...Precious Moments...

We've been playing nothing but games for the last week...Uno, Yahtzee, Head Bands, Gooey Louie and Operation. But the game that is just ahead of me is that of numbers. The game of wondering if where you are is, well, where you are...When did you get to be this damned old?

I guess the cosmic question that I ask myself is what is the difference between my actual age and my mental age. I'm blessed to be friends with a woman that knows all too well how grief can define these terms...she's my soul sister as we call each other. While she is younger than I am, she's a veteran with more years under her belt of the game of "widow dome". We've talked about how when your life is so drastically changed, it seriously ages you a half a decade within minutes. The fawn-eyed person you once were is a mere wisp of what you have to now take on. The mere notion of ADULTHOOD in it's earlier stages is very, very real now.

ADULTHOOD. When does that really occur? Through every one's life there is always some mental benchmark of where they will be at a certain age. There is a far off notion of what "old" looks like. There is a place that is contented, settled, adjusted, and secure that you see yourself when you get older. I wonder at times if I went back and talked to my 21 year old self what I would tell her. What would I say to prepare her for her life ahead? Would the things I once found so important even make the short list? When did I hit the age where I had to face the fact that yes, I am indeed an...ADULT?

While everyday is a new day, some just aren't as rosy as others, that's life. But, in the last two years, I have found an interesting phenomenon. Just about the time when you think you might as well give up, as everything you are doing is an expired version of sucking...someone says something that really lifts you. Someone you barely know, can see what you can't. Today at an indoor pool I bumped into another mom who I had met once. We became friends on social media, and I've noticed how adorable her family is. While it was nice to see a familiar face, it was really nice to sort of catch up in person. At one point she looks at me and says, "...how do you do this?" I jokingly said something about a cocktail time. I wanted to further add that you would find no Precious Moments figurines based on anything that goes on in my house. Yet, in that one question, it reminded me to suck it up. You are surviving. You are doing this. You may have stretch marks, gray hair, and be on your last year of your thirties...but it's getting done.

So, I'm taking this next year to get MORE done. I've got plans, goals, ideas, and intentions of making my 39th year something to remember. There are a few things that I have put on the proverbial back burner that are coming into the heat. I need to be mindful of the continuing notion that I was put here for a purpose. Yeah, I'm outnumbered in my house on a daily basis. Yeah, I fold more laundry than is probably allowed by law outside of a Laundromat. Yeah, I can throw a cocktail party together in about 17 minutes. But, I want more.

I'm turning 40 years old in 368 days...I have 368 days to make it count. I have the next 368 days to remind myself that limits are mostly set in the mind. I have 368 days to remind myself that my kids, while they are at times my biggest worry they are also my best cheerleaders with my DNA. I have 368 days to remember that perfection is over rated. I have 368 days to consider how truly wonderful being 40 will be. I have all of this time to take advantage of what is in front of me, all the while knowing what I have in my back pocket has made me what I am today...(gulp) an ADULT.

...tucked into my heart...

I have made a conscious effort. I seriously thought, looked, and took notice of what I was doing each evening so far in this month of December. Mentally taking note of the day, the time, the madness...not because I'm some over achiever mom who's Elf on the Shelf prowess is that outstanding. Not because I don't already know that half of the things I do this month are sort of on the extreme side. I take note, because this year, I only have one who knows the skinny on the big fat man. I take note because it's my favorite time of year despite the self-imposed-crap most put on ourselves. I take note because next year might be totally different...

There is a certain sort of magical feeling when the littlest of things that you try to do year after year become noticed. The little things that you tried to start, never knowing how much of a mess it would make...Never knowing how nearly you fell into a diabetic coma...the little things you started, in hopes that you were making memories. This is my time of year. This is the time of year when I can fall back on those tiny treasures of time. In the smallest of acts you are reminded that it's worth it. In the most minute of gestures you are shown that someone was paying attention. To me, that it what rounds out this time of year. To me it's the small things we've done together, that keep me going for the next year.

I was worried when Oscar no longer believed in Santa. He did his best to try to be "RIGHT" about the issue. Thankfully, he has finally realized that being right, doesn't always feel so good. He's realized, through subliminal and virtual speak, sometimes the magic of this year is seeing everyone else excited. The thrill of someone else, being all dough eyed, believing in something that's just out of reach. As I tried to explain to Oscar while we were alone the other day, it's a real lesson in life. You don't have to know you are good at something to be confident. You don't have to know the end of the story, to keep you reading. You don't have to touch something to know it's beauty. During this conversation, while I was hoping it made sense, it definitely reminded me to take my own advice.

Seeing a couple of kids scramble to see where their vertically challenged Elf has hidden. Hearing various versions of Christmas carols come out of barely understandable mouths. Watching the 'thrill' of just seeing the snow falling out the window. Hearing a 2 year old remind everyone that "...Santa is watching YOU!" Knowing that these moments, like all the others I've been told years down the road, will just be a whisper of my life someday. In these moments, when I'm about to lose my mind with trying to get everything done by Dec. 23rd...years from now won't really matter. So everyday, as I put a tiny treat into a numbered little pouch, I stop and look at the number. I stop and look at how many more there are left. Even with fevers, overnights, tantrums, freak-outs, back talk, runny noses, puke threats, and sleeplessness...I made a note and tucked it into my heart.

The thrill I find at the end of this year is what most adults dread, Christmas Vacation. To me, it's the seemingly endless adventures that await us, or even another day we veg out in our pajamas and do nothing...the choice is ours. It's snuggling on couches under blankets. It's making a mess decorating cookies. It's piling into the car in our pajamas, blaring Christmas music, looking at people's Christmas lights...and inadvertently becoming Peeping Toms from our car. There are plenty of things I could be sad about this time of year...listing them would just be redundant. Sure, sometimes those things bring me down...but this time of year for me, there are too many things...too many moments that can't necessarily happen the rest of the year. So I'm taking them and mentally hugging them...the good, the bad, and the ugly...because next year, might be totally different...

nonchalant and nude

...that day when it's gone to the crapper before 7:50 in the morning...there's been snark, whining, arguing, smack talk, and it's seemingly endless. It's the day when even a silver lining is swearing at you in another language. It sucks to pretty much start a day, when you know you might not get it together fast enough to turn it around...

Finding it increasingly difficult to reinforce certain things in this house. Maybe it's because I'm not much taller than those who live here. Maybe it's because doing double duty is exhausting some days. Maybe my kids, knowing they have me on the ropes, secretly want to see my loose my shit. Maybe it's my never ending scourge of wanting/needing to know that I'm not screwing my kids up. I no more than think this, when I am greeted by a naked two year old, nonchalantly saying "...hey mommy, what are you doing?"

What ever the reason, my quest to try to raise clean, healthy, upstanding humans out of these kids leaves me at times feeling like a failure. Puberty is just around the corner, with every passing day, seems not to matter how old I am, I KNOW NOTHING. My street cred is gone. The sum of my parts and the sum of their parts do not add up. What would I know about cleansing? What would I know about body odor? What would I know about personal hygiene in general? For that matter what do I know about anything, (getting ready for a direct quote) "YOU GREW UP IN THE 80's!" That's when I no longer have a filter...and end up saying, when your butt stinks, it doesn't matter the decade!!!

It's been pointed out to me that I'm in a pressure cooker 24/7...and I admit it, I probably put myself there. It's still no less terrifying. And some days, I cannot put into words how overwhelmed I am. Some days it feels like the day is never ending. Some days the rut one finds themselves in is more like a canyon. I just wish for one hour, their dad could come back and reinforce anything I've tried to tell them over the last 2 years. For one hour that they would intently listen, reminding them that I am all they have, and I might actually be able to teach them something. However, a wish like that is futile and simple minded. I know it's up to me to keep trying, and hoping for the best.

This is just my routine rant. This is my cycle that I go through. This is sadly not the last time. I'll think to myself, I've had it and I'm exhausted. It's not the last time I'll have to squint to find the silver lining. It's the notion of the finish line. Like if I knew where this was all going to go, if I could see the finish line, maybe it would be easier? Sure, it would take the adventure out of life, but a tiny glimpse of what will be...well, it might make turning today around a little easier.

...pacifiers and big boy beds...

Well...I think it's time. Time to face the facts that while I know life moves on, I can't stop my kids from growing...ask the cashier at Aldi who sees me weekly, she knows. In life there are a few things that you just become comfortable with...For me, time alone is more than a comfort. IT'S VERY NECESSARY. It was bound to happen sooner or later, you have to shake off what's comfortable, loose some security, and try to adapt without a cocktail in hand.

No matter your age, you have a pacifier. You have that one thing, person, action that calms and settles you when you need it. Comforts you when you crave it. Helps you cope with, well perhaps life. To my Talls, they are each other's pacifiers. They have shared a room from the beginning of their lives. Their antics could possibly be cataloged. The combined preteen boy smell, possibly researched for National Geographic. Their humor, their language, their means of entertainment? It's like they are twins speaking another language...18 months and two days apart will do that to you. To my surprise today, the taller of the Talls asked if he could move to another room...and the fallout began.

