Birth Stories

Tomorrow, my youngest child turns 21 -- an official adult.
There's a story that I can't share with Tucker, so I thought I'd tell you instead.
When Grace was 3 and Spencer was about 19 months old, we decided to try for another baby.
That May, Earl and I went away to Mackinac Island for a long weekend. Mackinac Island is a beautiful island in northern Michigan where cars aren't allowed so people travel by bicycle or by horse and carriage.
After we returned home, I said to Earl, "Let's wait to try for a baby. We'll just enjoy Grace and Spencer while they're young."

A beautiful neighbor who loved to spend time with the kids. 

And he agreed, so we went back to using my diaphragm, although, let's face it, having two toddlers is generally enough of a birth control option.
By father's day, we realized that the weekend away had succeeded in my third pregnancy, so our decision to wait came a week too late.
Since Earl's 40th birthday would arrive before the baby was born, it turned out for the best that we didn't delay having our third child.
With each of our children, we chose not to know the gender of the baby. We wanted the surprise when they arrived.
With a girl and a boy already in the family, the sex of this third baby didn't really matter -- we had one of each, but I always yearned for Grace to have a sister. I lost my sister when I was 14 and at every stage of my life, I wondered how life would be different if my sister was still alive. I jealously watched families with sisters, thinking they stayed closer as they grew older.
Before I ever had children, I had three names that I loved -- Alexandra, Brigid and Francesca.
For some reason, in the midst of my pregnancy hormones, I agree to name our daughter Grace Alexandra rather than any of the three names I had chosen.
So as we anticipated the birth of our third child, I decided we would name a girl Francesca.
Earl talked me out of the name Francesca earlier by threatening to call our daughter Frankie. But the day that Grace stood up to the family and insisted everyone call her Grace rather than Gracie, I realized that our children would let their father and everyone else know which names were acceptable. I'd deal with Earl calling our daughter a male name when the time came.
Because we knew that this would be our final child, we asked a friend to videotape it. She had no idea what she was in for, because Tucker was born at 4:20 a.m. She sat up all night waiting to videotape this final birth.
I've watched it a few times, and in the midst of the squeals of pain, the nurse midwife asked if I wanted to pull the baby out, and I did. I wanted nothing more than to get that baby out of there.
So I reached down and grasped his shoulders and ripped him out of there. Thank God!
As they checked that he was healthy, it took a few minutes for anyone to mention the gender of the baby. Finally, Earl said, "It's a boy."
My first words after the announcement: "You were supposed to be Francesca!"
I imagine how sad it might make Tucker to think that I wished he was a girl instead of a boy.
I didn't.

I'm delighted that Spencer and Tucker have grown up as friends and playmates, swords swinging plus bows and arrows twanging.
Tucker has been entertaining and so devoted to me. A mama's boy from the minute he was born.

And I wouldn't change a thing.

Happy birthday, Tucker.

Birthday Celebrations

Today is Spencer's birthday.
Spencer is my middle child, my oldest son. He has taught me more than any of my other children.
Grace and Tucker are more like me in temperament and thought patterns.
Spencer came out speaking truth to power. In the case of him being little, I was the power.
What Spencer does is name emotions.
I remember when he was four or five and I was trying to convince him he should go to Grace's dance recital. I can't remember the words I used, but he looked at me with his big blue eyes and said, "Are you trying to guilt me into going?"
Yes, yes, I was, I realized, although I hadn't thought about it that way.

Another time, he and his friend Michael were playing a game and they got into a fight. I don't remember the fight, but I remember Spencer's words. "I think you care more about winning than you do about our friendship."

Don't get me wrong. Spencer isn't all wisdom. Being his mom has brought me joy and sorrow.

He makes impetuous mistakes. He drinks too much and hangs out with a party crowd. Just a few weeks ago, at a house party, one of his friends was getting beaten up. Spencer handed another friend his glasses and waded into the fray to defend his friend. I admire Spencer's willingness to defend his buddies, but the friend who held the glasses knew that Spencer couldn't afford to get in trouble. He followed Spencer, picked him up and carried him away from the fight. Not an easy task if you've seen my 6-foot, 4-inch son. Luckily, he's still pretty thin. The original friend getting beaten up ended up with two broken jaws and a collapsed lung. Spence sat by him waiting for the ambulance to arrive.

Each time I hear a story like this, I'm so glad that Spencer is still alive. I talk to him, lecture him, about not putting himself in situations like this, but I'm not sure they stick.

