Spring Cleaning

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

Belated Blog-iversary

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

My Curly Girl

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

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

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

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

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

It's working

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

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

More than your Mom and Dad...combined

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

On the Wagon

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

What did you think I was talking about???

I heart Snowdays

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

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

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

Stay Little

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

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

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

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

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

It's going to be another long summer.

Life is too short...

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

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

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

Parched

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

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

R. I. P.

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

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

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

What's in a name?

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

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

Mrs. Herownname Smith

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

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

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

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

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

A rose by any other name...

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

?

?

Any suggestions? I am stumped.

on writing

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh Tanenbaum

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

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

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

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

Christmas Joy

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mommy Advice

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

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

My Photo Blog

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

On Angel's Wings

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CSI Long Island

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