Pre-Selfie

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I worked on a photo project last week and took out boxes and boxes of photos. 90% were of the kids. Shocker.
But then there were other photos. Blurred shots. Weird angels. Shots of someone too far away. Shots of people too close-up.
In short – imperfect pictures.
Pictures that wouldn’t stand a chance in our insta-perfect world.
Today they’d be filtered, cropped and enhanced. And if that doesn’t work – we delete! Too bad, so sad.
We delete and we miss moments like the one below.
1992. With my future husband and my future sister-in-law in her cool apartment in college in New Paltz, New York.
Who took the pic? Who knows! All I know is that she made us a beautiful post-bar hopping breakfast (balanced too – look at the OJ!) and we decided to take a picture of it. Look at my hair. Look at my husband, he looks 12. Look at all our cute sleepwear. Adorable.
Thank goodness we couldn’t enhance, filter or crop this.
It’s perfectly imperfect.

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Second best decision ever

11 years ago my husband and I met one of his cousins to go on a skiing trip. They brought their two-year old twin boys and 4-year-old girl – who was best buds with our 4-year-old girl.

Before that weekend we had decided that one kid was perfect for us.  We loved our baby girl. She fulfilled every paternal and maternal need we had.  We were a tight little unit of 3 and we were happy.

Then we went away and everything changed. I don’t know if it was the way the three siblings in the other family clung together, or if it was my husband telling funny stories about his sisters, or maybe it was the memory of how happy I was when my mother told me I was finally going to be a big sister at age 11. Whatever the trigger was, then and there we decided our little girl needed one other person in the world that would share part of her history.

One other person that could understand how frustrating her mother could be, or how nutty her father was, or why we have cake for breakfast on our birthdays. A partner. An ally. Someone who knew what the house that she grew up in smelled like on Saturday mornings. Someone she could be angry at and say mean things to and still be able to sit down to dinner with and laugh. Yep. We needed to have another baby.

I got pregnant a few weeks later.

10 years ago today, I woke up at 4am on a Saturday morning and went into labor. I was supposed to go pumpkin picking that day with my girl and one of my best friends who had come to visit. Instead, my husband and I left them to go to the hospital.

The weather was exactly like it is today, cold and crisp. We lived in Upstate New York and the leaves had changed late that year – so everything was shades of orange and red.

He came like a bullet – in about an hour once I started pushing. And like a bullet, there was some major damage afterwards (I’ll save that for another post).

Since then he’s been a whirl of energy, emotion, comedy and activity. He’s always moving. Even in his sleep he’s moving. He’s smart and quick and always late for something. He says things like,” I love my life.” and “I want to be a kid forever”. Then I go cry in a corner.

And he loves, no adores, his sister. Both are Scorpios, if you believe that sort of thing (I do), but on different ends of the spectrum. She’s easy to trust, warm, welcoming and ready for anything. He’s guarded, careful and likes his routines. Bookends of our family.  Our perfect unit of 4.

So Happy Birthday to our little man. We had no idea how much we really needed you.

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Here’s to you Mrs. Jones

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This is my boy and his all time favorite teacher – Mrs. Jones.

A second after 3rd grade started, the teacher he was supposed to have all year had a baby and Mrs. Jones stepped in. She immediately turned the room into an interactive, dynamic place – new rugs, new wall coverings, new everything. It wasn’t just room B-6, it was Hollywood.  All the “kiddos”, as she called them, were mini directors in their own productions. The room was covered in colorful, themed imagery.  She was animated and sweet and my boy (and the whole class) loved it.

As the year went on and we all got to know Mrs. Jones, it was clear how much she loved teaching and how much she loved our kids. Yes, all the usual teaching stuff happened. They learned, they read, they wrote.  But her class was more than that – it was fun. It was silly. It was over the top. And it was exactly what those little people needed. I’ve never had a teacher send me daily updates (sometimes more!) or pictures of fun things the class did that day.  We even got Sunday reminders of what the week ahead would look like. I don’t know about you, but I try very hard to forget where I work from Friday night to Sunday night, not her.  It was obvious that this wasn’t a burden for her.

This past week we got a letter from the school that our original teacher (who I’m sure is a wonderful person) is coming back for the last two months of school.

Devastation ensued.

9 year olds crying everywhere.

I still remember my favorite elementary school teacher, Mr. Walter Freeman. 4th Grade. He ate oranges at his desk every morning. When you went up to talk to him,  he had a citrus halo around him. Is it weird that almost all my good memories have food related connections? Anyway. He was dreamy.

Teaching is a calling. You need some sort of superpower to be able to walk into those classrooms every day and actually enjoy being there.

So good luck to you Mrs. Jones – there’s a lucky class out there waiting for your cheery voice.  Thanks for making a really good memory for my boy.