The Christmas Prelude--a tribute.

Last month, Down East magazine invited its readers to share and submit their favorite Maine holiday memories to be featured in its December issue that hit the stands a couple weeks ago.  When I received this email invitation, I pounced on it, knowing exactly what I'd write, and that once I started, the words and memories would flow freely.  To my delight, a mere snippet of my entry was published yet not enough to convey the essence of my memories and experiences.  

This entry is really a tribute to my parents, who unfailingly each year in winter and summer, gave my sister and me these wonderful memories, leading to my eventual move to Maine (and theirs as well).  With this week being the start of the Christmas Prelude, I found it fitting to want to publish the entry in its entirety. The italicized portion is what was published in Down East.

Growing up in Connecticut, Maine was always our vacation spot. We weren’t the family that went to Florida to seek warm, tropical waters.  Instead we summered and wintered in Maine, where the icy frothy Atlantic numbed our toes and dared my sister and me to always run right in. 

For as long as I can remember, the first weekend in December always meant coming up for the Kennebunkport Christmas Prelude festivities.  It wasn’t often that we were excused from school, but this was one of those times.  We always left early Friday morning, the anticipation of crossing the “big green bridge” as we called it back then, fueled us to be packed and ready to go on time.  I always knew we were in Maine when we made our pit stop at Congdon’s in Wells, for a sugary cream-filled donut that melted in our mouths and left me wondering how I could live 3 hours away from such a tasty treat.  

We would check in to our motel, always greeted by our hosts, as we had become familiar faces over time.  Most years it would be bone-chilling cold, where feet, hands, and heads could not be wrapped up enough to escape the wintery freeze. In the late afternoon on that first Friday, we would meander our way to Kennebunkport—delighting in the holiday decorations that adorned the stately mansions along the way.  The famous ‘Wedding Cake House’, lit up and magnificent, signaled that we were close.  

Once parked, we’d make our way to Dock Square.  Back in the day, one of our first stops was Plum Dandy.  It was a gorgeous shop, filled with many Maine treasures, the owner recognizing us year after year.  We’d climb the spiral black staircase where we’d burn our tongues on the tangy hot apple cider that was percolating, and munch on the buttery cookies that begged to be sampled.

Across the square, the enormous fragrant Christmas tree sat dark, awaiting the 5:30 lighting. Lobster traps and buoys acted as ornaments.  We trudged up the sometimes snowy stairs to my favorite shop—the Book Port.  Sitting atop a candle store, this shop was where I spent much of my childhood allowance. I couldn’t wait to pull out the latest mystery, or lose myself in the tiny nooks that held so many stories waiting to be found.  At the front of the store, a giant picture window decked out with white lights in the shape of a Christmas tree cast a cozy glow on a table that was overflowing with cookies, cheese and crackers, and so many other delectable treats.  Two huge punch bowls beckoned, Sangria for the adults, juice for the kids.

The tree lighting was accompanied by a group of Kennebunk High School choir singers.   We’d sing along to Christmas carols as the crowds wedged in closer to secure the best view.  Anyone looking down from above would see that this was, most certainly, the quintessential Maine Christmas scene.  

When it was over, we’d make our way to whatever restaurant had a short wait, but knowing that on this popular night, there would be a wait wherever we went.  Soon it was back to the motel, where we slipped comfortably into our warm pjs and dreamt of Santa arriving by lobster boat.  

Saturday was spent breakfasting in town, then making the trek to South Portland.  The Maine Mall, mobbed with its holiday shoppers, was first on our list.  We weaved throughout the crowds, getting some early Christmas presents taken care of, sometimes visiting Santa.   That evening, we would return back to the Port, visiting some of the shops we may have missed the night before.  Let’s face it, we loved the shops that offered snacks.  My sister and I would make up stories, pretending to be secret agents, and that the billowy curtains sitting above these shops in darkened windows held some mystery we were meant to uncover.  

Sometimes we would walk over to the Franciscan Monastery for candlelight caroling.  There was always something magical to me about being a part of this event.  I remember looking around the sea of endless faces behind me, the candles casting a warm shadow across faces that were serious in their carol singing. I had to be careful not to let the hot wax from the tiny stick candle drip onto my mitten.  A live manger sat at the front, a wonder to my child eyes.

Sunday came too soon.  Maybe we’d head back to Kittery via the coastal route, through picturesque villages like Ogunquit and York.  My mom snapping photos of the rocky shoreline covered in a frosty icing of snow.  We’d stop at the outlets, have lunch, before heading across the big green bridge, southward.  I’d always look back to see the bridge until it faded completely from view, thus officially ending our weekend in Maine. 

