Three is the New Five

Opportunity Cost

2012-01-10T12:33:00.013-05:00

Remember when you were little and people used to ask you what it was you wanted to be when you grew up? I aspired to many varied things, a teacher (but then, I think every little kid, or at least little girl, dreams of being a teacher at some point) an actress (I dabbled, but never professionally), a waitress (fait accompli!) , a lawyer and yes, a priest (not a nun mind you, a priest! - I have to settle for catechist until the Catholic church starts welcoming divorced women to take up the cloth). Truthfully though I spent a lot of my day playing with baby dolls. Being their "Mommy". I don't know if it was because I lost my own Mom when I was so young, or because I was always surrounded by my older sister's babies, but being a Mommy is all I ever truly wanted.

For the last nine and a half years I have had my dream job. I have never felt that I gave up anything for my kids, I have always known that I have been on the receiving end of this arrangement. I have looked at my "have tos" as "get tos". I don't "have to" get up with my crying baby 3 times a night, I "get to". I know that it won't last forever and so I cherish it. Of course, that is not to say that I don't have my moments (every day) when I want to scream and yell and pull my hair out, or that I don't wait each day for the moment when they finally "go the F**K to sleep" (as the clever book by Adam Mansbach is titled) , because believe me, I do. I am not about to paint any rosy fairy tale pictures of my dreamy June Cleaver life. It's messy, and ugly and loud and... I LOVE IT.

My daughter, all seven years of her, dreams of one day being married and having babies of her own. So sweet and familiar. Bittersweet though because I struggle with how to protect her, how to try and see that she not make the same mistakes in life that I did. But then, that's not really fair is it? To say that I made a mistake? My life is good. I have four amazing people that I "get to" guide on this journey with me. I wake up every day to their smiles and every morning I wrap them in my hugs. I send them off to school with the Sign of the Cross on their forehead and a wish that God will bless them, that they each have a "wonderful, beautiful, very good day" because, "I love them very much". But still...nothing in life is certain and I want my babies, my daughter especially, to be prepared. I have tried to plant the seed that marriage is not the goal, just part of the game. I have told her straight out that I want her to be able to take care of herself first. I have explained my situation, I don't have a career to fall back on. Nobody is hiring professional Mommies. If I could have done anything differently in my life it would have been to not be in such a rush. I would have taken my time getting married and having babies - I would have tried to trust that you can have a career and a family. I still would have stayed home with my cherubs, but at least I would have options better than the ones I have now.

Here's the crazy thing. I am smart. Really smart. I could have been anything I wanted to be when I "grew up". I still can, right? I have a degree in business. I started earning it while I was working full time and finished it when I was bouncing Firstson on my hip. One of the things I remember learning in business school was about "opportunity cost". That is, everything you do comes at the cost of not doing something else. I am at a place in my life right now that while it is so good, it is also fleeting. I feel very strongly that I have to figure out what I am going to be. I meditated on this for a while after I became a single stay at home mom. I want to take this opportunity I have been given, this time when my bills are still being paid and while my family is still so willing to help, to figure it out and make it happen. I desperately do not want to get stuck behind a desk doing some "job". Been there, done that, hated it.

I would be a great lawyer. I have always thought about it. I am a good writer, an excellent reader, I have an eye for detail and I am creative. I would love to feel like I was helping people and still be making a decent salary. (how awesome would it be to use child support payments to cover family vacations - in other words, be able to provide for myself and my children everything else) I waited for a sign and when I felt I had received it I jumped right in. I registered for classes at Empire State College to finish my bachelor's degree. Independent Studies. Not online courses, independent studies. As in, read this textbook, write a paper and give me a call to discuss.

Here's where that opportunity cost thing comes in...every time we say "yes" to one thing we are automatically saying "no" to something else. I have had a hard time with these classes, not the content, the time management. At the end of my day I am spent. I go full steam ahead from early in the am until those sweeties fall to slumber - which is usually after quite a battle. I have taken some incompletes in my classes, and I really don't know when or how to complete them. It's a mess, because I think I have to do something, time is running out!

I think to myself, if I can't handle this, how will I ever handle law school? Not to mention the fact that law school is expensive, and I am poor. There's the fact that jobs for new attorneys are hard to come by these days. The Niece's husband just graduated and passed the bar. Thankfully he had a job lined up, but apparently with his student loans now coming due they are actually netting less than they were before he became a lawyer and will be for the next ten years or so. Also, I think about all the sacrifices he made while in law school, and wonder if I would be willing to make the same ones. I have four cherubs who are my life. I am a Catechist and a Girl Scout leader. I am baby "G"'s favorite great aunt and thrice weekly caregiver. I make dinner. I do laundry. I decorate my house for all the holidays and I make cupcakes. All of these things are part of my job, remember my dream job? I am just temping, but I am giving it my all, I don't know what I could give up.

I remember when I was a teenager in HS and I wanted to be in every after school club that was offered, my father had an important conversation with me in which he said "you can't give 100% to one hundred different things, you need to pick something and be good at it." How could I know that some 20 years later those words would be so relevant? So, for now I am going to continue working hard at my job everyday. I am a good Mom (I am assured of this everyday when Paddy-boy yells that I am the 'wurst mommy evah!' ) I am going to live in the now as much as I can and heed the advice of my Heavenly Father to not worry about tomorrow. After all, the only thing that is guaranteed is today, right? So, I will continue hugging and blessing my babies each morning, packing their lunchboxes with carrot sticks and sandwiches, filling their drawers with clean clothes and pulling my hair out each night waiting for them to fall to sleep. I am going to give 100% of myself to this job, to this calling and have faith that God will provide.

Maybe someday I will go to law school, maybe someday I will weep proudly when Curly Girl calls to tell me that she passed the Bar Exam. All I know is that right now, I am going to pack up some snacks and pile the kids into the car for religion. It's Tuesday and the slow cooker is on. Life is good today, and today is all I've got.

Voulez vous couchez avec moi....?

2011-09-15T07:22:00.003-04:00

I love my bed. I do. For multitude of reasons. First, it is my respite at the end of my always hectic day. My reward for making it to the finish line with four and sometimes five still living and breathing and relatively unscathed. Also, I am really good at sleeping. It is kind of a talent of mine. I love to sleep. If it were an Olympic event I would be an undisputed gold medalist. My bed is my well worn favorite pair of running sneakers.

After my husband left the bed was kind of strange. For one thing, it's really big. King sized, big for two people, enormous for one. At first I would only sleep on "my side", the other side of the bed belonged to him, and he was gone. Then one day I decided to be a rebel. It was finally becoming clear to me that he wasn't coming back, and so I slept on the other side - marking it as mine! As time went by I started exorcising all traces of his ever having lived there, cleaning out the drawers and closets and eventually painting the walls and completely redecorating the whole room. It was a big part of my healing, that room. I chased all the ghosts of my marriage away and created a place all for me, the new me. I painted it a rich dark purple and treated myself to an indulgent bedding set in deep red and gold and even splurged on all the accent pillows. Everyday I wake up and make my bed. Even if the rest of the house is a disaster, which it usually is. I love to walk by my bedroom and see that glorious fluffy bed waiting for me. It makes me feel so good, like I have it all together, which I so do not!

Each night after I wrestle the cherubs to bed I retire to my glorious bed! I kid myself that my bed is the one place in the house that is all mine, and I love it. I fall asleep square in the middle of the bed, kicking my legs around anyway I want.

The real reason I love my bed? Almost every morning, although I fall asleep with 76" all to myself, I find myself waking up balanced delicately on about 6", with tiny bodies glued to either side of me. My back aches as I cannot move in either direction, I am hot and sweaty from way too much body heat, and there's a crick in my neck! Some nights I send the little buggers back to their own bed. I almost always make them fall asleep in their own beds at the start of the evening. I make exceptions though, like when someone seems particularly needy. Usually this is one of the big kids, who have their own stresses in life and sometimes need the closeness of mom and the comfort of those 76" to help re-charge their batteries. Sometimes I am just too darned tired to get up myself, much less carry a heavy sleepy baby. I know that I shouldn't let my kids sleep in my bed for all kinds of expert reasons. The way I figure it though, they aren't going to be little forever. Soon enough they will be slamming their doors on me claiming their need for privacy! The fact that Firstson is now in fourth grade when just yesterday he was in diapers has me certain that by next week he will be graduating college - and he certainly won't want me cuddling him then! Our lives are busy, insanely busy. Sometimes the days fly by so fast and we don't have much time together. So, when they crawl into my bed in the middle of the night, I cherish them rather than chase them. Someday my house will be very clean, and very quiet and I shall be very lonely. When that day comes my bed shall be truly mine. Until then, I am happy to have my sweet cherubs kicking me in the ribs!

On my own

2011-08-29T21:57:00.004-04:00

Back when I had a "husband in residence" I would get my panties quite ruffled whenever he would have to go out of town for business. I dreaded the inevitable chaos of being alone 24 hours a day with four tiny kids. Now I look back at those times and chuckle. For the past two years I have been doing this on my own. In truth, I have been doing a lot of it on my own for even longer than that. When people find out that I am a single Mom of four young kids they usually respond with awe, I often hear things like - "I can barely handle two (or one), how do you do it with four -and all alone!" Well, I probably don't have to tell you it's hard. Really hard. Being a Mom is a challenge no matter what your circumstances.

In the beginning, when I not only had 4, but four including a difficult two year old (that would seem redundant unless you actually knew Paddy boy at age two, in which case you know it's a huge understatement), and a 15 month old baby, I was running on empty all the time. I was determined to be the best mother I could be, to do all that I could do to protect my sweet cherubs from the inevitable pain of their parents' divorce. I did the one thing that has for all my life been the most difficult, I reached out and asked for help. I humbled myself enough to see that I had to accept help from others. I have so many to whom I am eternally and perpetually grateful (you know who you are). Let me tell you, Hillary was right, it does take a village.

I love being a Mom, in fact, it is the only thing I ever wanted to be. I was dealt a huge blow. My heart was broken and my world was turned upside down and I needed to pick myself up and take care of me so that I could take care of my kids. Kind of like when you listen to the safety instructions on an airplane (you do listen to the safety instructions pre-flight, right?) and they tell you that you need to put on your oxygen mask before helping someone else with theirs. I call it the oxygen mask theory of parenting. I had to take care of me as a means to take care of my kids. I was careful. I got myself a therapist, a spiritual director and a prescription. I steered clear of alcohol. I took my time and tried not to get overwhelmed. I admitted my weaknesses in order that I might be able to turn them into strengths. I became determined. While I admitted my need to accept help, I also realized that my goal was to be able to do it all, on my own. Even if I didn't have to do it alone, I wanted to know that I could. With time I was able to cut down my therapy appointments to every other week, sweep my own floor, cook my own dinners and even enjoy an occasional glass of wine without fear of it spawning an all out addiction. I learned that where the kids are involved I need to choose my battles, decide what I can let slide and what is non-negotiable.

So, as I said it's been just about two years now, and last week my need to be super mom peaked when I took four kids on vacation by myself. To an amusement park. We all survived. I only lost one kid, and only for about 5 minutes. We even had fun. Actually, we had a blast. We trashed a hotel room -ordered movies, junk food wrappers everywhere, bed jumping and diving and we were probably even a little loud. (can you say - "understatement"?) We met Elmo, Cookie Monster and Big Bird (although Dexter kept referring to him as the Big Chicken, making me suspicious that 24hrs of Disney Channel and Nick Jr. programming may be lessening the iconic effects of PBS). We managed to do it on a budget by eating breakfast and lunch in the hotel picnic style, and by stocking up on glow ropes at the local party store before we left. We made memories to last a lifetime and we did it on our own. We are a team, my cherubs and I.

Now then, I seriously need a vacation from my vacation. Four kids are exhausting.

Post script - I am never really on my own. I have the most amazing family helping me all the time in all kinds of ways, wonderful friends, and of course the never ending love and protection of the Lord! Thank you all.

Get On it

2011-04-06T17:51:00.003-04:00

The tooth fairy sucks. At least in my house she does. When First Son lost his first tooth the tooth fairy was "on it". She was so excited. She anxiously awaited the moment when true slumber would set in, then she set about her business. Her intended purpose. Her raison d'etre! She slipped quietly between the pillow and mattress, extracted the precious gem, leaving in it's place a selection of golden coins. On the bedside, a personal letter to the newly toothless kindergartener extolling the virtues of his excellent dental hygiene which had of course produced such an awesome specimen for her collection. Said letter was printed prettily in a fairy-esqe font on a wispy ethereal slice of vellum and tied with a gorgeous silver ribbon. The next morning was filled with the delirious cacophony that comes when children discover something magical. On it. The tooth fairy was on it.

Last week first son had two baby teeth extracted by Dr. Dentist for reasons which fall under the category of unfortunate genetics. They were set in an adorable little plastic treasure chest that first son placed delicately under his pillow. Tooth fairy? She was off on a bender apparently. No note, no gold coins. Just a puddle of drool on the pillow and a look of disappointment and shrug of the shoulders from the now third grader. That damn tooth fairy is really blowing it. In the recent past I have found myself making all manner of excuses for her dropping the ball. "Fairies can't fly in the rain" " Maybe she caught that flu that's been going around." " The tooth dropped on the floor and she couldn't find it" I mean seriously. How hard is it to set your damn alarm get your ass up undetected in the middle of the night Miss Tooth Fairy? What happened to your "raison d'etre"? It is your job. Your only job. Leave a special little something for the newly toothless cherubs. What kind of mythical creature are you anyway?

By my count there are more than 60 deciduous little teeth yet to loosen themselves from the mouths of my cherubs....setting my alarm.

Underwhere?

2010-07-05T13:09:00.004-04:00

So... I cleaned out my underwear drawer today. Are you intrigued about what I found???

I threw out some old brassieres that had stretched elastic and bent clips, some old panties from Vicky's 5 seasons ago when they still made underwear that covered your ass, a few bottles of lotion and even an old pregnancy test (two lines! - yes, I did save it -I know, yuck, like any kid is going to want to see the stick Mom peed on to find out about their impending arrival, but pregnancy hormones make you do weird stuff!) I reorganized fancy pants and cotton pants and..."control" pants, belts, scarves and bras by color. I can now lay a proper foundation for any outfit in no time!

There were a few things hiding in my underwear drawer that I just don't know what to do with...should I save them for sentimental reasons or do I throw them out as if they never existed?

What do I do with all of the baby teeth the tooth fairy has collected and deposited in my underwear drawer? Really? Am I a bad Mom if I throw away these tiny treasures or am I sick and disgusting for saving them even this long? What if one of my children becomes involved in a crazy cult some day and needs his/her baby teeth to exorcise a demon? (really? I wonder where Paddy boy's imagination comes from)

What does the tooth fairy DO with all of those baby teeth at your house?

Full Circle

2010-06-26T12:10:00.007-04:00

It is just one year ago this weekend that I started to become aware of how much my life was about to change. My husband was away on business, and even though we still hadn't quite ironed out our differences from an argument a few weeks earlier, my heart ached from missing him. I anxiously awaited his return, wanting so much to feel his strong arms wrap around me and his soft lips meet mine, but I was left feeling very cold when the reunion was anything but warm.

One year ago this weekend he first mentioned how unsure he was, that he didn't really know what he wanted. Just a few days later, sitting on the beach he told me that he was "done", that he would no longer share an emotional connection with me, it was too much for him to bear. Despite the tears and the pleading and begging on my part, he pronounced that from then on we would merely be partners in raising our children. There would be no emotion involved. No love, no fighting, no sex. I told him that was the "stupidest thing I ever heard".

And so I began the fight of my life. It wasn't for at least another week that I would find out about his illicit relationships (yes, plural, but that is another story for another day), my mind was already made up, I was not going to give up easily. For the next three months that he continued to live at home, and even beyond, I fought with all my being to save my marriage. I made fabulous dinners, I made desperate love, I made counseling appointments, and I made it to Mass every Sunday and most weekdays too, because even if Hubby was deaf to my pleading surely God was not. I offered to turn myself into a contortionist of sorts, willing to bend whatever way necessary to save our marriage, to save my life as I knew it, and to protect my children from having to feel the inevitable pain that comes with a broken family.

Lord, just thinking about those days gives me a pit in my stomach. It all came about so unexpectedly. I was completely blind-sided by the break-up. It hurt. Badly. It hurt to try so hard, and get nothing in return. It hurt to be so needy. To be so broken. It was a dark, dark time in my life, and even though my strong faith assured me that someday there would be light, it was at times a struggle to keep hope. I did though, keep hope, at times I didn't know what I was hoping for, but I never gave up.

Now here I sit, one year later. I am in no way basking in sunshine just yet, but I am no longer cowering in a dark corner. I am still fighting, only now I am fighting for myself, for my children, for our future. My marriage is, for all intents and purposes, over. I am sad, but I am okay. I never thought I would, but I have survived this far and I intend to keep going.

I am in a hotel room for the weekend, in Albany, NY. I am here with the Niece, babysitting her sweet one month old baby "g" so that she and her husband can attend the nuptials of a longtime friend. It is a vacation for me. I will gladly trade four messy kids in a messy house for a sweet smelling infant, room service and complete control of the remote (plus, in case you haven't noticed, time to blog).

It is so ironic. We just never know where life is going to take us, do we? I promise you this, eventually, it comes full circle.

I haven't been to Albany since I left here in tears in January of 1995, over fifteen years ago. I had been a student at the University of Albany, right out of high school and with enough financial aid that I didn't have to worry about much. I went away to college for the wrong reasons though, and it didn't work out. I wasn't a party animal, but I wasn't a good student and it caught up to me. At first I was on academic probation, and then finally I was, how did they put it? Oh yeah, "Kicked Out".

It all seems so far away now, I almost forget that at the time it was Armageddon. I didn't tell any of my family until all was over and done with. I struggled in secret for weeks with what I knew was certain failure and I kept it all to myself. I wrote a letter to the administration, I sat before the board begging for a change of heart that didn't come. At the end of the day I had to pack up my dorm room and call my family to tell them I was coming home. It was awful. My soul sister Chiquita was there to drive me home while I cried and sobbed and basically fell apart. When I got home, my family was there to help me pick up the pieces. It was a dark time, not something I like to talk about, I really truly thought my life was over. I couldn't see past the failure of that "today" to even imagine the success of my tomorrows. I did it though. I picked myself up and I kept going. I eventually earned a business degree. I eventually married, bought a house and I have four amazing cherubs, and beautiful friendships.

