ministones

London checklist: Days One & Two

2006-09-11T17:15:00.000-04:00

Arrived in one piece: CHECK
Launched new London blog: CHECK
Found pizza place which also delivers wine: CHECK
Wondered what the hell I've done moving here: CHECK CHECK CHECK CHECK CHECK CHECK CHECK CHECK CHECK CHECK CHECK CHECK CHECK CHECK CHECK CHECK CHECK CHECK CHECK CHECK

Empty squares

2006-09-01T12:14:00.000-04:00

As digital as my world has become in recent years, there are a few things I prefer to keep analog. At the top of this list is my calendar. I've never been able to wrap my mind around Outlook or any other calendaring software. My brief attempts at converting to a Palm Pilot were an abysmal failure. I simply love giant paper calendars (the bigger, the better) with huge squares in which I can keep track of our crazy lives. There's something satisfying for me about writing appointments and dates down by hand, and my mind works best when I can view a whole month's worth of engagements at a glance. I even like to keep old calendars and look back at them over time. Those squares filled with scribbled reminders of past events are as good as any diary I've ever kept; a record of the years I've lived.

Over the past several weeks, I've been particularly grateful for the physical size of my calendar as I've struggled to fit as many appointments and playdates and dates as I can into a short period of time. I've been squeezing engagement after engagement into our days, staring at the full squares and trying to figure out where to fit in just a few more things. With August now behind us, I flipped forward to September this morning as I fielded yet another "we'd love to see you before you go" call. And there it was, staring me in the face: just over a week of jam-packed days and then... nothing. No playdates. No coffee with friends. No meetings. No adult events which will require a babysitter. No appointments. No kids' activities. No back to school events. Just row after row of empty squares.

My future may be filled with promise, but it is devoid of concrete plans. Structure and a new kind of schedule will inevitably come in time, but for now, what I have is a blank slate and a blank calendar to remind me of that fact. Those empty squares are unnerving as hell. Perhaps it's time to switch to Outlook after all. I think the one-day-at-a-time view might be about all I can handle at this point.

The skinny on my pants

2006-08-31T14:06:00.000-04:00

A friend of a friend who relocated to London just a few months ago has been an invaluable resource for me these past few weeks, patiently helping me to answer such all-important questions as "will I be able to get my kids into a decent school," "are there items I won't be able to find in London which I should bring with me" and "am I an idiot if I think that I will be able to find room in a London flat for the entire train set, the huge dollhouse AND the oversized plastic kitchen?" (Yes, pack as many ziplock bags and Pullups as you can find, and ixnay on the itchenkay, in case anyone else has the same burning questions.)

She happened to mention in passing this week that the fashion scene is somewhat different in London than in suburban New Jersey and she's found that she's not necessarily wearing a lot of the clothes she brought with her. Given the price of apparel in the UK, I asked her to elaborate a bit. If my wardrobe needs some spiffing up, I figured, I might as well do it here before I go and save a few pounds. Her helpfully detailed answer stopped me cold. "Not a fashion maven," she wrote, "but here's what I've noticed... boot cut totally out, skinny pants."

There was some other ridiculous information about everything being dressier and women wearing heels to the playground, but I really couldn't get past that first sentence. I was blinded by the skinny pants.

When I first heard about the resurgence of skinny pants I kind of laughed it off. My group of friends tends toward the casual and the classic, and we're not quick to jump on trend bandwagons. I figured I had a year or two before skinny pants made it to our neck of the woods, and I knew that even if I decided to pass on the look altogether, my social standing was not likely to suffer as a result.

But now here I am moving to a major metropolitan city. I'm already going to stand out as the crazy foreign lady with the crude American accent. Do I want to further increase my chances of complete social ostracization by wearing unfashionable clothing?

And so yesterday found me in a Gap dressing room, staring at my skinny-panted reflection in the mirror and muttering under my breath. I'm too old for this, I told myself. No one who wore a trend the first time it was popular should be caught dead in the same look 20 years later. At 5'2", the whole long and lean thing was lost completely on me and my bottom half simply resembled a short blue triangle. I have absolutely no hips to speak of and I was wearing a size 4. And yet somehow, I looked hippy and fat in those skinny jeans. It was awfully hard for me to believe that I was ever going to want to put those things on my body.

I stood in the store for what felt like an eternity, staring at those ugly pants and thinking about the value of fitting in. And then I bought them. Those skinny jeans, with the tags still attached and the receipt tucked into the pocket, are now a symbol of my hopes for this move. It is my fervent dream that I will find a group of women who proudly wear boot cut pants to befriend in London. The day that I am able to mail my new skinny pants and the receipt home to chichimama so that she can return them for me would be a victorious one, a sign that I have made it in London without compromising myself. But if that doesn't happen, at least I'm prepared. I will be a hippy, triangular Londoner if that's what it takes to blend into my new environment. But goddamnit, I'm not wearing heels to the playground. Ever.

