Self-Portrait

I finally did it! This morning after dropping the kids off to school, I bit the proverbial bullet and headed to the eye doctor.

The verdict: I really like them. Both of them. The Kate Spade sunglasses, staying as far away from Jackie O. as I possibly could. And the glasses ... well, see for yourself:

So? Whatcha think? If you don't like them, don't tell me. I bruise easily. The lenses are a bit strange, made of some state-of-the art material that makes them paper thin (a gift for a nearly blind person such as myself), anti-glare, anti-reflection, anti-anything-you-can-think-of-except-unwanted-fat. But they're strange. I can feel my eyes physically adjusting to them as I turn my head, like a digital camera with auto-focus, zooming in and out until it settles in on something clearly. I am assuming -- hoping -- it's just a matter of time and adjustment. After all, my eyes have been used to the same thing for 12 years. A little zooming in and out must be normal.

Plus, I'm not used to actually seeing something on my face. I can see the dark copper frame. I can feel the weight of it on the bridge of my nose. With my old rimless specs, it was as close to wearing contacts -- or nothing at all! -- that I ever came to. Now, I know I have glasses on. Another adjustment.

But it's all good. I love the sharpness of what I see. And if I had the wit or energy, I'd somehow find a clever way to apply that to life's larger analogies ... but not now. The toilet overflowed this morning as we were heading out the door for school and I had no choice but to leave it. That's my life's larger issue right now.

A Monkey in Action

Remember "The Queen Spot" from two posts ago? I assumed Grace had done some climbing in order to get her "bits" to the top of the bookcase ... and I was right. Later on, I caught her in action:




I'm not sure what I can say ...

A New Per-SPEC-tive

I got the call yesterday afternoon.

My new glasses are ready.

And here I sit, hemming and hawing about when to go. You'd think I would jump at the chance to get them as soon as possible, to ditch my old wobbly specs and walk out a new woman (at least from the neck up). But I'm wondering if I can carve out the time. I'm wondering how many excuses I can find to avoid it.

What IS it about me and this strange compulsion to hang on to things? To avoid getting rid of something old in order to embrace something new? To cling to the familiar because there are no surprises?

Ah, that's it, isn't it ... I've been "me" in these rimless spectacles for 12 years. By donning something new, something edgy, something that will cause people to look at me in a new way, I'm drawing attention to myself. And for years that's exactly what I wanted to avoid. There are no surprises that way.

I can almost hear my friends say, "Do it! Embrace this 'new you,' this new chapter in your life that's opening up before you!" And indeed, that's true ... There are chapters closing and new ones opening very soon. Perhaps this simple gesture of getting new glasses -- a new look for a new chapter -- is an outward embodiment of those changes on my horizon. Oh, I haven't been able to let go yet, to the chagrin of my friends, but it will happen. Perhaps I need to go to the eye doctor ... today ... Get the new glasses and then step through that door.

But I sure do have very strong fingers.
I just need a little prying.

The Queen Spot (Or: Nothing is Sacred)

In the past, I've written several times about the issue of identity -- sometimes having felt that I gave a part of myself up when I became a mother, or a wife, a Pastor's Wife and then not, etc. When I'm optimistic, I consider it a "season," a calling to that role in that particular time, especially in regard to my children. When they're little, as they are now, they're quite demanding. They need help pouring the heavy gallon jug of milk. They need help with tying their shoes, or combing their hair, or -- in Grace's case -- wiping her cute little butt. They need, need, need ... and sometimes being needed can be inexplicably exhausting. When I'm optimistic, this is endearing ... but when I'm not, I need some Advil.

As I get older, I learn more about myself -- what makes me tick, what needs I have, what things I need to grab on to in order to keep myself from going under. One thing that is vitally precious to me is space, elbow room, a place to which I can retreat when I feel those waves lapping at my ears. Lately I've been wondering why I can't seem to recharge, why I can't seem to regain my balance and strength to forge on. And last night, as I walked into the living room and saw my daughter in action, I figured out part of the problem.

