Jamming Your Worries into a Crevice and Getting Out of the Way

I wrote this in August and for some reason didn't press "publish."  So here it is now...

Peace.  Something I, and literally millions of people around the world are in need of today.  These days.  During this time of global pandemic and devastaion.  Inner peace.  Peace of mind.  Peace that someday things will return to normal.  That life as we knew it will one day be again.  Peace that quells all of our "what ifs" and worries about the future. 

I am desperate for this peace.  Today,  reminders of this need for and promised peace has cropped up in all kinds of unexpected places. 
Waking, if you can call it that, as I really didn't sleep, there was a heavy longing for peace of mind.  
Something to assuage some unnameable fears or restlessness of my mind.  A longing for the freedom to grieve the passing of my dad unfettered by worries about my mom who is no isolated from all of us when she needs us most.  

I remembered reading about the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem. A place where Jews have been going and leaving behind their petitions to God for hundreds of years. An act which I am certain brought them a sense of peace.  

I'm unsure if there are guidelines, religous or lay,  related to leaving your prayers and such there, but often people write down their worries and simply  stick the little scraps of paper in the ancient crevices. And then they just walk away.  Worry free?  Fears abated? Filled with peace?  From what I have read, that is the point of the action. 

While I've never been to the wailing wall, and honestly I probably will never go....the idea of writing down the things that are weighing heavily on me and sticking them in a crack somewhere seems kind of appealing. But then what? I think I would go back and pull out the paper and see if somehow God had penned back a solution, or a quick fix tip...or even a small word of encouragement to let me know that turning it over to Him was a good step. I'm not really good at relinquishing control. 

My big issue with anything that I need to turn over and let go of is that I don't do it completely. I seem to always rethink and come up with some different slant or angle and then think...hmmmmm...I can handle this thing or that thing again...I just need to do it a little differently. And these days? These "unprecedented circumstances"  are beyond my ability to handle, control or understand. This grief is a thing I cannot escape. Yet still, I busy myself attempting to handle it all.   So ultimately, I am back to a place  where  I need to jam the little scrap of worry or struggle in the crack to begin with, and where does that leave God?

Still there, just looking at me a little more perplexed by my lack of faith and trust. I think He shakes His head and laughs alot at people like me....the ones who say they trust Him, and try and put Him first. The ones who know, know, know that they know....

In the turning over and letting go of things, in the trusting and waiting....well, I kinda suck at that...its HARD.....

I read this today and it kinda helped my perspective a little: "Maybe turning things over is not the solution to everything but, you do what you can. Then you get out of the way, because you're not the one who does the work anyway."

All I have to do is turn it over....and then He does the work? Tonight I'm writing some things on scraps...and turning them over....cuz I am getting weary of trying to do the work. Oh yeah, and I need to find some kind of crevice to jam em in.....

...I can think of a couple of places....but I probably need to write those down too!

New Year's Eve: A Lengthy Reflection on a Shit Storm of a Year

 Some may be stunned to discover that New Year’s Eve is not a big holiday for me.  I don’t really look forward to it, but honestly think of it as a night and following day I just need to get through.  Weird, I know, with my penchant for the barley and vine.  

The night always seems a tad bittersweet, melancholy even.  I don’t love change, and I am not one to want to hurry time along.  I never have been.  I love to bask in moments in time  and hold on to them as long as I can.  So ushering in the new year with celebration and anticipation always seems like I have to be letting go.  This year I think most people would agree that there is much to want to let go of.  It’s been a doozie!  Yet still, I look back and hold this year close.  

Reflecting back, for me it was ramping up in August of 2019.  My dad’s dementia was getting worse, we hired caregivers to assist/relieve my mom at home. But in October he took a spill walking to the bathroom at night and cracked a rib.  Over the next week pneumonia developed and ultimately he was hospitalized.  The night he went in I remember him being so disoriented and restless.  I stayed with him all night, and finally about 3:00am he drifted off to sleep. I was sitting by his bed with my head resting on the bedrail, sleeping as much as possible.  At some point about 4am he woke up, clear eyed and looked over at me and said, “ Carolyn, what are you going to do with those sleds in your truck?” I lifted my groggy head, looked him dead in the eyes and said “I’m going to put them in the garage on the shelf.”  I had no idea what sleds he was talking about and he hadn’t seen the inside of my suburban for months!  He pursed his lips together, looked at me, shook his head a little and responded back, “I don’t know how you’re going to get them in there with all those damn bikes!”  

Oh! My! Gosh!  Here he was, in pain from a broken rib and pneumonia, dementia that was stealing his memories and understanding and in this one moment he was lucidly fixated on my cluttered garage!  He recognized me and called me by name, and he was still worrying and nagging me about the number of bikes I had in my garage!  This had been an issue since my divorce in 2006!  Every time he came to my house, he would walk through the garage, count and assess the bikes, come in the back door and ask, “How many people are living here? Because there are (insert number of bikes, sometimes between 8-11) and 6 people surely don’t need 11 bikes.  I would then explain why we had so many bikes, some were in case friends came over to ride, a couple were just for riding trails and I was storing the Earth Cruiser for my friend Darrel!  My dad was really concerned about the amount of space the bikes took up in my garage.  I assured him that I didn’t need that space for anything else but I could tell the bike situation was a constant vexation for him.  Even delirious with medication in the ER, when he hadn’t remembered my name in weeks, the bikes and sleds were worrying him!  And I was so damn happy about that, because for that brief moment at 4am in the ER, my dad was back! 

Fast forward.  We ended up needing to put dad in memory care after being discharged from the hospital.  That was a hard decision.  Really hard.  My mom was exhausted.  My sister flew home to handle a lot of the logistics.  She stayed a couple weeks.  My mom developed some back and leg pain.  She was trying to rest and heal at home while Patty and I took care of getting my dad settled in.  This was all so difficult emotionally for all of us.  

Patty went home.  My mom’s pain got worse.  She called at 8:00am on October 30th because she couldn’t  get out of bed due to the pain.  Fiona went immediately to help.  I went over  after work.  She didn’t want to go to the hospital.  By 7:30 that night, she knew she would have to go in.  She wanted to wait for shift change in the morning.  Once a nurse always a nurse!  

