Category Archives: I’m a Sap

Remembering Dad and celebrating Wilson on Father’s Day

Posted on June 13, 2013 | 9 comments

I grew up in a high-rise apartment building in downtown Chicago. One of my fondest childhood memories is falling asleep at night in the car on the way home from dinner or a weekend trip. The bright lights of our parking garage would usually wake me up as we pulled in, but I’d pretend to still be sleeping so my dad would carry me through the lobby, up the elevator, and into my bed.

Fathers Day blog

He was a big guy– almost 6-foot-3 and broad– who always made me feel cozy and safe in his arms.  Affectionate and loving, I imagine he enjoyed carrying me as much as I loved being his cargo. I wish I could ask him if he knew I was faking sleep to get those free rides, but he died of cancer in 1993.

Fathers Day blog

We want to give our kids everything– maybe what we had, maybe more– but what’s most important is making your child feel safe and loved. Kids who feel that unconditionally can navigate the world better.

I was lucky to get that from my dad. Wilson loves our kids that way too.

I took a day off from work recently to attend a play at 10-year-old Aden’s school and a musical performance at 7-year-old Eli’s school.  I made it to the play but the outdoor concert was postponed due to rain.

Traditionally, I attend the school parties and shows– mostly because I like going– but also so Wilson doesn’t have to miss work. But I couldn’t justify another day off for a 1st grade drum circle. When I gently mentioned the rescheduled event to Wilson, he said he would see how busy he was and decide that morning.

The concert started at 9am. I left for work assuming Wilson would skip it. (We had a friend who promised to take pictures and video.)  Then I got a text at 1034am: This is a nightmare. E still hasn’t gone and it’s 400 degrees in here. 

That good daddy not only went late to work but sat for 2 hours in terrarium-like conditions waiting for Eli’s 2-minutes on stage.

FAthers Day post

That’s just one little snippet of the ways he puts himself out for our three boys. He coaches sports teams and attends teacher conferences. While my temper tends to flare when the kids get out of control, he’s the resident punching bag who absorbs their emotions and somehow remains calm in the face of hysteria.

He’s more concerned with maintaining boundaries than staying on their good side. In our house, he’s known for hating late nights and sleepovers because they lead to tired, cranky kids. He follows through on punishments when he thinks they’re warranted.

Every single night– no matter how tired he is– he tucks them in to make sure they’re still breathing and the room is the right temperature. He knows when to offer advice and when to shut up and listen.

When I was looking for love in my 20’s, I wanted someone who would make family a priority.  As Wilson and I started planning a life together, I had a good feeling about his parenting potential. But you never know until you’re in it.

Father's Day blog

I love the way Wilson loves our kids. His role as father brings out his best self.

I dreaded Father’s Day in the years after my dad died. But now I’m grateful that instead of mourning my loss, I can celebrate Wilson.

Happy Father’s Day to Wilson and the other daddies out there. Thanks for making all of us feel safe and loved.

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Posted in I'm a Sap, Who is Wilson?

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Chopped! This mom’s bad hair day

Posted on June 9, 2013 | 2 comments

At the risk of sounding vain, my three sons have great hair.

It’s thick and disciplined and each one has a unique color. 13-year-old Jacob’s could be described as dirty blond or light brown, depending on the season. 10-year-old Aden’s is an impossibly shiny strawberry blond that most women would kill for. And 7-year-old Eli has a chestnut-brown mop that hangs just right. They only comb it when they exit the shower, yet even messy, it works.

When Jacob was a toddler, he had big blond curls that got a lot of attention.

Attached to my kids hair

What mother doesn’t like people ooh-ing and aah-ing over her kid?  I suppose that’s what started my strong– and perhaps unhealthy– attachment to my kids’ hair.

The way I see it, if you’ve got it, flaunt it. I’ve always encouraged my boys to grow their hair and for the most part, they liked it long. The shaggy look has been in for a while so I wasn’t completely off the mark.

For the past several years they had hair like this….

100_1058

Then Jacob insisted on getting a buzz cut. I didn’t like the idea, but couldn’t think of a good reason he should keep it long, other than my own selfish desires.  We made a deal that he would cut it in the spring when baseball started and keep it short through the summer, but then grow it again in the fall and winter.

