It's you. Totally knew it!

I remember the day Ben was born. I remember staring down at him and thinking "Oh hi you! Of course it's you." Like we were old friends. Like we'd always known each other. Like we had always been connected. Like we shared a secret. And, we did.

He captivated me. He was perfect. And he was only mine for 48 hours. And then, he was theirs. Letting him go began well before his birth. Still there are not words for the kind of grief that held me for many days following his adoption. And then, one day, months later, it lifted and now what I remember most is not the pain, but instead I remember that I knew him and that he knew me and we had a secret. We had an agreement.

I work with a sweet girl who has been chosen with her husband to adopt a baby boy when he arrives in December. She met the birth mother recently and she had that "Oh hi you! Of course it's you" moment. What could be more comforting to a young woman not yet ready to be a mother and a woman who has tried for many years in vain to have a child? Like a friendship had been renewed and an agreement remembered.

I struggle with God daily. I struggle with much of the organization in the church I was raised in. But, oddly, I never struggle to find or recognize what I know can only be the hand of something much greater in my life.

I have girlfriends that I have looked at and said "Oh hi you! Of course it's you." Like how the hell did this reunion take so long? These women... I love them. I love them with that deep choked up grateful kind of love.

I have a brother who I know I've been connected to for time that spans far beyond this life. And I have these children who are so totally mine. As they grow I have those "Oh hi you!" moments often.

I wonder if they'll have that with Ben. I know they have it with some cousins and a couple of my friends who have firmly planted themselves in to our inner circle, and they have an unbreakable bond with their uncle. Odds are pretty good.

I'm kind of a girl about this mushy stuff. But, I'm not a Candyass. Wussy girl, yes. Candyass, no. 

Dear Summer, your days are numbered.

The kids class lists were posted this morning. Three weeks and they're back in school. I can't wait. I love the schedule and the rhythm of a school year, but I am sad that this summer has passed so quickly and I feel like I've missed so much of it. Maine and my beautiful town South of Boston are long gone.

We've had cousins visiting from Beijing and they've kept my kids busy with every activity a kid could imagine during the summers here. Rock climbing, swimming, hiking, swimming, camping, swimming, skating, night games, sleepovers at grandparents, golfing, baseball games, and swimming. And, bunches and bunches of other things.

Mojo tackling a steep wall in American Fork Canyon, July 2011

If you know me well, you know that I've recently been a tiny bit sick again and that my Mojo had surgery two weeks ago and her summer was halted quite suddenly with the new piece of hardware in her chinny chin chin. I've wanted to throw in the towel and quit working full time and just hang out with my kids. And, to be really honest, to also spend more time with my friends. Have I ever told you that I have the greatest friends ever. I do. They are smart and funny and SMART and they always show. Always. And, guess what else. I love their kids. (The ones that don't have kids get mine by default, so I REALLY love their kids.) Their kids are adventurous and clever and kind and one gives the best kisses on the planet.

For mine, summer has been made better by their deep connections to their cousins, all of these new friends, my mother and her beautiful yard built for her 16 grandchildren and the cinnamon rolls that seem to appear magically in her kitchen, and by a swing that makes butterflies and belly laughs in Kalli's backyard.

Grandma makes great comic strip hats and her poppies are the MOST beautiful in Alpine. We love the trees in Kalli's backyard and love that we get to play there often. We also love how close we are to the mountains for hiking and campfires and, most of all, for s'mores.

 For years I have wanted only to get out of this state and head back to my beautiful New England. Both for me and my children. I have always felt that they would thrive away from here and away from the things I find challenging and frustrating about this place. But, they have much here that would be greatly missed if we were to leave. And, so do I. So, for now... we stay and love it.

You let the butter dribble on vacation

I took my kids home a few weeks ago. To the place I feel most at home. To Boston. To Hingham, the town I grew up in. To the house I grew up in and the neighborhood I loved. To the streets between my house and Jeannie's and the million and one memories that live there. To the beach, the water, the smell of the salt air and the winding roads along the coast. To the cemetery on High Street where Mitch is remembered. To the North End, Quincy Market, and my new digs in Cambridge. Up to Boothbay Harbor and back.

