Oh Tanenbaum

The Christmas Tree. It is one of my favorite, maybe the favorite, part of the Christmas season. I am not talking about any old Christmas tree, I am talking about my Christmas tree. My very own - my family's tree. Deep in my heart I have always yearned to have my own tree - in the same way I have yearned for husband, hearth and home. When I was a child we had a tree, an artificial one - although back then we just called it "fake". For a lot of years it was a real "Charlie Brown Tree". I don't have any decorating memories of my childhood tree, although there were a few ornaments I remember and cherish. For the most part I would come home from school and the tree would be decorated. My Dad had done it while I was away working on the three R's. I can remember my Dad being very proud of it, calling for all the relatives to come over and "see the tree". It was a nice tree, pretty lights, pretty ornaments, it certainly did it's job, but I didn't have a strong personal connection to it.
When I was a young adult I lived with my older sister and her family for a few years. In their house, Christmas is the ultimate holiday, and if they could get away with leaving their light up reindeer on the lawn all year they absolutely would, not out of laziness, but for pure merriment. Christmas tree decorating in their house is a big deal. They have a party, just for themselves! They make special party foods, and eat them around the tree, while they unwrap all of the special trinkets from years past that adorn their tree. Even now, the kids are all grown and some have their own families, they still must go home to "decorate the tree". While I lived there I would partake in the decorating party to an extent, but as each kid unwrapped their ornaments, there was not much for me to do, and despite all of their efforts to include me, I felt like an outsider. I couldn't wait for the day to come when I would have my own tree.

Then I met the man who would become my husband. We were so in love. Our courtship was magical. He was such a romantic. Seriously, one day he brought homemade pancakes on a breakfast tray to my sister's house, knocked on the door and asked her to give them to me when I woke up. One day he left a bottle of my favorite sunscreen on the dash of my car after a conversation we had where I lamented the constant teasing I got from my family for being SPF obsessed. Our first Christmas together was just as special. About a week before Christmas he brought me to his house, to his bedroom where he had set up on a small table a real, 2 ft Christmas tree, and said it was "ours". To this day it is the best Christmas gift I have ever received - if you came to my house today you would see a picture of it in a frame displayed with all of my other Christmas pictures. We when right to the store and bought a string of lights, some red bows and a little angel to perch on top. We also bought one special ornament, a sand dollar painted with two adorable baby penguins. Penguins, to represent the two of us, because we met and spent so much of our time together dressed as "penguins" - working in catering. We decided then and there that we would not put any ornaments on our tree unless they were special, no colored balls just to look pretty, and so began our "collection".

Now, of course we have our own beautiful family. We have stolen my sister's tradition, and each year we host our own Christmas tree party. Everybody gets to choose a treat! Last night we had our party. We ate cocktail shrimp, pizza bagels and pigs in a blanket. We washed it down with apple juice and red and green M&M's. As we unwrapped each ornament we told it's story. The vacation, the party, the special friend, the favorite teacher, and of course, lots of "baby's first". At the end of the night, when our own special arbor was properly adorned with pearls and ribbon, when every bough was dressed in our special memories, when an angel was perched on top and a skirt wrapped below, we each took our place on the sofa. The lights were dim, and the music was cued. Curly girl had the honor of "throwing the switch", and the lights came aglow as Aretha Franklin belted out "Oh Tanenbaum" in the background. We always light our tree with Aretha. It was my favorite part of the night, always is - such a magical time. I stared lovingly at my tree, at my family, at the six foot tall fresh cut evergreen standing in the corner of m living room, dressed to the nines. Proof positive that I have my own family, my own tree, that I count!

Tonight as I write this I am totally emotionally drained. All of the cherubs were fast asleep, well, 3 out of 4, but 3 was tucked safely away in his crib babbling to himself. Hubby and I sat together in the dining room wrapping up gifts for the cherubs and making a list of what we still need to get through the 25th. You know, our own version of "Mama in her kerchief and I in my cap..." - when suddenly from the living room there arose such a clatter - we gasped to see what was the matter! The whole tree fell flat on it's face. Crash, smash, timber! We have no idea why. We are so thankful that nobody was hurt. We have cleaned up the mess and decided to wait until tomorrow to "redress" the situation. So many beautiful glass ornaments were lost, broken to shards. First Son's first Christmas, Paddy boy's First Christmas, our beautiful American flag ball, all gone. There are several more ornaments in the "hospital" awaiting a transfusion of Krazy glue. I have cried my eyes out. Such trauma. Thankfully, we didn't lose that much. A lot can be fixed. We still have our penguins. The boys both have other First Christmas ornaments. Nobody got hurt. And...I still have more mini hot dogs and biscuits in the fridge...for the do-over party.

Christmas Joy

I guess that I have kept you waiting long enough. It wasn’t my intention, of course. If I had my way there would be 60 hours in each day and I would always be able to use at least one for blogging. Life however, does not go along with my intention, and I am unfortunately left to cram as much as I can into a measly 24 hours. Sadly, the last few weeks my blog habit has not been making the cut. To be honest, at the moment I really should be doing other things with my time than blogging. First, I should be acting as a catechist in my children’s religious formation program, but it seems there is a nasty bug that has taken up residence in my lungs. I have decided to be charitable and NOT spread my germs among 13 little children one week before Christmas (Bonne Noel from Moi) – and so I am sitting in what is quite arguably the largest Starbuck’s I have ever been to, sipping a cup of tea that required way too many adjectives to order, while my children are off being “formed” by catechists other than their Mama. (I believe that there are inherent risks one accepts when dining out in public places, and one of them is that the soccer Mom at the table next to you may actually be Typhoid Mary, so I will not feel guilty about spreading my germs around this coffee house) Secondly, I should be working on my annual Christmas card, complete with adorable pictures of my sweet cherubs, however, what I thought was “free” Wi-Fi actually requires a subscription to AT&T Internet, and I do not hold any such subscription, therefore I cannot log on to any cute photo editing sites, and so I am left to work offline on this here post. Well, it kind of puts me behind schedule, but lucky you, a blog from me!

So, there is this guy “Lenny” who comes into the coffee shop where I work each Sunday. He is a “regular”. He comes in alone, usually, and sits at the counter where we engage in some playful banter. Sometimes it is even intellectual banter – and that is really fun. I totally love this guy. Not in a smoochy, kissy, I want to marry him kind of way, more like a “would you like to marry my sister and be a part of the family cause you’re a fun guy who I’d love to have around” kind of way. So the other day he is sitting at the counter and I asked him how he was doing with his Christmas shopping. He told me that he was going to be wrapping up one of his hats to give to everyone. Everyone gets a hat. The look on my face pretty clearly conveyed my thoughts – “huh?” He went on to say that he has collected quite a number of baseball caps over the years and that he is going to choose one for each family member and make it their Christmas present. Hmmm. Here comes the sarcasm. “So…I guess you must be the favorite uncle, huh?” He chuckled and admitted that yes, as a matter of fact he is. Okay, so I still don’t get it – and he must have gotten that, because he went on to explain. His grandfather, his father’s father, died when his Dad was just 8 years old. He suffered a heart attack... as he was bringing home the Christmas tree. Wow. I can see how that would put a damper on Christmas merriment. So Lenny explained that his own Dad was always very sensitive to the “stress” of the season, and made every effort to lessen it. Lenny’s family puts a whole different spin on the celebration of Christmas, which is sweet, although he does admit that they did get kind of screwed on the whole present thing.

I would like to learn something from Lenny’s story. I want desperately to cut down on the commercialism, consumerism and stress of my own Christmas, but it is hard. It is hard to balance it all. I have so many fond memories from when I was a child that I want to recreate for my children, the truth is, I want to re-live them with my own children. There is also so much from my own childhood that want to do-over, make better with my own children, my second-chance. I want my house to be decorated beautifully, inside and out. I want to bake and cook delicious things. I want to remember to always say “Merry Christmas”, and never ”Happy Holidays” I want to send gorgeous Christmas cards, I want to give perfect gifts. I want to make the best Christmas pageant costumes. I want to visit and entertain in style. And I want to balance it all out with the right amount of charity, religion and gratitude and oh, yeah, budget. We’re back to the conundrum those measly 24 hours present.

