...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.

...waiting on the Mensa application

We learn more from what we get wrong in life than what we get right...

If this phrase is true, which I believe it is, I am figuratively preparing my Mensa application as we speak, because I must be a fragging genius, teeming with knowledge. The adage of we learn from our mistakes holds true of course, but what if you cannot afford the mistake? Everyday life hands you something you can get wrong, but what if want to see your gaffe before it is too late? Welcome to parenthood.

I had to recently explain the idiom, (to) squeeze water from a stone, to my 5 year old. He heard me read this to him from an Irish folklore book. The fact that the characters were talking to leprechauns didn't throw him, but this idiom did. I attempted to muddle through with examples, hoping I didn't have to Google it to actually have it make sense. The best I came up with was it was it was difficult to get something from someone or something if they were unwilling. Blank look from Atticus...I think I even heard a cricket chirp. Okay. A further attempt to explain it involved the notion that sometimes things are hard, and no matter how hard we try we wouldn't be able to accomplish it. Hell, now I'm depressed. I broke it down finally like this...Remember the other day, when EVERYONE was in a bad mood? Even me? Yeah, well getting everyone happy on that day, was like trying to squeeze water from a stone. He nodded his head, I'm not sure if it was that he understood or he was just trying to get me to shut up.

Then, as I am trying to pull my thoughts from my cluttered head onto this laptop, I was asked by my precious flower of a daughter, if I could help her flush the toilet. Really? We live in a 130 year old house, the pipes are old and the last time the plumber was here he explained that I needed an industrial plunger...INDUSTRIAL? I really don't want to make that kind of commitment. What I do want for this specific child to understand that a "courtesy flush" is not a frightening thing. It won't suck her into the 130 year old pipes. It will help her when she is flush-ready, and she is 7 years old and should be able to flush a toilet. Alone. So, instead of trying to squeeze water from a stone, she learned from what she got wrong in her bathroom solitude (seriously envious of the free time my children spend sitting on the toilet). She flushed it and plunged it. Herself. If she is ever visiting any of you reading this, I pre-apologize.

I was talking to someone who was expecting their fourth child this morning. I remember thinking what she was thinking, and while we were talking I had a strange feeling come over me. It was one of fear but also smugness. The fear was what I felt when I had no idea how I would parent four children at once...how would I meet to all of their needs? The notion of being outnumbered, and a mutiny could arise at any moment? The smugness was in the form of self-satisfaction or pride in knowing that I've been there and done that, I don't need a t-shirt, I don't remember every detail, and thankfully I am not a card carrying member of Betty Ford. This woman's story is just getting started. She has years before...puberty.

I talk about it ad nauseum, but here is some more for you. I cannot wake up my children, a few in particular, without saying a prayer, taking a deep breath, and mentally thanking my own mother for not selling me to the circus. I HAD TO ACT JUST LIKE THIS? RIGHT? Oh, don't answer that right away, I would almost start crying. Between my hormone imbalances and my teenager's? I mentally see us in a UFC ring, the chain link all around, poised and waiting for the bell to start our verbal skirmishes. I don't want to fight. Honestly, I don't. I mean I honestly DON'T. I wish there was a pill, homeopathic of course, that you could just take to deal with the fact that your teenager was all knowing. I could take one in the morning with my coffee, by the time said teenager came into view the effects of said pill would already be in your system. You could hear all about how he knows this, or how his siblings are doing that wrong or how dumb it is that he can't wear shorts to school when it's 32 degrees out. You would just nod your head, kind of like being explained an idiom, and your lack of response/expression would almost calm him as well. He's a good kid. We'll get through this. It is just a phase. But clearly, I'm learning from what I'm getting wrong in this situation, because to him I rarely do anything right.

I took Atticus to his kindergarten screening today. How is that even possible? Really? I was nervous for him, I didn't want him to be shy under pressure. I was handed forms and he sat down and started answering questions. As I was filling the forms out, it was odd to hear his little voice, explaining this and that or not quite understanding what he was asked. I am grateful that I got to spend this last year home with him, like I did all the rest of the kids. A silver lining, an occasional cocktail and the notion that every morning when I start the coffee, starts another day I get to learn from my many mistakes and be grateful I'm here to make them. If I got any of that wrong, I guess in this case, I don't want to be right.