There are a lot of great details that I am leaving out here, they really are a story of their own.  We called an ambulance at 6:30.  The biggest concern for my mom was the pain in her back and legs.  The biggest concern for the doctors was her heart.  At some point she had developed Afib and she had a lot of fluid around her heart.  And still the pain!  She also had a new compression fracture in her back that was pinching nerves.  She needed surgery, but the heart issues made that a very dangerous thing.  She wanted to call hospice.  Thank God for her friend and cardiologist, Dr. Harris.  He and the neurosurgeon Dr. Barret, along with the hospice nurse, convinced her that even if she chose hospice (she was not a real candidate at this point) they would insist she have the surgery.  Dr. Barrett stayed late to talk to her about this on Halloween, while his kids were waiting for him to take them trick or treating.  He talked fast and seemed rushed, but still, he stayed to make sure my mom didn’t take a blood thinner that night so he could operate the next day.  He assured her she would feel 100% better than she did right then.  They were all worried about her fragile condition.  They let me stay with her right until they took her to surgery.  Dr. Harris, Dr. Barrett and the anesthesiologist all prepared me for a “worse case scenario’.    The waiting was horrific.  But she made it through.  

She needed to go to rehab before she could go home.  Patty came back.  Ultimately, mom decided to go to assisted living and not home.  There was a small room available in the memory care unit and she could have that while waiting for an assisted living apartment to open up.  She was near my dad.  We made the room as cozy and homey as possible. There were several nights that I went and stayed with her while she slept in her lift chair, still in pain.  Those were not bright days in 2019.  I was looking forward to 2020!  Imagine that looking back!

After a week or two when mom was feeling a bit better, we wheeled her down to the sun room to see my dad for the first time in 2 months.  It was precious!  He recognized her. They held hands looking out at the birds.  Noah and I cried and soaked up the moments. This all felt so surreal. This was never their plan. 

We celebrated Christmas with both parents in that same  sun room at Devonshire.  My dad,  still sneaking and trying to open his presents before his turn.  Elsa, Fiona, Olivia and Noah each taking a turn distracting him and laughing...basking in the normalcy of it all.  We sang carols. We didn’t know what was coming.  We took pictures to document the moments, even though they were bittersweet moments. 

And 2020 rolled in on us all.  In a whirlwind of decisions, we sold my parents home and disseminated 63 years of memories and possessions .  Treasures, what- nots, trinkets and tools.  That was hard. It’s still hard.  

Mom’s back improved slowly.  Dad was holding his own.  Trips to Devonshire to visit and take things they needed happened almost daily.  They both had so many friends and neighbors stop in to visit with them.  It was amazing for us that other people checked on them both when we couldn’t.  We were all getting to know the staff pretty well  and they probably got tired of us being there. We didn’t really care!  At the end of February a room opened up in the section of memory care my mom was living in.  They moved my dad to a room right next to hers.  They could eat together at meals and my mom was able to “teach” the staff his eating habits, likes and dislikes.  He didn’t really  eat much there.  He spent a lot of time sleeping.  He recognized us less often.  He did have a few really good, lucid days. Days he remembered us and where we had glimpses of his old self.  

In the last week of February an apartment finally opened up for my mom in the assisted living section of the building.  It was at the opposite end from memory care, but mom really needed to be with other people who still had their mental faculties.  She could still visit dad and the staff was good about making sure they spent time together.  Patty was still here wrapping up the sale of the house, and was able to oversee the transition.  She was heading back the morning of the 29th, but staying in Detroit on the 28th. I was out of days at work but  I took a half day on Friday, February 28th to help her  get mom settled.  There were boxes everywhere!  Patty was at the end of a long stint here filled with so many decisions, organizing and wrapping up the sale of the house.  She was ready to be home with a lovely glass of wine!  

And she almost got it too!  She had just arrived home in Oregon and poured herself a lovely red, when Devonshire called to tell her dad had fallen in his room.  Saturday, February 29th. I’m sure she emptied that glass in one slug.  I’ll bet money she didn’t share the rest of the bottle!   I went over first thing in the morning on Sunday.  Mom and I stayed with him in his room most of the day.  He was in pain, hospice came in and ordered an x-ray.  We were pretty sure he had broken a hip.  Mom had already made the decision that if this were to happen, surgery would not be an option.  The hospice nurse agreed.  The x-ray,  when finally done,  showed no fracture.  They were giving dad morphine for the pain, a low dose, because moving him to change his Depend was painful.  He had some lucid moments that day.  He recognized mom and I both.  He ate for the caregivers and they were so good with him.  I fed him 2 popsicles, the last right before leaving.   Mom and I decided we both needed to get a good night's sleep, because we felt like the week ahead would be filled with hard choices and long days/nights. I let my boss know that I would likely need more time off that week but I would come in and work at least a half day Monday to get things organized for the week. I might even work the whole day, it would depend on the call from hospice in the morning.  

I went to the bathroom during  my 2nd hour.  I missed the hospice call.  I had a text from Patty telling me to answer the call because she was boarding a plane and couldn’t.  I called, expecting to hear the new, revised plan to manage dad’s pain and get him up and moving, since there was no hip fracture.  The hospice nurse was so kind.  “Carolyn, I’m so sorry, but your dad passed this morning.”  The next moments were a blur as I stood in the hallway trying to assimilate this information.  I was crying, loud.  Co-workers came out of their rooms to check on me.  My students alerted my co teacher that something bad was happening.  She helped me gather my things as I tried to process it all.  As I walked to my car crying, my friend Nate was coming in.  He had lost his mom earlier in the  year.  His dad went into assisted living.  He and I and another co worker were all sharing this phase of life journey together.  I was the only one who had not lost a parent. We had lunch together every other week or so and prayed for each other.  Running into him helped me focus.  I pulled myself together enough to drive.  My mom was waiting for me to get there to go see dad.  

