...when the sugar buzz wears off...

This time of year makes me nostalgic, the fresh breeze, the warming temperatures, the bursting blooms of flowers and trees all around...well, scratch a few of those, but you get what I mean. This time of year everything sort of becomes new again, new color, new hue, beauty where drear once lain. Memories of Easter as the kids were growing. New memories being made with little ones who still devour the magic of this time of year like eating the first Peeps of the season.

I'm excited to celebrate Easter this year. We have lots of food planned, games to play and despite the bender Mother Nature has been on, a ton of eggs to hunt. Sidebar, Easter candy is my nemesis. I imagine it stems from giving it up every year for Lent when I was a kid. Let me just say, I had to sample some of the impending hunt's loot. But, most of all, I'm excited to celebrate together as a family, try some new traditions, eat, laugh and sneak some Easter candy.

My one and only hope through time, traditions and memory making is with every year, even after the magic is lost, the excitement doesn't diminish just becomes renewed. I have enjoyed watching the Talls cultivate Atticus' excitement, like watching a beautiful plant bloom. This year he is very interested in our Easter Eggster, more observant than any other year. Ours is a squirrel who seems to forget to move regularly, thankfully he likes to hang out in our peanut bowl. I think it adds to it's authenticity, and explains my lack of memory. Nora is a wild card on this whole topic. I'm not sure if she's going along for the ride or still believes and doesn't want to look childish to her older siblings. It is a slippery slope of to believe or not believe, and no one wants to ask the question.

So many questions as a parent. Some you want to know the answers, some you fear the answers, some you hope you are never asked. Like the other day when Atti asked if I would have another baby...? Not sure if he wants someone to corrupt or if he was worried about his position/station in this family. I reassured him that no, he was probably going to always be the youngest, unless we adopted a Guinea pig, which by the way will never happen. The puberty video behind us, we hung up the important pamphlet on the fridge, knowing it might shame the owner of getting too technical with his younger siblings. Life is too short to know everything at six...where's the fun in that?


My optimistic goal is to enjoy another holiday together, or survive? Ask me for a status report on Sunday about 5 p.m. Hopefully by then everyone is fed, the sugar buzz has worn off and all either believe in the magic of this holiday or pretend to believe that we are a normal family. From ours to yours Happy Easter making memories with the ones you love.

...yes, my inner voice cusses a little.

We came. We saw. Despite the lack of trying by my offspring, we did not drink the water. We soaked up the sun, had new adventures, talked to strangers, drank overpriced cocktails, ate ice cream every waking hour and bought a few Mexican wrestling masks. Never taking a vacation with my husband before, I learned a lot. He's way calmer than I am. He loves souvenir shops like I do. He can turn any situation that may be going down in flames into fun. He smiles a lot, but not as much as when he's on vacation. And my OCD doesn't annoy him. I was organizing all of our tickets, passports and flight schedules and he turned to me and said, "I have never been turned on more..." We survived a honeymoon with kids...not sure those words have ever been used together in a sentence. Now, back to reality.

I need to start infusing my water or cocktails with GINKO BILOBA. My brain seems to constantly be in hyper drive, yet the cleanliness of my house doesn't really reflect it. I seem to feel like I cannot ever catch up lately. My hope was that when spring came, all would fall into place. It's here but it just isn't quite caffeinated enough for me yet. I look out and see the dreary weather and I just don't have the drive to attack the world. Like an awkward hug from a stranger, I think to myself, "Heart in the right place, but never again? Right? Right."

There are eye appointments to be made, Easter baskets to be filled, Easter cooking lists to be made...Suddenly, I can't make a decision, and my husband would laugh as I am the most indecisive person on earth. And then those things that should be small victories, like being the tooth fairy, I drop the ball. This morning I crafted a left-handed-written note apologizing and slipped a little extra money into the mix for my indiscretion. How many more teeth can she lose? Thankful that she isn't starting to take it personal, as she's the one the tooth fairy always seems to "forget". She'll write all about it later in her tell-all book, The Tooth Fairy that Sucked. Just another Thursday around here, I guess.

