My favorite things

The kitchen is covered in a fine layer of flour and sparkling sugar. The scents of cinnamon, cocoa and vanilla hang in the air. It's the week before Christmas and I've been baking.

This is one of my favorite times of year. I get to stay up late and sip a little brandy or port (ok, sometimes it's bourbon), listening to my favorite music - on headphones so I don't wake up the girls. Over the course of the week I make batch after batch of cookies:

-Fig and walnut biscotti
-Lemon rosemary shortbread
-Pecan crescents
-Drunken fruit and nut bars
-Chai spice balls
-Cappuccino shortbread
-Mexican chocolate balls
-Spritz

The list grows and changes each year.

The purpose of baking all of these cookies is not to eat them myself - in fact I rarely eat cookies while I'm baking them. No, these are to give away to friends and family. Part of the fun during my week of baking is the time I spend poring over recipes after putting the kids to bed. I dig through cookbooks and web recipes, I find notes I've scrawled onto scraps of paper. I make my preliminary list of what I will bake. I try to create a balance - some cookies have fruit, others have nuts or strong spices, and there is always chocolate.

After the list is complete and I've made sure I have all of the supplies I will need, I am ready to bake. I love the stillness of the house as I move through my kitchen, creaming butter, adding sugar, flour, cinnamon, and cocoa. I love shaping the cookies. Each one is a little different. To me, they are beautiful.

While I do love to bake alone, I also make time to share the fun with my girls. I save the spritz cookies for an evening when we can bake together. They love to sprinkle the formed cookies with sparkly sugar and non-pareils. They help me tint the dough green and red to punch out mini Christmas trees and flowers. Often when I bake with them, we make sugar cookies that they can decorate with sticky icing. Those never make it into the gift bags - my girls have no qualms about eating the cookies when they are done baking.

Baking all of the cookies is a big part of the fun, but cookie delivery time is just as wonderful. First, I have to pack up all of the cookies into bags or takeout boxes - it's quite an assembly. Everyone's package gets labeled. Some of the deliveries I do solo but what I most enjoy is to pack the girls into the car and drive around town, looking at holiday light displays and stopping in to visit with friends. We probably stay at each house for only 15 minutes or so before heading back out into the cold to our next stop. Sharing something as simple as a gift of cookies and good cheer with our friends - this is truly one of my favorite things. No fancy presents needed.

And, if you are wondering, these may have been my favorite cookies this year - a new recipe for me - Cappuccino Sails from Judy Rosenberg's cookbook. They are a coffee-laced shortbread cookie dunked first in very dark chocolate and then coated with toasted almonds. Yum.

Power. What's the point?

Power. It's a complicated thing. In my work, I have power in what I think of as small ways. I have access to money and I've built relationships across the campus where I work. I try to use this particular power to do good by our students. On some days, being able to wield this power is very rewarding but oftentimes just having the power and desire to help is not enough.

Today it was rewarding. I was able to help a student with an emergency scholarship so that she won't have to worry about how she will be able to pay the rest her bill. I like this student. She's smart and she's got that spark that comes from being a quick study in new situations. She will be a leader someday. In fact, I'm sure she is already. I was psyched to feel like I was investing in her future and our collective future.

On other days, having the power to help just frustrates the hell out of you. Last semester I got a call from someone in the college where I work. She told me that she knew of a student who was living out of her car because she didn't have the money to repair it and she lived too far away to make the drive back and forth every day without the fear that she would get stuck somewhere. The staff person who called me explained that the student was very private and had a difficult time reaching out for help.

Well, here was a problem I could fix. I immediately sprang into action. I called my colleague in residence life to see if we could find the student a room. I called my colleague in financial aid to see if we could get her a little more money. I was able to find some scholarship money in one of our funds to supplement the additional aid. Everything was in place, the student just had to call and ask for help.

I waited. She didn't call. It was finals time. I couldn't even imagine the stress of living in a car while trying to study for finals. Days went by. I called the staff person who originally told me about this student. I asked if she'd seen her. She told me that she tried to convince the student to ask for help but that she had decided to "tough it out." I told the staff person that I'd hold onto our plans and set the funds aside for the student and whenever she was ready, all she had to do was call. She never did.

I was so perplexed. I realized how invested I'd become in helping this student whom I'd never even met. I thought I could make everything better for her. I knew who to call. I had a little bit of scholarship money. It could all work out exactly as I planned. I really didn't expect to have this offer of help ignored.

