You cannot live in Tahiti and Italy at the same time

I never used to indulge in regrets. They're a waste of precious time and completely illogical. Why think about what you cannot change? And, if you COULD change something which you regret, what unforeseen adverse effects would that one difference bring about in your life? I've seen The Butterfly Effect; I am quite aware of the ripples caused by the smallest of moments.

This month has been... difficult. Why? Why, exactly. That is the question, to which there is no answer. I live a life full of love and privilege. It isn't without an enormous sense of guilty self-indulgence that I am allowing these feelings to be written about on this blog. I am fully aware that to complain about not being able to live to Tahiti when I am currently living in Italy* is a first world "problem." But to ignore it any longer isn't helping, either.

It's got to be the age. I am 39 years old. I have currently lived, hopefully, half of my life. Or more...Or less! Who is to say how many days or years we have left on this world? Within those 39 years, I know I have accomplished much and experienced every possible opportunity within my path. Within those 39 years, each time I turned left, I never once looked over my shoulder at the pathway that forked to the right and watched it slip further and further away. I knew that I couldn't go down each path; it's pretty freaking obvious. 

But this month.... THIS FREAKING MONTH... I have spent more time thinking about each and every pathway that wasn't explored. I have felt intense anger at myself; not for choosing the left instead of the right, but for feeling this overwhelming anger and regret. REGRET! WHAT THE FUCK?

Honestly, I don't know how to "get over" this, other than to go straight through it. And so I'm allowing myself this space in time to feel the anger and regret when it comes to me. Not for long, maybe 15 minutes a day? And then I will force myself to count, LITERALLY COUNT, my beautiful blessings. The results of every decision I've ever made are right in front of me and I will not waste this 39th year in mourning for anything I didn't choose. I will feel the feelings and acknowledge the losses. When regret and anger begin to knock, I will not ignore it. I'll answer that goddamn door and look it in the eye. I might even let it give a slick sales pitch. But when it comes right down to it, I will shut that door in its face and say "No thanks. I'm not interested."**

*I live in Illinois, not Italy. This blog is full of analogies, people. I am a fan.

** Because you really should be polite to door to door salespeople. They're just trying to make a living.

Today

Knowing that my hormones are responsible for the crash doesn't make the impact any less painful. Kind of like knowing that the reason you got a sunburn was because you ran out of sunscreen. It still burns.

And so I am trudging through today, in this small but very significant portion of my life (approximately 6.7% of my procreative years. Yes, I did the math). I am plodding and plummeting and climbing back up and wondering why I can't just bring the dirty dishes to the sink, even though I didn't make them messy, so why didn't those who used them do it? In the midst of a full-on brain rant over the dishes, I brake everything to freak out over why it matters. WHY? Why do I care? I don't. I don't give a fuck if the house is a disaster, even though I DO, but "not really." Because, in the end, there isn't a score card for the dishes or the laundry. There isn't a prize for anything. Not academics or careers, or any sort of accomplishment we feel we can tack upon the wall and display for others to gush over. THIS IS IT. I was born alone, I'll die alone, and if I fall, only I can pull myself up. Alone. Alone.

Well, Fuck.

Haven't written on this blog in a regular fashion in over 2 years. Why? Is it middle age? Am I that predictable? Is being predictable BAD? DOES IT REALLY MATTER IF IT IS? The time I've wasted over wondering if I was good enough/funny enough/smart enough is mind-boggling.

I have so many things in my head. Posts about love and choices and equality and justice. Points that I want to make, even if only to my future self, about the Big Questions and revelations I try to hold onto, before they no longer matter. The Big WHY of life... Why are we here? Is it really as simple as "just because"  or is there some greater purpose? Is my life a long list of pre-determined situations and choices or as random as the splatters of paint thrown upon a wall? Which is more desirable? And if I was allowed to know the truth between the two choices, would I REALLY want to know? Which is a more depressing thought: that all that I do and am is at the whim of some omniscient being or that no one and nothing in the universe is able to account for the world within my mind?

Best part of this onslaught of hormonally charged questions is the knowledge that it is NOT unique. It is not particular to me as an individual but rather to all who are blessed with the ability to think beyond ourselves. Human existence is a blessing and curse. We are able to ask "Why?" but not ever able to receive a solid answer until the moment we die. And then? Will there be an answer or only silence?

