A drawing my son, Reeve, did in kindergarten.
I love how jubilant Mary is here. Anyone who’s given birth knows that feeling. . . WOOHOO! (And Merry Christmas, y’all!)
Laura Egley Taylor
Then a miracle occurs . . .
Best nativity scene ever!
December 24th, 2011Tags: baby, birth, christmas=, drawing, Jesus, joy, jubilation, kindergarten, manger, Mary, nativity, reeve
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This, too—whatever it is!—shall pass
April 28th, 2011
Another one-two punch for your parenting arsenal: perspective and gratitude.
While fretting over my 21-year-old’s announcement that he might fail a class because of all the time he missed due to rehearsals and performances (Oh, come on! How hard is it to get to class?! and if you have to miss, how hard can it be to check in with your teacher about absences?), I was hit with a completely unrelated realization that just about took off the top of my head.
He’s potty trained!
Back in the summer of 1993, this seemed as remote a possibility as a Black president in the White House. Reeve was rounding the corner toward 4 and still adamantly refused—kicked, screamed, yelled, fell into a heap on the floor, the works!—to use the toilet. Extremely well-developed verbally, able to talk to his dad and me about aircraft of World War II and which whales are carnivores, yet unable to explain to us why he was being so stubborn about not using the potty. . .
This was one area where Tim and I had felt like complete failures for years. We had begun putting him on the “big boy chair-potty” when he was 2 or so, sitting with him and talking, trying to keep it low-key and comfortable. We had a success here or there, but nothing seemed to last. I guess he must’ve been 3 when we moved to Pull-ups, thinking that they might make the transition to underwear go more smoothly. Not so.
We were so uncertain what to do. (Unfortunately, we didn’t know about Mothering magazine until much later, when we moved to Santa Fe.) By all appearances, our boy was doing great—intelligent, curious, well-adjusted, easygoing, etc.—except for this one issue which was not apparent to those around us. It was our private shame and it seemed it would never get resolved.*
I bring this up not to relive desperate days but to remind myself how easy it is to get wrapped up in the problem of the hour—and to forget that these difficulties don’t last. I also forget, as time passes, to be thankful for the solutions that eventually came along and made the problems of the day disappear.
All those worries we have while pregnant (including my own deep-seated How will this baby EVER get OUT?) . . . worries that the new baby will never get the hang of breastfeeding. . . or that she isn’t getting enough nutrients . . . or that the toddler will never learn to play nicely with others . . . or that the five-year-old will still be sleeping with us when he’s a teenager. . . All are concerns which won’t last forever—and which, once resolved, we owe it to ourselves to take time out and celebrate a little.
Gratitude is holy, I believe. And luckily, it has no expiration date.
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*But it did! When Reeve turned 4, we threw away the Pull-ups and went through seven pairs of underpants in one day, a really difficult, emotional day for all of us. But by that night, the just-turned 4-year-old was proud that he was a potty-user. (And when we asked him why he had been so reluctant before, he said “I don’t know. Maybe I was just scared.”)
Photo: Reeve and me, circa 1992. Back when I was worried about all kinds of now long-resolved and forgotten things.
P.S. Oh, and by the way, the college student did indeed email his teacher about his absences—and all is well. Go figure!
Tags: gratitude, potty-training, problems, solutions, toddler
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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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Tags: cleanup, dance, melissa chianta, melyssa holik, Totally '80s for Kids, when the going gets tough
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Mama Ache
March 24th, 2011
Wee-hour anxiety. Pretty sure you know what I’m talking about—it comes with parenting.
Our 21-year-old son, Reeve, was home for a couple of nights this week. It’s Spring Break, and he and friends are on their way up to Estes Park, Colorado, where their mentor is getting married Saturday. Since nobody has any money, and Reeve’s car (a hand-me- down from his cousin Nick) is in better shape at 19 years old and 190,000 miles than anyone else’s, he’s driving.
Last night, knowing Reeve was hitting the road today—in his stalwart but ancient car— driving for 9 hours loaded down with friends and luggage and homemade cookies, I was overcome with that familiar late-night / early-morning anxiety. He’s an excellent driver and remarkably responsible (compared to me at his age, anyway), but still I worry—even as I know that this road trip is merely an excuse for all the many things a mother can worry about.
