Freedom Choreography

Strange. My overly verbal mind can only come up with ONE WORD...really? It is strange to be alone, for real, for the first time in 5 years. I've dreamed of this day. I've pensively cherished this day. I've mentally choreographed dance moves to this day, and all I can come up with is one word, strange. This day, this time has always seemed sort of elusive to me, like anticipating a solar eclipse-CRAP wait, that's happening next!

Anyway, this morning has been something along the lines of surreal- The laundry is caught up, the dishes are in the dishwasher, he's worked HARD all summer long! I say "he" like a boat is supposed to be called "she" because that dishwasher has worked as hard as a spouse on Mother's Day for the last 3+ months. HE is grateful that the kids are back in school, and occupying "his" time probably chatting up the refrigerator, as "she" has been opened no less than 164 times a day over the summer. Don't even try to talk to the washer and dryer, the happy couple has already left for their well-deserved spa day, as most of my kids changed their wardrobe like they were on tour with Beyoncé over the summer, 50 cities-83 shows-NO JOKE...I never knew they had this many clothes and changed their underwear so little.

Flushed with independence this morning, I'm still stunted. I filled out the MOUND of back-to-school paperwork, signed my name enough times that it is nearly illegible and still know I have one more kid's paperwork to muddle through. I found myself wondering, what now? Do I write? drink? take a nap? For the first time in what seems like forever, the world is my oyster and I don't know whether to scratch my watch or wind my butt. Ululating like a wild dog seems a little extreme, but I imagine today would be the only day where I could completely get away with it. But I am charting peculiar waters, and I have found myself shaking my head in utter disbelief, as the silence is so thrilling and newfangled all at the same time. My mental to-do list resembles something like a scroll, there are projects, closets to clean, things that you can only throw out when your kids aren't there to lament and secret unoccupied mom WOMAN time that will be dooly accomplished. But today...I'm starting slow. I go at everything with a game plan, a mental goal more than anything. I know how this afternoon will be with the kids get out early. I've made promises for popcorn, and hopefully if it isn't raining a play-date with the neighbors.

While I come correct- but I didn't expect to see that look in my youngest eyes this morning. The others took off and went into school or lined up with their friends. I sort of stopped him from doing this because I "thought" he would want me to walk him in...Turns out? Yeah, I think that was mainly for me. Thus, I walked him in, dropped off his lunch box, gave him a quick hug (no pictures-that's how secretly wrought I was at the time) and he walked off to the gymnasium.  I looked back one last time, horrible move on my part, took one last look at his face as he walked behind me, and I had hoped it wasn't as if I was looking into a mirror.

Slightly frightened, slightly exhilarated, slightly constipated, he turned left and I turned right and walked out the door. It was a moment that I probably will never forget, that moment when you know "that phase" is over. He's moved onward, he's ready, he's eager and he needs to learn from someone else, grateful that it is someone (not a sibling) who isn't bent on teaching him fart jokes like he has learned all summer, but I digress. Even three hours later, it still sort of takes my breath away. We've crossed a threshold, a milestone and a turning point onto the next phase of Atticus J Hunt's life. . .and really mine as well. Here is to all the parents doing this either for the first time or/and the last time, let me know if you need any "freedom choreography," it's fairly simple step work and no doubt will be perfected in years to come. Happy first day of school and first day to the rest of your life!

...forever and always...

The time is near...Can you feel it? It is that time of year where you feel the rush of new beginnings, independence, fresh concepts and crisp new school supplies. This year there is a more acute feeling of wonder with the last of my children starting the journey of school. Upon the notion of being alone in my house for an entire eight hours, anoesis descends with illusions of grandeur, i.e. cleaning, loafing, lunches with adults and basically anything I damn well want to do between the hours of 8 a.m. to 3 p.m. As my youngest ergate heads out with a great confidence, I have two phrases that keep echoing in my mind. These phrases are not only the reason why I write this, but moreover, my profound wish that my kids will always understand them.

"No one is born into this world with a timeline, they are born into this world with a purpose." This is a tough concept to really understand, but so many people, my children included, are forced to understand at some point. Life happens, some things are grand and others knock you out at the knees. Questioning why either happens is futile, and distracts one from dealing and moving on. Perhaps derived out of sorrow, it is also an epic silver lining. Live life not based on how many years you have to understand/do/play/love/hate/fail/master something. Live life as a paladin of purpose, understanding that no matter how long it takes or time you are given, you are here for an unmistakable reason. I hope my kids understand that they are the purpose for my being here, and I am grateful for every freckle on their face, every hair on their head, and every Lego that I unintentionally step on/pick up/mutter obscenities at. My greatest honor will be watching them find their purpose.

As my tiniest worker ant heads off to school in two weeks, I'm left sort of gobsmacked. Where has the time gone? He was just a drooling, nearly crawling, squawking six months old when we moved to Canton. He was who I spoke to every morning when I desperately needed it at 4 a.m. feedings in a semi light room. As the youngest, I think I have noticed his development more than the others because he has been my longest unpaid sidekick. This summer he has gone from a baby to a boy, holding his own with his brothers and displaying some want-to-be-bad-ass mannerisms that hopefully will not get him kicked out of school. My solace, at the end of the day, we say our prayers and he makes sure to tell me he loves me and to have good dreams. He's no longer a baby, but he unknowingly was and is my itty-bitty reminder of strength when you need it the most.

Nora is on the cusp of turning eight years old, mentally she's about 47. She is eager to start school, armed with a new bike bearing "pegs" so she can be a Canton's adaptation of a kiddie-uber. She keeps discussing how great it will be to give kids rides to school- I'm seeing many trips to the doctor's office in our future. Abe is excited, like literally was audibly heard saying a week ago, "I can't wait for school to start!" At first I thought he was being sarcastic, but then he went on to explain is declaration, he's ready for sixth grade so it seems, but are they ready for him? Oscar should be the most excited to go back to school as he has had the most changes over the summer- he's taller, his voice is deeper, he no longer has braces and I wouldn't be at all surprised if he starts growing a beard in the next two weeks. So much has changed, but thankfully he still has his sense of humor, which at times borderline on just fart jokes, but that's to be expected.

"Forever and always." A phrase used to express any number of things- life, love and happiness. This expression has taken on new meaning lately. The ability to feel and show others this catchphrase is something to be proud of. There was a time when forever was just the hours of 6 a.m. to 8 p.m., and always was something with a negative connotation...Now this collection of words means more than all of the best words chosen in the English language- I use a thesaurus a lot. Forever and always is how one can love and live. It is a term that while shouldn't be said lightly, gives security and serenity without fear of jettison into the harsh, scary waters of the world.

I'm grateful for these words as they mean more to me now than they ever have before, and I will never apologize for their overuse, but champion the power they hold. Much like the beginning of a new school year, we all open a chapter into a new life, new lessons, new experiences and of course new adventures. While I am eager to be able to pee alone for any 7+ hours of the day I choose, I am eager to see where this new school year takes us, what purpose we hopefully find for ourselves and understanding that "forever and always" is the greatest gift you can not only give but also receive.

...my first pancake

13. Some find this number unlucky. To me it has always been the number I bet on, the lotto ticket I buy or the number I hope to find on the back of my fortune cookie fortune...solidifying what some Chinese person I've never met, got it right. This week, it means a little more as it marks a moment in time that seriously seems like yesterday, and not 13 years ago.

