...my first pancake

13. Some find this number unlucky. To me it has always been the number I bet on, the lotto ticket I buy or the number I hope to find on the back of my fortune cookie fortune...solidifying what some Chinese person I've never met, got it right. This week, it means a little more as it marks a moment in time that seriously seems like yesterday, and not 13 years ago.

Funny how people say, time flies. In the moment you either get it or think they are pacifying themselves for being old. When you finally notice that time has flown, you feel, old. It seems like yesterday I was getting a room ready for a baby I had not yet met. I was nervous, scared, uncomfortable and very pregnant. I sat in this baby's room and wondered, when did I become a grown-up? Would I know what to do? Would I get it right? Would I understand that life would never be the same? Various answers to these questions prevail and some I'm still asking myself. But 13 years ago, I entered the world of being a mother for the first time, and life was blessed with my Oscar.

Unlike anything I could have ever expected that is exactly what Oscar is. Creative, thoughtful, intelligent, funny, introspective, kind, unique and blonde. He came into the world, larger than life and since has carried that persona with him to this day. As a small one, he was always amazing me with his abilities that seemed to come from nowhere. He, perhaps prophetically, didn't start talking until he was a toddler. As a first time mom, you never want to compare your precious offspring in "first pancake" terms. The theory that the first pancake you make is just an experiment, clearly not comparable to a human, but you get it. You will mold this child into a perfect human being, because that is your job. Funny what you focus on when a child is so small. It all was made clear when we were walking down steps in our house one day, and Oscar uttered his first words. "That stupid-ass-dog..." properly commenting on our neighbor's incessantly barking dog. I was proud, shocked, excited and horrified all at the same moment. I had some things to learn, some audible words to clearly censor and perhaps a job application for my "first pancake" at the truck stop.

But this, as I know, is only the beginning. I write a lot about being a mother of a teenage boy, mainly out of ignorance, but it is just that. I think if I knew exactly what to do it would probably make me a crappy parent. We are just starting this official world of TEEN-DOM and while at times it feels like I should have been paying attention in psychology classes in college, I know that my "first pancake" and I are going to survive it, possibly not unscathed but never-the-less. I am proud to see him grow into his own, from that tiny little person who liked to hunt dinosaurs and Bigfoot in our back yard, to an albeit typical, weird hair growth, odd smelling, loveable, hilarious and cheeky guy. In a lot of ways he's like Yoda, as he really thinks about things before getting into a serious discussion, when he has something to say there is some pretty serious thought behind it. Other times he's like someone who has Tourette's syndrome, the latter probably because he is a teen. He likes to come into a room and give a look, no words, and just sits next to me. I make him wait a good two to three minutes before I break the silence and just ask what he wants. It shocks him and he always says, "Why do you say that? ...So, can I ...."

So as I set out on this journey, charting the smelly, hormonal, fart joke, patchy hair growth waters of living with a teenage boy, I will do so with courage, perseverance and a stocked liquor cabinet. To my "first pancake", happiest of 13th birthdays to you, may you someday understand that while we are in this together, I pretty much had no idea what I was doing the whole time.

 

...liberation

LIBERATION: emancipation, salvation, release...All of these words mean the same thing. To a single mother of four, who has been a stay at home mom for 11 years, their meanings are more heavily weighed than can actually be described. The words alone cannot come close to the feelings that are associated with them. And while I am not totally there yet, seeing these words on the horizon definitely changes the day to day game.

It's here. Just a scant few days and school will be starting. We're armed with supplies, a new outfit, backpacks and the mindset that also must go along with a new year of adventure. I have friends who are sending their last ones off to school this year. They are saddened by this milestone, and I understand but I couldn't relate...getting everyone into school has been my subliminal goal for the last 3 years...

I couldn't relate until Atticus picked out a backpack for preschool yesterday. Such a simple act. He stood there, really just wanting a thermos, but deciding what bag he wanted. It sort of hit me...Life is indeed moving on. Watching him, proudly pick up that backpack. His posture changed, his face changed. It gave me a frenzied combination of feeling sadness and LIBERATION. It was like I was watching him grow right before my eyes. How was this possible? What will I do with actual "free time"? The options are limitless! But we are not quite there yet, so I have some time to figure that one out...

