A Magic Number, FIN

Well dude, you are three years old. You're officially a preschooler, though you won't be going to school until the fall. Our little guy has grown so much this year, learned so much, and Daddy and I are always amazed by the things you remember and the things you say. Your smile--with all those big boy teeth!--is my favorite sight in the world. I adore your terrible attempts at imitating a British accent (Por-reege to-dee Grom-eet - Tues-dee!) and your excitement over little things like music class or going to visit your cousins or blowing bubbles. I will never ever tire of this question: "Mama, can we have a dance party?" The answer will always be yes.

You are in your big boy bed now, soon (we hope) you'll be done with diapers for good, and before we know it you'll be four. But I just want to concentrate on you being you, right here and right now.  There's so much world out there you have yet to discover, I'm just thrilled we get to come along for the ride.

Happy birthday HR, my own little wish come true.

A Magic Number, Part 1

Not to say that HR had a total blast on his birthday, but any shindig that results in this kind of maniacal glee must have been at least a little bit awesome.

Many thanks to our close family and friends who came out such a ridiculously beautiful day to celebrate, and to those from farther afield who sent along an embarrassment of love and good wishes. Mike, HR and I are so lucky to have these people with whom we get to share our lives. It's humbling, every day. And of course on such a special occasions it's ramped up immeasurably. The big boy got waaayyy too many wonderful presents, we all got our fill of delicious homemade pizza (with thanks to Mammy and Gram) and assorted party treats, had a delirious early-evening dance party on the patio, and this mama got the big time comedown blues after our house cleared of out-of-towners yesterday. Which means that it was the best of times. Most importantly, HR seemed to really enjoy his party and being surrounded by his loved ones. I think by the time his fourth rolls around, he'll retain a happy memory of turning three. Having a chain of these experiences, making it link by love-filled link, of all the things I want for my child in his life, this is my heart's desire for him. And we do what we can as parents to make it happen, but obviously, and thankfully, we don't do it alone.

Thank you again to our village. This is for you. A little more about the birthday boy himself, tomorrow.

Goodies

I may have mentioned that HR is turning three soon. Saturday, to be specific. It feels like a much more serious thing to be a mother to a three-year-old than a two-year-old. But that's fantastic. Three is, like, a real kid. Not that he hasn't been real all along, just that he's been more of us and who we are and what we do as parents than he's been himself. Now the Mr. Independent show has begun. As I wrote when he made the leap to the big boy bed (and the leap out, twice last night, thankfully the bed is close to the ground and Mike had the foresight to leave pillows there), I do harbor some sentimentality as his babyhood grows smaller in the rear view. But I'm mostly just thrilled I get to hang out with this guy, the guy he's becoming, every day. Even in his most challenging moments. I intend to write a letter to HR like I've done the past two years, but maybe only in private. At the very least, not until after his actual birthday.

I've got big plans for the coming weekend, so let's get down to it.

World Keeps Turning

Night #2 in the big boy bed was not as easy-peasy as #1 - there were some tears. However, they were familiar "I just don't want to go to sleep" tears vs. "I hate my bed" tears. Nothing new, I've gotten the firm-but-calm-you-are-going-to-bed-and-I'm-leaving-the-room act down to a science and he went to sleep on his own, peacefully, only 15 minutes later than expected. Setbacks are inevitable, but so far, so good. I won't be making the sleep report a daily feature, just following up on whether the transition was a fluke.

Meanwhile, something woke me at 4 a.m., and instead of going back to sleep immediately like a smart person my mind started racing, and I fixated on whether HR was going to get up and get into some kind of trouble in his room. And then a song from the Lolliwinks-- if you've never heard of it, consider yourself lucky as it is a very annoying children's album from my own youth--ran through my head on a continuous loop for no reason and it was... not ideal. Thankfully it's been a long time since I've had those kind of woes. Remember when sleep was the only thing I ever wrote about? I don't miss that. If there are any new parents reading this, believe something I just couldn't: it does get easier. Though I hope for you it was easy from the beginning. If you have a good sleeper, cherish it like the suitcase full of golden light it is.

Not to sign off on a bummer note, but I was saddened to hear of the passing of the Divinyls lead singer yesterday. Until recently I had no idea that her band even existed before "I Touch Myself," let alone that it was their song in a pivotal scene of that all-time classic The Legend of Billie Jean (I am serious about my love for that movie). RIP, Chrissy Amphlett (and Richie Havens, and the incomparable E. L. Konigsburg). Damn, yesterday we lost a bunch of good ones.

And Onward

I feel like anything I could say regarding the events of the past few days would be superfluous. It's all been said. I'm in a very very lucky place where I can close the book mentally and any lingering sadness and anxiety is second hand. I don't even know anyone who was injured. The madness hit close to home--literally, as in the suspects' apartment is blocks away from my house, and greater Boston area is itty-bitty in general--but now that the initial shock and panic has faded, I have the luxury of moving on. This is in no way meant to belittle others' grief,  their loss and trauma. That is for serious, and I can't even imagine what all these families are going through. But that is theirs, and even as the tragedy sort of belongs to me as a Bostonian, I feel like I don't want to claim it. It was awful and it sucked and I want to revel in just being OK now. Until the next curveball, the one that might be the one that delivers a real personal blow. Ah, life.