Exactly.

Relief and Remose Redux

From 2011, though the feelings are quite the same in my heart...

I had a pregnancy scare.

I'm not. No baby.

Whew!

And I realized, "Whew? I am relieved? I am relieved! When did thathappen?"

When did I cross over to this side of parenting? I am... content. I am content to be a family of 5 with no future children on the horizon.

No more babies?

No more babies.

No more sleepy nursing nuzzles at 2 am while the family sleeps in my bed all jumbled in tangles of limbs and blankets.

Strollers and car seats and pacifiers and slings are all packed. I have even given some away. When a woman walked off with my exersaucer at last year's garage sale, I reasoned that I could always buy another one, if the need should arise.

The need won't arise.

I've known this. I've KNOWN this, for many, many years. Patrick has made it crystal clear that our family is FIVE and that is all that we can afford: financially and emotionally. I agree. I DO. I always have.

But.

I held that thought. That dream. That vision that surprises happen and life doesn't usually follow our plans. "We'll see...." I thought in my mind. Many, many times...

This year has allowed me freedom from the physical needs that little ones require. Freedom to sit and read. Freedom to visit with friends in the evening without worry about schedules and naps and the encumbering requirements that encompass parenting an infant. Freedom to think of a future for myself without including "and baby/child" after every scenario.

It's kind of.... nice.

Sort of.

It's nice like the day after Christmas is nice. Bittersweet, full of fresh memories that you desperately attempt to cling to, knowing that the pictures and words won't EVER fully capture the magic of the moment.

It's nice like coming home after a much-anticipated and extremely enjoyed vacation; You're exhausted and sunburnt, with overflowing luggage and tons of laundry to wash. You're wistful that it was over so very, very quickly but glad to be home to start living everyday life again, with hopes of another adventure on the horizon. Yet, you wonder if anytrip will ever be as magical as that special vacation most definitely was.

There's an ache in my heart at letting go of this period in our lives. There will always be tears that can be shed in a moment of silence... Because raising our babies and toddlers was so incredibly special for me that I can't fathom what my life will be like with 10, 15, 20 years of space between It and where I live and breathe right now. Will I be able to remember the sweetness of their small hands in mine? The way his hair smelled after the sprinklers and grass and sunshine were stirred up into those golden curls? Will I truly remember the feel of a sleeping baby on my chest? Warm and trusting, with no desires besides my love?

Sigh... I think I need some chocolate for breakfast. Chocolate, coffee and a good cry...

Lego Landfill

There's something really satisfying about vacuuming up a couple of errant Legos from the corners of my living room.

Related: What percentage of our current landfills consists of Lego blocks? On average, since my eldest was about 10 (the time I stopped fretting about vacuuming up a Really Important Piece), I'd say I've vacuumed about 30 of the single or double blocks a year. MINIMUM. There have definitely been a few of those swords and accessories, maybe a leg or arm as well, and OCCASIONALLY a "Big Piece" has gotten tossed because I am not sticking my hand into a canister of dust and dog hair just to rescue a toy that should have been put away. If every mother vacuums 30 pieces of Lego (a conservative guesstimate, in my opinion), and there are X number of kids playing with Legos since their original plastic debut in 1952, then how many square acres of land is full of sad little singleton Lego bricks?

Kind of makes me want to go dig through that canister now.

The key point here is that I VACUUMED TODAY and we aren't having company or ANYthing.

7 Long Ass Days

I've been walking around the house, feeling disjointed and incomplete. Patrick and Corinne have been off on a grand adventure together since last Friday and I could not be more happy for them. I also couldn't be more muddled and out-of-sorts if I tried. Ever watch "The Jerk"? Remember the scene when Steve Martin* is talking about how time feels different, now that he's been with Bernadette Peters for 4 weeks and 3 days?



I keep replaying that in mind.

It's only been 7 days since they left, but it honestly feels like 3 weeks and 3 days.

The first day seemed like 5 days, and the second day was a Saturday, and I was sick, so it only seemed like 3 days, but the next day was a Sunday, and that felt like 4 days. Monday was Labor day, and it didn't feel like anything other than a day, but Tuesday.... Yeah, you kinda get where I'm going with this, right?

I'm not fully certifiable (yet). I'm just living without 2 of my best friends and I don't know what to do about it.

