Happy Ben's Birthday (to Me)

I'm not quite sure how this happened, but tomorrow, our firstborn child, Ben, will turn 35. It sounds like a cliche, but I don't know where the time has gone. It doesn't seem possible that 35 years have passed since I held that baby in my arms.

If you had asked me on this day in 1986 to imagine what my life would be like in 2021, I would have gotten a lot of things wrong. 

I definitely would not have predicted we'd still be living in the same small town in Western New York--we thought for sure we were just passing through--but 35 years later, here we are. I might have guessed I'd be retired, but I could never have known then how much I would love my work or that I'd get to stay in the English department for another 34 years. I would have hoped baby #1 would have siblings, but I could not have come close to imagining the wonder of three becoming five, as we added another son and daughter. Or the joy of watching our kids marry, turning our five into eight. Or the way little number nine would capture our hearts.

I think my 26-year-old self would have guessed my 61-year-old self would feel more settled and more sure of herself than I do. She would have thought I'd have more answers than questions by now, that the ground would feel more stable beneath my feet than it does. She would have guessed that as a grandmother, I'd feel older and wiser than I do. But, at the same time, she could not have known how rich and full life would turn out to be--how much better it's been than anything she could have imagined. 

I think of that girl from time to time. I try to remember who she was and what she hoped for. I am thinking about her today when she was less than 24 hours away from the beginning of one of the greatest adventures of her life: being a mom.

The days my kids were born are three of the happiest, best days of my life. Over the past 35 years, I've baked a lot of birthday cakes and bought a lot of gifts for those three kids. As we celebrated each child, year after year, a little part of me felt as though it was my celebration, too. So even though my kids are all grown up and aren't usually home on their birthdays anymore, I still kick my heels up a little bit and throw some confetti around on November 19th, June 30th, and April 10th. 

This year, my firstborn will spend his birthday, as he so often does, in the high school auditorium. Tomorrow night he will oversee the opening night performance of the first middle school musical since the fall of 2019--just a few months before COVID-19 changed all of our lives. If all goes well, and there are no last-minute quarantines, Ben will have the happiest of birthdays. His heart will be full, and so will mine. If you see him, wish him a happy 35th birthday--and while you're at it, throw a little confetti my way, too!

Benjamin: Son of My Right Hand

I've been thinking a lot about Ben lately. Today is the middle school musical: he'll spend twelve hours with the cast and crew of Elf Jr. Monday is his birthday: he'll turn 32. And six weeks from today is his wedding day: he'll marry his sweet Becca. As most of you know, Ben is our oldest child; he's the one who has been with us the longest, the one whose name means "son of my right hand."

They say there are a lot of advantages to being the firstborn in a family, but I think there are a lot of hard things about it too. First of all, firstborns have inexperienced parents who are still trying to figure things out. When siblings come along, the firstborn becomes the leader, the trail blazer, the first one to do almost everything. Because of this, firstborns have to have broad shoulders. They become a kind of link between the outside world and home life, a link between the parents and the younger siblings. Younger siblings look to them for help, for advice, for tips on how to navigate life; they expect them to know what to do and how to do it. And it's not just the younger siblings that lean hard on the firstborn, parents do too. Ben has done a spectacular job of fulfilling this role for the past thirty years. He's lived up to his name by being our "right-hand man" in more ways than I can count.

When Ben was young, he used our wooden coffee table as his desk. His desk chair was one of those chubby yellow Little Tikes chairs. On his desk he had a box filled with pens and markers, a red box for his completed paperwork, and a huge stack of paper. He made books, charts, and schedules--lots and lots of schedules. He used so much paper, we started buying it by the ream, well before we had any kind of home computer and printer. As he grew older, his paperwork often expanded beyond his coffee-table desk to the couch, the end table, and the floor. One night when he was about ten years old, he was heading off to bed, and I asked him to clean up his papers before he went upstairs. "I've already cleaned up after you once tonight," I reminded him. He called back over his shoulder, "I have a full life!"

It was true then and it's true now. Ben has always had a full life. And one of the things I noticed early on about Ben was that his full life spilled over and filled up my life in unexpected ways. He had big plans, big sleepovers, big birthday parties, and a big high school graduation party; he brought big groups of friends home from college for the weekend and invited big groups of friends to dinner. As a result, he helped me live a bigger, fuller life too.

