Damn I'm good

A friend of mine messaged me that she was upset about how she ate too much ice cream last night and that she feels horrible about it.  The messaging continued and I realized that it wasn't about how much ate, but  more about her frustration.  She wasn't seeing her body changing despite her diligence with the gym and clean (most of the time) eating.  I then responded with, maybe you are perfect as you are and you don't need to change.
Just call me Dr. Phil. I have one line motivating zingers all the time. Sometimes they even surprise me.  I am the go to girl with a lot of my friends when they need to be reminded , in a funny, yet strait forward way to snap out of it.
I was speaking with *Jane ( names have been changed for their privacy) ;)  she is having some issues in the guy department.  Now, I haven't actually dated in over 13 years, but I reminded her that some guys are looking for more than one night stands and the right one will love her for all the reasons I do. She just needs to let her guard down for two seconds and let him see what I see. .... well mostly, some of her thoughts are better off said between us. (Trust me).
Of course I use this with the boys too. Lately I have been trying to explain that other people's opinions don't matter. Just because someone says something about you does not make it the truth. Followed by my favorite phrase,  " If someone called you an airplane, does that mean you could fly?"
I am really really good at picking people up or just celebrating when they are already up. Like a friend of mine inviting me to lunch so I could be one of the first ones she told she was pregnant. I was so very excited for her.  But with this high, also came an extreme low when a few weeks later she miscarried. Despite my moments of saying the perfect thing, there just isn't anything I could say in this case, I just listened.
As I have gotten older, I have tried to find the good in people, despite it being hard at times.  It is so  easy to find things in other people that you don't like. There is something beautiful in just about everyone but you have to pay attention. In some people, beauty can be as hard as finding Waldo. But it's there, somewhere. For example.  I have the privilege in seeing an ex-boyfriend  of mine on facebook recycle and renew girlfriends that all look similar to me.  And when I say similar, I mean to my 19 year old self, and they seem to remain that age too.  The beauty in him is that he is consistent.  The beauty in the situation, is that I didn't end up with him.
Sometimes people are so ugly, on the inside that it oozes to the outside and I have to decide to not associate with them, unless I have to...lets say, to earn a pay check.
I will toot my own horn and say that once I become friends with someone, I will try to make them feel better, not worse about themselves. The problem arises when I don't have anyone to turn to when I need it.
Not at the fault of any of my friends, who would be there for me in a heartbeat. But completely at the fault of my own.  I don't like to share things that are not positive.
I am the anti-cheerleader in my head.
Most of the time the reason I give good advice is because it is the opposite of what I tell myself.  My friend who over ate and I told she didn't need to change? I tell myself that its pointless and that despite how hard I work, I will never look the way I want to.   My friend who is dating and puts an invisible fence around herself? I'm married and still do that for fear that if Don sees all of my crazy at once, rather in small doses, he may not love me as much.
The ex-boyfriend? The pictures I see of him with his girlfriend de jour remind me of what a a horrible choice I made and how I wasted valubale time with him, and even more crying about it.
My friend who had a miscarriage and I didn't say anything. Well, that is because I wouldn't dare verbalize what I told myself when I had them for fear she would run and jump off a bridge. I tell my boys that other people's  opinions don't matter and it is how you feel about yourself  that really does. And although I believe that when it refers to them, it somehow becomes null and void in reference to me.
Will I ever be as good to myself as I am to others?
I'm trying. I need to believe that a friendship is give and take, and my friends are probably wondering why I only share happy things. It is certainly not because I don't have struggles, they are just going on in my head. 
Until then all I can do is celebrate the good things that happen with my friends and try and remember that good things that happen for me are no accident, but just a reflection of the good intentions I give to each of them. All the love that I have I give to my friends and family, but maybe in the future I can spare a little to keep to myself. 

The Brown Decade

My husband and I have officially closed a decade long chapter of diapers.  It all began in March 2003 in a dimly lit room on the 4th floor of Memorial Hospital. I should have been sleeping, but I was still on a birthing high. Not from the joy, more from the drugs. That extra dose of pain killers they put in my IV sent me to crazy town. Spewing memorable quotes like "He has a butt chin" and "I can't believe I  pooped on your hand".
I heard my husband call for the nurse in a panic thinking that our new son had expelled his intestines in his diaper, only to be educated that the black tar was not his guts but a natural occurrence for newborns.
That is how Don was given his first glimpse into an education that little did we know, would continue for the next ten years.  At two different times we had two in diapers.  With this last one, the 2 for 2 was brief (pun intended).  But diapers continued for the next  2 years 10 months.
With our last one, he is the closest thing to a self trained toilet user that we have ever known.  His brother was his accomplice in toilet bootlegging before we even knew about it.
He would have been trained months ago but when we embarked on our road trip to Florida he had the I felt it  would be the WORST time for under-roo enforcement.
I haven't spoken about this road trip until now and it is still very difficult to relive.

As we were in the mountains with cars surrounding ours Mount Oscar erupted. Apparently he had the stomach bug that had infested his school. In an effort to save something (I'm still not sure what because his clothes and car seat were ruined) I used my hands as a bucket as he vomited repeatadly into them and I threw the puke outside the window.  All from reaching backwards from the passenger seat  at 75 MPH. His brothers provided the commentary and the only thing that shut them up was when some of the vomit I tossed out the window sprayed their back window.  When he was finally finished (or so we thought) I turned around and  tried to clean my hands with McDonald's napkins which have the absorbancy of sand paper.  What we hadn't discovered was that he was erupting from the other end too.
We rode in silence until reaching the first available truck stop which also happened to sell fireworks.  I poured a Gatorade on the window in an unsuccessful attempt to clean it off. The sorry excuse for a truck stop only had 2 one person restrooms.  When I emerged from the bathroom holding a pale naked toddler I looked like I had been to battle with a port-a-potty.   We are all still suffering from post traumatic stress after, what has now been named the Brown County incident, mostly in part to the 3 sippy cups of Nestquik he had just consumed, to be honest I don't even know what state were in. Thankfully we only had 16 more hours to go.

I digress.

Here we are exactly 10 years later and I can finally omit diapers from my weekly shopping list.  If a two year old can act embarrassed of his family he certainly does when we break into the potty song when he using the toilet.  Its similar to a birthday at the Olive Garden. Word spreads quickly that someone is on the potty and once we confirm success the family breaks out in unison to the Potty-song. Its now a vintage song that  Don and I made up with our first son. It has 3 verses and when sung correctly, has operatic moments.  I will admit the excitement around Oscar's success had dissipated amongst his brothers, but Don and I are still front and center singing with gusto. Some people reward with M&M's we reward with a performance (jazz hands included).
I think that is why I have seen Oscar trying to sneak in to do his business unannounced. He is trying to avoid the production. He has even been known to have flushed, washed his hands before we even were on the second verse.

So that's it.  To think, I was only 25 when we began this journey.  I didn't know then, that I was not the only one who is capable of pooping in another person's hand.  I didn't know how many hours I would sit on a bathroom floor reading the entire Elmo potty series at least three times.  I didn't know that the character on their underwear would determine their success. I didn't know that I would risk a speeding ticket in order to get to a clean toilet in time. I didn't know that two adults would act like complete lunatics in an effort to avoid changing a dirty diaper.

I also didn't realize until now that our relentless effort resulted in my baby being capable of doing one more thing, on a growing list of things he can do without the help me.  In fact, all the time we spent reading in the bathroom has resulted in his ability to read without me too.

I spent so much time encouraging independence that I failed to realize that now, just a little bit,  I may miss his dependency.  But until his daddy, or his brothers have the stomach to be a hand bucket on the highway, I know I will always be needed for that job, and unless its in college, one I will do so....happily.

And the award goes to.....

