Tay's 15

Wow. So it is really true. I now officially have a 15 year old daughter. I always heard nightmare stories about what it is like to have a teenage daughter, and I will confess it scares me. I’m not saying we won’t have some patchy times ahead, but for the moment there is an incredible sense of excitement that comes with this particular day.

As a mother on any one of the (hopefully) many birthdays I get to celebrate with my daughters, I always find myself flashing back to the moment she was born, with all the intense emotions that were part of that particular space in time.

With Taylor being my first born I have to say the strongest feeling I had was complete and utter fear. I was the poster child for that deer in the headlights phenomenon. I had no idea what lay ahead and I was putting a lot of faith in the notion that God doesn’t give us more than we can handle.

Just after midnight I woke up from a new kind of pain. I remember repeating in my head, “This is it. I can do it. I can do it. I can do it.” As if saying it would somehow convince me it was true.

Having an emergency c-section proved to be a blessing because I realized early on, those, oh so tiny little things called contractions were my idea of total and complete hell on earth. Truly, there is nothing, to this day, that I can imagine hurting more than those (my apologies to anyone that is reading this with plans to give birth in the future).

It’s funny. I remember wondering when the moment would be that I felt as if I knew my child, really knew her. When she would sound familiar, feel familiar. It happened faster than I ever thought it would. It was in her very first cry as my doctor ever so gently slapped Tay on her fanny.

Her voice, although it should have been unfamiliar, was incredibly familiar. I knew her instantly. And from that moment on I was able to hear Tay’s voice anywhere she was, and know she was mine. My sweet little soul that somehow stumbled into my life 15 years ago.

Way down in the hole

I spent another morning downtown in the archives... And still can't find my grandparents' marriage certificate - which is perplexing.

Not that I thought finding all of the documents required for dual citizenship would be easy. I was warned ahead of time... But I thought I'd have trouble with my great-grandparents' birth certificates from Italy in 1884. Or naturalization records from 1916. Or a marriage certificate from 1904... I thought the recent stuff would be easy.

Maybe the record was lost or destroyed. Then there's the possibility that they were never really married, and just pretending to be... (which is interesting, but very unlikely, knowing my grandparents...)

Calling in for backup from Staten Island... We'll see what my cousin, 'The Lemon,' can come up with...

P.s.

It seems I need to do a follow up on the post I did a couple of days ago about performing a wedding ceremony... Somebody said they weren't sure whether I was serious when I said I was worried that I might go to Hell if I messed up the service... Just to clarify: I was joking.

I am religious (if by 'religious' you mean whether I think this whole experience is first and foremost about spiritual development, loving each other, and God.) But I don't think God gives a hoot whether I mess up my friends' wedding. Or whether I curse or whether I go to church on Sunday... And I'm not saying that God doesn't 'care' what we do... I just think he has a much broader view, and deeper understanding (of each of us and of the universe) than we can ever begin to comprehend.

Our choices matter - to us. And I think we'll have an easier time of it and probably be happier if we make better choices. (We'll probably have more friends, too.) But God's not looking at our lives from our limited perspectives - or with our critical eyes and individual agendas. He sees everything we do as part of a process. And He observes it through the lens of unconditional love.

So I'm not worried about going to Hell... Actually, I don't believe in it - not in the traditional sense, anyway. But that's a blog for another day....

Here goes

Emily asked if I wanted to write on her blog. I’ve never written in this kind of a format but think it could be fun, or, completely scary. Probably the latter, at least for the reader. I’m not really sure how to even start (although its looking like I already have). I’m thinking it might make sense to say something about who I am. Seems like a logical place to start.

Mom and dad decided to call me Ellen. I’m half Greek and half Alabaman, my nickname is The Blur, and I like to think the glass of wine is half full.

Emily has been my friend more years than this girl’s memory allows, so I won’t waste precious brain time to remember. Ignorance is bliss, right?

I’m a mother of three girls, ages 15, 11, and 9. They are pretty amazing little creatures. Believe me I know I am blessed. There was a time I didn’t know if I would be able to have one child, let alone three. Being pregnant ten times has taught me a lot and I am grateful for that.

If there’s one thing I know for certain it’s this: I wouldn’t change one piece of my past for really, anything. Not one tear drop, one smile, one shot of tequila, one really bad joke, or even one now ended marriage of 18 years. Mind you I’m not saying I would want to go back in time either. Oh dear God no. Just no regrets.

Being a student is one of my favorite things, next to being a mom. Although my school is not board certified, it’s (hopefully) got a different stamp of approval that comes from the Big Guy up there, or more likely the Big Girl up there. Oh who knows, it’s probably both. I like to call my school Ellen’s School of Life.

Anyway, I’m pretty sure I get to choose which classes I take. And yeah I admit when they offer a class in bowling I am the first in line to sign up, so you can imagine my bowling game is pretty good after 45 years of school.

By design I don’t have a lot of say over who my teachers are going to be. Those come at me from all directions. Probably best that way because I would more than likely choose the easy “A” teachers, not the hard-ass ones that kick me in the butt.

