Bridesmom or Birdsmom??

Summer is supposed to be a time when teachers can relax and recharge to prepare for the challenges of the coming school year. But summer brings other challenges and worries for me. Aside from teaching swim lessons, visiting colleges and working on wedding tasks,there is the stress and pressure that comes with parenting issues - not of my own kids, but of the baby birds that hatch on our premises.
For some reason I am unable to merely notice birds nesting, and let them be. No, I am compelled to become a part of the process to ensure their success.
Last summer I noticed a pair of wrens building a nest in one of our flower boxes that was on the deck railing. The nest was very well hidden as at that time,pre-drought, I had actually planted flowers in the window-box. As soon I "noticed" (which involved sticking my finger in the nest to press the entrance open - wren nest openings are angled sideways) eggs in the nest I began to worry. We have an obnoxious squirrel gang that considers our deck their turf. Usually we encourage our dog Tucker to scare them away, but I was afraid that having a dog hurling his body against the glass door and barking maniacally would not be conducive the atmosphere needed for birds to feel safe when sitting on the nest. I tried blocking the ends of the flower boxes by placing chairs on the railing, backs against the ends of the window box,and went inside to watch. The squirrels, after rolling with laughter at my inept attempt to block their entrance simply climbed up to the window box from below. I heard the wrens squawking their alarm and I was able to get out there and scare the squirrels away before it was too late. Surveying the deck I decided the only way I was going to be able to get any rest for the next few weeks would be to remove all the furniture from the deck, place the grill in the center and move the window box to the top of the grill where the squirrels couldn't reach it. My husband came home to find all the chairs and tables moved into the yard and he rolled his eyes but knew better than to argue. Jonathan laughed at me, but I thought that having the deck and grill off limits for a few weeks of summer was a small price to pay for the safety of the wrens and their potential offspring. I sat inside to watch and was pleased to note that the squirrels really were thwarted from reaching the flower-box, and that the parent birds seemed downright grateful that I had moved their nesting site. Each day I watered the plants, being careful to avoid watering the nest, and kept tabs on the 4 eggs. I actually relaxed a bit thinking the danger was past. And it was, at least from the squirrels.
Finally a day came when the eggs were replaced with the tiniest, most helpless looking bald baby birds I had ever seen. 4 hours later a ferocious thunderstorm struck. Panic set in as I feared the torrential downpour would swamp the flowerbox and drown the helpless nestlings. With my son and Brad arguing that I was interfering with nature, (I don't buy that "let nature take it's course" nonsense. If things were going to be 100% natural, birds wouldn't have to deal with things like people's decks which are accessible to squirrels)I nevertheless searched the depths of our coat closet and found an umbrella, which I was able to prop up over the nest. Now I could relax, a bit. Though not enough to sleep well that night. The rain continued and I found myself tiptoeing out several times to make sure the umbrella hadn't blown away. The next morning I removed the umbrella and was relieved to see that the babies were okay. The parents were diligent in their efforts to keep the babies fed and they grew quickly and successfully fledged. I felt gratified and relieved that it had turned out so well, and decided that though the parents had done a fair share of the work, I deserved some credit for the success also. And
that was just the beginning of my bird co-parenting experiences.

Can I Get A Little Support Here Please?

