Shady Day

So, a strange thing happened to me yesterday. I was checking out at a store and the lady in front of me turned to me and said, "I don't really know you, but I keep up with you through friends on social media. I just wanted to tell you how happy I am for you that you are getting remarried. You deserve to be happy, you and your kids have been through a lot. I'm so glad that life is treating you well." I thanked her and said considering where I was five years ago at this time, I never imagined my life would be what it is today.

The "Dark Day"...everyone has one. Whether it be a day of sadness, remembrance or the scab of grief that never fully heals itself. These days are met at times with shuttering anticipation, self-evaluation and the prophetic wonder about what the next "dark day" will look like. Through time, one hopes to see this day come and go, surviving it unscathed with hopefully a nugget of wisdom attached. Grief, sadly for those who experience it, is atemporal, free from limitations of time. However, happiness is also atemporal, if one continues to see a silver lining, no matter how difficult it might be. Yesterday, it was a stranger who made sure to remind me the millions of reasons I have to smile.

For me, this day is a day I have been wondering about for the last five years. I wondered how I would be five years beyond. I wondered how I would figure out how to go on living, raising kids, making ends meet, single parenting and basically holding it all together without my best friend. I remember looking at my mom and saying, "I can't do this." Fully not believing in myself because I never had to before in this way. This extreme way of dealing with life basically alone, other than the offspring that we created, my best friend and I. The mere notion of being outnumbered and raising kids I knew I would most definitely screw up...how's that for atemporal?

Today five years later, I'm grateful. I'm grateful for the chance to have become a mother, the toughest job you'll ever love. I'm grateful to have had a best friend who I am sure is looking down on our kids with pride, and occasionally laughing his ass off at the antics they attempt. I'm grateful for the support of friends and family, encouraging me to not forget my strength. I'm grateful for the chance to fully accept that life is not always kind, so take what you are given and live it to its fullest. I'm grateful for the arguments my kids had with me this morning about wearing their hats, and my come back to them, "Well, you're going to take them off as soon as I pull away from the school- humor me, please." I'm grateful for a cocktail some days. I'm grateful for the chance I've been given to be a wife again. I'm grateful for someone to love again. I'm grateful for the understanding that the last five years have given me. Today is not where I thought I would be five years ago, it is way better than I could ever have anticipated. No one is in jail (yet), only a few trips to the ER, and we've all endured this thing called life.

Through the years, on this "dark day" I would never look at social media. I would never sit down or sit still for fear I might lose it. My phone was put away and the kids and I would set out on an adventure. I had always hoped that eventually, the "dark day" could just become a "shady day," knowing only time would get us there eventually. I sort of feel like it has. Five years later, we're scaling back a bit, having a nice dinner, sharing fun memories about their dad...and buying shoes. (GASP!!!!) Anyone with offspring know, buying shoes for one kid, let alone four is something akin to any myriad of the tactics used at Guantanamo Bay. A cocktail at dinner for me and ice cream for the kids afterwards will be the reward for somehow not getting arrested in a department store today. Five years later, I'm still thanking Jason for the gifts he has given me. Also, I want to thank those gifts, my kids, for always giving me a reason to look for a silver lining, not only on this "shady day" but every day.

Just to be safe, here's a heads up if I call you from the police station, I'm going to need a ride.

...hello...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

thank you Smelma...

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

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

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

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

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

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

...I want a new drug...

I don't care who knows it...I loved Huey Lewis and the News. My first record was their 1984 album Sports. I knew every song on that album word for word when I was 10 years old. Lately, a song has been playing in my head of theirs...unusual really as you don't hear a lot of them these days. It wasn't until the other day when I was confronted with a statement from Nora, the song's lyrics made sense.

Nora walked in from school, put her book bag down, and said, "Mom, we need to talk..." I turned and looked at her. With the most serious face she says to me, "...Mom...I don't know how to tell you this...you're a drug addict, you drink beer and coffee..." I asked her how health class was today, and then told her that I don't really drink beer. She then asked,"...what about the coffee, it's a drug you know?!" I told her that I was a single mother of four, and if she could walk into the grocery store and buy what I drink in the pre-dawn hours of the day, it wasn't a drug.