I called each of my kids individually as I drove to Lapeer.  I wanted them to hear this news from me.  Noah was on a cruise.  I did not want him to find out via social media or from someone else.  At some point I had my friend Tony try to track down the ship.  Mother of year had no clue what ship Noah was on or where his cruise was actually going!  

When I got to Devonshire and mom’s room we just took time to weep.  We both felt like we had made the wrong decision the night before.  Neither one of us had been with dad when he passed.  He was alone and we both were devastated by that.  We went down to say goodbye. The 2nd most difficult  goodbye of my life. The most difficult goodbye to watch as my mom squeezed his hand and kissed his forehead for the last time.  The two of us were just stunned and bereft.  We also had decisions to make and plans to put in motion.  First we ordered lunch. Michelson’s are Michelson’s after all, even in grief, we still needed to eat! 

Olivia drove home from Kankakee that day to be with me and Grandma Gloria.   Fiona had just gone to Buffalo for spring break. She headed home.  We met with Todd Muir from the funeral home that day.  He was amazing.  There was no way Noah could be home before Saturday.  He still didn’t know yet.  We made the decision to put the  funeral  off until March 13th and 14th.  

Over those 2 weeks the Coronavirus was spreading quickly across the U.S.  Hospitals were filling up.  On February 28th Governor Whitmer had activated a state of emergency operations center to prepare for potential Coronavirus cases. On March 10th the first 2 confirmed cases of Covid-19 were confirmed in Michigan.  On March 11th Governor Cuomo of New York moved SUNY and CUNY to distance learning.  Fiona’s boyfriend was teaching and learning from Michigan. Colleges and universities in Michigan were following suit.  Social distancing measures were being implemented.  Masks and PPE were in short supply for healthcare workers.  The general population was encouraged to limit contact with others. On March 13th gatherings of 250 or more were banned in Michigan The visitation, funeral and dinner were in question.  Muir Brothers were prepared to supply hand sanitizer at the door and other locations at visitation and the funeral.  The pastor wanted to cancel it all.  Todd Muir put his foot down.  Visitation at assisted living facilities was restricted.  Devonshire made an exception for mom given the circumstances.  Things were changing daily as the pandemic swept across the country and globe.  We were concerned about the visitation, and tried to limit hugging ect.  Of course at some point, all of that caution became lax.  Those 2 days of family viewing, burial, visitation and funeral were all we had hoped they would be to honor my dad.  In the aftermath we held our collective breaths hoping no one got sick.  Thankfully, no one did.  There were people who opted not to attend in an abundance of caution. We totally understood those choices.  

March 11th was the last day schools met in person.  I had come back on Monday/Tuesday of  that week but took Wednesday-Thursday off.  I wasn't there to say goodbye to my students. I had no clue I would not see them in person again. This year was already surreal and it was only March!

Statewide stay at home orders were being implemented in Michigan and many other states across the country.  Elsa made the decision to stay in Michigan for the remainder of her senior year, as it would be online.  Noah had moved out of the dorm and back home.  Fiona was teaching from home and Sean, her boyfriend, did not return to New York.  The 5 of us sheltered in place together.  Toilet paper became a scarce commodity but I was not worried.  I had stocked up before everyone came home for the funeral.  I didn’t stock enough!  Savannah and Olivia returned to their homes after the funeral.  Oliva continued to work in labor and delivery and Savannah was working from home helping many who were out of work navigate the overwhelmed unemployment system.  Bars and restaurants were closing on March  16th at 3:pm.  We all went to Johnny’s Pour House for breakfast/lunch/drinks one last time.  It was eerily empty.  We made sure to tip well.  We celebrated St. Patrick’s Day at home, but did it up right!

The shelter in place order  was honestly just what we needed. Except that after  March 16th we could no longer go in and see my mom in her apartment.   The kids couldn’t go in that day, only me.  I took her birthday tostadas and lemon meringue pie.  The kids all sat outside her window in lawn chairs, holding umbrellas, wrapped in blankets.  It was a sweet moment.  We thought it wouldn't be long until we could all be inside together again.  We were so wrong.  

There are so many good moments and memories from our time sheltering in place together.  We cooked a lot!  We rested. We grieved.  We taught and learned remotely.  We learned HOW to teach and learn virtually.  It was weird.  And good at the same time.  We all looked for toilet paper if we ventured out.  We went through pounds of coffee.  We missed my dad and missed being able to see my mom.We watched home videos.   We Facetimed Grandma Gloria and that was good.  I had Zoom happy hours with friends.  It wasn’t the same, but we stayed connected.  We went through a lot of booze. And then we got a hold of ourselves.  I started to walk daily.  Healing was happening.  

June arrived and while the pandemic restrictions were lifted and modified, social distancing and masks became our new version of normal.  We were eventually able to take mom out for drives and even dinner in restaurants that  were practicing safe Covid protocols.  We vacationed with caution and did so much more outside than ever before.  I continued to walk daily and honestly, there were good things that happened during those months.  

Preparing for fall and the return to school had us all apprehensive.  The virus was on the rise again by late August, just as Dr. Fauci had predicted and cautioned, just like the Spanish Flu in 1918.  I was not in favor of returning to teach F2F.  Fortunately, neither was our superintendent.  We began the school year teaching remotely, which honestly was weird.  Being in my classroom with no students, the halls quiet.  But I did enjoy collaborating once again with dear colleagues.  Those days had some fun moments as we navigated trying to meet, yet stay distanced.  My room is huge, so we often met there.  

Eventually, the students came back in a hybrid model.  The numbers were rising, students and staff alike tested positive, were quarantined, traced...it was good to see those kids in person, but the constant stress and worry about exposure to this virus took its mental and emotional toll.  By the middle of November we were going to be  back to virtual learning.  I breathed a sigh of relief.  My biggest exposure risk was now going to be gone.  On November 12th I had an intestinal issue at work.  I had to leave early or risk soiling myself and decimating the staff bathroom.  As this was a Covid symptom, I had to have a negative test to return to work. I was certain this was not Covid related.   I went to an urgent care 1st thing Saturday morning, was the 3rd person in line. I waited 4-6 minutes in the waiting area  before being put in a room, swabbed and sent  out the door.  The test results didn’t come back until Tuesday but they were negative!  We started virtual learning that Thursday.  I was in the clear and breathed a huge sigh of relief.  There were 14 days until Thanksgiving and while we had decided to not have everyone come, I felt good about Noah and Olivia coming home.  Sean too.  We continued to do all the right things.  