Part of the reason I was ok with Jacob trimming his tresses was that I still had Aden and Eli’s long hair to love.  Aden’s shoulder-length curly blond-do became his signature feature. Everyone from family, to teachers, to strangers on the street would comment on his gorgeous hair.

attached to kids hair

But this week he told me it was too hot and he wanted his short like Jacob’s. I sheepishly tried to talk him out of it, to no avail.

Eli has had long surfer dude hair practically all his life but he will jump on any bandwagon his brothers are riding so he also demanded a cut.

My controlling ways have permitted the stylist to use scissors on Jacob’s head, but never a razor. A buzz cut seemed too severe. I wasn’t ready.

too attached to kids hair

But this weekend, I gave in.

Off to the mall we went to cut their hair, and a little piece of my heart.

kids hair cut

I’m being dramatic for effect. But truthfully, it really bothers me every time they cut their hair short. I’m surprised and somewhat ashamed at my shallowness, but I can’t help it.

Now they look like this…..

attached to kids hair

Still handsome, I know. It will grow back. I know that too.  But I still felt a little sick as I watched their locks fall to the floor. Part of me wished they would hate their short cuts so they’d grow it back and keep it long forever.  But they all love the trim. Jacob can’t stop looking at himself in the mirror and rubbing his head.

They seem older with their cropped heads, and I’m enjoying seeing their ears for the first time in a long while. I’m happy for them.  But I still can’t wait for winter when those long beautiful manes return, if only for a while.

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Letting go: when a spoon is not just a spoon

Posted on June 2, 2013 | 2 comments

I was rinsing dishes recently and came upon this Babar spoon. I can’t even remember where we got it but we’ve had it since Jacob was a baby. He’s now 13.

Look at it.

Letting go mourning kids growing up

Poor Babar is still wearing his green suit, but his trunk has been amputated and he’s lost part of one floppy ear. The paint is chipped and the spoon is too short and bulky for big boys’ hands to eat anything except maybe ice cream.  Eli (7) still uses it, but my older boys (10 and 13) wouldn’t be caught dead slurping cereal with our old friend Babar.

I should probably throw him away.

But every time I ponder it, I feel a pang of sadness. So instead I gingerly hand wash and dry him, and place him carefully back in the drawer.

Letting go of Babar is a symbol that that phase of my children’s lives is over. Plastic cups with adorable characters like Babar, Mickey Mouse, and Dora have been replaced by ugly big gulp mugs emblazoned with sports teams, and grown up glasses.

Seeing Babar’s little yellow crown reminds me of the hundreds of times I made goofy faces and noises to coax just one more bite of Yo Baby yogurt into my boys’ mouths as they squealed in the high chair.

kids grow up too fast

I don’t have anyone to feed anymore.

kids grow up too fst

In many ways, that’s good.  It’s a relief not to have to do everything for my kids now. It’s independence….it’s growth. There are many gratifying benefits to the boys getting older.  I have amazing, mature conversations with them about current events, people, feelings, philosophy, as I watch them evolve into young men with their own interests and opinions.

I can drop Jacob off in town to eat dinner with friends and go to a movie I’d rather not see.  Curious 10-year-old Aden reads books about weird and wacky animals on his own.  Even 7-year-old Eli can tie his shoes and get dressed in the morning (ok, it takes him 35 minutes but it’s still progress!)

kids growing up too fast

It’s all exciting and wonderful and I’m grateful for the privilege to watch them grow.

But sometimes, when I look at Babar… or the Pokemon cards no one will ever pick up again…or the extra-large fire engine puzzle collecting dust….or the scores of stuffed animals that rarely get attention, it makes me a tiny bit wistful.

Like Babar– king of the elephants– I hope to never forget what it felt like to be the mommy of little boys. Maybe the key is not to be attached to objects, but only to memories.

That sounds nice. But Babar still has his spot in the silverware drawer.

Wilson’s not sentimental so that spoon will probably get thrown away at some point. I’m sure I’ll be fine when he’s gone, but I won’t be the one to toss him.