Funny how people say, time flies. In the moment you either get it or think they are pacifying themselves for being old. When you finally notice that time has flown, you feel, old. It seems like yesterday I was getting a room ready for a baby I had not yet met. I was nervous, scared, uncomfortable and very pregnant. I sat in this baby's room and wondered, when did I become a grown-up? Would I know what to do? Would I get it right? Would I understand that life would never be the same? Various answers to these questions prevail and some I'm still asking myself. But 13 years ago, I entered the world of being a mother for the first time, and life was blessed with my Oscar.

Unlike anything I could have ever expected that is exactly what Oscar is. Creative, thoughtful, intelligent, funny, introspective, kind, unique and blonde. He came into the world, larger than life and since has carried that persona with him to this day. As a small one, he was always amazing me with his abilities that seemed to come from nowhere. He, perhaps prophetically, didn't start talking until he was a toddler. As a first time mom, you never want to compare your precious offspring in "first pancake" terms. The theory that the first pancake you make is just an experiment, clearly not comparable to a human, but you get it. You will mold this child into a perfect human being, because that is your job. Funny what you focus on when a child is so small. It all was made clear when we were walking down steps in our house one day, and Oscar uttered his first words. "That stupid-ass-dog..." properly commenting on our neighbor's incessantly barking dog. I was proud, shocked, excited and horrified all at the same moment. I had some things to learn, some audible words to clearly censor and perhaps a job application for my "first pancake" at the truck stop.

But this, as I know, is only the beginning. I write a lot about being a mother of a teenage boy, mainly out of ignorance, but it is just that. I think if I knew exactly what to do it would probably make me a crappy parent. We are just starting this official world of TEEN-DOM and while at times it feels like I should have been paying attention in psychology classes in college, I know that my "first pancake" and I are going to survive it, possibly not unscathed but never-the-less. I am proud to see him grow into his own, from that tiny little person who liked to hunt dinosaurs and Bigfoot in our back yard, to an albeit typical, weird hair growth, odd smelling, loveable, hilarious and cheeky guy. In a lot of ways he's like Yoda, as he really thinks about things before getting into a serious discussion, when he has something to say there is some pretty serious thought behind it. Other times he's like someone who has Tourette's syndrome, the latter probably because he is a teen. He likes to come into a room and give a look, no words, and just sits next to me. I make him wait a good two to three minutes before I break the silence and just ask what he wants. It shocks him and he always says, "Why do you say that? ...So, can I ...."

So as I set out on this journey, charting the smelly, hormonal, fart joke, patchy hair growth waters of living with a teenage boy, I will do so with courage, perseverance and a stocked liquor cabinet. To my "first pancake", happiest of 13th birthdays to you, may you someday understand that while we are in this together, I pretty much had no idea what I was doing the whole time.

 

Where is Isaac Washington when you need him?

...the end is near. Can you feel it? Can you feel the complacency that is most simply entitled "The Last Week of School?" Soon there will be piles of supplies that were either gently used or ravished but "have to be saved" because they hold some hopefully not forgotten memory of the grade that was. My house is currently under the state of appearing like a "hazardous waste sight," so I am on protest. Why clean now, when I will no doubt need a dumpster to clean whatever comes out of a backpack/locker/cubby on Friday? So, I lie in wait...

Usually, I have come up with some sort of system or schedule to try to counter act my no-doubt problems with the complaint department, my precious offspring. I ready myself, as if charging the breach for the following statements: I'M- bored/hot/tired/hungry/annoyed with a sibling/dealing with sensory overload/might be two days from turning into a vampire because I've sat inside for too long. Then there is the comment that I count the days until I hear, "...you're no fun." Fun? FUN? Who do you think I am? Julie McCoy from The Love Boat? And if so, where is Isaac Washington? He's more along the lines of what I need in this house at times. Why do parents fall into that drastic, laugh in the face of death trap of feeling like they have to entertain their kids all summer long? What happened to just going outdoors?

Honest to God. I don't think I spent one minute in my house, other than to eat or use the restroom (and let's face it sometimes that was easier to do outdoors), EVER! I would wake up in the morning, head outside, grab my bike and I was off! Of course, I had to round up my crew, all of which lived on my block, and the rest of the day would just fall into place. Riding bikes around, of course never leaving, the block for HOURS. We'd take a break to pretend fight off monsters or be in a cut throat cop chase, and be back on our banana seat Schwinn bikes. Not sure how it was that we never left the block, but from any point of said block, you could always hear your parents calling you in for dinner...that was the only time we stopped. Then as the twilight of the evening would set in, we would try to catch those magical lightening bugs or play ghosts in the graveyard, whilst trying not to pee your pants in fright.

But today, there is a whole marketing scheme to try to keep kids merely entertained during the summer. Camps, sports, art, music, engineering...it's like applying for a college course load. Every day is a chance to learn something new, I'm all about that. I guess where I'm stunted is the mere fact that we have to leave our yard to do so. Are we creating individuals that are incapable of entertaining themselves? Are we creating humans that need some sort of circus show every 45 minutes? As an adult, you don't do this for yourself. You might set up a few fun trips over the summer...take some trips to the pool...catch a movie. As an adult with children, most of your summertime is trying to deprogram your kids from being a hermit or resembling Gollum from lack of human interaction and sunlight.

So, I sent my kids to bed, under protest of course because why have a bedtime during the last week of school and so on, with an assignment: Think of one thing a week (swimming doesn't count, that is my thing to wear you out) that we can do. Something cheap, attainable (No Nora, we cannot go to a firing range) and E-D-U-C-A-T-I-O-N-A-L. Yeah, that last one ought to make them scratch their heads until the wee hours of the night. In summers past, I would just make up a schedule, not as something that must be followed to the letter, but more a standard of living...something akin to "Taco Tuesday." My hope is that if there is some ownership in the plan, there will be less arguing, complaining and dare I say quite possibly more fun. I already lowered the boom that one morning a week everyone is helping clean...they were super thrilled with that one.

The findings of my assignment were insightful...Well, not really. Nora was the only one who really took the assignment seriously, writing out something fun to do every day of the week. Clearly, she is the Julie McCoy of this Love Boat! Some of her ideas were, but not limited to: baking, board games, walks to the park, cleaning and library visits. Her tenacity and determination were commended and her plans will be put into action. Then very abruptly, Abe merely suggested that they play outdoors everyday (which I'm sure will not be thrilling by day 5) and Saturday would be an inside day. Oscar protested the entire assignment as something not worth his time and energy, stating "...it's not like we're actually going to do any of this..." To which I declared that the summer of '17 is perhaps the FREE BABYSITTING SUMMER he had always dreamed of. Atticus, exactly as his personality dictates, merely said, "Yeah, I'll go with the flow..."

So as The Love Boat of 815 Washington, well not exactly a lot of outwardly love, navigates its way through the next 3 months called summer, we do so with purpose. Hopefully we will learn something, be entertained, educationally enriched and well, let's drop some truths, survive to tell the tale. On a side note, I am currently taking applications for persons willing/able to fill the role of Isaac Washington for the summer of '17...

...I come with a posse

Good on paper...have you ever heard this phrase? It is something that I am embarrassed to admit that I have roaming around my head from time to time. Frankly, I am fully aware that if the same concept were used on me, I might not fare well. The notion is so very mind boggling. How can a person be so engaging, witty, stimulating, attractive and seemingly so right in every way, only to realize that they are just "good on paper"?

I was lucky. I met a guy at a frat party and knew a week later that he was the guy I was going to marry. With every date or time spent together, every charming characteristic he displayed, my feelings were solidified that this was the man for me. It wasn't immediate, but six years to the day we met, we got married. Like I said, I was lucky. I was lucky to have loved someone and be able to create a lasting tribute to what we had together, our kids. I found something really wonderful, once. I knew in my heart that I would feel like wanting to find it again, my head and my heart had to meet up.

