What I Wish I Knew: The Mom Edition

My mom seeing me off to sleep away camp, circa 1983. My dad sent me this picture a few weeks ago and it was like an early Hanukkah present. I saw it and immediately burst into (happy) tears. I'd never seen it before, yet after staring at it for a few moments was able to piece together exactly when and where it was taken. Isn't memory a funny thing?

In many ways, as the years go by, it gets easier not having my mom here.

Of course I miss her. But the proverbial It is What it Is springs to mind. And thankfully, the grief is no where near as raw as it once was. With every year that passes, she gets farther and farther away. For this I feel equal parts heart broken and pragmatic.

In the old days (read: before I had children), I often pined for the things we used to do together. Now that I'm nearly forty years old, I'm not embarrassed to admit that my mother left a huge, gaping hole in my social life when she died (or at least, the social life in my mind, since we lived 3,000 apart). Of course I missed her, her very essence, but I also longed for our afternoon walks at Laurelhurst park; Saturday matinees at the art house theater, followed by chocolate chip cookies and lattes at Grand Central Baking. She was more than my mom. She was a confidante. She was almost always the first person I went to for counsel and advice (back then the "hard stuff" now seems blissfully benign: research papers, and roommate conflicts were my biggest concerns back in 1999.)

As delightful as a Saturday matinee sounds right about now, I have found myself missing something else about my mom lately.

Her wisdom. And her experience as a mom.

Of course, it's easy to romanticize it all. If she were here and I went to her with a question or seeking advice about one of the babies or the kids, surely we'd be in full agreement and she'd say just the right thing! Because we all know that adult daughter/mother relationships are never complicated or fraught in any way.

HA.

I just have so many questions. There were so many things I never asked her, because at 27 years old? Having children seemed a lifetime away, if not improbable all together.

My longing for her ebbs and flows. I can go weeks-months even, without thinking of her much at all. I mean of course I think of her, but they are mere flashes of memory. Or I'll see a movie or book and think, She would love this. And then other times, at little mundane moments, pulling sweatpants up on a chunky thigh, wiping a baby's little heart shaped mouth, reading a book that I loved as a child (Corduroy--which Ellie recently announced she "doesn't like anymore"), downloading a photo sent by Leo's teacher of him proudly holding an "A" spelling test--these are the moments I get a little stabby feeling in my throat. She's gone. She missed out. On all of this. And she's never coming back. And it's so unfair that it's almost unbelievable. Strike that. It is unbelievable.

Lately I think she's been on the forefront of my mind because Ellie and I have been...having some disagreements.



In addition to Ellie's kindergarten portrait, the Thanksgiving projects started rolling in last week. And it's official. This year, Ellie is "Thankful for herself."

God bless her, really. If you knew Ellie, you would understand that this statement truly does summarize her, at age five. She is a little force, that one.

She also rolls her eyes at me. Often. She grows impatient with my inability to get her chocolate snack biscuits RIGHT NOW (and, unintentionally, feeds on all of my guilt over the babies and feeling like I can't ever pay enough attention to anyone, that invariably someone needs something they're not getting...sigh). She commands me to "Stop talking!" when I explain to her why we can't do something right at that moment. (An example: Why can't we go to the birthday party now? Hmm...well, because it doesn't start for another six hours?) I know! I'm such a stickler!

She asks mind-numbing questions like "Why do I have to get dressed for school?" And when I calmly and quietly begin to explain why she roars "I know! I know! Don't tell me to do it!"

Part of me wants to strangle Ellie. And part of me wants to slam the door on her, hide in the bathroom and call my mom and ask her: Was I like this (secretly I am pretty sure of the answer)? OK I know I was no peach as a teenager, that I remember, but five years old and already with the attitude?

Of course, Ellie can also be incredibly sweet and kind and loving. She draws hearts with the word "Mom" in the middle and stuffs them in my pockets. She can never get enough about snuggles and can't understand why she can't sleep in our bed every night like she did when we were without power for ten days after Hurricane Sandy. Sometimes I catch her gazing across the kitchen table at "her babies" with more affection and love than I would have ever thought possible (though she did confess to me the other night in the midst of a particularly vocal tandem crying jag "It's hard having babies...but I love them." Well there's one thing she and I are in full agreement of).