Tomorrow is another day, actually on my calendar it is marked PUBERTY DAY. I was given a permission note to sign for Abe to watch the infamous "This Is Your Body" video. As he hands it to me he says, "Hold off on signing that, I want to see if my friends are going to watch it..." I assured him that it probably didn't matter whether they were, he would be watching. Not sure if I was reassured he wanted to make sure his crew was ready for puberty before he jumped into the deep end. The questions might be interesting around here about 3:30 p.m. tomorrow...that reminds me, I need to go to the liquor store.

The rantings of a mother of four have begun to bore me most of the time. I am forever trying to find something for my kids to do, together, that's fun and doesn't require a screen. My standing as a tooth fairy more than slightly besmirched, I'm looking for redemption. My regular stand-by activities aren't as shiny to my offspring as they once were. I find myself finding "projects" for us to do, and my mind immediately ventures. It ventures down the picturesque road of Bitching and Whining, its north of Washington Street, East of Elm. First come the indignant looks, then the complaining and in the end I have to clean up a mess. I've even contemplated asking the very loaded question, what would you all like to do together? Knowing the varied answers would probably not be even close to the low budget lives that my children seem to forget we have.

Bottom line, back from paradise and now I'm in a rut, and I'm not a rut person. So, in the effort to kick this rut to the curb, I'm on hold for the optometrist, scrolling through Pinterest, trying to quiet the voices in my head and find something for us to do. The tooth fairy stayed up too late watching the puberty video, spring has sprung, sort of, and I'm trying to make memories here dammit...yes, my inner voice cusses a little.

...hope you can tread water

When my kids were young, as I was waking at dawn to tap a vein for coffee, starting thereafter to attend to all of their needs, my body was busy, but my mind set adrift to the future. Wiping behinds, pouring milk, cleaning up toys and making snacks, I wondered what life would be like when they all were older and wearing their yoke of independence. I guess I had hoped that I would be different from all of the other moms in the world...my kids would grow into those idyllic kind you see on TV, and appreciate me for all that I do for them. Life is not an after school special and when the pre-teen-angst-axis shifts, (I literally just got chills) you contemplate how much time you wasted wondering, when you could have learned Farsi. You suddenly realize, you've hit the "hormonal highway to hell"...again.

At first I thought it was just exhaustion, maybe they were overtired or even coming down with a bug of some sort. Then the eye rolling began, followed by the lack of following directions, lastly the dramatic stare that stood for something or other...I fell for that trick the first time on my hormonal highway to hell. It was when I said, "Stop acting like a dip-shit," while it was under my breath, I heard it and I knew...we're there, again. It's all starting over again. While the view is different, it smells the same. I've done this once, I can do it again? That really shouldn't be a question as I have to do it three more times, but my inner monologue is a little judgy at times. Sometimes when I think of the hormonal road ahead, I wish I could develop a more atune case of Stockholm syndrome, at least until they're 18. While I will always love my kids, I don't always have to love my captors.

So, flushed with fear and loathing, not really sure if I'm referring to myself or my offspring, I head out armed and hopefully ready for the road ahead. Hey, what about a vacation? It's been years since we've had a vacation, even longer the kind where I don't have to do anything but just show up. Wouldn't it be great to take the kids on our honeymoon? That should have been a trick question, but we're making it one big family festivity. The packing began, much to the amusement of my husband, about 3 weeks ago. Living in the frozen tundra of the Midwest, when would these kids be needing shorts? Then came all of the questions...why do we have to pack that? Why would we need that? Why would we care what you pack, just do it for us. All the while, as I'm trying to maintain my composure, reminding myself that I will be sunning myself and doing absolutely nothing in the near future, I start having flashbacks. It's like PTSD, but a special kind only mothers have with whiny voices and arguments...THERE'S NO WHINING IN PARADISE?!?! I have been known to mention to my kids that they could go off and live with the Amish, but saying that in Mexico, no Bueno. Who am I kidding? I'll be grateful to just get through the airport.