However, the feeling of liberation has set in in other ways this week. Upon talking to Oscar about having a babysitter, he bluntly stated, "...why can't I just babysit?" I was shocked he even wanted to. I was beginning to tell him that he just wasn't old enough while I was looking up the Missouri laws, and there it was...11. 11? Really, eleven is old enough? As I was reading aloud I looked up to see a giant smirk on his face. He plainly said next, "...well, it's the law.." So, considering I was only going down the street for a while I decided to let him. We discussed the rules, the jobs he had to fulfill, and of course the payment. I questioned his ability to be able to be taken seriously, or even act responsibly and I was slightly ashamed I felt those things when I cam home. I came home to find everyone had had a bath, the house clean (he even got out the vacuum), all in bed and nothing broken...ah, liberation...

The feeling of it being ground hog day is the best way to describe my life at times. Everyday is just about the same from when the sun comes up until it sets. But now, things are shifting. The daily tasks, while mainly still done by me, are becoming things I don't have to do alone. The mindset that responsibility can mean more than just mowing the lawn and not getting paid for it. The feeling of liberation abounds and it has given me a special twinkle in my eye...so if you see me and I look like I might be tweaked out on something...don't call the authorities, it's just a little LIBERATION kicking in...

...those fellas are trouble...

...why the hell did I schedule this appointment so damned early? It was a reflex I guess. Still, even before 8 am, I find it oddly soothing in the orthodontist's office. It's a time I can catch up on social media, reading and sort of tuning out...all the while the kids are entertained by the kiddie table. I can't be certain, but I think the receptionist has grown to love us. The volume changes when we walk in the door. Today I made sure to reinforce the notion, "...do you see how picked up this area is? When we leave it should look the same way..." But in all honesty, I didn't really care. It's just the sort of public-service-announcement that has to be said when you walk into a quiet office with what would appear to be four contestants on Lets Make A Deal...

While my best friend was visiting last week, we discussed... a lot. We have these chat sessions all the time, but when we are together, they seem to be more intense. We talked about where our lives were going. What we felt we wanted to do next. How our lives had changed. She reminded me that not two years ago, we sat, at times crying, but still discussing the same things...boldly (perhaps naively) thinking that we'd have it all figured out by now. But, the harsh reminders are, when you think you have one thing figured out, everything else grows and changes around it. Some of the things you worry about, while they are no longer on the surface anymore, they sort of morph into something different. I told her that I wished I could talk to Jason sometimes. I found it interesting that she asked me why? So, I told her that I wanted to talk to him sometimes to ask him if I was doing things right or what I should do next. Her answer will never leave my memory...She simply said, "...what could he tell you that you don't already know yourself? Why would he have all the answers? I think you might be giving him too much credit..."

I had to hold back a chortle today when someone asked pointing at the kids, "Are they all yours?" Now, in all honesty, in the summer, these kids look very different from each other. We have a wide variety of skin tones represented. I told someone the other day that my kids resemble a UNICEF advertisement. Nora answered first, "those fellas are trouble (pointing to her brothers, strangely sitting very quiet next to each other)"  I turned around and said, " Those kids? Yes, every minute of every day...unless they were touching the mannequins, in which case I've never seen them before in my life..." As a mom, I constantly question where they are emotionally. I worry I am not maybe giving them the support they need when they freak out and do something completely asinine...I question what I  need to do. I guess if I didn't I wouldn't be doing my job...

But, I'm beginning to realize that their antics might not have anything to do with the reality they've been given. It might just be that they are kids. Is it wrong that I find that oddly reassuring? I got a little sass talk the other day from one of the Talls, and it dawned on me, PRAISE JESUS, THEY'RE JUST BEING ANNOYING KIDS and nothing more. I actually started laughing. It was exciting to me that my "precious-gifts", this time being represented as an annoying 11year old, was not having an actual emotional crisis...he was just being a kid. And I'm beginning to realize that there no oracles on parenting. There are no books that can really help, because no one has all of the answers. For once, in a very long time, while knowing who my kids are, being clueless as to what they are going to try to pull next is just the kind of simpleminded cocktail that I will take...on a side note, laughing at a dramatic tween is actually kind of fun.