The idea of moving wasn't out of anger. It wasn't out of annoyance. I offered the idea up this summer, to slightly tepid responses. I couldn't imagine a kid not wanting to get their own room if they had the chance. I was proud of the fact that he felt he was ready. But, I forgot. I forgot until today, that these Talls have been basically conjoined, with and an invisible attachment. I figured after Jason passed, it would be that way for a while. I figured that what they had together, might be what helps them to move on, and I didn't want to muddle that in any way. So today I was surprised to see one want to step out on that limb alone. What I won't forget is seeing the panic in the Tall that was getting left behind.

I remember asking a doctor once when I was in the beginning throws of being a mom...so, when do we need to move him into a real bed? Her answer has entertained me, stayed with me, comforted me, and possibly pacified me ever since. Her response was, "...I would have left my kids in their crib until they were 7. If they're not climbing out, leave 'em in there!" And so, I've held onto that over the last 10 years. With each kid until now, the only reason to move out of their crib, was because we needed someone else in it. Not the case with the last golden child of this house hold. I see Atticus growing up before my eyes. I know I slightly Jedi-Mind-Trick him everyday to take a nap because that's where his pacifier is laying. I know I then have 1.7 hours of free-ish time. I know that the seemingly tranquil comfort of putting everyone to bed and not having an escapee isn't going to be forever. Frankly, it's right around the corner.

So, I wasn't shocked to hear Abe, instantly chatting up his "mini-me". "So Atti, looks like I'm going to have some extra space in my room...what do you think about moving out of this tiny little crib and rooming with me? In a BIG BOY BED?!" It was brilliant. It was the fastest formulated plan ever conceived by a nearly 9 year old ever. It was calculating. It was excitingly delivered. It was Abe, needing a pacifier to replace the one he's had for the last 8 years. I chuckled at how quickly he was trying to solve his problem. I went from being sad for Abe, as he was silently heartbroken to think about rooming alone. I was then proud of him, instead of bitching about what was fair and what wasn't, he found a solution. He set Atti up for a nap today in his room, just to "try it out". I figured I'd find him playing Legos, never getting a wink. To Abe's excitement, we walked in and found Atti right where we left him...I would have so lost money on that one.

While we are still in the beginning stages (I need to start my mantra now), it looks like there's going to be some moving around in the future. It's time to start something fresh. It's time to put away some pacifiers. It's time to appreciate that maybe we don't need them as much as we thought to grow. It's time to start sleeping with one eye open, if the smallest Small isn't confined...(gulp). Bring on the big boy bed...

...smiling with your eyes...

It's that time of year again...the cold is upon us, the slippers come on, the holiday music has started on the satellite, and the urge to put out all my Christmas stuff is just beneath the skin. Not sure why this year I've wanted to skip from Halloween to Christmas. Maybe it's because we like to decorate. Maybe it's because I need a project. Maybe it's because it all seems to come and go so quickly that I want it to last longer...I think doing things like these with my kids has helped us. I think letting them be a part of these traditions has given them a sense of appreciation for this time of year. And I'm grateful for it.

There has been one constant for the last year...I've only actually mentioned him once, but he has been so much a part of our life. He has been my sounding board for lots of things. He was a single parent too, and he understands my frustrations. He appreciates me for who I am and isn't intimidated by my need for control, he recognizes it's how it all works for me. He is quick with a joke, a compliment, a laugh, and a smile. He tells hilarious stories and when naming people in them he always gives their first and last name. He is a fantastic cook, and isn't afraid to get into the kitchen, tell me to sit down, and take over. He loves to listen to music and quiz me on who sang it. He has been more than just a 'plate spinner' for me. He has shown me how much one person's heart could be so very beautiful. And I'm so very grateful for him.

The best thing about him...he loves my kids. He walks in the door and four voices shout out BEN!!! He isn't bothered by piggy-back rides, discussions of Pink Floyd and ACDC, or getting routine bear hugs from Nora. He is eager to teach them games, listen to their jokes, and steps in when my patience is wearing thin. He lets them snuggle on him, climb on him, and basically attack him. He has taught them the art of smack talk while playing Uno, quick counting for Yahtzee, the proper spiral on a football, and the best way to crack eggs. All the while reinforcing that to him, they are important.

Being the voice of reason (terrifying I know) around here 6 days a week... I look forward to the weekend. I look forward to him coming in, and seemingly everyone is in a better mood than they were before. I couldn't put it into words until yesterday. We were all sitting on the living room floor, minus Atticus who needed a court sanctioned nap. Uno was the deck of cards being dealt out, and the smack talking had begun. Cards in hand, I looked up and noticed something...everyone was smiling with their eyes. Do you know what that looks like? To me, it's one of the most beautiful, wonderful, meaningful things to see. Someone so happy, having so much fun, that their faces can't just contain it...I was grateful to see it, and figure out how to put it into words.

We have been blessed to have this person come into our lives, love us, make us feel special, remind us that we are kicking ass in life...no matter how much the kids hate dinner. We have been given this gift of a person who understands our personalities and appreciates us for it. I feel like I am right where I need to be when he is around. Unlike the holiday season, I'm not worried how quickly this moves. I'm looking forward to seeing where it goes..all the while loving the view, smiling with my eyes and grateful....

...plate spinners...

There has been a whirlwind around my head for the last couple of weeks...at times even the "silver" in the silver lining gets a little grimy. It's times like these when my grief usually hits the hardest. It's times like these where I lose sight of how far we've come. It's times like these knowing that there is no Band-Aid to fix what has me down. It's times like these that knowing the only way to get over it is to go through it. Well, it makes climbing Everest look like a cinch.

There will never be a time when I am NOT OUTNUMBERED...the sooner I can just get that through my damned head, the easier my life will be. At times I worry though that some fraction of these kids will just unionize and I will be screwed. I worry that I'm going soft. The hardest battles won are the ones you know there is no definitive winner. These lessons in life will make us stronger, right? These times will help us appreciate what we have, where we've been, what might lie ahead...that's when I'm mentally looking for my white flag, turning tail and running.

We are odd. We are an odd number. We have an odd life. We handle life's problems in our own way, but they are usually bookended by popcorn and a soda, or a cocktail for me...we're not like everyone else. I've heard a lot in the last few weeks the phrase, "...well, so-in-so's mom doesn't do that?" Mentally, I break down hearing that a little. Mentally I want to verbally charge with something like, "...yeah, well so-in-so has a dad too..." I know it's futile. I know it won't really change the argument equation that has been given to me. I guess I should take that sort of statement as an encouraging sign, they don't even see our differences amongst their friends, and maybe that's my cue to stop doing it too.

So, this November 7th, we got out of town. I mentally needed it. The kids needed out of our normal scenery, and just do something...and if it was fun, well that would work too. As I said, the weeks up to this year's anniversary were harder than last year. I struggle with feeling outnumbered, worn out, and never quite feeling like I'd done anything right. I know I'm too critical of myself, but when you fold a couple of your critic's underwear, you can easily get sucked in. I know it won't always be this way. I know how far I've come and how much further I have to go. But it's overwhelming to think at times, did I really want to do this? And then I remember, I didn't have a choice. Get over it...

I think I understand more this year than I did last. I think I feel like life has changed and it will keep changing, sometimes I'll like what I see and sometimes it will terrify me. I know that my day to day is a balancing act, like that guy at the circus spinning the plates...but I have help. I know I'm where I am by people loving me enough to keep me going. Those here with me who can call me on my shit. Those who continually remind me that I'm allowed to be mad. Lastly, those who remind me that we've made it this far and we're all still alive. These people are who have helped me, these people are the ones who have loved me when I've been crazy. These people, I wouldn't be able to live without.

It came to me the other night, and I wished I had grabbed a pen. It was as if I had this epiphany about where I am in this world and where I want to go. Of course in the light of day, it doesn't sound so profound, must have been the cold medicine. Despite how some might view what life has given me, and at times I have to even remind myself, I'm so very lucky. I was given a chance to be part of another person's life, create four lives, and I still get to keep living. I still get a chance to live a full life, watching these beings Jason and I created. Despite the fact that he's not here, and at times it saddens me that he isn't seeing all that I am seeing...he will never be replaced. He lives on through our kids. The rest of my life here on earth will just be enhanced with hopefully more blessings, love, and friendships.

These enhancements are my polish for when my silver lining needs it. While two years has seemed like ten, looking back I know how far we've come. I know we've got a long way to go. But I also know we've been blessed by people coming into our lives...Those plate spinners...for whom I am grateful.

...if we have an issue, we'll deal with it...

I've learned to turn a blind eye to things. I don't separate my laundry by colors. I don't worry about sack lunches. I'm the one who has company over and forgets to put away the bras that are air drying in the laundry room. I'm the one who needs to dust the shelves, but is readied with a veggie tray at a moments notice. I'm the one who worries less about my kids brushing their teeth and more about not having them look like hobos going to school. My priorities are a little skewed, but most everything is taken care of...as much as I care to, I should say.

When raising kids, I used to be more obsessed with every aspect of their school lives. I used to fret over snacks, fundraisers, and knowing all of their teachers. Where did that get me really? While life has taught me to ease up on some things, when it comes to the parent teacher conferences I think I'm as nervous as maybe the kids are. I steady myself, waiting to be told that while Abe looks mild mannered, he really has been selling cigarettes to some 5th graders...I use Abe only because his was the conference I needed to attend this year...