It was an interesting lesson for me. I thought I had the perfect fix. I didn't count on it not working for the student. I realized that it's not enough to have a little power if those you want to help don't want any part of your assistance. I haven't learned not to get too invested in the students but I am trying to understand them better. My way is not always their way and I am not always right. Like most so-called adults, I think I have all of the answers but I don't. All I have is a little bit of power and the desire to help.

March is the bitterest month

The month of March hits me like an errant wave. It buckles my knees, knocking me down. It threatens to roll me under, sucking out my breath. Each year I find myself struggling against the undertow to get to my feet again. 

At least February, despite the ferocity of the cold and threats of blizzard, is the shortest month. You can hold your breath and soon you are on the other side, shaking your head to clear it and holding out hope for the warmth of spring. But instead you find yourself in March, with its 31 long day, some of which are tauntingly warm – maybe even a balmy 55 degrees. But then, to make sure you don’t get too comfortable in your longing for spring, the following day will be sure to drench you in freezing rain, or pile another 6 inches of snow on the tired-looking and dirty snow dunes that still flank all of the roads and driveways.

To be sure, this winter has been especially harsh, making March an even more miserable slog. Our bodies are weary from holding them rigid while we walk through the blowing winds, trying not to fall on the ever-present ice that lines the walkways. Complexions are pale from the want of sunshine; foreheads seem permanently creased in concentration. Even our eyes have adjusted to the dreary palette of white, gray and brown that marks winter. Once March arrives, we are longing for bright colors and gaiety. 

We long for something to lift our spirits so we begin to plan. My daughters scour the landscape for signs of spring – a patch of dingy grass, the first snowdrop or crocus. My gardening friends have been scrutinizing seed catalogs, comparing the brightly colored photos of various varieties of produce. For myself, I begin to plan our summer trips – a long weekend at the Cape, a camping trip in New Hampshire, maybe a week on the Rhode Island coast. We don’t have to travel far. We just need a change of scenery, some time by the ocean or in the mountains. 

When I start to plan these trips, my spirits finally allow themselves to lift. I begin to imagine a time when the sun actually warms my body, when I don’t have to shrug into a heavy coat and sensible shoes. My toes wiggle in anticipation of digging into soft sand and putting on flip flops. For me, the visions of summer vacation ground me and help me manage to get through another long day in March.

Two Hours

Today has been a long day. It started when I got up at 4:30 am. Work-related stress has been giving me insomnia this week. Sometimes it's just better to get up and do something rather than lie there thinking about all of the stuff that needs to be done. So, I got up. I made a to do list for work and then I edited a report that needed attention. When the members of my household started to get up, I turned to the task of getting them ready for the day. Lunches and breakfasts were made. Everyone was dressed. Then it was time for day care drop off, which, for a change, went pretty smoothly.

From there I was off to work. I knew I only had a few hours before I had to go to a meeting so I tried to get through as much of that to do list as I could. I also knew that I would have to leave work after that meeting to bring my mother to a doctor's appointment. All morning I was troubled by this feeling of being inconvenienced. I have so much work to do and yet I had promised to go with my mom to any of her doctor's appointments if she ever needed me. She asked. I had to say yes, even if the timing felt bad.  You can't say no to the woman who gave birth to you, right?

At 1:00 I rushed out of my office and I rushed halfway across the state to pick her up. I was late, even though I had budgeted in an extra 1/2 hour of travel time. I faced road construction and a closed street right at my usual shortcut, and I must have hit every red light I came across. By the time I got there to pick her up, I felt terrible, I had let her down. As it turned out, I didn't have to worry.

Not only did we make it to her doctor's office with fifteen minutes to spare, but the doctor was running behind so we didn't get to see him at the scheduled time. In fact, we had a two hour wait before he could see us. 

Despite the delay, her doctor was lovely. He apologized profusely for being so late. Then he got down to business. He spoke words that I'm sure he's spoken so many times. "There's a mass. We dont't think it's malignant but we have to be sure." I sat there calmly throughout the appointment. I asked appropriate questions. I took notes. After the appointment, we went back to my mom's. Her friend was waiting for her there. I rehashed the entire appointment. "There's a mass. It's probably not cancer but they have to take it out to make sure that it's not." The words felt reassuring.

On the drive home I kept thinking about the two hours we had spent waiting for the doctor. I knew I was supposed to be annoyed that it took so long for him to get to us. He had several family conferences lined up that day. He apologized. I know I was supposed to be annoyed, but really I wasn't. Not at all. We spent the time together talking and laughing. I had a chance to really listen to my mom - not the way I sometimes do, halfheartedly, when I'm on the phone with her and I'm checking my email and the kids are pulling on me. Then I don't really get a chance to listen. But really, it was great, a luxury even, to get to sit with her and talk about our family, what my kids are up to, and even what she's watching on TV.  

