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Laura Egley Taylor

Then a miracle occurs . . .

When the going gets tough, the tough. . .

March 25th, 2011

DANCE!

Cleaning up 35 years of magazining is painful.

So, obviously, is saying goodbye to the fabulous Production Department trio we’ve* had the opportunity to be, back in the  golden days of yore** when we worked together to create a magazine.

So when Melissa stopped by last night, Mel and I stopped our cleaning and sighing, threw a CD (one I had found in a pile of old review submissions), Totally ’80s for Kids, into the computer, cranked up the volume, and danced our saddened hearts out.

 

P.S. For the record, I am not a fan of ’80s pop, but I have to admit it’s hard to beat for the post-apocalyptic office dance party. Thank you, Kool and the Gang.#

*Managing Editor Melissa Chianta, Staff Photographer/Ad Production Manger Melyssa Holik, and I

**i.e. as recently as the March-April issue, but the uncertainty of the future makes the charmed past seem so long ago


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the village

March 10th, 2011

My son, Reeve, saw his first opera when he was 5. I didn’t take him—I had never really paid any attention to opera. Neither had my husband, Tim.

No, it was Paula, the mother of one of Reeve’s classmates, who took him to see a Santa Fe Opera youth night performance of “The Marriage of Figaro.”

If it had been up to me, Reeve would never have seen an opera. I was not an opera-goer. I’ve been many times in the years since, but that’s because he got me interested, not the other way around. I’m grateful to Paula for sharing something with Reeve that I would not have thought to.

It takes a village to raise a child—that old African proverb made popular by Hillary Clinton in the 1990s. It may be overused, but there’s still substance there. Paula was one of those people in Reeve’s village. And there have been many, many more:

His best friend’s aunt who taught him to swim

Three adult friends who  gave him their old guitars, one who taught him to play

My sister, who early on taught him the art of conversation: “I’ll ask you a question, and you answer; then you ask me a question, and I answer; then I ask you a question. . . Got it?”

A little less socially valuable but no less fun for Reeve, my brother, who put Reeve to bed one night and instead of reading a bedtime story, told him a bunch of “Yo Mama” jokes

The preschool teacher who gave him his very own child-size pitcher and taught him to pour his own water or juice or milk from it

Austin’s mom, Barb, who, when Reeve was too fearful to sleep during his very first sleepover, brought in a sleeping bag and lay down on the floor next to him til he fell asleep

The 6th-grade teacher who invited him to synagogue; the poet who shared what she knew about Buddhism

The Shakespeare play-reading group of adults who welcomed the 13-year-old Reeve with love and respect and supported his growth and learning over the years

The voice teacher who told him he could sing

I could go on and on. So many villagers. So much love. All my gratitude.

 

Photo: Reeve as Figaro in New Mexico State’s production of “The Marriage of Figaro” last weekend.

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the end of an era

March 1st, 2011

the-endAnd then the carefree child, grateful for the experience of being—the joys of learning and sharing with others, the richness of growth and discovery—dashes across the beckoning bridge and on to new things on the other side.

The End

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The digital version of our March–April 2011 issue will go live later today. This issue will be Mothering‘s last—the magazine is no longer being published in print or digital format. Here’s how our publisher, Peggy O’Mara, put it on her blog.

After 35 years of making magazines, the staff at Mothering is obviously deeply saddened by this change—even as we understand that continuing to print would be financially unsustainable—for many reasons, including the loss of several very dear fellow staffers.

I’m sure I’ll feel the need to blog more about this later, but for now, there’s work to be done. As Peggy wrote, Mothering still exists, but as a website and online community—and there’s a lot going on there!

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Our final cover image is a reprise of a photo by Cheryl Steinhoff which we ran in an July–August 2008 article about the simple pleasures of  summer.

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been meaning to post about this for weeks!

February 3rd, 2011

spitball-dartboardThe Procrastination Spitball Dartpad Mel (staffer Melyssa Holik) gave me for Christmas.

Way yonder more excuses and distractions (suggestions run the gamut from “go for a coffee run” to “walk in circles”) than Mel and Melissa (Managing Editor Melissa Chianta) and I need in the office. But, boy, it’s brought us a lot of laughs. And direction, of sorts.

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new month, new month’s resolution

February 2nd, 2011

cold-commute

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Be a better blogger. (Starting yesterday.)

Photo taken yesterday during the stunning commute I get daily with my man Tim. (I walk with him across some gorgeous country, en route to his workplace, before heading in to the Mothering office.)

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field trip!

January 18th, 2011

glass-casegift-certificatebacon-cupcakesIn which Laura and Mel discover a new cupcake shop a mere .3 miles from the office and proceed thence in order to investigate—all in the name of research for tomorrow’s Peggy’s Kitchen shoot. (We’re featuring recipes for desserts for kids with allergies in our March-April issue).

Luckily, Mel (Staff Photographer/Ad Production Manager/Web Designer Melyssa Holik) had a gift certificate, so we were able to bring some tasty specimens back to the office to further our study.

And, yes, they were delicious.