...powerless

Well, I'm not sure where it came from...that's the interesting thing about grief. Even when you feel like you are doing fine, a day rolls around, for no real reason, and knocks you on your ass. About the time when you feel like you have everything in control (or at least as much as you can being out numbered), and the bottom falls out. The figurative doorbell rings, and emotions just come walking right in like you actually invited them. You can blame feminine hormones. You can blame dreary weather. You can blame a cocktail. But, the fact of the matter is when it comes, you can't make it go away until it's run it's course.

It started last week. Oscar mentioned at the breakfast table that he had a dream about Jason. We were all excited to know what happened. Turns out, nothing happened. He said he just saw his dad walking through the house. I could tell by his answer that he was a little underwhelmed. Like he had wished that it would have been more meaningful...longer...some sort of interaction that would have left him with a big grin. The often used phrase to people who are missing a loved one who is no longer here is, "...but they are with you...they are here watching you...they are loving you from a far..."And I'm sorry, but that is bologna shit.

My heart sort of broke that day for Oscar. They were given nothing. No good-bye. No closure. No chance to let their heart catch up with reality. Their last vision of Jason was on a stretcher out the window. Why didn't I let them see him on that stretcher? I would do just about anything for my kids to have just one more interaction with Jason. I would give anything for them to be able to say one more thing, give him a hug, just lay eyes on him...if for only 5 minutes. It is a pain that resonates so deeply inside of me that it actually physically hurts at times. It gnaws and tears at my heart, knowing that I am...powerless.

Atticus is now at that stage where he's verbal with no filter. He says things partly to get a reaction and partly because he doesn't know what he is saying. He likes to repeat the phrases that I might mutter under my breath, and does them with authority. He is very matter-of-fact about where his dad is. Driving down the road the other day he said, "...you know, my dad passed away...but I don't really know why or where he went..." I was sort of taken with how he phrased it. I mean he's only 3, and half the time he's talking about super heroes. He has started asking questions...the likes of which I remember Nora asking when she was his age. With each question asked, I know that it's one more I don't have real answers to. One more question that I have to try do deflect because I know his brain can't comprehend the real answer.

And then, last night as I was channel surfing, a PBS show came on, sort of Lawrence-Welk-like. The dancing started. The laughter got louder. The signature moves came out. It was hilarious, heart warming, rowdy and it made me emotional. It came in like a rhinoceros and I had to excuse myself to the bathroom. I cried, hard. I could hear the giggles and the squeals, but I couldn't stop myself. I had to let it out. The scene was like that of any Saturday night five years ago, but I was the only one noticing something was missing...and once again, I was powerless.

So, today is a new day. Today is the chance to start over. Today is the day to let yesterday's grief know that while we loved having them visit, we were running out of clean towels. Today is the day when you look at yesterday and hope you've learned something. Today will be filled with tantrums, freak-outs, spilled juice, dirty clothes and dishes. However tonight, we'll get the pleasure of watching Nora at t-ball practice...and that is just pure entertainment.

...grunt-like-look...

Well, it's here...can you hear that? It's almost the end of the school year and I actually think I'm ready for it. This week has been a full cocktail of feelings...anxiety mixed and over ice with fear as well as excitement in a LARGE glass of gratification. It's a scary thing to put yourself out there, not knowing if you will sink or swim. It's hard to decide if you are brave enough to jump into the deep end and leave your worries behind, if for only one moment. It's a slippery slope to want something to be a success while at the same time knowing the fact you've accomplished anything, is well, enough. And then there is potty training a 3 year old...

