Age Discrimination Does Not Apply to Heros

A new friend of mine who recently found out I have four sons and one big kid in a husband's body asked me if I was going to the comic book and entertainment expo in Chicago.   I hadn't planned on it because I didn't know about it.

Politicians have been using this tactic for years.  They don't want to know information because once they know it, it is harder to lie about knowing certain information.

But since I knew about it, I felt obligated to share it with the boys and Don over dinner.  Parker exclaimed "What!?" and the excitement snowballed down to Oscar who was screaming but didn't even know why. We decided to go on Sunday since it was kids day and tickets were $5.

I don't dislike comic books or fictional super heros.  I dislike conventions.  Which is ironic because my dad built his design business around conventions and trade shows.  I just don't like the red carpet, the people, the booths the lanyards.   Then you add a comic theme to the mix and you have people in costumes.

When we were walking in I didn't know if we were at a Furry convention or a Comic convention.   We were greeted with a huge sign that read COSTUMES DO NOT MEAN CONSENT, KEEP YOUR HANDS TO YOURSELF. Seriously? I understand a kid wanting to touch a costume, but most kids who can't even read yet know better. This sign was for adults.

Once I got in, I understood why people might be tempted to want to touch something that they shouldn't.  There was a Princess Leia doing circa de sole.  Numerous people wearing underwear as outerwear.   A woman holding a log like a baby. Despite all of this, we allowed Finegan and Parker to venture off together after I wrote my phone number on their arms. I know they know it, but if for some reason they are unable to speak I wanted someone to be able to get a hold of me in case they confronted with kryptonite.  Even though the two younger ones were with Don and me, we wrote my phone number on their arms as well.  It  was legal to tattoo it I would, and never change my number until the day I die. It sounds crazy, but if you have ever lost a child in a crowd it is terrifying. I can't even imagine losing a child in a crowd of villains.

Within 30 minutes Oscar was overwhelmed and underfed and ready to go home.  I had surprised Jack with the promise of meeting his favorite superhero, Stan Lee.  Jack has loved Stan Lee since he was 5. He knows everything about him.  His birthday: Dec. 28, 1922.  His wife and daughter's names.   What he eats for breakfast every day.  When I found out Stan Lee was going to be there, I knew that Jack would love to meet him.

Jack has always been interested in the back story. His favorite website is IMDB.  After he sees a movie, he looks up the actors, director and producers and finds out what year they were born.  After he saw The Wizard of Oz he was shocked to learn that Judy Garland was born the same year as Stan Lee and wondered if they knew each other.

Jack loves the process of pretending.  Stan Lee represents everything he likes.  A creator in the true sense of the word.   So I purchased the opportunity for Jack to get a picture with him.  At age 92,  I wasn't sure how many more opportunities we would have.

We stood in line for 35 minutes even though we had a reservation.  Behind us was a tool shed who kept burping and singing Jimmy Buffet songs trying to impress his girlfriend. I wanted to turn around and tell her to run as far away from him as she possibly could, but I decided to focus on Jack.  In front of us was a family of four who were nervous to meet Stan Lee and rehearsed what they were going to say.  I was drinking a green smoothie out of a mason jar so I'm sure if those people have blogs I'm mentioned as the weird lady drinking her vegetables in line.  Jack was patiently sandwiched between all of us and probably the most normal thing about the entire convention.

When we made our way to the front of the line a woman gave us specific instructions.   No touching, No hand shaking and No conversation.  The family before us must have been disappointed.
As we rounded the corner something amazing happened.  Jack lit up and slowly walked over to Stan Lee.  Stan Lee got up and gave Jack a hug, put his arm around him and asked his name.  Jack told him and they took a great picture, Stan shook his hand and told him to have a fun day.  The only thing Jack said was "Hi!" and "Okay!"  We were then escorted to yet another line to wait for our picture.

As we were waiting Jack got a little teary and said "He remembered me."  I know that sounds lofty, progressive, new age, whatever you call it.  Maybe Jack had a dream that they had met. Or maybe he was thinking that Stan could see him through his computer.  I don't know.  Or maybe at that moment the two of them found a common ground despite the 85 year age difference.

I couldn't help but think of a three-year-old Jack talking to me shortly after Oscar was born.  He asked where Oscar was before he was in my arms.  I told him that the baby was in my tummy.  He then told me that before he was born he was a happy old man, and has always said that even to this day.  The funny thing is, I believe him.  He has an old soul.

I got a little emotional just seeing how happy Jack was and thankful that I was able to give him this experience.   When we were given the picture he put it in his tote and went about his day.  I was wrong about Stan. I don't think he is going anywhere any time soon. This man has more life in him than people half of half his age.

We finally all gathered in our meeting place next to the giant  poster of characters I wasn't familiar with and decided we had had enough.  Oscar was now moving at a snails pace and repeating "Stan Lee" at a escalating pace.  Even though he had no interest in meeting him when we arrived.

We stopped for ice cream on the way home and for a suspended moment, all was well in our galaxy.  I'm glad to have been able to share this experience with the boys even though I did not want to even tell them about it in the first place.

Sometimes it is cool to be adventurous. Try something new and to not act your age, whether you are 7 or 92.

Ordinary

This morning I passed through the kitchen in the normal rush that fills our house on a school day.  For some reason I heard an inner whisper which told me to stop and take a look.   When I turned around I saw this.

It looks pretty ordinary. But today it felt extraordinary.  This average Wednesday morning in April feels like a gift.   They are sitting quietly eating yogurt and fruit.  Neutral emotions. Not asleep, but not yet awake.   

