...a good cry, stiff drink, or both

It's finally Fall...finally, that time of year when the air gets crisp, night comes earlier, your skin gets thinner and you are surrounded by color that changes daily. For me, this month is sort of bitter sweet. While I've had so many wonderful things that have happened to me, there have been some things that have changed me forever. It's ironic, the beauty of Fall. What I long to see all year long, is really the dying off of something so that come spring, it can bloom once again.

To me October always means anniversaries, baking, decorating, warm cardigans, and your favorite jeans. The Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown, and the never ending quest to find the perfect/cheap Halloween costume...knowing that making it yourself means really spending as much as you would just buying the damned thing. Getting back out your cozy socks, sweat pants, and looking forward to snuggling under blankets while watching movies...even if it's because you refuse to turn the heat on until November. It's simple minded. It's easy. It's heartwarming, this love affair with October...but at times it comes with a price.

The miracle of life is one that is most definitely taken for granted. I used to be one of these people. The first time we became pregnant I was ready to shout it to anyone I knew, and I was something like 4 weeks pregnant. When you have to be shown how quickly that miracle can be taken away from you, it hardens your heart. When you have to deliver a baby you will never take home, somewhere deep inside, it changes you. Suddenly, all of these other women, of whom you never knew their sorrow, come out of the woodwork. They too had lost a baby. And now, you are in this strange and sad sorority of women who know too well the miracle of life...how it should never be taken for granted. So, I'll either have a good cry, make a stiff drink, or perhaps both (hell knows I've earned it) later this month. From that sorrow, I learned something more profound, your strength not only comes from you, but also the ones you love around you. Little did I know then this would merely be a 'try-on' for my latter life.

I knew before I was even asked. I knew I wanted to get married in October. I had a mental date set up in my head for years. If Jason ever asked me to marry him, I knew I wanted to get married on the same date that we met. If that date would have fallen on a Wednesday, I still would have done it. To most, meeting someone on Friday the 13th would have been a bad omen, but it was a day that intensely changed my life for ever. Our wedding wasn't fancy, but it had meaning. Years later, people would comment to me how much they loved our wedding, the ceremony and the reception. It was a culmination of two families and amazing friends coming together to celebrate. What could be better than that? I'm a week out from this anniversary, and I'm not really sure how I feel. One would understand being sad on that day now...and at times when I think about it, it does make me sad. But, then I think of all that came from it. I think about all of the things I've been given since then.

A wise person told me recently,"... you didn't choose for your entire life to change...you didn't choose for your husband to leave...it happened and now you have to deal with it the best you can." They're right. It's anniversaries like the one I'm approaching that are sort of a mind scramble. It's like I want to mentally prepare myself for that day...yeah, I know the OCD in that statement is easily spread with knife. I'm not obtuse enough to think that I have any control over it. It has been sort of creeping up on me like a cheap pair of underwear...this sort of pit in my stomach. From an extraordinary life, there will always have been pit falls, hard times. On this October 13th (unlucky to some), I'm going to try to focus on the extraordinary gifts I've been given. The extraordinary laughs I have had, and the extraordinary place I have ended up with this person who is no longer here to celebrate with me. October, you are one tough broad. But, you haven't taken this one out yet...

...chicken or beef?

...it's the same song, the same dance. Shopping with children, 4 children to be exact is hectic. It's only a luxury I rarely take to shop alone. Shopping with kids? I take it on as a challenge, with a cocktail medal at the finish line when we are hopefully all back in our home safe and sound. The freak outs, tantrums, arguments, battle of wills...and that is all before we reach the check out lady.

It's a mental battle field...choosing words wisely, strategy and how to get out of the store before DCFS is tipped off. You know the game, and you are willingly playing it because, the kids have to eat, wear diapers, and you are needing to stock your liquor cabinet...the whole process must be done. The freak outs are inevitable. You plan for them as best you can accordingly, like an army ground crew needs a medic, and hope you can charge the front without casualties. However, the best freak outs are those that are some how etched into minds forever in infamy. Only spoken of again in "hushed reverent tones" as a warning of what was one fateful day...

I've learned a thing or two in 10 years. You would never hear me utter "...what would you like for dinner (or any other meal)". This only loosely translates into me being a short order cook or lousy with money. I offer them one thing when we are out. It's an easy out for myself and it is ALWAYS veiled with the idea of look how fun/lucky/yummy/adventurous/fortunate/etc. this could be. But, it seemed this day, it was my turn for the freak out.

