...little 5 letter words...

In 1988, I was in 7th grade. I was the youngest child. I was "active-ish" in school, but my school was small and basically 'no-cut' for almost everything you tried out for. It was nice to be/feel a part of something, so I am not begrudging it. But, at the same time there was very little to do but school and the occasional after school activity. There were no cell phones, no social media, no messenger systems set up. If I was somewhere, I knew I would be picked up at the predetermined time. I lived in a smallish town, it was safe and I was never more than a 15 minute walk from home.

In 2018, I have a 7th grader. He is off season in any extracurricular activities, he  is less than 10 minutes from home at any given time. Tonight, for the first time, he was out by himself without an older brother at a basketball game. Funny how different 2018 is than 1988. He doesn't have a cell phone, neither did I, yet I was nervous. He is only four blocks from home, yet I was nervous. He lives in a smaller town than I did at his age, yet I was nervous. Despite the fact that we predetermined a time for him to be home, I was watching the clock like someone tracking contractions during labor....And cleansing breath.

I would like to think I learned something just by being a parent, but I am also aware that the title of parenting is a marathon, not a sprint. Sometimes, just a difference in perspective can be really eye opening, I am grateful for my husband to give me such perspective when I need it. We were talking about the kids one day, the routine rant about parenting and how I had hoped the kid's TELL ALL book at least was not sporting my face. My husband said something that seriously engrained in my brain, "You have to give them enough independence to prove themselves eventually. How will they ever learn if they do not learn it on their own?" This simple statement was like getting hit on the head by an anvil. While it is slightly cringe-worthy to a 'smother mother,' it is definitely a lesson for the both of us. You send them off, in this case with the lack of technology in their back pocket, completely blind and hope that they will prove within themselves the maturity they have. But moreover prove themselves to you, the person who brought them into this world, during a full moon,  and will take them out without question.

I found myself pacing, looking out the window, wondering if he would be coming back on time or not. I was slightly spoiled with his older brother who would come home 10 minutes before his curfew on the regular. Clearly, I know this will at-some-point end, but experience is what experience is. I thought to myself, with no external connection, how do I know where he is? If he is safe? If he's stealing liquor? But then, looking at the moon in exchange with the clock, I thought of the five letter word echoing through my head. The word that could bond you and your child in a way you might have been longing for since they started their "HELLISH-12s"(it is a thing, no one has the guts to bare to you). I would like to be able to belt it like Aretha, but the word of which I speak of in hushed reverent tones is...TRUST.

This word is dangerous, frightening, inspiring, gut wrenching and at times life altering. It means completely different things as your precious offspring grow up, but the first time you really feel it, deep in your knees, it is not only noteworthy, but there should be a cocktail/chocolate reward at the end...your choice. It is not taken lightly in this house, it has to be earned. Trust is something that can make your heart swell or break it on the turn of a dime. Trust is not a word used often during the phase of the "HELLISH-12s," except when you hear your inner monologue saying, trust me we are going to party like it is 1999 when this phase is over. I pray that we are turning the corner on this phase, but TRUST me in this fact, I know I still have a year left.

...Mrs. Raj

It is funny how life changes in the blink of an eye. One minute you are either mentally hanging yourself or patting yourself on the back for surviving. The thing that should never cease to exist in life is owning how you probably had nothing to do with any of the above other than merely having a pulse in that moment. There will always challenges physically or within you that if you aren't careful, will make you miss a chance, a moment of greatness that you might not ever get to have again. Life is not about the amount of breaths you take, it's about the moments that take your breath away...

I remember talking to a friend, chronicling all of my timelines on life/relationships/wellbeing. She heard what I had to say, gave a thoughtful pause, and basically told me I was full of crap. She rebutted with the notion, "Who makes up these timelines? Why do you have them? Is it a defense mechanism or are you knowingly okay with throwing away something great, because of your fear?" I hated to admit it, but she was completely correct...it was time to allow a few moments that could take my breath away.

If you are lucky in life you find a great love. The love of adolescence is different than that of a 40+ year old, with age comes the foresight, judgement and balance of knowing not only what your heart wants but what you want. I am fortunate to have found a person, who not only will put up with me, but completes me in a way I never thought possible. I am blessed to be given a chance to love this person in a way I missed dearly. I am grateful that he has become not only someone I couldn't imagine living without, but he is also that person to my kids as well. He is symmetry. He is equanimity. He makes me smile and laugh like no one else has. My soul was searching for someone, never really believing I would find them...but every day with him, sort of takes my breath away.

Atti has been practicing standing for weeks...no really. He wanted to make sure he got it right. Nora has been practicing her wedding reception dance moves with Jimmi for months. She found the best sort of music, practiced her twirls and our kitchen resembled a dance studio every weekend. One time while Jimmi and she were dancing/practicing she asked if the singer was Harry Connick Jr. Jimmi said it was Sinatra, but they did sound similar. As they twirled and laughed I found myself smiling, not just on my face, but the kind of smile that comes from your toes and works its way upward and outward...and it took my breath away.

Nearly two weeks ago, running late, slightly exhausted from over planning and trying to remain calm all at the same time, I was speeding down the highway with the Talls. We were supposed to be at the reception venue to start pictures at 2 p.m. It was already 1:45 p.m. we were in route and I wasn't even dressed. I looked in the rearview mirror, marveling in my head how completely handsome the boys looked in their tuxedos. They didn't look uncomfortable but they did look scared. I was ranting about how we were going to be late and Oscar said, "So, how does this work?" Confused I asked what he meant. He said, "We walk down the aisle and then what?" I said it was a wedding not the SAT, to which he alerted me, they'd never been to a wedding they had only seen one on TV. In all of my over planning, I never factored that notion into my head. Thankfully, explaining what would happen took my mind off being late. I ended very simply with, "It's just like having a baby, they'll tell you what to do when you get there..." not the best analogy, but anyway.

Dress was put on, pictures were taken, directions were given and it was nearly time to start the wedding. As soon as Jimmi proposed, we decided that Nora would be my maid-of-honor and that Atti would be his best man and the boys would be groomsmen. Ultimately, we wanted to keep it about family as our lives were coming together. I would throw out notions in the weeks there after to the Talls about who of them would walk me down the aisle, thinking if it were their idea it would be better than making demands. In a last minute decision, Oscar said he would walk me down the aisle. I will never forget the feeling that gave me nor was I prepared for how slightly overcome with emotion I was, holding onto his arm walking me down the aisle. I thought about how proud I was of him, how handsome he looked and how grateful I was to be his mom...and it took my breath away.

As the ceremony started, I tried not to look out into the audience for fear I would miss something in front of me. I looked at Jimmi in his tuxedo, knowing that it would take my breath away, and indeed it did. I saw Atti holding his hand, which wasn't practiced but it made my heart smile. There on the other side of me was the afore mentioned friend, the one who told me to get out of my own way and let life and experiences happen. As she was marrying us, I tried to not get emotional. I tried to not forget how monumental the moment was. I tried to look at his face and make a mental imprint, all the while reminding myself how grateful I was...for him, my kids, the bumps life has given me and the adventures that await. The rest of the night? A fun and frenzied mix of friends, family, dancing and celebrating. We would be mingling on opposite sides of the room with our guests, a song that we liked would come on and we'd immediately find each other on the dance floor. It was an unbelievable night, which I wish we could do once a month because it was so freaking fun.

The reception food leftovers are gone, the last of the wedding cake devoured by the kids last night and a few brownies that I've hidden for the hard times remain. The thank you notes have been sent and life is returning to normal. I am reminded of where I was a year ago, never anticipating how life would be for me today...all thanks to getting out of my own way and remembering, life is not about the amount of breaths you take, it's about the moments that take your breath away. Thank you Jimmi for giving me these moments daily.

The Halloween Conundrum

It is only September 20. It's not even officially autumn yet, I know. But things around here start to look like autumn, well, about the day after Labor Day. It is a crisp (hopefully) season that brings to mind the retirement of swimsuits and the resurgence of sweaters, jeans, warm wooly blankets and beautiful color. I mean really, it is the only time of year when people like the color orange. It's pumpkin patches, hot cider, It's the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown and less daylight...basically, the best time of the freaking year. For most people, it is the time when kids start to talk about Halloween costumes.

