Weekend Wrap-up

We had a relatively quiet weekend here. On Saturday, Chris got to take a long (early) Father's Day bike ride while the boys and I hosted a play date at the pool. Thank you to Aunt KK for filing Chris' shoes and helping me juggle the kiddos. There was a trip to the Farmer's Market (I love berry season!) and lots of flower watering (it was so hot here on Saturday that the leaves on my basil plant actually burnt). There was lawn mowing and there were meatballs. And there were rainbows.

On Sunday, Father's Day, we did brunch at the Chickahominy House, a local staple that we'd yet to try. I give it a big "Eh." Chris said the world-famous biscuits were good. But world-famous southern biscuits? Shouldn't we have been dreaming about them last night?

Afterwards, we headed to Busch Gardens for a couple hours, then home for a nap for Nicky that never happened. Chris and Nicky did some bike matinence, which I wish I got on film. Nicky pumping up his tires was too cute. Jack and I trailed behind as they rode the neighborhood streets together. I made Chris chicken marsala (his favorite) with Jamie Oliver's raw summer squash salad (a definite new summer favorite). The boys both went down so easily, which was perhaps the best gift they could have given Chris!

I woke up this morning thinking it was not a big enough thank you for my husband, who really is an amazing father. We should have made it really special, but you know, the budget is a little tight and we're both swamped at work and just a bit fatigued from keeping up with the daily right now. I suppose it was a celebration in line with our energy levels. In the years to come we'll do it big. Or maybe not. Maybe in years to come we'll realize a lazy day with just us is really the best way to celebrate. And I think he knows how much we love him. I hope he does. I'll make sure he does.

Success

I had my first, serious I-feel-really-old moment last week. I could not believe how young my new optometrist was. I was stunned, speechless, trying to do the math in my head to figure out how young he really could be to get through all that schooling and have his own beautiful new practice. Twenty-eight, I figured. He looked so young, way younger than 3 years younger than me. Then I realized it's always old, middle-aged people who complain about how young doctors are and refuse to let a "kid" operate or examine them. Then I felt old, very old. All his equipment was state of the art, and when I started to flinch focusing on the end of that blue highway in the glaucoma test, he smiled sweetly and told me "oh, we don't do that anymore." We don't do that anymore, you feeble old bat.

Later, while deliberating whether I preferred lens "one ... or two," we stumbled on the topic of my career. He said, "How'd you end up in that position? Did you just kind of fall into it?" Coming from someone else who may have fallen into a career, I would have taken this lightly. But coming from him? Who achieved all of this through an aggressive scholarly assault funded no doubt my the same old family money that financed these wonderful digs (we are in Virginia, mind you)? Well, I took offense. I didn't get the feeling he meant "fall into it" like that woman falls into that cushy white chair in the Ethan Allen commercial and then, as a result, her whole house is decorated and beautiful (I want to fall into that chair, by the way). I got the feeling he was implying that I tripped on a bananna peel and went careening into this position with my hands flung out to protect myself from a fall. I grabbed this position like a final branch before falling off a cliff. With my cheeks likely reddening, I muttered something like "Guess so." And so began some serious self interrogation.

I left the office feeling schlumpy and old and unsuccessful. I hadn't had a shower this morning or straightened my hair in days and I had selected shorts despite a nasty bruise/road rash eye sore on my leg, the result of a biking accident the previous day (to protect my ego, let's just pretend it occurred while I was going really fast and not barely moving). My top could have used a press and my toes are in sore shape. I had fallen into this look for sure, fallen right out of bed and into it. But my career? Had I indeed fallen into it as well? And was it as embarrassingly careless as this ensemble?

Nobody ever says they want to be a technical writer when they grow up. Someone said that to me once. It's true. And for the record, I don't really love my job. I'm not even sure it's a career and not just a job, and, not to sound haughty, but I'm the kind of person who really should have a career and not just a job. You don't send kids to daycare for a job. You have someone else mind your kids so that your career can flourish. In full disclosure, my husband definitely has a career. At the expense of mine? No, in complete honesty, it wasn't like that. It still isn't.

