Some folks.

This is the story of some folks.

You see, during times of great change or excitement, some folks handle their feelings (of being anxious, overwhelmed, excited, ill-prepared) by doing things like making lists, crafting spreadsheets,

seeking therapy

or running Marathons.

Some folks, when faced with an upcoming vacation and big move

that just so happen to be happening back to back

(like back2back. There isn’t even enough room between the vacation and move to justify hitting the space bar.)

do things like making checklists,

delegating,

planning and packing.

And some folks,

some other folks…

do this.

Agonizing over colors. Colors of things like future vacation nails and future house walls.

So the moral of this story is this:

Some folks are sensible, organized, calm and cool.

Some folks have perspective.

Some folks are decisive and deliberate and maybe even (appropriately) drugged.

And others,

well, others,

are yours truly.

(or as I am now known on the street, “White Diamond or Iced Cube Gray?!?!”)

The end.

Five Minutes Later…

I think I’m going with White Diamond. But check back with me tomorrow.

 

Love Notes/My Reply

You may remember my recent discovery,

in which I was able to give new life to (/soak in the beauty of) my husband’s old love notes.

Well, it happened again. Except, this time, the love notes were from yours truly.

I know. Right? You didn’t think I had it in me. Ahhhh, way back in old ’06 when I was just a babe in the woods.

(Or, you know, had two free hands at once, on the reg.)

So here’s how it went down: Once again, I was cleaning out and packing up my basement.

And feeling all sentimental, for a couple of big reasons.

First, the move is imminent. Imminent as in come 2 hours from now, the couch that I am sitting on as I type this story will no longer be in my house, but en route to an old Middle School friend of mine in Ohio. But, again, a story for another day.

Second, I am supa sentimental about things love and marriage for one pretty spectacular reason. You ready? TWIN is getting married. My Twin. I know. I can’t even type right now without crying. Dear Go Go will be making an honest woman out of my girl. My sister. My better half. But this is most certainly another may-jor post for another day. Because, as I said, I have tears to dry, and because, as I said, I have a UHaul to load. But let me just give you this teaser: My Twin Sister is getting married to the most spectacular man + a week ago today she made me ugly cry (with joy!) with some wedding related news + we are planning the most epic pre-wedding-night-sleepover-EVER for late this summer….and, I must be saved from myself. You see? Once I get on the subject of Twin getting married, I can’t stop. And I have a story to tell. A different love story. So the Twin story is coming…but for that you must, as my Twin herself says, “Wait with breath that is bated.”

Sob.

So back to today. I was cleaning out a bunch of boxes when I came across my guy’s old wallet. I saw it and immediately got a case of the sentimentals, as this was the first ever real gift I bought for him.

(In case you’re wondering what the first ever fake gift was, it would be this package, delivered to his doorstep on week 2 of dating: King Kong DVD, a paperback copy of In Our Time and a package of homemade brownies. I know. Now you can sleep tonight. Phew!)

I peaked inside (secretly hoping to find a hidden 20 stashed in that sucker!) and came across a little bundle of papers. Small, crumpled little papers.

These:

My guy is sensitive. And sometimes, when he had been faced with a challenge– the first day of a new job or a seemingly insurmountable task–I liked to give him a little reminder that my love would be with him. And so I gave him little notes; affirmations; poems; I gave him my heart,

in the form of a heart shaped post-it.

And as I sit here and reflect upon that sentiment, I realize that I can do the same thing for myself now;

I am moving to a new house, and about that I am unbelievably excited. But also a bit nostalgic. This house is the place where we brought our daughter home from the hospital. This house has held our memories and kept our secrets. This house means something to me. But all of that, all of the memories, all of the love, can come with me as I move on.

They may not be able to fit into a wallet

or an album of hand-drawn declarations of love,

but I know they will continue to live in me. In us. In the new home we create.

So, while I wish I could write more,

it’s time to get off the couch. Because this couch has some new memories to make.

And so do we.

So,

here we grow.

Just a few (sday?) Tuesday things:

1. My husband is out Happy-Hour-ing with his co-workers.

2. I’m at home nursing a cold.*

3. I’ve heard people say that honey is healing. I’m using that logic to justify my hoovering of peanut butter and honey by the spoonful.

4. Today, my daughter said, “Mommy, you look just like you. I look just like me.”

5. I’m using her logic to justify my hoovering of peanut butter and honey by the spoonful.

6. Because my husband is out (see above), the little girl and I are free to do whatever we please. This may or may not include: pouring over strips and strips of different (all-white) paint chips for an hour, dressing up like Chiquita Banana (I’ll let you guess to which one of us this applies), belting out tunes from Wicked (her: Defying Gravity, One Short Day and Popular; me: As Long as Youre Mine), and certain activities referenced in items 3 & 5.

