Tag: life

A birthday wish for my son

by Allie P., posted in Life as I know it

Happy Birthday bannerCake crumbs still spotted the table and chairs, remnants from his brother’s birthday party when LT first began asking if it was now time to plan his celebration, an event that wouldn’t take place for several months. Each time he asked, he announced loudly and repeatedly that he was done being three and ready to be four.

Over the next several weeks, there were few mornings (or evenings) in which LT did not ask us for an update on the number of days left until his birthday. This was new for him as he’d never expressed all that much interested in his birthday before. Eventually, I came to realize that he had gotten it into his head that his world would suddenly be made different by the simple act of raising one additional finger when adults asked him how old he was. He told me he was going to get a bunk bed and sleep on the top. He was going to stay up late every night and was going to get to do homework (the boy is actually looking forward to this – proving ignorance is bliss). I didn’t quite have the heart to tell him that no, not all his dreams of big-kid-hood would be coming true, at least not this year (except the part about getting a new bed – let’s be clear, LT, that’s not happening).

Then the countdown was over and it was the evening before his big day. I told him, this is the last day you are going to be a three-year-old. Tomorrow, when you wake up, you are going to be four. His eyes got big as the reality of his situation sunk in. As I pulled the blankets around him and leaned in to kiss his forehead, he looked at me and said, “I no wanna be four. I wanna be three forever.”

I did what most mothers (or fathers) would in this situation. I gave him a bone-crushing hug and told them that I would like him to stay three very much too. Then I wished him good night and snuck into another room to wrap his presents, because, unfortunately, a wish to stay forever the same is about as likely to come true as is him actually enjoying homework once he starts bringing it home on a regular basis.

I adore my littlest boy. I love his hugs, his laugh, and his insanely honest observations. It makes sense that I want him to remain exactly how he is now, but, as I sat there on the floor trying to avoid papercuts while keeping tabs on the tab, I started wondering about that look on his face and what he said. After so many weeks of anticipation, so much yearning to be four, what now caused the about-face? Sadly, the only thing I can come up with is this – he is my son.

I am the kind of person who falls in loves with the idea of things but can then become terrified if there is even a fraction of a chance of the idea becoming reality (I love the beach, but am scared to swim in the ocean for example). It is one of the reasons it took me so long to start pursuing writing in the first place. I have to admit, I take comfort in the status quo. I know exactly where my place is and what is expected of me. I am fortunate. The status quo has thus far been good to me.

But the status quo is not what dreams are made of. It can be like never going hungry but also never enjoying a slice of cake (and oh, how I enjoy a good piece of cake). And so, as he blows out his candles (and I blow out mine because it was my birthday party too), I am promising myself that I will challenge it. It may not be today or tomorrow, but when the opportunity comes I am going to squash the butterflies in my stomach and face it. So then, when it is my son’s turn, he might do the same, unafraid, for no other reason than this – he is my son.

 

 

The sky is a hazy shade of winter

by Allie P., posted in Life as I know it

I didn’t win the lottery. The Christmas decorations are not only packed away but have been packed away long enough that dust and clutter have once again begun to accumulate in the spaces they left behind. Then it snowed and the kids got sick. In short, it is January once again. Yay. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, winter bites.

I was rather unexpectedly sent to Chicago last week on behalf of the day job. Now, most of the time I like Chicago just fine. The day I left the skies were blue and somehow my direct flight was actually on time. I thought to myself, wow, if I could travel like this all time I might not mind it quite as much.

“The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only a page.” – Saint Augustine

“But who isn’t guilty of occasionally wanting to skim a page or two every now and then?” – Me

But it is January. As we began our descent, the pilot announced that the weather had warmed to a balmy 20 degrees (-6C). Darn, and here I’d forgotten to pack my bathing suit. Upon arrival, I huddled with other passengers in a what was essentially an airlock while we waited for the airport shuttle to arrive. When the shuttle finally did arrive, I almost missed it entirely as the hotel branding was nearly hidden behind a sheet of salt and grey sludge.

After cursing the heat and wishing for cold weather all summer
After cursing the heat and wishing for cold weather in December. Image courtesy of Flickr

I checked into my hotel and made my way into my room. The air inside was only a few degrees warmer than the outside. At least there wasn’t a wind chill. I glanced at the window mounted heater box curious as to the thermostat setting. I expected that someone turned it down, what I didn’t expect was that someone turned it off all together. Chicagoans really don’t notice the cold. I immediately corrected this problem, cranking the heat up, but even so I knew would take a while for the little heater to make a difference.

