My Girl Rocks
Tuesday, June 29th, 2010
she's got the beat too...
Seriously, she does… take a look at Ms. Lila getting her groove on at camp! Yes I miss my girls — and really how great is seeing this?
Lila rocks her guitar at camp
personal
She’s Gone (cue Hall and Oates please)
Sunday, June 27th, 2010
I spend so much of my time deep in the world of Forty Weeks – all things pregnancy, female focused and important about the road to baby. Maternity fashion, breast feeding, birthing options, nursery décor, stroller choices, diaper bags and juvenile safety are the fodder of my days. Yet, my last pregnancy ended eight years ago this week. My children (blended as we are) are 19, 14, 11 and 8 (July 1). And here in my OT world things are quite different.
My two daughters have left for the highlight of their year – seven glorious weeks at camp Maine. Days spent on Echo and Sebago lakes (they are at separate camps) – filled with endless opportunities for independence, friendship and fun. We have been sending our girls to Maine for three generations in my family – it is what we do. I am so grateful that my girls get the opportunity to go off and grow like a sturdy Maine pine trees…and still I am sad.
My Facebook page is filled with the raw emptiness of my peers. All of us having sent our children off to camp for (up to) seven weeks – we are suddenly faced with a void they likes of which we never really are prepared to face (despite the fact that many of us do it year after year). Our homes are terribly quiet. There is no constant din of bickering or “mom-ing” – it is just still.
The first few days are just long – stretching out into an endless stream of hours. These are stunningly silent hours without anyone to answer to. Hours watching your beloved waiting for the “buzz” of being along to kick in (summer romance is on the way) – but stuck for the moment on the loneliness of the empty house. I would argue that the first day of camp is truly the longest day of the year…
I walked through my girls’ rooms. They are messy. No they are vile and likely public health hazards. I could be angry – instead, I am sad. I went into their bathroom –it should be power washed and sanitized – still, I stood there long enough to take in the last lingering scent of their styling products and shaving creams. I need to clean it. I can’t today.
The kitchen is quiet. The mud room stays clean all day long. There is no fight to referee. There is no one to assure me that they will absolutely empty their laundry basket before they leave the house. The girls are gone…off to have themselves some fun – free of the “real world” – nothing to worry about at all – just what the weather will be and how they will get in some extra time water skiing (Lila) or how they will land the lead in the play (Rebecca). What an amazing luxury, what good luck for them! And what a bitter sweet start to what will be a summer we will never forget….
Inspired
Tuesday, April 6th, 2010
Funny how this week has found me completely inspired in a way quite dissimilar from the rest of the world. While iPads have got the world buzzing, I have got nothing more than simple beauty on my mind. No on-off switch, no bells, no whistles - just style, comfort and eye candy! I wandered into Rayman Boozer’s world this week – and I am sure I will never be the same! Apartment 48 is a jewel box filled with shiny objects from near and far. Colors, texture and sultry fragrances (oh how I love my new Kobo no. 76 candle) fill the space in the most inviting and engaging manner. I am hooked. Here is a little what arrived at Casa Loco and a view of my table for this evenings birthday celebration for the wonderful and indispensable Vicky Green, Au Pair Extraordinaire! If you can’t make it to 17th street to visit Rayman do make a virtual stop www.apartment48.com - a little higher tech than I would recommend but better than missing out altogether!
This just in: Kono Candle, assorted napkins, Bongenre melamine 18 inch platter and small textured bowl
Vicky's Birthday Table - featuring Georgetown Cupcakes and Apt 48 finds!
Place setting - note these incredible glasses!
Nanny in the Rearview Mirror
Thursday, March 25th, 2010
Disclaimer: The following discusses the relationship between women and caregivers in a positive, nostalgic manner. If you have an issue with women who work outside of the home or women who have nannies who love and care for their families please move on. Otherwise, enjoy!
I don’t know if I’ve really seen this particular scene from the outside before. And even if I had – I may not have seen it from such clear perspective. What I saw felt at once familiar, moving and near-heart wrenching but also quite distant from my present reality. Although what I saw was my truth, so very long ago. And this is why the view of this morning’s scene, which I watched unravel from the driver’s seat of my car (empty of children but able to accommodate the four I have) touched me so deeply. I was winding down Bradley Boulevard, listening to Jakob Dylan’s new single, “Nothing but the Whole Wide World” on XM 45, making my way from my workout to my desk. The traffic was moving slowly – I was just behind the number 36 ride on bus. And as I sorted my thoughts for the day – I looked to my right for just a split second – long enough to take in something powerful that stopped me in my emotional tracks. In that micro-bite of time I watched three females – a young mother, her toddler daughter and their nanny. The young mother was dressed for the day, nothing fancy but certainly fashionable and smart. The little girl wore a pink jacket with a hat on her head. The Nanny was dressed modestly, her head was covered and her body was round. The three sat waiting for the bus to arrive.