What makes me an expert? Hmmm, technically I am not, but I have experience. I have dated, married and become widowed only to start the process all over again. That whole phrase, it's like riding a bike? Yeah, well possibly if you were riding a bike, on fire, balancing a vase on your nose, clipping coupons, braiding your daughter's hair and trying to wear heels all at the same time. So many things you looked for in the opposite sex when you were 20-something, doesn't always hold the same luster when you are 40-something. Finding any person you want to spend more than 2 hours with is like discovering the chupacabra. We all have baggage, but trying to navigate or evaluate how many people's baggage you are willing to sort through is a moral dilemma, I'm already traveling as a party of 5... Baggage and underwear for days.

Then there's the double standards. A man loses his wife, he's nearly given away to the next eligible bachelorette. How could he live without a wife? How could he survive? Who would do the laundry? There is a definition in Webster's Dictionary for a woman who loses her husband, she is called a widow. A widower is a man who loses his wife, but they leave out the extent of it. That's because they are to be married off and live out their lives happy, satisfied and not alone. This point is not exaggerated but amplified when a man loses his wife and has children. I quietly thought this to myself in the beginning, figuring I would have to charge the breach of single motherhood and not complain. It took my best friend's southern mother to point out what a colossal load of bullshit that double standard is...and we haven't even gotten to the part of trying to date again.

Now most of the time dating involves a mutual attraction, time spent together and maybe even some steamy things that I don't want to get into, because this isn't a how-to-book. Being a single mother...how does that even get started? I figured I needed to get out of my house before I went postal either on my kids or another random stranger. Where do you go? The gym? Yeah, at the time when I was starting this adventure, that was akin to staying at home with my kids. The grocery store? That's like trying to pick up a guy in church to me, sacred places, sacred places. I wanted to go somewhere I didn't have someone feel bad for my situation. I wanted to start over, like a baptism on my soul, reputation and psyche.

So, I did what any tired adult who just wants to be in a room with other adults does, I went to a bar. Seemed easy. I sat at the bar, bought a drink and just enjoyed not having to do anything pertaining to parenting, I was clocked in to adulting. Being the social person that I am, it wasn't long before I started a conversation with someone. I felt splashy...and began to feel slightly over confident...or was that the cocktail kicking in? Anyway, I felt like I moderately had my shit together. I could do this alone. I play well with others. It wasn't until the fella next to me at the bar thought he would start asking questions when things took a strange turn.

Why can't some people just talk to strangers? I do it all the time. I'm good at it! I have often wondered if I could get paid to just sit in a waiting room to chat with people, if for no other reason than to put their minds at ease or distract them from why they were waiting. Is this even a thing? I am researching this...I could really make some money doing this. Just talk for talking sake, not get all third degree, harsh lamp overhead Law and Order questioning/talking. I suppose imbibing lowers the threshold for common courtesy...its cool man.

"So, what's your story?" That was the epic line I was asked while sitting at the bar.  I thought to myself, well...here's your chance to 'adult'. I thought for a second about making something ridiculous up. Then I figured the truth is actually more ridiculous than a lie. I said, "you wouldn't believe me if I told you..." never really looking at him while I said it, you know for dramatic effect. He persisted. Realizing if I wanted to sit at the bar, I was going to have to shut him up. I turned to him and said, "I'm a 37 year old widow with four kids..." And I gave him a wink. He bought my drink.

But that is only the tip of the iceberg. Turns out as a widow, dating? Yeah, not really socially acceptable when you are ready. Being a widow, you are slightly under a microscope. The people that peer inside of it honestly love you, but the crowd gathers and it makes something quite innocent and simple become fodder for discussion and opinion? Not inviting. Yeah, I'm starting over, I need the pressures of other people's opinion. It was as if I was 16 years old again, so very strange. I felt as if I had to sit before a tribunal to hear the ruling if I were allowed to date...News flash, the jig is up, I already have 4 kids...I'm an adult...I think I know I'm ready. This was from family, friends and people that in reality didn't actually care what I thought. But all of the above were quick to either share, or silently share behind my back. I get it, I got it, everyone has their own process, and I know they were doing it out of love for me, but it was a tough patch to go through. Thankfully, I'm through it. The best advice, although everyone thinks theirs is the best when you would preferably have them shut up, the BEST advice came from other widows. Nine times out of ten, they were easily 40 years older than me, but they got it. They were quick to reassure me that while they had never re-entered the dating world, I was younger, it would be crazy not to. To the Irmas, Alices, Freddys and Peggys out there, thank you for understanding and letting me know that I was okay. I hope to one day emulate you.

Then there is the terror of having kids and dating. Now, truth be told, I would like to be able to convince my children that I am a nun who goes out every other week to bingo...no desire to be social with someone of the opposite sex, no need to have a man in my life what so ever. But, that would be a lie. I feel like I owe it to my kids to be honest, most of the time, and let them see that it is okay to be social with all types of people. Healthy. Natural. My daughter at the age of 4 would be trolling, unknowingly, in the grocery store for men for me. I don't think it is something that they are not ready for. The hold back has been myself. I have met and dated some really amazing men, but I would only allow the relationships to go so far. Dating when you are just single is a completely different ball game, you never have to take into consideration anything but yourself. You never have to wonder, "Wow, good looking, funny and I wonder how he would handle conflict resolution with my four children?" My inner voice always seems to say RUN after a time period. I apologize to those who have felt this first hand. Thankfully, I only have ONE inner voice, and while she is overly verbal, she is indeed slightly crazy...but I'm ready to stop running.

People shouldn't be pigeon-holed into one type...there are so many characteristics that make up people. These are not your typical description of humans. I say humans, because in reality they could be used on a male or female. The fact of the matter is, hindsight would never exist if you could somehow formulate the perfect mate. These are just a few of the types of people I have been lucky enough to encounter...once again, I'm not an expert, I just know what I know.

-The person who picks you up for a blind date with 5 inch platform shoes in the center console of their car...and admits that they are theirs.

-The work-aholic who has never settled down, yearns to relax when they have paid everything they have/want off, slightly shy of commitment not just because it might get in the way of their goals, but also because they know they can't completely give of themselves to someone else.

-The person that you feel really understands you on a political level, only to find out that they are regurgitating everything they hear as their own, believing everything they hear, but only for soundbite's sake.

-The person who is afraid of change and champions mediocrity.

-The person that you feel completes your sense of humor, only to find out that THEY have to tell the jokes and most of what they tell isn't their own.

-The person who intellectually you find compelling because they have a side to them that more than just the surface. They are contemplative and quick witted, only to find out that they love to hear the sound of their own voice and laugh at their own puns and that's just gets old after a while.

-The person who does it all, or wants to do it all and doesn't ask what you really need in the process. Leaving you feel ungrateful for no reason.

-The person that started with a crush, even the fact that they are talking to you seems like you are taking the forbidden fruit. You worry that if something is too good to be true, and pray it isn't.

-The edgy person, interesting and clever, pulls you into what they are talking about, like you are driving by an accident on the highway and can't turn away. But they only tell you tidbits of a story, leaving you wondering if the part they left out had anything to do with spending the night in prison.

-The person who is a free spirit and a brilliant mind, but is immediately terrified when anything resembles a routine.