For us? It starts about January. Some take that long to afford, some take that long to make and others have to be talked down from being something no one will understand the motivation. "Yes, Nora. Being a female Indiana Jones is important and exciting, but unless someone is also following you around with the theme music, I'm thinking no one will understand it." She likes to think way outside of the box. Usually, Oscar has some grandiose costume that outside of a professional theater department no one could really replicate. Atticus usually choses some super hero to represent and I spend the night watching him fall down as the costume is ill fitting. Abe? Well, he honestly, and I swear I'm not choosing favorites, has the best costumes.

It isn't because he is overthinks them. It isn't because he's slight and can fit into anything. He keeps it simple and seriously nails the entire character. One year he wanted to be Superman, and I was for some reason feeling like I needed to make the costume. He committed to the character, he wore navy tights and bright red girls bloomer shorts that I bought at a flea market. Before we left the house, he was 2 years old mind you, he had to fix his hair as to have the perfect Superman curl on his forehead. Since then, the costumes have become easier, but he takes usually something we have lying around the house and turns it into a recognizable costume. So secretly, as noting it aloud would be like I'm living out Sophie's Choice around here, I eagerly wait to see what Abe will chose to be for Halloween.

This year however, we might have it a Halloween conundrum...the kind that I feared would happen eventually. After weeks of people telling me what they are going to be, some I understood, some I did not, Abe declared that he was probably going to stay home. While I thought  to myself, I guess he could pass out candy- I quickly shuttered. I'm sorry, I misunderstood. What? WHAT? I thought to myself, he is only in the sixth grade? He can't be giving up yet? Sure, Oscar should probably not trick-or-treat this year as he is a giant with a ridiculously low voice, I'm not trying to give little old ladies heart attacks. But Abe? This is the last bastion of his youth, in a non creepy way. This is the last year he won't be looked at as a hooligan. This is the time when he still needs to be a kid.

As many topics of the hot-button-variety in this house, I flippantly let it go. My hope is that for a minute he wanted to hear himself act "grown-up" and eventually he'll come to his senses. He could actually hold the record for the most houses visited in the shortest amount of time and I can't imagine he could resist the candy. The fact of the matter is, if he decides to give up Halloween, I guess that is his decision. It's a part of life, I have to let them grow. While I'm grateful for the air to get crisp, watching your red bloomered boy grow up, might require some grown-up cider.

Freedom Choreography

Strange. My overly verbal mind can only come up with ONE WORD...really? It is strange to be alone, for real, for the first time in 5 years. I've dreamed of this day. I've pensively cherished this day. I've mentally choreographed dance moves to this day, and all I can come up with is one word, strange. This day, this time has always seemed sort of elusive to me, like anticipating a solar eclipse-CRAP wait, that's happening next!

Anyway, this morning has been something along the lines of surreal- The laundry is caught up, the dishes are in the dishwasher, he's worked HARD all summer long! I say "he" like a boat is supposed to be called "she" because that dishwasher has worked as hard as a spouse on Mother's Day for the last 3+ months. HE is grateful that the kids are back in school, and occupying "his" time probably chatting up the refrigerator, as "she" has been opened no less than 164 times a day over the summer. Don't even try to talk to the washer and dryer, the happy couple has already left for their well-deserved spa day, as most of my kids changed their wardrobe like they were on tour with Beyoncé over the summer, 50 cities-83 shows-NO JOKE...I never knew they had this many clothes and changed their underwear so little.

Flushed with independence this morning, I'm still stunted. I filled out the MOUND of back-to-school paperwork, signed my name enough times that it is nearly illegible and still know I have one more kid's paperwork to muddle through. I found myself wondering, what now? Do I write? drink? take a nap? For the first time in what seems like forever, the world is my oyster and I don't know whether to scratch my watch or wind my butt. Ululating like a wild dog seems a little extreme, but I imagine today would be the only day where I could completely get away with it. But I am charting peculiar waters, and I have found myself shaking my head in utter disbelief, as the silence is so thrilling and newfangled all at the same time. My mental to-do list resembles something like a scroll, there are projects, closets to clean, things that you can only throw out when your kids aren't there to lament and secret unoccupied mom WOMAN time that will be dooly accomplished. But today...I'm starting slow. I go at everything with a game plan, a mental goal more than anything. I know how this afternoon will be with the kids get out early. I've made promises for popcorn, and hopefully if it isn't raining a play-date with the neighbors.

While I come correct- but I didn't expect to see that look in my youngest eyes this morning. The others took off and went into school or lined up with their friends. I sort of stopped him from doing this because I "thought" he would want me to walk him in...Turns out? Yeah, I think that was mainly for me. Thus, I walked him in, dropped off his lunch box, gave him a quick hug (no pictures-that's how secretly wrought I was at the time) and he walked off to the gymnasium.  I looked back one last time, horrible move on my part, took one last look at his face as he walked behind me, and I had hoped it wasn't as if I was looking into a mirror.

Slightly frightened, slightly exhilarated, slightly constipated, he turned left and I turned right and walked out the door. It was a moment that I probably will never forget, that moment when you know "that phase" is over. He's moved onward, he's ready, he's eager and he needs to learn from someone else, grateful that it is someone (not a sibling) who isn't bent on teaching him fart jokes like he has learned all summer, but I digress. Even three hours later, it still sort of takes my breath away. We've crossed a threshold, a milestone and a turning point onto the next phase of Atticus J Hunt's life. . .and really mine as well. Here is to all the parents doing this either for the first time or/and the last time, let me know if you need any "freedom choreography," it's fairly simple step work and no doubt will be perfected in years to come. Happy first day of school and first day to the rest of your life!

...forever and always...

The time is near...Can you feel it? It is that time of year where you feel the rush of new beginnings, independence, fresh concepts and crisp new school supplies. This year there is a more acute feeling of wonder with the last of my children starting the journey of school. Upon the notion of being alone in my house for an entire eight hours, anoesis descends with illusions of grandeur, i.e. cleaning, loafing, lunches with adults and basically anything I damn well want to do between the hours of 8 a.m. to 3 p.m. As my youngest ergate heads out with a great confidence, I have two phrases that keep echoing in my mind. These phrases are not only the reason why I write this, but moreover, my profound wish that my kids will always understand them.

"No one is born into this world with a timeline, they are born into this world with a purpose." This is a tough concept to really understand, but so many people, my children included, are forced to understand at some point. Life happens, some things are grand and others knock you out at the knees. Questioning why either happens is futile, and distracts one from dealing and moving on. Perhaps derived out of sorrow, it is also an epic silver lining. Live life not based on how many years you have to understand/do/play/love/hate/fail/master something. Live life as a paladin of purpose, understanding that no matter how long it takes or time you are given, you are here for an unmistakable reason. I hope my kids understand that they are the purpose for my being here, and I am grateful for every freckle on their face, every hair on their head, and every Lego that I unintentionally step on/pick up/mutter obscenities at. My greatest honor will be watching them find their purpose.

As my tiniest worker ant heads off to school in two weeks, I'm left sort of gobsmacked. Where has the time gone? He was just a drooling, nearly crawling, squawking six months old when we moved to Canton. He was who I spoke to every morning when I desperately needed it at 4 a.m. feedings in a semi light room. As the youngest, I think I have noticed his development more than the others because he has been my longest unpaid sidekick. This summer he has gone from a baby to a boy, holding his own with his brothers and displaying some want-to-be-bad-ass mannerisms that hopefully will not get him kicked out of school. My solace, at the end of the day, we say our prayers and he makes sure to tell me he loves me and to have good dreams. He's no longer a baby, but he unknowingly was and is my itty-bitty reminder of strength when you need it the most.

Nora is on the cusp of turning eight years old, mentally she's about 47. She is eager to start school, armed with a new bike bearing "pegs" so she can be a Canton's adaptation of a kiddie-uber. She keeps discussing how great it will be to give kids rides to school- I'm seeing many trips to the doctor's office in our future. Abe is excited, like literally was audibly heard saying a week ago, "I can't wait for school to start!" At first I thought he was being sarcastic, but then he went on to explain is declaration, he's ready for sixth grade so it seems, but are they ready for him? Oscar should be the most excited to go back to school as he has had the most changes over the summer- he's taller, his voice is deeper, he no longer has braces and I wouldn't be at all surprised if he starts growing a beard in the next two weeks. So much has changed, but thankfully he still has his sense of humor, which at times borderline on just fart jokes, but that's to be expected.

