It’s a cold, snowy, icy mess outside, not unlike the night 15 years ago when my father suddenly died of a heart attack. The world had just survived Y2K without any major apocalypse, but our small family wasn’t to be spared. Little did we know that our universe would be irrevocably altered barely six weeks into the new millennium.
Can It Be 5,112 Days Already?
Chloe is 14. Chloe is 14. Chloe is 14.
I’ve been repeating that short factual sentence to myself for days now, getting used to the sound of it. It’s strange. Although it’s not a particularly momentous birthday, it feels like a bigger deal than it really is.
I don’t know why I feel this way. On the one hand, I’m happy. Chloe is healthy and content. She has made it through her first full year as a teenager and hasn’t yet turned into a monster. Maybe we’ll survive the years of Teenageddon after all, I muse.
Needs vs. Wants
It was time to put my foot down. Sick of my girls’ too-frequent requests for stuff, I recently put my serious mom hat on to announce a new house rule. “Chloe and Sophie,” I said, “you must start distinguishing between your needs and wants. Your mom and Papa do not possess an orchard full of money trees,” I added as the two girls rolled their eyes in perfect unison. We don’t live in a French Renaissance castle, either, although our humble abode is about 100 years old (and often feels like it was built 500 years ago, too).
Oh, France
My heart belongs to France. I dream of living there again one day – when Chloe and Sophie are adults and independently making their way in the world, and my husband and I have retired. I wouldn’t require much – a modest apartment in Paris, within walking distance to a park, a decent boulangerie, a vibrant open-air market and a métro stop.
After the events of last week, however, I feel bereft. I wonder if my dream will always remain just that – a dream about a place I’ve continued to idealize because of the magical memories it holds for me. It’s the place where I met my husband as an undergraduate student, where I lived and worked after college, where I married, where the entirety of my husband’s family still lives and where my imagination wanders when my home here in the U.S. just isn’t all that it’s cut out to be.
Inside My Daughter’s Teenage Mind
At the end of the month, Chloe will celebrate her 14th birthday. She remains relatively amiable and hasn’t yet entirely forsaken the family unit in search of greener pastures with her friends. I count myself lucky that she still wants to spend time with us, even if she has taken to spending more solitary hours in her girl-woman cave, aka her bedroom.
I’ve started to notice other subtle changes in our interactions, too. We still talk, but not as often as we used to. She’ll arrive home from school and spend five minutes answering my questions and ingesting a second lunch before retiring to her lair until her stomach tells her it’s almost dinner time and she yells, “Mom, when are we eating? What are we having?”
Why Do You Have to Work?
“Mom, but it’s the holidays! Why do you have to work?” Sophie whined as we drove to the salon to have her curls trimmed. I had just announced that I’d need to put in a few hours of writing every morning between Christmas and New Year’s.
Tell Me Why – a Curmudgeon’s Lament
Call me Curmudgeon. (Along with ‘serendipity,’ ‘curmudgeon’ happens to be one of my favorite words in the English language. I adore the word’s peculiar blend of letters.) You’d think that with a December birthday and the upcoming holidays, I’d be full of good cheer. Well, bah humbug…
14 – 9 = 5 & Never the Twain Shall Meet
Chloe and Sophie are almost five years apart. This was not an intentional spread, but I don’t regret it. Between the difference in their ages and the differences in their personalities, there’s never a dull moment, which is by turns often amusing and occasionally appalling.
Selling Sophie Short
Sophie’s teachers recently gave us a priceless gift: “Sophie is a wonderful kid and such a hard-working student. Have you had her tested for the special math and language arts electives?” they asked during her recent parent-teacher conference.
On Light Bulbs and Big Bird
I miss the days of the simple incandescent light bulb. Especially now that we’ve changed the clocks and have to endure darkened skies at 4:30 pm.
The photo above is a view of our dining room chandelier. As we sat down to dinner last night, my husband looked up at the light fixture hanging above us and exclaimed, “All of the bulbs are different!” Then he laughed maniacally.