No one is perfect, most certainly NOT myself. I come to the table with an interesting array of hang-ups, routine and priorities that, let's face it, might be too much for anyone. But, the moment when I find that special someone, you can bet that despite all that I have listed above, I will be the best partner one could have. Because I love fiercely, freely and profoundly and I'm finished running...and luckily for them, I come with a posse.

...enjoying the journey

Who are you? What do you want to be? Where do you want to go? What do you want to do? These questions sort of rattle me every once in a while. I try not to ask my kids these questions because frankly, they are too difficult to answer, unless you are going to the bathroom or baking a cake at the time of question. My beautiful friend gave me a bracelet that simply says, enjoy the journey. I wear it when I need to remind myself to keep my chin up. And wearing it I am reminded that without such friends the "journey" wouldn't be half as satisfying.

I find it oddly exhilarating to think that a year from now, I will have no children in my house on a Monday for 7 hours. I feel giddy just thinking about it. I love my kids, but the notion that I would be alone is an oddity. At times I find myself not remembering what life was like before I had kids. Did I ever pee alone? Did I ever do one load of laundry a week? Did I ever think I would buy this much ranch dressing? I'm constantly reminded of what a friend of mine told me a few years ago. Bogged down with being a single mother, not showered, little adult interaction, tired and scared, he said to me, "Don't forget who you started out being, the girl I met all those years ago...you weren't always what you are today, sometimes you need to be reminded of that...". It has stuck with me years later. It is a gut and a reality check when sometimes reality is stranger than fiction.

I have been treading water for the last four years. I feel like I've mastered the tread. I can see the waves coming and I try to prepare myself. What I cannot seem to figure out is the breathing part. I seem to lose my breath at the worst possible times, and inevitably I end up screwing up something that really wasn't that difficult in the first place. Where is the balance in life? How does one find that? I get a dozen odd magazines, not one has chronicled the notion of balance and single motherhood. The perfect gluten free pizza crust? Yes. The best exercise for core strength? Yes. Feng shui with bathroom waste baskets? Yes. Any and all of these do me little good. I have been told the answers are within. I have no subscriptions to patience magazine.

Being a mother of four, the vulpine instincts perpetually kicked in, you would think that I had mastered some form of patience. It's more like a sliding scale really, usually calibrated by the season, hormones and the phase of the moon. But then, there's that one afternoon, with nothing to do. I declare it a $5 or free day. You would think that concept would not need explaining, but Oscar couldn't quite get his head around it. Before we backed out of the driveway, again, he was questioning. I looked at him and said, "We are going to drive somewhere and have fun for $5 or less." He said, okay. And for one afternoon, we laughed, told stories, ate frozen yogurt and just got out of the house. It was one of those moments that you catch yourself not hearing an argument or bickering without electronics, it was splendid.

I might have mastered the tread, and my patience is sometimes fleeting, but getting handed a moment of clarity, reminded me of who I am. I am proud to be a overly verbal mother of four, grateful for the experiences I have been able to have and the people that I am blessed to meet. Not knowing what tomorrow will bring, despite throwing my control freak tendencies into hyper drive, is for the best. I have begun to understand that all of the things that I think you need to figure out or worry about, are getting in the way. Be it $5 or free, take the time to enjoy the journey.

...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.

...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...

...uncomfortable segue...

"But life doesn't often spell things out for you or give you what you want exactly when you want it, otherwise it wouldn't be called life, it would be called a vending machine."

 ~ Lauren Graham, Talking as Fast as I Can

 

I read this last night, and I found it to be possibly the most profound analogy on life I had ever heard. How many times a day to I hear one of my kids complain about most certainly nothing? Um, well four kids x 24 hours x the distance of the sun from the moon x the dew point/ barometric pressure...this is starting to sound like a calculus question I do not have the brain capacity to answer. In short, A LOT. But really, they shouldn't know any better, they haven't dealt with as much hardships as an adult...who knew adulthood could be spun into such beautiful splendor? Too many questions not enough answers.

Life really isn't that cruel...you can usually glean a silver lining, somewhere. That is until you find "the sock" on the floor, which belongs in your brother's drawer...in the other room. UHG. Do I have time for this? Could this be just one of the mistakes of the house keeper? PLEASE LET IT BE SO....please let it be so. Or, could this be my "Road Not Taken"? I found it interesting, even mentioning to another mother and great friend, that I walked into the room and found a sock, the aghast reaction from her. No other details than, “I found a sock..." and she too knew where the rest of the story may be headed...no folks, you won't hear this ending on Paul Harvey.

So, I am there. I am at that smelly, hairy, confused, rank, self-conscious, voice-cracking cross road of PUBERTY. I knew it was coming...but I sort of hoped that it wouldn't happen until my kids moved out of my house or I could have afforded military school. Just sort of emailing Dr. Ruth Westheimer, I need to get my ducks in a row. I need to prepare my conversation segue (as if there actually IS one?). I need to stack my deck. I need to make sure I know what I am talking about and have the ability to be audible. I need to do some research, because I am in way over my head. I don't even have these parts and let's face it, he is a smart kid and probably could correct me if I tried to start the conversation today. How much is military school really?

So...flushed with the enthusiasm of THAT conversation, that will have to happen in the not so distant future, there are of course a few others. I am not a health fanatic, but my kids would eat a pile of dirt if it was fried and in nugget form or some strange orange color not ever found in nature. NO. No longer. No longer will I have to actually listen to my children try to debate that ketchup could really be considered a vegetable. No longer will I basically feed them a meal based on the argument/gag ratio. It is a new day, and dammit you will eat a color found in nature. Not just on holy days of obligation, but every fracking day you live under my roof.

The other conversations? Well they vary but are not limited to the following: No, Nora, you cannot have your best friend who is a boy spend the night. No, Abe, brushing your teeth last night does not take the place of this morning. No, Atticus, you cannot get on the PS4 at 6:30 a.m. These days filled with questions, most of which asked knowing I didn't just drop acid, yet the utter disgust of my inevitable response leaves me but one answer, "I know, it's horrible. I'm not a vending machine..." Don't live for the vending machine, learn from it and the uncomfortable segues.

...the anvil of parenthood...

Its official...I have something. Between the migraines, the snotty nose and now the inability to open my eyes without wanting to rub them out of their sockets...I have developed some sort of crud. I'm not dying, and I know people get sick, but currently I just don't have time to enjoy the cold medicine buzz, I have things to do.

I have been mentally carrying around a lot of crap. Maybe it is why I picked up some sort of germ strain when I wasn't thinking and let my Petri dish offspring drink my water...and probably because I was to lazy too get them their own drink when I just sat down with mine. I deserve it I suppose. But the crap I am carrying around I just can't shake. I'm not sure if I need intensive therapy or if single motherhood is catching up with me...I'm worn out.

We said good-bye to the ever present veggie tray yesterday. I'm the one who ends up eating it, and it is too costly to watch a beautiful tray of Gods Greens get overlooked. I guess it was inevitable, out with the old and in with the new, right? Yeah, I haven't figured out the new but I'm working on it. With the spring temperatures in the air, there is bound to be some change in this house...I guess I just wasn't ready with an alternative in time. It will come to me, but first I need to find the Kleenex.

Time...there just isn't enough of it. The time spent doing things to keep my house in order, sometimes I find, is getting in the way of the things I should be doing with my kids. Currently, I have the next two hours to myself, and I keep thinking...get up and clean...but I don't want to. I have a few kids that love to clean, I can use that to my advantage right? Or is that just some sort of child labor law that I am knowingly breaking. I find myself wondering what anvil of parenthood will fall on me next. I never have to wait long, they run like a European train, right on time and nearly every 45 minutes.

