...you smell like beef and cheese, you don't smell like Santa...

Guilty as charged...I admit it. I use Christmas. I have compared it to therapy, I have used it to elicit feelings of warmth and happiness. I'm guilty as charged. But, who doesn't? The day I have dreaded for 390 days came today, the first full day of Christmas break. I was waxing poetic at the dinner table, about a time when I was a child, camped out on the landing in my old house, and how I thought I saw Santa. It's no joke, I actually thought I saw Santa from the waist down. I heard the bells, I heard his "Ho Ho Ho,,,". To which I had one Tall sitting on the edge of his seat, and the other dropping the bomb of the century, "...no way! No way that is true! You are lying! You're the one who told me he wasn't real..." (insert jaws dropping, silent sobbing here).

It all started last December. Abe came crying to me, telling me that not only did Oscar not believe in Santa, that he told him the whole thing was fake. Life, as I knew it at the time, had very little to be excited about. Their father had just passed away. There were very few things to put faith in, for me and for them. I was broken, sad, and needed something to look forward to. I'll be damned if Oscar was going to ruin what little innocence reality had already taken away. I had a discussion with him about the 'magic' that Christmas had to offer. That while I was in fact 'Santa', we all need something to believe in, and that growing older meant that we were now a part of the new 'magic', by helping others to believe in something that they couldn't see. I told him that being 'truth-seeker' would get him no where fast...nothing for Christmas, and he could bet if he was telling what he knew at school, he'd be the LAST on any invite list to a friend's birthday party. I thought I brought the message home...but I under estimated his need for being right.

So, as he is blurting out his 'knowledge' tonight at the dinner table, Abe is nearly in tears that he doesn't believe in Santa. Nora is awe-struck at the fact Oscar would take Kris Kringle's name in vain, and the only speakable words that I can put together, those that would be suitable for others to hear, mind you there were MANY of which I cannot say, ASS HAT. I promptly ended his dinner, told him to find his favorite electronic device, and hand it over. I cleaned up the smalls, and met him in another room. He was frightened. He looked at me, as if to know what he did, but confused all at the same time. Honestly, some of the words that left my lips, I'm not proud of repeating. Some of the feelings I have towards this holiday aren't at all about the actual holiday. Some of my dependency of said holiday, have nothing to do with him, and more to do with what I CANNOT FIX, CHANGE, REPLACE. For that, I wish I would have stepped outside and taken a couple of deep breaths, but he got the fury...

I told him, while being 'RIGHT' was his mission in life, sometimes he HAD to think of others. I told him that while last year SUCKED the only thing I felt like I could do right (with the help of many friends and family) was Christmas. I told him, that while life didn't make sense, having your father ripped away for no good reason, some how, believing in something else helped his brothers and sister. I told him that he was an ass hat for taking that from THEM just because he, for what ever reason at the time, HAD TO BE RIGHT about something. I told him that while it saddened me that he no longer believed in Santa, the fact that the others did was a gift to me. It was something I could still do like before, only alone. I told him that believing in something, sometimes, makes no sense, but that it was unfair to try to sully those beliefs for his own gratification. I told him, knowing what he 'knows', and is so willing to ruin for others, he had better PRAY that there is anything under the tree come Christmas morning...at this point underwear should be something to look forward to...

At that point, I went outside to collect myself. I looked/heard the wind chimes that are by my back door. They were chiming away, as for what ever reason they seem to do when I am about to loose my shit. I looked at them and literally said aloud, "...alright then, what the hell am I supposed to do now? They need you, if for nothing else than in something to believe in, as clearly I have failed...". I went in the house, grabbed some lined paper, and handed a piece to Oscar. I told him, he had better write a note to Santa, explaining how sorry he was, for doubting him and for attempting to dash the hopes of those who believe. Oscar sort of looked at me queerly. I whispered to him, "...if you are looking to open anything on Christmas morning, you better EXPLAIN how very sorry you are in this letter". To which Nora said she wanted to tell Santa she loved him, could she have a piece of paper? Abe walked into the kitchen and said that he had promised the Elf on the shelf that he'd write a letter to Santa, and he hadn't yet done it (can I just say, that I don't have a favorite child, but at Christmas time Abe is my all time favorite child). Oscar wrote two pre-teen sentences about how he messed up, but wanted to know from me what to write next...to which I said, "...just think about how badly you want what was on your Christmas list, it'll come to you what to say...".

I guess, in a way, I can exhale. I've put a lot of unspoken pressure on Charles Schultz, Dr. Seuss, Frank Capra, O. Henry, Clement Clarke Moore and countless others to try to make lasting impressions of Christmas on my family. I so badly want my kids to believe in the magic of Christmas forever, as if I have some secret super power to do so...but it's not possible. Perhaps, I need to face the facts, life doesn't work that way. Perhaps I need to grasp that everyone, even children, eventually understand it's not real. I see this being the last year Abe believes. I have to swallow the pill, he shares a room and a DVD player with Oscar the TRUTH SEEKER. While it saddens me, I look forward to next Christmas, maybe Abe knowing the truth (far too early for me, but I digress) will be helpful. Maybe his excitement will kick into high gear about the time I'm tired of hiding the Elf on the shelf? Maybe I can have some company while wrapping Christmas gifts. I shudder to think of it this year. But, come Christmas morning, I can't lie, his face is the one I'm going to be taking mental pictures of to get me through the next year...

...you've got 7 days Elf...

It's a slippery slope. The holidays, while only as hectic as you make them for yourself, sadly are winding down. The magic that I see in my kids eyes, just looking for a creepy looking stuffed toy everyday, will end in a week. While it's sort of like a beautiful old song that moves you sometimes into an emotional state, the crescendo of Christmas is near...and then what?

I used to hate Tuesday nights years ago. Jason worked late on those nights. I was always so stressed out about getting the kids fed and in bed by myself. I dreaded the notion of dealing with bottles, babies, school work, baths and bedtimes by myself. A dear friend of mine would listen to me complain about it. That same friend said to me just after Jason passed away, "...I hate how life is for you now...everyday is a Tuesday night...". For what ever reason that conversation has been playing on 'repeat' in my head for the last couple of days...

Every person who has a child knows that there is a time of day, a couple of hours, when inexplicably it's beyond crazy in the house. My time of day like that is fondly called THUNDER DOME and it's from about 3:45pm until about 7:30pm. It was that way with one baby back in the day, it has just become louder with four. Now, that time of day has changed with four, not only due to the noise, but the lack of adult noise. It's the time of day, when I seemingly look to pick up a phone and call someone, or at times long for a pop-in. Today, I sent three card carrying members of Thunder Dome over to the hill to bask in the snow before it melts. I was left with the tiny insurgent who seemed to be subdued by eating his weight in pretzels and carrot sticks. As I sat there looking over school folders, mentally listing everything that still had to be picked up before Friday, a cocktail on the table...I wondered how my life would look 20 years from now.

I wondered how quiet my house would be, what my house would sound like. I contemplated what it would look like...The darken rooms. Floors free of toys. No rouge Cheerios to see under the table. No dirty socks left adjacent to the laundry basket. No one pre-dinner-prep-complaining about vegetables. No one bartering for a soda. No one wanting to be picked up. While quiet is a scarce commodity in this house, the futuristic home I was considering, only glimmered for a moment...it left me feeling empty...as if what I sometimes long for, really isn't anything to look forward to.

The crescendo nearing...I guess I see the years flying. The magic of this time of year, while at times manufactured for those you love, will slowly fade away as the ones you make it for grow older. The thought of how I wished I had a better memory, to be able to remember the little moments they have this time of year...they need to have these memories for later. Wishing I had another adult to help me remember, help me remind them, as my brain is slightly nearing 'crash' mode perpetually. Realizing, that even though everyday is "like a Tuesday night", during this time of year it's thrilling, fun, and magical. Sometimes however, the best moments are the ones you talk about over the table with someone else... and so, not often, but sometimes, for a little bit, I long for the possibility of a Wednesday.

What the what?

...sometimes, I catch myself...sometimes, I actually have to remind myself...I live in a hilarious, ironic world, where I'm not much taller than those who I am in charge of...I have to laugh at the notion that I'm the grown-up.What sort of twisted world is it, that I am the one in charge of these gaggle of blue-eyed 'charmers'? It's as if I was attempting to step off an elevator at the wrong floor. Everyone I'm with subtly saying, "...um, chick, this is the wrong floor...you couldn't possibly be in charge of those kids..."

I was discussing with Oscar an issue he had had at school. He began to try to 'set me straight' on the issue. I kept calm and while I didn't appreciate his tone, it didn't make me jump from a 2 to a 10 on the Mommy Dearest Scale...so I didn't think anything of it. All of the sudden, Abe comes into the room and gets right into Oscar's eyes and says rather sternly, "...that woman has a college degree...she puts a roof over your head and food on your table...you will can it, and listen to her because she is your mother...". Then Abe turned around, and walked out the room. What the what?...I got off at the wrong floor?

I am an unlikely parent. My views, while shaped by the experiences I have been lucky enough to have, are unlike that of most parents, or even my own. I believe that I am the most important example for these kids, if they end up train wrecks- I might have had something to do with it. But, their lives will be further shaped by the choices/decisions they make. I always cringe when I hear kids talking about going to college. I value a college degree, please do not misunderstand me. However, who knows what they want to do for the rest of their lives, with a $15,000 a year price tag until they figure it out, at 18? I don't feel like every kid should go directly to college, if they even should at all. I encourage my kids to go to a trade school first...electricians, plumbers, barbers...I can't do any of those things.

