The Moose

My husband and I got married on May 18th, 2007. He proposed a year earlier then I thought he would. Granted we had been together for 5 years, I wanted to graduate from College before I started bugging him for a ring. But that's how life goes; I gladly moved around my plans and reestablished a new one. Shortly after we were engaged my future husband dropped a bomb on our new plans...work wanted him to move to NY for a year to open a new restaurant. It was a promotion and more money so we talked and thought it would be the best move for us. I could stay back and plan our wedding while he worked on his career. This ended up being the best move for Adam's career. After 5 years of being together, I learned that my future husband had no concept for budgeting and/or spending money. I also learned that he didn't know where any of the cleaning supplies were in his apartment. We hit a few rough patches and somehow still made it down the aisle. When we came home from our honeymoon we stumbled upon what would become our home. Things fell into place with each step we took. By September of 08' I was expecting our 2nd child. Calvin is by every right Adam's son, he just came ready made. This, however, would be the first pregnancy that Adam got to experience and boy did he get to experience a pregnancy.

I was on bed rest almost immediately due to minor complications. I had issues throughout the pregnancy that prevented me from doing almost anything. This dependency weighed heavily on my marriage. My husband was used to me being the care taker, the cleaner, the bill payer, the taxi driver, etc. while his job was minor cleaning and most of the cooking. His work schedule when he was transferred back home was stressful. He had a boss that put work before anything else and expected all the employee's to do the same. My husband, unfortunately, fell in line with this theory. Pregnancy did not work well into this schedule. God's grace mixed with patience and determination got us through this as well.

I prayed and prayed that I would have a boy. I thought it would be so nice to give Calvin a little brother. 9 years difference is huge but I'm also 10 years younger than my oldest brother and we are very close. When I found out I was having a girl, I questioned the tech and continued to do so at every ultrasound. I didn't know what to do with a girl. I had 6 nephews and 1 niece who was just a baby herself. I thought, "I don't know how to raise a girl". Funny how those sorts of anxieties strike us. I didn't know what to do with a boy before I had Calvin and somehow I managed. My sister-in-law said that maybe it was a good thing, "Calvin could still be Adam's son and this little girl would just complete our family". I never thought of it that way, Adam's family had welcomed Calvin with open arms and often referred to him as the grandchild.
Maisie was born on June 12^th, 2008 via c-section. She was a peanut, only 6.9lbs and 19” long, she was perfect. A mother’s heart grows so much more with each child, it’s an amazing gift. I fell head over heels in love the second I laid eyes on them.

Adam was over the moon with having a daughter; he would give her the world if she asked. And Calvin grew 20 inches when he held his baby sister for the first time. He recently wrote about this day in a paper he had to do for school. It brought tears to my eyes and then I thought, “Calvin will be 25 when Maisie is 16, he can go with her on her first date”. 

The honeymoon was over when we came home. Maisie went from 3-4 hours between feedings to 2-3 hours. She cried all.the.time. and threw up the other half. I believe I cried with her. She would be up until 3am most nights and Adam and I would switch off walking with her. We didn’t know what was wrong. After several doctors’ visits, tests and a trial on meds, we switched doctors and got her on reflux meds that made the angels sing in heaven. There was this new peace of mind that enveloped our home. Maisie was around 7 months old by this time so her sleep pattern had been established and while she’s in her own room she has yet to sleep consistently through the night.

Maisie has always had this essence about her. She’s a fighter and she’s strong willed. A trait that I hope she got from me. She knows what she wants; I believe that’s why she started talking so early, she wants to make sure we hear all of her orders. By the time she was a 1 year old, she was off the meds, talking and had adopted the nickname Moose as she was no longer the peanut we had brought home from the hospital. By the time she was 2 years old she was potty trained and telling her brother Calvin what to do. Now she runs around the house with him yelling “Abracadabra” and Calvin, being the obedient soldier, fly’s around and flips and jumps on the floor to amuse his sister. When I tell her no, she goes into her room and slams the door. When her daddy has something that she wants she looks at him and says, “I love you daddy”. When Calvin leaves for school in the morning, I open the living room window so she can get on the couch and yell “BYE BUDDY”…at 7am. She is the missing link to this family, the comedic relief, the light and the glue that binds us together. She is the reason why we made a new plan so long ago.

Down South

I was 15 years old, I believe it was the summer of 1994 and we had just come back to MA from Saudi Arabia. From my memory, my mother and I jumped in a car and drove down to North Carolina. We left my brother's and my dad to pack up our old house to sell it. We had nowhere to live and no idea what we were going to find. I'm sure, my mother had it all planned out. We stayed at a bed and breakfast and we went house hunting while checking out all the local high schools. There were quite a few things that I found to be very strange about this new State. For one, why are you waving at me when I drive by, obviously you have me mistaken for someone you know. And when I'm at a store and you ask how I'm doing and I respond with the well rehearsed, "fine, how are you?" that was not meant to be an actual question, I really didn't want to know how you were. And everything down here is so slow; restaurants, gas pumps, even when people walk, can't we just move along people? The high schools we interviewed were a whole other story, we toured one school and I remember the woman giving my mother a nudge and saying, "the good thing about this school is the white to black ratio", something about the black ratio being low. I believe my mouth hung open for a whole two minutes after that comment. I also believe my mother saying something about me not attending that school. I mean, really, was the south still segregated?