I should know what the hell I'm doing by now...right? I mean I do have three other children who are entirely capable and are no longer wearing plastic pants...but I'm stumped. This charming, very verbal, completely coordinated 3 year old just will not get it. I've pulled out all of the old tricks: candy, sticker charts, superhero undies, promising animals we can't actually house, promising toys we can't afford. Everything short of a bourbon and ginger ale, and let's face it that's my reward, I have promised this kid and he won't use the toilet. Oh, don't get me wrong, he's good at making it 'appear' like he is getting the hang of things, taking initiative and understanding what he should do. It's the doing it that is a problem...cut to us playing Uno on Saturday, and me looking up, only to see him standing in the window, that unmistakable 'grunt-like-look' on his face...and then looking at me and saying, "...ah mommy, I pooped..." At this point I'm thinking I'm going to have to home-school him.

The struggles of a child who can't decide if she likes sports or just enjoys entertaining an audience is something else I will be looking forward to this summer. I don't care if any of my kids are sport minded. I certainly don't care if not a one of them becomes a sports phenomenon. All I want them to do is feel comfortable trying new things and if they like it great, if they don't well at least they tried. We can't be certain if Nora is a lefty or a righty. We can't be certain if she knows that the team will not have her name in the title. We can't be certain if she knows she has to run to home plate. We can't be certain if she understands that the people in the crowd aren't all there just for her... But in the next 6 weeks we'll learn and that's what this summer is all about.

The older my kids get, the older I get. Wow, that's profound enough to embroider on a pillow...what I'm saying is with every summer, my old lady nostalgia kicks in...Part of me remembers being 11 years old, riding my bike all over town and not really worrying about checking in until it was dinner time. Then, the old lady kicks in. The controlling parent. Suddenly on the inside, I'm "Beverly Goldberg" the mother who would give her life for her 'schmoopies', despite the fact that she might be smothering them. I know I need to trust the street smarts I have already instilled, but it's scary. It is scary to think what might happen, even though chances are they won't. That's the intricate inner workings of a mother's brain. I know I was given freedom to ride my bike, and I'm none-the-less normal. This summer, it's going to be a lesson in letting go a little and letting them be...The beauty of living in a small town? I'll know what they might have done wrong about 1.1 seconds after they do it. And besides, I've already survived the "puberty video", I figure I'm on the up swing.

It seems with every passing season, it becomes a time to start and try to change things up a little...the beginning of a new adventure. I have to keep reminding myself of how far we've come and only one visit to the ER. We set goals, hope to keep them, and if we don't kill each other by the end of the day, then we're winning. I remember how terrifying life once was for me...constantly thinking to myself, I'm never going to pull this off. I'm never going to be able to do this alone. Don't get me wrong, I don't have the secret to life figured out and my mother-guilt could be fodder for a medical book. But this week I did a lot of reflecting on all that has happened in the last couple of years. All those nights I frantically pondered when...when was any of this going to make sense? When was life going to get easy?

The answer is, never. Life isn't supposed to be easy...but if you are lucky, you can adapt and press on. It has taken me longer than I would like to admit to see it that way. If you are lucky you can see the good in any day, even if it is the moment your kids go to bed without a head wound. If you are lucky, you'll understand that you were put here for a reason or possibly many reasons. Lastly, you let go and let everyday be an example of how tomorrow could be better...If that doesn't work, and you're anything like the 3 year old living in my house, you stand in the window and poop...

Happy Mother's Day...

...I remember walking into a room just off of ours. It was empty, with exception of piles in this corner and that. A fresh coat of the most soothing green color on the walls. The only piece of furniture, a bright yellow chair sitting in the corner. I would wander into that room, sit in that big yellow chair and think. I would think about what still had to be done. I would think about what would go where. I would sit in that big yellow chair and think about the baby that would soon be living in this room. I would wonder what it would be like to be a mother...

I still remember how quiet it was sitting in that room...quiet is a foreign word around here. Of all the places in our old house, I think I miss that first baby room the most. I guess it was where I spent a lot of time, did most of my thinking, and a great deal of praying that I was actually doing things right...first time mother guilt. I could close my eyes right now and tell you how the sun fell into that room in the morning, or how in the spring the tree out front bloomed. All the times the Talls would be so tiny looking out their window in the winter waiting for the snow plows to go by. It seems like it was yesterday that I became a mother for the first time...

