Getting Ready

Eight years ago today, at an age when getting ready was all the rage, I spent a lot of time doing just that. In essence, it was the biggest day of my 29 years, and I wanted to look perfect.

Surrounded by my closest friends and family, equipped with a hairstylist to Pittsburgh's glitterati and a stunning make up artist who I prayed to look like, fueled by nerves, emotion, and the high I got from a 6 mile run at 8:00 AM, I dedicated hours of my life to becoming beautiful.

I had done a practice hair session a couple weeks ago, so the day of, my expectations were set. There would be volume, body, shine, height, and a soft curl. It was all that and more - my hair looked great. My skin, cursed with an outbreak of adult acne, needed a miracle. And the super pretty make up girl produced just that, masking my massive cheek pimple with all her might, giving me the glow and sparkle of a girl in love. The dress fit perfectly - it was sheer glamour. I slipped my Manolos on, turned to those around me to cash compliments into confidence, and headed to the limo.


On the other side of town, Peter and his posse were getting ready as well. It was 93 degrees out, and with black tuxedos, their main objective was to stay cool. Unfortunately, on the way to Church their limo broke down, forcing them to walk the rest of the way to a non air conditioned church, where no doubt, they all continued to sweat bullets while trying to look like Bond.

Peter and I met at the Altar, an incredible moment in time when my Dad gave my hand to my husband with a congregation of loved ones looking on. I was ready. So was he.

We walked out of Mass eager to start a life together, accepting of the potential children to come. But in the near term, we were just excited to drink a lot of champagne and dance at the Fairmont.

***

Today, I spent about 15 minutes getting ready for our Anniversary date. That was actually generous. Typically, I run out the door with a wet head cause I don't have the full 15 to spare. While I haven't spent the kind of time or energy primping as I did for our wedding in quite some time, much of my life is still about preparation. But the majority of the time, I'm getting other people ready, namely my kids as they headed back to school. 

A couple weeks ago, Mary started back as a first grader, complete with a new school uniform. Last week, it was Bobby's turn. And for an hour every morning, I've been doing a lot to get them out the door.

Starting around 7:00, I set up a breakfast and lunch making station. Butter toast, sprinkle it with cinnamon, pour milk, and arrange plates around the kitchen table. I then tailor lunches to fit the various preferences of the kids. Peanut butter and jelly for Bobby, turkey for Mary. Baggies of fruits, veggies and chips nestled into the bag, four Hershey Kisses tucked away at the bottom. I fill water bottles and put them in backpacks.

I make sure all the papers labeled 'back to school' are in their folders properly signed and executed. I browse the school bulletin and the teachers' websites to make sure I'm not forgetting anything.

I help them get dressed. Pinning their hair into place. Tucking in shirts. Tying up shoes. Making sure teeth are brushed, beds are made, jammies are down the laundry chute.

I tell them to eat every last thing on their plates. I fix hair one last time. I tell them to be to be good, kind, safe, smart. Then I put their little back packs on, escort them to their bikes and revolution by revolution make it down the driveway, down the street, across the tracks, and to their school.

I help them lock up their bikes and proudly watch them walk in together.

I linger a little bit, wishing there was something more for me to do. I've put so much into their readiness, and now I guess I just wait and wish and hope. I look down at Margaret who desperately wants to walk through the doors to school as well, and realize, there's plenty more to do at home.

I cherish pick up time. I count down to it. Seeing them run over with great big smiles and desperate hugs. Then I listen intently to what they can recount from their school day.

The same kind of preparation and send off goes into other activities as well. And generally speaking, nothing happens as easily as I just wrote it. Any morning can be met with a meltdown. Any choice of outfit can be countered with a right of refusal. Transportation is negotiable. And generally speaking, my blood pressure tends to creep up as we get closer and closer to being late. But I truly love it. Getting the kids acquainted this school year has been a highlight of my time off from work, and I will dearly miss picking them up when I go back next week. 

***

Looking through my wedding pictures the past couple days, I found this one. Our two moms, lighting the unity candle, embracing while dropping their kids off one last time, a lifetime of making sure their loved ones were ready to go behind them. 

   
It was a joyful moment, but as a Mom, I'm sure it was bittersweet. I feel that so much of my calling as a parent is about preparing my kids for their days. I know I'm doing a good job when they take successful steps away from me, gaining maturity and independence with experience. But it's sometimes hard to let go - to trust that they are truly ready - to place their young lives into the hands of another - to know that my time of influence is up.

