New England Mamas

All I want for Christmas. . .

Dear Santa,

I know it’s kind of late in the game (what can I say, I’m a procrastinator), but I’m hoping you get this letter in time for the BIG DAY.

My list is rather short this year. In fact, I don’t really need anything at all. I’ve got a pretty good thing going: healthy children, a loving husband, a roof over my head and bills that are paid.

So, just so we’re clear, this is not a complaint letter.

But there is one little thing I was hoping for this year (besides a complete kitchen renovation because who are we kidding?). I don’t even know if you have the ability to pull this one off, but here it goes…

Lobster Stew, I Love You So

It is a cliché, I know, to eat lobster in the Northeast. But it’s what we do, even if that means feeding into the stereotype.

I have a confession to make, though. I’m not a native New Englander. I’m a transplant. I grew up in the great state of New Jersey: home of big hair, shopping malls and Bruce Springsteen.

My parents, on the other hand, were born and bred in a rural cow-tipping-is-a-sport town in Maine. . .

Hiking Wachusett Mountain (it's harder going down than up)

We had another, and probably one of the last, gorgeous 50 degree days a few weekends ago, which called for another trek out into the great wide open. The kids are starting to think of our little excursions as less torture and more adventure (I think).

We drove out to Wachusett Mountain State Reservation. Like most, I immediately think ‘ski mountain’ when I hear Wachusett, but there are about 17 miles of hiking trails just past the ski lodge.

Once we arrived, our first stop was the Park Information Building for a pit stop and a copy (or three) of the trail maps, because getting lost in the woods and starring in our own version of Blair Witch is on my long list of irrational fears.  Inside the Information Building, we were greeted by an uber-friendly park ranger who was handing out Cliff Bars and trail advice, both free of charge.  

After consulting the trail map and the Friendly Park Ranger Man, we decided on our route: the Bicentennial trail to the Loop Trail and up the summit via the Harrington Trail.

A Walk Through Purgatory

Early this fall, on an unusually warm New Englandy kind of day, my family of four was itching for something to DO. School had just started, and the boys needed some serious breathing room after spending the last few days confined to a classroom.

We Googled and Mapquested and consulted the Magic 8 Ball until we found a place where they could burn off their back-to-school energy.

Purgatory Chasm in Sutton, MA.

The name says it all.

 Because after one look at the towering cliffs and jagged “path” of the chasm, the word Suffering, may, in fact, be the first thing that comes to mind.

Most likely formed about 14,000 years ago at the end of the last ice age, it is a quarter of a mile of granite walls, cliffs and caves.  A little piece of natural wonder right here in Massachusetts. 

Or, in the eyes of a seven year old boy: paradise.

The Second Grader pulled on his spelunking hat and adventurer spirit, and began the business of exploration.  He leaped and bounded his way over the boulders with newfound balance in his steps, ignoring our cries of Wait for us!.  Probably for the first time that week, all was right in his world. 

The Four Year Old, equally as enthusiastic with nature’s playground, needed some assistance and hand holding as we navigated the rocks.  Actually, I’m not sure he thought he needed help, but I was too afraid to let go of him for fear of losing him beneath a layer of centuries old glacier rock, and having him forever stuck in the underworld of a Massachusetts state reservation.

The boys spent the next hour exploring hidden caves and crevices while The Husband and I tried to avoid ankle sprains and any other situation that may have required first aid on our less flexible bodies. 

After we maneuvered our way through the chasm, the terrain became flat and there were several different trails to choose from to continue our hike.  We walked an easy, gentle loop until we made our way back to where we started, and came face to face with the obstacle course of boulders once again.  

Those mounds of rock seemed to taunt us as we stopped and stared and wondered if we had the strength to climb back through to the other side.

It was at this point when I realized that I hadn’t packed enough provisions.  The boys had already plowed through apples and granola bars, and I knew that if we didn’t get out quickly, we would be stuck in the woods in an eternal low-blood-sugar damnation.  You would think that after almost eight years of motherhood, I would have the snack thing down.  In my defense, I didn’t think we’d be out long enough to have to deal with the hunger emergency that was about to ensue.  You know what I’m talking about: when the seemingly innocent growl of a child’s stomach turns them into a head-spinning Linda Blair.   

Not something I wanted to stick around for.  Plus, we didn’t have a whole lot of time to wait around for an exorcism.

Fortunately, My Husband found ANOTHER WAY OUT.  One that bypassed the rocks.  Those rocks that were all good and fun on the way in, but now, on the way out, looked like an impossible and torturous journey through meltdown hell.   