Happy and surprised to see Mommy at a recent school pick-up.

Why does any of this matter? Why do I care what my mom would say? Who knows if she would have anything to say that would help. Hell, maybe I just want commiseration. Oh Mom. You wouldn't believe what Ellie did this time. She would probably get some amount of satisfaction knowing that what goes around comes around-moms of snarky little girls unite!

After Leo was born, I was pleasantly surprised by how whole I felt, once again, for the first time since my mother died. Somehow, becoming a mother myself made me feel complete, awash in a glow of purpose and strength, feelings I hadn't had in years. And with every baby, more fulfillment, though always tinged with disbelief: She isn't here to see them, to share this, to share them, with me. But it seemed that looking into their little blue eyes (yes, three out of four kids have blue eyes, just like my mom and unlike me) grounded me. Gave me purpose and forced me, to be brutally honest, to think of someone other than myself.

I walk solidly, mostly confidently with this band of little people, this family I have that surprises me almost every single day. Becoming a mother of so many has made me more decisive, less wish-washy, less prone to grief and regret than I was as a twenty-something in mourning. But all of this will never keep me from wondering, what could have been.

Sandy's Lessons: Tales From Our "Prairie" Life

I'm pretty sure Ellie meant to write "Harry," not "Hammy" (although he is that). This is evidence of one of the many, many Hurricane Sandy-Power Outage creations. For days and days, our kitchen table looked like a scrap booker and an artist went on a wild bender. Hey, what else is there to do without Disney Jr. and PBS Kids?

It's only been a week since our power has been restored and already it feels like all of that dark and cold was a lifetime ago. This morning I self-indulgently cranked the heat to seventy, threw a load of lights in the washing machine and simultaneously ran the dishwasher. Because I could.

Only a week ago this was a mere fantasy. Did I tell you at one point during the power outage I actually dreamed about doing laundry (to be fair, it was almost waste-high in our laundry room. Hey, that's what you get when you don't do laundry for six people in ten days. Not pretty.)

And yes, I am still in love with technology and all of its conveniences.

I don't miss much about our ten day experiment with the prairie life. I don't miss the cold or having to quickly fetch milk or melting frozen pizza from the cooler stored in the mudroom before Harry and Lucy could come padding in to spill the dog's water or play in the kibble. In case you're wondering, the only reason we stored the cooler in the mudroom was because a certain toddler boy learned to climb and stand on said cooler (we dubbed this Cooler Surfing) which we deemed unsafe, especially in the dark. Yes, this is my life.

No, I don't miss bundling the babies in four layers plus a sleep sack and then lying in bed, wide awake at 2 a.m. thinking I heard a cry, convinced they were cold. Nope, sure don't.

Speaking of waking cold, I'm pretty sure Harry was. I don't think it's a coincidence that most mornings after we lost power, Harry was up between 4:30 and 5 a.m. In normal (i.e. heated) circumstances, I've been known to let a baby whine and fuss when they have the gall to wake so early. But when the upstairs is hovering around fifty-five degrees (which I realize doesn't sound all that cold but trust me it is), well, it just didn't seem right.

Which brings me to coffee. No, I don't miss how we were forced to make coffee in those days without power. I would creep downstairs in the dark with Harry and with one hand I boiled water on the stove (lit with a match), then poured it through our coffee pot. It worked well, except for the fact that obviously it didn't keep the coffee warm and, well, when your downstairs is fifty degrees, let's just say things cool down quickly. But at 4:30 a.m.? Coffee is not optional.

One morning, I woke to Harry's cries and stumbled into the babies' room to fetch him before he could wake Lucy (if there's anything worse than one baby awake before sunrise, it's two babies awake before sunrise). I brought him to the bathroom, where Erin was showering and where I knew the steam would warm us both. Erin and I chatted briefly, and before we knew it, Leo and Ellie were both also in the bathroom too. Apparently Harry's cries had awakened them. I glanced at the clock: 4:45 a.m. and three out of four kids were up. Man, it was going to be a long day.