It was certainly an adjustment and even more so coming from a foreign country where you really didn't make much eye contact never mind small talk. We lucked out in NC; we found a nice home with a farmer's porch...in the middle of nowhere...but nice all the same. We even got to bring our dog Shadow with us. Dad had her so doped up when he arrived; I don't even think she knew she left our old house. My brother, Peter even came to live with us for a bit. Mom got a job teaching and before I knew it I was attending the local high school. I was a freshman again and the new girl...again. I wasn't really sure how I was going to fit in. I talked funny, walked fast and thanks to Saudi Arabia I had no real interest in academics. The teacher's here were different; the students didn't seem to have a lot of respect and often talked back or out of turn. My science teacher got so mad at a student once, he threw his books and binder out the door, lifted a desk up and moved it into the hallway and told him to sit there for the rest of the year. Where I grew up, you didn't talk back to the teacher and if you did, there were repercussions. And teachers certainly weren’t aggressive with school or student property; otherwise they would be dealing with legal repercussions. As for me, in no way did I see this as an opportunity to rebel. I wanted to sit just far enough in the background to get by.

Things were quieter here, aside from the student/teacher relationships; people were nicer and calmer about things. Kids were free to express themselves more. I really didn’t see a definitive line between popular and not popular. It was just a bunch of different groups without the social hierarchy. The skaters, the jocks, the preps, the quirky crowd and even the trouble makers all had their own tables or spots in the courtyard. There was Nora from English class, she was bright and witty and fun. There was a light in her eyes and people were just drawn to her. There was Allison who was lanky and quirky and had her own personality. Emily was the jock, loud and hilarious; she always knew what to say to make you feel better. Katherine was the pretty girl that dated the senior boys and then broke all their hearts. Monique was the soccer star that told me I was the only white girl she didn’t hate. And then Matt and Jarrid were the skater’s that hung out at the library after school, they looked like rebels but they were two of the sweetest kids I’d ever met. I was the girl that sort of jelled into this new life with all these new friends. There were moments that made it hard to settle in only because none of them hung out together and I, being selfish, wanted to be a part of it all. I didn’t want to pick a group, I wanted to play soccer and wear ripped jeans and hang out at Luigi’s with the poets. Of course I had my fair share of people that weren’t so fond of me. Like Nora’s best friend who often brushed me off or just completely ignored me. I would later become accustomed to the best friend dilemma, who was I to walk into someone’s life after they’d had a well established friendship for so many years without me? There was Meghan, the class brown-noser, who hated the fact that I learned (out of sheer boredom) to say the alphabet backwards…in Spanish. She came in the very next day and announced that she could do it to and then gave me the stink eye for the rest of the year. Then there was that senior, the one during soccer try outs that already had her team picked out and obviously I wasn’t a part of it. I was relieved to make it on the JV team. My coach and my teammates were amazing. I learned so much and bonded with so many wonderful people. And honestly, I don’t believe we won one game. What mattered was that I found a new love. At soccer games, we would put our hair in pigtails and use wash out marker to color in the school colors, orange and black. We drew panther paws on our faces and wore our soccer jerseys to school on game day. I even had my first real crush, Isaac Deeter-Wolf, he was the star soccer player for the boys and I drooled every time I saw him. In hindsight I don’t believe he knew I existed but that never stopped me from drawing hearts into my notebook.

I was really settling in to this new home when it became very clear that things weren’t going so well for my family. My dad just couldn’t get work, he was even told over the phone “that he was from the wrong part of the US”. It was so frustrating to find a place in the world that was so calm and easy going, a place that I saw myself growing old in…and yet it was so racist in so many different ways. It was frowned upon to comingle with the other races in school, and when people called me Yankee, it wasn’t meant as a compliment. A war that was won so long ago for the freedom of other’s was still being fought in this southern town. I’m not sure they even knew what the war was about, I just sensed the bitterness of losing and the idea that anyway that they could get back at the North, they would.  My dad happened to feel the brunt of that anger.

So in the summer of 1995, we packed up our home and we moved back to MA. Out of all of my moves, this was one of the hardest. I often tell people my parents had to take me kicking and screaming. But for the sake of the family, my parents had to do what was right and NC wasn’t going to work for us. My father was able to get another contract working for Raytheon, this time overseas in the Marshall Islands. It looked like my winters were going to be snow free once again. As for me, the new girl status was sort of becoming my annual thing and at the age of 16 I was feeling a little bitter.

The Ruff Life

So the saying goes, "When you hit a brick wall....climb over it".

When I was pregnant with my daughter and my husband and I came home from a day out with the family on Christmas to find a waterfall in our bedroom, you would have thought that I needed to be medicated. I was a basket case when I was pregnant with my daughter, I cried all the time and I forgot everything. And not just major stuff but the basics like signing checks or sending my son to school with lunch. I had several tear filled phone calls with my supervisor, why he didn't request that I take an early leave is beyond me. My postpartum was even a struggle and more so, I believe, because I was frustrated with myself for feeling so negative. I had a home, a husband and two beautiful children who would be well provided for; I just wanted to get over it. And I eventually did, however, in hindsight I realized that maybe I shouldn’t have such high expectations on how a pregnant woman should behave. I went into this pregnancy expecting to be more accepting of my raw emotions and so far I'm wondering where all the water works are. There's a lot that we go through as women and every one of us deals with this miracle differently and probably differently each time. We are our own worst critics, so why be so judgmental towards others?

Currently I have this; "things happen for a reason so why lose sleep over it" sort of mindset going on. The supervisor for the construction at my office was kind enough to point that out to me, odd how some strangers can be so candid. Why would it bother me, he's right. It was almost good to hear, sort of like a reminder to pay attention, know when the right or wrong time is to care. For example, feelings shouldn't play a part in switching doctors, you're a patient and if you're not happy then it's an easy decision. Feelings shouldn't play a part at work, put simply, it’s business and if you're a woman you might as well be wearing a bulls eye on your forehead. Feelings also shouldn't play a part at a restaurant where the staff is being less then satisfying. Feelings SHOULD play a part when interacting with your children, family and friends. Feelings should also play a part when you tell your husband you’re going to throw his alarm clock out the window if it goes off one more time…and you actually look forward to doing it. And Feelings should also definitely play a part when your dog mistakes the neighbors Pomeranian for a chew toy. These are times when I have to step back and check myself, "Liz, please care, otherwise it may not end well".

