I am grateful.
I am writing to share my heartfelt thanks with so many individuals. Some will recognize instances they read about, they will know it's about them. Some will not.
This week has been a source of mass media overload, with so much coverage of the tragic school shooting in Connecticut. I just can't watch it anymore. Too much pain and capitalization on it. On the other hand I see so many beautiful acts of faith and love, people reaching out and attempting to 'pay it forward'. It's wonderful, but shouldn't we live like that all the time? Why does it take something so horrific to open our hearts?
I have a blessed life. We all do. Even in the heart of desperation and sadness, one can still usually pick out one thing that has touched his/her life and made it better.
Beyond my husband and children. I have a blessed life.
I have a best friend. Can everyone say that? I have someone who knows all the good and bad and she still loves me. She tolerates me. This person isn't even a family member, like a sister, who HAS to love me. She just does. She laughs at inappropriate times and we share the same memories. We saw the same things through different eyes and somehow absorbed it like one person. I don't know many people in this life that can say, "I've had the same best friend for 25 years."
I can. She blesses me~she may not know she does. She would probably read this and say 'oh my gosh she is CRAZY' but, she knows I am. She may tear up and she knows all the dark and twisty and hurt and she knows how hard it was to say goodbye to a man we both loved. She knows that I hurt them and they hurt me, and part of growing up sometimes means making colossal mistakes, but I had to make them. And she still loved me.
I appreciate a couple who, several years ago, introduced me to God. Literally, almost. We moved into a big house and not only was the street full of young families, the street needed a babysitter. Viola!
The couple next door had three kids, one who was only a few years younger than I, but possibly not ready to take care of his younger siblings. My job was to watch the younger two, mainly. Great, great kids. Fun, intelligent, and full of it. They were just a fun family. Their father was a pastor at a local church, with a large youth base. They invited me to Sunday school one Sunday, and after attending, came to truly love the camaraderie the parishioners had. The feeling was electric. I met God in those Sundays. And to this day, I still attribute that couple and that church for the beginning of my religious education. They made me want to learn more. Not everyone can say that a busy couple with three kids offered to begin educating a teenager about the most important relationship she would ever have. I can.
I appreciate every single kid I ever had the privilege to watch. I can honestly say that sometimes when a parent would call, I would deflate, like 'ugh no, not again!' but because I am a parent now and understand how important it is to have adult time and space, along with the very highest honor..trusting someone with my own kids, I am grateful that for whatever it's worth, those parents trusted me. Those kids are some of my best memories, in my whole life, and I appreciate all of them and hope they know how they shaped me into the mother I am now. There were a few who will always stand out, they probably know who they are. There is one who ended up being my babysitter for three of my four children. And to say my third son was difficult is like saying ice is cold. He hated every single human on Earth except his father, myself, and this one babysitter. The image that comes to mind is coming home one evening, finding them asleep on the couch, under a blanket. He laying on her chest, her arms wrapped around him. This child only connects with those who earn it. She earned it. Not everyone can say that they had help and love surrounding their children and were able to trust young women with their children, to love them and care for them so fully. I can.
I am grateful to every teacher that has touched my child and made their brain engage. I had teachers that I remember fondly, and I had teachers that I didn't care for. I also had teachers who were beyond fond, who still stop on the street and are thrilled to see me or my children. Of course, the English teachers were my favorite, as they stirred my curiosity and showed me my potential. They were more than teachers, they were friends. And I hope that my children have the same relationship with their teachers. I see such great potential, yet understand that it is truly up to each individual to decide his/her path. If I could plot my children in a line, hypothetically speaking of course, I would say: physician, art teacher, architect, performer. But I can't. And I have to be OK with that, because I am not the curator of their individuality. I'm just the cook!
This is why I salute their teachers, who are able to hone into their skills~their strengths.
I am grateful to every second someone has volunteered to coach my child in athletics. It is a thankless job, I can promise you that. But in life, there will be a boss. A foreman. Co-workers. Family. In sports, there is a coach, a quarterback, a point guard, a pitcher. There is a line to protect you and a lead blocker to open up opportunities. They will have to learn to find their place, life is like a team sport. Win some, lose some. But in order to play, one has to get along with others.

