Sassafrass

Full. And filled.

We are blessed beyond measure. We spent yesterday sitting at my grandmother's dining room table and in the couch that stretches around her living room, talking about the many things we are grateful for this year. Today, I keep thinking how grateful I am this space, where I get to pour out my stories, cry out my worries, try very hard to make you laugh along with me, go on and on and on about pretty things, and share with you the tremendous, tearful, terrifying, trying and very entertaining experience of raising my boy in this city.

When I started Sassafrass, it was meant to be part love letter to my life, part place for me to write without expectations or (sorry about this) too much editing. But, in meeting you here, in making friends out of strangers, in finding writers who awe and inspire me, in receiving more support in single motherhood and beyond and in more ways than I ever could have imagined -- I thank you.

See? So so so blessed.

May the sun you wish to feel on your face shine brightly today.

I'll meet you back here with a fuller Thanksgiving run down after a restful weekend.

Heart in the middle

We got home last night and both of us were exhausted. I'd been running all day -- around the park, with work, trying to fit a week's worth of to-dos into two too-short days. Lil E had been running all day also -- around the playground, on the obstacle course in his classroom, leaping from the car to the front porch to my dad's lap. But there were pies to bake and in a tradition that goes back to when I was a little girl with my grandmother in the kitchen, it was our job.

It is one time of the year that I don't mind cliches, and so I poured a glass of wine, prepped my ingredients, pushed up Lil E's sleeves and set about our labor of love. Lil E and my dad cranked the apple peeler, my mom dug through cabinets for corn syrup and mixing bowls, kept me company and conferred with me on the details of each recipe.

I brought my favorite measuring cups and spoons, but we used tools my mother now keeps that my grandmother once used. The pie pans and pastry mixer and cookie sheets are worn with decades worth of use, and it always makes me feel like I am doing a better job by placing my hands and dough on the same handles and surfaces my mother and grandmother did.

We made apple, a favorite for me and my dad, and pecan for my other grandmother and aunt, and a chocolate truffle experiment at the request of the small child. As much as I love those hours putting pies together, it got late, Lil E got tired, and I felt rushed to get home and finish work left on my laptop screen.

And so the pies were not perfection. Not that they ever are, but they are not as pretty or symmetrical or tidy as I would like them to be. I wanted to linger over the fluting and even out the pecans, but my time and energy was drained. I needed to be done. Just before I slipped them into the oven, I put all those expectations aside and carved a heart into the top crust of the apple pie. Nothing fancy, very uneven. I just felt there needed to be a heart there in the center.

Hours later, Lil E was sound asleep and I was wrapping up work and the movie "The Waitress" came to mind, the one with Keri Russell as the diner server who escapes her small town existence and unhappy marriage by baking pies. It wasn't so much the storyline or many crazy recipes she makes that crept into my thoughts as the song she sings throughout the movie. I needed to find it right then, felt compelled to hear the lyrics to the song that I knew I would recognize when I heard the first few bars.

As soon as I pressed play, I knew I'd found it. It's lovely, simple, perhaps a little too sweet. What got me, though, were the unexpected lines in the middle of the chorus, words I hadn't remembered at all.

Right there, after the familiar

Baby, don't you cry

Gonna make a pie

was nestled

Gonna make a pie with a heart in the middle

and followed by

Baby, don't be blue

Gonna make for you

and once again

Gonna make a pie with a heart in the middle

The poetry of it is not complex and is cliche. It is that time of year, though, where those words are welcome, when the hands working all working all kinds of dishes come into contact are inspired by much more than a recipe or exquisitely peeled apple or the smell of sage, when the only way to set aside the distraction of time and demands and family complications is to just stop for a moment and make a place for the heart.

It's all a big slice of sappiness, I know this. I choose to believe that the song came to me for a reason, as a reminder, as something to sing when I forget how unimportant precise measurements, prettiness and perfection really are.

Listen. Enjoy. Have a blessed Thanksgiving.

An excuse to escape all kinds of turkeys this weekend

The idea of trading in your leftovers and in-laws for a night brightened by expensive put-your-eye-out glow-up plastic whirly white tiger toys and pretzels slathered in nacho cheese might not be your idea of how the holiday should be spent. OR...it could be the Best. Thanksgiving. Weekend. Ever. At the circus, which has moved over to the United Center and the Chicago tour stretches through this holiday weekend. 

Still not convinced? Consider this:

It's too dark to see a football game and too loud to listen to that one great-aunt tell that one story again. Those inadequate paper hot dog holders don't need to be hand-washed. No matter how much you dole out on souvenir toys that the kids will leave in the car and forget all about hours later, you will be spending far less money than you would if you were standing in line at Toys R Us.

