The Birthday Boy and His Mom

Last week, I had lunch with a senior manager of marketing and consumer engagement for one of our largest chicken suppliers. She was dressed in a knit jacket, dark pants, and wrap around coat to keep out the northern cold. Her hair was blown out, nails done, make-up perfect, the part of a seasoned marketer.

The restaurant was packed, so we grabbed a high boy table in the bar area. We talked about our careers to date and our paths going forward. She was about twenty years my senior and had an experience set and confidence level that was admirable. We talked about our families, and ironically, shared hometown. I wouldn't have guessed through her slight southern drawl that she was born and raised in Carrick, PA.

Midway through the conversation as we related over the occasional struggles of being working moms, she told me something that I didn't take lightly. In so many words she said we put too much pressure on ourselves; we're going to give ourselves heart attacks.Yikes. But I related.

This week, I found too much truth in that statement.

The world, and particularly our nation, spun out of control. Walls, bans, orders, lists, alternate facts. Are you kidding me? Did this all just happen?

As I walked the hallways and staircases of my office, my head ached with less critical debates about the size of a chicken tender, the price of it, and how much variability to expect. I got legal heartburn over citric acid, materiality, and glutamates. I brought the nightmares of bigger birds, holding times, oil life expectancy, and food safety to bed with me.

I opened the door greeted by the best, most nourishing hugs in the world. But shortly after someone was screaming, the other was crying, and Peter and I commenced the three ring circus to keep them happy and at peace until dinner was on the table, baths were drawn, and lights were out for the night. Then I tried to figure out who could take the place of my sick nanny tomorrow.

On Monday, I 'woke up' after trying to get Bobby back to sleep since 3:00 AM. My tone at a big meeting was less cheery, more threatening than I had ever been before. My computer crashed midday, and I almost cried to my old boss about it. I felt like I was crashing myself. I closed my broken computer, went home, and moved on to stacking the layers of Bobby's birthday cake. Mary tinted the icing a teal blue, which clashed horrendously with the red velvet layers underneath. The cake looked shoddy. Ugh. Fail.

Somewhere in between the pizza, salad, and singing of 'Happy Birthday,' I looked around and started to realize that these were the people and the moments that mattered though. And the cutie pie right in front of me, trying again and again to blow out the pair of candles on his cake had just turned two. And what a two year old he is.

He's cute as a button and as curious as can be. He adores his Daddy, and I'm pretty sure his Mommy too. He looks up to and loves his big sister. He also spats about this and that with her: the coveted book, toy, ball, show du jour. When things turn to punching and pulling hair, he's very good at saying 'sorry, Mary' and hanging out in his crib as a timeout. He loves Thomas and all of his train friends, as well as cars, ambulances, fire trucks, dozers (as he calls them), cranes, buses, planes, and any other motoring mode of transportation. He loves exploring outside, coloring inside, reading a stack of books at a time, running around and jumping up and down in his bare feet, his little owl and his big owl, and his precious blue blanket. He speaks like a grown up at times, and I'm shocked every day at the new words and phrases he spouts out. I love him to death, and can't hug him enough each day.

This weekend, I made Bobby a better birthday cake. I took the extra time, added all my love, and looked up to Chef Olga for her baker's blessing. We hosted a small birthday party; Aunt Dee Dee, Aunt Erin, my Mom and Dad even made the trip in. It was very special and Bobby couldn't have been happier with all the fun that the weekend held.

I'm thankful every day for the blessings that I've been given. One of which is of course my little Bobby. And I'm finding more and more that I need to pause and reflect on them as much as I can; I need to let the hugs when I leave in the morning and when I return last a little longer; I need to put work away, and bring my best, most patient self into my home; And I need to demonstrate through words, and especially actions, how to love your brother, sister and neighbor.

I have high hopes for this next generation, all the adorable babies, toddlers and children that fill my Facebook feed every day.  But so much is riding on our ability to be great parents. And the world is challenging us more than ever to step up to the plate.

Lo.