I blame Wal-Mart. I think it is a vastly unused form of criminal punishment for anyone to take 4 kids to Wal-Mart on the first of the month or on a weekend. I dare you, DARE YOU, to make it out unscathed. After offering a lunch option I thought would be a viable, not to mention a good diversion from the nightmare that I already lived shopping...it was shot down...laughed at...and thinly implied that didn't I have thousands of dollars to take them out to eat? The only honorable thing I managed to do that day, was wait until I got into the car before I lost my S*#T...it was calm toned, slightly bitter, but dripping with sarcasm.

On the thirty minute drive home they kept asking "...what's for lunch?". I ignored them. They even tried to imply that my freak out was possibly my fault, they each wanted something different. I turned up the radio, to quiet the voices in my head. While driving, I realized it had been a while since I lost it. The fact that these kids were dictating to me what MY next move would be? NOPE, NOT TODAY...where was Wonder Woman's lasso of truth when you needed it?

About halfway home, I pulled into a Wendy's parking lot. Immediately, as if I was already taking their lunch orders, they started calling them out to me as if I were wearing a name tag and a headset. "I want the giant-super-sized-mega-burger-$12-meal-blah-blah-blah". I put the car in park. I turned off the radio and very calmly said, "...your only choice is chicken or beef...you are not paying, so you will not be ordering..." The just looked at me, slack jawed as if I were speaking in another language. This is where calm left. In a rattled, shaken, mom of four voice I managed to shrill yell, CHICKEN OR BEEF?!?!?! I ordered, we pulled back onto the highway, and it was the quietest, most contented drive I have ever had.

Today, in my own home for lunch they were each asked chicken or beef noodles-yeah, I'm a culinary wizard. One of my precious angels turned and said "...well, what else is there? I don't want that..." I repeated the same thing I had before, chicken or beef? Oscar looked up from what he was doing and said in a hushed tone "...for the love of all that is holy, just pick one! Don't you remember last time?" Then suddenly, as if forgetting I was still in the room, he looked up at me. I couldn't contain it, I started busting out laughing...then I heard Abe yell out CHICKEN! Glad to know this freak out left an impression, completely convinced it won't be the last...

...giant exhale...

While parenting, you question everything. Why wouldn't you? There are a million books, countless magazines, and (ahem) even blogs you read that instruct you on the "dos and don'ts". I admit it. In the beginning, I read them, subscribed to them, even aspired to follow every instruction they gave to the letter...the never ending quest to be a good parent. The notion that you might have no idea what you are doing, and someone who has never even met your offspring should know more than you...makes sense.

I stopped reading the books a long time ago. Trial and error made me feel more human and less inadequate along the way. I still have my worries and concerns, but now they are vastly different than they were 10 years ago when I gained the badge of motherhood. When you are a widow, parenting becomes a whole different ball game. The worry/concerned is amplified to a level that is at times deafening. That scary, frustrating balance of being two parents. Being present but constantly hoping that the one not present IS in some way, shape or form.

Looking at my kids, watching them grow is at times bittersweet and maddening. Seeing how much they have changed on the outside, knowing how much they have changed on the inside...well, at times it could send me straight to the liquor cabinet. Feeling, in a really concrete way, they are all I have. Not only my mark on this world, but profoundly their father's too. I question my methods. I wonder if I am doing enough. I talk a good game, and I act like I have it all together. Then, very unexpectedly, life hits me. All the times it has nudged me before, I've wrapped it up and put it in the bottom drawer, as if to say, "...I'll deal with that later, maybe when I have five minutes to myself..." Later, unfortunately happens when it wants, is amplified, and knocks you out at the knees.

This time, I couldn't avoid it. I saw it in the smallest of behaviors, and the simplest of gestures...apparently, we had all put off feeling some things for a while.OIn one modest Sunday morning, we had a biter and someone packing a bag to run away...now that's a one two punch to the parenting belt. I couldn't stop the emotions that my kids were working through, and I felt the same coming on in myself. We had to deal with it. We had to talk out the hard stuff. We had to cry. We had to find our common ground again. It's always interesting to me that the dread of grief, leads to this feeling of a GIANT exhale. Also, the ability to see life from yet another angle through your kids eyes is life changing...and I'm grateful for it.