I guess the next 5 years will determine what this thing I do everyday and sometimes every night really is. Just as the last 5 years have shaped it. A very large, but very shy, part of me knows that I've never been able to make the personal sacrifices necessary to rise to the top. I don't think this will change going forward. When, just the other day, my manager asked me where I see myself in 5 years, all I could picture was myself standing at the back of some children's recital. I was wearing business attire, if that helps.

All this leads me to the question of how I define success. I never had the guts to leave everything I love and move to the city to pursue the career I had dreamed of and, because I am a total realist, I will acknowledge that ship has sailed. A long time ago. I can't say what kind of chops I'll display in the coming years, which will certainly define whether I eventually reach an executive-level position. I do know I have given everything in my person to help my marriage and now my family prosper and grow. What I always wanted for my family, I have very nearly achieved. This came at the expense of my career for sure, but upon reflection, I feel completely content with this. Without realizing it, I have completely redefined my notion of success. Because when I look at those two boys and at the life we have made in the face of some fairly substantial challenges, I am very proud. And I've always been proud of myself for succeeding.

How I Met Your Brother

I could hear the bass murmur of your daddy's voice reading your bedtime stories in the next room as I waited for Aunt K-K to pick up the phone. I got her voicemail and, as I watched the flakes fall outside with the glow of the snow making the night seem blue, I told her it was time for her to come over since your Daddy and I would be heading to the hospital tonight. I made the call in the dark, as if conducting some secret business, which I suppose I was. You would go to sleep thinking it was just a night like any other, but while you slept a covert changing of the guard would take place. Your aunt would watch over you as your father and I labored miles away.

I skipped our weekly library trip that night. You and your daddy picked up new books about diesel engines through the ages (at that point you recognized several famous models, including the J Class, Andes Class, and Challenger, among many others I've already forgotten) and dinosaurs. At home I packed your lunch for school the next day, tucked last minute items into my bag, and chatted with some friends over the phone, casually mentioning that I was in labor. I learned that the Davises had lost their beloved dog Zoe and that they were all still reeling. We talked about the new puppy due in a couple short months. They would name her Regan (I'm sure you'll come to know her well).

We ate pizza when you returned and I quickly ushered you and Daddy up to the bath and then to bed, not wanting you to see me in any pain. I couldn't hold you the way you wanted me to, which was more upsetting to me than you. This would be the first of many such occasions over the next few weeks.

With you asleep, I showered and blew out my hair, experiencing my first real contractions. They continued with no regularity as I applied my makeup. Aunt K-K arrived and laughed at my labor preparations, which I considered as important as my Lamaze breathing. Your father came up to check on me and I remember telling him "This is going to be awesome." I felt excited and ready--to meet your brother, to keep up with you again, to not be so huge. I left any trace of fear in that bathroom and eased into a feeling of excited anticipation.

Through all of this, right beside me as if on a tight lead, was the Boda Bean. She followed me from room to room, from one activity to the next. Within minutes of spreading our things out at the hospital, we had little Lab hairs hidden all over that room. Each one I encountered brought a smile to my face, remembering how much even she was looking forward to Jack's arrival.

It was 11:30 when we left the house. I sent out a flurry of texts (to my boss, friends, and family) as we drove the 12 miles to the hospital. In the car, the contractions became much more painful. What I remember from the drive is there was very little traffic. I think your father played Paul Simon for me. I was wearing a brown knit hat, a big scarf your father bought me in Montreal, some sweats, and Ugg boots. Even though it was freezing I was too hot for a jacket; I had my cardigan draped over my legs. I had light pink nails and darker toes (OPI's Baguette Me Not, my favorite).

I was 6 cm dilated when we checked in at triage. The next hour and a half was what's called transition: the most difficult phase of labor, but, outside of the pushing, also the shortest. My pain was exactly the same as it was with you and, just as I did last time, I asked your father massage my lower back through the contractions. When I was having you, I focused intensely on the rosettes on my hospital gown. This time I found myself studying the decorator fabric on the easy chair as I draped my body across it. I brought a picture of you at the pool last summer and taped it to the chair. At the end of this, I would have another little beauty.

Your father and I held hands, and looked into each others eyes. He told me I was beautiful probably 200 times in two hours. He refreshed my coconut water and talked to me about hotel rooms with big beds and Bravo t.v. and no laundry (this, my meditation image).