Saturday it will be 3 years since Jason has passed. At times it is a struggle to try and remember what life was like. Other times, it's as easy as blinking. I've had conversations with my kids. The Talls told me that they don't really remember what it was like with their dad here. I told them that the daily routine wasn't worth remembering half as much as just things about Jason. While it terrifies me to be that open with them, I'm grateful at the same time that we have some sort of dialog open. Some have extended dialog, others would rather retell me fart jokes than deal with 'feelings'. We are at a strange interchange. At times I am left wondering if what my kids are going through at times is grief or just adolescent bullshit. Are they dealing, or do I just want to take drugs to deal with them?

There is a stunning lack of notion of the phrase ROLE MODEL in this house. The fact that Nora and I are outnumbered by boys is bad enough. When you add the tiniest member to the Merry-Band-Of- Weirdos? That's when I hit the wall. I realize that no one thinks it's cool to be a role model anymore, but at this point I've contemplated paying for that service in this house. The way you treat others is a direct reflection on how you want to be treated...(crickets)...the golden rule...(crickets). I swear to Mary, Jesus, and Joseph if you teach your brother or sister to say that limerick, ever, I'm letting the Amish pick you up on Tuesday!...seems to get the point across, for a while.

It's strange, but I always wondered what 3 years would look like...when I couldn't even begin to understand how I would make any of this work. I wondered if we would get our act together. I wondered if it would be easier, more light hearted, less painful, normal. Who knew that the answer to those quandaries would be yes and no...to all of them at any given time. In the beginning I had my habits, my methods, my time alone to quietly deal with stuff...that time is few and far between anymore. Things that once helped me through aren't working...to quote Huey Lewis "...I Want A New Drug..." Figuratively speaking of course.

Today, I was given a compliment that I probably will never forget and I don't think it was even intended to be. A dear friend that I have made here in Canton told me that even though she really never met Jason, she feels like she knew him based on us...our family...the stories we've told...how we interact...and that Jason had to have been a great guy, he picked me to spend his life with. It made me not wonder where we'd be in 3 years, but grateful where I have been and where we have been in the last 3 years. The way we've grown, things we've done, and how very far we have come. My heart aches for my kids, rather routinely, that they don't have this one person missing from their lives. My mind reaches to tell them stories they might have never heard before about their dad. My soul knows that no matter how I would have planned my life, this is how it was supposed to be, lucky enough to have known and loved, blessed beyond measure from the beyond, and forever grateful for the stories that come with it...and yes, at times it has come with a bourbon.

...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...

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...

...there's ol' Widow Hunt...

...the funny thing about life? You don't really understand it until you have to...You don't really know what is in store for you, until everything you knew is sort of worthless. Some would look at this as a growing experience. Some would look at it as a chance for rebirth of their faith. Some would even go so far as saying you are better for it happening to you. But that's the thing, they aren't you...

Life is full of all of these terms and generalizations branding situations that are so very individualized that it is almost laughable. The things that people say while one is grieving? You can either laugh at them or if you are really talented you nod your head while mentally punching them in the face. I wish I had the proper response to someone who is grieving...but the only thing that comes to mind is a hug, a bottle of good booze, and a smile.

Now, thankfully, I'm no longer settled into this place. I remember it, and I remember it well. Every now and again, someone will say something to me, and I seriously have to stunt the urge to tell them that unknowingly what they uttered is not only offensive, but sweet Jesus don't ever say that to anyone again. These are thankfully few and far between. I know people are stunted for knowing what to say, and even an overly verbal person like myself NOW knows saying nothing is almost preferred.

So, this rant? Does it have a reason? One word...widow. I sort of hate that word. Understandably, it meant something a little different years ago, it's origin is from the 1400's. A woman's husband would die, leaving her destitute and feeble...leaving her to scuttle off to the edge of town, rarely to be heard of or seen. Her name would be totally forgotten for anything other than that of "...'Ol Widow (insert last name here)..." She would rarely be seen out from underneath a darkened veil...yeah, that sounds like me.

This word, this term shouldn't have to determine my grief...but to some it still does. Grief shouldn't have to be worn to know it's happening. One term shouldn't brand you for the rest of your life. But, try explaining your situation if you are one...head tilts and sad looks. As if that is going to help the fact that you cannot be at the orthodontist for one of your kids at 6:30 am. There's no real great way to meet new people unless you are ready for their possible response. And nothing starts a party like the phrase, "...I'm a widow..." Pass the fun flask...

