Testing 1,2,3...

It starts with a feather…and then you’re given a penny and with that a pebble, and ever so slowly it grows with a heavy ache. Your hands are full, your heart is thick with hurt, and the shadows of your worries show within the corner of your eyes. Just when you think you can’t bear to hold anything else, God places a crater on your back. Maybe if you believe hard enough, if you pray long enough, if you look through all the pieces for the good, then maybe you will find whatever message he is trying to send to you. God must love me so much to test me like this.

Worst week ever? Starts with your son at his follow up appointment for his double ear infection, guess what, he still has a double ear infection. Oh, so the diarrhea that he experienced for 10 days on the previous medication has now been extended for another 10 days?

The worst week continues with your daughter, her first week out of school because you need to save money, playing make pretend in the living room with “Eva”. Who’s Eva? With a sad voice, chin perfectly tucked into her neck, big round eye’s looking up at me, “She my friend from school”. Insert guilt…anywhere.

Let’s not leave out the oldest, of course not, it starts with a detention because…he forgot his homework… again. And just when I thought the detention would trigger some sort of desire to succeed, fast forward two days, and yes, we forget again. Let’s end with the ADD meltdown because mom has decided it’s time to earn back all our privileges which includes bed time, electronic time and possibly even a new haircut. Why, because apparently I wake up every morning thinking of things to do to make my 12 year olds life miserable.

But how could it be the worst week without including my own resentments? No I have not forgotten. 10 years with my company, a decade already gone at the tender age of 32. I didn’t get a phone call to say Happy Anniversary; I didn’t even get an email. I’ve worked under a brick ceiling (forget the glass) and micromanaged because the boss needs to feel important and finally I saw a tiny little light. Redeployment is when we continue to work for the same company but move into a different position. Redeployment should always be spelled in gold letters. I’ve applied for 9 jobs, and I finally got a call for an interview. I was petrified. I loved the office and I loved the people and when I left I felt something spark, a small flame, something that had burnt out so long ago. I wanted this job. 6 days later, I got a lovely email telling me that I wasn’t what they were looking for.

I cried out my week of frustration on Thursday night, I took a bath and then… I ate nachos. I went to the gym 4 times that week so a different approach was much needed. But then I woke up at 2am and the left side of my face and neck were swollen. The walk-in confirmed my strep throat and by noon on Friday, the fever and chills had set in, my skin hurt. Getting sick and juggling kids is when the super hero in any mother needs to comes out. When I would rather be face first on the couch with vicks and chicken soup, I manage to find an ounce of energy to get the kids into their pjs, to lift a spoon to the baby’s mouth and to press the power button on the remote (and then whisper a special thanks to God for On-Demand). My family is my saving grace; keeping the kids late so I could rest Friday with the hopes that daddy would be home. Unfortunately I “scheduled” my sick time right in the middle of the holiday rush so 6pm came and went and then 7 and at 7:45 when all were changed and Carson and I were rocking each other in the rocking chair, daddy came home. Daddy then forgot to do the dishes and then worked until 8:30 the next evening. Auntie came by Saturday morning and brought the kids to breakfast with Santa. Shortly after the kids came home, my fever broke (thank you lord) and slowly we got through the rest of the day. When I woke up on Sunday the first thing I did were the dishes. I had high hopes that Sunday would be a much needed day of family and holiday cheer. My worst week was not over. I was supposed to make cookies and Adam was going to decorate the tree with the kids. Marriage is hard. It is my hardest test and I don’t want to fail my God. I know what it’s like to grow up with a dad that isn’t around all the time. I know what it’s like to be a rebellious and angry teenage daughter…I do not know what it’s like to have one…but if my husband continues down the path of broken promises, I’m pretty sure God is going to let me find out.

So it’s now Monday morning. I wake up to a naked tree and sugar cookies sitting on the counter waiting to be decorated. It’s a new day but my heart is still heavy with all of these worries and I have no where to put them. I think maybe I can get lost at work, go to the gym and then decorate some cookies with the kids tonight. Maisie’s excitement is enough to make me smile.

The crater to my worst week ever came in an email, conveniently while I was trying to get lost at work. My realtor tells me that my short sale on my home has fallen through. The bank wants more money and the buyer has decided to walk away. Emotion is a very powerful thing, your heart clearly doesn’t have the capability to fall down two rungs in your rib cage but that is exactly what happened. At that moment when my head fell perfectly into my cradled hands, I stopped seeing two footprints in the sand. It has been so long since God has had to carry me but I don’t think I can walk on my own right now. 

The emotion from this week begins to bubble over and in spurts there are tears. Tears you may see a crazy person burst into at any given moment. A blubbering mess speaking in tongues and the only words you can make out are Eva, cookie and house. Tears, in my case, that are quite obviously due to the mixture of events that have occurred in only just a few days. I’m sure even passer-by’s questioned my sanity as I had a mini temper tantrum in the office bathroom.