This year I have started a new tradition with my family, and it is one I am rather proud of. I saw in a magazine a homemade advent calendar made with decorated gift bags strung across the room and filled with dollar store trinkets. I thought it was adorable, but then I started to do the math. I have 4 kids. 24 days to “count down” plus gift bags –that’s easily $100 – for what amounts to…dollar store junk – and more stuff that we certainly don't need! So I started thinking some more and came up with an idea that I think is even better. I purchased a packet of small envelopes and a package of Christmas theme stickers. I sat down with my kids magic markers one night and decorated each envelope with different funny handwriting with the numbers 1-24, and threw a few stickers on to decorate. I then strung some ribbon across my china cabinet and used binder clips to hang each envelope from the ribbon. Each night after dinner we take turns opening an envelope as we count down to Christmas. Each envelope has a special message inside with instructions for a Christmas activity we are to do as a family. Sometimes it is something simple but wonderful like: have hot chocolate...with whipped cream. Sometimes it is something slightly more challenging like...make and send a Christmas card to a soldier. Sometimes it is reading a Christmas story all jammied and shnuggled up in the King bed, or watching a Christmas movie. One night the card in the envelope gave only the instruction to get jammied up and buckled up in the car....then we drove through the Holiday Lights display in our town. One night we worked together to make a beautiful paper chain to decorate one of our two Christmas trees. One night we all decorated a gingerbread house (of course Paddy boy has already eaten most of the candy off of it!). The kids love the "envelopes". I swear I should write "clean your room" one of these days, because no matter what it says they are so excited. I am so proud of this new tradition not only because I am such a "divine Martha" for thinking of it, but because I am truly making memories with my family. Yes, I have added another thing to my already heaping plate, but it is forcing me to do the most pleasurable thing I can think of...spend quality time with my cherubs. When was the last time that you really sat and watched "A Charlie Brown Christmas", or "Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer"? This is one of the great things about having children (either your own or someone else's - this time of year there are plenty of parents willing to loan out their kids in exchange for a few hours to "get things done")...it gives us an excuse to be kids again, if only for a moment.

So, if you have been getting cranky about my lack of blogging lately, I love you all but...get your panties un-bunched and go do something fun with your family instead, because that is probably what I am too busy doing myself!

Seriously, enjoy your families, and have a very merry, very blessed Christmas!

Mommy Advice

The Sunshine Girl has been a part of the family for a few years now, and officially since this past summer when she and Mickey D tied the knot (or truly, since April when she gave birth to "He who makes me great"). Now, since she started coming around she has always been one of the nicest, cheeriest, friendliest and happiest people I know. She is beautiful. She is smart. She absolutely brings out the best in Mickey D. From the beginning though, I noticed that something wasn't quite right, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Then one day it hit me. She SMILES all the time! Seriously, all the time. Well, I figured, she is from FL, and this is New York, where nobody smiles that much, so I chalked it up to a geographical origination issue, and I consider it part of her charm.

Now, any new mom can tell you about all of the unsolicited advice they get from anyone and everyone who ever had a baby, knows someone who had a baby or ever was a baby themselves. The Sunshine Girl is a great Mom to "He who makes me great", but for some reason I think that she probably gets more than her fair share of "baby advice" from well-meaning individuals. Someone is always telling her to put a hat on the baby, or what kind of food to feed him, or what kind of toys he should or shouldn't have. The other day I heard her telling a story about some Mommy advice that she got from her own grandmother. She said that no matter what your own day is like, no matter how you are feeling, or whatever else is happening, always, always greet your child with a big, happy grin. Always be happy and cheery, and then they will be happy and cheery too. Hmmm.....maybe it isn't just because she is from Florida, but maybe it's because she had a great Mom and a great Grandma too! All I can say is that I am sure that "He who makes me great" is going to be one happy boy!

My Photo Blog

I am trying something new. I have started a new blog (an additional blog I should say)- a photo blog. I really enjoy using my camera and now and then I take some really great pictures. This is different from a snapfish account, as I am showing you only a few shots, some of them pretty artsy fartsy. The thing is that it is a private blog. There are pictures of my family, and I just can't have that kind of stuff out there for just anyone to be ogling. If you would like to enjoy my new photo blog you will need a password, a bit of a hassle, I know. You need a password for snapfish too though, don't you? Anyway, if you are interested send me a note with your e-mail address and I will be happy to invite you!
SEND YOUR ADDRESS, EVEN IF I "KNOW IT" - it makes my life 100times easier!

On Angel's Wings

It is amazing how fresh old wounds can sometimes feel. The pain strikes you suddenly, from out of nowhere, and when you least expect it. It can be triggered by the most mundane of things, like a child trying to distract himself from the task of having to finish his dinner...

It is all so clear as if it were yesterday. Almost three years ago we conceived our third child. It was bliss. This child was so loved, so wanted. Our life was good, we were in a really good place, happy and so overflowing with love that we were compelled to ask God's help in creating a new life. Our prayers were answered, and we were so joyful. We decided to keep the news of the pregnancy to ourselves for a while. In the past we had always kept quiet for a good 6-8 weeks, but this time we were so enjoying our beautiful little secret that we lasted almost the full 12 weeks. I even remember the absolute sweetness of hanging our Christmas stockings that year, each of us with a twinkle in our eye, because only we knew that the next Christmas we would be adding another.

We were at a family party one Saturday night, and there was much buzz over two other family pregnancies that we finally just blurted it out - we're having a baby too! We toasted and cheered. We discussed baby names and nursery decor, and cousins growing up together. It was a fun and happy night.

Then, three days later the world came crashing down. I was cramping all day, and by the evening we had a sonogram to confirm, the baby had died. I was in excruciating pain, labor pain, and my baby wasn't coming home...ever. I remember so clearly being in the operating room, they had already given me a shot of something to ease the hurt, and I was sobbing uncontrollably. The nurse or the anesthesiologist or whoever asked if I was crying because I was in pain, or just because of what was happening. Is there a difference? My baby was gone. When the surgery was over and I was starting to come to, I asked where it was. What? They asked. The baby. I wanted to see it, to touch it, to know that it was real. They assured me that I did not want to see it. I begged, and promised that I would keep my eyes closed, if they would just bring me my baby so that I could say a prayer. If I had to give my baby up to God, I needed to at least say a prayer. I kept my eyes closed, and a nurse placed my hand on a warm plastic container. There were no words in my prayer, I had none, only pure love.

At the time of the miscarriage, First Son was only 3 1/2. We hadn't told him anything about the baby. As I stayed in my room for a day or two recuperating he knew that Mommy didn't feel good, but I think that he knew it was worse than a cold. I was heartbroken. One morning I woke up to him standing next to my bed, stroking my cheek - almost as if he were the parent and I was the child. I didn't stay in bed long, I couldn't. I had two small children who still needed me, and I also knew that the best therapy for me would be to throw myself back into life.

It was the darkest winter of my memory. I was prone to sobbing fits now and then, and every sad song on the radio felt as if it had been written just for my personal lament. I kept the sonogram picture - the one confirming the miscarriage - the only one I had of my child, even if it was lifeless - near my bed. One day I came out of the bathroom and my sweet First Son was sitting there with the picture in his hand. A lump in my throat. What baby is this he asked? I didn't answer. I couldn't. He asked again, Is this me or Curly? First Son had seen his own sonogram pictures before, so I guess he remembered what they looked like, and knew that the grainy black and white image was a baby. Anyway, I told him no, it was another baby. A baby who lived in Mommy's belly for only a little while, and then went to be with God. I told him that this baby would not be coming to live with us, because God decided that he needed the baby to be with him. I respect my children too much to lie to them. First Son accepted my explanation, said "is that why you are so sad?" gave me a hug and then ran off to play. I sat down to cry my eyes out...again.

A few weeks later we learned that Paddy Boy was due in nine months. This time, instead of waiting to tell, I was shouting from the rooftops. I had felt so alone during my miscarriage, and I think that part of my loneliness in grief came from the fact that I hadn't really had the chance to share the joy that preceded it. I don't like to think that Paddy was my "do-over" baby, but there is a certain part of me that can't stand to fail, and I had suffered a miscarriage, a failed pregnancy. I am sure there are some experts who could argue that we didn't give ourselves enough time to grieve the loss of our child, and they may not be wrong, but we did what felt right to us. I have my beautiful, boisterous, and brilliant Paddy Boy. My love. And, I have the baby who lives in my heart, and for eternity with his Heavenly Father. I know that I could never had held both in my arms.

My life now is very full. I run so much sometimes that I almost forget my own name, but I never forget the baby I lost. We don't talk about it much, but my baby is always there in my mind and in my heart. When people ask how many children I have I always say aloud "four" though in my heart there are five.

