This is one of my favorite photos of the kids. It was taken on one of our visits to the Monterey Bay Aquarium, at the Wave Crash Gallery. I love the look of delight on their faces as 600 gallons of ocean crash into the rocky shore behind them.
Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts
Growing Up
This is one of my favorite photos of the kids. It was taken on one of our visits to the Monterey Bay Aquarium, at the Wave Crash Gallery. I love the look of delight on their faces as 600 gallons of ocean crash into the rocky shore behind them.
Paying My Respects, 8 Years After
When I was invited to attend Time to Play magazine's 2009 Holiday showcase, I almost peed in my pants in my eagerness to attend, for two reasons; first, because I would get to see all the coolest -- and hottest -- toys for the 2009 holiday season, and second, because the event was in New York.
Once I was sure this trip was going to happen, I knew immediately that there was one place in New York I wanted to visit: Ground Zero. The last time I was in Manhattan, the Twin Towers were still standing.
It was weird looking at the Manhattan skyline from the airport car window and not seeing the twin towers jutting up into the sky. It's difficult to suppress a sigh. They were so magnificent. It's such a shame. I cannot imagine what New Yorkers must feel. They must miss it fiercely, as though the towers were limbs amputated from the body of buildings that is Manhattan.
Today Ground Zero looked like a busy, bustling construction site. As I looked down on the site from my vantage point at the World Financial Center, I remembered my own visits to the WTC. As a little kid, I remember standing on the ground, staring up at the two buildings until I was almost bent over backwards in my effort to see the top. I remember going up to the Top of the World observation deck in Tower 2. Another time, I remember getting off the subway at the station underneath the complex and shopping at Century 21 afterwards. On another visit, I remember having lunch at the Windows on the World restaurant in Tower 1, and looking out the windows and down at the clouds.
I stopped by the Tribute WTC Visitor Center, where they have a gallery of personal images, videos, artifacts and stories of people affected by the tragedy.
The volunteers have thoughtfully left boxes of tissues at strategic places throughout the galleries. I used my fair share of them.
I also signed up for a walking tour around the perimeter of Ground Zero and a couple of memorials built to commemorate the lives that were lost. I normally don't like organized tours, and I didn't want something where the guide points and the tourists gawk. I especially don't like the thought of commercializing and profiting from what happened.
But I signed up because the tour guides are volunteers who were survivors, family members, rescue workers, volunteers, or people who were significantly affected by 9/11. Each tour is different because each tour guide interweaves the facts with their personal accounts of their 9/11 experience. One of our tour guides was a retired firefighter and volunteer rescue worker who spoke of inhaling so much white (toxic) dust during his rescue work that his wife's lips burned when she kissed him. Our other tour guide spoke about the search for her daughter, hearing a little girl talk about how she saw "the birds in the sky were burning", and wondering how many years later that little girl would realize that what she saw burning in the sky were not actually birds. It was touching and moving and very emotional.
I know many New Yorkers feel almost insulted that tourists flock to the site, that it's disrespectful to be posing for photos in front of this place of such tragedy. But what happened at Ground Zero affected so many people to some degree, and it is fitting that people should go there to visit and pay their respects and mourn the loss of the landmarks and community and lives. It's what people do when they care.
Once I was sure this trip was going to happen, I knew immediately that there was one place in New York I wanted to visit: Ground Zero. The last time I was in Manhattan, the Twin Towers were still standing.
It was weird looking at the Manhattan skyline from the airport car window and not seeing the twin towers jutting up into the sky. It's difficult to suppress a sigh. They were so magnificent. It's such a shame. I cannot imagine what New Yorkers must feel. They must miss it fiercely, as though the towers were limbs amputated from the body of buildings that is Manhattan.
