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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...looking at fish...

My mind is a jumble...I've got a few things kicking around in my head. I was actually looking forward to sitting down and letting out some keyboard aggression...but I lost my window. Thankfully I lost a little aggression too. But it seems during certain times of the year, no matter how happy I may be I'm more trigger happy than I'd like to be, thus the simplest of things drive me up a tree...and for what?

My language skills must be lacking. I have either become a low talker, or my kids have just simply adopted another language. Head reeling, remembering how I used to be able to say something 3 times and be done. Now it's like my voice is on delay, and we've started to average 9. This does nothing to help a trigger happy mother of four not look like a complete lunatic in public. I know people who simply just don't take their kids places for this exact reason. I've never wanted to be this person, and frankly I don't have the luxury. So, I've decided to just start calling my kids by different names to see if that possibly works. As it worked out today, anywhere we went, anyone who was unfortunate to be around us, ended up knowing all of my kids names as I repeated them continuously. Either that or just start taking medication, the likes of which can cover up the fact that I'm about to lose my shit and just make me look like I'm looking at the fish in a pet store.

It seems redundant, but I have to constantly remind myself to relax. A crisis will ensue whether I've packed snacks or not. I think my internal struggle is starting to boil up also because I'm a month away from having a hip replacement. I try to remind myself how much better my day to day existence will be a year from now. The pain just simple mobility can cause currently is a little bit maddening I have to admit. My mind races to the 27 things I have to do before that fateful day under the knife. Mind you, it's nothing that is life threatening, pressing, or even anything I can delegate...it's just life stuff. We have a birthday, doctor appointments, eye appointments, dentist appointments, school supplies, and another birthday. So, not 27, but I gave you the short list as to not SCREAM crazy. I'm not worried about how things get accomplished while I'm recuperating, just eager to line a few things up to make it easier on the sainted people who have agreed to help.

A week from tomorrow my Oscar turns 10. It's really quite hard to believe. So many things run through my head close to events like this. The over planning of making a birthday cake usually is the first. This year I must have been under-caffeinated as I ridiculously mentioned, wouldn't a Baked Alaska be cool? What the hell was I thinking? Pinterest and my mom solved this problem. This is his year for a party. Thankfully he said he only wanted two of his friends to come over. On tap are pizza/wings, cake, video games, a scavenger hunt and movies. It's weird. He's at that strange age where some things are still too old for him, and others are too young. Planning a party for boys who like to sit with a controller in their hands- fairly simple. Less is more, right?

Lately, I find it more interesting how much he reminds me of Jason. To me it has always been in glimpses. He has grown this last year, and was reeling when I offered him a couple of Jason's smallest t-shirts to wear. Worried I was opening a can of worms with the rest of the kids, I knew that it was something special to him...and the fact he needed them literally and figuratively. I see Jason in Oscar's mannerisms, his temperament, and unfortunately his lack of wanting to communicate. I know it will take time, but it's the time that passes us by that I know I can't get back...and that stings. I know he feels like a number in this house, one of the 289 things a day I dread knowing. The unspoken thing still and will always be that he wants more time just he and I. While I wish I could give him all he wants, at least I know it's something I can actually fix. Relentlessly wanting to fix what can't be...reminding myself that I am missing the ability to be superhuman for my kids. Who is really?

...fight the power, not Jim Bauer...

Not sure if it was what I thought might be a rouge dirty diaper, which turned out to be a dead mouse? Or a crying Nora, coming to me to tell me that she was scared to go to heaven? Or the emotional charge that has been slowly filtering through this house for the last week? Like running your stocking feet around carpet in the winter, waiting to get shocked...There was no way around it, today was Father's Day whether we liked it or not...