We saw this season's show, ZING ZANG ZOOM at the beginning of the Chicago tour. Lil E adored the funny, little trained dogs and played "tiger tamer" for days and days. Just as last year, I loved the amazing aerial acrobats, who gracefully maneuvered themselves in, out, climbing up and sliding down beautiful floor-to-ceiling fabrics. It lacked the "oh!" moments that last year's show had, which my parents and I agreed was more cohesive, even glamorous. But really, this is the circus, people. It's fun, crazy, and all about the silly. It's a good time, and a bigger show that, all tallied costs the same or less than seeing a movie this weekend.

A note to parents of sensitive kiddos: ZING ZANG ZOOM has many loud booms and flashes. I would have packed ear plugs to soothe my own boy's ears and fears had I known.

There are plenty of shows playing this weekend in Chicago (click here to find one that fits in your schedule). If you live outside this fair and freezing city, get tickets before the train pulls into your town. Best of all, Sassafrass readers can purchase tickets at a special rate of $44 for a 4-pack of tickets (valid Monday-Thursday and Friday Matinees, excluding holidays) and can save $4 on all weekend shows by logging onto Ticketmaster and entering the coupon code: MOM.

Have you seen ZING ZANG ZOOM? What did you think?

We were given tickets to see and review ZING ZANG ZOOM. If you and your family would like to see the show, please do take advantage of the reduced Sassafrass rate.

Sweetness, cubed

My patience was tested cropping and printing and cutting photos for a class project Lil E brought home last week. The kids had to create a cube, and on each side, place or draw a picture of some aspect of their family life. They are in the middle of a big unit on families, which is important to both Lil E and me, as he learns about all the ways these kids he knows live differently and similarly to our own.

That meant a small project had big meaning. I dug and dig for recent pictures of him with his dad, only coming up with a few that we've already used for other class projects. We narrowed down which parts of our life were important and which he wanted to share on this piece of construction paper folded into too few spaces. He made thoughtful choices and I tried -- hard -- to minimize my irritation with a tempermental printer and ink that smears easily to put together this mosaic with my boy.

The first photo to finally be glued on the cube was in the "favorite family vacation" spot, and shows a very happy and relaxed Lil E and me on the fine, white sand of Anna Maria Island, Florida, with the blue, blue sky and bluer water behind us. We sat silently for a moment, staring at ourselves in that photo.

In the end, it wasn't an easy trip, but it is one we will take again early next year. I felt a wave of comfort wash over me just thinking that, in a few months we will be back there, that we have these plans in place. As a family.

Lil E chose to use a side of his cube to draw a picture of he and his dad swimming in a pool in Portland, alongside the photos from his Star Wars party and steering the boat at the lake and the two of us sitting on the porch of my parents house. It was work getting those individual pictures to fit just right. But after some shifting and editing and trimming and negotiating, it all came together. It looked just like it should.

I loved seeing him turn that cube over and over in his hands on our way to school. Watching from the rear view mirror, it almost looked like a flip book -- Mommy and Lil E, Daddy and Lil E in the pool, Florida, Lake, Star Wars party, holidays.

And yes, while it all and we all do meld in some way, I selfishly love that this is the picture he chose to replicate in a follow-up to the cube class project.

I love the ocean and the half-sun and the grains of sand. I love our hands holding on to one another, his spiky hair, sunglasses and the detailed surf shirt. I even love my googly eyes behind big glasses and the strange appearance of a coconut swimsuit (swimsuit! swimsuit! that's what we're choosing to believe it is). There we are, floating silently and still for a very brief moment, one turn away from everything and everyone else.

Monthly photo shoot (it's no surprise who is directing)

First, let's just be our really happy selves!

 

Now, like we're really surprised to see like the moon or something.

 

OK, now we're like, "WHAT THE --?!"

 

OK! OK! We can do a kissy one. ONE!

 

Now a regular one.

Can you take one of me just being a regular kid?

For the last one, will you take a picture of MY shoes this time?

Postcards from the past: Three Novembers ago

Of the thousands and thousands of photos of this child living on my hard drive, this may be my favorite. He wore that newsboy cap without flinching and the hint of the smile was already well-practiced. I hadn't yet worked up the courage to take for his first real haircut and instead snipped little bits while he played in the tub or sat wrapped in a blanket on my lap. And there it is, peeking out, reminding me it is time to let the wispy baby hair go.

