this is what i can do

My littlest guy, J, turned 6 today (May 11). Such a sweet, happy, content boy, he is.

I was barely pregnant with  him when my marriage first started to show signs of trouble. Then my mom was diagnosed with cancer when I was 4 1/2 months along, passed away 6 weeks later at the end of February. J was born in May, a mess of dark hair and bowed lips, the only baby I'd ever had to take home without my mom there to lend a hand.

All that time I spent in tears with him, grieving so fiercely, feeling so hopeless. I'd remembered reading in an article somewhere about how babies are very emotion-sensitive in utero. I hated making him go through all the rough times with me. I prayed numberless times for God to keep him safe, surround him with singing angels so he'd  have some other sound to listen to besides weeping.

To this day, he's been both my most content kid and my one who gets the most easily worked up. In other words, it doesn't take much to trigger him, but it also doesn't take much to calm him down. He was my only child who had a binky and a comfort object ("Lovey," a piece of one of my silky undershirts).

He wasn't even 2 when we separated. I remember that awkward birthday party, inviting Brad over to celebrate. Trying hard not to look at him. Trying hard to hold it together and not lose the moment to grief or anger.

Over the next four years, I potty trained him. I got him to give his binky up. I taught him his numbers and colors and alphabet and how to write his name. I was up for every stomach flu or fever that hit in the middle of the night, every bad dream. Bandaged every scrape. Made every doctor's appointment and hair cut appointment and play date and teacher's conference and church function. Not just for him--but for all my boys. Who knew? I could raise children on my own. Even though I never wanted it that way.

All of my boys are struggling in their own ways. With schoolwork, or friends, or with questions about why our family situation is different than others, questions about their dad. We all suffer the way any family who is forced through a life-changing situation suffers. Even though, thank goodness, it's not all suffering. Sometimes things are so good, moments so incredibly sweet, I almost think this is just how life was meant to turn out for me.

And maybe it was. I don't know. I don't think God would ever bring a marriage and family together with the intent that it end, but I do know he is a God of broken things. That he's managed to patch up a lot of this brokeness.

So today, as I wrangled J and several other 5-6 year olds to the local play gym, alone; and baked and frosted 2 dozen homemade cupcakes, alone; and cleaned up the puddles of melted ice cream and gathered up scattered toys, alone--I don't know, I guess I just didn't feel alone. I guess I haven't in a while now. This is my life. I've mostly come to terms with it. I mostly embrace it. There are times, of course, when I still wish everything were different, that I were somehow more prospered for being the one who remained faithful and valiant all those years of my marriage, but really--I'm proud of where I am. Where we all are. Where we're going.

lies we tell our children

C'mon...you  know you've done it... "Put the truth to the test" with your kids. Sometimes for (you hope) their benefit--because the truth is ugly; or sometimes just to mess with them because what fun are kids if you don't get a few ill-gotten chuckles out of the deal ? :).

Here is a sampling of lies I've told my boysquad:

1. (This one worked brilliantly when they were little) The ice cream truck plays music when it's out of ice cream. I still remember the looks on their faces when, at the park with our homeschool co-op years ago, the ice cream truck came through the parking lot, playing music, and all the kids ran for it...and got ice cream...

2. Sorry, the candy is all gone.  (Really I'm hiding the last few pieces of it in my bedroom drawer. It's mine. Trust me, you'll appreciate  that I'm nicer with chocolate in my system).

3. That's not a bad haircut: In my quest to save money, I frequent a less-than-spa-like hair cutting establishment. Most of the time, things turn out alright. Occassionally, a hairdresser who has chosen a mullet style hair-do for herself (yeah...HERself) gets assigned to one of my boys. Usually poor cowlick-ridden E. And the result looks a bit like the heart-wrenching pictures of parasite-ridden third world children. Sigh. At least it grows back in a month. A definite perk for having all male children.

4. My room was always clean when I was younger! Truth is, it was one of those rooms with two paths through the heaps of clothes and shoes--one from the door to my bed, one from my bed to my bathroom. One day, after several threats to 'pick up my stuff or else...', my mom waited until I was gone, then bagged up every piece of clothing on my floor and hid it at her office. After a month of being forced to wear only what I had hanging in my closet (which wasn't much), I learned my lesson about picking up my clothes. I learned it for a whole two months....

5. There won't be bullies when you grow up. After a run-in with a bully type who wrote a mean and profanity-laden message on my E's binder (in permanent marker WHILE my E was in a different part of the classroom teaching a card game--to handicapped children nonetheless!...), I tried to console him with the idea that bullies won't be an issue when he grows up. I told him I know it's rough to endure this part of his life, but if he keeps holding true to the fine young man he is, he'll be ok.

I believe that last part about him being ok, but the no grown up bully part...yeah, I don't think that's really true. Maybe we give them different names when we get older, but the truth is: Life produces some pretty rotton individuals. Sometimes, even when you're nice to everyone and treat others like you want to be treated--there are people who only delight in pulling you down and/or belittling you and/or your achievements.

They're easier to ignore or avoid as an adult, at least. Mostly. Surrounding yourself with good family and true friends who know how great you are helps form the best barrier. And having faith that there's a special place reserved in the after life for the not-so-nice bully types. A place where the ice cream trucks are always out of ice cream :)

That's the truth.

And thank goodness there are a million other wonderful truths to share with my kids that need no *embellishing* whatsoever.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go eat some of that candy that's "all gone." :)

bravely done

Remember, a few weeks back, when I told you I stood up in front of 500+ people and told my break up story sans notes? It wasn't easy, as you can hear by the emotion in my voice in parts where I was swallowing down tears. But I did it. Yup. And I felt pretty kick butt brave, I did.