I have a confession. I really thought I was going to win an Oscar.  When I was little I would watch the speeches just like every other little aspiring actress and would dream of the day that I would be on that stage holding the Academy Award.
I was going to thank my parents, my dog, cat and my friends.  I was going to mention the bully in my class so I could show her that being weird got me somewhere.
The thing that is weird about the Academy Awards is that most actors and actresses are shy and only want to be in the spotlight when they are playing someone other than themselves.  I am terribly shy until I get to know someone. Once that happens, it is hard to keep me quiet.   A friend of mine once compared me to a campfire. I was hard to start, but once I was lit I was on fire.
When I moved to Los Angeles I continued my acceptance speech writing. It changed as I grew older, but I always started with thanking my parents.  The problem was, I didn't know how I was going to win the award when I didn't have any job offers. I started to wonder if I was more intrigued with being recognized as a person, than any acting performance.
My speech writing came to an abrupt halt when an agent who was ready to sign me told me that he would be happy to work with me, but on one condition. That condition was that I needed to lose around 20 lbs.   He told me I was too "thick" for television and film.  I understand that sometimes ugly people look great on camera, and sometimes beautiful people look hideous.   He wanted me to take up less space to make a bigger impact. You would think it would be the other way around.
I could not have lost 20 lbs without starving myself, and the sad thing was, I considered doing it.  For perspective I was a hefty size 4. Years of a childhood dream were easily put to rest by an off handed comment that an agent said.  For as thick as I was, it broke me in two.  In retrospect, this was a perfect test.  There are several funny and talented women who come in all sizes. In fact, the actresses that are the best at their craft are the ones that transcend beyond their physical appearance.  Can anyone tell me what Maggie Smith's body type is? No, because it doesn't matter. She is brilliant, wrinkled and has so much beautifully raw talent, it is hard to keep your eyes off of her.
If I was really driven to act, then his opinion wouldn't have bothered me as much. But the truth was, I must have been looking for an excuse to get out and he gave me the perfect opportunity.  I didn't see this at the time, but shortly after that, I met Don.
My visions of an Oscar seemed to fade and the only thing I was interested in was winning Don's attention.  If he thought I was thick, it certainly didn't bother him.  He came into my life just at the right time.   By all appearances, I was doing fine, but that is where my acting ability came in handy.  I was in a very dark place and he came in and opened the blinds.   I wanted to be the girl that he saw when he looked at me.
The recognition I so desperately needed came from him and for the first time while living there, I actually felt seen. And it wasn't for doing anything. I was a cocktail waitress in college who ate cereal for dinner, but he didn't care about that.
He was the foundation I needed to build my self worth back up.
It is no coincidence that the second song we danced to at our wedding was "Brick house".  The lady's stacked and that's a fact, ain't holding nothing back.
Thirteen years later and a lot has changed. I do have an Oscar, but I had to give birth to him and he is more valuable to me than any statue could be.
Sure, I watched the red carpet arrivals, and I do have a little bit of regret for tossing in the towel so easily. Unlike most of those people, I was able to walk down my own red carpet, but it was in a church. I hope I only walk down it once too.  And if there was an academy of motherhood, I hope I would at least be nominated.  Especially after this morning when I learned that scrabbled eggs were offensive to my eight year old and my prized Oscar through a tantrum larger than any screen could capture about getting in his car seat (which he does every day).
If the Academy of Motherhood saw the hard work and dedication I put into developing this role, they certainly would be impressed. But not as impressed as I am.   This is certainly the role of a lifetime, one that requires more of me than less.  So for fun sake, here is my revamped acceptance speech.

I am thrilled  to receive this award, but honored to be nominated with all most of the other hard working mothers in this category. I wouldn't have been able to do it, if it weren't for a great supporting cast and the best supporting actor. It takes a lot of patience and it would not be possible without the help of my parents.  Nobody can prepare you for a role like this, it is the hardest thing I have ever done and there have been many times I thought about quitting. And to that bully in grade school, guess what? I handed down my weird gene, and birthed some of the most absurdly weird talented characters I know.  I'm glad you were normal, normalcy is overrated.
If my kids knew I had a blog, they would read this, but they don't because I don't want them to know just yet, that my world revolves around them.  And although this award is great, it means more to me that my husband sees me as myself first, wife second, friend third and mom last. "Mother" is a role, that would not have been possible had I not discovered who I was as a person first.
But I win this fictional award on behalf of every hard working mother who is the invisible backbone of her family.  Your work may not get you a statue to put on your mantle, but you don't need it. It would block your family pictures, which are all the recognition you need to know that you have already been rewarded.

Can I bum a cigarette?

Today I need a cigarette, and that is saying a lot since I have never smoked.  I'm just tired and anxious. Obviously tired because of lack of sleep, but mostly tired of our generation and some of the people that we cohabit with in this great nation of ours.
We have aggressively begun potty training. By all accounts this is going really well.  I choose to do it old school. Strait up underwear.  This morning, while waiting for the child in front of my car in line at preschool drop off decided to crawl in the back and play hide n seek with his mom.  I had timed it so well, but how could I account for this? Oscar had announced he had an accident. Although, I wasn't sure if he was giving me a warning shot, or if he released his full ammo.  Rather than chance it I rushed into the first public establishment I could park in front of and rushed him in.   Sure enough, it wasn't a warning shot.
I almost felt obligated to purchase a coffee because we had used the restroom.   I had mentioned when I rushed in that we were potty training.  Before I left the woman asked me if he made it, and I sadly (and I mean that, I was sad) said no. She then decided to give me some advice. "Next time he should wear pull ups."  It was then that I decided I was NOT going to buy anything from her, and if it weren't so cheesy I would have asked her if she wanted a tip. That tip would have been. " shut the F up!"  Maybe it was the way I sprinted into the coffee shop holding a toddler like a football, or the  emergency blinkers on my van because I parked illegally that made her think I wanted her advice.  She was mistaken.  Here is the deal.  Pull ups just add an extra step to the process.  Its just a diaper without sticky tabs. If he doesn't feel wet, then how is he going to learn?
This is following a rough morning when I discovered the reason Don has been sleeping so well is because he has been bed swapping with the Oscar.  Oscar comes in to our room and Don makes his sneaky exit stage right.  That leaves me with a 40 pound toddler on my head. I kind of wondered why in the middle of the night, Don never answers me when I ask him to get Oscar a drink.  Now it all makes sense.  When I discovered this,  you can imagine I was not happy and I probably set the tone for the morning.
I have been watching Downton Abbey and I'm wondering when men stopped being gentleman.  I'm not saying Don isn't a gentleman ( most of the time).  But one of the reasons I like this turn of the century show, is because there is formality and dignity in everyday activities.  It also made me wonder what ever happened to women acting like ladies?  How can we go from Lady Grantham to Snookie?  Of course, they are both fictional characters, but if the decline in the etiquette of women is a metaphor for the direction of our society, than we are already in the sewer. 
I have watched almost the first two seasons in the span of 5 days, so as you can imagine, my brain is on Downton overload.
Maybe I just long for respect.  Not between just men and women, but women and women. Not to mention, respect for oneself. Young girls feel that they need to wear booty shorts and sheer tops to get a guys attention, which takes away from the one thing they should be paying attention to, their mind.  Which leads me to the other thing that pushed me over the threshold of annoyance this morning.    I caught a glimpse of a "news" story about a woman who had lost over 150 lbs.  Her family was there, she got a make over, she had a photo shoot and was given an exotic trip to celebrate her new body.
Do we forget that she got herself there in the first place and the family that was cheering her on, is probably the same family that put the food in front of her? Yet, she is getting rewarded for her hard work in taking the weight off. Trust me, I know that is not an easy feat. But do you know what else takes a lot of hard work? NOT gaining weight in the first place.
I have struggled my entire life to remain healthy and fit.  Yes, I say struggle. No I have not been obese. But I have gained 40 lbs 4 different times with each pregnancy.  Some may say, that isn't a lot of weight to gain during pregnancy, and you know why? Because I didn't let pregnancy become an excuse to eat a bucket of fried chicken every night.  Did I want to? Of course I did, but I struggled to maintain a degree of health that would give the baby growing inside of me the best possible start. It takes determination and willpower to avoid temptations that present themselves in the form of cookies and sleep.
That isn't exciting enough though, , and I won't see a camera crew surprising me and giving me a make over for not gaining 150 pounds. But damn it, its just as hard to prevent the weight gain as it is to take it off.

All of these things were building inside me and the crescendo happened just as the woman told me that my toddler, who is the 4th child I have potty trained should be wearing a pull up.
I really really wanted to quietly drop the f bomb and get in her face and explain that she was a dumb ass.  But instead I stepped back and did what a respectful women from Downton would have done.  I smiled, thanked her for letting us use the bathroom and left. But instead of disgracing her name over tea, I'm taking to the modern day version of that which is my blog. If I had her name I would certainly have used it, but we weren't properly introduced.   And as for the cigarette I so desperately needed, I am once again, taking the less traveled road known as self restraint, and I'm sure I won't get a congratulations for NOT smoking party either.

A four muffin day

Lately I have been measuring my moods in muffins.  A good day would be a zero muffin day, a semi stressful day would be a one muffin day, but anything above two, be warned.  This would be considered a code orange. High terrorism alert, but its not terrorists that are a threat, its baked goods.
Muffins are my weakness. There is just something about cake for breakfast.  When I worked at a trendy coffee shop we sold the mega fat free muffins which were the size of a cantaloupe and I would have one or two in the course of my shift.  Back then I thought they were a green light food, but since then I have become wise of their evil ways.
One delicious crumbly muffin is like, 1500 calories or something ridunkulous like that. The reason I didn't see the effects of it back then was because that was all I was eating. I was poor.
Somehow the nutrition or diet industry has turned against all baked goods.  Especially muffins.
My best friend has sworn off dairy because she is certain it causes her skin to break out.  The great folks that I work out with only eat what cavemen ate, and a girl in my book club is a vegan.  A guy I work with is a vegetarian. I won't name any names but a certain woman who gave birth to me tried Sensa; I should link that just so you can read how farcical that concept is. A fellow mom- friend swore off caffeine and said she has never felt better. BTW- I'm not her friend anymore.
What my friends eating habits all have in common is they don't eat muffins, at least not in public. If I listened to everyone I wouldn't be able to eat anything but kale and although I like kale, its not something I turn to when I have a bad day. In fact up until recently I thought Kale was a fish.