I decided a long time ago that I would grieve the way I needed to. I would let the break downs, the fall outs, the waves come when I needed it to come, in my own time, my own way. Not wear it on my sleeve like some scarlet letter. Not have to constantly remind people that I'm damaged, I'm a widow. I sort of feel some stupid sense of empowerment from it. I think my spouse would be proud of me, as crazy as I am, for grieving the way I have despite the way the world works. I'm not saying that I fully understand life, but I'm saying that I understand it more than the word widow could possibly identify me...and end rant.

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!

...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."

...the moon and back...

The moon is full...no I mean, REALLY FULL. I heard today that the moon is the fullest it's been or will be in a while...triggering unrivaled emotions, odd behavior, and mood swings. I would have normally said, "...sounds like your average day here". Then I started thinking. It made clear sense...almost eerily so.

While the nudist colony still stakes claim here, I've taken it upon myself to dress Atti in MANY layers. By the time I find him trying to get 'as nature intended', he's usually only two layers in...we've negotiated on socks, they are now optional. However, I made it very clear that some day, the orange jumpsuit will be mandatory, enjoy his freedoms now. He laughs, and runs away, usually finding the most pointy object he possibly can find...fourth kid.

The moon's lure did not surprise me in this house. Emotions have been running high for a few days, about very little on the surface, which usually means there's more there but no one is wanting to talk. I even found myself if a fury of things to do today, and then duly noted to myself, get ready...it's your turn next. Not sure if I can blame this on exhaustion, or just another family event tomorrow. At any rate, it hit. Tomorrow Abe's birthday...It's hard to imagine, as it seems like yesterday he was born. As with any holiday, I try extra hard on the kids birthdays to make sure it is as it has always been...but sometimes I wonder if it's enough.

I am very careful about talking about Jason with them. I don't make a big deal out of it, he's part of our vernacular. However, I try very hard not to pry into what they are feeling. Not because I don't want to know, I'm always wary of picking a scab. I'm always wondering, if I say too much is it just going to make them feel worse? I try to constantly and subtly remind them that there is always an open door, when they want it, it's there. But, there are times when I don't have to remind them...they really have no problem of saying it, I'm not the one they want to talk to.

I wish I knew a way to describe Heaven...at least to a four year old. I wish I could just say Guam...at least I could tell her where it was at. I'm asked the same questions routinely. I've read all the books to her. I've quoted Maria Shriver, Elmo, and the kid who died and came back again. Even though I give the same answers every time I'm asked, I know she keeps asking because it's not really the answer she wants, hoping I'll just crack under the pressure. She so desperately wants what she cannot have. It comes in waves, and currently it's high tide.

Then I have one on the opposite end of the spectrum who cannot put it directly into words, but he's just mad. He can mask it at times, but when things don't seem to be going his way, look out! I thought I had a fairly menacing glare, but this kid has nothing on me. I know he's scared, and I can't make him talk until he's ready. So, until then...I enjoy the occasional look of , "...I really hate you...". Last night I called him on it. Told him that while I know life is hard, I'm afraid he's stuck with me. If he was planning to move out, make sure to clean his room before he left.

Then there is Abe, who turns eight tomorrow.This kid that seemingly is right on the cusp of being ornery. He is so full of love. No seriously, the kid would do anything for anyone...willingly plays with the Smalls...he'll run down in the middle of the night to let me know Oscar is sick. He usually does what he's asked to do, THE FIRST TIME. In this house, that's the equivalent of a superhero/mythical character/ someone from the Box Car Children (Abe's newly disclosed favorite books). He is quick with his humor, he loves with all of his heart, and he is a spirited ladies man...heaven help me.

Sometimes, the things that really haunt me, aren't always for me, but for my children. The things that they don't get to have that so many of their friends might take for granted. Everyday I'm sure they miss what they had...even if they've done a lot of living since. Everyday, I try to fill in the gaps of what they might missing. But, let's face it, I'm fighting a ghost. I'm the one telling them to clean their room. I'm the one telling them not to set bad examples for their siblings. I'm the one who can't fully explain why you can't see heaven. I'm the one who can't help them remember an exact time they had with their dad. I'm the one who gets to see their faces the first thing when they wake up...and sometimes it stings, knowing mine isn't the one they wish to see.