I write a lot about Nora as she talks nonstop about everything. I'm surprised and grateful for her strength to be open and honest about how she feels about life. I hope it never goes away. I worrying about my kids has become my unpaid second job, I'm at odds most when I think of Atticus. He has no capability of remembering Jason. He was only 9 months old when his dad passed away, yet somehow he understands the concept of parents. I've seen him playing with action figures or doll house dolls. He gets that the men are Dads and the women are Moms. No matter how many times he is shown pictures of Jason, the lack of any personal memories about his Dad crushes me at times and leaves me feeling slightly hopeless.

Then, this morning...over M&M pancakes and hot chocolate, no I'm not trying to make my kids diabetic, there were bananas hidden in those pancakes... Hot chocolate mug in hand, Atticus looks at me and points to a picture on the wall and says "...that's MY dad...". I told him yes, he was right. He then looked at Abe and said "...hey Abe? That's MY dad..." It was the most profoundly gratifying thing that has happened to me in a while. Out of this tiny terror's mouth, came what I had worried never would be understood. He got it...

More than a compliment from a stranger...More than matching all the socks in the laundry...More than no one complaining about the meal they are given...More than even making it through the day in one piece... I will remember this day for a long time, as a reminder that no matter how much I worry, question, or stumble through the title of motherhood, I must be doing something right...

...lucky underpants...

It's not a foreign feeling. I've done it twice before. I thought it would leave me feeling different than it did. I sent my third child to preschool today. It left me feeling kind of conflicted...a mixture of excited and nostalgic. Not sure if it's because this one has been home with me the longest? Not sure if it's because I feel this one has been desperate for peer interaction? Not sure if it's because her littlest brother has been pretending to talk to her all morning on a fake cell phone? But, as Oscar stated rather solemnly at the breakfast table this morning "...Nora, these are the last few hours of freedom, you better enjoy them, there's no going back..."

She is overly verbal- wonder where she gets it? She's eager to be in a room full of kids, raise her hand, show what she knows, and learn new things. It's heartwarming to see so much excitement about what most take for granted. Last night I asked her what she thought school would be like, and she said she had only seen school on TV, would it be like that? I told her maybe. She very seriously looked at me and said "...you know, I haven't mastered much math yet...". I told her not to worry about it, I haven't mastered much math either, and I no longer go to school.

Nora and her Aunt Gail picked out an outfit for the first day (she's way more fashion forward than a mom). The description of said outfit was priceless, completely Aunt Gail...

  "...she has a dress, white ankle socks, tennis shoes, 3 hair accessories, and her lucky underpants..."

And when I found her this morning this morning she was whipping up the beauty, putting on her lucky underwear and told me she would meet me downstairs. She was giddy. She was bouncy. She was starting to drive her brothers insane. Atticus must have said 49 times "...I ride bus to scccoooll?" To which I repeatedly told him no one was taking a bus to school. Finally at the 49th time I said "YES, now go look out the front window and wait for it to get here!"

We, her sidekick of the last 2.5 years and I, drove her to school. We took the obligatory picture in front of a school sign. She ran in, and kept saying, "I'm so excited!" No tears like the two dozen or more times I've left her with people to even run errands. No look of 'YOU CAN'T LEAVE'. It was nice. I had this strange feeling of pride and excitement for her. As I mentioned before, she's stayed home with me the longest. By this age her brothers would have had a year of preschool and be starting kindergarten, their birthdays were more perfectly timed...and I feel lucky to have been able to be home with my only girl for so long. Never mind being outnumbered, it's SOLIDARITY SISTER!

Within 1.8 minutes of being in this preschool, regardless of the fact that this was HER first time here, she was telling another classmate where to hang their backpack. I thought, she's got this...only to look down at Atticus bawling his eyes out! Partly because he couldn't stay, and partly because Nora was. I've got to be honest, I never saw that coming. He spent the rest of the morning talking like she was here, wanting to know when she'd be home, and slightly milking his desperation for all it was worth. When the bus actually did come and drop Nora off, she got out, raised her hands in the air and yelled, "BEST DAY EVER!!!"

For me, it's another milestone that I've compassed single parenting. I was wondering if dread was going to flood through me today. I woke up early and started the coffee just in case I needed a bit of a meltdown myself. I'm not sappy about my kids going to school, but our circumstances are different than they were when my others went. I realized that we all have a hand in raising each other. My kids are all really great kids. They know their strengths, know others weaknesses, let's face it they are kids. BUT they all have a hand in how we, for the lack of a better term, all turn out. However, the one I was going to send out in the world, she's been my therapist, my touchstone to reality, my best girl friend. Hell, if she were old enough she'd be a drinking buddy. Watching her turn the corner on so many (lets face it, a lot of crafts to hang) really great new experiences...without her mom hanging around. I knew she was ready. I was just really, really relieved, delighted and strengthened to see that SHE knew she was ready...and now, onto the fundraisers!