Fast forward 30 years later. My parents have since retired to Kennebunk.  I moved to Maine from Washington, DC 7 years ago.  The Christmas Prelude this year celebrates 30 years and my folks have gone to 29 of them.  

Now living in Maine, with a toddler of my own, I can’t wait to begin this tradition with him so that he grows up experiencing some of the magic that was the kick off to our family’s holiday season.  Things have changed. Plum Dandy long ago disappeared.  The Book Port no longer exists in its prime spot above the square.  My dad’s old adage of “nothing stays the same” couldn’t possibly ring truer. With that in mind, we will create new traditions, built upon the old; encourage new memories, based upon previous ones and make sure our son will have his own favorite Maine holiday memory.

Giving thanks.

On this Thanksgiving eve, I look out the nearby window and see the frosty icing of snow that has blanketed our lawn, house, driveway, trees etc.  I see the nearly covered footprints made by Gabby earlier this morning, when she burst forth from the front door and dove into the giant fluffy piles.  If this dog could talk, she'd no doubt exclaim, Yippeee! as she buries her head and comes up with a snoutful of powder.  

We're all home today.  No work for me--the day before Thanksgiving and a snowstorm hits, so the College closed.  This meant I didn't have to drive myself to Bates or G to daycare, negotiating the snowy back roads, and wondering if I'll survive the commute this winter.  The first thing to be thankful for.

Terry was out earlier, snow blowing the driveway, with the 20+ year old monster we inherited from my dad.  It may be over 20 years old, weighs forty tons (slight exaggeration), but the pristine condition it's been kept in makes it a gem.  The second thing to be thankful for.

Soon we'll hit the grocery store, picking up necessary items to complete our Thanksgiving task--dessert.  I can't wait to get the house smelling of fragrant holiday spices---cinnamon, nutmeg, pumpkin, apples.  Warm, inviting aromas that evoke memories of past delights, while reminding us that we are constantly making new memories, on this day and all the others.  The third thing to be thankful for.

Earlier I received a Happy Thanksgiving text from my sister, who along with her family, are jetting off to Atlanta today for their Thanksgiving.  We exchanged I love yous.  A fourth thing to be thankful for.

Terry, G, and I will be heading an hour south to spend turkey day with my parents.  The moment we walk through the door, our noses will be assaulted by waftings of good things to come. They'll scoop up G, cover him in kisses and squeeze him until he protests.   Grampie will get down on the floor to play with him.  Grammie will have him 'help' her in the kitchen.  He will be surrounded by their delicious warmth and love. A fifth thing to be thankful for.

I gaze upon my little family of three.  Our amazing boy, who I love more and more every day, and his dad, who I see so much of in this kid, that G truly is a mini-T sometimes. We'll be spending the holidays all together this year. Together.  A sixth thing to be thankful for. 

During the day, I'll think about the other things I'm thankful for.  In those quiet moments where reflection might be appropriate, I'll think about the amazing people in my life---the ones who I may have only just met this year but who have already made an impact, the ones who may have reappeared after being away, the ones who I've known for what seems like forever but may just be a few years, and the ones who I don't see often or who are far away but only in miles, and not in thoughts.  A seventh thing to be thankful for.

And while I won't be thinking of work per se, I'll note my gratitude for having this great job at Bates, which has proven to be an amazing place to work.  I'll give thanks for having such a cool boss, who at times seems more like a friend, and for the quirky coworkers who make for good stories. And for G's daycare, which is right across the street. I'm thankful for his provider, who loves him just as much as we do, and for his three little friends there who he looks forward to seeing every day. My eighth and ninth things to be thankful for.

Then I'll think about the fun things to be thankful for--my fuzzy pink robe, our three quirky kitties, the recliner in our living room that is so comfy I never want to leave it, my Bates flip-flops, our sometimes naughty but always lovable dog, a working dryer, a dry basement, bookshelves of amazing unread books to lose myself in this winter, coffee, the way G gives me kisses whenever I ask and all the silly games we play together, Terry's ability to cook AND clean, his calming, supportive nature, and so much more.

On this Thanksgiving, despite whatever challenges may lie ahead, and they always do, I'll remember all these things and more, and continue to be grateful and thankful for all that is in our lives. 

Happy Thanksgiving, from our family, to yours. 

18 month milestone.

The 18 month mark.  A year and a half.  However you say it, it's daunting, surreal, and downright amazing.  We hit it earlier this month, but yesterday had the wellness check up to see just how far G has come along in his short life. 

