...when the sugar buzz wears off...

This time of year makes me nostalgic, the fresh breeze, the warming temperatures, the bursting blooms of flowers and trees all around...well, scratch a few of those, but you get what I mean. This time of year everything sort of becomes new again, new color, new hue, beauty where drear once lain. Memories of Easter as the kids were growing. New memories being made with little ones who still devour the magic of this time of year like eating the first Peeps of the season.

I'm excited to celebrate Easter this year. We have lots of food planned, games to play and despite the bender Mother Nature has been on, a ton of eggs to hunt. Sidebar, Easter candy is my nemesis. I imagine it stems from giving it up every year for Lent when I was a kid. Let me just say, I had to sample some of the impending hunt's loot. But, most of all, I'm excited to celebrate together as a family, try some new traditions, eat, laugh and sneak some Easter candy.

My one and only hope through time, traditions and memory making is with every year, even after the magic is lost, the excitement doesn't diminish just becomes renewed. I have enjoyed watching the Talls cultivate Atticus' excitement, like watching a beautiful plant bloom. This year he is very interested in our Easter Eggster, more observant than any other year. Ours is a squirrel who seems to forget to move regularly, thankfully he likes to hang out in our peanut bowl. I think it adds to it's authenticity, and explains my lack of memory. Nora is a wild card on this whole topic. I'm not sure if she's going along for the ride or still believes and doesn't want to look childish to her older siblings. It is a slippery slope of to believe or not believe, and no one wants to ask the question.

So many questions as a parent. Some you want to know the answers, some you fear the answers, some you hope you are never asked. Like the other day when Atti asked if I would have another baby...? Not sure if he wants someone to corrupt or if he was worried about his position/station in this family. I reassured him that no, he was probably going to always be the youngest, unless we adopted a Guinea pig, which by the way will never happen. The puberty video behind us, we hung up the important pamphlet on the fridge, knowing it might shame the owner of getting too technical with his younger siblings. Life is too short to know everything at six...where's the fun in that?


My optimistic goal is to enjoy another holiday together, or survive? Ask me for a status report on Sunday about 5 p.m. Hopefully by then everyone is fed, the sugar buzz has worn off and all either believe in the magic of this holiday or pretend to believe that we are a normal family. From ours to yours Happy Easter making memories with the ones you love.

...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...

...chicken or beef?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...giant exhale...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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