Our plans to celebrate were going to have to wait until he returned home from Ohio. We were going to Bermuda! I had reconnected with and friend on Facebook and she happens to be a travel agent. (A very good one at that!!) On August 16, after much planning and preparing, Scott and I boarded a plane to tropical paradise. We arrived a the Elbow Beach Resort just around noon. While our room was being prepared, we had lunch and spent a few hours lying on the pristine beach and sipping rum swizzles.  We were in heaven. Nothing planned for 5 days except a couples massage and being together.  Soon we are told our room is ready and we decide to go check it out. The room is gorgeous and a bottle of champagne is chilling next to a plate of chocolate covered strawberries. A nice welcome and start to our week. We open the bottle laughing and head out to our patio overlooking the beautiful ocean. We drink the delicious champagne and start to get ready to head to dinner. Important safety tip: do not try to flat-iron your hair if you have been drinking rum swizzles in the sun and then proceed to drink a 1/2 of a bottle of champagne. Incident number one…2nd degree burn to my arm. Scott had told me not to bother…but the humidity of a tropical island makes me look like a chia pet if I do not get control over my hair. We head up to the resort shop to buy some ointment before dinner. The woman behind the counter tells me to go pick a leaf off of an aloe plant instead and rub in on the burn. It was kind of sticky….but it worked.

Our second day was blissful. We woke up and ate breakfast on the patio. Then we walked over to the spa for our couples massage. Soon, we felt like noodles…relaxed and limber. We spent the rest of the day reading at the beach and swimming in the unbelievably clear ocean water. I manage not to scald myself as we get ready to head into the charming town of Hamilton for the night. We ate at an Italian restaurant called Portofino. It was delicious. This was most likely the best day of the trip. Relaxed, a bit of sun on our faces, a wonderful meal and a lot of laughs.

On our third day, we had plans of sleeping in and heading to the beach again when we finally had breakfast. It was yet another gorgeous day on the island. We knew that we wanted to head into Hamilton for Harbour Nights. The shops were open late, street vendors would be set up, musicians would be playing and Front Street would be closed to traffic. We were looking forward to a festive night with a late dinner at the Hog Penny… a neat British Pub that Scott had been looking forward to going to. After walking around downtown for a few hours, Scott suggests getting an iced latte at the local organic coffee shop. We both order, but after a few sips of his, Scott says he does not like it and throws it away. He then buys a water and we leave the shop. A parade of traditional Gumbay Dancers has started and loud traditional drummers are playing. We watch, and dance and take it the local culture. Well…I did anyway. Scott was acting distracted  and impatient. I had no idea why…and he didn’t seem to want to tell me. He was very quiet and I wondered if he was upset about something or maybe got an email from work that had him stressed out. Honestly, I was getting annoyed with him. What was his problem? When I asked him..he said he was fine. We finally get to the Hog Penny and order drinks at the bar while we wait for our table. I notice that Scott is not drinking his beer. If you know Scott…this was my first real clue that there was a problem. We sit down  and order an appetizer. Finally…Scott looks at me and says, “I think that coffee I drank had nuts in it.”  Scott is allergic to nuts. He is deciding to tell me now, that for the last hour and a half…he has been unable to swallow. Here I was thinking he was being a jerk. When it actuality, he ’didn’t want to ruin the evening’ by telling me he was having a significant allergic reaction. Really? You know what would have ‘ruined my evening” ? What would have ruined my evening was my husband dropping to the ground in anaphylactic shock. With my eyes wide, I ask him “Why didn’t you tell me????!!!” He answers by telling me to order dinner and that he’ll be fine. He can’t eat however…because he CAN’T swallow! I down my 16oz rum and coke, tell the waiter we’re leaving and toss money on the table. I want to get him to a hospital, but he refuses. Now at this point…many of you are likely wondering, “Doesn’t he have an Epi-pen on him?” The answer would be no. After having this allergy for almost 20 years, he has yet to see an allergist to be properly tested and treated. Anyway….we head back to the hotel, which luckily is only 5 minutes away and he takes a large dose of Benadryl. Within 15 minutes he is sound asleep and I am sitting there…..starving, alone and checking his breathing every few minutes. I order room service and splurge on the $4 Diet Coke in the mini bar. I get no sleep that night as I am hoping his airway does not get blocked. For the record, I scolded him the entire cab ride back about how insane he is for not having an Epi-Pen and when we get back home, he is seeing a doctor as soon as possible. This was incident number two…and the one that almost ended our less than perfect vacation.