After college, Ben came back to Fredonia to live and work. He teaches school and directs big musicals. His life is fuller than ever. And on December 29, 2018, it will fill up even more--in the best possible way.

So I've been pondering what this new chapter in his life might mean in my life. Will his marriage mean the end of watching West Wing and Blue Bloods together, the end of playing Yahtzee, the end of sitting around the dinner table at the end of a school day, the end of his full life bubbling over into mine? 

But then last Saturday, Ben, Becca, and I had tickets to see my husband Steve in Newsies at the Jamestown Community College campus. We went early with Steve instead of taking two cars, so Ben, Becca, and I had an hour to fill before the show. We found some seats in a downstairs hallway of the academic building that houses the theater. Before long the three of us were playing Heads Up and talking and laughing. And in the midst of it, I realized that even though my last child is getting married and my nest is finally well and truly empty, my life is filling up. The dining room chandelier that I wrote about in my very first blog entry isn't dimming after all; it is blazing with the added light of a new son-in-law and two new daughters-in-law. 

So Benjamin, son of my right hand, carry on. Live big and enjoy your full life. (Just remember to clean up your papers every once in a while!)

The Marvelous, Musical Miss Cicelske

A little over a year ago, my son Ben casually mentioned that he'd been seeing someone for a couple of months and would it be okay if he brought her over for dinner. You know how it is with moms and their kids--we can usually read them pretty well. I was immediately on high alert; there was something in his manner and in his voice that made me think this might not just be "someone" but "SOMEONE." When they came to dinner and we met Becca for the first time and watched the two of them together, my inkling about her grew stronger. Here we are many dinners and many months later, and Ben and Becca are engaged; in just a few months, Becca Cicelske will become Becca Wendell.

But before that happens, let me tell you a little about Becca Rae Cicelske. For nine years, she has been Miss Cicelske, the dedicated, hard-working, jack-of-all-trades music teacher at Northern Chautauqua Catholic School. In just a few days, she will start a brand new job as the band director for grades 5-12 at Chautauqua Lake Central School. She also plays the euphonium (which, I admit, I had to google to make sure I knew just what it was) and the ukulele (this one I knew since my mom is a long-time ukulele player!). She also sings, directs musicals, arranges music, and actually hears music differently than the average person (or at least differently than this average person). So that's the musical part of Miss Cicelske.

The marvelous part is revealed in more ways than I can name in a short blog post, but at the top of the list is the way she cares for people: her family (including her beloved nieces and nephews), her students, her friends, and especially Ben. She "gets" Ben. She understands who he is, what he wants, what he needs. Like many introverted people, she is a watcher, a noticer, and in the sixteen months she's known Ben, she has seen things him that have surprised even me. She's also a good listener, an encourager, a person who seems to know what people need before they ask. She's an excellent game player. She loves Ben's dog, Zeke, and is so good with him that we call her the dog whisperer. And to top it all off: she loves mint chocolate chip ice cream and the Buffalo Bills!

When Becca got the job at Chautauqua Lake, I was so thankful: being a 5-12 band director is her dream job; but I was also thinking how great it was for them: I knew they'd gotten a gem. When Ben proposed to Becca, I was so thankful: Becca is the girl of his dreams and I knew how happy they make each other; but I was also thinking how great it is for us: our family has gotten another gem. Welcome to the family, Becca!

December Blues

1986

Ever since I became a mom, December has been a challenging month for me. Maybe not so much in those early days when the kids were very young and our world was very small. But once Ben started school and our little world started to expand, December ramped up with everything that makes the holiday season the holiday season: piano open classes, chorus and band concerts, church plays, friend parties, family visits, present buying, and cookie baking. Added to all of that, for me, was always end-of-the-semester paper reading and grading. There were some years that were extra tough: the year we discovered our middle son’s Christmas tree allergy when he broke out in hives and spent the holidays in an oatmeal bath, the year our furnace broke and the kids were sick, the year my dad died. As the kids grew older and headed off to college, holiday piano classes and high school concerts disappeared from our schedules, but we still drove to college events and games and geared up for having the kids home not just for Christmas but for winter break, so those Decembers were still bubbling with activity and challenging in new ways. 