I don’t know if it was the first day the woman would leave her daughter for work or if this was a daily ritual. One in which the kind woman with the brown skin would at once fortify and calm the mother as she made her way, step by step away from her toddler and onto the bus – one in which the nanny, clearly dressed in non-American garb would make the toddler feel safe and loved as her Mommy braved her way away from the softness of the babies’ pink cheeks and into the maelstrom of another working day. Was this their daily routine: – the mother boards the bus, the nanny picks up the baby and together they wave goodbye. Then placing the toddler down, and reaching to hold her pudgy little hand – the nanny and the little girl head home and into their day. Or perhaps it was one in a string of similar days. I cannot be sure if this was day one – the day in which it would take every ounce of courage and conviction for the mother to “go back to work” or one of many subsequent days that would require a daily, whispered mantra of “you can do this” and an equal amount of conviction and support to make it out the door. No, I cannot say. But I can be sure that none of these days would be possible without the nanny.
The right nanny was never quite Mary Poppins, but rather a near-stranger near-saint who stands strong and dependable offering assurance and calm to the woman who walks out the door and into the world. She offers love filled days to the baby left in her care. The right nanny is near mystical creature – a woman who brings something from another place and another time – connecting generations and moving families forward until the great unknown. And yes, for pay.
Amaryllis was our nanny – she was with our family from the time Lila was a small baby until just before Samuel was born. She was a warm and loving woman from El Salvador – one who opened her heart to a young mother and her daughter in a way that gave us both wings. She was a mother to us both -a nurturer to the core and an expert papusa maker! She had her own daughters and grandchildren – but she also had us. She would arrive at our town home each morning and I would hand her little Lila – together they would busy themselves quickly in music, books and Teletubby toys (Lila was partial to Po) while I made my way out the door. There was comfort in leaving Lila with Amaryllis – I knew my little girl was safe and loved, getting what she needed and I was getting the same. Lila would crawl and then cruise, walk and later run. And so would I. Because of Amaryllis I was able to grow my young business and myself into a form I had hardly dreamed possible. What came next was beyond my wildest imagination (it always is it seems) and she made sure we all kept taking chances – Lila on the playground and me in my work and my “adult” relationships. We kept growing and one day our family outgrew Amaryllis (she said she only worked in homes with one baby). I cried for days – scared and insecure of what would come next despite the fact she had shown me that everything would be okay. And it was. Amaryllis was a remarkable pillar of strength, wisdom and kindness. We were lucky to have her.
I saw Amaryllis today – she was sitting next to me whispering in my ear “you can do this” – and then I got on the bus….
Love, Actually
Sunday, February 14th, 2010
Long ago and far away – in a city called New York at an event called Kids for Kids (to benefit Elizabeth Glazer Pediatric Aids Foundation) my little girl was just that (and proud too – to be making a difference the lives of African children)…time flies but the love remains! Wishing all of you love that grows and stands the test of time!
- It’s the year of the Tiger – and here’s my Valentine!
My Virtural Lunch with Jenna
Saturday, January 9th, 2010
This tweet is nothing but a stream of consciousness, with food and sports added for extra appeal – but enjoy!
I was leaving the gym (and no, I am not being a New Year’s Resolutionist, I have been at this since at least December!) and checking in with my twitterverse (Bob was driving, it was safe). Today being do or die day in football, I was overcome by the urge to reach out to my friend Jenna Borum and find out how she was spending these precious pre-game hours. Really, I was looking to tell her that the Eagles were quite obviously possibly maybe going to beat the Cowboys in this evenings playoff game.
Jenna is one of those gems that, if you are lucky, you find along the way. She is a twitter friend (and despite the fact that she blew me off last time, she promises a Maryland trip is in the works and that I am on her agenda; thus she will become and IRL friend with all the the benefits, just ask Jennifer Perillo about that) who is always one of the bright spots of my day. Jenna is clearly a better person than I am. First she is younger than me – I know this not because I have ever checked but because her name is Jenna not Jennifer. I am old and grew up with Jennifers and Julies – there was no such thing as a Jenna. Now Jenna Borum and Jenna McCarthymake up my blond and brilliant category – I dig that, we all keep evolving. Jenna is also a dedicated mother who home schools, sets trends (really she is pretty good) and blogs about real food (my passion too), motivating others on her blog and through her well composed tweets. I am telling you – Jenna rocks.