I had some questions; nothing major, just things I had been wondering about, and things I didn't know if we should start thinking about now to get ready for the future (read: potty training!).

Despite having to sit 25 minutes in the waiting area (something that could drive one slowly insane), G maintained his good nature, and occupied himself by surveying the giant fish tank and climbing up and down on the raised benches. 

Finally, we were called into a room, where he stripped to his diaper and had his stats done.  Drum roll...

Weight:  27.13 lbs. (66th percentile for 18 month old boys)
Height:  32.5 inches long (53rd percentile)
Noggin Circumference: 19.75 inches (a whopping 96th percentile. We knew this kid was smart! His head is growing to fit his super big genius brain)

She checked his eyes, ears, asked a series of questions, and ever the rascal, he sat on the floor, totally amusing himself by opening the drawers to the bed cart and pulling apart the delightful crinkly paper that they line the bed with.  I had no issues, per se, to discuss with her, as I said, just a few questions about things that came to mind since his last appointment.

Once again, she validated his perfection (really, I love this kid so much, I can't help but agree!), was impressed that he has all the teeth he'll get before the dreaded two year molars come around between 2-3 years old, (and can eat an entire apple in 10 minutes, knowing enough to leave the core and seeds alone), and let me know again just how great a job we've done with him.  Of course that part never gets old to hear.

The sad part? That was our last wellness appointment until a year from now.  A year from NOW! When he is 2 1/2 years old.  Here comes the surreal part.  Not to mention, other than the annual flu shot, he's up-to-date on his vaccines until he's ready for kindergarten. Oh my.  Where has time gone?

And yet, I'm still reminded daily of the fact that he's still a baby.  Today, although determined not to do any chores on my day off by myself, I ended up washing all his blankets and a few of his favorite loveys--a task I just can't do when he's awake and needing them.  So when I was up in his room, putting away his clothes, fluffing up his comfy crib, and putting everything away, I was thinking of how he still is snugglish with me at reading time.  How when I hold him, he flings one arm totally around my neck like a hug....he still lays his head on my shoulder. Oh these moments go by too fast. Sure, he's a rascal.  He can be challenging, but he's perfect.  He is sweet, delicious and charming.  And if possible, my love for him continues to grow each and every day. Especially when he gives me this adorable smile.

So happy 18 months, sweet Boo!  I wonder what the next 18 will bring. 

Official Diagnosis: Toddler Crud.

All week we've been plagued by the sniffles.  It's that time of year, although it ALWAYS feels like it's that time of year.  The temperature zooms in and out from being totally freezing one day to rather mild and balmy the next. In other words, a breeding ground for germs to spread and cause discomfort in little ones.  

G went from having a fever on Sunday to that lovely goopey, sometimes crusty nose-tip that he refuses to let me clean even as I try to reassure him that it may actually help him breathe to let me do so. Oh the joys.  And while his appetite remained great and his sleeping habits too, the one thing I always worry about with him are ear infections. He's had several since entering this world, and each time I worry that it means long term effects for hearing, although the doctors reassure me that it's just a part of being a baby.


Yesterday, on the eve of his 18 month birthday, (when did I all of a sudden have a 1 1/2 year old??!) and day five of the congestion, I decided it was time to get his ears checked.  I thought for sure after dealing with so much stuffiness, I'd be told that his little tiny ears would be inflamed and off to Target for an antibiotic we'd go.  We scored a late afternoon appointment, which I realize is so not the optimal time for him to go anywhere.  He's so tired and cranky from a day full of play, but off we went and immediately upon entering the doc office, he's entranced by the gigantic fish tank that occupies one corner of the room.  He gently points his finger to the glass, somehow knowing not to bang on it, and watches the colored fish zip all around, through their plastic trees and sturdy ornaments.  (I see a fish tank in our future, because you know, we don't have enough animals to complete a menagerie.)


Within five minutes we were called into a room--a record I think.  Clad only in his birthday suit, we attempted to get him weighed.   He did NOT appreciate this.  Maybe it was the cold metal tray with only a thin filmy cover against his tushy, (although who wouldn't protest at that?) or the fact that he has begun to associate the doc's office as a place where not so nice things happen (shots, shots and umm, shots?).  We finally got him to sit on the scale, registered the number, and back in my arms he went, contented, but still warily eying the nurse. 

My second favorite pediatrician came in, Dr. G, and promptly listened to his chest, pronouncing it sounding perfect.  Really?  Because the phlegmy cough he's been waking up with would cause me to disagree, but that's why she's got the stethoscope and I don't.  Next she checked his ears. Also declared perfect.  What a relief. It's always when I think he has one that he doesn't and vice versa.  She did inform me that at this stage, around the 18 month milestone, their ears begin to mature, thus the frequency of ear infections should be going down. No meds needed.  Another relief.  Her diagnosis?  Toddler crud.  Official terminology.  It sounds about as lovely as it is.


