Sweet Inspiration

This past week, I watched Z walk into a Border’s Café to meet with a College Admissions Rep. I watched her walk in prepared and confident as I drove away to the nearest Target store.  You see, she did not need mommy to hold her hand for this meeting.  A realization that, perhaps, will hit me some day but has not sunk in quite yet. It must have been stolen moments ago that I walked her into Montessori preschool for the first time.  Clearly, the decision to spend far more than we could afford then for a Montessori school had paid off.  As I listened to Z, later in the day on the drive home, tell about the meeting with the Admissions Rep, I realized that she had suddenly become a young woman.  Yet, Curious George still sits perched on the edge of her bed each night.  Some reassurance to me and sometimes, I think, he is there for my benefit more than a symbolic security blanket for Z.  A few days after the meeting at Border’s Café, Z heard from another college that she was accepted to their school.  This time – it was Sweet Briar in Virginia.  The Sweet Briar Admissions Rep personally called to say that Z was a stand out applicant.  It is a good thing that these college applications do not show the other side that only parents see come out of their child or the world would be a very different place on any given Saturday morning when there’s all sorts of commotion in the house and dear daughter is capable of sleeping through it all and is completely unphased by the sense of urgency to get things done in what is supposed to be my weekend down time.  It helps to note that this trend of having others love and accept your child is not limited to the boundaries of an electronic set of forms submitted via the CommonApp and does transcend into the real world in practical application.  Such is the case for Z as she received an incredible letter of recommendation from the Executive Producer of a reputable theater group where Z has been a Stage Manager and another glowing letter from the Director of an independent film where Z had the lead role.  Along with letters from the head of the English Department at her school, her favorite art teacher and the Guidance Counselor.  All these letters while vastly different in their expression of sentiment – all conveyed the same thing and that is that Z was responsible, reliable, dynamic, capable, and sweet to everyone.  It was this last bit that was noted by everyone and that was her kind personality.  It is something that comes from her life experiences of being a part of our family where we each make a genuine attempt to emphasize the importance of nice no matter what the circumstances.  It had paid off to pass this on to her.  Believe me – there are days when it is impossible to pull that nice, feel good feeling out of any of us but, for the most part, it is part of our makeup and, at the end of each day, gives that sense of purpose to not give up on being nice and sweet and kind and may be the reason that Curious George is perched on the bed after all. 

Being Talia Shire

Monday begins.  Taking part in that doppelgänger thing on Facebook and I am Talia Shire.  Yo Adrian!  Along with H and J, I watched the original Rocky movie on Saturday night. Snacked on dark chocolate covered gummy bears, courtesy of Z’s squeeze, along the way.  Sipped on Riesling.  Had espresso.  Which reminds me - I need the strength, stamina and “no fuss” attitude of Adrian for the next few days. Alas - my Facebook profile picture for this week will be Talia Shire’s All-Italian-Girl smiling face. It will serve as a much-needed reminder of Rocky, The Godfather and the hilariously charming Jason Schwartzman. These are three things that I love about being Italian.

 Z’s performance in the Talent Show took place at the end of last week.  Beforehand, I was (for no reason whatsoever except for my overactive imagination) worried that maybe there would be the twinge of a hint that experiencing sitting in the audience while my daughter was on stage in this setting could easily turn into one of those Little Miss Sunshine moments so I was very grateful that H (Z’s daddy) was available during the middle of the day on Friday and would be going along with me.  After all – if it did turn into Little Miss Sunshine revisited – H would certainly get up and cheer a la Greg Kinnear!  Needless to say – the actual talent show and Z singing, alongside her pal Ross - Anyone Else But You from Juno was adorable and perfect. Flash forward to this upcoming week and I will leave my imagination out of it for now – there are play rehearsals, competition practices, trip plans, choir, intramurals, and homework.  Very Talia Shire – all week long!  Stay tuned - just like The Godfather, Rocky and Jason’s character in The Darjeeling Limited – it will be an adventure! 