We went to places that meant the most to me growing up. And still, they hold strong as the places I love best. These places are the backdrop for so much of the color and texture and pattern of my life. In them I grew close to my family, made unbreakable bonds, fell deeply in love, learned the value of friendship and loyalty, had my heart broken a few times, and had more fun than any teenager should ever be allowed.

So many of my memories of these places are lost. So many are vague sort of shadows and I wonder if I remember them correctly. I wish I had those pages filled with my stories. I wish I remembered more details than I do. Not just because there was something magical about this place I got to live, but because I want my kids to know some of those stories. Not all of them, but a few are worthy of sharing.

I do remember running up the path from my house to the playground at Plymouth River School, across Harvard and Stanford to Blackhorse Lane hundreds of times. I remember smoking pot with my brother and his best friend on that very playground before our huge family dinners on Sundays where there were always at least ten extra people. (If you knew the chaos that often came with ten or more extra people, you'd have been at that playground with us.)

One Berkley Circle with overgrown hedges and the sinking walk that my dad put in by hand. 

I remember my mother's terrible pink and green wallpaper and how happy (and terrified) we were when my dad left oil on the stove one morning and the kitchen burned up so that we would never have to see it again... only, she put the same crap back up! I remember driving to school on snowy mornings and taking the turn on to Main Street a little too fast every time so that the back end of my mom's Jeep would fishtail just enough to make our little sisters pee a little.

I remember long walks down my street to the side yard that led to Ward Street. Wishing Berkley Circle were miles longer so I wouldn't have to say goodnight. (Mosty I just didn't ever want to stop making out with my boyfriend on that big patch of open grass that ruined my favorite white jeans.) I remember the night I was supposed to be at Dances With Wolves and instead had the best date in the history of dates. I remember spending more time at Jeannie's house because that's where our boys always were. And, long summer days laying by her pool with sun-in in our hair and ridiculously long discussions about summer camp and her boyfriend's smelly feet and debating whether her adopted brother was gay or not.

I remember standing on this very deck behind the Lobstermen's Co-op in Boothbay Harbor, Maine and taking a similar photo with my whole family, including Bruce and Diane. What was so amazing about this vacation with my kids was how incredibly easy they were. They fell in love with my beautiful Hingham instantly. And, they were no match for Boothbay Harbor. They are fully under the spell.

As am I.

NOW, I remember these three running up and down the street I lived on and the beaches I played on through the tiny town I spent summer vacations in. I watched them eat their first whole lobsters without worrying about the weird insides or the dribbling butter. And I watched them stand quietly over the tiny harbor in Cohasset and stare at the boats going out to the open water. It was where Molly turned and said that it was the most beautiful place she had ever seen. I remember how easy they were in these places that always bring me comfort. They were happy and for a week they didn't argue or call names or whine. There will be many many more of these trips. Longer versions with more time for nothing and less driving and sightseeing. For now, though, I remember a tiny bit of perfection.

My very best memories... and theirs

I have awesome kids. I do. They are smart and funny and terribly clever.

We went to my Papa's grave a couple of weeks ago to drop off some flowers and notes and blow him dozens of kisses. I have a hard time not welling up when I visit him. I was five when he died. I remember learning how to ride a horse that day. I have very few clear memories of my childhood. But, that day feels like it was etched or carved in to me so I would never forget. Like a tattoo on the insides. It would be an image of me on a brown and white painted pony with a red ribbon braided in her white tail. And, me in my very worn and faded Harvard sweatshirt with a big huge wad of pink gum stuck in my long blond hair and a pair of dirty black boots up to my knees.