I know my kids love me. I know that I have tried hard to keep some stability/routine/sanity here for them, even when I myself was about to lose it. Cut to me, frosting a birthday cake today, thinking do they even know why I do this? It doesn't matter, because I do it for them. The moon, yeah, it caught up with me tonight. For a moment, I was taking out the trash, and before I knew it I was emotional. How much has changed in eight years.  How different our lives have become. Life doesn't give you what you want. It gives you what is supposed to happen. How you survive it is up to you. Me? While it's been a while,  I've become adept at hiding tears...

...you've got 7 days Elf...

It's a slippery slope. The holidays, while only as hectic as you make them for yourself, sadly are winding down. The magic that I see in my kids eyes, just looking for a creepy looking stuffed toy everyday, will end in a week. While it's sort of like a beautiful old song that moves you sometimes into an emotional state, the crescendo of Christmas is near...and then what?

I used to hate Tuesday nights years ago. Jason worked late on those nights. I was always so stressed out about getting the kids fed and in bed by myself. I dreaded the notion of dealing with bottles, babies, school work, baths and bedtimes by myself. A dear friend of mine would listen to me complain about it. That same friend said to me just after Jason passed away, "...I hate how life is for you now...everyday is a Tuesday night...". For what ever reason that conversation has been playing on 'repeat' in my head for the last couple of days...

Every person who has a child knows that there is a time of day, a couple of hours, when inexplicably it's beyond crazy in the house. My time of day like that is fondly called THUNDER DOME and it's from about 3:45pm until about 7:30pm. It was that way with one baby back in the day, it has just become louder with four. Now, that time of day has changed with four, not only due to the noise, but the lack of adult noise. It's the time of day, when I seemingly look to pick up a phone and call someone, or at times long for a pop-in. Today, I sent three card carrying members of Thunder Dome over to the hill to bask in the snow before it melts. I was left with the tiny insurgent who seemed to be subdued by eating his weight in pretzels and carrot sticks. As I sat there looking over school folders, mentally listing everything that still had to be picked up before Friday, a cocktail on the table...I wondered how my life would look 20 years from now.

I wondered how quiet my house would be, what my house would sound like. I contemplated what it would look like...The darken rooms. Floors free of toys. No rouge Cheerios to see under the table. No dirty socks left adjacent to the laundry basket. No one pre-dinner-prep-complaining about vegetables. No one bartering for a soda. No one wanting to be picked up. While quiet is a scarce commodity in this house, the futuristic home I was considering, only glimmered for a moment...it left me feeling empty...as if what I sometimes long for, really isn't anything to look forward to.

The crescendo nearing...I guess I see the years flying. The magic of this time of year, while at times manufactured for those you love, will slowly fade away as the ones you make it for grow older. The thought of how I wished I had a better memory, to be able to remember the little moments they have this time of year...they need to have these memories for later. Wishing I had another adult to help me remember, help me remind them, as my brain is slightly nearing 'crash' mode perpetually. Realizing, that even though everyday is "like a Tuesday night", during this time of year it's thrilling, fun, and magical. Sometimes however, the best moments are the ones you talk about over the table with someone else... and so, not often, but sometimes, for a little bit, I long for the possibility of a Wednesday.

...Buddy the Elf, what's your favorite color?

The holidays mean a lot of different things to people. Some approach it crazed. Some meet it with sadness of those who no longer are at their tree celebrating. Some see it as an over marketed, over produced exercise in glutton. Some use it to their advantage...knowing how a little piece of the holidays always warms their heart in a way that nothing else the rest of the year can...I am all of these...

I'm not alone in this. I was just brought to realize my slightly crazed Christmas obsession. I feel like I enjoy the simple things. The music. The lights. The little things that have become simple holiday traditions. Advent calendars, Elf on the shelf, setting up a nativity, and simply just decorating...it's all the things I enjoy, but seeing my kids get all 'twinkly'-THAT'S why I enjoy it! Hearing one of them walk into a room with a tree lit, and 'oooh and aaahh'. Noticing that the Christmas dishes are out and asking for hot chocolate in them. To me, it's worth being slightly crazed.

Last year, we decorated this beautiful house for the first time. We didn't have any traditions as to where to put this or how to hang that. We could enjoy what we had to put out in an organic way, for the love how it made us feel, hopefully lifting our spirits. And for me, that was a blessing. Christmas last year was hard enough. Looking back on it now...those decorations, those lights, etc...it was a form of therapy. It was like a blanket we could snuggle down into, and for a moment see just what was in front of us. Not think of what was behind or ahead of us...I wondered this year it would change? Would it be the same sort of feeling?