In the van the other day, Nora started one of her MANY talking points in the 13 mile excursion that we take once or twice a week. That day's talking points where: Hibernation, why bother? Why does red mean stop and green mean go? Did I know that she knew how to play the bass guitar? Why isn't my favorite animal and elephant like her since we are related? Lastly, she finished with a rousing discussion about how she really didn't know what she was going to be when she grew up...there were so many choices. I told her that she didn't have to really decide today, and that she should just enjoy being 4 years old. She then says to me, "...so, what are you going to be when you grow up?....or is this Mom thing probably it?"...speechless.

I'm not the most conventional woman. I never really 'sought out' a career. I never really felt the need to become a goal setting employee. I entered the adult world, not really knowing what I wanted to do other than be a mom. Instead of fitting my kids into my career life, they became my career. I feel like I did the important things first. Now, I do realize I live a charmed life. This stay-at-home-life won't be lasting too much longer. But, I'm grateful that I made the choices that I have, not only for myself but also for my kids sake. The 28 year old me, would have never imagined the world in which the nearly 38 year old me resides. Ironically, I wouldn't want to be 28 again. Thankfully, with age comes some knowledge of not only who you are, but what you are capable of. I have managed to keep four rowdy blue-eyed charmers alive as the 'adult in the house'. My aspirations become all that more important...I keep learning from them.

Complacency: a feeling of quiet pleasure or security, often while unaware of some potential danger, defect, or the like... 

 

We've all felt it at one time or another. Whether it be with our kids, our family or our spouses...you get in a rut. Some ruts are just merely that, bumps in the road, all the while you know the true value of those who are around you. Others are ones that are nearly like surmounting Everest, but once atop you can see the forest for the trees, and all is right with the world...

 

When you realized that you have been complacent, it's sort of a sickening feeling. How could you ever unknowingly, or knowingly forget someone else's worth?...even your own at times? How is it possible that you forgot how amazing it feels to be appreciated, loved, even listened to?

This has been something on my conscious a lot lately. I'm guilty of all of it. I guess what makes me frustrated is knowing that some things cannot be changed...While at the same time, I sort of shield myself from being too carried away with making certain moments...there are no guarentees in life. Working hard to 'create-a-great-photo-for-Facebook' moment, sort of takes away the meaning behind it.

 

 

 

 

 

...Buddy the Elf, what's your favorite color?

The holidays mean a lot of different things to people. Some approach it crazed. Some meet it with sadness of those who no longer are at their tree celebrating. Some see it as an over marketed, over produced exercise in glutton. Some use it to their advantage...knowing how a little piece of the holidays always warms their heart in a way that nothing else the rest of the year can...I am all of these...

I'm not alone in this. I was just brought to realize my slightly crazed Christmas obsession. I feel like I enjoy the simple things. The music. The lights. The little things that have become simple holiday traditions. Advent calendars, Elf on the shelf, setting up a nativity, and simply just decorating...it's all the things I enjoy, but seeing my kids get all 'twinkly'-THAT'S why I enjoy it! Hearing one of them walk into a room with a tree lit, and 'oooh and aaahh'. Noticing that the Christmas dishes are out and asking for hot chocolate in them. To me, it's worth being slightly crazed.

Last year, we decorated this beautiful house for the first time. We didn't have any traditions as to where to put this or how to hang that. We could enjoy what we had to put out in an organic way, for the love how it made us feel, hopefully lifting our spirits. And for me, that was a blessing. Christmas last year was hard enough. Looking back on it now...those decorations, those lights, etc...it was a form of therapy. It was like a blanket we could snuggle down into, and for a moment see just what was in front of us. Not think of what was behind or ahead of us...I wondered this year it would change? Would it be the same sort of feeling?

We lost a lot of Christmas 'things' this spring when our basement flooded. They were just 'things'...the absence of which wouldn't ruin our Christmas spirit, just depleted our stash is all. And, let's face it, after realizing that Atticus chewed most of our Christmas tree garland last year (who really needs a dog when you have this kid?), the less-is-more-approach is where we are going to have to be for the next few years. We decided that if we couldn't decorate with ornaments this year, we'd deck the place out in lights and work with what we had left. I was proud of these kids as we pulled the little trees they had in their rooms last year out of storage. They were exited to get them out, and didn't want to change them.

However, it should be said, their excitement is displayed in such unique and different ways. Oscar, while last year decided he knew the truth, has gladly kept the 'secret' and I think finds slight satisfaction with the fact that he's in on the secret of Santa. Here's hoping that lasts. I think he can see what I see in the little ones. He knows that the magic is in seeing someone believe, even in we don't exactly believe it ourselves. It reaffirms, and warms the heart. He has already outlined the movies we should be watching in the next 27 days...allowing a couple of black and white ones for me-that's a compliment...considering he asked if they were made when I was his age...eye roll here.

 Abe, is the closest living example of 'Buddy the Elf' from the movie Elf. He not only eagerly WANTS to decorate, he does it prancing around wearing a Santa hat from the day after Thanksgiving until Christmas Day. He is very nearly the picture of a kid who, while he's added up what's going on, he still believes in Santa, because to him it really is magic. He's like an old man this time of year, telling the little ones stories about all that happens from now until Christmas. He's quick to want to keep our simple traditions that we have had going, with never tiring excitement...makes all of the things this 'secret Santa' does completely worth it.

Nora, true to form, likes to talk for 3 months what she hopes Santa will bring her. She starts about the day after her birthday. Then, about the time you have been sent the order conformation from Amazon.com, the list changes. UHG! Meanwhile, she has taken to practicing singing her Christmas medleys in the bathroom. A little Bing, Autry, Ella, Burl Ives...I think she's still working on her encore piece. I've caught her talking to herself. I've asked her, "Who are you talking to?". She gives me this crazy look and says (with this hey, dumb-ass look on her face), "...I'm talking to Santa from my heart". She walked into our backdoor tonight squealing with delight, seeing the tree we put up today lit in the dark for the first time. Her eyes this time of year are extra sparkly, and it is adorable!

Atticus...he is everywhere. Playing with knives, decoding doorknobs, and at this point can fashion a ladder out of almost anything. Today, I caught him sitting in a small wooden sleigh we have for books. He looked at me in such a way saying, "Seriously, what is the point of this, I can barely fit...". If I could ask Santa for anything...it would be to calm that damned kid down before I possibly lose my mind...it could be any time now really. I have to remind myself, in two Christmases, the terrible twos might be over? How different it would be to not have to have canine hearing while going to the bathroom...But, the upside of this kid-Christmas will make sense this year. And, I have a feeling his gift to all of us, will be watching him completely freak out on Christmas morning.

I sit here typing with the holiday satellite music channel quietly playing, I'm a cheap junkie, I admit it. I have one more day until my 'jobs' for the month start. Hiding candy in the advent calendars. Finding some damned place for that Elf to hide, something akin to navy seal training for me, sneaky kids! Saint Nicholas Day treats...it's the one time of year when you can be magic for the sake of a smile, squeal, or giggle...that's my Christmas gifts from my kids every year...no scissors, entire roll of tape or paper required...

...I wish I was a little bit taller...

...it has come to this. I was hoping I would have had a couple more years until it materialized. It is an on going struggle of any parent trying to raise respectful, well mannered children. Children that seem to know more than any human walking the earth (Steven Hawking rolls, remember)...let's just say, I've approached some difficult ages. I was just expecting to see them 5 or 6 miles down the road. Problem is, the sign says buckle-up, it's the law...but wouldn't that inhibit me from flinging myself out of the vehicle properly?

I don't remember 'thinking' I knew so much at their age. At the age of 9, I still believed I had a sister named Sandy in the army (a very long story) and Santa...what a chump I was. A few of my kids, seemingly, know everything. Have an argument for everything. Enjoy debating everything. It's like an undeclared Olympic sport here on 815 Washington. It is exhausting. It is infuriating. It makes me look more longingly than I should at the liquor cabinet. Today, during one such debate/argument/confrontation, Nora walked into the room and said, "Positive in, positive out...". Schooled by a four year old...

It, especially today, has me mentally repeating the refrain of Skee-Lo's "I Wish" in my head..."I wish I was a little bit taller...".

I won't believe that I've come to the point that my word, unless yelled, means nothing. I won't believe that I will lose control of this house, and be steam rolled once again...but sometimes I believe all of that. Damn it, I KNOW I didn't speak that way to my parents, because I didn't ...I had two parents. I had the yin and yang that balanced it out. I love my parents, and when I was a kid there was a little fear there when necessary, which is what is sorely lacking in this house. That, and the ability to hear what I say, the first time I say it...I know, I shouldn't want a miracle.

So, here I am...while I already have the deep voice, I'm wishing I had an extra foot and 150 pounds on me to subdue the unwanted behavior. I wouldn't be able to fit into any of my pants, but it would almost be worth it! When you are no more than 25 pounds heavier than your oldest child, you're not really a threat- it's a lateral move. I wish that somehow, I could perfect a snarly glare that would declare "I'm not to be messed with" without saying a word. That's a tip you'll never pick up in a parenting book.

Even though I might fight the good fight in trying to raise respectful kids, it's not always winning the argument that declares the winner. There will always be debates. There will continue to be disagreements. The belt winner in these such matches, aren't either one in the ring. The winners are the ones who can walk into the room, like a chatty 4 year old, and basically tell you that you're both full of shit, and quiet down her show is on...and the issue is resolved, for now...

...chasing numbers...

"...basically...we are chasing numbers..." This is what we were told at the end of Jason's fight. I felt like he had left a couple of days before...as I saw him do so in a dream I had while at the hospital. While saying a final goodbye to my husband was ONE of the hardest things I think I ever have done...I did it, it meant something, I felt at peace with it...or as much as I could at the time. For me, the next hardest thing I have EVER done, is tell our children that he had passed away...for me, a year later, this is a moment that still haunts me...

