The Crush

Joey bursts through the door, his face flushed and his eyes wild. He wears excitement like a cape as he flies over to me and throws his long, skinny arms around me. His brothers follow closely behind caught up in their big brother's excitement.

The story of the day is about a boy who likes a girl who likes him back. It is a story as old as time but is brand new again in my boy.

He asked her to the movies and she said happily accepted. "We are going in a big group of our friends. But I'm gonna pay for her. I have to save up my allowance so we can go. I'm gonna pay for her and me. I was thinking maybe we could see Maleficent when it comes out. Or maybe Rio 2 or Heaven is For Real.  I'll see what she wants to see. Can you call her mom and ask if that is okay? Can you call her right now? Or maybe you could email her? Can we go tomorrow? Or, wait, I still have to save up. Could I get my allowance early? I have $9.00 in my wallet but I need more. How much does it cost to get in to the movies?" he spews at me without giving me a chance to answer.

The younger brothers watch closely. They are learning from his experience without even knowing it. They are all watching my reactions and I feel myself panic on the inside. Which is the best way to go? I want to be excited and supportive so he knows he can always come to me and I will share his enthusiasm. At the same time I don't want to encourage this whole "dating" business just yet. I want to tease and have fun with my boy, as I can see that is the mood he is in, but I definitely don't want to turn it into a joke. I know this is serious to my first timer and I want to behave just as he wants me to.

This is all so new. To him and to me. I'm not sure which way to go.

I try to match his enthusiasm. I don't want to be anything less than supportive in this moment.

I try to put myself in his shoes and think back to grade school. As a skinny, awkward, goofy tomboy I really have nothing to compare it to. Boys were never interested in me until I was a junior in high school. I used to loathe being a late bloomer but now I can see it for the blessing it was. There was a freedom in it.

I want my kids to be late bloomers too. Alas, it doesn't seem to be going that way.

Instead of playing outside Joey sits down to write his crush a letter. He uses his neatest handwriting and thinks carefully and thoughtfully. He shows me the letter when he is done. I am honored to be included inside his world once again and I lift a silent prayer that he will always want to share his heart with me. I smile and compliment his letter and he floats out the door to join his brothers outside, relieved to have finally gotten his letter just right.

Each time he comes back in the house he is bursting to tell me something else about the movies or his crush. He tells me how he wrote her a letter a couple of weeks ago and attached Hershey's chocolate to it. Another letter followed a few days later in which he told her that he liked her and that she was really good at staring contests. The boy is good if I do admit so myself. Chocolates, declarations, and compliments. How could a girl refuse?

I listen carefully to his stories and ask all the right questions. He knows I'm interested and gives me all the info I want. I tell him I admire his bravery. He shrugs it off. The kid has confidence in abundance.

In between my support I sprinkle in a bit of seriousness. A bit of lecture here, a bit of warning there.

"Only in groups"
"No dating until high school"

He rolls his eyes at me.

"Mom don't I even get what dating is. It doesn't even make sense." Joey announces.

I explain that dating is two people getting to know each other. It involves going on dates (like to the movies) with just each other. Sometimes the two people might even kiss.

"MOM! What makes you think I would even WANT to do that? That's just crazy!" Joey assures me. "I just like her and she likes me and that's it."

Simplicity, mom. Remember that. I must trust in his pure heart.

Before I can even  start to worry that my boy is growing up too quickly he is back outside playing in the woods, building forts, and riding bikes with his brothers. Once again reminding me that he is still just a boy. Still cloaked in innocence and childhood.

But it is a moment.

A milestone.

A first crush.

Days Like This

Once again my alarm clock, aka the neighbor's dog, wakes me and the rest of my household up at 5:40 in the morning.  A full hour and a half before intended. Seeing as how I couldn't fall asleep until the wee hours of the morning I am left feeling not so refreshed.

"Momma said there'd be days like this..."

I wake up angry. Angry that once again the neighbors have left their dog outside at the butt crack of dawn to wake the entire neighborhood. I had thought the problem was solved shortly after we moved in when one morning, having finally lost my marbles, I stood outside in my bathrobe and yelled at the dog to "shut up, dog!"  The neighbors finally go the idea and for a while all was peaceful. Then, this past summer the same neighbors bought another dog. The barking began once again. All day long and most especially when people are sleeping.  The dog barks early in the morning. The dog barks during nap times. The dog barks when the kids have finally fallen asleep at night.  The dog barks every time it is outside and yet the barking does not seem to bother the owners at all.

Breathe.

The few hours of sleep I did manage to get last night seemed to have caused severe nerve damage to my neck and back.  I can barely move my head from side to side, up or down. Grocery shopping this morning was excruciating and the groceries are still sitting in my kitchen awaiting placement in the fridge and the cupboards.  I just can't bring myself to do it.

In less than an hour I'm expected at the kids' school where I will cut hundreds of squares from fleece for some kind of project I am not even aware of. This should make my neck and shoulders feel MUCH better.

"there'd be days like this, my momma said..."

The winter blues have hit full force around here. The bitter cold and mounds of snow have wreaked havoc on my mood. Did we even need the groundhog this year?  Clearly there will be 6 more weeks of winter (aren't there always, though?) and I'm guessing even more than that.

I guess I'm not really doing well with my meditation word for this year.  Breathe.  I just need to breathe.

Lately my breath seems to be stifled. By severe cold. By exhaustion. By stress. By melancholy.

I was leaving the YMCA and saw a gaggle of mommies and their toddlers waiting for a gymnastics class to begin. Littles were crawling and falling and fighting all over each other as the mommies were trying to collect shoes and socks and diaper bags. One of the mommies had a sweet little baby belly to go along with her toddler and I couldn't help but be envious. That used to be my life. Toddlers and pregnant bellies.

I will never be there again.