It's Grace. She's a gem, a wonder, one of the happiest and most charming little girls I have ever met in my life. She's beautiful in every way ... but that little creature, so small in stature, is larger than life. And at times, that exhausts me. As I looked around my living room, in a rather -- unfortunately -- pessimistic state, I realized that I have no space. I don't have much in this house that is solely mine, for my own enjoyment and respite. Nothing is sacred ... nothing is holy. Nothing, really, is set apart for just me. But it's not for a lack of trying.

I need my own (wo)Man-Cave ... but even if I had one, I know that my darling daughter would infiltrate it, as she has done in every part of our house. Literally. Despite the creation of a playroom, she still finds a way to branch out, to leave her mark everywhere she goes:

You'd think the "Master Bedroom" would be sacred.
It's not.
Grace was adamant that her "art work" needed to adorn our walls.
I don't want to share the reaction when I attempted to take them down.
Apparently this was never intended to be a revolving exhibit.

Even Jack's "space" was invaded, for Grace felt it was imperative that Jack needed direction -- and decoration -- for his dinner, complete with his name (and backwards "J") and "food" and "water" signs, in case he forgot which was which. Cute? You bet. But don't try to remove it, or else.

And last night my jaw dropped as I saw what had been occupying her time for a good part of the afternoon. Her praise music was on, she was singing at the top of her lungs, pausing occasionally to raise her arms and close her eyes before resuming her "work," but she was busy. Very busy. Busy taking over what little space I can call my own.

It's my bookcase. Last year I blogged about this very thing, wanting something that was just mine. Books are precious to me, and I mourn the many, many boxes that sit patiently in the attic, filled with my friends of every variety and genre. I declared to my kids that I had had enough, that my bookcase would no longer house their toys and puzzles and their books. I was reclaiming it for my own. I embarked upon the painful task of selecting only a certain amount of books to bring into the light of day, along with precious old family photos. That very small corner became mine. All mine. Sacred and holy; set apart ... for me.

But I forgot about Grace. I forgot about her need to spread out, to set up, to claim All Things As Her Own. I clearly laid out the parameters, that this bookcase was mine and mine alone. But those huge chocolate-brown eyes ... that sweet little pouty mouth ... I melted. I gave her the bottom shelf.

Last night I saw what happened with my never-ending self-sacrifice. I stood in wonder as I stared at the result of her toil. She was beaming, eyes shining, arms outstretched like Vanna White as she exclaimed, "Look, Mommy! This is for YOU!"

Knee-jerk annoyance immediately mingled with heart-shattering guilt. She created what she calls "The Queen Spot" -- I've been elevated to Queen status, it seems -- and this space was for me. That's the irony, isn't it ... that space was mine, established as I had wanted it, with my things. But somehow, in her Grace-way, it was no longer holy, set apart in the way I desired. It was transformed to her liking, under the guise of it being "my" space. I've never seen anything like this:

"This is a comfy spot for you, Mommy, to take a nap when you're tired." Hmmm ... I think she forgot that I'm 5'8"

Every single shelf is filled with something ... even the very top of the bookcase. To get there, she climbed on the arm of the love seat, and then made her way across the windowsill. Unbelievable.

Once again I must make myself look on the proverbial bright side -- for the first time in my life, when I ask myself, "Who am I, really?" I can answer with certainty:

"I am royalty!"

I don't think she has staked any claim in the bathroom ... yet ... but I do have my standards.

Sigh ...

Therapy

Many times I've stumbled across the phrase, "retail therapy." I guess there could be a "food therapy" as well, depending upon your mood. For me, today ... I needed some therapy. Big time.

I'm too "Dutch" for retail therapy, although trust me when I say that personal denial can be a huge one for me. I do love to shop ... I just don't like spending money.