"Forever and always." A phrase used to express any number of things- life, love and happiness. This expression has taken on new meaning lately. The ability to feel and show others this catchphrase is something to be proud of. There was a time when forever was just the hours of 6 a.m. to 8 p.m., and always was something with a negative connotation...Now this collection of words means more than all of the best words chosen in the English language- I use a thesaurus a lot. Forever and always is how one can love and live. It is a term that while shouldn't be said lightly, gives security and serenity without fear of jettison into the harsh, scary waters of the world.

I'm grateful for these words as they mean more to me now than they ever have before, and I will never apologize for their overuse, but champion the power they hold. Much like the beginning of a new school year, we all open a chapter into a new life, new lessons, new experiences and of course new adventures. While I am eager to be able to pee alone for any 7+ hours of the day I choose, I am eager to see where this new school year takes us, what purpose we hopefully find for ourselves and understanding that "forever and always" is the greatest gift you can not only give but also receive.

...bb-guns and spitting contests...

Happiness. Pure, unadulterated, unending, unbelievable happiness...and no, I'm not making this up. It is the feeling, I was always told, when someone was once again content, adjusted, excited and thrilled about not only about their life but their future. I never thought this day would actually come, I never thought I would find something so elusive, but here I am and I cannot hide the smile from my face at any moment of the day.

Nora's happiness? Spending the month of June with my parents. The laundry list of things she was going to get to do was something akin to a bucket list, and I can't say that I blame her. The fun loving, free spirited, spitfire who bares my likeness is spreading her joy two states away. At first, it was sort of nice having only three in toe. At first it was sort of nice that the "collective we" left behind here in Missouri could sit in a small booth or ride in a regular car...that's just the game of numbers. But, here I sit, the only girl in my house, and I long for another "sista" to talk to or even to appreciate the fact that she doesn't pee all over the toilet seat. Here I am, longing for the one kid that, while easily entertained, does require a laundry list of "projects" to do for the coming day by 8 a.m. I miss her, despite keeping busy and grateful that she gets a chance to spend time with her grandparents, I worry.

I worry that she'll come home and feel let down. I worry the one on one attention that she is getting, while very well deserved, won't be matched when she comes home. She is quick to tell it like it is, I've raised her right, but I fear that when she gets home. I fear I won't be enough after her month long extravaganza. While I was excited that she was getting the chance to do something special, I never thought about what would happen when she came back---frankly, I thought she would get homesick, never figuring it would be me. But, in this crazy house of BOYS, Nora has earned the right to be made to feel special, and who can do that better than grandparents? Less than 7 days to go, and there will be so much happiness to see her, it might be sickening.

Happiness for the three boys left behind? NO GIRLS...clearly I am genderless to my male offspring. However, boys, just boys, are really pretty easy to deal with. Lower expectations, lower maintenance, lower threshold for fart jokes...feed them, turn on a PS4, take them to a pool, and that is all they need. I have asked them several times if they miss Nora, last night's explanation was priceless- Oscar: "Well, you know, we deal with her on a daily basis, so we don't really miss that." Okay? He sounds like someone who works in a dog pound. Nora's partner in crime, Atticus, misses her at certain times of day. They have their own system of things they do, most of which make little to no sense to me, but hey, it works for them. After having just boys in this house, it is abundantly clear to me why Nora is not what you would call a "girlie-girl", why would she be? She'd rather shoot a bb-gun or have a spitting contest. I imagine, for her, it is her survival and hopefully comfort mode in this house. Who knows? After a month out of this fraternity house, she might be a new woman. But I am excited to have my solidarity sister back again soon.

The happiness that where I currently reside? I think it is a mixture of a dozen things. I think it is growth. I think it is time. I think it is the long desired ability for my mind, heart and soul to open up again. I think it is seeing how where I have been has guided me, at times not so swiftly, to where I am. I think it is not over thinking every detail, but opening myself up to a million details, some of which I never thought I would get to have. Looking back, I can't put into words how much I missed it. Sure, I've written about it in 135 blogs, shared my good, my bad and my very ugly at times. But the happiness where I currently reside, makes me smile for more than 3 seconds...because I know I'm better for it, I deserve it and I'll be a better woman/mother/sister/friend because of it. Summer has officially started, the directive I give to you? Find your happiness, you're worth it.

Where is Isaac Washington when you need him?

...the end is near. Can you feel it? Can you feel the complacency that is most simply entitled "The Last Week of School?" Soon there will be piles of supplies that were either gently used or ravished but "have to be saved" because they hold some hopefully not forgotten memory of the grade that was. My house is currently under the state of appearing like a "hazardous waste sight," so I am on protest. Why clean now, when I will no doubt need a dumpster to clean whatever comes out of a backpack/locker/cubby on Friday? So, I lie in wait...

Usually, I have come up with some sort of system or schedule to try to counter act my no-doubt problems with the complaint department, my precious offspring. I ready myself, as if charging the breach for the following statements: I'M- bored/hot/tired/hungry/annoyed with a sibling/dealing with sensory overload/might be two days from turning into a vampire because I've sat inside for too long. Then there is the comment that I count the days until I hear, "...you're no fun." Fun? FUN? Who do you think I am? Julie McCoy from The Love Boat? And if so, where is Isaac Washington? He's more along the lines of what I need in this house at times. Why do parents fall into that drastic, laugh in the face of death trap of feeling like they have to entertain their kids all summer long? What happened to just going outdoors?

Honest to God. I don't think I spent one minute in my house, other than to eat or use the restroom (and let's face it sometimes that was easier to do outdoors), EVER! I would wake up in the morning, head outside, grab my bike and I was off! Of course, I had to round up my crew, all of which lived on my block, and the rest of the day would just fall into place. Riding bikes around, of course never leaving, the block for HOURS. We'd take a break to pretend fight off monsters or be in a cut throat cop chase, and be back on our banana seat Schwinn bikes. Not sure how it was that we never left the block, but from any point of said block, you could always hear your parents calling you in for dinner...that was the only time we stopped. Then as the twilight of the evening would set in, we would try to catch those magical lightening bugs or play ghosts in the graveyard, whilst trying not to pee your pants in fright.

But today, there is a whole marketing scheme to try to keep kids merely entertained during the summer. Camps, sports, art, music, engineering...it's like applying for a college course load. Every day is a chance to learn something new, I'm all about that. I guess where I'm stunted is the mere fact that we have to leave our yard to do so. Are we creating individuals that are incapable of entertaining themselves? Are we creating humans that need some sort of circus show every 45 minutes? As an adult, you don't do this for yourself. You might set up a few fun trips over the summer...take some trips to the pool...catch a movie. As an adult with children, most of your summertime is trying to deprogram your kids from being a hermit or resembling Gollum from lack of human interaction and sunlight.

So, I sent my kids to bed, under protest of course because why have a bedtime during the last week of school and so on, with an assignment: Think of one thing a week (swimming doesn't count, that is my thing to wear you out) that we can do. Something cheap, attainable (No Nora, we cannot go to a firing range) and E-D-U-C-A-T-I-O-N-A-L. Yeah, that last one ought to make them scratch their heads until the wee hours of the night. In summers past, I would just make up a schedule, not as something that must be followed to the letter, but more a standard of living...something akin to "Taco Tuesday." My hope is that if there is some ownership in the plan, there will be less arguing, complaining and dare I say quite possibly more fun. I already lowered the boom that one morning a week everyone is helping clean...they were super thrilled with that one.

The findings of my assignment were insightful...Well, not really. Nora was the only one who really took the assignment seriously, writing out something fun to do every day of the week. Clearly, she is the Julie McCoy of this Love Boat! Some of her ideas were, but not limited to: baking, board games, walks to the park, cleaning and library visits. Her tenacity and determination were commended and her plans will be put into action. Then very abruptly, Abe merely suggested that they play outdoors everyday (which I'm sure will not be thrilling by day 5) and Saturday would be an inside day. Oscar protested the entire assignment as something not worth his time and energy, stating "...it's not like we're actually going to do any of this..." To which I declared that the summer of '17 is perhaps the FREE BABYSITTING SUMMER he had always dreamed of. Atticus, exactly as his personality dictates, merely said, "Yeah, I'll go with the flow..."

So as The Love Boat of 815 Washington, well not exactly a lot of outwardly love, navigates its way through the next 3 months called summer, we do so with purpose. Hopefully we will learn something, be entertained, educationally enriched and well, let's drop some truths, survive to tell the tale. On a side note, I am currently taking applications for persons willing/able to fill the role of Isaac Washington for the summer of '17...