The night before Thanksgiving Brian’s allergies flared up.  Or he had a cold.  I joked about Covid.  The neighbors came down and had drinks on the  deck as we prepped dinner inside on  Thursday afternoon.   We kept the sliding glass door open so we could visit easily. I kept telling them I was ok with them coming in.  Shelley did not want to risk exposing me if she had somehow been exposed.  They stayed on the deck.  Thank God!  

We did our usual decking of the halls that weekend.  I developed my usual cough that happens when I haul out the holly from the dusty, musty basement storage.  Brian didn’t feel great on Monday so took the day off.  Tuesday they didn’t have anything going on so they told him to stay home another day. Wednesday they told him to get tested before coming in.  I worked from my classroom on Monday and Tuesday, but focused on getting a lot of things organized so that I could attempt to teach from home.  What better joy than to be at home all day during the holidays, teaching and working by treelight!  I was just getting ready for my first Google Meet when Brian texted me to call as soon as I could.  I knew.  He tested positive.  We were both stunned.  I tracked down a place to get a drive through test the next day at 4:30.  I was terrified.  Fiona’s boyfriend came back from his parents.  He had only been there a few days.  Hopefully if he had been exposed, he wasn’t contagious yet.  He came here to quarantine.  My test came back Friday at 2:30. It was positive.  

The first word out of my mouth started with an F.  A really BIG F!!  But I felt fine.  I had my usual holiday decorating cough...but F...maybe it was more than that!  I called my doctor who called in preventative steroids.  I purchased a pulse oximeter.  I busted my ass finishing up the Christmas decorating, getting the Christmas bedding on all the beds and all the things I hadn’t quite finished on the weekend. Just in case I started to feel worse.  Being sick in a half decorated, cluttered space would be untenable, clearly!  Then I packed a bag to quarantine at Brian’s “island of no chores” for the weekend...maybe longer.  He felt like he had a bad cold, a little crummy, I felt okish.  And then I didn’t.  Ultimately, we all survived.  I was hospitalized, I thought for sure I would be part of the global pandemic statistics, but here I am...looking back on this New Year’s Eve.

It’s been a freaking shit storm of a year!  There has been sorrow, loss, grief, celebrations of life and death, unexpected gifted time quarantined for months with adult children, the unexpected joy of eating in our favorite restaurants after months of them being closed, cooking new things, and a brush with death.  Oh yeah, I also refinanced my house and did a massive remodel!  I was without a washer and dryer from September 17 to December 18th!  In the big picture of surviving Covid, this seems inconsequential, but let me just say, those appliances are a bright spot in an otherwise really dark year.  

This year I have learned to look for the joy wherever and whenever I can.  This New Year’s Eve will not be spent out with friends, or out at all. Everything is closed.  This New Year’s Eve will be spent looking back, letting go, giving thanks for life and lives well lived and looking forward! 

 Looking forward to whatever changes and challenges await us in 2021. Looking forward to vaccinations and the opening up of the global community.  Looking forward to living life as fully and joyfully as possible, knowing that each moment of it is a gift to be treasured and held close, because things can change so quickly despite our best laid plans and intentions.  I will always hold this year close because of all that we have endured and learned and shared. But on this New Year’s Eve I am so ready to let this year go and move into the next, with a bit of trepidation, quietly so as not to awaken any sleeping giants, but with hopeful anticipation of change and goodness that surely must be coming! 

Twenty-Four Years: A Journey

Twenty-four years ago, in September of 1995, my oldest child started kindergarten.  I remember thinking on that day that the next 13 years would be filled with so many memories and opportunities, but that it all seemed like it would take  such a long, long time.  In 1995 I only had three kids.  I had no idea then, that two more would come along to complete the brood! 

With Savannah we experienced all of the “first things” with the enthusiasm and energy parents of 1st borns and onlies have buttoned down.  We learned so much about teachers, friendships, extracurriculars, group projects, Raider Pride and what it means to be part of an amazing school district in small town USA.  We didn’t realize how great things were here.   That came in time, and with more experience.

When Fiona started school, we met new teachers, made new friends, and expanded our world a little bit more.  We had brought our overzealous parenting of school aged students down a notch or two,  but still,  the energy was high, and parent teacher conference nights became longer, as we navigated not one class, but two.   Elsa came along while Fiona was in 1st grade, shortly before her teacher gave birth, which is not important really, except in this small town, those 2 girls became friends later in life.

By 1999, Olivia was starting school.  We had gone from one on one to zone defense as parents, but Liv was easy going and laid back and made parenting three pretty easy.   Our enthusiasm for  public education had not flagged.  We were well known  up at Seymour, the family with all the girls, and by the time Olivia was attending we knew the routine.  We looked forward to the Thanksgiving Feasts, holiday parties, gingerbread houses and field days.  We knew by this time that the grade level musical performances were events that mandated the ole shoulder mount video recorder, which was also a must have on the 1st days of school, much to all 3 girls horror!  During these years, The Boy was born, and the teachers at Seymour celebrated and marveled with us at such a turn of events! 

All four girls were in school the day the Twin Towers fell.  But they were safe.  Protected and oblivious as the world changed around us.  It never occured to me to get them out early and  bring them home to the relative safety we all believed we could provide.   As school shootings happened and lock down drills became  part of life, I felt fortunate to live in a place where my children were known and loved, and where I knew their teachers and staff would protect them in any way possible.  I also knew those same people watched out for them when life changed for our family.