The link is to a high quality pod cast. You can't see my face but you can hear my voice. So, if you've ever wondered what Jennifer P. sounded like and you have a free 9 1/2 minutes, have a listen...

http://www.boisestatepublicradio.org/2012/03/12/3-12-12-story-story-night/

And P.S. :  I'm totally counting this as my first (and likely only) *vlog* :)

10 stories my mother could tell you

You know those stories that come up again and again whenever the family gets together for holidays or around the campfire? Well, my mom was keeper of our family stories and would tell them often and willingly. I miss hearing them and yet am glad that I don't have to constantly re-live the embarrassment and yet YET also don't want to forget them for lack of re-telling.

So here they are...the 10 Stories my Mother loved to tell about Me:

1. The one where I, potty training at 2, used the display toilet at Sears to do my bizness. And how my mom learned from that day on never, never to turn her back on me.

2. Age 4: The one where I was told there was no money for McDonalds (although there was and it was really a case of my mom not wanting to go there...again), so I made my big brown eyes sad, wrangled up a handful of Dandelions and some rocks and went door-to-door, peddling them to our neighbors, telling them I was so hungry and wanted to go eat, but "my mom doesn't have any money." I came home with two pockets full of change.

3. The one where, when I was 6, my 16 year old sister took me out for a completely inappropriate night of fun that consisted of the Rocky Horror Picture show (in costume), dancing to punk music at Club Xenon, cruising the strip for boys, then out to eat spaghetti and sundaes at Denny's at 2am...which I threw up on the table. It's still one of the best nights in my memory :)

4. Age 14: Mom has to call Poison Control because I've been 'snacking on' Flintstone Vitamins...not knowing that if they'd  had iron in them, I would have been dead. I remember Poison Control asking, "How old is the child?" And my mom sheepishly answering, "Fourteen..." I blame those vitamin people for making those little things so tasty. Especially the purple ones.

5. The one about how my brother and I (and often assorted neighborhood kids who always knew to come to our house when they wanted to do off-limits stuff) would entertain ourselves while Mom was working her second night job by jumping off our roof...onto a bean bag. How no bones were broken is still a miracle to ponder.

6. My mom passed away when she was 64, never having had her ears pierced. She was very staunch in her belief that I needed to wait till I was 12 to have mine pierced so I would understand the ramifications of making a permanent change to my body. So...when mom says no--get your older sister to do it! I came home with one pair of earrings at 7, second  holes at 9, third holes at 13, and by the time I came home from my first year of college, I was rocking 6 holes. And blue-streaked hair. And refused to wear anything but Doc Marten boots and a leather motorcycle jacket, including with my church dresses. I'm so glad she told me I was beautiful anyway :)

7. The one where I completely totaled my one month old  sporty, red, brand new car. That one was always told sadly when she got to the part where my passengers and I really shouldn't have survived the rollover on the freeway we did, and then with a bit of triumph during the part where I had to take to college the very old person-looking 1983 Chrysler E-Class we bought for our exchange student. The one that talked. (The car talked...well, and the exchange student.)

8. The one time I decided to unofficially change my name to Merrick Diego, and applied for Army recruiting information using it. She was pretty sure they were going to throw me in jail for providing false information. I was told never, never to give anything but my real name again. Nor to use the horrendous spelling of Geniphur I'd devised.

9. The one where I decided to cook breakfast for everyone on the morning of my wedding. French toast. Therefore making myself late. To my own wedding. Yeah.

10.  The one where I thought a garbage disposal was for actual garbage--you know, paper towels, go-gurt wrappers, envelopes... I've always been intelligent, but never claimed to be smart :)

*Disclaimer: You may never hold this information against me and are released to the right only to tell them should we ever be across a Thanksgiving table or campfire from one another.

sometimes heaven gives us a little sign...

It's been a quietly nostalgic week for me, spurred by the woman I saw at the Costco on Thursday. She was standing near the exit and, with the way the sunshine backlit her, I swore she was my mom--so much so, that for just a moment I forgot my  mom was dead and began to walk toward this woman to say hello, to hug her.

Then, this weekend I went to meet Dr. Yummy's parents for the first time. At one point, we were all sitting around eating sno-cones when I asked them to tell me some good, embarrassing  stories about him. They told a few (he was practically an angel so they didn't have much to work with :) ), and then they asked me to tell them some of my own embarrassing stories. I came up with two or three, afterwards thinking, I wonder what stories my mom will tell about me when Dr. Yummy meets her? And then I remembered again...she's not here anymore.

Maybe it's a case of when someone is such a part of your life and then just...gone, it takes your mind a good long while to really grasp it---if it ever truly does. Or, I like to think, when I have moments of remembering, of recognition like that, it means my mom is closer than usual. Maybe it really is her I'm catching a glimpse of.

Before she died, Mom told us that we didn't need to be afraid of death. While clearly in a lot of pain, she described the sensation of slowly slipping over to the other side "like butterfly wings on (her) cheeks." She told us that after she was gone, every time we saw a butterfly, we should think of her. We even put butterflies in her casket flower arrangement. So, you can see why my heart was so delighted that, following telling Dr. Yummy a story about my mom, this happened....

A butterfly came flying willy-nilly across the parking lot where we were standing and landed on my shoe.

I'll take that as a sign that I'm on the right path. I'm sure you've got a lot to do where you're at, Mom, but I appreciate you looking in on me. I hope you're proud of the woman I continue to become.

the funny thing about having a dead mother...

One thing (amongst many) I learned from my mama in this life is how to laugh. How to not ignore the difficulty of a situation nor what must be done to move beyond it, but to shrink it down to manageable size and show it who's boss by laughing in it's face. There is something funny in everything, no matter how difficult or tragic. Even as she lay dying of cancer (only six weeks between her diagnosis and death) she found things to laugh at. She made me laugh.

