It makes me sad to think that his memory grows more distant with each passing day. It’s hard for me to remember all the great times we shared when I was a small child. Instead, I tend to remember how sick he was during the last years of his life. I have such a vivid picture of him sitting patiently at the dialysis machines, wondering how much longer his body could withstand kidney failure, on top of his other medical ailments.

But on days like today, I look up at the beautiful blue Boise sky and envision him sitting there with a smirky smile on his face. I wish he could come visit, even if only for a day. He would be surprised to see adding machines replaced by computers, cars with keyless locks, TV with endless channels and no smoking signs everywhere. I wonder if he’d be excited to see so many baseball games to watch, replacing the Cardinals broadcast by radio.

He left me single, living alone, pursuing my career; and I know he much he would enjoy meeting my family and seeing the sights of my new home. He would have so much fun playing with Luke, buying him a coke, and tossing balls to him in the back yard. He’d enjoy his soccer games, much like he loyally drove to see my basketball games. He’d love talking sports with Rob. He’d shower my dogs with affection. In a nutshell, I think he’d be real proud. And he’d go back upstairs after the day’s visit with a real feeling of contentment.

I know today he’s tossing balls to Shelby, and when she wears out, she’s sitting loyally by his feet. I know he watches out for me, gets sad when I cry, laughs when I’m dancing with Luke in the living room, and smiles with pride when good things come my way.

I wish he hadn’t left the earth so early in my life. But he’s made his mark on me and many others – in ways an earthly life fail to measure.

After dinner, we were waiting in line to enter the Botanical Gardens, so that Luke could visit Santa Claus for the first time. Ironically, the Botanical Gardens sits beneath TableRock. Out of the blue, Luke screams out (in a very loud voice that entertained everyone standing in line), “Look, there’s Jesus again!”

Doesn’t this story exemplify the innocence and knowledge exploration of children? In the hurry and haste of the holiday, it’s so easy to forget the real reason we’re celebrating Christmas. If we could only remember, “there’s Jesus again!” we might take a step back and appreciate our health, happiness and family more than we do.

Today when I dropped him off, he showed me the ballot box they’d made at school.

At lunch, he brought home his ballot. He voted Obama.

So maybe children really do listen to what we say.

So there you have it, at the end of the work day, a sad mom, fixing dinner, tired and still bummed out. After Luke begged me for the third time to come read his book with him, despite the fact that three things were cooking on the stove, I decided to sit down with him anyway. And that’s when it happened. Tears came out of nowhere as Luke was pointing out the butterflies and beach balls and bees (and every other “b” word) on the pages of his picture book.

At first, Luke thought I was kidding, looking at me, laughing and saying, “Silly Mommy!” Then when I didnt’ stop crying, he looked at me very seriously and said, “Mommy, what’s wrong?” When I said, “It’s just been a bad day, sweetie” and kept crying, he responded: “Mom, you have to stop crying.” Then he proceeded to get up from the seat, saying “I’ll be right back.” He walks back to me a few moments later, puts a band-aid on my nose and says, “Now everything will be all better.  You can stop crying.”

Just one of those precious moments where I wish I could re-wind time and view the world through the eyes of a child.

Before Child:

1. “A child of mine will never eat French Fries.”

2. “A child of mine will never be allowed to watch the same movie over and over again.”

3. “I will never make separate meals for my child. He/she will eat what the rest of us eats.”

4. “A child of mine will never eat pasta every night.”

After Child

1. There have been some meals where I actually try to get my child to eat a French Fry. Not because I’ve had some crazy change of heart about the healthiness of fried food. But because my child won’t eat. And after a while, I have succombed to the fact that a French Fry is better than no food at all. Especially if your child is like mine and has complete melt-downs when he has no food in his system.

2. Not only have I allowed this, but I often encouraged him to watch movies if he’s in a bad mood or I have something that has to be done.  I don’t even care what movie it is or how many times he has seen it.

3. Well, I don’t want to force my child to eat spicey Thai or Mexican food. WIth all do respect, he has eaten fish a fair number of times. But my problem here is that if he doesn’t eat dinner by 6:00, he will have one of those melt-downs I just mentioned. And as hard as I try, I have a tough time getting the family meal ready by 6:00. So it’s either eat so many snacks that he won’t even eat dinner when the rest of us finally sit down, or its fix him something to eat while I’m still cooking dinner. Usually the latter scenario wins out.

4. See French Fry scenario above. At least pasta is a little more healthy. And he doesn’t eat it every night. I swear.

P.S. And I’m pretty darn good about desserts, for what it’s worth.