I am only human and maybe this crater is the cross I have to bear. I’m sure I will get sick again and it will land on some sort of inconvenient work day and I will need to fend for myself. I’m sure the job was just not meant to be and I was only in love with the idea of it. I have 8 more applications. My home is but a material thing, it’s the pride that went into it that I will grieve the most. I’m sure the kids will find loop holes that form some sort of resentment towards me whenever the need arises, and I’m okay with that. As God kindly reminded me, as if to end a letter with PS to my worst week, on Wednesday after I made a call to 911 because my youngest couldn’t discreetly swallow a pine needle, I should appreciate the meltdowns and temper tantrums. The mother’s and father’s of this world who’s little ones have gone before them would be overjoyed to have a child with diarrhea if it meant one more second with them. Above all of this, I’m absolutely sure that no marriage goes without its own crater. I have learned that in order to get change, we must first look within ourselves. With all of my worries and no where to put them I have no choice but to face them, learn from them and be thankful that God believes I am strong enough to handle it all.  

I walked with you today

I walked with you today.

I was 14 years old when my Pepe passed away. It was barely a month into my freshman year of private school. My brother Peter picked me up. That was the first sign. He offered me ding dongs, the second sign and then…he asked me how my day was…the red flag, the sirens, the 5-car alarm. “What’s wrong?”  

No one prepares you for the death of a loved one. Do you really want to be that person that sits with a child to explain the different stages of grief? No, you just pray that they don’t ever have to go through it. I thought he was being mean and joking, and then I thought he was lying and then I just didn’t want to talk anymore. We pulled into the driveway of our home and he looked at me and said, "are you okay". I shook my head, afraid that if I spoke I would crumble into a million little pieces. I don’t remember exactly when I started crying, if it was in the car or when I walked in the door and saw my mother sitting on the couch. Probably both. It was the first time I lost someone. I liked playing cards with him and scrabble, I liked that he never let me win. I liked visiting him when he went to the nursing home. And I secretly enjoyed that he always remembered my name. I liked listening to my Aunt Marlene tell stories about him when she was young. He was so tough and strong and he ruled with an iron fist. I smiled when I heard these stories, when I looked in his eye's all I saw was an ocean of love and affection. I knew there was a teddy bear in there. He knew that I saw right through him.

My work schedule recently shifted for the next few weeks. Since Adam leaves before the sun comes up, I get up in the morning at the same time to get the kids up and off to school. I come home to an empty house and do busy work passing the time; the dishes, I make up the beds and open all the curtains. This morning we had a showing scheduled. We’re in the midst of trying to sell our home, my financial burden in this suffering economy. I wiped down walls and dusted, lit the candle for a bit so it smelled like fall Harvest and then I took some time out for me and went to the gym, third day in a row. While my trainer was impressed with my dedication, my muscles were not happy with my newfound need to beat up on them.

Lily, my beautiful little pain in the butt of a dog waited nervously in the car for me. Nice fall day, I thought the fresh air would be good for her, I can be so naive some times. As I walked back I saw her shaking out of her fur as though she hadn’t seen me in years. I could go to the bathroom and walk out to her and still get the same reception, every time. When I got in the car I looked at the clock, 10:35am. The people coming to see my house were going to be there at 11 and since it only took 10 minutes for me to get back home I looked at the anxiety attack sitting next to me and said, “Well, what are we going to do for the next hour?” If she could talk I’m sure she would have recommended a blanket, a couch and a warm body. As I drove back home I figured I would go to the bank, run an errand, get gas and then drive over some glass…wait, COME ON, yup that was glass I just drove over. Oh how convenient, the cemetery is right here, “God…I know…it’s been awhile…but if Pepe wanted me to come see him, those flashing signs on the side of the road work to.”  

I could see the fright in my little dog’s eyes, “You’re leaving me again...here?!!”. "No dog, you get to come to". My visits are always well received, I feel the warmth around me and I can hear the rustlings of a home. I never met my Meme but one thing’s for sure, that’s her tidying up and not my Pepe. I always envision him in his old home, sitting on a recliner, something made of corduroy, with his glasses on…just listening, happy to see me. He has two good legs now and doesn’t like to sit too long. I catch him up on all my “poor me’s” and then we walk. I walked around the entire cemetery with Lily, the spaz, and my Pepe. I caught the grounds-man staring at me as I talked to myself, it couldn’t be the first time he saw someone doing that. Towards the end of our walk I found myself listening to my Pepe; he talked about the things that were important to him. And I swear, every time, I learn something new about my father. Maybe I can’t buy my children the latest gadgets or the most expensive Halloween costumes. Maybe I’m angry that I’m letting go of the roof over their heads, something I worked so hard to give them. Maybe I’m angry that my career is not so much a career anymore. I should stop being so angry, so selfish and I should remember what drove me to work for all of that in the first place. What can I keep doing for my children? I can love; I can parent them, play with them, tuck them into bed, teach them, read to them and love them completely and unconditionally. It doesn’t cost a thing, it’s something I can pass on to them and they can pass on to their children. I see this gift in Calvin already, and every time, I say “Thank you so much Mother Mary”. They won’t remember the Nike shoes I bought them that one Christmas but they will remember that I insisted on a kiss and hug every night before bed, yes even the 12 year old.