Or maybe it is telling me to hold on, one last moment. To the cheeks and round belly and willingness to be held for hours. That's all gone now -- and for good things like attempts at winking and a toothy smile and long legs stretched out and running. But I've still got a lot of that baby held tight in my heart, like we all do. And tucked into the corner of the lid of my jewelry box and inside the front cover of my favorite books,  I am also keeping close some of these little, precious moments.

Coming to town

Whenever I think of the circus, I can almost immediately smell the warm cotton candy and my eyes get all hazy with the thought of glittery costumes and bedazzled horses and acrobats hanging from trapeze swings and rings suspended from the rafters and each other.

I love the circus, and last year I loved watching Lil E light up in the same ways I did as a kid. And honestly, I had more fun watching it than I ever dreamed way back then that adults could have if they weren't swinging flashing light-up wands and clown noses.

So when I was offered tickets to take Lil E and my parents back to the circus when it comes to town this week, I quickly shuffled our schedule to make sure we would be there to see a new show that I imagine will stir up all those same nostalgic feelings.

Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey's ZING, ZANG, ZOOM tour lands in Chicago tomorrow night and runs through Thanksgiving weekend. This show promises to include magic and illusionists alongside classic acts like human cannonballs. After our visit this weekend, I will be putting up an honest review of the show that I promise will only be biased if there are baby Bengals or I get a full stick of pink cotton candy to myself.

Ringling Bros and Barnum & Bailey has kindly offered a reduced ticket rate to Sassafrass readers. If you'd like to slide into the holiday season by getting your own ringside seats, simply click here for more information. Sassafrass readers can purchase tickets at a special rate of $44 for a 4-pack of tickets (valid Monday-Thursday and Friday Matinees, excluding holidays) and can save $4 on all weekend shows by logging onto Ticketmaster and entering the coupon code: MOM.

Postcards from Halloween: Before and after dark

Halloween went, as these divided holidays often do, just fine. Lil E got to spend a few hours in our neighborhood with four other boys (and two toddler girls -- one as a bug and one as a garden gnome...so funny -- who tried very hard to keep up with the super heroes and Rebel Alliance representatives who sped up and down the steps of each house). After a breather of passing out candy to kids from our own front porch, he took off for the suburbs with his dad for more trick-or-treating. 

The next morning, he happily agreed to send his very-full pumpkin bucket of candy back to his dad's house and turned in a big pile of mini chocolate bars we had here for a Star Wars action figure. Not to worry -- there are plenty of Reese's left in our house, but I am loved that the tricks I touted on channel 5 Saturday morning actually worked once Sunday rolled around.

 

 

I also admit I had a great time sipping my treats on Saturday night with one of my favorite grrrlfriends. Although I haven't been out to a bar or adult party on Halloween in years and years, the scene was pretty much the same -- lots of priest costumes, some puke on the bathroom floor, and the obligatory sexy nurse working her way up and down any Mad Hatter, Michael Jackson, or NASCAR driver who came her way.Oh!  And a very drunk shiny cop. It was good fun.

 My favorite costumes of the night? The dude with the baby from "The Hangover", Billy Ray Cyrus and one of the Texan polygamist's wives. The cult wife costume lady said she just HAD to take a picture with me, which made me think maybe we both were dressed as people being lured to the Dark Side. 

Despite my failed prediction that there would be a lot of Balloon Boys and Kate Gosselins, there was a Mr. Incredible who took a shine to my friend. He's apparently looking for just the right lady to wear the Mrs. Incredible costume he has hanging in his closet at home. No, really. I think he might have to keep looking, but I let him try on my Leia wig anyway.

The final pic: Leia's very practical running shoes and the cowgrrrl's roping boots.

Lil E explains: The giant, bulbous circle of life

First, there is the Mommy Pumpkin. She is smooth and orange and tall.

 

There is a Daddy Pumpkin, too. He is white and...like, sort of smaller.

 

The Mommy Pumpkin was pregnant and then...LA! LA!...she had some babies. They were sooooooo cute. Aren't they the cutest little pumpkin babies? [Pictured here with and looking a lot like Daddy Pumpkin, an injustice to be explored in gourd therapy for years to come.]

 

OH! They also had other children. They were sort of bigger. And one was rotten. Remember, I just stuck my finger in it accidentally and had to wash my hands? It was disgusting. And it was stinky. It smelled so gross! So we put it on the porch for the squirrels to eat. The squirrels are going to eat the children...HAHAHAHA! [This shall be explored in real person therapy that will likely be funded by me.]

 

These are other pumpkin babies. I don't know where they go. They live on those acorns and pine cones. They are funny. I like the bumpy one best.

 

This is the whooooooooole pumpkin family. Mommy, Daddy, children, and babies. Everybody's together on Halloween. Aren't they a sweet family?

OK, let's carve them!