I have been wanting a special piece of "Mommy Jewelery" for some time now. I have been looking for the perfect piece, one that would suit my taste, and tell my story. I recently got my Mommy necklace. It has four hammered silver discs, each one with one of my children's names pressed into it. On the back of the chain, near the clasp, I had attached a tiny charm with an angel. I put it there for me and no one else. I wear it in the back, so as not to detract attention from my four cherubs, but not to be forgotten either. My necklace is one of my most prized possessions.

Tonight at dinner, it was coming near the end of a stressful day. A hard day in the trenches of motherhood. Dexter had been crying all afternoon, Paddy Boy woke up from his nap in a foul mood; First Son and Curly were constantly redefining the word "antagonize" and Hubby had to work late. I was sitting at the table with First Son trying to convince him to eat his dinner already. One more bite, over and over. He was trying all kinds of tactics to distract us both from the task at hand - three little pieces of sausage. I was determined not to let him get away with any more "crap" today, but still trying to be calm. I decided to sit as long as it took. So, at one point, he reaches over and touches my necklace, "his" circle. This is my name, he says. I smile. Then, he says "oh, and your angel baby" apparently my charm slid around towards the front. Then he says "I love you. I wish you were here." Oh boy. Wham! He was just 3 1/2, but he remembers.

I have five children. Four here on earth and one awaiting me in heaven. They are all my angels.

CSI Long Island

This post has been deleted by the author, me. I am sorry, but after reading it I felt that I may have been compromising my family with possible "TMI". Catch my next post.

Delusion

A peek into my "ideal" day:

I wake up fresh and well rested, feeling like I could take on the world (which is a good thing since that's pretty much what I am about to do). I make myself a perfect cup of tea, strong and sweet and sit down in the comfy chair by the window with my laptop, where I casually type my latest blog entry which is eloquent, witty and inspiring. Next, I climb atop the exercise bike in the living room and spin my way through the latest episode of Gray's Anatomy on my DVR. Then, I get to take a nice hot shower in peace and quiet, I even have time to get dressed in a wrinkle and spit-up-free T-shirt and blow dry my hair! Soon I am lying next to First Son, shnuggling him awake - and he wakes up chipper and happy! Together we head downstairs where I tie on a vintage apron and make him a nutritious breakfast full of whole grains and fresh fruit! He chows down and we have some playful banter while I pack his lunch - more whole grains, fruit and veggies (boy, I am a good Mom!). He scrubs his fangs and flosses!! We stroll to the bus stop hand in hand, and he plants a sweet kiss on my cheek before he climbs aboard the school bus, off to a perfect day of First Grade.

I head inside, grabbing the garbage cans on my way. Then I do 100 lbs. of laundry - wash, fold and put away, unload the dishwasher and clean the bathroom, before Curly and the babies wake up! Soon I hear the cooing and sweet voices gently calling "Mommy!" - I head upstairs where I start the diaper changing process, each babe patiently waiting for his turn. I never run out of wipes in the middle of a mess, and there are always plenty of matching socks tucked into the proper bin, just within arm's reach. Curly girl gets a bath and gets her curls primped, then we all share a healthy breakfast and...vitamins! We drive Curly to school - on time! Then we head off to do our "marketing" - where I not only remember to bring all the coupons, but I actually use them! I then head off to the library where we are on time to partake in some lively, educational program full of singing, jumping and playing (the other Moms are all jealous and slightly embarrassed because of my perfect pitch and boundless energy and flexibility). At home I peel, chop and mince all of the ingredients for a wholesome and delicious dinner. Then, we're off to pick Curly Girl up from school, again...on time!

We eat lunch in the car - I have packed delicious sandwiches on whole wheat bread. Then we head to the playground where we all laugh, and giggle and play and there are no yellow jackets. When we are tired we all head back to the car together, as if we all think the same thought at the same time, there is no arguing, no lost shovels and pails, no whining or crying. We clean our hands with baby wipes (and put the dirty ones right into a small garbage bag). Then I hand out juice boxes and cheese sticks and we drive home all singing along to Guns & Roses. (is that wrong?)

The babies go in for their 3 hour naps and Curly sits down with some paper and crayons to work on a masterpiece. I settle in with the latest book club pick and another perfect cup of tea. After a while I head out to the bus stop and meet First Son and the friend who is coming for a play date. They play together so nicely, including the little sister in all of their adventures. Everyone loves the snack that I prepare, and nobody spills their juice! The friend's Mom arrives right on time to pick up her child, offers to take First Son to play next week, and makes a quick exit. First Son sits down to his HW without my nagging, and his handwriting is perfect, his answers inspired.

The house is dusted, the proper holiday decorations are displayed, I answer all of my e-mails, and take care of all of the PTA calls. I send greeting cards for all holidays and birthdays, prepare my lesson for religion class, clean the kitchen floor, paint the playroom, finish my scrapbooks, balance the checkbook and polish the silver.

Then, Hubby comes home. The table is set, the milk is poured, everyone likes what I made, and...Paddy boy does NOT throw his dish and cup on the floor! We have a delicious homemade dessert, and then everyone lines up to scrub their fangs. Hubby cleans the kitchen - loads the dishwasher, wipes the counters - lifting things to wipe underneath. Meanwhile I give all the boys a bath, and read them a story - I even use funny voices. Everyone slips into their beds - which have fresh, clean sheets and drift off to sweet slumber.

Hubby makes a fire and pours me a glass of Cabernet, then we sit and discuss current events. We talk about everything from headlines to hangnails, and stare lovingly into one another's eyes!

By the way, I have a lovely bridge in Brooklyn that I have decided to sell at a very reasonable price, do you think you might be interested?

In truth, my day looks almost nothing like what I have described. I am tired, exhausted even. My house is a mess, the bathrooms are health hazard dirty, we live out of laundry baskets, and our socks never match. We almost never get anywhere on time. Somebody doesn't like what I make for dinner, and Paddy always throws his plate and food on the floor. I have to make First son erase and re-write most of his homework, and I can't sing to save myself (although I try). I can't remember the last time all four kids were bathed on the same day, and my own sheets are sandy. I haven't blogged in weeks, and although I do remember what hubby looks like, do not ask me what color his eyes are.

It is a sweet, happy, messy life and I wouldn't trade it for the world.

Meet the Princess Fish

My sweet Curly girl is not herself lately. Oh sure, she's sweet, and charming, funny and clever...but there's something off. She is regressing...using baby talk, and giving us a really hard time about going to bed. She hasn't been able to put it into words, other than to say that she wishes that she didn't have to sleep alone. She does have a point, There are the three boys in one room, and Hubby & I in the other. We've tried to explain to her how cool it is to have your own room, to point out how happy she should be to not have to share her stuff, etc. She points out that she would be more than happy to share her things with...a girl baby. Oh sweet child. We are full up on babies at the moment, and you are breaking my heart. I love my little Dexter, but yeah, I would have loved a girl baby. I won't say that another baby is out of the question....sometime in the future, a few years from now, maybe. Right now we are at maximum capacity.

My friend Mom2Two suggested we get a...dog. Um, yeah, no. I don't think so. I can barely keep up with the massive amount of dirt generated by 4 kids, I don't think a yapping, peeing, shedding dog is going to make things easier. Then we thought...what about...fish? Fish? I can do that. So, I took Curly girl off to the pet store where we announced a dire need for some "girl" fish. Sure, the pet store lady looked at us strangely when we stated our desire for sex-specific fish, but with only the slightest wink she was on board with our plan! I decided to go for the whole shebang, and get the tank with the filter and the whole bit because really, I just don't have the time to be cleaning out fish tanks. I barely have time to clean the two toilets in my house you know?

So now there are three princess fish sleeping in Curly's room with her. Their names are Cinderella, Snow White and....Ariel, because duh...they live in the water.

So far Curly has been doing a little bit better going to sleep in her room, but she still wants to look at all of her baby pictures all the time, and has asked me to hold her "like a baby". I don't know if it is the two little brothers in the house, or more likely the fact that she has started preschool three times a week. My little Curly Girl is fiercely independent, and very mature, but unlike most other kids she is deliberately trying to avoid growing up. I know how she feels. Hubby just called to tell me that we can't actually afford gas or groceries this week and ended the call by saying "have a good day". Yeah, right. Curly may be on to something. Growing up does kind of suck.