I'm hoping the fresh warm air of some far off destination will change everyone's mindset, mannerisms and mood swings. I'm hoping some vitamin D, lack of electronics, beautiful scenery and possibly a very large cocktail with an umbrella in it, will at least once again align us where the winter season had us in mental fisticuffs at times. I'm excited and planning on taking a much needed detour from the hormonal highway to hell, anyone who isn't interested can swim home.

Groundhog says what?

Getting yanked from a seemingly perfect slumber could be a little alarming, not to mention create the business end of a hissy-fit. It's a lot of pressure to put on someone, then somehow give one's best work, most lucid and rational response. Not even 37 seconds ago you were warm, dreaming of a beach vacation and somewhere along the way you developed a bikini body...yeah, the stuff that dreams are made of. Only to be woken up, for no satisfying reason, other than to have a man declare you saw your shadow.

While the above clearly describes 'ol Punxsutawney Phil, I shudder to realize this actually could be describing my life every Saturday. Being awoken, dozens of minutes before anyone would deem to open their eyes on a weekday, only to be told, "...mom, I'm up." Um, good to know, and is also loosely translated as, "Are you getting up to satisfy my every wanted need?" Groundhog says WHAT? Why? Where? How?

I should tell you this isn't a rant. This isn't some declaration that moms all over the world have the crap end of the stick (read my bumper sticker). This isn't a testament to the wonderful humans I call my children (don't own that bumper sticker). This is a message about time, talent, knowing when to call the fight and when to storm the beaches...however, if I am seemingly pulling off a bikini body, do not wake me, I WILL CUT YOU!

We all have talents, we compliment others on them probably more frequently than we ever would for ourselves. You go out into the work force and clearly your talents are rewarded, I mean you have a job, right? For those who work at home, we secretly know what we are good at, despite the fact that somethings may never indeed echo anything you could put on a resume. Work it. Own it. Be the best damned laundry folder/ cupcake maker/DVR-show-finder out there. You deserve it! Personally, I fold a great fitted sheet, and have also been told that I am a witch, but I digress.

Know when to call the fight. Everyone comes into contact with someone who just get their big time thrills...arguing. I have a few living in this house. I used to engage at first, in what I assume would be a friendly debate. However, despite the fact that they do not pay taxes, kids are all knowing (not on a bumper sticker). As things became unfriendly, I just shut up. What did it matter who won the fight? Call it already and move your happy ass out of there. It's healthy, it's responsible, and boy does it drive my "Great Debater" up a tree...a win/win if you will.

Storming the beaches- man I want a vacation, like a warm, sun shiny, sit on my money maker vacation...sorry. Storming the beaches is when you've sat, listened, waited and debated on when to break up some nonsense. Either you hit your breaking point or you are about to hear someone's face be broken. You walk in, separate and shut it down. Extra points for no words spoken, sort of puts people on point. Truly, this could be done in a house full of kids, or a break room full of employees, your call.

Lastly, I feel it necessary to talk about time. It's unforgiving, fickle, fantastic, terrifying, and educational and only moves forward. It is something that denotes growth, oblivescence and knowing how you got to where you are now. I was reminded in the last month multiple times how much time has changed things, people, feelings and situations. I admittedly was terrified of time at some point. As in would I have time to make it right? Would I have time to understand even if I did? I used to wonder about my kids growing up, now I wonder who turned on the warped speed to life. I can look back at pictures and ponder memories, and genuinely smile. Not because I necessarily, had it all together, not even close. Moreover, time gave me what I have, and that pretty amazing. And, I'm not obtuse enough to think that these kids will be growing up any slower. It does beg me to shout out occasionally, "WARP SPEED? Captain Scotty that Groundhog has never been on the Enterprise!!!"