As we walked back to Pepe’s spot, I could feel my Meme’, as if she were coming out to greet me. The weather was crisp and warm, there was a gentle breeze and there were leaves and pieces of tree lying all around the ground and I realized that Lily was no longer in a state of panic. I felt my Pepe pat me on my back as an old memory came to mind, as if he were standing right in front of me “Remember when I used to give you a zero when you did gymnastics for me? I did that because I wanted you to work harder, challenge yourself more”. My Meme wrapped herself around me, a warm departing that brought tears to my eyes. So much of me wished to taste her cooking, sit with her at the dinner table and just watch her. And there I go down the selfish road again. Suck it up, my Pepe would say. As I got in the car I peaked at my tires, “Thanks for sparing them; can you work on a better sign next time?”

I said my Hail Mary and went home to drop Lily off; it was 11:27am. “Please God, sell this house”. I didn’t see a realtor card on the counter like I usually do so I called my realtor to make sure they weren’t running late. Apparently it was someone from her office and someone who actually might be interested in the house. “Don’t get your hopes up”, my realtor said. “We’ll see what it comes in at and if it’s worth sending to the bank”. No, there are no hopes, just my prayers and my faith that God has a plan. And he is clearly watching over me, it’s not even noon yet and I’m pretty sure he’s laughed at me twice today.

Daughter's

“Maisie, can you get momma a diaper?”…from the bottom of the stairs I hear, “NO! Not right now”. As the naked baby lies before me with a twinkle in his eye as though he and his sister planned this whole thing out, I wonder to myself, can we make it downstairs in time to get a diaper. “Maisie, please get momma a diaper before Carson pee’s all over me”. Thankfully I hear her coming up the stairs, oh gullible me assuming she has brought along a diaper, I watch her sit comfortably on the top step only to say, “Maybe later”. It was as if she was getting a front row seat to the show, the only thing she was missing was popcorn. So I look at my good little boy who was perfectly content in his nakedness and I will him with all of my silent subconscious super mom powers to not let the cool air stir any need to release all over my work clothes as I hop over his sister and down the stairs to the safety of the diapers. And so begins my Wednesday morning.

When did my little helper become so joyously defiant in her ways? When did my requests turn into an invitation to challenge her loving mother? I’m in the midst of asking a question when a resounding, “No” interrupts the words that are coming out of my mouth. She has even mastered the art of balling her fists and making this sound, sort of a cat-like growl just for dramatic effect. Particularly, and the timing I must say is award winning, after I’ve raised my voice to her older brother Calvin. All of this behavior tends to be followed with a sweet little smile, a quick hug and squeaky little voice that says, “Momma, I love you”. 

Even her one-liners are enough to make me pause. After walking into the bathroom, I look at her sitting pleasantly on the toilet and say, “are you done, did you go to the bathroom” and with all seriousness, she responds “no, maybe next week”.  To which I contemplate adding some Miralax to her yogurt.

She is stubborn and willful and in every way a very quick study. Listening to her call Carson, “Boo-Boo” in her baby voice and say things like “Ooohh Carson, why are you mad” is like listening to myself on a recorder.  She’ll go into Calvin’s room and wave her finger at him and say, “Calvin, stop being fresh”. And poor Calvin has such a fit. He asked me once, “What if Maisie has ADD to?” to which I responded, “I’ll move out”. I’m glad he found it funny.

No, there is a clear difference between a child with ADD and a 3 year old ninja. When Calvin was 3, he was so instinctively reactive that going out in public was a rarity. Yes, I know, most 3 year olds are instinctively reactive. Passing a candy bar at the store voids out all rules that applied prior to walking into that store. With Calvin, however, I had to make very specific rules like, mommy is going to the store to buy you a red notebook and then we will go visit Mimi and Grumpy. I would bring a timer or a toy that he hadn’t played with in a while and we would play games like, I spy. If I didn’t buy a red notebook, if I went somewhere else first or if I decided not to go at all I was guaranteed a 3 hour meltdown.

Maisie, well she’s a whole other species. I truly believe that upon waking up in the morning she makes a mental list of things that tick mom off just to check them off throughout the day. She does this thing where she repeats herself very loudly over and over and over, I particularly enjoy it when she does it at church. She agrees to all of your threats, “I will take away your doll if you continue to yell”, “you will not get a snack when we get home” or “you will have to take a nap when we get home”. She obsesses over her request and giving into her only presents the opportunity to obsess over another request. And by the time you get home, she’s on her best behavior and quite understandably blindsided to have no snack, no toys and why is she going down for a nap? This only welcomes a second wave of obsessions and more reprimands.  And without saying anything, I can hear her voice inside my head saying, “this is all your fault”. By the end of the day, I’ve won the Mother of the Year Award, I’m exhausted and she’s now plotting out the next day of events. She emits this monsoon of emotion with complete disregard to her surroundings and, conveniently, only when we’re out in public. Luckily enough, I have three children now and my ability to disregard my surroundings exceeds her desire to yell and cry at the drop of a dime. My only saving grace, a time out chair is not necessary for time outs. If there is a bathroom, there is a corner and we will stay in that bathroom until (a) moody has learned how to use her quiet voice, (b) we pack up and leave with nothing, no one wins or (c) church is over.

