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Morning, everyone! Sorry your blog will be a quickie today – I have to fly out the door to do some radio interviews about my special report Sunday night… I’m especially looking forward to talking to Van and Bonnie today. But I’ve made the coffee extra strong since you never know what they’re going to throw your way!
THANKS, DANNY BOY! I know he hates being called that. Winters sat in for Pat today, saving me from having to read all the news by myself. I know getting through our long am newscast is a little confusing – good thing Dan’s pretty comfortable winging it! I have one issue with him though. thanks to him I have been crying all morning. From laughter. I cannot repeat it – but he had a PRICELESS line off the air about a 14lb 5oz baby born in Buffalo NY. Totally tasteless, and totally hilarious. Use your imagination.
FARMERS MARKET STARTS SAT! Jeriann’s been in heaven all morning – snaking on goodies at the Farmers’ Market site on Court Avenue! It starts tomorrow morning, but she and Jon Cahill are soing some preview pieces today. I’m hoping to make it out there with the kids before the big t-ball game tomorrow!
It’s now 9:15 and I just got back from a bunch of radio interviews – I’m tired of hearing myself talk!
Here are a couple photos to share before I run and start planning some stuff for next week! Here’s Cal on his zoo field trip yesterday, standing in front of the giant tortoise. Watching the tortoise move was like watching Calvin move when I’m in a hurry to get out the door. The kid’s a slowpoke – too many things to check out on the way.
Here’s an impromptu “pool party” in my friend Mary’s backyard last night! I threw our plans to go to the Valley Junction Farmers’ Market out the window, and we let the kids splash, eat fish sticks for dinner, and play outside for a few hours. Time really flies when you’re having fun – the evening just disappeared.
Have a wonderful weekend – and Happy Mother’s Day to all you moms and grandmas! See ya’ll Monday! Trish
Hey, Thanks to the wonders of wireless internet I can wite this update..even on a sick day. Thanks to DW for sitting in. I wouldn’t have even posted today except I got this email from my mom. It’s Mother Day Sunday and I hope all the mom’s who watch us in the morning have a wonderful day. The following is from My wise mother:
Anna Quindlen is one of my favorites. She describes my experience in raising you perfectly. It is my finest gift to the world…that of being your mom. Thank you all for the opportunity to do so. I love you! Mom
Anna Quindlen, Newsweek Columnist and Author:
All my babies are gone now. I say this not in sorrow but in disbelief. I take great satisfaction in what I have today: three almost-adults, two taller than I am, one closing in fast. Three people who read the same books I do and have learned not to be afraid of disagreeing with me in their opinion of them, who sometimes tell vulgar jokes that make me laugh until I choke and cry, who need razor blades and shower gel and privacy, who want to keep their doors closed more than I like. Who, miraculously, go to the bathroom, zip up their jackets and move food from plate to mouth all by themselves. Like the trick soap I bought for the bathroom with a rubber ducky at its center, the baby is buried deep within each, barely discernible except through the unreliable haze of the past. Everything in all the books I once poured over is finished for me now. Penelope Leach., T. Berry Brazelton., Dr. Spock. The ones on sibling rivalry and sleeping through the night and early-childhood education, haveall grown obsolete. Along with Goodnight Moon and Where the Wild Things Are, they are battered, spotted, well used. But I suspect that if you flipped the pages dust would rise like memories. What those books taught me, finally, and what the women on the playground taught me, and the well-meaning relations –what they taught me, was that they couldn’t really teach me very much at all.Raising children is presented at first as a true-false test, then becomes multiple choice, until finally, far along, you realize that it is an endless essay. No one knows anything. One child responds well to positive reinforcement, another can be managed only with a stern voice and a timeout. One child is toilet trained at 3, his sibling at 2.When my first child was born, parents were told to put baby to bed on his belly so that he would not choke on his own spit-up. By the time my last arrived, babies were put down on their backs because of research on sudden infant death syndrome. To a new parent this ever-shifting certainty is terrifying, and then soothing. Eventually you must learn to trust yourself.Eventually the research will follow. I remember 15 years ago pouring over one of Dr. Brazelton’s wonderful books on child development, in which he describes three different sorts of infants: average, quiet, and active. I was looking for a sub-quiet codicil for an 18-month old who did not walk. Was there something wrong with his fat little legs? Was there something wrong with his tiny little mind? Was he developmentally delayed, physically challenged? Was I insane? Last year he went to China. Next year he goes to college. He can talk just fine. He can walk, too.Every part of raising children is humbling, too. Believe me, mistakes were made. They have all been enshrined in the, “Remember-When-Mom-Did Hall of Fame.” The outbursts, the temper tantrums, the bad language, mine, not theirs. The times the baby fell off the bed. The times I arrived late for preschool pickup. The nightmare sleepover. The horrible summer camp. The day when the youngest came barreling out of the classroom with a 98 on her geography test, and I responded, “What did you get wrong?” (She insisted Iinclude that.) The time I ordered food at the McDonald’s drive-through speaker and then drove away without picking it up from the window. (They all insisted I include that.) I did not allow them to watch the Simpsonsfor the first two seasons. What was I thinking? But the biggest mistake I made is the one that most of us make while doing this. I did not live in the moment enough. This is particularly clear now that the moment is gone, captured only in photographs. There is one picture of the three of them, sitting in the grass on a quilt in the shadow of the swing set on a summer day, ages 6, 4 and 1. And I wish I could remember what we ate, and what we talked about, and how they sounded, and how they looked when they slept that night. I wish I had not been in such a hurry to get on to the next thing: dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less. Even today I’m not sure what worked and what didn’t, what was me and what was simply life. When they were very small, I suppose I thought someday they would become who they were because of what I’d done. Now I suspect they simply grew into their true selves because they demanded in a thousand ways that I back off and let them be. The books said to be relaxed and I was often tense, matter-of-fact and I was sometimes over the top. And look how it all turned out. I wound up with the three people I like best in the world, who have done more than anyone to excavate my essential humanity. That’s what the books never told me. I was bound and determined to learn from the experts. It just took me a while to figure out who the experts were.