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What Memorial Day means to this vet’s daughter

Posted on May 27, 2013 | 14 comments
Dad holding me, Chicago 1968

Dad holding me, Chicago 1968

For many, Memorial Day means the beach,  parades, and barbecues. For the last several years my boys (ages 13, 10, and 7)  have played in a soccer tournament over the holiday weekend, so we watch at least 8 games during the days, and gather with friends around the grill at night.

But I want my kids to realize that Memorial Day is much more than a day off from school. The U.S. has been fighting wars for most– if not all – of our children’s lives, yet it doesn’t affect mine much at all. It’s easy to forget that there are soldiers still dying in Afghanistan, and military serving in perilous places all over the world, while we sit cheering goals and munching on cheeseburgers.

I watch the news with my kids and try to talk about the sacrifices soldiers make  for our freedom but I’m not sure what sinks in. In the past, we’ve gathered care packages and written letters to soldiers, and they’ve made cards in school to send overseas. They know a little about the wars we’ve fought, but since they don’t personally know anyone who has served, it’s difficult to make them understand how important it is to honor the military.

This year I started telling my kids about my father’s service in the Navy. After he graduated from college in 1964, my dad enrolled in officer’s candidate school. He went through a training program and served on an aircraft carrier for about 6 months.

In 1966, my parents got engaged on Valentine’s Day. Weeks later my dad was told he was being sent to Vietnam.  Faced with an uncertain future, my parents didn’t want to be separated by the war. They rushed their wedding plans and got married at the end of April before my father’s deployment in June.

Mom and Dad during his Navy service, 1966

Mom and Dad during his Navy service, 1966

My brave, intrepid mother got a history teaching spot at the International School in Bangkok, Thailand so they could see each other while he was serving his duty. That’s right, my 22-year-old mother lived in Thailand by herself at wartime.

My dad was involved in weekly press briefings on the war status as a protocol and public information officer for the Navy in Saigon, which was basically a desk job. He also helped establish one of the first Navy newspapers that year and found a printing plant in Bangkok so he had a reason to see my mother once a month.

He never saw combat, probably never even shot a gun. But he had friends and colleagues blown up in bombs, and survived several near misses himself during the year he served there.

When his year was up, he left Vietnam and served the rest of his commitment in New York before returning to civilian life.  My parents were lucky to have stayed safe during that time in their lives and they spoke of it often when I was growing up.  They told stories about the characters they met as we watched slide shows of their  year of living dangerously. When I was growing up,  we were taught to value military service and revere veterans.

I recently found a letter that my father wrote to a former Vietnam POW. As part of a military initiative to support the families of POW’s, my dad was one of many who wore a silver bracelet every day with the name of a POW who had not come home. I have a copy of the letter my dad sent to the commander, when he returned to the U.S. in 1973.  Here is an excerpt:

“I found myself unable to remove the bracelet for two reasons. First, I also was a Naval officer and served in Saigon. However I was fortunate to have been placed in a protocol billet, which kept me relatively safe.  Perhaps by wearing your bracelet I was expressing gratitude that I had not had your fate. Secondly, I found myself personally committed to you. I didn’t know anything about you– still don’t, really– but felt that if nothing else, on your return stateside you might find some satisfaction from knowing there were others besides your family and friends who were thinking of you and hoping you were well and would return home safely. 

And now you are back. I had intended to return the bracelet to you at this happy time, but instead I have decided to keep it among other mementoes of importance to me. I keep it so that I can remember you, and the courage you demonstrated during your imprisonment. I hope you find us worthy of your sacrifice. I have some small idea of what those years away from all that you love and admire must have meant. I hope that America can be worthy of that sacrifice.”

Letetr from my father to former POW thanking him for his service

My father died of cancer in 1993. I miss him every day and wish I could talk to him about so many things. But today I wish he could tell my kids about his time in the Navy and how it was an honor to play even a small part in serving his country.

I have no doubt that my boys would have been transfixed by my dad’s war tales. He was a great storyteller.