We had a wonderful day yesterday; Calvin did so much work around the house. He lifted and moved and cleaned and often complained but he did it. His new room looks great and he's so excited to have a TV in there finally, even if it's with restrictions. The baby's room is almost ready, with 4 1/2 months left, we're looking pretty good. Maisie even went most of the day without Dora on the TV. It was going so great...and then Calvin took out the recycling. I was getting dressed so we could head out to pick up furniture when I heard the frantic scream for our dog Lily. I thought, "Great, she saw a cat and is running around the neighborhood, I better get outside before Calvin runs in front of car trying to catch her". As if time slowed down as I ran past our bay window and saw my neighbor turning in circles with his little schmoot of a dog hightailing it from the hungry beast that was on its hind leg. I opened the door to hear the horrid shriek and growl of two animals in combat while Calvin continued to scream at Lily. I flew across the street and grabbed our vicious dog who then immediately froze in fear when she realized momma had caught her doing something very bad. Calvin apologized to the neighbor as he held his yelping dog against his chest and I, who was too mortified to make eye contact, did a bee-line back to our house. Calvin was in full ADD reaction mode and had a complete meltdown in the living room while his 2 year old sister rubbed his back and said, "you okay buddy?” I had to ask him to go into his bedroom while I went out to face the neighbor. With his ADD, I couldn't sugar coat the issue at hand, when he's in meltdown mode he needs to self soothe before I can soothe. There were one of two things that could happen (a) they would press charges and our dog would need to be put down or (b) we offer to pay all the medical expenses and pray that it satisfies them. As most of us know, emergency vet visits aren't cheap so either way our good day was over. And yes, I don't know why the neighbor didn't just pick up his 5 pound dog when he saw another dog come barreling out of a yard barking and growling. But I'm keeping these feelings in check.

So how do you ground a dog, teach them that what they did was very wrong, and keep them from behaving that way ever again? I believe that was the most frustrating realization of the evening. Lily forgot what she did 20 minutes after it happened, however, the look on my face obviously suggested that it was best to stay on the dog bed for the rest of the day.

I guess the question that I keep going back to is, “Why aren’t I in full meltdown mode?” and my one conclusion is it must be because I'm carrying a mellow, zen like child who's rationale is wearing off on me OR it could be my hormones and this "things happen for a reason so why lose sleep over it" sort of mindset. My rationale on the situation is that nothing will be solved with a meltdown. Making phone calls and keeping in touch with our neighbors is the best we can do right now. We should look at it as a life lesson. We always knew Lily wasn't a fan of female dogs, now that she's crossed the line past barking and growling maybe it's time for a behavior course at our local SPCA. After Calvin calmed down, I explained to him what could happen, I then told him about the time that my own dog bit my face and left me with a dimple. He wanted to know what Mimi (my mother) did and I told him she was mad and said we may have to get rid of her and I cried and got really upset. I told him that I understand now why she said that and that’s why I needed to be upfront with him so he knew what to expect to. He asked what he could do and I told him to pray, that's all we can do right now. We will fix what we can but everything else needs to be left in God's hands.

When to let go and let God

When I was 22 years old something happened. It was August of 2001 when I met my future husband and September when I enrolled in College and started a new job. Calvin was two years old. Something happened, something that made me stand up on my feet and get on with my life.

I was a receptionist at a computer software company; a job that I wasn't sure would ever turn into a career. I was in school going for my Associates Degree in Business Management with the hopes of opening up my own dance studio. My new boyfriend was kind and sweet and gave me my space, something different from the typical "going nowhere" type I was always attracted to.

When my first semester grades came back with A's and B's, I had a moment of "maybe I do know what I'm doing".  At work, my boss gave me side projects that I would complete to his exact specs and soon I realized that I was really good at my job and I liked it. I researched the company training programs and loaded up on all the online training courses. I begged my boss to send me to a CAD training course in Chicago and volunteered for anything that he would throw my way. There was this new sense of control that I had over my life. Juggling all of this while raising a two year old with ADD had its challenges but this time quitting wasn't an option. I was determined to prove to my son that I wasn't a failure and the life that he was born into was not the one I was going to give him.

My kind and sweet boyfriend was just what I needed at the time. While we were the same age, I believe the lack of a child made him a little younger and little more naive. He had a difficult relationship with his father but it was very clear that he had the utmost respect and admiration for his mother even though she kicked him out shortly before we met. I believe it was her strong will that made him open his eyes. He was living on his own, working at a pizza joint and playing with his car. At 22, he was doing just fine. We often talked about his passion for food. I often wondered what he was doing working at a pizza place. The new go getter in me decided to research colleges and I might have filled out an application or two for him. And then something happened.

He met my beautiful son and wasn't so sure, I respected him for his honesty and walked away quietly knowing who truly held my heart. It made it easier even though it still hurt. My mother made me watch lifetime movies and told me she would get me through it. I woke up one morning and suddenly felt rejuvenated, I took mental notes of everything I had in my life and it felt good. I was going to be just fine. I went to work and when I walked in the door that night my phone rang. It was Adam, I waited...briefly and then answered and, again, something happened.

His father's aneurysm changed everything. He didn't know who else to call. When my mother heard what happened, it was her eyes that told me to go. His brother who was only 14 at the time witnessed it at an indoor hockey game. There is a 60% chance of death with an aneurysm. Adam's father waved at me when he went into surgery and said "hello Liz". The nurse told us that his gesture was a very good sign, most of the time they don't remember much before surgery and it was really good that he knew my name. Adam’s father survived and his relationship with Adam is stronger than ever. His grandchildren, both of them, are very blessed to have him in their lives. Adam went off to College and got his Associates Degree in Culinary Arts and has been climbing the ladder at a large restaurant chain for the past 7 years. He said he made a mistake and I said “I know”. He’s a great father.