As I stepped over and around the toddlers the mommies apologized with embarrassed smiles.  I smiled and let them know I thought it was adorable. Part of me wanted to tell them that I had been there only a short while ago. I had crazy toddlers and baby bellies once too.  I rocked and soothed and watched and apologized just like they did.

I wanted to tell them how much I missed it. How much it made me ache to know I would not have that again. I wanted to tell them to cherish every moment even though I knew that was sometimes impossible to do when you are in it, and at times a little annoying to hear.

Instead I moved on down the hall with the sound of other people's children still ringing in my ears, trying to catch my breath.

Breathe.

I just have to breathe.

"Momma said there'd be days like this. There'd be days like this my momma said!"

My Shadow

It doesn't take long before it begins.  

I am on my early morning run.  It is hovering just over 80 degrees, heavy on the humidity.  My legs feel strong.  My shoulders are loose.  I take deep, even breaths. As I take off down my street I almost feel like I do in my reoccurring dream, lightening fast, strong, ready to fly.  

I settle into my music and the clutter filling up my day falls away.  I watch two squirrels running across the road, fighting as they go.  A cardinal dashes by me and I dodge a wasp heading right for my leg. I watch the construction crew working on the house down the street, and the man watering his lawn, and the dog who watches me.

I check my pace at the mile marker and I'm impressed.  Faster than I normally go.  And in this heat. Nice.

Then it begins.  "You're running much faster. You are going to tire sooner. You are probably getting tired already. You are not built for speed. You're going to have to walk soon. See how hard you are puffing now?" My brain is working overtime to get my body to stop.  

I spot my negative trend and try to turn it around. I even out my breathing again and make sure to keep the same pace I had on the first mile. I tune back into my music and run on. 

"Brave" comes on my iPod and I feel my pace quicken even more. I think about how I want my children be brave. Attack life head on with wild abandon. Live without fears holding them back. Put everything they've got into what they want. I want that for them. And for me.

"The wind is really picking up now. That always wears you out. This is a big hill coming up, maybe after that you'll have to walk.  You haven't had enough water for this heat and you don't want to get a migraine." My brain warns.

I physically shake my head to snap these negatives loose. Why is it that I can be everyone else's cheerleader but my own?

I feel myself begin to tire.  I feel sluggish.  Knowing my brain is winning this battle I run through my checklist.  

My legs still feel strong. My shoulders are loose. My breathing is even. My back feels good. I'm okay. I can do this. 

"You're not tired. You're doing great! You are getting stronger. You can do this!" I chant to myself.

Before my brain can interrupt I catch my shadow out of the corner of my eye. 

"Is that me?" my brain asks. "Is that what I look like?" 

My shadow doesn't look tired. My shadow looks strong. My shadow looks powerful. My shadow looks brave. My shadow looks fast and free. My shadow looks like me.  

I put my head down and barrel through. I can do it. Faster and longer than I have before.

I get out of my head, turn off my brain, and just go.

I can be brave too.

The Birds And The Bees

He is growing up.  Getting older.  In a few weeks he will be starting fifth grade.  Fifth grade!  How did that happen so soon?

He has gone off to camp on his own.  He is feeling his independence.  Slowly, slowly becoming more mature.

It seems that he has developed a much more positive "can do", "never give up",  attitude in the last couple of months as well.  Something I have been praying about for him and will definitely help him in the long run. I know he will always struggle with being too hard on himself (the curse of the firstborn) but I think a positive attitude is everything.

Recently, he has been taking very good care of his room.  Folding his clothes, making his bed, keeping things tidy.  He is given an allowance for it now to ensure he keeps up the good work.  

He had also been begging to cut our grass for months now.  Finally, Todd showed him how to use our push mower.  People, we have a huge lawn. Huge. Todd uses a riding mower but wasn't quite ready to hand that over to Joey just yet. Instead, Joey got a quick lesson in push mowers and then proceeded to cut our entire front lawn. A couple of days later he cut the backyard. He loved it. Loved it! He was hooked. The novelty wore off a bit but he has still cut our lawn a few more times since then.

The kid is growing up.  

And it was time.  

I knew it would be coming soon.  I mean, the kid is going into 5th grade.  I think I knew about the birds and the bees when I was in 3rd grade, tops.  But, bless my dear, sweet, innocent Joey, he knew nothing. Probably another bonus of him going to a sheltered parochial school. The subject just never came up before with his friends or at school.  He really didn't know anything. Not a thing. And it was time. 

There were times when I considered telling him before. Like when I asked him not to say "Humpin' Honeys" even though that was the name on the side of his war plane.  Or when the kids repeated the word "sexy" after they heard it in the car commercial and I told them I don't want them saying it.  I tried to say that it was inappropriate talk for kids and leave it at that but there comes a time when more of an explanation is needed.  

That time was tonight.

It came up completely innocently and when I said, "Maybe it's time we had the birds and the bees talk, Joe." he was very receptive.  Although, I honestly think at first he thought we'd be talking about birds and bees. When I told him that I meant I think he is old enough to know how babies are made he was all for it.  

As I walked him to our library and closed the door (the younger kids just aren't ready to overhear this conversation yet) I said a silent prayer asking for guidance to say the right things.  I grabbed a book off our shelf (It's Not The Stork) for a visual reference and then I began.  

I started by telling Joe that women have eggs that need to be fertilized by a man.  And then I told him exactly how that happens.  I used all the correct terminology (something I had been doing with all of my kids since birth so it never felt weird saying "penis" or "vagina").  I pointed to pictures in the book explaining the uterus and ovaries.  I even talked about puberty and menstrual cycles a bit.  I was comfortable, he was comfortable, and we talked freely.  

Joey told me he thought it was disgusting. I told him that I know it sounds that way but it really isn't.  It is a wonderful thing but it is to be taken very seriously. I explained more about how I feel that God intended for sex to be beautiful, since you are creating a life, and that is why it should be between a married couple. Joey vowed that he would never have sex.  Fine with me.