It's good that it's raining; I can stay in my pajamas and drink coffee by the window and no one will randomly stop by to notice that I'm braless and unbathed.


*The only celebrity crush I'll admit to.**
**Besides Jimmy Fallon.***
***And Amy Pohler. I obviously have a thing for comedians that started on SNL.

Memory Moments

So many moments from this weekend of our 3rd Listen To Your Mother in Chicago are burned into my memory. Even more of them are already fading. It's one of those tricks of fate that causes the moments that you actually DO remember to become even more precious, I suppose.

Coffee at my table before I woke up the boys.

Curling my hair and having it actually all take and hold.

Watching the temperature gauge on our van rise and rise and rise and DINGDINGDING on the way to the theater, and trying to not lose my shit over what we would do if the van died. Call a cab to pick up me and my family and several bags and boxes of supplies in addition to the awkward music stand? Call a cab and leave said family behind on I94 because they didn't fit into the cab with all of my paraphernalia?

Walking through the doors into the auditorium and seeing that massive, empty stage. Knowing that in just a few hours, hearts would be touched by the stories we had chosen to showcase. Knowing that in just a few hours, the 2014 Chicago show would be over.

Seeing the variety of excitement/nerves/fear on the faces of our cast.

Calming some tears.

Hugging some friends.

Running through details. Smiling for photos. Laughing and laughing and laughing.

Holding the curtain for traffic-bogged latecomers...

Watching the curtain rise and feel like I'm floating through the show. Smoothly and happily and without any monumental hiccups.

Seeing so many alumni faces and realizing, during a group picture, just how many lives we've already touched... feeling floored at the knowledge that the stories we put on stage continue to touch and move and change countless viewers on YouTube. Knowing that I'm a part of something so vast and important and monumental... it moves me. It absolutely rocks me to my core.

I can't wait to see the posed pictures of all of the cast in attendance!

Meeting a sweet baby cousin for the first time and holding that tiny little soul in my arms. Remembering the moments of my own babies and how they seem to have just slipped away like little bits of mercury; the more I reach out to touch them, the further away they race and divide and disappear.

Seeing a set of pink boots that used to belong to my daughter upon the tiny feet of a friend's toddler. Remembering their walks to the park and the trees that they climbed; wishing I could still be a part of the future adventures they have yet to experience.

the little pink boots in 2008...

All of the moments and all of the feelings and all of the slippery bits of mercury rolling away from my memory... All that and a ball of wax.

I'd like to thank all of the little people who made this possible...

I got this photo and a few others in my inbox this morning from my sister.

My first thoughts were, "Aww. Cute baby! I wonder whose it is?" 

And then I thought, "Why is she sending ME these pictures? I don't know anyone who just had a baby, do I?"

I wracked my brain, trying to figure out who this kid belonged to but came up empty. I began to get frustrated with my sister that she didn't say "Hey so and so had a baby!" I mean, it's kind of rude, right? I definitely needed to send her a snarky email. I really enjoy sending those. I'm pretty good at it, too.

As I began composing a masterpiece of sarcasm, I opened the second email she sent me and found these pictures:

Now THIS kid, this kid I know! That's my little Evan! He must have been only 2 in that picture. I nearly died from the cute! She must have been cleaning out her camera or something.

 I smiled wistfully and decided to edit some of snark from my pre-composed email as a thank-you gesture. I'm a giving sister like that.

And then I paused.

Ho.Lee. Crap. That baby... That baby was EVAN. My own child, and I didn't recognize him?!?

My email was hugely shortened to just 2 sentences:

"Oh my God. I didn't even know it was Evan at first!"

I waited for her comments to follow with justified taunting at my fantastic mothering abilities.

She replied:

"Do you mean the baby or the toddler? That's Corinne! You can see her little line of her birthmark on her head. I was 6 months pregnant, that's why my face is so fat.*"

Yes. That's right. I not only didn't recognize the baby in the photos as one of my own, I totally didn't know WHICH baby it was.

I win. I win alllll the awards. I win all of the prizes. It's official: I am the World's Worst Mother. Though the credit should not fall solely upon my shoulders. I am happy to thank everyone who made this possible. You know, the little people. Without you, none of this would be possible. You know who you are.

All 3 of you.

*You did not look fat. 

Party Planning, 101

It's time for a little math.