It is a battle and she seems to have her wits set on me. When we sit at the dinner table and she takes a sip of her milk and lets it sit in her mouth with her cheeks puffed out staring at me…willing me to say something, Adam and Calvin quickly find a spot on their plate of food avoiding the lasers that are apparently coming out of my eyes.   

Her teacher’s praise her behavior, her friends give her hugs when she arrives at school and again when she leaves for the day, her grandparents tell me she sleeps all night when they keep her on Thursday’s. To all of which I’m so thankful, jealous, but so thankful.

 Someone said to me, “maybe she enjoys your attention”. Oh no, I believe she just enjoys tormenting me. It’s trial and error really. I had one child with a very challenging and very special gift and I blindly assumed that I knew everything about having children. And then God said, “I’m giving you a girl”. People always told me that girls were easier and yet since I’ve had her, everyone has changed their story. There was no warning and there are no books to prepare for it. However, I’m pretty sure she got the cliff notes on Calvin’s childhood, studied them, found the loop holes and is now mastering the art of driving mom up a wall. I applaud her spirit, I applaud her drive and I even applaud that mischievous little spark in her eye. She makes sure that every single day of our lives is an eventful one. I love you Ms. Maisie Moo.

I Can

It stared at me, for so many years, stared me right down and I would dismiss it like it was trash and continue on my way. I rolled my eyes at even the mention of it. “You people are crazy” I would say. It would take years of silent mocking before I would finally accept its challenge. I would quiet the beast once and for all.

I barely made it half a mile before I thought my lungs were going to spontaneously combust. I couldn’t talk, I could taste metal, sweat was dripping off my elbows and my face was the color of the fire extinguisher, the one I contemplated using to put the flames out in my chest. I thought, why do people do this to themselves? I could actually hear the machine cheering its victory song, it had defeated me. As I wobbled away and my heart rate slowed to a less terrifying beat, this calm came over me, a calm I hadn’t felt since childhood.

When I woke up the next morning, I had no intention of even acknowledging the beast. I packed my workout gear and thought about bringing along one of my husband’s hammers to “accidentally” drop on it….woops, but I held my head up high and planned to accept my defeat like a rational adult. Instead maybe I would throw a blanket over it.

There is something to be said about the words, “I can’t”. I am an athlete, I played soccer, was on the swim team, did gymnastics and dance, played softball, volleyball and even flag football. Running is an instinct, a natural part of my athletic being and therefore should be the easiest feat to accomplish. Bullshit. If the machine could talk, that is exactly what it would have said to me. And something along the lines of, “sit down little girl you have no idea what you’re doing”. I did my usual workout, watching the beast from the corner of my eye the entire time, doing its little victory dance. Before I left the gym that day I got back on that treadmill. And just like the day before, I thought, “there is no one here to save me if I go into cardiac arrest”. But I didn’t and there it was, I refused to believe “I can’t”. I didn’t keel over and that was a success in itself.

I ran every day, taking one or two days off a week and on those days I thought about running. At some point the beast became my confidant, a lesson to be learned by all. Breathing gradually became easier, my distance longer, my speed faster and my mental health was clearer. Yes, I know machines don’t actually mock people. I challenged myself, I thought for so many years, why do people put themselves through this kind of torture. In reality I was missing out on freedom.

I am not a long distance runner; I am not the fastest and by no means am I the greatest. I am just a runner. When the weight of the world rests itself on the back of my neck, when I don’t get enough sleep because the baby’s sick, when my son tells me the night before he has a 5-page report due, when my boss puts up another brick ceiling for me to chip through, when my house decides something major needs fixing, when someone say’s I can’t…I run. It is all the when’s in my life that make me run. And especially just because.

Running is so much more than just endurance, it’s mental and visual. For me, it starts with a tingle that creeps onto my toes, a sort of darkness that starts to claw and grab at my legs and work its way up in root to engulf me. I run and all the frustration, all the aggression and emotion comes off in chunks of gray. I run and I envision the beauties of the world, like the Cliffs of Mohr. I know when I get there I can stand at the edge overlooking its wonder.  I can close my eyes and let the sun kiss my cheeks as the wind whips around my hair and tickles my neck, I can spread out my arms and feel it trace through my fingertips. And what I have left to inhale is peace. A cleansing breath, as simple as that.

Running off the treadmill and onto the pavement was another feat all in itself. I barely made it out of my work parking lot before I had to use a tree to support myself. And just like the treadmill, I conquered it and then I ran through a pregnancy. I surprised myself when I hit the pavement after nearly 12 weeks of rest and went for a 2 mile morning jog. And then a friend suggested I try a new gym. I think the reference Drill Sargeant came into the conversation. Running made me very aware of how naïve I was so naturally I thought, “cool, a new beast to conquer, this will be fun”. My first class was a conditioning class, some sort of circuit training? Having never belonged to a gym, I now believe the words conditioning and circuit training should have been followed with a large flashing sign that read “BEWARE, all newbie’s may want to bring a bucket”. I thought, “This is not fun, why do people do this to themselves?”