I am once again faced with a failure of "today". This time however, I see the possibility that is held in my tomorrows. I am not going to let myself be defined by my divorce any more than I am defined by the "academic dismissal" that is on my permanent record. I am so much more.

I am healing. I am growing as a person, becoming better every day. I am strong. I am not broken, just bruised. I have no idea what the future is going to hold for me, I know that it will be at times wonderful and amazing, and I know that at times it will be dark and scary. I also know that the darkness doesn't last forever.

Two of a kind, sort of

2010-02-03T22:44:00.004-05:00

This is the picture that my Curly Girl recently made for me. It's us. She and I, me and her.

I love it.

I love that we both have curly hair. Mine is brown and hers is yellow. As you can see from her artful swirleys.

I also love that while our outfits coordinate, they are not all matchy matchy. I like that. She is wearing a purple shirt and red pants, where I am wearing a red shirt and purple pants.

I LOVE that I am wearing purple pants.
I wish I had real purple pants.
I do have purple shoes though. Real purple shoes. They are so cool.

Oh! and big fat flower hands! I mean, do you love the big fat flower hands?

What a girl, my Curly Girl.

Princess of Power?

2010-01-13T00:54:00.003-05:00

On the infrequent occasions when I sit and consider myself in comparison to children's fictional characters I usually lean more towards She-ra Princess of Power than say, Little Miss Muffett. Usually. She-ra is known for her superhuman strength, speed, stamina, agility, reflexes, and durability. That's me. I take it all on, no fear. I even shop the cereal aisle with four children and emerge unscathed with my box of plain old "toasted oats" - if that doesn't demonstrate stamina, agility and super-human strength you probably use Peapod.

Since my husband left I have had so many people offering to help. Friends, neighbors. You know "please let me know if there is anything I can do" - "Thank you, I will". I am pretty self-sufficient, uncomfortable taking help. In the beginning I could barely function and so I did have friends and family here helping all the time, but only the people closest to me. They were here, helping with the kids, cleaning the kitchen, sorting through baby clothes, etc. Some neighbors have brought over groceries, flowers and even dinner on occasion, but still, they offer to help, "if I need it".

My therapist tells me that it is important to accept other's offers of help. It helps them feel helpful. In other words, my acceptance of help is actually a charitable act of my own. I consider myself to be a generous and charitable individual, so this view presents me with a bit of a conundrum. I feel compelled, but I don't know what to ask for. I don't know how to let these people help. In truth, I don't need that much, save for some magic potion to shake some sense into Uncle Dad and bring healing and restore trust in my broken marriage. Short of asking for black magic, I just don't know when the opportunity would present itself that I could help these people and allow them to help me. Imagine my surprise when, a few weeks back I was presented not just with an opportunity, but with an absolute dire need for neighborly assistance.

I was sitting in my living room on a lazy Saturday morning enjoying my Christmas tree and the company of my dear friend from Philfadelfia, DD. I was in my pajamas, sipping some hot tea, and she was relaxing on the chaise singing nursery rhymes to her godson Dexter (both in pajamas). All of a sudden we heard a "thud" (incidentally, I LOVE a good onomatopoeia, don't you?). DD declared that she definitely heard eight individual, yet synchronized thuds. Upon further investigation I found that she was indeed right...it was the biggest, huge-est, most insanely large arachnid I had ever seen.

She-ra: exit stage left. Miss Muffet: enter stage right. Cue girly screaming. Ew. Spider!

Damn it! Where is a man when you need him! Ugh. First Son, is unfortunately just as afraid of spiders as I am. Fortunately though, he is quite capable of dialing the phone. I screamed the neighbor's phone number and had First Son tell them that Mom needed a Man NOW!!! (hmmm...I am only now hearing just how..wrong that sounds...) I kept my eye on the creature while we waited for help to arrive. If we had lost sight of that ...thing, I would have had no choice but to put the for sale sign on the lawn and head to the Motel 8, cuz there ain't no way I be sleepin in the same house with a mutant arachnid. (That's right, I said "ain't")

So there I am in my living room, in my pajamas, on the verge of tears doing my charitable good deed for the sake of my neighbor down the block. I won't mention his 12 year old daughter who stood in my hallway watching the whole scene unfold and laughing her ass off, though perhaps there was charity even in that.

I can handle a lot. I have four little kids. I have seen poop, and vomit and temper tantrums that would make your hair stand up. I can tell you true life stories that the greatest writers of our time could not make up. I am not a lightweight, but to be fair, this spider was no Charlotte of Wilbur's "Some Pig" fame. This spider would have eaten your baby just like a dingo.

She-ra. Princess of Power. At the end of the day, still just a girl afraid of a spider.

Gratitude

2009-12-31T15:12:00.000-05:00

Last night as I drifted off to sleep I held my CurlyGirl's perfect pudgy little hand in the clamshell of my palms. So sweet, so small, so peaceful in her slumber. An angel sent from God. As I lay there enjoying the quiet of the evening, and the closeness of my daughter, I listened to each of her slow even breaths and paced my own to match. A prayer perched upon my lips...

My Dear Merciful and Loving God,

THANK YOU.

I am going to be Okay. You have sent me so many angels. You are with me each moment of every day, I feel you here with me. You have given me my family, my friends who are a second family, my beautiful, amazing children and so many blessings.

This year has been long and hard and I am glad to put it to rest, but I value each heart wrenching day that I have survived. I am a stronger, smarter, happier person. I am a better mother. I value all of the relationships in my life more than ever. I know who my friends are, and who they are not. I know what is important to me, and I know what things I can let go of.

I still cry, but I also laugh. I vowed that I would find Joy, and I have. I find joy, look for it , search for it. It is an active pursuit. Joy is a decision that I make each day. I am proud of myself. I never wanted to be a single mother. I never wanted this life. This was not part of my plan, but life doesn't always go along according to our plans. Separation, divorce - these are not part of my value system, but marriage requires two. I am but one, and so each day I try my best, and when I lay down to sleep at night I am grateful to have made it through another day.

I am so full of gratitude. First to God, who provides all things for me.

Next, for my children. My sweet cherubs who give purpose to my day. They are always by my side to make me laugh, to give me hugs, and to redirect my focus from my needs to theirs.

My sisters, who have been here for me in so many ways, to sit with me and cry, to make me laugh, help me keep perspective, to brainstorm idealistic revenge plots and to watch my kids. My niece, who is like another sister, and who has taken on all of the sister duties listed above, as well as several late night (early morning) desperate phone calls, sinks full of dirty dishes and sticky children in the midst of complete temper tantrums. Also, her extremely patient husband.

My brothers and BIL and nephews, who sit and stew in quiet contemplation ready to pounce to my defense, to pick up the slack and who long to find a way out of the helplessness that traps them.

My aunts and cousins who send cards and e-mails and offer prayers.

There are my in-laws, who are in a very precarious position. They love their son of course, and this I understand only because I too am a mother, but they are heartbroken because of his actions. They are so good to me. My mother in law is here almost every day, helping with the kids, bringing groceries, sweeping the floor. She builds me up and reassures me each day that I am a good Mom, that I am doing a good job. I do not honestly know what I would do without her - how crazy that the great chasm between myself and my husband has brought me closer to my mother in law, but again that is life for you.

I have Sister Patty. I meet with her each week and she knows just what to say to help me see the "God" in all of this.

I have my friends. Wonderful friends who call me, e-mail me and drop by to see how I am doing. Exceptional women who are always here and always seem to know just what to say. Friends who bring me dinner, bring me books and ice cream and statues of Indian gods. Friends who bring me hope. Friends are pulling me through this darkest night. They have swept my floor, watched my children, invited me to dinner, brought me chai and most importantly listened to me for hours and hours on end. My girls, you know who you are and I love every one of you.

I cherish all of these angels. My life is good, different, but good. I am blessed and I am ready for the New Year. Thank you, Lord.

A dream denied

2009-10-28T23:51:00.001-04:00

Life is not fair. It's not. Life is not fair.

Tell me something I don't already know.

Today is my birthday. The anniversary of the day my mother so gracefully brought me into this world. For a long time, this day was the one I have most anticipated, celebrating as if it were a sort of unofficial holiday. Then I became a mother. Now my most favorite days are my children's birthdays. All four of them. I guess when you have a child they automatically become more important, more amazing than you are, even in your own mind. Since I have become a mom I have come to think of birthdays as being as much a celebration of the mother who did the birthing as it is of the child who was born. For the last 28 birthdays, I have had to celebrate without my mother.

When I was six years old my mother died. She was sick. A lot of my memories are of her being sickly. In and out of the hospital. Having to be careful and cautious. I remember wanting so badly for her to be able to come upstairs and tuck me in to bed, and my Dad being upset if she did. She needed to "take it easy". Then, one spring day when I was six years old my world changed forever. I was in first grade and I had been sitting with her reading Sally, Dick & Jane. Suddenly she didn't feel right, she needed to go into the bathroom. Next, she was asking me to wet a cool washcloth for her, and go wake up Daddy. Not long after, I watched her wave to me for the last time from the passenger seat of our car as it pulled out of the driveway and my Dad rushed her off to the hospital.

I am 34 years old today and the memories of my Mom leaving that day still bring me to my knees.

My sister and I went "across the street" to our neighbors and friends and played Atari. Later that night we returned home, and I went to bed. I could hear downstairs that other people were there, and the Stanley Cup hockey was on. I already felt so lonely and scared. I pooled all of the blankets around me in a circle, creating a sacred private space for myself to try to feel safe, but I fell asleep feeling very scared. In the morning it was my aunt, my mother's sister, who came upstairs to tell me that there was "no more Mommy".

No child should have to hear those words, or words like them, but they have rattled in my brain ever since. Life isn't fair.

As you might imagine, from that day on I was changed. Just as a mother is defined in the moment her child takes her first breath, I was defined when my mother breathed her last. I was formed into the mother I am today so many years ago when I became a motherless daughter.

Although it means different things for all of us, we all want better for our children than we had for ourselves. I wanted "normal". I wanted the sitcom family a la "The Cosby Show", "Growing Pains" or "Family Ties". I wanted a family. I wanted family dinners with lots of siblings around the table sharing stories about the day. I wanted drawers full of clean clothes, lunchboxes full of carrot sticks and sandwiches. Milk and cookies and Mom waiting after school to help with the homework. I wanted fresh Christmas trees, Sunday church and pot roast. I wanted a Mom and a Dad.

This year when the anniversary of my mother's death approached it was particularly poignant for me. My FirstSon was six years old. It struck me hard to realize that in his short life he had already lived more time with his Mom by his side than I ever did with mine. I also realized that while the past six years have created rich memories for me, have been in fact the greatest time of my life, FirstSon will probably not remember much of it himself. Basically, it hit me this past spring that if I were to die (and as irrational as I know it is, I am always afraid that I am going to die), this whole time would boil down to very little in the memory of my precious children. It made me sad to think of it.

Now of course, I didn't die. No one has. Not really. My marriage. My dreams, maybe. My children can't possibly comprehend what they have lost. They will live a new "normal", and it will be okay, but I will remember. I will remember the time when we were a family, when we were everything I ever wanted.

I wanted so much more for my children. I tried so hard. I thought I had it all. I did have it all. Something, no, someone changed somewhere and now it is gone. Everything that I didn't want for my children to experience is happening, and it is out of my control. IT SUCKS. It sucks to realize that you cannot control what happens to your children, that you can't always protect them from getting hurt. Right now the best I can do is hold them in my arms, kiss away their tears and love them. Life is not fair, but they have their mother.

I Will Find Joy

2009-10-27T22:15:00.006-04:00

This has been my mantra of late. I don't know where it came from, but it has been playing over and over in my head. It is true, my life right now is nothing that I ever thought it would be. It is nothing short of a nightmare. In a million years I never thought I would be googling "divorce mediation". I never pictured myself packing an overnight bag for my kids to spend the night with their father. I am living in bizarro world. It's weird, uncomfortable and I don't like it. It is a work in progress though, and while there are a lot of bad days, lately there are some good days too, and for that I am grateful.

Have I mentioned that I have the four most amazing cherubs? They bring so much light to my world, to my life. Every night at least one of them crawls into my bed and shnuggles up close to me. In the past I would have been diligent about shuffling them back to their own beds, but lately I am way too tired, and besides, I like having them there. In the morning we hug and shnuggle, we giggle and talk. They are absolutely delicious, better than cinnamon rolls oozing with sweet gooey frosting. They are my reason for being, they are the ones who make me smile, even make me laugh. My children are my greatest blessing, and in them I will find joy.

I Don't want a Strap-on

2009-10-16T10:03:00.008-04:00

There's another thing that happens when I am having a bad day. (such as today) I start missing my husband with a terrible ache. I imagine a patient who has lost a limb in some terrible trauma waking from a coma to find that their life, their very selves are irrevocably changed. The arm is gone, they scream, they cry, they get angry, they grieve. After a while they accept, a prosthesis is created, a strap on, semblance of what used to be. Skills are re-learned and eventually life goes on. They learn to live this new one armed existence, but, each morning when they first awaken- reality stings. They expect their arm to be there, reaching to shut the blaring alarm, but nothing it seems is where it is supposed to be.

I want to call my husband, text him, e-mail him. I want to say:

I love you.

I am sorry.

So sorry.

Please come home. Please let's fix this.

Please, I love you.

I want to wrap my arms around him, I want to burrow my head in his chest. I want to feel his lips on mine. I want to wake up with two arms, damn it!

Today is a cold rainy day. It reminds me of a day we shared thirteen years ago when we were young, in love and relatively unencumbered by responsibility. We were in college. Separate colleges, but mine was on the way to his and so he would drive me. On this particular morning we got ready for school and climbed into his cold ugly gold mazda pick-up truck and headed on our way. Well, we only got to the first exit on the parkway before we decided that it would be a much better idea to turn around and go back home to cuddle under the covers - just skip school altogether and spend the day instead wrapped in the warmth of each other's arms. That was the day that a family tradition was born..the "shnuggle". An early morning, still under the covers, warm and cuddly hug that lasts half a day or more. Our children love to shnuggle.

Today is a day like that. Only, I have woken up once again to find that my arm is missing. I must start the process all over.

I have said it all. I have begged. I have pleaded, I have bargained. I have said I love you through tears, and with calm, steely resolve. I am gifted with words, and I have used them. Every combination I can think of. I keep thinking that there must be some way to get through to him. If I could just figure out the riddle, unlock the code. Sometimes I get discouraged. I feel like I have tried everything, and I am exhausted. Emotionally exhausted. Physically exhausted. Bent. Broken.

It is frustrating, but the truth is that there is nothing I can say. He has to want to be here, and right now he doesn't.

I love you. I miss you. I want to make things right. I want to fix our family. Please. Come home. It is a cold, rainy day. Let's go back to bed

It must be nice

2009-10-13T08:00:00.003-04:00

Yesterday I made an apple pie. I gave Dexter a haircut and a bath. I sat outside and chatted with a neighbor while I watched my kids ride bikes "in the street". I am trying to get on with my life. Yesterday was pretty good. I didn't even take a Xanax. I made some spaghetti for dinner (a team favorite), and then left my sister with the cherubs while I went to see my therapist. My therapist thinks I am doing great. I admit, some days are okay.

Some days are not so good. Some days I just can't shut my mind off. Some days I start thinking about him. I start thinking "It must be nice". You know, like:

It must be nice, to come home at the end of each day and not have to worry about taking care of anyone but yourself.

It must be nice to be able to go off to whatever appointments you have made for yourself, and not have to give a thought about who will be taking care of your four little children.

It must be nice to be able to decide what to have for dinner, and not have to worry about who is going to complain that they don't like it, who is going to throw it on the floor or wear it in their hair.

It must be nice to have several hours to yourself in the evening to do whatever you want, and not have to referee sibling squabbles, oversee a reluctant kindergartner's homework, or convince a toddler to stop climbing into his baby brother's crib and jumping on his head while he is trying to sleep.

It must be nice not to realize just minutes after the last cherub has finally fallen asleep that you are actually out of diapers, milk or bread.

It must be nice to be able to watch TV, or go to the movies, or the mall whenever you want.

It must be nice to be able to leave your children on the ONE night that they are your responsibility and go sit on a bar stool in the local pub - since you live in your mother's house and she can just watch the kids!
It must be nice.

I have already heard all about how nice it is to be able to go to the beach and spend a few hours surfing and not have to worry about anyone but yourself. SO NICE.

It must be nice to be able to take your kids to the park and feed the ducks and play kickball and then finish off the evening with a trip to the local pizzeria.
It must be nice to be the great hero, the fun parent.
It must be nice to not have to worry about keeping it all together, not have to worry about plastering a fake smile on your face and pretending everything is just fine.
It must be nice not to have to listen to your children crying themselves to sleep at night.

How though?

After I start thinking about how it "must be nice", I start thinking about how totally unbelievable that is. HOW can it be nice? How can you rather be anywhere else but here, with your kids, in your house? How can it be better? How can it be nice to be sitting in your mother's basement, sleeping in a bed that, while I am sure is nice - cannot possibly compare to the $3000 King Koil that we just bought? How can it be nice to sit on an old recliner watching a boob tube instead of sitting in your own living room watching the brand new flat screen that you spent two weeks shopping for? How can it be nice to not be with your children? How can you go even one day without hearing Dexter laugh, or Paddy sing or even Firstson and Curly fight? How? I cannot understand it.

If I am being completely honest, it was nice around here too, for a little while. It was nice not to have to share the remote, or to have to answer to anyone when I burned a pot on the stove because I always turn the burners on too high. It was nice to leave my popcorn bowl on the table and not have to worry about who I was annoying by leaving it there. It was even a little bit nice to have an evening to myself to have dinner with friends or go to the bookstore because it was his turn to put the kids to bed. The novelty is wearing off. It is wearing thin. I miss my husband. I miss my friend. I want my life back. I want my family healed.