...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.

...how's your view?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...phase 3...

Morning two into my mandate of "anyone over the age of 8 must shower daily" and we survived. The first day, you'd thought I had asked them to climb Everest...followed by stopping feet and dirty looks. I was not deterred by it. It felt good. It felt good to see a new phase upon us...not just the one that is seriously a public service to anyone they come into contact with. It's yet another phase of life, forever inevitable, that beckons the feeling of new growth, new stages...Let's face it, these boys while witty and clever, their combined odor could be used as corporal punishment.

I'm not sure if it's normal...but over the last two years, I have measured time by everything that has happened after Jason died. Possibly because we had to sort of pick ourselves up and start over, maybe because we had to find what our "normal" was, which still resembles anything but. In this time measurement my mind also falls back onto the many hours spent in a semi-lit room rocking a 9 month old with a bottle. Those many hours I spent alone with the one person that most resembled the person just that had just been taken from our lives. I would sit there looking at Atticus, wondering how in the world I was going to make any of this work. Terrified. Tearful at times. Timid...I would send out my quiet fears into this room, onto the incomprehensible ears of this child, hoping to figure out what to do next...the next phase.

My life as a mother, unknowingly, has been spent talking. I never realized it until it was pointed out to me that I narrate my every move. Maybe my talking was out of needing someone to talk to when the kids were smaller. Whatever the case, it has made me realize that perhaps I spoke too much. Now, when I am about to tell my kids what I am about to do, I stop myself and think "...just tiptoe away, they'll no doubt come and find you..."

But that narration was feeding little brains a multitude of words that now, while exasperating at times, I have to laugh when I hear my own words said back to me...at least they were listening, right? Nora talking about falling on her money maker to someone at church...Abe commenting to someone on his quiet charm...Oscar, after hearing me complain about nothing, saying "...sounds like rich people problems..." Hearing Atticus yell at Nora from another room, "WE AREN'T LAUGHING AT YOU, WE'RE LAUGHING WITH YOU..."Onto another phase...

So much in that original measurement of time has changed...that little 9 month old that I rocked isn't so little anymore. His communication has become bitter sweet at times. He is in his mimic stage, and his hearing is like that of a jungle cat. Yesterday, when he was giving his 5 reasons why he NEEDED to watch Elmo's Christmas, it all came to me. I sort of longed for those days when I couldn't understand what he was saying, because at least I didn't know if he was telling me off.

 I see how much this tiny person has changed. This nearly 3 year old has now lived most of his life with a single mother and three rowdy siblings. He doesn't probably ponder what life once was...and for that I'm sort of grateful. I realized that I now sort of measure time by him. I see him learning, scheming, growing, and he's still in one piece. He understands who is dad is, he remembers stories we've told him about Jason. He knows that our family is unique and not like others, and I see how his siblings step in, unsolicited, and help be that other parent when needed.

I don't think I'm alone in watching how much Atticus has changed. Certainly the Talls enjoy his ability to mimic, hoping dirty limericks aren't on the horizon. He sort of ties us all together for reasons other than the fact that we're family. He's comic relief when needed. He's the hug at the end of the day. He's the one who's not afraid to say "I love you" while accidentally spiting food on you. He's getting ready for another birthday, and we're heading into phase 3...

...Precious Moments...

We've been playing nothing but games for the last week...Uno, Yahtzee, Head Bands, Gooey Louie and Operation. But the game that is just ahead of me is that of numbers. The game of wondering if where you are is, well, where you are...When did you get to be this damned old?

I guess the cosmic question that I ask myself is what is the difference between my actual age and my mental age. I'm blessed to be friends with a woman that knows all too well how grief can define these terms...she's my soul sister as we call each other. While she is younger than I am, she's a veteran with more years under her belt of the game of "widow dome". We've talked about how when your life is so drastically changed, it seriously ages you a half a decade within minutes. The fawn-eyed person you once were is a mere wisp of what you have to now take on. The mere notion of ADULTHOOD in it's earlier stages is very, very real now.