I sit and listen to his teacher explain certain strengths he has. I listen intently, as some of the things she is mentioning I have never seen in Abe. She shows me his handwriting and I literally ask her, "...this is Abe Hunt we are talking about, right?" Turns out, the kid is excelling in everything, not just the things he already knows he's good at. Turns out when he told me that he's reading at a 7th grade level (to which I scratched my head as he's always having someone else read for him like a seeing-eyed-dog), he was right. Turns out all of the things that I thought I knew about Abe, I didn't. He's not the brawn like he likes to say, he's the brains too.

This shouldn't come as a surprise to me, but for some reason it was more of a reassurance. The idea that maybe I haven't let this one fall through the cracks, was a load off my mind. The fact that even though I've never seen him do some of his work, it's actually getting done, and done well. I constantly worry about the notion my kids going to this small town school, is too easy for me. They head down the street and eight hours later they return. I don't have to be there to know that it is going on. I just get to be blessed with teachers and an administration that is seemingly taking care of what needs to be done.

I have ended the last couple of conferences with the same speech. It's not to scare or preach to them, more like let them know where we are. I flat out tell them that the next couple of months could be interesting. We are approaching the anniversary of their dad's death, and from that point I'm not sure how they will handle it. I'm not foreseeing a major issue, but I want to let them know that I'm always sort of waiting for the other shoe to drop. This years teacher, as in years pas,t were completely understanding, and receptive to what I had to say. However, this year's teacher said something I might not forget. She looked at me, and simply said, "You have nothing to worry about. You come highly respected for what you do and how you are doing it. Your kids are excelling, and so are you...if we have an issue, we'll deal with it."

While there is a bra drying in my laundry room, there is a veggie tray ready to be put out at 3 pm. While I know I need to vacuum, sitting watching TV with Nora is just more fun. Maybe I needed a complete stranger to tell me who my kid is to me. Maybe I needed a complete stranger to tell me that things were going okay. Maybe I needed a complete stranger to reassure me that no matter what may happen, no matter how I could possibly avoid it, if we have an issue, we'll deal with it...

Clapton, Marley, and Muddy Waters...

I've never been about a pity party, never. Life gives us what it does and I'm all about trying to find the silver lining. It sounds trite, naive, and not in touch with reality I'm sure. But, it's how I've come to live, not because it's easy...not because it's fun...not because it always even works. It's my coping mechanism. If for a brief moment you can try to make yourself believe at the darkest of hours that indeed the sun will come out tomorrow. You're still playing the game of life and at times you feel like you've got things figured out. But when REAL questions about life come up, you realize you don't know shit about shit.

When it was time to plan Jason's funeral, I'll be honest, I didn't want to. I had just spent days without sleep, cried until nothing even came out of my eyes anymore, and had to tell my kids that their father would never be coming back. I wanted to crawl in bed, pull the covers over my head and just be alone...even though I felt more alone than I ever had before. However, that's not how life worked. There were details to be worked out, flowers to be ordered, and a proper good-bye had to be planned. It was comforting that the funeral director is a friend of ours, and he understood me from the minute I started talking, even though I felt like a zombie. I told him, I wanted this to be a celebration of a person. I wanted this, even though it was sad, to somehow have people smiling. Let's not put the focus on missing Jason, but rather celebrate the person he was.

Jason loved music. The funeral director tapped into every song Jason had ever posted on Facebook and sort of made a "Jason Soundtrack". It was eclectic, fun, and a thoughtful representation of who Jason was. I still find it funny that people would come up to me to give their condolences and say, "...did I just hear the 'Humpty Dance'?" The Beastie Boys, Marvin Gaye, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Clapton, Marley, Muddy Waters, Phish...they just kept playing. There were some songs that brought tears and others that I couldn't help laughing at, I mean we were in a funeral home. The point is, I've prided myself since that day that there is beauty in everything, laughter after tears, the gift in knowing someone even if they are no longer here.

When a child asks why bother praying? What did she do to deserve this? Why does God hate her? That's when the old stand-by answers don't even exist anymore. These are valid questions, they deserve valid answers. These are the times when any pity I have, always goes to my kids. It isn't fair to have to explain the theory of life to a five year old. It seems pointless to try to tell her anything more than the fact that she unknowingly is this unbelievable gift I was given, despite the fact that her father is no longer here. He is still a part of her, and she can connect with him at will...but her little brain and humongous heart can't connect with that...and I don't blame her.

When life is more real than anything going on around you, it's slightly isolating. No one really understands exactly what you are going through, because they aren't living it. I am very fortunate to have people. I am fortunate to have people that even though they understand me, they know they will never understand what we are going through. And they are okay with that, because just knowing they are there is my consolation. My struggle is knowing that no matter how hard I try, some of my explanations will never be consoling. That's REAL LIFE...and some days, there just aren't any silver linings. But there's always Clapton, Marley, and Muddy Waters...

...a good cry, stiff drink, or both

It's finally Fall...finally, that time of year when the air gets crisp, night comes earlier, your skin gets thinner and you are surrounded by color that changes daily. For me, this month is sort of bitter sweet. While I've had so many wonderful things that have happened to me, there have been some things that have changed me forever. It's ironic, the beauty of Fall. What I long to see all year long, is really the dying off of something so that come spring, it can bloom once again.

To me October always means anniversaries, baking, decorating, warm cardigans, and your favorite jeans. The Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown, and the never ending quest to find the perfect/cheap Halloween costume...knowing that making it yourself means really spending as much as you would just buying the damned thing. Getting back out your cozy socks, sweat pants, and looking forward to snuggling under blankets while watching movies...even if it's because you refuse to turn the heat on until November. It's simple minded. It's easy. It's heartwarming, this love affair with October...but at times it comes with a price.

The miracle of life is one that is most definitely taken for granted. I used to be one of these people. The first time we became pregnant I was ready to shout it to anyone I knew, and I was something like 4 weeks pregnant. When you have to be shown how quickly that miracle can be taken away from you, it hardens your heart. When you have to deliver a baby you will never take home, somewhere deep inside, it changes you. Suddenly, all of these other women, of whom you never knew their sorrow, come out of the woodwork. They too had lost a baby. And now, you are in this strange and sad sorority of women who know too well the miracle of life...how it should never be taken for granted. So, I'll either have a good cry, make a stiff drink, or perhaps both (hell knows I've earned it) later this month. From that sorrow, I learned something more profound, your strength not only comes from you, but also the ones you love around you. Little did I know then this would merely be a 'try-on' for my latter life.

I knew before I was even asked. I knew I wanted to get married in October. I had a mental date set up in my head for years. If Jason ever asked me to marry him, I knew I wanted to get married on the same date that we met. If that date would have fallen on a Wednesday, I still would have done it. To most, meeting someone on Friday the 13th would have been a bad omen, but it was a day that intensely changed my life for ever. Our wedding wasn't fancy, but it had meaning. Years later, people would comment to me how much they loved our wedding, the ceremony and the reception. It was a culmination of two families and amazing friends coming together to celebrate. What could be better than that? I'm a week out from this anniversary, and I'm not really sure how I feel. One would understand being sad on that day now...and at times when I think about it, it does make me sad. But, then I think of all that came from it. I think about all of the things I've been given since then.

A wise person told me recently,"... you didn't choose for your entire life to change...you didn't choose for your husband to leave...it happened and now you have to deal with it the best you can." They're right. It's anniversaries like the one I'm approaching that are sort of a mind scramble. It's like I want to mentally prepare myself for that day...yeah, I know the OCD in that statement is easily spread with knife. I'm not obtuse enough to think that I have any control over it. It has been sort of creeping up on me like a cheap pair of underwear...this sort of pit in my stomach. From an extraordinary life, there will always have been pit falls, hard times. On this October 13th (unlucky to some), I'm going to try to focus on the extraordinary gifts I've been given. The extraordinary laughs I have had, and the extraordinary place I have ended up with this person who is no longer here to celebrate with me. October, you are one tough broad. But, you haven't taken this one out yet...

...chicken or beef?

...it's the same song, the same dance. Shopping with children, 4 children to be exact is hectic. It's only a luxury I rarely take to shop alone. Shopping with kids? I take it on as a challenge, with a cocktail medal at the finish line when we are hopefully all back in our home safe and sound. The freak outs, tantrums, arguments, battle of wills...and that is all before we reach the check out lady.

It's a mental battle field...choosing words wisely, strategy and how to get out of the store before DCFS is tipped off. You know the game, and you are willingly playing it because, the kids have to eat, wear diapers, and you are needing to stock your liquor cabinet...the whole process must be done. The freak outs are inevitable. You plan for them as best you can accordingly, like an army ground crew needs a medic, and hope you can charge the front without casualties. However, the best freak outs are those that are some how etched into minds forever in infamy. Only spoken of again in "hushed reverent tones" as a warning of what was one fateful day...

I've learned a thing or two in 10 years. You would never hear me utter "...what would you like for dinner (or any other meal)". This only loosely translates into me being a short order cook or lousy with money. I offer them one thing when we are out. It's an easy out for myself and it is ALWAYS veiled with the idea of look how fun/lucky/yummy/adventurous/fortunate/etc. this could be. But, it seemed this day, it was my turn for the freak out.

I blame Wal-Mart. I think it is a vastly unused form of criminal punishment for anyone to take 4 kids to Wal-Mart on the first of the month or on a weekend. I dare you, DARE YOU, to make it out unscathed. After offering a lunch option I thought would be a viable, not to mention a good diversion from the nightmare that I already lived shopping...it was shot down...laughed at...and thinly implied that didn't I have thousands of dollars to take them out to eat? The only honorable thing I managed to do that day, was wait until I got into the car before I lost my S*#T...it was calm toned, slightly bitter, but dripping with sarcasm.