I’m going to have my kids read my dad’s letter and this post to remind them of the sacrifices courageous and selfless men and women– and the families who worry about or mourn them–  are making right now.  I’d like them to always think about those who’ve served on Memorial Day, but maybe now they’ll be proud of their Grandpa David too.

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Word to my mother

Posted on May 12, 2013 | 10 comments

I went to the store to buy Mother’s Day cards this week and found the selection disappointing at best, annoying at worst. An entire wall packed with cards for every kind of mother, from every member of the family (including the cat, really? who spends $4 on a card from the cat?!)  but I couldn’t find one that captured the sentiments I feel for my mine.

Just like Goldilocks, I found them too sappy, too serious, or trying to be funny but missing the mark completely. None addressed the complicated relationships of most mothers and daughters.

mothers day blog Maybe someday Hallmark will start a “keeping it real” card line, but until then, I’m going to use this space to say what I want to say to my mom.

My mother is a force. She’s beautiful, smart, creative, fun and oozes confidence. Quite the charmer, she can (and will) talk to anyone. Her mind is orderly and she doesn’t like surprises. She’s also extremely attentive to the way things look.  She’s always had chic personal style (she’s never owned a pair of jeans) and her house is immaculate. When I was younger she loved to put me in pretty dresses and Mary Janes with my hair cut short with a side part and barette, keeping every strand neat and off my face.

I am not as coiffed and concerned with details, which sometimes makes it challenging to be her daughter. There are days she walks into my house when it looks like a disaster has struck, my kids are filthy, and I’m still unshowered wearing workout clothes.  I see her biting her lip. She looks around wide-eyed and after the panic passes, there’s sympathy in her eyes.

She doesn’t say a word because she knows what my day was like. She knows how many carpools, blog posts, laundry loads, homework assignments, and games I’ve handled, and she’s humbled.

My mother tells me all the time that she’s amazed by everything I do.  She says she could never have juggled as much when my brother and I were growing up– which means a lot because she was busy.

She’s my loudest cheerleader.

Mothers Day post Thanks mom

When I started this blog, my mom was the first to sign up as a follower and reads every post. She regularly sends me complimentary texts and shows my pieces to anyone who will read them.

My mom is an attentive, loving grandmother to my three boys. While she’s one of the most opinionated dames I know, she keeps it in check because she respects my parenting skills.  She never misses an opportunity to tell me she’s proud of the job I’ve done with my children.

Maybe my mom has stars in her eyes when she looks at me, but isn’t that what moms are supposed to do? I’m certainly not the most organized, together woman, nor the best writer, or parent. But even on my lowest day, my mom makes me feel like I’m great.

That support and encouragement actually makes me a better parent, writer, and person.

There might not be frosted paper, fancy calligraphy, or jeweled embellishments on this card, and it certainly doesn’t rhyme. But it’s the best way for me to tell my mom what she means to me. I hope it makes her feel as loved as she makes me feel every day.

Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms who believe in their kids and never stop telling them they’re fantastic. At any age, kids will never tire of hearing it.

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Hail to the teachers!

Posted on May 7, 2013 | 2 comments

It’s teacher appreciation week: I’ve donated wine to a fun basket, baked brownies for a luncheon, and bought a bag of apples for my son to hand out. As part of the festivities, I also helped my younger boys make cards and contribute to creative books and gifts put together by kind-hearted class moms. Both boys adore their teachers, but found it difficult to come up with much more than “she’s nice!” when trying to express why.

But I can, so I dedicate this post to teachers.

Teacher Appreciation week

With 3 kids (ages 13, 9, and 7)  I’ve dealt with scores of them.  Like in any profession, some are terrific at their job, and some could use improvement. For the most part, my kids have had great teachers who enjoy what they do and engage their students.

Whenever I spend any time in a classroom or on a field trip, I marvel at how they do it every day. How they talk to kids like what they’re saying is vitally important even though it’s completely insignificant and/or random. Or how they’re able to teach the same material year after year and still make it fresh and exciting.  Or how they take on the responsibility of forming kids’ minds and keeping them safe and happy, with diminishing resources and not enough pay.

Thank goodness teachers step up.

