Christmas in July

I remember the days leading up to my brother's birth. I was nine years old and so excited to welcome a baby into our home. I remember feeling him kick the palms of our hands laid upon our mother's swollen belly. We spoke to him, urging him, "Come out soon. We can't wait to meet you." We knew that he had arrived in the middle of the night when we tiptoed downstairs to find my Nana asleep on the living room couch. To make sure we weren't mistaken, my sister and I went into our parents' room to find my father asleep, alone. "Is he here? Is he here?" We shook him awake. "Let's call your mother and find out," he said. Mom was at the hospital and she confirmed that, yes, our baby brother had arrived. We were a family of five.

My parents waited until we had the chance to meet our baby brother at the hospital to finalize his name. They were stuck between Jordan and Christopher. They asked us which name we thought suited him better. Christopher. He was, he is a Christopher. We were in love with him from the moment we first laid our big sister eyes on him. He completed us- our sibling unit. As he grew, we would find boundless amusements in his antics, in his play. Like a little mommy, I was so proud of his every accomplishment- so proud to introduce him as "my brother." Above all of the bits and pieces, the numerous adventures and experiences that have built his person- I am most proud of his talent to connect with people, to engage people/ strangers in conversation- to make all feel welcome.

I will never forget the day that my mother brought Christopher, then 12 years old (Henry's age) to visit me in my new apartment. I was pregnant with First Born Son, soon to be married to The Mr. and we hadn't yet told Christopher that I was pregnant. He was still so young, I was young- I worried about how he would feel about me. He was seated next to me on my couch, " I have something to tell you. I am going to have a baby." His face lit up, "I'm going to be an uncle?! Yay!" It was this singular expression that brought me the greatest sense of peace and comfort for the journey I was embarking on.  And, he has continued to be supportive, gladly accepting, supremely thoughtful of each nephew and niece that has entered his life.

In December, he announced that he was going to be a father. At the time, his relationship with his baby's mother (whom we all respect and love dearly) was uncertain- his life was far from "settled." We worried how a baby would impact their lives. I worried as a mother worries- experienced in situations that are challenging to the spirit, wanting for her young not to repeat the same struggles that she had endured. But, at the same time, with an open heart, open arms, we were all ready to embrace them, support them, catch them if they stumbled, and rejoice with them.

On Saturday, July 9th, my family members paced the floors of our respective homes. My nephew was coming into the world. We sent strings of text messages between our houses- buzzing with anticipation. It is so difficult to be separated from my sister who lives in Las Vegas with her family. I longed for her to be here- to hold my hand, to dance with me with nervous energy, to celebrate. My mother held off on going to the hospital as long as she could for fear of intruding. But the labor was so long. And "any minute now" became a marathon of hours. It was troublesome for my mother- she had been in the room for the birth of First Born Son, she knew how to support her daughters through the hardship of labor. But, this was her baby boy. My mother could hear in his voice that he just wanted his mother near, if not in the labor room- certainly in the same building. She sent updates- which I relayed to my sister. And we both ached to be there. The Aunties sending love, hope, wishes of peace and comfort from both coasts of the United States. And then finally, a text from my mother, two words, "He's here!" followed by a text from my brother, one word " Rowan!" and the most beautiful picture of a smushy- faced newborn boy, a little Christopher. My nephew.

My mother holding Rowan, her 7th grandchild, upon our first introductions to him.

Having gone through the recovery process four times before, I knew that those first days are precious. You are exhausted, you are bonding, you are learning how to nurse. A steady stream of visitors disrupts the quiet that is so essential to connect. I wanted to be conscientious of their abbreviated time in the hospital. But, an invitation to meet my new nephew was extended and I could not resist. To feel the weight of this boy in my arms, to inhale his new baby smell, to take in all of the familiar features of his face (he looks, of course, like his parents, but I see all of us in him) is to feel pure joy. Rowan Audio (the middle name an homage to my brother's love of sound, of music) melts my heart. To see my brother, a new father with his baby fills me with a warmth I never could have imagined. It has been like Christmas in July. Just as Christopher made us feel complete as a family unit- Rowan is that missing piece which finishes our circle.