Mother's Day is upon us...I know because Atticus has been randomly saying to me, "...Happy-Birthday-Mother's-Day-Mom..." to me for the last week. Good to know he's caught on to bundling well wishes. My Mother's Day present (unknowingly) was given to me by my kids tonight. They gave me a trip down memory lane by watching...Lawrence Welk. It sounds odd, but when the Talls where little, we would watch it every Saturday night. Partly because it was funny to watch them, partly because it wore them out dancing and prancing all over the living room. They would dance and twirl, every once and a while Jason and I would get up to dance with them. We haven't watched it in years, actually I think tonight was Atticus' first time. They all performed some signature moves and one of the Talls finally accepted Nora's plea to be her dance partner. They were up for every song, twirling and dipping. Atticus was Oscar's slow dance partner, and I heard him ask while dancing, "...nice weather we're having?" That scant 45 minutes was probably one of the best Mother's Day gifts I have ever gotten.

 I was told the other night how fast time flies when you have kids. I've been told this many times, but when you are in the trenches of motherhood, it's hard to see the end of the road. As I was sitting there, I was mentally doing the math. Barring Atticus not be given an orange jump suit with the letters "DOC", I will be 57 years old by the time all of my children are out of my house. That's nearly 60!? That is, if I don't make this home so damned wonderful they even decide to leave...The notion made me shutter and simultaneously contemplate an intense chore chart.

 Little did I know what I was discussing in one part of the house, was invading Nora's dreams in another...but not the good kind. Being a mom is rough, all moms know that. Being a mom of children who have lost a parent is a different kind of rough. The fears that they have aren't like all the rest of the kids they know. Nora isn't the first one to express it, but her fear lies in what happens when I die. What will happen to her if I should die? Will she have to live all by herself? She doesn't want to be alone. As she is telling me this the next day, as it took her 12 hours to get the courage to talk about it, tears are streaming down her face. She actually looks like she is in pain even describing what she dreamt, how she felt, where her fear was. My heart broke. I tried to reassure her that she wouldn't be alone. I tried to tell her that if something happened to me, there would be someone here. I was careful with my words as I know all too well the phrase "take the place" is a line of crap...

This conversation was eye opening to say the least. I ditched the mental chore chart and started to think about what I get to do in the next 17 years. What I get to see raising these kids...knowing their potential...watching them grow into these cool people I see them becoming. I get to see them happy, get to console them when they are not, and get to hear them, as they have no internal volume. Silver Lining? I get to be their Mom, probably the best job I've ever had...

...fist bump?...really?

I've said it before...and I'm saying it again. I love this little town I live in. It's small enough that you willingly wave to strangers. When you are sitting in your driveway, it's common for someone to pull up, park their car and stay a while. To some, living in a small town means everyone knows your business. To me, it just means a few more people looking out for us, even some I've never met...there's a silver lining there.

Last summer, I was sitting on the edge of the town pool...hoping to soak up some sunshine, watching my kids swim, and more importantly wear them out. There was a young mom sitting next to me. I knew we had met before, but of course my long term memory problem erased her name from my brain. We exchanged pleasantries. Then, she leaned over to me, and said, "...I don't know if you know this, but I'm a widow too..." She began to tell her story, and I sat there in awe. She was just 24 years old, with a nine month old and pregnant with another child when her husband unexpectedly passed away...

As she was telling her story, and answering my questions, I knew we had met for a bigger reason. I was in such shock of what she had been through, and how she really understood where I was more than most people...I did the most embarrassing thing...I fist bumped her. I ACTUALLY FIST BUMPED ANOTHER WIDOW?! What the hell was wrong with me? In that moment, I hope she understood that I had meant it with the utmost respect, and really with loyalty. At times, it's hard to put into words what being a widow is like...all grief is different, however some of the struggles people have in dealing is the same. Dealing with your grief and your children's grief is also a very individualized process. The fact is, we had something in common, that no one really WANTS to have in common with anyone...