Here's the thing. Neither of us is innocent. My husband left because he is hurt, has been hurt in the past and just can not stand to be hurt anymore. I am responsible for a lot of that hurt. Some of it I know, and take responsibility for, some of it I need to gain a better understanding of. I never set out to intentionally hurt anyone. I love my husband. I am not a perfect person. I can be a better wife. I have been hurt too. Really, really hurt.

Our life is overwhelming right now. We have four little kids. We had two babies back to back, on top of the two we already had. When I look back over this last year, I realize that it was impossibly hard. Most people I know would have cracked. I didn't. Or, maybe I did. Having these four children, while a blessing for sure, it hasn't always brought out my best. I acknowledge that. I own it. There are too many times when I have taken my husband for granted. Too little time spent focusing on what was happening in my home and marriage, and too much time spent out. PTA, catechesis, book club, family, friends. Did I make these things more important than my marriage? I didn't think so at the time. I am so not perfect. I have work to do, Lord.

Apparently my previous post upset my husband. It's funny, because as one friend who knows way more about the situation than I would ever publish here said, "Really? I thought you were being very polite". Anyway, I guess he didn't understand why I feel the need to tell the world what is happening, and isn't it a very one sided view? Well, Hubby, you do not need to understand why I choose to write. Writing is "my thing". You go to the beach, I go to the keyboard. Second, YES -it is a one sided view - it's a blog! Want one? They're free! At one point Hubby asked if I would like him to respond to my post with a list of his grievances as he had done a few weeks ago in an e-mail to a third party who was trying to help. Perhaps this would embarrass me? Well, surely I do not want to air all of my dirty laundry, but, yeah. Sure. Go ahead. Your feelings are real and they are valid. I do not dispute your unhappiness. I do not think that you should just come back and accept your life. I believe that you can make your life what you want it to be. I believe that we can do it together. I believe that we are so much better than this. Our family is worth so much more than this.

I want to be a better wife. I want to have a better husband. I want us to be a family. I want people to see us and think to themselves "Look at that family, Look at that couple. It must be nice."

Breathless

2009-10-08T16:05:00.009-04:00

You are right. I must start writing again.

I feel like I have started writing this post a hundred times in my head. I just can't settle on an angle. It is so heavy, so laden with gut wrenching emotion, and I fear whether or not I will even be able to finish typing the words without short circuiting my laptop with torrential tears. There is so much going on, and I really should be writing about it, if only for therapy (though I kind of loathe the self-therapizing blogs that are out there and shudder to think that mine may become one. And, yes, I do realize that "therapy" is not a verb, thank you very much.) On the other hand I know there are many of you who are thinking about me, worrying about me and let's face it, miss reading my blog. So here I am. I am back. I must warn you though, it may not be pretty.

I do not know where to begin. I don't know how to sugar coat it, or make it humorous (though I am sure on the latter, I will find a way). My life has fallen apart. I feel like I am living a nightmare. I have never cried so much or prayed so hard - and believe me, I have cried and I have prayed before. My heart is broken. Shattered. I am changed forever.

A little over ten years ago, actually ten years and two weeks ago to be exact, I put on an exquisite white gown, elbow length gloves and a glittery tiara. My father walked me down the aisle in the most beautiful church named after our Blessed Mother, and gave me away to be married to my best friend. My husband and I took vows. We promised to be true to each other no matter what. In good times and bad. We walked out of that church hand in hand to start a new life together. I thanked my Lord God for sending this wonderful man to me, for I truly believed that he was the answer to a prayer. A gift from God, my husband.

Twenty days ago my husband left.

My husband packed a suitcase and went to go live in his mother's basement. We have four children. Four. Small. Children. He broke my heart, he broke their hearts. He broke his mother's heart and his father's heart. My sisters cry with me. My neighbors cry with me. Moms in the carpool lane and at the PTA meetings, they cry with me. My friends call me and text me and come over and sweep my kitchen floor for me. My niece has been here almost everyday it seems. There are angels watching over me, crying with me.

It is like someone died, only he didn't. He walked away. (WTF?)

I... can... not... breathe.

Here's the thing. I don't have that option. I can't crawl under the covers and pretend it is not happening. I can't decide that this life of mine just isn't what I thought I had signed up for and go run off and start over. I am not a coward. I am strong and I am courageous. I am a woman and, I am a MOTHER.

The English language is so inadequate. There are no words that can fully convey what I am or how I feel (I can think of a few that describe him though - see? it's coming back). I am angry. SO ANGRY. I am sad. Lonely. Frustrated. Resentful. Fragile. I feel helpless. I feel like a failure. I feel like an idiot. I feel like I am being called on to be super-human right now. Sometimes it is all just too much. I also feel grateful. I feel loved. I have so many friends and my great big family. I have my Lord and Savior, without whom I literally would not be able to pull myself out of bed in the morning.

I am bewildered. Devastated. I just do not understand. I can't grasp what is happening to me, to my family. We had a life. A family. I do not understand how you decide to throw that away. Our marriage was never perfect.(what is perfect?) It was also never hopeless. I can not "respect your decision" - because it is not respectable. I have values, we had values - and this goes against all of them.

I am not hopeless, that is, I have hope. I have faith. Thank God Almighty, I have help. There are tremendous betrayals that have been perpetrated, and yet I have hope and faith that trust can one day be restored. I do not believe in divorce. I will sign nothing. Ten years and two weeks ago I took vows, and I took them seriously. I am not giving up. Let me put that out there for all the world to hear and see: I AM NOT GIVING UP.

So, anyway, here I am. I am back in the "blogosphere". I am battered and I am bruised. You told me to write, if you think you can handle it, I'd love to have you read it. and, please, leave a comment. Thanks.

A lesson in sorrow

2009-09-11T09:25:00.005-04:00

It's weird. Today feels so weird. It feels like a normal day. I made lunches, and breakfast, the kids got on the bus. I made some phone calls. Changed the baby. We have a trip to the library planned, and we may go print some First Day of School pictures. First son has soccer practice. I need to decide what to make for dinner. A normal day. Except....

It is not a normal day. I got the kids up and dressed everyone in their best red, white and blue and pinned an American Flag on First Son's shirt. I told my Curly Girl that today is a very important day to be proud of being an American. First Son asked again why it matters that today is September 11th. I told him the same, that we need to be proud of our nation, and we need to be grateful for all we have. I gently reminded him about the story I told him last year about the awful day eight years ago when so many people died.

I hate that today is so "normal". Life goes on it's true, but if feels wrong. It feels weird. It feels like we're forgetting, not that I think anyone who lived through that awful September morning and the days and weeks that followed could ever, ever forget.

This morning, as I write this I am watching on the television as they read the names at ground zero. In the background there are cranes and building equipment. Construction has officially begun. I listen to the names for as long as I can, but I cry, and a mommy who sits and cries is not what my 1 and 2 year old children need right now. Still, I feel an obligation to watch for a least a little while. I cannot forget. We must never forget.

My sister is on a cruise ship headed to Venice, Italy today. She is on the trip of a lifetime. Before she left she realized that she would be out of the country on this important and poignant anniversary. She bought some 9-11 t-shirts for herself and her traveling companions, making a point to not forget. She bought one for me too. It has a picture of the NY skyline with the Twin Towers and the text reads "When Giants Walked the Earth". I am not sure that I love it, but I will wear it anyway. I will wear it to the library today. I will wear it to the giant warehouse store, and to soccer practice. Someone will see me, and I know that they will remember.

I think often about how we as a generation will teach our children about this day. As I watch on the television, a Firefighter just spoke of his lost brother in law, of our need to continue to support the scholarships and foundations, and he may have summed up what it is I have been searching for, today is "A lesson in sorrow, but also in humanity."

How true. Never Forget.

"out there"

2009-06-23T15:33:00.003-04:00

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!

2009-06-11T14:30:00.006-04:00

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

2009-06-09T09:14:00.004-04:00

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

2009-06-06T11:52:00.003-04:00

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

2009-06-03T08:11:00.003-04:00

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

2009-06-01T10:41:00.000-04:00

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.

2009-05-21T08:06:00.002-04:00

holy moley. I haven't posted at all the whole month of May! Hold on...it's coming.

A Holiday

2009-04-14T23:12:00.002-04:00

Seven years ago (really? - seven years?) I was sporting my new spring maternity clothes (so ugly!) and showing off my burgeoning belly. I spent my days and my nights dreaming of motherhood, of the baby growing under and inside my heart. For the past seven and a half years it has been a classic love story, mother and son. My sweet, sweet, First Son. Then, almost two years ago I turned him over, quite reluctantly to the big yellow taxi.

Tomorrow, I am taking him back! Well, for the day anyway, and he doesn't even know it. When he wakes up in the morning I will break the news - no school today! I am proclaiming a holiday. First Son & Mommy Day. It will become an annual tradition. First Son will play hooky from school, and we will climb aboard a train and head into the Big Apple! I am so excited! Just he and I, no little brothers or sisters, no pesky teachers, no phone calls, laundry or spilled milk (well, we might spill our milk, but we will make someone else clean it up for sure!) We are going to see a show, and climb the Empire State Building and eat a Gray's Papaya (that's a hot dog, not a tropical fruit).

Seven years ago I couldn't have pictured my life the way it is today. It is busy and it is wonderful, my life is full. I have so much more than just that one baby I was dreaming of, I have four beautiful children. I have a house. I have PTA committees, and catechist responsibilities, I have everything I ever wanted and more. If there is anything at all that I wish I could have more of, it is the ever elusive time. My baby, my babies, are growing up quickly. It is up to me to put my pointer fingers together and stop time. It is up to me to make memories, to teach my kids to stop and smell the roses, or in our case tomorrow, the subways. There will always be a sink full of dishes, and an overgrown garden to tend to, but my children will grow and change before my very eyes and if I don't stop once and awhile I might miss it.

For just a day I will rewind the clock to when it was just me and First Son. I will try to see the world through his eyes. Maybe we will learn something new about each other. For sure we will chat the day away. He will ask me a million questions, and make incredibly keen observations, and probably tug at my heartstrings a bit. Memories will be made.

Spring Cleaning

2009-03-31T07:48:00.005-04:00

As I went about my day yesterday: doing laundry, cleaning the boys' room, feeding the cherubs (every 5 minutes) - I was looking forward to sitting down at the end of the day to write a post all about how much I love Spring. This is not a post about how much I love Spring.
Yesterday was a beautiful Spring day. I was working hard all day in my losing battle against dirt. I have to be vigilant, and never let down my guard. It is a challenge to keep anything clean for any length of time when I am outnumbered by small people whose purpose in life seems to be creating a mess. Yesterday though I was doing pretty good, helped by the fact that Curly Girl and Paddy Boy were both playing so nicely outside. I thought to myself, "Wow. Spring Rocks! I forgot about sending the kids outside to play - I can get so much done!" Perhaps I had discovered the basis of "spring cleaning"? So anyway there I was, scrubbing stairs, chasing dust bunnies, folding laundry and even making beds. Suddenly Curly Girl was standing in the doorway to her brothers' room, asking if she could take a shower. Huh? Then I remembered...Springtime = playing in the sandbox = sand in the hair! Ugh. Of course she was followed up the stairs by her little brother, Mr. Muddy Shoes. So much for my stair scrubbing. As for Curly and the sand - have I mentioned that she has curly hair? Not wavy, corkscrew curly. The perfect place for sand to hide and not come out. It took me a good half of an hour of hair washing, with the shower head turned to a strong steady stream and lots of conditioner and fine toothed combing before I felt confident that she was clean. Of course, just like my kitchen floors, kids don't stay clean very long either - two minutes after she was dressed and combed she was out the back door. Oh well, welcome Spring, welcome dirt. It seems like you never left at all.

Belated Blog-iversary

2009-03-27T09:22:00.004-04:00

Holy Crap. You know things are busy when I miss an opportunity to celebrate myself!! Yesterday was my blog-iversary and I let it pass with nary a wink. Well - 2 years in cyber space. It's been a lovely ride, thank you my loyal readers for enjoying it with me! I hope this year is even better than the last two, full of juicy posts, cool pics and witty prose! Here's to trying!

My Curly Girl

2009-03-27T08:26:00.004-04:00

I didn't think I would be this sad. To tell the truth, I had taken to joking that when the time came, I would send Curly out the door with a swift kick to her behind and a wave "bu-bye". Today is a big day. I am taking my Curly girl to "Kindergarten Orientation", and while I must say that I am much more well adjusted this time around than I was two years ago when it was First Son's turn and I practically needed to be hospitalized for emotional incompetence, I am still quite melancholy about the whole thing.

I sat on the edge of her bed last night watching her sleep and stroking her sweet little face (so familiar, it's like looking in a mirror), thinking about how quickly my little baby has become a little girl. She has always been fiercely independent, even as a baby she preferred to fall asleep in her crib rather than in your arms. She marches to the beat of her own drummer for sure. She is an amazing personality: so kind, and nurturing - she takes care of everyone; she is generous and easy going - often willing to give in to her big brother rather than fight, but by no means a push-over (she will kick your a-- and not look back if you wrong her); she is smart as a whip, but uninterested in being outwardly academic; Curly loves to play teacher but is wary of anyone who tries to teach her; she worries about who she will someday marry and whether she will be a good Mom - I tell her that she will be an amazing Mom. She crawls into bed with me in the mornings after her Dad has left for the day and she swings her little arm over my shoulders. We play "baby animals" - a game of our own creation where everybody, even the mammals, hatch from an egg made of blankets. She lets me brush her hair. She loves cooking shows, Rachael Ray is her favorite, but she'll watch the Barefoot Contessa too, because it's my favorite. She helps me in the kitchen - an expert at egg cracking and floor scrubbing. My Curly Girl loves intensely. She gives her whole self. She loves Jesus, and she loves Mary. She gives glory to God for all things. She falls asleep each and every night with a book in her arms, yet claims ignorance of the alphabet. She sings songs -her own compositions, loud and out of key. She is polite; and she loves to clean the bathroom sink. She has a smile that could melt an iceberg, and a deadly stare that will bore holes through a steel fortress. She is my scrumptious Curly Girl, my pride and joy.

Next year the big yellow taxi will come and take two of my loves away. When First Son was a baby and made the big move from bedside bassinet to bedroom baby crib Hubby lamented that he was "leaving for college", I thought it was silly at the time, but now I think I know what he meant. Our precious children are ours for such a short time.

I am happy for my Curly Girl. She is going to adore school. She will make tons of friends, and she will learn to read. She will continue blazing her own trail, and at the end of each day I will meet her at the corner and we will hold hands and talk about all of her adventures.

My little baby...such a big girl, I hope she always knows how much I adore her.

It's working

2009-03-26T09:23:00.003-04:00

I don't know what it is, but it is working. My children love each other. Sure they squabble, as all siblings do, but when it comes down to it, they love each other. It is my greatest pride.

Yesterday we took a trip to the evil baby mega-store to purchase a new car seat for Paddy-boy, who will soon be gifting his current seat to his lil' bro. On the way out of the store they have some of those coin operated ride on toys. We always stop on the way out to drive Kermit's convertible, or give Mickey a lift to the Fire Dept. Of course, we power the toys with "imagination", rather than coins, but more on my frugal parenting in another post. Anyway, after a few minutes it was time to go, only Paddy boy doesn't roll with any one's rules but his own, and so refused to leave. After several minutes of pleading, I decided to act as though I were just leaving, and walked out of the double doors waving "bye" - figuring that Paddy would realize quickly that he didn't want to be left alone and follow us out. (note to CPS - I had my eye on him through the glass the whole time) Curly girl was a little reluctant to follow, which I read as her being upset with the idea that her little brother was still playing while she had to follow Mommy. After a few times of me telling her to "let's go!" - and leave her baby brother in the store, I was starting to get a little annoyed. The longer she lingered in the doorway, the less effective my abandonment parenting tactic. I took a few more steps with my shopping cart and told her to "come on" - at which point she turned on her true "Curly self", hands on hips, scrunched up nose and declared "NO! I am not leaving my brudder!"
Suddenly my annoyance melted away and was replaced with pride, with love and with peace. No matter what, my kids have each other, love each other and always will. I truly believe that the greatest gift that I can give to my children is the gift of each other. I know that my four siblings are all a gift to me, each in their own way, and to God and my parents I am grateful for them. I praise God that I am able to give my children a similar legacy, and I consider it one of my great responsibilities to teach my children always to love and respect one another. So far, it's working.

More than your Mom and Dad...combined

2009-03-09T21:17:00.003-04:00

Does your family have their own vocabulary? One of First Son's spelling words last week was "cuddle". As part of his homework he needs to write sentences using the words. He was having a little trouble with cuddle and asked me what it means. Doesn't know what "cuddle" means? What kind of child grows up not knowing what it means to cuddle?? Well, I assure you, my sweet First Son knows all about warm delicious hugs; sweet strokes of the hair; and cozy Eskimo kisses. In our tribe we call it "shnuggling". I simply told First Son that "cuddle" means the same thing as "shnuggle", and he quickly had his sentence written. "My Mom cuddles me". And I do.
First Son and I are madly in love with each other. Each morning since he was a baby he has come into bed with me and we have shnuggled. Now, with school and other early morning obligations it has become more difficult to find the time to shnuggle, so when we can fit it in we savor it.
The other night we were lying together in my bed enjoying a hard-earned shnuggle after a long weekend that was preceded by an even longer week. Soon we began our usual "I love you " contest, which usually takes us on a trip to Pluto and back as we exclaim just how to measure the love we have for each other. I started with " I love you more than ice cream". Well, First Son must have been really tired, because he cut right to the chase and shot back with "I love you more than...your Mom & your Dad love you...combined". I am not sure who won the "love contest" that night, but there were no losers.

On the Wagon

2009-03-04T14:20:00.003-05:00

I drank too much. I did. I have no one but me to blame for my shaky nerves, blurry vision, nausea and general malaise. I should have known better than to keep going for one more, but then, I have been under a lot of stress lately. I needed something to help get me through it, and I thought this was the answer. I am Irish, so I guess I am predisposed to this kind of thing. I had one when I woke up, then two more at breakfast with friends. In the afternoon I hit a low, so I tried something a little stronger, and had two. Now, I don't feel so good, and it's my own fault. I wish I knew the antidote, because I still have so much to get done.
Tomorrow is another day, and I will definitely lay off the....... TEA.