We lost a lot of Christmas 'things' this spring when our basement flooded. They were just 'things'...the absence of which wouldn't ruin our Christmas spirit, just depleted our stash is all. And, let's face it, after realizing that Atticus chewed most of our Christmas tree garland last year (who really needs a dog when you have this kid?), the less-is-more-approach is where we are going to have to be for the next few years. We decided that if we couldn't decorate with ornaments this year, we'd deck the place out in lights and work with what we had left. I was proud of these kids as we pulled the little trees they had in their rooms last year out of storage. They were exited to get them out, and didn't want to change them.

However, it should be said, their excitement is displayed in such unique and different ways. Oscar, while last year decided he knew the truth, has gladly kept the 'secret' and I think finds slight satisfaction with the fact that he's in on the secret of Santa. Here's hoping that lasts. I think he can see what I see in the little ones. He knows that the magic is in seeing someone believe, even in we don't exactly believe it ourselves. It reaffirms, and warms the heart. He has already outlined the movies we should be watching in the next 27 days...allowing a couple of black and white ones for me-that's a compliment...considering he asked if they were made when I was his age...eye roll here.

 Abe, is the closest living example of 'Buddy the Elf' from the movie Elf. He not only eagerly WANTS to decorate, he does it prancing around wearing a Santa hat from the day after Thanksgiving until Christmas Day. He is very nearly the picture of a kid who, while he's added up what's going on, he still believes in Santa, because to him it really is magic. He's like an old man this time of year, telling the little ones stories about all that happens from now until Christmas. He's quick to want to keep our simple traditions that we have had going, with never tiring excitement...makes all of the things this 'secret Santa' does completely worth it.

Nora, true to form, likes to talk for 3 months what she hopes Santa will bring her. She starts about the day after her birthday. Then, about the time you have been sent the order conformation from Amazon.com, the list changes. UHG! Meanwhile, she has taken to practicing singing her Christmas medleys in the bathroom. A little Bing, Autry, Ella, Burl Ives...I think she's still working on her encore piece. I've caught her talking to herself. I've asked her, "Who are you talking to?". She gives me this crazy look and says (with this hey, dumb-ass look on her face), "...I'm talking to Santa from my heart". She walked into our backdoor tonight squealing with delight, seeing the tree we put up today lit in the dark for the first time. Her eyes this time of year are extra sparkly, and it is adorable!

Atticus...he is everywhere. Playing with knives, decoding doorknobs, and at this point can fashion a ladder out of almost anything. Today, I caught him sitting in a small wooden sleigh we have for books. He looked at me in such a way saying, "Seriously, what is the point of this, I can barely fit...". If I could ask Santa for anything...it would be to calm that damned kid down before I possibly lose my mind...it could be any time now really. I have to remind myself, in two Christmases, the terrible twos might be over? How different it would be to not have to have canine hearing while going to the bathroom...But, the upside of this kid-Christmas will make sense this year. And, I have a feeling his gift to all of us, will be watching him completely freak out on Christmas morning.

I sit here typing with the holiday satellite music channel quietly playing, I'm a cheap junkie, I admit it. I have one more day until my 'jobs' for the month start. Hiding candy in the advent calendars. Finding some damned place for that Elf to hide, something akin to navy seal training for me, sneaky kids! Saint Nicholas Day treats...it's the one time of year when you can be magic for the sake of a smile, squeal, or giggle...that's my Christmas gifts from my kids every year...no scissors, entire roll of tape or paper required...

...chasing numbers...

"...basically...we are chasing numbers..." This is what we were told at the end of Jason's fight. I felt like he had left a couple of days before...as I saw him do so in a dream I had while at the hospital. While saying a final goodbye to my husband was ONE of the hardest things I think I ever have done...I did it, it meant something, I felt at peace with it...or as much as I could at the time. For me, the next hardest thing I have EVER done, is tell our children that he had passed away...for me, a year later, this is a moment that still haunts me...

It isn't something that is in the front of my mind constantly. I did, however know how hard it was going to be. I vaguely slept that first night back home...I knew that when the sun came up, I was some how going to have to explain...some how tell them...some how let them know how much he loved them...how very lucky they were to have him as a father...some how going to have to help them understand...all while trying to maintain my own emotions. I only had one chance to do this right, as if there were a right way to do it, but I was searching for one none-the-less.