The final full day we are there starts off a little slowly. I am exhausted from checking on Scott all night. He is well rested, but is still having trouble swallowing so we skip breakfast. We decide to head into the historic town of St. George. It is a quiet morning and soon Scott is feeling like himself again and we have an early lunch. After lunch we take the ferry from St.George back to Hamilton. It is another gorgeous day and we enjoy seeing the island from the water. (Oh…and we didn’t think of putting on sunblock…not thinking we are going to be on a boat on the open ocean for over an hour.) We arrive in Hamilton and decide to get a drink at an Irish pub before heading back to the resort. It is so nice to just do whatever we want and spend time with just each other. I think that Scott suggested getting a drink since I was still nervous from the nut incident of the previous night. We spend our last afternoon at the beach. We read and nap and jump the waves. I did end up getting pummeled to the ground not once, but twice by enormous waves. I can still see Scott bent at the waist cracking up as I tried to stand up in the water. We are both looking forward to our dinner later which is at a restaurant right on the beach at our resort. We head up to shower and get dressed. Now due to my wave crashing, I have sand in places one does not need to have sand. I cannot wait to get in the shower. Little did I know that incident number three was in my room. We step into our cool clean room and sitting in the middle of the tiled floor is a lizard. Yes a lizard. I scream and jump on top of the desk. Scott is trying to act manly and cool as I yell at him to catch it. I suggest putting the trash can or ice bucket over him to trap him. By the time Scott moves…the little bugger goes under the couch. Now being from New Hampshire, we don’t get many lizards here. I call housekeeping in a panic and they say they will send someone up. My plan is to stay on the desk and watch the couch like a hawk in case the critter decides to venture someplace else. I know they are probably amused at my being freaked out over a lizard…but I tell them I will not be able to sleep knowing a lizard is in the room. Scott takes a shower and then takes over my lizard watching post while I head into the shower. Though, to be honest, I don’t think he takes the surveillance quite as seriously as I do.

I hear a man come into the room and say, “So I hear you found one of our big spiders!”  What…big spiders? I have not heard of these. Scott tells him that we don’t have a spider, but we do have a lizard. “Oh….is he big or little?” the man asked. I yell from the bathroom, “It’s big enough!!” and I hear him laugh. “Oh you people must be from a cold climate because this little guy won’t hurt you. I’ll try to catch him but I’d like to not kill him if you don’t mind.” I don’t care if he takes him home and makes him a pet, I just want him gone. After several attempts to catch him, the lizard is too quick and climbs inside the couch. Great. I suggest that he push the couch out onto the patio. He laughs. Little does he know I am not kidding even one bit. He says he can come back with a spray and kill him, if I really want. Now this man has made me feel awful. I tell him I am very sorry but I cannot sleep with a lizard in my room. He says he will take care of it while we are at dinner. Several hours later we return to the room and though I can tell that someone has been there, I do not trust that the lizard is gone. I sleep with one eye open.

When are arrive back home from our adventures in Bermuda, everyone asked if we had a good trip. I tell them we did. It was a relaxing  and fun week that was filled with laughs and moments for the two of us to reconnect. When I start to tell them about the burn, the anaphylactic shock and the lizard they are shocked. Those are what memories are made of. In a sense, that is what marriages are made of. Nothing is ever perfect…but it’s how we handle life as a couple that makes it perfect for us.

Luckily, when we got inside, there was no line. A very nice young man…who acted as sort of a ‘Wal-Mart greeter’  reviewed our paperwork and said Alden was all set to take the written test. Well…I say written because that is what we did in my time. Now it’s all computerized. Alden went into an adjoining room to take the test. Another mother was with her daughter, who was also there to get her license. The daughter was beyond pale and on the verge of tears when she came out of the room. She passed…but only by one point. Phew. She was then led outside to take her driving test. The mom looks at me and says,  “I hope she doesn’t throw up!”

Moments later, Alden comes out of them room. He is smiling…so at least I knew he passed the written test. He is given a time of 8:40am for his test. It is 8:30am. We are told to head outside, park the car between the orange cones and wait. I have to go with him. So we go move the car…and wait. I can see that Alden is so nervous. I don’t know if I should tell him I did not pass my driver’s test the first time. I flunked because I could not parallel park at all. (For the record…I grew up in Lewiston, Maine where the need for parallel parking is almost non-existant!) Instead, I tell him that I know he can do it. He’s a good driver and if he does flunk…we’ll come back the next week. As the handsome greeter told the kids, “this is a test for your license…not your life.”  A few yoga inspired breathing tips later, the officer giving the test is walking towards our car. I don’t have the heart to mention how scary looking he is.  I step out of the car and wish Alden luck.