7. My kid straight up refused a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup in favor of slices of frozen peaches and strawberries.

8. I’m calling this temporary insanity, on account of being over-exposed to endless chips of white paint.

9. Speaking of, if she ever has a brother or sister, he or she will be named Benjamin Moore.

10. *At least I’m not nursing a baby.

Anniversary

Last week, we celebrated our Anniversary.

I have so much to say, but don’t quite know how…

except for this:

Four years ago, life looked like this:

And this year, on our anniversary, it looked like this:

And today, it looks like this:

Ever after,

for always

and love love love is still all I need.

2 stories.

When I was a Sophomore in college, I found myself on a weekend trip to a small and beautiful town in the Mid Hudson River Valley of New York. Since I was a child, I’ve spent weekends exploring similar places, first by my parents’ insistence (they loved nothing more than spending a weekend at an antique auction or sprawling flea market), and then by my own accord. I began to find the thrill in the treasure hunt and even started a collection of my own: antique salt and pepper shakers.

On that particular trip to New Paltz, I found an extraordinary treasure in the form of a small, worn magnet. It had the name I had chosen for my future daughter, something I always looked for in collectibles and read, “Lady _____: Made with Purity and Excellence”. That magnet stayed with me for years, packed away in the tiny, beautiful paper bag that they gave me at that little vintage shop. And now, as of last week, it is hanging on my refrigerator, holding up a photo of my daughter in a bubble bath. When people spot it, they smile. So do I.

****

Last night before bed, my daughter was being particularly delicious; trading kisses for hugs, engaging in epic tickle torture battles and blabbing up a storm. We knew it would take a lot to wind her down, so we rubbed her back and sang to her as we prepared to start the bedtime routine. We asked her about her day at school and in a slightly dazed and relaxed state, she sat up, looked at her daddy and said, “I paint a rainbow, baby.” And then she held up her hand, raised her two fingers slightly and, looking at him square in the face, said, “Peace, Man.” We nearly fainted from cuteness overload. And I realized, her free spirit may be, in part, credited to the two us, but should also be attributed to her very first Tribe of friends.

*

So, My lady: Made with Purity, Excellence and Hippie sweat.

To my original little girl,

my sister:

Today, you graduated from Graduate School with your Master’s degree

and I could not be more proud.

As you are about to start your first job,

a real job,

an amazing job,

I can’t help but to gasp as I realize

you are now grown up.

The hours we spent in your little, pink Laura Ashley bedroom,

playing hairdresser as “Sherry Shamu” and “Britney Cooler”,

dressing and undressing Barbie dolls,

making up dance routines to “Do You Love Me?”

and gravity defying games like “Crocabunga”,

did not prepare me for the fact that one day

(today!)

you would no longer be my little sidekick.

That you would grow out of the plastic vanity chair

and the Laura Ashley bedroom

and even the white platform Spice Girls shoes that I forced you to wear for Glamor shots,

and grow up

into a beautiful,

poised,

remarkable

adult.

A person. Who now goes to celebrity stylists

and not good old “Sherry Shamu”.

Who writes a fashion blog

instead of dressing Barbies.

Who walks down the street with confidence and savvy

and a beauty that never fails to take my breath away.

You may be my little

but today

I can’t tell you how much I look up to you.

All my love,

Sherry.

Scenes from The Bean/Happy Birthday, Twin!

So, I’ve been keeping a bit of a secret from you.

Actually, it’s kind of big…

(…at least in this land….the Land of Mom, that is.)

2 weeks ago, I spent my first weekend away WOB (without babe).

It’s taken me this long to share because

a) I had to find the right words

b) I had to process all that it meant to me

c) I have been terribly homesick for the weekend, and I was not yet ready to tap into all of the emotions that came along with it

d) I had many missed baby hugs to make up for

So, let’s start with a little question:

You have a baby, you spend every moment with her (save a few 8-10 hour stretches) for 2 weeks shy of 2 years. It’s time to leave her for the very first time. Where do you go?

I know what you’re thinking.

Duh! So obvious! (In the words of my girl, A,) Obviduh! You go see Twin!

So, after months of planning, (with a few moments of agonizing sprinkled in there) and a six hour train ride,

the husband and I arrived in Boston,

and, more specifically, into the arms of Twinny and Go Go.

It was perfection.

It was so us;

Wandering through Harvard Square, arm-in-arm;

Sharing bites of Grape Nuts Ice Cream and Anadama Bread

and sips of sparkling sake and gourmet hot cocoa;

Lingering in the Poetry and Children’s Books sections of the book store, reading about Haiku and Miro and Eric Carle;

Midnight dance parties and morning ebelskivers;

Our weekend meant so much to us. To all of us.