 My heart still aches a little, and my eyes get more than misty, thinking about it...not for myself, for them. I remember I went into each of their rooms and asked if they would come down and get into bed with me. I figured if I could some how get them all in bed with me, with pillows and blankets I could some how try to hug them all at once. Each child who could speak was immediately asking a million questions...when did I get home? where was Dad? why was I here and he wasn't? when is he getting home? All the while, I just kept saying, "Let's get down to my room and we'll talk about it when we get there..." Meanwhile knowing, that in about 5 minutes, I was going to break their hearts. Not the kind when a kid doesn't get what they want for their birthday...the kind you can almost physically hear. I heard it, and all I could do was weep for them, wishing I had better answers to their questions, better solutions to their one main problem...no, your Dad isn't coming back.

While that moment haunts me, at times worse than seeing Jason lose his fight, I think it's because they are still living. I think knowing that at such a young age, that was a defining moment for them...The weeks after Jason passing I would nearly chant to myself or anyone who would listen, in the dark of my bedroom...how am I going to do this? how can I do this alone? how am I going to make it? I remember asking my Mom the same questions. At the time I wanted a more concrete answer, but the one she gave me was stoic and very true...she merely said, "...You just will, Kate."

Here I am a year later. As Atticus was in full on 'beast-mode' today, I decided to treat us all by having a dinner without him. He was fed and but to bed early. Something someday I'll have to answer for, as it happens a couple of times a month. But, everyone at the table tonight was in agreement, it was fabulous. We talked, we laughed, we ate baked mac-n-cheese and salad. I caught myself thinking...I'm doing it. I watch these children, grow into these amazing people, full of ideas, humor, and a little bit of a 'sauce-box' at times. I'm so proud of who they are, and what they are growing into. I'm, in a way, watching them grow and now I'm chasing numbers...theirs. Their accomplishments, their pitfalls, their heartaches, their life, unfolding. The helpful, curious, wonderful people they are becoming. Wondering how the next 5 years will be?

So, on November 7, 2013, after a year of celebrating surviving month after month...we are heading to our favorite old restaurant...one I haven't gone to in a year, as the last time I was there, it was with Jason. We are going to eat, and laugh, and talk about their father, and what we want to accomplish in the next year...and I will have a smile on my face.  I'll be watching them hit milestones, a year ago I couldn't even imagine...while a year ago, I thought I'd never have the strength to do any of this...turns out I have had it all along, times 4...

...the fun-flask

...I grew up in a funeral home. I know I've discussed this issue before, but it begs mentioning again. I was a second generation of kids living in a funeral home. I never found it weird. I never found it creepy, my dad was the original 'Work from Home' guy. There is a noise level and a sense of somber at times learned in living in a funeral home. You learn at a young age how to answer a business phone, arrange flower baskets, and clean ashtrays. These were all valuable lessons a nine year old could take on with her in life. I'm grateful for many fond memories of living in a small town funeral home as a kid. It also needs to be mentioned, that while I speak a lot of my liquor cabinet, I do not have an issue with drinking. I'm a responsible adult. However, there are those "desperate times, call for desperate measure" moments...I am also someone who knows everything is best in moderation.

Why the strange, illusive confession statement above? It has everything to do with my flowing of emotions in the last couple of days. Tears. That's it. Just tears. Not really able to put words to why they have been creeping in. I'm a realist, I know that life can't be undone. I know that this last year, while at times difficult, has taught me more than could ever be put into words. The enormity of my life, and all that has happened, good and bad, has set in. I was discussing today with a wise friend, I didn't know what the 'year mark' would feel like. I could sit and dwell on all the things I've not accomplished. The poor mothering that has happened more than a time or two. The fact that it all is still fairly terrifying, but I haven't the option to run. At times, decompressing, is an understatement...Well, it brings me to a year ago...