If it weren't for a healthy dose of cynicism, I'd be a mess right now

2006-08-30T14:25:00.000-04:00

Only 10 days remain until we leave for London and I should by all right be focused on sorting and organizing our belongings for shipping and storage Instead, I am up to my ears in social engagements as we try to fit in final visits with more friends and family members than I can count. Julia has playdates scheduled for every day, and on some days she's juggling two different sets of plans. Evan's got his share of dates set up as well. And as for me, I am doing drinks with one set of friends tonight, going out for dinner with a second set on Saturday and fitting in meals with 4 or 5 other sets of friends and family in the next week. I barely have time to breathe, let alone think about packing. And still, my phone keeps ringing and my inbox keeps flooding with requests from people to set something up before we depart.

I should be touched. I am touched, and incredibly appreciative of the outpouring of love and support our community of friends and family has demonstrated since we announced our impending departure. And yet, I'm also a little put off. Not by the fact that my life is full of such wonderful people, certainly; I'm incredibly grateful for that. But for every friend who I frequently see and whose presence I will honestly miss on a daily basis, there is another friend who I never see who suddenly must get together now that I am leaving. "Even though we rarely see or talk to each other, I consider you a very good friend and you hold such a special place in my heart," an email I received today read. It was easily the dozenth time I've read or heard a variation of that thought in the past month. And every time I read or hear it, I want to scream "well then why haven't I seen you for months or even years?"

When we were debating the wisdom of this move, one of the deciding factors for Paul was the fact that he never sees any of his friends any more. We're all so busy with young children and daily life that people who we used to see on a regular basis have become once-a-year engagements for us. "If we come home once or twice during the year and see them all, we'll be ahead of the game," he reasoned. As a stay at home mom, I naturally see my Mommy friends a lot more often than that, but I had to agree that he made a good point. I genuinely like and enjoy the friends I've made since my kids were born. But I know how easy it was to meet people through my kids and I'm confident that I'll be able to do that again in London. With a few notable exceptions, I suspect that even though I'll miss them, I'll get along just fine without my friends for a year or two.

It's hard not to feel sad during our current whirlwind tour of goodbyes. It's hard not to look at all of the familiar faces that surround me and mourn the distance that will soon separate us. It's hard not to wonder if we will be blessed with even a fraction of these friendships abroad. It's hard not to think about what I'm leaving behind. But it's also damn hard not to feel just a little bit cynical about the friends who are coming out of the woodwork, too. Yes, I'll miss them. Just as I've missed them for the past several years when I haven't seen them. London, New Jersey, it's all the same if we don't bother to pick up the phone.

Too cynical? No doubt. But if this line of thought keeps me from drowning in a puddle of my own tears as I say 10 days' worth of constant goodbyes, then it's worth it.

34 going on 5

2006-08-11T08:16:00.000-04:00

Back in the days when Paul and I were living together, but not yet engaged or married, I could never figure out how to refer to him when I was talking to people he didn't know. "Boyfriend" seemed too limited for someone I shared a sink and a closet with and "the man I live with," while technically accurate, just plain sounded dumb. I usually just talked about "Paul" as if his identity was a given and let people ask if they were unsure. These days, I do something similar with chichimama. I feel funny saying "best friend" as a grown woman, but the regular "friend" seems a hopelessly inadequate word to describe the person who knows me best, supports me the most and touches my life in so many fundamental ways every single day.

Saying goodbye to chichimama, even temporarily, is going to be the hardest part of moving for me. We've already tried to find ways to compensate for the miles that will be between us, but I know that we both sense the huge gaping hole which will be present in our lives once we're no longer around the corner from each other. I've been trying to use her annual August trip to Maine as a trial run for not leaning on her so much in my daily life, but so far I think we're both failing pretty miserably. She left Monday, and we've already spoken 5 times. First, she needed to find out which hand C should hold his tennis racket in. Then I found myself standing outside Old Navy with no idea how many pairs of size 3T hand-me-down jeans I had from her for Evan. Then M changed his travel plans slightly and she called to revise the dates she needed me to keep an eye on her cats. Then I needed to know which contact lens mail-order company had been lenient with the date of her last eye exam when she had recently reordered lenses. Then A's fever came back and she called for a consult. It is becoming overwhelmingly clear to me that I made a fundamental error in not calculating enormous long distance charges into our London budget.

I'm confident that I'll end up getting an A illness update at some point today, but she was on my mind, so I checked in on chichimama's blog first thing this morning to see how A was feeling. I was skimming quickly before my kids woke up, figuring I already knew most of what I was about to read anyway, when the second and third paragrpahs of the blog entry stopped me cold.

New best friend???? What the hell is she talking about? Is this supposed to be a subtle dig at me? I know that she's sad and anxoius about the fact that we're going, but she's also been incredibly supportive and she's not the type to be vindictive. But here it is in black and white. She's replaced me. Already! Where did she get a new best friend so fast? Oh my God, I'm going to lose my best friend over this move! We can't go!!!

I re-read her entry, looking for clues to my replacement.

Oh. "New best friend, the on-call nurse." Well, that makes more sense.

Carry on. Feel better, A. And chichimama, I'll talk to you later, my best friend...

Knock, knock. Who's there? Opportunity.

2006-08-04T14:30:00.000-04:00

Eight months ago, depressed by the start of yet another "same old, same old" year, I made a New Year's Resolution to seek out a new direction for myself. On the advice of some very wise friends, I took my time on this project, waiting for the right opportunity to present itself rather than aggressively trying to hunt it down. "You'll know it when you see it," they kept reassuring me.

