"out there"

It's tricky. This blog thing. It is a challenge to write from the heart and to talk freely about the emotions of my daily life, to self-edit without censoring. My writing can conjure up some strong reactions from readers. I have an effect on other people. I know this because they literally stop me on the street, call me on the phone or seek me out at parties to tell me so. Occasionally they even leave a comment here. I am always so flattered when I find out that someone is reading this here blog, and when I find out that they like it - whoa. I didn't start this blog with the idea that anyone would read it, really. It was sort of just an experiment, something to do, and I really didn't think about the implications of having readers.

The last post "It's MY Turn!" - generated a big response from readers. I guess it hit home with a lot of people. One reader went so far as to suggest that every mother of every age should read it, because it was so relatable. I believe that my writing was real and true and I think that what I had to say was important. I really do feel that I expressed my feelings in an open and honest way, and made myself vulnerable, and I am honored that so many of you connected with what I had to say.

My last post, well it left me shook. Although I try to be cryptic and protect the identities of my cohorts, it is not a fail proof system, and so sometimes, feelings get hurt. Man that sucks. I wrote the last post without thinking of the implications it would have on one reader in particular, "Q". In my post I labelled the actions of this family member as "passive aggressive". After some time and review I am left to wonder whether this was a case of the pot calling the kettle black? Is this blog a tool I use for my own passive aggression? I hope not, but, maybe.


It was never my intention to hurt any one's feelings, yet I should have realized that it was a possibility. I know that "Q" reads this blog. While my post wasn't so much about the transgressions of "Q", it wasn't not about them either. I can't go back and take away the words I wrote. I don't want to. As I said, they were real and they were true, and while they were not meant to hurt anyone -they did. They also did a lot of good though. I know this because you, my readers have told me so.


I haven't posted in a while because I am torn. I do not want my words to hurt the people I love, but I will not censor myself. I haven't taken a single journalism or writing class that would perhaps have taught me how to deal with the "you're never going to please everyone" issue that comes up in writing a "column" such as this.


I have apologized to "Q". I have explained how my intention was not to cause pain, and I have taken responsibility for not thinking through the possible outcomes of hitting the "publish" button on the bottom of the screen. I could have made a phone call, given a warning maybe.

I want to be writing. I want to write with reckless abandon, but ...it is hard. It is hard to put myself "out there". I am not a professional writer. I dabble. I am a dabbler.

As much as I do not want to offend or hurt anyone, I do not want to walk or write "on eggshells". I can't guarantee the "truthful and real" part that so many readers appreciate when I have to temper it with "be careful not to offend".

I have thought a lot lately about taking this blog to the next level, making it legit. I have thought about working on it, posting daily, increasing my readership, soliciting ads. There are people who believe in me. I guess the question is...am I one of them? Do I think I have what it takes? Do I have "the balls" to write and take no prisoners? Am I willing to put myself "out there"? At what cost?

Clearly I have some things to figure out.

It's MY turn!

There is a certain person in the family, "Q", who, shall we say, knows exactly how to "press my buttons". We are two very different people, who, if not for the fact that we love the same people, would never seek one another out as friends. We do our best to get along. And truth be told, in spite of our differences of opinion, we actually love each other too. That said, "Q" irks the "be-jaysus" out of me from time to time. I try not to dwell on it, I try not blog about it, but sometimes, like today, the steam pressure under my cap is just so tremendous that if I don't let some off I feel like I truly might lose my head.

This story however, is not so much about what "Q" said or did (it's almost always "said") to piss me off today. The story is about the great epiphany I had about the whole situation - because heaven knows, today was not the first time I have been pushed to the brink by "Q", and it certainly won't be the last.


There has been a particularly virulent strain of pestilence running through our estate this week. It's the flu...and no, so do not even say it or I may scream, it is not the swine flu. (do you think I would neglect to mention that I have the freaking swine flu?, really?) Anyway it hit me, it hit First Son and Paddy and it very sadly hit my sweet Curly Girl the hardest of all. She ran a fever of 104' for two days straight, and then followed it up with a day and a half of 102'. For three whole days she barely came out of her bedroom. She couldn't eat, she couldn't walk. She missed her last days of preschool, and we have had to postpone the sprinkler party playdate that we had planned for the whole class. Very sad right? I know. Now during this time, I have been recuperating myself from a bout with the same flu as well as an upper respiratory infection. I have also been taking care of my three other children who have all been touched by the illness, including one very active 2 1/2 year old asthmatic whom I have been feeding steroids in order to build up and heal his lungs. Do you know what a 2 1/2 year old on steroids is like? Good, now imagine that is what he is like all the time, and then give him steroids. Oingo Boingo...off the walls, and I can't leave the house. I am dealing with it as best I can. We manage, we have been through much worse, and "this too shall pass".