The day after Jason passed away, I really didn't want to do anything but lie in bed, pull the covers over my head and wallow. The loud kind of wallow. The kind you see women in the streets doing in foreign countries on the news. That was my idea of decompressing, and it didn't happen. Being raised in a funeral home, I should have known better. I had to slap on some clothes, and go plan a funeral...so we'll put a pin in the wallow until later? Not exactly. There was life to handle. Calls from friends and family. Doors to answer with baked goods, dinner, cards, and flowers. There were people to call back and voice mails to listen to. Oh, there were also four confused kids wandering around here, and no one really knew what to say to them...including me. If there were ever a time to RUN, that would have been it, I even think about that to this day...it, at the time, was almost TOO MUCH...

The thought of having to see people upset, hold my own emotions together, and thank them in the manner that I thought they deserved...now we've hit the too much status. I realize that I put these pressures on myself, but that's who I am, sadly. For about 12 hours I thought about skipping town. I just didn't think I could pull the visitation off...the control freak possibly losing control? Not good. It was then that I turned to my sainted friend April, and uttered the words that have made me laugh/smile in the last few weeks thinking about it. I said, "April...we are going to need a 'fun-flask'..." To which her three words back to me were a resounding, "...I'M ON IT!"

Now, my plan was not to get hammered at my late husbands visitation. It was, for me, like taking an umbrella to fight off the rain. If at some point, I thought I needed it, then I had it in my arsenal. On the way to the visitation, April was handing me lipstick to apply while driving. Reassuring me, that if there were ever a time I needed anything, just to nod at her and she'd be on it. My kids would end up playing/watching movies, gorging themselves with Halloween candy and soda a designated room at the funeral home, thankfully one less thing to worry about. The funeral director, and dear friend, wasn't lying when he said he predicted it to be a large turn out...while that was unbelievable, it was also very nice. I didn't really have time to give April the 'nod', however she would come by and check on me. "...oh, I'm fine", I'd say to her. After about 3 hours in, she came up and said, "...here, you need to drink this...(water, with a splash of something)". Clearly, she was nodding for me, and I'm grateful to her for it.

I feel like life doesn't give you a second chance...something, that while it is gut wrenching to learn, man, if you can understand it...the world is an entirely different place. Life is always going to get harder. So, you cry about it, cuss about it, drink about it, and embrace it. That's where I'm heading. That's what I'm wanting to teach my kids in this next year. Life is what YOU make of it. If you love someone, you let them know. If you are hurt by someone, you kindly confront them. If you have dreams, you follow them. If you take the easy way, those dreams might be a while out of your reach. The time you have here on earth is fleeting, make sure you know what you stand for, and you are able to SHOW, not tell, others by your example. Make every moment (even the ones where you are about to lose your shit) count...they are the ones you'll remember anyway...and for heaven's sake, don't forget your fun-flask, I mean umbrella...

...not a red flag, but a red badge...

Sometimes this 'pleasure cruise' is not one I actually want to be on. Sure, I find the humor in the little things...Mainly because no one would believe them, and because they keep me from the liquor cabinet. I try not to whine, or carry on about feelings, I don't seek out situations to be sad or upset. I tend to run from them, as I see it as a waste of my time to be miserable...Make no mistake, Mother Nature makes sure I have a nice melt down a couple of times a month, I'm no cyborg, but that's not really anything new.

Then there have been times in the last months or so when I've realized that there is nothing worse than not knowing how you are supposed to feel. You have no idea what emotion you are supposed to display? My life has slightly become this messed up equation, of which I have avoided math most of my life, ironic, huh?

The equation is run down as such...knowing how you feel divided by (*/*), how others feel. Multiplied by (x,) how your true feelings might elicit judgment plus (+). How you might hurt others by what you are feeling, minus (-) the fact that life is hard enough...Equals feeling tired, stressed, and just wanting to get on with real life, or something you see that is better just in the next room, if nothing else. Math, it sucks, right? So, what's the answer? How do I show my work on this problem? Can I just skip it and go on to the next? I took some advice, and I did...but it's time for some unvarnished truth...

So, here's the thing...it's easy to write about my kids, they are hilarious, and take the edge off of my side of the story. Their ability to trudge through this new life has been an inspiration to me...but I needed more. I needed to talk to an adult...someone who didn't know my present/past, someone who didn't know all about me...because in reality, I've had to start over. I was someone before I became a wife and mother...and I had to sort of find her again. So, that was my mission. Talk to people that I could just be Kate to first, then if they were worth talking to they would hear my whole story...because, let's face it, nothing kills a room like, "Hi, I'm a widowed mother of four...".

