Goodnight Goodnight Moon

December 7, 2011

       Good Night Moon was written in 1947.  It’s beauty and appeal for children must be the colorful pictures that darken as the story goes on, the cadence of the words, and the simplicity of the message.  Of course there was a time in my life when I thought it would be impossible to endure yet another reading of this classic children's book.

             And so it went….. “In the great green room, there was a telephone and a red balloon.” Our copy was made of the thick cardboard: required book material for babies who like to eat books and toddlers who like to tear bindings and pages.

Giana chose this book nightly during her toddler years “And a picture of a cow jumping over the moon.”  We added to the story by saying good night to everything in the house, everything outside, and all the people we knew.  It went on and on. She would sit on my lap on the rocker and we would "read" together.  She would turn the pages while I read softly aloud (there was a goal here-to get her to sleep.  Oh yes and to instill a love of reading.) “And there were three little bears sitting on chairs.” At one point, I believe it was possible we read it 267 consecutive nights.  I knew every word by heart.  Ahhhh yes, by heart.

And then one day, it went away.  There must have been a “last time” reading but I cannot recall.  Was it a gradual weaning or did we quit cold turkey?  What I know is that, without ceremony, one night we said "Good Night" to Good Night Moon.

The next stage of reading, of course, was better than the first. I insisted that her Big Girl Bed be full sized.  How else would we be able to read together and fit comfortably?  This was my logical explanation for needing the BIG bed.  And so night after night, Daddy or Mommy (baby brother was here by now) would read stories as our little (not so little--big girl) listened and loved.

We read books with repetitive and predictable phrases, and rhymes and rhythms and beautifully illustrated artwork.  Next came the stories with adorable, funny plots, interesting settings and lovable characters.  We met the man with his Caps for Sale, Henry, Mudge, Max, Big Anthony, Strega Nona, Stella Luna and so so so many more.  Variety was the name of the game.  Even though there were clear favorites and repeats, the nightly routine was greatly improved. 

        Then my baby girl was not a baby anymore.  She was able to read simple books on her own. The next stage was the simple chapter books.  And so the journey continued.  Recently, we have been reading together in a more hybrid style.  She reads a page and then I read a page.

Suddenly, two night’s ago, she was the only one doing the reading....... silently...... and there I was, lying next to her staring at the ceiling.  

So last night, I grabbed my own book, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, laid down next to her and read silently while she read her own book silently, The Chronicles of Narnia.  

"That's a movie,” I interrupted her.  

"Yes" she whispered back, and "your book is going to be a movie soon too."  

We went back to reading. The only sound in the room was of my daughter and I turning pages.  I smiled and was pleased I did not miss this moment. 

Our definition of reading together has changed.  It was probably not the last time she will read out loud to me nor the last time I will read to her, but clearly we are moving in a new direction; heading to the next stages of life- the one where we are not so completely connected, not so intertwined, not always on the same “page”.   In fact, her pages now are starting to belong to only her.  That night felt symbolic. While we lay there next to each other, it was clear: we will move towards a parallel existence at some point, and we will have our own books and live our own stories. Hopefully we will continue to share, but this time, as two grown, adult women (much like my own mother and myself today).  I know I have many more years until that moment becomes real but I see signs of it everywhere.             

So tonight I declare a ceremony, a graduation of sorts.  The closure I never made.  To reflect on the end of an era, to celebrate the achievement of a goal, and to look beyond to the next stage.  Here is my speech;  Good Night Good Night Moon and the red balloon.  Good Night stars, Good night air.  Good night noises everywhere.  Time to go to bed.  You have done your job well.  The sun's rising will signal another day and another chapter (another book perhaps).  And so we welcome it.

Good Morning Sun.

Raking Leaves: Good for Your Lungs, Your Heart, and Your Soul

I remember raking leaves as a kid with my friends in the neighborhood.  Our main purpose was not to clear the lawn but rather to make the largest pile for which we could jump into.  With that exception, I cannot remember a time that I did not despise the leaf-raking job.  I admit that I have successfully avoided it now for many years.  This fall I was motivated for unknown reasons to reexamine this chore I have so detested.  Looking at the task through a new, optimistic lens and with a newfound energy, I found there were many positive reasons to actually like the job which took me nearly the entire month of November to complete.

1)    Simply and obviously, the chilled air was good for my lungs. When I took the moments to breathe it in, I felt the air go through my body.  (Peppermint pattie style). Ok, Ok—so this November seemed extraordinarily warm and quite frankly the chilled air was more of a cool air.  And so I wore a T-shirt and jeans most often instead of being all bundled up in sweaters, hats and gloves- but either way you get my point. Fresh air feels good.

