Happy Birthday Johnny 2008

Dear Johnny,

Despite my begs and desperate pleas, despite my constant threats of wanting to put a brick on your head to keep you from growing, you defied me, you plowed ahead, you did what you were going to do against my wishes: you up and turned 5 today. 5 years old!!! As Daddy said this morning, "You've waited your whole life to turn 5," and you did it, Johnny, you did it!!

It's a grand day indeed, a milestone birthday in your life and in the life of our family. We no longer have babies around, your preschool days are seriously numbered and your official childhood (aka the school-age years) is just beginning. When we joined the pool earlier this summer and I saw you and Grace interacting with the other kids you knew from school, church, the neighborhood and even kids you'd just met, I had this thought that childhood for you two had officially begun. That might sound weird, like what's been going on for your five years of living and Grace's almost seven, a dress rehearsal for childhood? Not exactly. But seeing all ages of kids at the pool doing what kids do best--swimming, playing basketball and ping pong with their friends, standing in line at the snack bar ordering hot dogs and ice cream, skateboarding and riding scooters in the parking lot--and I guess the growing independence above all signified we've transitioned into a new phase in life, one that will continue for the next 13 years as you and Grace move through school.

You've developed an irrepressible spirit of wanting to do, play, and learn, and kids seem as drawn to you as you are to them. It's hard for me to say this, but you don't need me around as much anymore. You sometimes think you do, but you don't. Yesterday at the pool as you splashed with your best friend Christopher, you hardly noticed me sitting on the side talking with Grace. That's how it should be, me on the sidelines, watching and guiding with a little more distance. Even so, sometimes you're not ready for that yet. You've definitely got the physical strength, coordination and ability to hit, catch, and run in an organized baseball league, but you weren't quite ready to leave me on the sidelines this summer. Although you seemed to enjoy putting on your Rockies hat and t-shirt and grabbing your baseball glove, every Saturday you said you were "scared" and begged us not to make you play but instead allow you to sit with us in the dug out the whole time. We're learning too, Johnny. It's our first time having a boy on a sports team and not knowing whether the right thing to do is to make you get out there and play because your team is counting on you and you signed up for this, or stepping back and realizing you're only 4 after all, it's supposed to be fun, and you shouldn't be pushed into activities that you don't really want to do.

In about one more month, you'll be starting Kindergarten, and rightly or wrongly, Daddy and I have been pinning a lot to this important start date. "We'll pour your juice this time, but when you're in Kindergarten, you really need to start doing that yourself." "Kindergarteners need to keep up with their own toys." "No, I don't know where your shoes are. You need to look for them yourself. You're almost in Kindergarten, you know." And the biggest, most difficult one of all, "Ok, you can fall asleep in our bed today, but when you're in Kindergarten, you'll need to sleep by yourself in your room in your bed, like a big boy."

A couple of nights ago I'd finally had it. Five years of you either falling asleep with Grace and then coming in our bed, or insisting that you sleep with us from the get-go came to a sudden halt. And the truth is, if I had really wanted those sleeping arrangements to end, I would have worked on it long ago. Daddy and Mommy did things by the book the first time around, with Grace. By the time she was four months old, we let her cry it out in her crib and she was completely Ferberized in a matter of days. I was prematurely smug at our sleep training success and secretly looked down on my friends who regularly allowed their kids in bed with them past a certain age. They weren't trying hard enough, they weren't strong enough and disciplined enough, they were letting the kids make the decisions. Then you came along.

You came along on this day five years ago, only five months after your Grandmama died. I was dealing with those emotional wounds as well as the difficulties of caring for you and Grace while the incision on my belly healed. It did heal and we were managing as a family of four. Exhausted and desperate for sleep, after I nursed you in the middle of the nights, Daddy often took you out and slept with you where he could, on the floor beside you, sometimes with you even crawling on his back and sleeping for hours. He was trying to help me get the rest I needed. You were a different baby than Grace and we did what we had to do to get by.

We tried to Ferber you but maybe we didn't try hard enough. You definitely cried much harder and much longer than Grace ever did. The biggest difference though, is that you had to be nestled beside Daddy and me when you slept; you had to be cuddled, you had to be touching us. You loved that feeling and the truth is, we did too. I haven't outgrown that feeling five years later. It's still one of the greatest pleasures in life to wake up beside you with your increasingly longer arms and legs wrapped around mine in a tender embrace.