...hello...

Hello. I know it's been a while since I've written you, not for the lack of trying. I've just been trying to figure things out. I noticed this morning that I saw a picture of you, and I didn't get emotional. It wasn't some grandiose picture, you were cooking, but I felt a strange feeling at the lack of feeling, you know. There was a time when your picture hung everywhere in this house. Not sure if I just didn't want to change things, or make sure that you were honored. It was hard. Seeing you was hard. It sort of ripped out stitches of a wound you knew you had to let heal, but couldn't stand the itch. The pictures came down, and instead of being everywhere, I thought it best for everyone to put up the ones they wanted in a special place, for just themselves. I couldn't bring you back, but I didn't want to have to be reminded of that fact either.

It is interesting the pictures the kids picked of you. Some are stoic, others are silly ones that you would probably delete off your phone if you needed to free up some space. But for whatever reason they picked the pictures, it is all their own. Nora's collection is most pronounced. There you are on her bulletin board, making silly faces or snuggling the tiniest version of her, and I chuckle when I see them. But they are all she has...a piece of time captured with a short story to go along with it. We talk about them from time to time, and you would love the twinkle she gets in her eye while doing it.

It isn't for the lack of wanting to talk to you. To glean some sort of insight on our offspring that are very uniquely us in so many different ways. I wonder, and at times yearn for, what your thoughts are on so many matters, our kids, politics and frankly life. I'm not going to stroke your ego and assume you have all matters of life figured out on the other side, but who the hell knows, you might. I see you a lot in Abe lately, he has the same dead-pan sense of humor, and I can't imagine how much you would laugh at his delivery of some of the things he says.

I hear you a lot when Oscar is talking. I crack up at the fact that when his voice cracks, he'll actually correct himself and say whatever he said all over again, as if to reaffirm that it was just a glitch in the matrix. Today, he was all dressed up and he physically looked like you, not a moment after I thought that Nora commented how adult he looked. I pray that he and I will live to see the end of the puberty tunnel, and desperately wish you were here to talk him through that.

Every time I meet someone new or someone hears Atticus' name, there is always the same comment, "What an interesting name..." I think of you instantly, trying and lobbying for his name that at the time sounded so odd. You would bring up the Romans, Harper Lee and say it with our last name and comment at how cool it sounded. He still looks just like you, but every once and a while a little of me shines through. He can't recall any story about you other than the ones he's been told. He is as tough as nails and his favorite thing to do? Dance every Saturday night to the Lawrence Welk show. His moves? They are all you.

I was told the other day, something you said about me while on a family vacation. I was correcting our kids for something that probably amounted to nothing, and as I flew out the back door, you turned to my mom and said, "She's a bit of a bulldog, but she's my bulldog." I hope one day someone else understands me like you did. More importantly, I hope that I can let someone in to know me the way you did. I have a problem of suddenly shutting people out for fear that they'll find out how crazy I actually am. Maybe I should have gotten some therapy after you passed, for that matter all of us. I guess I just thought I could make up the difference, be enough for everyone. When I fall short of my own goals it is one thing, when I fall short where our kids are concerned...well, it is painful. I wish that you would just show up and tell me where to turn next. Funny, I wouldn't have so easily let you boss me around when you were here.

I also saw a picture of me this morning, and I honestly didn't recognize myself. I wondered if the person in the picture would be anyone you would recognize. So much has changed, and keeps changing that I wonder if this is how it is supposed to go. I thought of the old line from that chick flick you couldn't stand, "Honey, time marches on, and eventually you realize it's marching across your face." Thank you, Truvy, from Steel Magnolias. What I saw was a mixture of time and an innocence that I didn't remember having. The anniversary of "writing to quiet the voices in my head" was just the other day. I remember feeling the need to write because you and I were going through different stages of grief after losing baby Thomas. But unknowingly, maybe I was setting myself up for other voices that would be babbling around my head today.

So, I'm not sure how to end this. "Take care and have a great day..." doesn't seem appropriate. I guess I just needed to take a minute and talk to you, hoping for a little guidance or a little wisdom. Maybe I've just hit my “middlescence,” ironically my word of the day. Please know that we are doing well, we've had no visits to the ER yet this year and I can hear you laughing every morning while I'm cleaning the litter box that our kids talked me into getting a damned cat. Until next time...

...the anvil of parenthood...

Its official...I have something. Between the migraines, the snotty nose and now the inability to open my eyes without wanting to rub them out of their sockets...I have developed some sort of crud. I'm not dying, and I know people get sick, but currently I just don't have time to enjoy the cold medicine buzz, I have things to do.

I have been mentally carrying around a lot of crap. Maybe it is why I picked up some sort of germ strain when I wasn't thinking and let my Petri dish offspring drink my water...and probably because I was to lazy too get them their own drink when I just sat down with mine. I deserve it I suppose. But the crap I am carrying around I just can't shake. I'm not sure if I need intensive therapy or if single motherhood is catching up with me...I'm worn out.

We said good-bye to the ever present veggie tray yesterday. I'm the one who ends up eating it, and it is too costly to watch a beautiful tray of Gods Greens get overlooked. I guess it was inevitable, out with the old and in with the new, right? Yeah, I haven't figured out the new but I'm working on it. With the spring temperatures in the air, there is bound to be some change in this house...I guess I just wasn't ready with an alternative in time. It will come to me, but first I need to find the Kleenex.

Time...there just isn't enough of it. The time spent doing things to keep my house in order, sometimes I find, is getting in the way of the things I should be doing with my kids. Currently, I have the next two hours to myself, and I keep thinking...get up and clean...but I don't want to. I have a few kids that love to clean, I can use that to my advantage right? Or is that just some sort of child labor law that I am knowingly breaking. I find myself wondering what anvil of parenthood will fall on me next. I never have to wait long, they run like a European train, right on time and nearly every 45 minutes.

After some discussion amongst my children and me about happenings at their school, I felt somehow defeated. I wondered, why in the world is there this much drama for a bunch of kids? When did we stop allowing our kids to enjoy their childhood and not have to be worry about being hurt walking home from school or playing outside? I needed at "parenting tap out"...but it's just me around here. Then I found out that one of my kids was brave enough to go and talk to their principal about something they heard said from one of their classmates. I was speechless at first, very rare for me. Then I bawled in my bathroom for about 3 minutes, okay, not so rare for me. Among the discussion, hours before, they hadn't said a word about it. They had possibly the best poker face I had ever seen, of which I was in awe and terrified simultaneously.

Bottom line, I was proud of them for doing the right thing, and immensely proud of them for not feeling the need to broadcast what they had done. So many things people do in life, ultimately are done for the feeling they get doing it, not for the fact that it is just the right thing to do. I went up to them, and gave them a hug, for which they immediately said, "WHAT DID I DO?" I said you did the right thing, and I need to hug you to make sure that you remember this, because I will not forget it. Sometimes, when I am at my wits' end, I need to remind myself that the crap I carry around, not visible to the naked eye, might be just what I carry around, forever. However, I need to remember that I shouldn't let what I carry, cloud my vision of what is in front of me. It's not a cold medicine buzz, but it might be a parenting anvil that I will willingly take to the head.

...taxes and tying shoes...

Fear, taxes and five year olds…that is what is on my mind right now. In the hustle and bustle of this house, the first two months of a new year really silently stress me out. Back to back birthday months mean I have to get creative with my budget, hide presents in my closet and hope I don’t forget where anything was hidden. Taxes? Well I guess they are unavoidable, but for a month mental fear incontinence sets in until they are finished. Going to jail for tax evasion just isn’t something I can pencil into my life, ever.

In one week I will have a five year old. Crazy. Like no, really mind-blowing crazy. It doesn’t seem possible that this little fellow is going to be five. However, it is apparent that he is not a baby anymore, and day by day he stretches his independent legs and let’s go of something that he clearly no longer needs. He is developing into this funny, creative, wise little person, and I am so excited to see where life takes him. One the backside of that, the “Birthday Week” has started and he told me before this morning’s first light where he would like to have dinner tonight…clearly, he’s got a plan for the week. Cut to me, mentally accounting for the time I need this week to get everything done: school treats, birthday cake and presents that I should actually be wrapping at this moment. But first we have to go to the tax lady…

I have had to learn how to do countless things since becoming a single mother. There are so many things that I “just didn’t have to worry about” when I had a husband. Taxes was one of them. I learned about how to budget money, paying bills, using power tools, fixing odds and ends and I’m no longer terrified when the talking tornado sirens are tested…but taxes? I’m mentally peeing again. I secretly wish that I had some sort of personal finance person to tell me when/what/where I need to release myself of this fear. I guess I worry because I don’t want to go to jail…it would be difficult to make cupcakes from inside the clink. But, if I can use a drill, I can figure this out, right? Turns out taxes isn’t the four letter word that it emanates in my head. The tax lady was fair, patient and BEYOND helpful, thankfully I can check this off of my ever-present worry list and move on to world peace.