What did you think I was talking about???

I heart Snowdays

2009-03-02T14:11:00.002-05:00

I don't love snow. Sure it makes everything look pretty, all fresh and new and white, that is, until the plow comes along and sloshes up all the dirty black sludge all over the place. Then there's the sloppy wet boots leaving trails of mess all over my floors. And don't forget driving and wondering "will my brakes actually work?" - but I digress...

I LOVE Snow days! Snow days are unexpected, totally unplanned for days off! A day to spend in our jammies, a fire in the fireplace, shnuggling on the couch flipping back and forth between Food Network and the Travel Channel, baking cookies and reading e-mails. No matter what my to-do list had on it, it all gets pushed aside - it's a snow day! 700 errands to run? Can't do it - it's a snow day. First Son home from school, Hubby home from work, hot chocolate, cold noses, lots of hugs.

Even though tomorrow will be a super-crazy day now, I am enjoying the nothingness that has been imposed on us today. A day like today is the reason that you will always find plenty of brown sugar, vanilla & chocolate chips in my pantry.

Stay Little

2009-02-27T09:58:00.007-05:00

It started with a pair of pink converse all-stars. A cute, little pair of sneakers adorning a tiny pair of feet attached to an adorable little girl about two years old. She reminded me so much of my Curly girl, even though she had straight black hair, olive skin and would certainly grow up to be bilingual. It was the outfit. She had on these little cargo pants with a satin lined belt and a pink calico print shirt with a ruched top. She finished it off with the pink converse and an infectious smile. Well, it was the outfit and I think also the way you could tell just by looking at her that she was so....loved. Anyway, it touched my heart.

It may have also had something to do with the pediatrician mentioning that Curly's upcoming physical will also be her Kindergarten physical.

It was well documented here that I had a very hard time sending First Son off to school. And to be honest, even though his school experience has been nothing short of spectacular, I still regard the big yellow taxi with a bit of resentment. Still, I thought that sending Curly off to school would be no big deal. I even joked about it, that when it came to be her turn to get on the bus I would wave with a big fat smile.

Why then, did I cry myself to sleep last night? I don't want to send her off. I want to keep her! Why can't they just stay little??? She's my only girl, I am going to miss her terribly. 5 years is just not enough time!!! I want to soak her up, bathe in her sweet innocence, and not share her for 6 hours a day with anyone! I want to dress her up in cute pink converse sneakers and bounce her on my knee.

Now, my good friends JD and JT assure me that "The Secret of Life is Enjoying the Passage of Time" ....I try, but I don't know.....

It's going to be another long summer.

Life is too short...

2009-02-20T19:25:00.003-05:00

And I refuse to waste a minute of it. You know those people who walk down the street swinging their shopping bag and clicking their heels while whistling a happy tune? Those people don't exist, right? Today I was those people. I am that person. (except that I whistle out of tune...it's part of my charm).

Hubby found out a few weeks ago that he was going to have to be out of town this weekend. I decided that rather than sit at home waiting for catastrophe (there is always, a major problem when hubby is OOT), I would buy a ticket and join him on the journey...sans offspring. So here I am, in St. Augustine, FL having the time of my life. Hubby is gone most of the day because...this IS a business trip after all. I like being alone sometimes. It is liberating. It so rarely happens, and I am savoring it. It is good to have this time to recharge my batteries, reconnect with "me". I am sure that when I return to NY in a few days I will be a better mother, wife and friend for it.

Today I took a trolley ride all around the city, toured some very old houses, sat at the bar and ate my lunch with a beer, then shopped till I nearly dropped (but those who know me, know that it would take A LOT of shopping before I would drop). I sipped a vanilla chai latte and took tons of cool pictures. At the end of the day I knelt in prayer inside our nation's oldest cathedral - a mini basilica, actually. ( incidentally - that means that the Pope can stay there, though with the cold hard marble floors, I'd advise that the Hampton Inn is the better choice). I said a prayer of thanksgiving - for my wonderful husband, our amazing children, all of the people back home who are taking care of our children; for our safe journey; and for this wonderful break that is helping me to appreciate it all so much.

Parched

2009-02-09T11:22:00.003-05:00

Two weeks ago I was in St. Louis. By myself. Well, not actually by myself, but I was without any of the children who call me Mommy! For three whole days I poured not one single cup of apple juice, and swept nary a Cheerio off the kitchen floor. It was a blissful break. I slept as long as I wanted, I took showers with the bathroom door closed. It is amazing what three days of no cleaning, cooking or diaper changing will do for your skin.

Now that I am home, the combination of 4 small, dirty, hungry children and the dry winter air have taken their toll. My hands have been spontaneously bleeding in three different spots over the last week. I try to moisturize, but literally minutes later I am washing my hands again because I have either just changed a diaper, or I am getting somebody a snack, or I just cleaned some dirty mess. Moisturizer. Some women dream of massages and facials, spa weekends as a chance to pamper themselves. I'll settle for a bottle of Aveeno Daily Moisturizing Lotion.

R. I. P.

2009-02-02T20:47:00.002-05:00

Well, I knew that this day would come. I have dreaded it, but I knew it was inevitable. Today the first of our "Princess Fish" has croaked. So much for kissing a frog.
I changed the water in their tank this morning and very shortly after one of the fish started acting really zany. Zipping around more than usual, and upon closer inspection, swimming...upside down. Then it would swim to the top of the tank and sink back down. It did this a few times. Finally it stopped moving and just lay there belly up. Poor fish.
I dreaded telling my Curly girl, but it had to be done. I sat her on my lap and asked her if she knew about heaven, she said "oh, yeah." Then I told her that one of her fish had gone to heaven. She did her best Sarah Bernhart impression, but she was faking it big time ( I have seen more sincere tears spew from those eyes when she doesn't like her dinner). Still, she was genuinely concerned. We scooped the body out of the tank, headed to the bathroom, said a few nice words about our precious Princess Fish and then finished her off with a royal flush.

Later in the day Grandma was here, and Curly Girl decided to break the news. "Grandma, one of my fish went to heaven today." (G-ma was forewarned) Grandma was very sympathetic, so much so that Curly felt the need to cheer her up. "it's okay Grandma, we will get to see her again, when we go to heaven!....But you first."

My sweet, tell it like it is, Curly Girl. Well, I am off to the pet store now.

What's in a name?

2009-02-02T08:30:00.002-05:00

A quick lesson in etiquette, only because this very subject has come up twice this weekend and I feel the need to educate.

A married woman is : Mrs. Husband Smith....always!!
unless she is divorced, then she becomes:

Mrs. Herownname Smith

Even when widowed, she is still Mrs. Husband Smith.

There is no such person as Mrs. Patricia (My last name).

Now then, feminists, I am sure that you will have something to say about this..but please, think it through.

I married him!! I took HIS name. I gave it to my children.

Please people, I know that Emily Post is dead and all, but let's not disturb her grave.

A rose by any other name...

2009-02-01T22:11:00.002-05:00

So, as you can see I have been doing some re-decorating. What do you think??
I like it. However, since in creating this new face-lift I had to type the name of my blog about 15 times I started to really think about it and...I don't love it. For one thing, the original three are now four. Secondly, my blog isn't just about my role as a mother although it may sometimes seem like that. I don't know that this title is entirely appropriate anymore. What else could I call this blog? Hmmm...how about:
?

?

?

Any suggestions? I am stumped.

on writing

2009-01-31T10:28:00.012-05:00

I am hiding. Well, sort of. It is Saturday morning and I am sitting in my bed with the door closed. I have not emerged yet even for a cup of tea. I have begged my dear hubby to let me sleep this morning (because my goodness, I need some sleep), and he is so good to me. I felt a little guilty, once I started waking up. I felt this panic that I must get downstairs and help out, do something. What kind of mother lays in bed? But then I thought...everything is quiet (ish), nobody is fighting, or, from what I can hear, bleeding. So what if they are camped out in front of the TV - and eating junk food in the playroom? It is Saturday morning, and truthfully they work hard during the week too, they deserve a little down time. Then I got to thinking - what kind of blogger leaves her blog ugly green and red with Aretha Franklin blaring Christmas tunes into the end of January? A very busy one sure, but it is neglectful. If anybody still even bothers to check this here blog I must thank you for your persistence.

This morning I have given in to the guilt. No, not the guilt of having left my family to fend for themselves in the capable hands of their father, but of having left my loyal readers with nary a morsel for more than a month. I decided to stay quiet up here in my bedroom suite just a little longer and pick up the old 'puter - so here I am - happy?

I am recently returned from a trip to St. Louis where I was visiting with one of my favorite aunts and the cousins who come along with her. It was a lovely trip full of delicious home cooked meals (my weight watchers points went out the window) and old fashioned "visiting". I had planned the trip with the intention of capturing lots of old stories. I brought along a voice recorder, and my laptop. We sat for long hours drinking strong cups of tea and even stronger 7&7s and talking. I did get lots of stories and I gained lots of insight.

We looked at lots of old pictures - some really old. We took a trip to Walgreens and had them all scanned onto a disc for posterity. I am going to print and frame the one of my great grandparents, and the original source of Paddy Boy's namesake.

The really amazing thing, and the thing that has thus far made the most impact on me from this little trip - were the letters. My amazing auntie has saved in a book a ton of personal letters she received over the years. I feel so blessed that she allowed me to look at them and read them. What a gift. More than any picture or secondhand story can tell you about a person are their own words. Words are so powerful. SO beautiful. Writing is so important.

I read a beautiful letter that my grandfather had written to my aunt, his daughter, when she left Ireland for America. She claims it is one of her most treasured possessions. Of course it is. Often when we take pen to paper, or keyboard in hand, we express the things that we just could never bring ourselves to communicate face to face. Love. Hope. Pride. Sometimes fear or anguish. We can lay our inhibitions to the wayside, reveal our true selves in a way that the everyday sometimes prevents.

I read another letter written from one sister to another. My aunt "S" who is over 80 years old now, who has grandchildren graduating from universities, writing about the everyday realities of her life with (at the time) four children. I laughed so hard to realize how very similar our lives are, even lived so many generations apart. She wrote of the children being on "holiday" from school, and that it was hard to keep the peace when there are just "so many of them". Sing it sister, I hear you!! She also wrote with advice to her younger sister far off in the mid-west of America on how to get her children potty trained already. "After breakfast, sit her on the pot. Have a whole cut out of the chair, put the pot under it and have her sit there till she's done." She wrote about my cousins now in or approaching their "fifties" being out of "nappies", wetting the bed, and throwing temper tantrums. She also wrote of the simple everyday things, what they ate for dinner last night, what color she was having the kids bedrooms painted, and who had died recently. Basically all of the very same things that I chatter on about on the telephone with my own sisters or niece. The difference of course, is that my telephone conversations are gone once the words leave my lips and the receiver is placed back on the rung. These letters are there now for ever and always.

Which brings me back to my blog, quite literally. I have been away for a while because sometimes I just can't find the time or energy to write (and, why ever not?) - and other times I beat myself down thinking that what I have to say just isn't good enough. Now, I will try to think back to auntie's letters, and remember that words are a legacy. I need to remember also why I started this blog in the first place. Which is, because I like to write. Because I like to read what I write. I do not have to be the most prolific writer of my blogosphere generation, and I need to not put that kind of counterproductive pressure on myself. I write because it is fun. I am glad when you like it. I hope that someday my granddaughter or great niece will stumble upon these files and get a glimpse of me...hopefully what I write makes a better picture of who I am than that last photograph Curly girl took of me in my bathrobe! And so, my blog is important and I need to not feel guilty about taking some time to work on it. Yeah me...yeah you too!

Oh Tanenbaum

2008-12-19T23:02:00.003-05:00

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

2008-12-17T21:02:00.006-05:00

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

2008-12-07T19:50:00.003-05:00

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

2008-11-15T22:20:00.003-05:00

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

2008-11-04T00:18:00.009-05:00

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

2008-10-27T20:48:00.005-04:00

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

2008-10-22T07:38:00.004-04:00

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

2008-10-06T10:43:00.007-04:00

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!

2008-09-23T17:08:00.005-04:00

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,

2008-09-15T21:58:00.003-04:00

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

2008-09-11T23:45:00.004-04:00

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...

2008-09-11T08:27:00.001-04:00

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

2008-09-04T08:01:00.008-04:00

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

2008-09-03T07:44:00.004-04:00

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!

2008-09-01T09:44:00.003-04:00

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

2008-08-05T23:21:00.002-04:00

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

2008-08-03T00:17:00.003-04:00

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

2008-07-15T13:58:00.006-04:00

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...

2008-07-12T23:28:00.003-04:00

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

2008-07-07T14:39:00.004-04:00

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!

2008-07-04T07:17:00.005-04:00

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

2008-06-28T21:03:00.006-04:00

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)

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

2008-06-19T07:06:00.003-04:00

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

2008-06-08T12:22:00.003-04:00

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.

Crying Over Spilt Milk

2008-05-30T09:11:00.003-04:00

I do this to myself every time. Every time. I torture myself. Of course, each and every time I have a new plan of action and I swear that I will not torture myself. Yet here I am, once again, engorged, weepy and miserable. I convince myself that I will breastfeed this baby, I have to. I have a plan and swear that I will not allow myself to give in to the anguish and self doubt, and let’s not forget extreme physical pain; apparently I am easily duped.

With First Son it was the worst. Well, he was my first and so I was quite the idealist. I had done all of my reading, of course. I knew that breast milk was the best choice for him, and since I was going to be the Best Mom, it really was never a question. I went to the seminars, I bought the La Leche League book, even a few nursing bras and tops, I was all set. Just like the book advised, I told the nurses and doctors in the hospital that he was NOT to be given a bottle or a pacifier, lest we have the dear boy come down with a bad case of nipple confusion. Then, the darndest thing happened. I had an emergency c-section, and felt like I was hit by a train. I was majorly doped up. First son was a big baby, and extremely active at birth. The nurses asked me if they could give him a bottle, and I of course said NO! Then, a few hours later they came to tell me that he was going to be in the “Special Care Nursery” because they were starting an IV, he had low blood sugar. Enter GUILT, cue TEARS. (his low blood sugar issue had nothing to do with my nursing decision, but as I said, I was doped up and slightly hormonal having just given birth) It was over 24 hours before I had First Son back in my arms, in my room, where I could even try to breastfeed him. I tried. I tried for days. My recovery from surgery was rough. Hard. I was in pain from the surgery, and then my milk came in. In addition to feeling like my stomach had been ripped open from inside by aliens, I now had these two rock hard, extremely sore, leaky extremities hanging from my chest. Add to that the fact that I was supposed to have the baby set his Vulcan death grip lips around them and suck? Can you say ow? I did. I said it and I cried it and I probably even shouted it once or twice. Why didn’t any of the books show the real picture? The mom sitting with the cute little baby attached to her breast, tears running down her sleep deprived face as she stares longingly at a bottle of whiskey? Within a few days both First Son and I developed a thrush infection because of an antibiotic I had been on before I delivered and that put an end to my breast feeding fantasies with First Son. I was sad, I felt guilty, I did not give up easily. Finally my wise OB advised me to stop torturing myself. She asked if I had been breastfed as a child, I replied that I didn’t think so. She went on to say that she hadn’t either, and yet miraculously she had grown up to become a doctor! She was fine and well, so was I, chances were good that my baby would be as well. So, out came the baby formula and bottles, and I started formulating a plan for my second child right then and there. I was certain that I would be given another chance at this breastfeeding thing, and I would prove myself to be a good Mom yet!

Just shy of two years later Curly Girl arrived, again by c-section, (though without the trauma of the first, as she was scheduled) and out came the boob. Still, I was in pain from the surgery, my breasts had swollen to two times their normal size, which was at least twice the size of her head, and I was not having an easy time. I couldn’t fathom that every time my sweet baby girl would latch on I would see stars, and seep tears. I called a lactation consultant and paid almost $200 that we really couldn't afford, for some “advice” and a private lesson. A day later I gave up. I pulled a muscle in my abdomen trying to get out of bed, and for the next week, in between myriad doctor appointments to try and figure out what the heck was wrong with me, I could barely get myself up out of bed to give her a bottle, much less hold her to my sore breasts for 20 minutes. I summoned all of my courage and told the lactation consultant through tears that I just couldn’t do it, and that I didn’t have to. I am sure I was trying to convince myself more than anyone else, because she didn’t put any pressure on me, but told me to call anytime. I then had to have someone drive me to the baby mega store to buy some bottles, as part of my “plan” had been to not even keep any in the house, because to do so would be sabotaging myself. I got over it a little bit quicker this time, though I was still sad and weepy.

When Paddy boy arrived I had a plan that I was going to nurse him for night feedings only. The rest of the time he would have formula. I decided that this was a good plan, because it would leave me free during the day to tend to my other children and a hectic schedule, yet give me and my baby some special bonding time at night. I didn’t even consider the fact that I would require some sleep during this time. Nursing takes double the time that a bottle feeding takes. I knew I had to call it quits when I became afraid that I would drop him in the middle of the night when I fell asleep holding him. Now, because I had witnessed first hand through First Son and Curly Girl that my original OB was indeed correct, my formula fed babies would be just fine, I made peace with my decision to stop the boob and move on to the bottle.

I think that part of the reason I was able to make peace with my decision not to nurse was because I knew I would have another chance. Each time I was coping with the hope of a “do-over”. That is what is so different this time. I am not as convinced that I will get another chance. I have four children! Four small children! I am stretched. We are stretched. Our home is stretched, our wallet is stretched, our cesspool is certainly stretched! I am not convinced that I am finished having children, I concede that there may be one more in there, but, for the first time, I am not convinced that there is definitely another one to come. The best I can say is maybe and mean it. So what that translates to is that this may very well be my last chance to get this whole breastfeeding thing right.

