I have been feeling a little melancholy the past few days. I think I've pinpointed some of the sources: It's that odd time of year, between holidays, where I am sad and exhausted after my full-of-family house emptied out, and the pressure of All Things Christmas is already hot and heavy. I have been rewatching The Closer, which is one of my favorite television shows, but I had forgotten how dreadfully stressful and sad the final season is. I haven't been writing (paid work and then company/Thanksgiving), which always makes me feel unsettled and off. I read a well-written and deeply sad article in The New Yorker about dementia that hasn't left me. My husband and I are going to see a lawyer to (FINALLY) do our estate planning. And, of course, the clouds have settled in for what promises to be many months.
It all adds up to feeling extra sensitive to silly things – a probably offhand but seemingly poignant comment from the checker at the grocery store; the way Brenda's team is so loyal to her on The Closer; having to throw away gobs of carefully, lovingly made Thanksgiving leftovers that no one will eat; that sort of thing – and feeling a little mopey and down.
One of the other sources of my broodiness is a current heightened awareness of the juggernaut of time.
The retail sector is at least partially to blame, I think. All the frenzied emails about Christmas began what feels like months ago and have only increased in intensity. I get anxious just checking my email – all those companies yelling at me to hurry! Going fast! Don't wait to get in on this! Shop more, save more! Ends tonight! Extended! Don't miss out! Such a ceaseless cacophony of urgency that I am somehow unable to ignore.
Hanukkah is early this year, which makes me feel like I'm already behind.
My parents were looking at retirement homes when they were here for Thanksgiving. While I am grateful to them for preparing for their old age, and for being so open and frank about the subjects of aging and infirmity and death, it makes me sad and panicky. I may be nearly middle-aged, but I still feel like I'm somewhere in the big swirl of age twenty-to-thirty, and I'm not ready to think seriously about my parents being old.
As I literally just mentioned, I am rapidly approaching middle age, with its attendant anxieties. My skin has frequent eruptions of pique. I vacillate between feeling delighted about my middle-age invisibility and feeling angry about the fact that my husband grows increasingly attractive while I do the opposite and feeling depressed that I am fading into the wallpaper and winding inexorably toward death.
Plus – and, although it may seem like the least important item on my list, it is not– my child has her first loose tooth. As with so many childhood milestones, this feels remarkable and significant. Her little face will change so much once she loses teeth. Teeth she's had since she was a BABY. And I'm suddenly hyper-aware that she's five-and-a-half, which is almost six. And while five felt So Big – kindergarten!!!! – six seems practically ancient. This loose tooth has me all in a tizzy of Childhood Is Fleeting and I am simultaneously frantic about making Christmas Special While She Still Gets So Excited About Everything and mooning over all the times I failed to Cherish Every Moment. And now her babyhood is really and truly GONE. She's practically a GROWN UP.
Of course her growing up is tied inextricably to my own mortality. It all comes down to this: This feeling that I want to keep my baby little – even while I love, LOVE how she is growing. The knowledge that it's impossible to do so. The desperate need to take in everything – soak up every little bit of her – all the time, and watching as the moment steamrolls past even as I grasp for it.
Last night, I went in to her room to take her to the bathroom before I went to sleep. Usually, she climbs out of bed – she's really getting too big for me to carry – but this time, I picked her up. She turned her little face up to mine for a kiss, and then draped herself over my shoulder. I stood there for a moment, just holding her. The weight of her in my arms. The warmth of her body, the baking-bread scent of her skin, the gentle sound of her sucking her thumb. Just a minute ago, she was small enough to fit in the curve of my neck. Now, her long legs dangle down to my knees. My big girl. My baby.
There's a fresh layer of snow on all the trees, and a steady soft flurry. I got a bright assortment of bell peppers from the grocery store yesterday – the bright green and yellow and orange and red are a nice contrast to the grey. I've gotten my meager "fall" décor put away, but am allowing myself a few days before I put out the Christmas stuff; there's no hurry, and I want to stave off that closed-in feeling I get after too many weeks of Christmas Everything Everywhere I Turn. But because I am a woman of contradictions, I put on a Christmas music station – and Mariah Carey and Tony Bennett and Wham! have done a lot to help chip away at the glum. I have coffee planned with a lovely friend. Just now, I have answered the door to find a beautiful wreath from my mother – it smells like Christmastime and is now hanging proudly on my door. It all helps.
So too does the knowledge that this feeling shall pass, and the hope that maybe someday I will be able to enjoy the present moment without mourning its eventual passage.
You may be wondering why you haven't seen my annual Mooning Over the Passage of Time or Cake–Related Therapy posts.
You know. The ones where I get all misty-eyed and sentimental about my child's birthday and try to self-medicate with complicated baking projects.
Maybe you think I've gotten it over it! Outgrown it! Filled my life with better and more interesting things to think about!
Or, if you are a longtime reader of this blog, and/or A Realist, you may assume you just missed it.
Well, you haven't missed it, per se. I've written it. Oh, I've written it. (I have, in fact, written – let me check here… — 2,349 words on the topic.) I just haven't posted anything because… well, I am making my own eyes roll is really the best reason I can give you.
But I did have the annual mooning. And I did make some cakes.
Unicorns in their carrying case at the party, waiting for eager five- and six-year-olds to gobble them down!
Carla wanted to have a unicorn birthday party, so I made unicorn cupcakes for the party. We invited fifteen of her friends. They played on an indoor playground. They ate pizza. They ate unicorn cupcakes. I turned one of her getting-sort-of-grubby dresses into a Unicorn Dress via the magic of iron-on unicorn and stars appliques.
Baking Secret: I made so many cupcakes that I had… many left over. And I didn't take this picture until many… weeks had passed. One can only think that the cupcakes would have photographed better had they been FRESHER. These have survived a birthday party, being in a hot car while the birthday girl ate a post-party lunch (she did not eat pizza AT her party), then being in my fridge for weeks. Of course, one might also choose to blame poor photography skills. One has many choices, is what one should know.
For her family birthday party, we went to Carla's favorite restaurant for tacos. After dinner, we had cake. Carla had requested a purple cake with chocolate frosting. Last year, she wanted a purple cake with black frosting, a concept I was more amenable to this year. But I went with chocolate.
My husband was very skeptical that that cake would be aesthetically pleasing. I was more optimistic, and plus I had A Plan. A Plan that involved gold and sparkles, which Carla loves.
Baking secret: The only way I could get these sprinkles to stick to the frosting was by throwing handfuls of them at the cake. There are STILL tiny white sprinkles on my floor.
I think it turned out rather cute, right?
Why yes, the cake IS a little crooked, thank you for noticing! I tried to compensate for the lean by taking an off-center photo which is, of course, my specialty.
I wish I had photos of it with the shiny gold candles in it, too. They were adorable. Oh well.
Baking Secret: While I never thought I would do it, I DID end up using cake mix to make the cupcakes AND the cake alike. I doctored the mix before baking — butter and milk instead of oil and water, plus I added real vanilla bean and pure vanilla extract — but it was SO MUCH easier than making the batter from scratch. To make sure I wasn't being TOO easy on myself, the filling between the layers is homemade chocolate ganache.
The cupcakes are gone. The cake is gone. The leftover ganache, which I just ate right now by the spoonful, is gone.
Why yes I DID color coordinate her wrapping paper with her cake, thankyouverymuch.