"Are we in hell?" I asked Erin.
"Pretty sure, yes," she replied, poking her head out of the shower, briefly.
But we were both laughing.

So maybe it will surprise you to learn that there are plenty of things I do miss about our little break from life on the grid.

1. No Distractions: I didn't realize how much housework takes me away from time with the kids until my ability to load the dishwasher, do laundry or cook anything more complicated than boiling water for pasta or heating pizza on the stove top, was taken away. Aside from trying to keep up with the dishes (admittedly, hand washing the dishes is tedious but since we were blessed with hot water it was a welcome way to keep warm) and trying to clean up toys from the floor before sunset every night, there wasn't much housework to be done. And since my phone was in a constant state of near-death since it rarely got fully charged (I charged my phone in the car before Erin left for work every morning which takes forever --see: never full charged) I couldn't really text anyone, email or partake much in the mother of all Mom Distractions: Facebook. It felt...liberating.


No joke, this photo was taken at around 5:30 a.m. Nothing to do at that hour in the dark but draw (by flashlight of course)!

2. Break from Technology: We warned Leo and Ellie that the power could go out before the storm (of course, little did we know...). Their first question was about the TV. The prospect that they might not have it seemed shocking. For the first few hours, they were in denial. Leo kept trying to turn it on. But by the next morning, it was not even discussed. Out came the pens and crayons and water colors. The kitchen table became Command Central for The Great Artfest of Hurricane Sandy. Ellie made paper dolls and paper fairies and paper princesses. Leo drew seventeen different versions of Spider Man and at least fourteen different renditions of the solar system. We don't let them watch a ton of television but they certainly watch it. It's not like they don't normally draw and color often, but when TV is taken completely off the table and it's not even an option? It's a no brainer that activities are going to get more creative (see above: liberating). It wasn't just art. As I mentioned before, there were many complex games involving fixing toys and dress-up and playing school.

3. Closeness: When it's cold and dark at 7:45, there isn't much to do but crawl into bed and snuggle to keep warm. Even when she was still eating dinner, Ellie would ask me "When are we going to go upstairs to cuddle?" We settled into a nighttime routine early on. As soon as the babies were down and dinner was over, I took the big kids upstairs (once it got dark we traveled as a pack-remind me to tell you the story of the first night of no power when Leo freaked out--he is not a fan of the dark) and turned on the hot shower in the bathroom for a little warmth so they could change into their pajamas. Then we'd climb into our bed (we had the kids sleep with us to keep warm). And Leo and Ellie would be snoring by 7:55. Side note: It was during one of these snuggle sessions that Ellie piped up the words that will go down in family history: "Leo! I can feel your tushy!"

That's when I would sneak out of bed to go downstairs and to clean up (I use that term loosely--there's only so much cleaning one can do by candlelight). Clean-up time usually involved a glass or two of wine. Like I said: those were some loooong days. That was some well-earned wine.

4. Life on Hold: I really don't think I'm cut out to be a stay at home mom but I have to say I really enjoyed that week home with the kids, when the trains and buses stopped and my office closed and New York City nearly ground to a halt. And when I say home I mean home. We have one car, which Erin took to work (poor thing worked before dawn to well after dusk in those frenzied, post-Sandy days) so there were few places to go. We took a lot of neighborhood walks. There was our infamous trip to the Red Cross Shelter. I referred to my week home with the kids as Extreme Parenting, because not only were we living without a lot of basic comforts (heat, electricity) but home with four kids for seven straight days and no television? I am here to tell you: It can be done. That morning three out of four kids were up at 4:30 a.m. (I still get chills writing that) I read the kids books by flashlight. I know! Once the sun came up and it was light enough, Leo and I played catch with his little foam ball.

5. The constant reminder that if you don't laugh at the situation, you might cry (not that there is anything wrong with crying). One morning I had the brilliant plan to warm the babies' bedroom before their morning nap, with steam from the shower. I carefully closed all the bedroom doors upstairs and turned the water in the babies' shower on hot and high. Ten minutes later our neighbor came over to check on us. That's when all three upstairs smoke alarms went off at the same time (apparently the steam combined with the cold air and set off the alarms). I've never seen Leo turn a whiter shade of white, poor guy. In other news, it seems I'm not a Girl Scout, after all.