So, today comes and I can no longer put it off. I must go to the store. Supplies are running low. Sure, I probably could have made it through a few more days before I had to replenish the Cheerios (on second thought, they are a staple of Dexter's diet, so maybe not) but I absolutely positively could not go another hour without purchasing....diapers! Seriously. All clean nappies in our possession were secured to heineys. I had to go to the store. Also, I think there are serious health benefits in getting up, getting dressed and getting out. Sometimes mental health is quite neglected in the name of physical health. Curly's temp was only 100' this morning and she quickly perked up after a dose of Tylenol. She was happy to get dressed and excited to get out of the house. Steroid boy needed a change of atmosphere, and Dexter loves to see the sights.


We all got washed and dressed and so, to Costco we were headed! Then...the phone rang. I had purposely not called "Q" this morning because I knew that no good would come of it. The ringing persisted, so I picked up the phone and dutifully gave "Q" the rundown. Updated on all the symptoms, etc. I had no choice but to mention our outing, though I did so reluctantly. As expected, "Q" made all of the usual passive aggressive comments alluding to my parenting skills and I did my best not to be too snarky in return, but rather tried to coolly change the subject and quickly end the call. (I tried not to be too snarky - I didn't say I was a model of diplomacy)



In general, I don't give a rat's ass what anyone thinks of me. I am notoriously independent and sure of myself. However, you touch a nerve when you imply that I do not know what I am doing as a mother. When I feel that I need to defend myself for going out to buy diapers, (diapers people, not crack cocaine) when you try to make me feel like the decisions I make are at the expense of my children's well-being, I become slightly "on edge". Actually, I fly into a rage. I called dear Hubby and warned him that I needed to vent about "Q". I lit into the whole story, yelling and screaming at poor, innocent and extremely understanding Hubby. A few minutes later Aunt Tay called, and I told her the whole story with equal verve. My blood was boiling.


Nothing I could do about it, I needed diapers post -haste. We got in the car and headed off to procure the necessary items, and I continued re-hashing the whole thing over and over in my mind. Outwardly I was trying to calm down, but inside I kept replaying the entire episode in my head. I must say it irks me that I am so easily irked.


Now my sweet, precocious Curly Girl is quite concerned with her future as a mother and wife. (bear with me) She often starts sentences like this "When I am the Mom...." as in: "When I am the Mom I am going to let my kids watch SpongeBob, and I will watch it with them" or "When I am the Mom I will drive a mid-size car when I have just two babies, or one". It is cute and funny and endearing to listen to her. She doesn't know it, but she is figuring out her values, and she is forging a healthy separation from me. I love hearing her talk about when she is a grown up (even though I am still trying to broker a deal with the devil himself to keep her little).

Today as we were driving to Costco, my mind all a whir because of my earlier aggravating phone conversation, she started in on one of these tangents. I started thinking quite innocently that all kids at one time or another must make similar declarations, dreaming of the day to come when they get to make the rules. I know that First Son has declared that when he is the Dad he is going to let his kids buy any kind of sugar cereal they want and take them to Disney every single vacation, and I am fairly certain that Paddy boy is hatching some type of plan that involves all lollipops, all the time. Many of us adults, saddled with the realities of responsibility have lost touch with our idealist former child selves. We enforce sensible rules and probably never eat ice cream for dinner. We are...grown-ups. In thinking about this sad fact I tried hard to remember what types of things I was determined to do so well when I finally got to be the grown-up, and if I could remember something, anything, I was going to do it with my children just because I can, because I am after all, "the Mom".

That is when it hit me. I am "the Mom." That's it. It is my turn. Everybody else has either had their shot, will get their shot or is maybe in the middle of their shot right now, and so should leave me the heck alone and take care of their own business. It's true that one day my cherubs will get to be the grown-ups, and make their own rules, either for their kids or for themselves. Today is not their day, it is mine. Today is not "Q"'s day either, that was yesterday. Everybody gets their turn to make the rules, decide what is best. Today is my day, I earned it. I dreamed about it and planned for it since I was a little kid. When I was small and thought of the day I would get to be the grownup, the thing I wanted most was to get to be the grown-up, to be the Mom, and now my day is here. I am not going to let "Q" or anyone else make me feel like less of a mother just because I decide to go get diapers. I am the Mom, thank you very much. As "the Mom" I declare that when the diaper baskets run out of diapers, I will go get more. It is my prerogative to make that rule and no one else's.