I wondered some days about the wisdom of this approach. More often that I care to admit, I was convinced that this year was destined to end up every bit as boring and uninspired as it began. But in the end, my friends were right. The year was half over before opportunity finally came knocking. But when it did, I immediately recognized and embraced the new direction my life would take this year. This one was worth waiting for.

It's official. Next month, my family and I are moving to London. Instead of a familiar, comforting and entirely too predictable start to yet another school year, this September will mark for us the beginning of an adventure which I can neither envision nor fully anticipate. My life for the next year or two will be anything but the boring re-tread I had feared it might end up to be. Whether that turns out to be a positive thing for me or not remains to be seen, but the knowledge that at the end of this experience I will return to my current life somehow changed is a welcome certainty. I'm excited and I'm terrified and I'm overwhelmed all at the same time. But mostly, I'm incredibly grateful, both for this opportunity and for the friends who encouraged me to wait patiently for it.

The beginning.

This is what my life has been reduced to now that my daughter can spell

2006-08-02T14:11:00.000-04:00

"Do you think it's too hot to go to the man made body of liquid construction today?

Hello. My name is Rebecca and I am an enabler.

2006-07-28T16:02:00.000-04:00

Me: Julia, I've been thinking. When you're at camp or at a playdate without me and things don't go your way, do you whine and cry?

Julia (surprised and a little horrified): Noooo... why?

Me: Well, I was thinking about the argument that you had with C over that puzzle and the way you cried when he didn't want to share it with you. If Miss M or C's mommy had been there with you guys and not me, what would you have done? Would you have cried?

Julia: No. (thoughtful pause) I guess I would have just asked him again to share with me or gone off and done something else.

Me: Those both would have been good ways to handle the situation. So why can't you behave the same way when I'm around?

SILENCE

Me: I think we both have some thinking to do about this, huh?

A very subdued Julia: Uh huh.

This damn genetic mirror is clearly warped

2006-07-26T15:35:00.000-04:00

Paul's been complaining for years that I am too argumentative. He claims that I jump to disagree automatically, regardless of what he says or how I really feel. This is an entirely unfounded accusation, of course. I agree with Paul often (somehow, he doesn't seem to notice these moments when we are in synch quite as readily as the moments when we aren't) and when I do voice a differing opinion or idea, it is simply because I have one. I admit that I am opinionated, and that I speak up for myself and my ideas (a trait which could not have come as a surprise to my husband, given the fact that we were friends before we were a couple), but having strong opinions is very different from being argumentative. I've tried to explain this to Paul on occasion, but my explanations apparently sound like arguments and, well, it's a vicious cycle.

Julia's been particularly vociferous and difficult this summer, a stage which seems to have been brought on by a nasty combination of summer heat, "big kid" status at camp and a cumulative lack of sleep. Our communication has been rife with disagreement, and I feel like I'm constantly fielding yet another whine or extended negotiation. This morning, as she was avoiding my efforts to get her ready for camp, I finally realized what the problem is. No matter what I ask her to do, she insists on doing something else. It is an incredibly annoying habit.

I wonder where she got it.

Immaturity (though whether this title refers to mine or hers I really can't say)

2006-07-22T11:18:00.000-04:00

It's been an odd summer. I guess I couldn't really expect things to feel all that normal given the fact that I still have no idea where my family will be living six weeks from now. But the seeds were planted for this summer back in December when Julia made the decision about where she wanted to go to camp this year.

Most of the children in Julia's group of friends begin attending a local JCC camp the summer after they are 4. It's a wonderful camp, with terrific activities, dynamic counselors, daily swim lessons and all of the bells and whistles of a "real" summer camp. I'm the product of many years of summer camp myself and I'm a firm believer in the value of the summer camp experience. But 4 still feels a little young to me for a program which runs daily from 9-2, plus the additional time the kids spend on the camp bus. (Yes, a camp bus. At 4.) The price tag aside (and it's really no aside; all of this impressive enriching activity comes with equally impressive fees), the JCC camp experience just felt like too much to me. And I wasn't alone. Julia thought long and hard about the hours and the itinerary of a JCC camp day. And in the end, she was the one who made the decision that she'd be better off attending "camp" at her preschool, where they offer a summer program which meets only in the morning, includes "water fun" rather than Olympic size swimming pools and generally mimics a regular preschool day rather than a big kid's camp day.

I was relieved when Julia made her choice, both that the decision had been hers rather than mine and that she'd selected the lower key (and lower cost) summer activity. But I've wondered many times this summer whether it really was the right decision. Nearly every single one of her school friends is at the JCC, and while I'm pleased at how easily Julia's made new friends in her camp group, they're somewhat of a motley crew. I'm particularly irritated by the way their behavior seems to be rubbing off on her; hanging out with not-quite-4-year-old boys seems to have awakened my daughter's immature side, and I don't like it one bit. Her play is regressing, her attention span seems shorter and even her art projects have gone from lovely age-appropriate representational pieces to random scribble scrabble because "that's what my friends are doing."