At one point Joey said, "I can't believe that you and dad had to do that 4 times just to have babies." Dear sweet Joey. He also told me (after I told him about periods and how eggs get old eventually) that he hopes my eggs aren't too old yet because he wants me to have another baby.  Crazy kid.  He always loved holding his siblings as babies. So sweet.  Unfortunately, I believe that ship has sailed.  Four is our magic number (says the hubby). 

I tell you what, people, I could not have dreamed that this little talk would have gone this well. I am so thankful. I let Joey know that he shouldn't talk about it with his friends because their parents probably want to be the one to tell them about it. I also said his siblings are too young to know, and he agreed. I admitted to him that my parents never had this talk with me and that many people are embarrassed to talk about it, but not me.  I let him know that he can always come to me with any questions.  He can ask me anything. I won't be embarrassed.  

He handled it like a man. Actually, probably better than a man. He asked thoughtful questions.  He didn't make silly jokes out of embarrassment. He took it like the little scientist I always thought him to be.  It was awesome.  Very breezy and casual.  Quite a bonding moment, actually. 

One more milestone down.

He is growing up. I can't stop it.  Nor do I want to.

Monday

The bench is steaming hot and the exposed skin on my legs burns as I sit down.  I pull my ponytail holder off my wrist, gather my hair together, and whip my hair up and off of my neck.  The boys have already settled in on the playground.  Tommy and Joey are digging in the sand and Ben is hanging from the monkey bars.  I glance at my watch.  Thirty-five minutes to go.

I pick up my homemade iced coffee and take a sip.  It cools and revives me at the same time.  It is so humid I can feel the moisture settling into my skin.  I set my coffee down and grab my book trying to take my mind off the sweat dripping down my back.  Soon I'm swept up into my book.

Before I begin the next chapter I take another look at my watch.  Not even ten minutes have passed.  I steal a glance around the playground and find the boys chasing each other around.  They run up the slides, down the slides, across the monkey bars, up the climbing wall. Finally they settle in the area below the slides and start up some imaginary world on a submarine.  I wonder if they know how lucky they are to have each other.

My mind wanders back to a time when three boys was all I knew.  My heart swells with memory.

A large group of kids from the YMCA's daycare come bounding onto the playground. Immediately the playground breaks into two distinct groups. Boys are playing on one side and girls on the other. I laugh at the separation and return my attention back to my book.

"Are you Ben's mom?" a little boy that I recognize asks me.

"Yep!" I answer as I place my bookmark in my book.

"Yeah.  I go to school with him."  the cute little blond boy tells me.

"I know!  You're Caleb, right?" I say back.

"Uh-huh!  My teacher doesn't let us bring cars to the park but I did anyway." Caleb announces and shows me his pockets full of Hot Wheels.

"Well aren't you a little stinker!" I feign shock.  "Don't worry. I won't tell. Just don't lose them, okay?" I remind him.

"I have so many cars. They are everywhere. It doesn't matter."  he tells me as he runs off calling for Ben.

My eyes follow Caleb back to the playground and I notice Joey trying to help a little boy reach the highest exercise bar. Joey wraps his arms around the boy's waist and lifts him. The boy stretches and reaches with all his might but his fingertips still come up a couple inches shy of the bar. Joey sets him down, wraps his arms around the boys thighs and lifts him again. The boy's fingertips just brush the bar.  Joey sets him down again and looks up at the bar. Joey and the boy talk for a few seconds and then Joey gets down on his hands and knees and instructs the boy to stand on his back. Holding on to the pole next to him the boy does as he is told and finally reaches the bar.  Both of the boys let out a "Yay!" as the young boy dangles by his hands for a few seconds and then drops to the ground.  Joey gives him a high five and goes about his business on the playground with his new little shadow following after.

"Mom! Hey, Mom! Watch this!" Tommy yells to me.  I find Tommy on the monkey bars and watch as he skips one bar and then two on his way across.  "Did you see that? I can skip bars!"  He shouts.

"Cool!" I answer back and toss him a thumbs up.

"Watch this!" Tommy repeats as he goes back across the monkey bars again and again.

This goes on for a few minutes.  Each of my boys playing the "watch me" game and vying for my attention.  Accolades and thumbs up are given out to each boy until they are satisfied and find something else to occupy themselves with.

I pick up my book again but am immediately distracted by the girls screaming on the merry-go-round type of apparatus a few yards from me.  There are 8 or 9 girls sitting on the circle demanding that the boys come over and push them.  Two good-natured fellows take on the challenge.  Round and round the girls go while the boys huff and puff. The circle does not spin easily and stops the minute the boys take a rest.  The girls are not satisfied.  They insist the boys go faster and tell them they are wimps when they don't succeed.  The boys finally get fed up and leave the girls to push themselves.  I shake my head and smile. "Girls, girls, girls. You are going about this all wrong." I think to myself.  I can't help but chuckle.  They'll learn.

I sneak another peek at my watch. Twenty minutes left.

My eyes find my boys on the playground.  All three of them are playing together with half a dozen boys they don't know.  Joey is, of course, barking out orders.  "Batten down the hatches, men! Prepare to dive!" he orders his soldiers.  Ben and Tommy take turns looking through the periscope and calling out their location and where the enemy submarines are. "We are gonna Run Silent, Run Deep, men!" Joey tells them.  "What does that mean?" another boy asks.  Joey just shakes his head.

Tommy climbs up a ladder on the outside of the "submarine" and notices me watching.  Unsure of where my eyes are looking underneath my sunglasses he tosses me a big cheesey smile.  I offer a big cheesey smile back.  Satisfied that I am watching him he races up the ladder and continues with his play.