And yes, there are rare occasions where I say "heck with it, I'm going to chow down on a handful of M&M's" ... but I usually end up regretting it. It's just not worth it. And besides, I went bathing suit shopping yesterday ... I don't think I need to say any more about that. I'm struggling between denying myself M&M's and saying "heck with it" because I'm just too far gone ...

But today I needed therapy. It's been a rough week. A rough couple of weeks. It wasn't any one thing in particular -- although Don's trip to San Francisco threw a hefty monkey wrench into our daily routine, from which we're still trying to reorient and recover. I think that's my problem, though -- I am constantly reorienting and recovering. And for a girl who doesn't adjust well -- or quickly -- to change, this constant flux keeps me swirling. And I'm worn out.

I wanted to sign up for a yoga class ... but I ended up bailing because of the too-many instances where Don had to work late, of course on my yoga night and no other. I plan on doing something in particular on a given morning, only to find out that something shifted and I can't. You get the idea. One after another, ebbing and flowing, ever-changing. I can't keep up.

Our weather hasn't been helping. I think it has rained for a week straight. We're stuck indoors, claustrophobic, sun-deprived. Being Friday, it all caught up to me. I cried quite a bit in the car this morning, despite my best efforts to keep it all together. I vented to the steering wheel. I have a splitting headache. After spending some time at church getting some last-minute work done, I went home and vacuumed. Then I cleaned a few windows -- anything to make me feel as if I accomplished something. Therapy.

But it wasn't enough. I felt as if I was drowning. I decided to escape for a while, to shut it all out and take a nap. Therapy. But even that didn't work so well, with Grace waking me up because AppleTV froze. Then my mom walked in. Ugh ... what a day ...

I had enough. I needed therapy of a different sort, for bathing suit shopping just added to the dark cloud above my head, and the handful of M&M's made me a bit nauseous. The sky was gray, but I didn't care. I needed to work in my garden.

I grabbed Grace's hand and jumped into the car, speeding to Home Depot. I hadn't mapped out my garden yet, but I figured I could at least purchase some vegetables. Roma and grape tomatoes, eggplant, and red and green bell peppers. Cilantro and basil for the herb pot. And I just couldn't pass up the 99-cent geraniums of the prettiest colors. Oh, did that feel good.

Oh, you just know there's a snafu in the mix. I picked up the red pepper and as I was preparing to put it into the ground, I glanced at the tag. JALAPENO. What the heck???!! Oh, how I despise things that are placed in the wrong section, the shelf declaring "Sweet Red Bell Peppers" and this one rogue Jalapeno stuffed in the mix. I seem to recall last year's similar snafu, with Ichiban eggplant filling our garden, when the sign expressly said "Black Beauty" ...

Who cares. I planted it anyway. We'll just have more Mexican food than usual this summer. The sun came out, and Grace played happily in Bug World (or, rather, Mud World). It was hot and muggy (a far cry from the chilly weather we've been having) but I didn't care. My therapy was working. It was muddy indeed, but it felt good. It smelled good. It looks good.

I don't feel as if I'm in control of my life during this "season." I'm constantly a few steps behind, always trying to catch up and never quite making it. I don't thrive well in that kind of environment. But today, getting muddy in my garden, everything was OK. It was a good day. This is my kind of therapy.

May Miscellany

Are we really, truly halfway through the month of May? What an odd, odd year this is turning out to be. I'm sitting here on a chilly, dreary, rainy day wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. In mid-May. I've barely touched my garden, save for that one beautiful must-work-in-the-yard kind of day. Last year, at this very same time, this is what I saw outside my window:




In other news ...

A SAD DOG DAY
Our dear Jack is getting old. Our vet believes he's getting senile as well, due to the lovely conversation we had about his -- ah -- eating habits in the back yard. He's simply doing gross things that even dogs don't usually do. I've even caught him trying to scrape off a dead, dried-out worm that had gotten plastered onto the sidewalk. That's not what I'd call a "normal" dog snack.