Today Ground Zero looked like a busy, bustling construction site. As I looked down on the site from my vantage point at the World Financial Center, I remembered my own visits to the WTC. As a little kid, I remember standing on the ground, staring up at the two buildings until I was almost bent over backwards in my effort to see the top. I remember going up to the Top of the World observation deck in Tower 2. Another time, I remember getting off the subway at the station underneath the complex and shopping at Century 21 afterwards. On another visit, I remember having lunch at the Windows on the World restaurant in Tower 1, and looking out the windows and down at the clouds.
I stopped by the Tribute WTC Visitor Center, where they have a gallery of personal images, videos, artifacts and stories of people affected by the tragedy.
The volunteers have thoughtfully left boxes of tissues at strategic places throughout the galleries. I used my fair share of them.I also signed up for a walking tour around the perimeter of Ground Zero and a couple of memorials built to commemorate the lives that were lost. I normally don't like organized tours, and I didn't want something where the guide points and the tourists gawk. I especially don't like the thought of commercializing and profiting from what happened.
But I signed up because the tour guides are volunteers who were survivors, family members, rescue workers, volunteers, or people who were significantly affected by 9/11. Each tour is different because each tour guide interweaves the facts with their personal accounts of their 9/11 experience. One of our tour guides was a retired firefighter and volunteer rescue worker who spoke of inhaling so much white (toxic) dust during his rescue work that his wife's lips burned when she kissed him. Our other tour guide spoke about the search for her daughter, hearing a little girl talk about how she saw "the birds in the sky were burning", and wondering how many years later that little girl would realize that what she saw burning in the sky were not actually birds. It was touching and moving and very emotional.
I know many New Yorkers feel almost insulted that tourists flock to the site, that it's disrespectful to be posing for photos in front of this place of such tragedy. But what happened at Ground Zero affected so many people to some degree, and it is fitting that people should go there to visit and pay their respects and mourn the loss of the landmarks and community and lives. It's what people do when they care.
Say what?
It has been almost 2 years since 3Po and Jammy finished with their speech therapy. Their pronounciation has improved to the point where strangers understand almost everything they say. Of course, there are still some occasions when Alfie or I will ask them to repeat the same word or phrase over and over because they sound like they're talking in twin-language again. But those times are coming fewer and farther between.
In fact, I'm a bit teary-eyed over the prospect of them entering kindergarten and losing their part-English, part-Filipino, all-Bostonian accent ("pah-ty", "cah"). And I'm not looking forward to the day when they can pronounce these words perfectly:
Ooth
Storm--trooter
Kinsplode
Bovver
Hipuccs
Wu-cuz
Yego
Who can guess what these words are?
In fact, I'm a bit teary-eyed over the prospect of them entering kindergarten and losing their part-English, part-Filipino, all-Bostonian accent ("pah-ty", "cah"). And I'm not looking forward to the day when they can pronounce these words perfectly:
Ooth
Storm--trooter
Kinsplode
Bovver
Hipuccs
Wu-cuz
Yego
Who can guess what these words are?
Five
This week's Photo Hunters Theme is Five.
(This is the very first photo we have of us as a complete family, all five members. I know I look horrible, but I had just pushed about 14 lbs. of baby out of me a couple of hours before.)
Five is a great number. It's the number of vowels in the alphabet. The number of senses. The number of oceans in the world. Best of all, Five is the number of people I have in my family.
Five can be an awkward number for a family. Vacation packages are always quoted in terms of a family of four. Kids-eat-free specials at restaurants are always "One child free with paid adult". Five means that mom and dad are outnumbered. Five means that one kid sometimes feels left out.
But we are like the five fingers on a hand --add or subtract one and we'd find it weird. Like fingers, each can move on its own, but is part of a team that does great things together. So even though we haven't quite figured out the best seating configuration on an airplane, we love being a Family of Five.
