1, 2, 7, 20, 21, 27—I held the ticket in my hand thinking this just might be the week. What would I do if I won the lottery? My mind ran wild as I imagined what I would do with it. There were so many possibilities with that much money.
What would I do first? I thought about my father. How nice would it be for him to be able to sit back and relax the in the later years of his life. A trust fund set up to pay all his expenses, like the exorbitant real estate tax he paid every year would be nice. I could see the look of excitement on his face, when he set down in Florida to enjoy the whole season of spring training for the Red Sox. Oh, and I could buy him a box at Fenway so he could attend a game whenever he wanted. The happiness those things would bring him would also bring me a great sense of enjoyment. I rubbed that little pink ticket daydreaming of picking that big check up from the lottery office.
What next? My daughter had certainly struggled in her adult life. She was the single mother to two fantastic boys and they all deserved the best I could give them. College funds for both the boys would certainly be at the top of my list. Amanda was getting married this year and what a wedding she would have. Maybe we could go on the TV show Say Yes to the Dress and she could have her choice of a $10,000 plus gown. A wedding cake 5 tiers tall, flowers everywhere, the options she could have would be endless. Then there was her honeymoon; it wouldn’t have to be a week at a local camp. She and her new husband could go to a tropical island and bask in the sun all week or to Italy and savor the romance that being in Italy offers. I stared at those numbers wishing I could make it a winner by sheer determination.
As altruistic as I would be to others I would certainly spoil myself. I would continue to work, I loved my career. I would cut back the time I worked though. I could picture myself in a shiny red convertible in the summer and a big black SUV in the winter. Why not trade the vacation I took every two years for a vacation every two months? There were so many places Lois and I would love to see. The Grand Canyon, Niagara Falls, the Florida Keys, and New Orleans just to name a few. It would all be a reality if those 6 little balls would just fall into the right holes.
In addition to the material things I would spend the money, I would share my good luck with those less fortunate. Spruce Run would receive a substantial donation every year as no woman should have to suffer the pain or indignity of abuse. Those who do need every type of support they can get and my donation could help Spruce Run obtain and keep the resources these victims need. I double crossed my fingers that this would be the week.
Fact was the odds I would ever win less than miniscule. However, the excitement the speculation afforded me each week was well worth the price of a $1.00 ticket.
Friday, October 22, 2010
89000 Miles and Counting
The odometer just turned 89,000 miles and she thought about how all those miles had kept her away from home. She had not been present for so many events and milestones in her family’s life, she had lost track of what she had missed.
Today she was headed off to teach another alphabet class in some town, Maine. As she watched the mile markers roll past on the interstate, she wondered how the plans for her daughter’s wedding were coming. They had shared numerous phone calls and texts over the planning, but she had yet to see her and congratulate her in person since the engagement over a month ago. Even the news the impending nuptials had been delivered via phone, while she had been in Ohio for yet another conference.
As she pulled out of the gas station her mind was trying to organize the class she was about to teach but images of her grandchildren kept overtaking her thoughts. Stephen was 10, Dawson was 3 and she had missed so many highlights. Stephen had been picked for the all star baseball team for the last two years and she had been to see one inning of him playing on her way through to teach yet again. She was a stranger called Mimi to Dawson, as most of his contact with her had been over the phone.
Technology had helped. Pictures were frequently exchanged via e-mail, as were copies of school papers. Social networking had allowed her to send frequent messages to her daughter and oldest grandson. Texts were exchanged on a daily basis, sometimes hourly. Skype permitted her to see them while they related a special event, but it was still not the same as in the flesh contact.
She had never had the intention of becoming so physically disconnected from her family; it had just sort of encroached its way in. She loved her career, she knew this is what she was meant for, what she didn’t know was how to make it balance with her daughter and grandchildren who she also loved immensely. She rationalized that if she lived across the country her relationship with them would be no different than it is now. Then the guilt would kick in, reminding her she only lived 2 hours not a continent away.