Thank God for the passing of time: Another October 12

And so another anniversary has arrived. Seven years ago today, I married the man who is now my ex-husband. It is more than just any other day, and yet, I can write and think and talk about it with a neutrality I never dreamed I'd have.

Last year, I struggled some and found a way to acknowledge the anniversary and then do something meaningful for myself. Even then, I wasn't sure I would be in the place with it I am now. What a blessing that is.

The only person I mentioned it to was my son. Over dinner last night, I told him that this would mark the day his daddy and I got married. He got the wide-eyed look he gets when I can see he desperately wants more information and is afraid to get more information.

"Oh," he nodded, taking the tiniest of bites from a baby carrot.

"I wanted you to know," I explained, "because even though Daddy and I aren't married anymore, it's important to remember that we were madly in love and very, very happy when we did get married. And for a long, long time, which is a big part of the reason we chose to have you. That changed. But it doesn't change that we made the decision to get married because we were in love way back then."

He nodded again, took another tiny bite.

"So I just wanted to honor that. We call this an anniversary. I wanted you to know about it."

Another nod, another bite.

"Mommy?"

"Yes, lovey?" A big question was coming. I could feel it. Or at least I know it from experience in having these kinds of conversations.

"Can we look at the pictures of your marriage tomorrow?"

"You mean the wedding?" I clarified. Then I nodded. ""And the video, too, if you'd like."

"No," he said certainly. "Just the pictures. But...Mommy? It's important to remember when people DID love each other. Even if they're separate now."

"That's right," I said. He got it.

"Mommy? I'm going to marry you one day."

I smiled. We'd been through this many times as well.

"Oh honey, boys can't marry their mommies. But it is a sweet thought and I thank you for saying it. But one day, you may fall madly in love yourself and I will be there to celebrate with you just like the people I love celebrated with me."

"Mommy?" More to process. "I'm not ever getting married. Well...maybe."

"We'll see," I said. He's been on a kick about never getting married, and it saddens me even though I understand where it comes from. "It is your choice. And you can always change your mind."

"Yeah, things change." He gets that, too.

On this October 12th, there will be no roses, no cards written to myself, no phone calls to The Ex, no awful, desperate dinners. I don't need any of that this year. 

I'm reminded that Pema Chodron says our hearts don't break, they break open. That hurts, she says, because it is new and raw. As painful as it once was that the vows I said on this day were severed, my life really did break open once the marriage ended. This day now marks the beginning of a moment of time, one that I don't regret having even though it is now long over.

I'm good. I am really good with it all. And what a relief to feel that. What a feeling of thankfulness to find what was there when it all opened up.

This is one of many stunning pictures snapped by the photographers on that day. They are all in a box of keepsakes I am saving for Lil E, but it does me good to see my family and grrrlfriends and loved ones all dolled up and happy together. I was pinning a corsage on my mom -- doesn't she look gorgeous? -- while my maid of honor, my brother Seth, was holding my veil for me to put on. It was a sweet moment, one that I will happily hold on to.

Postcards from the past: One year and 44 boobs ago today

Ignore the nose chapped from being wiped incessantly for days and days. Avert your eyes from the bad $7 haircut that was ridiculously entrusted to that one other parent. No need to even give your attention to the look of slight confusion on the small child's face.

Instead, set your eyes upon the stickers that cover Lil E's little body. The ones he placed there proudly with help from my mother. The ones he cried real tears over when I gently peeled them off to wash the snot- and juice-stained shirt.

Yes, those stickers. The ones of tiny bras that came from a giant Victoria's Secret catalog that, much to the delight of my mother -- no, not my dad, who started reading Perez Hilton when I told him there were pictures of Britney Spears' hoo hoo on that site, my mother.  The stickers with photos of WonderBras and other boobtacular contraptions filled with water and decorated with little hearts and bows and nonsensical sentiments like "PINK", that the child's grandmother thought would be hilarious to use to cover the chest of the kid who referred to his own "tiny boobies" and "nippohhhhs" back then.

Ahh, family. My grandmother made angel food cake and knitted potscrubbers. Lil E's grandmother puts bra stickers over (what he now calls) "dimpohhhhs."

Fortunately, this stickering and the snickering that followed (OK, by all of us -- I am not righteous), did not scar the kid. He's forgotten all about it. Come to think of it, I'd venture to guess my mother has, too.

But not me. I may be even crueler than the grandmother. I'll hold on to this one for another twenty or thirty years especially for the wedding video.

May the Fifth be with you

At the request of the small child celebrated here, would you please press play before continuing on? If you saw the look in his eyes as he tried to figure out each and every scene during this soundtrack, you would already way past the "bummm bum bummm bum bum bum bummmmmm bum" part already.