...Mrs. Raj

It is funny how life changes in the blink of an eye. One minute you are either mentally hanging yourself or patting yourself on the back for surviving. The thing that should never cease to exist in life is owning how you probably had nothing to do with any of the above other than merely having a pulse in that moment. There will always challenges physically or within you that if you aren't careful, will make you miss a chance, a moment of greatness that you might not ever get to have again. Life is not about the amount of breaths you take, it's about the moments that take your breath away...

I remember talking to a friend, chronicling all of my timelines on life/relationships/wellbeing. She heard what I had to say, gave a thoughtful pause, and basically told me I was full of crap. She rebutted with the notion, "Who makes up these timelines? Why do you have them? Is it a defense mechanism or are you knowingly okay with throwing away something great, because of your fear?" I hated to admit it, but she was completely correct...it was time to allow a few moments that could take my breath away.

If you are lucky in life you find a great love. The love of adolescence is different than that of a 40+ year old, with age comes the foresight, judgement and balance of knowing not only what your heart wants but what you want. I am fortunate to have found a person, who not only will put up with me, but completes me in a way I never thought possible. I am blessed to be given a chance to love this person in a way I missed dearly. I am grateful that he has become not only someone I couldn't imagine living without, but he is also that person to my kids as well. He is symmetry. He is equanimity. He makes me smile and laugh like no one else has. My soul was searching for someone, never really believing I would find them...but every day with him, sort of takes my breath away.

Atti has been practicing standing for weeks...no really. He wanted to make sure he got it right. Nora has been practicing her wedding reception dance moves with Jimmi for months. She found the best sort of music, practiced her twirls and our kitchen resembled a dance studio every weekend. One time while Jimmi and she were dancing/practicing she asked if the singer was Harry Connick Jr. Jimmi said it was Sinatra, but they did sound similar. As they twirled and laughed I found myself smiling, not just on my face, but the kind of smile that comes from your toes and works its way upward and outward...and it took my breath away.

Nearly two weeks ago, running late, slightly exhausted from over planning and trying to remain calm all at the same time, I was speeding down the highway with the Talls. We were supposed to be at the reception venue to start pictures at 2 p.m. It was already 1:45 p.m. we were in route and I wasn't even dressed. I looked in the rearview mirror, marveling in my head how completely handsome the boys looked in their tuxedos. They didn't look uncomfortable but they did look scared. I was ranting about how we were going to be late and Oscar said, "So, how does this work?" Confused I asked what he meant. He said, "We walk down the aisle and then what?" I said it was a wedding not the SAT, to which he alerted me, they'd never been to a wedding they had only seen one on TV. In all of my over planning, I never factored that notion into my head. Thankfully, explaining what would happen took my mind off being late. I ended very simply with, "It's just like having a baby, they'll tell you what to do when you get there..." not the best analogy, but anyway.

Dress was put on, pictures were taken, directions were given and it was nearly time to start the wedding. As soon as Jimmi proposed, we decided that Nora would be my maid-of-honor and that Atti would be his best man and the boys would be groomsmen. Ultimately, we wanted to keep it about family as our lives were coming together. I would throw out notions in the weeks there after to the Talls about who of them would walk me down the aisle, thinking if it were their idea it would be better than making demands. In a last minute decision, Oscar said he would walk me down the aisle. I will never forget the feeling that gave me nor was I prepared for how slightly overcome with emotion I was, holding onto his arm walking me down the aisle. I thought about how proud I was of him, how handsome he looked and how grateful I was to be his mom...and it took my breath away.