We are in a new season now, and this is feeling like the most challenging December of all. The kids have grown up. They have their own lives, their own homes, their own friends, and the beginnings of their own traditions. I suppose the change has been occurring subtly over the past couple of years. Our middle son, who is not a teacher and doesn’t have a long break to stretch out into, hasn’t arrived until Christmas Day the past couple of years—he and his girl spend Christmas Eve and Christmas morning with her family. But our oldest lives in town, and up until last year, our youngest, who went from college to grad school to her first year of teaching, still spent a good bit of her Christmas break at home with us, so things felt a lot like they always had. But this year our girl is married. She and her husband are trying to juggle visits with both families along with her husband-the-coach’s basketball practice and game schedule. As a result, they’ll be home for about thirty-six hours this year. Our middle son and his girl will be here even less time over Christmas (but will be back for New Year’s). And I’m struggling in my attempt to adjust to it all. 

Although we got the tree the day after Thanksgiving (with the kids), and I decorated it and the house over the next few days, and although along with grading papers, I’ve been busily planning meals, buying groceries, wrapping presents, and baking cookies, I haven’t been feeling all that merry this year. Oh, I’ve listened to Christmas music and even watched a couple of Christmas movies, but my eyes and heart have really only been focused on the little window of time that all the kids will be here—I’ve just been waiting. I know, I know, the Christmas season, Advent, has always been about waiting, watching, anticipating, hoping. And I love that—the way the world prepares and almost holds its breath as it approaches Christmas Eve. But what I’ve been doing is different. I’ve been holding back, saving everything (the candles, the cookies, the celebrating) until the kids get here, and I've been fretting about how short the time together will be. I know why: from December '86, when we put infant Ben in his Christmas stocking, until December '16, the first time in thirty years that I’m not going to be filling Christmas stockings, December has been all about them, the kids. But what I’m slowly realizing is that now, somehow, it has to start being about us, my husband and me. We have to forge new traditions for the two of us, find new ways of celebrating the season. To aim all of our Christmas energy on the few hours the kids will be home isn’t fair to them or to us. The time they are home will always be my favorite part, but I need to learn to spread Christmas out in my mind and heart. I need to stop waiting and start enjoying December. I need to go ahead and light the candles, eat the cookies,  and drink the Christmas tea. Then Christmas with the kids can just be whatever it is in any given year, a week-long party or a few precious hours together. It doesn’t need to carry all the weight of my hopes and dreams and expectations. It can just be merry.

2015

Our Third Son

Photo by Tim Nichols

Do you remember the book Chester's Way by Kevin Henkes? It's about a little mouse named Chester who had his own way of doing things. Chester's best friend Wilson liked all the same things. "Chester and Wilson. Wilson and Chester. That's the way it was." The book goes on to describe all the fun things Chester and Wilson did together, but then one day Lilly moves into the neighborhood, and Lilly has her own way of doing things. Chester and Wilson aren't too sure about Lilly at first. But after she saves them from some bullies, Chester and Wilson realize they can learn a few things from Lilly and her way of doing things. They also see that life is more fun with Lilly, and soon the three of them are inseparable. "Chester and Wilson and Lilly. Lilly and Wilson and Chester. That's the way it was." Until the very end of the book when "Victor moves into the neighborhood . . . "

That story reminds me of our story. It started with Ben, who had his own way of doing things. When Darton came along, he fit right in. Ben and Darton, Darton and Ben. That's the way it was. And life was good. Then Emily arrived on the scene. From the beginning, Emily had her own way of doing things. As time passed, the boys realized they could learn a thing or two from their baby sister, and they also saw that life was more fun with three. Ben, Darton, and Emily. Emily, Darton, and Ben. That's the way it was. For years. And years. I referred to them as B, D, E, and rattled off "two sons and a daughter" whenever anyone asked about my kids.

And then Tucker showed up. At first he was Darton's teammate and friend. But then, at cross-country camp, he got to know Emily, and before long Tucker started spending more and more time on Eagle Street. It turned out he had his own way of doing things. For starters, he likes mild chicken wings and doesn't eat broccoli. But we soon discovered that Tucker made family dinners, game nights, tennis matches, road trips, and holidays more fun, and we also realized we could learn a thing or two from the new guy. When our fifteen-year-old dog was dying, Tucker was the one who gently said, "You've gotta let him go." When our front door was sticking and wouldn't open the whole way, Tucker said, "I can fix that," and he did. And most important, he loves our girl and knows how to make her happy. So now we have three sons and a daughter, and we couldn't be happier about it. Ben, Darton, Emily and Tucker. Tucker, Emily, Darton and Ben. That's the way it is. (Until Emma moves into the neighborhood . . . but that's a story for a future entry!)