There are moments that they will remember, such as birthday celebrations, Christmas or family trips, but the simple things when you are idling in neutral  while eating breakfast on a school day will be forgotten. Possibly by tomorrow.  I don't remember having breakfast as a kid. I mean, I know we did, my mom certainly didn't send us to school hungry but I never had a picture of it.  Sometimes I wish I did.

Things change so fast.   In just 15 years these boys will be men, either in college or recently graduated, maybe even married.  Scenes like this won't happen very often, if ever.  It will be different, and great in it's own way but it won't be like this.  Getting together with your siblings when you are older is complicated and impossible and truthfully, unlikely to happen.  

I grabbed my phone and took this picture but more than that, I stood and watched them for a minute.   I hit a personal pause button and took it all in. In that single moment there was no other place in the world I would rather be.  So I captured it. 

Within seconds we were back in motion.  Even fast motion. Rushing to get dressed, pack backpacks, brush teeth and get to school on time. Back to the typical roar of the morning. 

I don't know where the notion to stop came from and it doesn't matter. What does matter is that I listened to it and I am grateful for that.

Today, just take an ordinary moment and hit the pause button, celebrate it with a picture.  The image may not take it's place in a frame on the mantel, but hopeuflly it will take a place in your heart. 

Love Conquers Fear

Jack walked into the house and found me scraping out the bottom of a muffin pan of its burnt contents. "Before I was born I was a blade of grass." he said.  I heard "Was I born a bad ass ?"
Of course I asked him to repeat himself because misheard things have been known to cause conflict in our home.

The last instance was when I thought Oscar said "fuck you up" when… oh wait, he did say that. But in his defense he thought he was saying "funk you up."

I stopped the scraping and asked him to repeat himself.  By this time his older brother was standing there when Jack again declared that he was a blade of grass before he was born.  Fin immediately said that it was stupid and impossible.  Jack held his ground, (pun intended) yet this time defensive and hurt.

He explained that he wasn't a blade of grass for very long, but when he was it was wonderful. He remembers being cold at night and waiting for the sun, and when it finally came up he would feel it's warmth. He talked about how he got water from the ground when he was thirsty.

Fin decided that this wasn't worth his time and he left saying that he hoped a dog peed on Grass Jack.   By this time Jack was drawing vibrant blades of grass on a paper and tried to ignore Fin's insult.  But tears were forming in his eyes and he asked me if I believed that he was a blade of grass before he was born.   I told him that I believed him with my entire heart.

Since Jack was born, he has added a sweetness to our family. His heart is pure and his love is contagious. Jack was my first son whose birth showed me what other women were talking about with love at first sight.   When he was 3 we thought he had wondered off. For two agonizing hours we couldn't find him. I wrote about it here, but the reason I bring that up, is because our entire neighborhood went looking for him.  Even when he isn't even trying, he brings out goodwill in people.

If something in his little heart identifies with a simple blade of grass, so be it.

When do things get complicated?  To a kid it is really simple.  There is love. Eventually fear creeps in, But usually love can overcome fear.  I was terrified of the dark as a kid.  I was afraid somebody was going to climb up from the floor and get me.  A fear based on Edgar Allen Poe's, The Tell-Tale Heart   The fictional story my brother told me had created such a fear in me that my mom would lie on the floor in the spot that the dismembered body was going to creep up from, until I fell asleep. Her love, not her girth, or strength, weapons or opinions were going to save me, but just the fact that she loved me, led me to feel safe.

*On a side note, I would like to thank my brother for telling me that story so I could have nightmares the first half of my life.

You fear what you don't know or understand. In my case it was a story, in other's case its someone who is different from you.  But even in my darkest moment of fear when I thought Jack was gone, love prevailed.

The biggest lesson I try and teach my boys is one that I have to work on every single day.  What if  there was no "you" and "them"?  What if we all came from the same source?  If you insult someone you are essentially insulting yourself. But if you show compassion and love to someone, ultimately you are showing love to yourself as well.

Some will say, it's not that easy or it's easier said than done. Which is true, but it shouldn't be.  Love really isn't hard. Do we really have all the answers anyway?

With everything going on in Indiana and the mud slinging of hatred on both sides,  I have to remind myself that we are all one.  When you look at a field you don't see the tiny blades of grass, you see it as a whole and it is beautiful.

As we get older we find ways to make things complicated. It is all pretty simple when you step back and look from a wide lens instead of a narrow one.

Love really can conquer fear if we step aside and let it.

10 REASONS THE BREAKFAST CLUB MADE ME A FANTASTIC PARENT

                                     

I cannot believe the breakfast club is 30! It was the first tape my family ever owned. This was back in a time where parents didn’t have access to online parent guides or reviews as to what was appropriate for children. My brother is 7 years older than me. At 15 I guess my parents thought he was mature enough to watch R movies. (He wasn’t). So mature that he would fire up the VHS, pop open a bag of Doritos and watch it with his 8-year-old sister, repeatedly. To this day I don’t think our parents have even seen a movie that I can recite word for word.

I would like to think that my parent’s lack of micro-supervision in the 80’s was beneficial. The lesson I learned while watching The Breakfast Club shaped how I parent today. So now I belong to a social club called parenting. It’s sort of social, demented and sad, but social.

1. Breakfast can be just as good for lunch. I would never have discovered the delight of a
Capn’ Crunch sandwich if I hadn’t seen Allison eat one.

2. Bitches can’t handle the smoke. Don’t think I didn’t think of that the first time I was offered a cigarette.

*On a side note: drugs don’t discriminate social groups. You can be a princess, an athlete, nerd or basket case and still smoke pot. The high doesn’t even last the entire day.

3. You have to carry a ton of shit in your bag, because you never know when you may need to jam. Especially if you are potty training a 3 year old.