2)    Another obvious reason-Raking leaves, when I am doing it properly, gets my heart pumping and even left me at times trying to catch my breath.  No need to head to the gym or practice my yoga routine.  Here was my workout.

3)    My 6-year-old son decided to join me for a few of my leaf raking sessions.  While he interrupted my efforts (for which I was gracious since I was out of breath), we noticed together some rather beautiful leaves and one he particularly liked that somehow matched perfectly an NFL team’s orange and brown helmet. He managed to rake a small but neat pile for which he seemed quite proud.

4)    Most times I worked by myself- the work was tedious in some ways, but I was free mentally- a pleasant way to let my mind drift, reflect, laugh, and cry.  I found that I appreciated this time; it felt like a mental vacation.  It was quiet and peaceful and so enjoyable.  I even thought about the rake itself- so simple in design and yet such an effective tool.  At one point, my neighbor offered his leaf blower, a much more effective leaf removal tool.  Silly man, how could I get in my meditative, "raking trance" with that obnoxious sound?

5)    Of course, the best part of raking the leaves was the sense of great accomplishment I felt when I finished.  Before, there were these little messes of decaying organic matter scattered around my life, I mean lawn.  And now I have moved them all to this great pile for which the kids and I can jump.  Next I move them to the street to be sucked up by the Great Leaf Sucker Upper and out of my life, I mean lawn forever.  It’s cathartic. And symbolic. Even though I realize they will be back again next year or even tomorrow and the process can start all over again.  The messes made around us leave and come back in one form or another and so it goes.  This is life and today it feels good.

My husband and I worked together to finish the last batch during halftime on Sunday.  He was impressed by my "raking style" and even more so by my overall effectiveness in completing the job.  That felt good too.

Bye-Bye leaves. 

Final note—These reasons shall never apply to snow shoveling- a task I abhor above all others even though the air I would breathe could be considered chilled for certain!

Five (NEW) Lessons I Learned from Watching My Son Learn Football

“Football is like life - it requires perseverance, self-denial, hard work, sacrifice, dedication and respect for authority.”

Vince Lombardi

It’s easy to use the values in football or sports in general as a guide for the values in life.  This stuff I already knew. But as I watched my son learn the sport from the bottom up, I have learned a few new things.

First my football background:  I consider myself a modest, sometimes fraudulent football fan.  If you are an avid football fan, you will see why soon enough.  I like the sport in general; I enjoy watching it and playing as well.  Of course, for obvious reasons I have never actually played except for tossing the ball around at the beach or in the backyard.  I can throw a decent spiral with speed and accuracy (no real distance however) and believe this is a valuable skill to know although I haven’t personally needed to access it other than to have fun.  (Both my children will learn: I have a friend who swears her husband proposed to her once he saw how well she threw a football!)  The position my friends agree that is best suited for my athletic skill however, is wide receiver.  Hey, they don’t call me PlaxiRO for nothing.  (No, I do not bring loaded weapons to nightclubs.) 

I have watched football since I was a little girl with my father.  I learned early about downs, extra points, bad penalties, etc. Games were always on all day on Sundays and they still are even if just for the background noises-the rise and fall of the cheering crowds.  The games stay on even through dinner. I was raised a Jets fan.  (My father is a Jets, Mets, Rangers fan—tough goings I guess—I will save that for another blog post!) The Jets are therefore, by default, my team 1, but I will follow and cheer for other NFL teams as well. 

Giants-I will always root for the Giants (unless they are playing the Jets). 

Greenbay-I am fascinated with the Packers-their history, the Lombardi years, the extraordinary quarterbacks through the years, the fact that they are a publically owned team, the whole Wisconsin thing, and yes, the cheese hats. 

Steelers:  And then there are the Steelers, who will always have a special place in my heart.  This is directly related to my childhood.  I can still see that poster—they were known as “The Steel Curtain” (the original Steel Curtain): Mean Joe Green and three others were on it. They looked so mean and ruthless in the picture.  But something about them made me think they were really good at heart-it was probably the Pepsi commercial. I remember liking Swan, Lambert, and, of course, Bradshaw who kind of reminded me of my best friends father who is a really great guy.

Saints-Finally, I like the Saints—I think their quarterback is nice and I love their colors. (Are you starting to see the “fraudulent fan” thing here?)

I will root against the Patriots, the Eagles and the Cowboys at all costs unless their win somehow helps the Jets in a playoff situation. 