And, that little boy who is turning five very soon, has surpassed his siblings in a milestone that every parent dreads…he has learned to tie his shoes. When Oscar pointed out some “BOSS” clearance shoes to Atticus the other day, my face displayed a less than thrilled look. I thought to myself, great, there’s two hours a day that I won’t get back tying shoes. The next day, I sat down with Atticus, and it was seemingly effortless. No freak outs. Not one ounce of frustration. He listened, watched and did it…stunned. Now, if I could get him to wipe his behind and not put it in the trashcan, I will be throwing a party. In the meantime, I get to see Nora shooting cutting looks because of her surpassed milestone. Exhausted from seeing this I finally announced today, “You all can tie your shoes, the next thing is getting to vote…you’ll all do that at the same age! Move on!!!”

In the process of all of the above, I need to remind myself that I will figure this stuff out…the kids are fed and we have a roof over our head…so far so good. While there is no one I can pass the less-than-exhilarating-adulting onto, it is time to take a deep breath, make some cupcakes and celebrate the last of my precious offspring forging into the milestone of a half decade…blissfully remembering I never have to tie another shoe but my own!

Nature or Nurture...

A couple of years ago I heard a first time dad sort of half question how I do things in this house. He uttered a phrase that, to this day, sends a chill down my spine…”That’s fine, but is it nature or nurture?” Wait…WHAT? Who the hell are you to question the manner I run my house or that I was blessed with one child who willingly says to me, “I’m ready to go to bed.” I have never forgotten that statement and at times I want to find him (actually hunt him down) and ask him how his parenting is going. I would utter the fact that parenting, or ADULTING for that matter sucks at times. How I handle it, or anyone for that matter is relative and considering I haven’t yet picked my kid up from the county lock up, I say I’m winning! In the meantime, these are the things that I ponder on a daily basis. I’ll let you decide if they are nature or nurture…enjoy.

That look my cat gives me mid-day, when I walk into my room and find her laying on the bed. It’s a look that says, “That’s nice…would you please leave, I’m trying to sleep…”

The fact that my four year old MUST painstakingly remove all toe jam that he has before entering the shower, but cannot wipe the toilet seat when he pees all over it.

The attention to hair, second only to what Vidal Sassoon must have dealt with on a daily basis, but yet has to be reminded that deodorant is not an option.

The point that someone has to say, ever, do not crane kick your sister.

The moment your kids hear a song, and it is “their JAM!!!”

The great detail someone will put into a paper sweater for a stuffed animal, but loses all creative ability when faced with writing a thank you note.

The fact that you hear one child call another a control freak…you don’t know if you should be terrified or proud.

The fact that someone feels the need to dramatically fart.

That moment you catch yourself counting down to a night out, knowing that there will be nothing short of an apocalypse you will have to endure in the meantime.

The fact that you possibly wash and dry more Kleenex in the laundry than is actually used to blow a nose.

The ability to repeat any given thing you have said AT THE WRONG TIME but has no recollection of being told to brush their teeth.

The point where you no longer care what your Tupperware cupboard looks like, but become completely anal retentive to if there is toothpaste in the sink.

The fact that you know your 4 year old will leave more toothpaste in the sink than he ever got in his mouth.

The moment you realize the cat is STILL NAPPING…and become jealous.

The ability to justify going to a wholesale store at lunch time either for the $1.50 hotdog or the free samples to feed your kids.

The fact that my 4 year old could write his own chapter in the book The Art of the Deal.

The point where you are about to tell one kid to stop picking on their sister, and her youngest brother chimes in with, “You guys be quiet, she’s a BEAUTIFUL WOMAN!”

The point when one child appreciates another one’s talent, and actually says it to their face.

The moment when you realize that a magazine has an article on achieving the perfect “O” and you know the safest place for it is in the trashcan.

Having friends with no kids, not only because they are the breath of what your life once was, but further because they see all the things in your kids that you take for granted.

The fact that you know where your kids socks are but have no idea where your own have hidden.

The notion of a sticky residue on your floor, will always, ALWAYS be claimed by no one.

The point of the day when everyone is in bed, you survived another 18 hour day, you really just want to get in bed and watch TV and you lock the cat out of your room.

 

The take away from this is simple...Life is tough but so are you...and cats sometimes stink.

...choosing favorites...

A friend of mine who doesn't have kids, likes to routinely ask me, "So...which one is your favorite?" I always laugh at this question. Partly because I know the two of us live very different lives, partly because I know they have their favorite and partly because they cannot understand the gravity of that question. Different times of day we all have the best or even better versions of ourselves...Some people are morning people, others do their best work as night owls and some have just your run of the mill "Pissy Pant" days. I quantify this into my answer for this question, and much to their dismay, I always say, "All of them..."

But as time moves across my face, waistline and navigates my old lady hormones, I cannot help but feel conflicted. I always sort of shook my head in disbelief at those moms who "mourned" their children getting older. Why? Why wouldn't you want these precious offspring to become more independent, less poop-pant-filled and grown up? But as I get ready for the next birthday in my house, I find myself becoming one of those sad-sacks, who just upon looking at a picture of my youngest child in a highchair, for what seems a million years ago, I get almost misty. I'm not claiming a favorite child, but I am recognizing that our relationship is indeed special.

In two weeks my Atticus, the little fellow with such a powerful name, will be turning 5 years old. How is that possible? It seems like yesterday I was coming home with him from the hospital. I feel like he is the best version of the youngest child, because he doesn't take any crap from his siblings. He is a straight shooter, who only tells it like it is when he feels it is necessary. He has developed this sense of humor that will carry him through life in a way that I know will be positive. But no matter what the calendar says, my mind races back to him at nine months old.

I used to sort of begrudge doing evening feedings at times with my kids. I felt like I was missing out on all the action as I attempted to put to sleep a child with a bottle in a lightly dimmed room. I was always strict with a routine when my kids were this little, and my control freak ways lead me to believe that if I didn't put the child to bed, it wouldn't be done correctly. CHUMP. But, be that as it may, that routine probably saved more than my sanity when I became outnumbered by kids. And all these years later, little did I know at the time, it was a therapy for me that will be forever unmatched.

I remember sitting in a rocking chair with Atticus, probably more than I remember sitting with any of my other children. I would feed him a bottle and pretty much mentally cleanse whatever it was I was dealing with at the time, and there was plenty. I would look at him and wonder about life. I would look at him and wonder why he was dealt the hand that he had been. I would hold him just as he was drifting off and think, how will he ever know normal? He was my alarm clock in the morning (still is) and my night cap at night. He was so little, but he helped me in ways I will never be able to fully explain. I believe he was given to me for this specific reason, well before I knew how my life would have ever been. He is more than just my child, he is my gift.

I love all of my children exactly the same, they are all my favorite...but in different ways. Oscar is my creative, contemplative, quiet soul, who has something to say, but usually thinks about it before he says it. When he laughs at my jokes, I take it as the highest compliment. Abe is my outgoing character, who loves to love with his whole heart and be in the mix of everything, dispensing comic relief when necessary all the while understanding when to deliver a punchline. Nora is my old soul, with a creative mind, unconventional and a heart filled with love. Atticus is this tiny power house, with a loving heart, quick with a compliment and the most unique youngest child. He might not have been my first child, but he will always be my essential example of why silver linings are more than a way of looking at life, as they were given to me in the quiet, of a dim lit room...

... like talking to a cabby who speaks broken English

Oh...the New Year! So many rare and wonderful things to discover, so many habits to be broken, so much hormone-drama-riddled-madness...and we are only two days in. Really, I try to look at every New Year as a chance to not only kick some bad habits, but more over a time to adopt new attitudes. Looking at this year ahead of me, I'm making a conscious effort to remember that 2017 is a glass that is half full. Those silver linings that I've always cherished need to be written down or furthermore noted at the end of each day. At times they have been hard to see lately, but like I said, it's a new year so here we go.