I think on our wedding day, our Moms knew we were both ready, we surely looked the part. And I thank them, and our Dads for giving us away, backed with a lifetime of love that led us to the altar. 

Lo.

Top Ten: Martha's Vineyard 2019

When I met Peter, I was 25 years old. At that age, I felt all knowing, but was unwise. I walked with confidence, but was insecure. I was thin, but felt fat. I was smart, but unfocused. I had dated, but without success. Peter changed all of that. He helped me find balance within the contradictory nature of my character, and with it, I felt more willing and able to live life to the fullest - the way he did.

Peter embraced and exemplified his brother's mantra, 'Never have a bad day.' Over the first weeks dating him, I observed his joie de vivre. Give him a boat, he'd take it out on Lake Michigan, jump into the icy waters, and swim for the shore. Give him the Dunes, he'd climb up and roll down, sand splattering across his body. Give him a couple stubborn pistachios, he'd hammer them open. Give him an empty parking lot, he'd walk on his hands through it. Give him a day off, he'd make the most of it. Give him a girl willing to learn, he'd show her how it was done.

After watching, I started following. Never having a bad day rubbed off on me, and I like to think we have lived our life together that way, hopefully passing the philosophy onto our exuberant kids. 

In that spirit, we debated and ultimately agreed that we should celebrate Margaret's birthday in style and keep our planned trip to Martha's Vineyard, despite the somber circumstances that surrounded both events.

After Peggy's funeral, after Margaret's Lake Michigan birthday party, we smuggled our bags and children out of the house into the car at 5:50 AM to catch an 8:00 AM flight to Boston. At Logan, we rented the roomy antithesis to my Mini Cooper, a Minivan, and drove down to the Cape where we caught the ferry to Martha's Vineyard. It's a trip that does require a lot of schlepping, especially with small kids, but the destination is so unique, it's worth it.

We spent four full days there, a couple days short of the original itinerary, but what was needed to inspire optimism and joy. We savored every moment and lived it up. Back at home now, Peter and I keep asking each other about our favorite parts, and I think after a couple evenings reminiscing, we would agree on the following:

Top Ten: Martha's Vineyard

10. The excitement of reaching lunch at the Landfall, followed by the ferry ride to Martha's Vineyard where we looked out and saw Peter passing us in his Skiff.

9. Puzzling in the morning and at night with my Aunt Dee Dee.

8. The Skiff rides through Lake Tashmoo, Menemsha Bay, and Woods Hole, watching Mary, Bobby and even Margaret take the helm, and that one sunset cruise when I ripped my pants getting into the boat.

7. Taking in the views at the top of the Gayhead Cliffs and running around the lawn of the Lighthouse trying to get one decent picture of my kids. Then coming home to hear Peter's stories from cruising up to a house boat in the Vineyard Haven Marina where he bought Japanese squid ink sketches from a 5th generation islander and his Swedish girlfriend.

6. Making the most of a rainy day in Lake Tashmoo, catching several Bluefish and then frying them up for a delicious dinner.

5. An elegant dinner at Bettini in the historic Harborview Hotel, followed by a moonlit walk down to the Edgartown Lighthouse fueled by Kiddie Cocktails.

4. A beautiful long run from Vineyard Haven, through Oak Bluffs, to Edgartown where I jumped off the Jaws Bridge at the end. The bad part about that day was the abrupt ending; Margaret got stung by a silent and seemingly invisible jellyfish that caused baby hysteria. We ran off the beach, stopped at a pharmacy, and a guy that claimed to be an extra in Jaws helped find after bite stuff for her leg plus Motrin, which quickly solved the painful problem and crying.

3. Renting bikes in Edgartown, taking them across the Chappy Ferry, riding the island, dirt roads and all, and ending up at a pristine beach looking over a very angry Atlantic ocean crashing in front of us. Then seeing Aunt Dee Dee haul back to the ferry at an alarmingly fast pace.

2. Our Day in Menemsha including a couple hours relaxing on the rocky beach, Bobby making a friend with a kid named Malone, Katama Bay Oysters and Lobster Rolls at Larsen's, and the kids helping Peter reel in three Stripers.

1. Teaching our kids to never have a bad day. Passing it on, knowing that's how Brian and Peggy would want us to live our lives. In balance. In harmony. Filled with divine energy. 
    Lo.             