I feel lucky that each of my kids has had at least one teacher who will leave an imprint on how they learn, that special one they’ll remember forever.  Some teachers just have a gift. Without even knowing it, they’ve set the standard for me for what’s possible in a classroom:

— Loving children:  Unending patience, appreciating kids’ sense of wonder, and sympathizing with how they feel.

— Passion for teaching:  Eager to help kids find their way, and always growing and incorporating new methods and tools.

— Ability to communicate with parents:  Some teachers are great with kids but not parents, some the other way around.  To be both is ideal, especially for working parents who can’t be in school.

— Creating a community in the classroom:  The kids don’t all have to be best friends but they have to respect and support each other, listen, and cooperate to cultivate the best learning environment.

— Being creative about learning:  Finding ways to captivate kids in games, projects, field trips, etc. that encourage learning in fun, unique ways.

— Getting my kid:  I love it when teachers tell me even a tiny anecdote from class or point out a pattern or behavior they’ve noticed, that tells me they get my kid. They see him, hear him and know him.

teacher appreciation logo

My 7th grader seems to have some good teachers but in middle school there are many and my contact with them is very limited. But my 4th grader has 3 amazing teachers who have made him love going to school and fostered his natural curiosity and writing skills.

My 1st grader also has a special teacher whose classroom is a self-contained utopia of learning that produces confident, independent thinkers who are kind to each other.

She told me she’s wanted to be a teacher her whole life. Many teachers say that, but she has the proof. Check out her self-portrait from kindergarten:

Teacher appreciation pic

This lovely piece of art is hanging in her classroom, as a reminder to her students that she was a kid once too, and that she worked hard and her dream came true.

How cool is that?

So to all teachers this week and always I say  THANK YOU!!!

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Bar mitzvah weekend 2013: all the planning paid off!

Posted on March 28, 2013 | 3 comments

Last weekend we celebrated my oldest son, Jacob’s, bar mitzvah. It was the culmination of months of actual planning, but years of thinking about it.

Jake Bar Mitzvah March 23, 2013

I’m not sure why but I was never one of those girls who fantasized about her wedding for years before it happened.  I was more focused on finding someone. When it came to planning my wedding, my mother– who paid for most of it– took over and it had more of her stamp on it than mine. It was beautiful, tasteful, and a lot of fun, but it didn’t feel like me.

I’ve attended bar mitzvahs of friends’ kids for several years and gathered ideas for making a party that was fun and gave guests an idea of what our family was about. More work than I expected, and more worry than probably necessary, it was all worth it because it was an amazing weekend that was about family, friends, and Jacob.

We don’t have any family where we live, except for Wilson’s brother in New York, so we were grateful that many relatives flew in from Florida, California,  and Chicago to celebrate. The weekend started with 25 family members and a few close friends attending Shabbat services at our temple Friday night, followed by dinner at our house.  It’s humbling when people stop their lives and spend time and money to be with you to honor your child. Wilson and I were thrilled that so many people came.

I couldn’t eat or sleep in the days leading up to the big event. Initially I thought it was worry, but soon realized I was excited! How many times in your life do you have all your friends and family together for a good reason?

bar mitzvah logo

Sure I’m biased (and pardon my French,) but the consensus was that Jacob kicked ass at services Saturday morning. He knew his Hebrew so well, the rabbi gave him extra morning prayers to recite during the service. He led the congregation with poise and confidence and I was so proud I could have burst into song.  (Don’t worry– I didn’t.)

When a child becomes a bar mitzvah, they read a section of a sacred Hebrew scroll called the torah that includes the stories of Moses and the Ten Commandments. Jacob wrote a speech offering his interpretation of his torah portion and related it to modern life.

He also talked about his mitzvah project– volunteering to tutor and play with kids at a Newark youth center every week since July– which made him see the world differently. From his speech:

“At first, I was nervous because I wasn’t familiar with the environment or the people. But after going there for a few months, I realized that maybe I don’t live with the same circumstances, but we are all just kids, who hate homework, like to play games, and enjoy humor, sports, and junk food!”