Photo by Nicole Mason

Zeke!

For almost all of our married life Steve and I have had a dog: first, Evan; then, Pippin. Three years ago, when we had to put fifteen-year-old Pippin to sleep, we decided we were done with dogs. Despite pressure from our kids and our own longings, we stood by our decision. This past Monday, on the three-year anniversary of Pippin's death, a wonderful thing happened: our son Ben adopted a six-month-old puppy from the local humane society. His name is Zeke, and Steve and I are completely in love with him. The night Ben brought him home, we had a "Welcome, Zeke!" pizza party at Ben's apartment. At the end of the evening, I dropped Steve off at home, then ran to the store to pick up some extra puppy food and a toy or two, since Ben had gone straight to the humane society after school. I got the food and the toys, but I also found myself buying puppy biscuits, pet wipes, dog shampoo, a canine dental kit, and a new dog dish. Yesterday I got him a doggie water bottle (he was hot and thirsty at the tennis court the night before) and a Kong toy (two people had recommended them). Today I got him more puppy biscuits, some toys, and another new dish (for when he's at our house). I go over every day to walk Zeke while Ben's at school, and the two of them have been coming over for dinner all week. Even this much Zeke is not enough. The first night Zeke was here, Steve said, "This just makes me so happy." I completely agree, and I'm completely surprised at besotted with Zeke I am. I loved our own dogs, of course, but I don't always love other people's dogs. So I wasn't quite expecting to be swept off my feet by Zeke. But this is Ben's dog, and I should have known that fact alone would automatically make him near and dear to my heart. Perhaps young Zeke is giving us a little taste of what it will be like to have grandchildren someday. If that is so, I can't wait! In the meantime, I'll be busy spoiling my first grand dog!

Birthdays

"This is how it is with your children, she thought. You hold all the versions of them there ever were simultaneously in your heart." --Sue Miller

The weekend before last, all three of our kids were home. The two from out of town arrived by surprise  Friday night. They had come to help us celebrate our birthdays. The surprise visit involved a lot of planning and texting (and lying), but they pulled it off. We were completely unsuspecting and thoroughly surprised. It was the perfect present: we laughed and talked and ate and played games. And what Sue Miller's character says in the above quote was so true. As we sat around the table at the restaurant or in the dining room playing cards, I'd watch these grown-up kids of mine signing credit card slips, giving advice about grad school and teaching, and sharing plans for the end-of-student-teaching gifts, and I would also see an eight-year-old perched on a counter stool making an elaborate cardboard-paper-glitter present, a seven-year-old playing school with his brother and all the stuffed animals, and a six-year-old saving money in a little safe in the corner of his bedroom. It happens all the time--you see a twinkle in an eye, a stubborn look on a face, a familiar habit or gesture, and in that instant, the past telescopes itself and you see all the versions of themselves your children have ever been. Today at 4:33, my oldest child will turn twenty-seven years old, and for the first time, my parenting years will outnumber my non-parenting years. For me, birthdays have always been a time for looking back, for remembering each age and stage, but lately they have also become a time for looking ahead, for imagining all the versions of my kids that are yet to be.

Happy Birthday, Ben!

Cape May

The first time we went to Cape May our kids were six, four, and one. One-year-old Emily spent most of the week asleep in her little umbrella stroller, but the rest of us fell in love with the Victorian houses and the little shops, with Sunset Beach and Bodacious Bagels, and especially with the sun, the sand, and the ocean! We returned the next summer, and then four more times over the next twelve years. We always went with some (or all) of my family--sometimes renting a house together and sometimes getting adjoining motel rooms. Some of our fondest memories are from those Cape May vacations--despite years when it was cold and rainy or when the water was too full of jellyfish to swim or when half the group had the stomach flu. To me there's something almost magical about a beach vacation, and I've been missing the ocean. After a seven-year dry spell, we are headed back to Cape May. Before long we'll be packing all three kids (now twenty-six, twenty-four, and twenty-one) and all our beach gear into our good old minivan to make the long drive to the Jersey shore. When we get there, we'll be cosily sharing one hotel room--tightly equipped with two double beds, a sofa bed, and a cot, so we're hoping hard for good weather and cheerful moods! I know things will be different than they used to be: Bodacious Bagels is no longer in business; my kids won't have their cousins to hang out with; Steve and I won't have my siblings and their spouses to laugh and talk and walk with; my mom won't be whizzing by on her bicycle. But I still can't wait to get there. I can't wait to see the mighty Atlantic Ocean and the brightly colored houses of Cape May again; I can't wait to take early morning walks on the quiet beach and spend afternoons reading in the sun. But what I'm looking forward to more than anything is having our little family together again for a few blissful, uninterrupted days.