There was a moment to breathe. I leaned back on your dad and told him I couldn't wait to run after you again, to not waddle. My water broke and that was it. Your father and the nurses helped me back to bed and in a couple pushes, Jack emerged. As soon as I saw him, I gasped at how much he looked like you. He made a little cry and they handed him to me. I cried and cried, not out of fear or exhaustion like the first time, but because I knew how much I loved him. And that, little friend, is because I'd already met you.

What I Wouldn't Want to Forget

There are pictures that MUST accompany this post. Unfortunately, I can't access them right now. I wanted to take a minute, though, and document a couple things I don't want to forget. The boys are growing so fast right now that at times I feel like I'm watching time-lapse video of my life right before my eyes. Morning - work-evening-repeat-amazing weekend-morning-work-evening. So, this is a selfish post. And I have no idea why the spacing below is so crazy.

What I would never want to forget:

• The way Jack smiles at Nicky and just the way he smiles and smiles and smiles. Smiles for miles, that one.

• Strawberry picking with Nicky and his friend. The boys were both carrying their gallon buckets around all by themselves and doing a damn fine job of picking quality berries. The little friend's mom told me she was worried her son would fill his basket with berries, then drop it, then dissolve into tears. She asked me what I thought Nicky would do if that happened. Without hesitating I told her if his berries were to spill, he would squash them, smear the red juice on his face like war paint and go tearing through the berry patch hooting at the top of his lungs.

• My husband, right now, with his boys. I just can't imagine anyone doing it better. Or looking better while doing it.

• Potty training Nicky. The first time he made a brown deposit he jumped up and said "Look, I made a walrus!" He sat back down, made another, and said "Look, a hot dog!" He's doing really well with it.

• Rocking Jack to sleep while listening to Chris give Nicky a bath. The way Jack just turns into me and goes to sleep. Every time, without a fuss. Unbelievable.

• Nicky keeps saying "My penis is getting bigger." Randomly. While riding a bike. While sitting in circle time at school. Upon waking. Wouldn't want to forget that one.

• The other night, when we heard a little thud at 11 p.m. Chris went to check on Nicky and found his face down, passed out on his carpet. He had rolled out of bed (only a couple inches) and never woke up. This from the kid who, just 2 hours earlier, didn't want anything to do with going to sleep. "I don't want to. It's too bad," he had said.  

• The way Jack just wakes up with a smile. On his wedding day (or whatever special occassion ... I'm in a hurry) I hope I can remember exactly what it felt like to wake up to a beautiful smiling baby face. Every single morning without fail.

• Lying down to sleep with Nicky the other night, his body went completely limp in about 30 seconds. When I got out of his bed, though, he caught my arm and hugged it back under himself. Then he opened his eyes and smirked at me, let go, and said, "Go to bed, Momma."

• The exhaustion and incredible beauty that is having kids this age and juggling everything else. The messy awesomeness of all of it. The feeling like I could just do a face plant onto the couch and stay there till morning by the time they are both in bed at night and the dishes are done and the multitude of things that need to be done for tomorrow are actually done. I am overwhelmed, but I know that this is the best possible kind of overwhelmed in the world. There will come a day when I know I will yearn for it all over again.  

I'll Start With This

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Happy Mother's Day from Chris Robertson on Vimeo.


Meet Jack Kinsey Robertson. I've taken a break since he arrived on January 27, 2011, but I'm hoping to find the time to start writing again. Yesterday was Mother's Day, and this video was a gift from my husband. Nicky had a stomach virus all day, but it was still a sweet one. How can it not be with a family like this? I'm a terrible cynic, but two boys like this make you believe in things.

More to come. Love, Mer

In Retrospect

At this time last year, the word pregnancy was poised on my lips, but when you've had as many dissapointments at the hands of Mr. Clear Blue Easy as I have, you're careful about what you wish for. Because that kind of hope opens you up to special brand of hurt and frustration. Luckily, we avoided those struggles this year and conceived little John (Jack) Kinsey Robertson. And now here I sit like a plump mother hen. My egg above my legs instead of below. Nineteen more days (or so they claim) and I've assumed the role of lady-in-waiting. My husband's last business trip ended yesterday. My final deadline comes to a close this Monday. The nursery is complete and completely adorable. Now to wash, to fold and refold. Now to nest. Now to snuggle Nicky and laugh with him and let him be my one and only for only a little longer. Now to lay in bed at night with my husband for a couple more weeks, before an occupied bassinet will mean hushed voices and low light and a T.V. that might as well be on mute.