I head back inside the building to wait. The young girl who I had seen before can be seen walking towards the building too. She is smiling from ear to ear and the mom breathes a sigh of relief. She steps in the door and the two of them hug. It seems as though Alden has been gone for hours, but I look at the clock and it’s only been 10 minutes. A young man comes out of the testing room with a very concerned look. He is there with his grandmother, who has been talking to for the last 10 minutes. He didn’t pass the ‘written’ test, so will have to wait to take the driving test until he can pass it. I feel sad for him..and I watch her trying to say the right thing to make him feel better.  I look at the clock again and it’s been about 15 minutes. I see Alden’s car pull into the lot. I watch and he lines up to attempt to back into a parking space. “Oh God…” I mutter to myself. I watch as Alden makes his first attempt…and fails. He is given a second chance, and so I watch him try again. He can’t do it. My heart is going out to him, as I know he must be so frustrated and nervous. I now say out loud, “on no…not a third time!” Mr Greeter hears and me and tells me not to worry. “He can still miss that and pass.” The problem is, I have no idea how he has done on the rest of the test. I sit and I wait. Soon I see my son walking towards the building. Before I can tell if he is smiling or not, Mr. Greeter says to me, “He passed. If he didn’t, the officer would be walking with him.” I finally see Alden’s smile. He had gotten a 100% of the rest of the test, so his struggle with the backing in is not an issue. I am so happy and relieved for him. I give him a big hug, which he does not quite appreciate.  He goes over to the desk and gets his picture taken. It’s official, my son has his license.

 Once we are home, I call our insurance company to add him to our policy. That, for the record, was almost as gut wrenching as watching my son go for his driver’s test. Even with the good student and driver’s education discounts, the rates are unbelievably expensive. For those of you out there that have yet to make that fateful call of adding a teenager to your car insurance policy, I wish you luck. Even the woman who I was speaking with felt for me…”Wow, that almost doubles your policy rates!”  Thanks…that was helpful. 

That afternoon, Alden is scheduled to go work at his internship at the Nashua Telegraph…which is a town away.  When it’s about time to leave  he says to me,  ”So….I can just drive myself, right?” I know the correct answer is yes. The State of New Hampshire has deemed him safe to drive. “Ummmmmm…..ok, ” I say as my stomach leaps into my throat. Unfortunately, my son has my sense of directions. I remind him how to get there and he says he is fine. He walks out the door and gets into what is now his Jeep Liberty. (A pretty cool car for a 16-year-old boy I might add.) I tell him to text me when he arrives and to please be safe and to please be careful. He gives me an eye roll that I can see from the front door. He climbs in his car and drives away. I feel like I may throw up. I hear myself whispering, “please be safe, please be safe.” It is one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. I know I have to trust him and know that he will be ok. But….there are others out there that are not safe. There are stupid people on the road everyday. He is also 16 years old. I remember how I used to drive when I was 16….I felt invincible.

I pace the house for the next 15 minutes waiting…waiting for his text. I also hope he doesn’t simply get lost. Soon, I hear my cell phone chime and I read his text, “i m here”. I hadn’t realized I hadn’t been breathing. Thank God…he is safe for now, until it’s time for him to drive home. I tell him to text me when he leaves the newspaper. I wonder how long I will make him text me when he arrives to his destinations and when he leaves to come home. The answer to that is weeks. He is not very good at it however, and I have to conced that no news is good news. If something did happen, he would call me.

He is a good, conscientious kid and I know he is a good driver. It’s just so hard to watch your child drive away like that…into a world that I have no control over. A thought enters my mind that afternoon…something that I haven’t thought of in a long time.  When I was 18, I was home on winter break from college. Driving home from work one night,  I was in a serious car accident. I imagine my mother getting a call from the police that her daughter has been in a car accident, is unconscious and is being taken to the local hospital by ambulance. I can now understand her fear. My poor mom…having to make that drive to the hospital, driving by the intersection where my car was still sitting…the front end crushed and the windshield broken. The massive pick up truck that pulled in front of my car was already gone. How did she ever get through that? She didn’t know until she arrived at the hospital that although I was injured, I would be ok.  I suddenly understand what she may have gone through that night.  I had been safe and careful that night….but someone else hadn’t.