On the thirty minute drive home they kept asking "...what's for lunch?". I ignored them. They even tried to imply that my freak out was possibly my fault, they each wanted something different. I turned up the radio, to quiet the voices in my head. While driving, I realized it had been a while since I lost it. The fact that these kids were dictating to me what MY next move would be? NOPE, NOT TODAY...where was Wonder Woman's lasso of truth when you needed it?

About halfway home, I pulled into a Wendy's parking lot. Immediately, as if I was already taking their lunch orders, they started calling them out to me as if I were wearing a name tag and a headset. "I want the giant-super-sized-mega-burger-$12-meal-blah-blah-blah". I put the car in park. I turned off the radio and very calmly said, "...your only choice is chicken or beef...you are not paying, so you will not be ordering..." The just looked at me, slack jawed as if I were speaking in another language. This is where calm left. In a rattled, shaken, mom of four voice I managed to shrill yell, CHICKEN OR BEEF?!?!?! I ordered, we pulled back onto the highway, and it was the quietest, most contented drive I have ever had.

Today, in my own home for lunch they were each asked chicken or beef noodles-yeah, I'm a culinary wizard. One of my precious angels turned and said "...well, what else is there? I don't want that..." I repeated the same thing I had before, chicken or beef? Oscar looked up from what he was doing and said in a hushed tone "...for the love of all that is holy, just pick one! Don't you remember last time?" Then suddenly, as if forgetting I was still in the room, he looked up at me. I couldn't contain it, I started busting out laughing...then I heard Abe yell out CHICKEN! Glad to know this freak out left an impression, completely convinced it won't be the last...

...giant exhale...

While parenting, you question everything. Why wouldn't you? There are a million books, countless magazines, and (ahem) even blogs you read that instruct you on the "dos and don'ts". I admit it. In the beginning, I read them, subscribed to them, even aspired to follow every instruction they gave to the letter...the never ending quest to be a good parent. The notion that you might have no idea what you are doing, and someone who has never even met your offspring should know more than you...makes sense.

I stopped reading the books a long time ago. Trial and error made me feel more human and less inadequate along the way. I still have my worries and concerns, but now they are vastly different than they were 10 years ago when I gained the badge of motherhood. When you are a widow, parenting becomes a whole different ball game. The worry/concerned is amplified to a level that is at times deafening. That scary, frustrating balance of being two parents. Being present but constantly hoping that the one not present IS in some way, shape or form.

Looking at my kids, watching them grow is at times bittersweet and maddening. Seeing how much they have changed on the outside, knowing how much they have changed on the inside...well, at times it could send me straight to the liquor cabinet. Feeling, in a really concrete way, they are all I have. Not only my mark on this world, but profoundly their father's too. I question my methods. I wonder if I am doing enough. I talk a good game, and I act like I have it all together. Then, very unexpectedly, life hits me. All the times it has nudged me before, I've wrapped it up and put it in the bottom drawer, as if to say, "...I'll deal with that later, maybe when I have five minutes to myself..." Later, unfortunately happens when it wants, is amplified, and knocks you out at the knees.

This time, I couldn't avoid it. I saw it in the smallest of behaviors, and the simplest of gestures...apparently, we had all put off feeling some things for a while.OIn one modest Sunday morning, we had a biter and someone packing a bag to run away...now that's a one two punch to the parenting belt. I couldn't stop the emotions that my kids were working through, and I felt the same coming on in myself. We had to deal with it. We had to talk out the hard stuff. We had to cry. We had to find our common ground again. It's always interesting to me that the dread of grief, leads to this feeling of a GIANT exhale. Also, the ability to see life from yet another angle through your kids eyes is life changing...and I'm grateful for it.

I write a lot about Nora as she talks nonstop about everything. I'm surprised and grateful for her strength to be open and honest about how she feels about life. I hope it never goes away. I worrying about my kids has become my unpaid second job, I'm at odds most when I think of Atticus. He has no capability of remembering Jason. He was only 9 months old when his dad passed away, yet somehow he understands the concept of parents. I've seen him playing with action figures or doll house dolls. He gets that the men are Dads and the women are Moms. No matter how many times he is shown pictures of Jason, the lack of any personal memories about his Dad crushes me at times and leaves me feeling slightly hopeless.

Then, this morning...over M&M pancakes and hot chocolate, no I'm not trying to make my kids diabetic, there were bananas hidden in those pancakes... Hot chocolate mug in hand, Atticus looks at me and points to a picture on the wall and says "...that's MY dad...". I told him yes, he was right. He then looked at Abe and said "...hey Abe? That's MY dad..." It was the most profoundly gratifying thing that has happened to me in a while. Out of this tiny terror's mouth, came what I had worried never would be understood. He got it...

More than a compliment from a stranger...More than matching all the socks in the laundry...More than no one complaining about the meal they are given...More than even making it through the day in one piece... I will remember this day for a long time, as a reminder that no matter how much I worry, question, or stumble through the title of motherhood, I must be doing something right...

...lucky underpants...

It's not a foreign feeling. I've done it twice before. I thought it would leave me feeling different than it did. I sent my third child to preschool today. It left me feeling kind of conflicted...a mixture of excited and nostalgic. Not sure if it's because this one has been home with me the longest? Not sure if it's because I feel this one has been desperate for peer interaction? Not sure if it's because her littlest brother has been pretending to talk to her all morning on a fake cell phone? But, as Oscar stated rather solemnly at the breakfast table this morning "...Nora, these are the last few hours of freedom, you better enjoy them, there's no going back..."

She is overly verbal- wonder where she gets it? She's eager to be in a room full of kids, raise her hand, show what she knows, and learn new things. It's heartwarming to see so much excitement about what most take for granted. Last night I asked her what she thought school would be like, and she said she had only seen school on TV, would it be like that? I told her maybe. She very seriously looked at me and said "...you know, I haven't mastered much math yet...". I told her not to worry about it, I haven't mastered much math either, and I no longer go to school.

Nora and her Aunt Gail picked out an outfit for the first day (she's way more fashion forward than a mom). The description of said outfit was priceless, completely Aunt Gail...

  "...she has a dress, white ankle socks, tennis shoes, 3 hair accessories, and her lucky underpants..."

And when I found her this morning this morning she was whipping up the beauty, putting on her lucky underwear and told me she would meet me downstairs. She was giddy. She was bouncy. She was starting to drive her brothers insane. Atticus must have said 49 times "...I ride bus to scccoooll?" To which I repeatedly told him no one was taking a bus to school. Finally at the 49th time I said "YES, now go look out the front window and wait for it to get here!"

We, her sidekick of the last 2.5 years and I, drove her to school. We took the obligatory picture in front of a school sign. She ran in, and kept saying, "I'm so excited!" No tears like the two dozen or more times I've left her with people to even run errands. No look of 'YOU CAN'T LEAVE'. It was nice. I had this strange feeling of pride and excitement for her. As I mentioned before, she's stayed home with me the longest. By this age her brothers would have had a year of preschool and be starting kindergarten, their birthdays were more perfectly timed...and I feel lucky to have been able to be home with my only girl for so long. Never mind being outnumbered, it's SOLIDARITY SISTER!

Within 1.8 minutes of being in this preschool, regardless of the fact that this was HER first time here, she was telling another classmate where to hang their backpack. I thought, she's got this...only to look down at Atticus bawling his eyes out! Partly because he couldn't stay, and partly because Nora was. I've got to be honest, I never saw that coming. He spent the rest of the morning talking like she was here, wanting to know when she'd be home, and slightly milking his desperation for all it was worth. When the bus actually did come and drop Nora off, she got out, raised her hands in the air and yelled, "BEST DAY EVER!!!"

For me, it's another milestone that I've compassed single parenting. I was wondering if dread was going to flood through me today. I woke up early and started the coffee just in case I needed a bit of a meltdown myself. I'm not sappy about my kids going to school, but our circumstances are different than they were when my others went. I realized that we all have a hand in raising each other. My kids are all really great kids. They know their strengths, know others weaknesses, let's face it they are kids. BUT they all have a hand in how we, for the lack of a better term, all turn out. However, the one I was going to send out in the world, she's been my therapist, my touchstone to reality, my best girl friend. Hell, if she were old enough she'd be a drinking buddy. Watching her turn the corner on so many (lets face it, a lot of crafts to hang) really great new experiences...without her mom hanging around. I knew she was ready. I was just really, really relieved, delighted and strengthened to see that SHE knew she was ready...and now, onto the fundraisers!

...idiot light...

Being laid up for a week, I understand how people can become slightly addicted to the Hallmark Channel. Their stories, and maybe it's the hydrocodine talking, are all rather similar to mine. That character, who is down on their luck...in a small town...learning the ropes...and Harry Connick Jr. is their neighbor...it's just like my life...the meds seemingly kicked in. But there I was, not used to laying in bed having someone else do my job for me. It tripped me out. All of my triggers were tripped and while I was icing down my new hip, possibly enjoying these moments of solitude...I was trying not to have a nervous break down.

