...heir to the thrown...

This is a cautionary tale... A letter to myself, not today but more like two years ago. Also, this is a reminder to anyone reading this, life is fleeting. Not in a "dooms-day" sort of way, more like an "enjoy-every-moment" kind of way...even the ones that aren't enjoyable, as those are the times you learn the most about who you are.

I was going through a couple of boxes today. Their whereabouts have been known for over a year, I just hadn't ever gotten around to getting them. The contents of which came from Jason's office. His day to day "stuff" he had cluttering his office. Pictures he had on his wall, frames he had on his desk. The rouge plate and fork that had gone missing from my cabinets years ago. DVDs he would play during a boring work day for background noise I suppose. Pictures the kids had drawn him over the years. Nothing on the surface that is that mind bending really, but clearly I was avoiding going through this stuff. In doing so, all I could notice is what was missing.

I met someone the other day I had only ever known via Facebook. He had been high school friends with Jason. He complimented me on how he thought I was doing. He remarked that I always seemed to have a positive outlook on life. I told him thank you, that it always wasn't that way. I figured I should have to PAY a copay for a therapy session, and told him in reality I might owe him money. It's interesting to what degree perception has when you look at life. His comment lifted me up, and for a moment I reminded myself to ponder that when I'm just about to have a Mommy Dearest moment.

The grief I go through isn't for myself. I've said that many times, and I only hope I can convey what I mean. It's like trying to fix something that isn't even there, doesn't exist to the human eye. My grief, my struggle just isn't for me. I suppose I feel like I have so many years of memories, that I don't have to strain to conjure them up. For my kids, it's completely different. Today I was reminded of that fact. Today, I thought to myself, wouldn't it have been therapeutic to be able to tell myself two years ago what I would need right now...so here goes...

"Dearest Kate~ It's me, I'm you...older, wiser, more tired, more caffeinated you. I don't want to spoil the details of what your life will be, so I'm giving you some advice. Take it.

You are going to think this is crazy...take more pictures! No, I haven't been hitting the bottle. Take more pictures of the kids and their Dad. You wouldn't believe the stunning lack of pictures...of anyone with Jason accept the heir to the thrown, Oscar. His picture has been over taken, but seriously, there are three other kids in this house aren't there? They need to have a ton of pictures taken with this man, if for no other reason that to just spark up some memory. Who cares if you're having a good hair day? You aren't someone they will need to remember, you'll be all they see and it'll drive you AND them crazy.

Make memories for these kids. Some day soon, all you will be able to think of is the 'should-haves' that never happened. Then your mind will think of the 'would-haves' that could have happened. Then lastly, when you are seriously wrecked, the 'never-got-to-haves' set in...and well from there it's nearly rock bottom. Your memories are yours forever, but the ones your kids have, well they are fleeting at best. With every passing day, a scant picture doesn't bring back what was there, and it gets harder for them. Those memories, I hope will help them rally through the dark days.

Remind yourself that you have GREAT kids. They will be your rock and your reason for living even more than you would ever think at this moment. Someday it will just be them, and you need them fiercely. Involve their Dad in your routine with them more. Yeah, he might want to watch the game and yeah, you are a control freak. But, when you are asked in years to come how HE would read a bedtime story? And you come up empty answered? It sucks in such a way that is maddening. Also, on the 'maddening' theme, lose your shit once in a while. Doesn't make sense? Well, there will be times when people nearly EXPECT you to not be on your A-game...so lose it. Your controlling ways may help you out, but honestly, you won't get a prize later for 'holding it all together' when you had the chance...I'm just saying.

Lastly, pick yourself up, keep those legs shaved, and the cocktails coming. You have absolutely no CLUE what life has in store for you...I'm just merely amending your life's guide. Like you seeing yourself from behind in a department store mirror, hindsight isn't too lovely in that light either."

...prison break

I love my children dearly. I love that I get to watch them grow into such different amazing people.I'm lucky because they are great kids. I don't begrudge my obligation to be their parent. To be a guiding influence in life, to have short nights, early mornings and loud rowdy days. That being said, it has been three weeks since I have been out of my house WITHOUT them. Tonight, as most anyone I know already knows since I have mentioned it ad nauseam, I'm getting out of the house!

I've already mentioned to my little rays of sunshine that while I love them, when the babysitter steps one foot into the house tonight, I will be stepping one foot out. I try to reassure them it isn't that don't want to be here with them. It's that I have to actually leave them every once and a while for me to appreciate them more. Not sure what I'm going to do (well, I totally do but that's for me to know), but some time away is, at this point in my brain, "critical-need" status.