I miss my mature daughter, and I miss seeing her with the bright, funny kids who are so familiar to me. Those children aren't perfect either, of course. Perhaps I'm more forgiving of their particular quirks because those kids have practically grown up in my home, but I find myself far more tolerant of the behavior Julia's picked up from her old friends than that which I see bleeding through from her new friends. I recognize that I have years and years of disliking Julia's choice of friends ahead of me, of course, and a little bit of immaturity is certainly a minor complaint compared to the traits and habits she could pick up from her peers some day. But I'm annoyed anyway, and I've spent more time than I care to admit second guessing her camp situation and wondering whether I should have pushed her harder to consider the JCC.

One afternoon last week, we met two of Julia's closest school friends, both of whom are at the JCC this summer, for a late afternoon playdate at the pool. Watching the girls reconnect, I could literally see Julia transform back into her secure, mature 4 1/2 year old self and I felt no small measure of relief as I sat back and watched the fun. For the gazillionth time, I wondered whether it had been a mistake not to send her to the JCC. On the way home, I asked Julia whether she regretted her camp decision. I was pretty sure I did, though I didn't say that.

Julia thought carefully for a moment before she answered me. "No," she finally replied, "but I wish more of my friends had chosen to go to the temple, too." And just like that, she nailed it. It's a shame that none of Julia's school friends made the same summer activity choice that she did, but that doesn't make Julia's choice wrong. She's in the right place this summer, for all the reasons that she initially selected it. The hours are right, the low key nature of the program suits her and the familiar environment is confortable and easy. Even better for me, the price is right and I've got both kids in one facitily for a change. How could I have lost sight of all that? How could she not have lost sight of all that, even in the face of a joyful reunion with her old friends?

Julia may be sinking to the level of her new friends on the playground, but deep down, my thoughtful kid still lurks. At 4 1/2 Julia has more self awareness than I posses at 34. She knows what's best for herself and she's confident enough in that knowledge not to continually second guess her decisions. When I grow up, I want to be more like her.

In which I do a damn lousy job of selling the joys of pet ownership

2006-07-19T15:10:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, I sent the following email to all of my local friends:

A recent round of allergy tests has pinpointed our cat, Willow, as a contributing factor in Evan's asthma issues and now we need to find her a good home.

Willow is a 9 year old spayed female cat whose front paws are declawed. Those of you who have been in our house know that she's patient and gentle with kids, even very young ones. She's reasonably independent and self sufficient, but does enjoy regular human attention. She's a great "entry level" pet in that she doesn't really require all that much attention, but is happy to receive more when it's offered.

We're looking for a new family to love Willow as much as we do and provide her with a good home. If you or anyone you know has been thinking about getting a pet, please let me know (feel free to forward this email to friends who might be interested). We'd be happy to provide pictures or set up an introductory visit while you think it over.

Getting rid of our first baby is hard, but obviously our human baby's health has to come first. We hope that our friends can help us to make the right match for Willow.

Thanks -
Rebecca

We ran the respiratory allergy panel an a whim. It wasn't even my pediatrician's idea, though she readily agreed that it was a good one. It had been my mom who'd made the suggestion. "What if he's allergic to something in your house and it's making the asthma worse?" she had asked me. I'd dismissed her concern breezily. "He's lived here for 2 1/2 years already," I told her. "If he were allergic to something, wouldn't you think he'd have had far more than half a dozen asthma attacks in his life?" But the question stuck in my mind. If a simple vial of blood could tell us things that might keep Evan healthier in the long run, it seemed pretty darn silly not to just draw that blood and know for sure. And so we did. And now we know.

Paul and I adopted Willow 9 years ago, right after we moved in together. Two days after we brought her home, she came down with some terrible illness, no doubt contracted at the shelter where we'd found her, and she spent the next several days and nights on death's door. I remember sitting up all night long, nursing our brand new fluffball back to health. I remember standing in the vet's office, waiting to hear just how astronomical the bill was going to be and wondering just how much money I was willing to invest in an animal I'd known for less than a week. I remember watching Paul urge the vet to spare no expense to save our pet and knowing that he might be a little crazy, but he was going to be a damned good father some day. By the time Willow was healthy again, we were significantly poorer, I was certain that Paul was the man I wanted to marry, and we were both completely bonded with our new cat. If you'd told me then that 9 years later, I'd be giving her away, I'm sure I would have been heartbroken. But now? Not so much.

It's sad, really. But in the past few years, Willow has been pushed aside more times than I can count in favor of Julia and Evan. I'm busy, and Willow simply falls at the end of the food chain where my attention is concerned. She's ignored more than she's played with these days, and while I obviously continue to care for her, I do so out of a sense of obligation more than love. She's a nice cat and I certainly don't mind having her around. But I suspect that I won't actually miss her all that much, either. I would never have considered offering our cat up for adoption were it not for the results of Evan's allergy test. She's a member of our household, for God's sake. We love her. So why, instead of sadness, do I just feel such an overwhelming sense of relief at the news that she has to go?