One friend boldly mentioned to me "...in 4 months, when all you want to do is walk into your bedroom and shut the door, you'll miss these days." She's probably right. Hearing the nightly noises that I usually hear first hand through a baby monitor from the other side of the house, it felt eerie. Depending on people-trigger. Letting go of control-trigger. All the while having to remind myself that a break from life now meant a new lease on life later. More over, looking forward to not being physically broken down like some old car that has 3 idiot lights glaring on the dashboard...low fuel, turn signal light out, service engine soon...

Having to physically slow down taught me a lot. Having complete strangers attaching monitor probes to my most personal regions taught me more. It seemed that about the time I finished telling one person wearing medical scrubs my personal history, I was having to turn around and tell another one. Every word coming out of my mouth probably disconcerting to them. At this point I tell what has been a rather emotional story more or less in a matter-of-fact manner...it's just been my life, as common as the gray hairs on my head.

Every time I was forced to hear the words coming out of my mouth, sort of put into perspective for myself how far I've come. In the past at this hospital, I was never the one wearing the backless gown. I was never the one being probed. I was never under the scope...I was always sitting next to the bed of the person who was. Quickly, very quickly, I became more aware of all I had to lose...all I had to live for...those four reasons I can't walk into my bedroom in the middle of the day and shut the door.

I stressed for weeks that this surgery was no big deal to my kids...mind over matter? Maybe. More like 'someone who is going to this hospital and will indeed come back home' is probably more where my head was. I didn't want to impart any unnecessary fear in them...and maybe at the same time reassure myself. I've never had a surgery. I didn't know what to expect. I had plenty of people reassuring my that this thing would be a breeze...the two people would tell me some horror story of how they caught staph infection...well, that's reassuring.

So, now I'm a week and some change out of surgery and I'm doing better than I had expected. The mere act of shaving one's legs is life altering at times (clearly I'm easily pleased) and in four days my staples come out. It's crazy to think of what my body went through in such a short amount of time. However, it's crazier for me to think of what my mind went through in these last few weeks. I have a new appreciation for those I didn't get to take care of for a bit...and an understanding that you could never be a failure by letting people help you when you need it...they're just trying to help you turn your idiot light off...

...black and white...

I’ve always considered myself a ‘grey area’ person. Always someone who sees a situation, good or bad, and looks for the silver lining, as it has become a way of life for me. Someone who can always see both sides of a story, situation, or problem. Not in a condescending/self-righteous way, just as a means-to-survive-to-the-next-day sort of person. Some might call such an insight on life ‘Polly-Anna’ but thus far it has seemed to work for me…until it didn’t for a bit. Those who know me well, know the saga of my life. Nothing from a Monday-Night-Movie, but it’s been interesting/trying nonetheless. Little did I know what phrase set me into the stratosphere until I finally heard it? “…Abe’s urine sample had blood in it…” And, that was it.

We have always had our kids tested for kidney disease. It might seem sort of ‘doomsday’ but when one parent has it, error on the side of caution. Jason had it. It was a big part of his life, even though he rarely mentioned it to anyone but me. He was constantly remarking that because of it, I would never outlive him…it was a sort of honest but treacherous way to live. We started getting the kids urine samples at their yearly check-ups and that was that. Now, not to make excuses, but I’ve had a few things going in the last year…so it was very due that we have a check-up. All came through their awkward urine collections fine. Nora walked out of the bathroom at the medical group saying, “…now THAT was really fun!!” She, however, wasn’t the one collecting it. I figured we were erring again on the side of caution, all would be well…until it wasn’t.

 Jason used to say “…if they call you the same day as your test? Yeah, well you’re pretty much screwed. No news is good news…” Then I get a call from the Medical Group. I figured it was to remind me of something unimportant and almost dismissed it. I answer it, and find out that Abe’s test came back with some issues. My heart sank. Was I that much of a fool to think we could escape this issue? Did I actually think that we’d catch a break on this one? My heart was in denial…

They had found blood in the urine test. In my head, screwed up as it may be, I immediately went to Abe dying of kidney disease. All of the whoop la and talk that I’ve given others, not to mention myself, went out the window. I went straight to death before ever comprehending that it is ALL TREATABLE. My head reeled and heart sank as they were telling me the next procedure they were wanting to do. All the while I went directly to BLACK AND WHITE…never grey, as I had been for the last dozen years. My mind was saying “…this boy that you love is going to die…How are you going to deal with that?!”

 For about 6 hours I just did. I didn’t want to scare him. I didn’t want to tell our family, as I feared they too would think the worst (sorry I didn’t have more confidence in you, but I honestly didn’t have it in myself). I played it off as a ‘non-issue’ perhaps the fact that Abe hates drinking water or maybe his kidney has a ‘cold’ or something. But, the fact of the matter was…I was terrified, for about 6 hours. Then, I pulled myself up and simply said NO. I realize that is a stupid thing to do. Smiting God. Thinking that I had ANY CONTROL on the situation. I kept reminding myself of one thing…Abe.

The kid is amazing…don’t get me wrong, he can drive me up a tree. But, the kid has this crazy resilience that is unlike anyone I’ve known. He is this great kid, creative mind, basically he’s a one-of-a-kind human being. There would be NO black and white with this matter. He would not be stricken with this, at least not yet, as he had so much to give and so much more to learn about life first. As if my worries were literally taken off my shoulders two days later. His kidneys appeared fine under examination. He would need to come back in six months for another test. For now, while I’m trying not to be ‘black and white’ about the issue, I know we have bought ourselves time. I know that we cannot escape this VERY MAJOR issue that their dad had. I know that we will have to continually deal with it from year to year. And, it's treatable. However, now I know that to me, it doesn’t have to scream a death sentence…moreover, it’s a reason to celebrate the fact that we all are still living…

 

 

...good-bye summer...

Pulling up to eight-one-five that day, I knew I would see changes… I knew that things would look different. Little did I know the fall-out mentally that would ensue in the hours/days afterward. How does one put a term to what I was feeling? It wasn’t that of a spouse. It wasn’t that of a child. It wasn’t that of a sibling. It was all of those on another level. Pulling up to the house that I have found comfort, refuge, even spiritual significance in looked different…very different.

 I was blessed in the spring, thank you to many friends and family’s support, to win a yard make-over contest. To me, applying for such a contest seemed futile, never for a moment thinking that I would win. But, as I said, due to many friends and family voting for us, we won. For me, the headache of yard maintenance with boys that never learned from their dad “how to” mow was an uphill battle. I would walk out into our yard and immediately grimace at all the work that needed to be done while simultaneously marveling at how great our yard was. I’m unbalanced I know. At any rate, we won this wonderful chance to beautify the outside of our house while making it so much more maintenance free. Their demo day (removing what needed to be out, to replace with fresh, new, and easy) wasn’t a day I was figuring would be that emotional…but it was.

 I place, more than I had ever thought, a lot of importance to this house. Like previous mentioned, I’m not sure how to quantify it, other than a person. Someone you love. Someone you trust. Not someone you are obligated to by blood. A warm, soft, beautiful something that you feel connected to. This house has such a presence, physically and spiritually. It has been my touch-stone over the last year and a half. Comforting me when I’ve been in doubt. Reassuring me when I’ve begun to question it. This house has holds a special significance in the deepest part of my heart.

 The attachments one holds can’t really be put into words. Fear. Anxiety. Transition. They are like a symbol of perseverance and the continuance of life. To me, this house has always been the strong-hold. The one thing that even if it falls in around our heads, we all have together, just the five of us. It has been our sanctuary and safe haven when we needed it. Pulling up to a new version of that, well honestly my mind was blown. Knowing that this place we call home, held so many more attachments to me than just an address.

 In this whole process hindsight has taught me how easy I may have had it in the beginning. It has given me a moment to appreciate that time is a miraculous thing. What once was, has to change as that is the only way to grow. The routine I once held, is changed up. Three are heading to school in less than a month. One is breaking free (screaming and kicking) of what once pacified him. While the façade changes, my heart still holds tight. In that moment I am able to appreciate what we’ve been through and look forward to our new reality. Good-bye summer. Good-bye yard. Hello the endless possibilities that still await us…

...my looking glass

It's funny to me how sometimes the best lessons to be learned are by watching others...no need to get your hands dirty, right? The lessons that I can learn through my kids, while at times mind boggling, are seriously placed for a reason. As if someone were coming in and creating this perfect mishap of a moment. You are in the right place at the right time and you saw it. It's times like these that really make me believe in God, fate, and the fact that there are no coincidences.

Off the heels of a dark day, the kind I haven't had in a while, there was this afternoon that seriously put things into perspective for me. We went swimming. Not really profound stuff, but the events that occurred while there, to me, were pretty profound. There are however two reoccurring themes about this story...something so very simple can really open one's eyes and Nora. She was put into my life for reasons far reaching the fact that she's my daughter...sometimes she's my looking glass.

Our first winter here, just a couple of months after Jason passed away we all trekked up the hill nearby. Sleds in hand, not a clue how serious the hill really was, we were getting ready to look fear in the eyes. That simple release of the sound "WEEEEEEE!!!" was life altering that day. We needed to just let go of how life was for a moment. After the first trek down, Nora was so exhilarated that she screamed "...TELL 'EM LARGE MARGE SENT YA!!" To her, she'd just went headlong down Everest, and she was hungry for more. For me, it was seeing such a release that reminded me it was okay to let down one's guard. Letting go could sometimes be fun...and in this case may induce peeing one's pants.