4. Don't Go Into a Closet with A Bull,  Son. Principles and other people of authority show their true colors behind closed doors, or in a school closet. As soon as the door shuts they will call you a gutless turd. Just because someone has authority and makes a ton of money like “$31,000 a year.” Doesn’t make them a good person.

*On a side note: What principle wears a suit to work on a Saturday? 

5. Running in a group is always better than running by oneself. However, floors can be very slippery. Take caution when running.

6. Duct tape does not belong in a locker room. Poor Larry Lester. Also, if you see a jock holding duct tape in a locker room you better cover your buns and run.

7. Less is more. Nobody looks good with all that black shit in her eyes. Pulling your hair out of your face is a good thing.

*On a side note: You have to have really voluptuous lips and a yoga-like neck to pull off Clair’s lipstick trick. After 30 years of trying, I personally think it is impossible.

8. Parents can be assholes. They pressure their kids to be good a athlete, or to make the fucking elephant lamp to work. Or they ignore their kids or and become demanding when they want chicken potpies. As a parent, don’t be an asshole.

9. Good dancing is subjective. It could be rolling around a statue, or skip-dancing on the stairs, or doing some weird muscle man walk thing or drumming on your knee. Don’t worry about it, just move your body and be happy.

10. Don’t judge a book by its cover. You can make friends with anyone even when you only have one thing in common, like detention.

The sad reality is that if you were to have the same situation tomorrow in a school detention, those five students would probably never even learn each others name because their heads would be buried in  apps, snap chats and texts.

I’m so thankful I was able to live the awkward, kind of childhood that John Hughes told so well. It made me a kind of awkward bizarre parent I am today.

Art in chaos

Every so often, I completely lose my mind and give up trying to make sense of the fact that nobody notices the inconceivably vast mess that surrounds us.  Then it occurred to me, maybe they don't see what I see. Is it a gender bias or a mother/child differential component that makes certain things impossible to see?  (Unless it is my mother, she makes it very known that she can see it.)  Could it be possible that I have young virtuoso prodigies on my hands and where I see chaos they see art?  So, in an effort to support my budding Pablo Piccassos I took a Sunday afternoon strolling the the museum, otherwise known as my house.

Practical Life Cube Sculpture

What I see- Clean laundry of all colors, darks, lights, whites, that has been sitting in a laundry basket for five days and has now moprhed into the shape of a laundry lego.
What they see- Sculpture representing the world family as one unit. All shapes and colors tightly bound together into one cohesive shape and possibly stackable.

                                                                                                  Contemporary Mosaic 

What I see- The most annoying thing on Earth that makes my head feel like it is going to explode with rage.
What they see- A mosaic interpretation of the tiles on the floor.  Metaphorically missing the drain to prove the point, that beauty sometimes misses the mark, but one must try and try and try…and try.

                                                                                            Impressionism with fingerprints

What I see- A glass door I cleaned 3 minutes prior to this photo. A door that clearly has a door knob which they seem to miss.  I also question what they have been eating because by the looks of the greasy finger prints, it appears they ate sticks of butter with their hands.

What they see- A floating dog.

                                                                                                    Practical Life Sculpture

What I see- Someone who poured way too much cereal in a bowl for a 4 year old who ate 2 bites. Obviously the sink was full so it couldn't be cleaned, so the next best place for it would be right next to the sink for the world to see.
What they see- The spoon is positioned just so as to give the impression it will be finished later, but everyone knows it won't. The box in the background (that wasn't put back) makes a powerful statement LIFE. This is my Life and sometimes it makes me cry.

                                                                                                             Realism Art

What I see- Someone who left just enough orange juice in the bottom of the bottle so they could justify not throwing it 2 feet away into the recycling bin.

What they see-  An optimistic point of view. Is the bottle empty or is just an illusion of empty. It is all how you look at it.

                                                                                                              

                                                                                                                 Junk Art

What I see: A pile of clothes that my husband steps out of right before he steps into bed. Layer by layer you can find complete outfits from the days before. At some point it may stand up and resemble my husband and I won't be able to tell the difference.

What he sees: I believe he is blind to this and unable to see it. Just as he is blind to the hamper he passes, as well as the chair and ottoman he passes on his way to this very spot.

                                                                                                       Exhibitionist Art

What I see-  A losing battle with gravity.  A child who was born without hips and who doesn't notice a draft. Who is also sitting in a "W" position which I have heard is horrible for children and results in their legs being bowed and unusable. 

What they see- A valiant statement that pants are restrictive. That parts of a body should be celebrated, not covered. That you can sit whatever the hell way you want to because you are 4 and nobody is going to tell you how to sit when watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.


I'm sure if you take a look around you can find art in the chaos in your own home.  In my house it is a continues example of how art imitates life, chaotically.

That's enough

When I find myself slipping into a less-than-positive mental place I can usually grab ahold of something that will catch me before I fall.  That can be anything from a call to my best friend, or getting together with my book club. Or something as simple as actually walking into Starbucks to get my coffee instead of the drive through.

This last slip seems to have had happened quickly and before I knew it, I had fallen and I couldn't get up.  I tried to rely on my old standbys.  Except, my best friend is out of the country,  I have to work on my book club night and I gave up visiting Starbucks so often because we needed to cut back somewhere and drinking our bank account away wasn't helping anyone.

On a side note: orthodontics and vision care are extremely expensive. If college doesn't work out for my oldest, hopefully he can get a job as a model because we are certainly putting the same amount of  money into his aesthetically pleasing appearance.

So I found myself in a cold dark hole trying to figure out how I got there.    It was a series of things.  I miss the sun. I wish I didn't have to work. I'm tired. I haven't been eating as many vegetables as I should. I think my husband thinks I'm ugly. I'm pale. I forget things.  I didn't win the lottery. Our utility companies got together and decided to raise our bills by 400%.  Things that once made me happy, suddenly don't.