As the ceremony started, I tried not to look out into the audience for fear I would miss something in front of me. I looked at Jimmi in his tuxedo, knowing that it would take my breath away, and indeed it did. I saw Atti holding his hand, which wasn't practiced but it made my heart smile. There on the other side of me was the afore mentioned friend, the one who told me to get out of my own way and let life and experiences happen. As she was marrying us, I tried to not get emotional. I tried to not forget how monumental the moment was. I tried to look at his face and make a mental imprint, all the while reminding myself how grateful I was...for him, my kids, the bumps life has given me and the adventures that await. The rest of the night? A fun and frenzied mix of friends, family, dancing and celebrating. We would be mingling on opposite sides of the room with our guests, a song that we liked would come on and we'd immediately find each other on the dance floor. It was an unbelievable night, which I wish we could do once a month because it was so freaking fun.

The reception food leftovers are gone, the last of the wedding cake devoured by the kids last night and a few brownies that I've hidden for the hard times remain. The thank you notes have been sent and life is returning to normal. I am reminded of where I was a year ago, never anticipating how life would be for me today...all thanks to getting out of my own way and remembering, life is not about the amount of breaths you take, it's about the moments that take your breath away. Thank you Jimmi for giving me these moments daily.

Shady Day

So, a strange thing happened to me yesterday. I was checking out at a store and the lady in front of me turned to me and said, "I don't really know you, but I keep up with you through friends on social media. I just wanted to tell you how happy I am for you that you are getting remarried. You deserve to be happy, you and your kids have been through a lot. I'm so glad that life is treating you well." I thanked her and said considering where I was five years ago at this time, I never imagined my life would be what it is today.

The "Dark Day"...everyone has one. Whether it be a day of sadness, remembrance or the scab of grief that never fully heals itself. These days are met at times with shuttering anticipation, self-evaluation and the prophetic wonder about what the next "dark day" will look like. Through time, one hopes to see this day come and go, surviving it unscathed with hopefully a nugget of wisdom attached. Grief, sadly for those who experience it, is atemporal, free from limitations of time. However, happiness is also atemporal, if one continues to see a silver lining, no matter how difficult it might be. Yesterday, it was a stranger who made sure to remind me the millions of reasons I have to smile.

For me, this day is a day I have been wondering about for the last five years. I wondered how I would be five years beyond. I wondered how I would figure out how to go on living, raising kids, making ends meet, single parenting and basically holding it all together without my best friend. I remember looking at my mom and saying, "I can't do this." Fully not believing in myself because I never had to before in this way. This extreme way of dealing with life basically alone, other than the offspring that we created, my best friend and I. The mere notion of being outnumbered and raising kids I knew I would most definitely screw up...how's that for atemporal?

Today five years later, I'm grateful. I'm grateful for the chance to have become a mother, the toughest job you'll ever love. I'm grateful to have had a best friend who I am sure is looking down on our kids with pride, and occasionally laughing his ass off at the antics they attempt. I'm grateful for the support of friends and family, encouraging me to not forget my strength. I'm grateful for the chance to fully accept that life is not always kind, so take what you are given and live it to its fullest. I'm grateful for the arguments my kids had with me this morning about wearing their hats, and my come back to them, "Well, you're going to take them off as soon as I pull away from the school- humor me, please." I'm grateful for a cocktail some days. I'm grateful for the chance I've been given to be a wife again. I'm grateful for someone to love again. I'm grateful for the understanding that the last five years have given me. Today is not where I thought I would be five years ago, it is way better than I could ever have anticipated. No one is in jail (yet), only a few trips to the ER, and we've all endured this thing called life.

Through the years, on this "dark day" I would never look at social media. I would never sit down or sit still for fear I might lose it. My phone was put away and the kids and I would set out on an adventure. I had always hoped that eventually, the "dark day" could just become a "shady day," knowing only time would get us there eventually. I sort of feel like it has. Five years later, we're scaling back a bit, having a nice dinner, sharing fun memories about their dad...and buying shoes. (GASP!!!!) Anyone with offspring know, buying shoes for one kid, let alone four is something akin to any myriad of the tactics used at Guantanamo Bay. A cocktail at dinner for me and ice cream for the kids afterwards will be the reward for somehow not getting arrested in a department store today. Five years later, I'm still thanking Jason for the gifts he has given me. Also, I want to thank those gifts, my kids, for always giving me a reason to look for a silver lining, not only on this "shady day" but every day.

