Birthday Cat

Today is Louis Catorze’s 1st birthday. 

I’m officially no longer allowed to call him kitten, according to my husband. 

He has been the object of much laughter and swearing since he arrived in May of last year. 

He likes scritches on his cheeks and drinking the water out of the soaking oatmeal pan. 

If you come to our house, we have a “hands-above-the-table rule.” You have been warned. But wear jeans because he might decide to climb up your leg. 

His purr is as therapeutic as a hot water bottle. 

He curls up behind my bent legs at night, but if Earl gets up to use the bathroom, he immediately takes over his side of the bed. 

For a month now, he’s been an indoor/outdoor cat, and, remarkably, he’s still alive.

He hasn’t made any cat friends, in spite of his efforts to make himself subservient, but the students who walk past stop to pet him. One made the mistake of picking him up. 

Our French neighbor Alain said, “il est libre!” With an expansive gesture. He is free. “C’est naturel.”

Happy birthday, Louis Catorze. We hope you grow in cat common sense in the next year. 

She Made Me a Mom

 Twenty-nine years ago today, I didn't know what being a mother was like. 

But one day changed all that, as Earl and I drove an hour in the dark early morning to the hospital, and Grace was born at 12:30 p.m. Our little bundle of joy was a whopping 8 pounds, 8 ounces (maybe I shouldn't have married a giant) and she turned us into parents.

She's a great first child, holding us to our promises, living up to our dreams. It's been a joy to watch her grow up and fly away. 

Even if growing up meant that she needed to step away and have a photoshoot with a wolf, we knew she had a lot of strength and good decision-making skills. 

Raising Grace has been a joy from the moment that we overdressed her in a onesie on that sweltering January day in Florida, to watching her leave us behind in France while she moved to Dublin. 

Happy birthday, my sweet girl. 

I hope 29 is another magical year for you. 

Childhood Remembrances

For nearly 13 years now, I've been holding onto a letter that Grace wrote to herself.

I can't remember if the letter was my idea or if she'd heard it from one of her friends. The goal was that she not become one of those strong girls who goes through middle school and becomes a people pleaser, boy crazy girl who puts aside her own interests and activities. 

I imagined that she would passionately describe the joy of swinging her lanky legs over the back of a horse, the bliss of leading it by the leather reins tight in her gloved-hands and the sheer elation she felt as she became weightless when the horse leaped over a fence or water-filled ditch before the jolt of landing on the hard ground again. 

Her true bliss, curling up on the floor with our droopy-eared dog or sleeping with the weight of our black cat on the bed, surely would find its way into her letter. She would run her hand over their backs, telling them secrets. 

And I thought for sure that she'd write about how powerful she felt in the swimming pool as she moved her arms like an endless paddlewheel, stroking and kicking her way through the water to pop her head up at the wall. 

And maybe she'd remind herself how much she loved languages, memorizing each symbol of Egyptian hieroglyphs and wearing out a book on Cherokee symbols. Each language felt like a challenge that she needed to conquer, which perhaps led her to dive into opera and efforts to understand German, French and Italian.

It might have been around 12 that she discovered the mysteries of genetics. She'd spend time diagramming how the different genetic material might result in a left-handed child or a blue-eyed child. 

If nothing else, I figured she'd write about her obsession with Harry Potter books, the endless roleplay she and her friends acted out in our backyard.  

So Grace took some stationery and diligently wrote in her 12-year-old handwriting. Then she handed it over to me. 

I didn't have a specific place that I stashed it, but occasionally, when I cleaned off my bedside table, I'd find it there amongst my journals.

Yesterday, Grace turned 25, and I figured it was time for her to confront her 12-year-old self, to see if she'd lived up to her expectations.  

. 

It was a busy day for her. After working from 9-5, she rushed to the theater where a new play, The Lion in Winter, was opening. She plays Princess Alais, the mistress of King Henry II. 

I hoped that we could all gather after the play for cake, presents and the opening of the letter. 

A sophisticated bar downtown with great windows overlooking the city might be a good place to gather, I decided. 

But as the play ended at 10:30, suddenly everyone was too tired to contemplate going out. We instead stumbled back to our house where we set out the chocolate bombe from Pistacia Vera, a lovely chocolate mousse cake, and we liberated a bottle of red wine from the basement stash. Grace's boyfriend Jack was there, along with her friends Dave and Taryn. Plus Spencer was home, busy studying for his insurance exam. 

I handed her the letter first thing and she slit the envelope open. 

"It's just a list of who my friends are," she said as her eyes slid over the paper. "It has our address and says that Rosie (the dog) and Buddy (the cat) are alive."

Grace gave a laugh, "And it says Elizabeth was my friend until November but she isn't my friend anymore." 

We speculated on what might have happened between Grace and her friend Elizabeth.

I admitted to being disappointed. "I thought it would focus on all of your passions."

"Instead, I was just a 12-year-old gossip girl," she said. 

Another mystery solved, but without a satisfactory ending.
If it was a novel, I'm not sure which I'd have preferred, to learn that she had remembered all of her passions, tackling them with strength and vigor, or for her to be disappointed that she hadn't met her expectations. Then, as a character in a novel, she'd have to set out to become someone that 12-year-old could be proud of.
No matter what she wrote in that letter, I think she'd be pretty proud of the 25-year-old she has become.  