Again, it's not an accident that we met. Today is the nine year anniversary of her husband's passing. Even though she's younger than I am, she will never know how much I look up to her. She is patient, understanding, kind, funny, a loving mother, a wonderful friend, and a very real human being. She has had to be a parent to her children, and continually remind her boys about their parent they've never met. She understands the ebb and flow of life, parenthood and grief that most parent's never have to...I've thought about you a lot today Sarah. And while I never got the chance to met him, Bleu would be so proud of the parent/woman/mother/friend you are today...love to you today and always.

...how's your view?

"If I knew then what I know now..." is a concept that readily swims around in my head from time to time...like at times long enough for it to get 'pruned' fingers. Most of the time you hear this spoken it lends itself to regret and pain. It's some cautionary thought about how life/situations/time could have been better. I learned a phrase during my formative years, "...it's not better or worse, it's just different" and I think subconsciously it has taken over. And unknowingly and thankfully it has saved me at times.

Each of my children's reason for existence is very different...that sounds cryptic. What I mean is that the reasons I feel I'm lucky enough to be their parent is different. Sure I believe they were all put on this earth to accomplish something unique and exciting, but it's more. I identify who they are and what they will be maybe the most in my heart.

Oscar miracle baby. We were told we'd probably not be able to get pregnant, due to anti rejection medication that Jason was on. When we found out we did, it wasn't a feeling of "HA! TAKE THAT WESTERN MEDICINE!" It was more like the feeling of being blessed. Blessed to be parents. Blessed to have an answered prayer. Blessed to have the chance to watch something that was just ours grow. He's possibly a bit spoiled, being the oldest. He's at times a bit too literal with his thoughts. He's like granite; beautifully, endlessly layered and at times hard to crack. He was brought to this earth to engage in a unique way, with his interesting insights on life and endless creativity.

Abe was the affirmation, clearly we might no longer have a problem getting pregnant. Having babies 18 months apart gets you some very interesting looks, as if perhaps we needed another hobby. Why does anyone feel it necessary to actually say, "...you know what causes that, don't you?" Gross. At any rate, he was this whirlwind of a baby, a tad clingy, a tad ornery, but completely adorable. Always ready to entertain. Always ready to play. Always quick to pick up exactly what you NEVER wanted anyone to repeat. He's bright, entertaining, and caring. He holds this unbelievable ability to connect with the smallest of children, engage them, and wants to teach them. He was brought to this earth to be a father, first and foremost.

Nora. In a house where everyone stood to pee BUT me, Nora was the daughter I desperately needed. She was this tiny little thing in the beginning, and watching the men in my life turn to putty around her...was something I'll never forget. She's quick with a joke. Her volume is sometimes nonexistent. She's an old sole, the likes of which I cannot even put an age to. She has helped me when I really felt like giving up. She has understood, even when I couldn't answer her question. She was brought to this earth to help me remember the value of another female-drama and all. Not sure if she'll ever be a mother, but I am convinced that she will be some one's best friend.

Atticus, the truest end. He is the embodiment of the notion that you are capable of doing anything, if only you believe in yourself. He's strong willed. He fears very little. He has no concept of the word can't. I truly believe he'll never use it. He is sort of the best mix of all of his siblings. He walks up to any kid and asks them to be his friend. He is quick to show love, but will let you know if you've ticked him off. He's creative, compassionate, entertaining and a thinker. He sort of has embodied more than I probably ever thought he would at the time he was born. He has been my benchmark on parenting, if he's jacked up, well there's only me to thank for that. He will forever be my reminder that life, no matter what you are thrown, does go on...what the view looks like is entirely up to you.

We go back to the "...if I knew then what I know now...". To me, life isn't meant to be anything other than how you survive it. If I would have been told how my life would have turned after having Atticus, it would have actually been to my detriment. I would never have learned all I have about my children, or myself. I would never have been able to get past what life handed out, to understand what ELSE life CAN hand you. Yeah, I know more now than I knew then...But, tonight, when we are lighting a "3" candle on a birthday cake, I am reminding myself something. I'm reminding myself that going forward, while sometimes scary, also gives this abounding hope of what is yet to be. To my youngest, Atticus...I write this with tears in my eyes, because I think you are the bravest kid I've ever met. Let's eat that ugly cake now!

...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...

...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...

...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...

...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…

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...

...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!