We sprung into action and hurried the boys along the last stretch of trail as fast as we could, despite their slow and on-the-verge-of-whining pace.  We suffered through I-Spy, Twenty (long) Questions, and a few (short) shoulder rides.   Whatever it took to get us out tear and tantrum-free.

Just as we took our last steps off the trail and into the salvation of the parking lot, the cries of the wayward travelers began.

I’m soooo huuuungry!

and:

I caaaan’t walk another second!

and the ever famous:

When are we going to beeeee there?

Yeah, we made it out of Purgatory just in time.

Purgatory Chasm is an amazing spot and free to the public.  You can choose to bypass the chasm and stick to the walking trails, which run just above and along the rocks.  Oh, and be sure to bring lots of snacks!

Another One About The Weather

Yesterday morning, as I stood in front of the stove pouring pancake batter onto the griddle, I glanced out the kitchen window and saw something strange.

It was bright. Light. Glowing, even.

It had this amazing golden color, and it actually came in through my window onto the kitchen table. And when I stepped in its shadow I felt warmth. Heat! In my house!

It took me a few minutes, but once I awoke from the light-beam-induced-trance I had fallen under, I realized it was, in fact, The Sun I was seeing.

So foreign to me since I hadn't seen it since, oh, December.

I don't do well without natural light and air warm enough not to freeze your nostrils together.

This winter has seemed longer and more depressing than usual. I'm not sure why, other than the fact that we've had about a foot of snow on the ground for the last three months. And weeks at a time where it was too cold for the kids to endure more than a few minutes at a time of sledding.

Every year around mid-January I ask myself why we chose to live in New England. Why, why couldn't we have chosen Sunny California? Or be wealthy enough to spend January through March at our winter retreat in the South of France?

Whatever our thought process was (and I'm sure at the time it seemed logical) we ended up here. In the cold, snowy tundra of New England.

I toughened up over the last nine years since moving North. Our first winter here I bundled up in my wool coat, hat and scarf when the temperature plummeted to 40 degrees. Yes, people stared. And probably laughed. But I wasn't a New England girl yet. I had no idea that 40 degrees was still considered part of summer.

But now. Now, when the calendar flips over to March and the sun comes out of hiding and the birds start to sing and the air feels downright balmy at 40 degrees, I feel lifted.  My energy level is kicked back into high gear. 

After the long few months of dreary grey days, the brighter days of spring are anticipated with such exuberance only other Northern dwellers could match. I am genuinely grateful (grateful!) when the sun is shining and I can walk our pasty selves outside without the 30 minute ordeal of bundling up two kids and myself in as much winter gear as we can manage. 

Atleast I don't take The Sun for granted anymore, and I guess that's something, right?

Welcome back dear, sweet sunlight. I missed you.

Don't be a stranger.

Star Struck

Last Saturday, in an attempt to alleviate weeks of cabin fever from this God Awful Winter, we set off on a family field trip to the Boston Children's Museum.

There's nothing I love more than spending Saturday's at a germ-infested-museum with my angelic kids.

So I packed up the antibacterial gel, Lysol, surgical gloves and a box of tissues, and we set off into Boston. [No, I'm kidding! You didn't think I'd really bring a can of Lysol, did you?]

As we were driving into the city, and nearing the museum, I noticed there was a parking garage named after me. Now, my maiden name is not all that common, so to see a parking garage sign all lit up in big, bright, sparkly, blinking lights that said: "Maiden Name Parking Garage", well, that pretty much made my entire day.

I might have imagined the blinking lights part.

We ended up parking in some other not-nearly-as-exciting parking garage, but one that was apparently closer to the museum because, you know, the kids and all.

We arrived at the museum with minimal amounts of whining after the brisk, three block walk. And the kids were pretty well behaved too.

The museum has recently been renovated so upon entering and paying a portion of a college fund contribution admission the first thing that any kid under the age of 30 10 gets sucked into is a massive climbing structure. It spanned the three story building, and, due to the countless number of bodies in there at once, there were several log jams along the arduous climb to the top.  There was no telling how long our kids would be in that thing. I think there were parents there from the day before still waiting for their kids to emerge.

So I hunkered down and engaged in one of my favorite activities. People watching.

And that is when I saw Her.

She was walking towards me.

Then she stopped. Two glorious feet in front of ME.

I got a little sweaty. My breathing became short and labored. My knees started to buckle beneath me.

Just as I had gathered the courage to approach her, she disappeared into the crowd.

I turned to one of the employees who had been talking to her.

"Was that MISH MICHAELS?", I asked.

Yep. In the flesh.

Yeah, I know, not many people would have heart palpitations over seeing a local weather personality.