Speaking of curveballs, we unexpectedly moved HR to a big-boy bed this weekend. I mean, it's not that unexpected. The kid's going to be three on Saturday for crying out loud, lots of kids are out of cribs before their second birthday. But he had never once showed any interest in or awareness of the possibility of escaping the baby cage until Saturday night when he executed a swan dive over the rail and landed on his head. He was fine, but witnessing that in all of its split-second-but-slow-motion glory was not my favorite parental moment. I'm tentatively happy to report that the first night in the BBB went beautifully. Tentatively, because I'm not dumb enough to think that one good night = mission accomplished. He actually had a nap yesterday afternoon, so he went to bed under ideal, non-overtired conditions. Plus we made a huge deal about how cool it is to be out of a crib. And he really took to heart the awesomeness of being able to crawl into bed himself, while at the same time not quite getting that he could also crawl out. I'm optimistic that he's just ready because he's practically a teenager, but who the hell knows how it's going to go when the novelty wears off.

I think it does help that he's older, and so is probably just developmentally prepared for this step. Time will tell. Even though HR has been true to his surfer-dude leisurely pace in hitting this latest milestone, it still feels like it happened so fast and it makes me a little emotional. No more crib. Next up: no more diapers. No more baby. Our boy's growing up is an awesome thing to witness, and I'm looking forward to every step, but it doesn't mean I'm not prone to sentimentality.

What the hell, here's some Big Boy, for our big boy.

Irony Free Since 2013

Once upon a time there was a group of friends, four couples, who formed a "supper club." We'd meet once a month for dinner, rotating hosting duties, each faction contributing a dish and/or cocktail according to the pre-determined themed menu. The food was always amazing, drinks flowed with happy ease, but in retrospect all that goodness was beside the point, because the reward was having some of the greatest times with some of the greatest people I've been lucky to know. Then life, as it happens, impelled half of the couples to move to other states. And over the course of five years seven new lives have come into the fray. I guess you could say Supper Club broke up, or at least reached an amicable separation agreement. But such a bond--cemented in the love of bacon, booze, fearless culinary experimentation and shameless enjoyment of hair metal--is not easily put asunder. We could not quit each other, and make a point to re-form as much as possible. Cut to: this past weekend.

Before Monday happened in all its terrible sadness, I got to spend a wonder of a couple of days with my old crew. It all started when the husband half of one of the couples, now Long Island denizens, got a wild hair to get us together in the Big City for an evening. We found a weekend that worked for most of us, then the Mr. realized, 1) he had yet to check in with his wife regarding this engagement and 2) her birthday was right around then. So it became a supersecret mission to slyly assemble in a restaurant where he would be taking her under the guise of a date night (surprise #1) followed by karaoke until the wee hours, then (surprise #2) caravaning to their abode the next morning for a full on supper club reunion. And it worked!

Thanks to a superior network of childcare helpers (thanks for the two-night sleepover, Grandma!), we were all able to not only make it happen, but happen in vintage SC style. We managed to shock the birthday girl and then go on to have a great time, partying like it was 2008. For someone who had no idea that all these people would be invading her house, she took it in remarkable stride. And then we had some great food, caught up with the hosts' two ridiculously cute girls (as well as the two girls belonging to the Vermont outpost, who made it for Saturday portion of the event), and acted like there wouldn't be a Sunday morning. Oh, but Sunday came, and we all paid handsomely, but it was worth it.

Anyway, thanks all for pulling it together and for being such quality human beings. Forgive me for being a bit mushier than I would have normally been, but it was a truly marvelous memory to take with me before everything went sorta kablooey in our world. Again, thankfully, none of us were physically affected by the Boston Marathon bombings, but in our own ways each of us (who all at one point did live here) picked up a new scar. All the more reason to make sure we see each other again soon.

And on and on and on and on.

Laurels

Someday maybe I will write a proper entry about yesterday's devastating events. But it's still too new, too raw, too unfinished. It's not that I'm waiting for it to make sense, because it never will.

Over the time that has passed since the bombings, I have been frozen with terror. And depressed. And angrier than I thought I could get. But more than anything I am grateful that all my loved ones are accounted for and well. That the tragedy wasn't worse than it was. That this is the city I chose to call home over half my lifetime ago. That there is genuine kindness, generosity and beauty to stand up in the face of terror.

This was a horrifying, indefensible act. I grieve for the people who died. For the people who were hurt. Who were robbed of a triumphant life-altering experience. I hope that the culprit will be discovered and made to pay for his crime, but right now my sadness swallows up any feelings of vengeance.

For now, that's all I can put together. Thank you all for the calls, emails and texts. Even if we know, or are 99% sure that those we love were not anywhere near the scene, just being able to check in with our people, hear their voices, see a message they wrote, it helps restore a sense of calm, of control when things go off the rails. It makes a difference.

I guess I don't have anything new to add to this. I just want to wrap it up by saying that I know that good doesn't always win, and that justice isn't served even half of the time. The world can be a dreadful place for a million reasons. There are places where things like this are an occurrence every day, including yesterday while it was going on here, and it's enough to make you want to give up on this life and see if there's another one. But hate and fear have to lose. They have to. There's no other way to go on. Other people have honed in on this sentiment much more eloquently. But repetition of it only makes it more true. If there's a message I want to harp on here, to take as a personal beacon, it's that one. We'll be OK because we'll help each other, and if that ever stops then we're all done anyway.

As always, love and love and love to all.