We were visiting friends at their country club pool. Instantaneously upon pulling into the parking lot, I gave the kids SERIOUS ground rules: best manners, be courteous, do not pee in the pool. We get settled and Nora starts eyeing the diving board. All summer long she has asked to jump off other places, and all summer I have pushed her off the idea as I didn't think she could do it. She just hung up her water wings a couple of weeks ago, right? But seeing that there were more lifeguards there than actual swimmers, I thought okay...figuring she would chicken out.

She walked up to that platform...goggles on, wearing a slight wedgie with her bathing suit. She went to the edge, and then looked back at me. She stood there for a minute, and we all started cheering her on...Nora...Nora...NORA...and she did it! She jumped in came right back up to the top and screamed "...THAT'S THE BEST THING IN MY LIFE!!!" That one act, seriously will be cemented in my mind for a very long time. With her new found talent, she spent the rest of the time there, chatting up 3 teen aged boys. There she was, in ten foot waters, perched up arms off the side of the pool, getting jumping tips off of them...for her, it was an epic day!

Turns out, all summer long, she's been ready...I was the one who was not. I was holding on. Figuring out that letting go, was not only a hell of a lot more fun, but at times necessary. Her ability to face her fears and check off her summer bucket list is pretty damned admirable for a 4 year old. While I love all of my kids, I will be forever grateful for what my little looking glass has to teach me...

Thank you, Louisa May...

Time is the funniest thing...It can transport you. Encourage you. Engage you. Help you remember how far you've come, how old you are, and that there still is a long road ahead of you. It is interesting how one date, not even a significant date in the calendars of time, can be recalled as if it wasn't years ago, more like hours or minutes. Today, out of the clear blue no where, time kicked my butt...

I stupidly tried to fight it off today, being conceited and thinking I could shrug it off. My burying skills are the stuff of legends. It's not that I don't want to deal with what might have me down, that isn't healthy. It's just the fact that I do not have the luxury of breaking down and bawling, at least without some sort of audience. I try to do anything else to quell it, at least until a quiet time. Today Not a chance.

Today, for the first time in a long time, it was in public, in a quiet church, and for some inexplicable reason, I just wanted to cry. I sat there, trying to stop it. Mentally giving myself a SERIOUS inter-monologue on how this was NOT THE TIME...no Kleenex, no wipes, forgot to even pack a rouge diaper today. I had 4 different snacks, 5 action figures, 3 colored pencils, 24 index cards and no Kleenex. That should have been my first clue that today was going to be off.

I sat there, willing myself to not be noticed. Willing myself that if I just focused on what was being said in church, I could trick my brain if for only 17 minutes to forget what it was doing. Like some sort of mental Sudoku puzzle. Nothing. Well, nothing but anger then. I felt flushed, nervous, and twitchy. I found it funny when about the time I was wondering if I should just walk out of church, as clearly the message was being lost on me today, Atticus turned to me and said "...so, is it time to go?"

I was trying to pinpoint the 'thing' that had me going crazy. I was trying to understand it and figure out what to do next. Not so easy to do in a church pew. I had all of these things running through my mind. What to fix? How to change? What's for lunch? How to stop feeling like I was going to ugly cry? We weren't the first ones out the church door, but we didn't stay to mingle. I walked that block home at the most brisk pace I could. Walked in the front door, answered Abe's 'What's for lunch?' question with 'FOOD', and excused myself to my room for a minute.

I sat, grabbed a roll of toilet paper, and bawled. Two years ago today we moved into this house. It was a hot, sweaty, tiresome but exciting day. I will remember it because of all of those things, but today it just made me sad because sometimes time is terrifying to me. I would never have believed that my life is where it is now moving in that day. I know I have some abandonment issues. Based on things thankfully not everyone fully understands. It seems treacherous and unproductive to push people away, but it's those 'inner survivor skills' bursting through at times to a fault. My instincts unfortunately at times are to push people who love me away, because I don't want to try to figure out how to live without them later.

So, as I tried to dry my eyes I looked up and saw a picture a dear friend got for me. It is a quote from Louisa May Alcott that simply says...

                        "I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning how to sail my ship"

I looked at this metaphor for life, knowing that it is more than a daily mantra I should be uttering. It is a reminder that the stuff I thought was hard before? Yeah, that's just a 'try on' to what could happen next. All the while hoping that while I am learning how to sail my ship, I remember that I don't always have to do it alone...it could take a while...

Hormones and the FULL moon...

Nothing I type into my computer is that profound I feel. For some reason at this point, I have to force myself to go back and edit my other blog. I'm not so gently reminded by my 8 year old, "...so, what's the deal with your book? What are you doing about it?" I take that more than subtle nudge to get back at it...All the while knowing that having to edit, having to read through what has gone through my head in the last couple of years is hard. If only the edits to be made could be applied to life...

I have to wonder. I wonder about people whose lives were so very hard, and they had the presence of mind to journal about it...How did they know what they were going through was hard? Did they realize that their words would shape generations later? Now, I'm not saying I would ever be within miles of these people. But wouldn't it be interesting if Anne Frank survived? Wouldn't it be interesting to know what her thoughts would be re-reading them? But, editing words is easy, editing life is impossible as hindsight is always golden.

Then there are the questions that are asked of you...by a nearly five year old. Nora's ability to not filter her thoughts, sometimes embarrassing, are thought provoking and admirable. Her ability to express her fears, while at times maddening, are a lesson in how to live. Her fears, very numerable, are text book as to what she has been through in her life so far. She and her brothers have had profound life altering events, all before the age of being able to really process them and or cope the way an adult would.  Answering her questions as she lays down at bedtime are at times like walking a tight rope. The wrong answer will just initiate more questions. The right answer might indeed break her heart. All the while knowing how most kids her age don't have to ask these questions. They live in a safe-unbroken world.

Then I find myself in a funk. I could blame the full moon. I could blame hormones. I could blame the lack of adult time I've had lately. Not really knowing if writing about it would even change things. But this funk is different. It's a mixture of feeling lonely (yeah, like that happens around here) and wanting to isolate myself all at the same time. Counter productive? Indeed. Wanting to claw my way out? Definitely. Lately, it's my kids faces. It's the moments just after telling them how their lives had changed and I could do nothing to make it better. It's the sleepless dread I had even telling them their dad was gone. It's the feeling of knowing my words were/would crush them. And, it sucks.

I wonder, is this whole thing another wave? Were the other ones just a teaser, leaving me cocky and headstrong for no reason? I have to admit, I don't really want to know the answers. I'll blame the moon and hormones, squint a little as to not see what might be coming and hope for the best. With any luck I'll try to remind myself that this might be a chance to 'edit' as life happens...

...there's ol' Widow Hunt...

...the funny thing about life? You don't really understand it until you have to...You don't really know what is in store for you, until everything you knew is sort of worthless. Some would look at this as a growing experience. Some would look at it as a chance for rebirth of their faith. Some would even go so far as saying you are better for it happening to you. But that's the thing, they aren't you...

Life is full of all of these terms and generalizations branding situations that are so very individualized that it is almost laughable. The things that people say while one is grieving? You can either laugh at them or if you are really talented you nod your head while mentally punching them in the face. I wish I had the proper response to someone who is grieving...but the only thing that comes to mind is a hug, a bottle of good booze, and a smile.

Now, thankfully, I'm no longer settled into this place. I remember it, and I remember it well. Every now and again, someone will say something to me, and I seriously have to stunt the urge to tell them that unknowingly what they uttered is not only offensive, but sweet Jesus don't ever say that to anyone again. These are thankfully few and far between. I know people are stunted for knowing what to say, and even an overly verbal person like myself NOW knows saying nothing is almost preferred.

So, this rant? Does it have a reason? One word...widow. I sort of hate that word. Understandably, it meant something a little different years ago, it's origin is from the 1400's. A woman's husband would die, leaving her destitute and feeble...leaving her to scuttle off to the edge of town, rarely to be heard of or seen. Her name would be totally forgotten for anything other than that of "...'Ol Widow (insert last name here)..." She would rarely be seen out from underneath a darkened veil...yeah, that sounds like me.

This word, this term shouldn't have to determine my grief...but to some it still does. Grief shouldn't have to be worn to know it's happening. One term shouldn't brand you for the rest of your life. But, try explaining your situation if you are one...head tilts and sad looks. As if that is going to help the fact that you cannot be at the orthodontist for one of your kids at 6:30 am. There's no real great way to meet new people unless you are ready for their possible response. And nothing starts a party like the phrase, "...I'm a widow..." Pass the fun flask...

I decided a long time ago that I would grieve the way I needed to. I would let the break downs, the fall outs, the waves come when I needed it to come, in my own time, my own way. Not wear it on my sleeve like some scarlet letter. Not have to constantly remind people that I'm damaged, I'm a widow. I sort of feel some stupid sense of empowerment from it. I think my spouse would be proud of me, as crazy as I am, for grieving the way I have despite the way the world works. I'm not saying that I fully understand life, but I'm saying that I understand it more than the word widow could possibly identify me...and end rant.

...looking at fish...

My mind is a jumble...I've got a few things kicking around in my head. I was actually looking forward to sitting down and letting out some keyboard aggression...but I lost my window. Thankfully I lost a little aggression too. But it seems during certain times of the year, no matter how happy I may be I'm more trigger happy than I'd like to be, thus the simplest of things drive me up a tree...and for what?