I am doing my best to give out lots of extra hugs and kisses, (which may explain my chapped lips). I am spending a little extra time shnuggling my baby girl, reading stories, playing games. Something is going on inside her beautiful head, I just don't know for sure what it is. I love my sweet girl, and I want her to be happy. At least now we have an excuse to play our fishy face game all the time!

They're mocking me!

Last week I took the kids to our local town beach playground for a play date. Really it was Paddy Boy's play date, as the friends we were meeting there are about his height, but Curly Girl loves a playground anytime, and Dexter pretty much goes where I go (First Son was busy enjoying first grade, and couldn't attend).

We arrived at the beach on a beautiful September morning only to be plagued by...BEES. Yellow jackets to be exact. I don't like bees. In retrospect, I should have packed everyone right back into Rosie the Red Van and headed straight back home, but....what is it they say about hindsight? Something about it doesn't need contacts? Well, I do. The bees were everywhere, not just in the parking lot, not only near the garbage cans, but everywhere. They were aggressive. At one point I ripped Paddy Boy's brightly colored tie-dyed shirt right off him because it seemed to be attracting them. I was going under the mistaken notion that bees don't sting you unless you provoke them because once they sting you they die, and they aren't generally suicidal. Well, actually that is true about bees, but I have since learned that yellow jackets are actually wasps, not bees at all and they can sting you without suffering any fatal consequence. Information which would have been good to know last week. You can guess where this is going....

So, the three 2(ish) yr olds ignored each other, threw sand, climbed monkey bars meant for 8yr olds, gave the Moms a good workout (spin class...ha!), slid down the slides, and successfully avoided getting stung by flying insects for about an hour...and then it was time to go home. There I was buckling Dexter into his car seat attached to the stroller, when...zap. The BASTARD got me right on the back of my arm, Suddenly I was the crazy cursing lady at the playground. If you've never been stung by a yellow jacket let me assure you..it hurts! A lot.

I managed to get everybody in the car, chase no less than three "bees" out of the car and drive myself home. I immediately took 4tsp of Children's Benadryl and applied an ice pack - before unbuckling a single car seat. Mother in law took Curly home with her, and Dexter & Paddy went in for a nap. I proceeded to pass out (see the above reference to 4tsp of Benadryl). When I woke up my arm was red all the way up to my elbow and it was hot to the touch. Guess what? I am allergic to bees. Hooray. Something new to add to my resume.

I went to see an allergist. I am deathly afraid of being out with my children and being suddenly overcome by an inability to breathe. He prescribed three medicines that I should carry with me at all times, including an "epi-pen" - a pre-filled syringe which I was taught to stab into my thigh in the event that I go into anaphylactic shock, an antihistamine 5x stronger than Benadryl, and a rescue inhaler. All this crap residing in my Vera Bradley just because of some little yellow bastard.

This morning I headed out to see my friends at the pharmacy (they were expecting me because it's been at least a week since I was last there). The pharmacy is located inside the grocery store, making it possible for me to pick up my prescriptions and supplies for dinner with only one round of car seat buckling/unbuckling. Convenient. Tonight I was making pasta with oven roasted squash for dinner. I decided to pick up some Italian bread. The best value seemed to be a package with three small loaves - in a sealed plastic bag. I also picked up some American cheese, apples, bananas and a box of tissues. Where am I going with this??? I get home, pop open the trunk and start unloading my purchases. I go to grab the bag with the Italian bread only....there's a freaking yellow jacket in the bag! The bastards are mocking me!

There Are Books,

There Are Novels By My Bed...

I am a reader. As early as I can remember all I wanted was to be able to decipher the meaning of words. I even remember sitting up one night with my (much) older sister's 10th grade required reading novel, struggling to "read" just one page - really all I was doing was naming each and every letter, one at a time. I was desperate to have this coveted skill that everyone except me seemed to possess. When at long last the synapses were making the proper connections, and the letters turned into words, and the words into sentences, there was no stopping me. I saw Jane. I saw Dick and I saw Sally, and I saw them run! I was reading several grade levels ahead in no time. I would read anything and everything, street signs and the backs of shampoo bottles. As an adolescent I was often getting yelled at to shut out the light and put away the books already! I would spend my entire summer holed up in the public library (truly, I am not a sun lover), my (much) older sister having to come and drag me home for meals. In one summer alone I read almost every Judy Blume novel! Actually, I remember the first time I ever heard the word "novel", I knew it had to do with books, and if D. Kelly was reading one I certainly could too!

Nowadays, although "voracious" is one of my very favorite words (what, you don't have a collection of favorite words? I bet you do...), it's not a perfect description of my reading habit. I will say that I probably read more adult content (no, not, smut - get your head out of the gutter) than your average suburban mother with 4 kids under seven. I started a book club with some friends, and in addition to creating 2 pretty neat male humans, I count that as one of my proudest accomplishments of the last two years. I also have a few magazine subscriptions, and let us not forget my blog habit. Reading is so much a part of me, I can't have down time without having something, anything (even a shampoo bottle) handy to read at all times.

One of the things about reading that I love so much, in addition to the fact that a good book can transport me to another place and time altogether, is that by reading I can learn about absolutely anything I want! There is nothing that can hold me back so long as I can get my hands on a book! I have discussed with my husband my desire that more than anything else, I want my children to love to read! If they like soccer? Okay. Art? Great. Math? Fabulous. Reading though, means that they are limitless! Some people wait in anticipation of babies first steps, or riding a bike without training wheels, for me - when First Son read the word "turquoise" the other night I almost cried with joy!

I read to my children, but I have always felt that it is equally if not more important for them to see me reading for my own purposes. It sends the message that reading is important. I mean, if Mom is taking time to do it it must be, right? Lead by example I figure. I do most of my reading before going to sleep, or on a lazy Saturday morning. At any given time, there is a stack of books by my bed. We also have a pretty impressive (at least I think so) collection of children's books, which for reasons of space and convenience, is stored in Curly's room. Most nights she falls asleep with books in her bed. She is four years old and "reads" herself to sleep. It makes my heart swell to see her learning to love books the way I do. I am sure it won't be long until the words are jumping off the page and her mind is running off with the stories. For now I am sure she is mostly looking at pictures and imagining the meanings of the words. She reminds me of me though.

The other night I found her fast asleep with my copy of Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen tucked under her arm and I thought to myself, hmmm..I wonder what she thinks about the midget?? I can't wait until the day when my children and I sit around discussing books, any more than Hubby can't wait to discuss quantum physics. I win though - in order to discuss the physics, they're probably going to have to read about it!

The conversation

I spent a lot of my day today thinking about September 11, 2001, specifically how I could deal with the delicate issue of teaching my children, and talking to them about it. I can't bear for this to become just something they read about in a textbook someday. I feel an immense responsibility to impart to my children a sense of what September 11th means to everyone who lived through it. But...they're little. 9/11 is incomprehensible for me still, and I have had 7 adult years to process it.

I asked some friends for their opinion, asked what they tell their children. One friend's son knows some because he has older siblings; One friend's son knows more because his dad is FDNY; one friend's children know some because their uncle served 2 tours in Iraq. Ultimately though, every family, every child is different.

First Son is six. He is smart. He is sensitive. I have been waiting with trepidation for the moment when he and I would have our first real conversation about 9/11. I have been so anxious that I will make a mistake. That I will say too much, or not enough. Today, my moment came, and although I felt utterly unprepared, I think it went well.

We were sitting together in the dining room going over his homework. I asked casually what he did in school today, and asked if they had spoken about it being "September 11th".

First Son: Yeah, Mrs. B asked us about it. Dylan said that buildings in New York City Fell Down
Mom: What did Mrs. B say?
First Son: She said, "yes, Dylan, you're right."
Mom: What do you think ?
First Son: Mom, could you tell me about it,.... please?

Wow. I took a deep, deep breath. Here I am, the moment. I feel completely unprepared, but as in so many other parental situations, this moment was not about my needs, but his. So, I took another deep breath and asked God to please, please help me with this.

Mom: Ok, but I need to tell you first, that I might cry when I tell you. Ok? Don't be scared. It was a very, very sad day, and I might cry, Ok?
First Son: Ok.

Mom: This happened before you were born. There were two very tall buildings where a lot of people worked, they called them the Twin Towers, or you might have heard, The World Trade Center
First Son: Oh yeah, the World Trade Center
Mom: There were some very mean, very bad people who hate America, and they wanted to do something very bad, they wanted to hurt us very bad, and they did.
First Son: What did they do?