2:40 PM

My Bookends, first born baby and last born baby



The children’s vacation has ended and school has resumed. On Sunday, we unceremoniously dismantled the Christmas tree, and removed the lights which had been strung throughout the house. Like blowing out a candle, the rooms instantly became stark and dim. It was a fairly lackluster winter break; and, the children had become punchy toward one another towards the end. But, we all had the Sunday night blues before bed. By the incessant rustling of sheets and creaking of bed frames, I could tell that they all were too unsettled to get a decent night’s rest. Monday morning I woke to read First Born Son’s Facebook post, “This is going to be a looooong week.” It does feel that way.

It is too quiet here. The Baby has been out of sorts- waking to an empty house. On Monday morning, after I released her from her crib, and changed her out of her pajamas, she toddled down the hall toward First Born Son’s room- her favorite destination. She looked pitifully heartbroken to find it empty. We had gotten into a routine of sending The Baby in to wake First Born Son. She would creep to the edge of his bed and stand on her tiptoes, peering with her giant brown eyes right into his face, until he lifted her up into his arms. She would put her head on his shoulder, smile brightly and softly breathe, “Ahhh.” 

To think that this time last year, as we awaited The Baby’s arrival, First Born Son adamantly asserted that he would not, under any circumstances, ever hold the baby. I respected his position. I knew in my heart that he would eventually fold to her charms. It took 6 months; but, it happened- on a quiet summer afternoon. I could tell that he had been working up the courage. He was acting funny, pacing the room, hands cold and clammy- incessantly sighing and swallowing as if he had a mouth full of cotton. “All right, I’m ready. But you’d better not tell anyone that I did it.” From that moment on, he was smitten. H and Princess Commando had each other. And, now, First Born Son finally had a sibling with whom he felt an intense and beautiful connection.

And, now that she has outgrown that painful colicky, non-sleeping, fragile stage, The Baby is not difficult to love at all. Her transformation over the past week has been incredible. She has been under the guidance of 3 additional mini teachers. Her list of achievements has grown at such a rapid- fire pace I find myself wondering on many occasions throughout the day, “When did she learn how to do that?” My favorite new talent is her rhythm and musicality- her ability to move and dance and imitate sounds and melodies. The dancing started with a shoulder shrug on Christmas Eve and now she has incorporated a toe tap and a little hip hula. It gets me giddy every time. And, I catch her performing a hundred times though out the day. I attribute that gift she has to her time spent with First Born Son, rocking out with him to Daft Punk in his room.

First Born Son worries about the significant age difference between The Baby and him. I see him start to pull away sometimes when he begins to feel so deliriously happy- wrapped up in a moment with her.  He was calculating her age when he will enter college and it choked him. “She will be four. And I may be going away. She won’t know me. It’s not fair.” He is afraid to invest his love for fear that she will reject him one day because she will not remember him. I try to reassure him that their bond is something that cannot be broken over distance and time. She doesn’t call out Ma Ma in reference to me- it is for her older brother, Max. She has never laid her head on my shoulder in a show of affection. She only does that for her Max. They are kindred spirits. They will be with each other forever.

I’m feeling very fortunate- in this moment- to have all four of them, idiosyncrasies and all. That feeling may change at three o’clock when they start filing in from school. For the next 20 minutes, I will revel in that gratitude.

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to California





Last week, I learned that my baby brother (he's not really a baby at 27 years old)  is to become a father in July. Suffice it to say, the circumstances are complicated and not desirable. But, everything will be okay- because it must be okay.  And, what they say about it taking a village will resonate with more truth and purpose in our family than it ever has- once the baby arrives.