            *            *            *            *            *            *            *            *           

This year, I have had a new opportunity to broaden my appreciation for football.  My 6 year old, first grader started playing on a flag Pop Warner team.  For those of you who know already, football is not just a game; it is a way of life.  That’s what they more or less tell you at the big Pop Warner meeting held in the spring to give you an idea of what kind of ride you are in for.  For the boys that suit up, vacations during the month of August are completely out of the question.  Missing practice is highly frowned upon.  In the summer, practices are 5 days a week, two hours per night.  The commitment is serious.  Our boys, the flag teams, practiced somewhat less, but still a lot for the age range: three times a week for two hours a night.  At first, I thought this to be a bit much.  I soon changed my mind.  Honestly, the first two weeks were spent figuring out the mouthpiece (I officially went through 6 of them), how to do push-ups and jumping jacks correctly, and figuring out who could snap the ball and who could catch the snap.  These same boys would actually have to start implementing and executing offensive plays in September; they can barely tie their shoes. 

Amazingly, they progressed quickly (once the mouthpiece situation was under control) and they actually started to learn the plays and positions.  Every practice was more than necessary.  I think at one point, I started wondering why we weren’t practicing more.  Taking the complex sport of football and breaking it down to its basic components and then teaching it to little ones is no easy task.  Learning football through the children’s eyes from the foundation up helped me also learn a few more things about the game.

Here are my five lessons from football that are all also applicable to life:

1)    There is a lot to know (about football and life)

2)    There is a lot I don’t know (about football and life)

3)    Never underestimate the little guy! (His strength and will comes from the heart: this is true in football and life)

4)    Never fear the big guy (afterall, you may be the little guy that he is underestimating: true in football and life)

5)    A play CANNOT be executed unless the offensive linemen BLOCK damn-it!

Regarding number 5- Of course I knew this.  It’s that I did not appreciate it until I watched these little guys play.  Providing your quarterback with exactly 1.27 seconds to catch the snap and run play Sweep 33 is simply not enough time.  This is not meant as a criticism to our coaches or the kids.  And it’s not for lack of trying.  It’s just hard to do.  Really, really hard to do. 

Real football fans already know this.  They recognize important blocks and tackles and know the names of these guys on the line who do it.  I do not.  Yet.  But I am going to start paying more attention.

It is fundamentally clear to me that no pass and no catch and no run will happen unless those guys do their jobs.  I apologize now for not thanking them enough.  I have heard that football is the “ultimate team sport.”  While soccer and basketball and baseball players may disagree, I can see the point clearer than ever before.  This is a great example of how the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. 

So how exactly can Lesson #5 be applied to life in general?  We all need support systems to be extraordinary.  Use them. Thank them.  Appreciate them. And make sure we become a part of someone else’s support team.  Yes, we already know this.  We just don’t appreciate it or pay attention to it.  Time to take a closer look.  In the words once again of Vince Lombardi- “Individual commitment to a group effort - that is what makes a team work, a company work, a society work, a civilization work.” Be a part of a team and contribute with all that you have.  That is what makes the difference.

Thanks little Vikings- again. : )

More words from Vince Lombardi-

“Some people try to find things in this game that don't exist but football is only two things - blocking and tackling.”  (This I now fully understand)

“The difference between a successful person and others is not a lack of strength, not a lack of knowledge, but rather a lack of will.”  (Heart matters most)

“The achievements of an organization are the results of the combined effort of each individual.” (Teamwork works)

“The greatest accomplishment is not in never falling, but in rising again after you fall.”

(I am hanging this one in my office!)

learning to do push-ups

Great Aunt Kay and The Mets, The Dodgers, and The Yankees

 (September 24, 2011)

I spent some time today with my great Aunt Kay.  She just turned 98.  My kids can’t wait for her to be a centenarian.  The countdown is on.

It is sometimes hard to think about being that old.  And you wonder would you really want it.  I have to say, with the exception of some hearing difficulties, the conversation was coherent and interesting. To say her wits still remain would be a tremendous understatement. I remember my grandmother telling me how getting old is the strangest thing.  It is somehow still you but when you look in the mirror, someone else is looking back.  Inside, however, is the young person you have been all along. Aunt Kay still seems…. well…. young somehow.

As my conversation with her began, so did the Mets game.  She watches every single game from beginning to end.  She started telling me that, despite all of their losses, they are still playing “very well”.  This is a rather funny statement since here at the end of September, in the year 2011, the Mets are at least 400 games out of first place.  I think she may have been the only person watching this particular game. 