It’s just another step in watching our children grow up. No one ever said that being a parent was easy. If my son is reading this….please: be safe, be careful and I love you. 

Dina

I am now 42 and 2 days and I still can’t wrap my mind around my age. It seems ridiculous to me that I am this “old.” I really don’t feel any different from when I was a teenager. Well…that’s not completely true. I have quite a bit of gray hair, some new vision issues, aches and pains that are rather persistent and I seem to have lost my ability to drink all night and be fine the next morning. However, I also have a lot more self-confidence and life experience that allows me to be comfortable in my own skin. Something that only comes with time.  Looking back at myself when I was 18…and hating the body I was given, I would love to slap that girl and tell her to appreciate who she is. That soon, things would head south and she will wish she was back in that 18-year-old body again!

Birthdays have a way of  making you take stock of your life. Well, at least mine do. It’s been kind of tough year for me personally, and I have had many days of not really wanting to get out of bed…never mind leave the house. On occasion I have given in to that primal need to nurture my soul and stay curled on the couch watching movies. Most days, however, I suck it up and head into my day. Why? Because even on my worst days….I am still a very fortunate woman. I have a good man for a husband, 2 amazing and beautiful children, a comfortable home, and some of the best friends a person could ever ask for.

If I could go back to any age, I’m not sure if I would. If I go too far back…my children aren’t there yet…and what they bring to my life is more important that anything else I can ask for.  I guess no age is “perfect”, but I can try to make each stage in my life as perfect as it can be for me. So here I come 42….bring it on. Let’s see what this year has to offer.

When Abbey was 3 years old, I was so nervous for her first recital. I didn’t know how to make a ballet bun and putting stage make-up on my tiny girl seemed impossible. I still struggle with the bun (this is why Abbey does them herself now) but have become a pro at putting make-up on my daughter’s beautiful face. Abbey is so excited, she has a hard time sleeping at night…though this is when she really needs her rest. Her costume rack is now taking over the dining room with 7 costumes and her company warm-ups. The bin is packed with dance shoes, costume pieces, hair products and accessories, make-up, bobby pins, safety pins, stain remover and extra tights. We are ready…I think  Dammit…I forgot to sew the straps on one of the costumes. That’ll have to wait until tonight.

There are 2 in studio rehearsals on Tuesday and Wednesday. These are not ‘mandatory’ but I don’t think we’d ever dream of skipping one. Then we are in the dance venue on Thursday for a blocking rehearsal. This year, Miss Jen is trying something new so we don’t have to be there until 7pm. I am tying to accept this change, as in years past, we’d get there at 3pm and plan to stay for the long haul. Come 3pm on Thursday I will not know what to do with myself! This year, that will be saved for Friday. Friday is the dress rehearsal for both shows. It is a long, exciting day. You would think that my daughter would be beyond exhausted, but she is actually energized. She lives for this. Recital day is one of her favorite days of the year.

 It is amazing what these girls do. Our seniors are graduating as well this week. Not only do they have graduation activities…they have many rehearsals as well. It is a bitter-sweet time for them. They are so excited to start the new phase in their life, but it is also their last recital. Tears have already been shed, knowing that goodbye is soon to come. A true goodbye is not possible though. These dancers come back every year for an alumni piece that we all look forward to. These role models to my daughter and the other young dancers are who our girls aspire to be.

The year goes by so fast, and then June is here. Our family from Maine makes plans to come down and see Abbey dance. They have been to so many recitals, they feel as though they know the other girls as well. They comment on who is leaving and any new faces on that stage. What started as a simple dance class for Abbey 7 years ago, has turned into a love of dance for the whole family. 

On the day of the recitals, Abbey and I will head to the theater about an hour before the first show begins and will be there until the second show ends. I have sat in the audience a few times, but my preference is to be back stage. Not only to share this exciting time with my daughter, but because I love the crazy energy that is back there.  I have stood on the side of the stage in tears many times. Some are shed for watching my daughter dance and seeing her grow up before my eyes. Some tears are shed for dancers I have watched grow into beautiful women.

Our dance family isn’t always perfect. There are miscommunications and disagreements, but mostly a lot of laughs. They are some of our closest friends and the studio a second home to us…especially my daughter. (Last year at school, she drew a picture of her favorite place in the world. It was the dance studio.) So like family, we accept and love each other. We know that we are there for the same reason. To support the love of dance that is such a part of who are daughters are.