We have been taking a bit of a break from wedding planning for the past few weeks. I am so relieved because it is such an emotionally draining way to spend the weekend. Either we would find a place that I would think was very appropriate and nice (not to mention reasonably priced) and Kristen would totally diss it, or she would fall in love with a place and John and I would have to crush her dreams by telling her that yes, spending 25,000 dollars on a reception is a just a tiny little bit out of our price range. Right now we are hoping that maybe Duke Gardens will work out, unless we get up the courage to search out a few more spots. But I have lost my focus on finding a place as it has become clear to me while in engaged on a search of my own that I may not even be able to attend the wedding. I am referring to my search for a new bra. Every day for months now I have had to spend precious time in the mornings burrowing madly into the depths of my underwear drawer hoping that somehow while I was sleeping a bra that: A)fits me, B)is comfortable, and C)isn't completely worn out, would magically appear. So I began the search while Christmas shopping when I noticed that there was a wire poking me under the arm. Confident that I could quickly purchase a new bra of the same style and size I had been so overjoyed to have discovered several years ago, I breezed into the Belks lingerie department. But alas the style I am searching for is nowhere to be seen. Overwhelmed by the vast array of bra displays stretching from floor to ceiling along 3 walls (Minimizer? Deep V? Convertable? Padded? Thick Strap?? Quilted?? Flexi-Stretch??? Multi-Lingual??? Ok, so I made that last one up, but judging by the amount of bra styles available I wouldn't be surprised if it really did exist), I decided that I didn't have time to find gifts for everyone else I was shopping for and find the bra I was looking for in the same day. Nobly I decided that the Christmas gifts were a higher priority than the state of my bust. So fast forward to January. While waiting for Caitlin to spend some of her gift cards I decided to delve back into the lingerie department and find my bras. So I found the brand and the fabric, but in dismay could not find the right style. It never fails, I find something I really like and the stores stop carrying it. With a feeling akin to doom I select 6 bras of various sizes and styles and make my way into the changing room. Well something malevolent is obviously going on in the bra industry because NONE of them fit!!! The shoulder straps are too short, my breasts are falling out of the tops, and there is NO WAY I am a bigger size. I mean, we're already talking about DD, and I am just not THAT big!!! In disgust I leave the bras in a heap on a chair and stomp angrily back out to the displays only to have Caitlin phone me that she is done and can we please hurry home as she is hungry. Gladly I leave the bras behind and head to the car positve that I can feel the old bra I am wearing disintegrating as I go. For the next few weeks, unwilling to face the fact that I may be a different size after all I find myself wearing old sport bras, the uncomfortable bra that rubs against my ribcage, the bra that is too small and digs into my back and the one that feels like I am not wearing a bra - and not in a good way. I am also painfully (and I mean that literally) aware that unless I find a bra that fits, there is no way I will be able to even attempt to shop for a dress that I could wear to the wedding.
Then while at the mall one more time I decide to give it one last try. Now that the spring fashions will have come in maybe the right bra will be in stock. Or maybe I have somehow unaccountably shrunk, or maybe the labels were all wrong last time. I try to be optimistic as I pick out 4 that are close to the style I like (which still isn't available). But this time it is worse. Even with a bigger band size it is like trying to stuff a pillow into a wine glass. I don't know, is it my age?? Does everything change when you are 48 and a half?? I give up, and leave the bra aisles for the last time. I am despairing now, thinking that the only way I will be able to dress properly for the wedding will involve duct tape.
Bit then while thinking about writing this blog I have an idea - look for the bra online!!!! (Duh!) I type in "Champion Everyday Double-Dri" and voila! Not only do I find quite a few options, but they are even ON SALE!!! Oh happy day! Or as my mom says, "oh joy unbounded!" I quickly order 2 in my same old size, and they arrive 4 days later . . . and they FIT! Double D Joy Unbounded!! I am so happy to feel better and look better, the whole world looks brighter with the right bra.
Now I can hold my head (and my chest) up high again! And it feels so good to finally have some good bras that I have almost forgotten about my biggest shopping fear - trying to find a dress for me to wear at Kristen's wedding. But surely it can't be any harder than trying to find the bra . . . . can it??

Happy Half-Birthday to Me!

Yesterday was my half birthday. I am pretty certain that most adults don't think about their half birthdays, or even realize on a particular day that it is their half birthday. But of course, I am not most adults! Working with a class of 5 year olds year after year does tend to make me more aware of these things. Although to be honest when I arrived at work yesterday I had not yet realized it was my own half birthday until I was checking our calendar and saw that it was Nicholas' half birthday, and since I remembered that Nicholas and I both share the same summer birthday, I realized with a jolt that that meant we share the same half birthday as well. As I prepared the sticker and card for Nicholas I wondered if the parents would have their children make cards for me the way they had for my co-teacher on her birthday last month. (At our school if you have a birthday in the summer we celebrate your half birthday instead). Sure enough the kids hopped out of their cars with a variety of homemade cards. I was touched to receive the drawings of trucks ("I know bulldozers are your favorite" one little boy told me confidently though I have no recollection of ever mentioning a favorite truck-) cut out shapes, hearts, paintings, even a penguin bottle cap card, and an origami card containing a small chocolate bar! But for the first time since I turned 30, I felt a stirring of consternation about the passage of another year. Or half year, whatever. I know 48 1/2 is not a milestone birthdate, and yet I cannot describe the feeling as other than panic and increduality at the realization that in half a year I will be 49, which in and of itself is not so bad, but it means that in a mere 11 and a half years I will be . . . . .I don't even think I can write it and have it relate to myself . . . . 60!!!
Skip right over 50, that doesn't worry me a bit. I have friends and a sister who make 50 look totally appealing. They are wise and experienced, but not old. But 60, there is no denying, 60 means you are getting old. Now I can totally see myself still teaching maybe even in my current job in 12 years, but I cannot see that it means I will be doing it when I am 60! I started at this school 11 years ago when I was in my 30's! And I swear I haven't aged a bit. Have I??? It feels like I am somehow catching up to my mother's age! I know I should dwell on the positive aspects like, well once I know what they are I will dwell on them. In the meantime I better savor every day for the second half of this year, and maybe no one, least of all me myself will even notice that in half a year I will be turning, gulp, 49!
'