There have been some subtle changes happening in this house, well not subtle, but everyone is getting older, acting older and more independent. There would have been a time when I longed for such things, but when they creep up on you like a cheap pair of underwear, instead of appreciating it, I have been taken off guard. It's the end of  the "veggie tray" era in this house. My children are "manure-ing"(aka maturing) as my parents put it when I was younger. I now see the hidden meaning in it, because sometimes it stinks. With maturity thrust among us, there have been a few things we have decided to banish, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

I was reminded by Abe the other day in the car, "It's less than a month until my birthday, and we haven't gone out for our special-pre-birthday-day..." CRAP! Dang-it! I totally forgot about that. I started it last summer as a way to take each kid out before their birthday for some one-on-one time with them, because let's face it, in this house-it's rare. We go out for a meal of their choice, they get to pick out an outfit and we just do something, just the two of us. With every kid it is different. With some of the kids, I was shocked to find that I needed to get to know them more, their likes and dislikes. With most every kid, the time is spent with a little indecisiveness as usually we run our show like a democracy. Who knew choosing a place to eat would be so frustrating? Initially there is a lull in the conversation on this outing, because like I said, it's rare. Today, was my day with Abe, and it was no different.

Thirteen miles. Thirteen miles from our little town to the next bigger one down the road. Thirteen miles of attempts to start a conversation by me, to which I was given the response, "...I don't know?" Whew. I'm not going to lie, I was worried after the ninth response of "I don't know?" These weren't tough questions. What are your likes? What are your dislikes? What do you want to be when you grow up? Finally, I just asked, "Ever shot a man in Reno just to watch him die?" To which I at least got a, "...huh?" With every date, I am bluntly reminded that I possibly do not know my kids the way I thought I did. The conversation usually picks up with time, but man, that first hour is like talking to a cabby who speaks broken English. Rest assured my next 'birthday date' will be much easier because he spends more time with me than anyone. Atticus has already told me that we are going to McDonalds...cheap date, I like it!

It was around Christmas that I started to notice there were a few phrases, habits and behaviors that really need to be banned in 2017. We're not talking devil worshiping, but just some things that really, if they could be replaced or outlawed all together, life would be a little easier. Here are the following things put on the "NOT IN 2017 LIST" this evening:

1. "I didn't know..." Last I checked, we all speak English in this house, there is no language barrier. If you DON'T KNOW, simply ask, I guarantee someone does.

2. "I tried..." I believe in trying your best all the time, but if it is your go-to answer, and you know the truth, don't go there...do some soul searching first. "I tried to clean my room, but I couldn't..." not buying what you are selling. Go try to shower, please.

3. YOUR OWN NAME. If someone says your name, do them the courtesy of looking at them or responding after the FIRST time they say it. If someone is required to say your name 3 times before you can answer, it's time for a Miracle Ear.

4. "No one told me..." Really? I mean, really? No one told you that you shouldn't put soda in your water bottle before bed? No one told you that you shouldn't light things on fire in my living room? No one told you that you shouldn't tie things to the cat's tail? You see where I'm going with this.

5. "I'm going to make sure I pee in the toilet today, mommy, as a special Christmas gift to you..." said in possibly the sweetest voice, but I digress. My response was, "Sweetheart, every day CAN BE Christmas!"

6. COURTESY FLUSH...or become a plumber.

7. If you complain about the processes of the management, you will be given the job to do for no less than one month...think hard about what a control freak the management is...this could be painful.

8. There will be respect, and not every thought you have HAS TO BE UTTERED. If I teach my kids nothing in 2017, I will teach them when respect is given freely, life is much more pleasant. Every word, every thought that passes your lips, you cannot take back...choose wisely.

We are ready and eager to see what 2017 holds, armed with our new list of habits to be broken. Here is to you and your 2017, hoping you find every day's sliver lining BEFORE sitting on a wet toilet seat!

...It's the most wonderful time of the year!

This time of year just seems to FLY by. The more things we do, the faster it all seems to be slipping from us-except for the fleas-they've been overstaying their welcome, but we are surviving (itch, itch, itch-just the thought). While it seems that the Christmas season is rapidly slipping through my hands, I keep reminding myself- breathe, it's only the 10th of December! When else can you hear a 7 year old who knows every word to "I Want a Hippopotamus For Christmas?" I revel in it...even if she does only sing the same two odd verses over and over again.

I have been trying to be ever-mindful of the season this year...making sure to remember and remind everyone in my house that it's not the wrappings and the trappings that actually make the memories. As always there are the never ending interruptions while trying to hide presents, the praying that this year no one will break a window/mirror/piece of furniture like in years past and the anticipation that this season holds. All of the daily holiday rituals, i.e. Elf on the Shelf and Advent candy, I really never begrudge. It's all the little things that when added together make this season what it is to my family and I. No other time of the year is there anything really worth flying out of bed to be excited about, so I savor it.

This year the holiday season has been a little different. The memories that my kids fall back into retelling are ones that we have made together since we've moved here. It is gratifying in the moment to feel like I've done something not only worth remembering but also that there isn't any sadness attached to it. I wasn't sure that we would ever have that again a couple of years ago. While I am sure that indeed both of the Talls know the truth about Santa, for the sake of the rest of the brood, they are keeping the secret. They now both understand that the excitement in perpetuating the thrill of the holiday season is what it is all about. 

Unknowingly, my kids have already given me their Christmas gifts. I have been mentally noting and thoroughly enjoying watching who my kids are growing into being this year. Not sure if it is the ages they are or the growing insurgence of independence. I have noticed how much everyone is changing and I am gratified that I only want to ring their necks half of what I used to. They are all so very different, and have certain passions in their young lives, they also are each their own perfect piece of their parents. I am beyond grateful to see some piece of myself and Jason in each one of them...sometimes more than others. The other morning, while trying to quell the never-ending-debate of who gets the first doughnut on doughnut day, Nora declared, "Well, if you ask me? Oscar should get first choice, he hasn't been the one bitching all morning..."

Where did I go with this you ask? Well, for a brief moment, I wondered if Nora had developed some sort of mental telepathy, as I was possibly thinking the same thing word for word. I then cut her a harsh look of disapproval, and said that if she had decided to start using grown-up words, there was a very LONG LIST of grown-up things that she would have to start doing around here. It was a quiet doughnut day after that. 

I guess my point is simply this... As a parent you spend of most of your time feeling like you are in the trenches, but sometimes it is reassuring to know that possibly the offspring you are working so hard to rear into non-swearing-adults, are right there with you...understanding that a functioning family, while thriving on dysfunction at times, has to work together, support each other, and most importantly love each other to make it all work. That is what it is all about. The fact that people notice these things during this time of year? Because "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer" isn't something you hear any other time of the year. My kids each have four things on their Christmas lists this year. I have one...for them to hopefully know how much I love them, not only for who they are, but for making this time of year so very special to me.

I'll see you when I get there...

Four years ago today, I was blissfully unaware of where life would lead...unaware of the cards I would be dealt...unaware that life as I knew it would change forever. And today, I'm feeling that ignorance I was so lucky to have. Even four years later, it is painful.

Four years ago tomorrow would be the last time I spoke to my best friend. Four years ago tomorrow was the last time I made him coffee or complained to myself how lucky he was that I let him sleep in. Four years ago tomorrow he was rushed out of our house in an ambulance while our kids were watching. Four years ago was the last time I spoke to him with his eyes open and looking at me. He was getting ready to be helicoptered to St. Louis and I said, "I'll see you when I get there..." At the time I meant St. Louis, now I know the destination is outside the realm of this world.

Today, I wish I was "there" if only for 45 minutes. Four years later, I feel like I am finally dealing with loss. It's scary, debilitating and more painful than I ever thought imaginable. But, the loss isn't just for myself, it is for all of us. It is for all of the things we have faced and are going to face, without a husband, a father and a friend. After Jason passed away, I didn't lose it...I didn't have time. I had so much to figure out, kids to take care of and things to keep going. I became a professional at spinning plates like those people in the circus. I convinced myself that this was how I was going to deal with loss. While I know this year is just one of many that grief will be difficult, perhaps when the circus leaves town this is how it feels.