So, I couldn't help but chuckle to myself the other night while folding laundry, as I thought about my mom as an angel, and more particularly all she is probably now privy to knowing. Things about my growing up....

Yes, mom--two or three (or five) times I took the Nissan 300zx out without asking. And once I did almost crash it trying to climb the steep, snow covered driveway at 2 am after a dance. And yes, I used to make sure I never moved the seat or steering wheel out of the position you had them in. And I'm sure if Google would have existed in the early 90's, I would have figured out how to tweak the odometer as well. I was not often rebellious, but I loved fast cars and you had one. And I had a Honda Civic hatchback. Could it almost be your fault? hmmmmm.... :)

Yes, mom--I peeked at the Christmas presents every year. I knew where you hid them. And even after you wrapped them, I would slit the tape with a box cutter, look, and wrap them back. I also knew where you kept your handgun hidden. And your "secret" stash of Hershey's and Butterfingers. If you were actually trying...you were a terrible hider :)

Yes, mom, there was that time when I was 13 that I didn't want you to come to my soccer game and I know it hurt you. But Jeff Chad said he was going to kiss me if we won. And although I wasn't going to let him, just in case he tried, a girl doesn't want her mom around for stuff like that.

Yes, mom, I used the credit card you gave me "just for emergencies" for lots of non-emergency stuff. I bought hairspray and flannel shirts and Depeche Mode tapes and frozen yogurt with it. And yes, once I did even buy that Swatch for my boyfriend. And no, he wasn't really going to pay me back. Thanks for making me get a job to pay for my own things, even if I did smell chronically of Domino's Pizza for the first half of 1993.

Yes, I broke that elevator in Germany. Not just me though. There were a bunch of us in it. And that really big kid started jumping...

Yes, I knew your PIN number and how to forge your signature.

Yes, I totally deserved that speeding ticket.

But you also know now, that I really never did have parties on those extended weekends you'd leave me alone while you went on business trips. Not that I never thought about it, but I honestly loved our home and didn't like the thought of it turning into some crazy party place like in all the movies I'd watch where there might be police or fire or a people making out in the bedrooms or a nuclear missile off the cover of a magazine that comes to life and crashes through the roof.

And you know now, too,  how very much I missed you being there when James was born. Missed you when I was going through the hell of the divorce, the slow process of healing, the joy of finding hope again. How much I miss you lately, when I've wanted so badly for my kids to have interaction with someone like me, but not me. Someone who could tell them how I used to be when I was little. Someone to share memories with and celebrate victories with. Someone to clean my house or put away my dishes or make me dinner or buy me lunch and maybe a cute new dress--even occasionally. I know you've been gone five years now, but I still miss you every. single. day. But you know that too, I know.

permission to fall apart

One short story I can read over and over (with all the cuss words edited out in my personal copy...because that's just me) is George Saunders' Sea Oak. It's essentially about male strippers, teenage moms who watch TV all day, deep poverty, and one always-cheerful-yet-perpetually-down-on-her-luck Aunt Bernie-- who comes back from the dead as a decaying, mean corpse. Put that all together and you wouldn't expect to come away feeling deeply moved, but Saunders is a genius. You finish reading and say, "oh...yes."

Because the bigger story is about what it means to fall apart. In this case, Aunt Bernie--who stays forever optimistic despite everything going wrong in her life--dies before anything ever gets better. And then she comes back from the dead...and she gets to just 'lose it', give in to her bitterness, the irony of life's unfairness...finally.

And I so. get. that.

I have gotten up when it felt like my insides were falling apart. When I was so filled with grief and pain and hurt and loneliness and fear and anxiety and anger and doubt and heartbreak that it nearly consumed me. When I could not separate myself from the weight pressing down on me. I was weight. Heavy, heavy weight. I still got up. I still put a smile on my face. I still took care of my kids, my house, my friendships, my work, my school, my job. I laughed.

It seemed the best thing to do. The hopeful thing. The healthy thing.  The "me" thing. What God would want me to do. And I still believe that. But I understand now...why my Mom would come home from work some days, exhausted, and just throw herself back on her bed and cry and cry and cry. Big, loud, no-bottom-to-the-well kind of sobs. She was one of the strongest, happiest people I knew...but she understood about falling apart. She understood that one can only be strong for so long before they just have to crumble a little.

She did the single parent thing that I'm doing for 17 years.

Seventeen.

I like to think she was happy when she died--although the whole body being ravaged by cancer thing at the end of her life totally sucked. She had been happily remarried for 8 years. She was surrounded by adoring children and grandchildren and friends. She crafted and baked and gardened. She went on all kinds of adventures, saw much of the world. She captained her own boat around North America at age 60, for crying out loud! And she never went a day without writing to someone in the family--one of us kids, or letters that were all pictures she'd drawn to my boys before they could read. All of her elderly aunts got letters, too. She just loved....everyone.

I wonder if her last, mostly happy, safe years made up for all those years of struggling on her own in quiet solitude? The hours and hours of labor and worry she bore alone.  I regret now, walking wide circles around her when she did fall apart, having no idea how to comfort her. Just thinking, "meh--she'll be fine tomorrow." And she always was. But still....I wish I would have tried, even in my childlike way. I know now what a blessing any attempts at sympathy or comfort are.

I wonder, too, how much longer my sustained strength and optimism can hold out? Sometimes I feel as though I lost myself, found myself, and lost myself again. I'm just tired. In so many ways. I'm tired of never being right for anyone. I'm tired because I sleep too little. I'm even just a little tired...of myself (I mean, seriously, have you HEARD how much I prattle on around here? :) ) I want to fall apart for awhile. I just fear that if I do, I won't be able to put myself back together again. So, I keep pretending that I can do this...and, for the most part, with God's help, it turns out I can.