I have people who laugh with me, or at me. I don't care, because I laugh at myself, too. I have people I can blow off steam to, who 'get it'. I am grateful for every person that has ever made me throw my head back and laugh. Even people I no longer talk to, who may have been close to me at one point or another, if they made me laugh I applaud you. There are a few who stand out.
I am trying very hard to learn to live without regret. Growing up sucks. When you realize that you are not the center of the universe and your parents age, or die.
But I can say, that being the grown up in this house, is really, really good.
I appreciate that the most.

Happy holidays and good wishes to all.
Laugh every day.

Hibernation is Over.

I have written before of my daughter and her 'enthusiasm' for life. We should all have such love of simple LIFE..she laughs, sings, yells, runs, plays.
And she cries.
She has experienced a new part of life, one that I knew I couldn't protect her from forever. She was treated in a cruel manner because of her size.
She didn't tell me until much, much later. Her brother had seen and heard it, he dealt with it accordingly at the time of impact. He told me, and I waited. Held my breath and waited.
"What do I say to her?" I ask myself. "How can I make this better or easier for her?"
I can't.
I cannot take those words away from her pysche. I can't erase those feelings. I can't put a bandaid on it and tell her it will be alright. I can't kiss this boo-boo away.
So, I wait.
She tells me at bedtime, right before she falls asleep. She rolls over and puts her hand on my cheek and says, "Mommy, my heart hurts. Someone called me fat tonight and it hurt my feelings." One tear rolls down from her eye over the bridge of her nose.
I asked her what she felt like doing. "I wanted to call her a bad name but I couldn't think of one!" (she definitely didn't inherit this gene from me, such a nice little girl!).
I said, "Do you know that Mommy and Daddy love you more than anything?"
"Yes, I know."
I told her I was sorry that it happened, and that probably that little girl had a bad day (or perhaps having a 13 yr old boy yell at her and threaten to put his size 12 shoe upside her head was a bummer, but, alas..).
This moment is important~I kept screaming that in my head~say the right thing!
I had no words for her. I just didn't.
"I love you" seemed to be the only thing that would come out.
She slept.

But know this, society, I did not sleep.
All mothers SAY they would do anything for their kids. Yet part of parenting is to make sure your child isn't an asshole. That is something my husband and I work on constantly. That is WHY my daughter can't even think of something mean to say back to a nasty comment.
I will do anything for my kid. ANYTHING. And if I have to fight her battles until she is strong enough to stand up for herself, I will give her the example to follow.
I have NOTHING to prove anymore. I have screwed up over and over, played my last hand, lost and won. I have tripped, fallen, gotten up. Cried, screamed, laughed. I have NO ONE to answer to except myself and God~and if my child is hurt, I will spare nothing in educating that parent on how to NOT raise an asshole.
I keep thinking that the better part of humanity will rise and be seen and these kids will understand that if they work hard, study hard, play hard and be humble..they will EARN what is rightfully theirs.
Then my daughter is made fun of for being 'fat'.
I'm done. The next person who proves by opening his/her mouth that they have no respect for themselves or their own child by ALLOWING a kid to act like this will find out exactly and in no uncertain terms WHO they are hurting.
And then be exceedingly educated. "Raising a Decent Human: 101" by Noelle Johnson-Schoonover. I suggest that their pencil is sharpened and they are ready to take notes.
Because school is in session, people.

Four Mothers

This house has four mothers.


This house also has four kids.


This is not a coincidence.





I have always said and felt that mothering this many children requires many different levels of skill.


The fact is this: each one of my kids are so different from one another that after trying uselessly to mother the twins the same, I decided to be a different mom to each one of my kids.


It works. Why? I don't know..I'm sure all mothers with several children do the same kind of thing, whether consciously or unconsciously.


The 'dad' doesn't really have to do this quite as much, but 'dads' are generally more fun, nor do they take the time to self reflect as much as mothers do. Not to take away from dads..no way. But I know for a fact my own husband doesn't lay awake at night worrying that he has, in some way, &%#@ed up his kid, while I do that regularly.





Nick's mom, she is easy. Because Nick is easy. Nick's mom brought him home from the hospital and realized he was going to be a good boy. He is so easy going and non-confrontational. Even as a baby, he would eat and sit up and burp and poop and be A-OK! "No prob MOM!"


