...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.

 

...ghosts

I spend a lot of time seeing ghosts. Ghosts of my past, ghosts of my present and ghosts of my future. It is a hard concept to explain as no matter what has happened to a person, no one else really knows what it is like to walk in their shoes, even if their experiences have remotely been similar. It is all part of life, everyone's life, I'm not special in this circumstance. But it is how you perceive these ghosts that determine where you were, what you are doing and most importantly where you want to go.

The house that I live in is full of ghosts...figuratively speaking of course. The history that resides within its walls is telling. The old woodwork, interesting nooks, bubbly old windows and charm resonates with a person. Even nearly five years after moving in this beautiful place, I can still just sit and marvel at who once sat where I was sitting. At times I feel like if I even listen closely, I can hear the day to day that must have once gone on here, that is if I can hear them over the day to day that is currently going on. In the simplest of terms, this house feels like a hug when I have needed it, a headache when I don't know how to fix something and reminds me daily that I am, for now, right where I need to be.

My children routinely portray a ghostly glimpse to me, the likes of which used to break my heart and silently shatter my will. I would see something in them or something they did that only I knew was their dad. I wondered if my face was, at times, a tell . Then, as time passed the glimpses' edges softened, and what I saw filled me with the pride in knowing we were surviving. The ghost was a friendly reminder not of something lost, but of what I will continually gain by being their mother. I get to see them grow into these unique individuals all the while knowing that the very best parts of their father and I, we gave to them as their start in life, the rest they get to decide for themselves.

Then there are the ghosts within myself. The person I once was is so very different from the body that I walk around in today. The person who I once was is a vague image, like an old picture of people that you can't quite remember everyone's names. The person I once was, wasn't better or worse, just different...naieve...at times ungrateful for what I had. The ghosts that I see within myself have changed from that of just putting on a "brave face" to knowing and realizing that I have a bold face, the likes of which I have to love even when I don't want to. The person that I once was didn't or couldn't understand or comprehend all that life could throw at her, doubting everything she did. Doubt is inevitable, but growing and learning from it is the silver lining at the end of the day. The ghost that used to haunt me, daily and hourly, was the concept of when things were going to get better. The cliché of "...you'll know when it does", made me want to drink, scream, cry and merely give up. The fact that things actually got better without being alerted via text message, meant that it happened in such an organic way that it was REAL. It wasn't something I was doomed to have to repeat for an eternity. The "better" ghost was happening by just living, breathing, loving and healing, and while I'm proud of where I am, I'm not sentimental enough to invite that ghost back.

For the first time I can see the future ghosts, not looming in a bad way, but in a coruscant and brilliant way. These future ghosts are the ones that will reassure me of where we have been, how lucky we are to have each other and will no doubt be the moments that will fill my heart with pride and my soul with ease. These are the moments used to vex me, wondering how I would ever fill a possible void of the person not present for graduations, marriages and grandchildren. When you stop letting something you have no control over scare you, it is a freeing feeling. These future ghosts will always be present but more in the way that you see a symbol like a rainbow, butterfly, humming bird or an owl. Their subtlety will reassure you that once again you are just where you should be...and three seconds afterward you smile.

Find your ghosts, embrace them if you can, learn from them what you will and love them the best way you know how.

...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...

...this is livin'...

So...there are these days. They sort of sneak up on you. You have a plan, you've set a goal, and it appears you're reaching it. Sure you had to hand out two rounds of Popsicles to get it done. Yes, you had to let your nine year old use hedge trimmers (and he still has 10 fingers score!). Undoubtedly, you had to invent some 'game' so that you could clean out the garage fridge, and rake the front yard...you made it through the first round of things you want to do, and it's only 10:30? SNAP!

Clearly, the Popsicles weren't enough. The 'game' got old, and frankly, the longer the kids were outside, they knew they were in for more chores. Frankly, other than making dinner, I didn't have anything else planned...other than getting dirty. Really dirty, like the kind that leaves a ring in the tub kind of dirty. It was the most beautiful day we've had all year long, and we were going to soak it up, but first a little break.

Belly up to the counter at Steak and Shake were we. Oscar was worried, sitting so close to the workers. I think his direct quote was, "they will see me stuffing my face..." I told him, why should I always get to be the one to enjoy that? In my mind, I took a little picture. I took a picture of them, oddly enough sitting in chronological order at the counter. Watching the cooks, and shake makers do their thing. In my head, I wanted to remember them, sitting there earning their chore's reward. Atticus, he made out like a bandit, a milkshake all for not eating dirt...

Later, Nora and I cut up a little watermelon, she's been begging me for one for months. All the while I knew she'd eat one piece and be done. She ate two, but at some point I did hear her say, "...this is livin'" I started the grill, the smalls started digging (the perpetual dirt pile we need to have so they have some place to dig) and Oscar and I started talking. He wanted to know what we were grilling and could he help. Much to his surprise, I said sure...I mean, he survived hedge trimmers, let's move on to fire, shall we?