I burrowed under my covers, but I couldn’t quite escape the chill. I wound up passing that night with my gloves on and my winter coat draped over my shoulders. If images of the Poor Little Matchgirl running through my head weren’t incentive enough to stay awake, the various loud noises coming from the adjacent room certainly helped.

“Laugh and the world laughs with you, snore and you sleep alone.” – Anthony Burgess

The following day, I told a colleague all about the accommodations from the night before. He cocked his head and asked why I didn’t complain about the room to the hotel management. I should have, in his opinion, been given an alternate room, or at least be charged less for the experience. I suppose he was right. He should know, after all, his job takes him on the road at least five to ten times more than mine.

“Be thankful for what you have. Your life, no matter how bad you think it is, is someone else’s fairy tale.” – Wade Ayeni

Why hadn’t I complained?

Like most people, I do tend to indulge in a bit of self-reflection at the beginning of the year, and this year has been no exception. And yet, I still haven’t completely figured out the answer. Was I silent because I feared confrontation after a long travel day? Was it because I am female, and if studies are to be believed, biologically conditioned to accept pain and discomfort, provided it is only temporary? Was it my sense of self-reliance? I had gloves and a coat in the room, why make the fix someone else’s responsibility when I can do it myself?

Or… and this thought gave me great pause… after working on improving my outlook for so long, have I managed to finally recondition my brain into truly accepting what life throws at me – the bad as well as the good?

“Acceptance doesn’t mean resignation; it means understanding that something is what it is and that there’s got to be a way through it.” – Michael J. Fox

Could it be that this blog, my personal happiness project, is no longer necessary? Have I then finally achieved a zen-like state of being?

 

 

Nah. That’s most assuredly not it. After all, it’s January…

…but it won’t be for much longer.

It’s beginning to feel a lot like Christmas

by Allie P., posted in Life as I know it, Personal Favorites

It was the morning of the annual Christmas celebration in my neighborhood. Roads around a park would be shut down for a couple of hours while kids decorated cookies, made crafts, danced to a live band, and of course, met Santa. My neighborhood homeowners dues can feel pricey at times, but on this occasion they seem worth it.

I was looking for my camera as Kiddo approached me. “Mom,” he said. “I know it’s not going to be the real Santa.”

View post on imgur.com

I gulped as I glanced around the room. LT was nowhere in site. Shew, the situation is still contained. I frantically thought how best to handle the line of questioning I was sure would be coming next.

Now I have a few issues with Christmas, how it has taken over the entire month of December, is annexing November, and has even begun to bleed into October. It even has a small outpost in July. Yet at the same time I absolutely adore the look upon the kids faces as the decorations go up (which is the only reason I have forgiven my siblings for the 6ft tall bilingual singing Santa they ‘gifted’ us with several years ago and perhaps a story for another day), and I can’t help but smile at their excitement as the holiday specials begin to flood the airways.

Only this year, as we watched a few of the movies, I began to notice how many feature a character rediscovering their Christmas spirit after meeting the real Santa and it troubled me. Just a year or two ago, Kiddo would never have thought to question the authenticity of Santa in the park. But now? . . . Darn you Holiday Classics! Darn you, every one.

I looked into Kiddo’s eyes, still unsure how to respond.

“I know it is one of his helpers,” kiddo offered, oblivious to my discomfort.

In that instant it felt like a little bit of Kiddo’s innocence fell away. “Yes, it probably is,” I said while hoping that LT would remain in the other room awhile longer.

Luckily the conversation ended there and we arrived at the park a short time later. The band was rocking out holiday tunes and the hot cocoa was delicious. After taking a ride in a horse-drawn carriage, we got in line to meet Mr. Claus. Before long it was our turn. For the very first time, LT wasn’t afraid as we placed him on the bench next to the man in the red suit. Without missing a beat, Santa insisted that Lamont and I join the boys for a group photo while instructing the prior family to stick around and take our picture. I was impressed. The man knew how to run an assembly line. Once photographed, he turned to each boy and listened as they tried to recall their wishlists. Afterward, he looked at them both and announced with authority that they had been good rather than asking them if they had. I watched in awe as kiddo’s eyes widened.

As we walked away, Kiddo turned to me and said, “mom, I know that Santa has helpers, but I think that might be the real Santa.”