It isn't something that is in the front of my mind constantly. I did, however know how hard it was going to be. I vaguely slept that first night back home...I knew that when the sun came up, I was some how going to have to explain...some how tell them...some how let them know how much he loved them...how very lucky they were to have him as a father...some how going to have to help them understand...all while trying to maintain my own emotions. I only had one chance to do this right, as if there were a right way to do it, but I was searching for one none-the-less.

 My heart still aches a little, and my eyes get more than misty, thinking about it...not for myself, for them. I remember I went into each of their rooms and asked if they would come down and get into bed with me. I figured if I could some how get them all in bed with me, with pillows and blankets I could some how try to hug them all at once. Each child who could speak was immediately asking a million questions...when did I get home? where was Dad? why was I here and he wasn't? when is he getting home? All the while, I just kept saying, "Let's get down to my room and we'll talk about it when we get there..." Meanwhile knowing, that in about 5 minutes, I was going to break their hearts. Not the kind when a kid doesn't get what they want for their birthday...the kind you can almost physically hear. I heard it, and all I could do was weep for them, wishing I had better answers to their questions, better solutions to their one main problem...no, your Dad isn't coming back.

While that moment haunts me, at times worse than seeing Jason lose his fight, I think it's because they are still living. I think knowing that at such a young age, that was a defining moment for them...The weeks after Jason passing I would nearly chant to myself or anyone who would listen, in the dark of my bedroom...how am I going to do this? how can I do this alone? how am I going to make it? I remember asking my Mom the same questions. At the time I wanted a more concrete answer, but the one she gave me was stoic and very true...she merely said, "...You just will, Kate."

Here I am a year later. As Atticus was in full on 'beast-mode' today, I decided to treat us all by having a dinner without him. He was fed and but to bed early. Something someday I'll have to answer for, as it happens a couple of times a month. But, everyone at the table tonight was in agreement, it was fabulous. We talked, we laughed, we ate baked mac-n-cheese and salad. I caught myself thinking...I'm doing it. I watch these children, grow into these amazing people, full of ideas, humor, and a little bit of a 'sauce-box' at times. I'm so proud of who they are, and what they are growing into. I'm, in a way, watching them grow and now I'm chasing numbers...theirs. Their accomplishments, their pitfalls, their heartaches, their life, unfolding. The helpful, curious, wonderful people they are becoming. Wondering how the next 5 years will be?

So, on November 7, 2013, after a year of celebrating surviving month after month...we are heading to our favorite old restaurant...one I haven't gone to in a year, as the last time I was there, it was with Jason. We are going to eat, and laugh, and talk about their father, and what we want to accomplish in the next year...and I will have a smile on my face.  I'll be watching them hit milestones, a year ago I couldn't even imagine...while a year ago, I thought I'd never have the strength to do any of this...turns out I have had it all along, times 4...

...the fun-flask

...I grew up in a funeral home. I know I've discussed this issue before, but it begs mentioning again. I was a second generation of kids living in a funeral home. I never found it weird. I never found it creepy, my dad was the original 'Work from Home' guy. There is a noise level and a sense of somber at times learned in living in a funeral home. You learn at a young age how to answer a business phone, arrange flower baskets, and clean ashtrays. These were all valuable lessons a nine year old could take on with her in life. I'm grateful for many fond memories of living in a small town funeral home as a kid. It also needs to be mentioned, that while I speak a lot of my liquor cabinet, I do not have an issue with drinking. I'm a responsible adult. However, there are those "desperate times, call for desperate measure" moments...I am also someone who knows everything is best in moderation.

Why the strange, illusive confession statement above? It has everything to do with my flowing of emotions in the last couple of days. Tears. That's it. Just tears. Not really able to put words to why they have been creeping in. I'm a realist, I know that life can't be undone. I know that this last year, while at times difficult, has taught me more than could ever be put into words. The enormity of my life, and all that has happened, good and bad, has set in. I was discussing today with a wise friend, I didn't know what the 'year mark' would feel like. I could sit and dwell on all the things I've not accomplished. The poor mothering that has happened more than a time or two. The fact that it all is still fairly terrifying, but I haven't the option to run. At times, decompressing, is an understatement...Well, it brings me to a year ago...

The day after Jason passed away, I really didn't want to do anything but lie in bed, pull the covers over my head and wallow. The loud kind of wallow. The kind you see women in the streets doing in foreign countries on the news. That was my idea of decompressing, and it didn't happen. Being raised in a funeral home, I should have known better. I had to slap on some clothes, and go plan a funeral...so we'll put a pin in the wallow until later? Not exactly. There was life to handle. Calls from friends and family. Doors to answer with baked goods, dinner, cards, and flowers. There were people to call back and voice mails to listen to. Oh, there were also four confused kids wandering around here, and no one really knew what to say to them...including me. If there were ever a time to RUN, that would have been it, I even think about that to this day...it, at the time, was almost TOO MUCH...

The thought of having to see people upset, hold my own emotions together, and thank them in the manner that I thought they deserved...now we've hit the too much status. I realize that I put these pressures on myself, but that's who I am, sadly. For about 12 hours I thought about skipping town. I just didn't think I could pull the visitation off...the control freak possibly losing control? Not good. It was then that I turned to my sainted friend April, and uttered the words that have made me laugh/smile in the last few weeks thinking about it. I said, "April...we are going to need a 'fun-flask'..." To which her three words back to me were a resounding, "...I'M ON IT!"

Now, my plan was not to get hammered at my late husbands visitation. It was, for me, like taking an umbrella to fight off the rain. If at some point, I thought I needed it, then I had it in my arsenal. On the way to the visitation, April was handing me lipstick to apply while driving. Reassuring me, that if there were ever a time I needed anything, just to nod at her and she'd be on it. My kids would end up playing/watching movies, gorging themselves with Halloween candy and soda a designated room at the funeral home, thankfully one less thing to worry about. The funeral director, and dear friend, wasn't lying when he said he predicted it to be a large turn out...while that was unbelievable, it was also very nice. I didn't really have time to give April the 'nod', however she would come by and check on me. "...oh, I'm fine", I'd say to her. After about 3 hours in, she came up and said, "...here, you need to drink this...(water, with a splash of something)". Clearly, she was nodding for me, and I'm grateful to her for it.

I feel like life doesn't give you a second chance...something, that while it is gut wrenching to learn, man, if you can understand it...the world is an entirely different place. Life is always going to get harder. So, you cry about it, cuss about it, drink about it, and embrace it. That's where I'm heading. That's what I'm wanting to teach my kids in this next year. Life is what YOU make of it. If you love someone, you let them know. If you are hurt by someone, you kindly confront them. If you have dreams, you follow them. If you take the easy way, those dreams might be a while out of your reach. The time you have here on earth is fleeting, make sure you know what you stand for, and you are able to SHOW, not tell, others by your example. Make every moment (even the ones where you are about to lose your shit) count...they are the ones you'll remember anyway...and for heaven's sake, don't forget your fun-flask, I mean umbrella...

Santa, Tooth Fairy...sleep with one eye open...

It was one of those days...even though there were two runny noses, not including my own, it was a good day. There were no arguments. No meltdowns. No mental desire to run to my room and lock the door at 7:30 in the morning and think, "Screw it, we are starting over!". I lie in wait...figuring the afternoon would somehow rival that of the Waco, Texas Branch Davidian Standoff. Cue the obligatory standoff music about 3:34...nothing.

The Talls came in the back door. Greeted me with their homework in their hands, and immediately sat down and did it. No arguing. No raised voices. No begging to play an iPad. Straight to task, no issues. Okay, I fixed a drink...clearly, I some how tripped into the Twilight Zone, and Atticus was some zombie man-child preparing to eat my brain...

Everyone got cleaned up, ate dinner, and helped with the dishes. I wiped a couple of noses and we started an old kids Halloween movie from the 90's...something we had already seen years ago, no biggie. Then suddenly, it hit me...I quickly figured out how my day was so picture perfect, it was the calm before the storm. They kept repeating a word in this movie...I was praying, I was the only one that was catching it. The Smalls peaced about 40 minutes in, put them to bed and came back to finish the movie with the Talls. I went to turn off the movie, and it happened...."Mom, what's a virgin? They said it like 12 times in the movie...".

Quick thinker, not really. Terrified thinker, most definitely. I covered my face for a moment, it felt like 10 minutes, pondering the answer to this question. How this really wasn't a one answer question...this would then spawn multiple questions. Not only did I not have a strong enough cocktail for this, but then the validity of all major players would then come into question- Santa, Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy, Elf on the Shelf...these are the innocent players in this game. The startling notion that if I answered this wrong, I could somehow end up having to explain sex to my 9 and 7 year old BOYS...these little people, albeit I try to shelter a lot...but, I wasn't ready for THIS.

I...went with my cowardly gut. Thinking to myself, in this instance, knowledge is NOT power. I told them a vastly different definition than that of most of the Western world. The longer it took me to answer, I knew I would look suspect. I didn't REALLY lie, because I figured they'd have to look up some of the words IN the definition of a virgin to even know what it was...yeah, I chumped out. "...um, well, um fellas...um, a virgin is...someone who isn't married...Time for bed."

So...not going to win a parenting contest with this evening. I knew the whole day was beyond bizzaro...the lessons learned here are as follows: Have chilled glasses ready...Try not to scar your children for life, when they could learn the info from someone with at least the same parts...It wasn't the Branch Davidian Standoff, but I'm not going to be ready to answer those sorts of questions this close to Christmas, ever.

...this isn't a 30 minute sitcom...

