gratitude-a-thon day 108: replacement moms

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My mom, Luigina Constantina Gabriela Rotello Friedman.

My mom has been gone for a long time now (22 years). But that doesn’t mean that I haven’t been mothered since her departure. Aside from her husky voice, which has an oceanside cottage in my head, and makes me laugh, and often guides my moral compass, I have had a lot of mommying from generous relatives and friends over the years. It’s particularly hard not to have a mom when you become a mom, and luckily many people were at the ready, understanding how painful and lonely that can be. Today, I want to say thank you to them. I want to say “Happy Mother’s Day,” because there were times, when being orphaned was not pretty and not fun, but you made it prettier and funner (and yes, I know this isn’t a word) and my appreciation runs deep.

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This is my Aunt Chris. Jake and Ally used to call her Aunt “Kiss.” Since my hard disk crash and my scanner issues, this is the best photo could I share. Anyway, she is the best.

My Aunt Chris, one of my mom’s besties, has always been right there for me, head cheerleader, ready for a good conversation, a pat on the back, a memory of my mother we could laugh or cry about. She played grandma to my kids and made me feel less of the loss of my own maternal link when I was in desperate need of the kind of nurturing only a mother can give. Plus, she and I have always wondered if we were actually related, because we share so many physical characteristics. She is my Aunt by marriage, but in my book, she is blood.

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Barbara has been in my life forever.

My cousin Barbara was very close to my mom and losing her was a terrible loss for her, too. But she was present for me and helped me through some of the difficult and sad times in my children’s early childhoods, when not having a mother was intensely painful. With gifts and cards, and calls and visits, Barbara gave me some much needed mothering, and my kids some amazing attention.

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We’re the same age, but she played my mom for a few years, there.

My college friend Jane played mom to me a lot when my mom first died. For a year, I battled the tears and pain of her loss (adding to the sadness was finding out I was infertile, and that my mother-in-law had left my father-in-law for her high school boyfriend and was now living in Hawaii all within a month of my mom’s death–good times). Jane would make me laugh, let me cry, pop over when I needed a hug, and in general dole out the kind of love my mom would have given me, if only she weren’t dead. She never had kids, but for a few years there, she had me.

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Joan & Sue. Well, they’ve always had my back.

My sisters, Susan and Joni have always taken care of me. Without those two, losing my mom would have been intolerable. What would I have done without my sister Susan bringing sacks full of gifts for the kids on Christmas Even (nothing in said sack with less than 500 pieces, by the way), celebrating birthdays and holidays with my children, and always keeping my mom alive by talking about her, so that my kids at least got some sense of this woman who was so special, but that they would never meet. My sister Joni was the person who was there with me everyday visiting my mom in the hospice and helping her to let go. It was a collaboration I will never forget. And through the years, she has been with me for the birth of both of my children, and every significant and insignificant event in my life. I can’t really imagine life without her.

There have been others. Every good friend I’ve ever had has been mom to me at one time or another. Because when you lose your mom, you get to choose your mom. And if you’re lucky, like I’ve been, replacements are there when you need them. Thanks to all of those who showed up for me over the years, for sharing your love with me and making me feel like I had a mother, even when I didn’t. It mattered.

gratitude-a-thon day 107: mother’s day

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I think about my mom a lot. I’m guessing if I really paid attention, that I probably think of her everyday. That might seem impossible, but I think it’s probably right. I don’t mean, I sit around and cry that she’s gone every morning (although, honestly, I could work myself up to it if I allowed it) I just mean, that something about her pops into my world once a day. It might be something she said often, like, “Put two feet in one shoe and march,” her words of encouragement when you needed to get through something difficult. It might be the way she rubbed my hair after dinner when we were watching tv together. It might be the way she always took off the top of her fish sandwich when we ate McDonald’s every Saturday after Miss Burdett’s ballet class, or it might be the perfect serenity and contentedness of her face on the beach in Cape Cod, in her bathing suit, staring out at the water. They (you know, the general “they”) say that the dead are always with you. And while it’s not much consolation when you are losing someone, or have just endured their loss, I think it does end up in the end to be true. My mom seems to be in my air space most of the time, and she has for the 22 years she has been gone. I conjure her image when I’m making meatballs, or cutting garlic. I think of her when I’m playing “I”m the only one who ever cleans this house” martyr queen. And every time my kids do something extraordinary that makes me want to burst with happy, I think of how amazed she would be that this woman of Italian immigrant parents had grandchildren who did the things they do, and are the people they are.