Many nights she would lay awake and try to figure her schedule so that she could make it at least once a week to see her family. Inevitably though, her best laid plans fell apart. This instructor was sick, this service needed this class right now, it was always something it seemed.
It seemed like for the last ten years her life had been spent traveling to someplace other than home. Her career had blossomed with every mile, but her personal life had suffered immensely. As much as she had tried to rectify the problem, she still had not figured out the best answer to the problem and wasn’t sure short of quitting work, she ever would.
Today she was headed off to teach another alphabet class in some town, Maine. As she watched the mile markers roll past on the interstate, she wondered how the plans for her daughter’s wedding were coming. They had shared numerous phone calls and texts over the planning, but she had yet to see her and congratulate her in person since the engagement over a month ago. Even the news the impending nuptials had been delivered via phone, while she had been in Ohio for yet another conference.
As she pulled out of the gas station her mind was trying to organize the class she was about to teach but images of her grandchildren kept overtaking her thoughts. Stephen was 10, Dawson was 3 and she had missed so many highlights. Stephen had been picked for the all star baseball team for the last two years and she had been to see one inning of him playing on her way through to teach yet again. She was a stranger called Mimi to Dawson, as most of his contact with her had been over the phone.
Technology had helped. Pictures were frequently exchanged via e-mail, as were copies of school papers. Social networking had allowed her to send frequent messages to her daughter and oldest grandson. Texts were exchanged on a daily basis, sometimes hourly. Skype permitted her to see them while they related a special event, but it was still not the same as in the flesh contact.
She had never had the intention of becoming so physically disconnected from her family; it had just sort of encroached its way in. She loved her career, she knew this is what she was meant for, what she didn’t know was how to make it balance with her daughter and grandchildren who she also loved immensely. She rationalized that if she lived across the country her relationship with them would be no different than it is now. Then the guilt would kick in, reminding her she only lived 2 hours not a continent away.
Many nights she would lay awake and try to figure her schedule so that she could make it at least once a week to see her family. Inevitably though, her best laid plans fell apart. This instructor was sick, this service needed this class right now, it was always something it seemed.
It seemed like for the last ten years her life had been spent traveling to someplace other than home. Her career had blossomed with every mile, but her personal life had suffered immensely. As much as she had tried to rectify the problem, she still had not figured out the best answer to the problem and wasn’t sure short of quitting work, she ever would.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
A Man and His Ocean
He limps up the hill from the pier as he has done most every day for the last 60 plus years. He stops and looks back at his boat one last time and satisfied that everything is secured, he goes in for the night.
Years of outside physical labor have not aged him well. His face is ruddy all the time and the wrinkles are deep set like the channels in the nautical charts he studies. He back is bent from years of pulling traps onto his boat. His hands are leathery and scarred from the millions of bags he has baited in his life. His eyes are tired, it’s a hard life he lives and rest is irregular; the weather is an unyielding alarm clock.
The small town he was born in and where he still lives is a peninsula. No matter where he goes there, he is surrounded by the ocean. He built his first boat at 12 and spent all his free time on it. He would be on his boat hauling traps, when his friends were playing pickup baseball as kids. While those same boys became young men and fast cars were their focus, his was still on the water. His junior year of high school saw his first boat become a second bigger one. When he decided to go to college it wasn’t to be a traditional businessman when he graduated, it was to understand accounting so he could expand his fishing industry. Even as a young man, he was certain of the path in life he would pursue.
In 1962, when his wife was pregnant with their first child and he realized that lobster fishing alone may not financially support his family, he built a boatyard. Days when the weather wouldn’t permit him to be on the ocean, he could work on boats while having the smell and sound of the ocean right outside the door. The boatyard was a financial success, but eventually took him away from the ocean too often. He sold it at a significant profit and used the proceeds to buy his first commercially built boat.