How do you put it into language that is respectful, truthful and not scare the crap out of the kid??

Mom: They stole some airplanes, and they crashed them into the buildings, and that's why they fell down.
First Son: Did people die?
does he grasp the concept of die?
Mom: Yes, my love, a lot of people died. That's part of why it's so sad.

Some quiet time...I could see his wheels turning...

First Son: Mom, the people in the buildings...were they scared?
Mom:<> Well, I think that God was with them, so, no I don't think they were scared.
(wow - where did that come from - it's brilliant, and true...I hope)
First Son: Oh, yeah!

More quiet, then I asked if he had any more questions...

First Son: Mom, do you know what? The people, if they hate America, what they should have done was they should have not stolen a plane, no, they should have...you remember the plane like we took to go to Disney? They should have gone on a plane like that and, instead of crashing the plane, they should have just gone somewhere else...if they hate America

Mom: You're absolutely right.
First Son: Mom, you're crying...

It is hard to believe that once again, it is September 11th. Today, just like every September 11th for the last 7 years, I have a pit in my stomach. Not just a pit, a canyon. A huge gaping crevasse with bubbling bile at the bottom. My hands and my feet are numb, and I just want to throw up. I want to crawl back into bed, pull the covers up over my head and pretend it never happened.


It did happen, and I can't, won't pretend that it didn't. As much as I hate this date, and the feelings that surface because of it, how I wish we could just skip over the eleventh and go straight to the twelfth, I also know that we must stop to remember.


Despite my misery, I still have to get up and go about my business of raising four beautiful, innocent children. Children who are growing up in a world where unconscionable evil exists in the memory of every teenager and adult they will encounter today. They cannot even imagine it, we all lived through it. Of course, they are my babies, and I want to love them and protect them, and I never ever want them to experience anything like it, ever, but I also want them to know. I just don't know how.

First Son will participate in some ceremony at school today, I don't know if it will even be mentioned at Curly's preschool, but I think not. Neither one of them were more than a "twinkle in their father's eye" on the morning of September 11, 2001. I am thankful for that, because I don't know how I would have managed as a Mom that day. I could barely keep myself together, I couldn't imagine what I'd have done if there were little faces looking up to me that day. In fact, when I think of September 11, and all of the heroes involved, I often think about the teachers and parents who managed to help the littlest victims, the children.

First Son went to school today wearing a plain blue t-shirt and an American Flag pin. I told him that today was an important day, a very important day to be American, and be proud of it. I told him that his teachers would be talking about it, that they would probably do a special project. He pressed me for more information, but I was at a loss. The best I could do was tell him that he will learn more about it as he gets older. I don't know what to say to a six year old. I don't want this day to pass as just another day. I want it to be important, but for once I just don't have the words.

September 11, 2001 claimed so many victims. In the Towers, the Pentagon and in a field in Pennsylvania, yes - those are the stories we hear over and over again, and they are so important. There are others. For one, there are the rescue workers who are now suffering and dying from respiratory diseases caused by the awful things they were exposed to and inhaling in the days and weeks following the attacks. There are the families who lost loved ones. There are the soldiers who went off to fight the ensuing War on Terror - the ones who died in the war and the ones who came back changed forever. There are the families of these brave soldiers - whose husbands and wives, sons and daughters, mothers and fathers are risking all to fight an unpopular war, because they believe in America. There are people like myself, who thankfully didn't know anyone at all who was lost in any of the attacks, yet are still so profoundly affected by all that we saw and heard.

I will go and turn on the TV this morning, because that is where I was in 2001, in front of my television watching my world change forever. I will listen as the names are read by the families carrying pictures and wearing buttons with the likenesses of their lost loved ones. I will cry. I will be angry. I will relive all of the events of that time in my head.

I will comb Curly's hair, and drive her to preschool, I'll stop at the market and pick something up for dinner, I will make grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch, and help first son with his homework. I will change diapers and I will make bottles. I will go about my life, do my job. I will carry my sorrow in my heart. I will also hug my children extra hard, kiss my husband a few more times, and thank God for the life he has blessed me with. I will ask for Grace and Wisdom to teach my children appropriately. I will remember.

God Bless America.

Take Care of your Own Family and MYOB

Little Piper Palin grooming her baby brother Trig is the most adorable thing I have seen on TV in quite some time. I don't know if I will vote for John McCain and Sarah Palin, but I am definitely voting for Piper Palin as the cutest big sister ever! (well, Curly, sorry but you didn't make it to National TV...yet)
I just read a post somewhere from a supposed Mom of seven that she would NEVER let her seven year old (and by the way, the kid was born in 2002, exactly what type of math are you using that makes her seven?) hold any of her babies. Really lady? Seven babies and you held all of them without help? So what did you do, grow an extra arm? You said that it "says it all" - what does that mean? Is it a crime to let someone else hold your baby - or is it just because it was a very capable six year old? I let my four year old feed my 3 1/2 month old all the time. Sometimes, I need to cook dinner, or change another dirty diaper, or address the Republican National Convention - what can I do? We are a family, and we take care of each other. My older kids learn responsibility, what it takes to take care of another being, and that in order for our home to run everyone MUST help out. Maybe I should let my four year old cook dinner for her other siblings instead? Perhaps that would be more appropriate than holding and feeding and loving and caring for her baby brother?

I wonder what is wrong with people in this world who can take the most innocent of moments, (which occurred in an arena that was full of anything but innocence, talk about paradoxes..).and pick it apart? Why do people think that it is okay to attack others for the way they choose to parent? Whether it has to do with breastfeeding vs. bottle feeding; home school/public school/ private school; sandals vs. sneakers vs. bare feet; car seat with a seat belt or a latch; bedtimes; cheeze doodles or carrot sticks....or who is allowed to hold the baby...people, take care of your own family and mind your business. You are not perfect. The kids are going to need therapy anyway, so do your best and hope for an outpatient program that doesn't burn your entire nursing home fund! I for one, thought that little Piper Palin licking her little brother's alfalfa 'do was awesome. Everything that Sarah Palin had to say about how "normal" her family was went in one ear and out the other, but the picture of Piper and Trig said it all. I gotta go now - Curly is getting ready to lick Dexter! Is it wrong that she's been holding him this whole time so Mommy could blog? Hmmmm....

First Day of First Grade

That's it. The big yellow taxi has taken my love away. Off to First Grade. It's true what they say, time flies. I still haven't finished uploading the pictures I took at his end of the year picnic back in June, and now he's a big First Grader. He climbed up on the bus and went right to the back - the last row. He wasn't allowed to sit in the back when he was in kindergarten, he wasted no time today. He smiled that adorable smile and waved enthusiastically. He likes school. I like that he likes it. I just wish time didn't have to go so fast. Hubby recently switched his work schedule to a 9/80 work week - 80 hours in 9 days. Why can't they do that with school? Give them Friday off - or let them "work from home" one day?
The bus pulled away, and I smiled and waved, wished him a good day and told him I loved him and was proud of him. Then I cried. Am I the only mother who hates the first day of school? No, I am sure I am not, and truthfully, hate is too strong a word. I am happy to be getting back into a routine. I am excited to see all of the new things he will be learning, and to meet the new friends he will be making. Chances are that I will make a new friend or two myself.
Oh well, now that he's gone, the babies and Curly girl are all still sleeping so...I'm going back to bed!! Next week I'll be getting Curly out to preschool! I'd better sleep while I can!

It IS a Big Deal!

I am not one to discuss my personal politics. That said, I'd like to discuss the upcoming Presidential Election for just a minute.

In just over two months time our country will come together (separately, in little tiny curtained booths)and choose our next leader. Once the ballots have all been cast and counted we will be left with an historical outcome. Either we will have elected the first Black President of the United States, or, those who are both second and third in line to be Commander in Chief will be women. I say, wow.

In the great band of time it is only a hair width ago that these same people would not have even had the opportunity to cast a vote in this election, and now they are in a position to become the next leader of the Free World.

Someone said to me that it's really not that big a deal. These days there are plenty of politicians who are either black, or women, or black women. Someone actually pointed out that Obama is only half black. I must counter that at a point and time in our country's history (and yes, I will allow myself to believe that that time and place does not exist now, if only to use delusion as a form of self preservation) that would be just enough to have him strung up on a tree. Now he could become our next President!