Just to be safe, here's a heads up if I call you from the police station, I'm going to need a ride.

...when in doubt, know your assets!

The rare and fun-filled world of parenting is often a topic that I write about. Some days you are "killing IT" and some days you are "being KILLED." It is not only a metaphoric tight-rope, but a very real one to walk. You are up there, high above the ground below, trying not to stare into the abyss and all the while you have a wedgie, full knowing the world can see the better part of your left butt cheek. Try as you may, you face each day with some far fledged positive mantra, hoping at least by 5 p.m. there is some semblance of said mantra in existence and possibly you have a cocktail in your hand. It's living the dream, despite it's affinity to a nightmare.

There is a word, French in origin, rapprochement. It sounds fancy when properly pronounced but it basically means, an establishment or reestablishment of harmonious relations. THIS IS MY LIFE, at least from 6:30 a.m. to 8 p.m. Try as I may, my abilities to speak French, have been lacking. I have uttered no less than 6 times in the last few weeks the unvirtuous, unrestrained and unmannerly phrase of, "...opinions are like butt holes, everyone has them, but no one wants to see them unless asked." Poet laureate of Washington Street that I am, no truer words could be spoken in this house. Not all opinions need to be voiced, not all decisions need to be questioned and not all thoughts need to be spoken. Especially, if it has absolutely nothing to do with you. I was unaware that I would be given a job evaluation daily when I started having kids. Unaware that my parenting decisions could/would be questioned on a daily basis. Did I miss that in the weekly memo? Is my union aware of this? Oh wait, it's a union of one, and the scrimmage of teenager vs. parent.

I was reminded of all of the above and did some reciprocal reminding first thing this week. My ever-opinionated-teenager (EOT) told me that I never listen to his opinion. I sort of shook my head in disbelief. He recanted and said, "Well, the only time you have is that one time when I was agreeing with you." I asked him, have I ever asked you for your opinion? Yes, yes I have. He kind of looked at me and then rolled his eyes. I then went on to explain that yes, everyone is entitled to their opinion. However, when they are expressed as judgements and criticisms, that opinion is never appreciated or required to be said. Those same judgements and criticisms made not only trip my freak trigger, enlarge the vein in my neck, turn my eyes yellow but also show the rest of the people in this house that disrespect is tolerated. Clean underwear, brushed teeth, a nice veggie tray, a rousing game of Uno, your favorite meal and dare I say a compliment? These things are not only tolerated but welcomed dearest EOT. They are the things that will get you further in life that stating your opinion. This isn't the end of the scrimmage, merely round one. I ended my conversation with my EOT, noting that one day I will have a house full of card-carrying EOTs, and while that was frightening, I was mentally training for it.

I'm dating myself with this reference, but it is the only one that comes to mind. My life, at times, is like the movie Speed. As long as you keep the bus moving at 55 miles per hour, no lives will be spared. But, Keanu Reeves, try keeping four of your offspring perpetually happy all at the same time...impossible. Someone's wants and needs are never going to be fully met, least of which my own. I would think by now I've efficiently educated my children on this concept, but alas I wasn't clear enough in my execution. I've decided, that's crap, dammit, I'M FREAKING HAPPY!! I'm the happiest I've been in years. So I'm laying down a declaration: If you want to be happy, it's on you...your attitude, your respectfulness, your willingness to help yourself and the capability to do all of the above and leave no one slain in your wake. I realize I'm spelling this out in a rather dramatic way, but hell hath no fury like a mother who is reminded of her less than worth, when she just folded your damned underwear. I realize, not every day can be perfect. BUT slap a smile on that face, keep your opinions to yourself, chant that mantra and be proud of that left butt cheek the world may be seeing, it's your best asset!