I can’t help my hormonal tendencies, but it seems like Nora is now on board my crazy train as well… There are only so many emotional outbursts I can take, especially when I know I'm not really making a dent in the questions/concerns she has. About the time I think I've resolved something that is troubling her, in an instant she has another. Currently it's warts, pink insulation, scars, and not wanting to go to heaven...at least for this week. I'm grateful she willingly brings these issues up, yet stunted how quickly she can acquire them...

But the ones that really drive me crazy are those that never make it to the surface, sitting just below the skin, brewing. I can change the subject. I can direct the conversation in a million different ways…all in the hopes that my kids don’t remember Father’s Day is coming. I talked about it at different times, never really trying to make a big deal out of it…I guess sort of wanting to leave it up to how they feel…

Well today, there was little left for interpretation. They asked if we had to leave the house, meaning go to church. They made some rather valid points...stating we would go to church and hear all about how it's Father's Day. I think one of the Talls actually said, "...yeah, that sounds like fun?" We laid on my bed, sort of taking turns getting teary. The boys couldn't tell me why "exactly". Atti just kept looking me in the face saying, "...you crying? Mommy crying..." as if I needed reminding. Nora, it was a heaven/wart combo. I laid there wondering...wow, these kids are screwed on this holiday. They have grandfathers that they love, but it's what they are missing, the void, that can't really be filled.

They lay around me, and I can't help but hurt for them. I can't help but think of a word that I hate, fair. I hate that word. It's usually a word someone uses when they have no real notion of what it means. They use it, and then wish to gain sympathy from it. Someone who really understands what it means, very, and I do mean VERY rarely uses it. I fought my urge to just roll over and let this day kick us in the can. We weren't going to let it tell us what or how we should do things today. Of course, this is total lip service to my brain, but I just kept reminding myself of it.

I faltered a bit, as I was scanning the channels on the TV next to Oscar and I uttered, "...this is complete bullshit, let's go to church..." He sort of snickered. Hopefully, that's never embroidered on a pillow for me...not my proudest moment. The Talls were like oracles. Everything they said we would have to hear was dead on, though interestingly enough it was parlayed into a discussion of the World Cup. I started playing with Atti's toys, then counted everything in front of the church, twice. I actually thought about the hill just above our church. How going down it, screaming the whole way? We needed something like that today...the release! I got us to church. Get through church. Leave out the side door when it was over and get on with the day. I needed to turn it around somehow...we just needed to have FUN, any kind would do.

The pool...it was like some magic drug. It was like that water washed off all the crap we'd been carrying around for the last week. Jumping in, splashing around, seeing friends, feeling the warm sun on your skin...it was our release. It was finally something I could do...to finally turn this day around. They found a tree frog. They named him. They begged to take it home with us, carrying it around like some pocket pet they've had for years. It was nice to see them excited about something so simple...it was nice to see them really smile.

Only later, when I was I reading a friend's Facebook status, did I completely understand how to tackle this day from this point forward. Simply stated it said,

"...I say we re purpose Father's Day and Mother's Day...just call it Family Time...that's what it really should be"

Thank you so very much...

 

 

...more than just a Mellencamp song...

Home is where the heart is...It takes a village to raise a child...Beauty is in the smallest of details...Small towns are rife with interesting stories, big hearts, and people who know more about what goes on in your house than maybe you do.  The 'big city' people in my life understand it, but not fully. When talking about the cons of living in a small town they use words like "lack of opportunities, experiences, diversity". To me those things are possible anywhere, just slightly defined a little differently. To me I feel some cosmic connection not only with this house, but also with this town.

I have to admit it, there has been a love affair going on in my life for quite some time...I've written about it, possibly to the point of ad nauseam. But since November 8, 2012 there has been a constant in my life, this house. I still walk around in it, looking out the windows, the doorways, the tiniest of details and I love it. It's given me a scare here and there, but I feel like it's more than just a house. There's a presence here...there's history, life, maturity...all before I even moved in. You can feel it when you walk in the door. It's like we've lived here forever, and thankfully it sort of envelops you like a warm hug. It's a mystery to many who live in this little town, as all the previous owners, once here stayed for decades. I was paid a compliment a few weeks ago when a life long resident of this tiny hamlet told me that when she drives by our house now, she no longer thinks "there's the (insert previous owners name) house, I think of it as the Hunt House" With that comment, she made my heart smile.