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Photos taken with my iPhone (using that Hipstamatic app  I can’t seem to stop using). And yes, y’all, that bottom shot shows, among other yummies, BACON CUPCAKES with maple buttercream frosting.

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empty ness

January 13th, 2011

empty nessCollege Boy Reeve headed back to school yesterday after a really wonderful 4-week winter holiday with us, thereby reminding me that

1. The so-called Empty Nest Syndrome—which you would think I’d be O-VER—is not just a one-time thing one goes through and then moves on from. It appears that one can experience it again and again! and

2. Separation anxiety is not just for babies. (I know I worry about Reeve when he’s away more than I need to—but it’s impossible not to, so I try to keep it to myself. It’s my own little closet hobby.)

On a brighter note, I’m thrilled that

1. Our 21-year-old has his own life to return to (and that he’s excited about it!);

2. I like who Reeve has become and am proud of the way he moves about in the world; and

3. I enjoy his company so much that I grieve when he’s gone. (How awful it would be to wish one’s own child out the door whenever he or she came home for a visit. . .)

So, here we go again. Ouch and ouch. Meanwhile, I try to keep in mind words a wiser me said to Reeve when he left for school in Scotland a couple of years ago:

Longing is a privilege.

Ouch.

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Late-night photo of the empty office hallway last night was taken on my iPhone with my favorite new toy: Hipstamatic—an app which essentially makes every shot stunning.

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words of wisdom from my mom

January 5th, 2011

you-don't-have-to-like-it2#
I don’t like January. But in these cold, dark, back-to-business days after the holidays, I find myself falling back on something my mother taught me: I don’t have to like it. Which, oddly enough, helps, somehow.

My family likes to tease my mom about things she used to say when my brother and sister and I were growing up. Even my son, Reeve, (who obviously wasn’t there back in the day) gets it: “You know what Nonna would say,” he said to me once as I was complaining about something trivial. “Get over it.”

Born in the midst of the Great Depression—to eastern-European immigrants who were made of tough stuff—my mom’s now famous take on many things when we were kids was a kinder/gentler variation on “Oh, don’t be such a baby.” This philosophy showed up in all aspects of family life: at the dinner table (“If you don’t like it, you don’t have to eat it—but that’s what we’re having.”); on camping trips (“A little ______ [take your pick: humidity/heat/mosquito bite/dirt-bug-dog drool in your food/rain/cramped family "togetherness" in the camper in the rain] never hurt anyone.”); regarding chores and schoolwork (“It won’t take long to clean your room/do your homework. Just do it and get it over with.”) . . .

Don’t waste time complaining; just get going.

We may have complained (under our breaths, of course) back then, but over the years I’ve seen how helpful—and practical—it was, this confidence Mama had (still has) in our capability. We grew up knowing we could deal with these things, if for no other reason than the alternative just wasn’t an option.

So I hate January? Sure, fine. That’s OK. I don’t have to like it. February’s on the way, and, meanwhile, I’ll deal.

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January 1—the early morning of the year

January 1st, 2011

jan-1-morning-low

I’m not real fond of January (have been known to refer to it as the Monday of the year), but I do like the clean-slate feel of a new year.

And a part of the January newness is a new issue, coming soon to a newsstand or mailbox near you! Here’s a peek:

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Photo of the view out the window onto our brand-new year (which showed up bearing a frosty SIX-degree temperature accompanied by a minus-nine-degree wind chill!)

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O Christmas Tree!

December 18th, 2010

justen-tree-2008So, Thursday night we went to get our Christmas tree. Our son, Reeve, is home from college for the holidays and wanted to share with his girlfriend, Eliza, our family tradition of walking to the tree lot run by Delancey Street Foundation, picking out a tree, and carrying it home on our shoulders, old-school–style.

It was snowing—had been snowing all day when we set out, bundled up and feeling festive. But when we got to the lot, it was CLOSED! (How can a tree lot close?) A security guard told us that they had shut down early due to the bad weather so that the employees could all get home safely before the roads got too bad.

silver-treeDisappointed (singing “No Christmas tree, No Christmas tree”) and not really sure what to do with the evening we had set aside for Christmasy things, we headed back to the house. However, on the walk home, while talking about Christmas trees we had had in the past, we realized that we had, in our attic, an aluminum tree we had bought back in 2004, used once, and then forgotten about.

Since we had made such a big deal about walking the tree home and wanting Eliza to have that experience, we got the aluminum tree from the attic, took it down the block a ways, then turned around and let her help carry it to our house.

We laughed a lot (especially as people passed us, smiling) then went inside for a lovely evening of tree decorating and cookie baking.

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silver-tree-w-lightsPhotos: (above) My Tim, Reeve’s friends, Evan and Justen, and Reeve (on the other end of the tree) carry our freshly picked-out tree from the Delancey lot in 2008; (bottom) Eliza and Reeve carrying on the tradition, albeit in slightly shinier style.

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P.S. We really like our silver tree! And I’m grateful for the lesson in the beauty of holiday flexibility. . .

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