When you leave your home state at the age of 18, venturing beyond the little pond to the big sea, you start relying on friends as the umbilical cord of everyday life (since family is no longer a block away). They take on great importance and meaning, no way around it. Even  as I have grown older and started a family of my own, and to my own chagrin have done a much poorer job of keeping in touch, these special people are no less important to me. And even though I have changed, as has my lifestyle from those swinging single days, I still treasure those who have had a profound impact on my life – all in unique and special ways.

I am going to start writing brief entries about meaningful friends, as a means to capture, as best I can, some of the treasured and special moments we shared way back when.

I have to start with Allen, as he just wrote for me the most special thing anyone has ever written for me. He knows…I know. I am going to print it out and put it in my wallet, read it when I’m sad or happy. 

So anyway, here are some thoughts of Allen, and the picture he paints in my eyes.

I met Allen in graduate school, and probably didn’t get to know him well until my second year. I always respected Allen for his intelligence. He was accepted into the JD/MBA program at William and Mary, a high accomplishment in and of itself, but decided to forego law so he could get the hell out of dodge at a faster pace. Bearing this in mind, I have always turned to him for advice and help – during school and after – because I trust and admire his thoughts and perspective. But we also moved to Richmond for our first job after college, and purchased yellow labs weeks apart from one another. What more meaningful bond could be formed by means other than through our “children?” (Not only was Banks was one of the few dogs Shelby didn’t try to eat, but we mutually understood how devastating it was when we lost our precious angels). 

1.       Only Allen loves Out of Africa as much as I do.

2.       He also knows how much I cherish The Sound of Music, and gave me the VHS collection after school (yes, we date ourselves).

3.       He nurtured my addiction to Melrose Place, back in the day.

4.       He’s a great cook. Remember that orange roughy one night at your apartment in Williamsburg?

5.       He’s a phenomenal dancer, and I’m still bummed he didn’t come to our or wedding. I missed my dance partner.

6.       He has more ties than I have shoes and sweaters combined. Remember when we went to your friend’s wedding and you laid out your ties and shirts across the bed for me to choose my favorite? I and my “no hose” so we had to go buy some on the way to the ceremony? (We did have fun going to weddings together – especially Jen’s).

7.       He is the ONLY ONE ON EARTH who had the patience to drive along Mass Ave in Brookline for miles, with Shelby running back and forth across the back seat of my lovely Jetta, barking and slobbering like a fool. He never complained once (I still don’t know how you managed that one).

8.       And during the same visit to Boston, endured my “no electricity” because I forgot to pay the bill. Again, no complaints.

9.       He came to NJ for my 30^th party and never laughed so hard as when we piled into my Jetta that snowy day for our adventures in NYC. Wasn’t that fun? I’m sure you thought we would never return from that outing.

10.   We like to share sibling stories and brag about our special moms.

11.   He worries about me like a sister. Or at least he did when I lived in New Jersey.

12.   I know if I ever needed anything, Allen would be there for me. And he knows I’d do the same for him.

13.   He didn’t make fun of my clothes, no matter how bad they got. (See below for proof).  

Though I love to write, I begrudgedly admit I am not a voracious reader. Not for a lack of wanting, simply for a lack of speed. I get frustrated when it takes so much time to read the first 100 pages (yet then finish it with ease and enjoyment). That said, nothing gives me greater pleasure than reading a great book. I was reminded of this on vacation last week when friends of my husband said they’d struggled to find a good read as of late, and neither of us could remember a real page turner since Lovely Bones (which I read five years ago on my honeymoon).

But this statement is true no more. I just finished reading a memorable and moving book – Eat Pray Love. As usual, I was struggling through the first third of the book. Though I found her eating escapades in Italy interesting, I didn’t find them riveting. Though I felt her pain in describing her depression and anxiety understandable and sad, I found it painful to read. I almost put the book down with a “well, I tried but I just couldn’t get through it.” She’s a great writer but I can’t read more than 3 pages at night after I’ve put my child to bed.

How glad I am I moved onward to India. In fact, I gained increasing interest in the book because I found the information on the Ashram, yoga and meditation factually and historically fascinating. But that’s when the author really pulled me in with her personal experience, too. From a desire to be closer to God to the trials and tribulations of meditation to a genuine interest in other cultures and people – I simply couldn’t put the book down. Her ability to admit her shortcomings and describe how she was personally able to overcome them was inspiring.

Anyway, I haven’t read a book this good in a long time. I’m simply sad that it’s over. And Elizabeth Gilbert has made it very hard for me to pick up another book this summer, as the next will pale in comparison, no doubt.

Most people would recognize these as salutations you may or may not hear, depending on where you live in this country. Ironically, these words represented the first argument I had with my husband about parenting. Before we had a child, of course. 

If you were raised in the South, you wouldn’t dream of having a child that didn’t utter these words each time he or she spoke to his/her elder.  That’s how I was raised and this was emphatically the way things were (and are) done. Or at least that was my argument – I wanted to have a child who was polite and showed respect for his elders. My husband’s argument was that sir and mam sounded like a drill sergeant and masked a child’s true respect and courtesy for others. I argued senselessly but never actually won (or lost) the argument.