Once I go down this road it is a one way ticket to miserable.  Don usually can detect this and pulls the cord for the next exit.   This time he stayed on my struggle bus and listened as I made a wine fueled rant on why my life sucks.  I explained that I had wanted to live in a warm climate in a cozy house on an orchard where we would spend our days barefoot and I would write for a living while our four boys enjoyed nature and spun around on the tire swings that hung from one of the many century old Cypress trees.   We wouldn't own a TV or a car and we would bike everywhere.  I would bake and cook and make homemade soap. Don would be independently wealthy and we would spend our days talking. We would take vacations to the mountains.

The truth is, the closest I will get to being in Sonoma is the wine I was now on my third glass of.  The chance of us moving is pretty much zero because of the benefits I have at my current job. Which by the way, isn't writing. In fact, I had submitted an article and it had been rejected just that day.  Our boys get motion sick on things that spin and probably couldn't live with out a screen for more that 48 hours.  We have never been on a family bike ride, let alone hiking up a mountain. If I cooked and baked all of our food we  would probably starve. The homemade soap looks like fun, but I have never done it, and to be honest, the ones I have used left me smelling like my grandmas potpourri she kept on the back of her toilet….For my entire childhood. The only time we go on vacation is to visit family and it is not on a vineyard, although at times that would be super convenient.

As I continued my rant to Don I realized that my idea of a life that actually mattered is based on a false reality that could loosely be influenced by wine commercials.  I also got the impression that I was making him feel like a failure because he couldn't provide our family with the type of lifestyle I desired.  Unfortunately teachers don't make that much money.

Or maybe it is fortunate.  But for different reasons.  He does it because he loves kids and he has a genuine love for what he does not for the salary.  And because it has landed us exactly here. Where we should be.

He asked me to list things I did like about my life.

In an effort to get away from material possessions,  I tried to go to the basics.

A warm bed. A warm bed that is shared. The Spotted Cat, a book that I have read 1000 times while a cuddly boy body snuggled up against mine and hung on my every word.  The sun kissing my shoulders.  The way the house sounds when everyone is asleep.  Humor that surrounds me.  Writing truth from my heart, even if nobody reads it. Hearing someone call me Mommy.

"Isn't that enough?" he asked.

I could feel the warmth of guilt and tears forming behind my eyes and I realized what he was trying to say.  Yes. It is enough, but sometimes I forget that. Sometimes I forget that I'm not in a competition. I am not obligated to prove anything to anyone.  That if what I listed is enough, then I should be able to focus on them to get me out of the hole.  That those things are abundant and are not going to go away. They can happen every single day if I let them.  Or better yet, notice them.

I get too caught up in tomorrow and the next day, wondering what will happen, and if it will finally  make me feel worthy or successful. When I already am. Especially if I base  my success on just being here, observant of what is going on around me at this very moment.

I listened to the footsteps of what sounded like a herd of buffalo running upstairs that I fear will one day break through the ceiling. I smelled what was left of the rigatoni dinner we had made as a family. I looked at a well lived in house with stains on the couch and finger prints on the wall. I snuggled deeper into my fleece blanket and took the last sip of my Sonoma County Shiraz.  All five senses were living up to their potential and I thought, it really couldn't get any better than this.

Because this is all I have at this very moment, and for right now it is enough.

31 Thoughts I Have While Walking Into Work in 0 Degree Temperatures

If you read my blog enough, you know the parking situation at work stinks. There is no way around the fact that I have to park out in the middle of nowhere and walk 500 miles to reach my office.  I may also mention that I live in a place where it is cold 50% of the time.  This was my thought process this morning.

1. Who are these people that get better parking spots than me? They must wake up at 3 in the morning because there are never any parking spots left, unless you park on an end cap, but people who do that  just look like jack asses and other people are secretly hoping thier car gets hit.

2. Even though it said it was 0 degrees outside it doesn't feel that bad actually.  Apparently this North Face full length coat really is chill proof.

3.Oh my God, I don't think I have ever been this cold in my entire life.

4. I'm really glad I splurged and got these $200 snow boots, at least my feet are warm.

5. Out of all the places my parents could choose to live, why in the world did they choose South Bend?  It is colder than Chicago, but people feel sorry for Chicagoans because it is the "Windy City". Those  people have never been to South Bend in January.

6. It really is cruel joke that my parents relocate to Arizona 5 months out of the year.

7. Who convinced me to move from California back to this ice box?  Oh that's right, my husband. I'm going to add that to my list of things to bring up the next time we get into a fight about the dishwasher.

8. My face seriously feels numb. I need to go into a building and see if my nose is black. I think I may have frost bite.  I'm going to have to have my nose cut off.

9. Would it be in poor taste to hitch hike 50 feet?

10. Look at this idiot in just a wind breaker and khaki's.  Who is he trying to impress? Not me.  How is he not freezing to death?

11. I'm Scottish and Irish, shouldn't my people's body type be acclimated to cold temperatures?

12. I bet I was adopted. I have always felt a strong pull towards Mexican culture. I love Mexican food. And margaritas. That must be why I cannot stand cold temperatures. My bloodline needs warmth.

13. Maybe the reason I'm so cold is because I have such a low percentage of body fat?  But if my body fat was so low, wouldn't I look better naked?

14.  I need to schedule an appointment for a bikini wax.

15. Nevermind, that is just stupid.

16, What do we have here? A die-hard woman jogging towards me.  Really, on the coldest morning of the year? Treadmills are everywhere.  I guess my body fat theory is BS because clearly she doesn't have any and is wearing half the amount of clothes as I am.