When the phone rings and I see a strange number, my heart beats a little faster. Is Spencer hurt? Is he in trouble? My fears for him continue even though he's on schedule to finish college next summer with a double major in marketing and sociology.

If he can survive these young adult years, I know he'll be fine because I know the heart that lies within him.
Happy birthday, Spencer.

Birthday Prep

I learned quite a few years ago that the best way to make sure I have a good birthday is to make my own plans.
So, everything is in place for a spectacular day.
Today, I went to Trader Joe's and I splurged on a bottle of dessert wine. A tiny bottle of wine that costs $19.99, but it will go well with the chocolate cake with chocolate icing that my husband plans to bake for me.
The icing for this cake is tricky. It's boiled icing that is supposed to harden, kind of like homemade fudge, the kind not made with marshmallow cream.
As I was checking out at Trader Joe's, I mentioned that the wine was for my birthday celebration. A few minutes later, another check out clerk showed up at the line with a bouquet of flowers for me, compliments of Trader Joe's.
So now I have my flowers to enjoy all weekend and the anticipation of my birthday on Monday.

I have to teach from 8-2 on Monday, but my last class has already made plans for a class party. They're the ones who thought I was in my 30s, so, of course, I'm going to celebrate with them.
As soon as class is over, I'll scoot up to the salon for a facial (a gift from my husband) and a manicure (a gift from my daughter).
I've already purchased marinated lamb tips for dinner, so we'll have dinner at home followed by cake and my scrumptious dessert wine.
How bout you? Do you plan your own birthday celebrations?

Tucker turns 18

My youngest child, Tucker, turns 18 today. 

Even though he is a third child, he has always loved me most ferociously. When I took him to have his  1-year-old portrait, he refused to pose alone. Instead, he his behind me and peaked out from behind. That became the portrait that we chose. 

Throughout his childhood, he has been a Mama's boy. He always wanted me. And I was fine with that.

Here we are by the pool in St. Petersburg. 

 And this one was a group photo, but Tucker needed to hang on to his mom. I was so used to those little hands around my neck. 

Of course, in the past few years, his adoration of me has faded. He's fighting hard to be an independent adult. That means, sometimes, he isn't so fond of me. He definitely pushes me away. 

There are ongoing skirmishes behind the scenes here, and sometimes he breaks my heart, but I know we're both going to get through it. Someday soon, maybe he'll do more than give me the top of his dark hair to kiss when he comes through the door by his midnight curfew. 

For today, the most I can do is hope he has a happy birthday. The future will take care of itself. 

Birthday Do Over

I'm claiming a birthday do over. If you've ever been around elementary-aged kids, a "do over" means you get to do it again.
I think a birthday doesn't really count if I don't get to start it with a run.
I tried to go for a run, but I was up several times during the night coughing, and I knew it was a bad idea to try to run.
Almost as soon as I started to run, I felt that itching, tightness in my throat at the top of my chest. I thought I would walk instead, but since I felt light headed, I turned around and headed back home.
I made myself a cappuccino and watched the episode of About a Boy that I recorded from Saturday night.
Tonight is the swim banquet, which I can't miss because it is Tucker's senior year and he'll get a bunch of awards.
We have planned to go out for lunch or brunch somewhere, even though I'm not really hungry and can't land on a place to think, "that sounds delicious!"
But, we're going to pick up Grace and go out for a meal the four of us.
I think I'll declare Thursday as my birthday do over. By then, I should be well enough to go for a run. Then I'll schedule a facial with the birthday money from my wonderful parents.
So today's my official birthday, but I plan to celebrate later in the week.

Birthdays

Grace came home from university on Friday night so she could go salsa dancing with her friends from home. And we celebrated her birthday today before rushing her back to school for a mandatory meeting.
One of the hardest things about kids going away to school is not getting to spend birthdays with them.
Grace was in New York for two of her birthdays, and it's sad when we aren't together.

Her birthday celebration had a theme. We went to the restaurant Bon Vie and she had ham & gruyere crepes with fried potatoes. Yummy.

I'm the only one who decided a raspberry martini seemed like a good idea on Sunday at noon.
We convinced Tucker to come along and he actually enjoyed the food. The bread they served, he proclaimed the best he'd ever eaten, rivaling that of bread in France. He shared some of what we ordered and loved the fried potatoes with onions and the French toast with fruit.
He did, however, take note that there was only one TV in the entire restaurant and it was way over by the bar. That was a drawback to him.

