Cinderella

We had looked in several stores already, hand in hand as we searched for the perfect dress for Sophie's holiday concert.

I use the term 'holiday' loosely. Sadly, this year's songs had little to do with the religious traditions of the season. Certain parents had objected to the idea of actually singing carols and folk songs so the school played it safe and chose songs about the environment, community, and the 'power of one'. Instead of Frosty the Snowman (how politically incorrect could one snowman be?), the audience got to hear about falling rain and snow on mountain peaks with no mention of a Winter Wonderland. Nonetheless, the kids did their part and learned all the non-offending lyrics well.

Parents and grandparents came, took pictures, applauded and affirmed their progeny. I was shamelessly taking digital pics and video recording throughout. The girls looked lovely and lively onstage. I missed the familiar refrains of familiar songs but couldn't help but enjoy the excitement Sophie and Hannah were feeling.

The sense of mystery and wonder which was missing from the secular concert was provided by Sophie's dress. After several stores and no luck, she and I turned a corner in Macy's and both let out a small gasp. I tightened my hold on her hand as she dared to ask, "Oh, Babci, it's so beautiful. Can we buy this one?"

This dress even had a miniature dress attached which would fit her American Girl doll. It was so well made and it was on a 50% reduced rack. I could not believe my eyes and Sophie's good fortune!

We found the fitting room and, as soon as she slipped into it, I knew that Sophie and this dress were meant for each other. As I helped her step out of the garment, I looked at the label and my heart leapt. This carefully made dress was a Cinderella fashion. Memories came flooding back. My grandmother, an immigrant who never learned how to read and write, knew how to sew. She, in fact, worked as a seamstress decades ago for a mill which made Cinderella dresses. I remember my mom telling me how my Babci would often save her wages and purchase the Cinderella dresses for her granddaughters. Here I was, finding a Cinderella dress for Sophie!

How I wish my mom and my Babci had lived long enough to see this new generation of grandchildren, to see the glow in Sophie's eyes as she became a Cinderella for her school concert. The songs, themselves, no longer mattered as much. The magic of the season was in the dress.

Watch the tram car

This has been a whirlwind of a summer and I'm so overdue here. Let me share a rundown ...

The month of July brought: unemployment, birthday-gift trip to Vancouver BC (tour of a television set, hobnobbing with the cast and production crew of Sanctuary), the official "Mattern Cousin Reunion" with the Pacific Northwest Matterns descending on us here in the Berkshires, followed by a three-day August excursion to the Jersey shore. I'll start with the shore trip and blog later about the reunion and Vancouver BC experience.

What great fun to introduce my granddaughters to the Jersey boardwalk! It was a spontaneous decision and Jenn and I jumped at the chance. We found a family motel in North Wildwood, one block from the beach and boards. The first night we initiated Sophie and Hannah into 'walking the boards'. Actually, the Wildwood boardwalk is over two miles long so we also let the girls ride the tram car up and then walked back, checking out the rides and vendors. They were totally in awe and clamoring, "Oh, we love this place!"

If you've never experienced the chaos of a Jersey boardwalk (and three amusement piers), then it would be hard to describe. It's like a county fair on speed. I grew up with trips to Wildwood, Ocean City, Seaside Heights - this was the blue-collar solution to city heat and summer doldrums.


Jenn took her first baby steps in a motel in North Wildwood, just a block or two from where we stayed. Parents, aunts and uncles, cousins all were part of the flashbacks I experienced as I introduced the girls to life at the shore. Heck, I even spent part of my honeymoon in Wildwood! Now that I think of it, Jenn may have had her start in this town. Indeed.

After such a long hard winter, it was so much fun to watch Jenn and the girls as they savored everything. Sophie learned to boogie board and jump the waves; Hannah hit a 'jackpot' slot in the arcade and her eyes nearly popped out as a long line of coupons started spitting out of the game machine. She went on lots of rides but deferred to big sister when it came to the real thrillers - the old-fashioned wooden coasters and the many crazy, stomach-churning specialties that Jenn and Sophie loved. In that, they were so like my mom. I, on the other hand, was perfectly content to take Hannah to the Carousel or Duck Pond instead. The glow of the night lights shined in her eyes as she excitedly absorbed everything and told me, "Babci, I will remember this forever!" The four of us did share a ride on the huge Ferris Wheel and much to my astonishment, the dare-devils, Jenn and Sophie, were more nervous at the top than Hattie and I!


