There are no words...

On September 11th my former company lost two executives on one of the planes that crashed into the twin towers in NYC.

My husband has been vacationing with friends in Scotland. He was due to return today, but someone crashed a flaming SUV into the terminal building in Glasgow. I was just beginning my freakout when he called. He's OK, although his phone battery was low and he couldn't talk long. I'm betting that the first chance he will have to return home will be tomorrow. I'm still shaky, but.... thank God he's OK. As happens with these incidents, more news is breaking...

Nostalgia

This is a favorite photo of me. A great big pile of leaves just sort of speaks to the way childhood should be, don't you think? I need to ask my parents for a copy of another favorite... I'm Daniel's age, maybe even a bit younger, wearing nothing but a diaper and sitting on a red pedal car at Grandma and Grandpa T's place in Wisconsin. I wonder what ever happened to that pedal car? My brother would probably remember too of many adventures frantically pedaling that thing up and down the sidewalks. A quick internet search found me Pedal Cars and Retro Collectibles so that you can see what I mean... Although many of these are too "glam" for what I am talking about. I remember our pedal car as being a frame, seat, four wheels, pedals and a steering wheel. It was red, and I think there was some white writing on it... perhaps it was even a Radio Flyer, but I would have to ask if someone remembers.

My sister in law and I were lamenting the "fear factor" (for lack of a better word) we have for our children these days. Pedaling a car up and down the sidewalks for hours. Slamming out the back door to go play in the yard, or with/over at the neighbors and not coming home until dinnertime, are just a few of the things that I remember... There was an attempted abduction of a nine year old in my sister in law's neighborhood. Even before this incident, she confessed that if she leaves her little guy in the backyard (fenced) even for a brief moment, say to go wash her hands, she gets nervous. I certainly can't imagine leaving Daniel. Starting school is going to be difficult, I think...

Hug

The HR department at my former job published a calendar one year that included all the oddball holidays that are out there. You know the kind: International Smile Day, National Pork Grilling Day, etc.

Who knew it was Screaming Toddler Week?

And how is it that Screaming Toddler Week has coincided with said screaming toddler deciding to start giving out real "honest to goodness" hugs? Don't get me wrong, Daniel has been affectionate and a cuddler - well, on his terms. He is a boy with lots of places to go and things to do after all. But after a screaming, hair pulling, howler-monkey kind of day this week Daniel looked up at me and said, "Hug?" and wrapped his little arms around my neck. Thereby melting me into my socks for the rest of the evening. Just for good measure one of these was bestowed upon Dada as well.

TVLand Purgatory

Tired of the reruns already? Visit 5 Minutes for Mom and leave a comment on this post for a chance to win free Netflix.

My New Merit Badge

(Deep breath). Hi! My name is Susan, and I am a worrier.

(Hi Susan!)

Yes, I admit it. A worrier. I've earned my merit badge in worry many times over. It seems to be hardwired, however as I can recall childhood worries as varied as:

Do those dark clouds on the horizon mean another tornado warning?

Is Mom lost? We've driven by this store before...

What do I wear to school tomorrow? And is there any possible way to get myself out of gym class again?

Flash forward into adulthood, and the worries are still there. From paying the bills to the war in Iraq to is my child still breathing once I put him to sleep at night... I try hard not to be consumed.

One of the blessings of children is their ability to be in the moment. Glee or tears are both ripe fruit for the picking... savoring a banana, dancing to Elmo, and screaming in frustration as Mom tries to brush your teeth all carry equal weight. I try to borrow these tidbits from my son's life. To be a more "in the moment Mom" and less "worry Mom". To enjoy the sticky fingers and squishy mud puddles because the laundry will always be there later... these are the memories I want for Daniel as he grows up.

Marching to my own beat

Otherwise known as: How did I get here again?

If you'd asked me growing up, I would have said that I was the type of person who would be living in the hometown she grew up in, having gone to the local university, married a classmate and be managing my 3.2 kids and life quite nicely.

I went instead to the humongus state university an hour and a half from my hometown in Michigan. A university where I knew no-one going in...

Upon graduation lived for 6 months in Paris, France. A stint that included selling muffins from a shop near the Pompidou Centre, and fond memories of my little studio sublet apartment with a view of the Eiffel Tower in the distance.

A move to Sacramento, California for a few years. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but ultimately not for me.

New England beckoned. Rich in history, and someplace I had never been, I moved in with a friend from high school who had arrived a few years earlier for grad school. In what feels like the blink of an eye I fell for H and we are now chasing nearly 2 year old Daniel past the slate headstones and through the old New England Cemeteries we previously traveled as "just the two of us." Who woulda thought it?

(My Grandpa B was a sign painter and a glass blower (neon sign tubing) by trade. A superb craftsman, he made intricate models of ships and cars, a doll house and many other woodcrafts. I can recall a Nativity scene one Christmas season. A gruff ol' Grandpa, he was a fisherman and a golfer, and even when his eyesight was going he loved to play cards. It was only years later that I learned that while I knew he played the trumpet, he also did so in a clown band. Marching to his own beat on big floppy feet. He's on the far left in the above photo...)