Click here.

There was really no discussion about what the theme of Lil E's 5th birthday would be. It was assumed -- correctly -- that it would be Star Wars. And when I asked if he'd like to make it a costume party, I don't think he could get a word out. His eyebrows shot up, his eyes went all saucer-y, his mouth dropped, and he capped it all off with a slight nod.

And so it was decided that we would host a Jedi Training Academy at the temple otherwise known as my parents' backyard. Since it has already been a firefighter training academy (shhh, we've got a thing going here), construction site, a bouncy ball dance hall, and unintentional swamp (which made for one soaking we, frostinged first birthday party), we knew that it would take little more than a raise of the hand and stare indicative of real Force concentration by a mommy and grandparents to make the transformation.

[Many soul-stirring geeked out, funny photos to follow after the jump.]

Prelude to the party

Even though Lil E was sick on his birthday and for a few long days afterward, we squealed with excitement when our costumes arrived in the mail. We tore open the plastic envelopes, so anxious to unfold the Star Wars party that was only several days, many doses of cough medicine and Emergen-C away.

Lil E wore his full Luke Skywalker costume several times, posing for me, the camera and himself in the mirror. He wanted to perfect the face of a Jedi Master, wanted to make each light saber-wielding moment last as long as possible. But once his robe and leggings and fake boots were off -- as were each of us -- all about the wig.

Oh, no. His Luke gear would be perfectly topped by his own sun-bleached brown bedhead. It was the wig for my costume that compelled us.

And so, in between sneezes and ice cream cake, Lil E and my parents and I all gave that wig a go. As soon as I saw it being handed from person to person and saw my feverish child laughing as hard as he was, I knew no more unfolding was needed. To the four of us, the party had already begun.

[Peek at the pics after the jump.]

Happy birthday! You are now a handful

My sweet, sweet, silly, sensitive, crazy-smart boy,

You are asleep in your bed right now, wrapped in Star Wars sheets, propped up by a pillow that says, "May The Force Be With You." You are already five-years old.

You started acting very five several months ago, asking even more sophisticated questions, unable to keep yourself from climbing everything you can hook a toe into, drawing intricate scenes with markers and pens, rocking out in the back seat, getting leggier and looking less and less like a small boy.

Sometimes, it startles me. An expression will spread across your face and I catch a glimpse of what you will surely look like when you are a man. You share a sage insight or race past me and I wonder where the time and unsure toddler have slipped away to so quickly. 

Other times, I feel you perfectly nestled in my lap or watch you fall into the arms of your friends or see the concentration followed by bliss on your face as you slowly, surely read a word. In those moments and with each new adventure, I know you are becoming more and more yourself.

And that leaves me with a heart that is overwhelmingly full and thinking, "Oh, how I love this boy."

It is not always easy. Growing -- and growing up -- can be hard. You are precocious and you push boundaries. You wholeheartedly believe that we are a team, but this also means you have a hard time being told no. You are working out some very adult stuff. But when it is hardest, when I am exhausted or weepy or feeling stumped or scared, I pull back the camera and see that we work together in the way we always have. No matter how our lives or address or vocabulary or dreams have changed, they way we are is very much the same as it was when it was all fresh and new.

Tonight, you are feverish and restless in your bed. Your head is sweaty and your body is entwined around a giant stuffed monster truck in much the same way it once curled up on me to sleep. Your whole body could fit between my palm and bend in my elbow then -- a million years ago, just yesterday.

Being sick isn't a great way to spend your first day being five. But just as on the most spectacular days and in the most tearful times, I will make my way through your room in the dark, kiss your forehead, place my hand over your beating heart, and whisper that I love you the most.

And in all the world, across these years, I do. Oh, how I do.

A look back on Lil E when he turned:

Four

Fwee

Two

Almost

My son is with his father this weekend.  After three weekends with me, I thought that we both would welcome the time. Instead, I felt the same pangs as I did in the early days of sending him off for visitation, the same pangs I feel when he leaves for vacation.

Tomorrow, my boy turns five. And I will not be there to snuggle him and cover him in kisses in the first few minutes of his birthday.

I will see him, yes. We will have the afternoon and evening together to celebrate and it will be wonderful. But it was hard to send him off as a four-year old knowing that he would come back to me five-years old. It is fair, the way our time has been divided. It will all be fine as soon as I hang the sign on the door, pull the ice cream cake out of the freezer, tie balloons on the door handles, and wait for the doorbell to ring.