Somehow muffins have become the objects of my affection. I miss the days when I could eat one without feeling the guilt, but I'm too far gone now.
Life is too short,  my inner voice tells me, but my mind knows my life will be even shorter if I gave into every craving I had. (Nachos, ice cream sandwiches, big huge burritos, stout beer) just to name a few.
Today I woke up at 2:30, 3:10, 4, and 5 a.m..  Not because I have insomnia but because my son has serious issues staying in his room.   We put an air mattress next to our bed but when he comes in he does a belly flop and it sounds like a seal flopping down on a giant balloon. 
Every time I wake up I look at the clock and think, "ok one more hour, think of it as a nap, an hour nap is pretty good"  I spend 10 minutes trying to convince myself of this and before I know the alarm is going off or the seal is jumping again.
I recognize that my exhaustion increases the stress I feel and more then likely my tolerance to resist muffins. But it is not just that.
I allow things to really get to me.  For example, when I dropped off my son and his childcare his teacher seemed a bit...distant.  I immediately start to wonder if I said something wrong. I have a tendency to offend people inadvertently. In fact I almost lost a friendship over a comment I made about plaid and a biscotti.  Anyway, I started to wonder if that comment I made about the snowman looking like Oprah, rubbed her the wrong way. In my defense, it did. It had a necklace, and its eyes were spaced far apart.  It is no secret I love Oprah. If that wasn't it, maybe it is my son? Is he the only one in the 2's classroom that still isn't potty trained? Do they think I'm a bad mom? Do they make him sit in a corner soon as I leave???
Following this inner dialogue I realize that I can't find a decent parking spot and its freezing outside.  As I start the mile walk from my car to my office I notice that my bra strap hurts and wonder if its because my boobs are getting bigger, or I'm getting fluffy. If my boobs are getting bigger I must be pregnant, (but that is impossible) or so I think.
I then start to wonder if it IS possible and I'm secretly happy that maybe I will get that little girl after all.  By the time I reach the half way point of my journey, I have convinced myself that I will never have a little girl and I am super depressed about it because it was all my fault to stop having children after my fourth boy.
Then the smell hits me.  I pass an eatery that has muffins in all their glory in a glass case.
For me it is like a muffin peep show and I am tempted.  I remember that I promised Don that I would stop buying food at work in an effort to bring down the $100 I spend each month in coffee.
Damn it! I resist temptation and wonder why a college educated couple has to pinch pennies so closely that I can't afford to buy the only thing I want in this world, a damn muffin.
 I haven't even reached my office yet, and I have already convinced myself, that I'm a bad mom, a bad friend, a bad wife, spade, chubby and of course, a loser.
I hate to admit this, but this is a familiar thought loop that plays in my head..sometimes louder than other times. This recording can drown out any compliment and usually does.  It is a remix of the above thoughts and sometimes I start to believe it.
If I ever heard someone talk to another person the way I talk to myself I would be appalled.  But because it is to myself it is somehow acceptable.
I realize that the reason I was having a four muffin day was completely self induced.  But why muffins? Was it because they were delicious and wonderful? Maybe it takes me to a place of comfort.
When I was working in the little coffee shop eating my muffins I didn't have a care in the world. I didn't worry about kids, I didn't worry about being an adequate wife or my future career path.  I should have been worried that I had less than $5 in my bank account, but I didn't because I knew that the tip jar would always be full at the end of my shift.  I was confident in what I was doing and I knew I could make a mean mocha. What happened? Life happened. And in my case kids. I have taken on the role as the family empatherian. This is a self elected position that absorbs all the worry, fears, anger and sadness that any particular family member feels.  I choose to be the bearer of everyone's pain so that it gives them reprieve. By the time my nine year old has sorted out his friend issues at school, I'm already conspiring  how to make a microwave muffin I saw on Pinterest just to suppress my feelings..
The paradox is that my 0 muffin stress level days were when I was actually EATING muffins.   Was I deserving of those muffins then? Yes. Am I deserving of them now? Hell yes, and then some.
Its funny that a tip jar that would have about $15 dollars in extra change is what built my confidence. Actually birthing another human didn't.  By all appearances I have grown so much since my coffee house days but in regards to my belief in my abilites, I have somehow regressed to measuring my self worth in muffins.
By this time I was about to walk in to my building.  I passed a woman who has just returned to work after having a baby and without hearing it, I could see she was attacking herself in her head.  I know I'm not alone in this, I just have a weird way of measuring it.
I asked her how she was doing.  She gave the canned answer that all new mothers do.  I said I was happy for her, but I decided to go a bit further an added that she was a good mom. For all I know, she may leave her baby with the dog, but because I sensed her worry she must be a good mom.  Just like that her eyes welled up and she said thanks.  I had instantly filled her tip jar.
Hearing myself say that to another woman I was able to reflect it back to myself and somehow, I heard it.  
I liked the way it sounded. What I hear in my head are just thoughts,that I have manifested into fact, facts that no one believes, except me... (At least I hope nobody believes them or hears them for that matter. )
If its that easy, I'm going to try and do it more often.  I decided to make a detour and get a muffin. Not a huge one, just one that was large enough to fill me up.
I have earned the right to have my cake and eat it too.

Off limits

The school that I attended as a kid was set on an enormous piece of land. When the weather was nice, we were set free to roam. We would play capture the flag and the safe area was a center patch of trees.  Once on the island I knew I was safe and everybody knew they couldn't touch me.
At our house, my body some how has become home base.  If any child at one time is touching me he has amnesty from any harm at the hands of his brothers until he lets go. This has proven to be difficult when I'm trying to make dinner and have 2 or more boys holding on to my legs.

Everyday when I arrive at work I settle in by getting a cup of coffee and reading the news.  Despite my therapist's strong suggestion to avoid news because most of the time it isn't news unless its tragic. 
I came across the story of a kindergartener who was taken hostage by a gunman from his school bus.  Of course this is following numerous school shootings. Under that headline was a story of a two month old who was kidnapped and next to that story was a man who beat his toddler to death.
My mind is racing and my heart is heavy and  I can't seem to move past it. I have become consumed with anger and I must know, is anyone off limits anymore?
Even on a sinking ship women and children get priority.  Today women may not be held at such a high importance on the list because most of the time they can take care of themselves, (and everyone else around them), but when did children, even babies get thrown in as fair game as the targets of ones rage?
This should go without saying, but apparently it needs to be said again. 

My children, your children, our children, are OFF LIMITS.

I wouldn't have dreamed that the recent victims of the worst tragedies in our history have been kids,
most the age of a kindergartener. It is also the age of my Jack. Let me paint a picture of what that age looks like.  Last night he had a bad dream about a tyrannosaurus and slept next to my bed.  This morning I woke him up by nuzzling in his mess of blond hair and rubbing his back. His first sleepy words were "mommy." He ate strawberries for breakfast with chocolate milk. He had a break down (much in-part to the sleep deprivation) because he didn't want to make his bed because he technically didn't sleep in it.  He kissed me goodbye when I dropped him off at school.
Is this the profile of someone on a hit list?
Maybe this isn't new, and the media is exploiting children for ratings. I don't recall such horrific acts of violence towards babies in my lifetime until now.  Isn't there a gentleman's agreement that children are just not part of the game?
I wish the people who are responsible for these crimes could see that I don't view them as a misfit, or a bad guy or even a villain. I view them as cowards, weak and unreservedly pathetic to prey on a child.  I also think the media should not exploit these criminals because that is what they want.  The outcome remains the same so do we really need to know who they are?
I am not an advocate for guns and if anyone attempted to harm one of my boys I am confident I wouldn't need one.
I haven't spent time in prison, (believe it or not) but from what I understand is that even amongst some of the worst criminals an act against a woman or child is still considered to be an abomination only to be settled in the court of the prisoners and unlike kids, they have the wherewithal to fight back.
Unfortunately, most of the cowards kill themselves before they can face the consequence. 
The increasing trend to kidnap, kill or hurt children has reached a point that even the worst criminal should see that the only statement they are making when they hide behind a gun and kill a kid is that they are pathetic, sad souls.
We need a break from this violence and be able to trust that our schools are their island of safety. And  always know that no matter how far they stray, you will always be their home base.
 

Kiss my grits, World.