There is something else to be said about the word, “pride”. I am proud that I made it through the first class without throwing up. With that said, I called my husband on the way home to express the overwhelming feeling of nausea and to warn him that I would probably look like death when I walked in the door, “please make sure you clear a path for me to the couch”. I’m also proud that I was able to go golfing the next day, although I’m sure the sound affects I made with every movement only made it harder for my mother to concentrate. That night, as my baby boy lay on the bath towel waiting for me to pick him up and put him in the tub I asked myself, “how are you planning on getting down there”. Somehow I did and I thought, “It’s a miracle, my legs stayed intact”. And just like running, I went back the next week. It suddenly became my “mom time”, the much needed mental break away from my every day routine of kids, work, kids, home, kids, bed, kids.

I know why people do this to themselves; it’s about feeling good all around. Forget about the quest to get your teenage body back, I took for granted my youth, this is my new youth. My life is becoming about the “I can’s” and when, I do, I inhale peace. Small goals lead to great successes. Making it through a conditioning class, running a half mile, these were my goals that I conquered that led to more goals, bigger goals and made me appreciate the accomplishments I have in my life even more. A cleansing breath, as simple as that.

 

Here I stand

I take in every moment to see you smile, hear you laugh, watch you grow
Here I stand on the sidelines at the games and always in the front row
You scan the crowd until you eyes rest on me and comfort sets in your face
I'm in awe watching your strength, filling with pride in every move that you make

Here I stand watching every single independent step you take
Ignoring my advice when the path you choose is not the one I made
I will believe the best lessons you learn are from your own mistakes
And I do believe the fondest memories come from the greatest heartaches

I will be here, I will always be here to hold your hand in mine
To tell you with my honest words that life may not be fair or even just fine
Life will do what you make of it, even through the darkness there is light
So here I stand waiting to catch you when you can no longer feel the fight

That fight will grow old and in its place belief and wisdom will reside
I'll see it....it'll be a look, a nod, or even a smile that you try to hide
That's when I'll know you no longer need me to guide that childhood life
Here I'll stand watching this young adult take over that beautiful baby of mine

On my sidelines, I am in awe of who you are, the person you are today
Here I stand wishing I could freeze time, keeping you with me always
Sometimes the best advice comes from the places we least expect
You taught me to never dwell, but cherish and love this life without regret

You bring alive the sounds of childhood, the smiles in the memories
You bring alive the reason God gave us this life, this blessed family
You are the reason I stand here, filling with pride in every move you make
The reason I scan the crowd for you til comfort sets in my face

Just a Ham Sandwich

It’s a smell that brings you back to your childhood and suddenly you’re playing with your mom's perfume. A bite out of something that reminds you of the ham and cheese sandwich your grandmother used to make. In my righteous opinion, this is when time traveling becomes real. With one breathe, one simple taste we are suddenly 9 years old again. I can feel the sand between my toes and I'm wearing my two tone bathing suit, my favorite suit. My grandmother is sitting on the blanket she laid out for us, watching me like a hawk and I'm counting down the seconds before she calls me in to eat. And just like that I open my eyes and I'm 32 sitting in my kitchen looking at the pathetic ham on my sandwich wondering what it was she did to it that made it taste so good. Every so often I'll take the deli ham out of the fridge and as I pull back the zip lock, the sweet scent of ham hits my nose and just like that I'm back on the beach with my grandmother. Just for a second and then it all goes away and I'm slapped with my adult hood, stumped about the secret ingredient that she used to put into my sandwiches.

I spent summers with my grandparents, sometimes they would pick me up in their RV in Massachusetts and we would drive across country back to Georgia. I would listen to them say their prayers at night on their porch. At the time I thought it was so boring but thinking back I remember the quiet calm that took over the house when they said their prayers, it was a nice ending to our day.

We would attend church (my memory tells me it was at least 10 times a day) and listen to my grandfather lead the mass, he was a Deacon. He was so well spoken it mesmerized me. He knew how to make me laugh, not the gut laugh but the laugh that comes from your toes. Every so often he’d let me choose between going to Dairy Queen for a soft serve vanilla cone with cherry hard sauce or getting up early to go to McDonald’s for an egg McMuffin. He carried dentyne gum with him everywhere and had little bowls around the house filled with dentyne pieces. I can still smell the mint. He loved to walk and I loved to walk with him, especially since we used walking sticks, it made me feel wise and important. He would always pretend like a snake was jumping out of the bushes, it kept me on my toes. We would walk down the winding road to the farm to see the horses, and one time the owner even let me ride a horse. Mind you, I probably told the man that I was a professional horse rider and it was something I did in my free time back in MA. And grandpa being the easy going guy that he was let me have at it. He knew I'd figure it out. And I did, I figured out that I had no idea what I was doing. It didn't help either that there was this pony, apparently the horse's child, running alongside us ramming its nose into my leg practically shouting "get off my mother!". That was the only time I rode a horse.