...idiot light...

Being laid up for a week, I understand how people can become slightly addicted to the Hallmark Channel. Their stories, and maybe it's the hydrocodine talking, are all rather similar to mine. That character, who is down on their luck...in a small town...learning the ropes...and Harry Connick Jr. is their neighbor...it's just like my life...the meds seemingly kicked in. But there I was, not used to laying in bed having someone else do my job for me. It tripped me out. All of my triggers were tripped and while I was icing down my new hip, possibly enjoying these moments of solitude...I was trying not to have a nervous break down.

One friend boldly mentioned to me "...in 4 months, when all you want to do is walk into your bedroom and shut the door, you'll miss these days." She's probably right. Hearing the nightly noises that I usually hear first hand through a baby monitor from the other side of the house, it felt eerie. Depending on people-trigger. Letting go of control-trigger. All the while having to remind myself that a break from life now meant a new lease on life later. More over, looking forward to not being physically broken down like some old car that has 3 idiot lights glaring on the dashboard...low fuel, turn signal light out, service engine soon...

Having to physically slow down taught me a lot. Having complete strangers attaching monitor probes to my most personal regions taught me more. It seemed that about the time I finished telling one person wearing medical scrubs my personal history, I was having to turn around and tell another one. Every word coming out of my mouth probably disconcerting to them. At this point I tell what has been a rather emotional story more or less in a matter-of-fact manner...it's just been my life, as common as the gray hairs on my head.

Every time I was forced to hear the words coming out of my mouth, sort of put into perspective for myself how far I've come. In the past at this hospital, I was never the one wearing the backless gown. I was never the one being probed. I was never under the scope...I was always sitting next to the bed of the person who was. Quickly, very quickly, I became more aware of all I had to lose...all I had to live for...those four reasons I can't walk into my bedroom in the middle of the day and shut the door.

I stressed for weeks that this surgery was no big deal to my kids...mind over matter? Maybe. More like 'someone who is going to this hospital and will indeed come back home' is probably more where my head was. I didn't want to impart any unnecessary fear in them...and maybe at the same time reassure myself. I've never had a surgery. I didn't know what to expect. I had plenty of people reassuring my that this thing would be a breeze...the two people would tell me some horror story of how they caught staph infection...well, that's reassuring.

So, now I'm a week and some change out of surgery and I'm doing better than I had expected. The mere act of shaving one's legs is life altering at times (clearly I'm easily pleased) and in four days my staples come out. It's crazy to think of what my body went through in such a short amount of time. However, it's crazier for me to think of what my mind went through in these last few weeks. I have a new appreciation for those I didn't get to take care of for a bit...and an understanding that you could never be a failure by letting people help you when you need it...they're just trying to help you turn your idiot light off...

...black and white...

I’ve always considered myself a ‘grey area’ person. Always someone who sees a situation, good or bad, and looks for the silver lining, as it has become a way of life for me. Someone who can always see both sides of a story, situation, or problem. Not in a condescending/self-righteous way, just as a means-to-survive-to-the-next-day sort of person. Some might call such an insight on life ‘Polly-Anna’ but thus far it has seemed to work for me…until it didn’t for a bit. Those who know me well, know the saga of my life. Nothing from a Monday-Night-Movie, but it’s been interesting/trying nonetheless. Little did I know what phrase set me into the stratosphere until I finally heard it? “…Abe’s urine sample had blood in it…” And, that was it.

We have always had our kids tested for kidney disease. It might seem sort of ‘doomsday’ but when one parent has it, error on the side of caution. Jason had it. It was a big part of his life, even though he rarely mentioned it to anyone but me. He was constantly remarking that because of it, I would never outlive him…it was a sort of honest but treacherous way to live. We started getting the kids urine samples at their yearly check-ups and that was that. Now, not to make excuses, but I’ve had a few things going in the last year…so it was very due that we have a check-up. All came through their awkward urine collections fine. Nora walked out of the bathroom at the medical group saying, “…now THAT was really fun!!” She, however, wasn’t the one collecting it. I figured we were erring again on the side of caution, all would be well…until it wasn’t.