Can you sue someone for exposing you, unwillingly, to an environment that makes you so stressed out you want to eat gobs and gobs of chocolate?  And the reason you have access to the chocolate is because it is placed in a bowl 5 feet away from your desk for mass consumption?
I know a few lawyers, I might look into that.
Last night I was awakened at least four or five different times. The first time was from my bladder. The second was the dog's bladder and the third, fourth and fifth was a toddler.  We placed a small air mattress next to our bed so that when he gets scared he can come into our room but not sleep in our bed, or on my head as it turns out.
He decided to tell me that he didn't like the bed. "No Bed, Mommy's Bed" at a volume loud enough for me to hear, but apparently not for Don's ears.  Don has been working on Oscar's speech.  When he wants something he has to ask the entire question " May I have some more apple juice please?"  This two second phrase takes him about 5 minutes and he decided to practice it at 3 in the morning. MAY.......I........HAVE........SOME.......MORE......APPLE........JUICE.....PLEASE.
After the fourth or fifth time, Don heard him and got him a drink.
Before I knew it my alarm was going off and it was time for me to go to Crossfit. If you are not familiar with Crossfit it is a place you go to get your ass handed to you.
By 5:30 I was running suicides and by 5:45 I was dead-lifting 195 lbs. 
When I get back home I am greeted by Don mumbling something about coffee and one or all of my sons who are shocked that I would leave the house so early and not place breakfast on the table before I left. Followed by a simultaneous breakfast order that I am expected to immediately fill.  I wish I had a little bell and I would ring it for Mel to come around the corner and I would say " kiss my grits". Even Mel in his sailor hat couldn't keep up with my boys who must have a tape worm living inside of them.
Note* That Alice reference just shows you how crammed my brain is with useless information, especially from a show that was created before I was born.
In one of my first job interviews, I was asked  if I could have one super power what would it be. First of all, that is such a dumb interview question.  I don't remember what I said, but I'm sure it was something stupid like flying. If asked again, I would say I want a pause button.
The only catch would be that if I paused the world around me, they wouldn't age but I would. So if I paused it, say 2 hours every day for a nap then after about a month I will have aged 2 days longer than everyone else, and that wouldn't be good.
I digress.
The pause button would allow me to collect my thoughts and come up with something really witty in response to something that my boss said to me. Or allow me to take an uninterrupted shower without hearing phantom kids calling my name. Every time I step in the shower I think I hear someone screaming my name, even when they are not home. 

Getting everyone in the car and to school/daycare on time every day is an act of divine intervention. This morning Fin told me he HAD to show me a flasher on the internet. As alarming as that sounded, I felt I needed to look. It was an origami thing. He is slightly obsessed with origami and a flasher is a thing... (I can't even describe it). Anyway Jeremy Shafer (orgami guru, and Fin's idol) recommends a special paper for the flasher and you can only get it by calling this number in San Fransisco because they don't have a website.  After I looked at it, I said no, so he was pouting and repeating that he NEEDS a FLASHER from SAN FRANSISCO.
By the time I arrive at work, I feel like I have already put in a full day and I'm ready for a nap. Hence the pause button.
Life moves too fast. I need to figure out a way to slow it down.  Despite the San Francisco flasher, I know that the majority of my stress is self imposed.  I am the only one who can let things get to me enough to cause me stress.  What is it exactly that I'm yearning for? Perfection? Maybe perfection is more about the journey and less about the result.  Maybe all the bumps in the road are meant to slow me down because if the road was smooth,  I would probably be pretty dull, which would result in my kids being even more dull.  The chocolate that tempts me every time I pass it may be an effort for me to stop and talk to the office assistant.  Or a covert operation to fill my mouth so I stop talking, who knows. 
If I have a point, it would be this. Lack of sleep, demanding boys, annoying bosses, origami, apple juice and  useless sitcom knowledge have all led me to this place right here, doing what I love...writing. Besides, if I didn't have any bumps I would have nothing to write about.

My infinite clock

Yesterday my alarm clock failed me.  Every week day I set it for 5 a.m. and like an old friend it never fails me.  I get up, reset it for Don and go to the gym.  This particular morning I woke up on my own at 5:40 to a flashing clock. But it wasn't flashing 12:00 it was flashing 3:14.
I reset it for Don and was on my way.  When I returned at 6:45 the house was dark.  Again, the clock was flashing 3:14. Why the clock is flashing the three most significant digits of π in the decimal form is beyond me.  It did remind me of why I work out in the morning, especially after the holidays.
I was very upset about this.  I unplugged it and plugged it in. Still 3:14.  He said we really didn't need it anymore because we have our iphones and we can use them from now on. He was not going to fix it this time.  He had glued and taped it over the years, and this was his deceleration to get rid of it.

I have had this alarm clock from April 7, 1992. My grandmother gave it to me for my 15th birthday when she  learned that my mom was still waking me up for school.  She said it was time I got myself up.   Through the years it has traveled with me to 3 states, and so many apartments I can't keep them straight.  It has old stickers on the side of it.  It has absolutely no decorative integrity whatsoever.
But it has been a staple in many different decors on my nightstand.  Thank goodness it can't talk.
Still, it has woken me up for some of the most important days of my life.
The day I got my drivers license. My high school graduation, my college graduation, my wedding day, my first job interview, three scheduled c-sections, numerous flights, and it has never failed.

It sounds crazy to be attached to an object, but I can't help but be.  I looked online to see if I could get it fixed.  There is no trace of it ever even existing. And to think that it was pretty revolutionary back then because it had nature sounds (which I never figured out how to use).  In fact, to this day Don has never figured out how to use it, I personally think it his attempt to avoid getting up.

If a clock can have significance, this one to me, was the beginning of my independence.  Whether or not my grandma thought of it that way, I'm not certain. She may have been annoyed with my mom's attempt at keeping me a child, or my resistance to acting like an adult. Whatever her reasoning, it worked.

My grandma died from a very aggressive form of cancer in 1997. Of all the important things my clock woke me up for, she was only able to witness one.  She never knew I graduated from college (at the time, my behavior would not have predicted any collegiate pursuits).  She never knew of Don and I know she would have loved him.  Although the last words I ever said to her were "so many men, so little time". She laughed out loud, little did I know how little time there really was.

All of this occurred to me as I was about to unplug my clock for the last time.  Sometimes you forget how much you miss someone until out of nowhere you want to call them and you can't. Today is one of those days.

As much as I don't want to admit, its a testament that I'm old enough where appliances I have stop functioning because they are old, not because they are broken. I kind of understand why my dad still has his ugly transistor radio with a dial.  You never know when you may want to listen to the radio and a plug isn't readily available...

It has given me no choice but to forge ahead.  I used my phone's alarm this morning and kept waking up for fear it may fail me.  I don't trust a fully charged cell phone, yet for the past 20 years I put all my trust in an electronic that couldn't function if the power went out.

I don't like to hold on to things that don't work, even if it has some memories attached.  I will throw it away and move on with the times ( pun intended).  Anyone who knows me, knows I am a bit superstitious. So I started thinking about the number that flashed 3:14.  It may mean different things to different people, but to me it represents an infinite number.

My grandmas gift was more than just a clock, it woke me up for the best days of my life, and I like to think that was her little nudge each morning. Thanks to her, I am an early riser, I will admit some days were dark or sad and some I would like to have forgotten completely, but regardless of the outcome, each day is worth waking up for.

Belief In More Than Santa

We were on our way to church when Parker asked us (and the entire van) if Santa was real.

I may be alone on this, but on the day he was born, I voiced this as one of the moments I was dreading most. I am still recovering from when I was nine and cornered my mom demanding the truth. She thought she would deliver the bundle package and include the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy in the discussion for good measure. My world changed. Being the youngest, I felt like a fool and that I had been lied to by everyone who I cared most about.

I didn't want Parker to feel this way and he was becoming more and more articulate in his accusations. Later that night, Don and I agreed it was time we told him the truth. I did online research. I came across a cute letter that a mom had written to her daughter which explained that Santa is real, but only in spirit and that parents help him spread his cheer by delivering his gifts. In the end it congratulated the girl for being part of a special club to extend Christmas cheer.

It seemed perfect, so I copied it and added a few threats to make it applicable to our family. Bold type which said, "You must never tell your brothers this secret or the Christmas spirit will be lost."

That might have been a bit much.

The opportune moment presented itself as two of his younger brothers were upstairs playing and the other was downstairs.

I told him I needed to see him in our bedroom to put the acid on his foot. He has a persistent wart he has eagerly declared war on. Don followed with the letter. As I put the medicine on his heel, Don started reading. I couldn't look at Parker. Once I did glance up, I saw confusion on his face. I instantly regretted opening this topic.

Finally when he did speak, he was argumentative. Years and years of convincing had apparently been successful and he was not only defending his Santa, he was angry that we would slander his name. He hopped around on one foot and told us we were wrong and that he had proof, reciting all the evidence (we had left) that he had accumulated to defend his argument. In the past few years, we have gone a bit over the top in an exaggerated attempt to keep their belief in Santa alive. I'm sure inflicting physical pain along with his emotional pain wasn't my best choice. And I'm also now wondering why we worked so hard to protect him from the truth.

I was sliding down a slippery slope and the next thing out of his mouth was, "Whoever wrote this letter sucks!" I told him I did, and he just stared at me. I got his drift.

Don took this opportunity to leave. Once the door was shut Parker crumpled into a ball and sobbed. I now know more then ever that he is truly my son. I felt his pain. He is our oldest and takes his role seriously, he feels that he needs to be strong and never cries, but right now, you wouldn't know it because he was crying so loudly.