ADULTHOOD. When does that really occur? Through every one's life there is always some mental benchmark of where they will be at a certain age. There is a far off notion of what "old" looks like. There is a place that is contented, settled, adjusted, and secure that you see yourself when you get older. I wonder at times if I went back and talked to my 21 year old self what I would tell her. What would I say to prepare her for her life ahead? Would the things I once found so important even make the short list? When did I hit the age where I had to face the fact that yes, I am indeed an...ADULT?

While everyday is a new day, some just aren't as rosy as others, that's life. But, in the last two years, I have found an interesting phenomenon. Just about the time when you think you might as well give up, as everything you are doing is an expired version of sucking...someone says something that really lifts you. Someone you barely know, can see what you can't. Today at an indoor pool I bumped into another mom who I had met once. We became friends on social media, and I've noticed how adorable her family is. While it was nice to see a familiar face, it was really nice to sort of catch up in person. At one point she looks at me and says, "...how do you do this?" I jokingly said something about a cocktail time. I wanted to further add that you would find no Precious Moments figurines based on anything that goes on in my house. Yet, in that one question, it reminded me to suck it up. You are surviving. You are doing this. You may have stretch marks, gray hair, and be on your last year of your thirties...but it's getting done.

So, I'm taking this next year to get MORE done. I've got plans, goals, ideas, and intentions of making my 39th year something to remember. There are a few things that I have put on the proverbial back burner that are coming into the heat. I need to be mindful of the continuing notion that I was put here for a purpose. Yeah, I'm outnumbered in my house on a daily basis. Yeah, I fold more laundry than is probably allowed by law outside of a Laundromat. Yeah, I can throw a cocktail party together in about 17 minutes. But, I want more.

I'm turning 40 years old in 368 days...I have 368 days to make it count. I have the next 368 days to remind myself that limits are mostly set in the mind. I have 368 days to remind myself that my kids, while they are at times my biggest worry they are also my best cheerleaders with my DNA. I have 368 days to remember that perfection is over rated. I have 368 days to consider how truly wonderful being 40 will be. I have all of this time to take advantage of what is in front of me, all the while knowing what I have in my back pocket has made me what I am today...(gulp) an ADULT.

...tucked into my heart...

I have made a conscious effort. I seriously thought, looked, and took notice of what I was doing each evening so far in this month of December. Mentally taking note of the day, the time, the madness...not because I'm some over achiever mom who's Elf on the Shelf prowess is that outstanding. Not because I don't already know that half of the things I do this month are sort of on the extreme side. I take note, because this year, I only have one who knows the skinny on the big fat man. I take note because it's my favorite time of year despite the self-imposed-crap most put on ourselves. I take note because next year might be totally different...

There is a certain sort of magical feeling when the littlest of things that you try to do year after year become noticed. The little things that you tried to start, never knowing how much of a mess it would make...Never knowing how nearly you fell into a diabetic coma...the little things you started, in hopes that you were making memories. This is my time of year. This is the time of year when I can fall back on those tiny treasures of time. In the smallest of acts you are reminded that it's worth it. In the most minute of gestures you are shown that someone was paying attention. To me, that it what rounds out this time of year. To me it's the small things we've done together, that keep me going for the next year.

I was worried when Oscar no longer believed in Santa. He did his best to try to be "RIGHT" about the issue. Thankfully, he has finally realized that being right, doesn't always feel so good. He's realized, through subliminal and virtual speak, sometimes the magic of this year is seeing everyone else excited. The thrill of someone else, being all dough eyed, believing in something that's just out of reach. As I tried to explain to Oscar while we were alone the other day, it's a real lesson in life. You don't have to know you are good at something to be confident. You don't have to know the end of the story, to keep you reading. You don't have to touch something to know it's beauty. During this conversation, while I was hoping it made sense, it definitely reminded me to take my own advice.