About two weeks ago it finally dawned on me that Jack wasn't simply ignoring me when I would call him away from some nasty tidbit. After a few experiments, I came to the sad realization that Jack is now deaf, or at least losing his hearing. For about a week I watched him sadly, my heart breaking for my poor dog. He was depressed, his already-sad-looking big brown eyes looking even more forlorn. His ears remained flat -- no "radar ears," as my kids say -- not even a twitch when I said his favorite words like "food" or "walk." Nothing. Head down; tail down. It broke my heart.

Thankfully, though, I believe some of his hearing is returning. He had been suffering from the worst ear infection he'd ever had, so I think some of that was temporary -- either due to the infection or the medication. He now barks at the doorbell again; he looks up when I clap. He's not 100%, though, nor will he ever be. Jack is an old dog. I know I have a heart that is sometimes too big, too soft, too breakable. And Jack has wiggled his way into completely it, making this all the more difficult.

Jack will be 12 on June 4. 84 years old in "people years." In a way, it shouldn't be a surprise that he can't hear and is scraping petrified worms off the sidewalk. All sorts of oddities go on in nursing homes, I'm sure. But it's hard to watch. It's hard to know what's coming someday. I'm not so sure I agree with Alfred Lord Tennyson: "'Tis better to have loved and lost / Than never to have loved at all."


TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE
Yes, that was the question for me. Oh, I could see all right -- it was more of the fact that I hadn't gotten my eyes check in 12 years! And yes, in case you were wondering, my glasses are also 12 years old. My prescription sunglasses -- ahem! -- go back even farther, to the good old Seminary days of 1996! Right ... time for new glasses. If you recall, I tried to venture down this path last summer, but with school starting shortly thereafter (or shall we just name it for what it is? Cowardice? Fear of change?!) I never made it back. But leave it to my family to hold my feet to the proverbial fire ... and of course, who could EVER resist Grace's subliminal messages to me?

Yes, every single day Grace dons her glasses. She even wears them to school. I took the hint, and took the plunge. I figured that if I'm making a change, I might as well embrace it completely. Rimless? Nah. That's so 1998. I've gone for metallic -- copper, to be exact, the same shade as my hair. Funky. Angular. Quite "in your face." But I think it's the right choice -- I hope it's the right choice -- because I'm banking on Don's comment in response to my (albeit unfairly loaded) question:

"If you didn't know me and saw me walking down the street, what would you think?"
(Incorrect answer would be: Ugh, there's a Soccer Mom wearing dumb glasses.")

He beamed. "I'd think you must be a very interesting person. I'd be intrigued. And I'd really want to get to know you."

Bingo! I should be getting them this week. Update to follow!


HE'S THERE, I'M HERE
All right, all right ... I will confess. I'm jealous. Really jealous. I'm here in cold, dreary NJ. Don is in beautiful San Francisco, CA. And in typical Don-fashion, he documents his goings-on, emailing photos or little videos of what he's seen, including what he eats. There is no malice to his sharing; I know he wishes we were with him. I wish that too. This is what I see in NJ:


This is what Don sees in CA:

The Golden Gate Bridge

Chinatown

He/We have a "thing" for churches

Not unlike SoHo ...

Alcatraz

I like this quote by Erica Jong: "Jealousy is all the fun you think they had."

In this case, it's fun that I KNOW he's having ...

A Day at the Races (You're Gonna Love This)

Disclaimer #1: most of the photos you are about to view are ... well, just pretty dang horrible. I don't know what happened to the camera, but nothing was working right. So ... deal with the blurry.

Disclaimer #2: There are some serious Mom-Bragging-Rights going on in this post, so be forewarned!

After many weeks, the kids' swimming lessons came to an end yesterday in grand fashion: the highly anticipated races. Each class participates in three races: the kickboard, freestyle, and the backstroke (or a modified version of each), down the length of the pool. I was so excited for this event, as I had missed last year's Big Day, and with camera in hand, I was all set to cheer my little swimmers on.

