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Cooleyhighholiday: A Christmas Miracle

December 23, 2015

The Ghost of Christmas Past just reminded me of this story, which took place a few years ago.

A friend of mine, an opera singer, was booked to perform at a local casino during the tribe’s holiday party. I tagged along, but I don’t remember why. Probably for free food.

While my friend crooned Christmas carols, I sat backstage on a rickety metal chair. A couple of guys were sitting back there too, and they laughed when the chair almost tipped me onto the floor. They were nice, though, and we had a ridiculously good time for people hanging out in the wings of a dusty stage. I don’t even remember everything we chatted about, only that we laughed a lot.

One of the guys complimented my friend’s singing and said she’d be a tough act to follow.

ME: Oh, you sing?

GUY: Yeah, we have a group.

ME: Sweet. What’s your group called?

GUY: Boyz II Men.

You guys, Boyz II Freaking Men.

Boyz II Men served as the soundtrack for my formative years. I owned “Cooleyhighharmony” on cassette, and when it wore out, I bought the CD. More of my backseat makeout sessions were set to “I’ll Make Love to You” than other jam. And I’ve been to more than one prom with the theme, “End of the Road.”

So when I realized these dudes were actually Boyz II Men, I did the only thing I could do. I launched into the Michael Bivins rap from “Motownphilly.”

“Now check this out
One day back in Philly
Four guys wanted to sing
They came up to me I said
What’s your name? (Boyz II Men)
Ya know what I’m sayin’.”

It’s a horrible flaw of mine that I sing celebrities’ songs to them. Usually the musicians aren’t happy about it. But in this case, the guys played along, launching into the “dum dum dum dah dah” harmony — a little Christmas gift to me.

Little Man: The One-Year-Old Update

July 21, 2015

How are you a 1-year-old already?

It wasn’t so long ago when I would place you on your tummy and coax you to roll over. And now you’re running.

It’s so bittersweet. I love how quick you move, how much you learn every day, your fierce and wild independence. Yet the faster you walk, the more I feel you pulling away from me. You’re becoming a little man already, and it stretches my heart out like salt water taffy.

Most everybody tried to warn me. “Enjoy it!” they said. “It goes by so quick!” Even perfect strangers said, “You’ll miss this when it’s gone!” I hated those people. But I was delirious from a lack of sleep, my body was sticky with spit up, and I often felt like I was stuck at the bottom of a long well with a purple eggplant. A purple eggplant that screams.

If I’d realized that someday you’d stop falling asleep on my chest, I’d have relished those long, lazy afternoon naps. If I’d known how you’d leap from infant to pre-toddler, I might have appreciated those early newborn days a little more. I still wouldn’t have enjoyed the colic, but overall I might have cried a little less.

Anyway, now you are one. But it won’t be long before you are two. And then 22. And then I will die, because ACK! Too soon. I can’t handle it.

Likes:

Frankie the Fox. Oh my god, do you love Frankie the Fox. In fact, one evening as I put you in your crib, your eyes searched the mattress, your breath quickened and you started to panic, right up until you saw Frankie in the corner. I thought, “This is foreshadowing,” and that very night your dad bought a backup Frankie for us to keep in reserves.

You also love playing outside. Your family. Lemon and Kung Pao Kitten. Duplos. Swings. Bruno Mars and Daniel Tiger. And books — it makes me proud to see how much you enjoy turning the pages to see what happens next.

Favorite foods:

Watermelon. Kiwi. Mango. Banana pancakes. Homemade oatmeal “cookies.” Peanut butter. Sweet corn on the cob.

Dislikes:

Bubble bath. Swim class. Diaper changes, which are like trying to pull the skin back on a snake after he’s already shed it.

You also weren’t crazy about your birthday cake, which made me happy. That’s your last taste of sugar until you turn 18. I hope you enjoyed it.

Secret Starbucks Drink Menu of a Marriage

March 29, 2015

Recipes for happiness.

Liquid Meet-Cute

– 4 shots of espresso over ice in a grande cup

– 4 pumps of white chocolate syrup

– Add one woman, fragile with fear and grief, and send her up in a plane

– Combine with one tender-hearted skydiving instructor who offers to skip the skydive and ride the plane down instead

– Jump anyway. Jump with this man, even when your hands shake and your stomach is in your throat. Make one skydive, and then make another, and make hundreds more after that. And when the instructor asks you on a date, say yes. Yes! You’ve already trusted him with your life.

– Drizzle with chocolate.

Warm Sugar Cookie

– White mocha hot chocolate

– Hazelnut syrup (1 pump tall, 2 grande, 3 venti)

– Vanilla syrup (1 pump tall, 2 grande, 3 venti)

– Sprinkle raw sugar on top

– Add the winter day on the steps of Immaculata Church, warming your hands on a thermos and watching the sun rise over Mt. Adams.

Amazonian Honeymoon

– Start with raspberry syrup (2 pumps tall, 3 pumps grande, 4 pumps venti)

– Add strawberry, orange, mango and very berry juice to the first line

– Fill with lemonade to top

– Spend days chattering with monkeys, rowing the Amazon and drinking rum on a sugar plantation. Fall asleep in a thatched rainforest hut, smeared with deet, bodies tangled like jungle vines

– Add ice and shake!

