Vicarious

I am hard on myself. So, so hard on myself. I don't know if it's a mom thing, a woman thing or maybe even an American thing, but I am sure that many who read this can probably relate. I am not a generally negative person. My life is good, and I thank God for that every day. I make a daily effort to come from a place of gratitude. Most situations, even the tough ones I am able to spin in a very positive light. That is, unless they revolve around...me. I am so good at pointing out my shortcomings. I am very self aware. And so, I am also aware that this trait of mine, this self-deprecating tendency is anything but helpful, and yet...I can't shake it. Now, this is not to say that I lack self confidence. No. The two are not mutually exclusive. In fact, they may actually be quite co-dependent. I am very confident in my abilities, but when I fall short of my own expectation I am most unforgiving. I would never treat anybody else as harshly as I treat myself.

Just tonight I came to learn that a young woman whose family have been longtime friends with my family is a published author. Bona fide, books on a shelf and featured on my i-books app, author. At first I saw the name and thought what a crazy coincidence, but after some investigation I have come to learn that the name actually matches up to the real life flesh and blood girl whose diapers I once changed. Wow. I am amazed. Seriously. I was at her parent's wedding. Heck, I sat outside on her grandmother's stoop giggling with her mother and aunts while her father was inside asking permission to become engaged to her mother! Unfortunately, through the years I have mostly fallen out of touch with her Mom, but I still receive a Christmas card each December with her smiling face (gorgeous, gorgeous face) and that of her younger sister and baby brother. I dutifully send my card with my smiling cherubs.  Now, I come to find out that she is a grown (young) woman with a talent for beautiful, insightful prose and that she is indeed making a career for herself. It is so...cool.

And now the logical next step is...to beat up on myself.... how do I not know this? Clearly I am an awful human being who is entirely too self absorbed to even realize that life is happening to those around me. No, they have not stayed frozen in time like some dolls on a shelf just waiting for me to notice them again. Life goes on, and I should have been noticing. I mean sure, I have had a few things of my own going on. You know, just a few.  There simply is no excuse, I should be all things at all times, right?  Of course the expectation is ridiculous, and I know that. I am more sad than mad at the fact that I have been missing out. I will shine on the positive angle here, which is that now that I am aware I will start following this young talent whose writing style and subject are so good. I will be inspired!

Ok, but seriously...I am not going to let myself off the hook so easily. The whole thing brings up more dark self condemnation. Tonight I laid in bed, texting away in a fun and lovely conversation with my sister in law about everything and nothing at all for a good hour. Very important considering the original point of the text was to say, "hey let's get together tomorrow around 2:30, so we can talk some more about everything and nothing". Then I spent some time doing my all important, several times a day task...surfing Facebook. I mean, heaven forbid some other person who I haven't had actual human contact with in over 20 some years posts a picture of their cat and I miss it, right?  Then...I watched an hour long drama from my cable on-demand service. Remember the days when we would rush home or have to "set the VCR" so that we could catch the latest episode of our favorite show? Ancient history.

Next, I decide to shut the lights and get some sleep. I have a very busy week coming up. Only....I can't sleep! My mind just keeps going over, and over my inadequacies! I start to review in my head all of the time-sucking wasteful nonsense that I did this evening. Then I start to think about all of the things I should have been doing instead...like getting ready for K'Lil's fast approaching first birthday party which will be attended by nearly 100 people and for which I have done...nothing!  Or how about finishing the dreadful task of switching out the boys' summer clothes for winter clothes? There's also that Pinterest project that I started 5 weeks ago...And finally...Why the hell am I not writing?

Seriously? Could I be any more of a complete failure as a person? Here is this beautiful, young, talented girl who is doing it. Writing. That's what she is, a writer.  Now, here's where the self-confidence we talked about kicks my ass. I am just as good as she is. I have what it takes. I was a one time blogger with potential for a following. The thing that killed it for me though, was a lack of consistency. I need to write often if I am going to be successful. I need to get my ass off of FB. I need to shut off the TV and put down the phone. I need to get time management down. I need to...to finish my 15 loads of laundry, 10 dishwasher loads, grocery shopping, 21 bottles of formula mixing, food shopping, couponing, PTA Volunteering, child shuttling, homemade play dough making, lunch packing, religion class teaching, dog walking, meal prepping, baby proofing, appointment making, and bathroom cleaning done. What the hell is my excuse? I have smart insightful things to say. I have a vocabulary. I have a lap top. I also have bags under my eyes, but still. I should do better.