Many kids do short-term mitzvah projects and I kept waiting for the day Jacob complained or refused to go to the Network. But to his credit, he went almost every week and because it became so familiar, he really enjoyed being a part of their day.

The kiddush lunch following Saturday’s service was a whirlwind and I don’t remember much. I was relieved that the hard part was over and elated that he had done so well. I think I ate a bagel, but I’m not even sure.

Jake Lefferts Bar Mitzvah March 23, 2013

Saturday night we hosted a cocktail party with catered food and dancing. We rented a local space– a room that looked a lot like my house with a big fireplace and great molding and windows.  I had a crew of friends help me decorate with holiday lights, lots of Jacob’s sports equipment and memorabilia, and photos of him everywhere. It felt like home.

I loved boogying with so many friends from all different parts of our lives, and watching the teenagers navigate the dance floor. But the highlight moments for me were the candle lighting, speeches, and video montage. Standing in front of his cool sports cake, Jacob called up the special people in his life to help him light 13 candles.  After watching other bar/bat mitzvah kids do the same ceremony, he was eager to honor his friends and family and grinned from ear to ear throughout the lighting.

Jake Bar Mitzvah

My speech was a lighthearted look  at what it’s been like to parent such a smart, manipulative, and self-possessed kid. Wilson’s was a wonderful message about tradition, punctuated by a moving letter Wilson’s grandfather sent to him for his own bar mitzvah which focused on pride and love. It solicited many “awwwws!”

I spent hours and hours and hours creating a video montage that captured Jacob and was original. It included lots of home video of his baby and toddler era and video I’ve taken this year of his friends and favorite people and places. It even has some sports star power.  I’ll post a YouTube link when I upload it in the next week.

When it was over, my feet were killing me from dancing in 3-inch heels, I was starving because I never ate a bite of the food I meticulously chose with the caterer, and I was sad that it went by too quickly.

But it was one of the happiest days of my life.

The best party compliments were when people said there was a lot of love in the room and that Jacob is a great kid.

Of course I knew that. But I wanted everyone at the party to feel it too.  That’s what made it a success.

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The best medicine

Posted on March 3, 2013 | 1 comment

Sorry for the short post today but all my running around has run me down and I’m not feeling well. I went old school to treat my cold, popping Airborne vitamin C pills every three hours, drinking lots of liquids, and taking Nyquil before bed to get some sleep with this stuffy nose and head.

A cold is frustrating for a busy mom because you’re not sick enough to be in bed but just enough to feel like junk. Plus you can’t take anything for it.

I know it’s a sign from the universe to slow down. But who has the time?

I tried to take my routine down a notch in the last few days, which always freaks my kids out. When I got home from work Friday instead of bustling around or planning to go out, I parked myself on the couch and caught up on “American Idol” (another post on that to come.)

My boys looked concerned. Then 7-year-old Eli disappeared for a while. When I told him it was time for bed he begged me for more time to finish his project. I was getting annoyed and trying to muster up the energy to carry him upstairs when he handed me this.

Get well card for mommy

That’s he and I holding hands on the front…

….and inside was a football (not sure why, I guess cause he loves football) and this:

get well card for mommy

I mean really.

Some say laughter is the best medicine, but this card made me instantly feel better.

That Eli’s a keeper!

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This is me, on a wall

Posted on February 19, 2013 | 1 comment

I was furiously bustling around my kitchen today, cleaning off counters, putting away food, and waiting for the sweet potatoes to finish cooking in the microwave when I glanced up at my wall o’ stuff.

Everyone has one, right? A bulletin board, chalk board, desk, or basket that’s teeming with symbols of your busy life.

I looked at it objectively for the first time and thought how perfectly it spells out where I am, who I am, right now.

What do you think?

busy mom's bulletin board of stuff

This is what you’ll find there, shoved haphazardly into the clips of an old Pottery Barn card holder:

—School notices for events. (Some I’ll enjoy, some I’ll tell my kids I forgot.)

—Family pictures. (Old ones that make me smile.)

—Word box calendar. (My 1st grader’s crutch for weekly sentences.)

—School lunch calendar. (For days when pizza & pancakes make life easy.)

