...and holiday: Memorial Day

...a little parade in Armonk, New York...lots of old veterans made me think of my Dad and the kids talked about PopPop. Spent most of the day running on the big green lawn - soooo, very jealous of soft grass as Texas is brown, short and spikey. Ugh.
Stay tuned for Etape 3: Henniker, New Hampshire...

L'Etape 2: Yale, a birthday and a holiday...

Evan's birthday just happened to be the Saturday of his 30th Yale reunion. Such a party with more than a hundred people under a tent. And as a group - that is, Evan's friends - we all decided we looked younger than anyone else. Having the twins with us definitely helped.
Many thanks to Jerry and Mary for their hospitality in Beford, Ann for the cake and babysitting in Woodbridge, and the Peabody Museum and the dinosaurs for not kicking us out when Zelda opened the fire door and set off the alarm in the entire building. "Mom, what's that sound?"...

Etape 1...on our "Tour d'East Coast"

So day 1, our little peloton loaded up the car with clothing, supplies, and enough Pirate Booty and Cheerios to last for 2 weeks on the road. Leaving at 8pm, we headed north towards Dallas and didn't even make it out of Texas that first evening - Texadelphia? Texarkana? But by the time the next day rolled around, we had passed through Memphis.

Dinner was in Nashville with friends, but not until we had been stopped for speeding in Arkansas. The cop looked at Evan's license and his 'foreign' last name and asked him "You're not from here, are you?" "What kind of name is that?" I personally think that he thought he was working in Arizona and had gotten his 'A' states confused...

We had barbeque with Steve - Evan's old friend from Yale - and his son, Taylor...more driving into the night. It was already Thursday and had to be in Bedford, NY by Friday evening...

Oh, and speeding ticket No. 2 was procured in Virginia the next day...but we did make it to our destination right on time.

The long and winding road...

...of over 5000+ miles. When Evan first suggested that we drive east to our college reunions at the end of May, I wanted to kill him. We'd done that trip so many times before and the last time - in 2001 - was miserable. I never wanted to see the highwways of Arkansas again. But as we mulled it over and over, the 4 plane tickets, the 2 week car rental and all of the freedom we would have on the road, our decision was made.

We set off before the end of Ecole and right before Evan's birthday, destination: Yale in New Haven for his 30th college reunion. My 30th reunion at Gettysburg in Pennsylvania conveniently happened to be the following weekend so we tacked days on for travel before, a week sandwiched in the middle and the time to get home and there it was: a 2 week road trip through 13 states and thousands of miles with 4 1/2 year old twins...here we go!!

Don't forget to say...congratulations

I go back to St. David's a lot. It's the hospital where the twins were born, the place where I have had all of my cancer surgeries and the home of the Breast Cancer Resource Center. I am running there at least once a week while we plan Graphic 4: the Art Bra Fashion Show to benefit the BCRC. But that's not what this post is about.

Each time I swing around the drive to pull into the parking garage, I pass the main entrance to the hospital. And each time, almost any hour of the day, there is inevitably a new mom waiting to leave the place with a newborn infant in tow - eager to position that stupid, ungainly baby carrier in the back seat so she can sit next to it and ooh and ahh while some husband, partner or chauffeur drives them home. There are balloons, there are smiles. And each time I see this, I still cringe. It's been almost 5 years, my twins are healthy and thriving and it seems like eons ago that they were born 3 months early and so very, very ill. Evan called them little grey squirrels at just 2 lbs each. And the hardest day of my life up until now - even harder than cancer, even harder than finding out that Zelda was born blind, and perhaps rivaling the pain I felt when my Dad died - was the day I left that hospital without my newborn twins. I was so pissed off that day. I was so angry at those other happy moms.

My friends and family were wonderful. They brought food, they brought flowers but they were afraid. We were afraid. They tiptoed around the questions about the "non-perfect" children, they mourned our "loss" of an idyllic birth experience...And it was hard. It did suck. Our friends were reverent and concerned and worried about us and the babies. I loved and appreciated all of them for it despite my feelings of guilt about going into premature labor and overwhelming post-partum depression.

But the other day, I ran into a friend. He and his wife just had a baby born with Down's Syndrome. I looked at him and smiled knowingly. I asked him how she was doing, empathized over the lengthy NICU stay but most of all I said "Congratulations! I am so happy for you and your wife and your new daughter."