Well...hello. It's been a while since I've written you...I've been a little busy. If someone would have told me a year ago, that my life would be how it is today? I would have told them to put down the crack pipe, and check themselves into a program. There would be no way that I would/could ever do half of the things I have done in the last year...but, that's not reality.

We had a conversation about your absence today. I reminded the kids how much they've accomplished in the last year...it fell seemingly on deaf ears. They couldn't figure out what I was trying to say. Nora, of course, said, "...I wish he could just come back for a while...", that's usually her standard response. She could carry on a full conversation just about anything (fact or fiction) but grasping where/why you are gone, not quite there yet.

In this conversation, I was trying to tell them how much they have grown, we have grown in the last year. People comment to me all the time, how hard it must be on my own...it is, but it would be so much worse if these kids weren't so great. I told them how strong they were. I told them how proud I was of them...I told them, "...do you know how amazing you kids are? You have been through one of the toughest years of your life. You have been through a loss that most can't even imagine. Look how you have made it...". What I really wanted to say, but censored myself is, do you know how bad ass you are?!

These kids, without them, I would never have made it. Sure, I long for the ability to just go to my room and shut the door at any given time of the day, but that is not reality. We, together, have somehow gained a strength in your absence...I'm not sure if that is out of necessity or if they have always had it in them...but it's there. We are bound for more difficult things in our path of life, this isn't a 30 minute sitcom, but my hope is that this will always be the glue that binds us...this monumental struggle of our lives changing.

The best part about these kids, is their sense of humor. They are able to find the humor, in what we are going through. The many mood swings of Nora. The boy who wants to be a man who (without the need for hygiene) in Oscar. The slight little fella who is always ready to show his feats of strength in Abe. All of us discussed the future of Atticus at the table tonight. As I was wrestling with him to sit at the dinner table, exchanging forks umpteen times, telling him to sit down...Someone asked what I thought his voice would be like. I said probably echoed in prison...Oscar was convinced Atticus would be able bust out of fairly quickly/stealthily. Nora said she would pray for him. Abe said, "...If he broke out, then I'd have to have him over for dinner, I can't leave my stinking brother out in the cold...".

These, little gifts of you...They are what wake me up in the morning. Argue with me. Drool on me. Wad their laundry up. Pee on the toilet seat. Make me play pool party in our living room. Climb the kitchen drawers to play with the coffee pot/knives. Eat me out of house and home. They are the last things I think about when I go to bed at night. They are these awesome gifts, while they might keep the liquor cabinet stocked, I'm left with the best part of you...with their help, I hope I'm doing you proud.

How often should you eat Chinese?

"...he's very entertaining, slightly aspiring to be the funny guy. He's a kind, caring little fellow...he does however understand sarcasm...quite well..." And so, goes the time of year when we have to face those sainted people who take our kids off of our hands eight hours a day. Those people who see our little 'angels' hopefully on their best behavior...the parent teacher conference.

For me, it's an interesting time. I'm nearly upon the last 'event' where I can say, "...I've never done this by myself before...". Tonight's conference and then Halloween, and it's like we've started a new year. I've done my best to make sure that with each passing month, we've tried to acknowledge our accomplishments (however lost they are upon me at times), and made it through another month. We are approaching a year since all of our lives have changed...

I broached, with each of the Talls teachers, the subject our lives. I wanted them to know that we are approaching an interesting time. No matter how I spin the month-to-month 'accomplishments', some of the issues I'm currently dealing with as a parent have me baffled whether it's nature or nurture. Does ever 9 year old act like I did when I was 13? Or is this our situation specific. I wanted the Talls' teachers to know that while they seem mild mannered, things could get interesting (insert reference to acting like ass clowns here). I'm not a delusional parent that feel like my children are the picture of perfection...it's lame, boring, and not half as much fun.

This house we live in, for example, has changed around us. I can sit in any room and really have to rack my brain, to find memories. In the beginning those memories were everywhere. Anything I saw, certain times of day, reminded me of Jason. It's as if we've filled it up with new ones. New memories of our new life, ones that leave you smiling instead of aching. The world, our world has changed around us, maybe because it had to. Maybe because we needed it to. Maybe because life has to go on...never-the-less, while I know Jason will always be here in our hearts, I'm actually looking forward to the approaching holidays...something I never would have considered a year ago.

We no longer are able to have anything of value within reach of Atticus. Hell, I can't even store things without his prying little hands exploring every nook and cranny of this house. He went from being this baby who could barely crawl, to a power-house of excitement with juvenile delinquent tendencies in a year. The boys have mastered door frame climbing. Nora is no longer scared of the vacuum. What once was this massive place, we've grown into, filled out...with toys and books and art supplies and school projects and Legos and Barbies. Having surprise parties for smelly stuffed animals. Running from room to room playing keep away from Atticus (Atti Attack!). Eating Chinese too often. Not eating enough vegetables. Watching movies and making fun of them. We are coming up on a time when we will no longer be able to say, "...remember last year when Jason/Dad did this?"...it's a weird feeling...

I was reminded by a my sainted friend the other day, my statue of limitations is about to run out for my situation...I won't be able to use the excuse of not doing this whole thing alone anymore. Our lives have been altered for sure. For me, the day-to-day that everyone might credit me for getting done, really is a beard. The stresses of raising four kids, alone, I at times hide behind so that I don't have to face things. Do I really want to go to family fun night? With four kids, one of which is 20 months old? NOT ON YOUR LIFE...because I'm doing it alone. Do these decisions hurt my kids? Maybe. But there is sure to be another family fun night next year, we'll see how my mental state is then.

We are about to hit this 'mythical time' everyone has told me about, the YEAR mark...it's fascinating how THAT measurement of time means, something? The YEAR mark for me, taking into consideration my day-to-day, mentally happened about 5 months ago. Fact of the matter, it's time. Time to stop making excuses about being a single parent. Time for a gut check. Time to delegate. Time to look at the new year ahead of us...I need to take more time to celebrate our accomplishments...learn from our mistakes...understand that goals are not always met...and appreciate the art of sarcasm, that has apparently gotten us through this far.

...not a red flag, but a red badge...

Sometimes this 'pleasure cruise' is not one I actually want to be on. Sure, I find the humor in the little things...Mainly because no one would believe them, and because they keep me from the liquor cabinet. I try not to whine, or carry on about feelings, I don't seek out situations to be sad or upset. I tend to run from them, as I see it as a waste of my time to be miserable...Make no mistake, Mother Nature makes sure I have a nice melt down a couple of times a month, I'm no cyborg, but that's not really anything new.

Then there have been times in the last months or so when I've realized that there is nothing worse than not knowing how you are supposed to feel. You have no idea what emotion you are supposed to display? My life has slightly become this messed up equation, of which I have avoided math most of my life, ironic, huh?

The equation is run down as such...knowing how you feel divided by (*/*), how others feel. Multiplied by (x,) how your true feelings might elicit judgment plus (+). How you might hurt others by what you are feeling, minus (-) the fact that life is hard enough...Equals feeling tired, stressed, and just wanting to get on with real life, or something you see that is better just in the next room, if nothing else. Math, it sucks, right? So, what's the answer? How do I show my work on this problem? Can I just skip it and go on to the next? I took some advice, and I did...but it's time for some unvarnished truth...

So, here's the thing...it's easy to write about my kids, they are hilarious, and take the edge off of my side of the story. Their ability to trudge through this new life has been an inspiration to me...but I needed more. I needed to talk to an adult...someone who didn't know my present/past, someone who didn't know all about me...because in reality, I've had to start over. I was someone before I became a wife and mother...and I had to sort of find her again. So, that was my mission. Talk to people that I could just be Kate to first, then if they were worth talking to they would hear my whole story...because, let's face it, nothing kills a room like, "Hi, I'm a widowed mother of four...".

But, oddly enough...I met this person. He asked all these interesting questions...at times questions I had never even asked of myself. They weren't prying. They were questions that really spoke of who I was, much like the person asking. He asked about Jason, in a way that wasn't sad, which is unusual.  He didn't fear what I had been through, he admittedly admired how I had handled it, and how I was coping. He is interested in my past, curious about my future. He said to me recently, "...it must be hard to find Kate Van Gilder, she's been away for a while..." and he's right.

I forgot how nice it was to feel appreciated. Worried about. Heard by another adult, a cheerleader... He laughs at my jokes. Listens to my parenting woes. Gives me advice. And thankfully, understands that it's overwhelming at times...and usually tells me to write about it. He is this warm, sweet person, who cares what I'm making for dinner, and wants to know how I drink my coffee so strong. He is the first to message me in the morning, and the last at night. My life has become better after meeting him...he understands me in a way that I never thought I'd find again, and sorely missed. Of course, I'm sure he sees me as a widowed mother of four, but it's not a red FLAG to him, it's a red BADGE...and that is priceless.

Thus, we are back to the equations again...the part that I keep getting hung up on is other people's perceptions. There is a strange fraction of people in this world that either, want to see you miserable when you are not. OR they want to see you happy when you are miserable...I guess, the weird thing is, it's not for them to choose. I have to remind myself...While I don't want to hurt anyone, or let anyone down, my happiness is for me to choose, and I don't believe in coincidences...While every day isn't a' pleasure cruise', I feel like I've been given a gift to be happy again...and while on this cruise, I'm at the bar wanting my $9 souvenir cup refilled...

...still hate the jazz clarinet...

So, there I am...in a hospital gown, consenting that I don't have any hidden metal objects, and preparing to lay down on an MRI bed. This technician told me the same things as the last MRI technician ...Lie still. This will take about 45 minutes.We'll talk you through it as we go. Are you comfortable? Clearly, the last question was rhetorical, however I wonder if anyone ever says, "...um, hell no?!". Before she laid me down, she asked if there was anything I would like to listen to during the scan. I think I jokingly said, "...got any Black Sabbath?" to which she just blankly looked at me. I said, how about easy listening...and then I was entombed.