That's the thing about my life...I miss spontaneity. I never appreciated it when I had it. I never actually took advantage of it ever before. I miss someone saying, "Get dressed, we're going out..." or even, "...no, you head out to the store alone, I've got this...". That's where my 'control-freak' button kicks in. It's cleverly hidden behind my left ear. Not because I enjoy having it, it's necessary for survival. For me to do anything alone, I have to not only plan ahead, make phone calls, try not to sound too needy, and line up everything else in this house so that I can leave seamlessly...and...I hate that. I hate asking for help (I know, this is constantly said, but really I need to wear a sign).  I hate that I can't just slip out and have some alone time. I hate that by the time I actually get out of the house, my brain has already checked out DAYS before. I hate that I might be giving my kids the subliminal message that at times I can't handle...life.

In a perfect world, I'd be independently wealthy. Care.com would actually find someone to help me babysit my kids one day a week. In a perfect world, I wouldn't feel like someone needing a PRISON BREAK...In a perfect world I could handle all of this, well, better. I feel pretty empowered by what I have mastered so far in this new life of ours. I have figured out how to get stuff done, not like I would have done them before, but oh well. My house is 'clean', my kids are fed, the laundry is still getting done. I keep thinking that with more time under my belt, I'll figure out the "getting out of the house" business...you know, before I'm mentally squealing the tires out of my driveway in my minivan screaming FREEDOM!!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Family Visiting Day

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

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

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

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

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

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

...the unspoken phrase...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...I have no regrets...

...and it's a new world...For the first time in two months I have two functioning hands. While I am grateful that I can wash BOTH hands, I look, however, like I'm in a pro-bowling league. I have a four year old daughter. I have a second grader and a fourth grader. We have a hard-fast plan to what our weekly on goings will be, every thing from 'big breakfast Saturday' to Lego Night. We are settling in, seemingly without incident...however, you know that it is never that easy...

We had our first birthday party here last Sunday. At some point in my tour-of-motherhood-duty, I thought it a good idea to tell the kids that they could have a birthday party on their even birthdays...sounds like a nice way of not having an EXTRAVAGANZA x 4 every year, right? Well, I didn't do the full math, and this year? Yep, they are ALL turning an even number...all I know about party planning is to make sure I have some form of cocktail for any adults in attendance...I have a lot to learn. Nora was the first to christen our house with a Mermaid Birthday Party, complete with decorations, mermaid costume, and cake...she grinned from the time she donned her costume until she went to bed the next night. I asked her if she had a nice birthday, to which she said, "the best!!". I asked her, how it felt to be four years old? I asked her if she thought she was ready for this new year of her life? To which her response was, "...I have no regrets...". I was quick to ask her what she had just said, as I didn't even know if she knew what it meant. The next thing she said to me was, "....ssh, we're having a moment..."

Turns out, the Talls, had an adjustment getting back into the swing of school, ever so slightly. The boom as been lowered that indeed, showering is necessary...daily. They love their teachers, but one of them were quick to point out after we met the teacher, "...how do I know she's not just being nice because you're there?" The thought process of an evil genius? Maybe. Oscar's biggest problem, has been that he can't get to sleep...he's a night owl, and a bear in the morning. He actually asked if he could set an alarm, as he was sure that he was going to have issues waking up. I literally hysterically laughed at that comment. I said, "...Sure, you know you already have an alarm clock? It's your kid brother in the room next door to you...If 5:45 isn't early enough for you, than you are out of luck..." to which I think I mumbled something to myself about not having a need for an alarm clock for the last NINE years...someday, I suppose.

The kid brother, who worships the sunrise? Well, I can only see about two weeks out with that one, anything else, I fear would terrify me or drive me to the liquor cabinet too early in the day. He is starting to talk, and I realized today, after whispering/saying 'damn it' after every jag-a-bin thing that he does...that's probably the next word out of his mouth, and he won't be whispering it, that's just not his style. Running,then stopping when he's up to no good to look at you and grin...insert warm fuzzy thoughts of the liquor cabinet. He is going to be my biggest challenge, and I'm already mentally picturing what he looks like in an orange jumpsuit with the letters DOC on the lapel...

This madness, this craziness, this lunacy, this delirium...this is my life, this is my work, these are my blessings. I get to sit back in my pretty little corner, chew on my non-existent hair, and know tomorrow will just about the same, if not better...