My children are growing up in an amazing time in our country. When I was a kid this type of election was unthinkable. Sure, some thought that Geraldine Ferraro on the ticket was an astonishing accomplishment, others thought it was a big joke, and in the end the country just wasn't ready. A few years ago when the television show "24" aired with "David Palmer" as President it was pure fiction!

Here's the thing. To my kids, having a black President or a woman President will be no big deal. And that, is precisely what makes it a BIG DEAL. My children will not live in a time where they have to even consider that someone is not worthy of any position, be it political or otherwise, just because of the color of his skin or the gender listed on his driver's license.

I am not discussing my views of the candidates. I am not telling you who I am voting for, and I won't tell you who I think you should vote for. I do think however, that regardless of your opinions about our candidates and their politics, you really must sit back for just a minute and look around and say wow. We live in an amazing time, and I am so proud and honestly excited, to be raising my children as American citizens.

God Bless America.

Helpful Hint

Here is a helpful hint that I had to learn the hard way:

When, after you are so cosmically fortunate enough to, as a parent of four young children, not only get a babysitter, but obtain tickets and get out of the house two nights in one week to experience an amazing part of rock and roll history including the likes of not only Billy Joel, but also Tony Bennett, John Mayer, Don Henley, John Mellancamp, Garth Brooks, Steven freaking Tyler, Roger Daltrey AND Sir Paul McCartney, do not kid yourself into thinking that a night of "Kellogg's Pop Tarts Presents: American Idols Live" could ever come close. Even if you bring your amazingly too cute for words, totally starstruck, I wanna be a rock star six year old with you. Just don't do it. Stay home and clean your bathroom with baking soda and a toothbrush.

I bet Heloise has nothing to say about that.

Our House

I love our house. I really do. Sure, I complain about the ugly downstairs bathroom; the too-small deck; the too-big backyard; the old, ugly, "neighbors are starting a petition to have it replaced" fence; and of course, the bone sucking oil heat bills; but the house, the house I love. I fell in love with it the first day I walked through it when the previous owners held an open house and I proclaimed to Hubby that I "had to have it". It is not a mansion, it is not going to be appearing in the pages of Better Homes and Gardens, or even, Cottage Living; but it is ours and as such, I love it. That said, I really do not like my neighborhood. I have a great town, fabulous schools,etc. It's just my immediate neighborhood. It is so..un-neighborly.

Today we went to a friend's block party. An old fashioned, wash down the hot dog with a cold beer, block party. There were no bells or whistles anywhere, no DJ, no "bounce house", no balloon animals. And yet, it was so warm and friendly, kids running from house to house, so many baby strollers there could have been a bonny baby parade, it was a great party. I find myself being slightly...envious. (for the record, I believe envy is ugly, and I try very hard to avoid it)

I yearn for a block with lots of kids my kid's ages. I would love to know my neighbors by name, and not just them, but their in-laws and out-laws too. I want to have tons of kids converging on my house on a summer afternoon, muddying my kitchen floor in their quest for cold lemonade. I want to be able to let my kids ride their bikes down the block to see if their friend is home to play. I really, really want to have a block where every family celebrates Halloween, and I don't have to bribe anyone to come to my house by giving out full size candy bars and blasting the "Monster Mash" (although I probably still would).

Where I live everyone minds their business (which isn't necessarily a bad thing, I know). The people in the house right next door have not even said two words of congratulations for the birth of Paddy boy, much less Dexter, in spite of my sending them a birth announcement and waving "hello" every time we happen to be out front at the same time. There are neighbors three doors down who could be standing next to me in line at the grocery store and I wouldn't even know it. Four doors down I am not sure if they are black or white, because I have only ever seen them speed by in their car. How ridiculous is that? It makes me feel sad because so many of my childhood memories involve neighbors, going "across the street", or "down the block". I knew all of their names. Not only would I have recognized them in the grocery store, I probably would have been given a list of what they needed and brought it home to them. I guess times were different, but I miss it and I miss that my kids won't experience it.

The first year we lived here we hosted a neighborhood party, not a block party really, but a backyard pot-luck. It was nice, but it didn't inspire the type of camaraderie I had hoped. Where I live, every house is an island unto itself.

Oh well, you can't control everything. I love my house. I love my privacy. My husband is on the parkway in 2 minutes or less, my in-laws are right down the block (which has never, ever been a bad thing)and, the bus stop is right outside my door. We won't be having a block party any time soon, I will forever be driving to play dates, and borrowing another neighborhood for trick-or-treat, but there are good things about where I live. Envy is ugly mostly because it is blind and sees only what it wants to see. I need to take some time to look closer at the good things about the old homestead. For instance, I really love the color of the walls in my living room...

Welcome Baby Banana

Somewhat akin to my pal Jerry Seinfeld's diatribe about taking and then keeping reservations, I would like to point out that if you are going to take a message you must then give the message.

My very good friend Chiquita had been expecting her second child, a girl, to arrive via scheduled c-section on the 23rd of this month. Chiquita and I go way back, almost 20 years. We have shared every one of life's most magical and most tragic moments together since then. We have rejoiced together about prom dates, college graduations, engagements, pregnancies, and new jobs. We created and adhered to our own life motto of "no regrets", which went hand in hand with "summer rule". We were each other's bridesmaids. We also helped each other through breakups, college disasters, marriage troubles and the way too early deaths of our parents. Although we each have blood sisters, we are, in the truest sense, soul sisters making our way through this life together.

Just over two years ago I sat in a hospital room with my very frightened friend as she prepared to face the outcome of breaking her water - 6 weeks before her due date. I arrived at the hospital to offer support, humor, and love; and hoping to hide the absolute fear that had all but paralyzed me. Maybe it was because she had sat with me just 8 weeks earlier on the floor of my bedroom and cried with me as I mourned the child who had died in my womb at just 12 weeks gestation, but I think that it would have been important to me to be there with her even if she hadn't. I listened intently as the doctor explained the medical reasons that a c-section delivery the next morning offered the best prognosis. Then I talked with my friend and tried to prepare her as best I could for a surgical birth (having experienced it twice myself), and for the very real possibility of leaving the hospital without a baby in her arms. We talked for a long time.

A few days later I stood by her as she kissed her new baby "goodbye for now" in the NICU and then , when she was done wiping away her tears, I drove her to her baby shower where she got to do the surprising instead of being the surprised. Praise God, just a week after that I stayed with her mother in law and prepared the house for the homecoming of a perfectly healthy, if somewhat tiny, baby boy. I was so honored when she let me hold him and change him, and I will never forget (or let him forget) how teeny tiny was his heiney.

This past Friday I drove over to Chiquita's house to sit and enjoy a cup of tea, watch our sons play together (it was the day I drove Chiquita to her baby shower that I learned about Paddy boy's impending arrival! Our 2 boys are just less than 9 months apart), and once again sit and talk about what it was going to be like. This time she would be bringing home a full term baby, and a girl at that (kind of a major thing for us members of the motherless daughters club, becoming mothers of daughters...). I brought her some magazines and lip balm for the hospital. Basically I was just trying to let her know without saying so that she is important to me, and that I am here for her, my soul sister.

So..imagine how I felt when, come Monday morning my sister, Aunt Mean called from work asking why I hadn't been in touch with Chiquita. Aunt Mean is an RN in the NICU at the hospital where Chiquita delivers, in fact she took care of Chiquita's son when he was born. Immediately I knew- she had the baby! (She wasn't scheduled for another 10 days, but as I have mentioned before, God doesn't use a calendar) Apparently, Chiquita and Mr. Chiquita had been trying desperately to get in touch with me. I had left my cell phone in the back of my beach chair, so I didn't even check for missed calls. I was at work all day Sunday, Hubby was home. I immediately hung up with Aunt Mean and dialed my voicemail, but no message. Strange, I thought. I called my dear Hubby and asked if he had gotten any calls the day before, or had he listened to any messages. He said "umm...", so I asked specifically about messages from Chiquita. More "umm..." then finally "I think so". What do you mean you think so??? For crying out loud, if you take a message you need to then give the message!!

I am so sorry, my dear Chiquita. I married a wonderful man who is a terrible secretary.

Last night I got to hold the new little Miss "MES", even if I was a day late. She is perfect. I held her in my arms, hiding out in the hospital room for a good 1/2 hour past the end of visiting time. I cuddled her and whispered sweet nothings into her tiny little ears. She is my little banana now, and I will forever be her melon.

It ain't easy...