The ocean is his love but weather is his master. Wind is probably the only real enemy he has ever known and it is a cruel one. Wind blowing for days on end keeps him off the boat worrying about how his offshore traps and boat would be affected. Hours are spent pacing and staring at the ocean hoping for a good outcome. When the wind stops he knows it means his next days will be spent from sunrise until after dark playing catch up and recouping his losses.
Over his life he has taken the 14 foot boat he built at 12 to an industry. His house overlooks the latest boat in his fleet, a 46 foot Novie, his pier and dock, the barge he built for mooring and dock installation, and the outbuildings that house his various supplies. The picture window in his bedroom allows him to overlook this legacy he has built for his only son as he wakes in the morning and before the erratic rest he may receive at night.
After the death of his wife his children tried to convince him to sell his home and business and retire to the family camp. He knew they only wanted the best for him, and after months of trying to explain to them why he could never leave the ocean behind, they finally let him be. He’s not sure if they finally understood the ocean is his reason to get up every morning or if they just got tired of nagging.
The ocean is where he goes to celebrate life’s successes and to contemplate its failures. The ocean is where he was born and he hopes it is where he dies. The time in between those two events has been dictated by the ocean and he tells anyone who will listen that he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Years of outside physical labor have not aged him well. His face is ruddy all the time and the wrinkles are deep set like the channels in the nautical charts he studies. He back is bent from years of pulling traps onto his boat. His hands are leathery and scarred from the millions of bags he has baited in his life. His eyes are tired, it’s a hard life he lives and rest is irregular; the weather is an unyielding alarm clock.
The small town he was born in and where he still lives is a peninsula. No matter where he goes there, he is surrounded by the ocean. He built his first boat at 12 and spent all his free time on it. He would be on his boat hauling traps, when his friends were playing pickup baseball as kids. While those same boys became young men and fast cars were their focus, his was still on the water. His junior year of high school saw his first boat become a second bigger one. When he decided to go to college it wasn’t to be a traditional businessman when he graduated, it was to understand accounting so he could expand his fishing industry. Even as a young man, he was certain of the path in life he would pursue.
In 1962, when his wife was pregnant with their first child and he realized that lobster fishing alone may not financially support his family, he built a boatyard. Days when the weather wouldn’t permit him to be on the ocean, he could work on boats while having the smell and sound of the ocean right outside the door. The boatyard was a financial success, but eventually took him away from the ocean too often. He sold it at a significant profit and used the proceeds to buy his first commercially built boat.
The ocean is his love but weather is his master. Wind is probably the only real enemy he has ever known and it is a cruel one. Wind blowing for days on end keeps him off the boat worrying about how his offshore traps and boat would be affected. Hours are spent pacing and staring at the ocean hoping for a good outcome. When the wind stops he knows it means his next days will be spent from sunrise until after dark playing catch up and recouping his losses.
Over his life he has taken the 14 foot boat he built at 12 to an industry. His house overlooks the latest boat in his fleet, a 46 foot Novie, his pier and dock, the barge he built for mooring and dock installation, and the outbuildings that house his various supplies. The picture window in his bedroom allows him to overlook this legacy he has built for his only son as he wakes in the morning and before the erratic rest he may receive at night.
After the death of his wife his children tried to convince him to sell his home and business and retire to the family camp. He knew they only wanted the best for him, and after months of trying to explain to them why he could never leave the ocean behind, they finally let him be. He’s not sure if they finally understood the ocean is his reason to get up every morning or if they just got tired of nagging.
The ocean is where he goes to celebrate life’s successes and to contemplate its failures. The ocean is where he was born and he hopes it is where he dies. The time in between those two events has been dictated by the ocean and he tells anyone who will listen that he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Monday, October 11, 2010
The Love of a Mother
Never had I imagined I would want to be a mother, yet here I was holding a 6 lb bundle of flesh that looked like it was covered in cream cheese and raspberry jelly. “Congratulations, what a beautiful baby girl” swirled around the room; while my mind raced as I wondered when that instant love thing kicked in and the panic of responsibility subsided.