It Ain’t So Typical

It’s an almost overcast Friday afternoon in Stonington.  Z is at a sleepover.  House is rather quiet as I sip my fifth or sixth cup of coffee of the day.  Dog is on her red buffalo plaid bed beneath a painting of sunflowers given to me by J.  The painting does not look like your typical school artwork but more like something that belongs in a gallery.  Anyhow – J has friends over for an Airsoft Guns battle in the backyard or at the field across the street or over the river and through the woods.  As I think about my college days, my childhood, my twenties and even ten years ago – I did not see my son having Airsoft Guns battles. I did not see him going on a Bluefish Tournament the day before a Hurricane was supposed to hit the coast.  I did not predict that he would own a compound bow either.  But – this is Stonington and it ain’t so typical of a place.  It’s a place where the kids are fearless in a way that you think The Dangerous Book for Boys was written for just this town.  Motocross, longboarding, fishing, jumping off the dock, hockey on the pond, soccer in the pouring rain, bikes being left on someone else’s front lawn, Paintball, nothing more than a hoodie as cold weather gear when the temp is 29° and being indoors for more than a few hours happens only a couple of times each year.  Remarkably, the kids are pretty healthy too.  But – I truly believe that happiness buys health in many, many ways.  What better way to be happy than hanging with your friends, having a lifestyle that includes all the outdoor experiences that should be part of growing up? When J is around kids that are not from here – it’s noticeable that he has life experiences that are memorable not because of a dollar value that goes with each experience but because the time he spends just ain’t so typical. 

The Somewhat Soccer Mom

I love everything about being a mom.  It is one of the best parts of life. I enjoy my role of mother so very much because I have two children that have a great sense of humor at my lack of crafty skills, a fine appreciation of take-out cuisine and have mastered the art of only volunteering my name for anything school related that does not involve baking, outdoor activities or nature-related field trips.  In other words, my two offspring make motherhood as easy as an autumn breeze.  That is until the lazy Sunday afternoon this past summer that my son casually announced that he thought it best to switch from being a football player to a soccer player.  At that moment, my world came to a screeching halt.  What? A soccer player?  I immediately turned up the volume on the voice that comes from my urban girl background to say – “Are you kidding me?  Do you see a short hairdo on my head?  Do you see a minivan in the driveway?  Do I gossip?  Do I wear sweatpants out in public? What’s wrong with you today?”  I admit that nothing, including childbirth, scared me more than becoming a Soccer Mom.  The media stereotype of these women was the antithesis of my persona.  I wear black stiletto boots, leather biker jackets and vintage Gucci sunglasses.  I would be so out of my element in the world of Soccer Moms that I knew lived somewhere out there in this town. I even imagined that they lived together in some sheltered Soccer Mom World. And, yes, my son’s sudden outburst was all about ME.  My son was about to change the very existence of my public image.  After all, I was the woman who felt each of his kicks for nine months while I carried him around so he could come out kicking and screaming at almost 10 pounds.  I was entitled to make it all about ME! Wait a minute.  Each kick?  Kicking and screaming?  How could I not see this coming?  He was a soccer player from the start.  GASP. I did not see the writing on the wall! And, damn, he was a good soccer player too.  I have the internal phantom pains to prove it!  He kicked 24/7.  He kicked so much that I am surprised that a soccer ball did not come out of the womb along with him.  Now, I had to somehow overcome that fear of being a stereotype.  A few days after my son’s proclamation that would forever alter my bad ass mom status, I summoned up the courage to send one of my cousins an email about my impending new lot in life. This cousin has two sons and both played soccer throughout their school years.  One son is now a lawyer and the other is an up and coming high profile chef.  These two young men are no slouches and never have been for that matter.  My cousin’s reply provided some glimmer of hope.  Maybe I had bought into all the stereotype hype of this Soccer Mom group.  The dreaded minivan scenario and the short hairdo propaganda.  My cousin did not have short hair and she does not drive a minivan.  A few years older than me, she is the cousin that I always copied when we were younger and lived on the same street. She was the one with the cool outfits, the long Cher-like hair and the stick figure.  Which, I must add, all still holds true for her. This cousin told me that I was joining an elite group and would have a lot to be proud of in the coming years and, one day, I would miss it all and wonder how that time went by so quickly. The bottom line is that it is not all about me and that is why I enjoy being a mom in the first place.  There are the surprises, the constants, the obvious and the new titles that come with the territory of being a mom.  Even, maybe, a Soccer Mom.