That time at home with the kids in the cold and dark was intense, exhausting, ridiculous, frustrating and often  hilarious (at least, in retrospect). And as I have been telling almost anyone who will listen: I am now pretty sure I can do almost anything.

***

Last night as I stood, wiping down the counter in our obscenely bright kitchen, watching Ellie eat the last few bites of spaghetti and feeling suddenly oddly nostalgic about how just a week ago it would have been close to "cuddle time," I asked Ellie if she liked it better with the power on or off.

"Off," she replied, with instant certainty.

"Really? Why?" I asked, assuming she'd mention the thrill of sleeping in our bed for ten straight nights or missing a week of school.

"Because it was an adventure!" she said.

And isn't that the truth.

The Eventual Halloween

For the second year in a row, Halloween in our neighborhood (heck, I think in our whole state if not the entire region) was cancelled due to a major weather event. This year of course, it was Hurricane Sandy, which hit on October 29. There was no trick or treating on the actual day, no school parties or parades, period.

Oh sure, trick or treating was rescheduled. In our town it was last Monday. When we were still without power. I wasn't about to bundle the kids up in freezing temperatures and walk through a dark neighborhood, nor was I about to answer the door to trick or treaters without a porch light. Honestly that's Leo favorite part, handing out the candy. Ellie, on the other hand, doesn't play. She is all about the getting of the candy. She was not happy at the news that there would be no trick or treating.

Part of me just wanted to forget the whole dang thing. Just the sight of Halloween decorations has semi-bad connotations for me at this point. Bright and early on November 1, Leo and Ellie and I efficiently packed up all the Halloween accouetrement: gone were the witch and ghost figurines from the mantel, adios to the pumpkin garland and candy corn collages.

Let's make Turkeys and hang them all over the house! I practically shrieked, so ready was I to Put Halloween Behind Us. The other day I joked to Erin that I'm going to need doggy tranquilizers next October 31, so fearful am I of Another Spooky Major Weather Event. Third time's a charm?

This year's "official" Halloween (unbeknownst to the kids) was spent changing the radio station and the subject when the newscaster announced it was Halloween (Ellie didn't miss a beat and asked, "It's Halloween today Mommy? Are we going trick or treating?).

Later I did my best to maintain normalcy: We went to the playground and wandered around the neighborhood (anything to keep four stir crazy kids out of the dark, cold house for a few hours). The "highlight" of our day ended up being an impromptu field trip to the local Red Cross Shelter, where the kids ate chips and Cheerios and I was able to charge my cell phone (at first they weren't going to let me, saying the power needed to be conserved for the phones belonging to first responders). I was gracious about it and didn't argue but the gentleman in charge insisted that a woman with four children and no cell phone certainly constituted an emergency (I'll say! No Facebook? No Words With Friends?). KIDDING.

Well, thankfully, life has mostly gone back to normal for us. Unfortunately, Ellie was not taking my lead about the decision to do our best to ignore Halloween this year. She kept asking about trick or treating, kept asking when we were going to have our party (for the record, we were not having a Halloween party but that didn't stop her). I had explained several times that due to the storm it wasn't safe to trick or treat and she understood that. But the power came back on, the streets were cleared of trees and debris. And so her question, understandably, persisted: When are we going trick or treating?

That's when it dawned on me. All the kids really wanted to do was wear their costumes and get some candy.

I know! I exclaimed, not quite sure where I was going with my idea, I just knew that if I had to explain to Ellie one more time...

How about, you dress up in your costumes and you knock on OUR door and we give YOU candy?

Unanimous grins all around.

And that's why Halloween 2012 will be remembered as the Year We Trick or Treated At Our Own House.

And the nice thing about having four kids is you always have an instant party. We didn't even need to invite anyone for it to feel festive. The big kids put on their costumes. We got to dress the babies in their first Halloween costumes and take the proverbial ten thousand pictures. The kids ran around in the sixty-two degree weather (why yes, two weeks ago we had a hurricane! Of course!).