Stormy Days Tea

– Earl Grey tea semi dry misto

– 2 pumps vanilla syrup

– 2 pumps of caramel syrup

– Add one skydiving accident

– A move across the country

– One stolen car

– Your mother’s death

– Fertility issues

– Miscarriage

– Illness

– Moving. Three more times.

– Cling to each other because the world feels too vicious and sad to navigate alone.

Anniversary Cake Frappuccino

– Vanilla soy frappuccino

– 2 pumps hazelnut

– Add 1 beautiful, boisterous baby

– Toss in 2 teeth cutting baby’s gums

– A broken dryer and a clogged kitchen sink

– Burn the pancakes and forget to make the coffee

– Call the babysitter

– Drive away giggling because the dishes can wait and the laundry will air dry, but this is your anniversary day

– Go to the movies and hold hands for two hours, as though you just met

– Get massages to work out the kinks

– Kiss in the car

– Never forget how lucky you are

– Add whipped topping (optional)

2014: The year I was gutted

December 31, 2014

Photo by peddhapati.

My 2014 can be summed up with one fact: It took five months for my c-section incision to heal, a wound that should have closed in less than 6 weeks.

I’m not saying this to inspire sympathy or to have a conversation about childbirth in America. Just know that when I say I spent a good deal of my year split wide open, that’s not hyperbole.

There was one moment when I was at home, wildly trying to juggle my crying newborn during a conference call for work. I was bouncing the baby on my hip, walking past the bathroom, and I happened to look in the mirror just as my robe fell open. I saw the lipstick red slash of my incision reflected back at me, and I thought, “I am so broken. So very, very broken.” The idea that I might never be fixed, that my life might never again have a sense of normalcy, was terrible and frightening.

Many days I wondered when I would be whole again; if I would be whole again. The unknown is such a vulnerable place to reside.

Don’t get me wrong — it wasn’t a bad year. I had a lot of achievements: I finished my master’s degree, and I hit a few professional goals. I gave birth to a wild, funny boy, who has wispy hair and gentle cow eyes. I have a husband who inspires me on a daily basis and friends who are generous with their love. Many days were filled with pancakes, dance parties when the baby wouldn’t sleep, sunshine, fairy lights, a new blue dress or two. It was actually an extraordinary year.

This face.

But underscoring all the good things was a new and overwhelming feeling of helplessness — it seemed every time I felt like I was in the driver’s seat, the “service engine” light popped on in the car.

So 2014 was challenging. This was a year of allowing buried things to surface and giving air to raw skin. Watching old wounds heal and waiting for scar tissue to form. Of making peace when things fell beyond my control. Of learning patience. Of being.

Here’s to achieving more balance in 2015.

What a difference a year makes

October 26, 2014

One year ago, I was getting ready for a Halloween party when I decided to take a pregnancy test. The Husband and I were actively trying to conceive, and though I didn’t really think I was pregnant yet, I wanted to be certain I wasn’t drinking for two.

Then the word appeared. The word I had been hoping for. The word I never thought I’d see again, after trying for so long and experiencing so much loss.

PREGNANT.

I sat in the bathroom for several minutes. The Husband was still asleep in the bedroom, and nobody else in the world knew I was pregnant yet. Everything was about to change, and I wanted to cherish that quiet sliver of time when it was just us — just baby and me, together.

I rubbed my tummy and tried to imagine what was to come.

Little sea monkey.

One year later, a word on a pee stick has become a baby.

Real-life, actual baby.

It still messes with my head sometimes. One year and a lot of pizza later, there’s a wacky new person in the world and I now carry the title of “mommy.” WHAT? How did that happen? Magnets, how do they work?

Life, you crazy.

People ask me, “How’s motherhood?” and I don’t know how to respond, because there’s no compact answer. It’s good. And it’s strange. And it’s hard. And it has changed my life in multiple ways, and in deeply profound ways.

Life changer.

It’s challenging to shift your entire identity and give up your autonomy, even when it’s a choice you’ve made.

My shirts are now stained with milk and spit-up. The bags under my eyes are more like steamer trunks. I have serious conversations about poop. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and think, “Ugh! Will someone please quiet that screaming child?” before I remember I’m the mom. I’m responsible for this gremlin. I often fantasize about running off to a hotel for one solid night of sleep all by myself — just one night — but I know I’ll just wake up in a puddle of milk and have a lot of explaining to do to housekeeping.

But there are other things too.

Everest is so exquisite, with long eyelashes and chunky elbows and tiny, pink toes that look like salad shrimp, I have never seen anything so amazing. Not Angkor Wat. Not the sunrise from Machu Picchu. The other day I took the baby on a walk and he was so giggly that I couldn’t look away from his beautiful, rosy face, and I literally steered the stroller into a “No Parking” sign. Sometimes I wake up in the morning, and this fuzzy-headed baby is gazing at me from his bassinet, and I realize that every moment of my life was carving the path that led to this very moment, and I am grateful.

Hi, pretty.

I don’t want to say that my life is perfect and fulfilled now that I have a child, because don’t you hate it when people say that? You know that person is sticky and tired and elbow-deep in smelly diapers 14 times a day, and you wonder what the heck their life was like before if they are only now fulfilled.

But one year later, things are definitely different. Bigger. My world is more expansive now, and I like it this way.

It definitely hasn’t been easy — sometimes Everest wakes at 4 a.m. and is ready for the day, other times he screams purple for an hour for absolutely no reason I can discern — but the fact that I find it rewarding is proof of how much I adore this child.

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