When I was in grade school I spent my summers at Cape Cod Sea Camps in Brewster. That place remains near and dear to me as the only constant in a childhood of flux. I spent 11 summers there. The point of this is that I remember after every summer (I used to go for 3 weeks, and then 7) my father would remark, with a sigh, “Linds, you grew up a whole year in three weeks.” Which is how I feel after being away from Gracie for 24 hours this weekend. She went to New Hampshire with our former (dearly beloved) nanny, Andrea. She came back on Sunday afternoon and I felt like she was 10 years old. I can’t articulate why, nor do I have specific stories, but she was just all grown up and funny and full of new expressions and mannerisms.
In other news, Whit climbed out of his crib on Friday. Every parent’s worst nightmare. This necessitated a rush hour drive to Natick (don’t recommend that) to go to Baby Depot at the Burlington Coat Factory (recommend that even less) to buy a crib tent. Now the little man sleeps in a very securely strapped-on cage. Grace refers to it as “Whit’s trap.” I wonder if he understands more English than we think and his tantrums upon being zipped in are because he knows the way we think about the “cozy tent.”
Oh, wow, time’s a-flying.

That’s my girl. The one with that special firefighting midwife gleam in her eye. I’m not kidding! I find it extraordinary that Grace has explicitly decided she wants to be a midwife (which is how I’ve named the “special doctor who gets babies out”). She is fascinated with childbirth and delivery. She can sit and watch the extremely vivid childbirth video at the Science Museum ad nauseum (to Matt’s great delight, believe me). This interest has sprung up totally independent of my own interest in it. She asked me over the weekend if it is possible to be “two things at once” – of course I replied affirmatively (considering my schizophrenic existence this, too, is a choice near and dear to my heart). She then announced that she was going to be a firefighter and a midwife. I told her I might want to be a midwife as well, and she gleefully exclaimed that we could go into “business” together, as long as she could be the one who “pulls the babies out.” She then said to me, “and then, Mummy, after the babies are born, we can sell them in boxes!!!” Wow. How to respond? Matt, biting back his laughter, turned to me with an eye raise that suggested this was in fact a good business idea. I agree. Until, of course, we are arrested.

Ethan

Ethan: the brother I never had. Or, more accurately, the brother I DO have, though we weren’t technically born of the same parents. Last night was the formal celebration of Ethan’s dad’s receiving of the French merit d’agricole. We had such a lovely time at the Fly Club drinking all kinds of absurd wine.
Ethan and I met when I was 3 weeks old and he was 7 weeks old. Apparently we hit it off and we’ve been dear friends ever since. He was in our wedding, he’s Whit’s godfather (at right on the christening day with last week’s bride, Gloria – in fact we were all classmates at Exeter), and he’s my oldest and dearest friend. “We were ring around the rosy children, we were circles around the sun” – James Taylor’s Never Die Young has always made me think of Ethan. 32 years of memories, impossible to even make a dent in them here. We were only in school together very briefly – for 6 months at BB&N in 7th grade and for 2 years at Exeter for 11th and 12th. At our Exeter graduation we had a picnic with all EIGHT of our grandparents in attendance – that’s on the short list. I have Ethan in mind a lot as I think about raising Whit -he’s the closest experience I’ve had of a boy growing up, but more importantly I think he’s peerless: he combines intelligence, sensitivity, humor, great compassion, and an incredible artistic passion. Ethan and Tyler’s lives have been intertwined with Hilary’s and mine from the beginning. When I watch Gracie with James and Charlie I think of the Vogts, and of the extraordinary gift of “family friends.”

I had a disaster today. I inadvertently deleted 2/3 of the pictures from Grace’s birthday party without getting them onto my computer. I am happy to report – amazed, even – that I got them back. Click here to find the downloadable software that brought them all back. After I got over my elation I started thinking it’s a little creepy that an empty memory card actually still has 200+ images on it … odd to consider all the things you think are “erased,” gone, and are still salvageable. Anyway, just wanted to share my delight at the recovery, and thanks to all who helped. Grace’s birthday party pictures are here on tabblo.

I’ve been listening to Christmas music all day. I blame my passionate fondness for Christmas carols on my Dad, in whose house the British eunuchs warble constantly from Halloween to Easter. The air had the crispness of winter in it today and I looked up and realized that most of the leaves are already off of the trees. Where has this autumn gone? Tomorrow morning is Grace’s birthday party so I will surely have some stories to share from that.
This morning the birthday girl and I had a dance around the kitchen to one of my all-time (non-seasonal) favorite songs: Josh Groban’s You Raise Me Up. That song gives me shivers every time I listen to it. Isn’t this the very definition of love – in our finest moments, to make each other better than we would be alone.

When I am down and, oh my soul, so weary;
When troubles come and my heart burdened be;
Then, I am still and wait here in the silence,
Until you come and sit awhile with me.
You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains;
You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas;
I am strong, when I am on your shoulders;
You raise me up… To more than I can be.