- As already mentioned twice in this post, I visited Hawaii (#4)
- I sang karaoke (#15)
- I scrapbooked my boys' childhoods (#23)
- I learned to do smoky eyes (#28)
- I participated in a treasure hunt/scavenger hunt in another state (#29)
Friday, December 31, 2010
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
It's Wednesday! That means that it's Top Chef All-Stars night!
Friday, December 10, 2010
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Monday, October 11, 2010
I’ve been driving around in the unseasonably warm fall weather we’re having here in Minneapolis, listening to “Every Grain of Sand” (well, listening to Dylan's “Biograph Disc 2”) and my thoughts are filled with some combination of longing and memories…sort of a nostalgic pondering.
There’s always been something about fall that makes me nostalgic. The yellows and oranges remind me of old photographs…as if the entire world actually appeared in muted, yellowish tones once. It’s not even all nostalgia for my own memories, I suppose, I’m more imagining the past in all of its convenient simplicity. What was the same, what was different?
But some of my own memories are in there; I have grainy images in my mind of a tractor that used to sit in our yard when I was young – it sat on what is now the boundary between my mom’s yard and ours. I don’t remember it ever running, so I suppose at some point someone hauled it away. I used to play on it when I was maybe 3 or 4. It shouldn’t mean anything to me, but I think that it represents a time when my dad was still here. Here, in this space, in our house. When he had actual belongings marking his territory.
But lately, I’ve been pondering my childhood more than usual I suppose thanks to reading Meredith Hall’s memoir “Without a Map”. I read it because it came recommended by one of my favorite mama-writers Catherine Newman, but I was startled at the parallels I felt between Hall's life and mine. Ok, not the actual events in her life: I didn’t grow up in the 60’s, get pregnant as a teenager, or give a baby up for adoption, but…
The emotions she experienced – the isolation, detachment, loneliness and confusion – were surprisingly familiar. I suppose it’s possible that no matter what form parental neglect or rejection or even just carelessness takes, it creates a kind of universal scar in children.
So yeah, if you think you might be recovering from abandonment issues or have a complex relationship with your parents, this might be the book for you. (I’m starting a side business writing quotes for book jackets.) Actually, I’d recommend it to anyone who appreciates a well-written memoir. Along the lines of “Lit” or even “The Glass Castle,” only with less alcoholism and mental illness.
And now I realize that I sound like a member of a book club for traumatic childhood memoirs. Now there's a club I'd join...
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Friday, August 6, 2010
Monday, July 26, 2010
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Monday, July 19, 2010
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Monday, June 28, 2010
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Friday, June 25, 2010
I attended the memorial service of the amazing person I mentioned in an earlier blog and I wanted it to provide some sort of happy closing note, like “Here we are, all together, celebrating what a great man he was and let’s all just be happy we knew him.” I left just feeling even sadder that he’s gone.
I’m not religious, but I did think it was nice that the clergyman who led the memorial managed to relate all of his biblical references to adoption (even Jesus was adopted!) – is there a reference book that has an alphabetical list of interests and their appropriate bible passages? Is there one for, like, stamp collecting? Racecar driving?
As cliché as it is, during the service my mind most definitely entertained thoughts of “Am I making the most of my life?” and “What would I regret if I died tomorrow?” It’s too bad that we need tragedy to remind us of these things, but I suppose that’s the silver lining...
I’m rambling. What I want to say is that when I die, I want people to have known me. I want people to have really enjoyed being around me. I want to have been surrounded by love. I want to have done something that matters.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
2. Now that he is an adult I am officially done playing mediator
3. I hope you two find a way to have a healthy relationship someday because until then, you will continue to hurt him
4. This concludes our business together. The end.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
There was a time when I thought we would lose him. He seemed so intent to jump off the bridge.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
He was going to change the world. He was going to see to it that every single orphan on the planet found a loving home. He left us prematurely and there is nothing fair about that…the only way I can make any sense of it is to think that the person who is going to bring about world peace must have been born on Friday and the universe simply could not sustain so much goodness within it all at once.
Paul was a mentor to me. He showed me that being a corporate executive is not an excuse to be an asshole (and, as I liked to tell him, he ruined me for all other executives). He taught me that passion is contagious. He inspired me to find a purpose in my work. He was brilliant and generous and funny and kind. He knew what mattered. And unlike a lot of people, he did not need a brain tumor to put his life in perspective.
I am grateful that I knew him. I am heartbroken that he is gone. And I am confident that his light will live on in the thousands of lives that he touched while he was here. Thank you, Paul.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Ok, I'm being dramatic. Although I did cry...on Saturday night...after a looooong day of entertaining more than a dozen seven-year-olds and then a special dinner at Benihana (or, Beni-ha-ha, as they like to call it), we put the boys to bed and I realized that they really ARE big. Really, really big. And that pretty soon they won't want to crawl into our bed and snuggle anymore. And little Aidan won't ask, "Can you come cuddle me on the couch?" anymore. And some days, hopefully many years from now, they probably won't even want to speak to me anymore. And I cried.