Ben follows Tommy up the ladder and a bigger boy smooshes in next to him, vying to be the first up the ladder. The whole ladder shakes and wobbles as the older boy tries to budge past Ben. For a moment there is a struggle between the two boys until Ben decides it isn't worth it and allows the older boy to go ahead of him. Ben looks over at me to see if I've witnessed the injustice.  I toss him a thumbs up as I raise my voice and say, "You rock!"

I check my watch, yet again, calculate the time it will take to walk one block back to the YMCA, and decide we still have another five minutes left.

"Just a few minutes guys.  Then we have to head out, okay?" I warn my boys.

They nod their heads and I delve back into my book.

A few minutes pass and Ben walks up to me.  "Is it time to get Gracie yet?" he asks.

"Yep!  We'd better get going." I answer.

"We wouldn't want to be late.  She'd probably freak out, right?"  Ben says.

"Maybe." I laugh.

I call the boys and soon we are walking back down the sidewalk, into the Y, up the stairs, and down the  hallway.  We are a few minutes early and the boys entertain a baby and the other waiting families with their goofiness and silly faces.  I shush them and try not to roll my eyes at their antics.

The door opens up and 7 tiny, pink ballerinas come walking out, each with worried faces.  The worried faces melt into happiness and relief when their parents are spotted.

"Mommy!" Grace squeals as she runs to me.

"Hi honey!  Did you have fun?" I ask her as I sweep her up into my arms.

"Uh-huh! And I didn't even cry!" she tells me.

"Good job! Such a big girl!" the boys and I tell her proudly.

Down the stairs and out into the sunshine we go.  My three boys.  My girl.  And me.

In God's Hands

The boys are home from school and the homework is done when I wake Ben and Grace up from their naps. Snacks are handed out and eaten while we watch a little Spongebob.  Then I begin.

"So, grandpa isn't doing very well, guys.  The pneumonia is causing his lungs to fill up with fluid and he is having a real hard time breathing.  They tried different medicines and procedures to get the fluid out and make grandpa feel better but nothing is working.  There really is nothing else that can be done."  I tell the kids earnestly.  

"Does that mean grandpa is going to die?" Tommy asks nervously.

"Yes, honey.  Your lungs are just supposed to have air in them and grandpa's are filling up with fluid so that makes it hard for him to breath." I repeat again.

"I want grandpa to die because then he will get to go to heaven and I will be so happy for him.  It is much better there."  Joey wisely says.

"Yes!  That is exactly right, Joey. Such a smart boy. I am so happy for grandpa.  But the hard thing about death is that we are sad for us because we will miss grandpa.  So we are both happy and sad at the same time."  I try to explain. Wasn't it just yesterday that I was explaining all of this to the kids about my father?  Here we are again so soon.

"Grandpa is gonna die?"  Ben asks again.

"Yes.  We don't know when.  But grandpa has been having a hard time with Alzheimer's for so long and it only gets worse.  So really, we should be glad that grandpa won't have to suffer anymore.  Daddy is with him right now.  They moved grandpa from the hospital back to his nursing home." I tell them feeling the deja vu.

"Today at school when we were having our prayer circle I asked my class to pray for grandpa because he has ammonia."  Tommy informed me.

"It's pneumonia, honey.  That was so nice of you!  How nice for grandpa to be getting so many prayers!" I respond, giving him a hug.

"Mom, I really don't like Alzheimer's.  It's stupid."  Joey says.

"I know. I agree." I say as I put my arm around Joe.  "If you want we can go and see grandpa.  Let him know how much we love him.  Thank him for being a good grandpa.  Would you like to do that?" I ask the kids.

"Yeah!" "I would!" "I wanna see granpa!" "Yeah, let's go see grandpa!" The kids answer in unison.

We quickly get our shoes and jackets on and head out the door to grandpa's nursing home.

When we get there the rest of the family is in a meeting with hospice.  The kids and I go to grandpa's room to keep him company.  As we walk down the hall the nurse explains to the kids how grandpa is sleeping and has a breathing tube in his nose. She tries to prep them for what they will see.  Little does she know what wily veterans my kids are with Alzheimer's, nursing homes, and death.

We say "hello" to grandpa and let him know we are all here for him.  We talk about the various pictures of grandpa around the room and talk about grandpa's favorite subjects, the cabin, hunting, his dog Daisy, and his family.  Grandpa moves around a bit letting us know he is listening. The kids are so brave and compassionate holding grandpa's hand and talking to him.  I could not be more proud.

Soon the rest of the family is in his room with us.  We all say an Our Father together at Ben's request (and then a Hail Mary, The Guardian Angel prayer, and all the other favorites too) and grandpa wakes up briefly to look at his wife and hold her hand.  Seeing the love between grandma and grandpa is such a beautiful thing to witness.  She strokes his face and speaks sweetly and lovingly to him and you can see his desire to respond.  Love.  I say a silent prayer for God to give grandma strength. Peace.

Soon Father Jim arrives to give grandpa the Anointing of the Sick.  The minute Father begins the blessing grandpa's arms stop flailing and shaking and he folds his hands on his chest in complete peace.    Father's words wash over the room with such love it moves the whole family to tears.  What a blessing to watch such a sacrament.  A baptism into heaven.

Afterwards the room feels lighter.  

Later that night as the kids are getting ready for bed the finality of it all begins to set in.  The kids cry and say they don't want grandpa to die.  They ask how old they will be when we die.  There are tears and hugs. They want to be happy for grandpa, but of course, there is sadness and worry as well.

It is a waiting game now.  We pray for grandpa's comfort and peace.  We pray for strength, peace, and comfort for grandma as well, and that both grandpa and grandma may feel God's love and their family's love surrounding them at every moment.

And we wait.

Sun

Just as the length of the day starts to get to me I see it.

The sun, gone for what feels like weeks, is tossing butter-colored ribbons of light across the frozen ground.  My mood makes an immediate turnabout.  There is hope.