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Being a mother is so much bigger and more important than the thought so many people put into it when they get pregnant. With no education, prerequisites, licenses, or special books required, being a mother can happen to those who aren’t even interested in nursing a glass of wine. But those who choose to be mothers, who consider what being a mother will ask, are kind of ridiculously remarkable. Because the experience is like no other, and has changed me in ways that I still fully don’t understand. It asks so much of you and it gives so much back to you, that it changes your very DNA. It expands your heart like an air pump expands a balloon, right up to the point, where you think it might pop. It demands patience and kindness and guts and pain tolerance, and a huge capacity for joy and disappointment in equal measure. It’s, to steal a phrase from the Peace Corp., “the toughest job you’ll ever love.”

The most incredible thing about being a mother is the power you have. A sentence that slips out of your mouth nonchalantly can resonate with your kid in such a way that it guides their whole lives. I’m pretty loose lipped, so I am expecting some of my words to bite me in the behind in the near future. But mostly, I am hoping that I will be remembered as a mother who tried really hard, and loved really fiercely.

Just like my mom.

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So, here’s to you, ladies, who play taxi, and chef, and cheerleader and counselor, and warden, and fashion consultant, and repository for anger, frustration and general pissed off-ness. Raising a glass to you on Sunday’s day of the mom. Congratulations today, and everyday.

gratitude-a-thon day 106: fonts

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I love type. Not typewriters, but type, although I do really like the old ones, and have an Underwood in my spare bedroom gathering dust, but that I can’t part with because it’s so darn cute. I am an advertising copywriter, which means that I’ve been around type and fonts for more than two decades, but I think it started even before I worked in advertising. I think it started when I was a kid, and I used to enjoy making different kinds of letters with my bic pens, or number two pencils. I  was always making bubble letters, or creating my own fonts, or tyring to perfect my script, with Mrs. Quigley, the penmanship teacher who came once a month to Frank A. Berry school and taught us how to write in perfect formal curly cues. She was very fancy and sort of flamboyant and had cat glasses that she wore low on her nose, and blonde, highly teased and sprayed hair.  I’m quite certain script is no longer taught (and what does one major in, by the way to teach script), given that the cuts that are starving so many schools of music and art. And while it seems pretty funny that we actually had a special someone come to our school for the sole purpose of teaching us script writing, it’s also a little bit romantic, too. Computers seem to have made writing with a pen or pencil a thing of the past, but I still covet someone’s perfect letters, distinctive alphabet. My friend Sharon Morgera always had exceptionally beautiful handwriting when we were growing up. Now she has created a business where she uses her amazingly gorgeous handwriting to do invitations and maps and anything else that could use her steady and creative hand. She also does beautiful illustrations, too. And then there’s my friend Stephanie Peterson Jones, who’s handwriting I also coveted growing up. She is wildly talented and has had a few different careers, but she has always been an illustrator at heart. She has done children’s books and posters and paintings. I still love getting a card from her, which she will make for me, and I cherish, because I love her, but also because her writing is so familiar and pretty.

There’s a movie called Helvetica, which is about fonts and which I have surprisingly not seen yet. Helvetica Neue Extra Light is one of my favorite fonts. I’m also partial to American Typewriter. Lately I’ve been into Reed and Buttermilk. And I love any font which looks handcrafted.There are people who are famous for having created fonts, which I would one day like to be, but doesn’t it seem like everything you could do with a lines and curves has already been done?

Yesterday I bought a whole bunch of new fonts from MyFonts. I went on a little spree. I can’t wait to use them. It’s like getting jewelry for my computer. And you know how I feel about jewelry.

gratitude-a-thon day 106: SPPRAK attack in Terre Haute

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=gtm_-Y7aEDAhttp://

I caught this report on the news the other night and I thought it was a good one to share (yes, I occasionally watch Brian Williams). SPPRAK stands for Special People Performing Random Acts of Kindness. I have written about this sort of thing before, because I think it’s something all of us can do everyday, with a minimal amount of effort, that could actually make the world a better version of itself. And I don’t just mean that we’d all have a better day, which we would, but that eventually, our societal DNA might morph into something that was more thoughtful and responsible. And that, in turn, might make us a more gentle people, and that might make us an improved world leader, which could change the whole damn show for the better.

I’m going to throw something out here. Do something small, but nice for a stranger, or even someone you know today, and tell me about it. You don’t have to play along, but seriously, imagine if we all did that everyday? Feels like a presidential platform if you ask me. Just imagine……..

gratitude-a-thon day 105: finding the lost

Yesterday I had one of those funny things happen that gives you a big surprise dose of gratitude. It’s so great that you don’t even have to focus on finding the gratitude, it just presents itself in your lap like a super pretty gift box with a big freaking bow on it.