Small towns get a bad rap. I'm not sure if it's because people don't understand them or if it's because once in them you can't really hide. I've never understood that. What in the world are YOU doing that you would be so bothered if your neighbors know? I use the term "Mayberry" quite often when describing this place, but I do it out of love. I do it because in my minds eye, that black and white existence was uncomplicated, caring, slightly pie-eyed, but genuine. The time was simpler. The notion of people looking out for you shouldn't be such a foreign concept. My kids can play outdoors, go to the park, and ride their bikes to school with each other. Bonding at its best and without me hovering over them to shield them from what 'might' happen...as in this town, everyone is sort of looking out for everyone else. Yeah, that really sounds like a crappy place to live, huh? Each person is as colorful as the next. This town is the stuff that great stories are made of. It's small enough that it has its characters, eccentrics, odd-balls...but everybody in the town knows who they are, and are willing to let you in on who is who. While they might be annoying, these people are accepted for who they are, as that's how it always has been.

I say all this, not with a lack of experience. I've lived in big cities. I've understood their beauty and willingness to entertain not only your eyes and ears but your soul as well. Some of the best experiences of my youth were in big cities. I'm so very glad/blessed/fortunate to have been able to have such experiences. One place I was lucky enough to live I was surrounded by 8 different nationalities and still be with in crawling distance of a pub. That my friend is living! For me, maybe because I'm older, possibly because I'm less adventurous, definitely because I'm outnumbered, I wouldn't change where I am. The most prolific quote about a small town is one I've read by Joyce Dennys from Henrietta Sees It Through: More News from the Home Front 1942-1945

“Living in a small town...is like living in a large family of rather uncongenial relations. Sometimes it’s fun, and sometimes it’s perfectly awful, but it’s always good for you. People in large towns are like only-children.”  

And so, my love affair with this in inanimate object continues. It's walls of which we live in I feel forever lucky to call home. Our predecessors here, while not visible, are felt and appreciated. As for this little hamlet, I'm so grateful for this 'large family' that has taken mine in. Always noticing what we are up to. Willing to wave a greeting, or even shout from a school bus when driving by our house. Lastly, making us feel like we are part of something more than just that of a small town...

...the only thing we have to fear...

Doubt. Dread. Uneasiness. Concern. Fears. They are an inevitable consequence of being alive I suppose. There are ones you are willing to admit. There are ones you share with hundreds of others. There are those that you, if you are lucky, have succumbed. And then, there are those fears that never really go away...those anxieties that you would never want to openly mention, as it might make you look weak and feeble.

I found out earlier this month that I will get to have a hip replacement at the end of the summer. At this point, I've considered just laying in the street at times and paying anyone to do it. It's tiresome, depressing, and painful to not be able to keep up with daily life. I feel like a 75 year old trapped in a 38 year old body. My fear, looking weak, is no longer masked by me pretending to feel okay. I limp and hobble, and all sorts of other unattractive things to try to keep step with four kids. While I welcome this surgery, it means a summer of trying to really have a lot of fun with my kids, as I will be laid up for a while afterwards.

I know what feeling powerless is like. The closet door on my 'control issues' has been removed by it's hinges. Though there I sit, in the doorway, delusional enough to think that I can stay inside this doorway and life will always work out like I plan. I'm not going to lie, it's my 'pacifier'. At times I wonder if it's a blessing or a curse to know just how fast life can change, and there's not one thing you can do about it. On one hand, I feel like owning that notion will make me less apt to taking things for granted. On the other hand of that notion, I feel like I have to be 'readied' at any moment for the bottom to fall out. I over compensate when it comes to parenting. Here comes a big truth: I perpetually live in fear that I've only got one shot to get it right, that's a healthy mindset, right? And they only have me- heaven help them. I only hope one day, while they are siting around having a cocktail together and talking about how crazy their mother was, they'll at least remember that she was also perpetually outnumbered. I'm not worried about Nora, she has life pretty much figured out...the other day the Talls got into some trouble. I walked away from them and bumped into Nora, and she looked at me and said, "Your soothing spa treatment is ready, it's time for your day off..."