The MRI started. It was as loud as I remember it, so loud it's almost creepy. Like at some point the Boeing 727 that you are hearing will brush up against your face. The technician voiced into my head phones that we were going to get started, and she turned on the music. Then, all of the sudden...the infamous jazz clarinet came on...you know who I'm talking about, Kenny G. I thought, okay, I can get through one song. Then, there was another. Trying to mentally catalog what I'd gotten for my 10th birthday to pass the time. No, it wasn't easy listening, it was the Kenny G station. I must have been fidgety, because she stopped the music, and said, "...Katherine, is everything okay?" To which I think I yelled (no, I know I yelled), PLEASE JESUS NO MORE KENNY G...I'd rather listen to Rush Limbaugh!!

When my body deals with pain, it does funny things. After a while, it doesn't even process the level of pain, I just deal. To me, it's just added to the list of things I have to tweak in my daily life. It's one of the toys I have to step over to get to the coffee pot. The pants I turn right side out before I load the washer. It's, unfortunately until I can have further work done, part of me. But, as I was climbing over one of the mandated-Atticus-gates in my house the other day, it got to me. Not sure if it was pain. Not sure if it was stress. Not sure if it was exhaustion. Not sure if I could blame it solely on hormones. Things for a moment caught up, and slightly kicked me in the behind...and good ol' self doubt came knocking...he's as welcome as Kenny G up in here...

Then the craziest thing happened...my phone stopped working. Okay, that's not crazy to many. But, my phone has become my portal to the outside world. Where no one is yelling, "SAY MAP" or asking why we are eating THAT for breakfast. It's my sanctuary, mainly because it's portable, and I'm pretty sure they frown on making toaster strudels while IN bed. I was without. While it was sort of foreign to not to have a predawn check-in with my friend, it was a time when I didn't have to check the weather for no reason. I didn't have to see who posted what on Facebook. I could carry on a conversation, not because I had to, but because I actually wanted to. It was weird but nice to be unplugged. After I sorted out my problem, I realized it sort of jump started me in some weird way...though it was nice to see that I had a few missed calls verifying if I was alive...

The self doubt, the exhaustion, the pain, the hormones...they are all like the girl that crashes the party that no one likes. You're not sure who invited her. You'd think sooner or later you'd just get used to her, but you can't stand her. She's the constant reminder that you could 'do better' or 'don't measure up'. And then about the time you think you can tolerate her...she spills her beer on you and says, "Do you got any Kenny G?!"...and then it's just on.

Family Visiting Day

Atticus J Hunt...named after the larger than life character "Atticus Finch" from Harper Lee's novel To Kill A Mockingbird. Of course Gregory Peck playing him in the movie didn't at all hinder the name choice either. He's two foot nothing. Faster than lightening. Has already mastered a shit-eating-grin. Has a way with the ladies. Knows how to get what he wants, or drive you insane trying. Loves brushing his teeth. Tasting toilet water with his hands. And always wants YOUR utensil while eating...

I'm sure people think I embellish some of this guy's antics. Not. One. Bit. I have become so accustomed to them, the other night when we had company, they were marveling at what he was doing. We were in the kitchen, I sort of had zoned him out, as he was wanting in some locked drawer. I turned to look, upon my friends request, to find him trying to pry open one of the locks with a spatula. While I wasn't at all shocked by his actions (the kid is an evil genius), it was however gratifying to see that someone ELSE was catching an eyeful of him first hand...

But, a lot of what he does, okay maybe only 7% of it, I mentally write off. I owe him that. When our lives changed last November, he was sort of my unlicensed therapist. At the time I'd be up with him in the wee hours feeding him a bottle, then again, in the twilight of the evening. In the soft light of his room I would whisper things...mainly just think out loud, thankful at times that he couldn't answer. I would look up and see the picture of his Dad in his room. I would at times feel sorry for him...the fact that he would not only not remember him, but also that any story he would hear would never really be his own. We did a lot of therapy sessions in the beginning, he and I, and I was grateful that he was so little, just so that if I wanted to cry, he wouldn't be the wiser...that was then.

Tonight, as he was wearing mac-n-cheese in his ears from dinner, I took just him up for a bath, usually it's a co-ed affair with Nora. His vocabulary is growing, and two words like 'ice cream' or 'bath' elicit a gleeful gasp from him. That is also to say, you never turn your back on him when the tub is filling up, as he will jump in (toothbrush in hand of course), as if he is in an Olympic size pool.  As he was sitting there, filling up cups, brushing his teeth, splashing around...those old feelings sort of flooded in.

Feeling like his life story already is something out of a Greek Tragedy. He has lost a parent he'll never remember. He's told regularly that he looks like his Dad (which I know is at times astounding, however it is also slightly hurtful to the other kids in this house that are in earshot). He's left with his screw-ball mother. And lastly, his three siblings, who lets face it, would at times allow him to play with a badger for some beef jerky....But then, as I was having one of our old silent tear sessions, it occurred to me...While no, he won't remember his Dad, he's not really left with as much loss either. He will be able to hear stories about this really colorful person. However, these stories won't have the same emotional connection, as they will be stories about a great guy who he has no recollection of meeting. His 'loss' as everyone else, including myself, might have seen it, really doesn't have to be.

And as I am talking to him,  20 years from now...using the sanctioned phone, looking through the bullet proof glass on 'Family Visiting Day', complimenting him that all of his tattoos are spelled correctly, at some fine penitentiary...I will remember those hours of twilight that we shared, how much he has taught me, how blessed that I am to have him, and how grateful I am that he's my last.

...the unspoken phrase...

...it's not often, maybe because I suppress it. Maybe because I know it's useless. Maybe because I know there is no way around it. Maybe because just the sound of the phrase pisses me off, no matter who I hear say it...usually, they have no idea the meaning of  the words coming out of their mouths. They couldn't even comprehend what they are saying is so very far from the truth of the matter. More than starting a sentence with the phrase, "...can't I even..."(thank you Nora), the phrase that I hear and at times want to drop kick someone is the phrase, "...it's not fair..."

Of course, it's a relative term, this I know. I would say, pain, is they only way one would get a pass from me on the topic. It's like when they have to ask your pain level in the hospital. I would always look at them and say, "...um, yes?" Who puts a number to that? However, the phrase "it's not fair" is I guess in the eye of the beholder. But there have been times in the last 5 or 6 months that I have wanted to just yell out, "REALLY? THAT IS ALL YOU HAVE TO B**CH ABOUT?...how do you get up in the morning?"

Now, this phrase, as previously mentioned, doesn't always strike a nerve, it comes and goes. Usually, I never take it personally onto myself. This phrase to me, speaks of someone else. It speaks of those who never had a choice. It speaks of those who aren't in a position to change anything. It speaks of those who woke up one day and their lives had changed. It speaks of those who aren't always able to tell how they feel, or even old enough to drink to forget...my children.

There will always be mental images you can't get out of your head, those you hope stay there for ever, and those you wish to never bump into again. My worst fear, after our lives had changed, was how I was going to tell them that their Dad had passed away. How was I going to have it make sense? How was I going to NOT screw it up? Little did I know at the time, that was my stain. The stain I would now carry around, usually in the back of my mind, I'm a little cluttered. The notion that for these people I am supposed to protect, there has been something taken away from them. The fact that there are so many MORE things for them that are not "FAIR", and I can't protect them from it. I can't fix it. And worse, when they are struggling, I can't even take it on for them. That my dear friends, that is the true meaning of the phrase, "...it's not fair".

For me, I've grasped, with two white knuckled hands, the concept of what is fair. I know that life will not always be fair. I know that at times life will not always be how you want it. For me, I've learned that in that moment, when you think things couldn't be MORE UNFAIR, you count your blessings...those you currently have, those you have been blessed to be given, and those moments that have yet to happened. I feel like not only have I earned them, I deserve them, because I can see the forest for the trees...and perhaps, because of that, I appreciate things more than I ever did before.

But, like when the Grinch gets his heart back and his face softens, so does mine. Mine softens at the thought of how great my kids are doing. While they didn't have a choice in waking up one day, and having to do a lot of growing up all at once, they know that life is not fair. They know that if they have something they need to talk about, they can. They know that where God closes a door he also opens a window...now, that's not to say they aren't the same whack-a-doodles that think it's funny to co-urinate (not sure if that's a word, but I think you get it).  They are the ones that can locate a hammer, without even being able to see it, grab it and run through the house with it (I MUST clean out that drawer). They are the ones that can attest that they will not be eating what's for dinner the next day. They push my buttons, the limits, the noise barrier, not because life's not fair, because they are kids. For that, oddly enough, I find some solace. That's their job until they become legal...then, I guess 'fair' will take on hopefully a different meaning...

...most superb snack, pirate mother...

She's girly, only in about 15 minute stints. She knows that if she LOUDLY whispers something, it's important, it's serious, and it usually makes no sense. Her imagination is mind boggling. Her vocabulary is WAY too vast. She carries a smelly stuffed dog, that has now become part of our messed up family. She understands sarcasm, and uses it (as I shutter). Her mortal weaknesses are marshmallows, chocolate milk and candy corn...because we all have our weaknesses.

She's way beyond toys. Don't get me wrong, she wants every one advertised on television, but I think that's just her way on not wanting to break with convention. She's most happy with some object meant to be thrown in the trash can, like a paper towel tube. First it's a telescope on her pirate ship. Then it's her trumpet in her Dixieland Jazz Band...hours later, she's under the table with it, telling it about her day, and how glad she is that they met...if I didn't love her, I'd be frightened of her.