The sun reminds me that the snow will melt, the ice will thaw, the temperatures will rise.  Spring will come.  Soon there will be grass, and leaves, and flowers.  It will come.

The never-ending cold will end.

The sun stays longer than the previous months.  It is still light as I cart the kids to swim class.  The wind bites at our faces as we scurry across the street to reach the building and take cover from winter's bitterness.  But the sun is still there.  It strengthens my resolve.  

This too shall pass.

Light Bulb

So this is what happens when I stop running for two months, add bacon to every sandwich I eat (what?), and pig out each night in front of the tv after the kids go to bed.  Interesting.  Or yuck.  Either one.

On a positive note, I finally have some boobs. Unfortunately they won't get a chance to stick around very long because everything from the boobs down is pretty hideous and I've decided enough is enough.  And wouldn't ya know it, the boobs are always the first to go.

It all became crystal clear when my dear husband suggested he and I take a vacation. A reasonable request from the man seeing as how we have not have a vacation in close to 5 years.  Oh sure, we had a night away for a wedding last year, but that wasn't even a 24 hour period of time.  I think a vacation is overdue.

Upon said vacation request I had a request of my own.  Nothing tropical.  This frustrated the hubby seeing as how we live in "frozen tundra" land and we are both sick of freezing cold.  When the hubby says "vacation" then "tropical" is the only thing that comes to his mind.  What is a vacation without warm weather, a beach, and a cold drink in your hand?  Most of the time I would concur with his questioning.

However, because of my poor eating habits, and general slothfulness, these last couple of months I am looking worse for the wear.  The idea of putting on shorts and a tank top, or even worse a swim suit (good gawd!) does not make me think relaxing thoughts. But should that be enough to make me veto a tropical vacation? Absolutely not.

And that was my light bulb moment.

It is about time I rid myself of my recent disgusting unhealthy habits.  I no longer have a sore neck, the muscle in my foot has healed, the busy-ness of the holidays has passed, and our schedules are back on track.  Yes, the weather is still too frigid (and/or icy) for me to run outdoors but I have a perfectly good treadmill downstairs just waiting to be put to use.  I have no more excuses (other than my love of bacon, that is).

Today I bit the bullet and started running again.  And to be honest it felt pretty damn good.  I was surprised how much my body retained (and I'm not talking fat) and that the run was not as difficult as I had feared it would be.

This is my first step.  And I'm glad I'm finally taking it.  It is time to get me back again.  And hopefully by the time our little tropical vacation arrives I will be feeling much more confident with myself and more comfortable in my skin.

Now, if only I could overcome my fear of leaving my children to go on a vacation. You know, typical "what if the plane crashes and Todd and I both die leaving our children parentless."  Or my fear of my children mortally wounding themselves somehow while I'm away.  Or my fear of our mothers having to be hospitalized for exhaustion from watching our kids while we are gone. You know, normal fears.

I've got issues people.  I can only work on one at a time!

Affected

I wonder what post traumatic stress feels like.  Or survivors guilt.

I am not even remotely close to the tragedy in Connecticut, I don't know anyone who had a child at the school or worked there.  I don't even know anyone who lives in the area.  But I am affected.

I am on edge.  I am snapping and grouching at the slightest offenses.  I have this anger.  I'm just angry.

And when I'm not angry I'm sad.  I cry at the drop of a hat.

All day long I've been running around buying kris kringle gifts, treats for parties, gag gifts for our traditional Christmas dice game, and extra wrapping paper.  I spent hours upon hours wrapping gifts, begrudging every minute of it.  My heart just wasn't in it.  

It is a guilty feeling that sits in the pit of my stomach.  Here I am going on with my daily life while others are suffering the greatest loss of their lives.  It is so unfair.  Planning parties, and Christmas concerts, and plays, while others are fighting to remind themselves to breath in and out.

This tragedy brings all the world's suffering into such focus.  There are people suffering every day, even those who were not involved in the massacre in Connecticut.  Suffering is everywhere.

Tonight we took the kids to see Santa.  Further down the very long line I caught a glimpse of my friend's husband with his three children.  A lump immediately formed in my throat as I was just thinking about him and how he was doing this first Christmas without her.  Last year she was the one who dressed them all in their fanciest clothes, fixed their daughter's hair perfectly, and together as a family of 5 they went off to get their annual picture with Santa.  This year, in their regular clothes, they stood as a family of four.

It is not fair that my life is going on, business as usual, as others are struggling to make it from day to day.  And then I have the gall to be grumpy too yet.

I wasn't even going to write about it.  I'm trying not to even think about it.  But there it is.  It sits in the back of my mind constantly.  It has left a mark.

We have all been affected.

Morning

This morning as I quietly opened the door and walked over to your bed I was struck by how much you still looked like my baby when you are sleeping.  Same serene face, beautiful lips, smooth, soft skin, and long, gorgeous eye lashes.  I stroked your hair gently and rubbed your back.

"Good morning, sweetheart." I whispered.

You stretched slowly and looked up at me with a sleepy smile sweeping across your face.  I knew how you felt waking up to your mama rubbing your back, in your nice warm bed, in your safe, cozy, still dark room.

Someday you will be the parent, waking your child, remembering how it felt to be the child.  The cycle of love and security warming you from the inside out as you stroke your child's head and breathe in their heavenly scent.  The reality of it all feeling like a dream.

Your body warm and alive.  Your face angelic.  I thanked God, for the millionth time, that I get to be your mama.  My mind took a picture of that very moment and I locked it away in my heart.

Cold

The temperatures have dropped 30 degrees in less than twenty four hours.  One day the kids are playing outside without jackets and the next day there is snow on the ground and winter coats, mittens, hats, and scarves are being thrown on.

Last night I lie in bed freezing for a good hour before I finally got out and grabbed a second pair of socks, a sweatshirt, and another blanket.  Even after my three layers of clothes and extra blanket were in place I was still cold most of the night.  I am chilled to the bone and have yet to warm up.