So, today – while razzing her (oy, another word that makes me sound like an antique) I was thinking how the Eagles should just eat the Cowboys for lunch. And then I started thinking about lunch. Like Homer Simpson, there were cartoon pictures of food floating above my head – really! Following, Jenna asked me if I was hosting this PMs food orgy (which I am not, that is up to the Sidmans) and I told her I prefer to host the summer Loco Locavore dinner. That immediately led me to thinking how much I missed juicy, ripe, fresh-from the farmer summer local foods, and set me off to find a way to bring some summer into our cold, wintry day. And so now, thanks to Ms. Jenna Borum – my homage to summer’s sun-kissed days served in cashmere and boots:
Humus, Black Olives and Tabouleh served on a bed of Chopped Vegetables with Oven Roasted Grape Tomatoes and Fresh Basil – aka: lunch inspired by Jenna!
Jenna Borum Inspired Summer Salad in January
Dig out Day
Sunday, December 20th, 2009
Sunny Snow Day, Casa Loco
It’s a sun shining, snow piling kind of Sunday…All this snow and it’s not even winter yet (tomorrow)! Here is the view from Casa Loco:
Lila takes the plunge!
Rosie the shoveling Golden
Operator, Can You Help Me Place This Call?
Sunday, December 6th, 2009
Long ago and far away (is the constant presence of this nostalgic preface in my writing a sign that I am tipping over into the next phase of life? I certainly hope not) – Sundays were about calling home. Long distance rates were lowest on Sunday – and in particular on Sunday night. And back in the day (there I go again) we would all commit a part of our Sunday to calling our parents and grandparents. As I got older, and the telecom business and rate structure in the US changed (feel free to ask Bob, he can expand on this one) this all disappeared into a fuzzy memory.
But still, on Sunday morning I wake up ready to take on the New York Times, the Washington Post, a big cup of coffee and make my family calls (we were a little more well off than others, it was okay to call on Sunday AM – oohh – fancy). And even this morning, though many years have passed and my house is full of children (mine!) in varying degrees of sleep, I have this undeniable urge to pick up the phone (the one no longer connected to the wall) and dial CE2-7479. This was my grandmothers’ phone number – Mommom’s exchange was ”CC” which stood for ”Center City” in Philadelphia where she was the reigning and undisputed queen of the Philadelphian, the very stately apartment complex where she lived in apartment t 14-C-42 with breathtaking views of the Parkway, Museum and the city. I pass this building every week on the train en route to NYC. I want to hear my Mommom’s voice as she listens intently and responds to my excited tales of life as me (nothing changes) with her own unique brand of sage sound bites, well-earned from having lived through one of the most reliably fluctuating, advancing and startling centuries of history. And she did not just show-up – she lived. And set an incredibly high standard for what it meant to connect with others in this world, something I aspire to along with her unique brand of being a female company head (long lunches at Bookbinders on 15th street followed by check signing with scotch and her Parliaments come to mind) not to mention her sense of style (oh she had it!).
My grandmother died in 1998 (Thanksgiving – weekend, right after Lila was born). Born in 1908, she was one the truest characters I have ever known. My Mommom was flawed and fabulous all at once. And also, one of the biggest fans I would ever have. And I think often how she would react to this crazy new world, would she (as I suspect) reduce it all to the very basic precepts (Men can’t help themselves – um , Tiger Woods) or sing it in Cole Porter lyrics (When grandma whose age is eighty in night clubs is getting matey with gigolo’s – anything goes um, Cougars)? Would she stand behind my choices (I am sure of it) and laugh along with me though the long days here at Casa Loco (she would certainly enjoy my stories circa 2009 but she would not want to be part of the chaos)? Would she suggest I go see her “guy” for something (a piece of jewelry or an oil change – not matter what she had a guy)? Would she tell me to keep it up while at the same time telling me to do less (yes, likely)? She never saw me as a mother – or in a successful marriage. And really this is what I wish the most…that I could tell her how good and lucky my life is and how I wake up every day saying, in the words of Cole Porter “ It’s delightful, it’s delicious, it’s de-lovely” and in my words – this life of mine is good – beyond expectation, how I wish you were here to share it with me – I miss you…
Friday, 5pm – southbound…
Saturday, December 5th, 2009
I had used one of my coveted first-class up-grade coupons for the Acela and scored not only unlimited java but also an amazingly comfortable and private seat aboard the train. Ahhh…
Having read through my papers, the day’s papers and considered the amazing day I’d just spent with the Ingrid & Isabel team (as well as Nicole Feliciano who more than impressed me in our strategy session) – I moved on to less cerebral matters. I cleaned out my bag. Exciting, maybe not, but I learned a great deal (did you know that I have about three different mechanisms to pull my hair back in my bag , for example).