But, oddly enough...I met this person. He asked all these interesting questions...at times questions I had never even asked of myself. They weren't prying. They were questions that really spoke of who I was, much like the person asking. He asked about Jason, in a way that wasn't sad, which is unusual.  He didn't fear what I had been through, he admittedly admired how I had handled it, and how I was coping. He is interested in my past, curious about my future. He said to me recently, "...it must be hard to find Kate Van Gilder, she's been away for a while..." and he's right.

I forgot how nice it was to feel appreciated. Worried about. Heard by another adult, a cheerleader... He laughs at my jokes. Listens to my parenting woes. Gives me advice. And thankfully, understands that it's overwhelming at times...and usually tells me to write about it. He is this warm, sweet person, who cares what I'm making for dinner, and wants to know how I drink my coffee so strong. He is the first to message me in the morning, and the last at night. My life has become better after meeting him...he understands me in a way that I never thought I'd find again, and sorely missed. Of course, I'm sure he sees me as a widowed mother of four, but it's not a red FLAG to him, it's a red BADGE...and that is priceless.

Thus, we are back to the equations again...the part that I keep getting hung up on is other people's perceptions. There is a strange fraction of people in this world that either, want to see you miserable when you are not. OR they want to see you happy when you are miserable...I guess, the weird thing is, it's not for them to choose. I have to remind myself...While I don't want to hurt anyone, or let anyone down, my happiness is for me to choose, and I don't believe in coincidences...While every day isn't a' pleasure cruise', I feel like I've been given a gift to be happy again...and while on this cruise, I'm at the bar wanting my $9 souvenir cup refilled...

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...

...it's all good, as long as there are no witnesses...

...finally, it's Fall. For me it's the most beautiful time of the year (odd, to see beauty as everything is dying off)...everything is nestled into my favorite colors. The air is crisp. The oven beckons to be turned on. Soup is on the stove. Finally, it's trips to the pumpkin patches that we are now looking forward to. I found one just up the road from where we live, Harvestville Farm. If the place is half as beautiful as it's stunning pictures portray it, it might become a family tradition. So, it didn't surprise me today, when Nora had a suggestion for another afternoon road trip.

"So, I say we just go to the bathroom, get our shoes on, get in the car and hit the road...We can eat at McDonald's when we get there...", said Nora. I was wondering where she had us heading, while I figured Quincy, I thought I'd ask her just the same. Her answer, well that became a game of 23,456 questions, most of which I didn't have the answers for. In her most logical, phonetically "th" challenged voice, she responds, "....well, we are going to hit the road and drive to heaven, of course..."

Sometimes I think she can read minds. No, seriously, it's freaking frightening. In the last couple of days, I've been noticing how people measure time. Now, I've been told by my brilliant friend April, who has studied this very subject, that the entire concept of measuring time...was brought on by a woman. Interesting, but not surprising. The whole idea of a woman knowing her bodily rhythms, became an important measure of time way, way back when. Growing up, I always remember the nuns in school measuring time with The Vatican I & II. The older you get, you measure time by where you are, what you have done. My kid's measurement of time are based around holidays or seasons but also as Nora likes to put it, "...before Daddy went to heaven/ after Daddy went to heaven". I think that is an interesting way of measuring time, leaves little up for question. The one burning question I'd like to ask this four year old, how long ago was that?

For me, it's tough. For me, time is something that I yearn for, wishing there were more hours in the day. I sort of run from at the same time, wishing I could push the clock forward...if for no other reason than to be able to exhale, and know it all worked out. With the exception of Atticus and the orange jumpsuit, I'm not that naïve. For me, the last 11 or so months, have seriously felt like years. So much so, that at times, I get a little pissed at myself, thinking, why the hell haven't I gotten this done or that figured out...I have to remind myself that my old life, isn't even fully visible in my rear view mirror. I have to remind myself that this hasn't been this way forever. I guess, maybe even that is oddly gratifying. There was a time, last Fall, that I seriously (also silently) doubted we'd even make it out alive, how would I make any of this work? While my hours are long, sleep fleeting, and my hearing ability heightened for mayhem...those bags under my eyes, they're brand new. They will become deeper...awesome. No matter how I have become accustomed measuring time, I'm at least grateful that I have been given it...that and the ability to remove myself and my children from a situation, recognizing there might be witnesses...Harvetville Farms, here we come!!

...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...