Nick's mom would put him in the older, creakier swing because Nick was happy anywhere. He would get the hand me down car seat, the hand me down super saucer. Nick was happy! He made my job very, very easy. Nick slept. Nick smiled. Now, Nick is growing up and yes he goes through some tough times, where asthma plagued us night and day..yet the child never complained and he plodded through. Nick grows and grows and whoops! We notice that poor Nick has probably grown a little 'too much' and he is a smidgen overweight. Ok, Nick's mom decides to put Nick on an exercise program and VIOLA the kid produces! Nick works hard. Nick is good. Nick is just like his father. He, while being my most easy going child, also is my most 'air headed' and frustrates me constantly with his vague questions.


I don't worry about him. Nick is constant and good and kind. He works hard and is smart and he wants to be with us forever.





Nate's mom was stressed out. Same mom. Same time frame as Nick, as obviously, they are twins. Think parenting twins the same is possible? Try it. Let me know how it goes for you.


Nate comes home from the hospital and is miserable. He cries. A lot. He cries for six months. He has colic. A milk allergy. He has problems digesting. He has stomach cramps and his little legs come right up to his belly and he screams in pain. Nate's mom did not sleep. Nate did not sleep..and any little noise set him off. Any stimulation made him cry. Loud noises, creaky swings. Nate got all the new flashy baby stuff. It rode smoother. Nate is still my most 'type A' personality. He is the most like me. We argue. We yell. He can fight as good as me. He can shatter his nicer twin with two or three well thought out sentences and he means it. But all of this is part of him. He is not meant to be here. I know his path is for bigger places. He reads, he studies, he wants to travel. He sees things outside the box.


These twins mom, she did it all by the book. After all, she read all the books on parenting. She boiled dropped pacifiers for 10 minutes. She cried over the decision to stop pretending to nurse them and bottle feed them. She co-slept them until they bopped one another one the heads. This mom planned birthday parties. This mom went to all the nursery school parties and provided the snack. This mom, one year, decided to buy all the children at nursery school a pumpkin, and carved each child's name into it, after gutting it and filling it with candy.


This mom color coded their Christmas gifts. She had specific spoons, forks, plates and cups for each child. She had play dates. She never, ever let them out of her sight. They didn't use public water fountains.





Joel's mom is a touch clingy. Joel's mom had a hard time getting Joel here, as in, out of her. He was born and latched onto her for dear life. After he nursed for 18 months he promptly moved onto my leg and sometimes I still find him hanging on. I feel such empathy for whatever young girl this young Oedipus brings home, because Joel's mom will foil it. Trust me. I don't feel sorry for the girl, because there will be many, and the girl who finally gets him will deserve him..because getting him away from me will be one difficult task. He's mine. Mine. Mine. Joel came into the world the very CLONE of his father, right down to the weight and black, black hair. The newborn pictures the hospital take, when compared, were indistinguishable even to the grandmother's. I was ready to be this child's mother. It was my dream to have A CHILD. The twins' mother was so exhausted and overwhelmed and stressed and obsessive compulsive that she never enjoyed them. This child was mine and I planned on enjoying HIM.


This was a mistake as young Joel, in turn, hated every human on earth except his mother. Nursery school=nightmare. Crying. Sobbing. And that was the mom..Joel was doing his fair share two miles away at nursery school. Joel grows into a stoic and serious little boy..the black hair is now blond and he bears zero resemblance to his father. He looks like his mother. Joel had limited vocal capacity due to an accident, so his mom had to make his friends for him. He keeps those same friends close to his heart. He, at 9 years old, is my worst risk taker. He is the child that I fear. Not him, himself. But for. His mom lets him do 'his thing' while sneakily watching him. His mom is thankful for older brothers to include him. Joel's mom is smiling at her sleeping boy while holding her cup of coffee in the morning, dreading waking him out of his peace.