Earl and I made Grace a vision board, sometimes called a dream board. I needed help from my friend Sheila to find the material and the batting for the board. She had them in her newly-organized craft room. I also had to go in search of staples for the staple gun and ended up with furniture tacks to hold the material in place. The pale green fabric has a damask design, which adds a definite French look to it. I had some teal ribbon that I thought would clash but actually added a nice pop of color. I hope Grace fills it with all the things she dreams of.

She also got a journal that quotes Audrey Hepburn on the front -- "Paris is always a good idea." And the journal has some France-themed quotes inside, like "Will exchange kisses for a trip to France."

A scarf, and a giant coffee cup along with a bottle of hazelnut syrup rounded out the gifts.
As I wrote in the birthday card we forgot to give her, Grace is the daughter I always wanted.
Lucky me.

A Cascade of Cards

I have a birthday -- a milestone birthday -- coming up this week. And all month my running friends (mostly Pam) have been deluging me with birthday cards.

And some not-birthday cards. As the cards started to arrive in the mail, I felt guilty. I mean, was Pam buying the cards, plus shelling out for the postage? Even at the dollar store, that would get expensive.
Some of the cards weren't about birthdays, like this one that shows a horse biting the back of a boy's head.

Or this one with the bulldog watching the goldfish.

Inside each card, no matter if the message was about the loss of a pet or getting well, my upcoming birthday was mentioned.
Today a card arrived that congratulated me on the birth of my baby, and Pam wrote "Sorry I'm late." Only 16 years too late since my youngest is 16! But, as you can imagine, it made me laugh.
The card below seemed very appropriate for my arrival smack dab in the middle of middle age, with an adorable toddler who looks better with the pudgy thighs than I do.

After Pam confessed she was behind the cards, along with Stephanie, she admitted that, getting ready to move, she discovered a closet full of cards she had bought through the years intending to send to friends and loved ones. That's why the cards had a variety of sentiments rather than just birthday cards. Pam helped me feel less guilty about all the money she might have spent on cards just to make me smile.
Thanks, friends for the birthday wishes and all the birthday cards that have kept my mailbox full every day of my birthday month.

Birthday Reprise

As this long weekend draws to a close, I wanted to tell you that my birthday do over was a success.
The morning started with tulips and Starbucks; my husband came in later that morning with balloons tied to a little pink Chinese food carton decorated with white polka dots. The box alone was adorable, but inside hid a lovely scarf in taupe and pink. Perfect.
I even managed to tie the scarf in a complicated way that I liked.
I spent much of the day grading papers, but then escaped for a massage at an Aveda spa. The 50-minute massage was a true, relaxing treat and I got to smell the delicious oils for the rest of the day.
Earl and I were going to go out for dinner that night, but the wind howled around the house and I opted to send him out for pizza instead. I spent the rest of the evening reading a book that I enjoyed a lot -- A Summer in Europe.
Spending Friday the way I wanted, meant that I was behind on paper grading Saturday, so I didn't leave my desk much on Saturday, but the day spent pampering me was well worth it.