My eldest child is 14, my middle is 11 and my youngest just turned 8.

Every year, they get a family party and have each gotten a yearly friend party since they were about 4 (give or take).

Broken down in easy terms, I have thrown AT LEAST 55 parties for children in the past 14 years.

Is it any wonder I am slightly lacking at "new and inventive" party games? Is it a great mystery why my daughter's birthday party had games like "wrap your friend in toilet paper to make a mummy" and "pin the body part on the zombie"(completely Corinne's idea) and a last minute GENIUS idea of playing Twister and then "musical Twister"*?

Throw in a pizza from Aldi, a poorly constructed "spooky-outer-space-alien" cake with lots of sprinkles, and an impromptu cup stacking game and you would think that our party would have been exciting enough, yes?

Apparently not.

Midway through the party, as I was cleaning frosting from the kitchen table and the girls were gathering for a game in the living room, I heard screams and squeals which I instantly understood. You see, my cat had been staring under the refrigerator that morning with the kind of of concentration that only a bowl of fresh fish or a petrified, live mouse could elicit. Sure enough, little Mickey had tried to evade Claire's hunting skills by hiding underneath the living room couch. He hadn't counted on a roomful of giggling girls and an attack cat that cannot be foiled.

I want you to really picture this scene.

No husband.

No boys. (Not that they're required, but they definitely come in handy for situations like this.)

10 screaming girls.

1 barking dog (cuz WHAT IS GOING ON? OMG! MY LITTLE HEAD CANNOT HANDLE THIS! ARF! ARF! ARF!)

And Me. The "adult" in charge who has a serious aversion to rodents in her house (as in, I'm usually found standing on "the COUNTER if it is suspected that a mouse is in the house).

My newly turned 8 year old daughter dutifully climbed behind the couch to place a bucket over the critter. The hysterical screaming and giggling continued amidst the jumping and hand flapping. I acted like a REAL grown up and delivered instructions on how to slide a piece of cardboard under the bucket without allowing it to escape.

Believe it or not, we saved the nasty beast. And 10 little girls ran in various states of weather-appropriate dress to the field down the road to release him into "the wild" while I waited in the driveway. And waited. And waited. AND WAITED.

About 5 girls came back.

"Its leg is broken!" "They won't leave it there!"

Sigh.

I gimped my way (remember, I still have a broken toe that I keep bashing into walls) down the road to the wind-blown field where the remaining party-goers/animal rescuers huddled around a tiny tail that was poking out of the field grass.

"Can you call the doctor? His leg is broken!" Their faces turned towards mine, eyes wide and expectant.

"Girls, this is a little something called 'The Circle of Life.' If his leg is just sprained, he may survive and be fine. Or, he may become a meal for a very hungry fox or hawk. It's why mice have so many babies, so quickly, and so often. Let's go eat some cake and ice cream, ok?"

Picture a half dozen devastated little faces.

(This party is going down in history, for sure.)

I reassured them that he would be way better off in the field, hidden beneath the grasses, than back at my house with the cats and a woman who is NOT forking over cash for a field mouse's back leg. We finished the party off with the latest songs** playing in the back ground as I spun blindfolded little girls around to pin the body part on the zombie. The doorbell soon began to ring and, one by one and two by two, they headed home with their party favors of fancy pencils and leftover Halloween candy. Moments after the door shut behind the final friend, I flopped on the (mouse-free) couch and heaved a great sigh of relief. Corinne climbed up beside me for a post-party cuddle.

"Did you have a good party, baby?"

"Oh yes, Mommy! Know what the best part was?"

"The presents? Playing Twister?"

"No! When we saved the mouse! That was so exciting!"

Naturally.

*Musical Twister: when you realize you do not have enough chairs or space for musical chairs for 10 girls, so you suggest they march around the Twister mat to the sounds of "Thriller" and **"What Does the Fox Say?" Perhaps I underestimated myself because this sounds like FREAKING GENIUS PARENTING skills, personally.

Floating...

It's so...so... loud. The noise is at a decibel that should be illegal, and yet it's not. And it's in my backseat.

The sound-sensitive eldest child isn't present, so there isn't a scapegoat to lay the blame upon - No one else who HAS to have it silent. No one else to direct attention to, to point at and say "You are bothering HIM!" Just me and my own internal struggles to not lose my shit in a moving vehicle, all because two kids are being, well, KIDS.