After some discussion amongst my children and me about happenings at their school, I felt somehow defeated. I wondered, why in the world is there this much drama for a bunch of kids? When did we stop allowing our kids to enjoy their childhood and not have to be worry about being hurt walking home from school or playing outside? I needed at "parenting tap out"...but it's just me around here. Then I found out that one of my kids was brave enough to go and talk to their principal about something they heard said from one of their classmates. I was speechless at first, very rare for me. Then I bawled in my bathroom for about 3 minutes, okay, not so rare for me. Among the discussion, hours before, they hadn't said a word about it. They had possibly the best poker face I had ever seen, of which I was in awe and terrified simultaneously.

Bottom line, I was proud of them for doing the right thing, and immensely proud of them for not feeling the need to broadcast what they had done. So many things people do in life, ultimately are done for the feeling they get doing it, not for the fact that it is just the right thing to do. I went up to them, and gave them a hug, for which they immediately said, "WHAT DID I DO?" I said you did the right thing, and I need to hug you to make sure that you remember this, because I will not forget it. Sometimes, when I am at my wits' end, I need to remind myself that the crap I carry around, not visible to the naked eye, might be just what I carry around, forever. However, I need to remember that I shouldn't let what I carry, cloud my vision of what is in front of me. It's not a cold medicine buzz, but it might be a parenting anvil that I will willingly take to the head.

Thank you!

Not sure if it is spring that is knocking at the figurative door or not. The temperature is warming, the wind is gentle...it actually SOUNDS like spring outside, it is good for the body and soul and I'm not going to question it...at least not fully. With this burst of spring come along all of the things you almost forgot how to do all winter long. Like riding a bike, you hop back on and suddenly it comes to you...peddle, peddle, and peddle.

Today was actually beautiful enough for the kids to ride their bikes to school. Preteen hairdos conflict with this notion, so Nora was the only one who took me up on the offer. She mounted her bike and said, “I’m going!" For a moment, I was scared. She knows what she's doing, but that mom gene kicked in subconsciously as I remembered a dream I had of her falling off the monkey bars and I couldn't get to her to help. Don't you hate those dreams? They leave you feeling weak, helpless, terrified and knowing that you cannot be everywhere at once. Cut to me circling the block after dropping off the Talls to see if she made it to the school's bike rack...whew, relief!

But this spring, or nearly spring as I know I am getting ahead of myself, strange things are happening. I suddenly have these baby soothing urges. I see or hear a baby crying, and I'm oddly drawn to them. I literally had to audibly talk myself out of helping a grandmother in church the other day who was having a tough go at soothing her grandchild. I didn't know this kid. I didn't know what it liked. But out of nowhere I was flush with feeling the urge to pick this baby up and shush it to sleep...? What the what?

I love my kids, but I don't know if I ever felt like I knew what the hell I was doing when they were tiny. I tried something, crossed my fingers that it worked and prayed I remembered it for the next time it happened. Maybe because my half decade old baby isn't needing lulled to sleep in church? Maybe because I know my baby making shop is definitely CLOSED, never to be reopened? Maybe because I have the confidence mixed with hindsight that I never had when I needed it? Maybe because I could literally hand the child off to their rightful parent when I was finished? It all struck me as odd, I mean I know I'm odd but definitely out of the norm at least for me.

Instead my new norm is wondering, puberty, who's ready? Hormones are raging here and you are lucky if to just stay out of the line of fire. Between the combined hormones of the Talls (terrifying and served chilled straight up) to Nora's new hormones, that somehow have a habit of coinciding with mine...she and I might be a force to be reckoned with one day. Whatever the case, I feel like all the times I was feeling "in over my head..." Yeah, that was just an entry level course. I'm currently enrolled in Parenting-456...an advanced course where the lecturer speaks entirely in a language you can't Google the translation. The constant dance you mentally make of asking questions, but knowing that by asking too many it'll blow your mom-cover. Ignorance is said to be bliss, I’ll get back to you on that.

I found myself smiling yesterday, when I was being assisted in house work by Atticus. Not sure where he was formally trained, but his attention to detail will get him at least a salary increase one day. We moved through the house cleaning and him nearly through a bottle of Windex. When we were finished inside he said, "Next, we need to get out on the porch and get the table cleaned off, we need a veggie tray out there later…" Oh spring, your allure isn't lost on this family and your arrival is just what we needed to quiet the abnormal urges and wicked mood swings. Thank you.

 

...taxes and tying shoes...

Fear, taxes and five year olds…that is what is on my mind right now. In the hustle and bustle of this house, the first two months of a new year really silently stress me out. Back to back birthday months mean I have to get creative with my budget, hide presents in my closet and hope I don’t forget where anything was hidden. Taxes? Well I guess they are unavoidable, but for a month mental fear incontinence sets in until they are finished. Going to jail for tax evasion just isn’t something I can pencil into my life, ever.

In one week I will have a five year old. Crazy. Like no, really mind-blowing crazy. It doesn’t seem possible that this little fellow is going to be five. However, it is apparent that he is not a baby anymore, and day by day he stretches his independent legs and let’s go of something that he clearly no longer needs. He is developing into this funny, creative, wise little person, and I am so excited to see where life takes him. One the backside of that, the “Birthday Week” has started and he told me before this morning’s first light where he would like to have dinner tonight…clearly, he’s got a plan for the week. Cut to me, mentally accounting for the time I need this week to get everything done: school treats, birthday cake and presents that I should actually be wrapping at this moment. But first we have to go to the tax lady…

I have had to learn how to do countless things since becoming a single mother. There are so many things that I “just didn’t have to worry about” when I had a husband. Taxes was one of them. I learned about how to budget money, paying bills, using power tools, fixing odds and ends and I’m no longer terrified when the talking tornado sirens are tested…but taxes? I’m mentally peeing again. I secretly wish that I had some sort of personal finance person to tell me when/what/where I need to release myself of this fear. I guess I worry because I don’t want to go to jail…it would be difficult to make cupcakes from inside the clink. But, if I can use a drill, I can figure this out, right? Turns out taxes isn’t the four letter word that it emanates in my head. The tax lady was fair, patient and BEYOND helpful, thankfully I can check this off of my ever-present worry list and move on to world peace.

And, that little boy who is turning five very soon, has surpassed his siblings in a milestone that every parent dreads…he has learned to tie his shoes. When Oscar pointed out some “BOSS” clearance shoes to Atticus the other day, my face displayed a less than thrilled look. I thought to myself, great, there’s two hours a day that I won’t get back tying shoes. The next day, I sat down with Atticus, and it was seemingly effortless. No freak outs. Not one ounce of frustration. He listened, watched and did it…stunned. Now, if I could get him to wipe his behind and not put it in the trashcan, I will be throwing a party. In the meantime, I get to see Nora shooting cutting looks because of her surpassed milestone. Exhausted from seeing this I finally announced today, “You all can tie your shoes, the next thing is getting to vote…you’ll all do that at the same age! Move on!!!”

In the process of all of the above, I need to remind myself that I will figure this stuff out…the kids are fed and we have a roof over our head…so far so good. While there is no one I can pass the less-than-exhilarating-adulting onto, it is time to take a deep breath, make some cupcakes and celebrate the last of my precious offspring forging into the milestone of a half decade…blissfully remembering I never have to tie another shoe but my own!

Nature or Nurture...