I started telling her about a book I just finished reading to my daughter over the summer: In the Year of the Boar and Jackie Robinson.  It is one of my favorites, rich with an adorable character, interesting storyline, accurate historic detail, and laugh out loud humor.  A little girl from an illustrious clan in China moves with her mother and father to Brooklyn, New York in 1947.  The story tells about the little girl’s experience as she tries to understand American culture.  And as she learns the ways of her American peers, she falls in love with baseball.  More importantly, she follows Jackie Robinson of the Brooklyn Dodgers through his rookie year.  The story parallels their lives as both Jackie Robinson and Shirley Temple Wong (her chosen American name) adjust to new worlds. 

The most fun part of the book is when the author, with historically accurate details, retells the adventure of the Brooklyn Dodgers as they win the pennant and face the NY Yankees in the 1947 World Series. 

Before I could finish my summary of the book, Aunt Kay jumped in to share.  She attended game 4, she told me.  And it was pinch hitter, Cookie Lavegetto, who hit a homerun in the 9^th inning to win the game.  She was there!

Did I mention this took place in 1947?  That would be 64 years ago.  She is a 98 year-old woman.  I was truly astonished.  Sure, it was probably one of the most exciting games to see, and her love for the Dodgers then must have been true (for those of you not aware-the Mets did not exist then; for many Brooklynites, Dodgers were their team until they would up and move to Los Angeles- a most painful day indeed for their beloved fans.)  According to legend, Aunt Kay will still sometimes root for the Dodgers even though they clearly broke her heart.  She became an immediate Mets fan when arrived on the scene in 1962. 

I am not sure what the “takeaway” from this afternoon really is.  Is it about getting old? Is it about reflecting on the wonderful exciting moments of one’s life? Is it about a life-long love affair for a game?

I’m intrigued.  If I make it that long, what will I recall?  And with what details will I recall it with?

Aunt Kay is an icon in our family. She has outlived most of her sisters and brothers and several nephews and nieces.  She never had children of her own and never married.  Most of her life was spent working in a factory, taking care of some of the motherless children in our family, living with her 2 sisters and one brother, learning to cook around age 70, playing the slots in AC and Vegas when she was younger, and, yes, watching baseball games. I am not sure she has many regrets if any.  Overall, she seems happy with life.  Amazing.  Truly.  There would be so much more to write about her life.  But somehow, it can be summed up right here.  So here is my “Ode to Aunt Kay”-not an old lady in any way.

She told me she paid 6 dollars for that World Series ticket in 1947.

Uncle Vinnie reminded her today, that soon baseball would be over for her as the Mets wind down their regular season.  Whatever will she watch?  Why the Yanks of course.  But she will root ruthlessly AGAINST them.  And cheer wildly if and when they lose.  Afterall, the Yankees ended up beating the Dodgers in the seventh game in the World Series of 1947.  Guess who didn’t forget?????

I love you, Aunt Kay.

Good-bye Summer

I can say that generally I like living in a climate with four seasons, and I can find moments of glory in each.  While I admit winter in NJ is cold and long, the occasional snowstorm can be beautiful and magical.  That’s about all I have for winter though.  “If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?” (Shelley).  So for me, the best part of winter is that it provides the building block for the season of happiness, life and hope.  Spring is surely spectacular.  I love seeking the first signs of it and have taught them to my children: the arrival of the robin, baseball, the shooting greenery of daffodils and early April tulips, and the yellow forsythias.  It is so exciting watching the colors change, at first gradually, and then boldly.  And then as the warmth grows, to shed the layers of clothing and darkness-it’s a liberating experience.

            But still, I love summer most of all.  The reasons why seem endless.  I accept its flaws: humidity, extreme heat, bugs, and bad hair days. In exchange, I get longer and lazier days, tanks and shorts, sun-kissed shoulders, bike rides to the park, and my beloved beach time.  Summer, though, is far more than that for me; it is what summer represents.  It represents the freedom, free of time constraints and strict schedules.  It represents the memory-making time with my family and friends. It represents the celebration.  Without the other three seasons I could not appreciate its gifts and might even take for granted its sunshine, and its warmth, and its light. 

            It was time the other night: the time of year to face the facts and recognize that my favorite season is coming to a close.  Every June, with great excitement, the rite of passage for SUMMER  begins.  I bring the beach stuff from the basement into the garage; it’s sort of like a beach kit and has grown quite large over the years. It includes the following items: the beach cart, 2 beach chairs, 4 large shovels, several smaller ones, buckets, two boogie boards, a blanket, an umbrella, the beach bag with hats and towels, and two coolers.  Oh and a large, rainbow colored tube.  In a moment’s notice, the kids and I can be off to the beach without missing a thing. But sadly, the time had come to send this wonderful array of stuff back to the basement until next summer arrives. And I found that I simply couldn’t do it.  Not yet.  I did not want to admit to myself the truth.  Like the favorite jeans just a size too small.  You can hear the universe speaking, “No, they will not fit you again, and summer is OVER.” At least, for now. 

