Gone, but forever with me

I believe the people who we lose in death are never really gone from us. Since my Dad passed back in 2000 I feel him around me all the time. My siblings report similar experiences - dreams, "coincidences", and sneezing fits which we know in our bones mean that Dad is making himself known. My Mom on the other hand, well, she died when I was just 6 and a half. I have felt the hole left in my life by her passing as a giant gaping crater for as long as my memory stretches. While I have always felt a love, I haven't really felt a strong physical presence from her. I know she's here, I just think she takes kind of a subtle approach because anything more would just be way too emotional for me to handle on a daily basis (and also, that may just be more her personality). I totally accept that.

My Mom's death was tragic. She was so young, only 49. She had so much life still ahead of her. She left behind 5 children, including a 16 year old and a 6 year old. My father was devastated - and although he went on to marry again, he never got past the loss of his true love. Our family is strong, bonded together forever in part because we share this terrible loss, but we're quiet about it. We can laugh and joke and use really inappropriate "death" humor and talk about my Dad, and a half dozen other dead relatives, but when it comes to Mommy - well, sometimes we choke even on the name. It just...hurts so much. I worry sometimes that because we don't talk much about her she is being forgotten. My children are so close with their Dad's Mom..."Grandma", I wonder how the occasional mention of their "Grandma in Heaven" can hold any place in their hearts.

My daughter Curly is named for two special people. Her first name is the same as that of my Aunt, my mother's sister, and her middle name is Patricia - which yes, is my name, but is also my mother's name. I have a beautiful old black & white photograph hanging in a frame in Curly's room. It is a picture taken on a rooftop in Brooklyn of the two sisters, newly arrived in America. They are wearing new clothes and smiling widely. The picture was taken and sent home to Ireland as proof that the hardships endured by my grandfather in sending two of his daughters off to a better life, were indeed paying off. I especially like the picture in Curly's room because my Aunt is on the left and my mother on the right - so the picture is of "Finola and Patsy" - literally Finola and Patricia - my daughter's namesakes.

Tonight I was laying in bed with my sweet girl - a luxury as usually her bratty little brothers take up so much of my time at bedtime that she is already in dreamland by the time I come to "tuck her in". As we laid together I was looking up at the picture hanging near her bed, and I asked her if she ever looked at that picture. She told me she does, that she likes to look at it. I asked her what she thinks about it and she told me that she likes to think about her "other Grandma". I got all choked up, but tried to hide it. She went on to tell me that she always pictures her in her mind, young with short brown hair, then turned to me with tears on her cheeks...at that point I couldn't hide mine anymore. My sweet little seven year old reached out her hand to wipe my tears and said "I know...it hurts that she's not here" REALLY? Where did you come from you Angel of Heaven! You beautiful thing. My love. She asked me if she was young, and demanded to know why she had died. I explained as best I could about growing up poor in the 1930's and 40's in Ireland and that she had contracted Rheumatic Fever as a child - that she was very sick when she was a little girl - and that it had made her heart weak. That her heart got better for a while, but then one day it just wouldn't work anymore. My Curly girl wept openly for the grandma she has never known but for the picture on her wall. Then she announced, "well, one good thing...I am glad she got better when she was little, or else we wouldn't be here now." I told my Curly girl that her Grandma in heaven is with us all the time, that the love she taught her children is the same love she gets from her Mom and her Aunts and Uncles and is the same love that she shares with her brothers and someday with her own children.

All my life I have wanted to be a Mom. Maybe because I had some unfinished business in the Mommy department, but always this life of mine, these kids, they have been my vocation, my calling. Before I had children I thought that I would feel the absence of my Mom even more strongly when I became a mother. In the beginning after Firstson was born I thought a lot about her- the fact that she had gone through many of the same things I was now experiencing- rocking my baby to sleep after a feeding in the wee small hours, staring at him as he slept just to watch him breathe... The effect was quite the opposite of what I expected, as I grew into my own role as Mommy - that is, the more I defined myself as "mother" - the less I defined myself as "motherless". The job came so naturally to me, and I was, am, good at it. I am blessed. And maybe the reason that I don't feel that huge hole as much anymore is because my Mother is close beside me now, guiding me through everyday. (Wow...seriously THAT idea just came to me as I typed , excuse me while I wipe the snot and tears off my face and keyboard....)

Just a minute ago my Curly girl, who is supposed to be long asleep by now, crept into my room to make sure my tears were dry ....yes, I do think there's a reason, a very good reason that my Mother feels so close to me tonight...

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.

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.

It's MY turn!

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

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


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

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


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



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


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


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

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

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

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

Party Prayer

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

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

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

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

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

Seriously, What Does That Make Four??

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"

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".

Big News, small package

So, I know I haven't really been blogging much lately, but it isn't because there is nothing going on, quite the opposite in fact, there is a tremendous thing going on. Life changing events are unfolding. I am not quite sure how to deal with it, some days I am so full of joy and other days I am full of dread and then, inevitably guilt. It's a weighty issue. There are so many different levels of emotion involved, and I am just trying to work through them all. Even though I have done this four times already, this time I am thrown for a loop. This time is different.
I was hoping that before I sat down to blog on the subject I would have some clarity, I would be able to tap away at my keyboard and be articulate and eloquent about the situation I face. I have come to the realization that that might not happen for a long time, and that writing about it may be the only way for me to gain the clarity I so desire.

I AM PREGNANT. About 9 weeks. Due May 20th.

To quote First Son - "What the Heck!"

The thing is, I am a planner. I am always planning the next event even before they've played The Last Dance. If I don't have a plan I can't function. I need to know what I am doing now, and then after that, and after that. I carry my calendar with me everywhere so that I can make plans. This was not planned. Hubby and I have been pretty sure, no I'd say even more than pretty sure that we would someday want to have another child. What we didn't have however was a plan to do this now.

