...the moon and back...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...un-scactioned nudist colony...

Most days in my house aren't really unlike that of any other house...with the exception of maybe the volume, high levels of drama, and well today...nudity. While everyday isn't going to look like the idyllic notion that you might project to others that it is. There are those days when you look around and think...what the hell is going on in here today?

It's payback really. I went out with friends last night. It was the first time in nearly two weeks that I had been out of the house without children. The earnings of those days start early, and at some point you look at the clock and think, how many hours until the babysitter gets here?! I love my kids, with every ounce that I am. However, getting out, being with adults...it's heady. It's this experience that seriously is more than just getting away from my house, it's an escape from worries, drama, and debates.

So, that being said...today, well, it was a nice cosmic wedgie, reminding me that , "...hey, guess what? this is your life..." Like a cold splash of water to wake you up? Yeah, mine started with a naked toddler, who decided to start potty training himself, in his crib. He was naked as the day he was born, so very proud telling me what he did, and that indeed these were his 'frank-n-beans' pointing downward. That's a lot to take in at 6:01 in the morning. Little did I know, that we now live in an un-sanctioned nudist colony...I just kept finding him, nude. Not all laid out or running through the house...going through the video cabinet, reading books, talking to his Elmo doll. Seemingly as if, he didn't even notice the slight breeze he was getting. And with every naked adventure, came the gift of bodily fluid. At one point I actually asked Abe, "...do you think it would be wrong to duct tape his clothes on him?" 'Cause you know, asking an 8 year old that kind of stuff makes sense...I needed feedback I guess.

There were fist fights, arguments, declarations of 'you're the meanest brother ever' or 'you wish'...it was making me twitch. The drama queen who sat for 68 minutes at the dinner table refusing to eat one sugar snap pea. Finally, when I told her that her time was up, she succumbed. Afterward, she marched through the house so proud of herself, as if she'd just taken down the CRACKEN. Meanwhile, headgear mysteriously broke...at this point, I look at the Talls smiles, and it's like a cartoon, all I see are dollar signs. So, it looks like we'll be loitering in the office of Dr. Paul Miller, DDS within the next few days...

I love my kids. I'm grateful to be their mother. I'm blessed to have the challenge of being their parent. While it's a challenge, I'm fortunate to stay with the ones who are still at home for now. I'm gratified at the end of the day that we all survived to do it all over again tomorrow. I at one point today, I looked out my kitchen window and thought...so, did you have fun last night?...two more weeks until it happens again.

...TODAY'S THE DAY I GO OFF...

New adventures. New year. New evaluation of your life...you see it everywhere. Everyone starts the year hearing/seeing that this is the time of year to become what you've always dreamed of. This is the fresh new start that you deserve. It's every where from the television programs you watch to the advertising you subliminally listen to. The fact is...it's difficult task, that's why in June you aren't as inundated with such messages, as most have either given up or moved on to the next task at hand.

The other night I had to write a short biography of myself. It seems pretty self explanatory...what you've done, where you've done it. Honestly, I dreaded it more that seeing the gynecologist. I have no problem telling the exploits of my children, or giving my opinion on something. Writing about myself, I was stumped. I went back to what I learned in high school writing: just the facts. The fact is, my life has been what it has based on the experiences I've had, not on the jobs I've held or the promotions I've been given...

The thought of "...it's a quarter past I don't know what the hell I'm doing" crosses my mind more than three times a week. After mentioning this out loud earlier this week when my friend April was here, she looked at me straight in the eyes. Meanwhile Oscar had walked into the room. And while patting him on the back, as he was reaching over her for some snacks she said, "...but look how well they have turned out". Oscar sort of looked at her, snorted and walked away. Cut to April and I dying laughing...

Last spring I was accused of being a witch, as I taught above mentioned seriously organized friend how to fold a fitted sheet. She was astonished and had never seen it before. I was on cloud nine, thinking I might know something about the world...then realized such accomplishments weren't resume worthy. Fact of the matter is, in my overly verbal brain, I have little to nothing that I could actually put on a resume...unless throwing a cocktail party is now a section on a resume in the new millennium. My skill set is skewed for either an elderly companion or someone likely to join a cult.

While April was visiting, she walked me through a few things I needed to set up online. With every click of the laptop, I felt like some 80 year old, who had never used a computer before. I kept apologizing for acting like such a dolt. To which she said, "...why would you know how to do any of this? It's not in your daily skill set...I do it everyday." She held my hand setting up author pages, twitter accounts (still don't know what the hell I'm doing), and understanding why certain passwords might get me flagged in some bizarre way...I like creative passwords, but my brain is lacking it's vital dose of gingko biloba...

