our minds to and I think the result is that I don't often imagine that I can't do something.  The thought just doesn't really enter my mind.  It might sound a bit conceited, but it's not really about overconfidence, it's more like optimism and maybe a tiny bit of naivete.  He also never underestimated us.  It's a special thing to have that sort of faith in someone and I feel so privileged to have his love and trust so completely.  It's made such an impact on me that it's the one thing I really strive to give to T.

And then there's S.  I struggle to categorize him, he's only got 2 years of fatherhood under his belt so far.  In general, he's always liked to pretend that in place of a heart he's got a deep, dark, cold void in there.  But there have been several occasions since T's arrival where I have actually seen him beam with pride and swell with emotion.  Sometimes at the same time.  The thing is, with him, if you see it on the outside, it must be reaching stratospheric levels on the inside.  I worry that he might explode... But despite him playing tough, I know S feels that having T has been the most amazing thing that has ever happened to him.  He told me so, but he didn't need to...just look at this pic...

I always find it incredible that such little people can affect such big, strong men so acutely, so deeply, so completely.  Then again, I guess the men have to be up for falling in love...not that they ever stood a chance...

Happy Father's Day to all my guys.

In Review: Vejer de la Frontera, Spain

S and I love Spain - the food, the wine, the laid-back culture.  You add a bit of sand and sun and it's pretty much our idea of paradise.  And to top if off, S likes to claim a bit of Spanish heritage via me and T because we're exactly 1/8 and 1/16 Spanish respectively.  In fact, T was very nearly named Joaquin, but we chickened out!  So it wasn't really by accident that we found ourselves, along with some good friends and their little boy who is the same age as T, sipping sangria at a beachfront cafe in the southwest of Spain three weeks ago.

I'm sure it sounds like the ultimate in jetsetting to most of our American friends and family, but it's really just like going to Florida.  Slightly more exotic in that it's a totally different culture, but it's the same 2 1/2 hour flight from London and there's probably the same percentage of English vs. Spanish spoken as, say, Miami. 

Anyway, we stayed in a self-catered villa in a tiny village at the foot of a larger town on a hill called Vejer de la Frontera.  The villa was one of four casitas and a larger main house on an estate called El Sueno - or "The Dream."

We arrived a few weeks before the official high season began, so I'm going to give El Sueno the benefit of the doubt that they usually work out all the kinks before the crowds arrive.  They claim to be an ecological and environmentally friendly hacienda, but I was left feeling like it was just of the "turn the water off while brushing your teeth" and "shut off the lights when you're not in the room" variety.  Also, because we were out of season, the only direct flight we could get for our arrival date (the villas are rented out Saturday to Saturday) arrived in Spain at about 9:30am, but check-in at the villa wasn't until 3pm.  So we killed time by taking the 2 hour drive from Seville at a leisurely pace and stopping to buy groceries along the way.  Unfortunately, that meant we had to shop before we saw what was already at the villa, which meant not only did we waste money, but that there was also a lot of wastage in the way of household goods and food.  Either a comprehensive list of what's available at the villa, or an earlier check-in so that we could see what was provided before doing our shop - or both - would've been helpful.

But honestly, when you're enjoying a late dinner with a glass of local wine out on the patio, looking up at the white washed Vejer bathed in the day's last rays of sunlight, well, you can forgive the niggles.

Each day we worked our way through the local beaches and surrounding towns - not to mention restaurants.  The boys adapted so well - playing on the beach or in the garden at the villa, waving to the locals and even managing a prompted "hola" every now and again.

Highlights for me inlcuded the beach at Zahora, where we had the aforementioned waterfront sangria!  It was an especially kid friendly place and though we had no idea of the tides before we turned up, we were lucky to arrive around low tide, which meant sand bars, shallow waters galore and rock pools where boys big and small could hunt for crabs and other creepy crawlies.  Though one we would rather not have encountered was this guy!  YIKES!

Just beyond the restaurant/cafe were these great guest houses and cabins that we later learned were part of the Sajorami resort.  With plenty to do including water sports and horseback riding, it seemed like an ideal spot, though possibly not particularly toddler friendly.  If S and I were young and childless, I would definitely be planing a stay there.  Something to look forward to in our retirement?  <sigh>

Because we were with another couple, we were able to escape for two heavenly date nights.  Which brings me to my other highlight, this time of the adult variety - a drink on the roof terrace at La Casa del Califa.  Enter through a smart-looking hotel on the street level, through a door, down some stairs, through a restaurant and its garden area, up some more stairs, into a bar and then up another flight and you're there!  It was just an ordinary glass of white, but coupled with the warm evening, the spectacular view, the fearless swallows swooping and diving at impossible angles in the pink sunset and the white washed buildings and houses glowing all around us...well, it was worth all the stairs!  The subtle Moroccan touches, like the lanterns in the corners, make you feel as if you've been transported to another time and place and if we weren't hurrying off to get dinner before it got too late, well, we probably could've stayed there all night.