I have been crying about it all night. I am searching my soul to find out what exactly it is I really want. My plan this time around has been to pump for the first month and give my body a chance to recover from major surgery, before I even begin to torture myself with the baby and his Vulcan death grip lips (apparently they all have them). The problem is that I am in such a rush to get myself and my body back in form. This pregnancy was really tough for me, emotionally and physically. It is hard to have two babies, because let’s face it, at just 17 months that is what Paddy boy is, a baby. I want desperately to feel good again, to be able to pick my big baby up from his crib, and chase him off of the stairs, and give him a bath. I want to be able to be his Mommy again, instead of the lady who spends all day sitting on the couch or on her bed holding the “new baby”. Paddy boy is my baby too and it is killing me that I am not much more than a casual observer these days. Add to that the extreme fullness and soreness of my breasts, the fact that they are what is preventing me from being able to get up from bed at night to comfort Paddy Boy and his night terrors (they just hurt so much!), and the idea that I will be solely responsible for the health and nutrition of Baby Boy while others are able to help out with the rest of the cherubs and I am a bubbling, babbling mess of tears.

I am way too smart to think that the measure of a good Mom is the form of nutrition she offers her infant. On an intellectual level I can argue this point for hours. Still, there is a part of me that wants so much to be one of those Moms who can casually lift their shirt and let their babies latch on, all the while continuing their conversations and sipping their cups of chamomile. I don’t know why, even after 3 kids, 3 failed attempts, I can’t seem to let go of this ideal. Why do I do this to myself? I feel so selfish if I decide to abandon the nursing "project". I guess in truth though, either decision is a selfish one. The truth is that even my desire to keep nursing is driven not so much by my feeling that it is the best choice for Baby Boy, but that it will make me feel like a good Mom. How selfish is that?

I guess I need to face my reality. I am a good Mom. A really good Mom and I know it. I just have to accept it. I can take some pride in the fact that every one of my kids was nursed for the first few days of life, receiving what is known as "liquid gold", or colostrum, the rich substance that comes before the actual milk. It is full of antibodies, and wonderful, healthy goodness. At least they got that from me. Also, when I stopped nursing, I started to become myself again, a happy well adjusted Mom, who feels happy every time my baby cries from his bassinet in the middle of the night, because I anticipate the holding, snuggling, bonding act to come while I hold his bottle and stare into his eyes, rather than dreading the minutes that go by before he cries out again and I have to wince in pain as I do the "right" thing and offer my breast to the little alien.

And so, my decision is made. I am putting the boob away, again. Maybe for always, but definitely for good.

He's Here!

2008-05-20T15:18:00.002-04:00

This will be a quick post to update the masses. I am no longer pregnant! Hooray!
Baby Boy was delivered on Thursday 5/15, as scheduled. He did, of course, have his umbilical cord around his neck, twice!
He is healthy and happy (well, he hasn't complained about the noise level in our house yet anyway) and is settling in just fine. I am recovering from major surgery, and the realization that I have two babies in the house. Holy Crap.
I have much to blog about, and will try my best as soon as I can.
In the meantime your well wishes and cash donations are greatly appreciated!

The final countdown

2008-05-06T22:25:00.002-04:00

Okay, so it's not the greatest picture, but do you see the freaking size of me? I am tremendous! Have you looked at the little happy prego lady on the right hand margin - how many days does it say? Thirteen as I write this. Holy crap. I am freaking pregnant. Look at my ankles! 13 days! Less than that really. Any minute now and I could be leaving to go to the hospital to have another baby. Umm...yeah. I think the denial may be clearing up.

I am miserable these days. I can't move well at all. I try my best not to bend down for any reason whatsoever. The cherubs are pretty helpful, thank goodness, because I also tend to drop a lot of things, and the two don't really go well together. When Paddy boy hugs my legs, as 17 month olds are likely to do, I can't see him! I was in an ice cream shop last night for Curly's Birthday, and I couldn't fit into the booth. I am winded just climbing the stairs. I grunt when I get into my car, and I actually have to get on my knees to be able to turn over in bed. My ankles and feet are 3 times their normal size. To quote (ok, paraphrase) my friend "Petit Fleur", " slap a door on me and call me a house!"

The heartburn is nearly constant, and I won't even discuss my other digestive issues. I am so tired, and extremely irritable, and I am tired of this pregnancy!

But wait...it can't really be almost over, can it? I am a little sad. I mean granted, I am miserable and miserable to be around, but really over? Argh. This whole pregnancy thing has been so out of my control, and I don't deal well when I am not in control. What if this is the last time? Have I been too busy moaning and groaning to enjoy it? I may never feel the little kicks and hiccups again. I may never have another excuse for people to be nice to me and let me cut in front of them on a long, long line for the ladies room at Yankee stadium while waiting for the Pope! I may never hear another little heartbeat and know that it is coming from inside me, at 150 beats per minute!

Oh! Parting with this pregnancy will be such sweet sorrow.

Now then, let's get this show on the road, I'd like my body back.

You say it's your Birthday!!!

2008-05-06T10:04:00.006-04:00

When I was a kid I went to a birthday party at Burger King. It was a boy's party and mostly what I remember about it was that I was handed a cheeseburger, even though to this day I do not like fast food cheeseburgers, but prefer hamburgers; and that my father commented that these types of parties were for mothers who were too lazy to have a party the right way, at home. Of course, I don't think dear old Dad ever did much in the way of planning and executing a birthday party for me or any of the others, but nonetheless, his comment seems to have stuck in my craw.

I cannot bring myself to host my children's parties "out". I thought about it, and even did a bit of research for Curly's Birthday this year. I thought it might be a good idea, since the day of her fourth would also be the start of my 38th week. Despite my best intentions, I just could not do it. I had to have it at home. The thing is though, I am not a one trip to the party store, order some pizzas and bash the pinata kind of partier. No, sir, not me. Party planning is my hobby, and I can take a theme to the extreme. Seriously, I live for my children's birthdays, and begin planning months, not even weeks, in advance. I am already thinking about Paddy boy's 2nd, and it's 7 months away! When my kids look back upon past birthdays they don't think in terms of "my third, my fourth, my fifth, etc." but rather, "My dinosaur birthday, my bulldozer birthday, my princess birthday, etc. "

I figure that I spend probably about as much as I would if I was hosting the party at some "venue", so it isn't about saving money (although if I factor in leftovers as part of the equation I could convince hubby that we make out on the deal) Hosting a party at home gives me so many more options to be creative, to have my kid's input, and to be flexible with dates, timing , and boy/girl appropriateness! I like being able to host the parents just as comfortably as the kids (rather than having a bunch of grown-ups standing around the perimeter of the room holding coats, and hoping for an extra half-slice of cold pizza to come their way); and I especially like the fact that no matter what the theme is, my kid's party will be completely different from anything any of their friends have. I can't tell you how many parties we have been to at the local ice cream shop, they all begin to blur and run into each other.

It is a lot of work putting together a fun kid's party, but I love it. This past week I have been up to my elbows in butterflies every night. I decided finally to compromise, have the party for Curly at home, but keep it small. Usually I have two parties for my kids, one with their friends and one with the family. This year I decided to have just one, invite the family and just the four or five friends that she plays with regularly. My intention of course, was to keep it "simple". The only thing is that my "simple" is most people's "elaborate". Listen, it's not Curly's fault that we're getting a new baby so close to her birthday, she still deserves to have a memorable "butterfly birthday" right? That's what I thought too.

Anyway, there was no giant cardboard castle, and although I looked into it, there was no live butterfly release, thereby keeping it "simple" according to my definition. There were butterfly games, butterfly hot dogs, butterfly cookies, and of course, butterfly cupcakes. There was "nectar" served in adorable butterfly cups, and a butterfly pinata, oh yeah - and there was beer for the grown-ups. (come to think of it, that is probably what Dad's chief gripe was about the Burger King party! LOL.) Now that the date has come and gone and the phone calls of congratulations are rolling in, I can sit back and relax. Well, I would like to get the butterfly thank yous in the mail before I have to start sending birth announcements, but other than that it should be smooth sailing.

I have been told, repeatedly that I have a special talent for these parties, and that I should try to make it a lucrative endeavor, but I honestly don't know if I could put all the work into it if I wasn't doing it for one of my sweet cherubs. No matter how tired I have been, and let me tell you, I am freakin tired these days, I find that when they need me, I am able to rally up the energy. I mean after all, they are what it's all about right? Plus, the great big hugs I get at the end of the day make it all worth while.

Well, first Son's birthday is quickly approaching in August, so I had better put on my thinking cap (yeah right, as if I don't already have a plan....)

God Doesn't Use A Calendar

2008-04-24T14:25:00.004-04:00

These days there is just so much technology surrounding us that it almost becomes easy to allow ourselves to think we are in control. This is dangerous, because it begins to take God out of the equation all together.

When it comes to pregnancy and childbirth, the technology is astounding. We know the sex of our children months before they arrive, we display pictures of our unborn, sometimes in 3-D, in cute little frames that we purchase at the baby mega-store. We carefully arrange the conception of these babies so that they arrive at a convenient time, and sometimes, take conception outside the bedroom all together and leave it to a test tube. With the soaring rates of birth via cesarean section, we often know the exact date and time that our children will arrive. All of this is at times wonderful, and scary too. Don't get me wrong, I have several sonogram pictures hanging on my refrigerator at this moment, tried my best to make sure that Paddy boy wouldn't be a Christmas baby, am madly in love with at least three toddlers who started life in a test tube, eagerly await the late fall arrival of one baby who was artificially inseminated into his/her lesbian mother, and am no stranger to the (dare I say?) convenience of cesearean section. Technology is not bad, it is often a catalyst for miracles. What is bad, is when we allow ourselves to forget the true source behind all of it. God. Without God, none of this would be possible, and we must never forget that. (incidentally, anyone who wants to burn me for implying that God is behind my lesbian friend conceiving a child can save their matches - I am prepared to argue this one to the death.)

I live my life in fear and awe of my One True God. Also, I am a very private person when it comes to some matters, especially medical. That said, I don't mind telling you that this next child, like the past three, will be delivered via cesarean section. I do not know whether it is a boy or a girl, and I can almost definitely assure you that he/she will be several hours old before an official moniker is in place. I do know the scheduled date and time that this child is supposed to arrive, but I am not giving out that information, to anyone except the babysitter. The reason, is that said schedule is completely of man, and not necessarily of God, and it is God who is in control here, not me, or the Dr or scheduling clerks. I am about to have major surgery where two lives will be at risk, and I am not about to mess with God.

First Son was delivered via emergency c-section two days before his due date. We had had a sonogram that day which showed the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck times two. The OB wanted to induce labor, but my maternal instincts told me otherwise, and we opted for surgery. Thank God we did too, because the cord was actually around his neck four times, and the mood in the O.R. when he came out was one of astonishment and gratitude. Several nurses came up to where my head was and said "Thank God, you made the right decision" and I also heard the assisting doctor say "Could you imagine what would have happened if she went into labor?" So, I credit my beautiful, sweet, smart and funny First Son being just that, beautiful, sweet, smart, funny, and alive, to God, of course, and to my and my husband's ability to listen to the voice of God on that fateful day and make the difficult, unpopular decision to go the surgical route.

With Curly girl I was given a choice to either schedule a c-section or attempt a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean). Not surprisingly, I did a lot of research, a lot of reading, and a lot of praying on the subject. I decided that the medical risks of either choice were about equal. Knowing my own anxiety issues though, I thought that I could probably deal better with the risks of a scheduled c-section. However, I also felt that I was missing out somehow on this amazing experience of natural childbirth, and I felt a little sad about that. In the end the decision was made to schedule the surgery for a date very close to my due date, but, in the event that I went into labor before then, I would once again listen to the voice of God and attempt the VBAC. Well, no labor, no VBAC. Curly girl arrived on her scheduled date, with her umbilical cord wrapped around her own neck two times. The OB pronounced that my body simply produces really long cords.

With Paddy boy VBAC was no longer an option as my uterus had already endured two c-sections and the risk was now too high. The curve ball with that pregnancy however, was that my doctor scheduled himself a two week vacation in South America for weeks 38 and 39 of my pregnancy. Nice, right? So, I could either schedule a c-section with one of his associates, or take my chances and try to wait until my due date, which was the morning after his plane landed, and have him perform the surgery. The contingency plan with all of this was that in the event I went into labor while he was away one of his associates would deliver the baby. So, I could schedule surgery with a stranger, or I could take my chances, not schedule, and , worse case scenario wind up having a stranger deliver anyway. Seemed like six of one, or half a dozen of another to me. I decided to wait, and thankfully Paddy boy complied. He was born on his due date, via c-section, with his umbilical cord wrapped around his neck, times three.

This time, I told the OB at my first appointment soon after the stick turned blue, that under no circumstances whatsoever, was he to leave the country during the month of May. He complied, and instead went to Korea back in February. Fine by me. So here we are, 36 weeks. The Doctor is in the country, and the date is set.

When is it? I am not telling you. I am not telling anyone. If this child wasn't going to be delivered via scheduled c-section neither you nor I would know the date of his or her arrival. Even now, the baby could come at anytime, he or she isn't privy to the schedule. My husband & I know, the Dr knows, as does his staff; and the person whom I have asked to watch the cherubs that day knows. I don't see how anybody else needs to know. Me, Hubby, the Dr, and the babysitter.

Now, this annoys some people, but really, do they have any right? Just today someone asked me if I had a date yet, and I said " yes". It seemed that this person wanted to press on and ask when, so I said simply "I am not telling you, I am not telling anyone". Of course, as I said, this is my 3rd scheduled section, and I have never told this person when I was going into the hospital to have the others either, so I am not sure why there was any surprise that I didn't tell this time. I went on to explain that my decision was a personal one for me, I have some anxiety issues, and a c-section is major surgery. I just don't need the extra anxiety. I prefer to deal with these things quietly, privately, and personally. I am not a Holy Roller, and I didn't think it was really necessary for me to defend my decision by getting into a heated religious debate that would not change anyone's opinion.

My conversant went on to say "that's really strange". Now you're calling me strange? So what if umpteen years ago you knew the day that your labor would be induced and you didn't mind telling people? You weren't having major surgery! And...most importantly...you're not me! You don't live inside my mind (be glad), so I don't expect you to necessarily understand, but I do expect you to respect me. I found that remark rather insulting, but since I know that it wasn't meant to be I am letting it go! Yes, it would probably be more convenient for planning purposes if you knew the date, but, that just isn't the way this is going to happen, sorry. I can promise you the first phone call once the child makes his or her debut. That's the best I can do.

I am not telling you the date of my scheduled c-section unless you need to know, and chances are, you don't need to know. If you would like to wish me well, or keep me and my family in your prayers, don't let the calendar dictate that. A calendar is just one more technology that doesn't really include God, even if he is at the center of it all.

Perchance to dream...

2008-04-21T17:00:00.007-04:00

Lately I am just so darned tired. It is sometimes hard for me to fall asleep at night because my joints hurt, and I have to wake up early each day to get First Son off to school and tend to Paddy boy (Curly would sleep till noon most days if I let her, and even if she does wake up she's a pro with the remote control!). So, I look forward to Saturday morning as if it were a giant ribbon wrapped box under the Christmas tree. Hubby is home, and I don't have to wake up!! I am entirely too optimistic about this premise though, because both my dear Hubby and my dear First Son were born without the ability to be quiet unless they are themselves asleep, and lately sleeping late for either of them means 6:30AM.

This past Saturday I was so frustrated with the level of noise that I actually rose out of bed at approx. 7:45 to tell the entire brood how ridiculously rude and unfair they were all being. It was not pretty. Hubby tried in vain to defend himself with some lame excuse that went "I keep telling them...." but, I shot him a look of death and then wondered aloud about exactly who thought it was a good idea to turn the washing machine on at 6AM, and then run it unbalanced so that it sounds as if a Mack Truck is barrelling through the house? Hmmmm?

I went back to bed and thought with pleasure about the days coming soon when I will be sedated in a hospital bed, having just undergone major surgery, when I will actually get a chance to sleep! I mean, is that sick or what? I am looking forward to the hospital as a place of peace and quiet?? Does anyone else think something is wrong with that idea?

Well, today came a state of bliss that I thought I would never see. Since I spent 14 hours away from home yesterday travelling to and from the Papal mass at Yankee Stadium, my dear Hubby and MIL worked it out for me to be able to sleep as long as I needed in total peace and quiet! I LOVE THEM! Hubby went into work a little bit late today, and brought the cherubs to MIL at about 7:30 this morning! Except for a random door bell ring at about 7:45 (someone looking for my tenant), which wasn't even that bad as I needed to get up to use the facilities and have a drink of water anyway, I slept uninterrupted until...11AM! Wow. It felt so good. I then brewed myself a nice cup of tea and baked up some fresh cinnamon rolls while watching The View! I can't remember the last time I have been so indulgent! (for that matter, I can't imagine the next time it might even be a possibility to be so indulgent) It really made such a huge difference in my life. Just to be able to rest my tired bones and body was so refreshing to my soul!

Saturday morning I woke up snarling and snorting, Sunday I spent a day with the Pope, and next thing you know today I am sleeping like a...really tired, 9 months pregnant mother of three ( ...well, we know how babies sleep, and I certainly slept better than that!). My 14 hour pilgrimage to the Bronx yields miracles in under 24 hours! Amazing.

Seriously, thank you SO MUCH to MIL - you were a Godsend today, and everyday!

Time on my side

2008-04-19T08:16:00.005-04:00

Time. It is infinitely finite. The days on the calendar stretch on in perpetuity, but each one comes to it's fateful end, much too soon. 24 hours really isn't enough. Each day I awake full of hope and energy, yet each evening I inevitably lay my head on the pillow, exhausted, with only a portion of my to do list completed. Am I too ambitious? Maybe. Inefficient? Only sometimes. Nine months pregnant and therefore prone to bouts of exhaustion? Definitely.

I am a glutton. Everyone who knows me, knows that my plate is full. That's the way I like it. I run one book club, am a member of another, participate in a monthly Bunco circle, just recently stopped working one day a week, chair one or two PTA committees, conduct wedding rehearsals at my church, am planning Curly's birthday, teach a 2 hour religious ed class to ten 3, 4 and 5 year olds every Friday, and try in vain to maintain several friendships and familial responsibilities. Oh yeah - and I already have three kids, a house, and a husband. Once in a while, I write a blog, but that's not so much! It's life. My life. It's just that these past few weeks have been crazy. I actually had one friend call to see if I was ok, was I in the hospital maybe?, all because I haven't posted in my blog in such a long time.