Our weekend made me feel light

and made me feel happy

and made me feel proud.

But, there’s only so much I can say in words.

So, here they are; Some Scenes from The Bean (and by scenes, I mean iPhone pictures of the food we ate…because that’s what you peeps really care about, right?!):

When I say that our weekend was delicious, I am not just referring to all of the sushi and onion rings and burgers and treats we indulged in during our stay. They were all great, yes, but nothing compared to the pure bliss of 3 solid days with my Twin.

And while it was hard for me to be apart from my little girl

(I missed a whole day of her life,

as that Saturday was the very first and only day of her existence that I missed seeing her wake up in the morning. It was weird, I tell you.)

it was also important.

Important for us (relationship us)

important for us (friendship us)

important for us (Twinship us)

and important for me.

Being a mother (for me) has meant giving all of myself to my little mini. But, in doing that,

in living the life of my dreams,

I lost some of my independent self along the way.

From the moment I became pregnant, my life was lo longer my own. Everything about me began to revolve around my daughter.

And so, our trip to Boston was rejuvenating. It was re-me-venating.

It was just what we needed.

And on that note, I would like to take this opportunity to thank the woman who was not only the Hostess with the Mostest,

but who, in the past 7 years of our Twinship,

has taught me what it means to be a sister, a friend and a golden, genuine, top knotch human being.

Happy Birthday, to my girl, way up Nahth.

I hope that you know how much better you’ve made my life

just by being in it.

I love you and am honored today, and always, to call you my twin.

Happy birthday, Happy Everything,

Happiness Always.

 

 

Just some things.

This past week has kept me oh-so-busy.

Like, Bizzy.

And it’s been good.

But, it has not left me with the time or energy to put my pen to paper to keyboard,

or what have you.

So, as a way to fill you in (or an attempt to make an excuse),

here are some things.

Some things I’ve done since we spoke last.

Just some things:

I’ve started to jog. And by jog, I mean I jog for a minute and then walk for ten minutes. But, I’m moving my body, so now I can officially call myself a jock. My next step will be getting a jersey with my name on it.

I’ve become a regular at our favorite lunch spot.

I’ve been singing. For other people (!).

I made these. And I ate them. All of them. Thank Gd I’m an athlete, now.

I found my poetry, again.

I crowded into a tiny dressing room with my Mom and my Mommom and my Aunt and My Sister and my Daughter, as we all helped my sister to find the perfect dress. I felt so lucky. (More on this to come…)

I watched a dear, so-in-love couple as they became husband and wife.  I toasted to their marriage. I requested this song I got DOWN.

I bowled, terribly.

I woke up one morning and danced, in sunglasses, to Queen, before brushing my teeth.

I heard a friend tell me that I didn’t seem like myself; I knew that she was right; I let her talk me through it; I felt so much love.

I had a picnic outside with my class. We dined on chocolate cake and rice cakes. We are so elegant.

I heard my daughter sing every word of “Sydney (I’ll Come Running)”.

I got a hair cut. I botched a manicure. I found my daughter in my makeup drawer, with a face-full of blush. And pride.

I explained to a group of 3-year-old boys why my daughter needs glasses.

I haven’t slept well.

I’ve seen piles of feathers.

I’ve missed you.

Best. Note. Ever.

Found this on my way into my parents’ house on Sunday.

(We were sitting for the pups.)

This note tickled me.

My dad knows me so well.

Oh, and did you catch his reference to Tuesday night’s dinner? He was planning a Boys Night, with an extensive and oh-so-manly menu.

But, alas, one of the men fell ill and so I received a late in the game invite, asking if I’d like to slip into the vacated spot.

Um. Duh!

So, I’ll write more about that later*. I can’t write now.

But it’s not b/c I don’t love you.

*(Forreal, though,for the full recap, make sure to check back this evening in the Family Dinner section under Tuesday Dinners. And trust me, you’ll want to see what’s in store.)

#febphotoaday/25

25. Green

Because, you know…

it ain’t easy.

Feb Photo Hooray!

Yesterday’s #febphotoaday was my favorite yet, and thank you to everyone who got in on the fun.

It has been voyeurism at it’s finest and I’ve so enjoyed seeing what is inside your bathroom cabinet.

And I’m totally judging you.

Truly, though, it has been a blast, and if you haven’t checked out some of the Facebook posts, please visit our Mommy, Ever After page to do some serious stalking. Come on. You know you like to stalk.

And you get bonus points if you post your own photo.*

Come on, it’s what the cool kids are doing.

*Bonus points are in the form of pink cupcakes, sparkly shoes and undying love and affection.