I felt a bit of his innocence drift away. This is on the heels of one of our nations worst shootings. I have been an emotional wreck. The magnitude of what has happened and the reality of it has rocked the foundation of our nation and certainly my faith in humanity.

Between sobs, Parker asked me if God was real. I said yes, but I'm reluctant to say, with a little hesitation. He asked if Jesus was real. I said yes.

"But you just told me Santa wasn't real and I can't see him. I can't see Jesus or God, so they must not be real either."

I explained that in this case, just because you can't see something doesn't mean you stop believing in it. When you stop believing, you begin to lose faith -- and sometimes faith is all we have.

This conversation had gone much deeper than I was expecting. After a brief pause he asked if what happened to the kids in Connecticut was because they stopped believing.

There it was.

This wasn't just about learning the truth about Santa, it was learning the unspeakable truth about the harshness of life, something I couldn't protect him from. He had learned about the shootings when he came downstairs late Friday night and witnessed his parents crying while watching the evening news.
We were honest, but vague and it seemed that he handled the news well. A few days had gone by and it occurred to him that one of his younger brothers is the same age as the kids that were killed. In his young impressionable mind, he worried that if he stopped believing, it could happen to us.

At this point, I started to cry, too. For a few minutes we just laid there. I remembered how only nine years ago in this very same bed I would lie next to him and stare at his little face for hours and pinch myself that I was so blessed to have him in my life. And after the events on Friday to still have him in my life.
I told him that God was too good. He believes in us even when we fail to believe in him. I told him he was safe, in an effort to believe it myself.

He cuddled up next to me and asked if he could still believe in Santa. Whether or not he does, it is a metaphor for believing in goodness he can't see and an attempt to remain innocent in a world that right now feels anything but. I squeezed him a little tighter.

When I was nine, I had felt my reality changed, but as I look at Parker at the same age, a haunting reality exists which includes innocent lives being taken. He is empathetic to his colleagues of his generation. Our world has changed. When I questioned humanity, I didn't realize that I was jeopardizing my own faith. The answer was looking at me with watery eyes. I have infinite belief in my son and the goodness in children who will have grown tired of violence and who will move toward peace as the only option to restore faith in our world. How can I question humanity when we look into the eyes of our kids.

Just like Parker, I will choose to still believe. 

My Lifetime Movie

Lifetime was put on this planet for it's holiday movies. With creative titles such as Christmas Eve, Eve was the young ingenue's name, (of course). Or, It's a Wonderful Lifetime.  Despite my efforts, I find it impossible to turn away.  Can my fascination with these movies be traced to a deep hope that they are based on a true story?
Most Lifetime movies have one woman who is an ad executive or a party planner and is intimidated by her high power female boss. In order to make a successful movie, there must be at least 2 very attractive men who the woman can't decide between.  Acute dog is a must.
As well as a fall on the ice, which results in a coma where eventually she will wake up and realize it was all a dream.
What does this say about American Women? That we all strive for a job in the middle (at best) of the pay scale, we can't run in heels, and we hope a modelesque man will rescue us from it all? Ok, Guilty as charged.
Why isn't my life made into a Lifetime holiday movie? My name does, after all, mean Christmas.
It could start off with my husband and I discovering that it is Dec. 1 and we haven't been shopping for anyone, so we drop the boys off at Grandmas and head to Toys R Us. There, we are stuffed in an overcrowded, overheated fire hole arguing over how many presents Santa brings vs. Mommy and Daddy. After an eternity, we have gone way over our budget and go home to wrap gifts from Santa and sign his name with our left hands.  All in an effort to suspend the belief that we would allow an old fat stranger into our house while we slept. Have they not noticed how many times I lock the doors and set our security alarm at night? I won't even mention how many times I have woken up in a panic because we have forgotten to move Henry, our damn elf on the God damn shelf. Excuse my cursing, but last night was one of those nights and I am tired.
The next morning wasn't much better.  It came as a shock to me that it snowed, despite numerous posts by friends, and the weather channel. But when I needed to get the boys in their boots I had to dig in an area of the basement that I would rather not set foot in. I found what I could and managed to convince the boys that the only reason their boots were tight was because they hadn't worn them in a while.  I sent them all to the garage and gathered my coat, coffee and keys. I was in the house long enough to witness our dog throw up, and now I know where all of our missing socks have gone. I picked up the regurgitated sock and threw it outside, with every intention to deal with it later.   By the time I got into the van they were laughing hysterically at a phrase they had made up. In the time it took me to get out the door they had said "Big Fluffy Donkey Dick" what I would guess, 400 times.  I really don't know and don't want to know, if they know what a dick is, and I waited until we were 1 minute from school to tell them to never ever repeat that at school or our elf will tell Santa.  The first thing Jack said to his teacher as she got him out of the van was, you guessed it, "Big Fluffy Donkey Dick". She looked much less alarmed than I would have expected. Next, I was on my way to drop off Oscar at his school.  He is not the most articulate 2 year old, but you wouldn't have known that by how clear he said "Big Fluffy Donkey Dick". Just prior to getting out of the car I realized that I had put all of his winter gear on, hat, gloves, heavy coat, and I had completely forgotten socks and shoes.  Barefoot in the middle of winter in the Midwest. Now that I think of it, that might have been the sock the dog puked up.  Thankfully they had an extra pair of socks at school and they don't ask questions.
Now that is the nitty-gritty stuff that would give actual life to Lifetime. 

That evening was the holiday party where instead of a cute designer mini dress (no Lifetime movie is complete without one), I wore a sparkly sweater that I found on sale at Forever 21. Admittedly, I have NO business shopping there.  I was really enjoying myself at the party until my boss showed up.  He made a bee line to me and seamlessly continued a conversation we were having at the office 4 hours prior.  Except, by this time I had consumed at least 3 vodka tonics and my classy filter quits at 5 o'clock, resulting in several F-bomb drops and me telling him what I really thought about gun control.  Note:  The topic had nothing to do with gun control.

To be honest, I find the holidays kind of sad. I love the songs, the decorations, friends and family, but somehow there is a undercurrent of nostalgia that gets swept further away as every year passes.

By the time our holiday party was winding down and I had graduated to Sangria,  I was approached by a decent looking man. (Remember, no movie is complete without at least 2.)  He told me that he had been wanting to talk to me all night. I had met him casually before, but I couldn't' have told you his name (thanks to the moonshine, I still can't).  He told me that our boys walk past his house all the time and wanted to tell me a story.  Oh no....I almost blurted out "Big Fluffy Donkey Dick" just so I could say it before him. Thankfully I didn't, he went on to say that they were two of the most polite boys he had met. Not only that, the oldest one looks out for the younger one when they cross the street. He went on to tell me at least 3 or 4 stories of how the boys have entertained their  toddler daughter, warned them about their backyard gate being open, or offered to help carry in groceries.  With each story I found the tears building and building and I was fighting back the urge to creep into the ugly pride cry.
As a parent, you don't get a performance review. You are your own boss, and this is scary when young lives are on the line.  After the morning I had had, I am pretty sure Parenting magazine won't be asking me for a cover shoot.
But to hear this, from a neighbor I hardly know was enough to give me the confidence that I'm not doing such a bad job. Even more than anything it gave me the confidence and enormous pride that despite what happens at home on any given morning, the boys behave like little gentleman even when they know that Henry the elf, or I can't see them.
I don't expect a call from a Lifetime movie director either, but if they would just take a chance, it may turn out as the best lifetime movie ever made, that is unless this is a dream and I'm in a coma, if that is the case, please don't ever wake me.