She is logical, and at times can't get past that. I caught her scribbling in a kiddie magazine of hers. I said, "Hey, wait! What are you doing? That's not nice...". She looked at me, sort of tilted her head to the side and said, "...um, mommy...you know this is a magazine?...it doesn't HAVE feelings...". Or the other day when our friend told her to be careful not to get her hands to close to her brother's mouths at dinner time, she's liable to loose a finger. She turned to them and said, "...I never loose my fingers, they're attached to my hand..."

There is sadly, less and less that she can be fooled with lately. However, her ability to be able to include Santa Claus to any possible guest list is compelling, but she's become this character. I know these are her ways, they will always be unique to her, they will fade, as soon as she starts school. As much as I complain, that she will be here two more years before she starts school, I full on know I bore her to death. I know as much as she wears me out, she will be wearing out a teacher someday also. She will also loose that shine of hers just a bit, not in a bad way. In the way that kids become exposed to other kids, drop off their annoying little habits and make new ones. No matter when it happens, she'll always have me laughing...hopefully.

I write this, not as some awe inspiring 'Ode to Nora Jane Hunt'. While she is my one day estrogen infused partner in crime, the outnumbered stick together. She has every bit as many hilarious, nerve-racking, unique, imaginative traits as her brothers before her, and hopefully her brother after (that is if he isn't in Juvie by then). I write this, because I am blessed to be able to have a front row seat and backstage pass for watching my kids grow into these little people by staying at home with them. I know that while it's hard to make it work, in the end when your kids do something really brilliant, you can take the credit for it, you are with them all day. Sadly, when they are feeling up mannequins at a department store, yeah, well that's on you too...but, I can rest my head at night, knowing that even in a loud whisper, this 'Pirate Mother' makes the most superb snacks...

...it's all good, as long as there are no witnesses...

...finally, it's Fall. For me it's the most beautiful time of the year (odd, to see beauty as everything is dying off)...everything is nestled into my favorite colors. The air is crisp. The oven beckons to be turned on. Soup is on the stove. Finally, it's trips to the pumpkin patches that we are now looking forward to. I found one just up the road from where we live, Harvestville Farm. If the place is half as beautiful as it's stunning pictures portray it, it might become a family tradition. So, it didn't surprise me today, when Nora had a suggestion for another afternoon road trip.

"So, I say we just go to the bathroom, get our shoes on, get in the car and hit the road...We can eat at McDonald's when we get there...", said Nora. I was wondering where she had us heading, while I figured Quincy, I thought I'd ask her just the same. Her answer, well that became a game of 23,456 questions, most of which I didn't have the answers for. In her most logical, phonetically "th" challenged voice, she responds, "....well, we are going to hit the road and drive to heaven, of course..."

Sometimes I think she can read minds. No, seriously, it's freaking frightening. In the last couple of days, I've been noticing how people measure time. Now, I've been told by my brilliant friend April, who has studied this very subject, that the entire concept of measuring time...was brought on by a woman. Interesting, but not surprising. The whole idea of a woman knowing her bodily rhythms, became an important measure of time way, way back when. Growing up, I always remember the nuns in school measuring time with The Vatican I & II. The older you get, you measure time by where you are, what you have done. My kid's measurement of time are based around holidays or seasons but also as Nora likes to put it, "...before Daddy went to heaven/ after Daddy went to heaven". I think that is an interesting way of measuring time, leaves little up for question. The one burning question I'd like to ask this four year old, how long ago was that?

For me, it's tough. For me, time is something that I yearn for, wishing there were more hours in the day. I sort of run from at the same time, wishing I could push the clock forward...if for no other reason than to be able to exhale, and know it all worked out. With the exception of Atticus and the orange jumpsuit, I'm not that naïve. For me, the last 11 or so months, have seriously felt like years. So much so, that at times, I get a little pissed at myself, thinking, why the hell haven't I gotten this done or that figured out...I have to remind myself that my old life, isn't even fully visible in my rear view mirror. I have to remind myself that this hasn't been this way forever. I guess, maybe even that is oddly gratifying. There was a time, last Fall, that I seriously (also silently) doubted we'd even make it out alive, how would I make any of this work? While my hours are long, sleep fleeting, and my hearing ability heightened for mayhem...those bags under my eyes, they're brand new. They will become deeper...awesome. No matter how I have become accustomed measuring time, I'm at least grateful that I have been given it...that and the ability to remove myself and my children from a situation, recognizing there might be witnesses...Harvetville Farms, here we come!!

...Christmas gift-cards to the liquor store, please.

...5:30 am start the coffee. I've been told by some that it is a tad strong. It isn't for leisure drinking, it's only function is to serve as a JOLT to wake me up. It probably rots my colon, but it's my healthy shot of ephedrine that is necessary to get my day started. Atticus starts his early morning oratory...talking to his stuffed animals, telling them the day's plans of taking apart the fire place at 7:45. Scaling the cabinets will be at 10:45 to reach the knife block that is seemingly out of reach of  children.

By 6:30 all are roused, clothes on, teeth brushed, at least one argument about appropriate clothing, pigtails and "he didn't really brush his teeth..." Then it's downstairs for what sounds like the crowd at an MMA prized fight. Breakfast, review of homework, cleaning breakfast, laundry, sip of coffee (still no leisure there) and then get the Talls out the door for school...I'm a degenerate, I make them walk or ride their bikes. I love living in Canton, MO!

Then it's the business of taking a shower (if lucky), cleaning that should involve a vacuum, if only the two home weren't scared to death of it. Laundry, meals, snacks removing Atticus from some shelf, answering 1,376 questions of Nora. Removing Atticus from some table. A couple of $20-a-cup pretend lemonade stands, some conceptual art, and the bartering of candy usually on Nora's daily agenda. Then, 3:30 when the madness starts again. Snacks, homework, yes you have to shower, dinner making, cranky toddlers, AND no there are no green beans in that. Dinner clean up, THUNDERDOME, baths, books, removing Atticus from a cabinet, diaper changes and...bed...for everyone under 5 feet, if only I were a couple of inches shorter.

Now, I had a brief but glorious time away from my Shangri La this summer. It was awesome, splendid, the thing of dreams...but my old habits were lying just under the surface. I kept thinking I needed to get doing something, weird.  I went back to my ways anyway and found myself making veggie snack trays and cleaning up glasses. It's part of my DNA now, heaven help me...

My story isn't something special. Millions of single parents do the same thing. I however wasn't eased into it. I went from having a teammate, to being the "I" in team. While I miss my teammate, anyone who has spent any time here in the last 10.5 months can attest that it is controlled chaos, and it might have been that before also. While I question my practices daily, at the end of the day when we some how achieve "quiet", I heave a sigh of relief and do some more laundry...

But, where my thoughts have rested lately are how this will be done when I work out of my house? My magic-bean-tree-that-grows-money won't last forever...if it ever sprouts. My worries lie on the fact that I will have to get a REAL job very soon. Budgeting can get you so far, but for some reason these kids eat 3 times (or more) a day!! They need things like braces/glasses/Dr. visits. I guess I'm preparing myself that while I can 'handle' what is going on now, it will indeed get harder/more stressful/more hectic. While I'm grateful that it is the job title I currently hold, I know the future holds more jobs, more titles, and more to do in 24 hours than I might think I possible...for anyone who wishes to know, I'm accepting all gifts of liquor for Christmas this year...

...what about a paper mache ax?

...can you feel that? You are no longer sweating in places that are too gross to mention. Your windows are open and breezes are crisp. You are noticing it getting dark a tad earlier. You are grabbing for extra blankets in the middle of the night...and if you are like me, you are now suddenly interesting in making...soup? Fall is upon us, officially a week away, and I can't wait. We have always had a love affair, Fall and I...I'm grateful for this feeling again. I was worried I might not feel it...

I am so glad I live in the Midwest. I'm not sure I could handle living somewhere that the seasons don't really visibly change. I think it must be some sort of mental thing for me. However, crazy runs rampant in this house, because we all go a little weak in the knees for this season...we have decorations, special recipes, books (I told you, there's a slight obsession here). I've slowly started pulling them out. Last Sunday, when it was 100 degrees out, I had had it! I was looking for anything to get my mind off of the fact that it had been a long hot couple of weeks. So, Nora and I decorated the front porch. Pumpkins, lights, fall wreathes- I'm sure the people across the street already know I'm certifiable, they are waiting for me to wear my underwear on top of my clothes to call the authorities...at least I hope.

This change in the air, change in the temperature, change in the psyche...it's sort of something this house thrives on. When one season ends, you're ready to start fresh, change some things around and have new fun to look forward to. I have had a lot of wonderful experiences in the Fall, it has also given me a fair share of heartbreak. I look at the change in seasons as nature's Prozac.  I feel like this periodic change also makes me realize how very blessed I am. I am blessed to be able to find the beauty in the changes going on around me. I am blessed to see my children become thrilled at the notion of pumpkin muffins, hot chocolate, visiting pumpkin patches and snuggling under blankets. While my children know how to push buttons, they are these unbelievable little people who have been through so much, but are able to laugh, love, and have fun. I was thinking to myself tonight, I have it pretty easy. When it's bed time, that's it. No hour long arguments. No kicking and screaming. No stalling....and it's early. It's like they know, "...listen up crew, Mommy is about to loose her s***, so it's gettin' time..."...and once again, I am blessed.

We still have a tub of Fall-Fun to bring up from the basement. I've given a September 30th mandate on Halloween costume decisions. If any one changes their mind after that, they are sentenced to a ghost costume. I've already been asked if we could make a paper mache ax...what? It would also be nice if someone was alerted that I not only do not know how to sew, I do not work or have ever worked for a film prop department...just a little FYI. Fall...it's madness, it's beautiful, it's curative, it's my family, and I love it!