A couple of years ago I heard a first time dad sort of half question how I do things in this house. He uttered a phrase that, to this day, sends a chill down my spine…”That’s fine, but is it nature or nurture?” Wait…WHAT? Who the hell are you to question the manner I run my house or that I was blessed with one child who willingly says to me, “I’m ready to go to bed.” I have never forgotten that statement and at times I want to find him (actually hunt him down) and ask him how his parenting is going. I would utter the fact that parenting, or ADULTING for that matter sucks at times. How I handle it, or anyone for that matter is relative and considering I haven’t yet picked my kid up from the county lock up, I say I’m winning! In the meantime, these are the things that I ponder on a daily basis. I’ll let you decide if they are nature or nurture…enjoy.

That look my cat gives me mid-day, when I walk into my room and find her laying on the bed. It’s a look that says, “That’s nice…would you please leave, I’m trying to sleep…”

The fact that my four year old MUST painstakingly remove all toe jam that he has before entering the shower, but cannot wipe the toilet seat when he pees all over it.

The attention to hair, second only to what Vidal Sassoon must have dealt with on a daily basis, but yet has to be reminded that deodorant is not an option.

The point that someone has to say, ever, do not crane kick your sister.

The moment your kids hear a song, and it is “their JAM!!!”

The great detail someone will put into a paper sweater for a stuffed animal, but loses all creative ability when faced with writing a thank you note.

The fact that you hear one child call another a control freak…you don’t know if you should be terrified or proud.

The fact that someone feels the need to dramatically fart.

That moment you catch yourself counting down to a night out, knowing that there will be nothing short of an apocalypse you will have to endure in the meantime.

The fact that you possibly wash and dry more Kleenex in the laundry than is actually used to blow a nose.

The ability to repeat any given thing you have said AT THE WRONG TIME but has no recollection of being told to brush their teeth.

The point where you no longer care what your Tupperware cupboard looks like, but become completely anal retentive to if there is toothpaste in the sink.

The fact that you know your 4 year old will leave more toothpaste in the sink than he ever got in his mouth.

The moment you realize the cat is STILL NAPPING…and become jealous.

The ability to justify going to a wholesale store at lunch time either for the $1.50 hotdog or the free samples to feed your kids.

The fact that my 4 year old could write his own chapter in the book The Art of the Deal.

The point where you are about to tell one kid to stop picking on their sister, and her youngest brother chimes in with, “You guys be quiet, she’s a BEAUTIFUL WOMAN!”

The point when one child appreciates another one’s talent, and actually says it to their face.

The moment when you realize that a magazine has an article on achieving the perfect “O” and you know the safest place for it is in the trashcan.

Having friends with no kids, not only because they are the breath of what your life once was, but further because they see all the things in your kids that you take for granted.

The fact that you know where your kids socks are but have no idea where your own have hidden.

The notion of a sticky residue on your floor, will always, ALWAYS be claimed by no one.

The point of the day when everyone is in bed, you survived another 18 hour day, you really just want to get in bed and watch TV and you lock the cat out of your room.

 

The take away from this is simple...Life is tough but so are you...and cats sometimes stink.

...choosing favorites...

A friend of mine who doesn't have kids, likes to routinely ask me, "So...which one is your favorite?" I always laugh at this question. Partly because I know the two of us live very different lives, partly because I know they have their favorite and partly because they cannot understand the gravity of that question. Different times of day we all have the best or even better versions of ourselves...Some people are morning people, others do their best work as night owls and some have just your run of the mill "Pissy Pant" days. I quantify this into my answer for this question, and much to their dismay, I always say, "All of them..."

But as time moves across my face, waistline and navigates my old lady hormones, I cannot help but feel conflicted. I always sort of shook my head in disbelief at those moms who "mourned" their children getting older. Why? Why wouldn't you want these precious offspring to become more independent, less poop-pant-filled and grown up? But as I get ready for the next birthday in my house, I find myself becoming one of those sad-sacks, who just upon looking at a picture of my youngest child in a highchair, for what seems a million years ago, I get almost misty. I'm not claiming a favorite child, but I am recognizing that our relationship is indeed special.

In two weeks my Atticus, the little fellow with such a powerful name, will be turning 5 years old. How is that possible? It seems like yesterday I was coming home with him from the hospital. I feel like he is the best version of the youngest child, because he doesn't take any crap from his siblings. He is a straight shooter, who only tells it like it is when he feels it is necessary. He has developed this sense of humor that will carry him through life in a way that I know will be positive. But no matter what the calendar says, my mind races back to him at nine months old.

I used to sort of begrudge doing evening feedings at times with my kids. I felt like I was missing out on all the action as I attempted to put to sleep a child with a bottle in a lightly dimmed room. I was always strict with a routine when my kids were this little, and my control freak ways lead me to believe that if I didn't put the child to bed, it wouldn't be done correctly. CHUMP. But, be that as it may, that routine probably saved more than my sanity when I became outnumbered by kids. And all these years later, little did I know at the time, it was a therapy for me that will be forever unmatched.

I remember sitting in a rocking chair with Atticus, probably more than I remember sitting with any of my other children. I would feed him a bottle and pretty much mentally cleanse whatever it was I was dealing with at the time, and there was plenty. I would look at him and wonder about life. I would look at him and wonder why he was dealt the hand that he had been. I would hold him just as he was drifting off and think, how will he ever know normal? He was my alarm clock in the morning (still is) and my night cap at night. He was so little, but he helped me in ways I will never be able to fully explain. I believe he was given to me for this specific reason, well before I knew how my life would have ever been. He is more than just my child, he is my gift.

I love all of my children exactly the same, they are all my favorite...but in different ways. Oscar is my creative, contemplative, quiet soul, who has something to say, but usually thinks about it before he says it. When he laughs at my jokes, I take it as the highest compliment. Abe is my outgoing character, who loves to love with his whole heart and be in the mix of everything, dispensing comic relief when necessary all the while understanding when to deliver a punchline. Nora is my old soul, with a creative mind, unconventional and a heart filled with love. Atticus is this tiny power house, with a loving heart, quick with a compliment and the most unique youngest child. He might not have been my first child, but he will always be my essential example of why silver linings are more than a way of looking at life, as they were given to me in the quiet, of a dim lit room...

I'm still a chump...

There are those times in life, when you stumble upon what is referred to as a "life hack." Last night, while watching TV with my kids, in the hopes to wind them down for a nice night's sleep, we came upon an animated Lego show. They were babbling away and then this Lego piece came up on the screen. I said, "What is that? I have thrown about 15 of those away in the last couple of years...what's the point?" Oscar, not taking his eyes off the screen said, "...oh, that is a Lego Brick Separator...they come with every Lego set." So, I asked him to elaborate.

After 12 years of parenting, MILLIONS of Legos found, stepped on, swept up and thrown away, this little odd looking tool helps separate Lego creations, where possibly little fingers cannot cut the mustard. I found myself dumbfounded. What? When? How long has this been going on? How many other "life hacks" are out there that I am unaware of? What was I doing with my life?

Among the many things that I ponder in the late night/early morning hours, I constantly question if I am getting things done right. I wonder why I chose one selection of words instead of another. I question if I will ever walk away from one disagreement or another that I might have with my kids and think, good job. At the rate life is moving, I want to laugh at the chump who was raising kids in my house 3 years ago. She didn't know how good she had it. They were shorter, younger, slower, dependent and less verbal than they are now. I have told my mother recently on more than one occasion, how much I respect her for not selling me to gypsies when I was 12 years old. I know all about "The Strong Willed Child," but I haven't heard of the "Mouthy Pre-Teen Mantra,"...what I assume should be the companion book.