What I have now are just growing pains. I am sure they will return again. There's kindergarten and sleepover camp and high school and college and all kinds of adventures ahead. So it's good to know that they can be soothed with prayers said over the phone and yoga and reminders of just how lucky we are.

For the past few weeks, Lil E has had growing pains of his own, insisting that he would not be turning five. Every few days and whenever we talked about his birthday plans and party, he would saying matter-of-factly that he would be happy to celebrate but that he would be turning four again.

We talked and talked and talked about it -- or at least, I tried. And then I finally shrugged my shoulders and smiled and said, "OK, four it is."

Four had been, after all, a very good year for the boy. A wonderful, hilarious, hopeful, stretching year.

The only time he gave in to his upcoming age was when my mom said she guessed she'd have to return the toys that she bought for him that were clearly marked "For age five and older."

"OK! OK!," he conceded. "I guess I will turn five after all."

We laughed and he shrugged his own shoulders and it seemed like the birthday would go on as planned. Until a few days later when the insistence started all over again. Again, I told him that was fine, that four would be just fine.

Perhaps spending some time with his dad and grandparents has eased some of his resistance to turning a year older. I'm sure the presents and squeals and attention and excitement haven't hurt either. Whatever it is, he sounded calm and happy on the phone tonight. Just after we thanked God for Star Wars and Legos and Scooby Doo and chocolate ice cream, I said goodbye to the boy so determined to not turn five tomorrow.

"Good night, four-year old," I whispered into the phone. "I love you."

"Good night, 37-year old," he whispered back. "I love you, too!"

And with that, there was silence. With that, I think we both said farewell to four.

It's not easy. For either of us. But after ice cream, I'm thanking God that we're growing together tonight.

Sometimes, self-care is quiet and still. Other times, it is silky and on sale.

When I told you I was going to seize this time to take better care of myself, I wasn't kidding. The other 4,321 times?  Yeahhhh, mildly serious. This time? I am truly putting forth the best effort I can in the moment. In the past, I've told myself I need to take better care, I should take better care. Now, I am just choosing to, and that has made all the difference.

It has made so much difference, in fact, that I happily packed my running shoes and workout clothes for our trip to my parents' lake house this weekend. While we are there, I am choosing not to stress out about the God-awful cell reception and nonexistent Internet connection and have told all my friends I will be out of touch until we are back in the swing of school and schedules next week.

Of course, I will only be out of touch with my 2.0 life. I will be sitting in the sand while Lil E plays in the water, taking cocktail cruises on the pontoon boat with my parents at sunset, and maybe even taking in a third-run movie in town or a bad sitcom in syndication at the house. I may do something radical, like read a whole magazine. I'm crossing my fingers for good estate juju that creates the good stress of shoving a 1950s red-vinyl-and-chrome kitchen table set into the back of my car or choosing between gawdy-awful old lady jewelry.

And if it gets to be too much or I get antsy being unplugged, then we may come home early and take care of laundry and grocery shopping and other details. We shall see.

Just to balance all this om-like behavior, do know that my better-cared-for self is also screaming for this silky number. I am pretty sure it will soothe my spirit as much as the walking and quiet time. And since I don't have any dinner dates lined up for the near future, maybe someone can partner with me in my efforts to choose me and plan a wedding that I can wear it to. Anyone? Anyone willing to help a sister out?

A date. With a man. Part 2

 A few days after Lil E asked me about dating, became a robot, and then powered down when I told him that I had been out with someone, the whole dating situation took a turn.

We were out for a Mommy and Lil E Movie night and somehow survived the money-sucking soul-vacuum that is Ice Age 3 (the only saving grace being that Denis Leary is somehow sexier when his voice comes out of a cartoon Smilodon). Our 3-D glasses were propped up on our heads and the reusable bottles of water we snuck in were stashed in my purse (actively raising a rebel over here). We walked to the car, holding hands and happy, sharing our favorite (ahem) parts of the movie.

I buckled him into his car seat, leaned in to kiss him before I shut the door, like I always do. But this time, I paused and leaned back to look at him. It was dark out and the light inside the car shone down on him and made his eyes glimmer.

"I'm not sure if you realized," I said seriously, my face only a few inches from his, "but I was on a date with a man tonight."

He stared back, raised an eyebrow, tightened his lips. I smiled slowly.

"A date with a LITTLE man!" I continued, pressing my nose into his for an Eskimo kiss.

He laughed. Loudly.

"Yeah, Mommy!" He got it. He giggled. He pointed to himself. "A date with THIS LITTLE MAN!"

When the words came out my mouth, I wasn't sure how they would be received. But I hoped that they would diffuse some of the tension and emotion around a subject that is really too big for a little boy to take on.