Sea Oak ends with our protagonist (the male stripper) thinking about his Aunt Bernie who has disintegrated into a pile of parts and died again. He's saving up for a headstone for her: "What do you write on something like that? LIFE PASSED HER BY? DIED DISAPPOINTED? CAME BACK TO LIFE BUT FELL APART? All true, but too sad, and no way I'm writing any of those. BERNIE KOWALSKI, it's going to say: BELOVED AUNT. Sometimes she comes to me in dreams. She never looks good. Sometimes she's wearing a dirty smock. Once she had on handcuffs. Once she was naked and dirty and this mean cat was clawing its way up her front. But every time it's the same thing. 'Some people get everything and I got nothing,' she says. 'Why? Why did that happen?' Every time I say I don't know. And I don't."

And neither do I.


So, instead of falling apart, I'm going to go to California tomorrow. And though I'll see old friends, including Haute Cakes, I'm going for no one else but me this time. I'll be spending my birthday there...healing in my own way. I'm going to go eat a frozen banana and stroll around Balboa Island. I'm going to go walk the back bay and watch the dredge boat work. I'm going to peruse furniture stores full of stuff that costs more than my house. I'm going to watch the sun go down over the ocean. I'm going to dig around in the sand just to see what I can find. I'll do a lot of thinking. And if I still feel like I need to have one of those no-bottom-of-the-well sobs myself....well, so be it. Just like my Mom, I trust I'll be fine in the morning. 

saying good bye to motherhood as i've known it

This is a hard post for me to write. Not sure what day I'll actually  hit "publish", but I'm writing early Sunday morning. I'm still in bed, looking out my window as I type--the now leafy assortment of trees in my backyard filtering soft gray light. A robin chirping his two-note song over the top of the not so distant sound of cars on the freeway. The kids haven't woken up yet, but I know when they do, they'll all make an appearance here, in my room--the big ones to say good morning, sit on the edge of my bed, and chat for a while. The little ones usually crawl  under the covers with me for a few minutes and warm their freezing toes on my legs, request various things for me to make them for breakfast, yet often manage to eat an entire box of Nilla wafers or some other half-appropriate food before I actually get to make anything. Peacefully crazy, usually happy, predictable...I love our mornings.

So what makes this post, this day, so difficult? After 13 1/2 years, today is my last day of being a stay-at-home Mom.

Kind of killing the vibe of ***Hey! I got this amazing job against all odds at the coolest firm where the floors are concrete and the ducts are exposed and the artwork is inspiring and and  I have a view out the oversized windows of downtown and my desk is orange and my computer is fancy and I have my very own comfy office chair and a boss who seems really neat and I start tomorrow.***

I hate it because of the statement I had to make: "I need to figure out what to do with my kids."

I would never mean it in such a way, but it sounded like I was going on vacation and had pets that needed boarding or tended. "FIGURE out what to DO"....ugh. Even going to school these last three years, I went out of my way to take classes at night, on Saturdays, online--times that wouldn't interfere with being there for my boys to drive them to and from school, to piano lessons, to run them forgotten homework or lunchboxes, bring them home if they got sick, to make cookies once a week, to teach my little J how to write his name and sit on the floor and play Tinker Toys with him as we spent our afternoons together. Now...I don't know what I'm going to do. I haven't had a 'go to the office' type job since 1995. I am as terrified as I am excited.

I've got makeshift babysitting plans for J for the coming week to buy me a little more time to look into permanent options, including for all four of them for the summer when school is out. Just the idea of someone not me having my kids 7 hours a day is making me sick to my stomach. J is barely 5! I remember being 5 and having to go to my babysitter's house. I hated it. The other kids there were mean. The babysitter sometimes got mean. Once she spanked me so hard with a wooden spoon over not eating my sandwich that the spoon broke. Her oldest daughter made me steal gum from the store for her once. It did not feel safe. I did not feel loved. I never told my mom these things or I'm sure she would have done something about them. Nor do I spend much time dwelling on them, because they all still managed to make me who I am and I wouldn't want to be any other way.

Speaking of my mom, though, it would be awfully nice to have her still living about now. She was the let's make a mess together creating something/ go on an adventure/ pitch the tent in the living room/ stop and smell the daisies/ climb on my back and I'll give you a horseride type Grandma. She was a kid magnet, and my boys--and I-- adored her. I don't think I'd turn her into my primary caregiver, but it would be a blessing to have a steady backup of some kind. Someone to count on. Someone who loved my kids as much as I did. Who could do the mom things I can't while I'm trying to do the dad thing. I'm sure, since she lost her mom in her early 20's and then was widowed by the time she was 37 with young children, she wished for the same thing.

But she made due working 12 hour days. So, I will, too. Somehow, as busy as she was and as much as she had to carry alone, she managed to put me in piano and cello lessons. Pay for roller skating and movies and ice cream outings for my friends and me. Let me participate in cheerleading and dance. Bought me my first Ensoniq VFX synthesizer that I spent hours writing music on. I spent two summers in exchange programs in Europe. I might not have had a cache of designer clothes, but I would draw what I wanted and Mom would stay up all night sewing my creations. She paid for me to get blue streaks put in my hair. She shelled out the hundred (probably extremely precious) dollars for Doc Martens and another hundred for a leather biker jacket. She kept everything I wrote. She always supported me in my individuality. Life was not how she wanted it, nor expected it to turn out---she expressed that to us often, but it worked. And she worked. And we loved her dearly for it in our own ungrateful, youthful ways.