 

Happily Ever After

During the first year and a half of raising Mary, I vowed to steer clear of princesses. There were little girls in our neighborhood running around in princess dresses on a day to day basis, and I said, no way was that happening in this house. Instead I bought her Legos, trains, blocks, and introduced her to the great outdoors; I wanted to lay the foundation for math, engineering, science, and adventure. I didn't want to believe what everyone told me; that it was only a matter of time before the lure of Disney's fair maidens got to her.

Naturally, it was of my own doing. Or undoing. The first movie I let her watch was Cinderella. I was on maternity leave, I needed a break, and it was one of my favorites growing up. Mary fell in love with everything about it: the mice and the dress they make Cinderella, the Fairy Godmother's appearance, Cinderella's ball gown, the prince, the glass slipper, and the couple's happily ever after. She asked for Bibbidi Bobbidi Boo to be added to her nightly lullaby repertoire, Her second birthday carried a Cinderella theme. When we went to Disney World last year she almost cried when she met her princess heroine, giving her the biggest hug she could muster. She was a goner.

After Cinderella came a host of others: Little Mermaid, Tangled, Frozen, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, Alladin and just recently Beauty and the Beast. She fell deeper under Disney's spell. But after all the vetoes, I found myself not minding. (After all, I'm still entranced by the magic of these movies.) There was something else too - a different angle to these fairy tales that I suddenly saw as an adult.

It was Cinderella and her opening song that made me have a change of heart. I started to really listen to the lyrics, and they revealed something that I never knew was in the film.

At the beginning, after the clock on the castle sounds her daily alarm, she sings from her tower:
A dream is a wish your heart makes, when you're fast asleep.
In dreams you will lose your heartache, whatever you wish for you keep.
Have faith in your dreams and someday, a rainbow will come shining through.
No matter how your heart is grieving, if you keep on believing,
The dream that you wish, will come true.

Brilliant. Suddenly, the idea of a Cinderella story took on a new meaning. It's not so much about a girl going from rags to riches, being saved by a prince. It's all about faith. It's about a girl who never gives up, who keeps joy and love in her heart despite all the cruelty that descends upon her. It's about grace and a happy ending despite what the world might tell us is too hard to come by.

Wait. That is something I want Mary to emulate. As a future engineer of course. After watching the movie and some its predecessors for the seemingly hundredth time, I tried to explain this point of view. She still liked when the mice were making Cinderella's dress the best. Point taken, that's a cute part.

But just about a week ago, I didn't need to look to the movies anymore to show her how faith and hope can lead to a happily ever after.

My sister has always believed in hers. She stayed full of love, joy and grace throughout the period of time when her heart was aching. She never needed a make-over, she had lots of great dresses to choose from, she just needed to keep the faith. Which is no easy task when life looks a little scary.

She put herself out there, and on a beautiful summer day on the Allegheny River, she met her prince, an engineer at that. It was love at first paddle. A thousand adventures and corresponding selfies later, they got engaged, and are now planning their happily ever after.

When Erin told us her news, Mary shared a look of astonishment and excitement. A ball gown, a prince, a kiss, maybe even a couple glass slippers went swirling through her mind. Pure magic. Okay, maybe she didn't get all the other stuff, but she knows how wonderful Aunt Erin is and how she deserves the happiness that came her way because she always believed in it.

So this is my redefinition of Cinderella's story. And it's one I think every girl should know.

Happy Engagement Erin and Joe!

Lo.

Christmas Past and Present

As my grandparents aged, my Mom and Dad took over the role of hosting dinner and present palooza on Christmas Day. My Grandpa Barry would still insist on purchasing the turkey, but my Dad would prepare his mom's dinner complete with all the trimmings. It was the grand finale in a line-up of three holiday feasts that my parents would graciously serve over 48 hours.

