Touchstones

Each day I do the "morning tango." First, I get my daughter on her bus, blow her a kiss, return to the front door, and then come back out again with my youngest. After he gets on his bus with a kiss and a smile, once again I go into the house only to come back out half an hour later to drive my oldest son to middle school.

Each time, I dash in and out of my door, I get to see a little piece of my childhood and one of my most treasured possessions... my quartz rock.

The rock sits among shrubs from our home's previous owners and some flowers and perennials I planted. At about a foot long, the rock blends in with its surroundings and also stands out as something special and unique. Just like it did when it was in my mother's garden. First in the house we lived in until I was 9 and then at the house my parents remain in today.

As a young girl, I loved sitting outside and daydreaming among the flowers my mother carefully tended. I would imagine the rock as a large diamond fit for a princess or a magical crystal that held the secrets of the world. It could be whatever I wanted it be.

Yet it was special and beautiful in its own right--catching sunlight and throwing off rainbows.

I was never clear how my mom got the unusual stone. As a child, I loved to think of all the mysterious places it could come from. Years later, I learned my mother's uncle found it on his travels and gave it to my grandmother, who then gave it to my mom.

I can still remember my mom weeding and planting her little rock garden in the front of our first house. Neighbors would stop by and chat with her, telling her the latest news or gossip. Many people commented on the unusual quartz.

My mother was so young and beautiful. I loved to talk to her whenever she was gardening. My mom was always on the run with many obligations, PTA president, ambulance corps volunteer, church obligations, or helping a friend. I had a lot of competition for her time. I loved that for the time she was in her garden, she could be mine. I would sing to her or just chat about my day.

When we moved, the rock went with us. I would see it in the new garden and take comfort that at least something was the same. Once we moved, my mother started working in real estate and her time became even more precious, but she would still find time to putter in her garden and the rock, my sisters, and I would be there.

I wonder what my children will use as their touchstone to me as they grow older. Will the rock have some significance to them? Or will they remember me obsessively going over the rose bushes and getting mad at any aphids nervy enough to eat my beloved flowers?

Or the times they come with me to cut my flowers and then sit with me as I make a flower arrangement for one of their teachers, a friend, or just for them.

Will the sight of a book I read to them bring them back to a happy time in their life as they remember the silly voices I used to make the characters come alive? Or the songs I sang to them when I rocked them to sleep?

Will the sound of fingers on a keyboard remind them of me sitting in my room typing my blog? Will they remember sitting on my bed, watching TV, arguing with each other until I yell, "For the love of all that is holy, knock it off." 

What is the legacy I will leave my children? What memory will comfort them when I no longer can?

The years are rolling on, and my face is looking more like my mother's. As much as I am my own person, I notice some of my mom's mannerisms seeping into mine. Time is moving on, and we are getting older. I know one day I am going to look outside and the rock will be something that comforts me when my mom no longer can. 

One day I will not be able to call my mom up and ask her to watch the kids, reserve a machine at the gym, or go for a cup of coffee. At that point, our infamous arguments and fights will no longer matter. Who got what, or who said what to who, will cease to matter. All I will have left is a crystal rock and the memory of the beautiful mother who I adored yet could not always understand.

Thankfully, I still have today to make a call.

Passing Along My Dream

When I was seven years old, I saw the Disney version of Cinderella and the inner princess in me was born. I loved the sewing and singing mice, and the fairy godmother who turns rags into a beautiful gown and a pumpkin into a coach pulled by six white horses. I couldn't resist Cinderella meeting her handsome prince and living happily ever after.

As I got older, I didn't buy the message that a man had to "save" Cinderella. After all, why didn't Cinderella just pack up the mice and high tail it out of her evil stepmother's house. She could have started a dress shop with the mice. The fairy godmother could have helped her secure a micro loan. Then she could have met her Prince Charming and after a lovely courtship gotten married in a dress she designed herself. She did have those great sewing mice to help her.

But, that's not the story I grew up with and the story that my inner princess loved.

So, how could I resist watching the royal wedding of Prince William and Princess Katherine a few weeks ago? Because my daughter Lizzy enjoys the whole princess package as much as I do, we had great fun enjoying it together. We even saw a little of it with my own mother when she came by early in the morning to see Lizzy dressed for school in her pink party dress and a little tiara in her hair.

There we were, three generations of women enjoying the pageantry of the royal wedding.

As much as my own mom had raised my sisters and I to be strong independent women, even she has always been a sucker when it comes to a wedding. I used to love her stories of how she planned her wedding, designed her bridal bouquet, and picked out her dress.

We couldn't resist watching a Cinderella story come to life.

When I got engaged and was planning my own wedding, I obsessively read bridal magazines and pored over pictures of gorgeous designer gowns and stunning flowers. 

I had come across a story about a new designer and the beautiful bridal boutique she had recently opened at the Carlyle Hotel in New York City. The store sold her designs as well as a lot of the designers I saw in magazines. I wanted to buy my dress at Vera Wang.

My budget doesn't always fit my desires, but I planned in my mind how I would be able to purchase the gown of my dreams on my down-to-earth budget. Since I love fairy tales, I decided that I was going to go to Vera Wang and find the perfect dress for me in my price range. Just for fun, I added to my daydream that I would get to meet the designer and they would like me so much that they would throw a few special things in for no charge.

I had a lot of free time at my job.

More for fun than anything else, my mother and I made an appointment to shop for my wedding dress at Vera Wang.

As we went through the store with the saleswoman, my eye went to the most beautiful dress I had ever seen. Not unlike Cinderella's weddding dress in the movie.

It was a simple, white silk gown with the most delicate pearl bead work on the off-the-shoulder neckline. The saleswoman saw my face and got the dress. I figured I was in trouble and tried to decide just how important eating really was to me.

She zipped up the dress, and I completely fell in love. She smiled at me and said that this gown was very reasonably priced. And, without knowing my daydream, said if I didn't mind coming back on the weekend, the designer was having a trunk sale at the shop. I could meet him and get an additional 10% taken off the dress. I was in shock. It was my fantasy come true.

I bought my dream dress. I met the designer. And, true to my fantasy, he added pearl buttons down the back of my dress and cut the dress to my exact measurements, all for no extra charge. I had my Cinderella moment complete with a perfect wedding to a man I truly adore.

Now, 18 years later, we have a daughter who for the last two weeks has been walking around with my shawl on her head and pretending to be Princess Kate.

Lizzy's special needs affect her life so completely, and I'm not really sure what her future will bring. Meeting someone and getting married seems unlikely.

When feeling a little too filled with self pity, I expressed that thought to my own mom, she said it didn't matter. Lizzy could wear a wonderful dress and have a great party anytime she wanted to.

A few days ago I decided to open the box that held my beautiful wedding dress so that my daughter could wear and enjoy playing in it now. She had the same look of joy that I had when I first laid my eyes on it. "Oh, mommy, it's sooo beautiful. I'm a princess."

Then she proceeded to add two hats, three crowns and six bracelets and made it her own. It was a magical moment for both of us.