My life is not how I wanted it, nor expected it to turn out either...but I'm hoping for the same result. I could not have tried any  harder than I did to create a different life for my own children than what I had growing up, and yet--here I am. And here they are with me. I don't know for what reasons God chose to make it so, but I have faith that He who knows not only what's best for me, but best for my children, will make it alright. In the meantime, I will work with all the ingenuity, integrity, and tenacity I can to get to a place where I can be home with my kids again--even if it is still working from my home. The Lord giveth no commandment save He prepare a way....

Wish me luck. Lots of it. And the ability to offer continued forgiveness towards Brad for putting the boys and me in this situation in the first place. Yeah.

friday fotos: taking comfort

When I was a little girl, I could drop and fall asleep just about anywhere. I remember many times sleeping on the big yellow rug spread out in front of our television, waking some minutes later just long enough to realize my mom was pulling a blanket over me, sending me deeper into my sleep, knowing, I am safe. I can surrender my consciousness. Someone is watching over me.

Even at  27, a mother myself to two young, active boys with the third on the way; I could go to my mom's house where she would notice the fatigue on my face and in the slump of my shoulders, and tell me to go lay down on the couch. So I would. And I would lay there and watch the sway of the maple tree branches outside her window, listen to the sounds of her teaching the boys how to play Chinese checkers or bake cookies, and I would drift off. And she would still come and spread a blanket over me. In fact, I think I left myself purposely uncovered so she would. That feeling of being taken care of, so like a warm mug between my palms or the taste of sugar on my tongue. Comforting.


Mom is gone now. If I want a blanket while I nap, if I nap, I have to put one on myself. That feeling of another person watching over me has not been a luxury I've enjoyed for some time now, but that doesn't mean I am not still comforted. I have just managed to lump the kind efforts of various friends and family members, along with God's constant care, and let it be a stand in for that which I used to receive from my mother and my husband.

My boys, are of course my greatest comfort...if also my greatest tribulation at times :)

Z is 13. I'm so proud of the young man he's growing into--thoughtful, funny, responsible. He's experiencing some of the normal pitfalls of teenagerhood in his desire to find out who he is, where he fits in, and gain a degree of independence, but I trust the excellent man he'll come out the other side as because he's just...good.

E at 11 reminds me so much of myself in his personality. He dances to the beat of his own drummer and not everyone 'gets him', but those that do find what a delight he is. He prefers the company of adults, just like I did, but also loves to play with his friends and entertain crowds with his magic tricks and piano.

L at almost 7 is the most serious of my boys. He questions everything in a respectful way and loves to learn and to read and to explore. He is shy but his smiles are absolutely golden and when he gives one, it lights up his whole face. So grateful that he'll still come snuggle on my lap too.

J at 4 is still my "boyest" of boys. He is all snips and snails and puppy dog tails. I used to be afraid of his fearless nature but see it being tempered with age and experience. I worry that I haven't been able to mother him the way I have the other three, but he drinks in the extra love and attention his older brothers give him and I feel safe in knowing they make up for whatever may have been lost in my sudden busy-ness trying to play mom and dad.  Because he's the only one who got my brown eyes, so many times I look at him and see my own childhood face as I remember it in the mirror...

Another source of comfort is my friendships. I do have some really, really great friends. Even my acquaintances are great.

While it was sad to step back my relationship with Ninja into a friendship, I am ever so thankful that he is still there for the boy squad and me when we need him. After I got my MFA rejection letter he took me down to the shooting range to let me blast it full of holes.

Aaaah....therapy :)

And for his birthday I made him lunch, bought him a dorky hat, made him wear the birthday 'sign of shame' and hired J as his ninja-style entertainment.

Then, there is the comfort I take from you readers and your kind comments. Seriously, on a day when I so need a pop of something happy, a great comment always ends up in my inbox and makes me smile. Couldn't ask for better readers. Well, except you, robot spammer who keeps leaving me comments about Viagra. You're just annoying.

~Happy Weekending!~  and let me know...

What do you take comfort from?

why i am glad my children are smarter than i: the christmas edition

I wonder how on earth I made it through my childhood without my mother strangling me? Not that I was a bad kid, I was just fiercely independent and often left with too much time on my hands and not enough adult supervision--therefore, I took to acting a lot on whatever made sense at the time without maybe giving it the thought I should. I could make that realization into something deep--but oh my heck! Have you read my blog lately?! Way too much deep for a while :) So, let me tell you a little story from my childhood involving one of those "less than well thought out" decisions.....

I was 8 years old. It was nearly Christmas day, probably about Dec. 16. Grandma and Grandpa's presents had just arrived in the mail and were placed under the tree, atop the small pile of gifts that had been accumulating, the ones that drew me in like a siren song to touch and shake them all on a daily basis.

Something woke me up in the middle of that night--maybe a bad dream, maybe I was just cold--I can't remember exactly. My routine when this would happen would be to go into my mom's room, wake her up,  and have her come put me back to bed with a few comforting words or an extra blanket. So, that night, as usual, I made my way down the hall in the dark, opened her door, went to shake her awake and....she wasn't there.

Now--this is the part where the "no thinking" comes in. I can recall, in my still half-asleep state, not really being afraid that my mom wasn't there. Normally, my next line of defense would have been to wake my 18 year old sister, but she had gotten married that August. So, I did the next best thing my 8 year old brain could conceive: I found the list of emergency numbers that was tacked up by the rotary-dial phone, and...I called the police. Someone should know that my mom was missing, after all, right? In fact, that's just what I told them: My mom is gone. She's not in her bed.