My language skills must be lacking. I have either become a low talker, or my kids have just simply adopted another language. Head reeling, remembering how I used to be able to say something 3 times and be done. Now it's like my voice is on delay, and we've started to average 9. This does nothing to help a trigger happy mother of four not look like a complete lunatic in public. I know people who simply just don't take their kids places for this exact reason. I've never wanted to be this person, and frankly I don't have the luxury. So, I've decided to just start calling my kids by different names to see if that possibly works. As it worked out today, anywhere we went, anyone who was unfortunate to be around us, ended up knowing all of my kids names as I repeated them continuously. Either that or just start taking medication, the likes of which can cover up the fact that I'm about to lose my shit and just make me look like I'm looking at the fish in a pet store.

It seems redundant, but I have to constantly remind myself to relax. A crisis will ensue whether I've packed snacks or not. I think my internal struggle is starting to boil up also because I'm a month away from having a hip replacement. I try to remind myself how much better my day to day existence will be a year from now. The pain just simple mobility can cause currently is a little bit maddening I have to admit. My mind races to the 27 things I have to do before that fateful day under the knife. Mind you, it's nothing that is life threatening, pressing, or even anything I can delegate...it's just life stuff. We have a birthday, doctor appointments, eye appointments, dentist appointments, school supplies, and another birthday. So, not 27, but I gave you the short list as to not SCREAM crazy. I'm not worried about how things get accomplished while I'm recuperating, just eager to line a few things up to make it easier on the sainted people who have agreed to help.

A week from tomorrow my Oscar turns 10. It's really quite hard to believe. So many things run through my head close to events like this. The over planning of making a birthday cake usually is the first. This year I must have been under-caffeinated as I ridiculously mentioned, wouldn't a Baked Alaska be cool? What the hell was I thinking? Pinterest and my mom solved this problem. This is his year for a party. Thankfully he said he only wanted two of his friends to come over. On tap are pizza/wings, cake, video games, a scavenger hunt and movies. It's weird. He's at that strange age where some things are still too old for him, and others are too young. Planning a party for boys who like to sit with a controller in their hands- fairly simple. Less is more, right?

Lately, I find it more interesting how much he reminds me of Jason. To me it has always been in glimpses. He has grown this last year, and was reeling when I offered him a couple of Jason's smallest t-shirts to wear. Worried I was opening a can of worms with the rest of the kids, I knew that it was something special to him...and the fact he needed them literally and figuratively. I see Jason in Oscar's mannerisms, his temperament, and unfortunately his lack of wanting to communicate. I know it will take time, but it's the time that passes us by that I know I can't get back...and that stings. I know he feels like a number in this house, one of the 289 things a day I dread knowing. The unspoken thing still and will always be that he wants more time just he and I. While I wish I could give him all he wants, at least I know it's something I can actually fix. Relentlessly wanting to fix what can't be...reminding myself that I am missing the ability to be superhuman for my kids. Who is really?

...fight the power, not Jim Bauer...

Not sure if it was what I thought might be a rouge dirty diaper, which turned out to be a dead mouse? Or a crying Nora, coming to me to tell me that she was scared to go to heaven? Or the emotional charge that has been slowly filtering through this house for the last week? Like running your stocking feet around carpet in the winter, waiting to get shocked...There was no way around it, today was Father's Day whether we liked it or not...

I can’t help my hormonal tendencies, but it seems like Nora is now on board my crazy train as well… There are only so many emotional outbursts I can take, especially when I know I'm not really making a dent in the questions/concerns she has. About the time I think I've resolved something that is troubling her, in an instant she has another. Currently it's warts, pink insulation, scars, and not wanting to go to heaven...at least for this week. I'm grateful she willingly brings these issues up, yet stunted how quickly she can acquire them...

But the ones that really drive me crazy are those that never make it to the surface, sitting just below the skin, brewing. I can change the subject. I can direct the conversation in a million different ways…all in the hopes that my kids don’t remember Father’s Day is coming. I talked about it at different times, never really trying to make a big deal out of it…I guess sort of wanting to leave it up to how they feel…

Well today, there was little left for interpretation. They asked if we had to leave the house, meaning go to church. They made some rather valid points...stating we would go to church and hear all about how it's Father's Day. I think one of the Talls actually said, "...yeah, that sounds like fun?" We laid on my bed, sort of taking turns getting teary. The boys couldn't tell me why "exactly". Atti just kept looking me in the face saying, "...you crying? Mommy crying..." as if I needed reminding. Nora, it was a heaven/wart combo. I laid there wondering...wow, these kids are screwed on this holiday. They have grandfathers that they love, but it's what they are missing, the void, that can't really be filled.

They lay around me, and I can't help but hurt for them. I can't help but think of a word that I hate, fair. I hate that word. It's usually a word someone uses when they have no real notion of what it means. They use it, and then wish to gain sympathy from it. Someone who really understands what it means, very, and I do mean VERY rarely uses it. I fought my urge to just roll over and let this day kick us in the can. We weren't going to let it tell us what or how we should do things today. Of course, this is total lip service to my brain, but I just kept reminding myself of it.

I faltered a bit, as I was scanning the channels on the TV next to Oscar and I uttered, "...this is complete bullshit, let's go to church..." He sort of snickered. Hopefully, that's never embroidered on a pillow for me...not my proudest moment. The Talls were like oracles. Everything they said we would have to hear was dead on, though interestingly enough it was parlayed into a discussion of the World Cup. I started playing with Atti's toys, then counted everything in front of the church, twice. I actually thought about the hill just above our church. How going down it, screaming the whole way? We needed something like that today...the release! I got us to church. Get through church. Leave out the side door when it was over and get on with the day. I needed to turn it around somehow...we just needed to have FUN, any kind would do.

The pool...it was like some magic drug. It was like that water washed off all the crap we'd been carrying around for the last week. Jumping in, splashing around, seeing friends, feeling the warm sun on your skin...it was our release. It was finally something I could do...to finally turn this day around. They found a tree frog. They named him. They begged to take it home with us, carrying it around like some pocket pet they've had for years. It was nice to see them excited about something so simple...it was nice to see them really smile.

Only later, when I was I reading a friend's Facebook status, did I completely understand how to tackle this day from this point forward. Simply stated it said,

"...I say we re purpose Father's Day and Mother's Day...just call it Family Time...that's what it really should be"

Thank you so very much...

 

 

...more than just a Mellencamp song...

Home is where the heart is...It takes a village to raise a child...Beauty is in the smallest of details...Small towns are rife with interesting stories, big hearts, and people who know more about what goes on in your house than maybe you do.  The 'big city' people in my life understand it, but not fully. When talking about the cons of living in a small town they use words like "lack of opportunities, experiences, diversity". To me those things are possible anywhere, just slightly defined a little differently. To me I feel some cosmic connection not only with this house, but also with this town.

I have to admit it, there has been a love affair going on in my life for quite some time...I've written about it, possibly to the point of ad nauseam. But since November 8, 2012 there has been a constant in my life, this house. I still walk around in it, looking out the windows, the doorways, the tiniest of details and I love it. It's given me a scare here and there, but I feel like it's more than just a house. There's a presence here...there's history, life, maturity...all before I even moved in. You can feel it when you walk in the door. It's like we've lived here forever, and thankfully it sort of envelops you like a warm hug. It's a mystery to many who live in this little town, as all the previous owners, once here stayed for decades. I was paid a compliment a few weeks ago when a life long resident of this tiny hamlet told me that when she drives by our house now, she no longer thinks "there's the (insert previous owners name) house, I think of it as the Hunt House" With that comment, she made my heart smile.

Small towns get a bad rap. I'm not sure if it's because people don't understand them or if it's because once in them you can't really hide. I've never understood that. What in the world are YOU doing that you would be so bothered if your neighbors know? I use the term "Mayberry" quite often when describing this place, but I do it out of love. I do it because in my minds eye, that black and white existence was uncomplicated, caring, slightly pie-eyed, but genuine. The time was simpler. The notion of people looking out for you shouldn't be such a foreign concept. My kids can play outdoors, go to the park, and ride their bikes to school with each other. Bonding at its best and without me hovering over them to shield them from what 'might' happen...as in this town, everyone is sort of looking out for everyone else. Yeah, that really sounds like a crappy place to live, huh? Each person is as colorful as the next. This town is the stuff that great stories are made of. It's small enough that it has its characters, eccentrics, odd-balls...but everybody in the town knows who they are, and are willing to let you in on who is who. While they might be annoying, these people are accepted for who they are, as that's how it always has been.

I say all this, not with a lack of experience. I've lived in big cities. I've understood their beauty and willingness to entertain not only your eyes and ears but your soul as well. Some of the best experiences of my youth were in big cities. I'm so very glad/blessed/fortunate to have been able to have such experiences. One place I was lucky enough to live I was surrounded by 8 different nationalities and still be with in crawling distance of a pub. That my friend is living! For me, maybe because I'm older, possibly because I'm less adventurous, definitely because I'm outnumbered, I wouldn't change where I am. The most prolific quote about a small town is one I've read by Joyce Dennys from Henrietta Sees It Through: More News from the Home Front 1942-1945

“Living in a small town...is like living in a large family of rather uncongenial relations. Sometimes it’s fun, and sometimes it’s perfectly awful, but it’s always good for you. People in large towns are like only-children.”  