I am sure there are some important, even incriminating things that can be gleaned from the following list. However, I am going to put it out there anyway – because it is Saturday and where else to go but off topic! So, without further ado, and in the spirit of OT posts (and because you know you are dying to know) – a list of things commonly found in my bag:
I pod (lately listening to a lot of Joni Mitchell, John Mayer and Pete Yorn)
Metro /Subway cards (DC and NY)
ORE makeup bag filled with assorted and essential product including sugar flirt lip balm by Fresh, Chanel #40 ombre l’eau eye color and Eliz Arden Pure Finish powder
sugar flirt (color and treatment!!!)
Business cards – mine and others
Mints – I am very partial to fresh mint and wintergreen – I simply loathe spearmint
Blackberry – that is a lie – it is usually in my hand – loaded with pix of my kids, Bob and things I find funny, offensive or inspiring (most recent picture taken, is this jacket for Lila’s approval)
Lila's ski coat for consideration from Paragon
Amtrak ticket stubs
Hotel keys I forgot to turn in – sorry Chris
Money (yeah, that comes in handy) including Canadian currency for when I have to cab it in Toronto.
My handy dandy notebook and pens – this probably should come first!
Reading glasses
Sunglasses
Hand sanitizer (to ward off the yucky germs)
Bliss Body Butter lemon and Sage Hand Cream (to ward off the hand sanitizer)
lemon+sage body butter
In the words of someone older and wise than me – and now you know!
OT ALERT! Growing Old with the Rain King
Sunday, October 25th, 2009
In 1993, Counting Crows burst onto my musical consciousness and filled my imagination with an album called AUGSUT AND EVERYTHING AFTER – it is hard for me to remember how Adam Durwitz’s love and gift for words made their way into my then 20-something life. I had been very sick that year – and Durwitz’s pained and poignant world view (a peer and one whose roots were here in DC) became a constant companion to me in my recovery (think Walkman!). I recall time on the treadmill, regaining my strength and listening to what quickly became my anthem of aspiration and indignation (why was I so sick in the first place?), Rain King.
For me songs get caught in time – they are markers of a very personal moments, and locked forever to one, particular and powerful feeling or image (the soundtrack for our love-drenched drives in Provence is Paul Simon’s Obvious Child or I the melody of exhaustion and amazement to which I danced with my baby girl Lila is Van Morriosn’s Tupelo Honey). These songs and the related memories, like photographs are fixed, attached and hardly fluid.
Books are the opposite – with literature, the words, the stories, and of course, the meaning morph along with me. As time marches on my lens changes, the lesson of the book changes, the “take-away” is a whole new tale and I am once again alert and paying careful attention to what the author is sharing.
Yesterday, I listened to both a live and studio version of Rain King. Suddenly, I was keenly aware of the literary effect in this decades old song. And to Adam Durwitz’s credit – it was not a fixed, optimistic but painful image of a girl on a treadmill (not meant to be metaphor but worth noting) determined to get back to strength and power that I experienced in 1993. But rather, one of a present-day, still optimistic, energized and capable forty-something year old woman, with much more experience -from failure (first marriage) to great success (blended-family, friendships, Forty Weeks) and all things in between – but no less hope (though more fatigue on all levels). And, like Henderson (see the 1951 NYT Book review for a brief on the inspiration and noted character in the song) despite my successes and experiences (or perhaps because of them), still on my original path – further along on my road as the NYT review states: a solemn quest for “the great principles of life”–for spiritual peace, happiness and communion with truth and deity.
And it is here I will stay, listening to great music (remind me to share with you Mark Hoppus’review of my Ipod from a few years back) while on my journey which is forever intertwined with my commitment to others and their journey. Not particularly perfect, nor noble, nor original but certainly mine.
Now, it that is not OT, I don’t know what is!