I worry about a summer going by and no one learns anything. I'm odd, I know. I feel like it's the perfect time to not only do something fun, but discover a hidden talent, pick up a new hobby, enjoy a more dangerous chore...Weed-wacking? Clearly something we are going to have to work up to. Lawn mowing? The Talls are all a contradiction when it comes to this. On one hand they tell me they know what they are doing, suddenly they can't do it, they don't know how. It was interesting, each of them at different times in different places said that exact same thing to me this morning. I looked at them and said, "...well, that's awesome! You won't be able to say that tomorrow..." A comeback I will never forget, thank you.

Facing another fear a couple of months ago...I asked for help. I entered a home improvement contest by submitting an essay. I have to admit, it was sort of therapeutic to put down in words why I needed help, I think because it felt anonymous. I never in a million years figured my collection of words would be picked as a finalist...I mean come on, I'm asking for help? Fast forward a few months, hundreds of family and friends support...and I won. It was overwhelming. It was heart tugging. It made me more grateful than ever for the people I am blessed to have in my life. Those I see regularly, and those, thanks to social media, I haven't seen in years. It reminded me the fear I have about countless things I have no control over, doesn't have to exist when you have others to lean on...they are your life's silver lining. Knowing me, I won't want to literally lean on them, but knowing they are there is like a magic want to the psyche...

Wearing nothing but a superhero cape and a smile...

We're here...we've lived to tell the tale on another end to a school year. It's left me feeling like there are a dozen things I have forgotten to do...and I can't conjure up what they are. I feel like I'm slightly losing my mind, for basically no reason. Considering we spent yesterday afternoon playing outside and the biggest thrill was when the weather alarm announced it was only a test...for the next hour, all Atticus wanted to do was have Nora and Abe impersonate it. We're pretty easy to please and not too complicated around here.

I'll admit it, I'm not an Über-Active-Parent...I don't volunteer to chaperone school trips. I don't make it to the awards day. I don't attend the PTA. I don't know all the teachers in the boy's school. I don't try to pretend I even know what they do exactly from 8:20 am until 3:17 pm. I read the notices that come home, and that's where the act of parenting ends. They don't bring knives to school. They hopefully don't swear in school. They are dressed, fed, clean-ish, and ready to learn...even those scant things are a challenge some mornings. But, we live four blocks from the school and they've never come back home because they've forgotten their underwear...so, WIN! For me all the involvement is sort of pointless. It doesn't necessarily make me a better parent, and I'm realistic enough to know that my kids probably would rather me stay out of that part of their life sometimes. Last week, I felt like I had won the parenting lotto. Abe had to list someone he admired. I figured he would put some TV character, superhero, or even his Dad...he put me. For about 10 minutes my heart actually smiled, meanwhile I was thinking this kid is either a genius or just plain great...

For me summer sort of starts a new adventure. I'm not one to think, "...aw crap, they'll be home all summer" I try to think of things to keep us busy, sane, and for me out of the liquor cabinet. There are a few things the Talls WILL master this summer, mainly mowing the lawn and with any luck doing the laundry...yes, I'm willing to relinquish that power. Nora, hopefully will learn to ride the bike she was given last summer with no fear of falling. Though I think her main problem is she is too 'bootylicious' to properly master it right away. I'm hoping Atticus will say goodbye to pacifiers without losing my mind the process...and then he's onto a real bed. I mentally list a few goals, and if we hit them great, if not no one is the wiser. My mother-guilt flows so deep, I probably won't even notice. It's exciting to think of all we might do, all the pajama days/bathing suit days/movie marathon days ahead of us. But this summer, I have a secret I need to escape...