I'm three days into 2014, and I'm tired of people showing me the 'skinny version' of a recipe. I want more things on sale that yogurt. I'm stubborn enough to want to make those 'resolutions' later in the year, when the sight of my backside in a swim suit terrifies me properly. In the meantime I plan to look at some opportunities I have been given. While my job for the last 9 years has been motherhood, and at times it's seriously two minutes from being chaos here daily. Today I actually heard Nora exclaim, "...TODAY'S THE DAY I GO OFF!!". Even though that is my nearly everyday,  I'm grateful everyday that I have done things the way I have. Now, it seems time to change things up a bit, put on another hat, get out of non-yoga-practicing-yoga-pants and look at what else life has to offer. Take in every second of new opportunities, learn from them and about myself. Happy 2014!

...you smell like beef and cheese, you don't smell like Santa...

Guilty as charged...I admit it. I use Christmas. I have compared it to therapy, I have used it to elicit feelings of warmth and happiness. I'm guilty as charged. But, who doesn't? The day I have dreaded for 390 days came today, the first full day of Christmas break. I was waxing poetic at the dinner table, about a time when I was a child, camped out on the landing in my old house, and how I thought I saw Santa. It's no joke, I actually thought I saw Santa from the waist down. I heard the bells, I heard his "Ho Ho Ho,,,". To which I had one Tall sitting on the edge of his seat, and the other dropping the bomb of the century, "...no way! No way that is true! You are lying! You're the one who told me he wasn't real..." (insert jaws dropping, silent sobbing here).

It all started last December. Abe came crying to me, telling me that not only did Oscar not believe in Santa, that he told him the whole thing was fake. Life, as I knew it at the time, had very little to be excited about. Their father had just passed away. There were very few things to put faith in, for me and for them. I was broken, sad, and needed something to look forward to. I'll be damned if Oscar was going to ruin what little innocence reality had already taken away. I had a discussion with him about the 'magic' that Christmas had to offer. That while I was in fact 'Santa', we all need something to believe in, and that growing older meant that we were now a part of the new 'magic', by helping others to believe in something that they couldn't see. I told him that being 'truth-seeker' would get him no where fast...nothing for Christmas, and he could bet if he was telling what he knew at school, he'd be the LAST on any invite list to a friend's birthday party. I thought I brought the message home...but I under estimated his need for being right.

So, as he is blurting out his 'knowledge' tonight at the dinner table, Abe is nearly in tears that he doesn't believe in Santa. Nora is awe-struck at the fact Oscar would take Kris Kringle's name in vain, and the only speakable words that I can put together, those that would be suitable for others to hear, mind you there were MANY of which I cannot say, ASS HAT. I promptly ended his dinner, told him to find his favorite electronic device, and hand it over. I cleaned up the smalls, and met him in another room. He was frightened. He looked at me, as if to know what he did, but confused all at the same time. Honestly, some of the words that left my lips, I'm not proud of repeating. Some of the feelings I have towards this holiday aren't at all about the actual holiday. Some of my dependency of said holiday, have nothing to do with him, and more to do with what I CANNOT FIX, CHANGE, REPLACE. For that, I wish I would have stepped outside and taken a couple of deep breaths, but he got the fury...

I told him, while being 'RIGHT' was his mission in life, sometimes he HAD to think of others. I told him that while last year SUCKED the only thing I felt like I could do right (with the help of many friends and family) was Christmas. I told him, that while life didn't make sense, having your father ripped away for no good reason, some how, believing in something else helped his brothers and sister. I told him that he was an ass hat for taking that from THEM just because he, for what ever reason at the time, HAD TO BE RIGHT about something. I told him that while it saddened me that he no longer believed in Santa, the fact that the others did was a gift to me. It was something I could still do like before, only alone. I told him that believing in something, sometimes, makes no sense, but that it was unfair to try to sully those beliefs for his own gratification. I told him, knowing what he 'knows', and is so willing to ruin for others, he had better PRAY that there is anything under the tree come Christmas morning...at this point underwear should be something to look forward to...

At that point, I went outside to collect myself. I looked/heard the wind chimes that are by my back door. They were chiming away, as for what ever reason they seem to do when I am about to loose my shit. I looked at them and literally said aloud, "...alright then, what the hell am I supposed to do now? They need you, if for nothing else than in something to believe in, as clearly I have failed...". I went in the house, grabbed some lined paper, and handed a piece to Oscar. I told him, he had better write a note to Santa, explaining how sorry he was, for doubting him and for attempting to dash the hopes of those who believe. Oscar sort of looked at me queerly. I whispered to him, "...if you are looking to open anything on Christmas morning, you better EXPLAIN how very sorry you are in this letter". To which Nora said she wanted to tell Santa she loved him, could she have a piece of paper? Abe walked into the kitchen and said that he had promised the Elf on the shelf that he'd write a letter to Santa, and he hadn't yet done it (can I just say, that I don't have a favorite child, but at Christmas time Abe is my all time favorite child). Oscar wrote two pre-teen sentences about how he messed up, but wanted to know from me what to write next...to which I said, "...just think about how badly you want what was on your Christmas list, it'll come to you what to say...".