Going Home

It has been about three weeks since my uncle passed away.  I have found it difficult to grieve in front of the boys. When they notice I am down, they innately, want to cheer me up. Knowing that this is not possible, I try and avoid it all together.
A common question when someone dies is "Was it sudden?" "Were you close?"  I am guilty of this too. It's the living's way of finding comfort in the answer.  If it was sudden, then it seems that anyone of us could be victim to it.  If it wasn't, then somehow it must have been easier to prepare for. If you were close, then one assumes it was harder for you.  The truth is, death is the one thing we all have in common. We can't avoid it and eventually we will all experience it.  Some sooner than others and most of us will or have dealt with it by losing a friend or family member.
I grew up on the outside perimeter of death. I was the youngest grandchild on my mother's side and the second youngest on my father's.  My mom dragged me to so many wakes and funerals as a kid, I can't even keep them strait.  It was her way of supporting a friend who lost a mother, or a distant family member I had never met.  I'm not blaming my mom, but it really screwed me up.   As a kid I would sit in a funeral parlor in a big stiff chair watching people sob and talk, all in front of a casket. I would avoid that side of the room at all costs, but through the people and flowers I could always see the body.  When the thriller video came out in 1983 I had my first heart attack.  My second one came at the release of the Sixth Sense.  I can trace my fear of ghosts and dead bodies right to its source.
So when I heard my uncle was in the hospital I left it to my mom to send my well wishes.   My uncle was an adventurous fun loving guy, he took risks... a lot.  Since I was a kid, he has had 2 motorcycle accidents and several other near death experiences with his job. In fact, one of the accidents he had as a teen he actually did die for a few seconds.  When I heard he had fallen off a boat in Arizona I can't say I was too concerned.  I may have been more concerned if I hadn't heard of him doing something crazy.   The fall actually gave him 2 staples in his head and he was back on his bike.
It wasn't until he flew to Indiana that something happened.   He had flown home for a funeral of a friend. He had gone to the funeral but collapsed shortly after.  They found him and rushed him to the hospital.  They assumed it may have been a little stroke, but kept him for observation. That is when my mom visited him.  He joked that he was knocking at the pearly gates, but they didn't answer. He had openly expressed that when he had died, it was the most peaceful experience he had ever felt. He often said he was not afraid of it, and his lifestyle supported his claim. Don't get me wrong, he loved his family and his life, but he also had a strong faith in what happens after you die.  He was scheduled to have an MRI. He said he would talk to my mom when he got home.   As they were taking him to the test he got very sick and they realized his brain was hemorrhaging.  They rushed him to emergency surgery and with that, we learned that blood had consumed his brain and he was now on life support.
So to answer the question if it was sudden, yes, I guess so.  My mom called and told me the news.  This time I felt an overwhelming pull to be with her.  He was in a hospital about 45 minutes away. I found myself within minutes picking up my bags, leaving work and driving there.  I was nervous. I hate hospitals, the smell reminds me of my mom dragging me to nursing homes as a kid.   I know I am painting her as a morbid person but even her own child wasn't going to stand in the way of her enormous heart. So along I would go.  But this time, as an adult, I was choosing to go, maybe in all those years she taught me compassion.  I walked into the waiting room just as my mom, cousins and aunt were learning that there was no hope.  Doctors don't sugar coat things.  I sat with my mom as she shook.  Now the decision was upon my aunt as to when to remove life support.  Obviously, that is a lot of news to take in at once.  The family decided to say their goodbyes and remove him the next morning.  At this point I hadn't seen him.  My mom took my hand and walked me back to the ICU.  I hadn't been in one before and depressing is an understatement. Tubes and beeps and rhythmic breathing. All rooms have the door open and are all glass. I couldn't help but be a voyeur in other people's tragedy.  I saw someone who looked like they had been in a horrible accident, but as my mom lead me in that direction, I realized it was my uncle.
I immediately regressed to being a 5 year old and felt the urge to flee, but the tight grip of my mom's hand changed my mind.  I said, what I thought was my last goodbye, awkward and painful, and couldn't wait to just go.  My mom and I walked back to the waiting room as the others said their goodbyes.  I stayed with my mom until dinner time and asked when she was going to leave, she said she wasn't. And I wasn't going to argue. This is her only sibling, her little brother and she wanted every last minute with him.  They removed life support early Saturday morning.
After I woke up, again I felt a pull in that direction and again I found myself driving there.  What I noticed was that each time I drove there I heard the same song, sometimes on 2 different stations and always as I was in route. It was Home, by Phillip Phillips.  I like that song, but when a song plays at an influential time in your life, it almost becomes stamped into memory and a soundtrack that you can never forget what you were feeling when you heard it.
He survived for 48 hours after they took him off. And my mom never left his side, and I only left hers to go home to sleep and change.  I brought her a change of clothes. She wouldn't leave him even to go to the bathroom unless I was on "watch". This was something that we established after I had had a baby.  She would hold the baby so I could sleep and be on visitor "watch". It was the only time I actually got some sleep in the hospital.
I found comfort in sitting with him. I became glued to his monitors, and my mom and I would go on a roller coaster of emotions ranging from hope, doubt, sadness and for me, fear.  At one point I saw my mom whispering in his ear and giggling.  They had declared him brain dead, but whatever part of the brain controls your breathing and heart, was still very much alive. I saw a glipse of their childhood and couldn't help but feel tremendous anguish for what she was going through.  Both of my grandparents were gone and she and her brother were all that was left of their little family. I don't know what she said.   She told me she felt guilty because we were waiting for him to die, but I quickly assured her that we weren't waiting for him, we were waiting with him.
Friends and family visited at all hours and I learned more about him on his death bed then I knew about him alive.  He had touched so many people.  On the last night I asked the nurses to bring in a reclining chair for my mom so she could get a little sleep, she only said an hour, but I let her sleep as long as she could.  I held my uncles hand and wished I was a better niece, wished I could have said things I should have. Because it is still so fresh I can't bare to go into the details, but I can say that death isn't pretty. It isn't peaceful and it isn't what you see in the movies. At least this experience.  There were some really intense moments that were shared between my uncle, mom and me.  But in this dark cold room, with the glow of the monitors there wasn't anywhere else I wanted to be. I had put my hand under his because he was my space heater and it was freezing in there. His temperature hit a high of 107, but had come down. He was stable.  I even asked the nurse if there was a chance that he may come through this.  She just looked at me and said that miracles have happened. In retrospect, he was on a constant morphine drip and I was tired. But my mom and I both felt he might dodge death yet again. I will value those hours as the finest hours I had with him. As crazy as it sounds I felt like we were communicating on a level I can't even describe. So to answer the question if we were close, well, not until this point.  In the early morning my mom woke up and I left. I planned to return later in hopes that a miracle would happen.  I woke up to a text. My mom had said he had a good night.   I decided to get ready for work, but when Don came into the bathroom with the phone, I knew something had suddenly changed. She read me his stats, numbers that a week prior would have meant nothing to me. I knew I had to be there for her. I arrived and was shocked at how a few hours changed his appearance and when I looked at the monitors that I had been staring it, I couldn't believe what I saw.  What were triple digits were dropping to double digits and now single digits.  I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. I immediately stood behind my mom to give her physical strength because I knew I didn't have any mental strength left to support her with.
At 8:45 as my mom and I held each of his hands and his best friend stood at his feet, my uncle died.  My mom had never left his side and even though we knew what the outcome was, it still felt shocking, and way too soon.  She gave him a final kiss and it was over.
I realized my role in his life wasn't until the end.  I have to hope he knew I was there. I certainly know he knew my mom was.
When I left I felt like I had run a marathon. I worried about my mom. Her pain was palpable as I watched her get into her car.
I got in the car and again, the song that kept playing came on yet again.  This time the words meant a bit more.

Hold on, to me as we go
As we roll down this unfamiliar road
And although this wave is stringing us along
Just know you’re not alone
Cause I’m going to make this place your home

Settle down, it'll all be clear
Don't pay no mind to the demons
They fill you with fear
The trouble it might drag you down
If you get lost, you can always be found

Just know you’re not alone
Cause I’m going to make this place your home

Settle down, it'll all be clear
Don't pay no mind to the demons
They fill you with fear
The trouble it might drag you down
If you get lost, you can always be found

Just know you’re not alone
Cause I’m going to make this place your home

 This time when he knocked on the pearly gates, they finally opened, and he was home.