When I look back at old pictures of myself, I can see the chaos that plagued my life. I see it in my face and body and even in the background shots. There’s clutter all over the dressers, the clothes thrown on the floor, the circles under my eyes and the heavy emotion that sat in my hunched shoulders. Something happened, something good. It was at that age of 22 that I felt a new sense of control, freedom. It was also at that age of 22 that God made me quite aware that I wasn’t in control of everything. I’m a planner, I love to process and organize and detail things and maybe it’s become slightly OCDish and the curtains don’t have to necessarily be lined up the way they are. When I’m done, I take a deep breath and appreciate my life even more. So when I plan our home and our children and things don’t go the way I expected them to I just think back on when I was 22 and I smile. That would be God reminding me that I’m not in control and I should just thank him for giving me a new plan.  

Bumps, baby's and children

I walked into the kitchen the other day and caught Maisie putting her empty icy wrapper into daddy's back pocket while he was doing the dishes. I said, "Hey, where does that go?" and as she continued with her business she responded "trash". When Adam turned around to see what she was doing, she quickly ran out of the kitchen. I envy her sense of humor.

I went to pick up Calvin at karate last night to find him doing a kata routine for Hanshi. His movements were so precise and even when I caught his eye he didn't miss a beat. When he finished Hanshi came over to him and put a second stripe on his Green belt, one more and he can test into Brown belt. I envy his dedication.

At one time or another we've come across that glowing pregnant woman either standing in the grocery store or chasing after her children, the ones that might as well be frolicking through a field of daisies...I can guarantee it wasn't me. And yet, I envy those women that make it look so easy.

Someone asked me if I enjoyed pregnancy and I said with all honesty, "I try". And I do, I genuinely try to enjoy the miracle that is growing inside me. Even as I type and I feel my little one kick and roll and stretch, I'm trying really hard to enjoy the precious moment even if it prevents me from typing. With each of my pregnancies it always seems to be the most uncomfortable times that I cherish the most, or maybe it's just that I remember them the most. There were many times while I was driving when my son would suddenly get the urge to use my rib as a lever for his foot so he could stretch. My daughter would get the hiccups almost every day (cute right?), however, the constant repetitive thumping only made me nauseous. It was these moments that made me wonder, how is this fun? But these are the moments that I look back on and I distinctly remember who was who in the womb.

Even as babies my two have made their mark as individuals. There are many times when I say, "Calvin would never do that". With the 11 year old, I sometimes think the umbilical cord is still attached and yet I truly believe that Maisie took the scissors right out of the doctor's hands and did it herself. Will this new little one follow in his big brother or sister’s footsteps? He will have two very high energy, dominate personalities to compete with...it's no wonder I'm looking for names with the meaning "serenity", "rest", "comfort". The third child is usually the mellow one right?

I didn't know how I could love another child the way that I loved my first but it's amazing how much more your heart grows for the next. Calvin has a unique life that is sometimes filled with challenges and yet he is always so optimistic and loving. Maisie is this spitfire, she just knows exactly what she wants, something that took me 20 something years to figure out. We pass down our hair texture and eye color, maybe even our nose and we hope that they take on only our good traits. We don't often think about the traits that will set them apart from us. The ones we envy, that make us proud and wonder "where did they get that from". Adam would argue that my daughter is just like me and Calvin's OCD problems are obviously from my side of the family. So, yes if this one is mellow then I'll just take the credit for that as well. One thing is for sure, they are all very loved.

We're so excited to welcome baby boy Bruce to the clan in February 2011.

First Day of School

Calvin’s therapist said to me, "Have you ever seen that Target commercial? There's music playing in the background while these two children come walking down the aisle of school supplies with their shoulders hunched and their heads bowed down..." and I quickly said, "YES! The mother is pushing the full cart behind them while she dances and I believe there's even streamers or something!". He then says to me that it is hands down one of the best commercials because every parent he brings it up to remembers it.

There's a feeling, at the end of the summer, an itch that I get. I look forward to "back to school" time, not necessarily because my children are driving me crazy but because it brings back routine and structure. Calvin is going into the 6th grade, junior high. He has four teachers and a lot more homework. I caved this year and told him he could walk to the bus stop. I'm okay with it because he walks with an 8th grader, but what do we do next year? As Calvin attends a private school, he and his lone guardian stand across the street from 10+ public school children...waiting for the bus. Maybe it's the overprotective mother in me or the not-so-fond memories of bullying but I always worry. At the same time, I can only hold his hand for so long. He's 11 years old now and if I expect him to help with chores around the house and to help dress his sister and take out the trash then I believe he's earned the right to some individual freedom. So I go through all the rules (just in case), don't talk to strangers, don't respond to anyone that's harassing you, pay attention to cars and don't mess with any foreign objects. You know, the usual.

Ms. Maisie is starting at an official daycare. We put her in a home daycare for the first couple of years believing that a home setting would be more beneficial and nurturing for her. Now that she's hitting the "wonderful" two's and living in a world of mine, mine, mine, we thought it was time to move her to a more structured environment. Her new school has theme weeks and scheduled snack and nap times. They believe in positive reinforcement and no time outs. I believe I might have chuckled when they told me that. Hey I'm all for positive reinforcement, I'm also for the blue time out chair that sits in our hallway as friendly reminder that if you're not positive that's where you go. Needless to say, our little girl was not to thrilled with this new and unfamiliar place. As I left her hysterically sobbing on the first day I had flashbacks of my own experience in daycare and all I could think of was, "she'll never forgive me". But then I picked her up and the teacher gave me her activity sheets that listed all the music and books and art that they did for the day and I thought, "maybe this is a good place for her". And then...she passed right out at bedtime and even slept through the night and I thought, "hallelujah, why didn't we do this sooner!".