It's my turn. You had your turn. Go home. I am too busy scooping the ice cream we are eating for dinner to talk to you anyway.

The hardest thing

So? What' s the hardest thing about having a "big" family? Maybe this:

The never ending pile of clothes? I swear, I would consider joining a nudist colony if I thought any of them would take my ugly butt. I need to hire full time help just for the clothes. Do you think I could pay them in meatballs? It's all I've got.

Actually, I don't make very good meatballs. I don't have time what with all the laundry.

Actually, it's not just a matter of clean and dirty clothes.

Although, believe me, these people I live with manage to make a lot of clean clothes very dirty.

It's the constant revolving seasons and sizes. The sorting and making of piles. The trying on. The bags of goodwill that come to us, the bags of goodwill we need to send out. The tubs and tubs of clothes that I kept from each child. I barely get a chance to put any of Paddy's clothes away before I am pulling them out for Dexter. There is a bigger gap in size between First Son and Paddy, so I need to put First Son's clothes away in one tub and then pull out another tub to get new clothes for Paddy. We are SO fortunate and SO blessed that there are a few local families and friends who always pass us the items they have outgrown. Still, this is work - again, the sorting and making piles. I must say it is nice though that even though poor Dexter will be wearing hand me-downs, at least they were worn by someone else's brother, not his.

And how about the fact that I am the only person in the family capable of this task? Dear Hubby helps A LOT. I have to give him credit. He washes and dries great! He doesn't quite understand the art of folding and I think he refuses to learn out of spite. He thinks I am nuts. (so what if I am?) He slaps everything together any which way, despite my pleading and demonstrating that neat folding means neat drawers, and neat drawers mean neat rooms, and that neat rooms mean a happy Mommy and that a happy Mommy means a Happy Hubby. Ugh. He also has been known to commit such faux pas as putting my underwear in Curly's drawer (she was wondering out loud how they got so...big!) Putting Dexter's shorts in First Son's drawer, etc. It can be very frustrating, and I know that I need to be grateful that he does any of this at all. I am. Truly. But please, could you just once make sure a pair of socks is actually a pair before you ball it up and throw it into my sock bucket....only for me to be in a tremendous rush (as always), pull it out and realize that I have one sock for my size 7 1/2 size foot and one for Paddy's size 10 Toddler foot? Late again. (not my fault though)

Last year I declared Mondays to be "Laundry Monday" - all laundry for the entire week was washed and folded on Monday. Yes, this took ALL DAY and much of the night. I figured however that at least it was done in one shot and I never had to think about it again for the rest of the week, plus I caught up on all my DVR shows. Everyone around me, including some with equally "large" families thought I was crazy. Well, it worked well unless...something came up. Something always comes up you know. If there was any glitch in my plans and something didn't get put away right away, or for some reason a load stayed in the dryer...forget it. Mayhem. Clothes everywhere.

I must come up with a better plan. I am thinking Laundry everyday. I just need to get caught up now on the Spring/Summer switch, all the new Birthday goods, and the delay caused by the pestilence that recently ran rampant through our house.

Well, I must go now. I have about 80lbs of clothes to find homes for. Did I mention that I will be potty training Paddy this summer? You know how much laundry potty training creates? Yeah me.