Before that long drive home, as I got ready to leave her house, my mom slipped me ten bucks. "It's for the gas," she said. "Mom, I don't want this," I replied. But she insisted, so I put it in my pocket. You aren't supposed to say no to your mother, right? I will find a way to slide it back to her. I know it's her way of paying me back for those two hours. But I don't want her money and I wouldn't trade those two hours for anything. Two hours is not such a long time.

Life (or something like it)

We've decided that on the day we leave for vacation, we won't rush to get out the door. Being in a rush does no one any good, it just makes us more stressed out than we need to be. So, now we have a leisurely breakfast and take our time packing up the car. The girls help put clothes into their suitcase. They choose books and stuffed animals to bring with them. And I don't freak out that the house isn't spotless for our ten year old neighbor who watches the cats while we are gone. These small changes have helped us to ease into vacation.

So, this was the state of things on the Monday in July when we started off for our week at the RI shore. I had dumped the compost before I left, but I completely forgot to deal with the bunch of parsley I'd stuck in a glass of water while I was cooking over the weekend. It stayed on the table all week, the glass now drained of water, the parsley getting yellower and yellower until our return on Saturday.

As the spouse was unpacking the car, I noticed the parsley and was about to dispose of it when a brilliant splash of green with speckles of black and gold caught my eye. There was a big caterpillar among the dried out leaves. I immediately called Nina over to see it. She's very fond of caterpillars, having adopted Jimmy last Memorial Day. She was thrilled at my discovery and went to go get her bug house.

We put the caterpillar inside and I went out to the garden to get some fresh parsley leaves. Nina named this caterpillar Jimmy 2 and we made it as comfortable as we could. I thought it might be a butterfly caterpillar but I wasn't sure what variety. We really had no idea what might happen with this creature that found its way into our house. We've never had good luck keeping fish, so who knew what to expect. We replenished the leaves and cleaned out the poop (and this little guy pooped a lot!) for almost two weeks, at which point we noticed that Jimmy 2 was spending a lot of time hanging out upside down on the top of the bug house.

One morning as we were getting ready for our day, I noticed that Jimmy 2 had entered the chrysalis stage. I was truly surprised when this happened, despite reading Eric Carle's Very Hungry Caterpillar on MANY occasions. I didn't have any idea how much time it might take for the beautiful butterfly to emerge but we were all eagerly waiting to see if it would actually happen.

It's amazing what will work out if you just let things be and don't try to rush them. After a week and a half it happened. I was at work, on the phone with Paul. He had just gotten home with the girls and we were probably talking about what to do about dinner when all of a sudden his voice changed. He sounded genuinely surprised and excited. He said, "Oh my god! There's a butterfly! It's right here on the counter. It's so pretty!"

Whenever I replay this conversation in my head, I smile. It's not often as adults that we let ourselves experience wonder in this way but there is almost no other response I can imagine after witnessing this miraculous transformation.

By the time I got home, the girls were really excited and wanted to help let Jimmy 2 go free. We went to get the neighbors so they could watch. We all gathered around the little bug house. I not-so-gingerly cracked the top off (since Jimmy 2 was now too big to go out through the corked entrance). The lovely black swallowtail butterfly had to be coaxed out of his house. He seemed a bit confused as he sat among the greenery.

Soon he figured it out, spread his wings, and was off into the neighbors' yard before we could even get a photo of him in flight. We watched him go and comforted Nina that we would see him again -- we do have a butterfly garden, after all -- and then we continued on with our lives, although we are not quite the same as before.

Lucky

This morning I cracked three eggs into a blue ceramic bowl and discovered that two of them had double yolks. Must be my lucky day.

As the girls and I ate breakfast, I told them they each could make a wish because of our lucky eggs. I tried to get Nina to tell me her wish but she knows better than that now. The last time she made a wish, it didn't come true and I told her that some people believe wishes don't work if you say them out loud. So, now she has a second chance and she’s not going to say a word to me about her wish.

This whole incident started me thinking about luck. What is luck and how do we get it? Do we make it for ourselves? Are we born with it? Or is it just about how we view the world?

I hear that advocates of The Secret, that much-touted, Oprah’s list book, believe that if you merely think positively – if you just wish hard enough – then all of your desires will be realized. It’s like the ultimate get-rich-quick scheme (and it seems to be working for the book’s authors). At the same time, these people also believe that you can give yourself cancer with your negative thoughts.