We had a television in the camp, but it only got PBS. On the days that it was raining, I’d wake to the sound of the rain on the tin roof. Part of me hated it…because it meant being outside may not be an option. If it was warm enough though, we’d find our way into the lake soon enough. On those days, we’d play cards and board games. We were good friends with our neighbors and they would soon be over, sometimes still in their pajamas with cereal bowls in hand. We’d still put on our bathing suits…in hope that the rain would slow down, or that Mom would let us go swimming in the rain. Over my bathing suit was a hand-me-down sweatshirt from one of my brothers. It hung to my knees and was the most cozy thing in the world. Mom would make grilled cheese sandwiches and we’d make pitchers of Zarex. Do you remember that stuff? The bottle of drink syrup with the zebra on it? Those bottles meant summer to me.

I had no idea how lucky I was to have such a special place. My mom took the summers off from the floral shop she worked at so we could move there. My dad still worked at his garage, and I remember waiting for his car to come down the steep driveway at the end of the day. Once and a while, he’d surprise us and bring home steamed clams and lobsters. My mom would sit by the lake in her bathing suit while we swam all day. I can still see her smile as I’d yell, “Mom…watch me, watch me,” as I dove off the dock. We’d make mud pies, catch tad-poles and go for long walks.  After dinner, I would wait to see if my dad would grab the keys to the boat. We’d all climb in and go for a ride, bundled up against the cool Maine summer nights.  If we were lucky, we’d park the boat at the only store on the lake and get an ice cream.

There were no cell phones, lap tops or video games. As a matter of fact, the only phone we had was actually a party line phone that we shared with 2 other neighbors. With no distractions, we were forced to just play. To use our imaginations. To just talk and laugh and explore. There were some of the best moments of my life. Even as I grew up into a teenager, I still loved being up there. Of course…making mud pies turned into laying in the sun. I would sit on the dock and wait for my friends to come by boat to pick me up. The best bon fires became the ones where I knew there would also be boys.

I haven’t been up to the lake in many years now. My parents tore down the camp when I was in high school and built a log home on the lot. A few years after it was built, my parents divorced and sold the house. I cried the day it sold. If I close my eyes, I can still feel the cold wet sand on my feet and feel the cool water on my face. I can picture myself sleeping in the bedroom with the built-in bunk beds, and hear the deep call of the frogs at night. I can even hear the loons singing on the lake.  I am so lucky to have those memories. They still make me smile…and remember what it is like to simply be a child.

It was May 7, 1994 and Scott and I were having dinner at the officer’s club at Castle Air Force Base. I had been feeling a bit off that day. We sat there eating and talking about our week. I was pregnant and due May 23. It had been a rough pregnancy, but at this point, I could at least eat a real meal. Halfway through dinner…I had a contraction. I was so strong and sudden, I held the edge of the table and just stared at Scott. “What was that? he asked. I really wasn’t that sure…it seemd like a contraction, but it was the first one I had felt, so who knew. A mere 3 minutes later, another one came. That seemed quick. Scott wanted to leave and head home to call the doctor. I knew this was our last meal out without a child or the need for a babysitter for a very long time. I wanted to finish my dinner!

As we pulled into the hospital parking lot, I grab Scott’s arm and started to panic. “I don’t want to do this! Let’s go home. I don’t want to go in.” Poor Scott. He had no idea what to say to me or what to do next. “Ummmm….honey, I don’t think you have a choice. We have to go in.”  He gave me a weak smile and came to open my door. I was terrified. “But…I am not even due until the 23rd. I am not ready.The baby isn’t ready.” I pleaded as he walked me to the door. The emergency room sent us right up to labor and delivery. I will spare you the gory details…but I ended up back home that night, still in labor. I labored for 45 hours and finally had a cesarean on May 9 at 3:58pm. I was exhausted. When they told me he was a boy, and I saw his beautiful face…my heart felt bigger than it ever had in my life. My son.

He was a rather sick little boy from day one. He was born with hyperthyroidism (it was from me and temporary) and unknown to us at the time, with an immature GI system.  A beautiful…very skinny…wide awake little boy who threw up everything we put into him. Everyone told me that newborns sleep all the time. What? Alden slept for a total of 4 hours in a 24 hour period. His overactive thyroid made him too restless and hungry.  He was losing weight at record speed and I was losing my mind.  He was born at 6 lbs and 9 oz and got down to 5 lbs and 4 oz. He was SO tiny. I felt like a huge failure as a mother. The only relief was that he was a relatively happy baby. He was just awake…all the time.