The mother who was raising kids in this house 3 years ago, was more trying to keep up with a toddler than policing social media, arguing about who is in charge and more over having to mentally fight the urge to say to one or more of my kids, "You are not always RIGHT!" I know lately, I have routinely also uttered the phrase, "...well, you need to just let that go." I have said it to bickering kids, almost bickering kids, kids who cannot stand the sight of each other and also to myself. But when does that mantra become effective? Where is my LEGO BRICK SEPARATOR?!


I love my kids more than they will ever know. I am ultimately hoping that this rut in the road of parenting will become easier, more manageable, and at some point less stressful...maybe we just need spring? I know, I'm a still a chump. There are no life hacks for raising kids I'm figuring out. There are no magical mantras or cocktails that will make things easier. I have been told that one day, I will miss these trying times of parenting. Get ahold of me in 20 years, sitting on my front porch with not a thing to do, and I'll let you know.

...turning a cell...

DO YOU HEAR THAT? It is a splendid noise, like the first birds of spring, chirping their little hearts out or a gentle breeze of a new season playing the wind chimes that hang by my back door. It is me, doing TWO LESS PEOPLE'S LAUNDRY...of course, they don't really know what has hit them yet...meanwhile, I lie in wait.

Taking a page from Sun Tzu's Art of War, I have waged a silent war in this quiet house in little Canton, Missouri. The war is being fought in the name of all adults who painstakingly perform the task of...laundry. My rage, slightly less seething, has reached its plateau. While I have not so silently threatened the "laundry strike" before, today I am carrying out what countless others have dared to threaten before...I'm finished.

Of course I have threatened before, "Where was that stuffed? That's it, you are doing your own laundry from now on, maybe you will understand why my eyes are yellow and the vein is bulging in my neck!!!" All spoken on deaf ears, with a look of, yeah sure...she's a control freak and will never let it get to that. Well, that day has come my friends...and it has been a long one coming.

Laundry has ALWAYS been my nemesis. At times it has quieted my mind, given me a reason for being or just been another bullet point on my unwritten resume that I can fold a fitted sheet. In a house with four kids, the laundry is something that always has to be done, always collecting and something I'm always trying to get ahead of. It is a love hate relationship, laundry and I. While most women take a secret moment with something they really desire at a clothing store, cut to me at Home Depot where I want to whisper sweet nothings to a shiny new washer and dryer package. I know, I need to get out more.

I found myself, last week "Turning a Cell," so to speak. A tiny bit of fear strikes into the heart of my children when I get that look in my eye, knowing their room really needs cleaned. It's akin to a prison show, where the Warden decides the start "Turning Cells" to find any contraband. So, I decided that I needed to check up on the Talls' room to get some things picked up. It was there, as I was putting away their clothes, found jammed into every corner of their dressers, which I found a few articles that I had ironed. Really? I ironed this, for what? I ironed this, told them that I did, and told them to hang it up so the twenty minutes it took to do it wouldn't be wasted. Wow. That...well, that sucks! What the hell was I doing with my free time besides making sure they didn't look as if they had gotten dressed in a van down by the river? Then, besides a few choice swears that I muttered under my breath, I said three words. I. Am. Done.

So, like Sun Tzu, I have silently waged my war on laundry. What the Talls are blissfully unaware of is that I stopped doing their laundry. Done. Finished. I have done laundry, trust me when I really say it never stops...but not theirs. When I warned last evening about my strike, Oscar eluded to the notion that he thought that was some sort of child abuse, to which I almost spit out my coffee with laughter. This morning, Abe was looking for something in the dryer. I said, you're not going to find it there...He looked at me. After informing him that I no longer did their laundry, he looked at me. I told him that if he didn't want to be wearing his bathing suit to school by Wednesday, he had better collect the laundry and get to it.

The next battle will be the pissing match between the Talls of whose turn it is to launder their unmentionables...but that isn't my fight. My battle, forever ongoing, experienced a small victory today, flushed with the notion of a lesser load of laundry and a mom's most important aspect of warfare...sticking to her word.

...hey jealousy...

Awe...its pissy pants Monday here with one of my precious offspring, I wish I had gotten the memo or for that matter even know how to quell it. But alas, I sent him off to school flushed with the hope that it would somehow go away by 3:30 this afternoon, I pre-apologize to his teachers at this moment. Some days you just get the "Pissy Pants" card, but some notice or even cause would be appreciated once in a while.

While I was sipping my coffee in the predawn hours of my kitchen, I came across a story on my social media feed. It was entitled "The 5 Things You Should Know About Dating a Single Mom." I'll admit, upon seeing it I was intrigued. I got about half a paragraph in and thought, what the hell? I don't need to read this, I live it. After thinking about it, all the things they could have put in that first paragraph, I wonder if I should go back and read the rest.

Fact of the matter is, IT IS TOUGH. If any one man knew the inner workings of my brain upon looking at me, he should RUN not walk away. My control issues...my hang-ups...my anxieties. If I knew 12 years ago that I would end up a single mother, I probably wouldn't have had the courage, moxie or the self-confidence to do it. Any mother who chooses to do this is either psychotic or has their shit together way more than I do. It is one thing to get married, start a family and the marriage does not work out. You came, you saw, you tried, it didn't work and you made the decision to end things. But what about someone who didn't get to make that decision.

Dating is difficult at any age. The beginning is thrilling, getting to know all of the inner workings of another person that you are excited to be around, talk to and think about. The simplicity of wanting to spend time with someone who makes you a better, nuttier, loving version of yourself. There are no other factors to consider besides being happy. Fast forward 20 years, you are older and now have more people to take into consideration on just about every choice or decision you make, even down to what kind of toothpaste you purchase. How does your brain and your heart work in the single-mother-dating-category?

Nora has been on the prowl for a grown man in this house since nearly the beginning. She would check out men at the grocery store, look them up and down and rate them even at 4 years old. To her it's more than just wanting to marry me off, to her it is trying to find a man to look to and up to for security. No person will ever replace her father, but I found it interesting that her coping mechanism was just as simple as putting together a puzzle...if one piece is missing, fill it with another.

Maybe my brain could more easily traverse around this beautiful vista of dating if I had chosen it. Maybe I could put aside my anxieties about what I may or may not be doing to all of those of whom I am responsible. Maybe I would be able to make a decision for myself outside of wanting what is best for all involved. Maybe I could just trust myself and let myself be happy before turning tail and running. I have seen dozens of people get married in the last 4 years, some of whom I have been lucky enough to introduce. While I am genuinely happy for them, to find that person that completes all the wonderful things that make them who they are, at times I am jealous. Of course, Ryan Gosling isn't going to show up at my door and start a life with me, he already has one.

"Hey Jealousy," one of my favorite old songs, and I know I'm showing my age, has a line in it that my psyche reminds me of from time to time. "The past is gone, but something might be found to take its place." Who cannot relate to this phrase? The fact is, I'm jealous of those people who can be in a place to let their heart take the wheel. I have been so very lucky to have the people in my life that I do. I am so very lucky to have these children, pissy pants and all, to raise and watch become such interesting aspects of their father and myself. I am so very lucky to know what it was and is like to be loved. Now, I just need to get around my own issues that are holding me back.

I write this not because I want sympathy, frankly that is the last thing that I want. I write this because I want to add to the article that I almost read this morning. Dating a single parent isn't about who might get in the way of it, even if it was chosen. Dating a single parent is understanding that there are a million needs that need to be met before the single parent ever gets around to their own. This single parent just wants to get around the subconscious stuff sometime soon, and be able to share all the crazy, fun, heartfelt moments with someone else. Even if Ryan Gosling isn't knocking on the door, I want to be ready for whoever is brave enough to.