A Convenient Theory

Ahhh, February. One of the most challenging months of the year, at least for me. Busy at work with multiple celebrations - Valentine's Day, Chinese New Year's, the 100th day of school and half birthday celebrations for all the kids with August birthdays, of which we have 7 this year, busy with the end of Caitlin's school basketball season, and this year busy with my mom recovering from hip replacement surgery (she is doing well, the PT's have described her progress as "stellar". Usually John and I (well mosty John) get all our tax stuff organized and done.
But even beyond that, February provides some personal challenges for me. It is a month of perverse timing. A month when the glow of last summer's tan has long since flaked off, and hair is blah and static-y. A month where because of the hours spent sitting on the bleacher's at Caitlin's games, or on the couch watching the Carolina games instead of in the gym, my muscle tone is the lowest of the year. It never fails that just when I have decided that it really is time to get exercise back into a routine, that maybe now is the time to actually open the book about the South Beach diet, the Girl Scout cookies arrive. All-Abouts, Trefoils, Samoas ---- and Thin Mints are delivered and their bright array of colorful boxes beckon to me from my counter. It seemed like a such a good idea when I ordered them back in January. Something to look forward after the letdown of after-Christmas, something to brighten midwinter blues. I try not to look but I can't help taking a quick peek at the nutrition labels. Surely they are wrong - there is no way that 2 little Samoa's can contain 8 grams of fat! For Pete's sake, they even have a hole in the middle. It must be a typo, my mind hungrily rationalizes. But the thin mints are my real weakness. And at least with the thin mints you can have 4 and it is only 7 grams of fat. So, if I leave the Samoa's for Caitlin (who in a disgusting show of self-discipline will have only one each day with her lunch) I will be making the healthier choice of just binging on the lower fat thin mints. I am being so good! Of course I have bought more boxes of thin mints, but I have a theory. A convenient theory, but a theory nevertheless. If you eat enough thin mints at one sitting you don't really absorb all of the grams of fat. They max out after, say, 8 cookies. Kind of like vitamin C. You can take a ton of it but your body only uses a certain amount and the rest is flushed harmlessly out of your system. And it really does seem like the mints are conveniently packaged in single-serving wrappers. Two servings to a box. (I didn't peek long enough to see that the label claims there are 9 servings in a box). So I happily sit down with my roll of thin mints and a glass of milk to look at the mail. And it never fails. There, staring up at me with my winter-dull hair and pasty skin speckled with cookie crumbs, will be some scantily clad waif of a model with an exotic name like Yamilla or Daniela or Fernanda wearing a piece of yarn with a button or two "covering" strategic areas of their golden nubile bodies, on the cover of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition. This is usually disturbing enough to send me to the kitchen to fetch another roll of thin mints. But now I will feel guilty about it. In a quest to prevent John from seeing the magazine (after all, I don't want him to realize there is a little bit of a schism between how I look and how those models look!) I have been known to rip off the cover,or hide the magazine at least until I can apply some self-tanner. But the best solution I ever had to deal with it was to past a photo of myself wearing a bikini and taken on the last day of a college trip to St. Thomas, over the girl on the cover. I don't know if John noticed, but it made me feel better. And now that I am a bit more, shall we say mature, I barely even notice when the magazine arrives. And I don't feel as guilty about enjoying the Thin Mints. Another theory I have is that the faster you finish off the boxes the less impact they will have on your body. In fact, I think they are good for my mental health. My brain at least gets a good workout from thinking up all the ways to rationalize eating a couple of boxes of thin mints, and maybe even a samoa or two. Still, this year I think I will let John get the mail, and I will eat my cookies in front of a good book.