Don't ask me why I felt the need to have Munchkins and apple cider (which I of course forgot to serve) in addition to the Three Musketeers, Milky Way, Twix and M&Ms we still had left over, due to the whole, no Trick or Treaters thing.

I told Ellie she could eat as much candy as she wanted but it would be gone the next day. And like any well-adjusted kid, she ate so much she almost made herself sick, but stopped just short. Later she reported she was going to "Just eat tambourines, because they don't make my stomach feel so yucky."

For the record, she meant tangerines.

You Knew It Would End Well

Our street this morning.

The snow started falling yesterday around noon, small, wet flakes blown sideways by the Nor'easter's powerful winds.

Perfect, I thought to myself. Not only do I need to leave work early to avoid the parking lot of the turnpike, but it will be an even colder night, thanks to the storm's high winds and blowing snow. All made that much more painful, due to that small detail of no power at our house.

***

The walk from the bus to my house took twice as long as usual. The snow had accumulated quickly, making the sidewalks slick and treacherous. I could barely see-it was almost white out conditions and the snow was blowing straight into my face. At one point my glasses were so coated with snow I had to take them off and clean them.

Normally, I would feel festive: The first snow of the season! I got to leave work early! I'd come home to a cozy house in time to make a nice, comforting dinner, maybe some kind of stew (if I were the kind of person who made stew). But no. I knew I was coming home to a cold, dark house. The scramble to get everything picked up in time for darkness would begin, the rush to consider dinner and its few simple ingredients. In no time the house would go from gray, to purple to black. The twins would get lost behind a stairwell or an end table "Where's Harry? Where's Lucy?" A diaper would need to be changed, by flashlight, and then the bundling of four layers would ensue.

Just then a utility-truck of some kind passed me. I'd started to spot them as though some kind of mirage--could it be? A repairman? An angel? To rescue us from our darkness? Was it even real? It barreled along, its turn signal on. Where would he turn? My plan was to catch up with him, to flag him down and see where he was headed and if he had any prognosis for my street. "Sunshine State Electric" read the sign on the truck's door. As quickly as I reached him, he turned down the culdacac across the street from my house.

That's when I saw two of my neighbors, laughing and smiling. My heart raced. Could it be?

One of them spotted me.

"He said it will be about an hour and a half," she said. "He's never seen snow!" Clearly, she felt celebratory too.

I instantly loved these Florida electrical crew snow virgins. I was giddy-filled with more hope than I'd had in ten days.

Thirty minutes later, as I held Lucy in my arms and watched the men work on the street outside my picture window, the lights in my living room and kitchen flashed on, then off, then back on again. The whole house whirred back to life. Digital numbers on appliances blinked yellow, green and blue. The furnace kicked on. Leo and Ellie, in the backyard playing in the snow, rushed to the back door, clamoring to come in, pink cheeked and with enormous grins.

"Mommy! The lights are ON!" Ellie squealed. "Do we get to have our "The Electricity is Back on Party?" (I'd promised this event,  which would entail pink and chocolate frosted cupcakes and the wearing of Halloween costumes, the ones the kids never even got to wear, because of the storm).

Leo jumped up and down and flapped his arms so high he could have ascended to the second floor of the house.

Life, as we'd known, was back.

Losing It

Surveying some of Sandy's damage, October 31, 2012.

First, the disclaimer. I know we were incredibly lucky. I know there are so many people who have it worse than we do. We are lucky the structure of our home was unscathed and that no major trees came down. We have our lives, for goodness sake. Some people were not so fortunate.

But. We are on our tenth day without power. Without heat or electricity. Did I mention there is a nor'easter forecasted for this afternoon? The kicker with that? The workers who are scrambling to reinstate power to those who are still without, will have to stop once the storm hits. Not to mention the possibility that people who have power might lose it again. I think if that happened, I would just drive myself straight to the closest mental hospital. I mean, really.


Even during the day, the house doesn't seem all that light.