I used to play make pretend in my grandfather’s study, I would look through his plagues and medals and pretend like I was a war hero just like him. I always wanted to join the military. While applying lotion on my back (I was wearing my favorite two tone bathing suit of course) my grandfather found a bump. This would later be diagnosed as Scoliosis which would later disqualify me from joining the military. God had other plans for me. My daughter was born on my grandfather’s birthday, she has his eyes and I’m pretty sure his sense of humor. I miss him. 

I would watch my grandmother work at the local thrift store. This is where I found my love for 50's, 60's and even 70's clothes. I would come home with plaid polyester pants and wear them with pride. My grandmother would let me play with some of her wedges; she had a pair of red leather ones that made angels sing. I found a hideous sundress with an awful green pattern on it, looked like curtains. I loved it. I loved sailor buttons, bell bottoms, tweed, you name it. I thought I looked smashing. I should note that it would take years of training and practice before I would find a common ground between styling myself outside of my decade and keeping up with my current decade. For example, plaid on plaid just doesn't look good and red wedges with a green dress wasn’t pretty in the 60's either. And in case my memory ever falters, I have my 5^th grade class picture that my mother often refers back to.

My summer’s were spent helping out at the church, picnicking on the mountain, sampling my grandmother’s famous deviled eggs, going grocery shopping at the Piggly Wiggly, playing with the stray cats that were drawn to my grandparents back porch and playing with the only other two kids in the obscenely small town. I’m pretty sure the population was under 50, my grandparents knew everyone or they knew my grandparents. Sometimes my cousins would join me but I always preferred to go alone, I wanted my grandparents all to myself.

I learned that if something needed to be said, my grandmother was usually the one to say it. We would sit down for dinner and if I didn’t want to try something she made she would say, “You haven’t tried my stuffing”. If I used the word “she” I would hear, “Who, the cat’s mother?” She often said I reminded her of Karen, my mother’s sister…the rebellious one apparently. I’m guessing this was a suggestion that I challenged her too much. I often remember the time we were going to this house (or maybe it was a church) to attend a mass and I asked her how long it was going to be. Sometimes I couldn’t stop the words before they came out of my mouth. A trait I may have inherited from my grandmother or maybe it was my aunt. In my childhood defense, I only asked because there was a dog that I wanted to play with. However, it was too late; my grandmother was already three sentences deep into why it was so rude of me to question the amount of time we would be spending with God. So naturally I compromised and snuck over to see the dog before service started. He was so sweet and yet he was stuck in a field surrounded by barbed wire fencing. So...I let the dog out of the barbed wire fencing and then the dog rewarded me by jumping on me and jumping on me and jumping on me…and I screamed. My grandmother was not happy with me that day.  

Looking back she made a lot of sacrifices in order to meet me in the middle. She wasn’t the type of grandmother to let me eat whatever I wanted or stay up to all hours of the night; she had rules (a lot of rules). Insert “my mother lets me do that”, and my grandmother’s response “I’m not your mother”. 6 nephews and 1 niece later, I have a new appreciation for that response.

My grandmother made sure I ate well, I was well rested and I had plenty of activities to do. So while she didn’t do well in the heat, she knew how much I loved the water. I would swim and swim and play in the sand and swim some more and she would call me in to reapply the lotion on my freckly face. And then she’d call me back in to eat and I would devour that ham and cheese sandwich. She must have injected it with grandmother yumminess. That was the highlight of my beach day, that and the cherry coke I’d chug down.  

Going back to MA was another highlight, I would run to find my mother and the first thing I would do was take in her scent. Coming home was always the perfect ending to my summer. 

I should note that I do not like stuffing, any and every kind of stuffing. The first time I told my husband this, he said to me, “You haven’t tried my father’s”…and just like that I was 9 years old again.

 Thank you Grandma for ALL of the wonderful memories.

A Mother's Love

I’m absolutely positive that are at least 3 things I’ve done right in my life. Their names are Calvin, Maisie and Carson.

Calvin- The Lawyer

Calvin is a bright, compassionate and beautiful young man. Because of that, when he's in the midst of misbehaving and out of range of my hands, he deliberately avoids all eye contact. Unlike when I was younger and there was a magnetic charge that drew my face up to my mother's, my son has this uncanny ability to sense my frustration and then avoid it. He will debate what color the sky is with you and by the end of the conversation you will start to question it yourself.

I know, in some ways, that I enable the dependency that my son has with me. His ADD requires a lot of attention, patience and deep breaths. He depends on me to be his human timer and I depend on him sticking to the schedule. I have this fear that at 30 years old he won't be able to leave the house without his wife laying out his ties.

When he tells me things like, "dad doesn't clean because he says that he didn't make the mess so it's not his job", I go into damage control mode. I panic and have visions of him accepting this mentality, this way of life. Right then we have a conversation about the need to help out even if it isn't our mess. If we work as a team then all of our jobs become easier AND as a bonus we get to live in a clean and organized house. I stress the fact that Adam is always cleaning up messes that he didn't make just to validate my point. The response I get is, "I know mom". And this tiny little voice inside me says, "Have faith".

