One of my earliest memories comes from when I was just about Clara’s age (3 1/2) or a little older, when my family went to see The Nutcracker in downtown Chicago. My uncle Jim worked for the Lyric Opera of Chicago, so we got a backstage tour. I remember learning how the stage techs would create “fog” and blow it onto the stage during the performance.
I don’t remember much about the performance itself, except for the fact that I was on the edge of my seat the whole time. It remains one of my strongest memories of early childhood, so it obviously made a big effect. [click to continue…]
My son Owen, seven years old and in first grade, is as sweet and funny a little bundle of gap-toothed cuteness as I can possibly imagine. Lately I’ve been watching him seem to grow right before my eyes, and have been hugging him a little more often, willing him to stay so adorable and innocent and small just a few days longer, so I can really soak it in.
And it’s Owen I think of now, when I think of Newtown.
Not just Owen, of course, but how much he brings to me as a mother, and defines us as a family. How much his presence would be missed. How absolutely horrifying, unthinkable and devastating it would be to lose him.
I can’t breathe when I think of what the scene at the firehouse must have been like, or what those parents are doing or feeling right now. [click to continue…]