While I was frozen in my little fetus shaped ball under my piles of blankets last night I made a list of all the things I need to get done in the next week or so.  There were so many things on the list that I stayed awake for hours clogging up my brain.

Todd is prepping to for his annual hunting trip.  He will be gone for one week and will return the day before Thanksgiving.  Just in time for me to run to the store to purchase everything I need to host a Thanksgiving miracle for 20 people.  Usually I am fine with it.  It really isn't a big deal.  Normally, I am all excited planning fun surprises, treats, and day trips for the kids and I while Todd is gone. But this year, I just can't pep-talk myself into it.

Perhaps it is because I have been feeling so foul lately.  My mood has dropped just like the temperatures.  The kids are driving me nuts.  Even more than that, I am driving me nuts.  I have been nit picking, nagging, yelling.  Downright nasty, to be honest.  I just don't know how to snap out of it.

I'm just no good.  I feel like I should come with a warning sign attached to me.  "Beware of Danger!"  "Stay away!"  "Highly volatile!"

*sigh*

The sun is shining.  So, that's a good sign anyway.  After two weeks of cloudy, rainy days the sun has finally appeared.  And a warm up is on the way.  Maybe even into the 50's again.  There is hope.  Maybe as the temperatures rise so will my mood.  Maybe I'll even be able to make this an okay good weekend for the kids and I.

For now I'm gonna heat up a bowl of soup, put on my slippers (and another pair of socks), wrap up in a blanket, and hope my warm up comes quickly.

Hope

Today is the big day.  

I think it is saying something that the majority of us are most excited just to have it over and done with.  That is sad.  Unfortunately, between the deceitful commercials, the crazy political rants on Facebook, the nonstop political phone calls, and the hate-filled judgement from folks with opposing views, I am good and done.  Done with a capital D.

I am disillusioned.  I don't think either of these two men have a great chance to fix what is wrong with America right now.  And it is not necessarily their fault.  It is our fault.  You can see it everywhere you look.  Hatred is being spread from both sides.  No one wants to hear any opposing viewpoints or opinions.  Everyone is just concerned about being heard and making sure "the other side" is demonized.  With a country full of angry, disrespectful people how do we expect our leaders to behave any differently?

And our children see it.  Every day my boys come home and tell me of another politician they "don't like".  I immediately correct them and tell them that just because we don't agree with someone it is no reason not to like them.  And for Pete's sake, don't believe what you see on television.  I remind them that these men and women are trying their best to better our country, and we don't have to agree with their ideas, but we have to respect them.  I wish everyone would remind their children of that (and maybe themselves too) so this dissent would lessen with generations.

Still, I have hope.  There is always hope.  

So I go to the polls and stand in line to vote for someone who I HOPE is right for our country.  

We must not let ourselves be disillusioned.  We must not be apathetic.  We must have hope.

I hope you have researched the candidates and the issues.  I hope you are well informed.  I hope you vote because you have hope.  

And no matter whom you are voting for I hope you are able to stand behind whomever will be president and give the proper respect the position deserves.

It is a gift.  A gift that was won for us with the blood of our forefathers and is still defended today by our military heros.

We are free.  We have power.  We have a voice.  We have a choice.

This is our country.

Hope.

Wicked

Even all the way over here in the midwest we are feeling hurricane Sandy's wrath.  The winds have been blowing, seemingly bending trees in half, and kicking up 20 foot waves on Lake Michigan.  The wind is smashing against the house and even from inside I can hear the waves roaring from below the cliffs.  It is a wicked one out there today.

Nothing like what those on the east coast are experiencing, of course.  I was glued to the tv, watching it all unfold.  I think what struck me most was how overwhelmed the shelters were with homeless children who don't have parents.  Kids who live out on the streets had no where to go.  Truckloads of children were shipped into the shelters.  Some of the kids even had their own kids.  Homeless kids with kids.  I want to adopt them all.

But here I sit in my warm, safe house with my own children playing LEGOS behind me. Lucky is the word that keeps running through my head.  Lucky, and unfair.

Instead of trying to figure out where we will live, or how we will stay warm, I am wondering what faces to carve on the pumpkins, and what costumes will be worn tomorrow to combat the cold and wind.

Lucky.

So we make each day count.  We don't take each other for granted.  We hug our kids a little tighter.  We pray for all of those affected by tragedies and those who have such hard lives.  We pray that we are able to be there for those that need us.

We enjoy each day because we never know what tomorrow will bring.

Little Moments

Standing in front of school, picking up the little ones from their half day and chatting with the other moms, I suddenly feel a head on my shoulder and long, skinny arms wrapping around my waist.

"Hi mom." he says giving me a squeeze, his lunch bag bumping against my hip.

"Hi Joe!"  I practically shout at him, thrilled to see him so unexpectedly in the middle of his day.

"I love you, ma.  I miss you."  he says with the same sweet smile he had as a baby and the same huge, round, sky blue eyes.  I make a mental note of his face at this exact moment, sun shining on his white/blond hair, and can't help but see how close he is to catching me in height.

"Aww, honey!  I'm so happy to see you!  Thank you for coming out here to say 'hi'.  That is so nice!  I miss you too!"  I tell him as I try to convey just how delighted his little visit has made me and just how much I treasure these moments I still get from my big ole fourth grader.  I squeeze him again and again, even kiss the top of his head, amazed that he is not embarrassed by the affection in front of a crowd.

He buries his head into me and hugs me hard one last time.

"Okay.  I'll see you later, mom.  Love ya!" he calls over his shoulder as he makes his way back into the school.

"Have a good day, honey!  Love you, Joe!" I call back to him.

He turns one last time on the way up the steps, turns around, and waves.  Still smiling.