The brown dot in the bottom of the blue tube was not what I expected to see at 5:30 that June morning, I had been sure my late period was any other reason. “Oh my God, I’m pregnant” screamed through my head, a thought loud enough to be heard a town over I was sure. Larry had just left for work so I was stuck at home all day to dwell on this. We were still newlyweds and we had talked about having a baby, but it was not in our immediate plans. I sat on the deck and hours went by as the realization of how my life was about to change sank in.
Pregnancy was physically easy for me. No morning sickness, no astronomical weight gain; just day after day of a little life growing inside of me. The mental agony of pregnancy was not so easy though. Summer turned fall, fall to winter, and the time grew closer. I was scared to death. I was scared of the pain of delivery, scared of the responsibility of motherhood; some days I was paralyzed by fear. I would pray for a C-section to avoid the pain. I would pray to win the Publisher’s Clearing House so I could afford a nanny. Mostly I would just hope that I could survive the delivery, let alone a lifetime of being a good mother.
I had no role model as a mother growing up. My biological mother left me when I was six and the next time I saw her I was twelve. She remarried but her children from her first marriage were not good enough for her new life. She would call to say she was coming to see us and we would wait from dawn to dark for her to show up only to be repeatedly disappointed. Christmas and birthday presents would arrive by mail days or weeks late with no explanation. There were never any mother daughter talks, she was never there to guide the way as I become first a teenager, then a woman.
My stepmother was no more a mother than my biological mother was. She was cold with no concept of nurturing. She kept a clean house and put meals on the table, but never wiped tears or listened to the troubles of a confused growing girl. No praise for accomplishments ever came for her, but sharp words of disapproval were plenty.
As March came closer I was determined to do everything right. Lamaze was the rage, so off Larry and I went. The women there were so grounded, so certain they would do everything right, my panic increased ten-fold. There was no way I could be the mother these women would be, my inadequacies were magnified by these women only a weekly basis.
Friday, February 18, 1983 came and I was in labor. I was sure I would have a nervous breakdown before it was over. I had a long labor and five women came onto the OB unit after I had and they babies were born and I was still in labor. The pain of labor was not nearly as intense for me as the pain of feeling like I couldn’t even do the right thing by my child by delivering in a normal period of time. Finally she was born and the nurse handed me this 6 pound little girl. I had been successful in delivering her; she was healthy according to the doctor.
The nurse came to take her away from to clean her up and the second she took her, this instant love thing everyone talked about happened. I wanted her back. I wanted to hold her, I wanted to be the one to clean her up, and I wanted to be the one to take care of her. I wasn’t filled with fear anymore, just the wonder of the greatest accomplishment I had ever done. Twenty-seven years later, I am still filled with that wonder.
The brown dot in the bottom of the blue tube was not what I expected to see at 5:30 that June morning, I had been sure my late period was any other reason. “Oh my God, I’m pregnant” screamed through my head, a thought loud enough to be heard a town over I was sure. Larry had just left for work so I was stuck at home all day to dwell on this. We were still newlyweds and we had talked about having a baby, but it was not in our immediate plans. I sat on the deck and hours went by as the realization of how my life was about to change sank in.
Pregnancy was physically easy for me. No morning sickness, no astronomical weight gain; just day after day of a little life growing inside of me. The mental agony of pregnancy was not so easy though. Summer turned fall, fall to winter, and the time grew closer. I was scared to death. I was scared of the pain of delivery, scared of the responsibility of motherhood; some days I was paralyzed by fear. I would pray for a C-section to avoid the pain. I would pray to win the Publisher’s Clearing House so I could afford a nanny. Mostly I would just hope that I could survive the delivery, let alone a lifetime of being a good mother.
I had no role model as a mother growing up. My biological mother left me when I was six and the next time I saw her I was twelve. She remarried but her children from her first marriage were not good enough for her new life. She would call to say she was coming to see us and we would wait from dawn to dark for her to show up only to be repeatedly disappointed. Christmas and birthday presents would arrive by mail days or weeks late with no explanation. There were never any mother daughter talks, she was never there to guide the way as I become first a teenager, then a woman.