I want to cry. I'm wondering around in a perpetual fog and feel stretched so thin that it's as though if I stood side ways I'd be transparent. I'm not sleeping well. I lie awake and think of those cold little babies in their seven layers. My spirit feels like it's being slowly crushed. I know this is irrational but the prospect that the power will come back is starting to feel out of reach, impossible. When I hear of friends getting their power restored, I am thrilled for them and don't begrudge them their power, but I am envious. I don't think: Why them? I think, Why not them AND Us?

Erin was able to download a movie on the iPad (she had to do it in the city, our signal at home is too weak right now) the other day and it was as if the heavens had parted. By the way, according to Leo and Ellie  The Secret of the Wings is not to be missed.

One bright spot in all of this: I will admit that I sort of love not having a TV (that is of course until the kids go to bed and I want to watch My Shows--Oh wait, there's another bright spot! Think of all the TV I have saved up to watch! Weee!.) Without a television, the kids are forced to be creative. They draw, they play "Animal Hospital" and "Fix the Toys"--you should have seen Ellie making casts out of white printer paper, for all the stuffed animals. They come up with complicated scenarios: "Leo!" Ellie calls, "Let's play Fairies!" And we all know about Leo's love of dress-up. There has been plenty of that.

The only reason we are able to stay in the house is that our neighbor (who inexplicably, has power--that's another kicker, most of the houses on our street have power restored) offered to plug in an extension cord to his outlet, so we're stringing one to our electric fireplace. Of course we're not able to keep that overnight (hello, fire hazard), so it is getting very cold in our bedrooms. The daytime temperature in the house hovers around fifty-eight degrees. We wear many, many layers.


Thankfully, our gas stove works (we turn on the gas and then light it with a match). We plowed through our supply of frozen pizza in the first few days. And yes, in case you were wondering, you can heat pizza on the stovetop (see above).

Some good news? The kids finally went back to school yesterday after missing seven days. As you can imagine, we were all thrilled. I usually pack their lunches (which they prefer) but since we are dealing with some rather extraordinary circumstances, had counted on them having school lunch until life goes back to normal. Food has been tricky, we have a cooler packed with ice (which at this point seems silly--I could just save the trouble and store the food outside in the freezing temperatures.) I've been doing a little shopping every day but am certainly not in my usual Bento lunch box form.

So you can imagine my disappointment when I got the email from the school district yesterday afternoon saying there would be no school lunch available today.

In the end, I was able to cobble together two passable lunches. I think I will always remember Election Night 2012 as the one in which  I listened to the returns on the radio and packed lunches by candle light, while I dined on Cheese Nips and wine. Try not to be jealous.

Last night Poor Erin got caught in hours of traffic coming home. Why? Because there was a downed wire on the turnpike. Of course there was. It feels like the End Of Days around here lately. Like, if it can go wrong, it will.

I keep thinking how easy life will feel once we get power back. But I did not need this reminder of how wonderful modern conveniences are (I already loved my dish washer and practically want to make out with my extra large HE washer and dryer). That reminds me. The laundry that has accumulated? Oh my goodness. It is epic.

"Why do we have to go to school?" Ellie asked this morning. "There's no power."

I explained to her that while we still don't have power, her school does. "It will be warm at school! And there will be lights!" I practically cheered. Lights and heat! Imagine the novelty.

"But why don't WE have power?" she asked.

Yes, it could be so much worse.

But I'm still waiting for it to get better.

I called our town mayor today. I call the electric company every day. I wish I had a good answer. If you'll forgive the pun, I feel so incredibly powerless.

After Sandy: Bonus Photo

Nothing to do at 5 a.m. And no electricity but draw, draw, draw.

Safe, Cold, Still in the Dark, But Grateful

We are emerging from the Hurricane Sandy fog. Still without power (today marks day eight). Which means no heat. Which means our upstairs (bedrooms) goes down to about 55 degrees tonight.

Luckily, the park didn't lose power.

But. We are safe. Our house is safe. Which, as everyone knows by now, is more than can be said for a great many people. And so for that I am of course very grateful. Complaining about no heat or lights seems petty in the light of the many heartbreaking stories that have come out of Hurricane Sandy.


Although New York was without subways for several days, there was no shortage of hot dogs.

I'm still processing everything. I have a lot of stories. More to come, soon.