4:33

My first-born child arrived at 4:33 on Wednesday, November 19, 1986--fifteen days after his due date.  After all those months of waiting and after twenty-four hours of labor, he was finally here.  It was well worth the wait: the minutes, hours, and days that followed were some of the happiest of my life.  I will always remember the short drive home from the hospital.  We were driving down Central Avenue in our little white Toyota, a street I'd been on hundreds of times, but I felt completely disoriented.  It seemed as though the world had changed while I was in the hospital.  As it turned out, it was my world that had changed. Every year on Ben's birthday, I'd pause at 4:33 and savor the memory of the moment he was born.  I think some years we even toasted the time with sparkling grape juice.  In recent years, due partly to the emergence of digital clocks and cell phones, a strange thing has happened.  At least two or three times a week, I happen to glance at the clock on the microwave or at the front screen of my phone right at 4:33, not at 4:32 or 4:34 but exactly at 4:33.  It happened just yesterday.  Although I've been a parent now for more than twenty-six years, I still feel a little shiver of awe every time I see 4:33.  I marvel at the way my world changed forever in just that moment, and I breathe up a prayer for my sweet boy.

Mother's Day

"Anything, any loss of sleep, any loss of ease, was worth the sweet, and too, too brief time of holding little ones until they burst out of your arms and into the world." --Rafael Yglesias in Only Children

Last year on Mother's Day, I wrote a post honoring my mom; this year I want to honor my kids. As any parent will attest, having children changes you forever. But what I've been realizing lately is that having kids keeps changing you. Like most children, I learned a lot from my parents as I was growing up; much of who I am was shaped by who they were.  It wasn't until I had kids of my own that I realized the current runs both ways--children shape parents just as much as parents shape children.  When our kids are young, we teach them how the world works.  We share our favorite foods, places, and hobbies with them.  We try our best to help them develop good manners, strong faith, and healthy habits. But then, somewhere around the time our kids hit middle school, the balance shifts and we start learning from them.  As their worlds expand, so does ours. They start to share their favorite music and movies with us; we follow their team buses to places we've never been before; we learn about backpacking, guild auditions, and cross-country running. When they get to high school, our kids bring the world to us--they show us pictures and tell us stories of their trips to France, Italy, Greece, Puerto Rico, and Australia.  They help us see and feel and understand things we never even imagined.  Then they go off to college, and they begin to live the lives we tried to prepare them for as they were growing up in our homes. When they come home on breaks, we are surprised by the changes: the new maturity, outlooks, attitudes. In some ways, they are the children they've always been, but in other ways, they are young adults who feel more like friends.  All of a sudden we realize they are showing us how the world works (especially the world of technology!). We admire and learn from their generosity, their fearlessness, their stamina and self-discipline. They remind us that it's important to have fun, to take risks, and to dream big.  On this Mother's Day weekend, I want to thank my kids--not just for all the breakfasts in bed and Mother's Day gifts over the years, but for the many ways they've changed me, and for all the things I continue to learn from them.

"I would like them to be the happy end of my story."
--Margaret Atwood

Closing Night

Tonight is closing night of the high school musical, scores of people have put in hundreds of hours over the past five months.  My son Ben has been working on it since last summer when he chose the show.  And in a few hours it will all be over, living on only in the hearts and minds of all the kids and adults who worked on the show and of audience members who came to watch and cheer.  I am feeling sad and wistful about that, even though I am just one of those audience members.  As I've said before, I have a hard time with endings.  I know things can't go on forever; I know some things must end in order for other things to begin.  But still it's hard when musicals end, when friends move away, when your kids graduate from college and can no longer come home for breaks and holidays.  It's harder still when lives end, and widows like my mom and Steve's mom are left to carry on alone and when grown-up kids like me can't call their dads on Saturday mornings.  Yet all we can do is hold on to the sweet memories, while we forge ahead, thinking about what we're going to do next . . .