In 2003 we had kids in 2 schools.  Savannah was at the new middle school and Fiona, Oliva and Elsa were at Seymour.  Elsa began these years with her best friend LIbby, whose older sister and family we met during Fiona;s earliest school years. And so we walked into the halls of Seymour with old friends, and felt far less nervous about the experience.  Elsa had been waiting to start school with the big girls since she was about 2 ½ and she was comfortable with the teachers and routine, as she had attended countless holiday parties during her first 5 years of life.  Elsa flourished with academic endeavors and was in awe of their Principal, Mrs. Blair, a diminutive dynamo, who had a no nonsense approach that was both intimidating and awe inspiring. 

By the time The Boy started school, we were familiar with all levels of public education from elementary school  to high school.  Before he was 5, Noah had been to each of the different schools more times than he could count, if he had been  able to count, which he likely couldn’t, I don’t remember, because honestly, he was the last of five and my bar for parenting had lowered just a smidge since #1.  Although, upon more careful reflection, I know he could count, because Elsa and her best friend loved to play school, and Noah was the only pupil available to attend,  so thanks to that little endeavor, largely run by Libby, Noah was able to count and knew his letters-ish.

Over the years we came to look forward to school  all of the small town school related traditions;  the 4th grade wax museum, sixth grade camp, grade level musical productions, (Lewis and Clark was a real standout in this category),  report card A’s used for  free movies, 6th grade graduation, the Christmas Collage Concert, Fruitcake concert, the annual Art Show in May, where  our elementary aged kids always had some masterpiece hanging to be enjoyed. The musical productions, and other theater events. Homecoming events, parades,  Powder Puff games, dances, Raider Games  and all the milestones and celebrations of senior year. 

Twenty four years.  Twenty four years, some of which lasted longer than others, but mostly, looking back, seem like a blink.  Trite, I know.  But so, so true.  I can still see Savannah’s face in the bus window as it drove past our house without stopping on her first day of kindergarten. The wide eyes and smile, not an ounce of worry that she did not get dropped off as planned.  Every memorable moment is still so fresh in my mind.  Which is astounding considering I have no recollection of a conversation I had with someone just last week.  I also don’t know where my address labels and open house list went, but those things are not the things that matter in this world. 

Moments and  memories and milestones and momentous occasions that marked the passing of time and growth and celebration.  Those things are what matter.  Those things I remember so very clearly. 

Two weeks ago, The Boy got up and attended school for the last time.  For him it was a milestone just like all of his sisters’.  His last  day was filled with picture taking, good-byes to beloved teachers, conversations and thanks to support staff and Administrators who have invested in his life here these four years. His day was not filled with tearful farewells.  He is an optimist; confident that the people who matter to him today, will continue to matter to him moving forward.  He is right, mostly. 

As Noah moved through his last day, and proceeded  through the next week of ceremonies and events, I have been left feeling as though I’m living someone else’s life.  There is so much in these last things that is surreal for me.  Eleven years ago I experienced all of these “lasts” for the first time with Savannah.  Then every two years-ish, with each child that followed.  Each of those experiences were unique in the people who surrounded them, the accomplishments, interests, awards and such.  But they have all also held so many familiar ceremonies and celebrations  Traditions that Noah is moving through with enthusiasm and a bit of nostalgia while I am trying to stay present, and somehow stop the movie reel of all the ones that have come before.  Last day of school, cap and gown pick up, Honor’s Night, Senior Brunch, elementary school walk (a newer tradition and one last chance to hoist up that old shoulder mount video recorder!) and finally Graduation, and in a few weeks, an Open House.  Ugh! 

Mixed with the pride and celebration of Noah’s years of school, is this hard to define pride and melancholy that this is the last time as a parent I will stand alongside one of my children and celebrate these 13 years of school. I am doing my best to stay connected in Noah’s moments, yet I keep finding myself slipping back in time into all of the other moments and memories.  The movie in my head running like an  old 8mm reel has me feeling like Clark Griswold, alone in the attic, as I remember and relive all of those moments again.  On the plus side, I am not shivering with cold on this trip down memory lane, although in truth taking this broad view of how incredible these last 24 years have been does give me chills. 

Today, was graduation.  The last of five graduations for this family.  The end of twenty-four years that have been filled with so much Raider Pride.  As a parent I am so proud of each of these five kids that have grown up in the halls of Flushing Schools.  I am also so incredibly thankful for all of the teachers and staff who have invested in each of their lives.  When the band began playing Pomp and Circumstance today and the seniors began their processional, my heart and eyes filled knowing this was the end of this part of the school journey for this family.  I am filled with gratitude, joy, pride and a small bit of melancholy here at the end.  Small Town USA has been a great place to raise this family. 

So now, we press on, into the next phase of life, which has taken twenty four years to reach, moment by moment, year after year, memory upon memory, in the blink of an eye.

 

Tonight I am sitting on the precipice of significant changes.  Tonight I was reminded casually that tomorrow is Noah's last "first day of school".  I have been through this 4 other times, so I know it will be a bit emotional for me, but we will laugh after I finally get the best picture I can through my tears and in all likelyhood a crunched time limit because we will both press snooze one too many times.  I've been here.  He's been here, albeit watching as his sisters posed for their "Last first day" pictures.  But while I was prepping the coffee pot for the morning I was overcome with the reaslization that tomorrow is really my very last :first day of school" picture."  The last of five.  There will be no more of these moments.  Next year there will be none. 

 I'm not going to lie.  This is hard.

Not hard because I don't want them to grow up and leave home and become independent amazing people. 

 Not even beacause I long for the days that they were babies or even all still living at home.  

Lord knows those days were often chaotic, passed in a fog of exhaustion and prayer.  No one in their right mind really wants to relive those days, looking back at the pictures and videos is enough to satisfy that yen.  Or sitting next to a family with small,  children screaming in a restaurant. That works too. 

Going into tomorrow I am pulled back to the first, "first day of school" picture with Savannah.  All excitement and nervous energy, with her Pocahontas backpack and purple Gymboree dress. Holding our hands and walking confidently into Seymour Elementary, blissfully unaware of the GIANT camcorder on her dad's shoulder and both of our tears as we left her at the door, watching her walk to her desk and strike up a conversation with the girl to her left.  Later that day, watching as her bus drove right past our house and seeing her bewildered face  in the window.  Later greeting her as she flew down the bus steps to hug Fiona tighly,  then regaling us with all the excitement of her first day, and her relief that the bus driver finally figured out where she lived!  