The End of an Era

Yesterday, my youngest turned 20.
No more teenagers in my house.
It doesn't really seem that different though.
I have two kids living at home. Grace has finished college, is working full time and acts in shows so she has rehearsal most evenings.
Tucker has been on and off at college. He's currently studying videography and living at home. Sometimes I wonder whether he'll end up moving to France with us when we go next May.
I have so few recent pictures of Tucker, that I had to crop a family photo to get one of him.
I started off his birthday by going to the local donut store and buying a box of donuts for when he woke up.
I also got a helium balloon to attach to the box because I'm a sappy mom and I wanted him to feel special. As the youngest, his birthday has sometimes gotten pushed aside, like the time my husband found out on Tucker's birthday that  his job was going through layoffs. It put a damper on the celebration to say the least.
And March is usually busy when the older kids are around with sports activities or college prep things.
He can't really complain though since he had two years home alone with the other kids gone to college. He definitely enjoys being an only child.

Tucker is a bit on the quiet side now, but that is not his usual nature. As you can see from this picture, he has enjoyed the spotlight. 

And even though he tries to be unassuming, he has had his share of fame in swimming and on stage.

My boys chilling on a whitewater rafting trip. I hear they had a lot of fun. 

And here, my youngest trying to warm up in my arms after a swim. Those were pretty perfect times. 

I'm glad to see him growing up and eager to see how his life goes, but I'm grateful for the times I got to cuddle him too. 

Saturday Snapshot -- Cats and Runs and Chocolate

Join West Metro Mommy for this weekly meme of photos people have taken and share on their blogs.
Today I started off my day with a 10-mile run through my small city and on into the next suburb. For some reasons, there's a cornfield in the middle of the city, and a paved path going through it.

So I took the opportunity to run along the path and found a small brook. Probably, the brook isn't there except in the spring time as the snow melts -- a vernal pool.

I texted my husband around mile 7 and asked if he wanted to meet me at the coffee shop where I would end my run. So we met and bought hot drinks. As we walked home, me sweaty and worn out, we stopped at the salon, and they had time to give him a haircut, so I walked home alone.
When he arrived home later, he deposited a boy of chocolates on the table. "It's your birthday week," he reminded me.

Hope it's going to be a good one.

I made the bed the other morning, and the cat, who isn't allowed to sleep with us at night anymore because he disturbs me, had curled up on the pillows. He refused to move and was still there at noon.

So, my running is going well, my writing is going well, and my family is loving and supportive. Those are the things I'll hold onto as I enter my birthday week.

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.

Dreaming of France -- Grace in Paris

Please join this weekly meme. Grab a copy of the photo above and link back to An Accidental Blog. Share with the rest of us your passion for France. Did you read a good book set in France? See a movie? Take a photo in France? Have an adventure? Eat a fabulous meal or even just a pastry? Or if you're in France now, go ahead and lord it over the rest of us. We can take it.
In honor of Grace's birthday, here is a picture of  her in Paris on her most recent trip. Here in the Luxembourg Gardens, she is definitely dreaming.

I can't wait to see how you're dreaming of France.

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.

Leaving Behind His Teens

This week, my oldest son, my second child, turns 20.
I won't get to be with him, so that makes me a little sad, but luckily his father has flown down to Florida so they'll get to spend some time together for his birthday.

From the minute Spencer arrived, two weeks early, he has been curious. As a toddler, as a kid, as a teenager. I hope he never loses that.
Recalling Spencer as a little guy, I can hear the echo of his footsteps as he made the early morning dash from his bedroom, across the wood-floor landing toward our bed before he dived in between me and Earl. We teased him when he was little that he should wear the box instead of the shoe because his feet were so square, as wide as they were long.
Thud, thud, thud, his feet would race across the landing.
When he was very young, Earl started a thing with him. If Spencer pressed Earl's nose, Earl would beep.
One morning early, Spencer pressed on Earl's nose. Earl was too tired to respond. Spencer pressed again. Still nothing.
"Hmmm," Spencer said. "Must need new batteries."

Spencer and his Gran.

He loved castles and knights, plus swords and armor. He wanted to fight dragons and bad guys.
He's always loved sports and grew from a chunky little boy to a wiry school kid (even though he homeschooled). He practiced basketball until he injured the growth plate in his elbow. He played quarterback in 6th grade football because he was the only one who could memorize the plays.
He decided he wanted to go to real school in eighth grade, so we moved to a small town where we could enroll the kids. Grace started school then too, and Tucker followed six months later.

He's always loved being with friends, more than my other kids. Even the pictures of him as a little boy show him with an arm thrown around another guy's shoulders.
Even today, his buddies come first.

He had some tough times trying to figure out who he is and what he stands for as a teenager, but as he turns 20, I hope he's more sure about himself and his abilities.

He knows he loves nature and plans a career as an environmental scientist. He takes a kayak out on Tampa Bay and paddles to islands covered by mangroves before leaning back and sleeping in the sunshine.
So he's far away in the sunshine this weekend, taking a couple of days to spend with his dad and his grandparents (my parents), doing his laundry and eating homemade meals (steak was his first request). Also helping to paint their house because he remains a generous guy who doesn't mind helping out, even on his birthday.
Happy birthday, Spencer.
I can't wait to see what you accomplish in the next 20 years.

Saturday Snapshot

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.
"Did you see what your hooligan friends did out front?"my husband asked.
"Oh, no," I said. And I went to see.
They decorated my front yard with huge bras and white cotton panties along with signs celebrating my birthday.
I guess there's no getting around the fact that I'm 50. 

What are you all featuring today?

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.

My Husband's Christmas Birthday

I never felt a lot of sympathy for Christmas babies, til I married one. He remembers having one birthday party as a kid. His Christmas and birthday gifts were usually combined.
We celebrated today with brunch out and presents very separate from his Christmas presents.
And we ended with a dance dip in front if the Christmas tree. Happy Birthday , Earl.