...the 8:15 tour is completely different from the 10:15...

I take full responsibility. There's no one else to take the fall. I talk... a lot. Daily narration. I do it, and I don't even know I'm doing it. I started doing it when the kids were younger, I'm sure it was to just talk to someone. Now that notion is almost laughable. So, it shouldn't surprise me I am rearing a house full of jabber boxes. It seems to be amplified in the female version of my offspring. That being said, Nora and I are still out numbered, so things are balanced out between far flung drama and fart jokes. However, what has become more surprising is the lack of filter...

Nora, could get a job tomorrow narrating for the blind...They would have to become accustomed to her lack of wanting to say the letters 'th'. It's all den (then), dat (that) du (the). However, what she lacks in phonics, she makes up for in her descriptive ability to properly intertwine the words magical and enchanting into a sentence about her socks. I pray she never loses the ability to talk, it might kill her. She looks at everything not only at a height of 3 foot something, but also like an old soul. I don't have to wonder how she's feeling. She'll not only prepare a brief recited essay about it, but also compose a song and dance to go along with it. The phrase that I wish she would some how erase from her vernacular is, "...at least can I (have some candy, get some ice, glue something to the wall)..." Four years old, and so burdened...

Atticus, says some words that are understood. At home with the female quotient of jabbers, it's not surprising he's picking up on our habits. Lately, however, it's as if he's giving tours to an imaginary group, wandering around the house pointing  at this and that, babbling all the way. Then for some reason, it's as if he's counting off something, and at the point of 3, it's exciting!- or at least it is in his head. He walked by Nora and I today, clearly giving his 8:15 tour, and Nora looked at me and said (and I am to blame for this), "...he's lost his little MIND!"

Now, when it comes to the 'Talls' and their filter, it gets fascinating to me. Abe has always been chatting, mainly about things he has no notion of, Oscar about things he's interested in. Don't get me wrong, we have our fair share of burp and fart challenges, Taylor Swift songs turned into songs about pooping- vast amounts of wasted brain function. However, they are rather open, and I mean will tell anyone that asks them, about their love lives. Wait, love lives? At times I wonder when they speak to each other if they forget that I am there. Abe, due to his retainers in his mouth, I am on about a 10 second delay as to what he says, still. He's fast. Oscar, out of no where will start talking, as if he's reciting a line from an after school special. The other day, I heard them talking about the 'honeys' in their school. I almost choked on what I was drinking when I heard Oscar say, "...you know so-in-so? Yeah, I could really fall for her...". Fall? What the devil does that mean in a 9 year old brain?...never mind, I'm not sure I want to know just yet. I'm flush with knowledge now of their daily goings-on, and I stop myself at times and enjoy it. I know I might have a couple of years before I am told nothing, and that will be the time I start to worry.

These things, they don't seem like a lot. They are however, a break in the monotony of my daily life...laundry, working a budget, making meals, cleaning, finding bats in toilets, changing diapers and more laundry. The fact that I can catch a glimpse of what these little people might end up being when they are my age, mind boggling. Oscar and I were talking last night, and he said something to me, that I will remind myself of, possibly for the next calendar year. We were talking about how sometimes life isn't fair, and it's hard to understand why things happen as they do. He said to me, "...I feel like our lives ended up the way they did, because someone knew we would be okay having just you, like you're strong enough to do all this for us..." At that moment, I was never so grateful for my overly verbal, non-filtered, phonetically challenged, babbling blessings...

...when it's a bat-in-the-toilet-kind-of-day...

Here I am. I'd like to say I know more about life than I did 10 months ago, but frankly I don't. I've learned to appreciate how very precious, fleeting, and slightly unforgiving time can be. I've learned that there are things in this world you have to face, regardless if you want to. I've learned there are times when you have to put yourself so far back on the priority list that it reads in fine print. I've learned I would be nothing without my kids, and grateful for every hair on their heads. I've learned that you might think you have the world by the berries, and then you have a bat-in-the-toilet-kind-of-day...

I'd like to say that this is a made up scenario, some crazy urban legend sort of saying...but this is me we are talking about. My wanderlust for vermin is legendary, however, finding a bat in the toilet (thankfully dead) really throws off even the most perfect of days. Even as I was trying to calm myself down, I kept trying to remind myself that some sort of divine intervention occurred on 815 Washington during the last week. Can you even imagine me trying to trap a bat in THUNDER DOME? Hoping, praying, chanting a mantra, that it will be our last such visitor...but I'm leaving the toilet seat up, just in case...

"Make good choices!!", what Nora and I lovingly say to the boys when they are headed off for school, of course to their eye rolls. But the other day it got me thinking...that phrase packs a punch! I sat and contemplated my daily life, those three words mean a lot, but when I apply them to my own life, can add a little pressure. I'm not going to lie, I live in a bubble. I purposely try not to think of things too far into the future, I'm like a little kid at times. Maybe it's because I know I have no control. Maybe it's because I know it won't do any good. Maybe it's because it's just too scary. The day to day of house hold, four kids, living I can handle. The money matters? Well, let's just say, my Monopoly board game skills REAK...making a mistake concerning finances. Beyond any other fear I may jockey in my life, this is the one that is flashing neon, and is painted in sparkly paint. As time marches on, this is what I'm most scared of...here is where I'm worried I will make a bad choice...So, I step back into my bubble, make sure all lose ends are tied, file it in the further depths of my mind and tell myself, "...you'll figure it out".

We had 24 hours of family fun starting last night with pizza, a movie, junk food, Christmas pajamas, plugging in our ever present Christmas tree and finally bed. Saturday morning chores were still greeted with grunts, arguing, and unnecessary debating about job duty. GOOD LORD, JUST VACCUM UP THE MESS YOU MADE LAST NIGHT, I would never ask them to do something they weren't capable of...end rant. We had the ice cream we had been looking forward to. I swear, it must taste better outside of our house. Nora, however, was disappointed that there were strawberries in her strawberry ice cream. Yup, she's unique. We ended the day having a cook out and a lot of laughs with some new friends.

As the months pass by us, we aren't needing the big productions that we had in the beginning. I hope it's because we have found our strength from each other, and try to celebrate that in some small way everyday. I may play it off like they are a handful, but without my children...I would be nothing. I wouldn't have funny stories. I wouldn't have the support group that I have in them. I wouldn't be able to see life as I see it. They are a big part of what has gotten me through the last 10 months, and I'm so lucky to call myself their Mom...

...same old...new old...where's Atticus?

I have people snowed...I have no idea what I am doing. Honestly, I feel like I should some how start a pyramid scheme, offering what little I have for a chance to make $100,000 from home, or some such nonsense. I play a good game, but I mostly get played. I think to myself at times...really? It could be worse, I could be getting a head lice notice.  I have to look at it as a joke at times. Even though it's not, this whole thing is freaking hilarious...or at least that's what I remind myself when I'm just about to loose my s**t...

Every parent questions what they are doing. Every parent wonders if the decisions they make will scar their children, require them to have therapy, or just something to chortle over at cocktail time when they are parents someday. Life and parenting isn't nice enough to give you a hand book or syllabus to guide you through. At times you are able to think back from one kid to another what you might have done to remedy a situation. While that does work for me, not every kid is the same, and I have to remind myself (constantly) that I've never done this before. I have never had a seven year old being a single parent before. I've never had an 18 month old, who has now learned to scale the lower kitchen cabinets in just under 7.9 seconds, by myself before...I had back up. I had a teammate. I had someone who knew when I was about to freak-out, and would step in so as to calm the voices in my head...but, the teammates have changed.

I am strict. I know this. I run a tight ship. Not because I enjoy feeling lousy with power, I do it out of necessity, for sanity, and because it works for me. I am noticing now, however, that the rules are sort of bending here and there. Let's face it, there is a time, a certain time, of day when things are HECTIC. Some people deal with the morning rush. Some have bedtime dramas. For me, it's those wondrous, splendid hours between 3:30 and 6...

Doing homework, making dinner, dreaming (or maybe not) of a cocktail, keeping the savages-mainly Atticus- at bay. Long enough to finish the task of feeding offspring, cleaning up, answering 26 questions that I have no answers for (ah hem, Nora), queries of what's for breakfast, is there desert, and why does one HAVE to shower? I have now discovered, that I'd rather clean the table myself, if I know that someone is entertaining Atticus before he's discovered down the street in the neighbors trash can. I don't mind if I take the trash out, if I know that for about 2.8 minutes, I get to leave my house unattended. The funny thing is, these job swaps aren't going unnoticed...if I get an argument about being Atti's warden, I remind them they could be cleaning the upstairs toilet? Silence and a nod of "...duly noted."

While my teammates have changed, clearly the phrase "choose your battles" has never rang more true to me than it has in nearly the last 10 months. There's no 'tag-team' situation here. There is no one but me to quell the madness that has been referred to many times as THUNDER DOME. About once a month, I stress over it. I agonize over what I need to repair. How I need to soften. Or how to lay the hammer down, that doesn't leave a scar, but states that I'm the one in charge with respect given and received. There are times when I feel like, what the hell am I doing? ...but then there are moments...

The moments of when I am talking to Oscar, having an quasi-adult conversation, laughing and joking and there is no mention of Legos. Moments when I see Abe be nurturing to Atticus (and Nora, even though she drives him nuts), in a way that makes me feel like we are in this together. Moments when watching Nora's mind bloom right in front of me, as she writes her letters- always clearly stating first, "...an E? Of course I know how to write that!". Moments as I watch/hear Atticus learning to say more and more words, and I have to chuckle when I hand him what he wants and he mumbles a crude 'thank you'.