Finally, prayers were answered, a little later in life..when Baby Girl arrives. Isabel had it different from day one, as she was born in the easiest delivery and she took her cue from that. She was the easiest baby. She was a delight and a pleasure and a gift. Of course, Isabel's mom was 32 years old and extremely laid back. Isabel's mom would come downstairs, turn on Sesame St and throw a handful of cheerios on the FLOOR while she read the paper. Yeah, that's pretty laid back. Isabel grows and becomes the 'community baby', she is the mascot for all her brothers athletic events. She plays with every single kid at the playground. She shares juice boxes and tissues and know why? Because Isabel's mom is probably asleep under a book somewhere near that playground or baseball game. She's no worse for wear. In fact, I would say she is my most confident child. She is, by far, my most intelligent. Isabel has about 5 mothers who take care of her at various events. She will ask any one of these amazing women to go with her to the bathroom or get her a snack. She will, actually, order her own food and pay for it with whatever money she has either found on the ground or asked her grandfather for. Isabel's mom didn't make any friends for her. She didn't need her to. Isabel, just last week, got a ride to nursery school from her grandma, and said "Oh grammie, you don't have to get out, I'm ok!" and away she goes..hops out with her backpack and waves goodbye, in she goes!


Isabel's mom is very, very grateful for such an amazing little girl. While my mind is often taxed because of her endless questions and adventures and stories and singing~my heart is so full because I know that she is product of herself. She is her. She is wonderful.


And yes, those who know Isabel, know she is built like a Peterbilt. She is built like a linebacker. She is not one of those fluffy, sweet, dainty puffballs. She is NOTHING like her mother as a little girl..she is SO MUCH BETTER. She is not a poster child for 'beauty'. But she IS beautiful.


Isabel's mother sees young girls who dress like prostitutes. She sees 12 year old girls trying to be 21. And she would much rather see her daughter grow up and be one ass kickin', bitchin' cool, freakin' so smart and amazing WOMAN than one of the 'beautiful' girls who want nothing more than to be an Abercrombie and Fitch model.


If any one of Isabel's brothers come home with a girl half as cool as she is going to be..this mother will be pretty happy.





See, I don't have multiple personalities. Just multiple kids. And they all have such different qualities~that the gift is trying to figure them out. Sometimes, I don't like what I discover. Sometimes, I am disappointed in them or even myself.


But the journey of walking their own map is my gift.

Hey Kid..

My kids are the epitome of embarrassment. They are.




I should have known that my life was going to be in a constant state of humiliation when I opened my eyes during labor and delivery of the twins and saw ELEVEN other people in the room, all totally enamored of my uterus.




"2,4,6,8! Who do you humiliate?! Mom! Momma! Mother!"









There are basic humiliations that accompany being a mother..such as the days that you don't actually brush your teeth or hair. Or wear the same sweat pants for three days straight. The worst part of this is that once humbled, the same mother will even be seen OUT in public like this.




The fact that your body may never be the same is also quite a shock to most women. Obvious social pressure makes women more inclined to be in shape, to work to regain their 'pre-baby' shape.




Yeah, good luck with that.









The shape of mom herself is often overlooked because we as mothers spend so much time making our children into the little pristine angels we desire.




Dressing my daughter is like dressing up a little piggie.




My friend and I always say "You can always tell when it's the beginning of the year, because our kids are so clean and pressed and look so good. By the end of the year, they could wear the same damn clothes every day for a week and we wouldn't care!"









All the above is small in comparison to the big one. The big one.




The big one is when the children begin to speak.




Out of their mouths.









Dear sweet Jesus, someone shoot me.




When my twins were just about three years old, I was checking out of the grocery store and my son stood up and announced "My daddy doesn't wear underwear to bed!!"




My eyes got really bug like..and he smiled smugly like 'I dare you Mom, I dare you to hit me in a public place'.




That was ten years ago.




I have NO PRIDE left for them to annihilate, they have humiliated it out of me!









My children have yelled during church. They have farted in prayer. My children have said 'my parents don't like you' to visiting priests. In particular, 'my dad says you shake hands like wet lettuce'.




Yes.




My third son came into the world without a conscience. He says very little, but by God, when he says it..he means it.




Imagine my anxiety when he learned how to talk. By some hidden grace, this child had his teeth knocked out so he COULDN'T talk for two years. This, I have to believe now, was a gift! I could only imagine him saying 'you suck' or 'i have itchy balls' to some random passerby as a young child. This is a kid who will go upstairs, get a bar of soap from the shower, bring it to me..then proceed to call his brother every swear word he knows. He then takes the soap, puts it in his mouth and sits at the kitchen table until I call 'time out!'. This sweet, beautiful child got into a fight last year and after pummeling a child, wipes off his mouth and says "who's the girl now, bitch?"..while his grandfather turns his head in laughter.
And to think that my husband and I do not swear (often) in front of them! WHERE does it come from??
Yes, my kids embarrass me. Daily.