Just like you said you were scared going out on the baseball field alone, you said you were scared to sleep in your room alone. We talked about it for awhile and I asked you what exactly you were scared about. You then said you weren't exactly scared as much as you were lonely. I know, honey, but the time has come that you need to summon all of your newfound skills, independence, and courage and apply them to your sleep habits. Trust me, you'll be happier in the long run. We all will be.

And all along the way, I'll be on the sideline cheering you on, helping you figure out how to master this new big scary thing the best way I can. It's a wonderful thing being your mom and helping you figure out the world. And you know what? You're helping me figure things out too.

Love,
Mommy

David's Latest

Untitled from David Cooley on Vimeo.

Saturday Stuff

I love this shot of my family that I took today. Johnny looking tough, David looking handsome, and Grace doing her own thing. I've gotten over my traumatic summer school experience and am really enjoying the rest of my summer. Saturdays are spent going to birthday parties and the pool and I've found that I'm cooking more lately. I made chocolate chip cookies with the kids today, and I just finished cooking "the hell out" of a portion of ham that we'll eat tomorrow with homemade potato salad and squash casserole. I know my ham won't taste like my Aunt Sadie's, but her way of cooking all the water out of it (discovered accidentally) is the only way I'll eat ham anymore.

I do have adrenal fatigue and 10 mg of hydrocortisone daily hasn't seemed to boost my energy yet but I keep trying. Our schedules are going to change radically in the fall with Grace and Johnny both in school, me in class on Fridays plus a 12-hour internship plus still working, plus David's schedule. I recently worked out a 24-hour per week work schedule starting in Sept. that will be spread over 4 days (plus the internship, plus the classes). There really won't be much room in our lives not to be on a consistent, regular, schedule. David working late on Mondays while I hang with the kids. Yoga on Tuesdays. Family dinners and no other activities on Wed. Wild card Thursdays with the combination of kids' choir, Weaver Street after hours, me going to yoga and sometimes a work meeting. When school starts I'll check out and print out reading materials on the weekends and read for a couple of hours every evening. I'm committed to not staying up past 11:00 PM, because I need my eight hours of sleep each night. I'm also committed to being home during the bedtime routine as many nights as possible during the week and if I have engagements with friends, I either need to be home by 7:30 PM or go out (on Fridays and Saturdays) after 9:00 PM.

The next two years will be busier than ever with me finishing up my Master's requirements. I may not ever go back to working full-time or even more than 24 hours a week while the kids are in school because it's important for me to be involved with them and their after-school activities as we enter the school years full on. Certain aspects of family life are really important to me like eating together as a family as many nights a week as possible, no tv after a certain hour and adhering (even if very minutely at first) to a responsibility chart. We've started this somewhat complicated "good-chip" weekly chart whereby the kids have 35 "good-chips" at the start of the week and each time they do something wrong in one of 5 areas, they lose that chip for that day. At the end of the week, we count up how many good chips they have left and based on that number they get to pick a prize. 30-35 chips allows you to pick from the best prize box, 20-29, the next best, and 0-19 the least desirable. Kind of like a Chuck-E-Cheeses system. I always feel sorry for my kids who after getting what they think is a respectable 45 tickets at the end of a party only qualify for one lousy tootsie roll. We're two weeks into the system and it's somewhat working. David even gets prizes based on how well he adheres to the system.

Speaking of David, he really knows how to push my buttons. I had a load of professional clothes that needed to be dry-cleaned (2 pant suits, one dress suit, another dress, 3 pairs of slacks) and they ended up in the back of his car last weekend. We never got around to dropping them off at the cleaner's so all week he's been driving around with hundreds of dollars worth of my business clothes in his car. Finally, yesterday he reported to me that I'd be happy that he finally got around to taking my clothes in the back of his car to the Thrift Shop. He had me for a minute. Just like he had me a few weeks ago when I was waiting on him and the kids to meet me at the beach. What is supposed to be about a three-hour drive was taking more like 4, 5, almost 6 hours ,and about an hour after I figured they should have been there I texted him to ask him where they were. When he replied "50 miles away at a Denny's waiting on a coke," I was disappointed and surprised, but not as surprised as I was when he called 10 minutes later from the hotel parking lot asking me what room I was in.

