Monthly Archives: September 2014

September 19, 2014 · 12:19 pm

Getting To Know You

Dylan sometimes (okay, often) says to me, “Mommy, you need to have more patience in the bathroom.” He’s right. The bathroom is the scene of some of my worst parenting moments (that is, besides the car). Simply put, the bathroom is my tipping point. They either take too long, talk too loud, touch everything, or all of the above, and, frankly, it’s excruciating.

Recently, in the middle of a friendly debate with him over my “alleged” swimming skills, I said, “I do too know how to dive!” His response was swift and startlingly clever. “Mommy, you don’t even like to get your hair wet.” He was right again. For the record, I do know how to dive, although I can’t remember the last time I did.

He’s almost eight, and he knows me.

One night not too long ago in the bathroom, Riley said to me, “Mommy, did you have coffee today?”

“Yes,” I said confused because it was nighttime and I drink coffee in the morning. “Why?”

“Because you’re grumpy, and you always tell us you get grumpy when you can’t have coffee.”

I was grumpy that night in the bathroom, but in my defense: (1) it was way past bedtime, (2) tooth brushing wasn’t going very well, (3) we were in the bathroom, and (4) I had just discovered that the puppy pooped on the floor in my bedroom.

Still, he was right.  He’s only five, but he knows me, too.

Although the coffee remark stopped me in my tracks, it wasn’t because it made me feel guilty (okay, maybe a little bit). Rather, it was because it brought on a terrifying vision of a teenaged version of Riley rolling his eyes at me and saying, “Mom, are you on your period or something?” It’s true that I almost always cry 48-72 hours before I get it, so it’s quite possible that he and his brother will eventually know the ins and outs of my menstrual cycle as well as they know that I’m irritable when I haven’t had coffee and/or it’s after 7pm and/or I’m in a bathroom with either one of them.

They already know me quite a bit. They know I like owls and yellow roses and “So You Think You Can Dance.” They know I like to run and write stories about being a mommy. They know I pour a glass of wine when it’s five o’clock or time for math homework (whichever comes first). They know I don’t like loud voices or music in the car and it hurts my ears when the car windows are open. They know I don’t like to get my hair wet in the pool, idle in public bathrooms, or buy toy-junk at the grocery store. They know I can’t stand puzzles or Lego kits with missing pieces. They know I absolutely hate to be late. They probably know I’m particular (i.e. obsessive compulsive) about loading the dishwasher, I can’t stand it if someone pulls on my shirt or sweater, and no matter how hard I try, I have zero interest in video games. They most likely know when I’m aggravated at their Daddy, when I’ve had one glass of wine too many, and when I feel fat. Perhaps they know when I’m sad. They most certainly know when I’m proud or happy, but also when I’m disappointed, anxious, or scared.

They’re getting to know all of me. Not just the mommy me but the human me. They’re soaking in my quirks and imperfections as we grow this extraordinary and complicated relationship together, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it, but I guess it’s only fair, because, oh boy, I know them, too.

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Filed under aha moment, babies, bathroom, boys, motherhood, parenting

September 15, 2014 · 1:33 pm

The Climb

I was supposed to run the Stephen Siller Tunnel to Towers 5K in Fort Lauderdale on Saturday morning. It would’ve been my third time running this race that honors the sacrifice made by first responders on September 11, 2001. I picked up my T-shirt and number on Friday morning, carefully laid out my running clothes on Friday night, and went to bed early in anticipation of the event.

I woke up at 5:08am to thunder, lightning, and pouring rain. The radar on my Weather Channel app painted a grim picture of what the race would be like. Because of the logistics of getting to the site and parking the car (and going to the bathroom a dozen or more times), I would’ve had to arrive at least an hour before the race started, which meant I would’ve been wet, cold, and miserable before I ever crossed the start line. I woke Mike up to help me decide, and he thought I should stay home. But how could I skip the race to avoid getting wet when all of those brave men and women ran straight into the towers despite the flames? I felt guilty (my specialty), but in the end, I didn’t go. Frustrated and upset, I eventually fell back asleep.

The Tunnel to Towers 5K is a special race for a lot of reasons. It’s an important reminder of the terror that occurred on that sunny September morning. When I emerge from the parking lot downtown and catch my first glimpse of the fire trucks, American flags, and first responders prepping to run the race, I’m engulfed by sadness, but it always feels good – it feels right – because if I feel sad, then I’m not forgetting.

I was at the Wall Street subway stop when the first plane struck. When the doors opened, people rushed onto the train crying, praying, and yelling about a bomb and people falling from the sky. I almost got off, but my gut (or fear or confusion or all of the above) kept me from moving. At 14th Street, my regular stop, I climbed the stairs to a crystal clear view of the North Tower on fire directly to the south. I hold on to so many memories and snapshots from that horrific day, but I’ll never forget the eerie stillness of that moment. I lost myself for an instant in the image of the gaping hole, uncontrollable flames, and plumes of smoke before the rest of the day and all of its awfulness unraveled.

The race is also a remarkable celebration of courage, unity, and resolve. Most, if not all, of the first responders who run the race, including fire fighters, EMTs, military personnel, and police officers, do it in full gear. It’s hard not to be inspired running alongside a firefighter with 75 pounds of gear strapped to his or her body. It’s a flawless physical expression of never forgetting, and it’s empowering to be in their proximity.

Then, there’s the tunnel. The 5K route takes runners through the New River Tunnel in downtown Fort Lauderdale. All runners know the satisfaction and relief of climbing to the top of a monster hill and then experiencing a glorious, effortless downhill slope. It’s the reprieve our bodies need after working so hard to reach the top. The thing about the New River Tunnel, though, is that the downhill part comes first and the uphill part comes second, which means there’s no rest at the top. There’s just more running and, eventually, more climbing. The tunnel is a beast, but running through it feels like a fitting tribute to all of the heroic men and women who climbed the stairs in the towers to save lives and perished.

I often think about the people for whom duty called. About the people who ran up instead of down the stairs. About all of the loved ones lost and all those left behind to climb a hill of grief for the rest of their lives. About the service men and women who’ve shouldered the endless climb and burden of war. About all of us who, after thirteen years and two wars and with a third conflict looming, seem to be climbing a hill with little chance of ever experiencing the relief of coming back down.

I woke up at 7:34am, right around the time the race was starting. It wasn’t raining anymore. In fact, it was perfect running weather because the sky was overcast and the rain had cooled the air. I was devastated. I should’ve gone. I should’ve gotten wet. I should’ve been there. I got up, drank a cup of coffee, and ate half of a banana. I put on the running clothes I so carefully prepared the night before and went for the run I was supposed to do. The streets in and around my neighborhood were flat, so I couldn’t replicate the grueling climb for my feet, but I sure as hell felt it in my heart.

Until next year…

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Filed under running, September 11th