Then, I waited. And I figured since I was awake and apparently abandoned, hey! I should open up a few of those presents under the tree to console me. I unwrapped a plaid blouse and jeans my grandparents sent to me, and a make your own lipgloss kit. Then, feeling bad that I was the only one having all the fun, I woke up my 6 year old brother and invited him to join me. Beacause 8 year old me was thoughtful like that.

He and I weren't too far into our 3am Christmas present party when the Police knocked on the door. We pointed to where mom's room was, they made their way back, and flipped on the light. And there....was my mom. Sleeping on the opposite side of the bed than she usually did. Hmmm. I hadn't thought to check THE OTHER SIDE OF THE BED! Poor Mom sat up all panicked and confused with her curler-adorned head. The policeman reported something to the effect of "minors safe" into his walkie talkie and explained to my mom why he was there.

Honestly, I don't remember what happened next. If I got yelled at, I edited it out of my memory bank. I do remember wearing my new outfit to school the next day, though, and that talk my mom had with me about when and when not to call the police. I filed it away with the talks she had given me about not having impromptu yard sales with good things (like our furniture) from around the house. And the one about not jumping off the roof onto the bean bag. These were important things for me to learn, I'm sure.

So, you will not hear me complaining about my kids waking up before the sun on Christmas morning, or much else that they do--because they appear to be blessed with a greater level of forethought than I as a child, and thus far I have managed 13 years of parenting without a single call placed to the police (only the fire department). The End.

Merry Christmas!!!

oh the things that pop up

 My mom made a fabulous comparison once: She said that trials in life are like a game of Whack-a-Mole. As soon as you smack one down, another one pops up...but at least you're having fun playing. So true. At least I think I'm having fun. Maybe I'm having soooo much fun that it's time for someone else to have a little fun for a while? :)

Went in to my advisor on Monday with my well laid out, downright brilliant plan to swing the 25 credits next semester. I needed him to sign off on me taking more than the normal allowed 21. I spoke to him clearly and calmly; explained to him what I planned on doing, how I planned on doing it, and why I needed to do it. I answered all his questions. Then he left me alone in his office for fifteen minutes and when he came back he said,  "No. I don't think you can do that. I'm not going to put my signature on this paper. You can go over my head to the department chair if you want."

I wanted to punch the guy in the face.  Never have liked him. I didn't though, but rather I shook his hand and thanked him for his honesty. Trying not to cry, I walked out of his office, caught my breath, and went to see the department chair. I gave him my same spiel, though I'm sure I was looking a little more panicked by that time. He's going to "think about it". I should know next week. Whack. Whack. Whack.

As if that wasn't enough, I found out that same afternoon that my ex has no more dental insurance for the boys. They were due for 6 month check ups and I had no idea how I could cover them, being barely able to pay my own $425 a month insurance premium. So, I figured since I was already standing at the station, I'd just fully hop on the desperation train. On my way home from the university, I stopped off at the Health and Welfare office to see about dental medicaid.

I remember my mom telling me she had to go on welfare for a while right after my dad died, was on it for a year and worked like the dickens to get off. She instilled in us to only ever use services like that as a very last means to ensure there would always be enough for those people who really, really needed them. I didn't know if I was to that point of really, really needing yet but it sure felt like it.

I entered the building and was bossed into a line by an old security guard. As I surveyed the people around me, I saw a lot who looked as uncomfortable as I did. I met the gaze of one woman whose eyes seemed to be saying the same thing as mine: "How did we get here?"

I could hear the pride in me screaming: "I don't want to 'qualify' for anything that I don't earn through my own hard work and talents!" I almost stormed out of there...but then I thought of my boys. With lack of alimony cutting our budget by a third, we really could use some extra help right now. So I stayed in the line. And turns out that as a full time student, I qualify for all kinds of stuff. Sigh. Bittersweet news. I'll just take the dental coverage for now, keep working my budget like a pro, and save the rest of the offerings for when we might really, really need them.

And then I went out to my van and pounded my head on the steering wheel and alternated between crying and crazy person laughing for a little while--Remembering it really wasn't so long ago that I was something, someone completely different. And how did it all change so quickly?! There are amazingly wonderful things I have learned about myself over the course of the last 2 1/2 years. Things I really love. Things I wouldn't want to change. But I suppose until I fully purge the part of me that would just like to have everything put back together like it was, I'll never be able to gladly embrace all aspects of this new life.

Are my posts starting to sound like broken records yet? Because they sure feel like them! I know we tend to remember the past as happier than it actually was; think of the present as worse than it is; and worry that the future will be less resolved that it probably will be. I get that..sometimes it's just too hard to shake off all the heavy chains of "what if's " and "why me's?". All I know for sure right this moment is that I'm going to keep whacking  moles till God takes my mallet away and hands me my prize. I want the giant, four foot teddy bear, please.

p.s. Did I mention my cell phone also fell in the toilet on Monday and broke? Yeah...that was awesome, too. On second thought, I want the six foot bear.

i'm aware. trust me, i'm aware.

October is National Breast Cancer Awareness Month. And I'm aware, trust me--I'm aware.

My mom went in for a mammogram in 2000. She was 59. I'm not sure if it was her first mammogram or not--I just remember that one because she got some "irregular results". They told her there was a slight mass that they wanted to biopsy but that the chances of it being cancerous were low. Under 10%. Except--that it was cancerous.

She had the tumor cut out and all the lymph nodes on her right side removed. She went through a few radiation sessions, then settled into a 5 year regimen of Tomoxophin. There were some side effects from the drugs but, overall, her life (and ours) seemed hardly affected. It was a scare. We caught it early. She was a survivor. The end.

In April 2005, we celebrated her "official remission" with a family dinner at her home. It was near Easter and she sat at the table, surrounded by grandkids, coloring Easter eggs and beaming.