David's ability to find ways to make me laugh at every-day situations that I find stressful actually make for a less stressful life.

July 25

Today is my mom's birthday, and we used to go camping to celebrate her birthday. I've been really wanting to go camping (or at least to the mountains) lately, so today I'm going to reminisce about the good ol' camping trip days.

I grew up going camping with my family, even before we moved to NC. We had one of those big, army-green, industrial-strength canvas tents that all five of us slept in. That was a long time ago, when Kate was just a baby, when my mom would string up the hammock and place Baby Kate on her chest and rock away the day. When we moved to Boone we took at least one family camping trip to Huntington Beach, SC (with Western Otto and co.), but the trips I'm most fond of are the ones that occurred in my twenties...where Kate, David and I would escape the oppressive Chapel Hill heat and drive west, sometimes to Price Park between Boone and Blowing Rock, sometimes to Stone Mountain or Daughton Park near Sparta, NC, a couple of times up to the breahtaking Grayson Highlands in Virginia.

My mom would always get there first and scope out and claim the best camp sites. Otto would often pitch his tent next, and sometimes the two of them would enjoy a full 24-hours of quiet camping time before us young folk arrived. These were weekend, car-camping trips...no backpacking, no-heavy duty hiking miles in the woods before you found your site, always a bathroom with running water, sometimes a hot shower, sometimes not. It got to be where planning and looking forward to the weekend trip was a major part of the fun of it. Over the years my mom acquired big Rubbermaid storage bins and began organizing the camp gear according to her lists that included the essentials: pots, pans, stove, propane, plates, bowls, forks, spoons, paper towels, toilet paper, flashlight, tablecloth, trashbags, firewood, matches, poncho, camp chairs, food, rain tarp, beer, etc. Despite the well-intentioned lists and supposedly improved organization system each time we went, without fail, my mom always forgot something. Sometimes it was negligent, like the salt and pepper shakers, but sometimes it was a bigger deal. Like the time she forgot to pack her tent on our group camping trip in Colorado. Otto came to the rescue with his covered pick-up truck with a twin mattress in the back. Now that's roughing it.

I always loved arriving to the camp sites after my mom and Otto had already set up shop. It was like stepping into nature's living room with so many comforts and things to do and things to eat and drink, I often didn't know where to start. Did I want a cold beer or a glass of lemonade? Did I want to sit and read the Spectator or eat a cookie? Did I want to go on a hike or lie in the hammock? If we showed up at lunchtime, we had pimento cheese sandwiches, fruit, chips, cookies, etc. We'd pop up our dome tents (David and me in one, Kate and my mom in one, Otto in one) as fast as we could so the relaxing could begin. Many times it was just the five of us, but sometimes there would be others. We were careful and discerning about who we invited as we had a good vibe going and didn't want any incompatible personalities tipping the mood south. We almost always went on a hike or some type of walk in the afternoon and made it back in the early evening to snack and begin thinking about supper.

A good deal of time and energy was spent on what we were going to eat, preparing what we were going to eat, and then eating what we were going to eat. The food was so good. If it was a two-night trip, Friday night's supper was my mom's black bean chili chowder over brown rice with cheddar cheese and sour cream. Saturday's supper was something I looked forward to all year long, Otto's delectable pine nut pesto pasta. I wish I had some right now. The propane-powered double-burner camp stove allowed us to boil water for the rice and pasta in the evenings and to brew coffee and fry turkey sausage in the mornings. We cooked on the stove, but we gathered by the fire. Waiting for sundown, getting the fire going, sitting around the fire with a tasty drink and a satisfied belly was my favorite part. It's when the stories and the music started. The air was cool and we put on our jeans, flannel shirts, hooded sweatshirts and hiking boots. There were no cell phones to talk on or text on. No one had computers and this was before email, the internet, Blogger, MySpace, Facebook, and Twitter. This was also before we had kids. There was no where else we had to be or would rather be. There was nothing else we had to do other than sit, relax, and talk. My mom and Otto told stories of the past, funny stories, strange stories, sad stories. Stories that maybe we'd heard a hundred times and could hear a hundred more. When we got tired of talking and laughing, Otto played his guitar and sang some songs. It was wonderful. We could stay up late or turn in early. Whatever was our pleasure. We usually all went to bed early, after the beer and whiskey were gone, after the last fire log was stoked. But early to bed meant early to rise.