School , to me, means new beginnings and with that we have new challenges. We get into a rhythm at night with dinner and homework and prepping for the next day. Our mornings are timed and everything runs like clockwork (or so it should). Calvin has a white board with a list of items that he needs to do each morning. He showers (shower is on and clothes are waiting in the bathroom), he eats (already set up on the table and waiting), he makes his bed and get his socks and shoes on (which are waiting for him by the front door with his bag and lunch already packed). He has an hour to do all this and we're still working on perfecting it, I'm sure by June we'll have it down. One big hitch is whether or not Maisie wakes up during the process, she tends to be a bit distracting.

Even married mom's sometimes have the job of one. We manage and we are thankful for what we do have which is what's important. Adam works hard as a chef both outside and inside the home. And I usually make sure he gets his own to do list.

On the first day of school, we got up extra early and went out breakfast. It was a nice treat, a tradition that I would like to continue each year.

Working Mom vs Stay at Home

I was asked a question today, "will you come back to work after the baby is born" and I didn't hesitate to answer, "yes, I will". There's a pressure, I feel, as a mother, not as a parent because fathers don't get the same questions, to split our time evenly between home and work. If we work too much then we're being unfair to our children by "allowing other people to raise them" and if we're home full time then "we're not contributing to the financial needs of the household". Dads tend to get a break, they're expected to work and it's okay if they work a lot. Moms should be available for both conference calls and carpooling when deemed necessary. Working mothers of the middle class world feel this pressure almost every day. We make the schedule, figure out daycare and babysitters, mark the calendars and tell dad when he needs to be somewhere all between our 8 hour work day. I'm supposed to be fulfilling my destiny as a career woman, something my ancestors fought for me to be able to do and yet there's a stay at home mom out there that's judging me. You know the one that volunteers for ALL the school events, she's the one that runs the PTO and asks you in that knowing little voice to make something for the school bake-off. So if she's so irritating then why does the thought cross my mind when someone asks if I'm coming back to work, "it would be the perfect opportunity to walk away"? Working, in our situation, provides better and more financial opportunities for our children. If my kids need new clothes or want to participate in sports or extracurricular activities, we can do that without putting ourselves in debt.

I often say that if/when my husband ever gets a promotion, I'm done working. And then I think to myself would I really waste an education just to be home with my kids? Am I no longer considered an equal to my husband since he now "brings home the bacon"? Would that affect his expectations in our marriage, would I be expected to have dinner waiting for him when gets home along with a fresh cocktail, clean house and children so all he has to do is kick off his shoes and relax? I don't get to relax because why, "I'm home all day"? To be fair, these are questions that I believe have crossed every married couple, every working mother debating a life change and every person who has had an opinion on the subject. Personally, I envy stay at home moms and I believe it is a full time job that does not receive the acknowledgement that it truly deserves. It does, however, reap many benefits. We don't miss out on firsts, like walking or talking. When we teach our children something, there's a sense of accomplishment and pride that no job in the world could ever provide. We get to be a part of their lives in a way that we couldn't if we were tied to a commute and full time job.

So who wins, which position is better? Do we go back to our roots and give our children the foundation of family that they so much need to learn about and appreciate? Or do we stick to what the economy, our ancestors and the American standards now expect of us and stay in the career world, hoping or knowing that our time with our kids after work and on weekends is enough? Simply put, it's not a matter of winning. It a matter of knowing that what your decision is, is what best for the family. Your children will understand and Betty Crocker with the PTO may just be a little envious, maybe, just maybe she feels that she missed out on her opportunity. The grass is always greener on the other side. When the time comes my husband and I will discuss what's best for the kids and what our (my) concerns are. He knows me well enough to know there won't be a cocktail waiting at the door.

I worked hard for two Degrees, in Honors, I might add, I've pulled myself out of financial turmoil and for 9 years I've been the only female Facilities Manager in my Region. I've made a life for my family and I've done what people told me I couldn't do. I've even patted myself on the back for it. When it's slow at work, I'm not thinking so much about the next opportunity to get my foot in the door, I'm thinking about what my kids are doing, is there a board game I could be playing with them, a park we could be at, homework I could be helping them with. Now, I think it's about me teaching my children the same values and work ethic that got me to where I am today. When you are dedicated and passionate about something that makes either a difference in yourself, other people or even the world...there's a breath, a release, a moment that has no words...just a feeling...that's a wonderful accomplishment. 

Saudi and Beyond

The year was 1993; I was just into my second month of my freshman year. My father had gotten a contract to go overseas to work for Raytheon and had moved there a few months earlier. He was living on an American compound and had just gotten family status so my mother was also able to get a job teaching at the elementary school on the compound. Family status meant me, my mother and my father would be moving to a foreign country where women were not only, expected to cover up from head to toe in what I assumed was a bed sheet but also not even allowed to drive. How convenient for a 14 year old girl. And my brother's who were 24, 21 and 18 were "forced" to stay back in the United States (while their parents were out of the country) and take care of the house. Not sure who got the short end of the stick in this situation.

I was sad to leave my friends but I was actually excited to start a new life and maybe even get my own identity outside of "Elizabeth, the youngest of the Doherty kids". I envisioned tipis and camels in Saudi with a house here and there. I never lived anywhere except for my small town and computers weren't as high tech as they are today so we depended on letters, pictures and imagination. My dad was never good at drawing a picture for us during our brief phone conversations so when he told us it was hot, I envisioned tipi's and camels and lots of heat.

There are moments during the packing and moving process that have always stuck with me. Like the list of items that we weren't allowed to bring with us into Saudi Arabia (i.e. Barbie dolls, alcohol) and the tape recordings that we made of the family sitting around and talking so my dad could hear the familiar sounds of home and that last hug that I gave to my dog before I left her and the city lights of New York getting smaller and smaller as we flew away from the United States. I cried and my mother held me.