We'll be headed out for 'ice-cream-for-lunch' on Saturday. The monthly reminders of survival-of-the-fittest are now best served cold and creamy. It's a place were we can be messy, laugh, and make new memories, new moments. At the end of the day, for me, it's the moments when my kids appreciate me for what I am doing for them, all the while understanding that I am not perfect. At times they catch me off guard by their actions in this way...as if some how they know that I need a sorry, thank you, or I love you, at just the right time. It seems that the best/biggest payoff  for what I am now doing, is indeed paid in the simplest of gestures...

...idiot says what?...

Reality...what does that even mean anymore? I could sit here and blame social media, television, ahem-bloggers...they have all slightly skewed what reality means to all of us. Do I really care if you just ate a handful of almonds? But, it was a fact of existence and your reality stated to you that it was indeed noteworthy. The concept of reality has changed in my brain over the last year. I'm not saying it's for the better or worse, it's just my understanding of my everyday life...it doesn't stop when I want a break...it doesn't 'soft-kitty' me when I'm having a bad day...at times, it doesn't even allow me to use the bathroom without being terrified what (in the brief 1.4 minutes it happens) I might find Atticus doing when I open the bathroom door...maybe my reality states I should be grateful I even get to shut the door?

Nora's reality? She's a consummate noise maker...whether it be idol conversation or just the need to be making some sort of noise. Sometimes it's joyful, sometimes it's nerve racking, sometimes she doesn't even know she's doing it...seriously, it's rare for her to just be quiet. Her latest achievement, besides being a noteworthy party planner for all her stuffed animals, she whistles. Morning, noon, and night. Partly because she can, partly because it's a new trick, and partly because at this point it's almost an unconscious act...only upside? I never have to wonder where she is...

Atticus' reality? He will no doubt drive me crazy before he even enters kindergarten. He is fast. He is sly. He is sneaky. He loves to dig in the trash. He is nimble. He is smart. He has excellent hand eye coordination. He loves to snack. He is a great climber. He has no fear of heights. He is nearly impossible to wear out. His reality is that of pushing the limits at all times, and my only hope is that one day he works in a liquor store that has a sizable staff discount.

Oscar's reality? Orthodontia. I never knew until this morning that that word is also loosely translated into the phrase- you will pay us a bodily organ for some straight teeth...and we give a sibling discount of $100. Really? They might as well have said a penny as I dollar cost averaged four kids with braces in my head. While I know he is responsible enough to handle it, and he has a head full of teeth like that of someone 4 years older than him, he will only have to wear them for two years. In those two years his reality will also be subliminally cemented in him that he will take care of his teeth, and then set up his mother in her twilight years with something 'pretty'.

Abe's reality? Resident wise guy. Don't get me wrong, he is the most tender, loving, caring kid in the world...but a smart-ass-sash should be fashioned for him in the very near future. He has always had timing, but it always sort of came naturally, and was easily excused as, "...he's just a kid...". Now this morning, however, my anxiety was heightened as I heard him saying to our noise maker (aka Nora), "...idiot says what?". Seriously? As if she needs more material to drive me crazy through the day. Then my anxiety turned to terror at the thought of Abe being cocky enough to say that to the WRONG person at school. I hollered from the kitchen sink (seriously, I'm there from sun up to sun down), "...Abe if you aren't looking to get a beat down from me or someone else, I suggest you never say that phrase again...".

Facts of existence...that's what we are talking about. We've all thought about someone at one point in time, "...they are out of touch with reality...". Now, however, my understanding of that statement has changed. In actuality, it's at times a very personal thing. Mine does not have to mimic theirs, or theirs mine. I am reminded of this every day. My daily 'reality' is at times not for the faint of heart. I do what I have to do, try to have a little fun, perhaps not the most conventional mother, daughter, sister, friend, but it's my fact of existence...it's MY daily way of living that has to push me from sun up to sun down, and do it all over the next day. Yes, my life would be different if I weren't a 37 year old widow with four kids. However, that is not a reality. Such facts of existence cannot be changed, put on hold, or ignored. You hope for the best at the beginning of each day, as that's all you can do. For those who don't understand you, you fight the urge to say, "...idiot says what?", as you are in line selling plasma to raise money for the orthodontia fund...

...when the bad cop messes up...

...all any parent can ever want is to hope that at some point they understand their children. Whether it be the babbling toddler who is yelling they want something, but you have no idea what 'GAB TATG' means. Whether it be the drama queen 4 year old, who has to throw a birthday party everyday with decorations for her stuffed animal. Whether it be the overly verbal 7 year old who talks faster than his mouth will allow, constantly making me ask, 'Pardon?'. Then there's the quiet, slightly self indulged 9 year old, who keeps most everything to himself, which is an oddity in this house...he keeps it to himself, until he just can't....

After an evening of wondering if something was wrong with my quiet 9 year old, asking rather fervently if everything was okay, and getting, '...yeah, I'm fine...'. The night ended however, with the ever going debate of why he wasn't allowed to do something. I thought I answered it correctly, still asking him if something was wrong. No? Good....until Abe came down to tell me that Oscar was planning to run away....hmmm.

I quickly formulated a plan, my slightly pathetic '80s cop drama version of 'good cop/bad cop'...at this point I'm not sure if I'm Cagney or Lacey? I walked in the room, looked at him and said, "...well, sport, if you're planning to run away, you'll need a bag,(opening his closet door) I wouldn't bother packing pajamas, you'll probably just have to start sleeping in your clothes. I guess my best advice would be to pack light, and have a couple of clean pairs of underwear..." To which I walked into another room to find a backpack. I came back and he was steadily pulling out shirts from his drawer...bad cop messes up.

I came back into their room and asked him to sit down. I asked him if he knew how hard it would be? I asked him if he'd thought this out? I asked him for seven reasons to run away. If he could give me seven, concrete reasons, who was I to stand in his way of happiness? While he was thinking, I told him that I needed to remind him of something. He had no place to go. He had no money. He had very little street smarts. He had no job....and if he left, it would leave a horrible hole in our family.

I told him, that in actuality, if he thought it was his turn to run away...to get in line, it's not. BUT, I haven't ran away, I haven't given up on us, and damn it, if any one earned that right it was me...but I haven't, I'm sticking it out...the least he could do was stick it out too. So, still blankly staring at me, I asked him if he could tell me what he wanted, maybe I could try to help/fix it? This kid is stone cold. He doesn't let his emotions show. With this one question, his eyes started welling up with tears...finally, he said..."...I just want a DAD..."

I told him, I didn't blame him. I told him I would be pretty sick of me, and that's all I pretty much wanted for him too...not a replacement, but someone to fill in the gap in his heart that is missing. I had to lower the boom, that it took me six years to get married the first time. The look of exasperation on his face was priceless. I told him that the one thing that this house sorely NEEDED was patience. Our scale isn't just low on it, but we have sunk backward into negative double digits. But, the beauty of this whole thing is, our hearts are telling us that we are ready for a-dare-to-be-great-situation...what the future holds might be frightening, mainly because it's unknown, but it also can be exciting to comprehend the possibilities of what wonderful things might happen.

The conversation was ended by me asking for the final time of the evening, if he was okay and if he'd sleep on the decision to run away, at least until he had a game plan...to which he said yes. I told him, all I really want for my four gifted monsters, was a normal life again, but it was just going to take some time. The last thing he said to me was a 'would you rather'...which I thought was interesting...Would you rather have a mean husband and a million dollars, or a nice husband and a thousand dollars? To which I told him that was a no brainer, a nice husband is worth a billion dollars...

...so, I'm never offered a time-out...

Everyone packs a little heat...Everyone has a secret trigger. Something that sets them off, whether spoken or in action. I'm not sure if it's my lack of patience, my lack of tolerance, or just my lack of wanting to waste time on nonsense...yeah, my triggers are nearly tattooed on my skin. Thankfully, I'm the only one who can see them, I hope. My triggers have changed over time. In the last year, I feel like some are still at the surface, some need to be discarded, and some things you just never say out loud to another human being, unless you want to be checked.

Perception is a very funny thing. It's easily taken for granted, and usually wrong, unless you really take the time to understand someone. I'm not that complicated, please don't think I'm trying to come off like some complex being. I sometimes just wish that in life, there weren't so many categories, compartments, or the need for definition. Be happy. Be strong. Be silly. Be crazy, hell be a little inebriated, but what ever you want to be, be happy with it...regardless of who isn't.

When it comes to matters of my kids, my triggers are twitchy...playing 'good cop AND bad cop' with my kids, pretty much sucks. There's no uttering, "...just wait until your dad comes home!!" More along the lines of, "...well, it's 8:15 and I mentally need a cocktail..." Being rolled over or standing my ground is a slippery slope. What seems to be 'worth it' one instant, can become blurred lines the next. Knowing what my triggers are, but not realizing until later, "hey, I seriously needed a time out there...". Listen, if you think these kids might be driving you bat shit crazy, it's important to have that all displayed, on the INSIDE. No one will ever know, at least not until I start wearing my underwear on the outside of my clothes.

The funny thing is, if we could all be so honest, as to say what those triggers are, aloud, to people we know and care about...it would seriously save on a lot of wasted emotions, arm flailing, and abrupt yelling. Today, Nora was given a time out, as she had melted down for about the 163 time about nothing before 9 am (relentless whining, that at some point I'm just going to start mocking, as it might be the only way she ever understands how ridiculous she sounds). With the time-out, her trigger was tripped. She sat, angry faced, in her chair outside. She said, "I'm not needing a time-out, I don't plan to share my stuff, because I don't like to...".

...so, it seems, at times, at 9 am, much to early to fix a cocktail, to late in the morning to take a nap, and  slightly content, that my underwear are indeed UNDER my clothes...honesty might be overrated...