The Young

I came across this blog somewhere and I have been following it for sometime. I think I started reading it because she had some insights into NYC and then the blogger got pregnant. Her last post is about how concerned she is about this breastfeeding thing. It expressed so much of what I felt when I had my first child; confused, concerned and convinced I was doing everything wrong. I wanted to post a comment but she already had 62 comments of people telling her what they did and what she should do. I could not read them all but knowing what I know 23 years later, the kid will survive and probably because we are the kind of mother that posts blogs looking for reassurance. There should be some form of a formal mentoring system where you have an older parent around to help you get through these early years - somewhat like an intern system. In truth, with my first, Anthony, I had a cesarean and my mother came to help me for a week. The day she left, I cried feeling insecure and frightened that I would not be a good mother. Maybe that is the way to go - like birds, throw them out of the nest and let them fly. Somehow they survive and survive they do. I look at my kids now. They are young adults and I am still struggling with trying to stay out of their lives and letting them fly. I remember some of the times that made me feel that I was the worst mother on earth. When Anthony got his legs stuck in the crib bars and couldn't move for what seemed to be forever. I remember when Christine cried one night for longer than I wished but I was so tired I just prayed she would go to sleep. And Thomas who broke his arm one day when the babysitter claimed she was paying attention, and I knew she wasn't. Those memories last in me, but luckily not in them. I wish I could get them to do the things I am sure will get them to their goals faster, but I can't. I wish they would be happy all the time, but they won't be. In my life, I learned by flying alone. It is how they will learn and they will, but in their due time. So my blogger friend, it won't come easy, but it will come. I'm at least grateful that I am not worrying about breastfeeding, diapers and play dates. My kids turned out okay either because of me or in spite of me, but no matter, they are loved and will love. That is all that matters some days.

Y=mx+b

For the last 18 months, I have been working towards getting a degree. I am in my last two classes and one of them is algebra. It sucks. What pisses me off is that I will never use this in any part of my life. I will never use symbols to calculate an answer and I will never understand why I need to know this if I will not be an engineer. I am a writer not an engineer. I don't want to know y=mx+b or need to know it. In 3 weeks, if I don't pass algebra, I will not have a degree. I did what I had to. I told my sons that I would be willing to pay them $1,000 each if they will help me get through algebra. When I was in high school, a hundred years ago, I took algebra. I had just as hard of a time then as I do now. So much that the algebra teacher told me that the only way he would pass me is if I promised him I would never take another algebra class again. He's probably dead now so I think I am safe. So after 18 months, I am in the last of my required courses. One ends on March 6 and the last one (algebra) ends on March 20. It is so worth it to me to get through this to get the degree but I will never Y=mx+b in my life. Have you ever? It seems silly but I have illusions of what I plan to do after I get this degree and it has nothing to do with algebra

1. I want to read something I am not required to read.
2. I want to clean my house.
3. I want to make a dress. I use to sew and hope to do so again.
4. I want to go out for dinner on Friday nights and not worrying about my next assignment.

To celebrate my accomplishment, I booked a weekend in New York City for March 20 (great deal), and my Vancouver ski trip for April 8. So, I have to pass this course. In the meantime, if you know what Y = mx+b means, let me know. Otherwise, pray for me.

The Waiting Game

I am sick. Sick with a sore throat that kills when I swallow. I’m also sick of everyone’s complaints of winter. Hubby is in the garage, staring at the snow and at his motorcycle. He listens to the weather - more snow coming, temperatures in the single digits. He waits and dreams of California and waits for winter to be over. Anthony looks at motorcycle magazines planning, plotting and waiting. Christine, maybe the only smart one, booked a vacation to Florida where she has been for the last week. She will return today probably with some awesome tan and look to plan her next trip – and wait till then. Today is Super Bowl Sunday. Thomas will watch the game and then wait till next fall when the football season starts again. He is also waiting for college acceptance letters (particularly one) and hopefully will be playing football for the college of his choice. We all wait. A few weeks ago, Tony and I took off on a Friday and went skiing at Mountain Creek. The conditions there were the best I have ever experienced at this NJ mountain. But, I guess if you don’t ski, winter is just one long wait. So, here’s my response to winter. I booked a trip in April to Whistler, Vancouver to ski with my Houston girlfriend who I went to Banff with last year. To a skier, winter just isn’t long enough. I can’t wait till April.