It's Tough

I never quite know if I'm doing a good job or not.  When I was working full time I would get progress reports, and raises, and kudos, and I would know the bosses were pleased.  Now my job is much harder.  I take it very seriously.  I am not working for money.  I'm working to make good people.  And yet in this job there is no feedback.  I don't have anyone telling me, "You handled that so well!"  Or, "That was such a nice thing to say when he was upset."  Or, "I don't know how you stayed calm but way to go!"

As parents we don't get that.  We just have to try our best and hope that we are making the right decisions.  We don't know how our decisions will pan out until years down the road, if ever.  Each decision has the possibility to nurture and teach or scar and hurt.  Of course we always want a positive result but emotions are involved in this job and many decisions need to be made in a split second.  Mistakes are made.  And we hope they are small mistakes.

We hope that maybe someday there will be validation.  "Mom, remember that time you found out I stole a tube of chapstick from the store and you got me out of bed, made me get dressed, drove me all the way back to the store, held my hand as I was crying when we walked into the store, and made me apologize and give back the chapstick?  I'll never forget that.  I learned my lesson."  Or, "Dad, remember the time you were driving us up north in that horrible snowstorm and you kept pulling over to help dig people out of the ditch even though you didn't have any gloves?  And then you even towed them out with your truck though you were worried your truck couldn't handle it.  I always stop to help people now."  Or, "You two always believed in me.  Even before I believed in myself.  I always knew that no matter what decision I made I could count on your support."

You hope they are getting it.  You hope it is sinking in.  You hope you are doing a good job.  But you never really know.

And it is the not knowing that is tough.

Do Over

This summer had all the makings of greatness.   Four kids all at an age to go swimming, travel, play outside, and have fun.  Todd's work schedule looked better than it had the past few summers.  Weather HOT and steamy making it perfect for sprinklers, water parks, and swimming at the lake.  

Then Grace broke her leg.  Out went the swimming trips and any other fun activity that required lots of running or walking, which is most of what I had planned.  But, we went with the flow and tried to have fun anyway.  We went places with Grace in the stroller.  We played in the back yard.  We made a fairy house.  We went up north.  And it was okay.

Then Todd's work schedule got crazy again.  I don't know why summer is always his busiest time, but it really kind of stinks.  Any plans we had for travel were gone for the summer.  Ah well.  

After what seemed like an eternity (but really just 4 weeks) Grace finally got her cast off.  Hurray for swimming and sprinklers and summertime fun!  Unfortunately she refused to put any weight on her leg so we were even less mobile than we previously were with her hobbling around on it.  

Then Ben had his eye doctor appointment.  We found out that the glasses he had been wearing religiously and begrudgingly for the past 3 months had made no improvement on his eye muscles.  Now he is scheduled to have eye surgery this month (FREAK OUT!) and with that there are many, many doctors appointments and again more restrictions (no swimming, etc).  Worry.  Stress.  Worry.  Stress. 

A bright spot would be Todd's birthday!  Only it wasn't.  It turned out that on Todd's birthday his dad had to be admitted to a nursing home.  It was not a good birthday.  It was sad.  And emotional.  And draining.  And deja vu.  Worry.  Stress. Sadness.  Worry.

The kids have had colds for the past week and today Tommy feels really nasty.  My computer hasn't been working and I haven't been getting my emails.  Tomorrow is a Wisconsin bloggy get-together and I can't go because I will be taking Ben to yet another doctor appointment.  And now I have to start shopping for school stuff.  This summer officially sucks.  

I want a do over.

Just Write- My Mother's Daughter, My Father's Girl

I am my mother's daughter, my father's girl.

I am stubborn and strong.  If you tell me that I have to do something I will want to rebel.  If you tell me that I can't do it, it will be done.

I have a violent streak in me.  I like to hit things.  I should have played football, or been a hunter.  But I just can't hurt anyone, or anything. 

I am not a morning person.  Please don't talk to me until I talk to you first, and then use short and direct comments.  Silence is preferred.

I am a night person.  I love my sleep, but you can not get me to bed.  I will stay up.  Late.  For no reason.

I have a quick wit and a good sense of humor.

Bullies anger me like nothing else.  Cowards.

I put God above all else, and let Him guide me. 

I am emotional.  I can cry at the drop of a hat.  I cry when I see real beauty.  I cry when something touches my heart.  I cry when I'm sad.  I cry when you cry.  I cry.  Often.  Tender hearted he called it.

The underdog always gets my support and compassion.  I will protect.

I put on a very tough front, but long after the slight was made I think about it.

I know what I know, and you can't sway me otherwise.  I'm stubborn.

My brain works differently.  I don't always see what others see.

Nothing is black and white.

I say stupid and mean things without thinking sometimes.

I am compassionate and passionate.

I have a temper.  It is my biggest flaw.

I am artistic.  I sing and dance and pretend and play.

I am a competitive, adventurous tomboy at heart.

I am not a good judge of character.  I give people the benefit of the doubt.  And yet, I trust very few people.

I am dramatic in thought and expression.

I am strong in my convictions and will not bend to peer pressure.

I am loyal.  To a flaw.  Long after a betrayal, I am still loyal.

I love nature and appreciate it's magnificent beauty.

I am an introvert impersonating an extrovert.

I am affectionate and warm.

I am emotional and brave and strong. 

I accept all parts of myself, the good and the bad.

I am a work in progress.


I am my mother's daughter, my father's girl.

Just Write

I'm up late.  Later than I normally would be but tonight is my night.  My night to watch ridiculous and embarrassing tv as I text my best friend about how ridiculous and embarrassing the show is.  I have a cocktail in one hand and my phone in the other as I watch and relax. 

As the show comes to a close I hear footsteps on the stairs.  I freeze.  The footsteps get closer.  Now they are on the tiled hallway floor. 

I turn my head and see you stumbling toward me, the big stainless steel mixing bowl clutched to your chest. 