Happy Birthday Sweet 16

Last night we had the pleasure, and honor, of attending the super sweet sixteen. Our dear babysitter (who we don't employ nearly as often as we wish we could) had a fabulous party. She has been helping us out with the kids since she was eleven and now she's sweet sixteen. Where does the time go? It was a great party, not over the top, just enough for a girl who deserves it way more than any of those spoiled rich kids on MTV! Sam is a girl who has her stuff together. She is smart, beautiful, talented, nurturing, eloquent, confident and basically everything I want to be when I grow up. Her parents are awesome people and great friends. Cara and TP, cheers to you!
It was a fun party. All of our friends were there, there was dancing and laughing and, oh yeah, drinking. There was also some crying. Happy tears. The DJ played a video montage of the last 16 years from hospital pictures right through the present day. It is ridiculous how fast 16 years go by, but when you see it in pictures it really hits home. I couldn't help but think about my own cherubs as I watched the video, and how I will blink my eyes and they will be all grown up. Then there was the father daughter dance, which gets me every time. It makes me think of my Dad, how we danced at my own sweet 16 party, and when we danced together for the last time, on my wedding day just six months before he died. It also makes me think of my Sweet Curly girl, and I think to the future, and see her all grown up dancing with Hubby - I don't know how I will keep it all together. Finally, there was the candle lighting ceremony. Wow. Talk about a great kid. Sam had chosen special people to come up and help her light each of the 17 candles on her special cake, and she said a few words about each person. She thanked her Mom & Dad for being great parents, adding that she hopes to be as great a woman as her Mom, and to find as perfect a man as her Dad. She professed her love for her younger brothers, all of her grandparents, and her very best friend.
The party last night had me reminiscing quite a bit. For as much as it made me realize how quickly my kids will grow up, I also realized that my own life has passed by just that quickly. I had a sweet 16 party, though it wasn't as fabulous as Sam's Super Sweet 16, it came from exactly the same place, a place of love. It was thrown by my brothers and sisters, and it was in a VFW hall, and there was no DJ, just a bunch of party tapes that we continuously flipped. Still, we danced and we laughed and yes, we lighted candles. I think now about the people who I had lighting the candles on my cake that night. They were so important to me then. Now, I don't talk to most of them, except for family. There was no fight, no great "falling out", just "growing up". We all went in different directions. Still, my friends are plentiful. They are people who are in the same place I am. They complement (and sometimes even compliment - but never falsely) me. If I had to put together an elaborate ceremony for the candles on my next cake, well, let's just say I would set the roof aflame. I am so blessed by the people in my life. Some of them may or may not still be here in another 16 years (okay, my sweet 16 was 17 years ago - you got me. OK, Ok. 17 1/2. Fine 17 3/4 - but that's it!) and that is okay. The important thing is that they are here now. And they were there last night. And we had just as much fun as any group of 16 year olds!
Anyway, Happy Birthday Sam. Congrats to TP and Cara. I truly do love you guys.

It begins today

I don't really do diets. I abhor diet food. I do not consume fake sugar. I would love to be a health food freak, or even a vegetarian, except that I can't. I love a good rib eye washed down with a 2 lb over loaded baked potato followed by a hot fudge sundae way too much.

One of the reasons I refuse to "diet" is because I do not want to set an example for my children, especially my daughter who at 5 already gets a lot of attention based purely on her looks, that what you look like is all that important. I always tell them that pretty comes from the inside. I am so careful not to complain about my fat self around them. I remember once having a play date with one of First Son's then 3 yr old girl friends, and she proclaimed to me that "only skinny girls can wear bikinis". Certainly a 3 yr old did not come up with that one on her own. I want to set an example for my children of having a good body image, even though they will never, ever see me in a bikini. Ever.

I make sure that my children have a pretty healthy diet. Cheerios are just about the only cereal I ever buy (plain cheerios, not even honey nut) - with the exception of birthdays and vacations when they can choose any sugar cereal they want to. We eat whole wheat bread almost exclusively. At 6 1/2 I still water down First Son's juice. Skim milk is the only beverage approved for dinnertime. Dessert is limited to 2 specific days a week and is often fruit based. I try to keep fresh fruit around, and occasionally cut up vegetables for an after school snack. Of course, at parties just about anything goes, chips, cookies even a soda for the big kids. It is okay to indulge once in a while.

The thing is, I don' set a very good example for my kids really. I talk the talk, but I do NOT walk the walk. I drink soda and other sugary sweet beverages right in front of them almost daily, while I tell them that they can't have them because they aren't healthy. I sneak candy and other sweets. I gorge on ginormous bowls of ice cream. On family movie nights, I pop two bags of popcorn. One for them to share and one for me to pig out on.

A few months ago I started doing Weight Watchers online. I have had success with WW meetings in the past, but I just can't fit another meeting into my schedule. I was doing pretty well, lost about 10 pounds and I definitely saw my tummy slimming and physically I was feeling really good. My goal was to lose about 20 lbs before Dexter's party. Well, we had a party for my MIL, for which I made lots of yummy treats. I let myself indulge. That week when I weighed in I gained about two pounds. That was it. I was so discouraged I threw in the towel.