The next day, the words were spoken again. Or rather, yelled out from the car as Lil E leaped out of his seat to see my parents.

"Mommy went to the movies on a date with a man!" He was smiling and screaming at the same time.

I am pretty sure my mother gasped in the pause that must have only really lasted a second or two.

"A date with a LITTLE MAN!" He giggled again. He pointed to himself again.

My parents relaxed, laughed with him, pulled him from the car and hugged him tight.

We're all nervous about this part of the transition, particularly the wonderful and protective people who haven't been dating men who are taller than 3 feet and aren't covered in a fine layer of goldfish cracker dust (OK, mostly).

The serious talks will eventually resume once the robot is ready. For now, though, I'm perfectly happy laughing about a bad movie with a small boy who understands he occupies most of my heart.  I love that this kid feels safer knowing that most nights time with a little man trumps anyone else.

101 candles and so much more light

101. The number itself doesn't sound like a lot in a world of gigabytes and billions of dollars made and lost and earned again, 101 doesn't pack the same punch as it did when people stooped to pick up change when it fell from their pockets and before allowances were counted in dollar bills.

But when you pair the number with a person, a living and loving person, then 101 becomes so much.

Today, my grandmother is 101. She has surpassed the century mark by a whole year, and lived far beyond anyone's expectations.

She was once a feisty, opinionated, adventurous woman who made amazing noodles from scratch and rolled my hair carefully into spongey pink curlers. She laughed with me, sang to me, quilted for me, patted my arm in the night when I could not sleep. She saved JC Penney catalogs for me so I could cut out paper dolls to play with at her house and she fished out romance novels -- only the ones with sexy parts -- from brown paper grocery bags in the bottom of her clothes closet for me to read. She called me to read me my horoscope when it was good and to caution me to be careful when it was not. She was not perfect, but she was so much who she was.

She is not that person anymore. Perhaps in spirit, but not to the rest of the world. She sits, mostly contentedly, in a wheelchair or her bed in a nursing home downstate. She has had Alzheimer's the whole of Lil E's life, possibly much, much longer. She doesn't know who I am any longer. She doesn't know where she is. She doesn't know how old she is or even that all those candles and all that light belong to her.

We are not there to celebrate. It was too much to drive there for the day following the chaotic and full weekend, and sometimes it is just too hard. I made my peace with her and with God and with whatever twist of fate or cells or physiology took her memory and her presence and her personality from us all. I got to that place because I also was at peace with her life -- the long, long, full and joyful and not-very-easy life my grandmother led and then shared with me.

I am my grandmother's girl. My mother has always said that, and it is true. And today, while my mother serves cake to the nurses and other Alzheimer's patients in the week, while she helps my grandmother blow out the candle and sings to her and holds her soft, vulnerable hand, I will be holding what I have left of my time with her like a glass ball in my palm.

I will hold it, hoping to catch a reflection or even a glare, any little sign that at 101, she is still with us.

This is one of my favorite photos of my Grandma Alice and me, taken at her kitchen table, just before the Methodist Women's Tea at her church when I was in my twenties.

Aren't we all just holding on?

This is a big week. It has already been a big week. A big week followed by a big weekend.

Aside from all of the BlogHer business that has already begun, there is always more work and too many emails to keep up with. Did I mention that I always need groceries? And that my laundry pile has nearly reached from floor to door handle, leaving me no way to escape without hauling the dirties to the basement?

There was also a day-long play date and summer camp and negotiations with my mother and The Ex. All of it, all of it amassed like the whites in with the brights on my hallway floor, has me exhausted before the really big stuff has even started.

But before all of this, back when we were still in the big weekend part, back on the precipice of meeting more than a thousand amazing blogging women, corporations, sponsors, colleagues, and press, there was this one moment of complete stillness.

We were at the lake house. My parents were hosting a family reunion there and Lil E and I drove three hours each way just to spend the day with cousins, many of whom we barely know. But it was fun and it was good and there was sunshine and splashing.

There was also a bunch of kids, which delights Lil E, who normally begs adults to play some kind of Star Wars-Batman hybrid role play game with him. There were kids older than he was to help him on to the rafts floating in the lake and kids close enough to his age to get as excited as he was about the pile of squirt guns and light saber water shooters.

And then there were the younger kids. The toddlers and babies that my son danced for, kissed on, and fawned over with a sweet and silly smile for every one of their gummy, drooly grins.

One of those younger kids, an almost-three-year old with red hair cropped close and a confused and slightly serious look on his face even as he waded in the water and covered his wet legs in warm sand, carefully boarded the pontoon boat with us for one of many rides that went out and around the lake that afternoon.