When I told my children, they received the news with a surprisingly mature discernment of worry. My children are, perhaps, a little more traditional than I am in their perception of what should constitute the family unit. I could see the wheels turning in Princess Commando’s mind, “But they are not married.”  I refrained from interrupting her thought with a lesson about how it is sometimes better not to marry in these situations.

When his sister and brother left the lunch table, First Born Son solemnly asked, “Was I a mistake?” It is no secret that I was pregnant when The Mr. and I married. Anyone examining our wedding photos can detect the hint of a bump beneath the wedding gown I borrowed from my mother and had extensively altered to accommodate both bust and bump. We have not kept this detail hidden from our children. And, this is not the first time this question has come up. It has, up until now, been substantial enough to simply answer, “No. Of course you were not a mistake.” But, on this particular day, when weighing his Uncle’s circumstance against what he thought he knew of his parents’ situation 14 years ago, First Born Son had(with a greater breadth of understanding of the human experience) begun to worry that the first flickering of his essence had not been wanted. I knew that I had to be both delicate and definitive in my explanation to him.

I set out cautiously. “No. Not a mistake. Of course, not a mistake.”

First Born Son, “Not planned though?”

“No, not planned. But that doesn’t mean that it was a bad thing. We chose you and you chose us.”

He looked at me doubtfully. “Was it a bad thing at first, and then you guys got into it (I am assuming he meant parenting) and really liked it?”

“First off, it was never a bad thing. It was, hmmm, a change of plans.  I had been going along on a certain path- the path that I thought I needed to be on- college and Art History and all of that. And, then I found out about you; and I was given the opportunity to go on another path- a better path. So, I did. And I don’t regret it for a minute. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. Really.”

He still did not look convinced.

“Ok, it’s like this. You know how California is supposed to be all warm and sunshine and beaches and Hollywood and glamour and awesomeness? Well, say I was convinced that California is where I would find happiness and success. I had researched the life, the culture, the land, the work; and, I was ready to commit my life there. So, I set out on a journey across the country to California. But on the way, my car broke down in Colorado…”

“Oh, great! So, I’m the broken down car?”

“No! No! Okay, so I was taking a passenger train across the country and I was very close to reaching my destination; but I had to stop in Colorado to transfer to a different train. But, the next train was delayed for a couple of days ( a problem with the rail and inclement weather) and the conductor told us that we would have to stay in Colorado. Even though I was a little concerned about not getting to my destination on time, I decided to make the most of my stay in Colorado. I explored, even though I was nervous because I didn’t know anything about this place. After viewing the landscape, walking through crisp, fresh snow, and meeting the people, I decided that Colorado was awesome. It felt like home. I felt at peace. I felt love and life. That was where I was supposed to be. I never even thought about California again.”

“I’m Colorado?” he smiled.

“Yep. But, keep in mind I’ve never been there- so you could be Ohio.”

“You’re weird. But, thanks.” He flashed me a very teenagery grimace.

“You made us a family. You gave us a greater understanding of home and a greater sense of purpose. You and your brother and sisters are the most important work I’ve ever done. Thank you for that.”

He seemed at peace with the explanation- enough to give me a hug before he left to hang out with his friends.

My brother will be okay. We won’t let things turn out otherwise. He has travelled across the country and around the world. I am certain it was meant to be that his path wound back to Buffalo- to our home. It is my wish for him, that he may embrace this journey as a time to learn and grow without regret for things and times he will undoubtedly need to leave behind (at least for now). A wish- that when he is faced with the same question from his child, he will be able to answer with a resolute, "You were wanted and I would not have my life any other way."

 P.S. Still trying to find time to put a decent thought together and whip up an illustration to go along with it. This was "whipped" at a wicked hour, three o'clock. My first image had a passenger train flying off the page. But it looked like something out of Harry Potter. Obviously, I do not journey much. Like an ice cream sandwich tucked in your suitcase for a 9 hour drive, I simply do not travel well.
 I am a Buffalo gal and that's how I'm gonna stay.