Lately I just can't seem to cross enough off of an ever growing list, and time is running out. This baby is coming, whether I am ready or not. This is the first time in four full term pregnancies that I do not yet have a hospital bag packed at 36 weeks. In the past, my bag has been at the ready, hospital earrings and all, by 30 or 32 weeks. I haven't even looked at, much less washed, a stitch of baby clothes. In fact, I haven't even bought the Dreft! The bassinet is still in the basement. In the past, I had by now, stocked my freezer with 20 homemade dinners, to insure a smooth transition after we brought the newbie home (because seriously, if dinner is on the table, then things at least seem normal). My freezer today? Well, I did recently clean it, but it's full of mostly bread and french fries (french fry sandwich, anyone?) . I recently ordered the Big Brother/Big Sister t-shirts, I just hope they arrive in time. I did also have hubby get the car seat down from the attic, so we can bring our new baby home, even if he/she is naked. At least it's spring, right? Who needs clothes, ...I bought diapers.

Today we are off for the official meeting of Baby "D" who arrived in grand style on the "day of fools", foiling his Daddy's plans to be at Yankee Stadium for the season opener; then First Son has a soccer game. After that our day is quiet. (quiet being a very subjective term). Tomorrow I am off to Yankee stadium with Aunt Tay, as we were honored to receive the golden tickets necessary for entrance to the Papal Mass, and next weekend I am escaping to a rented house on the North Fork of this Island to catch up and relax with six of my closest girlfriends. First Son is off from school this week, but he does have two dentist appointments. I also have been invited to lunch sans kiddies with my good friend SBW. I will fit it all in, I am sure. And whatever doesn't get done...well, there's always tomorrow.

It's My Blog-iversary!

2008-03-26T15:19:00.003-04:00

That's right, hard to believe, but today marks one year since I have been a member of the blogosphere. Happy Blog-iversary to me!! As of this posting I have had almost 5700 hits - sounds like a lot right? It's just slightly more than 15 per day, but still, who would think that there are that many people out there who wanna read what I have to say? Amazing!

I am looking forward to year number two, and will be implementing some technological improvements, namely, a subscription service! Keep watching!

Thank you to my very loyal fans, you know who you are. Keep reading, and keep stroking my ego!

I am the Mom, I am the Mom, I am the Mom!

2008-03-25T20:04:00.002-04:00

Dear Dr. Pediatrician,
I am the Mom. You are the Doctor. Sorry lady, but Mom trumps Doctor. Every time. Now I realize that you have gone through umpteen years of school and training, internships, residencies, etc. I respect that. I do. But here's the thing. While your area of expertise may be "children" my area of expertise is "my child". No one has put in more hours of research, intensive research, on this particular subject. I know this child inside and out. I know the meaning of every sniffle, cough and burp;the sound of every cry, the cause behind every bump and bruise and hive. As I said, I respect your level of training and expertise, now I demand that you respect mine. I will no longer put up with rushed appointments where you do not listen fully to my concerns, where you speak to me like I am an idiot. I am not an idiot, I am THE MOM. And you, ...are fired.
Sincerely,
The MOM

Seriously, I am so tired of my pediatrician's office. I have been saying this for months now, but it is definitely time for me to act on it and move on already. I am getting a new doctor. (Can't wait to see how my "lovely" insurance factors into this one)

I feel kind of sad, because these doctors have been with me from the very beginning. I mean, literally, Dr. S. was in the delivery room when First Son made his entrance into this world. Also, I really like the RN who works there (and yes, Aunt Mean, she is an RN), as well as the receptionist, who is the one who talked me off the ledge when the doctor I had first "hired" when I was expecting First Son turned out to be a major bone-head.
For most of the past 5 and 1/2 years I have been happy there, but lately, I just am not leaving there with a feeling of confidence. I think it is important for a pediatrician to inspire a parent's confidence, not only in the skills of the Dr, but in our own parenting skills. For the past few months I have been feeling frustration and disrespect. I feel like they are at times, pushing drugs unneccesarily, and at times witholding necessary prescriptions. (such as prophylactic antibiotiotics and nasal flu vaccines) They don't seem to want to take the time to discuss options or diagnoses. Dare I say they "blow me off"? Part of the problem, is that there are two doctors in the practice, but since they cover two offices they are never there at the same time. You never know which one you're going to get, and lately it hasn't been the good one. To be honest though, even the good one has, as of late, been a bit of a disappointment.
I am a smart Mom, thank God, and I do my research. I may have mentioned this before, but I don't take anyone's word without checking it out for myself. I walk into every appointment armed with knowledge. In 5 1/2 years I have never, not once missed an appointment. My children's immunization records read like a public health brochure. I am friendly, and polite at all times. I send Christmas cards and bring cookies. My children say please and thank you and clean up the toys they were playing with. I pay my co-pays! I am a model patient parent, but apparently not a good fit for this office. Well, some other doctor's office is going to be happy to have me and my brood, and our co-pay and cookies!

Just in case...

2008-03-24T08:39:00.002-04:00

A few days ago a good friend of mine who has been facing some health issues, commented about the myriad of things that run through one's mind when facing your own mortality. She commented that should anything awful befall her (pthh, pthh, pthh) she would take comfort in knowing that her family would at the very least be well fed, this because of the delicious meals that showed up on her doorstep recently when she had undergone a procedure.

This has got me thinking. I have no doubt that my family would be well fed. That much I am sure they could manage on their own, as Hubby certainly knows his way around the supermarket, the kitchen, and the take-out menus. My concerns, should anything awful befall me, (pthh, pthh, pthh), have more to do with hygiene than nutrition. Will Curly Girl's hair ever be washed, conditioned and combed through properly, or will she live out the rest of her childhood with a ratty ponytail? Will Paddy boy be destined to walk around in "floods" with his belly hanging out because he has no undershirt on and his father doesn't seem to notice that it's time to move up to the next size clothes? Will First Son's nails be cut short, or will he become known as the dirty-fingernail kid? Will any of them be seen wearing shoes AND socks again? And what about Hubby? I picture lots of wrinkles and stains in his clothes, and really long, unruly eyebrows. I shudder to think what my family might become in my absence.

I have mentioned to Hubby, somewhat in jest, that I will need to make a provision in my will to make sure that these things are taken care of, but I don't actually have the means. So please, if you are my friend and you want to do something for me, promise me that in the event of tragedy (pthh, pthh, pthh) you will leave the casserole home and instead head on over with the hairbrush, the nail clippers and the iron! Oh yeah, you might want to bring a dust cloth too!

It could be a ...

2008-03-20T12:11:00.004-04:00

If the last few days are any indication, then I must go on the record here as saying that maybe...it's a girl. And not just because I would love for Curly Girl to have a sister, although I would. I have a very scientific reason for my diagnosis (is the sex of a fetus considered a diagnosis?)...This baby is making me cranky!!
Seriously, I pity anybody who has to be around me, most especially the cherubs and Hubby. Everything irritates me lately. I irritate me. My clothes irritate me. Last night watching American Idol even the commercials were irritating me. Also, I just ate three mini chocolate bars and am considering whipping up a batch of Ghiradielli brownies -if only I can keep them a secret from the rest of the inhabitants of my domicile and eat them all myself!
I am not motivated to do anything at all that requires interaction with other people. I just want to hole up with my chocolate and surf the web for celebrity dirt.
I felt like this once before....Spring 2004. We all know what happened then. Another female Taurus? Oh boy!

Goodnight Sweet Angel

2008-03-14T10:24:00.004-04:00

Every night before I head off to bed to go to sleep, when each of the cherubs is fast asleep and tucked away in their own beds, I sneak into their rooms and ply their faces with kisses. I have a special name for each of them, and I gently whisper my goodnight wishes. Sometimes I take a few minutes to just stare with wonder and thank God for blessing me so richly. It is one of my favorite rituals of the day.

Last night, or more accurately, very early this morning I became aware of the sensation of something very warm and soft on my face. Then, I felt the softest little kiss. (Hubby was snoring away on the other side of the bed) I opened my eyes and saw First Son standing next to me. I said "hi", and he came in for a big hug. I asked him what was wrong, fearing a nightmare or wet sheets, and he just said "I love you Mommy. Is tomorrow Friday?". Then he went back to bed. Wow. So sweet.

I figured that he had gotten up to use the bathroom and stopped by for an extra goodnight. This morning as he was getting ready for school I asked him if he remembered coming into my room last night. He said "yeah". I asked if he had gotten up to use the bathroom, and he said " No, I just wanted to say I love you."

There are some moments in my life as a mother that I would do anything to forget. Things that are messy or embarrassing or situations that I feel I have handled badly. This moment however, is one that I hope haunts me through many years of old age.

My precious First Son, My Sweet Angel, I love you too.

Deplorable

2008-03-13T10:29:00.003-04:00

I don't like to get political but, I am a mother, and as such I have some responsibility for the world in which I am raising my children. I happened upon this on my friend Salome's blog this morning, and I was so disgusted that I felt I had to share. Please take some time and listen to this rant from Oklahoma State Legislator Sally Kern:
http://www.victoryfund.org/files/listening.html

I am a Married Catholic and Patriotic American mother of three, with one on the way, and I was brought to the verge of tears listening to this. It frightens me not only that there are people who live here among us, calling themselves Christian Americans, but it frightens me most that these people have a platform on which to stand and voice these deplorable thoughts. This woman truly believes herself to be a patriot! She is in a position to influence people. That is scary.

Here is the thing to keep in mind, we are all in a position to influence others. Especially those of us who are parents and teachers. Our world is flawed. We are not a perfect society. We must empower our children to think their own thoughts, to draw their own conclusions, to love one another and to judge not. And, we must teach them the importance of their own voice, especially when it comes to electing those individuals who are meant to represent us.

God Bless America - we certainly need it.

Seriously, What Does That Make Four??

2008-03-07T09:16:00.005-05:00

When I started this little "column" just under a year ago, I chose the name that I felt was the most accurate commentary on my life at the time. "Three is the New Five" was born because I spent most of my days with three small children aged 4 and younger, and the reactions that I would get from people were almost always amusing. Years ago it was much more common for people to have three children, or more. These days however, you tip the scales above 2 and people look at you in a whole new way. It used to be that five children was a healthy sized "big" family, but I was finding that as I went about my business with my three in tow people would look at me with astonishment. One time I was in a store checkout and the woman in line behind me asked if I needed help getting to the car. I told her "thank you very much, but I can manage." She went on to say "but,...you have three children." Really? I hadn't noticed. Even my dear MIL will say (when I am stubbornly resisting her offer to help) "but Tricia, you don't understand, you have three children...". Oh, I understand, believe me! First son's barber continues to refer to Paddy boy as "Paddy Quits" - as in, that's it we're calling it quits now. How presumptuous!

Well anyway, now that the bulging belly makes it obvious that number four is due to arrive you can just imagine the reactions I get. Everything from a wide eyed "God Bless You!" (Thank you, I can use all the blessings you have to offer) to "Somebody needs to get snipped" (So disgusting, I don't even have a reaction for that one) to "Good Catholics" (I don't know what you mean... I eat meat on Fridays during Lent) to a simple "Wow". The other night a friend of my FIL patted my belly (a pet peeve) and then sternly announced while swiping his hand through the air, "no more!" Honestly, I could be insulted, but it's usually not worth the energy. I choose instead to be amused. Sometimes I myself don't quite know how to react to the fact that number four is on the way, so I won't hold a grudge against these people, no matter how tiring their comments may be.

Last night I was at a women's function at my church and got the best reaction yet. After a while we broke into small groups to discuss the night's topic. I was there with some friends, my sister and my MIL, but we invited one other lady into our group whom none of us knew. She was a very nice lady who kept referring to the rest of us, including MIL, as "you young ones". This nice lady looked at my belly and said sweetly "so, you're expecting a little one." I smiled and said "yes, my fourth". Of course her eyes went wide ( I think that part of people's wide eyed reaction is because I am younger). She smiled politely and asked how old my other children are. I of course answered, "Five, 3 1/2 and 15 months." She responded with... absolute, hysterical, tear inducing laughter. I mean her face was red, and she was literally wiping away tears. She kept apologizing every time she could catch her breath...but she couldn't help laughing. I thought...FINALLY... someone who gets it!

I admit, it is not easy having so many, some days it is a real challenge, but, I love each and every one of my children, and when I look at them I cannot fathom life without one of them. Each one brings something so special to our family, and was always meant to be here. I myself am one of five children, and we all maintain a close relationship as adults. My parents are long gone from this earth, and my brothers and sisters are all that I have to connect me to them. I truly believe that the best gift that I can give my children is siblings. (also, I figure that if they have to deal with me being their mother, they shouldn't have to go through it alone!)

So, if "Three is the New Five", what does that make Four? Should I change the name of my blog come May? If so, what shall I change it to? If you have any suggestions please leave a comment. Next month I will post a poll and you can all vote!

Waiting for baby "D"

2008-03-03T07:44:00.004-05:00

This past weekend we had the baby shower for the Sunshine Girl. It was fun, the fun part for me being putting together centerpieces and favors and obsessing over details. As you may know, I live for planning a good party. For the Sunshine Girl, the fun part I am sure was visiting with her family who arrived from the Sunshine State just for the occasion, that and getting a trillion adorable baby gifts! Curly Girl had a blast, being the special helper at the shower. That girl never stopped! Her Oohs and Ahhs were right on target and never lacked enthusiasm. She helped with every single gift, and had a moment of pure ecstasy at the sight of the cake! The little girl who thought a baby shower was the funniest thing she had ever heard of, because really, babies don't take showers, they take baths; had finally come to accept and enjoy the concept of the all- girl present extravaganza! For Aunt Mean, who was the hostess, and this is the funniest part, also the grandma, he he he, I think the most fun part was when it was all over and deemed a success - boy can she stress! She was also pretty happy when the adorable car seat blanket she made was a perfect match for the car seat! It really is pretty, and now that I know about the "skills" I expect one of my own, hint, hint.

There has been quite a baby boom in the family lately. I am talking serious census skewing data. In a span of less than two years there will be no less than six new leaves on the old arbor, and depending on how deep the roots go, probably more than that. My family alone is responsible for two of them. Babies, babies, everywhere. Still, there is something different about this particular birth. With this new baby we're starting a whole new generation! I will be his great aunt, after all! (It's true, I have always been a great aunt, thanks for mentioning it) There is something so exciting about the arrival of this child that I am almost more excited to meet him than I am my own child (relax, I said almost). This is the first time in over 21 years that there is a baby being born who is my direct blood relation (excluding cousins), and I don't need to do any of the birthing! If my parents were alive today, or more accurately, this summer, they would be proud to have 9 grandchildren ranging in age from 29 to zero and 1 great-grandchild. Wow.

He'll be here in just a few short weeks. We know he's a boy - obviously, but that is all we know. We don't know his name, or when exactly he'll arrive. We're all just waiting for the phone to ring. I do know however that he will be greeted with a great big shout of joy from so many in this great big family. I for one, can't wait to meet you, baby "D".

Filfidelfia

2008-02-25T17:40:00.001-05:00

A few weeks ago the cherubs and I took a trip to "Filfidelfia" to visit our good friends, The "DD" family who recently moved there. It was so amazingly wonderful to be in a place we've never been before, yet to feel so familiar and comfortable. Of course it's not the place that makes us feel so good, it's being with people we love. Although the four walls were foreign, it truly felt like coming home.

The kids greeted each other by running into each other's arms, full of giggles and grins, and true glee. Even little Paddy boy was thrilled to show off his new skills and toddled his own way up the walk and into his pal DD's arms. It was a happy reunion. Their new home is beautiful, if not entirely moved into. Somehow all of the toys managed to get unpacked(at least I hope those were all of the toys!) before we arrived so the kids were never at a loss for things to do. It was warm and cozy, and DD is a great cook (she did have help from 3 adorable sous- chefs) and the ultimate hostess. The kids sat up late giggling and playing, watching movies, eating ice cream and having "slumb-over" parties. DD and I sat up late, giggling, eating ice cream and catching up on our heart to hearts.

It was really a great trip, and one that I am sure was an emotional boost for everyone, especially the kids who were missing each other terribly. Now at least they can conjure in their minds some reality of their best friend's whereabouts. They got to visit her in her new school, they know what her room is like, and I have definitely noticed a change in the anxiety levels of everybody. They realize that visiting with their friend is not impossible, and we can do it again. They are having a great time sending each other mail, and chatting on the phone. Now of course, they are bugging me about when the "DD" family will be coming to play at our house. I am sure that can be arranged.

As for me, I realized too, that even though I really miss my friend, it's going to be okay. I feel as though I have turned an emotional corner since our trip. I can no longer be in denial about their departure, but I know where they are now, and I know that we can pick up right where we left off, no matter where or when that was. I really hope that as our kids grow and change and our lives become busier and busier (you mean, it can get busier?)we will always make time for each other. I am not really a very emotonally demonstrative person, at least not when it comes to being warm and fuzzy, but friendship is important, and I have a good one with dear old "DD". She is a special blessing in my life, and I am grateful!

Still, the Mets are the team to beat! LOL.

2008-02-25T08:41:00.001-05:00

Hello Third Trimester.
Welcome, heartburn, frequent peeing and infrequent sleep.
It's good to be back.

NO shamrock?

2008-02-24T21:29:00.005-05:00

A few months back we went to dinner with some friends at a local pub. The overall experience was pleasant enough, the waitress was as dumb as a crouton, but the food was pretty good, and the atmosphere was homey, and comfortable, important, considering we had four kids with us. There was one thing that really creeped me out though. In the whole place, there was not one stinking shamrock! Seriously, not one!

A bar, any kind of bar, without some display of a shamrock? I thought for sure that the walls around me were nothing more than a facade. Any moment and little men dressed head to toe in black with those cool walkie-talkie headphones would come out and move a few things around and suddenly I would be in George and Weesie's living room. I was actually sitting on some television set, not an actual watering hole. Although surely the union prop masters of TV land would not overlook something as basic as a shamrock in a bar? It is fundamental.

