Homedays

August 2007There is nothing more glorious than two days off from work, in the middle of the summer, with no real responsibilities or plans. But, sometimes these days at home can be rough. Sometimes you just want to be Miss Cranky Pants. You might think I’m talking about myself (I have my moments), but the Crank-O-Matic of which I speak is my daughter. I think she got up on the wrong side of the bed both Saturday and Sunday (perhaps I need to move the bed?). The problem we always face is that, for me, weekends are meant to be a time of relaxation, whereas my daughter wants to go, go, go until she can’t go anymore. She gets bored and lonely stuck at home all day with a bunch of adults who are trying to unwind from the preceeding busy week. I never had that problem because my brothers and I are only four years apart, total. So, that means I had built-in playmates for any and every occasion. Lillia isn’t so lucky. And, that’s probably not going to change in the near future. Children are taxing – both on the mind and on the wallet. I can’t see the justice in bringing another kid into my already chaotic world. I’m not saying it will never happen, it’s just not going to happen right now.

August 2007I worry so much about Lillia. I wonder if she’s truly happy, or if her life is as miserable as her tantrums would have me believe. She’s such a complex person, even at age three. I mean, just look at her eyes in these photos. There’s so much going on in that little mind of hers, I worry that I’m somehow letting her down. I want to be the best mother possible, but it’s a struggle to live up to the expectations I set for myself, and the ones I perceive to be set by others. Interesting…this is my second post in less than a week on the topic of my parenting skills. But, the truth is that I do agonize over the decisions I make, and the minutes I waste. I am constantly reminded about the fleeting nature of childhood, and I feel like I’m always a step behind where I should be when it comes to taking good care of Lillia. I don’t just want to see her survive to eighteen – I want her to have a great life, a fulfilling life, and I don’t want to be the cause of boredom and misery. At the same time, though, I need down-time. Everyone needs it. But, it’s hard to justify putting on a movie so I can have an hour of reading time, or chill time, or just…time. I’m probably my own harshest critic, but it’s hard not to analyze everything I do when I know that everything I do matters…at least to a small life that has just begun.

August 2007Sure, parenting isn’t all sweetness and light, but there are moments when you are so in love with your child that you are pretty sure you’re going to cry or your heart is going to explode. For example, Damian and I took Lillia to see Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory at The Colonial Theatre today, and Lil fell asleep on me about a 1/2 hour into the film. As I held her there in my arms, I thought of how incredibly lucky I was to have this little person in my life, how wonderfully unexpected she was, how I wouldn’t change one thing. I’ll take the tantrums and the crankiness any day of the week in exchange for those few moments I get to hold her while she sleeps. And, people constantly tell me to “cherish these moments” because kids grow up so fast. I want to slap them and say, “Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think I feel the pain of that everyday?” It’s almost cruel that the amount of time we are given to be mothers (or fathers) is so short. There’s no doubt that children will always need their parents (hell, I still live at home at twenty-six!), but it’s not the same after they get to be a certain age. Eventually, they no longer crawl into your lap just to snuggle, or ask you to read “one more story” at bedtime. I don’t need anyone to tell me that I will miss those moments when they’re gone.

Madame Sherri’s Forest

Madame Sherri's Forest
It was a beautiful, absolutely temperate, day so I took Lil to Madame Sherri’s Forest in Chesterfield, NH. I’ve been in love with this place ever since my friend Nick took me there back in high school. It’s a burned out shell of a building, overgrown with all the flora that New England has to offer, and embellished with beer bottles and empty packs of cigarettes. But, there is something inherently romantic there. Perhaps it is the legend of the Madame herself which lends the air of mystery to the ruins. A costume designer for the Zigfield Follies, she brought class and glamour to the back woods of New Hampshire, a feat worth mentioning.

Madame Sherri's ForestAlthough Madame Sherri is a fascinating character, it is not her presence that brings me back again and again. It is as if I’m eight years old, and the wonder with which I saw “castles” as a child comes back to me instantly the second I see the first stone of the tower peeking through the trees. Having spent time living in England and having seen REAL castles, I assure you that Madame Sherri’s construction, although impressive, is certainly no royal abode. Still, when I sit on the steps there, I feel like one of Rossetti’s Pre-Raphaelite beauties, entering a world of mysticism and magic. I know all of this sounds sappy, but if we can’t escape from reality now and again, what good is our imagination? I’ve always been a daydreamer, and it’s not at all difficult for me to lose myself in any given situation – to tune out the world. Oddly enough, I’m no good at meditation, but that’s because it requires an empty mind, and mine is always full, though not necessarily with the things it should be.

Madame Sherri's ForestI can’t tell if Lillia enjoyed our walk or not. I think she was a bit frightened of the castle, not so much because of its state of disrepair, but because the entrances and exits were not clearly defined. I think she felt trapped, despite the lack of walls or ceilings to hold her. However, unlike myself, she seemed perfectly content to climb the side staircase, and would have gone to the top had I not stopped her. There was no way I was going to the top, and I couldn’t let her go that high by herself. I don’t remember being afraid of heights as a child but, then again, I was hardly aware of my own mortality at that age (now the knowledge is acute). Perhaps life is the same no matter what your age: a mixture of wonder and fear at every turn.

See more photos from Madame Sherri’s here.

Ye Olde Cheshire Fair

Cheshire Fair, 2007
Last weekend Damian and I took Lillia to the Cheshire Fair. Having lived in this area for most of our lives, we appreciate both the wonders and horrors of a day at the fair. We’ve seen the fair evolve over the years; not only has the fair changed but our perception of it, over the course of our lives, has changed. It is an experience unlike any other, which I write with a touch of nostalgia, and a touch of disgust.

Cheshire Fair, 2007I have to assume the “county fair”, as an idea, was designed primarily as an agricultural event. My mother grew up on a farm in northern NH, so she spent a lot of time at county fairs with her siblings, showing cows and horses. I have a lot of respect for that way of life.

Still, I feel like an awkward alien as I stroll down the rows of heifers, acutely aware that being only one generation removed from the scene does not make me a part of it. As a child I thrilled at the idea of a day in the barn, oohing and aahing over baby pigs, or puppies, or whatever happened to have been born recently. But, I was never quite comfortable on the farm. And, even though my mother spent the first eighteen years of her life living there, I find very little of the farm in her today. My daughter, on the other hand, who is even further removed from an agricultural upbringing, is never more content than when she is wallowing next to a cow, or a pig, or a sheep (don’t even get me started on horses). But, she’s a 12th Generation New Hampshire-ite. There’s no one more genetically predestined to enjoy farm life than Lillia.

Cheshire Fair, 2007If you can see through a certain degree of filth, you will find the sparkle underneath at the fair. This is especially true if you are a three year old who is finally tall enough to go on rides by yourself – hooray for being 42 inches tall! Where else can you view local livestock, get sick on The Scrambler, clog your arteries with fried dough, and get a third degree sunburn, all in the course of a few hours? In all seriousness, going to the fair is not only a summer tradition, it is an integral part of life in New Hampshire.

You can see all of the pictures from our day here.