It's all on me. My actions. My lack. My inadequacies?
No... I don't think so.

Not much truly separates the Adults from The Children. If we're going to be really honest, we'd all admit that the distance between the caretakers and their charges is equal to that of a few inches won against Earth's gravitational pull.

The sky's beginning to darken now and the volume from behind continues to fluctuate, mirroring my moods.

Their joyous laughter equals my gratitude to the universe.

They immediately flip to indignant shrieks of rage: I immediately flip to screams of fury, hands wound tightly around the steering wheel, causing new grips to indent.

Like the tide, they are laughing again. Snorting with glee and building to a frenzy of hysteria that will inevitably lead to another crash. But I am not as pliable as I once was and cannot release the tension their own conflicts brought to me.

Deep breaths.

I focus on the space before me. Open space. Vast emptiness of harvested Illinois farmland. Miles of unbroken hues of mauve and gold and lilac, all spun together on the evening sky like some abstract water color.

Low on the horizon, Venus appears. Like some master hide-n-seeker, though it was ALWAYS there, but not visible, this shining planet distracts me from the mayhem that is occurring in my backseat.

25 million miles away, uninhabitable, and named for the Goddess of Love....

I am Distracted.

I am no longer in my van but everywhere and no where and all of the world and universe is a part of me. I remember that we are all made of the remnants of former stars. I remember that this life of mine is fluid, not solid. We float and submerge and resurface only to sink back to the bottom and it can feel so.... inconsequential. When the presence of a planet over 25 million miles away is placed before you, the need for the struggle to swim is insignificant; and so I choose to float, instead.

I turn up the radio and float above it all and keep my eyes on Venus.

Tap tap tap

My computer is broken.

Yes.

For a blogger, this is a huge issue. I have, quite literally, dozens of posts that I have written on pads of paper, scattered all over the house. Currently, I am sitting on my teenager's very fancy gaming computer to try and get a little caught up on computer work, but instead? I'm writing a fluffy blog post about how I haven't been writing blog posts.

It's a wonder that I haven't been snatched up by some Big Name Magazine for journalism, yet.

Facebook has been reaping the benefits of my computer hiatus. All of my funny-ha-ha has been reserved for my Above Average phone's ability to connect to Facebook. Think I can capitalize on that?

BEST PART is that I am on the computer, with an hour in front of me, and all I can write is THIS.

A wrap up of what has been happening since our last episode, via Facebook status updates (idea stolen from Kate):

Oct 3. Paid a lot of $ for pictures of my kid in very expensive leotard.



Oct 5. Didn't die from overscheduling in one weekend:
At activity #1 for the weekend, before we head to #2 out of 5. doing this as a single parent couldn't happen. It would be logistically impossible. Drinking plenty of coffee!
Hope you all have a great weekend!

Oct 6. Rose to the challenge and conquered all who came before me to become the reigning Yodeling Princess of Chicago. (trademark pending)

Photo credits Melisa Wells... I think? I don't remember because I was HIGH ON MY WIN and the paparazzi is something I'm just going to have to get used to...

(Me and Prince Jim)

Oct 7. Woke the kids up by yodeling that we have banana bread. Yup. Gotta keep these pipes up to par.

Oct 8. Remembered that there are good things to read OUTSIDE of the internet (WHO KNEW?):

Reading one of those books that is so good, I don't want to open it because I'll finish it too soon..... Opening it anyway, cause DAMN IT'S GOOD. "The Book Thief" by Markus Zusak

Oct 9. This actually happened:

Gonna get these kids up and ready for a field trip to a.....grocery store! Yup. Homeschooling is glamorous.

Oct 6 or 7 or something like that:

Patrick was, well, Patrick.

Spent an insane amount of time dressing our dog up as we looked for Halloween costumes...

Oct. 10 - didn't strangle my daughter:

7 year old resistance to education is high in house today.

Oct. 11 - Didn't jump off of a cliff:

I forgot to buy coffee filters... Sigh. Heading down to macgyver one from paper towels.

Oct. 13 - Took the girl-child on a special day and saw Smurfs 2. It was... very blue.