Yesterday, my daughter was having speech therapy to correct some of her sounds. As they were working, she announces "I hate baboons. They don't have hair on their BUTTS."




Gosh, thanks for sharing.






I didn't even flinch. The therapist looked up at me in surprise when I doubled over in laughter. Seriously, this is mild in the cornucopia that is my life as a mother.
And yes, I am a mother who sometimes wears sweats to the grocery store.
That I slept in.

Calm in the Storm

I think that sometimes when people are married for a time, that it becomes 'mundane' or 'boring'.
I think this is why it is a proven trend that many couples divorce at the ten year mark.
It's not fun anymore.
It's not sexy anymore.

That's not an excuse. Because it's true.
At the ten year mark, more than likely, a child or possibly two has entered into the scenario. Nothing is ever the same.
Ever.

It will never cease to amaze me how a crying baby or a coughing toddler will stop me dead in my tracks. The coughing, especially, will make me break out in a cold sweat.

But back to marriage. Adding a baby brings a whole new dimension.
The level of exhaustion associated with child rearing is astronomical. HUGE.
I like to sleep.

I used to say I had three favorite things.
The third was FOOD, the second was SLEEP, and the first was SEX.
My, how times have changed!
Just ask my husband. Or any husband for that matter.

I just found this quote.."Do not think that love, in order to be genuine, has to be extraordinary. What we need is to love without getting tired."
That can be perceived in two ways.
Don't fool yourself into thinking that it will always be 'extraordinary', because as I have said before, sometimes it is barely passable.
Don't 'tire' of yourself. Don't 'tire' of your love for that person.

I can remember getting butterflies in my stomach when I heard my husband's vehicle coming in the drive. I can remember snowy afternoons never leaving our bedroom. I can remember trying to cook his favorite meals and watching his face. Or laughing for hours over nothing. And hiking. And talking. And sleeping on the floor in front of our fireplace.

On the fateful fall day that I peed on the stick and drank a gallon of water only to pee on another stick...I changed.
I was a mother that very minute.

Being a mother changes your love. It doesn't diminish your feelings for your husband. But it does indeed change.
The very instant I felt the baby (BABIES) move inside me, I knew that I loved them wholly and completely without abandon. No fear. No reserve.

After they were born, and we followed suit with the other two installments..I knew that my husband and I had moved into this very easy, day to day..place.

I didn't like it.
I felt bored. Isolated. Unloved. Unspecial.
Blah, blah, blahblahblah.
This lasted for months.
Four kids. FOUR KIDS! I didn't have time for 'food, sleep, sex'..are you kidding me?!
I haven't taken a shower ALONE since they were born. I haven't slept in twelve years.

But as we plodded through this strange time frame in our marriage, I started to see him.

See him differently.
He is my partner, yes. He is my friend, yes.
He is my shade and my hand to hold and my hold to sanity. He bridges my gaps.

I believe I love him more today than I did before.
The ride isn't nearly as exciting, there are very few unexpected turns with him. He isn't full of surprises.
The kids, however, are FULL of surprises.
What makes me the happiest is that he is now standing with me enjoying all that our life has to offer..and I realize that our journey may not be a roller coaster full of passion and excitement.
But we have joy, and the trust that comes between two people who share the common joy of life multiplies into the best parts of a relationship.

If I had to rate it today.
Sleep. Sex. Family.

It's extraordinary.

chances

What are the chances?





Of.


Happiness. Grief. Love. Fear.





Forgive me, for I have indulged in a favorite tonight, music and wine. Bad combo for my morning but good for the creative process. I draw from a place that no one can feel, that George hasn't even seen.


He has seen almost all of ME and still wants more. He is the best chance I ever took.


This I write for a dear friend who may be embarking on a new journey into love. She has faced so many fears in her life.





I was her babysitter. I started as an 'employee' to her mother, and ended up loving her and her brother. They became a part of my life, and she was this sweet, good natured little joy who I found in my back pocket for the better part of six years. She was emulating me. I knew she was. I watched her every day. I was flattered that this creature would even want to be like me.


My flaws were numerous.


To me.