17. When I was in fourth grade I entered an invention contest and it was an electric coat. Like an electric blanket, but it was a coat. I didn't win. I should have. I should revisit that and take it to Shark Tank.

18. Mr. Wonderful would totally invest in my company.  Then I could quit my job and move to Mexico.  But it wouldn't make sense to own an electric blanket coat company and live in a tropical climate.  Plus I would need to know Spanish.

19. Maybe I will make one just for myself.

20.  Why in the world did settlers decide to stop in this ridiculously cold environment? Maybe they found it in the summer and by the time Fall hit, it was too late, they had already colonized, built the house and tilled the field.

21. We should have soup for dinner.

22. My $200 boots just came untied.  I can't stop. The cold air is creeping in my boots and hitting my toes.  Do I take my mittens off and risk losing a finger to tie them, or do I keep them untied and risk losing a toe?  I really need my fingers to type and text. I guess it's my toes.  If I can't walk, then I may be able to convince someone to get me a heated golf cart to ride in with all the other people who wear suits to work.

23. Should I walk faster?  Nope. The wind hits my face harder.

24. I can't feel my lips.

25.  How is it that I am only half way?

26. Is that a squirrel!?  Shouldn't he be hibernating? Maybe he lost his family to frostbite and he is searching high and low for a new one.

27. I can finally see my building.  I need to go to the bathroom right away because I'm pretty sure my mascara has left skid marks on my face.

28. I wish they made flannel underwear and bras.  I wouldn't hesitate wear those and not care about visible panty lines.

29. My building is so close... yet so far away.

30. I can almost feel the warmth. Once I am in my office, I am going to drink my coffee and I am not going to leave until 5:00 p.m.  By that time my feet should have returned to normal temperature.

31. Crap, I left my coffee in my car.

Out of Control

Dear Lord help me get through this winter.

We have a one handed glove thief that sneaks into our house every night and takes one glove or mitten from a matching set.  I have a sneaking suspicion he has one footed partner too, who steals socks.  Even with the best intentions,  I lay out the boys snow gear every night but without fail somebody is missing something.  Within a month of looking everywhere we will give our unmatched gloves to Goodwill where we will make a one handed child somewhere very happy.

Not to sound old, but back in my day, I had one pair of freezy freaky gloves.  I can still see them, smell them even. They changed color when they got cold to expose a castle and bunnies. If they still fit I would wear them to this day.  I didn't lose those.  If I did I would have had to deal with cold fingers.  And if I'm going to go down this path, I also had a snowsuit, which eliminated the chance of forgetting my snow pants at school, because if I did, I would have also left my coat.  And even as ditzy as I was at times would have never done that.

This morning despite having 4 days off of school, we were not prepared to leave the house.  I had everything laid out like usual but unless I am waiving things in front of their faces they don't see it.   When we finally got out the door we did a u-turn because Fin forgot his violin (which was sitting next to the door), and apparently U turns cause Oscar's bladder to overflow and said he had a potty emergency. Which if we were lucky would only take 4 hours.

By the time were really on the road I was heading down a packed side street where cars park on either side. Naturally a school bus decided to make a turn, not allowing me by which left us dead locked facing each other.  I was there first, and there was nowhere for me to go.  But bus #269 of the South Bend School Corporation decided to sit there.  I flashed my lights, honked my horn without any reaction from the woman who drives bus #269.  I lost all control of my body and mind and found myself outside of my car motioning to the woman to get the F out of my way.

Parker was mortified.  I didn't care. I was doing what looked like an interpretive dance to get her to move.  She didn't.  I ended up backing up all the way to another street so she could get by. And as she passed she didn't even look at me.  I tried as hard as I could, but the boys got to see their mother freak out, and when I get really angry I cry.

A stupid game of school bus chicken which I sadly lost, was enough to push me over the edge.  The rest of the car ride was silent.

I wasn't just crying because I was out of my mind pissed off. I was crying because I couldn't change or control the situation.  Looking back, I'm actually glad it was a bus, because if it had been a car the other person may have gotten out of their car and the boys would have witnessed something worse. Like their mother getting the crap beat out of her. I guess that is where a higher power was looking out for me, and probably finding this very amusing.

Do busses have dash cams? I certainly hope not. This was not a high point in my commute.  Not only did I put on quite a performance for the unamused bus driver, but also all the kids who were in the bus.  All of which, Parker is sure are all in 6th grade and he knows, and they all saw me and now he is humiliated.

Control is something I don't easily like to lose.  I don't like to drink around people I don't trust for the fear I may say something offensive unintentionally. Or hug someone too long, or tell someone I love them too much.  But if control means that I'm censoring myself, then what is wrong with letting some of that go once in awhile?  I don't know, that is why I'm asking.

What I do know, is that a control freak should not have children and expect to continue their life as a control freak.  It is not possible.  You have to resign to being a supervision freak. Where you can watch the things you want to happen,  or not happen. Or happen in a way that you do not want them to happen.

There is little I can actually control. I can't control how other people feel about me, or what happens to the people I love most. I can't control my husband or children and obviously I can't control my emotions at times.

So for the time being I have accepted the fact that I am out of control.

Amen.

2 positives for every negative.

Personally, I don't like making resolutions. I tend to make ridiculously easy ones, so that I succeed, making myself feel better about something that I already do or have been doing for my entire life.

Kids will call you out though.   This year I wanted to include them to set goals for themselves and hold themselves accountable.  As we ate Chinese take out for dinner we went around the table sharing.

11 year old: I want to eat like an athlete, so my body will be a machine. (As he is biting into an egg roll.)

10 year old: To eat every sample at Costco twice and if they ask, I'll tell them it was my twin. (Aim high buddy.)