Meanwhile I asked her about his teeth---fingers have been in the mouth a lot lately and every time I try to stick my own in to feel around for hard gums, I come away with chomped teethmarks on my index finger.  She felt around and said nope, he's got all the teeth he's going to get until his 2 year molars come in between the second and third year.  Really? I knew he was sort of an overachiever with the teeth but hadn't realized he was done for awhile. Yippee!  

Back into his clothes, no follow up appointment needed, we skated out of there with a brief stop at the fish tank to wave bye bye.  As soon as we get home, we let the Gabs out, and play in the driveway and yard.  Some days we bring the mini cars out, others we just trudge through the grass to see what we see, and some we grab the broom and sweep the driveway.  

His interest for snow and these tools makes me think he'll be all set for shoveling this winter. The sniffles didn't deter us.  They just make us want to play harder.  Happy 18 months, sweet boo!

The Magic Mommy Bag.

Yesterday morning when I got to work, I dug my hand deep into my purse to find my phone and glasses when my fingers touched something small and crumbly.  I'd apparently forgotten that a bag of colored Goldfish snacks had been left in this bag, and so with jostling and moving about, some had tumbled to the bottom.  It wasn't a disaster but it made me think of how my use of a purse has changed over the years.  I searched the contents to see what else I could find and sure enough in addition to the normal grown up items (i.e. wallet, car keys, Bates id and keys, lipstick etc) were a number of others---two mini packages of tissues, a tube of Neosporin, infant Tylenol, a lone (unused!) diaper, one random sock of G's (at least that solved a laundry mystery), and of course the bag of Goldfish.

Had mine become just another diaper bag disguised as a purse?  When did this happen?  Back in my DC days, my purses were Kate Spade knock-offs that I could get for $25 at the K Street corner vendor and only I knew otherwise.  Chic and stylish.  Or, if I was trying to be a minimalist, I wouldn't carry a purse at all, but just a tiny vintage cigarette case I'd scored off Ebay to act as my wallet and that fit snugly in the back pocket of my jeans. It carried just the necessary cards.  (Who uses cash and coin anymore?)


Fast forward many years later, and my purse is more like a shoulder bag, so not stylish, and contains several items that can be used in case of an emergency.  Skinned your knee at the playground, G?  Let's slather on some Neosporin! (though I should probably add some band-aids to complete the medical supplies).  Need a quick diap change?  No problem there! (Unless it's one of an explosive nature, for which there is definitely nothing in the bag to  help in a situation like that.)  Runny nose?  Tissues to the rescue! A meltdown on the horizon because you're hungry and I forced you to run an errand with me before we get home from work/school?  Goldfish can help! 
 
Who knew I had a plan for these several potential crises? I'm not sure at which point my purse did become part diaper bag, but the reality is it has, so clearly I've passed the Boy Scout golden rule to always "be prepared".  The thing is, I already have a perfectly fine diaper bag.  It currently sits on our dining room table.  It also is stocked with the necessities, plus a few more, for those longer excursions away from home.  The purse-bag goes with me every day to work, while G is at daycare.  There's really no need to carry all that stuff if he's not even with me during the day.  I keep his cubby well stocked at daycare, so the diaper bag need not stay either.  A quandary.


This is where the fine line between being prepared as a mom to an active toddler and attempting some semblance of style is blurry.  Maybe it's because I no longer care that my purse match my shoes, coat etc.  Maybe it's because since living in Maine my wardrobe and accessories have definitely seen a dramatic change--not necessarily a bad thing, just different.  Maybe it's because priorities have shifted.  I don't know.

Here's what I do know: when my fingers grazed the powdery remains of Goldfish, my first reaction wasn't of irritation or annoyance at now having half the bag of colorful fish spread throughout my purse, likely causing a cheesy crumbled mess. Instead I grinned.  In my day that is often fraught with putting out small fires, making people happy who don't necessarily deserve it, and overall being crazy busy, this small token of my little boy puts me back on track and ready to face whatever comes my way.  Even though he's not physically with me during the work day, I need only to look into my bag for the sweet reminders of him. And my computer desktop background.  And the two framed photos of him on my desk.  And the wallpaper on my phone.  I'm sure my purse aka Magic Mommy Bag will continue to carry these things, unnecessarily or not.  But that's ok.  At least I'll always be prepared and always be reminded.