If you want my opinion, this is just bunk. Luck is all a matter of perspective.

One of our family traditions each summer is to spend a weekend on the Cape. We head out towards the end of June when hopes for summer weather are high, but the hotel rates have not yet risen to match them. The girls really look forward to this trip and I’ve written about it before. We always leave our house with high expectations for our long weekend adventure but reality sets in about an hour into the journey. There is something about vacationing with small children that is very challenging. So while we are building really great memories with our kids, we are also trying to keep our sanity while driving four hours in our car and then sharing a small hotel room for three or four days.

Each year, as they get older, the trip will get a little easier. Perhaps one of these times, they won’t flop themselves into the ocean fully clothed within the first five minutes of seeing the beach. Maybe they will eventually learn to use an indoor voice in the hotel’s common breakfast room or maybe I will just ignore the looks I think I’m getting from other guests.

As the mother of these two lovely and rambunctious girls, I typically spend part of the weekend feeling annoyed and frustrated. But this year, just as I was beginning to feel unlucky, we met the family staying two doors down from us at the hotel. There was a single mother with two kids, a boy and a girl. It was clear that the son had some developmental issues and was hard to deal with. But this woman was doing it alone, smiling and patient the whole time. To me it seemed as if she had figured it out, even though you could tell it wasn't easy to deal with her energetic son. She was amazing to watch – calm and loving, where I would probably have been tense, anxious and cranky.

Maybe we do only get as much as we can handle in life. Maybe good luck and bad luck are just flip sides of the same coin. Maybe in those moments when I start to feel unlucky, I should remember to pay attention to the beauty around me.

Watching the girls as they run and play together on the beach, seeing the excitement in Nina’s face as she watches the waves (usually with her mouth open), and the wonder in Rita’s eyes when she figured out that the “statue” in downtown Provincetown was actually a real person (she couldn’t take her eyes away). These are the moments I need to pay attention to. I like to listen to them as they tell each other stories or play pretending games. They are much more relaxed and fun when we don't interfere with a correction or shushing. These two little girls are such a treasure and we are lucky that they look out for each other and love each other so much.

My work is in learning to let go of - or at least loosen - my expectations and be okay with the fact that things are not always going to go exactly as I think I want them to. I have to try to find the beauty in what comes instead of always trying to control it. And, I have to remember that I am lucky.

Snuggle Time

It's 7:15 a.m. There are dishes in the sink, unfolded laundry in a basket by the chair that we pile the folded clothes onto before we decide we want to wear them, and cat hair tumbleweeds blow freely across the floor. My husband is making the lunches but breakfast still needs to be prepared and I am sitting on the couch under the comfortable heft of my three-year old, while her older sister sits beside me, holding my arm in a vice-like grip. She's trying to train herself to stop pinching me but it's slow-going. They are drinking milk. It's our morning snuggle time. I try to forget about all of the things that aren't getting done around me as I sit, tethered to the couch. I try instead to inhale the smell of my daughter's hair and enjoy the cozy warmth of their little bodies.

This is how most days start at our house and I've learned that when we miss our morning snuggle time, things don't go quite as smoothly as when I surrender to it. Someone eventually starts screaming or refuses to get dressed or brush her hair. These are alternatives that I can do without. It's hard enough to get all of us out the door on time in the morning when things go well.

Despite my knowing that morning snuggle time is the key to peacefully starting our day, it is not in my nature to sit like this. I constantly work at it. I am a chronic putterer. I do my best thinking and problem-solving while meandering around the house putting things in order - doing dishes, folding laundry, sorting socks.

To the casual observer, it may appear that I am simply performing mundane tasks, but in reality, I am solving the world's problems. Okay, that's not true, but I am considering the various predicaments under my jurisdiction at home and at work. My puttering time is typically when creative solutions pop into my head, so I relish it. Besides, when I spend time this way, there are definitely fewer cat hair tumbleweeds in the house.

However, I also know just how important is to make sure that I take the time to really be present for these strong-willed, bright, funny girls. Making space for them to talk and letting them lounge on me without my being distracted is the best gift I can give them, but sometimes I find it so difficult to do. My mind will be racing along at top speed, working on who knows what, and I'll abruptly be pulled back to the present and realize that I have two kids climbing all over me. When I do give them all of my attention, the payoff is so great. Everyone feels happy, heard and valued. Isn't this what we all crave? Why do I struggle so much with giving this gift to my girls? Each day, I have to set an intention to do this small thing because I know it is what really matters for them in the long run.