Maisie- The Comedian

Maisie is infectious and daring and yet so cautious. I had just given her a piece of chocolate when Adam called from work. Maisie walked past me into the kitchen with a small orange bowl and her small piece of chocolate placed neatly in the bowl. I then went to check the mail and when I came back into the house Maisie handed me a small green bowl and says, "Snack". As I'm on the phone with Adam, I say to Maisie, "didn't you just have an orange bowl?” She responds, "It’s dirty" and sure enough she had thrown it into the sink. I then turned to her and said, "Where are you getting all these bowls?"....no response. I hear Adam say into the phone, "yea, about that"...."we need to look around the house for her bowls; she doesn't have any left in the cabinets".

Maisie is beginning to say things like, "Calvin broke the TV" and "Daddy broke the water bottle and threw it in the trash"...none of which are true. She's too young to understand the importance of telling the truth but just old enough to fib without realizing that it's wrong. She eventually found the water bottle in her Dora playhouse, her response, "Daddy, you didn't break the water bottle!"

Carson: The Thinker

I must say that Carson is my little piece of sanity. He burry’s his head right in to the crook of my neck and when he looks at me, his eye's get real big as if to say, "that's my mom". He's my glass of wine after a long day at work. He's always watching Maisie and Calvin, as if he's taking notes. He's determined as ever to grow up, always moving and kicking. His energy is so contagious.

Being the mother of two boys’ is night and day compared to being the mother of a little girl. I’m blessed to know both worlds. There is a common understanding that a mother and daughter have. As a mother, I can honestly say that I know what she's going through. And as a daughter I know that I can never tell her that. as I used to say to my mother, "you have no idea what I'm going through!” I look at my daughter and I want her to be strong, confident and independent. And then I look at my boys and I want them to be compassionate, caring and respectful. I want Maisie to be able to wipe away her tears the first time a boy breaks her heart and I want Calvin and Carson to understand that flowers are not meant to be given as an apology.

Adam says Calvin is a "momma's boy" and often wonders why Maisie is so attached to me even though I’m harder on her. There's a natural connection that we all have with our mothers, after all we are bound to them for 9 months. I see it even with my husband and his mother, but getting him to admit that would be like getting him to admit that I'm right. As mother's we are a happy mix between disciplinarians and the voice of reason.

My favorite part of the day is when I walk into my house after work. I look for Maisie and as soon as she sees me, her face lights up and she screams "MOMMY". No matter what kind of mood I'm in, it makes me smile. I brush my nose over the top of Carson’s fuzzy head and take in his baby scent and I sit with Calvin to hear all about his day. I love seeing how animated Maisie is and how much Calvin opens up to me when they talk about their day. For that short period of time before the mad rush to make dinner and get ready for bed, I forget about all the stress in our life. Because I'm doing my favorite thing in the whole wide world, being a mom.

The Value of Doherty

My mother told me not to use the glass bowl. I decided that I wasn’t going to listen to her. I was in the middle of making a chocolate chip cookie that looked like an elephant when I leaned across the table and knocked the bowl to the ground. Naturally I jumped and naturally a piece of glass cut me right below my ankle. What I learned from that experience wasn’t that I should listen to my mother more often (that would come much later on in my life, much later). What I learned was the value of honesty and instead of it coming from my mother, it came from my father. While I was lying on the hospital bed, the doctor explained that he would need to give me some shots in my foot to numb the area so he could stitch up my wound. I turned and asked my father if it would hurt and he said, “I’m not going to lie to you sweetheart, it’s going to hurt like hell”. 

My father has always been known to “tell it like it is”.

This is where my husband and I differ. I have a habit, sometimes a bad habit, of not filtering my thoughts before they come out of my mouth. I’m working on it and every so often, I hear myself say, “Would you want to be on the receiving end of this conversation” and like magic, I shut my mouth. Adam, however, has a habit, a really bad habit, of constantly filtering his thoughts before they come out of his mouth. I sometimes wonder if he’s envisioning me as a wounded bunny rabbit when he speaks. I do find it amusing when he tries the same tactic with Maisie, she’s strikes me as the “tell it like it is” kind of person to. And I often wonder if I make the same facial expressions when he talks to me.

I recently picked up Calvin from church, after he served for the 8^th grade graduation. Almost immediately I turned to him and said, “Good lord what is that smell”? I pulled his arm in to my nose, which was the first mistake, and quickly realized that (a) it was definitely coming from him and (b) he was starting puberty. I said, “Calvin you smell, we’re going to CVS to get you deodorant”. Instead of being insulted, I’m pretty sure he did a little dance in his seat before saying, “YES! I thought I started smelling a couple of days ago, Ryley told me I stunk”.  And here I thought I had at least another year before we had to discuss the “full” details of puberty. Calvin was under the impression that puberty only consisted of shaving cream and a deep voice. And then I realized, “You waited three days before you told me that you were starting to smell”?