Aunt Dee Dee, Meghan, Ryan and Evan were always the first to arrive on the afternoon of Christmas Day. My Mom had told everyone 4:00 PM, but the Cumpstons came around 3:30, just as my Mom was finishing the tables. Following closely behind were my Grandma and Grandpa Barry. Uncle Mike would arrive with an extra bottle of Jim Beam to replenish the Manhattan supply. Aunt Chrissy would bring her signature spinach dip. Their kids, Anna, Ellen and Grace were the baby cousins, cute as can be. Aunt Kay would arrive in seasonal leather pants, magnums of Gloria Ferrer in tow, 'Heeeey!!' Aunt Amy was a contrast in leopard print, carrying a giant plate of competing cookies to the ones my brother, sister and I had made. Beth was home from Japan, 'konichiwa!' and Aunt Meg, from Virginia Beach, 'hola guapas!' Aunt Joyce rounded out the cookie table with her handmade creations. There were significant others and foreign friends that added some extra oomph to the dynamic over the years. There were three tables, each more crowded than the next. My parents house got loud, then louder.

Everyone had arrived with bags and boxes that filled more than half of my parents spacious living room. Chaos always ensued after the multi pronged attempts to get everyone to try the cookies they had made. After presents, there was a Christmas Play, produced and directed by me naturally. 'YEAH!!!!" rang through the basement rafters as the troop of cousins took their bows. My Dad playing carols on the piano, my Grandpa bellowing them above everyone else, always ended the evening. The snow was just starting again and my Mom would tell everyone they were welcome to stay over. 'There are bunks for everyone,' she would announce. Her false hope never coming true. Grandpa wanted his own pillow after all. 

During these years, while I was in middle and high school, my cousins and I thought we ruled the roost; that we were so funny, so smart. We would watch and make note of what bottle of champagne the adults were, waiting for the conversation to shift into a more slurred state. We irreverently would laugh and laugh at the aunts and uncles, our parents included, as everyone reached bubbly bliss. We gathered ammo for years on the quotes and actions that would emerge by the end of the night. 

'Yes, we have a lot to carry' ... (Well, they did.) 

'I'm so glad you are friends and that you play together.' ... (that was actually a really nice sentiment.)
'Maybe it's because of the reason ...' (my cousin was home from Iraq - makes total sense.)

We repeated these lines over and over again. They never got old. To us. The next Christmas we would wait and hope for more fodder to emerge by the end of the night.

***

Thinking back on these years, and the ten or so before them, I realized they carry many of the memories that defined the feeling of Christmas for me.

Now, with the passing of my Grandparents, with my displacement from the Pittsburgh arena over the holidays, with a marriage and kids of my own, with new relations, and ones that have become more distant, I've found Christmas to have a new mood to it. One that I'm more or less responsible for creating, instead of passively receiving. I'm the scheduler, coordinator, host and magic maker, looking for the sparks of pure joy on the faces of those under Christmas' spell.

It's a lot more work, a lot more tiring, and it takes me back to those things that we used to laugh at my aunts about.

First champagne is the best thing ever. So the fact you all went through multiple magnums is awesome.
Also yes, Aunt Kay, there is a hell of a lot to wrap, bake, schlep, and carry around.
Aunt Dee Dee, I too am so thankful for those moments when everyone gets along and plays together nicely.
And it's true, certain things just seem to magically come together, click, and taste better because of the reason. Carolers showing up at your doorstep, maple twists that turn out just right, a timely nutcracker tutorial, a class party that I actually got to attend, two greats, four generations, an uncanny prayer said before dinner, great food paired with great wine, and no middle schoolers to make fun of you.

Though exhausting, these are wonderful years, a new generation of Christmas memories for me. And I'm so thankful to my fellow magic makers at home, school, and Church, for making the season so special for my family.

Lo.

       

Proud Parent

When I was growing up, the worst thing my parents could tell me was that they were disappointed. It was always because I had failed in some moral aspect of life (lied, cheated, punched my little brother). Remorse would reign afterward. I'd be in a spiritual deficit until my Mom or Dad would once again reassure me that I was loved, and they just didn't want me to do whatever I had done again.

Because I wanted to feel that way as little as possible, I sought the counter comment, the best thing my parents could say to me, which was 'we are so proud of you.'

It wasn't a remark that came every day - it was generally saved for special, landmark achievements (lead girl at St. Edmund's, Cum Laude at Ellis, All Big East, an MBA and better yet a job, marriage, a house, and kids) or sometimes it was a small gesture that signaled to my parents they had raised me right (writing a letter to my Grandma, delivering Christmas cookies to Mrs. Taylor's, playing nicely with my little brother). When they shared their pride, I would light up inside. Inspired, I kept pushing myself, working hard, trying to choose right from wrong, steering clear of disappointment.