Sometimes I forget I’m even in class. Or what about studying for that final exam? I’m thinking that big exam comes later in life, like, much later. Again, ignorance is bliss, right?

Rainy day activitiy

It rained yesterday. Again. Don't get me wrong - I'm not complaining. I'm more than ready to have Spring weather (whatever form it takes). But we needed to get out of the house...

However, we didn't want to do what every other family in Manhattan would be doing. (Not because we wanted to be cool or unusual, but because if you've ever been to the Children's Museum when it's filled like an overstuffed suitcase with kids and their parents you're sure never to do it again.)

Instead, we decided to go to the Central Park Zoo. I know it sounds like a strange choice, considering the elements, but we figured it would be an adventure... When we got there the rain had all but stopped, so we barely even got wet... And the place was empty. Walking around by ourselves was enjoyable in a calm way that you don't get to experience at the zoo (unless you go in a blizzard - which we've also done...) The animals seemed more at ease with no-one there. They didn't have the sad, resigned demeanor that zoo animals sometimes have - in the 'Rainforest' area the birds were swooping down over our heads, and running around at our feet...

The zoo in the rain turned out to be a great idea. Sometimes something that seems almost absurd ends up being perfect...

the decisioner

Tonight is "date night." And I have no idea what I want to do... Which is ridiculous. I live in the most vibrant city in the world - certainly I should be able to figure out some way to entertain myself.

I know I sound like the kid who walks in the door, plops herself down in a room full of toys and announces she's bored. But I'm not bored. (I don't even use that word - my mom doesn't allow it.) And, as any parent of young children will tell you, time alone with a spouse is a rare - and especially valuable - commodity. So it's not that I take it for granted, or am blase about a night out...

Perhaps it has more to do with the fact that I've been fending off a nasty cold... or maybe it's simply that: (as my nephew used to say) "I'm not a good decisioner."

Holy cow!

Friends of mine recently asked me to serve as the officiant for their wedding. The one small obstacle to my saying 'yes' was that I'm wasn't a minister.

But apparently it's not that hard to become one... So I went online, and - voila - I'm "Reverend Smith." I can't say that it doesn't feel a little - okay, a lot - 'hokey.' (My mom had to take two years of classes before she became ordained. I think it took me a minute and a half to fill out my name and address, and that was it... I'm not sure how that makes sense, but there it is.)

Now I'm feeling a little nervous about the service... Not that I don't have plenty to say about marriage and commitment... I do. It's just that this is a serious occasion as well as a joyous one, and I want to treat it as such. And impersonating a minister feels like a silly (and vaguely disrespectful) start...

I suppose I don't need to have experience to do this. They haven't asked me to do heart surgery. (Thank goodness - I don't think I could have gotten my credentials for that online...) I have access to lots of great writing - and some great minds - and I'm sure that by the time I've organized my thoughts into some sort of coherence, I'll be ready...

At least I hope I will - because I don't know what the rules are about ruining a wedding. I'd hate to end up in Hell because I didn't read the fine print...

The prettiest girl in the room

This past weekend I saw a snapshot of my mom that was taken a year or two ago. In many ways it's an unremarkable photograph - a group of women standing together posing for a picture. The composition is standard, the lighting, average. The one thing that jumps out at you is... my mother.

She's absolutely radiant... And that's not a surprise. My mom has always been the prettiest girl in the room... The thing that struck me is that she's not wearing a lick of make-up - and it doesn't make any difference. My mom isn't the type of woman to get 'dolled up'. Or perhaps her version of getting 'dolled up' just doesn't involve all of the intricacies that it does for the rest of us...

Maybe the saying that "pretty is as pretty does" is literally true. My mom is going to turn 70 this year, and she's still effortlessly beautiful. She's also a good person. And by 'good' I don't simply mean "nice" or "well liked" or "churchgoing". I mean good - with a capital "G". It has to do with how she sees the world and how she treats other people (and not just the ones who can do something for her.)

Maybe that's her secret... On the other hand, maybe she has a portrait hidden in an attic somewhere...

Buttocks

Not too long ago I went to a dermatologist to check out a spot on my leg - just to make sure I didn't need to worry about it.

I gave the nurse my information and waited for the doctor to arrive. A few minutes later a boy - well, I guess technically I should say 'man', but he looked too young to be finished his residency - came into the examining room. He extended his hand with a smirk. "Hi, Emily, I'm Dr. Blah-Blah". (Okay, I thought, so I'm supposed to call this kid who's younger than my baby brother "Dr. Blah-Blah" Fine.)

I showed him my leg and asked him a couple of questions. He answered with a bunch of medical terms that he seemed fairly certain I wouldn't understand, but ultimately deemed it to be 'nothing'. "Great!" I said, getting ready to leave. "Is there anything else you want to talk with me about?" he asked. "Like what?" I said. "Well, the lines on your forehead, for example... We could work on those." Seriously? If I wanted to have 'work' done, I wouldn't go to a three year old for the procedures. And I wouldn't go an arrogant ass... I told him I'd let him know, and left.