Opening Night

My husband Steve and I met in the fall of 1979 at Beeghly Theater where we were both theatre majors.  My experience at Theatre Westminster was uneven at best, and when I graduated, I walked away from performing and have never looked back.  But Steve has continued to sing, act, and direct ever since.  And we're both big fans of musical theatre, so our kids grew up listening to musical soundtracks and watching musicals on television.  When our oldest child was in third grade, his first year at the "big" school, he saw a preview for the upcoming high school musical in a school assembly.  He was mesmerized.  He couldn't wait to see the whole show, so he and I got tickets for opening night of Oklahoma on the FHS stage in 1996.  For the next five years, we kept up the tradition of going to each opening night together: Bye, Bye Birdie in 1997, followed by Guys and Dolls, West Side Story, Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, and Grease.  Then, finally, he was old enough to audition for his first show.  Despite having a ruptured eardrum on the night of auditions, he ended up in the cast of Oliver! his freshman year.   Over the next three years, he was in the casts of Les Misérables, 42nd Street, and Crazy for You.  In the fall of 2005, he headed off to college as a music education major, dreaming of teaching vocal music and directing musicals.  Almost right away, he realized music was not the right major for him and switched to inclusive childhood education.  Yet he still dreamed of directing  high school musicals one day.  The long-time director of the FHS musicals retired after Ben's sophomore year in high school; his successor directed six musicals and then retired, and in a surprising turn of events, Steve found himself directing the next three high school shows.  When Ben graduated in December of 2009 (that change in majors cost him an extra semester!), he moved back home temporarily to substitute teach and apply for teaching jobs, and he also worked on the musicals alongside his dad.  After directing Godspell in 2011, Steve decided to step down as director.  And much sooner than he ever could have imagined, Ben was hired as the next director.  My heart was in my throat a year ago as I sat in the dark auditorium on opening night and watched the lights come up on a silhouetted fiddler perched on a sloping roof and on my boy's dream-come-true.  Tonight is his second opening night, and I know that on the inside, the tuxedo-clad, 26-year-old director is just as  excited as he was as a third grader watching his first high school musical.  Break a leg, Ben!

The Red Plate

Somewhere along the way when the kids were growing up I read about and then bought a red "You Are Special Today" plate.  It came with an indelible black marker so you could write the dates and descriptions of the special days on the back of the plate to keep track of them.  We never did that because I envisioned more special days than we could record on the back of the plate.  Over the years we've used it to celebrate birthdays, basketball playoff games, cross-country championships, musicals, senior nights, graduations, college acceptances, and new jobs.  I hope my kids know they are special to me every day, but on big days (or on this particular occasion, on the eve before a big week), it's nice to have this plate to remind them how especially special they are.

Kindergarten Blankets

One of the items on the supply list for kindergarten for each of my kids was "nap mat."  In one of the many conversations a good friend and I had about kindergarten the summer before our first-borns headed off to school, she mentioned that she was going to make her son a thick blanket-like nap mat, using fabric from Jo-Ann's and fluffy polyester batting.  I loved this idea and decided to use Ben's bandanas to make his nap mat.  I did the same thing for my other two children, choosing brightly colored dolphin fabric for my science- and nature-loving middle child and for my youngest, cheerful cotton fabric that featured cute little faces of kids, many of whom had blonde curly hair just like Em's.  In the fourteen years since my youngest finished kindergarten, the blankets have been folded and stacked in the corner of our piano room.  Our house is big and old and drafty, and the kindergarten blankets became couch blankets for watching TV and floor blankets for our old dog who loved a bit of extra warmth and comfort.  Ben's bandana blanket has grown frail with age, so I've tucked it away for safe keeping, but we still use the other two, all these years later.  And every time I pull one out, I think back to those kindergarten days and what a leap of faith it was to send my children out into the world for the first time.  I hoped that when they unrolled their nap mats on days they were feeling sad or tired, they'd be cheered, warmed, and comforted.  I hoped in some subtle way, they would be reminded there was someone at home who loved them and was waiting for them to return at the end of the day.  And now that my children are grown and out in a much bigger world, it's an even bigger leap of faith to let go and watch them live their lives.  They no longer have time to nap or soft little blankets to stretch out on, but still I hope on days they are feeling sad or sick or worried, they know there is someone at home who loves them and is always waiting for the next time they come home.  