Whomever peeped first rekindled the fire and got the coffee water started. There's just nothing in the world like waking up (hopefully from a restful sleep), putting your layers back on and stepping out into the crisp mountain morning air. There's one particular trip that I'll never forget. It was the five of us plus Walter and his son. One evening we listened to a family play some music together at the common area and then went to a grassy field to stargaze. Later that night (after A got pretty badly burned...turned out ok, but not a good thing at the time) as we were all settled into our respective tents it began to rain. And it rained hard. (Not as hard as the last time we all tried to camp together...but that's a different story). It rained and rained and rained and then rained some more. Rain can truly ruin a camping trip, but not this time. Our tents were up and dry, we were cozy inside, and there was nothing to do except to listen, think, and drift off to sleep. It's one of my favorite memories of all time.

As I sit in my kitchen looking around at everything I need to clean, straighten, and put away, I long for a date with the simple life. Nature's living room full of trees and leaves instead of pictures that need to be dusted and floors that need to be swept. Maybe the allure, though, is that a weekend away from the trappings of plugged-in life is sweeter because it IS different and calm and special and relaxing and not the norm. Whatever it is, I wish I were there now.

Meaningful Music

Last Thursday when Kate called and asked me what I was doing I told her that I was going to hear Grunt's daughter's fiance play the early show at the Cave. Kate relayed that to my dad, who was standing nearby, but he instead heard that Beyonce was playing at the Cave. He later told me that he thought about it for a second, kind of scratched his head and thought, wow, the Cave is really going downhill if they're booking acts like Beyonce. (It didn't seem to cross his mind that maybe it was Beyonce's fall from grace to accept gigs at the Cave). Ah, to live the muddled life of an aging drummer who refuses to wear hearing aids. It must be a strange and confusing existence.

Andy Brasher (Grunt's daughter's fiance) is who I heard and I can honestly say it in no way resembled a show that Beyonce would likely put on. After learning about the show via e-mail from Western Otto out in CO, I forwarded a loose invite to about 15 people, hoping to drum up a respectable local listening audience for our friends from Kentucky. Actually, I had never met Brasher and the last (fuzzy) memory I have of Grunt's daughter Ginny involves some presents, some cake and a girl turning ten. She's in her thirties now. Two of my friends slightly rearranged their dinner plans across the street to make it for about half of Brasher's set. That meant a lot to me, and it must have meant a lot to Andy and Ginny because they made up 2/3 of the respectable local listening audience. So he sang for the three of us (plus Ginny who's along for the tour) big deal. He sang with as much heart, soul, intensity and integrity as he would have had he been singing to a sold-out arena, a large audience that is more common for performers such as, say, Beyonce. Thank goodness it wasn't a sold-out arena, though., If it had been, I wouldn't have had the chance to talk with Ginny, a delightful, open, down-to-earth, lovely young woman with many exciting ventures awaiting her. Our fathers are long-time friends, and through that bond and those ties alone, we understood each other on an unspoken level before we even said hello.

My dad has a circle of friends (they're my mom's friends too) either living in KY, or stemming from KY, that strangely I'm keeping up with. Used to be, these were just grown ups who my parents were friends with, people we saw a lot during holidays and sometimes went on beach camping trips with, but we were kids and they were grown ups. They didn't want us urchins to be hanging around their heels when they were playing cards, and we didn't really want them paying too much attention to us while we were paying attention to the opposite sex. Now things are different. I consider Ginny's dad a real friend...someone who knows where I came from and what I've dealt with but has encouraging words to say to me about the present and even the future.

My mom was very close to Western Otto. When she died, W.O. didn't have a reliable way to drive all the way from CO to Owensboro, KY for her Memorial Service. His buddy in CO (who had met my mom but wasn't a long-time friend) knew how close W.O. and my mom were and said that he would drive him to the service because she was his best friend. Otto knew my mom had a lot of friends (and a lot of male friends in addition to female friends) and figured for sure he probably wasn't my mom's best friend. But when he thought about it, he couldn't think of anyone that was a better friend than my mom, so, yeah, that would make her his best friend. I'll never forget that he made the effort and was there for her Memorial Service.