My own son is at home on this boat, easing on to my dad's lap for his position as pontoon co-captain. He moves around, surveying the water and pointing out what other lake house owners are doing in their yards as we pass by. He peers over the edge in a way that once made me gasp and grab for the back elastic of his swim trunks but now makes me happy to seem him so at ease on the water -- or at least on indoor-outdoor carpeting on revving 10 MPH engine on the water.

As he took his Titanic spot at the helm of the kiddie cocktail cruise, the almost-three-year old wiggled free from his grandmother's hold and stepped with the same slow, confused seriousness he wore on his face.

His grandmother called to him in the way I used to grab at Lil E's pants for security, asking him where he was going, what he was doing.

"I want to go up front with that boy," he said, pointing right at Lil E.

His grandmother nodded, he moved toward the front.

"Lil E," I called out, mostly into the wind. "You're the big boy now. Hold his hand so he can sit next to you."

I didn't think about it before I said it, but once I did, I knew Lil E would listen. As Almost-Three approached, Lil E reached his small hand up to an even smaller hand, guiding him forward, helping him scootch in close on the floor.

They sat like that for the rest of the ride. Even when Almost-Three changed positions, leaned out a little too much, then pulled himself back in more jilted by his realization of it than his grandmother, Lil E purposefully held up his hand for the younger one to take again.

I watched as my boy watched the other boy each time he shifted or turned to see something new pass by. I watched Lil E take him in, take responsibility, take on this new role as the bigger boy.

I watched their hands, firmly clasped, and it got to me. It was this one quiet moment of kindness, of connection.

And because I am his mother, it was a brief pause that filled me with great pride. That was my son, reaching out his hand to another boy.

I worry about him -- you know, as an only child among so many adults. But there he was, reaching, watching and really quite brotherly.

Now that we are immersed in all the busyness and business of the week, I keep mentally wandering back to that moment. To those little hands, holding tight while everything whirs by at a frantic 10 MPH pace.

One more June 29th

In 2002, this was a beautiful, blue sky, sunny day. I was finishing a paper I had hanging over my head, long overdue and necessary for me to finally, finally finish a graduate degree I'd technically completed three years earlier. My parents were sitting on the deck at their lake house. My brother was riding his motorcycle on a long road in Virginia with a few of his friends who had just rounded the bend ahead of him.

I won't ever forget that day because it is the day I logged off the dial-up internet service at my parents house and the phone immediately rang and the hospital chaplin told me my brother my brother had been in an accident, was being transported from the ER to the ICU, and yes, that it was very, very serious.

[My brother and I last summer at my grandmother's 100th birthday. We are blessed to share the genes of many fighters.]

You may know the story. I've talked about it many times here and other places. That day changed the course of the lives of everyone in my family and so this day is one that need to acknowledge.

[My brother at age 11 or 12. Such a baby face. I mean...so cool.]

I call this day my brother's Survive-iversary. I occasionally envision my brother in his toughest moments --- swollen, marred by road rash, stapped down and cuffed by a neck brace and countless tubes. Fitfully unconscious for days. Crying out in confusion and pain when the coma began to recede. Taking his first steps after re-teaching his body to walk. Sipping rootbeer floats in celebration of being released to do rehabilitation in Chicago, then to return to school again months later.

Even those celebrations were hard. The constant process of letting go of someone so vulnerable made my parents and I ache, even as we toasted rootbeer floats back at him, even as we thanked God when his skull, jaw, teeth, tracheotomy wound, scars, and pieces of his life mended.

The balance of that is that we did find joy, laughter, and amazingly, some good times in the midst of all that pain, in the harsh light of the hospital. In the years since we have found ways to do that again and again when the road ahead of us is uncontrollable and bending, grieving and healing, crying and laughing in turn.

Last year, I didn't write about my brother's survive-iversary here. It was just too much at that time for me. But like we do every year, he and I shared a moment together on the phone. Just like it all began, we stopped what we were doing and focused in on that moment in time.

[My family, last summer in Virginia.]

This year, we exchanged acknowledgements on Facebook before we found each other on the phone. The messenger may be changing but the message is the same. This year, unlike others, I did not cry. But on this beautiful, blue sky, sunny day, I did feel the same rush of relief I did when I finally got there, became the first family member to arrive in the ICU seven years ago, the same rhythmic prayer of thanks:

He's alive. He's alive.

It was enough. It was everything. It was June 29th.

Our own little public service announcement: My brother suffered a traumatic brain injury and was wearing a helmet. We still advocate helmet laws in every state, angering some commenters and connecting us to others. You can read more about our efforts to promote helmet laws and helmet use here and here.