Those first few days on the compound were....ummm....a shock to the system, to say the least. Saudi wasn't a desert with tipis; it was a city with lots of twists and turns and a lot of people. Our compound had a gate with guards and barbed wire wrapped around the top. It, in some strange way, made you feel safe. The houses were all white concrete and there were bushes, trees and even some palm trees scattered around, (I'm guessing) an attempt to make it feel more homey. There was a pool and a rec center where the compound kids would go to hang out. This is where I made the horrible assumption that I would be welcomed with open arms. I was going through a Kerri Strug stage and had chopped all my hair off, I wore collared shirts tucked in, of course, and stone wash jeans and converse with threaded bead necklaces to finish off my prep look, a look that didn't communicate well with the already established cliques. It never feels good to be called ugly, not even when it's coming from a red headed bully who apparently lacked his own self worth. I suddenly missed my three older brothers. At the time I was vulnerable and all I wanted was to fit in. There were many times when I would run home to my mother and tell her how much I hated it there. I just wanted to go back home and never move away again...but obviously that wasn't an option. My friends, back home would send me letters and pictures with signs that said "we miss you". I waited for those letters and I hung each one on my wall as a reminder that somewhere in the world I had friends.

Outside of the compound was the school that I would attend along with other compounds that students of the school lived on. About a day after I arrived in Saudi Arabia, I took a placement test at the school. My parents were told it was just routine. Come to find out, I placed in an 8th grade level so the superintendant decided that I should start in the 8th grade and get "an extra year's experience in Saudi". After 9th grade the company paid for boarding school, anywhere in the world you just needed to get accepted. No, I was not excited about going back to the 8th grade; I had already started my freshman year back home why would I want to go back to middle school? My parents fought the decision because obviously if I had just finished the 8th grade I would have tested at that level. Unfortunately, we lost the fight and my hatred for the new place grew even more.

Surprisingly, I didn't become a recluse or ban myself to my room; I tried to start each day fresh as though it were a new opportunity for a new beginning. I buckled down and went to school, I made friends there and even continued to go out and attempt to socialize with the kids on my compound. Eventually I started to make friends but unfortunately and, typical to my personality, I made friends with people in different cliques. There was Michelle who hung out with the British kids and Michaela who hung out with the younger kids and Naomi, from school who just clicked with me right away and then, of course, Anna who was the most popular girl on the compound and at school and whose dad also happened to be my dad's boss. You ever see Clueless with Alicia Silverstone, well I didn't end up like that but after hanging out with Anna I did start to become more confident and more focused on my own style. The other kids didn't like that I wouldn't just pick a group so the kids that I didn't hang out with would make comments that I was Anna's puppet. In some ways maybe I was and in hindsight she meant well, she would tell me not to hang out with the troubled British kids because they smoked and I would get labeled. And she would help me with the Arabic customs so I wouldn't accidentally insult anyone, like the time I put my feet up on the bus seat in front of me and she nearly broke her neck flying over the seat to pull my feet down, apparently I was telling our Arabic bus driver that he was lower then me, HUGE insult. But the one thing that she directed me on is a memory that always sits in the back of my mind, its that familiar moment in everyone’s life where you look back and say, "had I known then what I know now". We were talking about what we wanted to be when we grew up and I, without a doubt wanted to be a Veterinarian and rather than being excited for me she shook her head and said "In order to be a Veterinarian, you have to be good at math Liz, and you're really not good at math". She was right and just like that I didn't know what I wanted to be anymore. I have to believe that this moment (like many others in my life) was a part of my journey to find myself. There are people in this world that are meant to come into our lives to be a positive influence but that doesn't mean that they are meant to influence all of our decisions, knowing that difference will set you apart from the guided and the guider.

Aside from my social life, Saudi's culture was definitely an unforgettable experience. If I went out to the city markets, I always had to go in groups and they always had to be with other girls. As a "westerner" we didn't have to wear the traditional abaya or head wrap when we left the compound but most of the time we would wear the abaya to avoid further stares. There were stores in the markets that had signs on them, "no women allowed" and because of the laws for stealing many people would leave the stores unattended. No one was going to steal if it meant losing a body part. As a woman from a free country you would think that I would be insulted by all of this but instead I learned from it. Yes, I appreciated my home country even more but I also found that the respect and dedication that all of the people, including the women, had for their own culture was rather breathtaking. There is a misconception that these women are slaves to their country, however, what I witnessed was pride. Wearing an abaya and head wrap is done so out of modesty not because the men want them to fade into the background. My eyes were beginning to open up to so many new things and I was beginning to realize that there was a whole world out there outside of my own sheltered opinion.

During my year in Saudi Arabia I swam in the Red Sea, found a new love for mushroom pizza with my best friend Naomi, decorated my room in a tile pattern from pages ripped out of magazines, received my Confirmation and had my first underground Christmas (all behind closed shades as religion was not allowed to be celebrated) and I even had my first boyfriend (whom I quickly broke up with when he tried to kiss me). I was finally getting settled into a new life which meant it was time to shake things up again. Raytheon was having "its first layoff in very long time" and my dad's name was on the list. Rather than packing up and going back to MA, my mother scouted the nation and found North Carolina to be the best economical move. We even had a map of the United Stated taped to our concrete living room wall so my mother could research different parts of North Carolina. She planned a road trip for the summer we moved back to MA. It was all very well organized but unlike Saudi, there wasn't a furnished house waiting for us. My mother, I believe, was being spontaneous...

Daily Dish- Pasta Salad

My sister-in-law will occasionally bring this dish to family outings and people always dive right into it. She's the type of cook that can look through an almost empty fridge and bare cabinets and still be able to whip up something fantastic. Although she admits that she usually doesn't make the same dish twice since her way of cooking is, "not sure what seasoning I used last time so I'll try this one". It's amazing only because when I do that, the chef that also happens to be my husband gives me advice on how to do it differently next time.

So I finally commented one day on this amazing pasta dish and, of course, my sister-in-law says "oh it's the easiest thing". She gave me the ingredients and I tried it for one of my own cookouts and, to my surprise, it was a hit. Of course I did it slightly different but I got the same results and now I'm required at almost every outing to make this dish (or my deviled eggs).