There are all of these things I cannot do or memories and experiences I cannot recreate. All of these things that kids really need their father to help them, and those same things that I long for my husband to help me from loosing my shit. In the beginning I think I thought I could play both roles and everything would be fine. But I see looks in the kids eyes sometimes, and I think to myself, "Yes, if you only knew how hard I was trying to NOT make this a shit show..." Every mother loves her children, but I am not sure if mine will ever know the magnitude of my love. I love them for two people one they see and one they cannot see.

Anger, fear and loathing, are all consuming, and I don't blame any of one in this house for feeling them sometimes. I know that the Talls would rather talk to their dad about personal stuff. I know Nora has told me she never wants to get married because her dad can't walk her down the isle. I know that Atticus looks just like someone he'll never meet, and he only knows this because everyone tells him. I have been told that maybe another "male figure" could fill in for some things in the kids lives. But the fact remains that they just don't want someone, they want their dad. I've seen people who lovingly try to step in and be that "male figure," and I almost cringe, as I know exactly what the kids are thinking...all the while praying that my kids see the kindness of the gesture before blurting out, "Step off buddy!" We will get to that place eventually, but I am not sure any of us are ready yet.

"The Little Bulldog" is what Jason used to lovingly refer to me as. He saw me give a nurse a talking-to one time when he was in the hospital, and never let me forget it. He said while that side of me didn't come out often, when it did people better look out. Well, he was probably grinning recently, as it did come out and subsequently, I no longer work outside of the home. Everything happens for a reason, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't relieved. I missed doing my full time job, the tittle I'm most proud of on my resume, raising my kids. Jason would be proud that I tried something new, but grateful that I know to put our kids as my priority.

Some days are going to just be like this and there is no avoiding it, as it will only be worse if I do. Regardless of wanting to talk to Jason one more time, chanting it to myself before I go to bed won't will it to happen. I look around and think at how much has changed and how much we all have changed. While that is scary, I know how proud he would be of all of us...four years later, that is the takeaway I have to adopt. "I'll see you when I get there..."

thank you Smelma...

Honestly, I don't know what is going on with me, but I am off. I'm not sure if it is because I've been sick on and off since Labor Day...maybe the cocktail of steroids and antibiotics are rotting out my ability to be normal? Maybe it is the fact that it is dark outside by 6 p.m.? Maybe I've just finally hit that point, you know where on-lookers are saying, "Yup, I called it, she's lost her shit...now give me the 20 bucks you owe me." Whatever the case, something has been looming for too long...and I want to be rid of it.

This time of year, well completely sucks. No matter how you slice it, it is a stale piece of cake no one really wants. Usually I give myself a couple of days and I'm done. But much like the steroid cocktail that I have been on and off, the boost of energy is fantastic-but when the bottom falls out you wish you were hit by a truck. So, tomorrow is another day, and as I am finding out, one of my favorite days to write about in the past- Parent Teacher Conferences.

Luckily this year I only have one, Nora. I am mentally preparing myself for the wild and exhilarating things I will no doubt hear about my only daughter during her off hours of being with me. She has grown so much just since school has started this year. She has discovered the "wonders" of making a sack lunch. While at first she was usually telling me she needed one whilst walking out the door in the morning, now she comes home from school and immediately starts making her lunch for the next day...I like that kind of growth. I am interested to hear what her teacher has to say, but of course mentally preparing myself as well.

My hope is that I can fill my kids with enough creative ideas and a little bit of creative expression that they can use it to help themselves when needed. It used to be when I was down, I would put everyone to bed, come into my room, write and everything would be back to normal. Sometimes, it just isn't that easy anymore. Sometimes I feel like I am complaining about the same thing over and over again. Sometimes I worry that this is the wall, like THE WALL that I have finally hit and maybe there is no way around it. It is scary. No one wants to move backward, not when they can see how far they have come. No one wants to admit that the things that used to come easily to them are now a struggle. No one really understands you, better than you...but what happens when you are the last person you understand? What then?

A woman who works where I work stopped me today and asked me if she could buy my book. I looked at her probably crazy-eyed and said, "What? ...I'll give it to you." I think I was half astonished that she even knew I wrote a book, and for a moment I kind of had forgotten I had too. It seems like a million years ago, when in reality it was like a minute. I thanked her profusely, and thought to myself, "Kate, get your shit together. You have a job to do, and you will get out of this funk." She was the first person I spoke to on my first day of work and probably will never know how grateful I am to her for sort of nudging my psyche.

It wasn't until tonight, the whole creative expression thing sort of hit me where it needed to. I was talking to Atticus before saying good-night to him. He told me that he had an imaginary friend. I asked what his name was, to which he said, "Her name, is Smelma Stinkyfeet." I said, really, is she Slavic with a name like that? He said, "No, she's from Knox, Ind. Smelma's not good with money, so to make ends meet, she has taken in a couple of horses to live with her. Her house isn't very big, but the horses help pay the bills." I dawned on me, funks come and go, but if you are lucky, creativity can stay with you forever...thank you Smelma.

...just keep swimming, just keep swimming...

It's October...and the litany of all things fall/Halloween commence. My kids love this time of year as much as I do, even Oscar today said, "Where are the fall books? I need to read some, I'm just in the mood." There will be cookies to make and pumpkins to carve and costumes to try to put together. I am grateful that my kids are still "into" these things, as I know they won't be forever. The October 1st tradition is to watch It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown. As it was starting, and we were all together, I looked at every one of my kids and I touched their arm. It seemed odd, but it was like I was caught up in the moment. We have been watching this movie for as long as I can remember, for some of my kid’s whole lives. We laugh and we recant our favorite parts, it's like a secret tradition that we have always somehow kept.

So many things are happening at once it seems like a whirlwind. Some things are great while others are challenges. Nora learning to ride her bike finally seems like a rite of passage. And as promised, she got to ride to Casey's General Store for doughnuts this morning. Instead of following her in my car like I did the first time she rode her bike to school, I went along for the bike ride. She is FAST! I had a hard time keeping up with her. As I watched her this morning, I envied her lack of fear. I watched her, albeit cautiously, peddling downhill, seemingly flying and thought- ah, to be seven again. I'm proud of her for facing her fears, just wish she had a slight fear of speed at this point.

The sojourn of being a single parent at times is more than difficult. No matter how others offer to help, it is just not the same. Perhaps it is my control freak tendencies, maybe it is habit, or maybe I'm the only one who really knows these kids behind closed doors. Like the saying goes, they're good for company. Sometimes it is what goes on when there aren't any witnesses that are really truer than the sometimes-fiction they portray for others. The pangs of seeing a kid who really needs their father, a sojourn I never signed up for, but we'll get through it. Like I said, people have offered to try to step in and be that person, for which I am grateful, but it is just not the same. They will know when they are ready to speak up about it, until then I wait…and of course worry.

I am going to be more honest right now than I probably ever have been. After Jason died, there was a time when I just hated him. I hated him for leaving me a single parent. I hated him for never showing me how to do some things. I hated him for not being able to see how our kids have grown. I hated him, hated him, because somehow it took the sting out of missing him. If I could be angry at him, I wouldn't miss him. The fact of the matter is, he was my best friend and I loved him. He was a good father and a good person. Sometimes I just miss talking to him, asking him for advice or some sort of reassurance that I am doing the right thing, or saying the right thing. I'm outnumbered by people in this house who don't have the same parts as me...and sometimes that terrifies me. I miss my friend, the other half of my children, who gets them as much as I do. I no longer hate, but I hope that I am doing the right thing by him.

The last four years have seemed like a decade. My mind goes back to all the things I didn't appreciate at the time, the moments I didn't pay enough attention to or the things I didn't coin in the moment as special. Sometimes they can still knock the wind out of me. While these kids at times drive me to drink, terrify me and give me endless laundry and stories, I know that they are some of the strongest human beings I know. I marvel at how sometimes things just come together... In the middle of chaos driving down the street, Atti cheering out the window to Nora while she rides her bike,"Just keep swimming, just keep swimming." Mean while the boys show their less than stifled embarrassment to merely be seen with us...I see how far we have come, but sometimes I miss the one who isn't there to laugh about it with me.

Autumn and the voice of reason...

...my favorite time of year is finally upon us, autumn. With the temperature outside being warmer than it was on the first day of summer...it is a stretch to really feel its presence, as one or more  have been sick for the last 3 weeks in this house. At this point, I need autumn. I yearn for autumn. It has been my antidepressant for years, and at times when I have had to deal with the hardest things in life. We have had a long lasting relationship, autumn and I. In German it is called "Herbst," I always loved that word.  It is the embodiment of all good things: Charlie Brown, pumpkin patches, hot bon fires, hot chocolate and cozy blankets. As the leaves change, it is a gentle reminder that so does life. You either jump into the moving car, or get hit by it...