And so, my love affair with this in inanimate object continues. It's walls of which we live in I feel forever lucky to call home. Our predecessors here, while not visible, are felt and appreciated. As for this little hamlet, I'm so grateful for this 'large family' that has taken mine in. Always noticing what we are up to. Willing to wave a greeting, or even shout from a school bus when driving by our house. Lastly, making us feel like we are part of something more than just that of a small town...

...the only thing we have to fear...

Doubt. Dread. Uneasiness. Concern. Fears. They are an inevitable consequence of being alive I suppose. There are ones you are willing to admit. There are ones you share with hundreds of others. There are those that you, if you are lucky, have succumbed. And then, there are those fears that never really go away...those anxieties that you would never want to openly mention, as it might make you look weak and feeble.

I found out earlier this month that I will get to have a hip replacement at the end of the summer. At this point, I've considered just laying in the street at times and paying anyone to do it. It's tiresome, depressing, and painful to not be able to keep up with daily life. I feel like a 75 year old trapped in a 38 year old body. My fear, looking weak, is no longer masked by me pretending to feel okay. I limp and hobble, and all sorts of other unattractive things to try to keep step with four kids. While I welcome this surgery, it means a summer of trying to really have a lot of fun with my kids, as I will be laid up for a while afterwards.

I know what feeling powerless is like. The closet door on my 'control issues' has been removed by it's hinges. Though there I sit, in the doorway, delusional enough to think that I can stay inside this doorway and life will always work out like I plan. I'm not going to lie, it's my 'pacifier'. At times I wonder if it's a blessing or a curse to know just how fast life can change, and there's not one thing you can do about it. On one hand, I feel like owning that notion will make me less apt to taking things for granted. On the other hand of that notion, I feel like I have to be 'readied' at any moment for the bottom to fall out. I over compensate when it comes to parenting. Here comes a big truth: I perpetually live in fear that I've only got one shot to get it right, that's a healthy mindset, right? And they only have me- heaven help them. I only hope one day, while they are siting around having a cocktail together and talking about how crazy their mother was, they'll at least remember that she was also perpetually outnumbered. I'm not worried about Nora, she has life pretty much figured out...the other day the Talls got into some trouble. I walked away from them and bumped into Nora, and she looked at me and said, "Your soothing spa treatment is ready, it's time for your day off..."

I worry about a summer going by and no one learns anything. I'm odd, I know. I feel like it's the perfect time to not only do something fun, but discover a hidden talent, pick up a new hobby, enjoy a more dangerous chore...Weed-wacking? Clearly something we are going to have to work up to. Lawn mowing? The Talls are all a contradiction when it comes to this. On one hand they tell me they know what they are doing, suddenly they can't do it, they don't know how. It was interesting, each of them at different times in different places said that exact same thing to me this morning. I looked at them and said, "...well, that's awesome! You won't be able to say that tomorrow..." A comeback I will never forget, thank you.

Facing another fear a couple of months ago...I asked for help. I entered a home improvement contest by submitting an essay. I have to admit, it was sort of therapeutic to put down in words why I needed help, I think because it felt anonymous. I never in a million years figured my collection of words would be picked as a finalist...I mean come on, I'm asking for help? Fast forward a few months, hundreds of family and friends support...and I won. It was overwhelming. It was heart tugging. It made me more grateful than ever for the people I am blessed to have in my life. Those I see regularly, and those, thanks to social media, I haven't seen in years. It reminded me the fear I have about countless things I have no control over, doesn't have to exist when you have others to lean on...they are your life's silver lining. Knowing me, I won't want to literally lean on them, but knowing they are there is like a magic want to the psyche...

Wearing nothing but a superhero cape and a smile...

We're here...we've lived to tell the tale on another end to a school year. It's left me feeling like there are a dozen things I have forgotten to do...and I can't conjure up what they are. I feel like I'm slightly losing my mind, for basically no reason. Considering we spent yesterday afternoon playing outside and the biggest thrill was when the weather alarm announced it was only a test...for the next hour, all Atticus wanted to do was have Nora and Abe impersonate it. We're pretty easy to please and not too complicated around here.

I'll admit it, I'm not an Über-Active-Parent...I don't volunteer to chaperone school trips. I don't make it to the awards day. I don't attend the PTA. I don't know all the teachers in the boy's school. I don't try to pretend I even know what they do exactly from 8:20 am until 3:17 pm. I read the notices that come home, and that's where the act of parenting ends. They don't bring knives to school. They hopefully don't swear in school. They are dressed, fed, clean-ish, and ready to learn...even those scant things are a challenge some mornings. But, we live four blocks from the school and they've never come back home because they've forgotten their underwear...so, WIN! For me all the involvement is sort of pointless. It doesn't necessarily make me a better parent, and I'm realistic enough to know that my kids probably would rather me stay out of that part of their life sometimes. Last week, I felt like I had won the parenting lotto. Abe had to list someone he admired. I figured he would put some TV character, superhero, or even his Dad...he put me. For about 10 minutes my heart actually smiled, meanwhile I was thinking this kid is either a genius or just plain great...

For me summer sort of starts a new adventure. I'm not one to think, "...aw crap, they'll be home all summer" I try to think of things to keep us busy, sane, and for me out of the liquor cabinet. There are a few things the Talls WILL master this summer, mainly mowing the lawn and with any luck doing the laundry...yes, I'm willing to relinquish that power. Nora, hopefully will learn to ride the bike she was given last summer with no fear of falling. Though I think her main problem is she is too 'bootylicious' to properly master it right away. I'm hoping Atticus will say goodbye to pacifiers without losing my mind the process...and then he's onto a real bed. I mentally list a few goals, and if we hit them great, if not no one is the wiser. My mother-guilt flows so deep, I probably won't even notice. It's exciting to think of all we might do, all the pajama days/bathing suit days/movie marathon days ahead of us. But this summer, I have a secret I need to escape...

Not even going to sugar coat it, last summer we ran away. We fled the last day of school and were gone on and off all summer long. I think ideally I thought if we weren't here it would be easier...healthier...healing. I found out in that process that running away from what is in front of you (unless it is a rabid dog) only finds you bumping into it later. I remember the kids saying while last summer they had fun, they had wished they were here more. The fear of facing what might happen sometimes outweighs what might actually occur. The fear of just having to 'deal' was so terrifying, that when 'dealing' actually happened, it wasn't so bad.

My plans for the summer might make some unhappy, but I feel like this summer we needn't run, but stay put and see what happens. We need to start some summer habits, with any luck some things that we can have fun and not break any bones doing. Hopefully make some deep rooted memories that may include but not limited to Atticus running the neighborhood wearing nothing but a superhero cape and a smile...If you decide to drop in on us, you've been warned!

...toilet deodorizer as aftershave

You should know...I'm a broken record. But, there are some things, ways I live my life that are just plain necessary. They may sound 'Polly-Anna' to have to be repeated let alone even said once...But time is a mysterious thing. Time can take away from you what you most desperately need. Time can give you one last chance at something you most desperately want. Time can teach you what you inevitably wish you knew when you had the chance.

Insert the silver lining. For me, they have been necessary for survival. Finding SOMETHING POSITIVE to glean out of a situation, well it takes effort. At least it takes your mind to a place of gratefulness, even if it is for the ability to spell grateful. I guess I see them, silver linings, now more because I know how blindly I have lived my life before. Never really appreciating the things that REALLY mattered when I had the chance. The things that can't properly be recreated after the fact. The notion now that time waits for NO ONE. Fleeting doesn't even begin to describe when you missed that moment, that opportunity...My silver lining from this is, I am DAMNED grateful (and I just had auto correct fix my spelling of grateful). I am so very appreciative of those I know who care for me, those who appreciate what I do for them, and the ones who would fight for me if I needed them to. Time may wait for no one, but it has taught this one what matters.

This issue of time is poignant this weekend. Our family is all getting together for Abe's First Communion. It's hard to believe that he's not still four years old, using toilet deodorizer as aftershave any more. I'm hoping to some how avoid the phrase, "...at Oscar's First Communion..." Clearly life has happened since then. Time didn't wait. It has been tough for Abe, as there were a few things he didn't get to ever do with his Dad that Oscar did. I cannot read his mind, but if I could I think I would read a chronological list of all the things he didn't get to do with Jason. It's a tough pill to swallow, explaining time to an 8 year old. I'm hoping to fill this house with love, laughter and fun, so that the obvious might be a bit less so. Abe is the middle kid, and even though his personality is larger than life, he sometimes gets lost in the shuffle.

While shuffling, he's usually watching/playing with the younger kids without even being asked...he's just a gem...with a bit of a mouth on him, but he's earned it. I always dread these situations. Wondering if with time they will heal us/themselves? Remembering the first school program after Jason died, wondering how Abe was feeling just seeing who wasn't there. There will have to be a discussion before the end of the week. As a parent, it's like being fearful of ripping off an invisible Band-Aid. Wondering/hoping that the dialog will leave him feeling better than before it started. I would like to labor under the delusion that if the Talls wanted to talk about something, they would come and do so. But, I'm old and a woman...could never be a member of their 'Fight Club'...

I would also be lying if I said I wasn't worried about something Abe might do. He likes to fancy himself a 'showman'. I'm more than a little worried about what his Finale act might entail in front of family and our small church. I'm worried it will be seen more as a Cabaret Night, and less like a First Communion. He might surprise me, but I know it won't lack in entertainment. And there it is...my silver lining.