We are so lucky. I am so lucky to be a mom. Whatever the experience, whatever the birth, please don't ever forget to say those words...they mean more to the parents than you'll ever know...tell them "Congratulations"...

franglais...

So, as most of you know, the twins attend a French Immersion Montessori Preschool that we lovingly refer to as Ecole. This is year #2 and they'll be there for one more year before kindergarten. There are 3 teachers and less then 20 kids - it's a great, loving and nurturing environment. It's also funny when I tell people that's where they go to school, because then they expect Creed and Zelda to just start spitting out French. One has to remember that although the teachers only speak to the kids in French, the students are American (or at least half) and communicate effortlessly in English.

Creed and Zelda understand pretty much everything that I or their beloved teachers say to them. They answer questions and easily follow directions. They automatically respond with "Merci" and greet with "Bonjour". If I say, "Fais voir ton visage" to Zelda, she lifts her head and smiles. If I ask, "Ou sont vos chaussures?", they'll scurry to put on their shoes.

But the aspect that I am loving the most are Creed's questions, requests and interpretations. His half French/half English. His reference to particular objects only with the French word. His Franglais...

The other day, upon spilling some popcorn in the kitchen, he ran up to me and asked: "Mommy, may I have the balai?" That would be the broom. And then "How about the pelle?" Dustpan. He shook Evan awake the other day, "Daddy, I want to see your travail!" Show me your work!
And finally this morning while gathering his supplies for Ecole, "Hey, where's a grand bag?" As opposed to a petit...

Et alors, ca marche, cette histoire....It's fun to watch the way their little brains process and interpret language. It's interesting to think that they're not translating as one does when learning a language when later in school. Hopefully we'll keep doing this with them...at least until they start to complain - in French, of course.

See with your eyes, not with your hands...

WRONG! But how many times have you heard a parent say this to a child while shopping or at someone's house or in a museum, etc...

We love to go the City Wide Garage Sale every month. All of our favorite antique and junk vendors and friends come in from everywhere to peddle their wares in a big auditorium. Evan and I have been going for years so it's only natural that we continue with this Saturday morning tradition of paying a bit extra to get in beforehand for "Early Shoppers" time. We've been taking the twins since they were in their Baby Bjorns. All of the vendors know them and love to catch up on their news.

Usually we divide and conquer - Evan will take one and I'll take the other. Creed is a rascal and usually gets out of there with a bunch of free vintage cars or balls of string or even a plastic little horse or something. Yesterday was no different, yet as he scampered around and was feeling like he owned the place, I found the dreaded words leaving my mouth. "Credence, we see with our eyes, not with our hands!" Ouch. Wrong. So, I stopped and explained about other's possessions, that we were shopping and that we had to ask before touching. How can I condemn one child's curiosity when his sister uses her hands to see?

When Zelda and I hit the aisles, it's a bit different. First, we'll go and see Deborah and Harrell, they're have vintage guitars and cowboy boots, and racks of rayon slips and old crinolines. Zelda will bury her body in them and walk away with a hanger (one of her favorite items to play with). We'll stop by and see the piles of ropas usadas from Ahab Bowen. With each different table of old linens, scarves, t-shirts, even old furs, Zelda will touch each piece and hold it to her cheek, asking, "Mom, what's this?" Our lesson in textiles will unfold. We'll see Miss Linda Parker, whose booth is artfully arranged with shabby hues of off-white linens, lace, books and curiosities. She loves Zelda's hugs and tries to always find old Braille books for her. Miss Linda introduces her to friends and Zelda hugs each of them. Sandy Schor sells tables of collectible jewelry, strings of beads and chain and underneath the tables - heaven! Zelda sorts through plastic containers of buttons; all the time seeing with her hands.

We stop at one table and a there sits a school autograph book from the late 1880's. Zelda: "I want to touch it." "Mommy, I want to read it." I carefully explain how fragile it was and we turn the pages together, with each page, her tiny fingers search for Braille.

Our final stop is Sarah Lawson, her trays of beads and jewelry findings are the perfect height for la petite Z to rearrange round glass orbs and small metal clasps. Sarah doesn't seem to mind that Zelda has confused her system and says that it will give her something to do for the rest of the afternoon. When I tell Zelda that it's time to go, she tells me that she's staying with Sarah.

The City Wide Garage Sale, like so many places in Austin, is another aspect of our playground. And with each different place or outing, a discussion ensues...we can see with our hands, all of us can...