... like talking to a cabby who speaks broken English

Oh...the New Year! So many rare and wonderful things to discover, so many habits to be broken, so much hormone-drama-riddled-madness...and we are only two days in. Really, I try to look at every New Year as a chance to not only kick some bad habits, but more over a time to adopt new attitudes. Looking at this year ahead of me, I'm making a conscious effort to remember that 2017 is a glass that is half full. Those silver linings that I've always cherished need to be written down or furthermore noted at the end of each day. At times they have been hard to see lately, but like I said, it's a new year so here we go.

There have been some subtle changes happening in this house, well not subtle, but everyone is getting older, acting older and more independent. There would have been a time when I longed for such things, but when they creep up on you like a cheap pair of underwear, instead of appreciating it, I have been taken off guard. It's the end of  the "veggie tray" era in this house. My children are "manure-ing"(aka maturing) as my parents put it when I was younger. I now see the hidden meaning in it, because sometimes it stinks. With maturity thrust among us, there have been a few things we have decided to banish, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

I was reminded by Abe the other day in the car, "It's less than a month until my birthday, and we haven't gone out for our special-pre-birthday-day..." CRAP! Dang-it! I totally forgot about that. I started it last summer as a way to take each kid out before their birthday for some one-on-one time with them, because let's face it, in this house-it's rare. We go out for a meal of their choice, they get to pick out an outfit and we just do something, just the two of us. With every kid it is different. With some of the kids, I was shocked to find that I needed to get to know them more, their likes and dislikes. With most every kid, the time is spent with a little indecisiveness as usually we run our show like a democracy. Who knew choosing a place to eat would be so frustrating? Initially there is a lull in the conversation on this outing, because like I said, it's rare. Today, was my day with Abe, and it was no different.

Thirteen miles. Thirteen miles from our little town to the next bigger one down the road. Thirteen miles of attempts to start a conversation by me, to which I was given the response, "...I don't know?" Whew. I'm not going to lie, I was worried after the ninth response of "I don't know?" These weren't tough questions. What are your likes? What are your dislikes? What do you want to be when you grow up? Finally, I just asked, "Ever shot a man in Reno just to watch him die?" To which I at least got a, "...huh?" With every date, I am bluntly reminded that I possibly do not know my kids the way I thought I did. The conversation usually picks up with time, but man, that first hour is like talking to a cabby who speaks broken English. Rest assured my next 'birthday date' will be much easier because he spends more time with me than anyone. Atticus has already told me that we are going to McDonalds...cheap date, I like it!

It was around Christmas that I started to notice there were a few phrases, habits and behaviors that really need to be banned in 2017. We're not talking devil worshiping, but just some things that really, if they could be replaced or outlawed all together, life would be a little easier. Here are the following things put on the "NOT IN 2017 LIST" this evening:

1. "I didn't know..." Last I checked, we all speak English in this house, there is no language barrier. If you DON'T KNOW, simply ask, I guarantee someone does.

2. "I tried..." I believe in trying your best all the time, but if it is your go-to answer, and you know the truth, don't go there...do some soul searching first. "I tried to clean my room, but I couldn't..." not buying what you are selling. Go try to shower, please.

3. YOUR OWN NAME. If someone says your name, do them the courtesy of looking at them or responding after the FIRST time they say it. If someone is required to say your name 3 times before you can answer, it's time for a Miracle Ear.

4. "No one told me..." Really? I mean, really? No one told you that you shouldn't put soda in your water bottle before bed? No one told you that you shouldn't light things on fire in my living room? No one told you that you shouldn't tie things to the cat's tail? You see where I'm going with this.

5. "I'm going to make sure I pee in the toilet today, mommy, as a special Christmas gift to you..." said in possibly the sweetest voice, but I digress. My response was, "Sweetheart, every day CAN BE Christmas!"

6. COURTESY FLUSH...or become a plumber.

7. If you complain about the processes of the management, you will be given the job to do for no less than one month...think hard about what a control freak the management is...this could be painful.

8. There will be respect, and not every thought you have HAS TO BE UTTERED. If I teach my kids nothing in 2017, I will teach them when respect is given freely, life is much more pleasant. Every word, every thought that passes your lips, you cannot take back...choose wisely.

We are ready and eager to see what 2017 holds, armed with our new list of habits to be broken. Here is to you and your 2017, hoping you find every day's sliver lining BEFORE sitting on a wet toilet seat!

...It's the most wonderful time of the year!

This time of year just seems to FLY by. The more things we do, the faster it all seems to be slipping from us-except for the fleas-they've been overstaying their welcome, but we are surviving (itch, itch, itch-just the thought). While it seems that the Christmas season is rapidly slipping through my hands, I keep reminding myself- breathe, it's only the 10th of December! When else can you hear a 7 year old who knows every word to "I Want a Hippopotamus For Christmas?" I revel in it...even if she does only sing the same two odd verses over and over again.

I have been trying to be ever-mindful of the season this year...making sure to remember and remind everyone in my house that it's not the wrappings and the trappings that actually make the memories. As always there are the never ending interruptions while trying to hide presents, the praying that this year no one will break a window/mirror/piece of furniture like in years past and the anticipation that this season holds. All of the daily holiday rituals, i.e. Elf on the Shelf and Advent candy, I really never begrudge. It's all the little things that when added together make this season what it is to my family and I. No other time of the year is there anything really worth flying out of bed to be excited about, so I savor it.

This year the holiday season has been a little different. The memories that my kids fall back into retelling are ones that we have made together since we've moved here. It is gratifying in the moment to feel like I've done something not only worth remembering but also that there isn't any sadness attached to it. I wasn't sure that we would ever have that again a couple of years ago. While I am sure that indeed both of the Talls know the truth about Santa, for the sake of the rest of the brood, they are keeping the secret. They now both understand that the excitement in perpetuating the thrill of the holiday season is what it is all about. 

Unknowingly, my kids have already given me their Christmas gifts. I have been mentally noting and thoroughly enjoying watching who my kids are growing into being this year. Not sure if it is the ages they are or the growing insurgence of independence. I have noticed how much everyone is changing and I am gratified that I only want to ring their necks half of what I used to. They are all so very different, and have certain passions in their young lives, they also are each their own perfect piece of their parents. I am beyond grateful to see some piece of myself and Jason in each one of them...sometimes more than others. The other morning, while trying to quell the never-ending-debate of who gets the first doughnut on doughnut day, Nora declared, "Well, if you ask me? Oscar should get first choice, he hasn't been the one bitching all morning..."

Where did I go with this you ask? Well, for a brief moment, I wondered if Nora had developed some sort of mental telepathy, as I was possibly thinking the same thing word for word. I then cut her a harsh look of disapproval, and said that if she had decided to start using grown-up words, there was a very LONG LIST of grown-up things that she would have to start doing around here. It was a quiet doughnut day after that. 

I guess my point is simply this... As a parent you spend of most of your time feeling like you are in the trenches, but sometimes it is reassuring to know that possibly the offspring you are working so hard to rear into non-swearing-adults, are right there with you...understanding that a functioning family, while thriving on dysfunction at times, has to work together, support each other, and most importantly love each other to make it all work. That is what it is all about. The fact that people notice these things during this time of year? Because "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer" isn't something you hear any other time of the year. My kids each have four things on their Christmas lists this year. I have one...for them to hopefully know how much I love them, not only for who they are, but for making this time of year so very special to me.