Snail Snacker

Today she turns 40- that second sister of mine. My favorite childhood memory of her is that time as a toddler when she was crawling around the patio during a summer backyard BBQ. We had this very slippery patio you see. As pre-teens, on a hot summer day, we’d throw our swimsuits on- altogether us sisters and cousins too, run the garden hose over it and slip-n-slide. At the end of a good session, our knees would be rubbed red and bruised. We didn’t care- fun was all we knew. There were no plastic slip-n-slides and if there were- our parents didn’t have the money to buy one. We did what we could and played with what we had. What we lacked in money we made up with in creativity. But I digress.

Back to my sister. She was crawling all over that slippery patio while Dad BBQ-ed some type of delicious meat. I remember we had those windows in the kitchen that opened up to the patio and we’d pass the carne asada raw and cooked back and forth through that window. The meat always marinated in this giant, mint green tupperware bowl. Man, every time I saw that bowl- I just knew it was going to be on. So there went my sister – maybe 18 months old and she’s crawling around that slippery patio and hardly anyone is paying any attention to her until- PLOP!– she picks up a nice, juicy slug of a snail and just throws it in her mouth. I’m not quite sure who noticed first that she seemed to be crunching away on something not right. Next thing you know- they ran right over to her and took it out of her mouth or what remained of that little insect and washed that mouth out with water and Lord knows what else.

I couldn’t look at my sister in the same way for a few months after that. Every time I thought of her- I thought- there she goes- a snail snacker. The only way Mom and Dad explained it was you know your sister- she’s always getting herself into something- she can never sit still- that one.

And so she remains to this day. Mother of four, husband to one, full-time working momma with a side business – making homemade, personalized sugar cookies, cupcakes and party planning. She planned her own 40th birthday bash a few weeks ago and it was spectacular- tequila shots, 90’s music in a cottage along the beach. She just finished baking personalized cookies/cake pops for our niece’s 15th birthday party. She always goes over the top and she can never stand still- constantly moving and plotting her next move. She gives her entire heart to her others. I worry about her sometimes as I do with all of them in different ways- that she gives too much, does too much and not enough time is spent on herself.

She is brilliant, talented, and full of life and love. I hope she remembers that today- a celebration of her 40 years on this earth-  and always. As her big sister, I will try to remind her of that. Love you Mel. Sisters forever.

The Park

 

The local park looks shabby now. The tops of the play structure have turned a light blue and yellow. It’s all kind of run-down looking and you wonder- did it always look like this?

My kids are at home or at school, working and doing homework on iPads and computers. Checking their grades on school portals. Practicing their instruments. Selling Girl Scout cookies and attending Boy Scout meetings where they plan the highlight of their scouting career- the infamous Northern Tier trip. Everything seems heavy and carries an air of finality to it. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m too sensitive or too serious.

I drive past the park at least once a day. I think a lot while I’m driving. I do a lot of driving. I remember our park days.

There was the time we landed there early- like 8:30 in the morning of a muggy summer day. We met friends there- the usual suspects. There was no plan, soccer balls, food nor blankets. Our kids didn’t ask us to log onto our hot spot. They didn’t complain they were bored. Half hour in- the sprinklers came on throughout the park area. We had the whole park to ourselves. The kids and adults shrieked with delight as we ran free through the sprinklers, our damp clothes sticking to our bodies and hair hanging in our face- a moment frozen in time. A moment of complete freedom and joy.

I remember being a young mom at this park. Nursing one baby in a sling and chasing the other. Pushing my babies in the infant swings. Then transitioning to chasing after them to make sure they didn’t fall off the structure. To our dismay, they loved heading to the big structures where the big kids were. Then finally graduating to teaching them to pump their legs and swing high. We held picnics and potlucks there. We flew planes and kites there. The mountains were our backdrop to our life. There was always a new Mom to connect and pass the morning with. Our conversations were always interrupted and I recall we would tell each other- just wait until they are older- we will have all the time in the world- then indeed we will be able to finish this conversation.

Our days seemed like they’d just go on for all time. The plan was always this- let’s run them ragged for 2-3 hours- then go home, throw them in the tub, make a quick Mac and cheese dinner so they’ll be in bed by 7:30. A glass of red wine was always our reward before going to bed and doing it all again the next day.

I go to the park every now and then- between the soccer games and farmer’s market – always on the way to somewhere else. The park is no longer the primary destination- it is merely an interruption on our journey to somewhere else. I don’t recognize any of the faces anymore. I’m at least 10, okay maybe 15 years older than everyone there.  I feel like an odd duck- an imposter- my face is not shiny and new and that optimism and open-mindedness that accompanies new parents is no longer in my DNA. That belongs to the new ones- with new babies in slings and swings- calling after them with that sing-songy voice. You know the one. The one you used to use that now drives you nuts when you hear new moms using it.

My kids? They are at home. He is stressed out because there’s 38 honors geometry homework questions that are on top of the test, the history quiz and spanish homework. Due tomorrow. Real dinners with equal amounts protein and veggies need to be made and someone needs to be picked up from somewhere- every day of the week. There are parent-teacher conferences, awards ceremonies, PTA meetings, reading nights and school fundraisers to attend. The red wine has been replaced with Kombucha because alcohol keeps you awake at night and between the pre-menopausal night sweats and anxiety over how you will pay for college – sleep is something you need so much more of these days.  That and our thickening waist-lines simply cannot tolerate the alcohol any longer. We wave to our mom friends in the school pick-up lane and text in case of more urgent matters. Sometimes we get together with those who have’t yet returned to the workforce- we grab a bite to eat, we hike and we talk- all uninterrupted.

Sometimes things just change. And you have to change with them. But you still drive past the park at least once a day and you remember.

The Giving Tree

I thought I was going to have more time. More time with the kids. More time with loved ones. I thought I was going to have it all figured out. I thought I was going to be more financially secure. I thought there would be more time for family vacations. I thought, I thought.

But life happened. You got older. You became everything you thought you wouldn’t. You had kids and they grew older. People you thought would be together forever got divorced. People you love dearly got sick… and died. Friends came in and out of your life. Some were seasonal, some more permanent. All stay forever in your heart.

In the last few weeks, it seems I’ve had the same conversation with scores of people. Maybe it’s because I’m leaving and so in terms of conversation- I find that nothing is off limits. Or maybe it’s because it’s down to the wire. The people around me now are it. My core, my center. I’ve cut the fluff. We have nothing to lose or gain. We are losing time, with every second. It seems trivial to talk about how busy we are, the day-to-day of life. And so we talk about the real stuff. The sad stuff. The scary stuff. The no-bullshit stuff. The what you really mean to me stuff. Regrets. Dreams. Failures.

Life’s stages are beautifully described in Shel Silverstein’s children’s book The Giving Tree. I highly recommend it if you don’t already have it in your library. Every single friggin’ time I read it to one of the kids I cry. The more I read it the more I cry because the older I get, the more I get it. In the beginning of the story, the boy requires so much from the tree. And the tree gives it all, each time the boy comes back, each time a bit older and in a different life stage, requiring something different. In the end, the tree has nothing to give, it’s just a stump after having given everything to the boy. And the boy finds he requires nothing in the end. Beautiful.