Since then there have been several times when I have said okay, "tomorrow is the day". Something always comes up though, and I continue my bad habits. This past weekend we had Dexter's party, and boy did reality hit me. I picked up a cute little outfit for myself (without trying it on - I never try clothes on) and when I got it on, I looked like a three tier cake. (not ace of cakes cake - sloppy mud pie cake) There were bulges on top of bulges. I refuse, refuse, refuse to buy a bigger size.
I do not look healthy, I do not have healthy habits, or a good body image, and I am not setting a good example for my kids.
So, that's it. It begins today. I must get myself back on the wagon, so to speak. No more excuses. It doesn't matter what parties are coming up - I am a social person, there is always a party. I can't put it off anymore. I need to take care of myself, for the sake of my children, I need to be healthier. So, from today it's water or skim milk to drink. One cup of tea in the morning with just 1 tbsp of sugar, measured. Cheerios for breakfast within an hour of waking, and air popped popcorn only. The trays and bowls of mayonnaise laden deliciousness in my fridge leftover from the party will have to take up residence on someone else's hips via someone else's lips. I am having a salad.
Please, don't wish me luck, wish me willpower!

Party Prayer

About a week or so before their birthdays I start regaling my children with stories that begin " 6 years ago today ( or 5, or 2 , or ...1) my belly was SO fat." The older ones are used to it by now, in fact, I dare say they look forward to my silly stories about the creature kicking me from inside, reveling in the fact that I am talking about them. Then we talk about how the doctor made a little cut in my belly and pulled the baby out, announcing with joy "It's a Boy/Girl!" and then how, the baby cried, and Mommy cried, and even Daddy cried, because we were all so happy to finally meet each other. We talk about LOVE. We share hugs and kisses, and lots of shnuggles.

Birthdays are such a happy time in our house. We plan months in advance, and we celebrate much more than just a day. We always start at the beginning, with breakfast. Usually, pancakes with a candle. (this year Curly announced days before her fete that she was "sick of pancakes" [we do eat a lot of pancakes] , and so she blew out a candle on a cinnamon muffin, but otherwise it's pancakes). Sometimes there is a special birthday outfit, and balloons. There are usually about 3 "parties", maybe four if you count the cupcakes I send in to school. There's the day of your birth, which mandates dinner, cake and presents; and then we have your friends over for a playdate/party extravaganza, and then finally the whole dam fam comes over to celebrate on the weekend.

I vow that no matter how old I get, no matter how wrinkled and saggy and "decrepit", I will always, always be joyful on my birthday.

This month (okay, the month that just passed) we celebrated two fabulous birthdays in our house. I am exhausted. First, my sweet Curly Girl turned 5 on 5-5. Margarita anyone? Well yes, but not until we've had a proper tea. Curly had 6 of her best buddies and their favorite Dollies over for a tea party. And I do mean a proper tea. Crazy party mama - that's me, btw - rented table and chairs, china and linen. We decorated with tulle and silks and set to brewing blueberry tea and pink lemonade. There was musical chairs, and ring around the rosy, and hot "teapot" - our own version of hot potato. We ate cucumber tea sandwiches and scones with cream, and finished off with pink creampuffs. Curly was gifted with her very first American Girl doll ( I don't know who is more excited, she or I?!)
Just ten days later the milestone of milestones...Dexter, my baby - turned one. To quote First son - "that was fast". We celebrated this weekend with a grand fete. We decorated with bright colors, cooked up a storm and invited anyone and everyone to join in our glee. It was a great day. Dexter's Godmom arrived from Philfadelphia and helped with all the details, the weather cooperated and I only lost one balloon in the parking lot of Party City. Almost everyone who said they were coming showed up, and most even stayed long enough to see the cake cut. I had lots of cheerful help from friends, family and neighbors, and we had a lot of fun. It was a great day.

I love my children's birthdays. I look forward to them so much. It isn't just because I love to plan a party, although I truly do. Their birthdays mark a day in my life, when life became so much richer, the day they were each born, I was reborn. For me, my child's birthday is a day of thanksgiving. I am just so grateful that God has gifted me with each of these beautiful creatures, I overflow with joy. Who am I that I deserve these blessings? I am not worthy, but I am so grateful - I need to celebrate. Can a party be a prayer? I must say, if I am the one throwing it, it sure can be.