Day 153

My three best boys again.

Today was an auspicious day - Nick, on the left, received two awards at his school's award ceremony, one for Excellence in Painting and Drawing and the other for US History.  (Matthew, on the right, has received an award every year since 7th grade, but not today.)  I am so proud of them both, and of the one in the middle, Matt P., who is off to Colorado next week to be a Summer-camp photographer!

And, even more auspiciousness: today is the birthday of my eldest daughter, who turns 31!  Life goes by very quickly.  Which is why you have to grab the moments that matter, every day, and hold them up to the light, examine them, remember them.

I think all mothers remember their children's actual birth day, every year the day comes around.  It is the most shocking, momentous event in a woman's life, and you are irrevocably changed by it, metamorphosed into a mother, without much time to pupate.

My first birth took place in an unpleasant hospital, with a mean doctor I didn't know because I was a hospital patient, being a penniless student at the time.  I wrote a poem about it, which ends like this:
...
In and out, darkness jabbed
Light grazed wounded eyes

All scars broken, open,

Bleeding tears, howling hurt 

Until at last my struggling child slipped

Suddenly from between my legs

Slipped loudly out into the harsh air

Bedraggled, bloodied, my daughter.

But I was far away by then.

Only later could my fingers kiss her,

Could my breathing send the blood coursing

Through the small body, the newborn

And how you fall in love with that tiny creature, how beautiful, utterly beautiful, they are, their little ears, their exquisite skin, their new round toes.

And you stay in love with them no matter what, even when they behave badly in restaurants, even when they pout and spoil the family photograph in which the entire extended family is assembled, which event only happens every 10 years or so, even when, completely exasperated at their rudeness, you stop the car and sternly order them and their surprised teenage friends to walk the rest of the way up the steep hill to the concert at the Monument.  

In fact, you almost forget those bad times altogether, you find that you have put them in a room in your head and locked the door, because these dear little babies, after many roller-coaster years, grow into adults who become your friends, the one you want to phone when you are feeling down, the one you think of to share in your delight, the one who sometimes gives you a shoulder to cry on.

When Emma was 11, for some reason, she desperately wanted to see a terribly violent movie called "Natural Born Killers".  We didn't even let them watch the news on tv because of the violence in the country which was being reported on.  So of course we were outraged that she even thought there was a remote possibility of seeing this movie!  Her protestations grew louder and louder until she was eventually sent to her room, where she came to the historic decision that she would never talk again because we were so mean, and all her wrath was actually directed towards Tim, who had put his foot down on the matter. 

She wrote this letter to him, in sign language with explanations below each drawing of hands making the signs.  I kept this for years and eventually thought it worthy of a frame, so it is surrounded by images of Emma from when she was just a little bald thing to the present day.  It is a testament to her passion, her outrage, her creativity, her sense of self, which all remain with her to this day.  And it is very funny.

So happy birthday to my darling dancing girl who made me a mother for the first time, and from whom I have learned so much.  Thanks for 31 years of love, some tears, much delight, and a lot of laughing!