The ironic thing is that one of the articles I read tonight from this lovely young girl talked about her deep desire for motherhood. She is however, very young and is not quite ready to pursue that calling. I on the other hand have a strong desire to write. To write all of the witty and analytical things that come to mind each day. However, at the moment I am a mother. I want to find the time, make the time. I am going to continue to push myself. I want to be inspired by my young friend's success. I can do better. Always better.

For me...

This is a gift to myself. I have decided. I give so much to everybody else...willingly, and lovingly, of course... but it is high time I do something for myself.  I have been thinking about this for a long time... so today, Mother's Day, a day so loaded with emotion, so heavy and light at the same time...I have decided.

The thing is, when my day starts to wind down and I am alone with just my thoughts...well, that is when I realize that...I actually have them...thoughts that is. Seems like an obvious statement, but my days are crazy, so crazy that sometimes I feel like a hamster running on a wheel.  From the moment my feet hit the ground in the morning, I run, and I don't stop until the last cherub is deep in slumber....and sometimes not even then.

My life is so full, so wonderful, and so different from what it was when I first sat down to compose this blog. So much has changed. For one thing, Three isn't the New Five anymore....Five is. Sometimes Six. When I began writing I had just given birth to my third child, and I was amused at the reactions I would get from the general public when I was out and about with the three of them, like I had just stepped off of a circus train or something, as if having three small children was some amazing feat (although I do admit that when I would maneuver through the supermarket with my two shopping carts - pushing one with an infant carrier in the basket and a two year old in the seat, and pulling another with a four year old in the seat and a basket full of groceries it may have been a bit entertaining to watch). Now I get my kicks when people see me out with just the baby and smile at the sweetness of an infant, then turn and gently ask if this is my first, and I tell them "no, I have six". The reaction is awesome - totally worth the c-section scars, resulting hernias, sleepless nights and grey hairs that have come along with having a bona-fide large family.

Also, when I started to write this blog I was happily married - or so I thought,  until my husband of ten years decided to turn his back on our marriage and pursue a relationship with a woman whom I had considered to be a best friend. Yeah. That happened.  Now, I AM happily married. I survived the darkest time and I have found my actual, real-deal, cant even believe it's true, because I am never doing that again - soul mate...and...I made him my husband!

With all of this going on you would think that I have had plenty of material to write about. And I have, I do.  However, writing is for me, a lot like birthing a child. You have it inside of you, growing, but that baby comes when it is ready to come. Words have an indeterminate gestation period. Sometimes, I have to push, I have to get them out no matter how messy it is. Other times, they get very comfortable where they are and so they stay on the inside a little longer. Also...writing takes time and energy. Things which are in short supply in my day.

My life is crazy. I have five beautiful babies of my own, and another who came as part of the "new husband package" - and whom I love just as much, my "bonus- son". Six altogether. My husband loves me, adores me. He supports me in everything I do, and builds me up daily. Not a day goes by that he doesn't tell me that he loves me, or that he is so happy that his daughter has me as her Mom. I feel so loved and cherished.  It is a lot of work, five and sometimes six kids. Sometimes I want to pull my hair out, or run back to bed the minute the bus pulls away from the curb. My laundry pile is gargantuan. My dishwasher is industrial. It is messy and loud and chaotic and busy. I am pretty sure that I would earn a gold medal in the olympic sport of multi-tasking, given the chance. I am grateful that God has given me the chance to live this life though, because I love it. It is a challenge, and I rise to it, every single day.

Lately what I have been noticing is that when my head hits the pillow at the end of the night, after the dishwasher is loaded, the laundry switched, the homework corrected, the carpools complete, after I check the calendar for the next day's craziness...the words start to kick around in my head. I am tired. It is quiet...finally...and the computer was left downstairs. So, I let the words form in my head and make empty promises to myself that I will write tomorrow, but tomorrow always has it's own chaos and before I know it my head is back on the pillow and the sentences of yesterday have vanished with the night. Another day has come and gone...and while I was busy doing for everyone else...where was the "me" in it?  I am not a selfish girl...(unless you are talking about dessert because then yes, I am taking the last piece of pie, too bad!)....but we all need to do something for ourselves now and then. Writing is for "me".  I have had friends and "fans" trying to encourage me to get back to writing, for them I am grateful, because although it may have seemed otherwise, their encouragement did not fall on deaf ears, but is always there rattling around among the words in my head.

Life is hard. Lord that is one thing I know. However, life is wonderful, and life is short. And so, today I am reclaiming this blog as mine...for me if for no one else. I am The Mom. The Wife. As my husband says "The Glue". But tonight, and with any luck for the forseeable future, I am Tricia, The Blogger.

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...

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.

Voulez vous couchez avec moi....?

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

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

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

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

On my own

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

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

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

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

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

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

Get On it

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

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

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