I kept my expectations fairly low. It's safer than way. Thinking logically, I knew that Aidan was bumped up into a "higher" level this year, and found himself with a group of boys who have been doing this for quite a bit longer than he has. He was no longer at the top of his class ... and if you know Aidan, that's not always a good (tear-less) place to be. Throughout the season, however, he never seemed to be bothered that the other boys were "better" so I was holding on to that hope of some wonderful, maturing growth in that area.

Then there's Grace ... I seem to preface quite a few of her recountings with that phrase. This is the little girl who, last year, screamed deafeningly for two weeks; the little girl who last year refused to get her head wet (once the screaming calmed down). This is the little girl who this year finally embraced the idea of swimming (thank goodness!) and eagerly got into the pool, yet still seemed loathe the idea of sticking her face in this water. And this is the same little girl who, about three weeks ago, finally -- finally! -- had it all click and fall together ... and she's been swimming. REALLY swimming.




The first race was set to go: the kickboard. Grace, up first, took the second lane, with her favorite coach, Brian, next to her for support. She positioned her arms on the board, eyes straight ahead, face (surprisingly) full of Olympian concentration. I couldn't believe that this was my same happy-to-lucky, carefree girl. She looked fiercely determined, and as the loud speaker blared the staring horn, off she went ... like a motorboat. I was stunned. Her eyes never wavered from the opposite wall 25 meters away, and she made a steady beeline straight head, leaving her classmates -- literally -- in her wake. She hit the wall; Brian cheered; my friend Mary and I went a little wild. Her classmates were still at the halfway mark. Brian lifted her out of the pool, grinning ear to ear, and she received her First Place ribbon. First Place. Grace. I never thought those two things would ever go together.

Ready to jump in, with no fear whatsoever.

Eyes forward, focused ...

... never once turning away.

Brian checking out the competition ... no threat whatsoever.

After waiting for a few more groups, it was Aidan's turn. Using the kickboard is not his strong suit, so I knew early on he wasn't going to finish anywhere near the top. I prayed that he would be OK with whatever place he received. To complicate matters, he is suffering terribly from allergies, and even came home sick on Monday. This boy was not at his best ... it showed. He too had Coach Brian by his side, and all of the cheering and prompting didn't seem to help. He was slow, looking around at his opponents, gliding as if in a daze. He came in 5th out of 6 spots, and thankfully he came out of the water all smiles, congratulating his sister on her first place success and saying, "I'll do better in the next race." That's my boy!



The second race was freestyle, something Grace only "caught on" to a few weeks ago. I frankly wasn't sure how she would do, and she certainly wasn't as strong as she had been just two days prior. But that same focus was there, that determination as she plowed ahead ... right into first place again!

Aidan did quite well too on the freestyle, his long thin arms powering him forward, gliding quite beautifully and methodically in the water. Fourth place. More smiles.

The final race was the backstroke. Grace hadn't practiced much of this, so thankfully the smaller kids were allowed to hang on to the kickboard, on their backs, and just kick their way down the lane. Again, I wasn't sure how she would do since they didn't focus on this too much in her class. This race was hilarious. The horn blared and off she went. I couldn't believe her speed. When she was about 5 feet from the wall, Brian looked behind ... and the rest of the pack were only about a quarter of the way down the pool. It was amazing. First place once again!

Notice that Grace has gotten out of the water, walked halfway around the pool to get to me, posed for the camera ... and there is still a classmate in the pool!

Aidan enjoys the backstroke, so I knew he would do quite well in this race. He displayed once again how graceful he is in the water. No wild splashing -- just smooth strokes, perfectly timed. It was an exciting race, as Aidan and another boy soon pulled away from the rest of the group, neck and neck down the lanes. First and second were up for grabs. Finally, at the last few feet, the other boy -- older and taller than Aidan -- inched forward and won by a hand's length. Aidan was overjoyed. He knew how close he was to winning and, thankfully (surprisingly!) that was enough for him. He proudly held up his second place ribbon.