We loved introducing T to Spain.  Personally, I really appreciate the Spanish attitude towards children - they take them out with them, they show them off, they treat them like they matter, and in Spain, it's okay if children are heard as well as seen.  It definitely takes the pressure off any parents of toddlers! :)  There's so much of Spain, Europe, the world, even, that we haven't seen yet, that it's not likely we'll be heading back to this corner of Andalucia any time soon, but if you've never been before, I'd say, it's definitely worth the trip!

Viva la Espana!

One Hit Wonder

Hi!  Hey there, how are you???  Where have you been???

Okay, okay, I know, the better question is where have I been...I'm not going to lie - a little Facebook game called Bejewelled stole chunks of my life between January and June.  But now I'm rehabilitated.  Mostly.  But surely a computer game can't be responsible for the loss of 6 whole months, you say.  You're right.  Actually, I'm happy to report that there have been books - yes, actual reading! -  as well.  About 12 of them, in fact.  Granted, they were mostly the complete Sookie Stackhouse series.  But still.

And of course there's been T.  Running, jumping, climbing, crying, laughing, talking (!), not-sleeping, attention-soaking T!  I'm not complaining, but if there is one thing I've learned in the past 22 months that has been full compounded by the last 6, is that as a mother, I can only have one hobby at a time.  Maybe it's a testament to my sucky organizational skills (potential future employers, please disregard!) but I find that if I'm reading, I can't write; if I'm writing, I can't garden; if I'm gardening, I can't bake; if I'm baking, I can't watch a TV series; if I'm watching TV, I can't play Words with Friends on my Ipod...and so on.  There just simply isn't any time.

I'll be honest, there is a lot more Ipod playing than non-utilitarian baking or gardening going on.  In fact, my Ipod has been threatened by S and actually taken away by T in order to get me to focus.  There's nothing like a 2 year old prying technology from your desperate grasp and laying it on the side table, saying "Mommy, play!" to really drive the point home!  S thinks it's merely a Facebook addiction, but I don't think that's it.  It's just that the adult interaction and link to the outside world that the computer/Ipod/Internet-in-general provide are very welcome after a long day of dealing nearly exclusively with people whose height range is from my knee to my hip.  For some reason, seeing the day through the eyes of others really helps me unwind.  It's a giant "How was your day?"

These are all probably poor excuses for a lengthy absence that I sort of promised wouldn't happen.  But, I'm going to try to do better in the near future.  And if you see me on Facebook, tell me to shut up and get back to blogging!

Bashing Classics

I’m not in the business of bashing classics.  I’m probably way too timid and self-conscious to deal with the backlash.  But when a friend recently went to town on that old favourite children’s book Good Night Moon on her Facebook page...well, I guess it gave me a bit of courage to write about something that bothers me every year around this time.  Thank you, Natasha.  Sorry, Bob Geldof and about 40 of Britain’s top musicians of the 80’s.

Yes, you guessed it.  The source of my rage and anxiety for the past 20 or so Christmases is the smash hit “Do They Know It’s Christmas” and Band Aid.  

A little disclaimer first:  I fully appreciate and definitely commend the spirit and purpose of the song.  And, of course I recognize that it raised a lot of money for a very worthy charity.  And besides, there’s the video.  Who doesn’t love Sting in a Dorothy Hamill haircut?  

Or Bono with a mullet so bushy you’d think he was a squirrel? 

Or Phil Collins with any hair at all? (I'll spare you the photo) And I especially love when they focus in on Sting while he sings “Where the only water flowing is the bitter sting of tears.”  See that?  See what they did there?

Now that’s clever.  Which is why the LYRICS are so disappointing and cringe-worthy.  I get them, I really do.  I just find them in slightly poor taste and incredibly ambiguous.  Maybe Geldof wrote them in a hurry in order to get the song recorded and released before Christmas?  Wikipedia, that fount of all knowledge, doesn’t say.  (But it does say that Boy George was woken up by Geldof and flown to the UK from the US on the Concord for the recording.  They had the studio until 7pm, he arrived at 6.  There you go, your fun fact for the day!).   I don’t know if he was trying to be poetic or artistic or just trying to get things to rhyme in a hurry, but it just seems to me, if you’re releasing a song that’s meant to appeal to a mass audience, you need to take into consideration the lowest common denominator.