For the last 5 years, W.O. and I have been communicating over the internet with the lone phone conversation and rained out camping trip sprinkled in. He sends me books, CDs and suggests movies I should watch. He unobtrusively suggests ways I could improve my writing and without fail reminds me to take care of myself and make Bird "numero uno." One time David asked me if I was "Toot" (my mom's nickname) to Otto; in other words am I her replacement to him now that she's gone? I don't think so at all. We have a friendship in our own right that continues to grow and never fails to surprise, amuse and nourish me. I think a lot about the phenomenon of being friends--real friends--with my parents' friends. Does it say more about the kind of people they are or the kind of person I am, or is that even relevant? I try to think who of my friends might Grace and Johnny be e-mailing 30 years from now...perhaps even after I'm gone? I can't even imagine. But I hope it happens.

It's cool to have these deep KY familial and friend connections that change and deepen the older I get and that exist despite how far and scattered we become. I immediately felt close to home listening to Andy Brasher sing with his raw, acoustic, southern-style talent. He has his sights set on Nashville, and I think he'll get there. Maybe he'll even fill arenas and out-sell Beyonce. Until then, the Cave is always open, if Otto suggests I go, I'll be there, and you and your family have a friend in Chapel Hill.

Dana Carvey Makes Me Laugh

Dancing Fools

This videopost is a day late and a dollar short (it was taken over a year ago), but I still think it's worth sharing.

Unexpected Day

When I left for yoga today at 11:30 AM in my long black pants, red tank top and un-made-up face, I had no idea I'd be out all day, not to return until around 9:00 PM. It's good to live life unstructured enough to be able to accept social offers on a whim even though they weren't in the day's plans, especially in the summer.

We slept in and decided not to go to church. It was nice to be able to lie around in bed and be with the kids as they flowed in and out of my room asking me or showing me something. I got to physically stay in bed until I was ready to get out. As we were thinking of the day ahead, it was such a nice and rare feeling to not have anything we had to do today. Church would have been nice, but there's always next week. My kids were happy to be able to skip. David and I often start the weekend off or a weekend day off making sure we understand what the other one really wants to get done so we arrange our individual and family schedules accordingly. Of highest import to me was going to a yoga class and to David was getting some late afternoon work done. When I got the call from my friend GT suggesting we catch a noon yoga class followed by homemade granola, topped with fresh blueberries and peaches, and delicious, bold, French-pressed coffee, the day ahead began to take shape. I'd go to yoga while David hung out with the kids, we'd meet up mid-day for "whole-family" time, then I'd be with the kids while David did his work. That's pretty much what happened with a few unexpected twists and turns that lazy Sundays are all about.

The yoga class was great, taught by one of my favorite instructors, also a friend of GT's. He invited her over for post-class granola too so the three of us (plus his roommate) leisurely hung out while peaches were sliced, coffee was prepared and heaping bowls of granola were assembled. I have a standing telephone date with my dad every Sunday at 2:00 PM, and at 1:50 PM it was clear I'd still be enjoying my coffee with my friends for at least ten more minutes. I quickly called my dad and told him I'd call him at 2:30 PM. Even though I'd been there for over an hour, I still felt like I was eating and running when I hopped up at 2:30 PM to tell my unmarried, and childless friends I had to scoot. For all I know, they sat for another hour knowing too that they had nowhere that they had to go and nothing else today that they had to do.

I phoned my dad and began driving home. I went a back way and ended up in our friend's neighborhood where David and the kids and some other friends had gathered poolside for some swimming, sunning, and snacking. I just figured I wouldn't get in the water because I didn't have a bathing suit with me, but a couple of minutes in the hot sun watching my kids splash around, looking so refreshed, made me think it would be worth it to drive home to get my suit. Everyone talked me out of it and the next thing I knew, my friend who were were visiting (whose wife and kids are away for two weeks) had pieced together a swim top and unmatching exercise shorts that I borrowed. I knew I'd look about as glamorous as a tennis shoe beside a stiletto next to our size 0, olive-skinned Venezuelan friends, but I didn't care. Who was I trying to impress? When you're that hot and all you want to do is jump in the water and play with your kids, does it really matter what you look like? We swam, we nibbled, we drank, and it wasn't until around 4:30 PM that we realized our friend was expecting dinner guests at about 6:00 PM.