Last Christmas Peter gave me a pair of earrings from Tiffany. So sweet, right? I love him for doing it. I am a jewelry whore, so he tries to indulge, but I hated the earrings. I tried to like them. I put them under my hair, I put them outside my hair, I looked at them with squinty eyes, but I still hated them. They were not at all my style. Ugh! I hated to spit in the face of his efforts, but I had to tell him that they just kind of weren’t me and I was going to take them back.

So, I took them back and bought one of those sweet Diamonds by the Yard bracelets that’s a Tiffany classic. I wore it three times before realizing it had gone missing. I realized it after going to brunch with a friend. I called her to search her car. Like a bloodhound, I hunted my house, my clothes, the street where the restaurant was. I called the scene of the bracelet’s last wearing, but they hadn’t found it. I had a very deep shag rug in my room at the time. I raked that thing with my fingers dozens of times. But nothing, except once I found a safety pin. I would have given myself a spanking, but I couldn’t reach my big butt. I was so angry. So annoyed with myself.

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I took back a pair of dog ugly earrings from Peter and bought this delicate little beauty, which I promptly lost.

Anyway, life went on, and sometime I would have delusions of finding the bracelet somewhere when I was cleaning, like it would magically appear. I have had this happen twice with jewelry. I once had a Janine Payer necklace that I was madly in love with because it said (in teeny tiny writing) “See the world as yourself. Have faith in the way things are. Love the world as yourself; then you can care for all things.” Plus it was just really pretty. I thought I had lost it coming back from a massage. I had concocted a story that it fell out of my bag, where I shoved it because I realized I was late for a meeting and hadn’t put it on, but instead jammed it half heartedly into a pocket of my handbag in order to speed things up. Well, when I couldn’t find it, I called Stephanie, the massage person, I went back to the street and hunted on the ground (with all sorts of people looking at me like I was mentally ill). I turned my bag inside out. And after a few weeks, I gave up. A year later, when I went to get out my beach bag that had sunscreen and stuff in it, there it was. I had instantly remembered taking Ally and a friend to the beach and taking it off and putting it in this little net sunscreen bag. But prior to that, I had made up this whole other story (which I admit, is really weird, and maybe the people watching me hunt for it on the ground, where it had never fallen to begin with, were right in their assessment of my mental health).

The other time I had this happen, which was really quite astounding, was with a tiny gold pair of earrings that had a little diamond in them and which I had fallen hopelessly in love with. I splurged on them and paid way to much for them because of their designer name. The very first time I wore them, I lost one. I had been shopping for a friend’s birthday gift and had literally gone to six stores. So, I went back to every single one of those stores in search of this miniscule gold disc, but are you kidding, even if it was somewhere, I would never have found it. I eradicated my car of all dirt in the search. I went through every area of every area of my house. I came up empty. Despondent, a few weeks later, I sheepishly went back to the store and told my story. They ordered me a new one, meaning that I was spending even more for these stupid earrings than the more I had already spent. A YEAR LATER. A YEAR. I was in the kitchen, looked down and there sparkling on the floor, WHERE I’D LOOKED A MILLION TIMES, AND WHICH HAD BEEN VACUUMED AND WASHED A MILLION TIMES was the earring. I couldn’t even believe it. So much so, that I actually thought it might be the new one. I went upstairs to check, but saw that no, indeed it was the original earring. I now had three. I never figured out how this happened, except that maybe it had been hooked on the broom or a piece of clothing and had traveled to the kitchen on an item, showing up to shock the pants off of me!

Ok, so back to yesterday. I was having a couple of rugs cleaned. I had ordered them to be cleaned on the premises, but I was grocery shopping when the guys came, and my husband was handling it. When I walked onto the porch, the guys were carrying the rugs out. We had a little back and forth about how they were supposed to be cleaned in the house, and then we went through the process and I was irked, because this was not my phone conversation or order, and i decided because the guy was telling me about not being able to get out all the spots, that the long shag rug in my bedroom might be a lost cause, because Riley had puked on it. So, they took it out of the van to assess, and the minute they did, I saw a glint of silver in the sun and in a rush of hope, I retrieved the Tiffany bracelet, from the shag!!!!!!!!!! I COULD NOT HAVE BEEN MORE SUPRISED IF RILEY HAD SAID, “WOULD SOMEONE PLEASE GET MY FOOD, I DON’T HAVE HANDS?” IN WORDS INSTEAD OF BARKS.