Once we find Willow a new home, Evan will presumably breathe easier, and that's huge. But there also will be one less creature in this household clamoring for my attention and affection and assistance, and truth be told, that's pretty damn huge, too. I'm pretty sure that this says something pretty awful about me, that I'm giddy instead of mournful at the prospect of dumping my beloved pet. Maybe I'm in denial and this will all be hard at the moment it becomes reality. And maybe, just maybe, motherhood has made me a little more heartless than I might have anticipated.

So, uh, anyone want a cat?

Gender differences

2006-07-17T15:21:00.000-04:00

Two children, both two and a half; one male, one female. Newfound social awareness and communication skills conspiring to finally create a playdate more participatory than parallel. A Cozy Coupe car.

Evan pushed as his friend rode shotgun. Together, they traversed the yard, giggling and whispering to each other. The other mother and I sat on the sidelines watching and smiling at their antics, both a little bit relieved and a little bit sad not to be needed for the moment. The kids' teamwork was seamless, their enthusiasm contagious. Until then they got stuck up against the fence at the edge of the yard, and found themselves no longer able to roll smoothly along.

Suddenly, the children were dramatically divided in their approaches. Evan began to back up the car this way and that, attempting wild 3-point turns from every angle he thought might solve the problem. His strategy was somewhat less than effective, but his resolve was strong. Meanwhile, Kerry sat in the car, refusing to help with the extraction process. Instead, she waved wildly at the grownups on the other end of the yard, yelling "Help!" as she waited for someone to come rescue her.

Evan looked at Kerry as if she was crazy. Why ask for help? his expression seemed to say. Kerry looked at Evan as if he was crazy. What's brute force going to do for us here? her expression seemed to say. And then without another word, they both walked off in opposite directions, a male and a female completely unable to come to any sort of agreement about how to get the job done.

The dog ate my homework, and other excuses for my absence

2006-07-11T15:21:00.000-04:00

It took us about 3 1/2 hours to get to Baltimore on Friday. We could probably have made better time if we'd really tried, but we were pretty content with the trip, given the fact that two young passengers and my own impossibly small bladder were along for the ride. Nonetheless, we hoped to make the trip home two days later in slightly better time.

It didn't happen.

One asthma attack, several awkward nebulizer treatments provided courtesy of the electrical outlets in rest stop bathrooms, an anxious call to our pediatrician's office, a harried search for an emergency room somewhere around exit 6 off the Turnpike, multiple courses of treatments, several x-rays, an admission which necessitated an ambulance ride to another hospital with a pediatric ward, an overnight stay with all 4 of us crammed into 2 single hospital beds, another full day of treatments, a pneumonia diagnosis, an asthma diagnosis and a final, exhausted drive later, we pulled into our garage yesterday evening at about 8:30. The trip took us, in all, just over 33 hours.

Not quite the time we were hoping for. But when I say that at least we all made it home safe and sound, you can rest assured that for once, I really and truly mean it.

Adventure

2006-07-05T15:23:00.000-04:00

Paul and I went out to dinner just the two of us on Saturday night. There was no occasion, really, just an available babysitter, which is enough of a rarity to be an occasion in and of itself. We'd purposely made no plans, and when the evening presented itself, a beautiful, clear summer night, we were glad to walk around town for a bit before selecting a destination.

In the end, we chose one of the few restaurants in town where we'd never been before, primarily because we could get an outside table and we were loathe to go indoors on such a beautiful night. The menu turned out to be fabulous and the atmosphere was equally lovely. Live music and the opportunity to people watch as we dined were a rare treat, and we found ourselves growing nostalgic for a town that we're not even sure we're leaving just yet.

Talk turned, as it inevitably does these days, to our potential London adventure, and then back to life here in the States. "You know," I finally said to Paul, "we don't have to go abroad to have new experiences and expose our children to the world. If we've determined that they're old enough to see Europe, then surely they're old enough to see all that New York and our surrounding area have to offer as well."

It was a prospect we hadn't really considered before, and yet, we both immediately knew it to be the truth. And so, just two days later, Paul took Julia into the city with him, for a special father-daughter day. They would ride the train in, "work" at his office a bit, find a place to eat lunch together and then come home early. Julia was absolutely thrilled when Paul presented the plan to her, and the two of them left on Monday morning with a backpack full of diversions for Julia and great plans for a great day.

When they returned several hours later, they were full of great stories of what they did and what they saw and where they ate. The trip had been a success, we all agreed as Julia showed me the pictures of skyscrapers that she'd drawn while Paul had been working. But that night, as I tucked Julia into bed, she had a little confession to make. "I know it was a big adventure and all," she told me. "And it WAS fun. But it was also... a little boring."

I laughed as I reassured Julia that it was OK for her to have been bored. Even when an adventure is exciting, I explained, it can be pretty ordinary some of the time. It was a useful -- albeit unexpected -- lesson for Julia to have gained from her day in the big city. But in the back of my mind, I knew that was really me and Paul who would do well to remember what she had just learned.

Limbo

2006-06-29T15:08:00.000-04:00

London is on. London is off. London could be on. London could be off. It is now in the hands of faceless executives -- higher up mucky mucks who have no knowledge of my family (or even my husband) -- whether London will be on or off. Pack your bags! We'll never end up doing this. Call a realtor! This might be a long shot. This could easily happen! Nothing is ever easy. Run! Walk! Stop! Go! Yes! No! Maybe?