–Restaurant coupons.  (Which I repeatedly save and never remember to use.)

–Meditation card. (Promo from local Buddhist center.  I’ll get there someday.)

–Party invitations. (A reminder of presents to buy, fun to have.)

–Martha’s Vineyard postcard. (Looking at that beach brings me back.)

–-Permission slips. (For school trips to UN and a play.)

–-Family calendar. (Filled with photos of memories past and events to come.)

–-Reading lists. (My kids will never get to all those books but we try.)

–Train schedule. (Helps me get to work (and some play) on time.)

–-Kid art. (Once it goes up, it rarely ever comes down.)

What’s on your wall of stuff?

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How love bloomed for me and Wilson

Posted on February 14, 2013 | 10 comments

On this Valentine’s Day I thought I would  share the story of how Wilson and I fell in love.

happy valentines day blog

My parents met while studying abroad in Italy during their junior year in college. After hearing their love fairytale all my life, I went on the same program when I was in college, and secretly hoped I would find my mate.

I didn’t work out as conveniently as I imagined. I was boy-crazy throughout my semester in Florence, but never met my future husband.

Fast forward to 1993.

Wilson likes to say we met on a blind date but actually it was only visually impaired, because we had met briefly twice before.The first time we met, neither of us remember, but we were both at the rehearsal dinner and wedding of our friends, Matt and Julie in 1993. The dinner was small and we had friends in common so we must have been introduced, but neither of us can recall it.

LOVE sign Valentine's Day blog

The next time we met, it was fall of 1995.  I was living in Manhattan with my  friend, Justine.

I was on a date with a guy named Barry who really wasn’t all that. Barry and I went to a movie and ran into Julie, Matt, and Wilson. Julie pulled Wilson aside and said she wanted to set me up with him. He told her that was weird because I was on a date. “She’s not having a good time,” Julie insisted.

Three months later, Wilson called and asked me out. Back then, I was working the late shift at ABC News so I couldn’t go out until 10pm. Our first date was at a cool bar on the Upper West Side called Phoebe’s (I believe it’s gone now.)  ABC had a two-story escalator in its lobby so when Wilson met me,  I remember checking him out below, as I stood at the top of the moving steps.

He had glasses (he’s since gotten Lasik surgery) and was wearing a horrible green sweater vest, but he was still cute.

Luckily, his personality eclipsed his fashion choice and I don’t think I ever saw him wear the vest again. But the date was great and we talked for several hours and had a lot in common. He called me the next day and asked me out again, which was very exciting because– back before cell phones, texting, and social media–  sometimes a girl waited days before a guy would call and you wondered if he’d fallen into a ditch.

On our second date, he took me to a bar downtown called Chicago Blues–  a charming choice since I’m from Chicago– where we had many drinks and made out in the back room. When he took me home, he asked me out for the next evening. No games. I liked that.

But the next day a blizzard hit New York, dumping 4 feet of snow and virtually shutting down the city. I was having fun with Wilson and wanted to see him again– snow be damned. We spoke on the phone and I challenged him to walk all the way across town in a blinding storm to meet me at the movies, like we had planned. He must have already liked me because he actually did it.

We saw “Dead Man Walking,” an uplifting film with Sean Penn playing a killer on death row seeking redemption from a nun, played by Susan Sarandon. Very romantic.

After the movies we walked back to my apartment where Justine was having a bottle of wine with her then boyfriend  (now husband and dad of their 3 kids) Chris. We joined them and stayed up late talking.

Justine says she knew that night that Wilson was the one.

valentines day blog

We were pretty inseparable for the next year and got engaged in 1997 and married in 1998. This year is our 15th anniversary and I still love the big lug.

I knew when I met him that he was smart, sweet, reliable, and valued family and friends. All that’s still true but now I know he’s an amazing father and patient, forgiving, supportive partner. Believe it or not, I’m not always easy to live with!

As far as fate goes, while I never met my husband in Italy, I did meet my friend, Julie, on the first day of the trip and she eventually introduced me to Wilson.

Sometimes you just have to trust your path and hope that love will find you when you’re ready.  Happy Valentine’s Day Wilson!    xoxo

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