Love Thursday: The Pea's birth story
The Pea's birthday is actually on Friday (April 6), but it goes without saying that she is the topic of this week's Love Thursday. After all, it was actually the day before, April 5, a Thursday, that I went into labor. Here is our story:
April 5, 2001, Thursday, approx. 3PM: I'm already 5 days late and fed up with being pregnant. On March 19, I was 1cm dilated and on my due date, March 31, I was almost 2cm, so I was sure it wouldn't be long. Indian food, long walks and sex have not helped to bring upon labor. I secretly resent every woman who ever gave birth early or on time. Walking home from Ace Hardware with my in-laws, I begin to feel "twinges" that come and go, like regular menstrual cramps. Hmmmm.... wonder if this is it?
April 5, approx. 5PM: Yes, it's labor. These are definitely contractions. Still pretty far apart and bearable, so I'm content to sit on the sofa and watch TV.
April 6, 2001, Friday, approx. 1AM: OK, it's going to be a sleepless night. Contractions are keeping me awake because they are starting to hurt. I envy my husband sleeping beside me (he claims I woke him up with my moaning at each contraction but I know better --I heard him snoring).
April 6, 4AM: Contractions are 4 minutes apart. We start to think about calling the doctor.
April 6, 5AM: We arrive at the hospital, and are disappointed to find out that I'm still only 2.5-3cm dilated. With this kind of pain, I thought I'd be 7 at least!
8AM: At 3cm dilated and 75% effaced I'm outraged to hear that contractions have stopped! There is no way I'm going through a night like that again, not when I'm already in so much pain. No way, baby, you're coming out today. We agree to have bag of waters broken to speed up contractions. Contractions become REALLY painful. Now there's no turning back.
2PM: After all this time, still only 3cm dilated and 80% effaced. I'm exhausted, discouraged, defeated. All the hot showers, Lamaze breathing, squatting, hanging down from Graham and walking have not helped manage the pain. Graham is begging me to get an epidural so we can both get some much-needed rest. We decide to get the epidural. It kicks in.... o blessed relief!! Graham takes a break from holding me up for the past 6 hours and immediately falls asleep, as do I.
5PM: 5cm dilated. I'm cold and puking right and left, but I can move my legs and contractions are still coming on nicely.
6PM: 10cm dilated. It's time to push -- but Graham is away at Walgreens!
6:30 - 7PM: Thank goodness Graham's back. We get down to the business of pushing, but it's a bit difficult to do when you can't really feel anything. Push what? Push where? Bear down? I decide to pretend I'm constipated. That seems to do the trick.
7:30PM: I'm discouraged again -- this is taking a looong time. We're already on our third nurse shift. Doctor and nurses cheer me on like I'm winning a marathon. I feel ridiculously proud of myself for doing such a good job (later, I wonder if they say that to all the women in labor).
8:3oPM: Hang on, I thought I had an epidural down there? How come I can feel contractions? How come I can feel my legs now? No time to wonder, because there is a commotion; the head has started to show and She's Blond!! What??? A mirror is held up and sure enough, I can see wisps of damp blond hair on a very pale head.
8:45PM: OOOOMIGOOOOD! It HUUUURTS! What happened to the f***ing epidural??? I'm dazed and confused, in pain, it's burning, just want it to stop, I'm screaming I can't do it, my skin is being ripped apart (yes, I tore), I want to pull back but I have to puuuuUUSH!! Ahhhhh.... momentary cessation of pain... head's out doctor (calmly) and Graham (not so calmly) tell me to stop pushing for a moment, so I stop (later on I'm told that the umbilical cord was wrapped around her neck).
April 6, 2001, 8:49PM: One final push.... I feel a funny shhlurrping, deflating sensation as the body comes slithering out.... and there she is on my chest, all wet and soft and pink. Why hello, little baby, we've been waiting a looong time for you. Happy birthday my love.
Love is saying hello to your very first granddaughter just minutes after being born. Love is peering up at your very first grandpa and liking what you see.
Love is coming home, stretching out on the sofa after a sleepless night and finding some rest, with the love of your life snuggled up on top of you. Happy Love Thursday everyone, and may your Thursdays be as precious as the one we had six years ago.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