Not bench press part 2

I am such a bad mom, or at least a bad bride's mom! Last weekend when I was totally free Kristen didn't even come home. This weekend she wants to go and look at more places for receptions and of course I am going to do it, but I would rather stay home and watch the Carolina women's basketball game. There aren't that many of the women's games that get televised, and this is a big one. They are playing against Maryland. This will be a tough physical game that, if it is anything like the last few times these two teams have been matched up has the possibility to get nasty. I am sure it will be very exciting. And coming off of a narrow loss to the #1 CT Huskies, I think Carolina is going to be out to prove themselves with some outstanding play. Well I am trying to be a good mom and go out looking with Kristen and DVR-ing the game, but inside I know I am a bad bride's mom who would rather be watching the game!
But maybe I can call myself a good mom since I AM going to go out looking with Kristen instead of staying home and watching it. I guess I just feel that a really good mom would WANT to go and look at these places, not just do it anyways. Why don't I want to go and look? Maybe because the majority of the places are going to be too expensive to really consider? Or because I disagree with Kristen's ideas about what is important about a wedding? Even though I really think it is a good thing that Kristen and Brad are not getting married for another year and half part of me wishes it was sooner than that so I wouldn't have all this wedding stuff going on for so long. I am so not an event kind of person! Let's face it - not only would I rather watch basketball than check out reception sites but I would also rather get my teeth cleaned, organize my closet, or pick fleas off the dog. But it is important to Kristen, and Kristen is my daughter so I am going to just suck it up and try to do it right. And you all out there who know me, please feel free to remind me that I said that, will you?

Bench Press, Anyone? part one

It has now been nearly 4 weeks since the big engagement. At this point I feel that nearly every aspect of the wedding has been discussed in some form or another. We have checked out a few places for a reception, we have considered the size of the guest list (probably unrealistically short) we have argued about where to have a ceremony, we have gotten some clues on places to get a good deal on wedding dresses, we have talked about rings, flowers, music, food, photos, colors, etc. But there is one thing that I have been carefully avoiding talking about, or even thinking about, but it has crept into the corner of my mind, then I push it out but it sticks to the edges. It seems that there is this expectation that I should at least consider losing a few pounds before the whole event is recorded for all of posterity on film or video or whatever the latest costly technology is. Not that Kristen has said a word, or John, or anyone else, not even my mother. If I am honest I guess I would have to say that this expectation is coming from somewhere in me. I don't know why. Does anyone really notice the bride's mother? I think this particular idea has come to me from 2 places. One is thinking about photographers and photos, because everytime I see myself in a photo I feel like I am looking at an imposter. I honestly don't feel like I look that big in a mirror. Never mind that the scale backs up the photographic evidence. The idea of being photographed standing next to teeny-tiny Kristen is frightening.

The other thing is that I know that I do not have the best eating or exercise habits. In the past the best way to control my weight has been by exercising. In college I used to run and exercise enough that I could eat whatever I wanted. In fact, when John and I went to one of those engaged encounter weekends we had to answer a question about what we admired most about each other, and John said he admired how much I could eat without gaining weight! But somewhere along the last 25 years I have lost my will to exercise enough. It makes me sad, really, because I used to really love to work out. Even after I had all 3 of my kids I used to go to the gym about 4 or 5 days a week, plus run, ski, and hike (and swim in the summer). I think a big part of it was that it was my main source of socializing during those years when I worked at home taking care of kids. There were years where a few of my friends and I all skied together in a program called "women on Wed." We would have a group lesson in the morning for a couple of hours and then after lunch just ski. This was at a newly reopened and relatively unknown ski area and was never crowded. We were free to yodel or do other goofy things and it was a blast. There were a couple of summers that John and I had a lot of fun playing in the park and rec tennis groups. And I remember actually looking forward to going to the aerobics classes at the one gym in town,the Fitness Depot (yes it was really next to a train station).
Three or four of my good friends and I used to go pretty regularly to some of the step classes, as well as using the stair-climbers and weights. We dubbed ourselves "moms of steel" and had a great time working out together. Sue was a single mom and very strong and tough and had a wicked sense of humor. Judy was an obsessive biker and cross country skier and was very slim. She was the only one of us whoever wore the thong leotard, insisting it was more comfortable because she had a flat butt. Mary was a hoot, who no matter what she was doing always had visable cleavage. On purpose. She actually bought a sports push-up bra - and wore it to work out in! The gym membership was small enough that there usually weren't more than 10 other people there at the same time we were there, so we could be loud and silly together. It could be literally 10 below zero and we would still be hopping out of our cars in our garishly bright leotards (after all it was the early 90's) in time for the early class. Two of us would be toting babies as well, still in their jammies. We used to really motivate each other to work out hard and then after showering in the locker room our arms would be so tired we could barely hang onto the blow driers. At one point the gym announced it was going to hold a bench press competition and advertise in surrounding town's gyms as well. I decided that it would be pretty cool to try that, and what the heck, I had 3 and a half weeks to work on benching, something I had been interested in but never tried because the state cops who worked out there were always hogging the bench. I decided one of my goals was to get good enough at the bench press that one of the guys would ask me to spot him. I had one friend, Barb, who was a physiology professor at the college there helping me out with different types of workouts. She was also entering the contest. We would work up to the heaviest weight we could bench, and then work down again with lighter weights, doing as many reps as we could at each weight. The hardest part was not laughing when Sue made faces at me while spotting me. One day one of the state troopers was working out and asked me to spot him on the bench! I was nervous about being able to spot the kind of weight he was lifting, but luckily I managed not to let it crush him. So the day of the contest the "moms of steel" were there to root for me and Barb. John was out of town, too bad because he was really excited about me being in that contest. I am not exactly sure what it was about me doing the bench press competition that got him so pumped, but he has always had a thing about women in action movies so maybe it had something to do with this being the closest he was going to get to one. Anyways, they weighed us all in and then put the heaviest half of the group in the heavyweights, and the lightest half of the group in lightweight division. I was the lightest one in the heavyweight group, and Barb was the heaviest one in the lightweights. The biggest woman in my group weighed about 45 pounds more than I did, and was from another gym. We each got to try 3 lifts. This is tricky, because once you try a weight you can't lift you can't try that weight or heavier anymore, so you want to start light, but not so heavy that you tire yourself out, or so light that it is not a winning weight if you can't lift heavier. The most I had ever lifted was 123. So I started with 120, then did 122, and then did 125 which was good enough to get second place, my first trophy ever! The biggest woman got first place. Barb, lifting 128 won the lightweight division.
That contest was the year before we moved here to Chapel Hill. I have had varying success in finding fun and social ways to work out. For a while I used to walk and run with my friend Debbie, and then there was a great group to play tennis with. Then I went and started working 5 days a week instead of 3 and lost that tennis connection. For a couple of years I did master swimming, which I really did love, but the timing of it, being in the evening was tough since it was the only time of day I ever saw my kids who were busy with sports themselves in the afternoon, so I tried swimming on my own. Walking/running with Lisa was great too, until I was sidelined with plantar faschitis. I know that it would help to have a goal, but most of all I wish I could do something that would involve the fun and playfulness that I had back in the days with the Moms of Steel.

