It’s much worse than I thought…

Just back from Safeway, where as I was unloading Kate from the car I looked down to see that I was wearing my slippers. Not, thank God, the huge hot pink ones that have big flamingo heads on them that Mark’s cousin gave me. They were something more demure and black… Sad thing is I just thought, “Ah fuck it,” and continued on my way.

This is the kind of thing that gets your husband sending a hidden video of you into some mommy make-over show.

Speaking of which, my sister Judy called the other night all hopped up. She keeps a 24/7 vigil of the HGTV network. She’d just seen my friends Dawn and Josh on some “your-dream-kitchen” type show. We Tivoed it when it re-ran. V. funny seeing your friends become part of the reality TV epidemic. (And yes, their kitchen is quite dreamy.)

Kate-o Kaylan just arose from her nap and is babbling to herself. We’re awaiting the arrival of long-lost friend Rhya Fisher, who is doing a CA tour, on vacation from Cambridge. I’m not being coy–she is not at Harvard and I’m just calling it Cambridge, MA. Actually, I have no idea when she is doing now. She may well be there. When last Rhya and I saw each other, she was exploring career options as diverse as personal chef, cross-country ski instructor, and pursuing an MBA. She’s one of those annoying people with a Midas touch for whatever she pursures. But she’s so damn sweet and lovely, you can’t hate her no matter how much you want to.

I’m sure after seeing me, she’ll drop it all to explore the wonders of housewifery.

Kate is 7 Months Old

Today Kate turns 7 months old. I never thought I’d be one of those parents who tells their child’s age in weeks (when they’re 7 years old…), or who thinks for a few seconds when asked their child’s age then says, “He’ll be 11 months on next Tuesday–no, no–next Wednesday!” I mean, can’t they round up and say he’s almost a year? Are they really fearful that we care that our understanding of their child’s age might be a day off?

Ah, how foolish I was! Just this weekend someone asked me how old la bella Kate is and I proudly proclaimed, “She be 7 months on Monday!” I’m sure she was thinking, “Oh, I have to remember to schedule my next teeth cleaning.”

At any rate, this weekend when Mark was showering and I was trying pitifully to entertain Kate while getting dressed myself, I took a stab at teaching her to say, “Hi Dad.” I figured this would be faily easy since DaDa is one of her favorite words. Sure enough by the time Mark walked into the room she was saying Hi Da! My God, have I become an incredibly boring person? Yes, this was exciting to us. I guess that is why it takes 2 people to make a baby. You have someone else to gush with over things that anyone else would not give a rat’s ass about. Except maybe another parent.

Speaking of our little linguist, I should get dressed and ready to take on the day while she is napping.

Bagel Day–Not

One of the things that’s hard about not working in an office is waking up hungry on a Friday morning and facing the reality that, for you, it’s not bagel day. Noone has delivered fresh bagels and cream cheese to my kitchen this morning. I am left alone to forge for my breakfast.

As distressing as this is, it’s not enough to get me back into the rat race. Almost, but not quite.

Another departed mother

I went to my friend Barb’s mother’s funeral today. Barb’s mom was sick with Alzheimers for 10 years before she died. It seems like a disease that takes people’s lives and suspends them in limbo. For years Joyce wasn’t the person she used to be, but her body was still alive. When it finally gave out Thursday, it caught up with the long-gone Joyce that her family knew and loved.

That had to be a bittersweet relief. In all the time she was sick, the logistics around her care, watching her deteriorate, reacting to the foreign things she’d say or do–must have dominated their thoughts of her. But today they clearly had let the struggles of the recent years go, and seemed revitalized by being able to remember and celebrate the wife/mother/grandmother they once knew.

I didn’t ever really know Joyce–aside from meeting her briefly at Barb’s wedding–but I got a strong sense of what a cool woman she was. She had 4 daughters, 2 sons, and 17 grandchildren. She was a carpe diem kind of mother. Her oldest son said she was always loading the 6 kids into the car and driving off on a wild hare to some adventure.

She loved music and played the piano. One of her sons talked about her banging out Amazing Grace at one point when her memory was nearly gone–with the same gusto that she always had.

A group of the grandchildren got up and sang It’s a Small Word–one of Joyce’s favorite songs. At the second verse their voices trailed off, not knowing the words. Joyce’s 6 adult chuldren piped in with the lyrics–laughing that the song was beaten into their memories.

On another note, it’s wild how my ability to keep pace with a Catholic mass is so ingrained in me. Shelley had told me I’d need to prompt her on the sitting, standing, kneeling–saying it’s as complicated for her to follow as a step class. And for not resonating with me spritually, there is something strangely reassuring about the familiarity of it all. I guess it also reminds me of my mom.

Call it morbid, or egocentric, but I couldn’t help but wonder what my funeral would be like some day. I was so inspired by how Joyce lived. She didn’t make any lasting marks in the business world or breakthroughs in science. She just had a hell of a time raising her children, welcoming her grandchildren, singing, and seeking adventure where she could. I plan to try to do the same.

A late entry into the digital age

I tend to be a late bloomer. Last in my middle-school class to get a bra, married at the tender age of 37–with a history of a host of other unintentionally fashionable latenesses. So, years into this whole blog phenom, I decided it’s finally safe for me to test the waters.

A disclaimer: Please don’t confuse me with anyone who has anything remotely lofty or thought-provoking to get off my chest. Mostly, I’d like to ramble on about the newest apple of my eye, light of my life, and silly smoochie-smooch–the amazing Kate Miller McClusky, age 6.5 months. And boy is she cute!!

But before I delve into her latest little life event or accomplishment (in the caliber of not spitting up after a feeding), the thing that is most on my mind these days is my mom. Monday marked 2 years since her death. (I’m someone who tends to shy away from saying “passed away” or worse, “passed on.”) Monday I woke up with a heavy heart, and felt fairly mopey for the whole day. In a weird way it surprised me. I’ve lived without her for 2 years, so why should this day be sadder than others?

There’s so much to say about being a new mother without my mother here to share it with. Mostly I miss being able to call her to relay the most mundane detail about Kate, and knowing she’ll relish it as much as I do. She was also a truly world-class grandmother to the grandchildren she lived to know (John and Rory, my sister Marie’s teens, and Maia and Tikloh, Ellen’s 7 and 4 year olds). The affection she seemed to dole out parsimoniously to us kids came in waves towards her grandchildren.

And part of why I wish she was here was just to plain show Kate off to her. Of all my life accomplishments, this is the biggest reason ever to say, “Hey Mom, watch this!” So, I’ll just assume she would adore Kate, find her cute as the dickens, and tease me in her super-sarcastic way about some or other of my approaches to motherhood.

Kate beckons… a likely end to most of my postings.