Birthday Do Over

Yesterday was my birthday, but beginning at 4:30 a.m., the day was kind of farcical with mix ups, so I'm declaring today my birthday do over. And I will make sure that it's the kind of birthday I really want.
Face it, once we become mothers, no one else is going to make sure we have a great birthday. We have to make it happen ourselves.
And let me add the disclaimer that my husband is generally very good about making holidays special, from Mother's Day to Valentine's Day to birthdays.
This year, his thoughtfulness caused me to lose sleep.
I woke up at 4:30 and he wasn't in bed. I lay there for a few minutes wondering where he could be. I strained my ears to hear if the television was on, thinking he might have fallen asleep on the couch. I sniffed the air to determine whether he'd stayed up all night baking me a birthday cake like he did two years ago. Nothing.
I could go back to sleep, but what if something happened to him. I'd better get up and search for him. The cats accompanied me, trotting along. Not in the living room, dining room, kitchen. I headed down to the basement. Not in the main room or the laundry room. I could hear Spencer gently snoring.
Where could Earl be? I decided to call his cell phone, but first I stepped into Tucker's bedroom. Tucker was gone already to the state swim meet and staying at a hotel. There was Earl asleep.
I shook him awake and said, "Why are you sleeping in here?"
"I didn't want to wake you," he said. He had stayed up late watching All the President's Men on TV and was afraid he'd wake me up when he came to bed.
I turned around and went back to my bed, laying there til nearly 6 before I fell asleep then woke to my alarm at 6:30. A tired start to my birthday.
I made breakfast for Spencer and me, knowing that I wouldn't see him again. He ran out the door 5 minutes before he needed to be at school then called me a few minutes later. His car had stopped at a traffic light.
"Turn on the hazard lights," I told him as I pulled on some pants and woke Earl. I figured one of us could drop Spencer at school while the other dealt with the broken down car.
Instead, within a minute of pulling up at the busy intersection, Earl had squealed off in the other car to go get gas in the gas can. Spencer and I stood in the intersection waving cars around us.
"We could push it into the parking lot,"I suggested. Spencer looked doubtful that we could move the big Ford Explorer.
As we stood there in the early morning chill, I looked at Spencer and said, "Is this a birthday surprise that you and Dad planned? Are people getting ready to jump out singing?"
He laughed, and it wasn't a birthday surprise.
Earl returned about 15 minutes later with gas and we got the car going. Earl said he would take Spencer's car to get gas and that I should drop Spencer at school. Then he pulled off in the big Explorer while Spencer and I climbed into the other car, where we sat, because Earl still had the keys.
"Just walk to school," I said to Spencer.
"Happy Birthday," he said as he unfolded himself from the car and loped off.
I called Earl and sat in the parking lot until he returned with the keys.
Earl was so discombobulated by the start to his day, that he forgot about my birthday until mid-morning.
The rest of the day was spent working then driving to the State Swim Meet, cheering for Tucker, and driving home in the rain.
Today is my birthday do over.
So I started with a run while the birds serenaded me, and I got warm enough to take off my jacket.
Then I went to Starbucks for my free birthday coffee and sat across from Spencer for breakfast enjoying the tulips and card that were waiting for me when I got home at 11 last night.
Tulips are my favorite flower, maybe because I'm so desperate for them by the time it's spring.
I've got some papers to grade, and I might call the Aveda salon to see if they have any spa treatments available today. I'm just going to take it easy -- cause it's my birthday do over.

Saturday Snapshot -- American-sized Donuts

To participate in the Saturday Snapshot meme post a photo that you (or a friend or family member) have taken then leave a direct link to your post on Alyce's blog At Home With Books. Photos can be old or new, and be of any subject as long as they are clean and appropriate for all eyes to see. How much detail you give in the caption is entirely up to you. Please don’t post random photos that you find online.
For Spencer's birthday this week, I went to the local donut shop before he got out of bed. I bought a dozen donuts, two little cartons of choclate milk and a plain coffee. The total price was more than $23.
"Those are some expensive donuts," I said.
It wasn't until I got them home and put the apple fritter out on the plate that I saw how big they were.

I guess I needed to buy fewer donuts. Still $23 is a lot for a dozen big donuts.

Birthday Celebrations

I learned long ago that, unless you're a kid, birthdays are what you make of them. That's why I carefully orchestrate my own birthday for maximum celebration. Even with careful planning, sometimes teenagers throw in a few twists that take the air from your helium balloon.
I started celebrating the night before after a basketball game when friends came over for wine.
We got to our house about 10 and I pulled the stopper from a bottle of Riesling. "To birthdays and friends, to the end of basketball season" (the boys lost their tournament game).
Spencer stumbled in from the long bus ride home, kissed me goodnight and went to bed. We continued to drink, eat pretzels and cheese puffs until after midnight, although I had expected them to leave after one glass of wine. At 11:58, they glanced at the clock, watching the minutes tick by until it struck midnight and Tisha was the first to wish me a happy birthday. Carrie and Ross followed with birthday wishes before everyone filed out the door on their wobbly way home. Thank goodness we live in a walking community.
The next morning, Earl uncharacteristically got up early, showered and went to run errands.
He returned after the boys had left for school with flowers and pastries. He visited Pistacia Vera in German Village -- Yummm -- and carefully laid out the chocolate croissant and cheese Danish with fresh raspberries. We split both in half to share. I forgot to take a photo of the pastries before we ate them and I suggested that perhaps he should replicate the patries simply for the picture. He didn't.
He gave me a very sweet birthday card that talked about all the places in the world and how he wanted to be with me. I shook the envelope upside down but no plane tickets fell out.
That's okay, though, because I didn't have time to travel the world anyway. I was meeting Sheila at Caribou Coffee. Caribou gives a free coffee for birthdays. Doesn't Sheila look gorgeous with her hennaed hair? She doesn't look like a worried woman whose 17-year-old daughter is gallivanting around Milan alone. Well, Bethany was alone until 8 this morning when Sheila sent an email that she was flying to Milan at 1 p.m. today. What? The tickets in my envelope must have gone to Sheila.
So pastries, flowers, coffee, friends -- more than enough to celebrate a birthday. Then Earl pulled out the chocolate bombe for my birthday cake. I texted the boys at school and asked them if they wanted to come home for lunch so we could all celebrate together. Earl works at 3:30 so we couldn't be together then.
Spencer said sure. Tucker said, "No thanks, but happy birthday."
Then I sent him a picture of the cake and Spencer had to turn around to pick him up. The cake had a chocolate shell and gooey chocolate mousse inside. It was so rich that I couldn't finish my piece.
Here's a picture of me with my bald boys. So strange to see them hairless, but hopefully it will grow quickly. Spencer hurried back to school and I took Tucker to the eye doctor. Why would I schedule an eye doctor appointment for him on my birthday? It was his second attempt to ease contacts into his eyes. He claims there's something wrong with his eyes that they won't open far enough. He finally mastered it after about an hour. He blinked at me and said, "Happy Birthday!" as if his accomplishment was in my honor. I think he looks like a Marine bald and without his glasses.

