November 1, 2010

Not to beat a dead philly, but my son is due in 3 months. That's only 13ish weeks. Those 13ish weeks include a family vacation through the great southwest United States, the holidays (Thanksgiving, Hannukah, Christmas, New Year's, Diwali, and Kwanzaa). Excuse me, but who said time could fly like this?

We just passed Halloween and I am feeling a mix of pride and dismay that I have not had one single piece of Halloween candy. How can that be? I think it's because 1. We didn't buy any candy for trick-or-treaters, which made it tricky indeed when the doorbell rang last night. (Jeff put some Welch's fruit chews in one of Sadie's porta-potties and gave them out. Trick! and Treat!). 2. Also, when your child is only 15-months old and doesn't really know what candy is, then you really can skip the candy parts of the holiday. We had a blast this weekend though. Saturday I insisted we suit up and go to a pumpkin patch in the City, but I didn't read the fine print that said the Pumpkin Patch activities were over by 2. Thus, we we arrived looking for some pumpkin loving at 3:30 p.m., there was not much left other than some sad, scarred old pumpkin hunks and some hay bales. Luckily, again, Sadie had no idea what we thought we were going to find, so finding a swing and some kids to play with at the playground was just fine for her.

Sunday we dressed our first-born up as a chicken and went to a party. I am still dismayed that Sadie let us dress her up in a funky fleece costume that she gamely sported for several hours. The party was a nice break from the joint nesting project that Jeff and I engaged in on Sunday morning. It's called CLEANING OUT THE CLOSETS so we can move the office to the fourth floor loft and give the third-floor office to Meatball. Oh lord, the stuff that Jeff and I have held on to. Man, if I got a dollar for every stupid thing I bought at Ann Taylor Loft I would be able to buy a farm full of chickens. That's the thing about my former BigLaw job: at almost every single second I felt entitled to BUY whatever I wanted, because often, the ONLY perk of the job was the ample paycheck. (Don't ask me what my excuse is now, because I left BigLaw and rate myself as a 7.5 on a scale of 10 for job satisfaction, but believe me, I do have an excuse.)

Anyway, somebody who's lucky to find my load at the Salvation Army could seriously put together about 50 different outfits all from 2007-2009 Ann Taylor Loft Collection. There is also a hot pair of hot Citizen For All Mankind jeans that I am certain will never fit again. And, believe me when I say, "fine by me." Or, believe me mostly.

Ok, you know I am lying, but who needs jeans sitting upstairs in a perfectly nice office mocking me when I am busy building a brain and raising my little chicken daughter? In the spirit of full disclosure, here's a slice of my particular insanity around my body that is a totally true story:

Me: Hey, guess what I did today when Sadie was napping?

Jeff: What?

Me: I tried on some pre-pregnancy jeans. [REMINDER: I am 26 weeks pregnant. Almost to third trimester. That makes me officially INSANE and probably in my eating disorder.]

Jeff: How'd that work out for you?

Me: Um. It worked about halfway up my leg.

What's going to happen to my children with a mother this vain?

In my defense, that is not all I did when Sadie was napping. I also took a shower (nice to have a clean mommy) and I organized the growing pile of clothes for Meatball (nice to have a mom looking after your sartorial needs) and I read some of my latest book (nice to have a mommy model literacy for you).

On a completely unrelated note (is there any better kind of note?), today is the 29th anniversary of my paternal grandfather's death. John Callaway Tate of Forreston, Texas. His death was my first great loss and I was so upset by his passing when I was in 3rd grade. It was upsetting to see my dad cry and to worry about my grandmother living in this big farm house all by herself. It wasn't my last loss, but it was the first and there something about the first one. I had never really been to a funeral before and it was simultaneously so sad and so stimulating-- riding in a limo with my grandmother from the funeral home to the graveside and all those people all around for days. I remember sitting on my grandmother's lap and all her friends from the farming community were around her talking about my grandfather. I thought it was great to have everyone around telling these funny and happy stories. I just wished my grandfather didn't have to die for us to be together eating Ona June's cherry cheesecake and sharing so many good things. I remember telling my cousin, Susan, who is a few months older than I am, that Grandaddy's passing was the worst thing that had ever happened to me. I think I remember she had a lawn chair on her head when I was trying to engage her in this conversation. She and my brother were playing a game on my grandmother's porch and my philosophical musings were not exactly part of the game.

Frankly, I was dying for someone to talk with me (no pun intended) about death and loss and grief, but I didn't know how or who to ask. I would get my chance later in life, but it makes me think of something very important now that I am a parent: I want to give Sadie and Meatball a chance to talk about anything they want or need to as they are growing up. Especially the hard stuff that I actually may not want to talk about. I want to give them space and language and signals that it's ok to ask questions or have feelings or wonder where people go when they die and what happens to the people they leave behind.

Let's see: We started with happy pumpkins and ended on a morbid note. That sounds about right.

Happy All Saint's Day.