I couldn’t help but look in on him as he slept (the layout of our goofy apartment is such that we have to go through his room to get to the bathroom anyway)—stopping by his bed to listen to his breathing, finding comfort in the quiet rhythm of his breath and remembering other times over the years when I’ve done this.
I thought of my very first incident of wee-hour mama ache, a little more than 22 years ago. Tim and I had just discovered that I was pregnant. We hadn’t thought we wanted be parents (didn’t think we had what it takes), so this news was huge and scary. On this particular night, sick with a respiratory bug (unable, of course, to take cold medicine—I was terrified by the realization that, just two months in, I already held the well-being of this brand new tiny person in my ridiculously inept hands!), I sat through the night, propped up, mouth-breathing, rubbing my belly, and worrying about the future.
(For the record, I listened all night that night to Steve Roach’s Structures from Silence, the soothing strains of which can now immediately take me back to that feeling of impending scary newness.)
Odd feeling to think back so far in my “parenting career” and to realize how much I’ve learned (and worried!) over the years, growing along with Reeve. I was good at worrying then—but I somehow managed to trust (myself? God? life?) through the fear. And somehow got to this place where I find myself worrying—and marveling!—over our baby, a grown man. And trying to continue to trust.
Photo: I know, I know. YOU look at this photo and see a young MAN. Intelligent, responsible, capable, etc. It’s a cliché, of course—and as sappy as they come—but when I look at this, I see the vulnerable being Tim and I were entrusted with. Mother vision?
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Tags: anxiety, Estes Park, late night, mother vision, reeve, road trip, Spring Break, Steve Roach, Structures from Silence
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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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Tags: Marriage of Figaro, opera, reeve, takes a village
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21 years ago today
August 15th, 2010
It takes a miracle . . .
Yes, indeed. Tim and I were a little shell-shocked today by the awareness that our son, Reeve, is now officially an adult. He turned 21 today.
We celebrated with a family road trip (Reeve’s girlfriend, Eliza, joined us) to Chaco Canyon and will continue a celebration of sorts tomorrow, as we caravan down to Las Cruces (about 4 hours south of here)—where Reeve is in school—to help him move into his new digs. . .
So. A joyous day of exploration, stunning scenery, stimulating conversation, fabulous road music, lots of laughter and reminiscences—and high-fives all around. Twenty-one. Wow.
And now, it’s on to the last-minute scurry of late-night packing . . .
Photo of our legal adult, at 4 days old.
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Tags: 21, 21 years old, birthday, chaco canyon, legal age, reeve
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simple pleasures
June 13th, 2010
In which Laura and Tim Babysit for the Charming Zeke* and are reminded . . . how little it takes to be entertained when one is in the presence of an eight-month-old.
*Son of our friends Seth and Megan and provider for Tim and me of the surreal awareness that 1) it’s been 20 years since Reeve was this age, and 2) despite that fact, the memories come flooding back, it feels like no time at all, and we somehow still know how to do this stuff.
Talk about miracles!
Photos: Fanboys Tim and Zeke bond over a little ceiling-fan watching last night at Seth and Megan’s house.
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Tags: babysitting, ceiling fan, eight months old, tim, Zeke
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another of those miracles
May 1st, 2010
The issue we thought would never die:* May-June 2010.
We often joke about birthing the magazine every two months, but you know that’s another word for “offspring,” right? Issue. . . that which is brought forth after hours and hours of intense and at times excruciating labor.
Tell me about it.
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*Forget putting the magazine to bed; we were ready to kill this one by the time we got it out the door.
Yummy cover photo was shot in Malvern, England by Stacy Wasmuth of Blue Candy Photography.
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Tags: blue candy photography, issue 160, may-june 2010, stacy wasmuth
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a whole new world
March 28th, 2010
Big day today—we put all five kittens on the bed to play and explore.
The sheer excitement of the great wide open expanses of the bed in our front room seemed to exact a toll on kitten curiosity and energy. All five were soon shivering and hunkering, so back they went to Mom for warmth and reassurance.
And a cat nap.
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Tags: bed, cat nap, kittens, play
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(itty bitty) kitty with vision
March 14th, 2010*
*It feels a little like cheating to post a photo with no words as a blog entry. But what can one say that comes anywhere near the wonder one feels when encountering such a tiny, fuzzy, squeaky, wide-eyed life?
Photo: Reeve spends time with the first of our five kittens to open its eyes.
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Tags: eyes open, kitten, reeve
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