My stepmother was no more a mother than my biological mother was. She was cold with no concept of nurturing. She kept a clean house and put meals on the table, but never wiped tears or listened to the troubles of a confused growing girl. No praise for accomplishments ever came for her, but sharp words of disapproval were plenty.
As March came closer I was determined to do everything right. Lamaze was the rage, so off Larry and I went. The women there were so grounded, so certain they would do everything right, my panic increased ten-fold. There was no way I could be the mother these women would be, my inadequacies were magnified by these women only a weekly basis.
Friday, February 18, 1983 came and I was in labor. I was sure I would have a nervous breakdown before it was over. I had a long labor and five women came onto the OB unit after I had and they babies were born and I was still in labor. The pain of labor was not nearly as intense for me as the pain of feeling like I couldn’t even do the right thing by my child by delivering in a normal period of time. Finally she was born and the nurse handed me this 6 pound little girl. I had been successful in delivering her; she was healthy according to the doctor.
The nurse came to take her away from to clean her up and the second she took her, this instant love thing everyone talked about happened. I wanted her back. I wanted to hold her, I wanted to be the one to clean her up, and I wanted to be the one to take care of her. I wasn’t filled with fear anymore, just the wonder of the greatest accomplishment I had ever done. Twenty-seven years later, I am still filled with that wonder.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
"What Do You Think?"
“What Do You Think?”
“Mom, I’m getting married, what do you think?”
*****
I recalled 36 hours of labor and there in the nursery was the most perfect baby girl ever born. Wrapped in pink, with a little pink bow taped to head, she was mine. Surrounded by baby boys all in blue she looked like perfect pink cotton candy, fluffy and sweet. I couldn’t wait to take her home and now she was building a home of her own..
*****
“Hey Mom, what do you think of purple and green for colors? Should we do roses for flowers or something less traditional?” Do you even think we can get purple flowers in October?”
*****
All I could think of at that moment was her with blonde pigtails wearing a dress with ruffles and bows, as she stood there holding my hand, not one ounce of fear in her. The school bus came to a stop, and she was off to her first day of school. Her face pressed against the window as she blew me kisses and I remember wondering what her first day of school would bring. Now she was going to be a wife, how did it happen so quickly?
*****
“What do you think I should wear for a dress? Do you think I should go white or ivory? I don’t really want a veil, are you okay with that? Mom, are you listening to me?”
*****
I was trying to listen to her, but the only thing I could hear was the memory of the music from her first ballet recital. White leotard with sequins and glitter covering it, she danced her little heart out. She was dazzling as she plied demi-pointe across the floor. The light hit the jewels in her hair and she gleamed when she hit her mark. When did that little girl become a woman?
*****
“So, Mom, do you think a fall wedding is good? I’m a little worried about the weather, but I really want an outside wedding and I don’t want to be swatting bugs the whole time.”
*****
Fall of the year and school had started again. The shirt was a little shorter than I would have liked, but she was the star of the show as she flipped and tumbled across the gym floor. Captain of the cheering squad was a role she took seriously, and her enthusiasm was contagious to everyone who was watching. Her million dollar smile and ringlets of blonde captured the crowd. I can still remember her embracing the championship trophy like she used to hold her dolls. Where had the time gone, how was it possible she was going to be a bride?
*****
“How should I do my hair, up or down? Should I get it colored before then or let it go natural? I was thinking maybe curls, but I don’t know maybe straight with jewel combs in it. How did you wear your hair Mom?”
*****
She was a sight to behold when she came down the stairs, the dress was perfect. Lavender with pink lace, shoes died to match; she looked like a princess headed to the ball and in her mind she was. She smiled and waved; then she was gone as the limo took her to her first prom. It seemed like only a fleeting moment ago, but now the next limo she rode in would take her to her husband.