These sentiments were shared by a mom who swore (prior to having a child, of course) that “no child of hers would ever eat a French fry.” Fast forward three years later and you’ll hear, “Here, honey, please eat a French fry” when her child refuses to eat and will likely have a complete emotional meltdown at any moment because his blood sugar has dropped far below the level needed for his otherwise fun-loving personality.

But back to the Sir/Mam politeness/manners thing. I went to a “White Gloves and Party Manners” class when I was in the third grade, when my mom could scarcely afford to buy meat for dinner, because it was paramount I learn the proper way to eat at the dinner table, among other things (or clean my hair so I could hold Squeaky the mouse during class, I kid you not). I really do want my child to display common etiquette, even if my husband thinks Amy Vanderbilt’s Complete Book of Etiquette is senseless (and even if our son isn’t off to the best start when it comes to chewing with his mouth closed).

 But I must say I’ve come around a bit on the Sir/Mam thing. I haven’t lived in the South for 15 years now, and therefore have not heard those words in 15 years. These are simply unspoken in regions of the country outside of the humidity zone. When I spoke to my niece and nephew recently on the phone and every other word was mam this and mam that, I felt like I was hearing a foreign language. And though I appreciate their good manners, I don’t think these words necessarily “grant” someone the crown of genuine respect and humility. If a child says “yes” to me, and is otherwise sweet and enjoyable to be around, I am more than contented.

Just like beauty is skin deep (and French fries are deep fried), politeness, class and respect extend far beyond a few silly words. If given the choice, I’d much rather my son genuinely respect and care for others.

I look back to my younger days, and I see a tomboy who got upset when she didn’t win. From kicking out my next door neighbor when she beat me in cards to being upset if I didn’t win the weekly creative contest as a fourth grader, I remember wanting to win. And though my mom tried to teach me that “you can’t always be the winner, honey,” the reputation has lived on. I realized this, because at age 44, in a completely inconsequential 3.0 USTA tennis match this week I got a real charge from winning. I’m not exactly sure why, but I suppose I can blame it on my youth.

What I’m not sure about, however, is what this sequence tells me about who I am today. Maybe it tells me I am a dork because I still get in a bad mood when I lose pretty much anything, even a bet with my husband. Or perhaps it says my will to win doesn’t decline with age; it actually increases. Much like how we get way too upset when our alma mater’s football or basketball team loses. Not that I’m still bitter about UNC losing rather embarassingly to Kansas in the Final Four this year……

1.       I don’t have to wear as many clothes. And it’s not that I am a nudist. But who prefers wearing layers of pants and sweaters when you could opt for a tank top and pair of shorts? And I love sundresses. So simple, easy and comfortable.

2.       More color. I know I have more wrinkles than the Average Joe because I worshipped the son as a youth. Truth of the matter is I still do. I just wear more sunscreen. But who the heck likes looking like a pasty ghost when instead you could have a look of health and vigor?

3.       Being able to exercise outdoors comfortably (in shorts and a tank top) is far preferable than freezing to death (if you dare to venture outdoors) or hitting the gym. Plain and simple. There are also more exercise alternatives: Biking, hiking, running, walking, tennis. And more, depending on your preference.

4.       Daylight. I love living in Boise because I have daylight from 6 in the morning till 10 at night in the summer. It is a godsend. And it’s so depressing when October rolls around and it’s dark when I arrive at work in the morning and leave the office at night. Essentially, I get no time outdoors in the sunlight unless I run at lunch. It sucks.

5.       Fresh veggies and herbs. I celebrate the culinary delights of walking into my back yard and picking any fresh spice I might need for a recipe – without going to the grocery store and paying ungodly funds for a handful of something. And they taste better when they’re picked from the garden, too. And that doesn’t even scratch the surface of the other vegetables I’m growing – namely tomatoes – that are so much better when they’re fresh.

6.       The car can take a hike. Or at least a rest. Summer is the time to ride bikes everywhere. And not only does this benefit the environment, but it burns some extra calories, too. And the weird thing is that it saves time as well. Go figure.

7.       More color. Not skin color, as aforementioned, but outdoor colors. With flowers and trees in bloom and grass growing, the scenery is much more beautiful. Bare branches and limbs don’t hold a candle. (If my dog didn’t ruin my grass, it’d even look more beautiful in the back yard).

8.       Lighter suitcases. Who the heck wants to carry around a life-sized suitcase stuffed with sweaters, coats and boots? Not to mention, it’s so much easier at the security line at the airport with sandals and a short-sleeve shirt. Less to take off. Less to put back on. Less hassle.

Just felt the urge to write this because I LOVE SUMMER!