After sorting out three meals worth of meat to grill, no one but Oscar and I wanted to be outside. I started a bath for the smalls, and Abe asked if he could supervise. Much to his surprise, I said yes. I told him and the smalls NO SPLASHING and I'd be back in 3 minutes. In the snippets of time spent indoors and outdoors there was quality there. The topic of "Geek-dom" came up with Oscar while he was a grill master. I assured him he wasn't. I told him, he was like his dad in so many ways it was astounding, and he wasn't a geek. I checked on Abe and the tub'o'smalls and they were having a blast being silly and loud enough to wake the dead. The day was crazy, and beautiful, and unlike any one we've had in so very long...there was nothing routine about it.

At the 'meat-o-rama dinner' (as Oscar called it), we talked. We told stories. Oscar's story was about a mom that he saw at his school. "...and you know mom, she had a tattoo on her back right above her pant line? And so-in-so said, well that's inappropriate!" I thought the explanation of a tramp stamp wouldn't be necessary at this juncture...more of a Thanksgiving lesson to be learned. We laughed at each other and talked about what we liked most about the day. In my head, I knew some of them. Atticus enjoyed running in the back yard with no shoes or pants on. Nora liked planting flowers seeds in her flower pots. But, I was the most surprised by the Talls response. Abe liked giving the smalls a bath. Oscar liked talking to me outside...

If we never have another day like this, it would be okay. I was reminded that skirting the routine is not only good for you, but at times necessary. I was proven today, that letting go of control, can not only be rewarding for those who want it, but make life a hell of a lot easier. I lay my head down tonight, knowing that it isn't always about quantity, but the quality that can push you through to the next great day...

...the rookie mistake...

Snuggled under a blanket on the couch with Atticus. He turns to me  and says something, putting his head on my shoulder. I speak his language, but the kid is hard to decipher. To the untrained ear it sounds like, "...blah, blah, blah..." I turned to him and said, "...did you just say you're so pretty?" He looks at me and plain as day he says, "...No, I said I have a boogie. See?" Rookie mistake, right?

All day long the phrase has been in my head. So, to end the evening like I did wasn't happenstance. It got me thinking of the 'rookie mistakes'. They are at times hard lessons to learn, and at times they are possibly our greatest blessings in disguise. They can happen at any time, bouncing in to secretly shape and form who we are or who we will become. I think about the 'rookie mistake' I made sitting next to a guy at the first frat party I ever went to...it wasn't a mistake. It was my fortune yet to be unearthed. Four kids later, I'm grateful for that frat party, and the After Shock that was being consumed by some. That rookie move shaped who I was in an instant, and I am forever in his debt.

Being overly verbal, rookie mistake? Maybe, but I can carry on a conversation with all of my kids, even the one I only understand. They get a joke, and can deliver a punch line...If that's wrong, I don't want to be right. New found rookie mistake? Grounding two boys might actually be as much punishment for me as it is for them. I'm out numbered 24 hours a day, how would I have known? We are in the final stretch of said punishment, the light is glimmering at the end of the tunnel. While they have driven me NUTS, I feel like they have truly learned a lesson. So, we'll call it a draw.

Catering to my kids whims? Rookie mistake. I think I have hidden under the guise of 'choose your battles, or just avoid them completely'. I'm here to tell you, that's bull shit, and I now know it. I have created a diva of a monster, who has literally been quoted saying, "...I cannot eat peas (or anything green), they make me shiver..." Her mini-cohort also has an arsenal of tricks. The tiny terrorist won't eat, throws a fit, telling you he's leaving the table. But, if you completely ignore him, he bores himself into eating. Who's rookie mistake is that? (insert evil laugh here)

Then there comes the trinity of rookie mistakes that every parent makes. I'm no different, and they wouldn't matter at all if I wasn't doing this alone. So, these are named ÜBER ROOKIE MISTAKES. Mine are as follows: Not asking for help. Freaking out (on myself and my kids). Over planning, and being scared to meander off said plan. I've been told my house could possibly resemble a Nazi camp...not proud of that. Now, like I said, these aren't really that big of a deal...but, when you are the only drinking age adult in the house? They can add up QUICK. Here is where the "Mental Jenga" comes into play, and sometimes I just don't have it in me. Stock up on the Ginkgo Biloba and hope for the best?

Putting myself out there, after losing Jason, rookie mistake? Hardly. I have been reminded of some of my greatest friendships from 20 years. Most importantly how very lucky I am and  how very valuable they are. I have been so very blessed to have new friendships. Some people I've known, some I have met out of my new circumstances. Letting these people in who love me and all of my flaws, and at times can even toast them! I'm grateful to all of the above who have reminded me of not only who I can be, but what they see in me.