What a day at the races ... I was thrilled, and the kids were absolutely bursting with pride at their efforts. Both now are eagerly looking forward to the extended class, another three weeks of lessons that I'm signing them up for today. They don't want to break their momentum, and neither do I.

This was a great, proud Mom-moment ... and a truly wonderful moment for my kids. I love this last photo, taken in the car as we pulled up in front of the house, which sums up the afternoon perfectly. What a triumph for both of them!

Aaahhhhhhhh ...

Yes, you read that correctly. You might even have heard it, that happy exhale of delight wafting through the air. Spring -- real spring -- has come to NJ. Not those strange days of wearing wool sweaters in April. Not those depressing days of cold, cold rain day after long day. Yesterday was Spring Perfection, and we milked it completely.

While my dad continues to recover from his seed implant procedure for prostate cancer, he had to relinquish the chore of lawn mowing to Don, who was more than happy to spend those few hours outdoors. I spent the day swapping out sweaters for t-shirts, corduroys for capris. All of the windows were open; the house was finally aired out.

We spent part of the afternoon at the beautiful wedding of my brother's wife's sister (got that?), a perfect day for such an affair. The kids were so excited to attend, as it was their first wedding. Grace especially was ecstatic, wearing her fanciest dress complete with a large plastic jeweled ring and headband adorned with an enormous blue flower. When we returned home, I couldn't resist the call of my own personal Siren. I just had to jump into the garden.

Each year I find myself posting several blog entries about my garden -- its plan, its progression, its fruition. I guess I just can't help myself. Yesterday I did a complete walk-through for the first time, inspecting every square inch. I pulled weeds (and my goodness, were there weeds!), I searched for slugs (and couldn't find a single one! Hallelujah!), I separated and transplanted a few things. I was overjoyed to find that my lovely clematis, which had suddenly just "up and died" last summer, is returning! My hands were dirty, as I had forgotten to wear gloves, but I don't mind that one bit. I drafted the kids into helping with the weeds, and they did a great and thorough job.

We finished the evening with the first fire of the season, putting the kids to bed and enjoying each other's company on the patio. OK, we did have to call the cops at one point on some insanely insensitive neighbor two blocks away who was blaring some horrifically awful synthesizer music (Don took a walk to find out where it was coming from -- it was beyond bad!), but other than that it was a perfect evening.

Yesterday was medicinal for me.
It's a metamorphosis I forget how much I look forward to, and completely embrace, each year.
I felt absolutely fantastic.

Outdoor Living is officially ready to go!

The vegetable bed, now prepped and weed-free and ready for beans!
And yes, that's rhubarb on the right -- I've never seen it so full this early in the season.

About a month ago I transplanted the astilbe. It was in a previous bed that just got too much sun and it was burning. I think it's very happy here.

I should have taken a picture of this bed a few weeks ago in its prime. The splash of color was magnificent.

For Sandy:
Remember last year's pathetic "dwarf lilac?" To my surprise, it's doing incredibly well!

A fun re-creation:
A few things died in this front bed, including a beautiful tuft of ornamental grass. I had fun playing around in this space yesterday, sinking a large pot and transplanting some lavender. I was happy to see two of my three creeping geraniums return. This will be a fun space, I think, with lots of different textures and color. Stay tuned ...

Anniversary Getaway ... A Lifetime Ago

Or so it seems! It always amazes me how quickly you can slip right back into "normalcy" and let those wonderful yet brief highlights defy time and feel as if it happened ages ago. Thankfully I have a good memory ...

We left off at A Day at The Met, an exhausting yet exhilarating day, satisfying the History Geek inside of us to last for quite some time. After a recuperative nap in the late afternoon, we donned our finery and headed out toward our anniversary dinner destination: Maze.

No, not The London as we had planned, and longed, for. Due to "staffing issues" (more on that later!) they graciously gave us a spot at their "daughter" restaurant in the same hotel. Smaller, more "casual," and (thankfully, despite Don's constant reprimand, "Stop worrying about the prices - this is our anniversary!") a great deal less expensive! As we arrived and were ushered to our table, I was once again reminded that even Murphy's Snafu's can turn out to our advantage. This was one of those cases. Beautiful, elegant, and -- after both selecting the Chef's Five Course Menu -- fantastically delicious.