We were making new memories while I relived the old.

Each night we came back from the boards way beyond the kids' normal bedtime and happily exhausted. The girls weathered the entire trip so well, little troopers. Hannah decided that she and Sophie would like to live in Wildwood but how early would they have to get up for school? And could their girlfriends stay over?

I saw myself in their squeals and smiles, knowing that my grandmom, my Babci, was a part of my earliest Wildwood days too.

Summer on the boardwalk ... hearing my daughter laugh out loud and watching her share this wondrous experience with her own daughters for the very first time.

There's nothing quite like it.

Uplifting

It had to happen. And today was a perfect day to make it happen.

My daughter has been taking the heat all week for an article she had published in the Boston Globe. Writing in her usual humorous and self-deprecatory style, Jenn related how she and her two little girls handle the everyday occurrences of living in a very small house and how they often share moments of nudity (and hilarity). The vitriolic comments that followed her article were hard to read - mean-spirited and judgmental accusations which alleged that she was a "corrupter of civilization". How dare she show her naked body to her small children! How dare she answer their questions about such naked bodies!

What the inflamed, self-righteous readers fail to realize is that my daughter is one of the kindest, least judgmental people on this planet. She is also one of the walking wounded. Divorce and mental illness have become a part of her everyday life. She certainly didn't 'ask for' such heartbreaking circumstances but she has taken the cards she's been dealt and plays them with courage, compassion, and humility. She has had more than her share of what some will call bad luck for the past few years: job lay-off, nil finances, medications wreaking havoc with her memory and writing skills. Somehow she wakes up each day and struggles to find meaning and give meaning to the people in her life, including her priority - her precious two daughters.

There is not a mean bone in Jenn's body, so for her to read the hateful commentary following her magazine article came as a shock. However, she has met the hatemongers straight on and asserted herself online. I wish I could be as brave.

Knowing all this and how crazy a week it's been, I called her this morning. She needed a diversion.

Me: "Hey, Jenn, I really need to go shopping this weekend for clothes for my trip. I'm flying to Vancouver next weekend and nothing fits."

Jenn: "Sure, let's do it. I know you like to use me as your personal assistant on this kind of stuff. (Laughter at other end of the line.) Funny how I'm great at dressing other people but never take care of my own wardrobe."

Me: "Super. I'll pick you up for breakfast and then to the Mall. I really need a bra."

We do breakfast and a couple hours later ...

Jenn: "Find the fitting room. No, no ... don't touch the lingerie. Just give me your size and LET ME pick the bras."

Me: "You're such a good daughter. I have to look really nice for the visit to the television set."

Me (in fitting room with my daughter): "Wow, I hope these bras are what I'm looking for."

Jenn: "You've trained me well, Mom. A good foundation garment sets the tone - then we'll find you a nice top."

Now, if anyone reading this has had a problem with Jenn's Boston Globe article, I suggest that you stop reading right now. Go open your Reader's Digest. NUDITY AHEAD ...

Me (now stripped to my waist and struggling into Jenn's first choice for my foundation garment): "Er, are you sure this is my size?"

Jenn (chuckling): "Mom, the first rule of a good fit is to hang those puppies down and slide 'em into the cups."

Me (wishing I had inherited my father's genes rather than my maternal Polish peasant-stock knockers): "Okay, they're in. I hooked up the back. What do you think? It's a 'minimizer'. (Ha! That's like trying to hold back Niagara Falls with a bucket!)

Jenn (professionally as if she's done this for years): "Let me slip my fingers in here and pull the straps up a bit. Okay, this one works."

Me: "I need a sports bra today for when I finally return to the gym."

Jenn (looking dubious): "Mom, that's not what we came for today. Let's concentrate on everyday apparel and your upcoming trip, eh?"

Me: "Should I try the other two on?"

Jenn: "Mom, treat yourself. You certainly need more than one considering what you own right now."