All of the years since that first day, walking the next 4 kindergartners into the school, also following each of their siblings in the upper grades with the same huge camcorder, every year, the same emotional feelings of pride in who they were becoming and a little melancholy that our carefree days all  together had once again come to an end until the following summer.  

I've thought of the transition years from elementary to middle school and middle school to high school.  All the firsts.  All of the lasts.  All of the ordinary days in between.  There have been changes in our lives over those years.  Some small.  Some not so small and not so easy to face.  Some incredible. 

I've thought about all of the teachers, principals, secretaries, bus drivers and support staff who have had significant impact on these five kids over the course of these years.  The parties, field trips, the stories shared by teachers and others.  Recounting  acts of kindness, or misbehavior reported with "off the record" pride in one daughter's  loyalty to a friend and courage to slap the bully..although she could never know her princpal secretly wanted to thank her!   Good stuff.  Ordinary  life memories and people. 

Tomorrow Noah begins his last first day of school.  Springboarding into a year filled with firsts and lasts and so many events that will  mark this final year in this 13 year education process.  I am excited for him, knowing his gregarious nature, he is going to do his best to live fully in the moments this year will mark.  It's shaping up  to be a great year.  This last senior year. 

Meanwhile, I am doing my best to hold my shit together.  Prone to weeping in moments of joy and pride, tomorrow, and much of the rest of this year's experiences,  promise to be a veritable Super Bowl of emotion.   I'm steeling myself up for it.  Noah, on the other hand, has no clue what may be in store for him.  No clue that  the memories of his 4  siblings' school days, piled onto his, spanning twenty-three years are all bubbling up like a fount of parenting elixir inside of my head.  And heart.  

Change is a good thing, in the main.  Tonight as I sit here preparing  for tomorrow, I just can't stop wondering how it all changed and moved along so quickly.  Three things I never imagined on that first child's "first day of school";  ever having 5 children, and tomorrow, the very last "First day of school" and this damn stinging at the back of my eyes that I can't seem to control.  My only regret in all of this its that I don't still have that giant camcorder to follow him in with tomorrow! That would be spectacular.  And it was a great way to hide my tears!   

Time, Traditions, Transitions and Pinworms

Time.  So many people tell you that it slips away.  It's gone before you know it.  Turn around and poof...life has warped.  Or time has warped.  They warn against wasting it, thinking you have all of it in the world, and that you should cherish it in the moments.  I believed all of those things to be true.  I reveled, for the most part in the moments as they happened.  Soaked in the memories, the traditions, and the people, children, family and friends, who were a part of them.  The small corner of realist in me knew that time would change things; that with each passing year we were drawing closer to a new era, a new time, with new traditions, memories,  and people to share them with.  The idealist in me, which takes up far more of my psyche, was certain that I would be prepared,  and transition into that era with the grace and acceptance my mother modeled.  Outwardly, I am putting on a decent show of it.  But inside. Inside I'm falling apart,  Inside feels like a weekend binge of Stepmom, Steel Magnolias, Sweet Home Alabama and Homeward Bound, and a long parade of marching bands.

One hundred percent, I thought I had one more year.  I was prepared this year to soak it in, potentially for the last time.  Those traditions and activities that have filled this holiday weekend.  Tree day.  Decking the halls.  I was girded up,  ready to handle each ornament one last time, remembering each circumstance of its arrival to our tree.  I was even ready to grudingly let the kids put the pregnant " Mom to Be" rabbit and kangaroo on this year.  Seriously, an ornament to mark every life circumstance and milestone is in our box!  Pregnant rodents.  Good lord! The Polish glass Santa, a gift from a dear elderly neighbor, my first year in Flushing.  Mittens bought on a weekend getaway,  four  creepy Victorian doll heads, nursery rhyme books, trains, bears, cats, football players, black Santa,  the Big Cheese and a Magic School Bus.  I knew decorating this year might be a bit emotional for me.  I knew there would be some staring, and laughing and some barking of "pull yourself together," which might be hissed  the loudest from my internal voice.  But things haven't gone quite as I had thought or planned. 

Instead of pushing forward with the traditional activities and exhausting demands of tree day, we spent time with wonderful and dear family who rarely visit.  We pulled it together to go get a tree, acknowledging that this would  be the last year, only to pull into the farm to find their sign announcing  "This is Our Last Year."  It seemed fitting.  We were so thankful that we had decided to go.  We had almost chucked the idea.  Some of our St. Paul family joined us, to experience cutting a live Michigan tree.  It was lovely. Balmy and bright.   There was laughing and singing and debating, and some pressure to get a Christmas bush instead of a nicely shaped spruce.  When you get your own house you can put up a Christmas bush or a Douglas Fir, or a Jack Pine, but this last year, this last tree day, I'm looking for a magnificent Blue Spruce to carry me through.  A spruce to remember and mark this passage of time.  A bookend to the first perfectly shaped Blue the light shone on 24 years ago at this very farm.  I didn't say any of that out loud, except  the part about "getting your own Christmas bush," but the rest was all in my head.  And heart.  The rest I was soaking in, knowing it would be the last.  That next year will be different. 

We opted out of decorating on tree day.  We didn't even bring the tree in.  It's actually still outside, laying on the patio, still bound in its red wrap. It will get inside eventually.  I hope,   We spent the rest of tree day laughing and talking too loud and playing horrifically inappropriate games at a home town brewery.   Because we needed time out of the house, because we needed to cherish and take in cousins and in laws and each other.  Because we  all needed to be  fully informed about things like pin worms and how to find out if you have them, and that all of us have a bit of emotional "stuff" we still struggle with. We needed to laugh.  At ourselves and each other.  We needed to let go and not hold so tightly to the traditions of the past, and focus on the time we have right now. Right here. In this moment. 

