Monthly Archives: January 2010

Ode to the Low Rider

Posted on January 10, 2010 by Sarah| 3 Comments

Greg and I said goodbye to a dear friend last week, a sweet little car called the Low Rider.

She wasn’t glamorous by any stretch. My parents bought her during my freshman year of college. My brother was in high school, and this, this 1998 Toyota Camry, was not what any car-loving teenager wanted to drive. Could they have chosen anything more boring? A hearse, maybe?

The car had no pick-up. Oh, sure, it probably had 100-some-odd horsepower. But a horse is a powerful animal, and I don’t think it’s fair to associate it with this car. I think we were talking hamster power. Maybe that’s an exaggeration. New from Toyota: the 150 guinea-pig-power Camry.

But we made do. During my summer internships on the coasts, my parents lent the car to me. It became permanently mine during grad school.

Over the years, I started to see the beauty in the boring. Boring meant that the only maintenance the car ever required was an oil change. Boring meant that she started in the below-zero weather of Illinois and the 100-degree heat of Texas without complaint. That she carried me safely home from so many late nights at the newspaper.

The Low Rider joined me for my first summer really far from home — at an internship in Massachusetts. And then the following summer for an internship in Oregon. She carried Greg and I away from our reception on our wedding day. And carried our possessions to our first home. And carried still more possessions when we moved to Texas. And carried Eleanor the day we came home from the hospital. If it’s possible to love an object, I loved that car.

After 130,000 miles, the Low Rider and I parted ways. Greg and I had talked about getting a new car for a few years. I wanted tinted windows to shield Eleanor from the sun but didn’t want to spend money for them in the Low Rider. And I wanted better safety features.

I felt guilty test-driving new cars. And at the same time — wow, there have been some big improvements in cars during the past 12 years. I made my choice, a car with a lot of bells and whistles but no well-worn charm. I think her name is Millie, but I don’t know her yet. I hope she’ll be worthy of an ode someday.

I’m happy to say that the Low Rider has been passed on to some family members. We haven’t discussed visitation rights, but I have a feeling they’ll let me take her for a spin occasionally. I hope she’s as good to them as she was to me.

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Posted in Shenanigans

Month ten

Posted on January 3, 2010 by Sarah| Comments Off

Dear Eleanor,

Today you turned 10 months old. These past few weeks have helped me fully understand why people have babies. Not only are you fun to watch, but now you want to play with Dad and I. You actually like us!

You’ve started to share your toys, which is so sweet. You’ll grasp something in your pudgy hand and hold it out to us until we take it. And we cheer and thank you as though you have handed us the keys to a new car. Dad and I were excited for your first Christmas, but you didn’t have much idea what was happening. You did get excited though when Dad taught you to shake the rattle that Santa brought. Now you hold it out so that we’ll help you shake it faster, and you unfurl the biggest grin as your little body jiggles with the motion.

You’re joining us at the table for most meals. We’re happy to let you crawl around, but you always make your way to my chair, pull to standing and then beg for scraps. I think you spend too much time watching the dog.

So we strap you into your high chair and hand you bites, which you happily stuff into your mouth. We have to remember to pause for your chewing; otherwise, you cram food in like a 300-pound man in an eating contest. You will stuff an entire cup of bananas or cheese in your mouth, your cheeks puffing up like a hamster’s, and then wail because your mouth is so full that you can’t chew. Then I fish out all of those slobbery pieces while you fight me off with your dagger teeth. Keeping you alive is a daily battle.

Your Dad and I agreed long ago that we would let you choose your own interests. Dad wouldn’t force you to do tae kwon do, and I wouldn’t force you to dance. But that was before I found out that you love to stand on your toes. You spend so much time on your tiptoes that I’m actually concerned you might never put down your heels and walk. I’ll stand by the agreement, but I’m telling you, Eleanor, you were born to dance.

Even if Dad and I did tell you what to do, your response would be “Nooooo!” You love to shake your head. The more that Dad and I try to teach you to nod “yes,” the more wildly you shake “no.”  Do you want a cookie? No! Do you want more kisses? No! You joyously protest every good thing.

The past few days we were in Illinois to visit family. One of the greatest joys of being your mom is seeing the cheer you spread to others. Your grandparents and great-grandpa glow when they see you. Watching you put all that happiness into the world has changed me. I spend far less time being negative and angry, and I find it difficult to tolerate these traits in others. I hope to make the world a happier place, a place more worthy of your joy.

Love,

Mom

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Posted in Monthly letter, Pictures