Opportunity Cost

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.

Full Circle

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.

Gratitude

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

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

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.

Breathless

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.

"out there"

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

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

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


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


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


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

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

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

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

Clearly I have some things to figure out.

Happy Birthday Sweet 16

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

Stay Little

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.

on writing

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!

Christmas Joy

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

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

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

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

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

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

Take Care of your Own Family and MYOB

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

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

It IS a Big Deal!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God Bless America.

Our House

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

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

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

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

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

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

SmartMama LOVES McNeil

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blue Horseshoe Loves Anacot Steel? HA!

I heart my messy, noisy life!

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

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

Sweet Summer

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

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

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

Tricia's Summer Goals 2008

(in no particular order)

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

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

What I am

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

Crying Over Spilt Milk

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.