“I think you might be right,” I answered as I saw a little of his boyhood wonder return, if only for a moment. And I meant it. After all, I certainly got what I wanted from Santa this year.

 

From my family to yours, Happy Thanksgiving

by Allie P., posted in Life as I know it

Happy Thanksgiving!

Today is Thanksgiving, or if you are part of the 95% that makes up the rest of the world, Thursday. That is unless of course you aren’t reading this on a Thursday. Technically it isn’t Thursday for me either as I am writing this well in advance of my near certain tryptophan-induced turkey coma. I digress.

By the time you read this, my turkey day celebrations will be underway. My children have likely spent the last hour complaining about how mean I have been for not giving them snacks when all I was trying to do is ensure they have room in their tummies for a no thank you helping of green bean casserole. It’s delicious! Trust me! My dad and Lamont are likely outside debating the merits of smoking a bird with charcoal versus electricity as they monitor the meat thermometer’s readings while holding a beer in hand. Meanwhile, my stepmom is probably barricaded behind a kitchen counter covered in heating pads and Pyrex.

My teenaged brothers have likely been tasked with setting the table and filling glasses with water but are more interested in coordinating an afternoon meeting with a girlfriend or two. I will notice fewer place settings filling the room as both my sisters (and their families) are attending meals elsewhere this year. Left to represent the daughters of the family, I may even be invited to sit at the grown-up table.

Even so, the house will hardly feel empty. My grandfather and his wife may join us or they may not. At 100, grandpa doesn’t really worry about things like advanced planning anymore. The dogs will run underfoot hopeful that someone will drop something tasty. Phones will ring off their hooks as various relatives check in and at some point, my step-aunt and uncle will arrive with rolls (and maybe a pie), signaling that the time for celebration has come.

The grown-ups (and big kids) will eat until our stomachs reach their limit. LT will likely experiment with gravy and cranberry sauce as hair care while his brother runs off to re-discover their uncles’ old toys. Before long, it will be time to pry Lamont away from the football game on TV and herd the children into the car so that we can repeat the entire process at Lamont’s parents’ house.

Or none of this might happen. My Thanksgivings are delicious, messy, loud and at times chaotic affairs. It is a day steeped in tradition, but flexibility too. It’s a holiday like no other. I surround myself with family, but someone else might prefer a quiet meal for two. We’ll cook a turkey, but the house across the street from us may serve ham or tofurkey instead. There are very, very few wrong Thanksgiving traditions. It is a holiday that allows you to celebrate as you see fit as long as you simply remember to say, thank you.

So here’s wishing a Happy Thanksgiving to you all no matter how you celebrate. Or Thursday. Or whatever.

And thank you.

 

Miles yet to travel

by Allie P., posted in Life as I know it
out of focus road
Image courtesy of Unsplash

From the backseat, Kiddo asked, “how many more minutes?” We’d been on the road for the last three hours, so the bigger surprise was the fact that he hadn’t already asked the same question a million times already.

“We still have a ways to go,” I answered, not exactly excited to reveal that we still had another two hours of windshield time ahead of us.

“But how many minutes until the TV can come back on?”

The in-car entertainment system had only been powered off for a second or so, but the boys were clearly missing the distraction. “Eh, a couple of minutes honey. Maybe three. However long it takes for Dad to fill the car up with gas.

“How many seconds is three minutes?” Kiddo asked.

“One hundred eighty.”

Kiddo paused to take in this information. “Ten, twenty, thirty” I heard him begin.

The boy is feeling clever this morning.

“One hundred sixty, one hundred seventy, one hundred eighty. There. One hundred and eighty seconds. Now can we turn the TV back on?”

Sigh. I was going to have to explain to him that time wasn’t moving any faster for the rest of us just because he had figured out a faster way to count to one eighty. Welcome to Relativity 101 Kiddo. Just then the pump clicked, signaling our tank was full. Before long, we were back on the highway with the sounds of Mickey Mouse’s Clubhouse playing over the speaker system. Now I am thinking I am the one in need of a lesson in the manipulation of space-time, because it feels very much like I’ve been here before.

And yet, I feel as if I have gone so very far.

My thanks to everyone who helped make last week’s launch so very special either by checking out my book links, sharing my posts, or simply offering your words of encouragement. I am hopeful that the experience I’ve gained will help me complete my next project that much faster, but I also know not to expect the process to be any easier. I very much appreciate your support.