He didn't want us to go, and we didn't want to impose. David made it clear that he wouldn't be staying for dinner but the rest of us tried to tease out what to do: break the party up and each go our own ways, or pump the party up by cooking up enough pasta for all? You've heard the saying, "Mi casa es su casa." Well that's always how the Venezuelans treat us, so I was glad the overall mood was to survey what we had on hand, cook up what we could, and run out for anything we needed more of. I'm proud to say that before the dinner guests arrived, we all pitched in by either chopping the salad, sauteing the veggies, heating up meatballs, mixing up sauce, boiling the pasta, keeping the kids out of trouble, pouring the wine, and instead of one family man at home alone serving dinner to a senior couple on a summer Sunday evening, it turned into one family man, four very generous and capable-in-the-kitchen Venezuelan women, my two kids and me (all still looking like wet rats straight from the pool), working together to create a pleasant dining experience for the guests as well as ourselves.

All of a sudden we all became part of the family, at home in our friend's home, trying to put on a successful dinner with an older couple most of us didn't know at all. Some of us were better at making small talk with people we've never met. Others were happy to be assigned the role of watching over my kids, even if it meant eating their meals outside on the front step with their plate on their lap, as they supervised Johnny riding bikes and Grace asking lots of questions. We tried to do things right and sighed with relief when it was just the "family" again, able to talk and joke around not confined by the formalities of having company. It ended up being a wonderful meal and lovely day, and as I sit here and type this at 11:00 PM, I'm still in my yoga clothes, the outfit I left in almost twelve hours ago. I didn't know my day was going to unfold as it did, but I'm grateful that I didn't have a school assignment or essential errands that needed running, and that I could make the decision to hang out and yes eat formerly forbidden foods (like doritos and dessert...and even pasta!) with my family and friends that are so dear they feel more like family every day. I'm often sad and disappointed that David and I don't have family in town to hang out with and share Sunday meals with. It was nice to find out today that we, in fact, do.

Shoulda, Coulda, Woulda

Shoulda posted by now about our wonderful, annual 4th of July weekend in KY where the amount of fun (and good food) we have is worth the 12-hour drive there and back.

Coulda posted about that trip this morning as I'm back from a dr. appointment waiting on a lunch date but instead have gotten engulfed in reading "The Rise and Fall of Dr. Mom" written by a former parent at SFFA.

Would post this afternoon after my lunch date meeting, but I'll be on parent-duty with Johnny recovering from yesterday's fever and vomiting.

Now We Wait and See

I had a brain MRI yesterday morning at UNC Hospitals and the most jarring thing about it was when it was over. All the yoga I've been doing lately prepared me to lie there in stillness and in peace for what felt like a very loud (but still relaxing) twenty-five minute shavasana. The jack-hammer drills and siren-like beeps did not bother me, especially with my ear plugs in to take off the edge. I found it strangely relaxing and was jolted back to consciousness only when it was over and I was slid back into bright lights and real life. Now we just just wait. I either have lesions on my pituitary gland or I don't. Like funnyman Dave Barry recently wrote in a column about getting a colonoscopy:

Which brings us to you, Mr. or Mrs. or Miss or Ms. Over-50-And-Hasn't-Had-a-Colonoscopy. Here's the deal: You either have colorectal cancer, or you don't. If you do, a colonoscopy will enable doctors to find it and do something about it. And if you don't have cancer, believe me, it's very reassuring to know you don't. There is no sane reason for you not to have it done.

That's exactly how I felt about getting my MRI yesterday (and my upcoming adrenal-gland ultrasound on Monday). Something is either fundamentally wrong with the functioning of my endocrine glands or it isn't. I need to know one way or another. If there's something on them that shouldn't be there, I need to know now to deal with it. If they pass a clean bill of health, then I need to move on, start coping with my symptoms differently and make that appointment with my psychiatrist that I'm sure some think is long overdue.

There's a fine line between "It's all in your head, Sarah" and "HELP ME! IT'S ALL IN MY HEAD!" Hopefully that line will become clearer within about a week.

Mother's Day Revisited

Here are a few more shots from our Mother's Day photo shoot with the talented Genevieve Fridley. These pics give you a taste of Chatham County, specifically Bynum, NC.