Super Bowl Sunday

It's a quiet Super Bowl Sunday here--just Steve and me and some chicken wing dip.  It reminds me of a night eight years ago when I wrote the following entry in my notebook:

She and her two teenage boys had been looking forward to playoff weekend all week.  But a basketball game that had been cancelled earlier in the season had been rescheduled for Saturday evening, taking her younger son out of town.  Then at the last minute, a friend invited her older son to go skiing.  "Do you mind, Mom?" he asked her.  What could she say?  After wishing for skis of his own for two year, he'd finally gotten new skis (and used boots) for his birthday in November but until now hadn't had a chance to use them.  It was an invitation for the first ski trip of the season.  How could she say what she was thinking, "Yes, I mind.  Don't go skiing.  Don't grow up.  Don't leave me."  Instead she smiled and said, "You should go.  We can watch tomorrow's games together." She could see the relief on his face  as he hurried to get ready.  A little while later she watched him load his skis into the family van and drive away.  Her twelve-year-old daughter was at a friend's birthday party until 8:30, and her husband never cared much about watching football, so she watched alone.  Even though she'd grown up in Steeler country, and this was a big game for the Steelers and their rookie quarterback Ben Roethlisberger, she realized, suddenly, that what she liked the most about watching football was watching it with her boys.

The Steelers ended up winning that game (but lost to the Patriots the next weekend), and my boys and I ended up watching the next day's (and the next week's) playoff games together.  In fact, we've watched a lot of football games together since that night.  But also since that night, my boys have grown up and moved out, as I knew one day they would.  So tonight when I'm watching the Super Bowl alone, I'll be missing them.  But I'll be glad that they taught me to watch football, and I'll be glad they are happily watching the game with friends, and I'll be glad for all the good memories I have to keep me warm on this snowy Super Bowl Sunday.

  

Whatever You Do, Don't Cry

Seven years ago when my first child was about to head off for his first year of college, I had already started my semester at SUNY Fredonia. I was teaching ENGL 100 that semester, so I asked my class full of freshmen for advice: What should I do or not do when I drop my son off at college? They had a number of suggestions: "Don't hang around forever," "Don't try to introduce him to all the other freshmen," and "Help him get his sheets on his bed! But their biggest piece of advice was this: "Whatever you do, don't cry." I promised to remember and even told my son what they'd said at dinner that night. We laughed about it, and I promised again to heed the advice. So when the time arrived, we loaded up the minivan and headed for campus. When we got to his dorm, a troop of friendly upperclassmen were there to help us carry his belongings up to the third floor. We helped him settle in, chatted with his roommate's parents, and headed off to the dedication service. Then, all of a sudden, it was time to leave. Ben hugged his dad and siblings goodbye, then it was my turn. As I gave him a big hug, tears sprang to my eyes. He saw them, and said, "Mom, remember what your students said." I nodded and tried to smile, but I couldn't stop the tears from trickling down my cheeks. I felt just as I did on the first day of kindergarten when I had to walk away and leave my precious child alone in a new place. Sure, he was much older now and more than ready for college, but this was a big new place, and he wouldn't be coming home to me at 3:00. In fact, he wouldn't be home until October break. But it was time. So with one more round of hugs and goodbyes, we climbed into the van and left our boy standing in front of his dorm ready to start his new life. This week I have two first-born nephews and a last-born niece heading off for college, so they and their parents are in my thoughts as I write. To my siblings and their spouses I'll offer the same advice my freshmen gave me, "Whatever you do, don't cry." And to Drew, Anthony, and Mackenzie, three things: 1) Forgive your parents when they cry anyway, 2) Don't forget to call and text from time to time, and 3) Have a great year and remember how very much you are loved!

Bandanas for Ben

When my son Ben was little, he drooled . . . a lot.  At first, I snapped little terry cloth bibs around his neck to help protect his outfits, but he outgrew the bibs before he stopped drooling, and his little shirts and the bibs of his overalls were always soaking wet.  So one day, on a whim, I tied a navy blue bandana around his neck to catch the drool.
 