“We want to do it here at the house, what do you think? We could have the ceremony and the reception right here. Mom, I know you got married in a church, but that’s not what we want.”
*****
Four feet and 10 inches put her at the front of the line as the class of 2001 started the march to Pomp and Circumstance. White cap and gown walked across the stage to get her diploma and as impossible as it seemed my baby was an adult. Now she was a woman about to be married and start her own family. I wondered how this could be, when it seemed like last week I was bringing my baby home from the hospital swaddled in pink.
******
“Mom, I’m getting married, what do you think?”
“Mom, I’m getting married, what do you think?”
*****
I recalled 36 hours of labor and there in the nursery was the most perfect baby girl ever born. Wrapped in pink, with a little pink bow taped to head, she was mine. Surrounded by baby boys all in blue she looked like perfect pink cotton candy, fluffy and sweet. I couldn’t wait to take her home and now she was building a home of her own..
*****
“Hey Mom, what do you think of purple and green for colors? Should we do roses for flowers or something less traditional?” Do you even think we can get purple flowers in October?”
*****
All I could think of at that moment was her with blonde pigtails wearing a dress with ruffles and bows, as she stood there holding my hand, not one ounce of fear in her. The school bus came to a stop, and she was off to her first day of school. Her face pressed against the window as she blew me kisses and I remember wondering what her first day of school would bring. Now she was going to be a wife, how did it happen so quickly?
*****
“What do you think I should wear for a dress? Do you think I should go white or ivory? I don’t really want a veil, are you okay with that? Mom, are you listening to me?”
*****
I was trying to listen to her, but the only thing I could hear was the memory of the music from her first ballet recital. White leotard with sequins and glitter covering it, she danced her little heart out. She was dazzling as she plied demi-pointe across the floor. The light hit the jewels in her hair and she gleamed when she hit her mark. When did that little girl become a woman?
*****
“So, Mom, do you think a fall wedding is good? I’m a little worried about the weather, but I really want an outside wedding and I don’t want to be swatting bugs the whole time.”
*****
Fall of the year and school had started again. The shirt was a little shorter than I would have liked, but she was the star of the show as she flipped and tumbled across the gym floor. Captain of the cheering squad was a role she took seriously, and her enthusiasm was contagious to everyone who was watching. Her million dollar smile and ringlets of blonde captured the crowd. I can still remember her embracing the championship trophy like she used to hold her dolls. Where had the time gone, how was it possible she was going to be a bride?
*****
“How should I do my hair, up or down? Should I get it colored before then or let it go natural? I was thinking maybe curls, but I don’t know maybe straight with jewel combs in it. How did you wear your hair Mom?”
*****
She was a sight to behold when she came down the stairs, the dress was perfect. Lavender with pink lace, shoes died to match; she looked like a princess headed to the ball and in her mind she was. She smiled and waved; then she was gone as the limo took her to her first prom. It seemed like only a fleeting moment ago, but now the next limo she rode in would take her to her husband.
“We want to do it here at the house, what do you think? We could have the ceremony and the reception right here. Mom, I know you got married in a church, but that’s not what we want.”
*****
Four feet and 10 inches put her at the front of the line as the class of 2001 started the march to Pomp and Circumstance. White cap and gown walked across the stage to get her diploma and as impossible as it seemed my baby was an adult. Now she was a woman about to be married and start her own family. I wondered how this could be, when it seemed like last week I was bringing my baby home from the hospital swaddled in pink.
******
“Mom, I’m getting married, what do you think?”
Friday, October 1, 2010
"What Do You Think?"
What Do You Think?”
“Mom, I’m getting married, what do you think?”
*****
36 hours of labor and there in the nursery was the most perfect baby girl ever born. Wrapped in pink, with a little pink bow taped to head, she was mine. Surrounded by baby boys all in blue she looked like perfect pink cotton candy, fluffy and sweet. I couldn’t wait to take her home.
*****
“What do you think of purple and green for colors? Should we do roses for flowers or something less traditional?” Do you even think we can get purple flowers?”