There have been some subtle and not so subtle changes going on in this house. The preteen quotient is soaring, and frankly I was telling someone today, "If there were a military school close enough to just use as a threat, it would be appreciated." I know noting. I was never in Jr. High School. I'm lucky to have a driver's license. The not so subtle comments mixed with small doses of testosterone and drama- yeah, I have three more times to go through this, and we are yet to the hard part. Terrifying, troublesome and TITO'S come to mind. I keep trudging away with my harebrained notions, like a pack mule going up and down the same dusty road day after day...someday I will know what I'm talking about. I was in 7th grade at one time, but I was never a boy. I have to remind myself of that. When everyone else around you has a dropping voice, five o'clock shadow and pit hair- and you aren't there yet, you have something to try to prove. Sadly, I get caught in the crossfire. It is about understanding the day, understanding the way and putting a mental "pin" in things that you know you're going to have to deal with three more times.

With the start of school, it has been sort of nice for everyone to have something to do, something new to discuss at the dinner table or something routinely to look forward to. A couple weeks ago, I was helping Atticus off with his shoes, talking about his day- and it hit me. He was talking a mile a minute, describing things into great detail, and I was sort of in awe. He wasn't speaking in a sort of baby way, he was using big words, using his hands to speak, he was instantly grown. It probably was happening subtly, but I nearly fell over as it sort of caught me off guard. Since then, I've noticed he has become this ball buster. Day to day speaking to my kids, they tune me out sometimes I don't blame them. Maybe because I speak too much? Maybe because they don't want to hear what I have to say? In the last two weeks I will say something, and it is crickets. The next thing I know, Atticus is sternly announcing, "HOW ABOUT WE ALL CALM DOWN HERE AND QUIT ARGUING." The first time, I almost laughed out loud. But since then, it's like he's my mental evaluator, letting everyone involved know, that indeed this chick is going to lose it, you don't get a second warning. Tonight it happened, and I just pointed at him and said, "Ah, the voice of reason..."

To many, autumn is the not so subtle reminder that winter is just around the corner. To them, it isn't the beauty of the colors all around them, but the dying off and the subsequent clean up. I guess I look at this season differently because it has also represented some very hard things in my life...change that no one asked for, clean up that no one wanted to face. But in that same moment I have to remind myself that there is definitely something bigger, a higher power, because how could anything that is dying off be so beautiful? How could any time of the year just by becoming crisper outdoors bring people together? No matter what this time of year has brought me, I am reminded of where I am, why I am here, and how lucky I am to get to enjoy it...with the voice of reason and my possible reasons for Tito's.

Lone Wolf...

Fear and loathing...that's about where we are. With the new year of school literally creeping up my rear, all the old fears set in. The anxiety of going back into a schedule, homework, laundry and hoping to not forget to wear my clothes on the outside of my underwear. Single motherhood isn't always a walk in the park, add the first few days of school into that equation and cut to me mentally drinking at 7 a.m.

Don't get me wrong, with the bickering level in this house, I'm pretty sure even the Pope would drop an F-bomb. Saying I'm ready for school to start is an UNDERSTATEMENT. But, getting out of that laid back, sleep until 9 a.m., lounge in pajamas and do nothing but worry about what posts have been missed on Instagram phase? A hard rain will fall for Oscar in 72 hours. I have already lowered the boom on Nora that the "summer-time-wardrobe" will not be part of the school-time dress code, to which I rendered her speechless for about 45 minutes. I'm worried that Abe's stand-up routine, while wildly anticipated by some, will not be for his new teacher. Atti, well he just needs to be with some other kids his own age. Tonight he said to me while dancing in the living room, "I dance alone. I'm a lone wolf." We've entered and new and exciting level of strange around here. I am hoping that the time spent AWAY from each other will some how make "the heart grow fonder," but I'm not holding my breath. I am however lousy with power at the notion that with everyone out of the house, my grocery bill will lower and my house will stay cleaner.

The unspoken fear around here is that of the unknown. Lockers. I never remember a locker striking as much fear in my heart as a kid, but around here, it is all a few people can talk about. Switching classes, gym class and showering, and don't even get me started on a conversation about a need for a study hall. I actually started laughing when Oscar said he was taking one. He kind of looked at me like I was crazy. What I didn't have any hesitation in admitting is that the one time I took study hall, I did very little studying, ever. I remember being in 5th and 7th grade, but I guess that was "way back when" according to my kids, clearly age has rendered me witless to the time of my adolescence. But I have had to hear, "...well, back in the 80's, things were different than they are now." I always answer back with, "I know, it was tough. I had less electronics and more imagination." They just look at me. Karma is one tough broad, tougher is explaining that being a kid when you actually are a kid is the only chance you get...

Most of my problem, is me. I get way to strict, stressed out or caught up about dumb things and in the process miss out sometimes on the moments that make memories. I caught myself tonight. The kids were acting crazy at dinner, and clearly the tone of my voice they have gone slightly deaf to. After telling everyone to calm down, wishing the full moon would get here and take the pressure off, I noticed something. No one was bickering, no one was fighting and everyone was acting goofy and laughing- granted the neighbors probably heard as they could have woken the dead. But I caught it. I use to try to find one decent thing a day as my take-away for said day. I've forgotten that, and tonight I was reminded I need to start again in this new start of school phase. It might be my saving grace.

Tonight at dinner, we had a semi regular conversation starter- What is your rose, your bud and your thorn for the day? The rose is something you liked, the thorn something you didn't like and the bud is something you are looking forward to tomorrow. Tonight they mostly had to do with the start of school. Meeting their teachers, seeing their classrooms and finding a boyfriend for the year...WHAT? I'm not sure if Nora really meant what she was saying or just trying to get a reaction from everyone. Oscar quickly chimed in with, "You're in 1st grade, why don't you start with that and see how it goes." Finally, some wit and wisdom that didn't come out of my witless mouth.

competitive cartoon artists

I envy these moms. First of all they have it together enough to want to go to multiple ball games in a week, clearly, they have enough underwear that they don't do laundry as often as I do. They get into the game, they know the right things to cheer and they sit on the hot/cold/rainy/bug infested evenings in a bag chair, just to watch their child play a sport. I sat there the last couple of weeks, twice a week, trying to learn. Trying to watch and listen. Trying to hone some competitive instinct in me. It was probably the quietest I've ever been.

And in those weeks, I realized, I've got nothing. I haven't a competitive bone in my body. I wanted to try, for the sake of Oscar, to get into the games, but at the end of a game I was like, "well, you did your best..." Clearly, not the best sports-pep-talker. I am proud that he tried something new, even though his teammates were seasoned ball players, and took a lot of guts. Every game, when he would walk out on the field, it was like watching "Rudy" Ruettiger walk out onto the field- different sport, but same premise. The notion of wanting to do something enough to not care that you were new or inexperienced. Some might think it’s foolish, I thought it took moxie.

But, moxie wears thin at times, as eventually, I saw myself. There he was standing on the field, and not a competitive bone in his body. Things sort of started to shift. Being compared to people your age, in an area that is completely out of your wheelhouse, is difficult, let alone not a whole lot of fun. This sort of comparativeness, while I know goes on for the rest of a person's life, after a while stings. Watching my boy, who has never really played sports outside of the side yard before, at times was painful. He just looked as if he was thinking, "let's just get this over with." And near the end, I can't say I blamed him.

Then a wonderful thing happened. One of these inspiring, afore mentioned moms congratulated him. She told him that despite the fact he was new at this whole thing, he did a great job and he should be proud of himself for giving it a try. Considering my lack of sports knowledge, and even though I had said the same thing to him, it was like getting a compliment from Babe Ruth himself...and I was so very grateful!

But, through it all, I think he we learned a few valuable lessons. The one lesson, that was inevitable as he was bound to learn it in puberty, is comparing yourself to others is dangerous. Noticing all of your inadequacies rips at you from the core. As I sat there, watching him do his best, I thought, "I wonder if any of these boys are good at drawing?" I had to chuckle to myself, as it didn't matter. There's no competitive cartoon artists, or book illustrators, or authors for that matter. They find their drive someplace different within them, and there is no competition. The creative side of life is his stolen base or home run...and clearly, I hope he at least learned more baseball terms than I currently know.