 Jason used to say “…if they call you the same day as your test? Yeah, well you’re pretty much screwed. No news is good news…” Then I get a call from the Medical Group. I figured it was to remind me of something unimportant and almost dismissed it. I answer it, and find out that Abe’s test came back with some issues. My heart sank. Was I that much of a fool to think we could escape this issue? Did I actually think that we’d catch a break on this one? My heart was in denial…

They had found blood in the urine test. In my head, screwed up as it may be, I immediately went to Abe dying of kidney disease. All of the whoop la and talk that I’ve given others, not to mention myself, went out the window. I went straight to death before ever comprehending that it is ALL TREATABLE. My head reeled and heart sank as they were telling me the next procedure they were wanting to do. All the while I went directly to BLACK AND WHITE…never grey, as I had been for the last dozen years. My mind was saying “…this boy that you love is going to die…How are you going to deal with that?!”

 For about 6 hours I just did. I didn’t want to scare him. I didn’t want to tell our family, as I feared they too would think the worst (sorry I didn’t have more confidence in you, but I honestly didn’t have it in myself). I played it off as a ‘non-issue’ perhaps the fact that Abe hates drinking water or maybe his kidney has a ‘cold’ or something. But, the fact of the matter was…I was terrified, for about 6 hours. Then, I pulled myself up and simply said NO. I realize that is a stupid thing to do. Smiting God. Thinking that I had ANY CONTROL on the situation. I kept reminding myself of one thing…Abe.

The kid is amazing…don’t get me wrong, he can drive me up a tree. But, the kid has this crazy resilience that is unlike anyone I’ve known. He is this great kid, creative mind, basically he’s a one-of-a-kind human being. There would be NO black and white with this matter. He would not be stricken with this, at least not yet, as he had so much to give and so much more to learn about life first. As if my worries were literally taken off my shoulders two days later. His kidneys appeared fine under examination. He would need to come back in six months for another test. For now, while I’m trying not to be ‘black and white’ about the issue, I know we have bought ourselves time. I know that we cannot escape this VERY MAJOR issue that their dad had. I know that we will have to continually deal with it from year to year. And, it's treatable. However, now I know that to me, it doesn’t have to scream a death sentence…moreover, it’s a reason to celebrate the fact that we all are still living…

 

 

...good-bye summer...

Pulling up to eight-one-five that day, I knew I would see changes… I knew that things would look different. Little did I know the fall-out mentally that would ensue in the hours/days afterward. How does one put a term to what I was feeling? It wasn’t that of a spouse. It wasn’t that of a child. It wasn’t that of a sibling. It was all of those on another level. Pulling up to the house that I have found comfort, refuge, even spiritual significance in looked different…very different.

 I was blessed in the spring, thank you to many friends and family’s support, to win a yard make-over contest. To me, applying for such a contest seemed futile, never for a moment thinking that I would win. But, as I said, due to many friends and family voting for us, we won. For me, the headache of yard maintenance with boys that never learned from their dad “how to” mow was an uphill battle. I would walk out into our yard and immediately grimace at all the work that needed to be done while simultaneously marveling at how great our yard was. I’m unbalanced I know. At any rate, we won this wonderful chance to beautify the outside of our house while making it so much more maintenance free. Their demo day (removing what needed to be out, to replace with fresh, new, and easy) wasn’t a day I was figuring would be that emotional…but it was.

 I place, more than I had ever thought, a lot of importance to this house. Like previous mentioned, I’m not sure how to quantify it, other than a person. Someone you love. Someone you trust. Not someone you are obligated to by blood. A warm, soft, beautiful something that you feel connected to. This house has such a presence, physically and spiritually. It has been my touch-stone over the last year and a half. Comforting me when I’ve been in doubt. Reassuring me when I’ve begun to question it. This house has holds a special significance in the deepest part of my heart.

 The attachments one holds can’t really be put into words. Fear. Anxiety. Transition. They are like a symbol of perseverance and the continuance of life. To me, this house has always been the strong-hold. The one thing that even if it falls in around our heads, we all have together, just the five of us. It has been our sanctuary and safe haven when we needed it. Pulling up to a new version of that, well honestly my mind was blown. Knowing that this place we call home, held so many more attachments to me than just an address.

 In this whole process hindsight has taught me how easy I may have had it in the beginning. It has given me a moment to appreciate that time is a miraculous thing. What once was, has to change as that is the only way to grow. The routine I once held, is changed up. Three are heading to school in less than a month. One is breaking free (screaming and kicking) of what once pacified him. While the façade changes, my heart still holds tight. In that moment I am able to appreciate what we’ve been through and look forward to our new reality. Good-bye summer. Good-bye yard. Hello the endless possibilities that still await us…