***

Having my own kids now, I'm starting to understand the pride piece a little better. The moments when you just want to shout, 'BRAVO!' 

At first, I was just proud to have a little baby to hold. Then proud of her rolling over, sitting, walking and talking. Later on, I was proud of her surviving day care, eating all of her dinner, knowing her shapes, numbers, and ABCs. I was proud of her running, swimming, sledding, and peddling her tricycle. I was proud of her as she went into Pre-K on the first day and when she returned home with her first 'report card.'

... And I was very proud when they both sat on Santa's lap without crying a couple weeks ago. 

But the other night, I felt a different kind of pride. An excited, giddy, emotional, can't stop saying how proud I am pride. I think the same kind that was occasionally showered on me during some of my best moments as a kid. 

On Saturday, Mary was in her first dance recital. She had been practicing over the past couple weeks, and she was so excited. Her class was to wear green shirts, black stretch pants, reindeer antlers, and a little bit of make-up. I topped it off with a big green bow in her hair. She looked adorable. At 5:30 PM, the dancers were called to the cafeteria of the high school. She was dance routine number 18 (of 21!), and had to sit at Table #18 with a helper who would do crafts with her class until it was time for them to go on stage. No mommies allowed; I had to go find a seat in the auditorium. 

As I said goodbye and good luck, Mary's eyes welled up. There was a steady roar of girl laughter, gossip and the occasional shriek rising across the room. Mary didn't know this place, this helper or what was coming next. A little girl named Olivia from her class, with the cutest pink glasses, told Mary to sit by her. Mary complied and I sneaked out of the realm of chaos into a packed, dark auditorium where Mimi, Opa and Gigi were saving seats. 

I sat there through 17 acts, getting more and more nervous for Mary. I saw other three year olds walk out on stage and bawl. One or two yanked from it because of their tears. Mary was going to do it too, I was certain. Why had I put her through this at such a young age?! 

Number 18 - 'Here Come the Reindeer' - it was finally her turn. In the dark, I made out the little green shirts walking out onto the stage. The lights came up, the music came on. And ... no one was crying. Mary was beaming ear to ear, dancing next to her new friend Olivia, prancing to the beat, turning, shaking, stepping and pointing when she was supposed to. She knew every step and was enthused doing them. 

When the music stopped and they exited stage left, I clapped and cheered ecstatically. I was SO PROUD of her. As the last act came on stage, I booked it to the cafeteria, I couldn't wait any longer. I found her sitting with her class all in a row at table 18. She lit up when she saw me. I gave her a big hug and told her just how proud and happy I was. I couldn't stop telling her it either. I was amazed at her independence, confidence, and rhythm. She was smiling ear to ear, and told me 'oh thank you, Mom.' Like it was nothing at all.

We saw her dance teacher on the way out and I thanked her for all that she had taught Mary this year.

The next morning, Mary wanted to wear her green shirt and black stretch pants to Church. She wore them all day, watching the fuzzy video that Peter had recorded of her dance over and over again, until I told her she needed to change for dinner at Mimi and Opa's house. She kept the antlers on though. My girl. 

So I'm thinking pride is a lot like love; it just keeps growing and multiplying over time as they continue to assert their independence, apply themselves, make new friends, step to the beat, and choose right from wrong. But I guess as pride grows, so too does the potential for disappointment, which I'm really not looking forward to. What my parents taught me though, is that if you candidly, genuinely communicate both to your kids, they will likely gravitate toward the choices that make everyone happy.

Lo. 

Parties of Pittsburgh

Mary received her 'report card' the other day. It was prefaced with a note from the school, telling us not to worry about the scores the children received. 'All the kids were exactly where they should be.' Whatever that meant. I still read through it nervously, hoping to see more 3's than 1's, proud of her early language and math skills, and a little disappointed that she got a 'just beginning' for the sign of the cross.