He stayed little for a long time. When he was 12 months, he weighed 17 lbs. At age 2…he was 21 lbs. At age 3 he hit 23 pounds. It was very slow going and we were at the doctors constantly. He had been hospitalized for dehydration 4 times before he was 2. He was in and out of specialist’s offices. He had an endoscopy and many, many tests to see why he was not growing. They told us he was diagnosed with “failure to thrive.” What?? Isn’t that something that babies in 3rd world countries have. It was so frustrating. We were doing everything we could to keep him healthy.

While all this was going on…the doctor’s expected his development would be delayed. That didn’t seem to be an issue. I remember calling my mom when was he 6 months old to tell her he was saying some words. She thought I was crazy. They didn’t seem like just random sounds. He called his bottle a ‘baba’, he called me ‘mama’ and Scott ‘dada’. He called our dog, Molly…’momo’. When I talked about my mother, who my children call “Memere”, he said ‘meme’. I thought this was normal for a 6 month old baby. My mother did not believe me. She gently informed me that 6 month old babies don’t talk. Then she came to visit. As soon as Alden saw my mom, he squealed “MEME”. My mother’s face was priceless. I showed Alden a ball…”baw” he said. My mother was amazed. Scott and I were used to it. He had several words, though baby words, for the things around him.

Though his physical development was a little slow and he stayed so tiny, he was speaking in full sentences by 11 months. It would shock people as the looked down at this tiny face in the stroller and he would say, “Hi…I’m Alden.”  He continued to learn and discover at such a fast pace. To us, it was all typical and normal. He was our first child and we just assumed that all 3 year olds could read fluently. We signed him up for preschool and our friends laughed at us. “You can’t send him to a regular preschool!” What was I supposed to do…he was 3!  He loved preschool. He loved his teachers and made some new friends. I thought it was all going really well. Then the teacher approached us in the spring and suggested we find another school for the following year. “Where do you propose I send a  4-year-old?” I asked her. She told me she didn’t know but he was far beyond their 4-year-old program and they didn’t think it would be beneficial for him to stay. My son had officially been kicked out of preschool. (Funny thing is, so had I when I was four…but it was for kicking a nun.) We found a Montessori school for him in a nearby town. It ended up being perfect. He could learn at his own lightening speed and still be among peers. He loved it and the teachers were so supportive. He wrote stories and read books. Then if he wanted to finger paint and play with cars, he could. It was the perfect balance.

Alden is now 16 years old and a junior in high school. He ended up skipping 2nd grade to help him feel more at home in the classroom. Being a year younger than most of his peers has never really bothered him. At almost 6 feet tall, he doesn’t look any different from most juniors. All those years ago, when they suggested he get double promoted, we did a lot of research to be sure this was the right choice for him. My only “regret” now that he is getting towards the end of his junior year, is that I feel like I have lost a year with him. I know that doesn’t make much sense, since that year did actually go anywhere. It just feels like I sacrificed a year of him home with me. He will have just turned 17 when he leaves for college. (Deep breath.) I am not sure how I will handle that. I do know one thing: He will be ready and I know he’ll be successful. 

Dina

As you arrive on campus, you are greeted with the most beautiful yet somewhat ominous buildings. They were exactly as I had pictured. Impressive and exuding tradition. My daughter looked up at Healy Hall and said, “It looks like Hogwarts from Harry Potter.” She was right. There was something mystical about this part of campus. If you listened closely, you could almost hear voices of past students and professors.    

We soon headed to the undergraduate admissions office which was housed in White-Gravenor Hall. Though the woman who greeted us was very pleasant, the information session that followed was by far the most boring of all that we have listened to. So far, we have sat in on sessions at Columbia University, New York University, George Washington University and Georgetown. Yes, it was informative…however; the woman reading from note cards in the back of the room while a power point ran on a screen in front of us was beyond dull. Thankfully it was short and we were soon met by our tour guides. The young woman, Jordan, who was our tour guide, was perfect. She was smart, funny, informative, and honest and her love of Georgetown was clear. Though it was a rather cold and very windy day, she showed us every corner of that campus. Including a dorm roof top view of the beautiful city of Washington D.C… She talked to the prospective students about the course load, her classes, doing a semester overseas, making friends, the feeling of community and the food. She was so proud of Georgetown and wanted us all to feel that same pride.  