Maybe I'll change my mind six months from now - but at the moment I have no intention of injecting Botox into my face. For starters, I hate needles - I was more scared of getting an i.v. when I was about to give birth than I was of the delivery itself. And at this point I'm pretty used to those lines. I've had them since I've been 12 (I use my eyebrows way too much when I talk.)

Today, people do all sorts of things to look good. And I'm not judging anyone. But I don't want anyone trying to manipulate me either. My facialist, an older Czech woman with amazing skin, bosses me around about my cleansing routine, but assures me vehemently, "You don't need Buttocks!"

Reading Labels

I never used to read labels. When I was growing up I didn't have to - Mom didn't have anything in the house that might be unhealthful. Come to think of it, I wasn't big on reading directions, either. I've been known to start a test, only to realize half way through that I was supposed to be looking for antonyms rather than synonyms... And I've had some rather unsuccessful attempts in the kitchen for the same reason... (which is why I'll always prefer cooking to baking. Baking leaves no room for improvisation - or shoddy recipe reading.)

Labels, directions, operating instructions for the simplest of devices - they just seemed unnecessary - like they've been put there simply because they were 'required'. If you really needed them, why would they be marginalized into insignificance by miniscule print?

I'm still not going to pore over the enclosed manual before I use my new toaster. But these days it's especially important to be aware of what you're consuming - when much of what's packaged as "food" is so far removed from its natural state that it can hardly be considered the same substance. (How can they even call genetically modified foods 'food' - when they comprise viruses, and genes not found in their own species?)

The other day I was reminded of the value of label reading when my husband said, as he was wiping his face with a cotton pad, "I've been using this minty face stuff on my skin. It's pretty good... It feels a little weird, though..." "What face stuff?" I asked, pretty sure we didn't have any mint toner in the house. "This," he said, holding up the bottle that was standing by the sink. I started laughing.

"What? It's cleanser." he protested, showing me the label that read, in large letters, "Tom's: Natural, Cleansing". (And I have to mention that my husband has been more than tolerant of my 'all natural' products. He's never complained that I don't have brands like Crest and Scope in the house, or that I won't let him use aluminum-containing anti-perspirants... ) I pointed to the next word, father down, and in smaller typeset: "Mouthwash".

The power of distraction

This morning as I was waiting in a mood-killingly long line at the Office of Vital Records, a toddler started howling. The mom didn't do anything to help the situation. In fact, she appeared to be actively antagonizing the kid by wiping the baby's face aggressively again and again. With each wipe there was a renewed wail. Surely any offending dirt had been removed by this time? But the mother wouldn't stop. It was as if she were trying to prove that she was the boss, and that she could do what she damn well pleased, whether her child liked it or not. I don't think the child had any doubts about this... Maybe that's why she was crying (if that woman were the boss of me I'd be crying, too.)

I was pretty sure I could get the kid to stop crying if the mom would quit tormenting her... The question was how to do this without offending or embarrassing the mother? (Because if the mom feels criticized, chances are she'll just be meaner to her child.) In a way, this would be like dismantling a bomb... I would have to be nimble and quick - and very careful. I would have to use some of the most subtle and powerful tools in my bag of tricks...

People talk about the benefits of positive thinking or the importance of directness - but you rarely hear anyone singing the praises of distraction. We usually think of a distraction as something that numbs our minds, or that is non-productive, like watching television, or playing video games. And it's not for every situation - but in certain circumstances there's nothing that works better.

Think about it. When you're feeling surly and behaving badly, does it help you feel (or act) better when someone points out that you're being an ass? Probably not. Confrontation just makes you feel more entrenched in your negative emotion. Sometimes, when you're in a really bad state you just need a little help getting out. And often the best help is simply distraction. (Because nothing is going to be solved while you're feeling miserable anyway.)

It's not easy (at least not for me) to butt into someone else's business... but both of these people were suffering -(and so was everyone else in that waiting room.) So I just went up and started talking. I talked mostly to the baby (who stopped fussing right away) - about what she was wearing, how her mom was so lucky to have company while she waited, and how hard it was to be patient. But I made sure to also talk about how lucky the little girl was to have a mom who had brought stuff for her to play with - and how hard waiting was for her mom too...

After a little while distraction prevailed. I won't say everyone felt great after that - they were still in the line at the Office of Vital Records, for goodness sake - but they felt a lot better.

Ancestry

It turns out that getting my dual citizenship is going to take a pile of paperwork.

Today I made a lot of calls to locate certificates (birth, death, marriage, and naturalization) for my Italian ancestors. At times I felt like I was dealing with someone from the offices in the movie "Brazil". No one seemed to know anything - except that they weren't the person I needed to be talking with...

That's not entirely true. One person gave me other phone number to call. And the person I spoke with at the second number referred me back to the first number... I made more calls and got more numbers, and finally left a message on someone's machine. (Haven't gotten a call back yet...)

Eventually I decided it would be easier to just go downtown (I do live in New York City, after all) and check out the records there. So far I know of three places that might have what I'm looking for. So that's where I'll start tomorrow...

This photo is of my great grandfather and my great grandmother. The kids are: my dad (the cutie in the middle with the bad attitude), his brothers and cousins.