Seeing a couple of kids scramble to see where their vertically challenged Elf has hidden. Hearing various versions of Christmas carols come out of barely understandable mouths. Watching the 'thrill' of just seeing the snow falling out the window. Hearing a 2 year old remind everyone that "...Santa is watching YOU!" Knowing that these moments, like all the others I've been told years down the road, will just be a whisper of my life someday. In these moments, when I'm about to lose my mind with trying to get everything done by Dec. 23rd...years from now won't really matter. So everyday, as I put a tiny treat into a numbered little pouch, I stop and look at the number. I stop and look at how many more there are left. Even with fevers, overnights, tantrums, freak-outs, back talk, runny noses, puke threats, and sleeplessness...I made a note and tucked it into my heart.

The thrill I find at the end of this year is what most adults dread, Christmas Vacation. To me, it's the seemingly endless adventures that await us, or even another day we veg out in our pajamas and do nothing...the choice is ours. It's snuggling on couches under blankets. It's making a mess decorating cookies. It's piling into the car in our pajamas, blaring Christmas music, looking at people's Christmas lights...and inadvertently becoming Peeping Toms from our car. There are plenty of things I could be sad about this time of year...listing them would just be redundant. Sure, sometimes those things bring me down...but this time of year for me, there are too many things...too many moments that can't necessarily happen the rest of the year. So I'm taking them and mentally hugging them...the good, the bad, and the ugly...because next year, might be totally different...

...my looking glass

It's funny to me how sometimes the best lessons to be learned are by watching others...no need to get your hands dirty, right? The lessons that I can learn through my kids, while at times mind boggling, are seriously placed for a reason. As if someone were coming in and creating this perfect mishap of a moment. You are in the right place at the right time and you saw it. It's times like these that really make me believe in God, fate, and the fact that there are no coincidences.

Off the heels of a dark day, the kind I haven't had in a while, there was this afternoon that seriously put things into perspective for me. We went swimming. Not really profound stuff, but the events that occurred while there, to me, were pretty profound. There are however two reoccurring themes about this story...something so very simple can really open one's eyes and Nora. She was put into my life for reasons far reaching the fact that she's my daughter...sometimes she's my looking glass.

Our first winter here, just a couple of months after Jason passed away we all trekked up the hill nearby. Sleds in hand, not a clue how serious the hill really was, we were getting ready to look fear in the eyes. That simple release of the sound "WEEEEEEE!!!" was life altering that day. We needed to just let go of how life was for a moment. After the first trek down, Nora was so exhilarated that she screamed "...TELL 'EM LARGE MARGE SENT YA!!" To her, she'd just went headlong down Everest, and she was hungry for more. For me, it was seeing such a release that reminded me it was okay to let down one's guard. Letting go could sometimes be fun...and in this case may induce peeing one's pants.

We were visiting friends at their country club pool. Instantaneously upon pulling into the parking lot, I gave the kids SERIOUS ground rules: best manners, be courteous, do not pee in the pool. We get settled and Nora starts eyeing the diving board. All summer long she has asked to jump off other places, and all summer I have pushed her off the idea as I didn't think she could do it. She just hung up her water wings a couple of weeks ago, right? But seeing that there were more lifeguards there than actual swimmers, I thought okay...figuring she would chicken out.

She walked up to that platform...goggles on, wearing a slight wedgie with her bathing suit. She went to the edge, and then looked back at me. She stood there for a minute, and we all started cheering her on...Nora...Nora...NORA...and she did it! She jumped in came right back up to the top and screamed "...THAT'S THE BEST THING IN MY LIFE!!!" That one act, seriously will be cemented in my mind for a very long time. With her new found talent, she spent the rest of the time there, chatting up 3 teen aged boys. There she was, in ten foot waters, perched up arms off the side of the pool, getting jumping tips off of them...for her, it was an epic day!

Turns out, all summer long, she's been ready...I was the one who was not. I was holding on. Figuring out that letting go, was not only a hell of a lot more fun, but at times necessary. Her ability to face her fears and check off her summer bucket list is pretty damned admirable for a 4 year old. While I love all of my kids, I will be forever grateful for what my little looking glass has to teach me...