Not everything was alright, however. Over the next few months, she went to the doctor several times feeling like something was 'off'. Despite exercising regularly and being very active in her everyday life, she was having a hard time breathing. At Christmas, she kept asking us to take pictures for her because she had a blurry spot in her eye that was making it hard to see through the camera lens. A few days later she went in to see her Optometrist. He was the one who found the cancer.

It was in her eye. Her lungs. Her liver. Small cell. Stage 4. Metastasized breast cancer. The Tomoxophin had held it off. But now it was everywhere.

I can't get the night she told us out of my head. She was trying to keep her diagnosis from all of us. She was hoping she'd just go to sleep one night and not wake up. But cancer isn't like that. Cancer likes to drag it out and make it hurt. The pain in her lungs was so bad that she finally went into the emergency room. That's where we found out. My husband and I had just finished date night. I was four months pregnant. We thought it was just pneumonia and were coming for a visit to cheer her up.

When they told us the diagnosis, I wandered the halls of the hospital for two hours. The carpet had a leaf pattern on it that I kept trying to make sense of. I called my sister. A few friends. I was numb.

I will spare you the gory details of caring for someone dying from cancer. I can't even imagine the pain she had to endure. It was the most trying thing I had ever gone through, watching my sweet mother who had cared for me all my life slowly wasting away. Especially when she did it all smiling and laughing for as long as she could. She never turned visitors away. She wrote all her children and grandchildren letters to read after she was gone, including the grandson I was carrying that she would never meet. She planned as much of her funeral as she could. She tried to prepare us all. Strong to the end.

It was only 6 weeks from her diagnosis till her death. Only 10 days were spent with her unable to recognize any of us (she just called us all "baby"). I know we should count ourselves lucky--that some people have to deal with this nasty,evil monster for years. But--how could we ever say we were lucky when she was still...gone?

I miss my mom every day. Four years after her death, I still think I see her sometimes at the grocery store. I still have her phone number memorized and want to call to tell her something funny the boys said or did. I know things would be very different for my little family and I after the divorce if she had still been alive. It wouldn't have hurt quite so bad if I'd just had someone to hold me and tuck me in and play with my boys and put all my dishes away in the right place and do all those things that only a mother can do.

I still feel her around me though, thankfully. She told me every time I saw a butterfly-- that would be her--just checking in on me. So, if you ever see me talking to butterflies, that's why.

I go in for my own first mammogram next month. Now I have a "family history" and already had a benign tumor taken out of my own breast when I was 20. My risk is high. Early detection is my only weapon. So, I appreciate seeing all the supportive pink out there but even if it wasn't, I'm very, very aware of dummy stupid head breast cancer. One day I'm going to stomp on cancers throat and kick the crap out of it. Believe it.

a trampoline tale

We got our trampoline when I was 8. For Easter. A holiday that usually meant hairbrushes and new underwear for gifts--but Mom somehow scraped up the money and outdid herself that year.

I know that everyone seems to have a trampline now--a big caged in, covered in pads, so safe it's hardly fun trampoline--but when we got ours, it was still 1983, and trampolines were a total jump-so-hard-your-feet-would-touch-the-ground novelty. So much so that kids we didn't know (who probably spotted it in our backyard while swimming in the canal) started to wait for us to leave, then would climb over our back fence and play on it. At least that's the conclusion we drew from the unfamiliar abandonded socks we'd find, and that one cigarette burn.

Even when we would invite friends over to play on the much coveted trampoline, kids started to get their fingers pinched in the springs. And various body parts bent under them when they'd land. And, of course, fall off. Though we weren't quite the "prosecution nation" we are now back then, Mom got wise. She typed up (on a thing called a ty-per-writer) and had copied a batch of JUMP AT YOUR OWN RISK disclaimer forms for kids to sign where they promised to only play with our permission, remove their shoes, and take care of all their broken bones themselves.

Now that our legal bases were covered, the fun really began! Just jumping got boring after about 6 months, and we had to up our thrill level. We invented or were taught all kinds of games: bum wars, add on, poisonous shoes, crack the egg. We learned how to do front flips. Then back ones. We'd jump with the sprinkler running beneath it, which seemed to make it extra bouncy. We'd have sleepovers on it. Our crowning achievement, I think, was discovering that if we pulled the trampoline over to the edge of the house, then had a friend give us a double bounce, we could just grab the edge of the roof and pull ourselves up....then jump back down. It was like having our own personal high dive into a sea of elastic! Jumping on that trampoline seemed to be the one time of the day my brother and I wouldn't fight. We'd just run out there as soon as we got home from school and play. Together. Happily.

As I transitioned into teenagerhood, the trampoline started to lose some of its shiny newness. Other friends got them. Ours now had sewn on repair patches here and there. No one seemed to know any new games and even jumping off the roof didn't seem quite as exciting anymore. It was still good for laying out on to work on my tan though.

I graduated. My mom moved from our neighborhood out to a house on a hill in the country. I went to college. I got married. We had our first baby.

Then...my mom and her husband decided to captain their boat around North America and needed someone to live in their house for six months. Brad and I took her up on the offer. The day after we got moved in, I was playing with baby Z down in the walk out basement, and there--just outside the sliding glass doors--was the old trampoline. Like a proud soldier that had seen a thousand battles, it stood. Dullish gray metal frame holding up that black mat with it's worn spring arms. And all those happy childhood memories came washing over me again. I picked up Baby Z and quickly headed out to it. He had been crawling for just a few weeks and cautiously set out to explore the strange new surface I had placed him on. He loved it! Then I climbed on with him, picked him up, and began to bounce. That's when I learned that, um, just having babies and jumping on trampolines don't really mix.... But, oh, again! The memories!