Ingredients:

• 1 Package family size, Three Cheese pasta (preferably Bertolli)
• 1/2 Onion
• 1 Cucumber
• 1 Red or Yellow (or both)
• Small vine tomatoes
• Diced olives
• Mozzarella (or you can cheat and get string cheese and just cut into small round pieces)
• Robusto Italian Dressing

 Directions:

• Cook the pasta and then let it sit in a large strainer while you run cool water over it
• Dice the onion, cucumber and pepper. I always prefer small pieces
• Slice the vine tomatoes into fourths
• Cut the mozzarella or the string cheese into small round pieces
• Mix all the ingredients together in a large serving bowl
• Not sure if this makes a difference but I always wait to mix the Robusto dressing into the pasta salad until I'm ready to serve the dish

Enjoy! 

The Boy with ADD

When I found out at the tender age of 19 that I was going to be a mother, there was no doubt in my mind that my life had changed forever. If I were able to take a peak into my son's future I don't believe I would have foreseen what was to come for him. At the time I was a single mother and just a child myself. Raising one, in my naive opinion entailed feeding, changing and putting them to bed...job done. Calvin tested every aspect of this theory.

In my 11 years experience as a mother of a boy I have concluded that every boy has received a small dose of what we call ADD. Calvin received about two tablespoons more of this dose. There were always signs and I always asked his daycare, preschool and even kindergarten teachers if they also thought Calvin had a hard time paying attention. They would say, "he's just being a boy". But he would never sit for TV so I would tell myself, "good, I don't want the TV to be the babysitter". However, it would have been nice to do the dishes without worrying about what Calvin broke or swallowed. He would have meltdowns....All. The. Time. I had anxiety about going out in public to a store, to family outings and to friends houses. And I also had a lot of guilt that I had done something wrong and I was just a bad parent. My sweet boy was the most genuine and caring human being and yet at the drop of a dime he became so frustrated and confused. His environment always needed to be on his terms. I often imagined during these moments the house of mirrors, you know the one at the circus where everything becomes disfigured and overwhelming and scary. There were many times that I would have to sit and just hold him, I was helpless in his world. So I prayed and asked for patience...

He was around 2 years old when my life started to move into a more positive direction. I had just started dating my future husband, I had also just started working for a new company and I decided it was time to go back to school. Why not load it on? I've heard many people say, "How do you do it?" and the answer was simple, "My mother did it with four kids, you just do it". There were moments in the beginning of this new life where I often wondered when the black cloud would come back. The lesson I learned was if you start to surround yourself with positive people, you become a more positive person. I found honesty to be an important part of my "growing up" process. And when a black cloud presented itself, it became a lot easier to deal with. Calvin also got a more focused and better (definitely not perfect) mom.

In the first grade, about a week into the school year I got my first note. The teacher (surprise!) wanted to meet with me. She said, "have you ever had your son tested for ADD?". The light bulb went off and I thought, "finally, we may have an answer". I called the town who set up testing and we met with a psychologist and his teacher to go over the results. Calvin, was textbook ADD. A weight had been lifted off my shoulders...and replaced with a whole new set of concerns. So what next? Do I become that parent that medicates my child? Will Calvin lose his signature personality? What am I supposed to do?

The town directed us to a psychologist, fairly well known, who even wrote articles on parenting for the local newspaper. At our first meeting we started with my parenting style and the many things that I could do differently, I remember that being a low-self esteem day. However, I looked to the positive and figured why not, I'll try something new, heck I'll try anything. Calvin was given choices not open ended questions, a strict schedule, a new diet, a layout of errands and consequences if mom could not finish the errands and, of course, constant structure. Sticking to all of this was the key. We had a token jar for every good deed he did with prizes like, "spend an uninterrupted day with mom", "go to the park" or "have a sleepover". There was great improvement over time (and I mean months not day's)in both our lives but Calvin seemed to still be struggling. The Psychologist had us go to the Psychiatrist in the same office to start Calvin on medication.

So here it is 11 years later. Calvin has been on medication since the 1st grade and I can honestly say, he never lost his personality. He is also still visits with a therapist so that (a) Calvin can continue to learn new ways to control his environment and (b) we can continue to help him stay on track. His lifestyle is different from the "average boy". He still has moments but I find that they happen more around people who don't understand the struggle of ADD. I used to be one of those people, I would get angry and yell and wonder why my child could not just behave normal. I'm not sure when it dawned on me that ADD was not a disease. It is a wonderful gift. It taught me, no scratch that, it made me organize my life and in return it helped Calvin find solace in the chaos of his brain. There was an episode of Nanny 911 where the nanny had the mother put on a head set that blared music while her four children ran around. She put a book on her lap and told her to read. She said, "This is what your son is going through every time he needs to concentrate".

Calvin, is by far, the brightest young man I know and the best big brother. Little kids LOVE him which is par for the course with ADD and works best with fenced in yards. He adapts very quickly to (what I believe) are impeccable answers and he finds the holes in your responses and before you know it...you have engaged in a 20 minute conversation about why he is not allowed to drink coffee. He has quirks like washing his hands up to his elbows and making sure the upstairs and downstairs light switches are facing the right way. Because of his ADD I have learned that structure and schedule must always be consistent and yet it must evolve with him. Using a white board for rules today may not work tomorrow. Over the summer we found that Calvin loves to read, so we're at the book store all the time. Chess is another skill that he did not get from me. And karate is his place of structure and respect, never cross the ShiHan. He has even beaten the odds academically and done so at a private school. His teachers and principal care so much and everyone wants to see him succeed. Everyone knows "Calvin" and they usually say that with wide eye's and a nod. There's an energy that a child with ADD brings into a room and it's our responsibility to embrace it.

I am so blessed.

Daily Laughter- Summer Fun

We all need a little laughter in our lives, nothing is better than listening to the sound of our children.