7 year old: I want to make a lego tower as tall as our house.  (I truly believe this is possible. In fact, make a replica of our house and we can store all the legos you already have.)

4 year old: Cookie.  (I'm pretty sure he missed the point of resolutions and was just saying what he wanted.)

Don:. To get more organized. Which is a really great goal and I support him 100% just like I have been for the past 13 years. Maybe this will be the year. 

When it got around to me, I said that I wanted to exercise and eat right. But this time when I spoke, the clouds opened up and I was actually heard. They called me out saying I do that anyway. It's true, for the most part.   They suggested that I do something challenging, like give up Starbucks or wine. I explained that I could only do that if I wasn't a mom with four sons, and there's no going back now.

I decided to think about it and told them I would let them know.  By that time the conversation had moved on to dessert, and nobody seemed to notice that I was eating my second cookie. (So much for eating right).
I decided to fold laundry in our bedroom and I passed the hallway mirror. This time my reflection caught my eye and it appeared that within 10 days of Christmas break I had gained a pound every day.  I turned to the side, turned to the other side, looked at my butt, looked at my gut and gave out a ick sound.

When I turned around all four of them were looking at me.

I was so embarrassed.  These boys have seen me at my worst. The. 3a.m. dragon breath tucking them back into bed mommy. The just home from a sweaty workout mommy.  The sick with bags under my eyes mommy. The bloated after just giving birth mommy. Yet, in every single picture they have drawn of me, I have big eye lashes, pink smiling lips and yellow hair.

Nothing sounds ugly about her that at all.

It reminds me of a photo my dad took of me when I was 7. I was standing in the back yard smelling a flower.  And by smell, I mean that it looked like I was trying to stick the flower up my nose. It is zoomed in and you can see the dirt under my nails,  and my wispy hair flying all over the place.  I always wondered what my parents liked about that photo. Just like the boys, they saw beauty in the imperfection, that I just couldn't.

Girls may be different, but not a single one of my sons has ever looked in the mirror and thought "eew".  When I tell them they look cute they usually say "I know".  They have the ability to overlook Nutella that has been stuck to their chin since breakfast.  Of course they are all adorable in my eyes, and they accept their appearance the way it is and are happy with it.

I can't imagine them saying the things that come out of my mouth when looking at their own reflection, and if I did, it would crush me.  In my eyes they are impossibly perfect, scars, Nutella and all.

Oscar asked me why I said "ick". Instead of  telling him the truth, I said I had cookie crumbs on my mouth.  "That's not icky" he said.  Come to think of it, nothing grossing these boys out.  I could have said I had a tick in my head and they would have thought it was cool.

I decided that I was going to spend this year trying to see myself as the boys do. Focusing on the beauty they see, that I seem to overlook on a daily basis.  Nothing is wrong with acknowledging what makes you beautiful, as hard as it may be.

I'm going to make an effort for every negative thing I come up with to counter it with two positives.  Since I don't want to spend the year staring in the mirror, I may stop the negative after awhile. I mean seriously, it is 2015, if the things I have been wishing looked different haven't by now, I might as well embrace my uniqueness right?

If I can find the beauty of everyone around me, I should be able to do the same for myself.

Here is to a beautiful 2015!

Welcome to Our Fight Club

I think the boys have turned our home into a fight club and I am the only one who wasn't aware of this. This past week, or more accurately past month, the boys have shown each other anything but love.
The amount of fighting that has been going on in our house would make Tyson run.  They wake up fighting, go to sleep fighting and last night when I checked in on Oscar he was having a dream about fighting.

Oscar declared that he doesn't like anyone in our family that doesn't have an "O" in their name. That cancels out his brothers and includes Don and me.

On Sundays we go to church.  This shouldn't be a surprise to anyone in the family.  However, when Sunday (the day after Saturday) arrives, this came as a complete shock to everyone.  Even though the previous evening I had clearly said "tomorrow we are going to church." But it still snuck up on the boys and caused dismay.

The fighting began bright and early when Jack had the audacity to see our elf Henry first.  Oscar had wanted to see him first so as they were yelling at each other, Finegan, who had no part in this argument,  came downstairs and joined in for solidarity.  Parker arrived and discovered that the last frozen waffle had been eaten and proclaimed that because of this, his entire day was doomed.

There is a sense of urgency because we need to arrive to church on time.  It honestly takes more time to get everyone in the car than it does to drive there.  The entire car ride is spent arguing about who had what seat last, who kicked who's seat and who farted.

Because Don is a teacher he has this magic ability to tune it all out and sing Christmas music which not only pisses them off more, but made the noise level in the car unbearable and I finally lost it. Which causes complete silence which lasts about 15 seconds.
When we arrived at church I explain that we are going into the house of God and they need to behave accordingly. Plus, my mom is in the choir loft so not only is God watching, Grandma is too.
In the short distance from the car to the pew, more fighting erupted. Who knew someone could feel so passionately about a stick of gum?
As we walked into church  they stop fighting long enough for Jack to run into an old man's walker in the aisle and knock it, along with himself over.  Which is why we can never be late because we always make a grand entrance.
Thankfully Oscar was in Sunday school which allowed us to sit stratigically boy, parent, boy, parent, boy. Even in the presence of Jesus, they find a way to fight in silence.  It could be looking at each other the wrong way or breathing in each other's direction.  As I sat in the middle of Parker and Finegan the story of Cain and Abel finally made sense. I am having a really difficult time understanding the dynamic of brothers and why they hate each other so much.  I have tried everything.