Lastly, the start of blog writing, rookie mistake? What started out as just a way to not seek therapy or get a 'club card' at a liquor store, has become a great release. I did however make a rookie mistake taking the first offer to get it published. It was a scary concept, thinking this may be my only chance. This was on my bucket list. And when it fell through, it was bitter sweet. However, it forced me to go back and read...and edit...and remember. Remember what I've learned. Realize how much we have all grown. And finally, know that even a rookie mistake can be the beginning of something adventurous...

...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."

out of townees

Dinah Washington sang it, "What a difference a day makes..." Very interesting what 24 hours can do to your psyche. Feeling defeated in every aspect of my life. Then, waking up, attacking the day, knowing that if I do the best I can, is all that's really asked of me in this world. Maybe it's just a band aid, but I'll take it.

For anyone who has thought about journaling or blogging, it's worth it. It's like a visit to a therapist, without the copay. Writing has and is been my best way of getting through this whole thing. The act of getting it from my brain, out my fingers and onto a keyboard. It's like a mental cleansing. It is something that has to be felt, at times to the point of madness. Only to wake up one morning and feel like a new day, a new attitude, and new lease on life. And today, I'm not questioning it.

As always, Sundays give millions of reasons to write. Whether it be the ordeal of getting kids ready for church. The madness that ensues when you ask 8 and 9 year old to 'dress nice' (as if I was asking them to cross-dress). The endless toys/snacks/sippy cups/entertainment necessary to keep LOUD kids quiet...they only work so well.

Today, as every other Sunday, no one owns an inside voice. For some reason, Nora sees church as her venue to try out all her new material. Today, she quoted Pee-Wees Big Adventure twice. While anyone might think that is random, it's completely Nora. As the priest raised his hands in church (as any catholic would know, it's often) Atticus took that as if he was being waved at, him only. He continued to wave back and say, "HEELLOO!"

Snacks given out. Church pews thoroughly examined by Atticus. We made it to the end. Our priest always asks every Sunday if there are any people visiting. I hear a snicker behind me, and turn to see Nora. There she is, huge smile on her face, waving her hand in the air to his question. I turned to her and said, "...what are you doing?" She informed me that she really just felt like raising her hand.

What's the point? The point is that 24 hours can change a lot. There is a silver lining somewhere, you just have to try not to trip over it. And finally, anything is possible, if given time, hope for a better day and maybe just pretending you're from out of town. 

It's take your pants off Tuesday!

Well, I admit it. I was smug. I was cocky that we'd survived this winter unscathed with anything other than the need to make up games to entertain ourselves. You know, the ones that would possibly put us directly into straight jackets if we tried to explain during a psychiatric evaluation. We had survived this brutal winter with no sicknesses...until yesterday.

Ninety dollars and forty-five minutes in a very small examining room, you can do a lot of soul searching. Why my kids find it fun/necessary to think they have to strip down to get their throat examined? I have no idea. While the very patient doctor was asking all the questions she needed, her patients were listing every single thing that ailed them. I cannot be sure but I think one patient complained of fingernail sensitivity.

Meanwhile, Atti was tearing into anything that wasn't nailed down. Opening drawers, pushing buttons and inspecting the built in stirrups at the end of the examining table.  As I barricaded the door so as not to have a runner, it occurred to me that we were not going to be so lucky with this visit. Sinus infection, two cases of strep throat, and a skin eating bacteria...and it was only Monday? Not exactly sure if Atti and I have anything to diagnose yet. Fairly certain the CDC hasn't even classified what we may be brewing. We lie in wait...

This harsh winter has given many time to do a little soul searching. It's given the members of our "exclusive club of crazy" many goals to set for ourselves. You know, when we can once again venture outdoors without having to check to see if we are missing digits to frost bite. It has also, while at times maddening, found us acknowledging our triggers, our limits to lunacy, and the ability to laugh when basically there isn't anything else to do. When it's that cold, you actually have to stay indoors...and talk to each other! Foreign thought that shouldn't be, but it's true. I've told stories, heard stories, and we've made up stories. We've rearranged furniture, got creative with cooking (who am I kidding, mac-n-cheese is still a food group in this house). We've cleaned out closets, not dusted or mopped enough, but thoroughly discussed a garden.

Popcorn for dinner? Yes. While meagerly finding out guacamole isn't worth gagging over there have been triumphs. How else would kitchen-floor-spatula-Ping-Pong have been invented? Or the fact that while 'Take Your Pants Off Tuesday' is usually an afternoon event, Atti believes it isn't limited to Tuesday. The fun to be had with boredom will not probably be remembered a year from now, but it's how we are surviving. Well, a full liquor cabinet is helpful too...