 In all honesty, as we walked around the campus, I thought for sure my son would have preferred George Washington University. We had visited it a few days prior and had a great visit. I was wrong. He loved Georgetown and all it had to offer. It was a great traditional campus with the proximity to a big city that could offer him the world.  This is when it gets tricky. I have to let him make those decisions. It has to be his instinct when he visits a college….not mine. Though there is that tiny part of me…the inner 18 year old…that feels like I am the one looking for a school. I have to remind myself that this is his choice.    

Jordan talked about the fact that Georgetown is not a dry campus and those students 21 and over can register parties and serve alcohol in the dorms. This was evident from the broken beer bottles on the roof top of the dorm. She expected parents to express concern over this. There was none. I recall my college years with a smile and a slight shake of my head. I spent many Friday and Saturday nights at a keg party. I am not so naive to think my son won’t drink a beer or two while in college.     

Overall…our visit was very successful. Though the ride home made it clear to me just how far Washington D.C. is.  Will I actually be okay if gets accepted to Georgetown and moves to D.C.? It’s far! Suddenly, the “college is your choice” stance we’ve been taking seems crazy. I start suggesting schools in Boston…even one in Rhode Island. I have always been proud of his independent nature. Now I just want to scream, “Please don’t go!” I guess that’s natural. I will have the next year to get used to the idea. In the big picture, when he goes to college…he is gone. Whether he is in Boston, New York or D.C…he still won’t be home.    

As the tour comes to an end, Alden asks us to go to the book store to buy a sweatshirt. I watch him as he looks around at the other students milling around. There is a slight grin and I can see him picturing himself sitting at the coffee shop with his laptop. He picks out a Georgetown sweatshirt and we head for the metro station. He already knows which line we have to take back to the hotel to get our car. He is comfortable and confident.  I, however, have my stomach in knots. Partly out of excitement for him and his amazing future…and partly because I can see the man he will soon be.  

Dina

Healy Hall

White-Gravenor Hall

As they start getting older, the circle of people in the lives begins to broaden. They have little friends, teachers and other adults who are part of their lives. Soon…the little hurts begin. Being excluded in the playground or a teacher scolding them. It’s a part of growing up, but it’s still hard on a parent to see their child in tears become someone hurt their feelings. We got through it as children and it what makes us able to cope as we get older.

The older our kids get, though, the deeper the hurt. Again, the older they get…the more people who are in their lives and the less control we have over their experiences. It could be that another child as school says something cruel and they come home in tears. Instinct makes you want to hunt down that child and put them in their place. Well, since that’s not appropriate or acceptable…we just try to help our little ones cope. Teach them how to handle these rather innocent situations. This will make them stronger and more independent.

Then your child hits middle school and high school and you don’t even know half of their friends anymore. It’s a different world today than it was for us parents. Cell phones and Facebook make communication instantaneous and often without real emotion. These kids are overwhelmed with texts, emails and posts on their Facebook wall. Information gets around the school at lightening speed. Rumors and the truth become blended. Watching your child grow up and tell you less and less about their lives isn’t easy. It’s necessary…but not easy. They have to make their own decisions. Learning from mistakes is an important part of life. Choosing the wrong friends will happen.

It’s been  a tough few weeks for my kids. I won’t get into details…because embarassing them would only add to their hurt. I’ve taken many deep breaths…knowing that it will all work out. As they sleep soundly, I have been tossing and turning in my bed.  I stop myself from going into my son’s room to check on him. I know he’ll be ok….won’t he? I do sneak into my daughter’s room and kiss her sleeping cheek. She is still young enough where I can do that. My son, however, would not appreciate the gesture.

Our job as parents is to raise well-adjusted, kind and independent young adults. If we coddle them too much, they will never be able to handle life on their own. Part of that learning process is getting hurt. It’s getting hurt and learning how to move past it. It’s also them knowing when to stand up for themselves when they need to. Learning how to not give up…and the moments of hurt and pain are surrounded by so many moments of  happiness and pride.

So for now, I sit back and hope for the best. “This too shall pass…” is one of my favorite sayings. We can get through almost anything. Our children can get through almost anything…if we let them.