I loved him madly. He was quite possibly the most handsome man... ever. He had dark hair and was always tan and had the happiest eyes I'd ever seen. His smile lines made it look like he was always smiling. I remember him only happy, only healthy, only smiling. He had cancer. It took his life terribly fast and far too early.

While we were standing there, at his grave, Molly said "he's probably really glad he's missing this mess" and pointed to Sam. It broke my heart just a little while I sucked in a little laugh.

He would have so loved these children. These little ones I'm watching run around a campfire on the beach right this minute. Yes, I'm letting them run around a fire. We are on vacation. I'm giving the rigid mom bit a break this week. Oh wait, that's not even in my repertoire. I'm even more relaxed than normal this week.

I have smile lines like his. They only show up because I have been in the sun so much. I'll take them though. They are great reminders of this week that made my kids fall in love with the best parts of my favorite places. I don't remember everything the way I remember the day my papa died. I wish so much that I still had all of my journals that document the best days of my life so that I could share those days with my kids. The ones they ask about all the time... what my family was like growing up, what my friends were like, my first kiss, my first love, dances, dates, and heartbreaks.

I want to help them make the best memories and hear about the good ones that happen without me and help them through the times that will deliver their worst. Mostly, I just want them to have full, colorful lives. Like me. But, also, I want them to remember them!
 

Fifth Grade & Kisses

This morning, while combing the natural disaster out of Abby's hair, I asked her about a party she was invited to by one of her classmates. It's her first boy/girl party. It's being thrown by the boy that likes her. They have a group of friends that hangs out at recess and plays kickball or football or one of their many odd variations of tag. They're all going to this party. The more questions I asked, the more it was clear that this party was perfectly balanced. Seven girls, seven boys. And then, I did the unthinkable.

"Ab, is this party for couples?"

"Mom, are you serious? I mean, oh mah gawsh, that is like the stupidest thing I have every heard you say in your entire life."

I didn't bother to interrupt the tirade and remind her that she's only known me HER entire life. I said way stupider things when I was in my teens... twenties... early thirties even. I let her go on...

"You think we're all boyfriend and girlfriend. That is so lame. I can't believe you think I'm all in to Allen like that. He's so weird. He's always trying to sit by me at lunch and help me with stuff and it's so embarrassing because I totally don't need a boy helping me with anything..."

This is where her sentence runs on for another ten minutes and I think about the fact that my ten year old is all kinds of liberated and shiz. I stared at her for the next several minutes of the tirade and heard something about Justin Bieber and flipping hair and being like totally obsessed with Mumford and Sons and how she thought it was cute that he liked them because she's been listening to them like forever. (that would be because I've got a serious music habit). And, then, because I'm an idiot, I did it again.

"You like him."

She blushed her first little girl crush blush and I had to do everything possible to keep a straight face.

"Seriously, it's cool if you like a boy Abby. It's totally normal and he's a really nice kid."

"Mom, I'm not having this discussion with you. I mean, it's like not even something you get because you were in the 5th grade like f-o-r-e-v-e-r ago."

"Abby, I had my first boyfriend in the 5th grade. His name was Todd Davies. He lived on my street and we were in the same class in the 5th grade."

"Mom, stop it, nobody wants to know about your first boyfriend a million years ago. And, Allen is not my boyfriend. I just think he's funny and he's kind of cute and his favorite color is purple which is really cool for a boy....."

She went on for another ten minutes. I had a mild heart attack/stroke and started seeing spots and thought I might throw up and sat down on the edge of the bathtub.

"So, did you kiss that Todd guy?"

I'm not cut out for this stuff. Really, I'm not. But, I'm also not afraid to tell her the truth about anything. I'm just hoping this line of questioning stops here for a few years.

"Yep. I did. It was hilarious. He was chewing orange bubble gum. So nasty. I never kissed him again."

I'm pretty sure she was grossed out just enough about the gum that she might put the whole idea of kissing a boy on a shelf for a few years. Even with the questions, I'm certain she isn't really thinking about kissing this Allen kid. I hope.