If this is my crash course in the "go with the flow" attitude required to live overseas, then I'm honestly not quite sure which way I hope this all pans out in the end.

London calling

2006-06-27T13:12:00.000-04:00

It's all been planned out for years, this life of mine. The marriage and the kids and the house in the 'burbs, all anxiously anticipated and joyfully realized. The friendships I've made and the friendships my children have made, all carefully cultivated to give us a social network, a base to fall back on and daily entertainment. The classes and activities which my kids participated in as babies, which positioned them for the preschool they now attend and for the elementary, middle and high schools they will someday attend, all painstakingly thought out with far more detail than was probably strictly necessary. I know what I'm doing next week, next month and next year. I know how those actions will impact my life even further out. Planning is my nervous tic and my outlet for excess energy and worry. I obsess over decisions and details, but I'm happy in my obsession. In the end, I am comforted by a wealth of personal knowledge and by the security of a well thought out and executed plan.

So when the plan gets tossed up in the air, when a once in a lifetime opportunity comes up that would upset the applecart completely, rendering the past 7 or so years of planning somewhat irrelevant, how do I respond? Are you kidding? Just think of all the new obsessing and researching and planning needs to be done to make this new life path successful! Bring it on...

And just like that, everything changes. An unexpected job opportunity for Paul. A year -- maybe 2 -- in London for all of us. A new lifestyle. New experiences. A new view of the world. And yes, I selfishly admit, maybe some new writing material, too. Nothing's set in stone yet. No papers have yet been signed -- or even proffered. It's too early to say for sure how this will all pan out. But in my mind, I'm already walking my uniformed daughter to her first day of British school. I should bring an umbrella in case it rains.

A burgeoning sense of self, part 2

2006-06-23T14:36:00.000-04:00

Over the past two years, Evan has gone through a pretty standard succession of names for me, including Mama, Mommy and (a little too early for my liking) Mom. He's even called me Rebecca or Becca on occasion, which I secretly find far more charming than I try to let on. But in the past week or two, I've picked up a new title which is by far my favorite. I am now "My Mommy" -- as in, "can I have a snack, My Mommy?" or "My Mommy, where are you?" I love what this says about Evan's growing understanding of the English language, as well as his increased awareness of the world around him. And of course, I love what it says about my role in his life. This one will be short lived, I suspect; the best ones always are. It will be an especially sad day when this new moniker -- and the sweetly earnest way Evan pronounces it -- is gone.

A burgeoning sense of self

2006-06-22T14:45:00.000-04:00

"Aren't you cute! What's your name?"

"Me!"

I is for incredulous

2006-06-20T15:53:00.000-04:00

I hesitated a bit at the door when dropping Julia off at her first day of camp this morning. This was a new set of teachers for her, and she'll have them not only this summer but throughout the next school year as well. Should I say something? Would that be too pushy? Would waiting make more sense or would patterns already have developed by then which would be difficult to change? I knew that I felt just as unsure as my child at that moment. Finally, I bit the bullet and spoke up.

"I expect Julia won't say much to you today," I began hesitantly. Miss M looked up in surprise. "Is she shy?" she asked in surprise. "I've seen her on the playground this past year and she certainly seems comfortable talking with her friends."

"She is," I replied, "but it's a very different story with adults." Briefly, I explained; the year of silence in the 2s, the gradual social blossoming in the 3s, the continued unwillingness to speak in a group setting. "She's made great progress," I told her new teacher, "but talking is still a struggle for her. For the past two years, her teachers have nurtured her and let her be who she is, and she's loved them for it, but this year I'm hoping that you'll push her out of her comfort zone a bit and help her get to the next stage." There. I'd said it. I'd told this woman how to do her job. How would she respond?

Miss M smiled at me. "My job is to get her to kindergarten next year able to speak up for herself," she told me. "I'll definitely push her a bit." I smiled back in relief. "That's absolutely it," I gushed. "Here's a kid who's been reading for a year now, and I'm so afraid that if she can't tell her teacher what she knows, she'll spend a whole year doing 'b goes buh' again so as not to make a fuss..." Realizing that I was getting ahead of myself, I stopped short, but Miss M was still smiling. "I've seen plenty of kids like this before," she told me. "Mark my words, by the end of the year, she'll be reading books aloud to the class in circle time." I laughed. "Don't hold your breath," I cautioned her, "but I'm very grateful that you'll try." She thanked me quite genuinely for the heads up and we said goodbye.

Three and a half hours later, a beaming Miss M met me at the classroom door. "Julia read the note that you wrote on her napkin to the whole class at lunch time," she told me, "and we've had some lovely chats today." I stared at her, stunned. "See you tomorrow, Julia," she said breezily, smiling at both of us as I tried to scrape my jaw off the floor.

I think that Julia may just have met the person who will change the path of her life.

Oh, yeah... the kids had fun, too

2006-06-20T13:43:00.000-04:00

One harried mother...

Two children who refused to be hurried along...

A shitload of stuff that should have been taken care of earlier...

Two backpacks, carefully packed with towels, sunscreen, water shoes and clean clothing (all labeled with a Sharpie)...

Two plastic bags, filled with emergency clothing (all labeled with a Sharpie)...