Now, luckily I was already quite pregnant, and therefore however much I was craving a pint, or even the free glass of wine that was offered with my dinner, I was abstaining. I say lucky because, in fact I cannot, in good conscience, drink in a bar which does not, in some way, shape or form, have a shamrock displayed. It's just not natural. Uncle Billy would NOT approve, and so I can't do it.

The name of this particular pub, whether it be pretension or not, I can't say, is quite genuinely Irish, which makes the absence of the green clover all that much more insulting. I don't know if the proprietors were aware that when giving their establishment a distinctly Irish moniker, they were required to give a nod to the old sod with some representation of the registered trademark of the Republic of Ireland, or if maybe they are indeed, eejits.

Anyway, I was spooked by the whole experience. I have since been assured by a certain Ignats who frequents the place and incidentally has access to some nice neon shamrocks through his employment in the distribution industry, that the oversight has been corrected. We'll see. Three more months of relative sobriety and I may give it another try.

Baby Brain

2008-02-18T22:56:00.004-05:00

I think I have figured it out. My blogging problem, that is. I mean, I just haven't been able to post lately, and it's been bothering me. I can't seem to get the words to come together. It's frustrating to say the least. I want to post intelligent, eloquent musings, but I just can't seem to do it.

Well, tonight it dawned on me. This has happened to me before, particularly when I was expecting First Son, and probably to some degree with each subsequent pregnancy. I AM DUMB. I have "baby brain". I can barely string three words together to order a movie ticket, and here I expect myself to be able to write my "column"? I am totally sober but am acting quite inebriated most of the time. I have a total loss of words as well as a loss of concentration. This pregnancy symptom is almost as debilitating as the onslaught of exhaustion early in the pregnancy. This is not who I am. I am smart. I am literate. Really, I am. I just can't prove it these days.

On the plus side, Fetus is going to be one smart child. In the meantime, I will do my best to not sound like a rambling idiot. Please stick by me. Things should start to improve around late May, early June. That is, provided Number 4 actually leaves me with any time to blog at all!

Help a mutha out!

2008-02-18T13:21:00.003-05:00

Sometimes, it really does take a village.

Last weekend was a whirlwind. Hubby was OOT for business, which always spells some kind of crazy trouble at home. What kind of trouble? how about: a kid overdosing on steroids; a probable miscarriage that was thankfully only a kidney stone requiring a trip to the ER, where they did NOT give me morphine, by the way, yeah, cause Tylenol might help!; a trip to the ER with a three month old, preceeded by a flat tire in a snowstorm; a car accident on the NYS Thruway, with a two year old and four month old, and yes, another trip to yet another ER, etc., etc. It's gotten to the point where some of my family and friends are petitioning for Engineer Boy to not be allowed any more travel visas. Of course, we have to pay the bills, (even if most of them are hospital visit co-pays and car repairs) so, off he goes.

Hubby's flight was scheduled to take off at 7:30 Friday night, the same time that my monthly Bunco group was scheduled to arrive at my house! (ok, so I play Bunco, I will be very popular when I move into my retirement community, so there!) I was a wreck trying to get ready for Bunco - which meant hosting 11 women at my home, feeding and watering them all, keeping track of "dues" and distributing prizes, and not to mention a little bit of pressure to have my home looking good, since I don't know many of these women very well. (thankfully, I only have to host the game once a year!) Hubby stayed home all day Friday and was a tremendous help. He really is a gem (sometimes), cleaning, organizing, lifting heavy things, killing bugs and opening jar lids!

Let me just say that the women that I play Bunco with are...crazy! I refer to them as the real desperate housewives of Suffolk County. It just is not safe for husband or child to be around while they are. With Hubby leaving town, I was left with the situation of needing to find a farm willing to take in three extra grazing lambs - overnight! Not always an easy task. Thankfully, Grandma was on board all along to take care of Paddy Boy, so that was one down. Luckily for all of us Aunt Tay was well rested and had recently stocked up on Cheez Doodles, Ice Cream and Cap'n Crunch, so she was prepared to take First Son and Curly Girl. Phew! I was safe. My house was clean (at least the first floor...including, and this is the impressive part, the kitchen floor!), I had a wonderful menu prepared, and the beer was on ice - Bunco would happen. Most importantly, the cherubs were safe from all the mayhem.

We played Bunco. Everyone enjoyed the food, complimented me on my lovely home, helped to clean up and, this is the best part - left at a respectable hour. I didn't win rolling the dice, but I didn't really lose either. Best of all, I had the whole big bed to myself, and there was nobody home to wake me up in the morning! I actually slept uninterrupted (ok, there was one pee break...I couldn't exactly farm out the Fetus!) until after 9AM! To top it off..I had a whole roll of Pillsbury Cinnabon Cinnamon rolls in the fridge just waiting for me to bake and spread with gooey frosting. Life was good Saturday morning!

Well, that was Saturday morning. Life WAS good. That is, until Aunt Tay returned her charges. As First Son walked his way to the front door, Aunt Tay stood behind him slowly and deliberately mouthing the words "cran-ky pants!" Hmmm.. I thought that maybe he just didn't sleep well, being in a different house and all, and sleeping on the floor in his sleeping bag. I asked him if he had had fun, he said "Yes". I asked him if he had slept well, and he snapped at me "I didn't sleep at all!" ( he often says this when he has a sleepover - he convinces himself that he stays awake all night, in spite of videoptaped images of him snoring away that would stand up in a court of law as evidence of the contrary). He then said that his "throat hurt". I figured that maybe Aunt Tay kept her apartment warmer, and therefore drier than we do at home, and that might have made his throat sore. So, I didn't think much about it.

We all sat down to indulge in my cinnamon rolls. First Son took only a few bites before he disappeared. Aunt Tay then mentioned that he hadn't really eaten much at her house, not even the Cap'n Crunch (since his usual cereal choice is either Cheerios or Raisin Bran, it is odd that he would pass up a contraband sugar choice!). I found him lying on the couch, with three blankets piled on top of him. Say it with me..."uh oh." He said he was "FREEZING". Time to get the thermometer. It was about 100', under his arm. Not terribly high, OK, some Motrin and off to bed. I still thought that maybe he was just exhausted. He slept for three hours. When he woke up he was fine. He was torturing his little sister, annoying me, he was definitely back to normal. To quote Suzy Mac, "Hooray, I'm saved". I was planning to leave the cherubs with a teenage babysitter that night and go out for a little while to help my niece celebrate her big "2-5". For a while there I thought I was going to have to scrap those plans.

Paddy boy went down for his afternoon nap, and I pulled out some fun art supplies, including, the much coveted, most fun art supply of all: glitter, and set to work with the kids making our own valentines. It was such an enjoyable afternoon, I almost had myself fooled. Suddenly I looked up to find the project First Son was working on, lonely little glue dots around a heart cut-out, just waiting for embellishment, but First Son was nowhere to be found. He had abandoned his Valentine! I called up the stairs and he replied that he was in his bed because "it's not cold in my bed" I had spoken too soon. Up I went with the thermometer in hand. Once again, 100'. More Motrin, and a call to the babysitter - no night out for Mom!

Ok, truly, in the grand scheme of things, this is not so bad. I wasn't having to go to the ER, I just had a kid home with a bug, and anyway, I was still kind of tired. I didn't really need to go out. I have dealt with much worse while Hubby has been away. In truth, I was getting off easy this time. As long as I kept First Son on Motrin he was in good spirits. We ordered a pizza and a movie. There are worse ways to spend a Saturday night.

And then...we went upstairs to get ready for bed when First Son announced that his "throat hurt". Crap. He has never in his life complained of a sore throat before. Other than a fever, he had no other symptoms. My gut was telling me that this was not good. I got out Hubby's Super Duty flashlight and made the kid say "ahh". Red. Definitely bright red, and possibly a few white spots. Strep Throat. Double Crap. I gave him some Tylenol and sent him off to bed.

I then proceeded to make the first of about 50 phone calls. You see, I work on Sundays. I work for the nicest people in the world, in a very small coffee shop that absolutely relies on their Sunday take to pay their bills. If I don't come to work they have to close shop for the day. I couldn't do that to them. However, it was really important that I get First Son to a Dr the next day. Strep Throat can be dangerous if it is not treated, and unfortunately First Son falls into a category that is "high risk". He was a cherub in need of an antibiotic. I was a Mom in need of a favor or two.

My first call was to my sister, known around here as "Aunt Mean" - which isn't always a comment on her personality. She's an RN, who has already raised four kids of her own, and is the only person other than Hubby who I would trust to take First Son to the pediatrician in place of myself. Of course, I kept getting her voicemail. Since she wasn't stuck at home with a sick cherub she had indeed gone out to celebrate the birth of my niece, her daughter, 25 years earlier. I then tried every other cell phone number of the people who I knew would be out with her. Either the bar they were in was really LOUD, or there was no cell service - surely they couldn't all be ignoring me! After about 15 tries, I finally had both the Sunshine girl and Ignats, my 21yr old godson, calling me back at the same time. Finally - I got to talk to a person! Ignats put his mother on the phone so I could ask for her help but...she gave me some line about a bunch of premature babies in some intensive care unit that she was previously engaged to take care of the next day. Whatever...like that's important, I needed to pour coffee and sling eggs for crying out loud! Crap.

Next I placed my call to the "Chef" - I asked him to please, please, make some calls and try to find someone to cover for me the next day, even if it would only be for a few hours. I explained the whole situation with OOT Hubby and sickly First Son. He suggested closing the restaurant the next day, but I resisted. That would mean him taking a really big hit in the wallet. He said he would start dialing and call me back.

As I sat waiting for some enlightenment, some sloution to my problem, the phone rang. It was Ignats. He offered to take First Son to the Doc for me, since he had no plans the next day. Well, that is a nice offer, but....First Son is a bit wimpy, and knowing that they would be doing a throat culture, shoving a stick down his throat, I didn't really think that Ignats was the best person for the job, a definite Mommy job. Thanks, but no thanks. Then I started thinking...Ignats has some experience is the food service industry...maybe he could come to the Coffee Shop and relieve me for a few hours so that I could get First son his prescription. Yeah...that's the ticket!

So that's what we did. I loaded First son up on Motrin at 7:30 AM (his temp was now 102' and he was miserable), left him and the other cherubs in the capable hands of Grandma and then headed off to work. At 10:00 Ignats arrived, got a quick tutorial and my best wishes for luck pouring coffee and slinging eggs, and I was off to bring First Son to the Doc. As expected, he was diagnosed with Strep, given a prescription for 8 days of Amoxicillan, and ordered to spend the next day home from school. I returned him to Grandma and headed back to work. When I got there there were three people doing my job, and "Chef" was overjoyed to see me, as were my regular customers. I take my hat off to all "working mothers" - again, a whole 'nother post.

By the time I got home, around 5PM everyone was relaxing peacefully. Hubby had returned on an afternoon flight, and just can't seem to understand what was so tough. Hmmph. I need to get myself a job that requires "travel". Perhaps I could start writing a column focused on the best "spas" in the country...then we'll let him give it a whirl!

2008-02-11T22:30:00.000-05:00

I know, I haven't posted in a long time. I know, I am disappointing many of you. I promise, I am trying! Sometimes, when I don't post for a while, it isn't because I don't have anything to say. Quite the opposite. There are actually so many things going on in my head that I can't seem to settle my mind and focus on writing about just one. Lately, there has been: my trip to "Filfadelfia" - so fun; dining alone with children outside the Tristate area a.ka. "I didn't want honey mustard on my cheeseburger!"; Girl Friendships - so important!; OOT Hubby; the Big Fat Bigots in my town; and even some personal commentary on the Presidential campaign. If you could see the list of posts I have started and haven't yet finished...
Seriously, my brain is a busy place, and it is hard to know which window I should open first and let you see into. As I said, I am trying. I promise to post about some, if not all of the above topics soon - before anything else happens! Stay tuned...please!

Sick Day

2008-01-22T12:54:00.000-05:00

A Mom doesn't ever get a day off, and she certainly doesn't get any sick time, which unfortunately, is not to say that she doesn't get sick.

Yesterday, First son was home in honor of MLK, Jr. After a lengthy discussion about whether or not the esteemed civil rights leader was indeed a member of a royal family, we decided to embark on some important errands which are most easily accomplished with First Son home from school. Namely, a haircut, lunch with my niece (a teacher, and therefore also off from work), and a trip to the eyeglass store to mend the twisted arm of the famed spectacles.

About a half an hour before we were set to leave the house I was hit by a wave of acute melancholy. This feeling came over me, and I suddenly didn't want to go out. I didn't want to meet my niece for lunch, I didn't want to do anything but crawl into my bed, pull the covers up over my head and maybe...cry. I thought the sudden onset a bit strange but otherwise I figured it was a touch of depression, something which I simply cannot submit to, but which occasionally rears its ugly head. I decided to ignore the feeling as best as I could, and so I laced up my sneakers, made sure all of the cherubs had warm hats and mittens and we headed out the door.

Sitting in the barber shop watching as First Son lost most of his overgrown locks to a #3, #4 buzz combination, I felt myself sighing heavily. Curly girl was talking to me, being as charming as ever, and I had to make a gargantuan effort to stay focused and involved. I was zoning out big time.

My niece and I decided to head to Panera Bread for lunch, since it is a favorite, and conveniently located at the mall, the site of my final eyeglass errand. We sat at the table with scrumptious soups and salads and amazing chewy breads before us - and I just couldn't bring myself to eat any of it. I forced a few bites, but I just wasn't interested. This was strange for sure, because as I said, Panera is a favorite, and lack of appetite never seems to be a symptom of my moodiness. Nevertheless, I asked for my food to be packed up "to go". I mentioned to my niece that I didn't feel good, but I couldn't explain anymore than that. I just didn't feel right. I mean, my head didn't hurt, my throat wasn't sore, I wasn't nauseated or crampy, I just felt this overwhelming need to go home and get in bed. I decided to give in this one time, forgo the eyeglass store, and just head home. Boy am I glad I did.

We were just a few blocks from the mall when I needed to pull over to the side of the road and...get sick. That makes it sound a lot more neat and compartmentalized than the reality was, but I won't go into gory details. We all have our own data bank of personal experience with the stomach flu on which we can draw to fill in whatever colorful aspects of this story I might leave out. Suffice it to say that it was gross, and painful, and not a little bit scary for the three small people seated behind me. (Well, two of them anyway, Paddy boy was oblivious to what was happening, as he was entertaining himself by pulling his hat down over his eyes and laughing hysterically). At one point it became quite frightening as I took my foot off of the brake pedal for a moment only to realize that I had never had the chance to put the car into park, luckily I found the brake again, just before we crashed into a tree.

Curly girl announced that as soon as we got home I was to go straight to bed and let her take care of me. She then wondered aloud about exactly who was going to drive us home, as clearly I was in no condition and her feet don't quite reach the pedals. First Son helped out by locating the roll of paper towels that I always keep in my car for emergencies. Thankfully, I pulled myself together and was able to get us all home safely. I got Paddy boy into his crib and turned on a movie (Thank God for Baby Neptune) while the other two played nicely in the boys' room. I called hubby and begged him to come home from work and then I crawled into my bed and vowed to stay there. That lasted until about 1 AM, when Paddy boy started puking...followed by First Son at 5:30AM. Hubby has since spent almost the entire day either on the porcelain throne or passed out on the couch. Curly girl? Well, someone's got to take care of the rest of us.

All in all I am thankful that it was just a stomach virus. As much as it sucks to be taken down by a bout of violent vomit, there is a definite end, you know it won't, it can't, go on forever. Depression is much more daunting, and I have had enough of it. If you've never had the pleasure of experiencing a serious case of the blues, now you can imagine...it's kind of like the feeling you get right before you puke.

2008-01-11T09:11:00.000-05:00

The weather here this morning was not so great, kind of like a monsoon. A good morning for sleeping in. Curly and I spent a good long while in the most delicious snuggle. We were wrapped up in down covers, entwined in a full body double hug. We laid there for quite a while just enjoying each other's company. I said to my Curly girl "do you know what I am?" She shook her head yes, so I said "what?" She answered "A genius!" I laughed and pulled her close as she went on, "a genius, and so pretty". I was going to say I was the luckiest Mommy in the world...

A big deep sigh....

2008-01-07T17:31:00.001-05:00

Thank you so much to all of my friends who either commented, e-mailed or called with words of encouragement. Thank you to those of you who thought happy thoughts and said silent prayers, you are very much appreciated today. Ok, so I am definitely more at peace now than I was yesterday. I have had my sonogram, I have seen my baby, and I had a lengthy chat with a smart doctor. I feel much better.
I am glad I took that class in statistics in college, cause we sure talked a lot of numbers today. For the record, my brain doesn't work in numbers, it works much better in words, but I managed to comprehend pretty well without engineer boy (a.k.a. Hubby) having to explain much. I credit this to all of the "words" that I have been reading on this subject lately. Here's the deal:
Nobody can tell me with absolute certainty that my baby does not have Downs Syndrome. They can't tell you that yours doesn't either. The tests that I have had are only screenings, and calculate nothing more than "risk" or probability. So, the earliest test, the "ultrascreen" said that my risk was even lower than average for my age, about 1 in 600. The second test, the AFP test said that my risk was much higher than average for my age, about 1 in 250. They did a third "analysis" called an "integrated analysis" which looks closely at the results of both tests and produces a third number, this time 1 in 800. This third test however is not so much scientific as it is statistic, and it hasn't been around long enough to be sure of its validity. Ok...so what next? Today's sonogram showed no additional markers for Down's Syndrome, or any other abnormality. Again, not a definite, but a probably. Most importantly, the baby's heart looked like it is developing normally. Often children with Down's Syndrome suffer from heart problems.
My concern with having a child with Down's Syndrome, well, my biggest concern anyway, would be making sure that any special medical needs could be easily met in the hospital where I deliver. This is the one thing that would make me consider an amniocentesis, because my usual hospital does not have a high level Neo-natal intensive care unit. The closest one can come to a sure answer about Down's Syndrome is to have an amniocentesis where they use a needle to extract some genetic information. However, this is a test which carries a 1 in 200 risk of miscarriage. This test can tell you if your child does have Down's Syndrome, with about 98% accuracy. Since the overall "statistics" show me at low risk, and the sonogram shows no signs of developmental issues, I am comfortable proceeding without the risky amnio and delivering as planned.
I would also just like to state that I love NSUH. It is far. It is really inconvenient, but it is so worth it. I have had sonograms done in other facilities, and it just doesn't compare. I take into account the fact that my friend works there as a sono tech, but even beyond that, even if I didn't know anyone there, I would still make the 37 mile trek, pay for parking, and deal with all of the "north shore" types and their Mercedes' and BMWs. There are many reasons I like NSUH, the comfy "beds" that I lie on while having the procedure, the big screen monitor positioned on the wall for me to see, so I don't have to crane my neck trying to look where the tech is looking, but most importantly to me, is the access to doctors! The sono techs are friendly (you'd think that would be a given, but trust me, it isn't) and clearly know what they are doing. They take their time and answer your questions, but then, when they are finished, you get to see a real doctor. The place where I used to go to have sonograms done never gave any indication that there was even a doctor present, much less willing to come in the room and talk to you! Today my doctor came in, spent almost as much time with the sono-wand in her hand as the tech did, and answered all of my questions, never once acted like I was just a dumb patient who should take her word as Gospel, and absolutely helped to set my mind at ease.
When all was said and done, and hubby and I were alone in the room, I sighed a big sigh of relief, and I even shed a few tears. The stress of this situation had built up over the last few days and weeks, and it was such a relief to be able to just let it all go. Thank you God. Of course, only time will tell for sure, but I am okay with that.