On another note, Molly, my 7 year old, is likely planning her first kiss as I write this. I'm certain that I will never have this conversation with her. She's going to be the one to give me the real stroke.

For now, I'd like them both to stay just like this...

Holy smokes... I'm a mom.

I didn't always know I wanted to be a mom. I never saw it in my future. I didn't even have vague ideas about getting married, what a wedding might be like, or anything after that. I knew I'd have a career. I knew I'd travel. I knew I'd love deeply and have amazing friendships. I didn't think about getting married until I was faced with the question. And, the thought of children seemed so foreign. I had never made any plans. Which may be why some plans just happened for me... (yes, with my participation)

I got pregnant in college. Yes, unmarried. GASP! Yes, at that LDS owned school in Provo, UT. DOUBLE GASP! Yes... I was totally naughty. I own it. I embrace it. I never thought about the possibility of keeping the baby. And, his birth father didn't stick around to really find out what I chose. He chose to leave. I chose adoption. It was easy... until the moment I had to do it. But, everything about that year was actually very easy. I was 20. I never regretted getting pregnant. I wasn't embarrassed. It just seemed to be part of my path. (Oh, and BTW, didn't get booted from said school but that's a story for another day. Put simply, I wasn't a Candyass in college.)

Benjamin was born in December 1995. In 18 months the records open. I realized that fact not too long ago and was overwhelmed with this still foreign, maternal kind of pride and excitement and relief. I get to meet him again. That whole revelation sparked something new in me. It made me question what kind of a mother I am, what kind of a mother I want to be, and what kind of a mother my kids want me to be. And, I made some changes.

I made a list of things I would begin to do immediately and continue to do every day. And, I made a list of things I want to do with them and for them.

NOW
- Hug them tight always.
- Play with them.
- Tell them how beautiful they are every day, as often as I can.
- Ignore the the unimportant, like crazy wardrobe choices.
- Read with them every night before bed.
- Save the artwork... all of it.
- Nurture their talents and help them grow.
- Show them how to be a good friend... a best friend.
- Tell them stories about my childhood, growing up, my family, friends, proms, everything! (this one actually caused some problems... see below)
- Be a cheerleader. (tempted to get a uniform)
- Talk to them. Tell them what they ask to know. Be honest.
- LISTEN.

AS THEY GROW UP
- Take them everywhere! Give them the travel bug and hope it stays for life.
- Give them a place in the world that feels like their own. (Mine is Boothbay Harbor, Maine. I spent every summer there as a child and am forever in love with it's charm and generosity and simplicity.)
- Let them choose their path, their school, their career.
- Never miss the big things, and show up often for the small.
- Make sure that they build strong connections with each other.
- Celebrate everything!

We built a fort yesterday. It's hilarious and now full of treasured toys, a stack of library books (i love the library), coloring books, crayons, pillows, and snugly blankets. The giant easel Sam got for his birthday is perched at one corner and has "beware of the dog" written on the side facing out. You have to know the secret handshake to get in. I've been refused half a dozen times now.

When I did get in the fort, they all wanted to gab. So we did nothing for an hour but talk to each other. Abby, my oldest, was curious about when I was her age and then when I was in middle school and then asked about high school and specifically my first dance and what I wore and who my date was and I couldn't remember. I can't remember huge spans of time in my life. People say that becoming a mom does that to you, but I can't believe it can be to this degree. I have massive gaps that I feel like I just put away somewhere.
I want all of the memories back. The fun ones, the hard ones, the ones that were so bad that they made me suppress huge parts of my life. I don't necessarily need them all for me. But, I need them for THEM. And, so that when I meet Benjamin again I'll be able to tell him about me... the good, the bad, the ugly. But, not the Candyass. Not today anyway. I mean, I just put the biggest secret (that I remember) out there... and I'm glad I did.

I'm grateful for these new times with my children. I realize that I'm not always fun and I'm not always generous with my time, my words, or my hugs. But, trying to be has changed a lot between the four of us.