 He didn't mind wearing it, and it was easier to change the bandana than the shirt, so for the next two and a half years, he almost always had a bandana tied around his neck.  We collected bandanas in all the colors we could find, and I usually tried to match the bandana to his outfit.

Sometime around Ben's third birthday, he gradually stopped needing the bandanas.  Our second son used them for a little while during his first year, and our daughter didn't use them at all.  So when kindergarten rolled around for Ben, I used some of the bandanas to make his kindergarten nap mat. Long after kindergarten, Ben and the rest of us used his bandana blanket to wrap up in on cold days.  It's now stained and thin in spots, but I can't imagine getting rid of it or of the rest of the bandanas that are stacked neatly in the corner of my top dresser drawer.

We Love Lucy

My son Ben's fascination with classic TV reaches way to his childhood.  One of the happiest days of his young life was when we finally got cable TV, and he could watch Nick at Night.  He gobbled up  biographies, autobiographies, and other TV books by and about sitcom legends like Dick Van Dyke, Mary Tyler Moore, Bob Newhart, and especially Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz.  Every Christmas and birthday included requests for VHS tapes or DVDs of classic sitcom episodes and seasons.  I think it all started with I Love Lucy.  He and I used to watch the show together occasionally when he was quite young, and he's been a big Lucy fan ever since.  He knows all about Desi's use of the three-camera technique in filming I Love Lucy, which made the rerun possible.  He knows the details of Lucy and Desi's stormy relationship, as well as all kinds of trivia about the Ricardos and Mertzes--in fact, if you give him an episode number he can tell you the title of the I Love Lucy episode.  When it was a lot more expensive than it is now, he bought the entire I Love Lucy series on DVD.  We all watch Ben's Lucy DVDs, and every time there's an I Love Lucy marathon on TV, we tune in.  We have favorite lines and episodes that we never tire of hearing and seeing.  My daughter Em is almost as big a Lucy fan as Ben is, so Saturday night, at her suggestion, we drove to Jamestown for the Lucy Fest.  The museum was closed when we got there, but we had fun walking around town listening to "Cuban Pete" and other signature Desi Arnaz/Ricky Ricardo songs being broadcast on loudspeakers and watching two I Love Lucy episodes being shown under the stars with other Lucy fans.  Happy 101st birthday, Lucy--thanks for all the laughter and good memories!

Ben's Room

Before

During

After

My oldest son's first apartment was tiny, so when he moved out last summer, his old room stayed much the same as it was all through his college years.  When he moved into his new, much larger place in May, he was still teaching and taking grad classes, so he didn't get around to moving all of the non-essential items out of his old room until last night.  Now, I know it was gradual, and I know I should be glad to have the extra space, but it's still not easy walking past that empty room today.  The previous owners used this little room as an indoor greenhouse.  In our early years here, it was the kids' playroom.  I'm not sure what it will be next.  Just a guest room?  A little office?  A playroom again when there are grandchildren?  Whatever else it becomes, it will always have its door open for Ben to spend the night any time he wants to.

Wilbur

Wilbur arrived one spring day when Ben was about eighteen months old. An eccentric aunt had put him in a big cardboard box and used up a big chunk of her meager means to mail him to her first grandnephew.  Ben fell in love with him immediately. He drank his bottle leaning up against Wilbur; he sat in Wilbur's lap and read books to himself.  He chose to be Wilbur for Halloween the following year.  Since Wilbur was so big, he didn't often go places with us physically, but he was always with us in spirit.  When we grocery-shopped, Ben would call out, "Ra-a-a-w fish.  Wilbur wants ra-a-a-w fish" when we passed the seafood section.  When we were visiting Grandma and Grandpa in Pennsylvania, and it started to storm, Ben would frown and say, "Wilbur hates thunderstorms." Wilbur quickly became more than a favorite stuffed animal, he was one of the family.  So when most of the other stuffed animals got packed up and moved to the attic when Ben got older, Wilbur stayed happily in the corner of the room.  He tried to sneak along when Ben was packing for college but didn't make the cut.  Instead he waited patiently for Ben to return.  Ben's first apartment after graduation was very small, and there was no room for a big polar bear in Ben's tiny bedroom, so Wilbur stayed behind again.  But this week, Ben moved to a new place, a place of his own, a place with plenty of room for old friends. And once again, Wilbur is sitting happily in the corner of Ben's room.