            I felt myself near tears for this silly ritual.  Perhaps it's not summer ending but rather the idea of closing up, saying goodbye, moving on.  I started to reflect on the summer. Did I do everything I wanted?  Did I soak it up enough?  Did I love it enough?  Did I take advantage of all its offerings? 

The seasons come and go.  Ending of one means the beginning of another.  I know this.  I have lived long enough, and yet, I feel once again that summer leaves me before I am ready.  Although those that know me well, will say that I tend to cry at all kinds of good-byes, so perhaps this is just another.

            Autumn is surely knocking.  The nights come sooner now and there is a chill in the air as I sit and watch my son practice football.  The jeans will move in along with the sweaters and light coats.  The greenery will grow bold turning bright orange, red and gold.  The air conditioning will finally stop and the windows will be opened.  Children will toss footballs instead of baseballs outside.  The kids and I go back to school, back to bed earlier, and back to a structured schedule.  It’s a good thing for everyone really. 

            So this weekend I will move the beach stuff back away into the basement with a heavy heart.  I reflect on the summer gone by and know it is time to move on- to look forward to a glorious new season, different but equally as beautiful.  Perhaps this is just another metaphor for life in general.

             I will miss you, summer.  Au Revoir—a Frenchman once told me that this means, “Until we meet again,” not “goodbye”.  I prefer it.

What Watching My Daughter Play Travel Softball Has Taught Me

So here I am again.  Sacrificing every weekend in July, sweating in the 90 degree plus heat and watching a group of little girls in their fancy black and gold uniforms play another game  (the second of three to be played today).  It doesn’t look like we can comeback at this point.  15-4 is a pretty solid lead.  Yet we still watch and cheer and feel proud.  We wear our fancy fan wear to show our support.  We hover in the shade produced by the awnings we purchased; all of us, grandparents, aunts, uncles, brothers and sisters included sweating and cheering.

One of the advantages of watching our daughters play sports as opposed to our sons is that we, the parents, quickly bypass the delusions of grandeur very early on.  We do not, at births moment, dream of hearing HER name announced at Yankee stadium.  “Now batting, number 4, Giana Rappoccio.”  For the most part, we know there is nowhere to go for girls in sports.  Sure, thanks to Title IX there are more opportunities to get sports scholarships than ever.  And of course, there is the WNBA and the LPGA and tennis.  And I would be extremely remiss, to leave out women’s soccer (who make our country proud every time they play).  But let’s be real. Ambitions such as these are not really within our realm of thought. 

We are actually way beyond it. 

So why do we do it?  The investment of money, time and energy is enormous as any parent of a child playing travel competitive sports can describe. But we wouldn’t miss this chance for a second. 

This is her second year.  She started at age 7.  We have won only a few games here and there.  But she is good and getting better. 

To watch these little girls go from one moment of talking about the flower decal on their fingernails to the next one-knee throwing drills; this is my favorite part.  One minute, they are little girls acting every bit of our expectation, to suddenly be concentrating so intently on the power L of throwing.  They are assertive and competitive.  They are up for the challenge.  Their facial expressions change.  You can see the power and woman within.  And of course, they are just as adorable. 

We lost again and will most likely lose the next one.  This means we come back tomorrow very early to play the number 1 seed team.  You guessed it—we will lose again.

They endure the losses in stride.  Sometimes there are tears or heads drop but most times they are ok.  These are losses not failures.  They are able to see that they are getting better and stronger and smarter every time they head out to the field.  Their tenacity is inspiring.  We, the grown-ups, have much to learn from them.

They play.  Not to make it to the big leagues, not to be a pro someday, not even for a scholarship (doubt they know what that means).  They love softball.  They play all year: spring ball, summer ball, fall ball and winter workouts start January 1.  They eat, breath, sweat, and think, softball.  The sport defines them.  When we have breaks between the games, they want to practice more.  They cherish being a part of the squad.  Their teammates are important to them.  They laugh with them and support them.  Some may become friends for life based on this mutual love of game. 

This is the ultimate lesson.  She may someday lose interest or get tired or switch to some other hobby.  It will be OK.  The moment is now.  THAT is why we are here.  We are here to play.  The final destination has no meaning, no significance.  It’s what we do and learn and love along the way:  the most important lesson of life.