It's now the 17th of October and I still haven't taken the computer in. We have a weekend with a wedding (on Patrick's birthday!), gymnastics practice, 4 hours of baking/cooking, a birthday party to attend and a birthday party to host (for Corinne) and an ungodly amount of cleaning to accomplish in addition to 2 days of homeschooling and occasionally bathing. I only have half a bottle of wine and we are STILL using paper towels to filter my coffee (even though I was just at the store YESTERDAY!)  Forgot the filters but remembered the pumpkins for the first time in 4 years.... I choose to be amazed at the latter instead of frustrated by the former.

Just gonna hit publish. Sighs and shakes head....

It's your own fault if you read this

I love that being a blogger gives me license to talk to myself.

"Shhh... I'm 'writing' in my head." = The voices are really interesting today and I would like to continue my conversation with them.

In fact, I have conversations WITHIN the conversations in my head. I hold detailed forums with myself about the ways in which I could write about some Really Fascinating Thought. Unfortunately, these forums happen most frequently while I am indisposed; generally in the bathtub or at the kitchen sink. The Former because I am literally submerged and couldn't hear my family if they were knocking on the door with a sledgehammer and the Latter because nobody wants to help so I am avoided like the plague while I stand on my mat in front of our 'stainless' steel sink. All of that peaceful silence allows me to really let the conversation go batshit crazy and I end up arguing with myself.

"Why are you angry, Mommy?"

How do you answer that when the reason is because you were yelling at yourself IN YOUR MIND?

Better to blame it on the laundry never getting put away. Laundry can't defend itself; it also can't put itself away. WHY HAVEN'T WE INVENTED THAT YET??!?

Get on it, techy-people. I don't need another tablet-ish screen thing. I need laundry that takes care of itself.

The Freaking Ladder

Am I the only one who understands how they're related to their cousins??

The Other March Madness

Springtime makes me choose music. For the first time in weeks, I am voluntarily turning on music and grooving to rhythms; singing lyrics to the stories and poems I haven't been able to connect with. Winter does that to me: it causes me to disconnect...

I can literally feel the layers of all of the dreary, mucked-up, filth in my heart peeling away. The brief hours of sunshine and fresh air on my face from yesterday's trip to the park continue to work their magic, 12 hours later. I mean, I sat in the grass you guys. 

I. Sat. In. The. Grass.

I felt the grass and the Earth beneath my hands and body. I connected to the Earth and it reminded me that this phase of muck and cold and barrenness is over. The daffodils beside me on that grassy knoll were solid evidence that Spring isn't just "coming." Spring is HERE.

My seeds have sprouted and my little baby vegetables and flowers almost need to be transplanted to their bigger pots so that they have space to spread their roots and so that I have space to start some more seeds. What's next? Maybe the tomatoes? Spinach? Growing things has always appealed to me, but it has only been in the past few years that I have found my path back to actually working in the earth. I lost my way somewhere in the toddler/elementary school years of raising a family... Being involved in this growing process of our future lunches and dinners has truly given me a center to focus on when the real madness of March attempts to take charge.

"Insert Creative Title Here"

The day after Christmas found me crocheting a second (and then a third!) hat with my favorite Christmas present: yarn.

Oh. My. God. I am getting old.

I am embracing it and moving on. (At least for now.)

Today also found me playing Corinne's new Sims 3 before the kids woke up. I just can't figure out why none of the younger guys liked my Sim! So I hooked her up with her elderly boss. YES. This IS how I spent 2 hours of my life today!

That said, I did do about 38 minutes of "real work" for Listen To Your Mother (have you sent in your piece on Motherhood for the 2013 show yet? WHY NOT?). Melisa and I chatted on the phone while I picked the new Halo Megabloks out of the remnants of the "Gooey Science" and "Make Your Own Gummy Candy" kits that my sister gave my children for Christmas. (Which reminds me: Be sure to give her daughter something horrifically messy/sticky/complicated for her birthday as payback...).

After all of that work, I decided I had done enough for the day and am eyeing my nearly finished, super fuzzy hat. I think it needs a rim. Or a flower. OOHHH!!! I could learn how to crochet FLOWERS!!!!

And on that note? Peace out.

Today...

 When we were looking for a puppy last year, Justin was NOT on board. As in, not AT ALL. Many negotiations had to take place to be sure that he wouldn't have an out and out rebellion at the thought of having a puppy in the house. (And for anyone who says that the kids shouldn't have that much say in whether or not we adopt a puppy, well, be quiet. This is my family; not yours.)

