Little Faces.

I was the very happy recipient of a new computer for Mother's Day this year. It's arrival has caused me to go through several of the files I've had locked away on a hard drive. Those that struck me the most were the pictures. Thousands of split second moments that we've captured over the years. Several forgotten, at the time not deemed album-worthy, but when I look at them now, I just want to stare at those faces that I've gotten so used to seeing, I don't always realize how quickly time has changed them.

When did the kids grow up? I swear it wasn't that long ago that there were two bodies wedged between us in the bed and the smell of baby lotion on everything I touched. When was the last time I watched Elmo? There was a time when I never traveled without something with his image on it. He was truly my best wingman for several years. Many things got done under his furry, red watch. The potty training, the first days of school, lost teeth. Now it's nail polish, boys, girls, school, sports...

Wow. That went by fast.

I loved those days (maybe not EVERY one, but in general...) but am also loving to see the kids get older. I appreciate their sense of humor. It's wonderful to have a full conversation with them. I love seeing the friends and relationships they've developed. I hope they will be lucky enough to maintain some of them as they get older. It's a gift to be able to sit down to coffee with a friend who's known you since you were 12, or even better, wake up next to one.

While I miss those little faces in the photos, I so love the ones that greet me after a day a school, or an evening on the ball field. Motherhood has been a speedy ride, but I am glad to be on it.

Lightbulb Moment

I haven't blogged in nearly a year. Wow. Now I'm getting on here to post a bit of a rant, although it really isn't all that hateful. It's a more wistful rant, if you will. And perhaps this morning my anger is a bit misplaced, but what is getting the brunt of it this morning is my lamp. More importantly, the bulb in it.

I know it is totally un-PC, but I can't stand the new light bulbs. Now, before you come at me with your polar bears and Priuses, let me explain.

I knocked over my bedside lamp the other day and broke the last remaining round light bulb we had. So I went up to Home Depot and perused the aisle filled with swirly ice cream cone bulbs and found - soft white, fluorescent, white, direct sunlight, indirect sunlight, moonglow... What? I don't know? To be clear, I've bought them for the rest of the house, but I haven't been directly effected like this. I didn't realize how particular I was about my reading lamp light, but all of the sudden I couldn't make a decision. I just want one that I can wake up and read with at night when I can't sleep. I searched for the label: "Doesn't-make-you-squint-to-read-for-the-first-five-minutes-or-burn-out-your-retnas-on-contact".

I chose indirect sunlight. I figured for my beside table, let's give a thirty-something sister a hand, indirect is better for all involved.

Anyway, I got home, screwed it in (it took only one of me in case you are looking for a joke) and BAM! My room was glowing like a warehouse floor. The worst possible light I've ever seen - sort of a sickly green and dim. Gross. After a few minutes, it brightened up to a more fluorescent glow, to the point that Eric walked in and said, "Oh my god. What happened?"

I ran out to the garage hoping to find an old lamp with one of the old bulbs still in it. But to no avail. I did switch it out with another, less offensive bulb in the house. It works, as long as you let it warm up for you.

But secretly (not anymore) still I wistfully remember the days of those old GE bulbs that gave you the light you signed up for when you flicked the switch.

I know, I know... My grandkids will be thanking me. But in the meantime, will they hold up a flashlight for their old Grandma while she reads those first couple of pages until her light bulb works itself up to full force?

Yo Momma's Day

The kids are apparently now rappers, so with dance moves inherited from their Dad, they presented me with this - a somewhat original song, inspired by some viral video. Thanks, you punks! I love you to the moon and back! It was a great day!

A Small Part

Last October, a friend called and said the high school was auditioning for parts in Annie. The girls were all to come prepared to sing the song 'Tomorrow'. For 3 weeks, Maddie practiced and practiced. She sang to anyone and everyone who would listen. She got pretty good, too.

Finally, the audition day came. We walked into an auditorium that was teeming with high schoolers. Loud and running around, comfortable with one another, clearly had done this before. The directors were also familiar with a lot of these kids, not afraid to tell them what they needed to do to improve their performances. Every time they yelled out to a kid, I saw Maddie shrink further into her chair and cut her eyes in my direction. I smiled and tried to look confident, but I looked at the number of kids and knew it was going to be a long shot.

By the time it was her turn, they'd cut the girls to just one verse. When her name was called, she walked up onstage and stood there waiting for piano accompaniment. At 10 years old, she looked so small and her voice, when she started to sing, was lost in the babble and curtains and cavernous auditorium. The courage alone it took to stand up there... My heart sank for her. But she came off stage, with a smile and a "We'll call you" and we went to get an ice cream.

A few days later the call came that she didn't get a part. I'll admit, I cried thinking about how to break the news to her and how it would break her heart. The kids don't hear the word no very often, and while I realized this was a chance to really teach a life lesson, this was a big NO to hear.

It was every bit as awful as I'd imagined it would be and I don't know if it was right or wrong to pose it as a lesson at that point, but I did. Simply because I didn't know what else to do. She grieved not getting a part. It was terrible to watch her work so hard and fail.

A couple of weeks passed and we got another call - they needed extras. Would Maddie be willing to do that? Uhhh... Yeah.

So it started. Practices every couple weeks at first, then a few before the Winter Break. Then ramping up into February. I'd never been involved in theater before, but I have to imagine this program would rate pretty high up there. The work and detail and intricacies put into each song, each scene, it was insanely impressive to my untrained eye. How it was going to all come together, I couldn't envision, but could see the potential.

The directors tweaked and tweaked right up to(and through)opening night. It was so nerve-wracking to see and wonder how it would all turn out. The costumes got their final touches, the vacuum was run through the seats, "Instead, sing 'Hooverville' like this", and people started to take their seats.