So today, I am mostly here on my own.  I am forging ahead with a new kind of tradition.  I am slowing down, not racing to get it all done so that everything looks and feels like it always has.  I am reworking, reexamining, revising, as I step across the threshold into a new era a bit before I thought I would have to.  I admit, as I am holding some things perhaps for the last time, and I am doing a bit of weeping.  And laughing. And shaking my head at those damn pregnant rodent ornaments.  But I am also taking my time doing it.  Inclined  to put whatever I am doing aside to revel in other moments of time that are right in front of me.  Although, if any of the people that are a part of those moments want to help me decorate this tree...I'll gladly hand them a bulb, and then tell them where to hang it.

Era of the Surreal

Surreal is as close a word as can be used to describe life currently.  At a point which seems not very long ago, my life was about raising kids,  and it seemed as though those days would last forever; in a good way most of the time…really, honestly.  Well, some days it may have seemed like an eternity in a not so great place, but by and large…good!  I was so fortunate to be home when my kids were growing up, only entering the workforce in recent years.  Even then, the work I have done has kept me close to them, in proximity if nothing else.  The light of the childrearing tunnel has been a distant pinpoint for many years.  One I have not envisaged apparently for a long while. So this week when I dared look up, and around, and forward, I realized that the light has become very large, glaring even, while I hurtle to the conclusion of these parenting days.

I looked up this week because #4, Elsa, the fourth and last daughter, is graduating from high school.  This in and of itself has its own out of body experience tied to it.  She is an anomaly within our fairly bright and intelligent family, standing out as a super achiever, graduating 2^nd in her class of over 300!  This is her shining hour to be sure.  She has embraced all of her years of schooling with an enthusiasm and fervor which has been remarkable to watch.  While her siblings all enjoyed their high school years, Elsa has experienced every aspect of high school possible to its fullest extent, most of the time with her bosom chum Libby alongside her!  AP classes, Student Council, Class Vice President, theater, vocal music, lacrosse, NHS, French Club, Book Club, community service projects, Homecoming dances, court, Sadies, Prom; there are pictures to mark her investment and involvement in all of these things and more!  Just this morning she was honored at a local business club as the Rotary Student of the Month, and it was there that I started to feel overwhelmed with pride in the person she has grown to be.  This 4^th daughter, who I worried would always be growing in the shadow of three older sisters, has clearly not been shadowed by anyone. She has grown, bloomed and flourished while the rest of us have watched her with astonishment and a bit of quizzical wonder through the process.   She will graduate with many honors next week,  and in the fall move across the country to attend college and begin a different journey away from me.  Away from the home where I thought I would be raising her (and her siblings)  for what seemed like so many more years.

Surreal is the realization that this very home, which has been seeping estrogen for so many years, will, for the first time, harbor a more balanced measure of estrogen and testosterone. I have always viewed myself as a mother of girls….and The Boy.  This house is, in many ways, “a girl house,” by color scheme and the feminine paraphernalia that litters every room; e.g. make-up, foundation garments, shoes, scarves, sundry accessories, feminine products, and on and on the list goes.  All this does not preclude signs of the lone male cub here, to be sure, there are many.  Balls for one.  There are balls everywhere.  In the house, in the yard, in the garage, in the trees, and of course the obvious set, which thankfully we do not see but I would be remiss to not acknowledge their existence,  just sayin’.  The sounds in the house are distinctly The Boys.  Train horns. Vines.  YouTube videos.  Episode after  episode of South Park and other such nonsensical shows.  Plates of dried food, and wrappers from said items, scattered like so much trash in an alley.  There are signs. 

Over the next three years I wonder how the estrogen seeping, girl house will evolve.  I wonder if the whiffs of estrogen that will be left in the wake of the last daughter leaving will linger in corners, swirling at our feet on days The Boy and I are missing The Sisters.  I wonder if we will miss them with an ache, like amputees miss their limbs, or if the years of estrogen will be like a fading memory, pushed out by all the new balance of hormonal ascendancy.   I wonder how quickly these last three years of parenting will fly by.  Actually, I think I know the answer to that.  The last 26 have hurtled by without my realizing the speed at which they were passing.  I want to slow things down.  I want these next years to move like a zephyr, softly and gently.  I want to pump the brakes and relish these last years, much like I cherished the first years.  Soaking up the moments, the small things of everyday life.  Even when I know that many of those small, everyday things will not be centered on the girl-centric things of the earlier years. Fully understanding and embracing that these last years of small, everyday things will likely include Vines, and trains, and YouTube and of course, balls.  

Grief and Raw Humanity

While enjoying a week of solitude and introspection, I awoke this morning to a Face Book post from a dear friend who lost her son on Monday.  Not misplaced lost, but lost forever from this good earth.  He was young, 21ish.  We were pregnant at the same time.  It is not in my schema to even fathom the magnitude of her anguish and grief. 

Being alone these past few days, I have been awash, grieving the loss of my brother over a year ago.  It seems fresh almost daily.  There are days when I feel his absence from my life so keenly I want to curl up and wail.  I rarely do though.  Generally I just muster through, push the memories to the back and keep moving forward.  This week I have had the unfettered time to sift through the vast store of memories we shared together and to weep, speak and laugh and even bitch at him for leaving so damn soon.  

Grief is something many of us never spend a great deal of time considering.  Many people, myself included, believe that losing someone we love is such a distant event that we are blindsided by loss when it happens.  Often we find ourselves lost in a sea of regret.  Not making time, not answering the phone, not seeing the pain or loneliness, not remembering the minutia of the last conversation or not saying the words.  The thing is, regret doesn’t do anything except make us miserable.  And if I know one thing to be true, it is that the people we loved who are gone would not want us to be miserable.  They want us to remember them.  To celebrate who they were in our lives.  To keep their memories alive, though they are no longer.  To talk about them when we see or hear something that brings them to mind and to LAUGH! At least that is what the person I lost would want. 