One of those negotiations was that he would be able to adopt a kitten when the dog had matured enough and settled into the family's lifestyle. About 2 months ago, Paula announced on Facebook that her newly adopted cat, Ginger, was giving birth to kittens (surprise!). And it was like the heavens had aligned because we were able to bring home one of her babies just 8 weeks later!

Justin named her Claire and she is just as sweet as her name. Our dog, Penny, is REALLY ANXIOUS to "play" with her so we have been keeping her in the boys' room to sleep and during the day when we cannot be watching her every single minute. Plus, the idea of losing a kitten in all of the nooks and crannies of our house (with Christmas decorations!) makes me shudder...

We had just been playing with her and Penny downstairs for a long time. I told the kids to bring Claire back upstairs so that she could rest and so that we could get our school done. Lo and behold, the most pitiful, mournful meows were to be heard from their room! I went upstairs and she literally launched herself onto my shirt and purred and meowed and just broke my heart. I told Corinne to bring her schoolwork upstairs so that we could give her the attention she needed...

 And Claire passed out.

Do you know how hard it is to do math with that little face right in front of you??

A look across a crowded room...

You know what I miss about having babies? Besides the obvious answers:

~ delicious smelling cheeks and shoulders
~ Skin so soft that I would literally rub my face all over them, just to absorb their youthful texture
~ that heavenly weight upon my chest after they'd fall into a perfect, blissful sleep; completely trusting and adoring of me and my abilities to keep them alive and happy from one day to the next...

All of that was lovely. It truly was. And I crave those physical aspects of parenting a baby every. single. day.

But there is a more subtle aspect of parenting young ones that I miss. I never expected it. I never even thought of it as something TO be missed. Because it was such a pervasive part of the beginnings of parenthood that it didn't occur to me that it would ever be, well, gone...

I miss that knowing glance that I would exchange with another woman when I'd walk into a room with a baby or toddler in my arms. If baby would cry or laugh or wrap his arms around my neck, we moms would know. We'd wistfully smile and conversations would be struck up. A camaraderie was immediately felt and a bond was created over that brief look.

I miss being on the receiving end of the grace that is extended to parents of young ones...

Care to make a wager on how many wistful and yearning smiles across a crowded room I receive nowadays with a teen, a tween and a 7 year old?  If a smile is exchanged, it's because I've attacked another unsuspecting mama and infant. I still get strange looks from that poor new mom who let me hold her 2 month old while we waited for homeschool co-op to finish; instead of me being helpful by freeing up her arms for a few minutes, she got to witness tears and snot pouring from my face because "Oh My God! A baby! And my babies are so big!!!" I swear to God, it was mortifying. I cannot control my emotions around new babies anymore....

That said, there IS a sense of unity between the moms of older kids. We share similar battle scars and there is plenty to be joyful over when parenting children and teens instead of infants and toddlers...

But I really, truly miss those precious looks and moments...

Another Reason I Don't Go Into Scary Basements...

"Know what Aunt G said? She said that when she moved into her house, she and her boyfriend heard Hitler in the furnace."

"They said they heard... what?"

"Hitler. In the furnace."

 I quietly tried to come up with a response here. I am sure that his aunt believes that she heard something. Maybe she did. Maybe there was a tv show on that echoed German? Maybe she has psychic connections that I don't know about? All I know is that Evan has a very vivid imagination and a serious issue turning that imagination off come nightfall. I had to nip this in the bud ASAP!


"Ummm.... I... I don't think it was actually HITLER, honey. It probably just sounded like something German, or..."

"No. She said they heard him. They heard him talking. In the FURNACE." (in case I wasn't clear about the enormity of the situation, he enunciated that final sentence Ve.ry.clear.ly).

"Evan, I can tell you right now; Hitler was not talking to your Aunt through her furnace."

(silence for a bit as we both think about this scenario...)



"What did Grandma say when she heard your Aunt talking about Hitler in the furnace?"


"She said that as long as he stays in the furnace, it'll be ok."

Where DID this summer go, anyway?

 Sometimes my kids take the batteries from my camera to use in their Xbox remote controls. So, when I attempt to record a lovely trip to a local fair, I end up with 3 total shots before the batteries poop out.