We have a trampoline at our house now. A unique, inground, two-person sized one that I imagine the original 1988 owners had installed. It was part of the reason I fell in love with this house. You can bet it makes my heart smile to see this.....

and this....

and this....

and this....

And guess what? You'll often find me out there jumping from time to time, too because even my bladder can take a little trampoline fun again! :)

god speaking to me through yahtzee games and a fortune cookie

Don't let the funny title fool you... I was NOT feeling funny today. I felt as if I were dragging the weight of the world around on my shoulders. I don't know why except that it's a frequent, unwelcome feeling that finds regular opportunities to press down on me. Maybe my divorce caused it, though I think it's always been there in some form or another--that necessary sour to make the sweet all the more blessed--but I am certain that it has been intensified over the last two years of being single.

So much responsibility. So much worry. So much fear. So much to do without that one person who is supposed to appreciate it...and help carry it when it gets too heavy.

A sequence of rough days (dragging myself around with a broken foot is not easy and highly frustrating), followed by a series of unpleasant events today led me to this scary place. Some threatening voice was pounding through my head, gaining strength and volume, repeating: "HOW DARE YOU THINK YOU COULD EVER HAVE, BE, OR ATTEMPT SOMETHING GREAT? YOU WERE NOT DESIGNED FOR ANYTHING IN THIS LIFE BUT PAIN AND MEDIOCRITY. GET USED TO IT. YOU CAN NEVER RISE ABOVE IT. YOU WERE MEANT TO BE BROKEN AND STAY BROKEN. NOT HUMBLE--BROKEN."

And scariest of all--I was starting to believe it.....and it wasn't the first time.

My whole life I have prayed only to have safety, security, love, family, peace, my own little slice of heavenly innocence. Those seemed like righteous enough desires. Instead, I have experienced far too much loss, fear, betrayal, loneliness, breaking apart and away. Not always, mind you, I have had a LOT of good years in there--including the 13 years of marriage when I thought I had finally found that safe, happy place. Right now though, there seems to be more bad stuff than good. I'm trying so hard to hang on. So hard to keep counting all my little blessings. And especially not to let what has happened in my past taint what still could be in my future. Some days I do better than others at this. But I never give up.

And God helps me. Like He did today.

Trying to get that nasty voice out of my head, I turned to my mothering--which always gives me a chance to lose myself. I took the boys to look at the pet store, pick out fireworks, and get an ice cream. When we got home, the older boys and I sat down to play a game of Yahtzee. Our first game seemed to match my mood--all bad rolls. But then the second game....something pretty cool happened. About his third turn, E rolled a Yahtzee. Then it was my turn, and I rolled a Yahtzee. Then, Z rolled one. THREE Yahtzees in a row! The dice were passed around again and...ALL THREE OF US ROLLED YAHTZEES AGAIN! I actually inspected the dice thinking they'd been rigged somehow! Seriously, have you ever heard of a game filled with so much luck?!

My heart caught hold of the moment and smiled. I remembered my mom sending me off to college. She gave me a pair of teeny, tiny celluloid dice that her mother had given her. She passed on the same advice she'd been given: "Baby girl, life is kind of like a game. Some times you're going to get good rolls, some times you're going to get bad ones. But you keep rolling, ok?"

It's true. So true. How I miss the blessing of continuing to receive her wisdom, but I'm glad I hung onto that piece. I know sooner or later, if I just keep rolling, I'm going to get that Yahtzee. And maybe even two Yahtzees. Yahtzees for everyone I love!

And as though He were just adding some sprinkles to the already iced cake, God had one more message for me. Found in the fortune cookie I discovered in the pantry: "Keep taking risks. You'll never be sorry you did."

friday fotos--the dog days of summer

Summer is kind of like stepping into a weird time vortex around here--in other words, time and routines and schedules just get thrown out the window (as I'm yelling "close that window! I'm not paying to cool the outside!" :) ). We wake up early and go to sleep late, and nap through the heat of the afternoon. Running through the sprinkler beats the TV. We eat Popsicles and fresh raspberries for dinner and gaze up at the stars before bed. Exciting vacations are planned, but camping in the backyard seems just as fun. Life is lazy and hot and happy!


Here's what we've been up to this week......

I dumped a bottle of baby oil onto the slip and slide...making it ever so slippy and slidey! Thought I was brilliant until I ended up with oily hand prints all over the sliding door :/

I made the "cake" for a friend's birthday. I love the brown and pink together:

My two big boys and I. Seriously don't know how they got this old!!!

Remember 4th of July? Like 2 weeks ago? We actually did do stuff! :) Liam carried the package of fireworks around with him EVERYWHERE for 2 days!

Boys suddenly turn into **Jedi knights** when you give them sparklers! Notice James is missing?.....

Yeah, he would have absolutely NOTHING to do with fireworks of any kind! Watched everything from the safety of the living room. He did get the flashlight down and was waving it around. I guess that was his answer to a sparkler! Maybe next year he'll be braver, for now--he can just be cute :) ....

I did sparklers too---though one is never enough for me!

The moment the super tall Jenga tower fell---love that I captured it!-------

Got to swim in HCMM's gorgeous pool on my vacation. I took a picture of myself in my new bathing suit, but turns out I did NOT look as good in it as I thought. *sigh* Ah well!--loved the swimming anyway!

Went to a butterfly exhibit and got this picture. My mom told me before she died that every time I saw a butterfly, I should think about her. So--that makes this photo all the more special:

And that's it! Back to my sweet, sweet laziness!!!

Using ONE WORD, tell me your favorite thing about summer, and.....

~Happy Weekending!~