*****
Blonde pigtails and a dress with ruffles and bows, she stood there holding my hand, not one ounce of fear in her. The school bus came to a stop, and she was off to her first day of school. Her face pressed against the window as she blew me kisses and I wondered what I her first day of school would bring.
*****
“What do you think I should wear for a dress? Do you think I should go white or ivory? I don’t really want a veil, are you okay with that?”
*****
White leotard with sequins and glitter covering it, she danced her little heart out. She was dazzling as she plied demi-pointe across the floor. The light hit the jewels in her hair and she gleamed when she hit her mark. She was growing up so fast.
*****
“So, Mom, do you think a fall wedding is good? I’m a little worried about the weather, but I really want an outside wedding and I don’t want to be swatting bugs the whole time.”
*****
The shirt was a little shorter than I would have liked, but she was the star of the show as she flipped and tumbled across the gym floor. Captain of the cheering squad was a role she took seriously, and her enthusiasm was contagious to everyone who was watching. Her million dollar smile and ringlets of gold captured everybody.
*****
“How should I do my hair, up or down? Should I get it colored before then or let it go natural? I was thinking maybe curls, but I don’t know maybe straight with jewel combs in it.”
*****
She was a sight to behold when she came down the stairs, the dress was perfect. Lavender with pink lace, shoes died to match she looked like a princess headed to the ball and in her mind she was. She smiled and waved; then she was gone as the limo took her to her first prom.
“We want to do it here at the house, what do you think? We could have the ceremony and the reception right here.”
*****
Four feet and 10 inches put her at the front of the line as the class of 2001 started the march to Pomp and Circumstance. White cap and gown walked across the stage to get her diploma and my baby was an adult.
******
“Mom, I’m getting married, what do you think?”
“Mom, I’m getting married, what do you think?”
*****
36 hours of labor and there in the nursery was the most perfect baby girl ever born. Wrapped in pink, with a little pink bow taped to head, she was mine. Surrounded by baby boys all in blue she looked like perfect pink cotton candy, fluffy and sweet. I couldn’t wait to take her home.
*****
“What do you think of purple and green for colors? Should we do roses for flowers or something less traditional?” Do you even think we can get purple flowers?”
*****
Blonde pigtails and a dress with ruffles and bows, she stood there holding my hand, not one ounce of fear in her. The school bus came to a stop, and she was off to her first day of school. Her face pressed against the window as she blew me kisses and I wondered what I her first day of school would bring.
*****
“What do you think I should wear for a dress? Do you think I should go white or ivory? I don’t really want a veil, are you okay with that?”
*****
White leotard with sequins and glitter covering it, she danced her little heart out. She was dazzling as she plied demi-pointe across the floor. The light hit the jewels in her hair and she gleamed when she hit her mark. She was growing up so fast.
*****
“So, Mom, do you think a fall wedding is good? I’m a little worried about the weather, but I really want an outside wedding and I don’t want to be swatting bugs the whole time.”
*****
The shirt was a little shorter than I would have liked, but she was the star of the show as she flipped and tumbled across the gym floor. Captain of the cheering squad was a role she took seriously, and her enthusiasm was contagious to everyone who was watching. Her million dollar smile and ringlets of gold captured everybody.
*****
“How should I do my hair, up or down? Should I get it colored before then or let it go natural? I was thinking maybe curls, but I don’t know maybe straight with jewel combs in it.”
*****
She was a sight to behold when she came down the stairs, the dress was perfect. Lavender with pink lace, shoes died to match she looked like a princess headed to the ball and in her mind she was. She smiled and waved; then she was gone as the limo took her to her first prom.
“We want to do it here at the house, what do you think? We could have the ceremony and the reception right here.”
*****
Four feet and 10 inches put her at the front of the line as the class of 2001 started the march to Pomp and Circumstance. White cap and gown walked across the stage to get her diploma and my baby was an adult.
******
“Mom, I’m getting married, what do you think?”
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