The little tuxedos

About six months ago we were delighted to learn that Don's younger brother was going to get married. To be honest, we had always hoped for this but never really thought it would happen. Not because he is ugly or a player, he is just a loner.  So we (especially my mother-in-law) were thrilled to learn that not only was he getting married, his future wife was awesome and a perfect match.   I don't recall the day that I learned that she wanted all four boys in the wedding, a wedding four states away and a 12 hour car ride. I could have, quite possibly, blocked that out of the forefront of my mind.  I think I still had PTS from our Arizona trip.  Eventually the time came when we had to get them fitted for tuxes.  I have to admit, it was a big huge pain in the butt, but once I saw them sporting a black suit and tie I melted.
We called in their measurements to the tuxedo shop and hoped for the best.
I took a week off of work. That may sound excessive but packing for a hotel stay for 6 people (yes I pack my husband's stuff too) is panic enduring. Who else would coordinate all of our outfits?  I tried to think of every possible scenario, blood, food, shart, which intuativelly all happened.  Road trips have changed since I was a kid.  My parents would set up a bed in the back seat for me, which covered up all access to seat belts.  After learning I couldn't read in the car, I usually brought along my walkman and the cassette tape I had made by holding it up to the TV during several shows like "You can't do that on Television".  After about an hour I wanted to die and I made sure to let everyone in the car know that.  My boys had their iPod touches, personal movie screens and any snack or drink they could ever want. Not to mention all the toys I let them pack. (Parker may re-think his lego set next time).
Don and I even joined the 21st century and bought a adapter to our iPhones.  When the guy at the Apple store asked me what kind of car I drove, I actually turned red and whispered "mini van". He asked me what year. I asked him, "Does it really matter?"  It was compatible.
It was easier than one would think, at least for the kids. For the adults, not so much.  After about 9 hours we were going crazy and decided to get a hotel. Despite our efforts we can never drive strait through.  I think its an urban myth that Don has created in his mind.  We have never done it, regardless to what he thinks.
Unloading all of our stuff requires two of the little hotel carts. Why? Because at least one child insists on riding on one.  Once in the hotel room, they do what every kid does, stand in line to poop.  Once that is over, they jump on the bed and want to go swimming.  I conveniently forgot my suit but remembered to pack Don's. ;)
After a sleepless night with some kid sleeping horizontally on the bed, we went down to the free hot breakfast. Parker had to hold his glasses up because he forgot to put them on the nightstand and Fin rolled over and smashed them.  I feel that we are a side show. People stare at us and I honestly don't know why. I  made my way to the coffee first, while Don searched for a high chair which was never found.  The sweet southern lady said " I see you have four little blessings".  I laughed. First because it sounded so cheesy, second because I was slap happy, and third because at that moment they felt more like a curse.
After they loaded their paper plates with food they wouldn't eat we sat down to a family breakfast.  It isn't hard to notice that we never do this. We sit down for dinner together, sometimes lunch, but never breakfast and now I know why.  Maybe its the early morning or the excessive togetherness, but the boys are fighting over bacon and cold hard boiled eggs.
Don seems to be ignorant to the yelling and whining and decides to make himself a waffle. He doesn't even like waffles, but that waffle maker gets him every freaking time.  He returns only to set a frenzy of waffle envy and 4 little mouths that also want waffles and guess who got to make them?
Once we made the 45 minute task of getting back in the van, we eventually made it to our destination. First we had to stop at the mall to purchase new glasses for Parker, which naturally were not under warranty and we couldn't "tape" them for the wedding.  The brides mother had prepared for us. She had a hospitality suite with every food they could want and games and toys.  Oscar preferred to run up and down the hall ways and despite my pet peeve for children who do that in hotels, I let him.  He loved it, and only got on a vacant elevator and pressed the up button, once.
The next few days were a blur. The rehearsal went as I expected it to. If I had a dollar for every dirty look my father-in-law gave the boys I would be able to support my Starbucks habit. Now I know where Don gets that "look" from and even I was a bit intimidated by it…unlike my sons.  After watching them skip, hop, moonwalk down the aisle in rehearsal I was worried about the next day. Very worried.  I wondered if she now regretted her decision.  My mother-in-law decided to have the rehearsal dinner at Dave and Busters. Good idea..in theory.  This place is like an adult Chuck E. Cheeses.  I don't possess the strength to keep the boys away from the hypnotic pull a video game has. And I am talking about Don too. * I will touch on this in a second.
Finally the wedding day came. We decided to have the little boys try on their tuxes. Jack's was ok.  Oscar's pants were more like capri pants.  Back to the mall we went.  What is odd, is that he isn't really in the wedding, he is only in a tux for the pictures, seems like a lot of work for a picture.
Prior to the wedding, we had several pep talks and at this point I was promising them anything they wanted. A new $500 app? Sure! Build-a-Bear? Absolutely!
I hired a sitter to take care of Oscar during the wedding and reception.  The best decision I have ever made in my life. I was able to chat with Don's best friend and Fraternity brother and learned some things about Don that I wish I hadn't. * In college, he did a 3 day non-stop video game playing binge only to stop to tie his bandana tighter around his head and to pee.  I also learned that no matter how convincing I think I am, Phillip was not going to fill me in on the secret fraternity handshake either. The wedding was outside on a beautiful golf course overlooking homes you only see in movies.  I was seated in the second row, conveniently located right behind where the boys would be seated.  The music began. Don walked down second followed by the other groomsmen and bridesmaids. I must admit, my husband looked pretty hot and I kind of regretted flicking him off at the free hot breakfast this morning when he decided (yet again) to make a damn waffle.  I suddenly had butterflies as there was a brief pause in the procession. And then I saw them. Single file, each holding a ring bearer pillow. I was overcome with emotion. They looked so handsome and they were doing such a great job. Nothing like the rehearsal. By the time they reached me Parker glanced up and winked and I simultaneously started crying.  It hit me that in just 15 or 20 years that could be them.  That can fly by. It has been 12 years since my wedding and I can tell you every detail, including what my Dad said to me right before we stepped out, or the feeling I had when I met Don by the alter.  I wondered if they would still get excited to talk to me after school or in that case work. How will I feel when there is another woman at the top of their list?   All of these thoughts clouded my mind and before I knew it, the wedding was over and they were headed back down.
The reception was great. Fin was the first one on the dance floor and the last one off.  Oscar did his version of a moshpit with a woman's leg which resulted in a bloody lip, and a bloody tux.  Jack fought with Parker and Fin about who got to slow dance with me first.  Jack won and we danced, which is more like a hug but rocking back and forth. I made a couscous effort to never forget this moment in time when I can hug them in public and when I am their leading lady.
Out of the corner of my eye I could see my mother-in-law dancing with the her youngest son who was now married. They too, looked like they were hugging more than dancing and I saw how happy she looked.  There seemed to be a sense of pride and contentment in her smile as she realized that her work was done. The long hours, or homework, baseball games, road trips and a million lunches has brought her to this point, dancing with her son at his wedding and retribution that it was all worth it. She doesn't have any doubt that her son will treat his wife with respect and unconditional love. Her second son certainly does.  It is a love he is familiar with because she has been showering him with it since the day they met. A day, to her that seems like yesterday. I glanced down at my youngest who, at this moment was seated at a table with his brothers eating cake. I took a snapshot in my mind so when its his turn to take a bride I can revisit this moment. Confident, knowing that if he brings her just a quarter of the happiness he has brought me, she will be the luckiest girl in the world.

Ain't nobody happy.

I noticed that I have been losing my cool a lot lately. Frankly, the boys have really been pissing me off.  Is it ok to say that about your kids? I know they are cute, but cuteness only gets you so far, trust me.
Last night I asked the oldest to do something, (now I can't even remember what it was).  He ignored me, so I did the logical thing. I yelled it at the top of my lungs.  Brace yourself for this, he walked away and said "shut up".  And if that isn't bad enough, I said "excuse me, what did you say?" and he repeated "shut up". Before my eyes my little boy, turned into a smart mouth asshole.  Sorry again, that is totally not appropriate, but accurate.
I stood there shocked. I had memories of my mom slapping me across the face, for my smart mouth.  I wasn't about to do that, but what is the befitting punishment for this?  I resorted to the only thing I could think of, I sent him to the naughty chair.
The naughty chair is a tiny black chair in the corner of our hallway.  I got it at Ikea and it is about to collapse from over use.  He made a bee line for the chair knowing he had really crossed the line.  I walked away and saw my oldest, 4 years too old for that chair sitting with his head down.  I decided I was going to leave him there until I cooled off.
Ten minutes later I was ready to talk.  Not in these exact words, but basically I asked him WTF?  His answer, not in these words was "stop busting my balls".  *See previous post for origination of this phrase.  He said that I didn't need to yell. I agreed. He apologized. I apologized. We hugged. We ate ice cream.
I hate it when I lose control like that.  Some days that would have gotten less of a dramatic reaction from me, but unfortunately today was not one of those days.
The phrase when "mama aint happy, aint nobody happy" besides from being a grammatical disaster, has a lot of pressure attached to it. Sometimes Mama just isn't happy and sometimes she doesn't have the energy to pretend that she is.
We have started a new school this year.  So far it has gone well, but because it is a private school, more of our time is required. Since Don is teaching there, I feel like the boys should be on their best behavior.  Mainly because I know if the boys act out at a school function he is not going to discipline them in front of his students and especially not in front of his student's parents. I guess its his way of keeping his "private life private" or something like that.  At the class pot luck we decided to be the only family at a Montessori school to bring styrofoam plates. Being a "waste-free environment" I should have known. Leave it to me to bring the most un- planet friendly plate ever created, I don't even think they make these plates anymore and now that I think of it, I think my mom found them in my Grandparents house and thought we could use them. My grandparents died over 12 years ago.  Don was mortified, I offered to wash them but he didn't take me up on that.  As the prayer was being said, our two year old was on the run.  We should have named him Forrest because if we let him loose he would run across the country and back without a second thought, just like Forest Gump.
Maybe he had had a bad day at pre-pre-pre-school, who knows,  but he was not in the mood to behave.  He took off right across the room near the table with the crock pots on it.  I envisioned him pulling a power cord and lentils falling on top of him scalding his entire body.  I tried to run after him without being obvious, which looks more like the pink panther running and draws even more attention. I scooped him up and not only did he scream, he slapped me across the face, hard.  In any other situation I probably would have been a little bit more forceful, but I could feel eyes upon me and I cooly growled "noooooo" and gave him my angry pack master face and walked outside.  Once outside I let him loose like a greyhound from the starting gates.
This school is nothing but friendly, and I thought I was over reacting and nobody probably noticed anyway.  Except today when I took my son on a field trip, a mother said, "Oh, were you the one chasing your boy at the potluck? Was he hungry or tired or something? " I felt like I had been slapped in the face yet again.  I felt like I needed to explain that he is  2. He is a big kid and most people thing he is 3, but he is in fact 2.  After a few minutes of incoherently babbling I walked away.  There really isn't a good answer to that question.
There are two places that I really want the boys to act a certain way,
1.in public and
2. in my in-laws presence.
It is clear that this is an unreasonable request.
Perhaps my expectation is that they actually act like little adults.  How can I have that expectation when just last night they were farting in the freezer to see if it would make fog.
Plus, what kid should act like an adult? You are only a kid for 12 years.  I must admit, some of my best memories are between the ages of 6 and 11.  Before I became self conscious.  Before I cared what other people thought of me as I pretended to be an GI Joe in the woods.
Perhaps I have it backwards. I need to spend more time being a kid and less like an adult and less time striving for my kids to be adults.
I'm sure my super secret bunker made of twigs is still behind my parents house, I may need to retreat for awhile to remember how important just being a kid is.