Life & Death

One of my earliest memories was in my very first home, we only lived there until I was 4 years old but I remember bits and pieces like it was yesterday. This one, in particular, was a simple life lesson that I learned from my mother.

I was outside playing when I saw something on our front step. It was a mouse and it wasn't moving...in fact, I thought to myself, "it looks hurt". I thought, "what would mom do?" and I ran into my house, grabbed the necessary supplies and then flew back past my mother (whose attention I quickly grabbed) and went back outside to rescue the mouse. I put the band aid neatly over its wound and then I sat with it and "read" one of my books to him. "Read", because I don't believe I actually knew how. My mother came outside as I was tending to the mouse and asked, "Elizabeth, what are you doing?". I simply turned to her and said, "sshhhhh, he's sleeping". In my adult opinion, she very patiently sat with me, because as a mother I probably would have had my daughter in the bathroom with a scrub brush and disinfectant. But, my mother didn't even flinch. She gently explained to me that the mouse had passed away and God had taken him home for a very important job in heaven. We buried this mouse in our backyard and we said a little prayer for him. That was the day that I wanted to become a veterinarian.

I would later learn that these poor mice were actually gifts that our adoring cats brought home to us. One of many truths my brother(s) would cruelly reveal to me.

Daily Dish- Deviled Eggs

I absolutely love food, with that said, food isn't always fond of me. I prefer things a certain way and honestly believe that you can cut a carrot three different ways and each way it will taste different. My husband is a chef and comes from a family of cooks so I often tell people that I'm his biggest challenge. And since my son, Calvin, has my taste buds, I've had the pleasure of witnessing the two go back and forth on the difference (or rather lack there of) between a piece of cake and a cupcake. Calvin has this gift of making you believe what is, actually isn't.

You would think that it would be easier for me to adhere to my dietary needs with a chef in the house, however, my husband feels that if it doesn't have fat and if you can't add salt then it shouldn't be cooked. His food is truly amazing and he applauds me for my "amazing" pallet but pats me on the head whenever I attempt to cook a real meal. So I bake and I make side dishes or appetizers. One particular (and very easy) dish is my grandmother's deviled eggs.

Ingredients:

• Eggs (6-12)
• Dry mustard
• Mayonaise (any)
• Salt/pepper

Directions:

• Hard boil eggs, preferrably the night before and then let them sit in a bowl overnight in the fridge
• To peel the eggs, I roll the egg on the counter over a paper towel, put a strainer in the sink and run room temp water over the egg as I peel it. The shell should come off very easy.
• Place peeled eggs in a bowl
• Use a sharp steak knife and slice the eggs evenly in half
• Using a spoon, scrape out the yoke into a mixing bowl
• Lay all the halved eggs in an egg dish or a round plate for serving
• From here everything is to taste, smaller portions are better so none of the ingredients become to overpowering
• In the mixing bowl, add the mayonaise (should be about a table spoonful or a little more), dry mustard and salt/pepper
• Continue to taste with each addition, once you approve then scoop the mix into the open holes in the sliced eggs
• Serve and enjoy!

The birth of Wheeze

I'm a mother of two with one on the way. I'm happily in my 30s with a wonderful (not perfect) husband and a life that I've worked very hard for. My road hasn't been easy but it's the one I chose to take.

I had many nicknames growing up, being the youngest and only girl of three older brother's, having a nickname was no surprise. Wheeze, however, wasn't what I expected to inherit. There was piggy for gymnastics with reasons you wouldn't expect, Shorty for obvious reasons and other names my brother's used but shouldn't be repeated. My birth name is Elizabeth and at some point two of my brother's started calling me Wheeze. It was different, I answered to it without hesitation and none of us can remember when or why it started. Now my 6 nephews and 1 niece call me Auntie Wheeze. It's a piece of my childhood that stays with me...and it's a lot easier to say than Auntie Elizabeth.

I grew up in a small town with a blue collar, Irish Catholic family in Massachusetts. My dad liked his golf and his beer and my mother liked her prayer's. We went to church every weekend, did our chores on Saturday's and rested on Sunday's. I spent most of my summer's in Georgia with my grandparents while my brother's stayed home and worked on the golf course. People envied our family, we had a nice home and family dinner every night. I always thought it was more like a painting, real pretty from a distance but as you get closer you can see all the imperfections.

I didn't fit in at school, I was the girl that stood in the middle of all the groups and the girl the popular girl's talked about. I had Scoliosis, food allergies and an alcoholic parent and was convinced that I got my parents leftover genes. I had a bulls eye on my head and where I thought I would get sympathy, I was even shunned by some of my teachers. At home, I definitely didn't fit in with my older brothers and often heard the reason for exclusion "because you're a girl". Being daddy's little girl had it's perks, however, shortly after puberty kicked in the golf course became off limits. So you can see where the resentment may have started to boil over. What I did have were a few close friends, my animals and gymnastics. I've always been the quirky girl with little patience for stupidity and a strong sense of real friendship and family.

It took me many years to find my voice and my faith. My mother would say, "just turn the other cheek". I understand now what she really meant and accept that we are not the same person but at the time there was a lot of anger that I bottled up. Now don't get me wrong, I wasn't walking around waiting for death to cross my path. I had a childhood that I have learned over the year's to appreciate greatly, it has made me who I am today. I have a lot of compassion for children and I do not tolerate bullying, I have a great affection for animals and truly believe I missed my calling but that's for another post. I believe without a doubt that independence, communication, financial understanding and mutual respect are necessities in a marriage. And that saying "never judge a book by its cover" is mostly true, one should never assume someones personality by their appearance.

Needless to say, I made it through middle school and happily waved goodbye to go onto an all girl Catholic school. Dad had sobered up and mom had found her sense of direction. One month into my freshman year and it was time to pack up and move to Saudi Arabia. Things were headed for a really big change.