And incidentally, Bob Geldof thinks it's crap himself.  

So, here it is my hugest pet peeve, the reason why I want to change the station every time, but I grit my teeth and sing along anyway, because, well, I love to shout “Let-them-know-it’s-Christmas-time” at the top of my lungs like everyone else.  It’s Bono’s heart-wrenching “But tonight thank God it’s them instead of you.”  I get it.  I understand that it’s supposed to mean we should all be thankful that we’re not starving in a barren desert (which not ALL of Africa is, by the way, but I digress).  That we should thank our lucky stars that we’re healthy and happy with all of our modern conveniences.  But, ever since I was little, that one line struck me as being misleading at best, and heartless at worst.  Of course I appreciate all that I have, but why would I thank God that someone else doesn’t have it?   I know that’s not what was intended, but that’s what my 8 year old ears heard.  And I would bet that that’s what a lot of older than 8 year old ears heard at the time, and didn’t stop to ponder the line.  

As for the less offending lyrics, well, I could pick the whole song apart, line by line, but I’ll just share my highlights:

 “And there won’t be snow in Africa this Christmastime.”  Bob, that has nothing to do with Christmas.  Or money.  Or starvation.  That’s just geography.

“The greatest gift they’ll get this year is life.”  Hold on, isn’t the gift of life the greatest gift there is anyway?  Rivalled only by the heap of money Bob & Co are trying to get you to part with, I guess.  Although it’s hard to appreciate money when you don’t have the gift of....oh, never mind!

“And the Christmas bells that ring there are the clanging chimes of doom” Well, aren’t we dramatic?  If they don’t know it’s Christmas, they probably don’t have Christmas bells.  You can’t have it both ways, Bob. 

But, regarding “Do they know it’s Christmas time at all?”  Given that Christians form the largest religious group in Sub-Sarahan Africa and that North Africa is largely Islamic, I would guess that either they do, or they don’t really care.  

Some of you will say I’m being harsh.  Or even silly.  After all, we really shouldn’t rip something to shreds when we actually do understand what it’s SUPPOSED to say.  And I guess, in retrospect, it was something that made a lot of people aware and motivated them enough to give generously to those in need. So, I suppose I’ll have to admit that despite semantics “Do they know it’s Christmas?” was a good thing. Thus, in spite of myself, I tip my proverbial hat to the Band Aid phenomenon and, since it's Christmas, I'll shout along with everyone else “Let – Them – Know – It’s – Christmastime – A – FEEEEEED – The – Wo-orld.”

Things I Want My Son To Learn

Even though he's only 16 months old, I sometimes get glimpses of the man T will become.  The curve of his shoulders that are just like his dad's, the hint of muscle tone in a chubby thigh, the flare of a temper, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners so that you can tell that he's smiling even when you're looking at the back of his head from a 45 degree angle.  These hints of the physical make me wonder about T, the adult.  What will he take away from his childhood and what will the man be like?




Honestly, I want him to look back and think "Boy, my mom was fun! That old broad and I had some good times!" I want him to remember us dancing in the kitchen and building forts with blankets and pillows in the living room.  I want him to remember jumping in the puddles, running through the leaves, sledding in the snow and swimming in the ocean.  I want him to think back to cozy Christmases and hot summers with a large and loving family all around.  I want him to recall warm hugs around his neck and cool lips on his forehead.  Snuggling and cuddling and feeling safe.

It sounds nice, doesn't it?  Ideal, even. Though, I admit, it's all a bit unicorns and rainbows.  But not to fear, I do have substance in mind.

I hope that the future T will be kind-hearted and fair with an instinctive sense of right and wrong.  I hope he is confident but not cocky, focused but not narrow-minded, sensitive yet strong, sweet, but not a pushover.  Of course he should be polite and well-mannered, with a sincere smile.  I want him to be ambitious, but to always remember that though others may have more than him, he is incredibly fortunate in life.  And I hope he will always try to help those less fortunate whenever he can.  I want him to be trustworthy and to trust others completely.  I want him to be able to acknowledge his faults and try to overcome them with enthusiasm and purpose.  I want him to love confidently and with all of his heart and to accept love given to him with grace.