As parents, we all believe that our children are absolute angels, as was Satan himself. My children are no different. They are wonderful people, fun to be around, amazingly smart, funny and sweet. Also, every one of them, (save for little Dexter whose only saving grace is his 8wk age) are fresh, obnoxious, annoying little monsters. Depends on the day, depends on the company. Lately First Son has really been feeling his oats (what does that mean?). He has been so incredibly obnoxious and just so fresh, that each day I manage to not throttle him I believe I deserve a ticker tape parade in my honor. He is really, really difficult.

This has been so hard, I think in part because he is just such a good kid. First Son is known to be a bona fide good kid. To see and hear him acting the way he has been is keeping me up at night. I don't know what to do. Sure, there is a lot going on. A new baby, for one. Okay, a new baby who got extra attention by checking himself into the hospital twice before he was six weeks old, but still, we've had new babies before, twice. Also, he is reading now and I know that that can be a big scary change. He's home from school for the summer which means his schedule is all off, and he also has a bit of a hypoglycemia issue. I am trying to be understanding. I am trying to heap tons of positive attention on him, which does work for a while. Still, he hits his sister, talks back to his mother and disobeys his grandmother. (yes, his grandmother, a.k.a. the nicest sweetest woman on the planet)

I don't actually think that what I am going through is that remarkable. I talk to lots of other Moms and they have very similar tales. Still, it pains me. I love him so darned much that it kills me to have to admit that sometimes I just don't like him very much. Please, somebody tell me that it is going to get better.

SmartMama LOVES McNeil

I think my Hubby, who loves to play the stocks as of late, should consider pharmaceutical companies. Why? Because our family is more well known by our local pharmacist than our parish priest! Really. (in my defense, the priest is new)

Since First Son started kindergarten we are sick all the time. We used to never be sick. First Son had one ear infection in his life...before kindergarten. Now, when I leave the pediatrician's office I just schedule myself another appointment like I do when I leave the hairdresser. I know I'll be back with someone...for something, so you might as well pencil me in. I can't buy enough children's Motrin and Tylenol. I can't keep it in the house. My grocery list is: Milk, Eggs, Bread, Drugs.

Three weeks ago I brought Paddy Boy to the doctor for a follow-up from when he was there two weeks prior with Bronchitis and an ear infection (oh, that was fun too - taking an 18 mos. old for a chest x-ray that carried with it a threat of hospitalization, and me just two weeks post -partum). While I was there I asked the doctor to take a look at Dexter's belly button. In my opinion it just wasn't healing right, in spite of her having cauterized it previously. She looked, determined that indeed it wasn't healing as nicely as she liked and so she once again brought out the silver nitrate. A quick swab and we were on our way, Dexter didn't even flinch. Paddy boy was proclaimed healthy (for now) and so we set off on our day...which was really busy. Mickey D and the Sunshine girl were scheduled to tie the knot two days later and with First Son and Curly playing the important roles of flower girl and ring bearer, and myself being the wedding lady that I am, I had a lot to do.

Aunt Mean had taken Curly for the day, so as to help free me up get some things done (because really, when you've got an 18 month old, a 4 week old and a full to-do list, the addition of a 4 year old could trip you up). Unfortunately, while in Aunt Mean's care Curly announced that she was sick and needed to go home, right now! Crap. She had been complaining of a stomachache lately, but wasn't showing any symptoms. I had figured that with the new baby and all she was just trying to get some attention, but now I was convinced she had another ear infection. I called the Dr's office, but they had already left for the day. The covering Dr. was the pediatrician I fired. I resolved to take Curly to the Dr. first thing in the morning and get her the necessary antibiotic, in just enough time for her to be back to her chipper self before she would have to walk down the aisle.

Later that night Mrs. V and I had transformed my kitchen into a wedding wonderland and we were working feverishly to complete 150 wedding programs which required printing, cutting, gluing and bow-tying. I am Martha and Mrs. V is my apprentice. We had a nice operation going and we had completed at least 10 pieces (that's right, 10 of 150) when I went to change Dexter's diaper and found...mayhem. Well, I didn't know for sure at the time that it was mayhem, I just thought it was irritation and maybe a little infection around his belly button from the day's earlier cauterization. It was decided that a quick trip to the emergency room would probably be the best course of action, what with the impending nuptials and all. I told Mrs. V to keep working, do as much as she could, but that I would help her as soon as I got back...three days later!

The ER doc took one look and told me that they would have to admit him for IV antibiotics. Okay. I remained calm. Here I was, alone in the ER (poor Hubby was already exhausted from life -working and taking care of 3 plus a newborn, that I had sent him to bed) and they are telling me that they are admitting my 4 week old. Okay. I can handle this. I asked the doctor if this would be a "24 hour" thing? 24 hours would leave me roughly 18 hours before the wedding. She said it was more likely a 48 hour course, but that our regular pediatrician would make that decision. Ok. I can handle this. It's just an IV. In those tiny hands...breathe.

I spent the night in a chair next to Dexter's crib, while nurses and residents came in and out, poking him and asking me all kinds of questions. In the morning they sent him for a sonogram of his belly. This looked pretty painful, as the wand kept digging into his already very sore tummy. Then we met with the pediatrician and I explained my predicament with the wedding. Dexter would be spending another night in the hospital, but it was likely that he could go home the next day, the wedding day. Well, since the wedding wasn't scheduled until 6pm, this would probably work. I don't know why I was so naive, but I just thought that if they could get the antibiotic into his little veins that would be that. It didn't dawn on me that the infection (which turned out to be staph, by the way) was only part of the problem, they wanted to find the cause of the infection, and therefore the sonogram.

I left Hubby at the hospital with Dexter and left to bring Curly to the pediatrician, yes, the same one I just saw in the hospital. After waiting for a long time in the waiting room (don't they realize I have a newborn in the hospital?) we were finally seen. The doctor kept asking about her belly, her eating and pooping habits, while I insisted she just look in her ears already. Finally the ear check and...ding, ding, ding, a raging ear infection. Okay, give me the prescription, and I am off to the pharmacy.

On the way to the pharmacy Hubby calls to tell me that they are going to repeat the baby's sonogram at 2:00, it's 1:30. Shoot. I don't like the idea of him having a painful procedure without me being there, so I say that I will try to make it, but I gotta go because call waiting is beeping. Hello? It's MIL who is at home with Paddy boy - he was just deemed healthy the day before, surely he can't be sick? NO, better than that..the school just called. First Son has pink eye, I need to go pick him up. Seriously, I couldn't make this stuff up if I wanted to. Back to the Dr. and then finally, to the pharmacy.

So then I dressed the cherubs up, and headed off to the rehearsal dinner. As I said, First Son and Curly were scheduled to tote flowers and rings, and also I had promised the Sunshine Girl that I would do a quick rehearsal with the wedding party. I needed to be there. We stayed long enough to eat, the kids got gifts, and we said hello to some out of town relatives, then I headed back to the hospital for "the changing of the guard". Hubby came down from the second floor "peds" unit and got behind the wheel of Rosie, and I headed up and took my place in the cold, hard recliner chair.

The next day the Doctor arrived nice and early to tell me that the sonogram was inconclusive. It looks as though there may be a problem requiring surgical intervention, but she wants to be sure. They were going to be doing a cat-scan with contrast. "With contrast" means that Dexter can't eat for a number of hours. He of course, just finished a bottle. So the procedure is scheduled for 1:30. Dexter gets another night in the hospital. Somehow, I don't have a nervous breakdown. My Aunt stayed with me while Hubby went home to try and get First Son and Curly to take naps before their big night. He also showered and came back to the hospital with his suit in tow. Then we all took Dexter for his procedure. He was a champ. He slept through the whole thing. The radiologist finally came in to tell us that yes, indeed there is a problem, and that we would need to consult with a surgeon next. Okay. We knew that might happen. It's not emergency surgery though. The doctors all assure us that we should go and enjoy the wedding. Yeah Right.

Well, we tried. I raced home to get First Son and Curly dressed and off in their limo. Then I was faced with the task of getting myself ready. (How does one cover up the bags under one's eyes from NOT sleeping in a chair in your child's hospital room?) Meanwhile MIL went and fed herself and her dog and then headed up to the hospital so that Hubby and I could both be at the wedding for the walk down the aisle. Amazingly, they all made it down the aisle with smiles, which the bookmakers said wouldn't happen. Hubby stayed through the toasts and then he headed back to the hospital.

The wedding was beautiful. Mickey D and the Sunshine Girl looked gorgeous, the day was balmy, the food was amazing and First Son and Curly danced the night away. To be honest I even had a little bit of fun.