Anxiety returns...

2008-01-06T21:07:00.000-05:00

Tonight I spoke to my sister on the phone, a call whose purpose was to go over the practical details of her babysitting duties for tomorrow, when she mentioned that they prayed for me in church today. For some reason when she said "they" I automatically understood that she meant the congregation, not just her and my BIL. "Huh?" I asked. I was very confused, we don't attend the same parish, I am not part of any Diocesan group at the moment, I couldn't figure out what she meant. Why would a parish 20 miles away from my own be praying for me? Who am I? She went on to explain that during the Prayer of the Faithful, in her quaint little country church, they allow members to voice their own prayers of petition. She said that she was quietly thinking to herself about me (she would never, ever ,dare to speak aloud) when another woman asked to pray for "all pregnant mothers". She thought it more than just a coincidence. I don't know what to think of it, except to try to take some comfort from it, and to add my own prayer along with it, an addendum, if you will. I would like to offer a prayer for all pregnant mothers who are at this moment, scared out of their minds, for peace in their hearts. Lord knows I need it, and I am pretty sure I am not alone.

Okay, so remember how I said so bravely and somewhat arrogantly that I am just not going to worry about this Down Syndrome thing? Well, I kind of lied. Actually, I didn't exactly lie, I really meant it when I said it. I guess "failed" is a more accurate term because, despite my efforts, here I am, sitting in my bed worrying. Tomorrow (Monday) I have an appointment for my level II sonogram which will shed a whole lot more light on the situation. I guess what I am afraid of is, what if I am just so arrogant, that I gave this particular blood test no credence whatsoever, because I am just so sure that God will give me yet another healthy baby - that I find out ...I am wrong, and there is something wrong with my child? What then?

When I play out the scenario in my head, I have the exam and they all pronounce that everything about my baby appears perfectly healthy. Visualization as an anxiety reduction technique. (of course, there's another scenario that is running on limited release, where they tell me that there are two babies in my belly, which is what has thrown off the bloodwork - of course that scenario ends with me in a straight jacket and therefore doesn't fall under the heading of "anxiety reduction") While it is working somewhat, I still can't shake the idea that something is wrong. Otherwise, why would that stupid test have come back with a positive result??

I can be so rational sometimes. I do research, and draw my own conclusions about everything. I really don't take anyone's word, without some sort of verification of my own. I am not wishy washy, I make decisions and stick to them, but I am also not afraid to admit when I am wrong. I made my decision about this, so why then, with no further data, am I being so wishy washy? It's fine! It's Not! It's fine! It's not! Argh. I am torturing myself.

Tomorrow, I will meet up with Hubby and we will spend the afternoon, or at least part of it, looking at black and white images of our newest little cherub as he/she dances away on a flat screen monitor. Hubby will hold my hand, and let me squeeze his as tight as I need to. I am sure there will be some tears, I just am not sure what for. I love this little baby, and I will, no matter what. I hope to return home with some peace tomorrow. So, if you're the praying type, say one for me, and my baby, please.

Goodbye 2007, Hello 2008!

2008-01-01T20:31:00.000-05:00

So, Happy New Year. Another holiday that fails to top my list of favorites, but one which is completely inescapable. We "celebrated" by having some friends over for "fancy pizza", Disney DVD bingo, S'mores making and eventually, the ruthless public beating of some kitchen paraphernalia . We had been invited to what I am sure was a totally fun party by Mom2Two, but I really dread going out on 12/31, and she lives a good hour away. Amazingly, we made it all the way to midnight. We had a contingency plan to fake the kids out by doing a countdown early, since they don't totally get the concept of either telling time, or New Year's Eve celebrations. However, they all played together nicely, for the most part, and so, we counted down to 2008 with Dick Clark (poor, poor, soul). Curly girl didn't quite make it to midnight, she was last seen at about 11:40, when Hubby brought her upstairs to get "jammied up", but she never made it back down. Just as well, she's got plenty of time to get crazy on New Year's Eves to come.

I myself was quite glad to see 2007 go. It was a hard year for me, at least the last half. I have been dealing with lots of emotions, and not a little bit of an identity crisis now that First Son has started Kindergarten. One of my best friends and my kids' best friend moved away, in a slow and painful manner. That experience was like taking a band aid off by pulling one hair at a time. I have this unplanned pregnancy to deal with, and I have been finding it difficult to muster up enthusiasm for much of anything lately. So, I am very much looking forward to a bright and happy 2008. I have decided to recognize that I do have some control over my emotions. As my dear Hubby pointed out, I don't need to be so negative, I can try to embrace the positive in life. (not that I plan on sweeping my negative emotions under any carpets, mind you, if something ticks me off you can bet you'll hear about it, or at least hubby will!) I am putting 2007 to rest, and embracing 2008 with a big fat phony smile. I am going to fake it, until I make it. I am going to do away with the things in my life that do not bring me joy, and I am going to try not to be so serious about myself. I am going to try to live by my heart and not be concerned about social circles, or any other nonsense that drains the joy from me. I am starting this new year with a new outlook. I really hope it works.

Ancient "Korean" Secret

2007-12-18T09:35:00.000-05:00

I love my OB. I really do. He is the 4th OB I've had over the course of my motherhood, and this pregnancy marks the first time that two of my babies will be delivered by the same doctor, so that says a lot about how much I like him. He is an older gentleman, a native of Korea. He has a thick accent, but a dry wit, and we always manage a playful banter. A lot of his patients do not speak English, and he does not speak Spanish, so he employs almost all bi-lingual Spanish speakers to help him translate. I think he really appreciates that he can have intelligent conversations one on one with me, so we get along really well.

Lately I have been having a lot of trouble with my sinuses and a bad cough. My last two pregnancies I was plagued by a terrible cough that went on for months. My family doctor at the time determined that I have a pregnancy- induced asthma, and put me on steroids to help me breathe. (Steroids in-utero, maybe that explains why both Curly and Paddy are out of their minds?) This time around I thought I would be proactive, and take myself to the Dr. before my lungs got so bad that I need steroids again. So I went on Friday. It has been a nightmare. Thanks to lovely insurance changes I now have a new family practitioner, and he seems to think the problem is my sinuses, and that we need to treat "the nose" to cure "the cough". The problem is that most sinus medications are not safe to use in pregnancy. There is one formula which is considered safe, however, my lovely insurance of course, does not cover it. So, I spent much of my day yesterday on the phone with the pharmacy and trying to get past the sphincter police manning the front desk at the Dr's office, in order to get a pre-approval from the lovely insurance people. (by the way, "lovely" is just another term for "evil, greedy bastards")

At some point yesterday, I decided to call my OB and get his expertise. No sphincter police in his office, within 5 minutes of dialing I was on the phone speaking with my real, live doctor - amazing! So anyway I was explaining the problem, when he asked if I had tried
"Lovishun, cough syrup".
"What?'
"Lovishun"
"Huh?"
"Lovishun, cough syrup."
So I said no, I hadn't tried cough syrup. I explained what the fam. Doc said about "treating the nose"...etc. So my OB asked what is the biggest problem, my nose or my cough? I told him that it was definitely the cough, I feel as though my ribs are about to break.
He said "ok, I want you to try Lovishun"
I said "ok, what is that?"
"Lovishun, lovishun"
I said "I don't know what that is, is it a prescription?"
"No, you buy it over the counter, Lovishun"
I said, "I am sorry, I've never heard of it, I'll have to write it down, Lovishun?"
"Yes, Lovishun"
"with an 'L'?"
"No, an "R, Lovishun"
"...you mean...Robitussin?"
"Yes, that's what I said, Lovishun"
So... maybe we don't communicate so well.

Anyway, my cough has slightly improved thanks to the "cough syrup". I am still waiting for the lovely insurance people to be big about this and agree to pay for the one medication that has NOT been shown to cause harm to a fetus....but that paperwork will probably take about 9 months! In the meantime I will be throwing back 2tsp of "Lovishun" every four hours!

A lovely, Barbie-Free Day

2007-12-12T15:36:00.000-05:00

Curly girl, her Damnma (Grandma) and I had a lovely day today. I planned a trip for a group of us to head down to our local town hall auditorium to see a local production of "The Nutcracker". You see, Curly Girl goes to "banarina school" and she loves it. I found out that if I could round up a group of at least 10 people, I could take her to see REAL ballerinas for just $5 a pop! ($26 if you don't have 9 friends!) I called just about everyone I know that has little girls with ballerina and/or princess leanings, and soon I had a group of 15. I planned the outing for Wednesday, so that we could go right after "banarina school" (what can I say, I'm into themes!)

Curly girl was so excited, sitting in her leotard and tutu just waiting for the curtain to rise. (ok, so it didn't actually rise, it moved slowly across the proscenium on a rope, but you get the picture!) At first when I told her about the outing to see ballerinas, she thought that it would be a movie, however when she spotted one of the costumed dancers in the hallway pre-show, she was beside herself with anticipation. I was loving every minute of her awe and wonderment, and I think her Grandma was too. Finally the performance started, and she was mesmerized. She sat so quietly, watching every move the dancers made. When she saw a part she really liked, her eyes grew as wide as her smile and her hands clasped each other with glee. Oh, to be three and a half!

I looked around me and noticed most of the other kids watching just as intently. Then, I heard one child nearby whisper not so quietly to her Mom, "I guess, Barbie isn't coming?". Huh? I had heard other whisperings of the name Barbie before the show started, but I didn't really pay much attention to it, considering the crowd I was with. Apparently there is a Barbie Nutcracker movie, and a lot of these kids were expecting to see not "Clara's Dream", but "Barbie's." I was proud at that moment that thus far I have kept my Curly-girl Barbie-free, and therefore preserved a little bit of the innocence of her childhood. I don't exactly forbid Barbie, I just forbid anyone from buying her for my daughter. I am not a feminist taking a stance on this issue, not at all, Curly girl is a princess of her own choosing. I just don't like the doll much. I had some when I was a kid, and I didn't have much interest in playing with them. However, if the time comes that my Curly girl expresses an independent interest in the Mattel wonder woman, I will concede because it will have been her choice.
The funny thing is, if you've ever really looked at a real ballet dancer there are some distinctive physical characteristics. Let's just say, Barbie would never fit into the Sugarplum Fairy costume, her cup would runneth over!

Daily challenge:

2007-12-10T11:33:00.000-05:00

Think you're smart? Try this:

Teach a stubborn, snot nosed five year old to "BLOW your FREAKIN NOSE ALREADY!"

If anyone can do this, I wll give you Ten Bucks!

Unnecessary Anxiety

2007-12-07T11:00:00.000-05:00

I am getting soft in my old age. And because in this particular post it is relevant, I must state: I AM NOT OLD. I have a strong personality. Some people would use other, "stronger" words to describe me, but we won't go there right now. That would be a tangent.

So, this is my fifth pregnancy. I am quite familiar with all of the usual testing and what not. I know what to expect for the most part, and I am rather educated on the pros and cons of each test, as I did a lot of reading during my first pregnancy and have continued to do so with each subsequent pregnancy. There are two screening tests that are done fairly early on in the pregnancy. During my first pregnancy I was only offered one, the AFP or Triple Screen. It is a blood test that is used to determine risk of having a child with abnormalities, namely Down Syndrome. As I said, I have done my research. This test is not conclusive, it only assesses risk, and further more, it has a high rate of false positive results. In other words, very often they tell you that you may be at high risk, but upon further testing and eventual birth you find that you have a blessedly, perfectly healthy child. Since this test only measures risk, a "positive" result is an indication for further testing, such as an amniocentesis, a test which is in itself risky. So, during both my first and second pregnancies, I refused this test. Hubby and I decided that the potential anxiety this test might cause, just wasn't worth it.

My third pregnancy didn't last long enough for this, or any other test to be done, as I sadly miscarried at 12 weeks. My fourth pregnancy came very quickly after the devastating miscarriage. As you might imagine, I was a nervous wreck! During this pregnancy they offered me another test called an "Ultrascreen". It is a combination of a blood test and a sonogram. I jumped at the opportunity to have this test done, not because I had any anxiety whatsoever about having a child with Down's Syndrome or any other type of disease or birth defect, but because it was an opportunity to have an extra sonogram, a chance to see my baby alive inside of me! It helped to ease my mind a little, to know that he was ok, to see him with my own two eyes. So, I said yes, sign me up!

During this pregnancy, #5, I once again had the Ulrascreen test. It was a joy to see this new person, although getting my finger pinched to draw blood was not that much fun. The Drs assured me that the sono looked great, everything normal. Fabulous news, and I got a lovely picture of the newest family member to post on my bulletin board!

At my most recent OB appointment, I was 15 weeks, and the Dr. mentioned that I would need some blood work. "Why?" I asked. I have bad veins, drawing blood is a really unpleasant experience for me and whatever nurse or phlebotomist has the pleasure of poking me. The Dr. said, oh just routine stuff, AFP, and some other regular things. Now as I stated at the beginning of this post, I must be getting soft. I adore my Dr, and although I do normally ask a lot of questions and demand explanations, I trust him. On this particular Friday morning I just rolled up my sleeves and said "okay." Why? Why? Why?

The Dr. called me this Friday morning to let me know that he got the results from my AFP test. (Can't be good if you're calling, right?) Apparently, normal risk for someone my age (again, I am Not OLD!) having a child with Down's Syndrome is 1 in 500. According to this blood test my risk is double, at 1 in 250. He went on to say that he is about 98% sure my baby will be fine. He suggests we wait for the 20 week sonogram and see what that shows. Then, if we are very nervous, we can do an amniocenteses, which is the only conclusive test for Down's. Holy Crap! All this crap is now on my shoulders just because I decided to be soft one Friday morning! Ugh. I could kick myself for not refusing that test!

Here's the thing, I know that it is a crappy test. I believe that for me, the risks of amnio are just too high. If God decides to give me a child with Down's Syndrome, or anything else, I will accept it. No matter what, I will always choose life. Even if the Dr told me, and showed me evidence that a child I was carrying would have no chance of survival outside the womb, would die in my arms minutes after birth, I would have that child. I believe in God. I believe that He has a plan for me, and I trust in Him above anyone else. Now, I do know that there is a school of thought which says that even if you would never terminate a pregnancy, it is still better to know what a child's difficulties may be before birth, so that the family and medical providers can be better prepared. I understand that. I am choosing not to worry about this though. Odds of 1 in 250? Those aren't the greatest odds. I have a much higher chance of developing Breast Cancer in my life. I will worry about that instead, or better yet, I will put my life, and my baby's in God's hands and not worry at all. However, if there is a next time, I will remember not to be soft, and to refuse the AFP test!

Season's Greetings!

2007-12-05T15:02:00.000-05:00

One of my most favorite guilty pleasures of the Christmas season is probably seen by some as trivial, but I proudly pledge my allegiance to...the Christmas Card. I love Christmas Cards, both sending them and receiving them. Hubby knows that for the month of December, he had better just hand over the mail because all Christmas correspondence must come through me first! My own card list is topping out at around 100 this year, and I keep a sophisticated spreadsheet where I keep track of who I sent a card to as well as whom I received one from. If I don't receive a card from you for at least two years straight then you're cut off, removed from my mailing list, excommunicated from my church of the Most Holy Christmas Greeting. I spend hours torturing my children to get the picture just right, then I spend several more hours agonizing over just the right way to present it.

Each day I anxiously await the arrival of the postman, (you know, while I am eating my bon bons and watching my telenovas) I toss bills and sales circulars to the wind and rejoice at the sight of each envelope with an actual 41cent stamp and handwritten address block.

The most coveted of Christmas cards is of course the photo card. Send me pictures of your little cuties all snuggled up in candy cane striped jammies, or decked out in frills by the tree, and I am your devoted fan for life (or as long as you keep them coming!) I proudly display the photo cards I receive like they are limited edition Donruss baseball cards! It's crazy the things that get me high!

Of course, not everyone has a cute cherub to snap a picture of and send in a Christmas card. That's ok. That's what Hallmark and American Greetings are for, and I love receiving the funny cards, the religious cards and even the ambiguous cards almost as much as the photo cards. Trust me, you are appreciated in your own special way.

There is only one kind of Christmas card that...irks me. The non-photo card from a family with at least one cherub. Why go to the trouble and expense of sending a card, even and especially a cheap card? You know that as soon as I see your return address I am going to get myself all excited anticipating tearing into that beautiful envelope so that I can feast my eyes upon...some Currier & Ives print? Really? Are you trying to hurt me? I am sorry to sound rude or ungrateful, but your "Merry Christmas" or heaven forbid, "Season's Greetings" (your ambiguity pisses me off) falls pretty flat when you neglect to send me a picture of your Christmas Joy. I mean, come on, Christmas is the season of giving, so please, don't be greedy, don't keep your cutie all to yourself, SEND ME HIS PICTURE!!