Anyway, major GRATITUDE sprung from my lips. Even the two rug guys were thrilled! It was a moment of unexpected, completely out of the blue GLEE. I marvel at how many times that rug was vacuumed and how many times I had literally, on hands and knees, sifted through the shag with my fingers, while all the while that bracelet was hiding, in plain site. I told the guy to be careful with the rug, who knew what else he’d find it, there could be body. I love how if I hadn’t had to re-examine the worth of cleaning that rug, I would not have found the darn bracelet. I love how every moment mattered in this awesome discovery. Obviously, I really need to fasten jewelry to my body better, or stop wearing it. Although the days of finding items I’ve lost do give me a jolt of gratitude that’s pretty magical, so maybe I’ll just carry on as is.

gratitude-a-thon day 104: sunday with my boy

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It started with needing to get a new iphone for Jake. It ended with having spent an unexpected and perfect day with my son.

Yesterday was one of those days that I won’t forget, and worthy of a gratitude-a-thon, but not really spent doing anything that could be described as spectacular. I had a day with my boy. And while we did nothing out of the ordinary, it was exceptionally special.

Ally and Peter left for a soccer game in Maine, so they were going to be out of the picture until 10ish. Jake had shattered the face of his eye phone the day before, which needed emergency attending to, and I had also promised him some new shorts, so a shopping trip was in order. We went to the Chestnut HIll Mall for Apple triage (it wasn’t that easy, unfortunately), followed by a cruise through J. Crew and Vineyard Vines. On the way home, we stopped at Portobello Road for a birthday gift for a friend, the AT&T store, for more phone surgery, and finally La Rotisserie for lunch outside in the sun. Once home, we made the necessary calls to get a new iphone delivered to us, but found instead that we had purchased Apple care at the AT&T store, which meant we could drive back to Apple and get a phone for a tidy sum of $50. (Why exactly Apple and AT&T didn’t know this is still a question I have.) And while I was fairly sure that Apple was not open, the idea of not having a phone for the night, let alone the next day, was an impossibility that coerced Jake into convincing me to  drive my sorry ass back to the mall.

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Jake and Jessie at the BMC gala the night before.

And speaking of driving, Jake did it. Now, he does not have his license, but he is doing the necessary time behind the wheel in order to get it in the next month. Peter has been doing all his driving with him, and it was only the night before, when we went to the Boston Medical Center gala that I experienced Jake in the driver’s seat. Astonished, I had to admit, after witnessing his instincts on Storrow Drive and in the Ted Williams tunnel, that he was actually a good, solid driver. Anyway, he drove the whole day, and it was great not worrying about where my keys were, since they were in his pocket. Of course, I was right, and the mall closed at 6:00, so we got a consolation prize and headed to Pinkberry for dinner. Once home, when Jake should have been finishing his senior paper, we instead chose to watch an action movie. Neither of us wanted the day to end. We both acknowledged what a truly great day it had been, and I could tell he had the same warm and fuzzy feeling inside that I had. It was that simple, and that perfect, all at the same time.

The thing is, that I don’t just love my son in that parental way that we love our children, I LIKE HIM, TOO. He’s smart and charming and funny. And he is practically always a good time to be with. We get each other in a way that is unusual and amazing. We’re quite similar and it allows being with each other to be as easy as breathing. We talked about a bunch of stuff, some important, some just mundane. At one point, I cried about how much I would miss him, and he assured me that he would miss me too. I told him how much I liked him, and he told me how much he liked me, as well, both agreeing how different, and in some ways, more powerful this is than loving someone. He told me he couldn’t believe what amazing parents he’d gotten to have. And I believe him, because despite the early year of being in A.D.D. land with him, this kid has been a privilege and a pleasure to raise.

Anyway, that’s it. That was my day. There were lots of other moments that I will keep close and pull out next year when he is in college. But yesterday was one of those perfect days of grabbing the moment and making it sing. So grateful to know Jake. So fucking grateful to be his mom.

gratitude-a-thon day 103: Sir Ken Robinson & creativity

 

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http://video.ted.com/talk/podcast/2006/None/SirKenRobinson_2006.mp4http://

I am mad for Sir Ken Robinson. He’s not only a brilliant proponent of creativity, he’s also an entertaining speaker. Plus he has a British accent. The guy is very funny. Here he is in a great clip talking about creativity in education, or I should say, a lack thereof,  something I’m fascinated with. This is worthy of the time it will take you to watch it. Cheers to Sir Ken.

gratitude-a-thon day 102: barack’s bangs

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4UNnA-mLuSchttp://

I have been crazy in love with our president since the day he started running his campaign eight years ago. And what’s better than a super cool, smart guy? A super cool, smart, FUNNY guy. I laugh at this picture every time I see it. Check out an excerpt from the Correspondence Dinner. Love you, Barack. With bangs, or without ’em!