The comments that her teacher wrote on the back gave me additional context to her performance at school. Mary is a 'delight' and always comes with a 'lovely story to share.' I laughed. In the week or two leading up to our trip to Pittsburgh for Thanksgiving, those 'stories' were most likely centered on my hometown. She told her teachers, classmates, and just about everyone we ran into around town, that she was going there for Thanksgiving. She told them who she was going to see, where she was going to stay, all the toys she was going to play with, the sights she was going to see, and the food she was going to eat. In her young mind, Pittsburgh was the ultimate destination.

We arrived last Sunday with a basic itinerary for the nine days we would be in the Steel City. At first, it seemed full but not overly aggressive. But as the week wore on, and Bobby started taking four hour naps, I realized we might have over scheduled just a bit. How could I resist though; with only two visits to my hometown this year, I had to squeeze it all in.

On Friday morning, Mary told me she was going to 'write' a note to her classmate MJ (who I have yet to meet.) She kept telling me that she missed him and that he missed her. She sat on the ground and wrote out all the things that she had done and was going to do in her own code. When she was finished, she told me to mail it to MJ.

We saw Annie. I got my hair cut and so did Bobby and Mommy. I have two braids just like Molly now. And when I wake up in the morning, it will be really curly! 

Mommy went out to dinner with her friend, but Nana and Opa are babysitters so I stayed with them.
Then we went to a party for Nana. I wore my Christmas dress and my curly hair, and then we went to the Rivers Club for dinner. There were big, BIG games there and Bobby and I got to play with them.  
I got new shoes at Littles. Beautiful sparkly party shoes, but my Mom says I can only wear them some times. Not to school. 

We went to the Phipps and saw the trains. They are my favorite. I pushed all the buttons. I loved the trolley button the best. 

We saw Father Greco. He baptized me. Did you know that? I drew him a picture at Church. And then guess what, everyone came over and we had turkey! I had a big piece and then I asked for more. We all ran around Nana and Opa's house, and we danced, and my Mom kept asking me to smile, but I didn't want to. I just wanted another turkey cookie.

Lyla slept over last night! But Will didn't. Opa made us pancakes in the morning and I had two, no THREE pancakes. With syrup! I'm going to eat pancakes for dinner too. 

Then Uncle Adam and Aunt Laura took us to see Moana. It was so good. I was sad that Bobby missed his favorite part at the beginning though. I ate a lot of popcorn. 

We have dinner at the Club tonight, and Nana got me a new party dress to wear. I am going to eat shrimp and play with Lyla and Will in the playroom.

My Mommy has been playing tennis with Opa and Uncle Adam. I had a babysitter though and Bobby took another FOUR hour nap! He's a tired baby.

We are going to meet a tiny little baby named Sebastian, and guess what, guess what ... we are going to see a PUPPET SHOW?! Did you know that? 

And Opa and Nana are having another party tonight. There are so many parties here, but I love parties!

And then we will get to see Patty. That's my Mom's old babysitter. But Bill isn't feeling good so he can't come. Patty made me a blue purse with the letter M on it. I have been wearing it every day. I'm so fancy now.

I miss you MJ. And I'll be back in Chicago soon. And I'll give you and everyone at school a big hug.

Her transcription went on for about twenty minutes; she wrote and wrote and read and read; and it went quite a bit as I have captured above. She just missed a couple other details: The stuffing and gravy, some of the other special people who shared Thanksgiving, an award ceremony for my mom, dinners out, and a block party with us, Tiki drinks, Pitt tailgating, the orchids and the room with silly snow men, the runs and walks through the East End, races in the backyard and one sore loser, all the attempts to get the cousins to smile, and one tired Mom, Dad, Opa and Nana by Monday morning.

             

     

When we got home yesterday evening, Mary seemed particularly relieved. You could tell how much she had missed her room, her bed, and all of her toys. She went through her toy box giving Ariel, Yoda, Bitty Baby and dozens of others big hugs. She curled up into her bed and almost immediately fell asleep. (A rarity.) 

As much fun as she and Bobby had on 'vacation', they love their home, their beds, their Eva, and the familiarity of our community.

On the contrary, Pittsburgh and my parents house always feels like home to me; and I personally slept like a rock every night I was there.

Lo.