 This situation inevitably leads to much swearing, hair-pulling (theirs; not mine), and threats to confiscate not only their Xbox remote controls but also the television, computer, Nintendo Ds's and anything with any screen in our entire household.

UNfortunately, these threats are impossible to follow through on as they always occur outside of the home and by the time we have left the Fun Family Location, I have relaxed enough to not care quite as much about my lack of photographic evidence of our Fun Family Time.

And so, the cycle continues. They steal the batteries. I hide the batteries. They find the batteries. I end up carrying a useless camera through countless photo ops.

The Best Laid Plans...

 Sometimes, it doesn't matter how perfectly you Mapquest your trip; you still get lost.

 Sometimes, getting lost and "missing" the big activity can lead you to a need to rest and recharge (and wipe away some tears. Ah, hormones are grand!).

 You may find yourself on a gorgeous beach, on a beautiful day, with the sun bright and the breeze in your face.

 Your children may discover the awesomeness of a big rock on a small beach in a big city...

 You might even happen to have bathing suits, a camera, and a BLANKET in your car!

 Though your original destination would have been great fun, you may realize that this Plan B ain't so shabby, either.

 Especially when you have children who can sculpt castles with their hands...

 ...and discover treasure after treasure on the sparkling beach.*

 And so you relax and breathe and smile.

 And the castle grows in all the ways that castles do; with plastic handle drawbridges, feathery flags and bottlecap helmets on rubber duck guardians.

 Lo and behold, you may even find that the ice cream man will take pity on you as you're trying to wrap the day up and head home.

This was definitely not the day I'd planned.

I am so glad I got lost when I stopped for gas...**



*Caution: Sparkling Beaches in Chicago = broken beer bottles.
**But not happy about Chicago's issues with entrance ramps and construction and detour signs that disappear. Not happy at all.

Would you like some Fries with that?

"What time is it? Holy cow! It's 3:50! Let's go! Let's Go!"

I hate it when we're rushed like that. Now that Corinne has gymnastics at 4:30, twice a week, we are often heading out of our house just as the neighborhood kids are heading home from school. Being that I like to be early and never late, I usually allow extra time for unforseen situations.

"Mommy, are these the only granola bars we have for our snack?" Evan asked as he rummaged through the van while we cruised down the highway. I glanced back and, sure enough, they were the almond bars that he hates, NOT the peanut bars that he likes.

"Damn. I am so sorry, Evan! Ummm... Maybe we can stop at McDonald's really quickly for a dollar menu item, ok?" His face was so bummed. He loves those peanut granola bars and I totally spaced and grabbed Justin's almond box. I cannot be perfect, every moment of every day, folks.

"Welcome to McDonald's. Would you like to try a value meal?"

"No thanks. One sec, please!" stage whisper to the backseat, "Guys, WHAT do you want?!? Come on! We have to hurry and they're waiting!"

They hemmed. They hawed. They drove me up the wall.

"Can I have a McFlurry?"

"Hell no. I am not paying for a McFlurry. You can have a sandwich or a shake. DECIDE."

"Fine, I'll have a vanilla shake, I guess." (Said like I was forcing him to eat dirt.)

"Ok, Corinne. Your turn. Come on, Corinne! Decide!"

"I'd like a Shamrock shake."

"They don't have those anymore."

"Yes they do, Mommy."

"NO, they don't! Pick vanilla or chocolate."

"They DO have Shamrock Shakes!"

"I swear to you, Corinne; the shakes aren't here anymore. They're seasonal. Pick a different flavor!!"

"MomMEEE, they DO have Shamrock shakes!!!! I know because..."

"CORINNE. THEY DO NOT HAVE SHAMROCK SHAKES! PICK VANILLA OR CHOCOLATE OR YOU GET NOTHING!!!"

My vein is pulsing on my forehead. Tears are in her eyes. The tension in the van is high and, just as the crying (mine and hers) was about to begin, the drive-thru speaker crackled to life.

"Excuse me? Ma'am? I'm sorry. I don't mean to interrupt, but, well, we do have Shamrock Shakes."


(Oh. My. God.)

"You're kidding me. Ah,heh, heh. Great...Ah, we'd like a small Shamrock shake, too, please."

The kids are giggling. I am mortified. The cashier doesn't make eye contact with me as I pass her my cash.

It's days like these that I remember how very important it is to carefully pack our snacks.