Not even going to sugar coat it, last summer we ran away. We fled the last day of school and were gone on and off all summer long. I think ideally I thought if we weren't here it would be easier...healthier...healing. I found out in that process that running away from what is in front of you (unless it is a rabid dog) only finds you bumping into it later. I remember the kids saying while last summer they had fun, they had wished they were here more. The fear of facing what might happen sometimes outweighs what might actually occur. The fear of just having to 'deal' was so terrifying, that when 'dealing' actually happened, it wasn't so bad.

My plans for the summer might make some unhappy, but I feel like this summer we needn't run, but stay put and see what happens. We need to start some summer habits, with any luck some things that we can have fun and not break any bones doing. Hopefully make some deep rooted memories that may include but not limited to Atticus running the neighborhood wearing nothing but a superhero cape and a smile...If you decide to drop in on us, you've been warned!

...toilet deodorizer as aftershave

You should know...I'm a broken record. But, there are some things, ways I live my life that are just plain necessary. They may sound 'Polly-Anna' to have to be repeated let alone even said once...But time is a mysterious thing. Time can take away from you what you most desperately need. Time can give you one last chance at something you most desperately want. Time can teach you what you inevitably wish you knew when you had the chance.

Insert the silver lining. For me, they have been necessary for survival. Finding SOMETHING POSITIVE to glean out of a situation, well it takes effort. At least it takes your mind to a place of gratefulness, even if it is for the ability to spell grateful. I guess I see them, silver linings, now more because I know how blindly I have lived my life before. Never really appreciating the things that REALLY mattered when I had the chance. The things that can't properly be recreated after the fact. The notion now that time waits for NO ONE. Fleeting doesn't even begin to describe when you missed that moment, that opportunity...My silver lining from this is, I am DAMNED grateful (and I just had auto correct fix my spelling of grateful). I am so very appreciative of those I know who care for me, those who appreciate what I do for them, and the ones who would fight for me if I needed them to. Time may wait for no one, but it has taught this one what matters.

This issue of time is poignant this weekend. Our family is all getting together for Abe's First Communion. It's hard to believe that he's not still four years old, using toilet deodorizer as aftershave any more. I'm hoping to some how avoid the phrase, "...at Oscar's First Communion..." Clearly life has happened since then. Time didn't wait. It has been tough for Abe, as there were a few things he didn't get to ever do with his Dad that Oscar did. I cannot read his mind, but if I could I think I would read a chronological list of all the things he didn't get to do with Jason. It's a tough pill to swallow, explaining time to an 8 year old. I'm hoping to fill this house with love, laughter and fun, so that the obvious might be a bit less so. Abe is the middle kid, and even though his personality is larger than life, he sometimes gets lost in the shuffle.

While shuffling, he's usually watching/playing with the younger kids without even being asked...he's just a gem...with a bit of a mouth on him, but he's earned it. I always dread these situations. Wondering if with time they will heal us/themselves? Remembering the first school program after Jason died, wondering how Abe was feeling just seeing who wasn't there. There will have to be a discussion before the end of the week. As a parent, it's like being fearful of ripping off an invisible Band-Aid. Wondering/hoping that the dialog will leave him feeling better than before it started. I would like to labor under the delusion that if the Talls wanted to talk about something, they would come and do so. But, I'm old and a woman...could never be a member of their 'Fight Club'...

I would also be lying if I said I wasn't worried about something Abe might do. He likes to fancy himself a 'showman'. I'm more than a little worried about what his Finale act might entail in front of family and our small church. I'm worried it will be seen more as a Cabaret Night, and less like a First Communion. He might surprise me, but I know it won't lack in entertainment. And there it is...my silver lining.