One lunch, carefully packed in a lunchbox (you guessed it... labeled with a Sharpie)...

Two children, slathered with sunscreen and dressed for play (the younger one in a name tag that was written with a Sharpie, now that you mention it)...

Two children, two backpacks, one lunchbox, one beloved Cookie Monster book and one purse, all precariously juggled after an over-filled parking lot necessitated a block-long walk to the first day of camp (a rapidly cooling cup of coffee regretfully left behind)...

One cheerful goodbye, one tearful goodbye and 20 minutes spent waiting in the hallway for the all-clear sign on child #2...

Forty five minutes in Starbucks with friends, adults-only for the first time in 4 1/2 years. No strollers. No sippy cups. No toddler meltdowns. Conversations that were actually finished without interruption. Language and topic unsuitable for small children. Not a single spill.

Is it any wonder I was positively giddy?

The obligatory vacation photo

2006-06-19T14:09:00.000-04:00

CAPTION: My two happy, carefree children scamper down the beach, laughing together at some joke only they understand. No one is whining, flashing me "I hate you" looks or demanding food. I am not yelling, making empty threats or attempting to bribe them into submission. We are all just genuinely enjoying each other and the natural beauty of our environment. We are having fun.

It lasted just long enough for me to snap this shot. But it happened. This is proof.

You take the good, you take the bad, you take then both and there you have... vacation

2006-06-18T14:36:00.000-04:00

Yesterday morning, after I spent an hour and a half organizing belongings and packing bags and stripping beds and sweeping away the sand and detritus of a week at the shore with four small children, we all donned bathing suits and headed down for one last hour on the beach before going home. As I stood at the edge of the water, holding Evan (who had already experienced the indignity of one too many waves in the face over the course of the week) and watching Julia and Paul collect shells further down the beach, I felt vacation amnesia set in.

The naps which Evan decided were entirely unnecessary while away from home and his resulting crankiness? Carried out to sea by a wave. The sun which woke both children several hours earlier than usual and further contributed to the crankiness factor? Washed away. The bickering and fighting which was inevitable with that many kids in the same place for that long, yet no less annoying for this inevitability? Whisked into the surf. The sight of a cozy lounge chair and a good book just slightly out of reach all week as I tended to my family's needs before my own? Erased by the tides.

By the time we'd all scrubbed ourselves clean in the fabulous outdoor shower and headed off for home, all that remained of our vacation were the good memories; hours spent digging in the sand and playing at the water's edge, trips for ice cream and pizza, amusement park rides and aquarium exhibits, watching the moon rise and pouring another glass of wine on the deck with friends after the children had gone to bed. "Maybe we should go for two weeks next year," I suggested to Paul. He considered this for a moment, my husband who despises sand, can't stand putting on a bathing suit, and is driven nuts by too much time spent in the presence of too many children. "I think that's a good idea," he finally replied. You gotta love vacation amnesia.

List-free (in 2007)

2006-06-08T21:30:00.000-04:00

One year ago today, in between frenetic acts of disorganized packing hysteria, I posted this. A year later to the date, here I am once again packing again for the same annual family pilgrimage. "I won't even need to write an entry today," I laughed to myself as I sat down at the computer today. "I can just re-use the one from last year!" My laughter wasn't exactly the happy kind; I've felt like I've just been treading water for months now, and the realization that it's been an entire year and nothing has changed in my life just seemed to confirm that feeling. I opened up last year's entry fully expecting to come face to face with undeniable proof that time really is standing still these days.

Then I actually read what I'd written a year ago.

Lists? I had lists? Huh. No lists this year. No gear, few toys, just enough foodstuff to get us started. I can't even imagine what the "extras" I was referring to last year included, and I'm equally unclear how there could have been enough of them to merit an entire list. We'll be leaving the tricycle behind this year (I learned my lesson), and things like booster seats are a thing of the past. In fact, I've really got no plans to bring much of anything with us other than some clothing, some linens and lots of suntan lotion. I may be doing the same things I was doing a year ago, but I'm doing them in an entirely different way this year.

Looking back, I can't help but feel a little superior to 2005 Me, the Me of Many Lists. Did I really need all that stuff or did I make myself crazy for nothing? Either way, I am determined that 2006 Me is going to be a relaxed, happy, list-free traveler. None of that silly "make it and check it twice" stuff for me this year, no more making my entire family crazy as I run around like a mad woman trying to fit every single thing we own in the back of a Nissan Murano. I'm going to bring some things that I think we'll need on vacation. Whatever we forget, I'll buy when we get there. Whatever I can't find, we'll do without. It just doesn't matter.

Perhaps, ever so slowly, life is moving forward after all. Maybe, just maybe, there will come a day when a trip feels like a vacation again. It won't happen this year, that's for sure. But my sudden certainty that such a day will actually come some day has me humming a very different vacation tune this year. In looking back, I guess I'm finally looking forward a bit. My family and I? We're apparently all growing up a little after all, and it feels good. Damn good. But before I get all smug about my growth and development as a mother and a person, I need to find a pen. While I was re-reading last year's post and feeling so good about the subtle changes a year can bring, I also realized that I really ought to toss some sippy cups and some Children's Tylenol into the car again this year. I just know that I'm going to forget about them if I don't write this down somewhere. And now that I'm really thinking about this, it wouldn't be a vacation without Trivial Pursuit... Oh, and I'll definitely want to make sure the video camera's charged...