"Mom, I feel like I'm gonna throw up." you wearily say to me.

"Okay, Tommy.  Come with me, sweetie." I say as I set down my vices and devices.

I put my hand to your steamy forehead as we make our way to the bathroom.  We sit in front of the toilet for a few minutes until I suggest you come and lie down on the couch for a little bit.  You sip water as I text the latest development to my bestest friend and say goodnight.  I turn on some cartoons and run my fingers over your forehead into your hair, watching.

After a while I give you some ibuprofen and a bit more water. 

More watching and calming and tender rubs on the back. 

I'm tired.  I didn't plan on staying up this late.  Especially coming off of such a sleep deprived weekend.  But here we are.  And I'm watching you. 

You toss and turn on the couch, no longer watching the cartoons you normally love. 

"Let me know when you feel like you want to be in your bed again, honey." I say to you, the child who loathes sleep.

You nod your head an let out a moan. 

I check your forehead for the twentieth time and can tell your temperature is coming down already.  Soon afterwards you tell me you want to go back to bed. 

I help you off the couch, grab the big stainless steel mixing bowl, and head up the stairs after you.  I tuck you in bed, show you where I am putting the bowl, and give you Lambie. 

You are exhausted and brave.  I lean down to kiss your hot cheek.  This is what makes me a mama. 

"Good night, Tommy.  God bless you, I love you.  Hope you feel better, angel."  I whisper to you.

"Night mom.  Love you too.  Sweet dreams."  you answer back.

I close your door as quietly as I can, turn, and walk down the dark hallway and back downstairs.  I make the coffee so it is ready when daddy gets up in the morning, I make sure each door is locked.  I blow out the candles, turn off the tv, and fold all the blankets.  I pick up all the shoes, the pillows, and the books.  I turn off the lights and make my way back upstairs to my bed. 

Slowly and quietly I creep into the room, peel back the covers, and slip in gently so I don't wake him. 

And I wait.

Just Write

A bio.  I'm supposed to write a bio.  A bio that will go in the program for the symphony chorus concert along with all the other soloists' bios. 

All the other soloists' bios talk about where they got their masters in performing arts.  Where they teach.  Where they have performed recently.  My bio?  Umm.  It doesn't look like that.  I haven't performed a solo on stage in about 12 years.  I never earned a degree in the arts or teaching.  I am a stay at home mom.  This is my first solo in a very long time.  And?  It is a very small solo. 

Not that I'm complaining, mind you.  I wasn't even going to try out for a solo seeing as how this is my first year singing with the symphony.  But this is the Broadway concert and we are doing One Day More from Les Mis!  I have Eponine's part memorized.  It is ingrained in my memory. I figured that if I didn't at least try I would always wonder. 

I didn't get that solo.  It went to one of the conductor's students.  But the conductor did give me a very small part.  I think she is testing me out.  Seeing how I'll do on stage after so many years away.  Anyway, this very small solo needs a bio and I'm feeling a little inadequate. 

"This is Kathryn's first year back with the Symphony after a 15 year hiatus.  She is currently a stay at home mom to her four children." 

I don't think that will do.  Most bios are more like a paragraph. 

"Kathryn is a stay at home mom to four children.  She originally joined the Symphony in 1994 when she was a student at Lakeland College.  This is Kathryn's first year singing with the Symphony after a 15 year hiatus.  She feels silly even writing a bio considering her miniscule solo, but does what she is told.  Please don't laugh at her."

I wonder if the audience would find the humor in that.  I'd better keep trying. 

"Kathryn is happy to be back on stage with the Symphony after a 12 year absence.  She was last seen as the lead in a number of musicals such as Man of La Mancha, Babes in Toyland, and Anne of Green Gables with The Theater Co. 12 years ago.  She can currently be seen feeding and cleaning up after her four small, rambunctious children in the home she shares with her husband."

I'm in trouble. 

Just Write

I'm cold.  It's cold in here. 

I grab a blanket from our huge blanket pile, curl up on the chair, and encase myself in the big green comforter that used to cover our bed so long ago.  I hold my face over the beam of steam coming off my coffee.  After heating my coffee for far too long in the microwave it is way too hot to drink but I wrap my ice cold fingers around the mug and enjoy the burn anyway.  I'm so cold even my nose is icy.  I am chilled to the bone.  The kind of chilled to the bone that goes right along with tired to the bone. 

Lately it seems that no matter how much sleep I get, no matter how many vitamins I take, no matter how well I eat, and no matter how much exercise I get, I am still tired.  I am always tired.  I flash back to naptime today (and everyday) and what a struggle it is to get the kids in their beds through all their wailing and protests of naptime hatred.  Oh how I wish someone would insist I take a 2 hour nap every day. 

Just like clock work I hear Grace on the monitor.  She is singing, as usual.  The girl wakes up singing.  Clearly, she does not have her mother's grumpiness upon waking. 

My head feels foggy.  I think I'm coming down with something.  I push myself up from my chair and hear my knees crack.  Oh man.  If I'm this sore and stiff now imagine how I'll feel when I'm 80.   "I'm much too young to feel this damn old."

I glance out the window and see the boys walking towards our house.  They are swinging sticks, laughing and talking, and walking on the neighbor's grass again.  Good grief, how many times do I have to tell them not to do that? 

I hurry up the stairs to get Ben and Grace up so that I can rush back downstairs to get homework started before swim class.  T minus 30 minutes until we have to leave.  Oh crap.  And I have choir tonight too.  I don't know if I can make it through another 3 hour rehearsal. 

Back downstairs I settle Ben and Grace onto the couch with snacks and a movie.  I get Joey and Tommy going on their homework and begin to pack the swimming bag.  I quickly chug my now lukewarm coffee and wait to feel even a little boost of energy.  It doesn't happen. 

Only 6 more hours until I can go to bed.