Be Happy.

This morning may have taken the cake as the all time dysfunctional ways to get your kids out of the door in our history. Its a Friday which is weird because usually these things happen on Mondays.  I had everything laid out just like every other day. It seems like our family was hit with a snack tornado because every single boy had to bring snack to his class this week.  So I was feeding not only my broad but the entire nations.  I went to the store last night to pick up snacks to make and ended up getting a bag of pretzels. When I returned home I was reminded that in addition to snack, my oldest son also needed something for school. I went back to the store.  When I returned and was cleaning out the fridge of food that has gone bad (i.e. carrots, celery, anything remotely healthy). That is when I discovered that we were out of trash bags.  That is one thing that we cannot go with out or by the time tomorrow rolls around we will have a counter full of garbage. So in the mini van I went, BACK to the store to pick up stupid trash bags and while I was at it I even drove through Dairy Queen.  I guess its better then smoking or drinking or taking the first flight to Vegas. DQ takes me back to my roots.
I have my brother to thank for this one. On one particularly bad day he was having he asked me to go to Dairy Queen with him. Of course I went. He was 16 and I was 9. We sat on the curb eating dilly bars and listening to "Don't Worry, be Happy" on the radio. Now whenever I am having a bad day a magnet is activated in my belly that pulls me towards a blizzard.
By all accounts everything should be going well.  I am the first one to recognize that I have nothing (ligitimate)  to complain about. I have a job, I have a husband, I have money in the bank, I have healthy kids, I have shelter. But those are all the things that I'm not happy with right now.
Yes, I have a job but some co-workers are unbearable at times.  I have a husband but at this moment even he is unbearable, I have money, but not enough, I have healthy enough kids that eat too much and I have a house that needs to be cleaned constantly.
By the time I arrived home everyone seemed to be sleeping.  We have elected to go screen free two days a week. The reasoning behind this was to disconnect technology and reconnect with each other. As soon as we knew the boys were asleep, the laptops were open, and the tv was on.  Yes, it is important to communicate but on this particular night, that would have caused more harm then good.  It is no secret that I love my husband but sometimes I want to kill him.  I hope this doesn't come up as evidence in a trial someday. I want to kill him so much that I tell him I do. And I even tell him how, and he listens, and responds with the fact that he is sorry to hear that, and reminds me that I'm not the only one who would like to kill their spouse.  At least we can agree on that.  If you have never played this game, its really fun.  We even discuss how we would dispose of each others bodies.  If I ever come up missing be sure to check for new concrete in the basement, just FYI. But then those darn kids come up, and we both realize that we would not only hate to raise them alone, we probably couldn't and it would be sad to have them lose a parent.  I guess we are stuck with each other.
In school I read a short story by Edgar Allen Poe called The Tell-Tail Heart. It follows a man who murders and old man and puts him under the floor boards in his home.  Ultimately, the guy goes crazy because he thinks he can hear the mans beating heart and his guilt slowly makes him go insane.
I mention this because our bad energy is the dead man and as much as we try to it ignore it, it lingers into the next day and its beating heart rattles everyone, even the next day.
Hence, this morning.  I only have myself to blame, well, and Don.
If I would have woken up in a better mood, I would have politely asked them to get dressed rather then using threats to get them dressed. But to my credit, I slept with Jack's elbow penetrating my jugular all night.   I would have just poured their cereal rather then having them pour it themselves and spill enough on the floor that our dogs could never eat again and still not starve.  I would have persuaded them into the car rather than push, carry or pull them.  I would have ignored their fighting.
But alas, I didn't.  I sent them to school with a thorn in their side.  They may be angry and they don't even know why.  I must remember that you are always responsible for the energy you bring into a room. You can choose for it to be positive, or you can chose for it to be negative and cast a cloud  that will follow whoever it touches.
Don't worry. Be Happy.  Perhaps I missed the lesson when my brother took me to Dairy Queen. Naturally, what I took away from that experience was when you are stressed, eat ice cream.
Like Bobby McFerrin said, in every life you have some trouble, when you worry you make it double, or  in my case quintuple.

Bustin' Balls

I never thought of myself as controlling, despite my OCD diagnosis. My issue is obsessing over certain thoughts, not obsessively controlling other people. I always have thought that diagnosis went a little overboard, however, the amount of time I spent thinking about it probably proves it is accurate. It is kind of hard to control people if they don't listen to you.  So I have found creative ways to subliminally implement some sort of order in our household, because frankly, if I didn't do it....I shutter at the thought.
Two years ago I went to Australia for 10 days and when I returned the house was spotless (on the surface), but soon I discovered the cupboard and the fridge were filled with things that STILL wouldn't have expired.  Picture the food pyramid flipped upside down, and that is what the mom-free menu looked like.
So in order to create a liveable environment, I frequently implement scheduling sessions where Don and I sit down and compare schedules. Thanks to icloud, this has made my life a bit easier. As long as we both check it..
This past weekend when I was finished adding everyone's events I discovered that we will not have a free weekday evening until 2017.   Despite my planning, we didn't plan on that. Call me naive, but when we decided to have four babies, we (I) didn't think past the baby stage, followed by college. I seemed to have mentally blocked the formative years.
We had them close in age because I grew up the youngest by 7 years and I thought that sucked.  Hindsight is 20/20 eh?
The last time Parker told me he didn't have anyone to play with I quickly reminded him that I gave birth to not one but THREE additional playmates for him that live in our very home, so stop complaining.
Maybe my parents were right (I hate it when I say that) but they were in regards to spacing their kids. I still don't know if that was intentional, or if I was an "oops" but I choose to think it was the first one.
Now that we have a 9, 7, 5 and 2 year old they all have activities.  And not even serious ones like travel teams, just soccer, speech therapy,karate, football, dog training, piano and swimming.
Sometimes I hear them complaining that they don't want to go to something, usually after I have just paid for it. I don't want them to be quitters, but sometimes I secretly do.  I don't know how many more practices I can sit through before I stab a fork in my leg. Yesterday I had to listen to two women discussing the personalities of their numerous cats. Isn't  it necessary to be a person, to have a personality? It took all I had to not turn around and scream, your cat is witty? Really? Your cat has quick wit?
I don't want to meet new "mom" friends. It sounds harsh, but after working all day, eating a cold dinner in the car and sitting for an hour plus in a sweaty dojo, I am really not in the mood to discuss how many teeth your child has lost.
In order to make all of these things work there must be some sort of control.  As the boys get older I am starting to realize that either I need to loosen the grip on my rope, or someone is going to get strangled. 
Parker came downstairs wearing a button down shirt, shorts, Hunter boots and his hair spiked in a faux hawk.  Clearly this was not the outfit I had laid out for him.  Yes, you read that right. I lay out their clothes every single night, in the order they will put it on. I also lay out their pajamas.  I asked Parker why he was wearing that, and he said it was because "he wanted to".  THE NERVE!!!
Following this Jack took the vitamin off of the spoon I had set for breakfast and threw it in the trash.  This was after I was told by Finegan to please stop saying "night night" because it makes him feel like a baby.  And the icing on the cake was this morning when I discovered a stash of  candy wrappers on my husbands passenger side seat.  It was my breaking point. Maybe I am too controlling to the point that they have to hide things from me.  No grown man should eat THAT amount of candy, but if he chooses to have a cardiac arrest due to a sugar overdose then who am I to stop him? When confronted, he said what seems to be something he says often in a joking/serious way. "Stop busting my balls." What the heck does that mean anyway?  His balls are the last thing I would want to bust.
As trivial as it sounds, it really bothered me. All of those things. Things I have been doing for 9 years.  Things I started doing to show that I love them. Things that I thought were helpful were actually turning harmful.  How is Parker going to figure out that a flannel shirt and rain boots are too warm for summer if he doesn't wear it outside? How will Jack know what its like to get sick and cough up a lung unless he experiences it and sees the importance of taking his vitamins? And how will Fin recognize that my "night night" makes him feel comfort rather than a baby? Ok, I admit, the "night, night" is more for me.
If I want to raise confident boys I need to have confidence in them.
These are trivial decisions but with time will morph into something significant.  Like, what college to go to, whether or not to drink and drive or God forbid choosing a significant other.
Being indecisive leads to feeling miserable.  Unless of course, you are my husband, who was extremely confident in his decision to eat 6 reeses peanut butter cups in one sitting, and ended up being miserable all on his own.