The next day Dexter was released. We followed up with a top pediatric surgeon the next week, had a quickie Baptism, and the week after that the surgery was performed. Now all that remains is an ugly scar under his belly button and a patch of gray hair on my head.

This week things should be settling down, but let's get real. I have no less than three children with fevers topping out in the 102 range, and a case of conjuctivitis. I'd tell you all about it but... I have to go to the pharmacy.

Blue Horseshoe Loves Anacot Steel? HA!

I heart my messy, noisy life!

This is a picture of my backyard as it looked at 7:15 this morning. I am crazy, I know, but I felt overwhelmed by the urge to capture this moment. It is a peek at my life. My life right now. It's a mess, toys everywhere, sand everywhere except the sandbox, and if you look at the left edge of the picture, a fire chief cruiser up against a tree with the door ajar (I wonder what happened to the Fire Chief?...oh, he's drooling in his crib!). Take one look at this yard and you know that it is attached to a home that is run by kids!

I felt the need to take this picture because I was looking out the window when I became a little sentimental. This time in my life isn't going to last forever, in fact it is going to fly by way too fast. Before long it will be just Hubby and me sitting in those two chairs saying "remember when...", and I want to remember every detail! My life right now is insane and I love it! I have four children under 6! My life is busy, noisy and messy! Sometimes I pine for a perfectly neat house, empty laundry baskets and a cupboard full of clean dishes instead of a sink full of dirty ones, but then I stop and remind myself that one day I will have all of those things, and it will be very, very quiet, and I will be a little sad, missing my noisy messy life. So, instead I try to enjoy the noise, and enjoy the mess while I still can. It's my life and I love it.

Sweet Summer

This week officially started summer! Okay, so the solstice or the equinox, or whatever planetary science determined date marking the true start of summer occurred last week, this week we celebrated ...the last day of school, and therefore the first day of summer vacation! Wow. A date that has meant absolutely nothing to me for the past 15 years (yikes) now means more than ever! First of all, I can't believe how fast the year went, First Son is now moving on to first grade! He, and more amazingly, I, survived kindergarten! Now we have our first "school summer".

I remember that as an idealistic kid I thought the ten weeks between grades would last forever! Now as a more realistic adult I know that they will fly by way too fast. For just these ten short weeks I have my sweet First Son all to myself! Of course I have to share him with his three siblings (and he has to share me); and he is going to VBS for two weeks, but other than that, he is all mine! Just like before that evil (wonderful) thing called kindergarten came along! I am determined to squeeze every ounce of wonderfulness (is that a word?) out of this time. Come September I will not only be sending First Son off to first grade, but Curly Girl will be leaving me three mornings a week to attend preschool....it all happens so fast!

I have been thinking lately about my "goals" for the summer. You see, I am all too likely to spend the greater part of my day cleaning my endlessly messy kitchen unless I force myself to plan otherwise. I want my summer to feel like one of those old Country Time Lemonade commercials...sweet and slow and relaxed. Since they say that you are much more likely to accomplish your goals if you write them down, that is what I am about to do! Here goes:

Tricia's Summer Goals 2008

(in no particular order)

1. Shnuggle First Son at least 3 mornings each week
2. Have a family picnic dinner at the beach 1x a week
3. Use our pool membership at least 3x a week
4. Host/attend a play date for each child at least 1x a week
5. Eat as many outdoor meals as possible
6. Limit TV to one hour a day with the exception of a rainy day DVD
7. Use our blow up backyard pools, swings and sandbox every sunny day
8. Ice pops EVERYDAY
9. Cook with the kids at least 1x a week (use lots of fresh veggies)
10. Read at least 2 novels of my own choosing (in addition to book club picks)
11. Have one hour of formal learning time for First Son and Curly each morning
12. Do a fun craft at least 1x a week (even if it's just playdoh, but better if its painting rocks!)
13. Take at least one trip to Fire Island with the kids
14. Take at least one trip to Fire Island without the kids
15. Eat NO Fast Food lunches (this is a tough one)
16. Plan a "special Big Kid day" for First Son (maybe Splish Splash waterpark)
17. Walk the Jones Beach Boardwalk & eat Ice Cream at least 1x
18. Redecorate the playroom! (this is necessary in order to survive the other 3 seasons)
19. Go to the movies for Wall E and American Girl (now that Curly is old enough for popcorn, she's definitely old enough for American Girl, hooray!)
20. Catch Lightening bugs with the kids
21. Take at least one road trip (Philly or Phoenicia? I'd do both if I didn't already have a mortgage)
22. Lay a blanket out in the yard and stare at the stars at least 1x/month
23. Take and share lots and lots of pictures!
24. Help the kids run a lemonade stand
25. Say "Yes" as much as possible
26. Start First Son & Curly working on helpful, age appropriate chores - with just my love as reward (ok, and room & board)
27. Spend quality time with Hubby every day
28. Smile, laugh and have fun EVERY DAY!!

Twenty eight items. Not bad. Doable I think, although I am sure I am missing something. That big yellow bus will be here again in the blink of an eye, and I don't want to have any regrets. When I look back on the summer of '08, I will see that I was super busy no matter what I do, so why not spend my time chasing fireflies instead of scrubbing floors? I am sure my kids will agree.

Size doesn't matter after all!!

So this morning when I checked my inbox I found a very thought provoking e-mail from my friend JacksMom. She is talking about the quote I have had listed on the side of my blog:

" When you have only one child you're really just playing house"

- A Grandma at Curly's Banarina School

Here is what JacksMom had to say:

"I have read this quote on your blog several times and each time i read it i tend to get heated up and my blood boils.
This grandma at banarina school.....make sure you tell her that i have ONE child and i work very hard to make sure im raising him proper, hopefully he will grow up and know how to love someone, show them respect, be kind and caring.
I have a "Family"..it might just be the 3 of us but i do not consider this to be a game or something that i take lightly....."PLAYING HOUSE"...
You dont have to have a BIG family in order to be taken seriously.
I love my son to death and i will push you down if need to...but honestly, just because some one has one child doesnt mean that she doesnt work just as hard as the person with 2,3 or 4.

So tell Grammy, back in her day, im sure she didnt work and had the luxury of staying home and playing house to be a little bit more careful how she phrases things...

thats all...thanks for listening."

So Wow. I didn't see this one coming, but I should have. I see now that while that quote is amusing to me, a mother of four who is deep in the trenches (and having previously been a mother of one), I also see that it is disrespectful to those with "only one child". I am sorry. I would never mean to insult anyone, and certainly not another mother. I don't for a minute believe that the size of your family should at all be related to whether or not you're taken seriously as a mother, and I apologize to the masses if I perpetuated that myth. I also remember when I had "just one" and sometimes I think that was harder than 2, 3 and 4!

Something that I have spoken about before on this blog is how rude I consider people who make comments about the size of my BIG family, and it's no different for those who choose to have small families. It's nobody's business!! Every family makes their decisions about children for different reasons, and I totally respect that. I also know that their are Moms of "just one" who didn't actually make that "decision" - they yearn with their whole being for another child, but for whatever reason, they aren't able to have one.

As parents, we need to band together, respect one another and support each other. There is no way I could get through a single day, literally, if I didn't have so many other great Moms to help me out. So, I have removed the offensive comment from my blog. Thanks for bringing it to my attention.

To JacksMom: your kid is Awesome! Your family is great! I think you are a wonderful Mom, and I am so glad that we get to share our very different and very similar experiences together!

What I am

Authentic. Real, true. Lately I have been giving this word a lot of thought.What does it mean to be authentic? I am not talking about some rare coin or antique, but something that may be even more obscure, true self. I guess it is all tied into self-confidence, and whether or not you have any is going to play a big role in whether you know your true self. I mean, let's face it we all have moments of self-doubt, we all have times when we are certain that the grass is greener just over that elusive fence, but what happens when we are so jaded that we don't really know what we want or who we are? I will admit that I don't always know who I am, but I do know who I am not, and that may be just as important, especially as a parent. I must never forget that as a Mom I am first and foremost a role model. If I obsess constantly about my body image, what am I teaching my children about their own bodies? If I am not a good friend, how can I teach my kids to be good friends? If I am a materialistic consumerist, how do I teach my children to be grateful for what they have and to be good stewards of our earth? Everything that I do sends a message to my children, be it good or bad and I need to be ever aware of that fact.
What I am is what I am. Are you what you are or what? Think about it.