Now, I had a small part in this production. Our dog was playing Sandy, so I was waiting with him in the wings. I never got to see Maddie's first song from the seats once the show started (I watched the 2nd all 9 times). But I did get to watch from stage left, just beyond the curtain's black folds. When the curtain pulled back and the lights came on, her back was to me. Maddie and the ensemble worked their way around the stage, she turned and I got to see her face. Singing, under the lights, beautiful- even in her street kid costume, confident.

Another moment I wished I could lock away. Forever.

These incredible kids went on to perform 9 shows in the last week. By the end, there was a feeling of family among so many of the actors. They were kind and good to my girl, who was one of the 4 youngest in the cast. Getting to be backstage as much as I was, I got to feel a real affinity for so many of the cast members, I was able to share in their successes, it was a true gift.

Maddie would come off stage after each show, hang her costumes, dress in her comfy clothes with stage makeup and flush still brightening her eyes and cheeks. You could see the pride she felt, the love she had for what she was a part of, the exhaustion from long hours and the excitement for the next performance.

I, too, felt proud that she was a part of this. Proud, that even though she had a small part, it made her feel larger than life.

20.

On Monday, it will be 20 years since the day Eric first asked me to "go out" with him. I sit here today, listening to our kids alternately bickering and laughing over a video game and Eric working on the house. It is a normal Saturday around here. A normal Saturday in this life we have made together.

I can look around my living room and see pictures of us from those early years, our wedding day, places we have been, our children growing up in framed still-life. I am awed at the time that has passed and the fact that somehow, from age 14, we have managed to stick it out. How lucky are we?

Eric told me the other day that this anniversary doesn't really matter, it's the marriage that has been the good stuff and should be celebrated. But I disagree. I think those 7 years we had before we got married were filled with good stuff, too. They are what got us to where we are today. I'm proud of them, as well.

I've had more "I love you's" and incredible moments in my life than should be allowed. I've never had to wonder who I could turn to. I've never had to look further than Eric for endless support, guidance and unconditional love. Many times, I've reflected on the path of my life and the series of events that lead my family to Bainbridge Island and me to Eric. If this hadn't happened, or that hadn't been said... The hand of fate was most definitely on my side.

We haven't had all happiness. When life threw us curveballs, we juggled them, not always gracefully. We've stood side-by-side at cemetaries. We've looked over one another in hospital beds. We've fought over work schedules and money and family and diaper changing. I've called him every name in the book (usually during those midnight, sleepless, newborn months), but I can't say the same for him. Eric has been my even keel on this 20 year trip. I don't keep my cool the way he does. I envy that in him, it sucks to have an argument with someone who refuses to dip to your level.

Maybe that doesn't sound like a love letter, but it's the times that put you through the wringer and you still come out the other side together, holding hands that count. I'm proud of that, too.

For many years, I could say I didn't realize the time that was passing, that I still felt 18. I don't feel 18 anymore, I see the wrinkles forming on my forehead, the distinguished looking white hair on Eric's temples. I don't mind it anymore, these things mark the passing of time. It is time we have been lucky enough to spend together.

When you put on miles, you wear down the tread a bit, that's they way it goes. And there's no one I'd rather travel with.

Thanks for these 20 years, Eric. You've made, and continue to make, my dreams come true.

Thanksgiving Through My Girl's Eyes

I tend to overthink and stress myself out over Thanksgiving. We've never had a disaster, we've always had great food, incredible company, but I let myself get bogged down in details and almost always get to the day itself feeling exhausted. And you know what? No one in the course of any Thanksgiving Day has EVER run their fingers over the tops of my picture frames to check for the dust that isn't there... I get to thank Maddie this morning for bringing me back down to what Thanksgiving is, the time we spend with family and why it is a day we look forward to.
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Thanksgiving Wishes - by Maddie Loverich

Every Thanksgiving Day is a fun day in my house. First, we watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. This is my favorite part of Thanksgiving morning. Next our church goes to Raab Park and plays football. It's always so much fun! But then we go home and the house starts getting filled with delightful smells. Those of turkey, stuffing and pie.

My family from my Mom's side usually comes over to eat. They are super funny! It think it runs in the blood.

But my Thanksgiving wish is a really good one. It would make it the best Thanksgiving ever.

My Uncle Tommy and Aunt Tuuli live in New Jersey. Uncle Tommy is super cool. He owns about 3 Harley Davidsons. He also has a hot rod.

But my wish for Thanksgiving is that they would come. That would make the ultimate Thanksgiving.
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To all our family and friends who we can't be with on Thanksgiving, you are here on our minds and in our hearts. I wish everyone a very special day. We are thankful for all of you!

A dozen.

I wanted to write a blog about our 12th anniversary coming up this Sunday. I wanted to write about how over the years, the way we love and the reasons for loving have changed in so many ways. But as I wrote out these intensely personal anecdotes, I realized, part of what makes (at least our) marriage work, is knowing when to speak up and when to shut up - and that is NOT my strong point, believe me, it's taken a lot of work.

Those memories for now, are just for us. Sunday I will celebrate a love that felt all-encompassing at each stage, but entirely different between then and now. I will thank him for not just being my husband, but my partner, my best friend, my anchor. For loving me even when I'm at my worst (I actually think he prefers me at my worst, the wallpaper on his cellphone is me giving him the finger and it makes him laugh every time he looks at it). Still, my favorite part of each day is folding into the crook of his arm at night and knowing he will hold me for the next 8 hours straight.

Happy 12th, Eric. Good stuff.