But I like weather.

If I had any aptitude for Math and Science I would have been a meteorologist.

I like storms. I like to track storms. I like to compare weather forecasts from all the major networks. I can tell you which meteorologists are the most accurate, and which ones exaggerate snowfall totals.

Mish Michaels? She's one of the good guys. I mean, gals.

And she's really, amazingly skinny, which is what I focused on when I ran to tell Brian that I had seen her, to which he said, "Mish who?".

He doesn't share in my weather enthusiasm. Obviously.

Always the team player, Brian volunteered to go check her out himself.

He came back a few minutes later and assured me that my ass is smaller than hers.

And that is one of the many reasons why I love him.

I may not have the ability to read the Doppler Radar, but my husband thinks I wear a Mish Michael's size two.

So it's all good.

Eventually, the kids emerged from the climbing monster, we toured the rest of the museum, and headed back to the no-name parking garage.

And so far we're all healthy.

Kindergarten 101

Is it just me or has Kindergarten gotten a lot harder over the last 30 years?

In an effort to ease my son's first day of school trepidations earlier this year, I told him all the things that I did at his age in school (the good stuff, anyway).

I told him about the giant wooden shoe with the big red laces that we learned to tie our own shoes on.

I told him about my leading role as Gretel in our class production of Hansel and Gretel and the tissue paper dress I got to wear (one of my prouder moments).

I told him about the carpet remnants we used as nap time mats, and that each day one lucky kid was chosen to rouse her sleepy classmates from their mats with a magic wand.

I told him about the kid who ate the paste every time we did a craft.

I told him about show and tell time and snack time and all the other glorious things about Kindergarten that I could remember. Picnics, songs, friends, losing my first tooth...you get the idea.

Unfortunately, all of this information was completely irrelevant.

My six year old spends his school day writing in his poetry journal, sounding out words during writing workshops, learning the basics of cartography, working in the computer lab, bar graphing the class' likes and dislikes, and most recently creating and solving mathematical equations (albeit basic ones).

His homework assignments have, on more than one occasion, taken up the better part of a weekend (don't these teachers know that we don't have time to construct 3D family trees?!?).

At the parent teacher conference I was given a detailed report on his progress in each subject. My eyes glazed over as his teacher suggested that I work with him on the 25 words he should be able to read by now.

I interrupted her when I wearily said something like, "You know, when I was in Kindergarten we had this giant wooden shoe..."

She nodded her head gravely and lamented, "I WISH we had time to teach them how to tie their shoes".

What has happened to Kindergarten?

Are we pushing our kids too soon, too hard to learn concepts that their brains may not be developmentally ready for?

Are we setting them up for failure? For elementary school burn out?

Where is the fun stuff? When did recess get replaced by math manipulatives? What happened to arts and crafts and nap time and show and tell?

Regardless of whether they are ready for the academic push or not, I just wish they still had time to play everyday.

And I wish they had a big wooden shoe. Because my kid can't wear Velcro for much longer...

(Umm, it occurred to me that I maybe should have mentioned that my son loves school.  He is energized by it. He asks to stay for extended day. This previously omitted fact may be reason enough to disregard this entire post...)

An Imposter Among Us

We were at a birthday party for one of my son's classmates a few weeks ago where I finally got to meet his "bestest" friend's mother. 

As I was talking with her, I couldn't help but think to myself "I used to be YOU".

You see, Best Friend's Mother works full time. Out of the house. She arrived at the late afternoon party straight from work wearing smart looking (ironed!) khakis, a button down shirt, strappy sandals, a bit of bling, and perfectly coiffed hair.

And lipstick.

Lipstick!

For an instant (just one small fleeting moment) I wanted to jump up and grab her and beg her to take me with her. Wherever it is she goes each day. Hell, I didn't care. Just. Take. Me. Take me back to a time of wearing something other than jeans and stain resistant fleece.

Please, Best Friend's Mother, can't you see that I used to be just like you? I don't belong with them, looking around the room at the other stay at home moms. I don't drive a minivan. I don't make crafts. I don't ever want to be a room mother. I buy store made cakes for birthdays. I've never used a Pampered Chef product and can barely sew on a button. 

But, shhhhh, don't tell them, Best Friend's Mother, because they haven't caught on  yet that I don't belong here. 

If my cover is blown they may banish me completely.

And I'm not ready for exile.

When I was a working mom wearing cute clothes and bling, all I wanted to do was be home with my kids. And now that I'm home with my kids wearing puke and today's lunch, all I want to do is, well, be home with my kids.

So I can't be found out. Not yet.

Someday, though, I know there are strappy sandals in my future...