For so long I assumed that Adam would take on the role of speaking to the boy’s about puberty. But now that it’s here, and looking back on my husband’s track record (ah-hem…comparing our good Lord to Santa Clause) I thought maybe it would be best if it came from me. I’ve always been very honest with Calvin, except for the whole Santa Clause thing (which I’m still waiting for the backlash on). So I thought it would be best to have the conversation in the car on the way to school where he couldn’t go anywhere. It ended with him jumping out of the car almost immediately upon arriving at school. At least it was a step in the right direction and obviously there are areas that I just can’t relate to so Adam will need to fill in the blanks.

I don’t think my father knows that I often think back on those memories, like my little hospital visit, when I need to sit and speak to Calvin about things. Calvin may not realize it now but someday maybe he’ll appreciate my honesty and he’ll want to do the same for his children. It wasn’t until recently that I realized I learned this important value from my father.

It’s one of the reasons why I try to stress to Adam that he should really work on not sparing my feelings and just lay it out there when he needs to tell me things like “work switched my schedule so I’m telling you now and not the day before” or “I got another speeding ticket”…however, he seems to think that I’ll be mad either way. While I agree with this theory, if I’m going to be mad either way then why not be honest about it, otherwise now I’m mad because you waited to tell me AND because you’re not being honest.

It is quite clear that we are not from the same family, we were not raised in the same home and we did not take from our homes the same life lessons. What I take from it isn’t that I’m right and he’s wrong (at least not always) but instead that it gives us something to build upon. It’s a part of marriage, we compromise and we sacrifice and we create our own home for our children. We are on this wonderful journey together as parents and it’s up to us to establish values that our children can take from and pass on to theirs.

Love at first sight

"I will offer a warm embrace just to make you feel my love"

Love is one of the strongest words I know. I fell in love with my first born the second I heard his heartbeat. It was magical. During my pregnancy a part of me felt that my body did not belong to me but to my unborn child. I did everything to make sure he was safe. Looking back I was in a very different place then I'm in now. There were choices that I made after I gave birth that were not safe for my son. I was young and felt entitled to behave young but little did I know that my behavior could have taken me away from my son, that's what made it unsafe. I didn't have love for myself, just love for him and I thought that was enough. I truly believe that God saved me. By his beautiful grace, my eye's began to open and a light within me started to spark. I became the mother that Calvin needed.

When I gave birth to my daughter, it was an instant change. A mother and her little girl is a whole different experience. From day one, she has taught me so much. First, not only was my pregnancy different but having a girl is nothing like having a boy. Second, what I thought I knew as a parent no longer applied when it came to Maisie. And third, with each challenge Maisie presents, get used to the sound of my mother's laughter ringing in my ears. Maisie has this personality and sense of humor that come so easy to her. Through the many sleepless nights and the constant hospital checks she became a fighter. She challenges my parenting skills and I secretly enjoy it. My brother Peter once told my husband, "if you tell her she can't do it, then she'll just prove you wrong". I'm sure I'll also be saying that to him when Maisie hits 13.

I always say that Calvin taught me patience and Maisie taught me prayer.

We were blessed with Carson Robert on 2/21/11. I was tired, hot all the time, my back hurt, my maternity clothes barely fit and I had gained the same 35lbs that I had gained with Maisie. While I did my best to mask my discomfort it proved to be more difficult to mask my irritation with my husband who scheduled his time off so work could find coverage for him...I was planning to VBAC, you can't really plan that. But that's part of his nature to worry about work. And God, apparently, was willing to help him out. I worked a half day on the 18th and then went to my mother in-laws house to celebrate my sister-in-laws birthday. After cake she said, "okay, now he come anytime". God was apparently in a giving mood. By Saturday I was having more frequent contractions but third child an all I was waiting until it was absolutely time. So Carson took his time and by Monday morning we were headed to the hospital. We ended up with a c-section and since he was 10.2lbs I'm very happy that we did. Carson's sugar was very low so he spent the first day in the NICU. And it was probably for the best, I spent the first day getting to know pitocin on a more intimate level. Two bags and lots of meds later I was out for the count. There are only bits and pieces of that day that I remember. One memory I will never forget happened after I left recovery. I was starting to feel the pain from my surgery and the nurse asked if I wanted to take a detour to see my son in the NICU. He was fussing as they put him into my arms and as I quietly ssshhhhed him, he put his hand under my chin as if to say "this is all I need". This tiny little being made everything around us disappear and just for a few minutes we took each other's pain away. I'm so thankful that my husband was there to capture it. This was a very powerful moment for me, one that I will always cherish.

So many tears have been shed for my children, all out of love. Tears shed in the hopes that I can protect them, watch over them, guide them and above all pass on this amazing gift of love. The love that can't be taught in a classroom, bought at a dollar store or found on the side of the road.

Love has given me healing powers, kung fu strength and gut wrenching laughter. It's my love for my children that makes me a super hero. In their eyes my kisses make their pain go away and my hugs protect them from harm. It's because of these super powers that they also believe that I make money grow on tree's, I can hear through walls and have eye's on the back of my head and with just one look I'm able to freeze people. I know that someday they will also possess these powers. And I pray that Maisie will also have a little girl that believes if you cover your eye's, no one will see you.