Don had told them ahead of time that it was our anniversary, so between that special affair and their bending over backwards to be accommodating for screwing up our original plans, we were treated like royalty. I stopped counting the number of times the hostess apologized, or that we were thanked profusely for our patience and understanding and willingness to dine at Maze (for Pete's sake, people, this isn't McDonald's! Our arms did not need to be twisted!). We were given several complimentary tasting dishes tucked in between the courses (I do love their Appeasement Policy!), as well as a few extra sweet treats during the dessert course. Yes, we were won over, completely.

Ah, but there's more ... As we finished up, the hostess (I'm sure there's a much fancier, French term for her job) came by and asked if we would like a private tour of the kitchen. Ummmm ... YEAH! What a great surprise! It was fascinating for us, both of us great fans of cooking (and, of course, eating) and being able to see first-hand the inner workings of a professional kitchen. Busy, quiet (no Gordon Ramsay shout-fest there), focused, and extremely intense. That was truly the proverbial icing on the cake for us.

8:30 pm ... what do we do now? My normal inclination is to put on my PJ's and read a book or veg in the front of the TV, winding down my very busy day. But not in NY ... not on this trip. The party is just getting started! After going back to the hotel and changing our clothes, we walked the 6-7 blocks to the heart of the action: Times Square. Bright as day, loud, busy, swarming -- absolutely swarming! -- with people, all having fun, all with smiles on their faces. It was truly a different life. We spent about an hour and half walking around, soaking it all in, until I had to "cry uncle" and succumb to my inner introvert starting to protest. Too much chaos, too much energy all at once. I was being sucked dry. Time to recuperate and recharge my inner batteries. But it was all utterly fantastic.


Thursday came quickly, the day we had to leave. We took the subway to SoHo, a very different feel from where we were staying and spending more of our time. More quiet, more accessible, quite edgier ... definitely more my style. We grabbed a "light" breakfast of pastries and coffee and sat on a bench, Don completely energized and me trying to wake up. We strolled (and salivated) through Dean & Deluca, window-shopped up and down Broadway, and finished out our adventure at a tiny, grungy, yet absolutely delicious taco joint where part of me truly wished I could indulge my gluttonous side and devour more than I had in front of me. With tired resignation we boarded the subway once again and returned to the hotel.

Oh, the "staffing issues" we kept hearing about? We found out the answer. On the subway back to the hotel, I happened to glance at a passenger across the aisle from us who was reading The New York Post. Splashed across the page was the headline "Hell's Kitchen," with Gordon Ramsay's picture next to another photo of an Asian female chef. This woman is apparently bringing charges against the Executive Chef of The London for sexual discrimination. The entire staff walked out of the kitchen. No staff, no dinner reservation. "Staffing issues," indeed!

That last day, it figures, was absolutely perfect. No rain like Tuesday, no gray mist like Wednesday. Sunshine, warmth, perfection. Ah, so it happens. We quietly, tiredly, packed our belongings, and headed home.

Three days ... packed full of adventure, excitement, and US. We did what we wanted to do; we took in the sights that we wanted to see. No time constraints, no worrying if the kids were getting bored or tired, no calling it quits far too early because the kids had had enough. I was allowed to be me for a little while, to indulge myself as much as I wanted to. And as the train crossed the river and I began to once again see the familiar sites of NJ towns passing by, I was slowly but surely making that transformation, shedding that Other Me and being enveloped by Motherhood. I began to look forward to picking my kids up from school, seeing their exuberant faces as they ran to us and wrapped their little arms around our waists. They eagerly listened to our recap; they told us how much they missed us.

Yes, I suppose you can be two people at once. And I will forever remember those three days, just the two of us, creating memories that last.