But perhaps most idealistically, I want him to be blissfully unaware that he is becoming this most incredible man.  I want him to emerge from childhood with his flawless ethics and perfect sense of self already intact, unaware that he had been learning how to treat himself and how to treat others all along.  That these lessons had been whispered into his ear while he was happily at play.  That his little brain was absorbing knowledge at the same time his little heart was absorbing love.

I hope I'm not setting the bar too high - either for T or for myself.  But even though he's only 16 months, T is constantly amazing me and I can honestly say that there's no way he can disappoint me.  Besides, one of the most important lessons I've learned so far is to never underestimate the power of a child.

A Tale of Two Cities

I never intended to get this sappy or reveal this much this early on in this blog, but timeliness prevails.  Two nights ago my heart broke a little.  And it's not the first time.  S, T and I were visiting my family in New York for Thanksgiving.  T and I are staying for three weeks, but S had to head back to London to return to work after only six days.  S and I are no strangers to separation, but I'm constantly surprised that it never gets any easier.

A little background to illustrate my point:
S and I met 10 years ago in a suitably seedy bar in the Hamptons while he was working in New York.  I was at my best friend's bachelorette party and he was there with some friends that he was sharing a summer house with.  That should give you some indication of the type of occasion this was exactly...in any case it was as romantic as it could be under the circumstances - I think we had our first kiss under the contents of a can of Bud.  As you do.  A week or so later we had our first date, then our second and then our third.  Before we knew it we were in a relationship.

And then it happened - after 2 1/2 years of dating, S had to go back to London.  What will you do? people wanted to know.  Frankly, we had no idea so we decided to try to see one another as often as possible and just see what happened.  That was December.  By April, I was done with the long-distance thing and called S to tell him.  "We could just get married," he blurted out.  Um, come again??  Of course it had come up before, but we had decided we weren't there yet.  But, I guess that old sayings are old sayings for a reason - hearts really do grow fonder.  We got married in February 2004, after having lived in separate countries for 14 months.  I quit my job, packed up my stuff and moved to London to be with S, knowing it would be hard, but looking at it as an adventure. 

We waited to have T for a variety of reasons.  Among them, for me, were the complications that an international relationship inevitably throws up.  I'm a real daydreamer, but I'm not unrealistic.  I know a crazy percentage of marriages end in divorce.  What would happen to our child if our relationship broke down?  Would he be shuttled across an ocean twice a year for two weeks at a time?  Would he have a good relationship with both his parents?  Would S and I be able to remain civil for the sake of a kid?  I still shudder to think, especially now that we have T.  And, forgive me S, but sometimes when I'm feeling down, I wonder if I made the right decision 10 years ago.  But you can't help who you fall in love with and you get to a point where you just need to shove the "what ifs" to the back of your brain, else you'd never live your life.

So, back to the airport - S and I said our goodbye at the security gate, with my dad looking anywhere else he could to avoid seeing the kissing, as if we weren't nearly middle aged!  And as I started to tear up, Dad made a comment to the effect that I was being overly dramatic.  Defensively, and perhaps without thinking, I shot back with "I'm sorry, but my life kinda sucks right now!"  My dad just shook his head as S walked toward the gate.  "You don't know what you have!" he said.

I knew I spoke carelessly, but I think it's really hard for people to understand how difficult it is to live in a place where most of the people that you love are not.  And then to visit that place and to have the person that perhaps you love the most leave.  So that even when I'm home, I'm saying goodbye. 

I know I'm incredibly lucky - I have an amazing little boy who smiles easily and often.  I have a wonderful husband who has proven time and again that his love is unconditional.  I have warm, generous, loving parents who let me be me despite the fact that being me means I (and by extension T) am not often around.  I have a brother who is much sweeter than he pretends to be and who has a beautiful family that I simply adore.  I have a gorgeous grandmother who I've learned important life's lessons from - from how to shimmy seductively to how to love someone with all of my heart.

And that's just on one continent.

So I didn't start out to write a Thanksgiving post, but maybe that's what this is.  I am so very thankful for the many wonderful things and people in my life - I just wish I could have them all at once.

And I suppose that concept really hit home as my dad chastised me for not being thankful Monday night.  Because as I watched my husband walk away from me, a tear rolled down my cheek and I said to my dad "I know what I've got.  Unfortunately for me it's all separated by a big ocean."  And I know that we'll only be away from S for two weeks.  But when T and I are back in London, we'll be back with S, but we'll be missing our beautiful family and friends in New York.  And so the cycle continues...