Toni from the block

It's been so long since I've done this. I miss writing more than I can say but I've been involved in so many things that I just haven't had time to sit down and write. Every time I try to blog, my mind is filled with so much that I don't know where to start so I stop. I usually go and pour myself a glass of wine, hug my husband, and discuss how we both will start writing again when the time is right...later.

I find myself changing a lot these days. I owe this metamorphosis to three little boys--Eliot, Riley and London. The once rocker chick who couldn't get the word "grandma" out of her mouth without having it stick in her throat is now wearing necklaces sporting her grandsons' names and carrying stacks of photos in her purse. "Would you like to see the three cutest boys on earth?" I ask my students.
I never thought that I could miss anyone this much but I often burst into tears over the smallest things-- a little sock left behind, a Wiggles song, moldy Buzz Lightyear cheese found in the back of the fridge.
It sucks to finally have the life you've dreamed of, only to find yourself longing for more- a life that includes "the boys." Don't get me wrong. I'm the most grateful woman on the planet. I'm madly in love and live a wonderful life, but it just isn't complete without the boys.

First it was Eliot. I was so fortunate to see him whenever I wanted but then he moved with his parents to the Bay Area. At least it was driving distance. We would visit often but then the goodbyes came. I don't think any man has ever made my heart ache like saying goodbye to Eliot has. Then came Riley. Summer took him with her to venture off to Portland when he was just an infant. I remember that day like yesterday. I actually felt my heart break. London's birth was a scary day. Michael and I were in Palo Alto celebrating Andy's birthday, and the call came. Summer was in trouble -she was being rushed by ambulance to the hospital. We jumped on a plane, saw our new grandson for a few short hours and then boarded a plane back home because I had to teach. This time, my heart felt like it was being ripped out of my chest. I wanted to stay with him forever.

And it's not getting easier. My son tells me I'm "old school Italian." He's right. In my perfect world, we live in New York, or at this point, anywhere that resembles this picture: A house, preferably an old brownstone, in a culturally-diverse neighborhood. My sister and her family live down the street, Andy and Ami and Eliot are a few streets over, and Summer and her family are on the other side of the block, a few streets down. My brother and Michael's brother are a couple of neighborhoods over, Mary and Lizzy are in driving distance, and our friends can walk to our house. We get together for Sunday dinners and drinks and coffee and meet at the museum or the movies or the park. The boys come to grammy and gramp's house whenever they want and Michael tells them stories about bugs, and birds and science. Hazel and Cooper join the mix and we dance around the house like a bunch of nuts. I teach and Michael does medicine and we laugh and love a lot. And the holidays? fuggetaboutit! Food, wine, family, friends and love all over the place.

Unfortunately, we're all scattered from one side of the United States to the other. Michael tells me that one day, we will all be together (not sure how he's going to make that happen) but for now my life is one big Cole Porter song...
Everytime we say goodbye, I die a little,
Everytime we say goodbye, I wonder why a little...