I guess, in a way, I can exhale. I've put a lot of unspoken pressure on Charles Schultz, Dr. Seuss, Frank Capra, O. Henry, Clement Clarke Moore and countless others to try to make lasting impressions of Christmas on my family. I so badly want my kids to believe in the magic of Christmas forever, as if I have some secret super power to do so...but it's not possible. Perhaps, I need to face the facts, life doesn't work that way. Perhaps I need to grasp that everyone, even children, eventually understand it's not real. I see this being the last year Abe believes. I have to swallow the pill, he shares a room and a DVD player with Oscar the TRUTH SEEKER. While it saddens me, I look forward to next Christmas, maybe Abe knowing the truth (far too early for me, but I digress) will be helpful. Maybe his excitement will kick into high gear about the time I'm tired of hiding the Elf on the shelf? Maybe I can have some company while wrapping Christmas gifts. I shudder to think of it this year. But, come Christmas morning, I can't lie, his face is the one I'm going to be taking mental pictures of to get me through the next year...

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the what?

...sometimes, I catch myself...sometimes, I actually have to remind myself...I live in a hilarious, ironic world, where I'm not much taller than those who I am in charge of...I have to laugh at the notion that I'm the grown-up.What sort of twisted world is it, that I am the one in charge of these gaggle of blue-eyed 'charmers'? It's as if I was attempting to step off an elevator at the wrong floor. Everyone I'm with subtly saying, "...um, chick, this is the wrong floor...you couldn't possibly be in charge of those kids..."

I was discussing with Oscar an issue he had had at school. He began to try to 'set me straight' on the issue. I kept calm and while I didn't appreciate his tone, it didn't make me jump from a 2 to a 10 on the Mommy Dearest Scale...so I didn't think anything of it. All of the sudden, Abe comes into the room and gets right into Oscar's eyes and says rather sternly, "...that woman has a college degree...she puts a roof over your head and food on your table...you will can it, and listen to her because she is your mother...". Then Abe turned around, and walked out the room. What the what?...I got off at the wrong floor?

I am an unlikely parent. My views, while shaped by the experiences I have been lucky enough to have, are unlike that of most parents, or even my own. I believe that I am the most important example for these kids, if they end up train wrecks- I might have had something to do with it. But, their lives will be further shaped by the choices/decisions they make. I always cringe when I hear kids talking about going to college. I value a college degree, please do not misunderstand me. However, who knows what they want to do for the rest of their lives, with a $15,000 a year price tag until they figure it out, at 18? I don't feel like every kid should go directly to college, if they even should at all. I encourage my kids to go to a trade school first...electricians, plumbers, barbers...I can't do any of those things.

In the van the other day, Nora started one of her MANY talking points in the 13 mile excursion that we take once or twice a week. That day's talking points where: Hibernation, why bother? Why does red mean stop and green mean go? Did I know that she knew how to play the bass guitar? Why isn't my favorite animal and elephant like her since we are related? Lastly, she finished with a rousing discussion about how she really didn't know what she was going to be when she grew up...there were so many choices. I told her that she didn't have to really decide today, and that she should just enjoy being 4 years old. She then says to me, "...so, what are you going to be when you grow up?....or is this Mom thing probably it?"...speechless.

I'm not the most conventional woman. I never really 'sought out' a career. I never really felt the need to become a goal setting employee. I entered the adult world, not really knowing what I wanted to do other than be a mom. Instead of fitting my kids into my career life, they became my career. I feel like I did the important things first. Now, I do realize I live a charmed life. This stay-at-home-life won't be lasting too much longer. But, I'm grateful that I made the choices that I have, not only for myself but also for my kids sake. The 28 year old me, would have never imagined the world in which the nearly 38 year old me resides. Ironically, I wouldn't want to be 28 again. Thankfully, with age comes some knowledge of not only who you are, but what you are capable of. I have managed to keep four rowdy blue-eyed charmers alive as the 'adult in the house'. My aspirations become all that more important...I keep learning from them.

Complacency: a feeling of quiet pleasure or security, often while unaware of some potential danger, defect, or the like... 

 

We've all felt it at one time or another. Whether it be with our kids, our family or our spouses...you get in a rut. Some ruts are just merely that, bumps in the road, all the while you know the true value of those who are around you. Others are ones that are nearly like surmounting Everest, but once atop you can see the forest for the trees, and all is right with the world...

 

When you realized that you have been complacent, it's sort of a sickening feeling. How could you ever unknowingly, or knowingly forget someone else's worth?...even your own at times? How is it possible that you forgot how amazing it feels to be appreciated, loved, even listened to?

This has been something on my conscious a lot lately. I'm guilty of all of it. I guess what makes me frustrated is knowing that some things cannot be changed...While at the same time, I sort of shield myself from being too carried away with making certain moments...there are no guarentees in life. Working hard to 'create-a-great-photo-for-Facebook' moment, sort of takes away the meaning behind it.