She would ask me questions. Hundreds of questions. She wanted her hair cut like mine. I would scold her little brother (he was this adorable critter, naughty by nature, but adorable none the less) and she would soon follow suit. In the same tone of voice and with the same look on her face.


I grew up. Went to college.


One night, I came home from a date and found this young girl at my doorstep..in tears, upset over circumstances that were beyond her control. Upset at choices that had nothing to do with her, but in a grown up world, choices become chapters in children's stories.


That night, I sat with her and took her upstairs to my room. We talked and fell asleep and in the morning, I hugged her..told her I loved her and she would be fine.


That experience was so humbling to me.


I will never forget that at my young age, possibly 19 or 20 years ago..I made an impact on a girl's life. She came to ME when she felt like she had no other choice.


It was a chance that I was her babysitter.


It was a choice that she became a sister.





This young woman today is like what I had EXPECTED my mirror to be. She is beautiful, she is kind. She travels and expands herself.


She is educated, she is independent and amazing and most of all, she is kind.


She gives.





I do not feel 'shorted' in my life. I took a chance with my husband. He was the best chance I ever took. Safe bet.


I have these amazing, crazy, whacked out kids. They laugh, they fight, they are loud and messy. I gave up all my education and dreams for them.


They became my dream. Evolution.





This young woman channeled everything she had into becoming what she already was..an amazing human being.


And she now has a chance at love herself.


With someone who may be a safe bet.





Someone who may not have been torn out of a Brooks Brothers ad. Someone who knows how to build a motor or who has hands that are dirty with work.


Someone who is the shadow of my husband. Who has worked beside him and learned from the man I love.





The two are cut from the same cloth. They can work from dawn till dusk. They have hands that are calloused with work.


Those hands can build a home.


Those hands can build a dream.





Take a chance.

Close your eyes. Remember the pain. Remember the joy.

'you gotta cry before you sing'

'chances are hopes torn out pages'

Fall.

Relative Happiness.

My best friend and I have this theory:


Happiness isn't just a GIFT. You have to make it yourself. It's a present to give yourself and your family.


Because sometimes the day-week-month isn't HAPPY.


Sometimes it sucks.

When I was young, 'child young', I wrapped myself up in my 'happy thought blanket' and saw everything with my child eyes.


When I was a teen, I foolishly based my happiness on a boy.


Boys don't make happiness.


As I aged, went to college, gained new insight on education, liberation. I started to kind of 'like myself'. I decided that I certainly didn't need a boy to make me happy.


Exit boy.



I liked to read. I read a lot during college. I wrote a lot. I liked being alone. I liked having solitary time to myself. I enjoyed working all summer at the pool, working second shift in a factory, waitressing on weekends.

I freed myself up to be 'available' to new experiences. I tried new foods. I tried to cook said foods. I tried new books. I talked with my parents. I walked the 88 steps up the sidewalk to my grandmother's house and sat on her front porch swing with her.


I tried to love. A few times. I tried to walk beside someone, instead of in front of behind him.


I had to admit that I was wrong. That love was a slippery slope.




I knew that I had to find some kind of balance within myself before I could be any good for anyone else.


Alone again.


Sometimes the best kind of happiness cannot be created. The best kind of happiness comes when you are least expecting it.



Sometimes it is a surprise~take a chance, step out of the bubble.



I will not wrap my happiness up in my children. I cannot hang that on them, it isn't their burden. Do they bring me happiness? ABSOLUTELY.


Do they bring me pain? FOR SURE.


But they didn't dial up and order it. The stress and anxiety that come with motherhood is not something that the child does..it's how we, as parents, react to the circumstances surrounding the child.



My happiness cannot be created, taken, shaken or dictated by the actions of others. Because it's mine. I earned it.


I walked the path and took my hits.

My children will have to learn this on their own.

Each person has to create his/her own space.


My husband makes me happy, but not everyday. What kind of husband makes a wife happy everyday? That is not real.


The reality of our relationship is that I am 100% responsible for making my own smile.




I definitely can attest to not making him happy every day! I make him CRAZY at least 5 days of the week.


If you want to be happy. Stop trying so hard.


Breathe.

Be alone and like it.

Read.

Listen.

Listen, again.


Find things in life that make you happy without having someone else to carry it.




That load gets very heavy.