My date with Alexander McQueen...

As I attempted to watch a bit of CBS Sunday Morning yesterday, in between trying to feed my daughter breakfast and keep her from tripping over her own feet for the fourteenth time in as many minutes, I caught a glimpse of the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the banner for the Alexander McQueen exhibit. Suddenly, my kid's clumsiness and short-attention span were not at all amusing. I imagined a Sunday free from work, free from parental responsibilities, just...free. I missed the days when I could see a reminder for a museum exhibit and not have to think of the list of reasons why that exhibit is off-limits. Child care and grocery lists would be someone else's Sunday problem.

When people mull over the do-we-or-don't-we-want-kids quandary, the fear of lack of freedom almost always rears its head. We won't be able to take that trip to Rome, the motorcycle will have to go on Craigslist, how will I ever find time to write my novel? All of our dreams and possibilities will get thrown out with the baby's dirty diapers. But if we dig a little deeper, maybe we'd see that the motorcycle was getting a little rusty anyway. Maybe our hopes and dreams aren't always things we literally aim to fulfill. Maybe they are just hopes and dreams of who we want to be: someone who could write a novel or be adventurous enough to hop on a plane and see Rome the way the locals do. But, to quote When Harry Met Sally, "the thing is, Joe, we never do fly to Rome on a moment's notice"...

And the thing is, I wouldn't go see that exhibit before I had my Bean. I would talk about going, and maybe even see who else wanted to go. And it would leave the museum without me having been there, and I would shrug it off. But gone is the possibility of that girl who could afford to dream of going, who could add it to the endless options on the "what to do on Sunday" list. Once I realized this, I felt both foolish and hopeful. Foolish for being so cranky over something so small (forgive me, Mr. McQueen...but really, in the scheme of things in my life, your fabulous creations have to be placed far down on the list) and hopeful because why do I have to let that girl go? If anything, I should be resurrecting her for my Bean. She should see me as I see me, and that's impossible if that "me" stays in my head.

When I returned home from my solo trip to the grocery store, my girl's eyes lit up and she gave me her usual "Mommy! You came back!" Yep, little one, I sure did.
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My husband and I have made plans for a date to go see the works of the late, great Alexander McQueen. But in the meantime I did what I could. I went to that exhibit...on the Met's website. And it was amazing.

Family is my favorite word right now...

You can't choose your family. This, for me, is a good thing. I am a poor judge of character and almost always make the wrong assumption after a first impression. So to say I have been richly blessed and fortunate to have received the family of which I am a part is an understatement. I have had to spend more time than usual with my relatives these days, and although the circumstances for these gatherings have been most heartbreaking, it has been time well spent. It has reminded me of who I am, where I come from, and my good fortune in this family lottery.

My Aunt Colleen was more than just my aunt. It's hard for me to write about her, because I don't want this to get too mushy to the point of incredibility. We tend to over-romanticize our loved ones when they leave us, but she was a sweet place for me to feel comfortable and loved. She was family, the one person (second only to my Nana) that I would mentally picture if I was talking about relatives or family reunions. She was a witness to most of my life's happiest moments, from vacations and holidays to my wedding and my daughter's birthday. She always looked at me with love, and always greeted me with a warm hug and soft laughter. She was my mother's constant closest friend, despite their age difference-a relationship that continues in their daughters, as my cousin, who is a decade older, is like a sister to me. She was an artist who probably would never have called herself one, despite much evidence to the contrary. She fretted too much, but giggled more. She was quietly strong, brave. She deserved to be looked up to, and I obliged.

There are so many physical reminders of my aunt, from old Hollywood musicals to used books found for a quarter in a thrift store, vintage tablecloths and handkerchiefs to a tin pail filled with seashells. These were things she loved and collected, and her apartment was her treasure chest. But the real reminders are in her children and her grandchildren, who have managed to absorb all the best of her character into their own. They are all confident and funny, strong and respectful. I seldom heard my aunt call attention to her accomplishments, but I hope she was able to take a minute or two and appreciate what an influence she has been and will continue to be. She'll be missed, but she will never be far.
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This is one of my favorite pictures of my Aunt Colleen, and she would maybe hate me for showing it off. She had just finished chemo, and was enduring its nasty side effects. But her spirit is all over this moment, from her flip flops and her scarf to her smile. I hope she is at the beach now, and I hope she leaves us some sea glass...