How much could one little list hurt?

Further proof that what's fascinating to a 4 year old is less than riveting to the rest of the world

2006-06-06T13:37:00.000-04:00

Julia's last day of school was today. In honor of the "occasion," today's post comes from her. Here are her thoughts and reflections (dictated, with the occasional subject prompt from me) about school and the things she hopes to remember about this year.

School was good because I liked my teachers. I liked them because they give us fairy dust and we do messy art projects with them. Do you know what my favorite messy art project is? My favorite messy art project is doing the shaving cream like I did today.

And I liked school because I had fun. I liked to have fun with Morgan and Abby and Brianna. We all played together. We did flip downs with Brianna and Morgan, but Abby was scared. When I went on the playground, I liked to do things to find Jake in Pre-K. I like doing our balance beam thing with Abby.

I liked going to lunch at school. I liked to do bubbles and the obstacle course at Enrichment. I liked to play with Abby with blocks and build a Princess castle. When it was the third day of the school year, I used to hide from the Monsters (Matthew and Maxwell) with Brianna in our special spots.

My favorite snack was the snack we had today: chocolate cupcakes. We had chocolate cupcakes because it was Jack's birthday. My favorite song was the snowman song (it's kind of not the weather for snowman songs, though). My favorite art project was the Life Cycle of a Flower and the Life Cycle of a Butterfly. My favorite holiday was Purim because I liked the castle we built at school. My favorite thing to do at school was read the bumblebee book with Abby (the one the Pre-K made). My favorite job was calendar.

I hope I'll have a good time swimming this summer at the temple. I hope when I'm in Pre-K, I can read the bumblebee book again with Brianna.

The End

First Day of School

Last Day of School

Talk about growing up before my eyes...

Matters of grey matter

2006-06-02T12:01:00.000-04:00

I have been saying for years that I would have far more room in my head for important information if my brain were not already full of useless nursery rhymes and mindless sorority cheers. If recent changes to my daughter's memory are any indication, this tongue in cheek excuse for my forgetfulness may actually be dead on after all.

Julia's memory impressed me for a long time. Throughout her 2 and 3 year old years, she would frequently regale me with detailed stories of things that had happened a full year or two prior. She would recall with eerie accuracy precise details about what people had been wearing at a given event or where she had first been introduced to a particular food or concept. She was able to recite books verbatim after only one or two readings, and she remembered entire conversations we'd shared a few months back as clearly as if they'd just occurred moments before. "She must have a photographic memory," we would say as we watched her in astonishment.

She doesn't. At least, not any more. Because in the past several months, these recall abilities suddenly seem to be gone. "I don't remember that," she frequently tells me when we discuss events of the recent past or important occasions that she's always recalled before. Entire concepts that she fully grasped just a short time ago suddenly escape her ("What's a negative number?" she asked me the other day after a whole fall spent begging people to give her harder and harder math problems). She's forgotten entire vacations which she used to discuss in intense detail, entire books which she used to be able to recite with no effort at all, entire topics which used to fascinate her, entire relationships with people who used to matter a great deal to her. She's gone from seemingly remembering every little detail to remembering shockingly little about anything at all. It's bizarre.

Or is it? At the same time that she's seemingly lost all sorts of memories, Julia's reading abilities have truly flourished, her imaginative play has taken on new dimensions and her social interactions have become strikingly more mature and involved. She's thinking just as much as ever, but she's thinking about very different things these days, and those things seem to be crowding out the things that she used to think about, competing for valuable space inside her head.

Julia's brain was empty enough in the first few years of her life that there was room to store every little detail of her daily existence. But now that her own repertoire of nursery rhymes and life experiences is growing, there just isn't room for the little details any more, for the fact that I was wearing a pink shirt on Tuesday or that last year, her bedroom in our vacation house had a blue bedspread. The memorized words to Corduroy may have to be pushed aside to make room for all the new words she's reading now, and it's likely she'll forget those, too, as her appetite for increasingly complex reading material increases in the coming years. Her mind can't store everything that happens to her indefinitely. Some choices will need to be made about what gets retained. And those choices, I'm now realizing, are going to be pretty damn random.

The older she gets, the more selective Julia's memory will become, just as mine has over the years. Suddenly, it's not a foregone conclusion that anything will be retained. This is in some ways depressing (I spent nearly three years and hundreds of dollars on enriching Mommy and Me activities, but when I brought her to sit in on one of Evan's Music Together classes today, she had no memory whatsoever of having ever participated in one before). It's also a little liberating (ok, so I yelled at her for something that wasn't technically her fault yesterday, and probably the day before that too, but odds are good that she'll have completely forgotten all about my sharp words by next week). But mainly, it's a challenge to me. It's a challenge to ensure that the good of our lives outweighs the bad, of course, so that whatever random memories Julia does retain are largely positive. And it's also a challenge to keep on writing here, to keep storing up all of those memories that her brain may not have room to keep but my heart can not afford to let her lose.