I did have a plan. I had plans to adjust to having three kids for a while. I had plans to adjust to having a kindergartner, getting used to PTA meetings and school bus dramas, and homework. I had planned a trip to Ireland at the end of May for my cousin's wedding. I planned on enjoying a sailboat/wine cruise around Manhattan and actually enjoying the wine. I had planned on having boundless energy this fall and completing lots of household projects. I had planned on having my body to myself for some time. I was pregnant for more than a year, minus one month in between my miscarriage and Paddy boy. My last pregnancy was tough because I had pregnancy induced bronchial asthma and gall bladder issues. I was planning to just be a Mom to the three little children who need me! I was not planning to do this now!

There's a lot of irony involved in this pregnancy. In the past (and definitely in the future) whenever anybody would ask me about my plans for future children I would always answer that it isn't really up to us, it's up to God. My reasoning for this response is because I am so acutely aware of the unfairness of maternity. Who gets to be a Mom easily and who has to suffer the indignities of infertility treatments or blighted pregnancies? Why are there so many good loving couples who would give anything to be able to welcome a sweet child into their arms and hearts struggling while there are teenage girls and drug addicts dumping their newborns into dumpsters?? This is not a question I can answer, and I won't try. I give it all to God because surely it rests in His hands only. And so, the irony is that my response has now become so true in my own experience. This pregnancy was not really up to me, it was God's doing.

Well, I am of course accepting of this child. I love this child already. I have seen the heartbeat. This child is part of me. I have a deep faith. I know that everything is going to be okay. I am going to be okay. My heart is full. My brain is full. I will find joy, and I will find hope. I will be writing much, much more on this subject. Now that the gate is open the flood waters will flow. Check back frequently, and say a prayer for me.

Reflections on 8 years

Tuesday was our wedding anniversary. It's hard to believe, but it has been 8 years since I made the long walk down the aisle with Hubby. Sometimes it feels like yesterday. We celebrated the day quietly, but perfectly. First, Hubby took the day off of work which was great. We got First son off on the school bus and then dropped the remaining cherubs at their grandparents house. We went to breakfast and then headed down to the beach. It was a beautiful day, and it was such a luxury to be able to go to the beach and not have to lug a million things. All we brought was a blanket and some sweatshirts. We lazed on the beach for a while, listening to the waves crash and actually having a conversation! It was pure indulgence. We took a long walk along the shore, till just before the nude beach (yuck). Then we went shopping for ingredients to make a nice dinner. We bought the kids TV dinners - a treat, since they've never had them ever before, and hubby even let them have ice cream for dessert! Then he tucked them away in bed while I set to creating a masterpiece menu. We had arugula with herbed goat cheese for a first course, then chicken saltimbocca and asparagus risotto for dinner. For dessert, a lovely peanut butter and chocolate tart that we picked up at the local bakery. All in all it was a heavenly day.

Reflecting on the past eight years, I realize that I am one lucky girl. I am still very much in love, with my very best friend. Hubby and I have been through a lot, much of it good, but some of it very bad. The thing is that we made it through together. We can take on anything at this point. My Hubby is funny (he especially thinks so); and he's smart; he's an incredible Dad (no, really - he has been known to take all three cherubs to the beach - by himself!); he is always there for me, whether I need a weather report, a bug extermination, or a recipe conversion; he is strong for me when I can't be for myself, and he always offers up some perspective when I think I've gotten myself into a corner. We share the same dreams (some people think we're building a soccer team, actually, it's a restaurant staff!). I don't know where I'd be without him. (Hollywood?, Broadway?) I look forward to the next eight years. I love you Hubby!

Mama's Eggs

I work at this neat little hole in the wall luncheonette/coffee shop every Sunday. The place seats a total of 22 people, including 10 counter seats, and the grill is right out in the open. From the looks of it, you'd expect nothing more than your typical greasy spoon, slinging eggs and hash. On the contrary, the cook/owner is a certified chef and former culinary instructor, with a four star resume. He puts up breakfast specials that are absolutely gourmet. This place is a gem, and I love working there in part because the money is great for 1 day's work, but also because I am a foodie and I learn and taste something new every time I walk through the door.
For the past few weeks we've had a special on the board, "Mama's Eggs". It is two eggs poached in marinara sauce, served with half a loaf of Italian bread and a slab of butter. It is amazing! The marinara sauce is incredible, and the addition of the eggs is brilliant. One of our regular customers is the chef's brother. He came in, looked at the specials board and asked "What's Mama's Eggs?" Chef looked at him (with a knife in his hand) and said "What are you kidding me? They're eggs the way Mom used to make them!" Of course he has been in practically every day ordering them. One day he even brought in two friends and his own loaf of bread!
This has got me thinking about the sentimental connections we have to food. Food is so much more than sustenance. Food connects us to the people we love whether they are here to share in the meal with us or not. For myself and my brothers and sisters food presents a strong connection to our late father. Sauerbraten, halvah, eggplant parmesan, Sabretts, Cheez Waffies, pea soup, Necco Wafers, Cheez Whiz and Ritz Crackers, Chef Boy-ar-dee, corned beef hash, Campbell's Tomato Soup, cream cheese & jelly, and black jelly beans. I can't eat, buy or even see any of these and not be instantly transported to some memory involving my Dad, they were his favorites right along with Schmidt's Beer and the occasional Cutty Sark. These foods are worth so much more to me than what their Nutritional Information label reveals. For me, a meal or a snack made up of these foods is like stealing time, an extra moment with Dad. Honestly, popping open a jar of Cheez Whiz may not be the best thing for my waistline, but it is a whole lot easier on my wallet than ten minutes with a psychic medium!