Mimi and Margaret

"There are no words."

It's true. There aren't. But after hearing it said so much this week, I started to feel like people were nervous to say anything else. That their thoughts were too raw or unpolished. That the timing was too soon, too delicate, too treacherous.

This weekend though, at Peggy's wake and funeral the words started to come. Her friends Sharon and Clara, and Brian's good friend Brendan, wove their words into beautiful images of the woman Peggy was. Her values, her character, her loving and caring spirit. Father Bill gave us confidence that heaven was rejoicing. Friends, family members, coworkers and clients all told us what a special woman she was. And the entirety of the Church congregation shared prayers, voices, and tears with us during the Mass.

While there is no longer an absence of words, they are still hard to come by. I've sat here with a blank screen for days, digging for words. They may not be right, but I have gathered a few.

The Mom, Peggy, Mimi, The Newest Brightest Star in the Sky - 

We named Margaret after you. We looked at her for the first time, and said it was the perfect name. From the day she was born, everyone saw you in her. Grandma Shirley would proudly say, 'she's a Burke alright.'

Margaret is two today. 'Two!' as she would emphatically pronounce. As she grows up, there are more than looks that resemble you. She is so happy. She never takes it easy, never has a bad day. She is always listening. And now talking, enriching the conversation in her own way. She's always willing and wanting to meet a new face, share a big hug, make someone smile from ear to ear. She loves being beautiful, dressing up, using my makeup brushes to apply make believe blush. Shoes ('Shuuuus') are her favorite thing. She actually goes to sleep faster and easier if you keep her shoes on in bed. And she loved you. She has a pretend phone, and on it, she only calls one person. Mimi. 

In your absence, I will encourage her to keep calling you. To keep the conversation going so she always remembers the impression you have made on her little life.

How you lulled her to sleep when she was an infant. You had remarkable skill in pacifying babies, which really came in handy with baby Mary. She wouldn't sleep more than 15 minutes for her Mama, but you would get her to rest in your arms for hours at a time. Your soothing, peaceful presence could calm any crying soul.


How you would listen to Margaret. To all of us. You had an other worldly way of giving your undivided attention. You captured and turned peoples words and stories into definitions of them. Peter once told me, 'you know you don't have to tell my Mom, everything.'  I couldn't help it though. I've never sat with someone so eager and excited to listen to the things I had to say.

How you could attract and nurture friendships near and far. You had high school friends, college friends, book groups, garden clubs, boating circles, and an endearing neighborhood clan that you viewed as family. Every weekend, there was a party to attend, dinner to host, conversation over tea that brought your network ever closer.


How beautiful you were. And how much I learned from you about personal upkeep. Nail care, hair styles that flattered, make up that chiseled, finding the right clothes to complement your figure. Poise, posture, elegance were your thing. 


How you could captain a boat, telling the guys what to do. A couple weeks ago, you were insistent that Claire and I take a 'Women at the Helm' class because you wanted us to be the same kind of confident captains you were. I drove the boat on Margaret's birthday yesterday, and was so proud of myself.

How much your family meant to you. Your kids, grand kids, nieces, nephews, brothers, and sisters. Your amazing, no super mom. The two of you would come over, chatting about your latest acupuncture appointments and Chinese herbs and take care of my babies over a bubbling cup of tea.


How much you loved the holidays and planning for them. Who was hosting. What special outing we would add to the season. It was your idea to take all of us aboard the magical, mythical Polar Express. You bought the kids jammies, drank up the hot cocoa, and smiled and laughed the whole time.


How you shaped the remarkable man I married. Margaret, Bobby and Mary's adventure seeking, life loving, hobby embracing, caring, seafaring dad.

And gave him away to me. To love and care for the rest of the days of my life.

How you called me your daughter. Not an in law. And embraced me as a sister to Claire. 
How sad we are that you are gone. Too young. Too early.  And how much we will miss your laughter, your love, your life.

And in the event that Margaret can't hear your voice on the other end of her phone calls to you. I will help her find you in Aunt Claire's face.

In the stories her loving friends can tell.

In a stick of Chapstick that will always taste like a kiss from Mimi.

In the Peggy O.


In a Christmas planning party.

In a perfectly pressed shirt.          
In a birthday song.
 
In a sprite.

In an angel at St. Francis.

In Opa - the light and love of your life.        
Margaret, Mary and Bobby, Peter and I have loved you dearly.

Lo.