Reality begins to set in . . .

Somewhere in the back of my mind I have this little niggling thought that keeps poking at me, reminding me that my daughter is getting married. Not that I have forgotten. How could I with the sparkly cards set around my house proclaiming "You're Engaged!" "Congratulations!" How could I forget with a kitchen full of leftover cakes, cheeses, candy and other fattening foods leftover from the engagement party of Saturday night? How could I forget with everyone congratulating us, and saying "how exciting!" No, I haven't forgotten. But maybe on some level I am blocking it out. Yes it is wonderful news, wonderful that Kristen and Brad are so happy together. Wonderful that we have some time to plan a lovely wedding. But sometimes this whole thing feels like a bulldozer coming right at me and my life. I do not for a minute begrudge Kristen a joyful family supported engagement and wedding, but it is kind of like seeing yourself driving along on a trip, knowing pretty well where you are headed and how you will get there, and then all of a sudden there is a huge DETOUR sign that leads you off the highway with all kinds of crazy turns so you can't see the way ahead. Things are going to change. And I have a hard time with change. We have had this computer for over 8 months and I am still missing my old one. It took me 2 years to finally sell my van and get a different car. When my cell phone battery died after 4 years, and they said they didn't have a replacement battery available and I should buy a new phone I was actually tearing up at the Verizon booth! (I found a battery online - did not replace the phone.) I am still adjusting to moving here. Nearly 12 years ago. But change happens, and I will just need to get over it and get on with it. No doubt my husband will be reminding me of that frequently during the coming months. He is probably looking forward to some of the changes. No more paying bills for Kristen's schooling, car or cell phone. No more hearing her turning on the water to take a bath when it is nearly midnight. And the water pump is under our bedroom. No more of her complaining that our house is freezing and then turning up the thermostat to 76 degrees. No, I am sure he is looking forward to those things. But there are some changes that I am not looking forward to. I am afraid our lifestyle is going to have to change to accomodate the wedding Kristen has pictured. John has already signed up to work extra shifts at the hospital. I am wondering if will have to drastically shorten my trip to NH this summer so I can do something to earn money here. But working this summer might not be such a bad thing. It will help keep me from obsessing about how this will be the last summer that Kristen will live at home. It will be the last summer of having children in the house, and not just one child. The last summer of her stomping feet up the stairs when exasperated at me, and the last summer of buying her particular brand of cereal, type of bread, flavors of yogurt, fat percentage of milk, and special shampoos. To me, it will be the last summer of her childhood, and
even though she will be here physically, she will be leaving us mentally as she sweeps us all up the big plans for a wedding. To get married. And to leave us. To leave me. And I don't know if I will ever adjust to that change.