This year we grew, both literally and figuratively. We opened our arms over and over again to our barreling steamroller of a boy. We watched Nicky grow older and smarter and faster, yet somehow softer and more affectionate. We developed go-go-Gadget arms. We laughed (a lot). We felt very lucky. We celebrated. We cooked. We painted. We dug and we planted. We swam. We slid. We argued. We made up. We compromised. We made new friends. We made plans and cancelled many of them. We got away. We came running back. We ate. We savored. We settled in.

When I look at my husband now, I see, more than ever, an adult. A real father, a real husband, and a real partner. Though he still lacks a single wrinkle, and I just found his first gray (all of this is entirely unfair), I think he's aged in the best way this year. I really look forward to holding his hand in labor and through the rest of the year to come, and all those that follow. The best part is, I know he feels the same.

Wishing all of you health, happiness, love, and laughter in 2011. Thanks for reading.

What I'm Reading

I'm very pregnant. The starting-to-have-trouble-sleeping-sitting-bending over and falling-asleep-anytime-I-put-my-feet-up kind of pregnant. I would post a picture, but I'm too lazy. I'm very lazy right now. I have been reading, though, and I thought I would bring you up to date.

When I first started this blog, I felt like I needed a gimmick. My gimmick was that I would tell my stories through stories about the stories I am reading. Get it? Like I would review a book about romance, then relate it back to my own life, then weave in a story from my current day-to-day life. Turned out to be too much effort, not to mention less fun than writing about whatever comes to mind. I overcomplicate things, in case you haven't figured that out already.

Anyways, here's what I've been reading lately, and what I thought.

The Empress of the Splendid Season by Oscar Hijuleos - Another win for Mr. Hijuelos. He's amazing. How  a man can inhabit a woman's mind so convincingly, I'll never understand. As a writer, I don't think I could ever narrate in a male voice. I just don't think it would be authentic. He's amazing, though. I love his characters.

Let the Great World Spin by Collum McCann - Holy moly. So good, I had to stop reading. Does that make sense? The stories were affecting me so much, and consuming my thoughts to so great a degree, that I thought it might not be healthy during pregnancy. These are not happy tales. But he is intimidatingly talented. Apparently the late Frank McCourt said something like after he read this book, he worried about Collum, because what are you to do with your life once you've written something so beautiful.

Wicked by Gregory Maguire - A good reminder that I don't like this kind of book. I don't know why, but I hated it. So much so that I just wanted it out of my house when I was finished. Don't get me wrong, I'm completely impressed by the effort, and I think the writing is strong, but this was not my cup of tea. Apparently, I'm nearly one in a million because it's been made into a Tony award-winning play and I think I've heard a movie's in the works. I would see the movie.

Balance is a Crock, Sleep is for the Weak by Amy Eschliman - I felt like I needed to read something about pregnancy and motherhood. This book was a really funny take on being a working mother. It also made me feel okay about freaking out sometimes and feeling like everything's spinning out of control, or clinging desperately to the idea that my biweekly house cleanings are essential (turns out, according to Ms. Eschliman, who is neither psychiatrist nor any kind of expert, agrees). I love feeling validated.

Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk by David Sedaris - I love him. Just love him. This isn't my favorite (I would recommend What to Do When You are Engulfed in Flames), but it's creative and funny and I just love to be reminded that somewhere out there is David Sedaris, writing this wacky shit, and laughing himself to sleep each night. How could you not?

The Vanity Fair issue with Cher cover - Pretty decent. I took this to Montreal and read nearly the entire thing during our trip. The pictures in the Cher piece were so outrageous. She's really something. there was a lengthy article on William and Kate, too, and where better to get your royal gossip than VF? Nowhere.

I just picked up Notes from a Small Island by Bill Bryson from the local Book Exchange. There are so many new novels out there that I'm itching to read right now, but I'm trying to save my pennies at the moments, so they'll have to wait. I'll have a lot to look forward to while feeding baby Jack in February and March!