Don is of the mindset that they should be able to work it out themselves without parental involvement.  Even though his mother told me that when he and his older brother were in their teens they were fighting in the house and she sent them outside. When they got outside they were punching each other and drew a crowd of neighbors, bets were made.  Eventually they got tired and came back inside where she had ice packs waiting for them.
I do not like violence. I don't want them to resolve their issues that way but I'm afraid at some point it is going to get there.  And I'm not going to stand in the middle obviously.

I remember a scene in Silver Linings Playbook where a father and his grown son get into a fist fight and the mother is standing in-between them screaming.
This is one of my biggest fears and a fear that many Moms have.  Breaking up a physical fight among family members who have grown to be way stronger than you.

The boys seem to have inherited my short fuse.  How is it possible that we created children that look so much alike but can't stand the sight of each other?

I can't help but think that their environment is imposing discord and they lash out. Or perhaps somehow  I am imposing my personal stress onto them and they are just a reflection of that?  The boys aren't the only ones who have been fighting.  Don and I have too. About really important stuff like…who as emptied the dishwasher more times in the last three days.

At some point I have to step back, relax and thing about what is really bothering me.  The boys are not going to commit fratricide anytime soon. Claudius may have killed Hamlet,  but there was much more at stake than who got the last piece of Halloween candy.

I have a Christmas CD in the car and I keep playing "Let there be Peace on Earth, and Let it Begin with Me" and what I actually mean is you.  All of them. I can't sing it loud enough. "Let me walk with my brother, in peace and harmony"  Hopefully, sometime soon they will stop arguing long enough to hear it.

Taking Off Your Clothes Proves Nothing

I recently spent a Saturday evening at my parent’s house watching a documentary on the JFK assassination. Yes, I know how lame that sounds. It was fascinating however. Hearing their commentary on where they were, what they thought, how they felt. It was like it had happened to them last month.

Something I noticed when I was watching was how polite people were in comparison to today. Specifically, a gentleman who was interviewed after Lee Harvey Oswald was assassinated. When asked what profession his killer, Jack Ruby was, the gentleman said, " I would rather not say". Mr. Ruby owned a strip club. The man being interviewed didn't want to violate an innocent person's ears with smut. A sharp contrast to today, where if you say the most outrageous things while interviewed you may get 5 million views on YouTube, or better yet an auto tune version of your interview and downloadable on iTunes.

How have we arrived to where we are today? I am not a prude by any means, but listening to the radio, I often have to turn it off before my kids hear some of the lyrics. Even 80's music used innuendoes to get their point across, just listen to Prince if you need an example.(Pocket full of Trojans?) You had to think about it to find out what they meant, and to be honest, I'm still figuring some of them out. Now they just flat out sing “I'm going to f*ck you.”

The other trend I have noticed is that celebrities and other women are liberating themselves from the falseness of Photoshop by taking naked photos of themselves on the internet. To show an example of what a "normal" body looks like. There is no normal. When I was a girl, I discovered that each of my friends and I had unique bodies in the gym locker room. I didn't need to go much further than that. And lucky for me, nobody can share that image from their memory.

But has anyone thought about what all of these images of naked women does for young men? Raising four boys I think about these things. They are too young to have access to free range Internet grazing, but what if they saw the picture of Keira Knightly posing naked to show what real bodies look like. Chances are, they wouldn't see the point. They would see boobs, free access to boobs.

In our house, there doesn’t seem to be a problem with nudity. The boys think that clothing is optional and I think that is great. But since I am the lone female and they are getting older I choose to be discriminatory when changing. First, I don’t appreciate the questions about my anatomy and secondly, who really wants to see their mom naked?

My Dad is an artist and we have several examples of nudity in various mediums around the house. I think the female body is beautiful and someday I want my sons to discover it for themselves. That is part of growing up. Like Columbus discovering the New World for the first time. If he would have been given a painting of exactly what it looked like prior to going on his voyage, he may have just stayed home instead. I exaggerate to express a point, but hopefully the experience of seeing a woman's body for the first time will be memorable and with someone they care about. Better yet, it will be shared with their girlfriend in real life and not between him and his phone and his girlfriend.

I don't want them to have the impression that it is normal for a girl to show them her naked body just because he wants to see it. There needs to be value with not taking your clothes off. The private celebrity photos that were leaked would never have been a problem if they hadn't been taken in the first place. If you want to show someone your naked body, then go to their house, knock on their door and show them in person. If you send it via text then expect to share it with the world.

Nudity is getting so commonplace that it isn’t even shocking anymore. If people keep trying to one up each other with who can shock the most, then what will be left? Kim Kardashian tried to break the Internet with a photo of her butt. What I didn't understand is that anyone could see her butt and then some if they Googled her. That is after all, how she got famous in the first place. The fact that the public has already forgotten just shows how impressionable it was.

Had I posted naked photos of myself all over the place before I met Don, he would have had to share me with the rest of the world. Even worse, my kids would have had to share that image of their mother with the world. Eww.

All of these photos trying to prove what real bodies look like are making a point that you have to prove something in the first place. Beauty is subjective. A woman taking her clothes off is an easy way to get attention. But as soon as she does, it will cancel out anything she has to say.

The more powerful thing would be for her to keep your clothes on; that way the words she says can actually be heard.

Parenting is Hard

I thought I would just state the obvious in the title.

For some reason, when I envisioned myself as a parent I thought about very specific stages.  Infancy and college.

I completely skipped over certain stages like, pre-teen and teen.   Nobody told me it was hard. Well, they might have, but I was so engrossed in the poetic version of what being a mother was going to be like that I didn't listen.  Within a month of being one I thought it was the most exhausting and emotionally charged time of my life. And it was hard. Especially physically. Going from sleeping 8 hours a night to two hours forced me to walk around in a constant state of dopamine delirium.