I try, I squirm, I wiggle my aging, abundant flesh into my personal assistant's tasteful selections. She eyes me critically and helps me decide on the final choices. I look at myself in the mirror and wish that my youthful, perky bosom was staring back. As my best friend would say, "It is what it is. Deal."

By now, Jenn has found a bra or two for herself and proceeds to strip and try them on. She is now almost forty, the mother of two.

Our bodies are the bodies of women who have gone through many transitions. Jenn reminds me of this and we both take a moment to honor the reality of our soft flesh, curves and cellulite. We are what we are. We are real women.

We hug and smile. Our bodies are no strangers to each other. She sees her future; I see my past.

I suddenly say, "God, how sad about those commentators. They could turn all that negative energy into something positive, like an uplifting bra."

She looks at me and we are now laughing so loudly that we fear a sales assistant will come rushing in to check on us.

Between the giggles I manage to blurt out, "I meant an uplifting blog!"

Pilgrim soul

To my daughter on her birthday, a poem by David Whyte from The House of Belonging.

... one small thing
I've learned these years,

how to be alone,
and at the edge of aloneness
how to be found by the world.

Innocence is what we allow
to be gifted back to us
once we've given ourselves away.

There is one world only,
the one to which we gave ourselves
utterly, and to which one day

we are blessed to return.

I love you, Jenn, and bless you on your journey.

The wonder of it all

Twice in my life, I became a mother.

I was not ready, at first, for the tremendous responsibility of holding that tiny newborn and trying to calm her cries, giving her what she needed. Those first few weeks were a blur of anxiety and apprehension. Am I doing it right? The it, of course, being motherhood. My mother only smiled back at me, wisely and mysteriously. She knew what I had yet to learn, that children are resilient and everything was going to be fine.

By the time my son arrived, I had learned a lot. Not only was I more relaxed but so was he. Big eyes, quietly attentive ... watching, always watching.


I love the mathematics of motherhood. The years of struggling and caring and worrying and trying to get it right. Providing roots but also wings. The years fly by and suddenly, from 2, there comes a new generation of 1,2,3,4,5! Now it's my turn to smile and assure my grown kids that they are beautiful and strong parents, that they are certainly doing it right.


Beyond the abundance, I return to a simple act - holding my daughter, stroking her until she falls asleep. Doing what I did so many years ago, wiping her tears and providing a safe space.

I think being a mother takes you to the heights and depths of human experience. Your children's joys and sorrows carve niches in your soul. Sometimes, the richest moments are the most basic. Holding. Comforting. Knowing when to be silent. Looking down at your grown daughter's sleeping face and catching your breath ... remembering those eyelashes on a baby, held and sung to so, so long ago. Smiling your mother's smile and praying that everything will, indeed, be fine.

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY TO ALL OF YOU AND THANK YOU FOR READING MY BLOG!

Swimming lessons

I usually write positive things but this seems the perfect day to release some bad news at the micro level.

My job is 'being eliminated' on July 1. My boss told me the same afternoon I found out that I have some dental problems. The dental problems have turned into three surgical procedures. No dental plan. Small amount of savings as a nest egg for the unemployment will now be re-directed to the periodontist.

Sophie's favorite goldfish (it was actually black and silver) went belly up under my watch. I have yet to tell Sophie who named this little fish Midnight and faithfully reminded me to sing "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" each night to both Midnight and Goldie. At her last sleepover, though, she announced that the fish were older now and didn't need the lullaby. I think I need the lullaby. Goldfish is tucked away in a plastic cup in the freezer. I owe it to Sophie to let her decide how to settle the remains of her little friend. One if by land, two if by sea ...

Jenn is still trying hard to keep herself afloat. The latest there is a hole in the roof. You can't even make this stuff up.

May day, May day! I guess we'll keep treading water until the rescue ship arrives.

A mother-daughter sitcom. Or the Titanic.

Declarative sentences

"I'm glad you moved here, Babci."

It was spoken softly by the little dark-haired girl descending my staircase. I was in back of her and almost missed the spontaneous words. Sophie's sincerity caught me by surprise.

"Sophie, I'm glad I moved up here too, to watch you and Hannah grow."

"You would have missed a lot."

"I know." Oh, dear heart, I know. Believe me, I know.


"Thank you, Babci, for having me for a birthday sleepover."

"My pleasure." My delight.