Dina

I decided to wait until I graduated. A few months later I woke up one morning in the August of 1999 and just knew it. I was pregnant. I’d like to say the next 9 months were easy but they were not. I threw up almost every day and had a hard time caring for 5-year-old Alden with Scott constantly traveling. By the time I was 4 months pregnant, I had lost 18 pounds. I was in and out of the doctor’s office and wondered if I had lost my mind. Soon…an unexpected complication came up. I had developed a heart condition and was put on heart medication. I would have to be on partial bed rest and wasn’t allowed to drive. Sigh…was I really doing this again?

“It’s a girl,” the doctor showed us at the ultrasound. I could not believe it. A little girl. We were so excited. Well…almost all of us. Alden informed us that he would be moving to his fort in the back yard when she arrived. I, on the other hand,  couldn’t wait to meet her. I could never have imagined a more beautiful, funny, strong and independent girl. Feisty I expected…..she moved and kicked so much inside me that it would make me nauseous. Then she would get really, really still…to the point that I would have to get hooked up to the monitors at the hospital to make sure she was ok.  That is still how she is. She wakes up with all the energy in the world and goes all day at warp speed, and then when she hit her pillow at night…she is out like a light. Funny how her little habits, as she lived under my heart for 9 months, are still a part of who she is now.

On April 10, 2000 I got a call from my doctor very early in the morning. I had been in the hospital the night before because Abbey was not moving a lot. The doctor was worried. It seemed that when I had my sudden heart palpatations…her heart rate was slowing down. They were worried about her and so was I. He asked that we meet him in the hospital in an hour. They hooked me up to some monitors and told me that Abbey needed to come out. It was getting too risky and they wanted to do a cesarean.  ”Ok…” I said, “let’s do it.”

A few short hours later, Abbey Corinne arrived. She was perfect….beautiful beyond words. I could not wait for my son to meet his little sister. He was so proud and protective and that has not changed. The three of us sat in the hospital room just watching her.  I was right….we were missing someone in our family. She had arrived.

Now it is 10 years later. I cannot believe how much she has grown. She is starting to become a young woman. The ‘little girl’ is going away so fast and I try to enjoy the fleeting moments. From day one, she had a sense of independence, confidence and strength that was beyond her tiny little self. I am so grateful and proud that she is my daughter.

Happy Birthday Abbey. I love you.

Dina

PS: A little note about how Abbey got her name. We knew we wanted to name her Abbey…but we weren’t sure how we were going to spell it. Would it be Abigail? Abby? Abbie?  Then Scott went to England when I was about 8 months pregnant.  He stood in front of the Westminster Abbey and called me. “I know how we should spell Abbey.”

Yet…here she was making silly plans with her friend. They decided to build a rope swing and could barely find the time to come in for dinner. Remember those days? When you mom would yell that it was time for dinner and you hated to go inside, even for a minute. I loved watching them. It was nice not to see any iPods or video games. They were just simply using their imaginations. Something that is often missing from children’s lives these days.

As soon as they were up this morning they got dressed, ate a quick breakfast and heading back to their masterpiece. About 20 minutes later…they came in to tell me that the bar had broken. “Are you mad?” Abbey asked. How could I be mad? I told her not to worry about it…we’d fix it. They then turned the rest of the swing set into a spaceship and were off to Mars. Soon they turned the swing set into an obstacle course that they took turns attempting. It was so great watching them just play. Laughing from their bellies and eating ice cream cones while on the swing. It was simple. That’s what I loved about it…they were just being little girls.

In a world where it seems that kids are growing up way too fast, it was refreshing to see little girls playing outside and using their imaginations. I see elementary school kids with cell phones and it makes me cringe. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t fight technology. I think technology can do wonders for safety, education and connecting  people. I also think it has to have its limits. Parents need to know when to say no.  When I was my daughter’s age, my favorite times were spent at my camp on the lake. Days filled with nothing but swimming, swinging on the swing set, going to walks and eating popsicles. We didn’t even get any television stations at our camp. PBS would maybe come in on a good day. I hate to date myself…but there were no VCR’s or DVD players either. A radio was about as good as it was going to get.

I know it’s a different time and kids are growing up faster than ever. I love to see it pause…even just for a moment. A day with nothing to do. No school, no dance classes, no scheduled events….nothing.  We need days like these. Kids need days like these. We don’t have to have “something to do” at every given moment. I never heard “we’re bored” from the girls. They were having a blast. When Jillian’s mom came to get her in the afternoon, both girls were tired and smiling. Abbey said, “This was the best sleep over ever.”