But as they grow I am finding that the hardest part about being a mom is the psychological side. Now I'm nostalgic for dopamine delirium. The constant internal battle of what I feel I should do and what I actually do.  The side that wants to be liked verses the side that needs to get down to business.

As I watch my eleven year old grow to my eye level,  I realize that is the only time we will actually see eye to eye.

It is no secret that I really dislike roller coasters.  The times I have been on one, I find the scariest part is  waiting to start.  When the bar crosses your legs (yes even kid roller coasters freak me out) and you have three or four seconds before you are jerked into ride submission. I have tried to tell the roller coaster operator that I'm not ready, but you can imagine how much they care.  Well, now I'm starting this pre-teen ride and all I can say is " I'm not ready, I'm not ready." but much like the operator, life isn't going to wait for me to decide when to proceed. It is going to take off whether I'm ready or not.

I  remember when Parker was our only child.  I can still smell his sweet smell and feel his soft Fred Flintstone feet, they were as wide as they were long. They looked like blocks.   How he wanted to sit as close, if not on top of me at all times.  Now he sits at an arms length.  It would be weird if he sat on top of me, I get that, but in my mind it is still a reasonable possibility. There are glimpses of times when he snuggles up to me, mostly when he is cold, or I'm sitting in his spot.  And I love it.

Recently Parker has made some choices that challenge every ounce of my parenting strength.  Things that matter to who he is going to become. Things that cannot go without addressing and the hardest part is delicately approaching him in a way that is both effective and loving.  I haven't found that balance.  I either go completely ape shit or way too soft.  Neither is very effective.

I'm looking for the healthy middle and as of yesterday, I have yet to find it and as of today it doesn't feel like I ever will.   I think back to the amount of planning I did for his birth and how when the day arrived I didn't follow a page of it ( there were several pages). .  In the moment I didn't care that I had wanted a water birth or a drug free birth. All I wanted what was best for both of us, and at that moment it was drugs and a bed. And when I held him, I knew I had done something right.

I guess the same is true for where we are now. We are entering unknown and scary territory.  I can plan all I want but situations are going to happen where I simply won't know what to do but have to go proceed anyway.

We survived his birth we will survive this too, but this time I won't have drugs to cover the pain.

Finally hearing the words you should have been hearing all along.

Last night Oscar was very sick.  He had a persistent cough and last night it peaked.  Around midnight his loud cough was enough to get me out of bed to check on him.  In the dim light I saw he was miserable.  I felt his head and he was burning up.  He was in a half sleep state and I asked him if he was hot and he said a barely audible "yet." (He is still working on his S's).  I took his pajama bottoms off and I heard a little "Thank you."I got him a cold wash cloth and placed it on his burning forehead. "Thank you", he mumbled.  I gave him a drink and again he said "Thank you mommy" and after a long pause he said,  "I love you."

Maybe it was the way he said it, or just the fact that he was feeling so awful but still wanted to tell me he loved me and was thankful, that brought me to my knees.  I kneeled down next to his bed and held his hand.  And within seconds tears were rolling down my face. My head was resting against his bed because I didn't have the energy to hold it up on my own.   Even when I heard his little snores I still sat there holding his hand and crying.

Words coming from my four year old touched me deeper than any words ever have.  I'm not exaggerating. Because for the first time I heard someone say they loved me.   I mean, I actually heard it with my heart and soul.

I am lucky that those words are familiar to me.  A day doesn't go by without hearing it from my Mom. When I talk to my brother he always tells me, my grandparents used to utter those words,  friends say it too.  When Don first told me he loved me I replied with "thank you." Not because I didn't feel the same way, but because the word itself just feels overused.

Don and I don't say "I love you" for that reason.  We have other words that are unique to us and sound ridiculous to anyone else.    The boys tell me they love me mostly after I tell them, but sometimes on their own.  Hearing it certainly makes me happy and I appreciate it, but at the same time, the words don't carry much of a punch.

It was in the middle of the night when I was at my most vulnerable state.   Our usually loud rambunctious house was quiet and sleepy.  Just moments before I was fast asleep and now I was kneeling at Oscar's bed crying.

Perhaps it was guilt. When I heard him coughing my first thought was that I was going to miss out on my sleep.  My legs took me to his side before my brain had even woken up.

But in that dark room I heard for the first time that I am loved.  It clicked.  I wasn't prepared to deflect his words, and in the silence I didn't have it dubbed into the mix of chaos of the day.  I was put in that silent moment so that the only words I would hear were ones I should have heard a long time ago.

Just because I don't attach weight to the words doesn't mean the person who is saying them feels the same way.  It is like being on a golf course and hearing the word "FORE" and not looking up and assuming the person who yelled it must not have actually meant it.

It wasn't until that moment that I was unexpectedly open and able to receive it, and I did.

A few minutes later I returned to bed feeling loved.  I woke up feeling loved.  Oscar's words occupied the hollow areas of my soul that I have neglected for so long.  I'm pretty good and finding reasons that I am unlovable, but at that moment I didn't try and it felt wonderful.

What Oscar couldn't have known is that I have had a rough couple months.  I had sunk into one of the familiar dark holes without explanation. I didn't feel anything, let alone love.  His words were the rope to start the processes of getting me out.

I needed to write about this  because I know in a few months, or a year I will be going about my day and one of the boys will tell me they love me and my mind will talk over it.  Or they will give me a picture of a rainbow with the words I Heart You and I will file it away with all the other rainbows.

I understand the tendency as a mother to keep going, trying to get as much done in the least amount of time. But I beg you, the next time your child or parent, or partner tells you they love you, listen with your heart because they mean it. And you never know when you will long so deeply to hear those words and won't be able to.

And in case you are wondering, Oscar is feeling much better. Apparently we equally needed each other to heal.