That afternoon, I paid for my good mothering. A good mom always wants her children to be able to confide in her. And one of my children did. That's when the helium hissed out of the balloon and the rest of my birthday thank yous sounded hollow, as my brother called and friends emailed.
Some things, mothers would rather not have to deal with.
Everyone's safe and healthy and the news just forced me to shift my mothering paradigm.
No, I'm not going to tell you. As a matter of fact, when you ask, I may be humming softly to myself, like Scarlet O'Hara: "I'll think about it tomorrow."
And that was my happy birthday.

My Almost Perfect Birthday

After telling everyone that my almost-perfect husband baked a birthday cake in the middle of the night, I never followed up by telling you how the rest of the day went.
I woke up early to do some writing. I find that since the Writing Group actually complimented my writing, I'm not nearly as inclined to add words to the manuscript. SO that backfired.
I headed out the door for a Tuesday morning run - unheard of with my Tuesday schedule. I put my iPod in and pushed the button. Nothing. What? Dead?
So I plugged it in and ran without it. As I walked out the back door and heard the birds calling above me in the dark, I considered that the dead iPod might be a birthday present in disguise. Next I heard the drip, drip, drip of melting snow by the garage. Then "Aieee!" that was me as I almost fell on the pile of snow that had been slicked down to become ice. So I ran with only my thoughts to keep me company.
A sub was taking my morning classes, so I got the kids to school and had time to relax at home before I went to have a pedicure. My toes are a lovely, sparkly pink. And my feet are smooth without all of those running calluses.
Next I met my husband for lunch at a cozy Italian restaurant. We started with bruschetta - thick wedges of bread with tomatoes and mozzarella. Then I had a salad of romaine with candied walnuts, tomatoes and buttermilk dressing. My main course was chicken ravioli. Hmmm. Since it was my birthday, they brought a sampler for dessert that had small servings of tiramisu, creme brulee and a thick chocolate pots de creme.
Earl gave me my birthday present (what a cake, a pedicure and lunch out weren't present enough?) a beautiful wine-colored Pashmina. The material was paper thin and so soft.
I had to teach that afternoon and Earl headed off to work, but I picked the kids up for a carefully scheduled dinner -- in between basketball, swim and play practice -- at their favorite new burger joint that offers salty fries, thick hamburgers and shakes. I wasn't really hungry but the company was good.
The evening degenerated a bit into fights over homework and I snatched away one child's phone, grounding him simultaneously before I had to go to the high school to work on costumes for the musical.
At nearly 10 o'clock, Tucker called and pointed out we still hadn't cut into that birthday cake.
"Oh, yeah," I exclaimed to Grace. We were trying to put things away so we could make a hasty escape. "We haven't celebrated with cake yet."
"Celebrated what?" the other women asked as we skated out the door.
"My birthday!" I called.
"Happy birthday," their yells echoed as we hurried home in yet another snowfall.
We couldn't find candles or matches, so the kids sang Happy Birthday in French and I sliced into the three layer cake for a bedtime snack.
The next day, I went to the salon for a facial. I fell asleep on the table and woke up with a snort.
"You relaxed well," the technician assured me.
I did. Good thing birthdays only come once a year. Mine was expensive, but satisfying. And almost perfect!