Today, as my dear friend wades through her sea of loss, I find myself remembering something  Emmett Till’s mother realized  when he was murdered.  She said “I realized that this would be my load to carry. No one can carry it for me, and I will carry it for the rest of my days.”  While this is certainly true, we all carry the load of our grief individually, with our own love and shared experiences completely separated from others, I understand today more than ever that is the compassion and empathy of others in our lives that make carrying those loads bearable. 

People we care about are grieving all around us every day.  Their loss may not be recent, but the pain of it when it surfaces, always feels fresh and raw.  Their grief may not be related to death.  They may be grieving the loss of a dream or a marriage.  They need us to stand with them.  To make carrying their  load bearable even for a few hours.  

The last story my brother told me was about a woman in a veterinarian’s office who saw that my nephew, his heart breaking, was there to put their dog to sleep.  In his words, “She was a behemoth of a woman, there with her little ratty mongrel.  She just lumbered up out of her chair and wrapped her enormous arms around Nate and said, Honey, you just go ahead and cry, I’m so sorry you lost your dog.”  Through his weeping on the phone my brother pointed out that it was such a great reminder of the healing power people had for each other when they reached out in raw humanity to experience and share others sorrows and burdens.    

Who needs you to stand beside them and walk with them today? 

Chapter 1: Introduction

My friend recently made a furtive case for me to begin this book.  He believes in me. He has believed in me nearly since the first days we have known each other.  He believes unequivocally that within me lies the potential for a good (if not great) book.  He believes the stories I have shared with him, and others, are stories that people who don't know me or my family or friends or circumstances, will relate to.  On a human level.  In our recent conversation he also expressed his concern that he worries if I don't begin soon, that my potential for, and I quote, in a thick Scottish accent, "I worry that if you don't get things down soon, that your potential for a positive outcome will run out!!"  

Well!!  All that belief and then WHAM!!  My shocked and puzzled expression did not come close to what I was thinking (OK, and may have said out loud).  "What the hell (may have been a different word) does that mean?"  "Positive outcome on what?  My love life?  My career? (Which I hadn't even begun yet) Life in general?"  I worried that he had some kind of insight into my future which I was not privy to.  I pondered for a moment if this was in some fashion his way of letting me know that my life, as he was observing it, was like some kind of train wreck movie  waiting to happen.  If memory serves me correctly, I think I fired off a myriad of these questions like an automatic weapon.  Calm Scot that he is, he waited for my barrage of questions to cease and then he said calmly (because it's my life that is in danger of a" less than positive outcome", not his), "you are pulled in so many directions, by so many different circumstances and people, and the issues you deal with are not small, and over time I worry they are going to take their toll on you.  Right now you deal with them for the most part with a positive attitude and outlook, but eventually they are bound to begin to wear you down.  A person can take only so much stress and emotional pressure." 

When we had this conversation I laughed at his perspective on my life.  On his perception that "a person can take only so much."  Since that evening though, I have given his words considerable thought and weighed them for their merit. 

This is where I am today.  I am completely sure that whatever my "outcome" is, that my spin on it will be (has to be) positive.  I am completely certain that every aspect of the life I have lived to date has weight and bearing on the future outcome and that along the way there have been moments, both positive and negative. Additionally, I am pretty certain (note the use of a qualifier, just to cover my ass in case I'm wrong and have to admit it later) that much like those which have passed, the moments ahead will also be both positive and negative.  The quality I possess and have utmost hope and faith in continuing, is my ability to view and live in those moments with humor, flexibility, a thick (armadillo like) skin, and hope!  

In the pages that follow I hope to share with you some of these moments, both the positive and the negative.  As I finally commit to penning them down, I am holding on to the hope that some of these stories might carry with them a ring of truth and hope for you as well.   Of course my most sincere and deepest hope is that by writing them now I will perhaps increase my chances for a "positive outcome."  

Friends

When you are preparing yourself and your kids to put the family pet to sleep, there are hundreds of thoughts, memories and emotions that run unbridled through your mind. But the reality is, there is only so much mental preparation which can be done, only so much talking through and consoling, and in the end you are confronted with the task.

There is much about today that I could write about, the conversations, the drive, the scene at the animal hospital, and the torrents of tears that were shed unashamedly. All of those things bear remembering, but tonight the scene and experience which continues to run through my minds eye and heart are the friends who stood beside my children.

Olivia texted me early in the day to let me know that her bon homme, Ally would be accompanying us to the vet. It bears saying that as Olivia's best friend, Ally is no stranger to grieving the loss of a pet with Olivia. In all of the other instances though, she has been notified and sought out for the comfort which only a best friend can offer, after the beloved pets have died. Today she volunteered to go, to watch, to comfort, laugh and weep alongside her friend during the entire event. She watched Heidi's eyes as she drifted off, and dug her hands deep into her fur as she lay on the table, standing next to Olivia and Fiona the entire time. Once home, she volunteered to relieve Fiona as she was digging the hole a bit wider to accomodate the blanket...and again as Noah and Fiona seemed to tire filling it back in.

Noah chose to stay with the neighbor boys while we took Heidi to the vet, but he wanted to help bury her. Arriving back home, I watched as he left their yard, accompanied on both sides by his two chums, Ian and Kyle, ages 8 and 6 respectively. They walked to our house in silence, Ian never taking his eyes off of Noah, and keenly watching his face and posture. While we laid Heidi in the hole, Ian continued to watch Noah, and as the tears began to slide silently down his face, Ian moved to stand beside his friend, putting a small hand on his shoulder and squeezing quietly, while tears slid down his own small cheeks. He stayed next to Noah the entire time, watching him take a turn shoveling dirt into the grave, and only moving to leave when Noah was ready. At that point he walked alongside of him quietly, following his friends' lead as to what they would do next. There were no words exchanged between the two, just unspoken knowledge that he was not leaving, that he was hurting for him and with him.

I am amazed and full with the realization that my children have found friends and their own "people" to experience this life alongside of them. I realize that they are all still young and perhaps the friends will change over time, but for now they have abundance. I am amazed by the empathy and strength I saw in the faces and actions of these friends today, despite their ages or gender, they already possess qualities of character which are sometimes scarce in our world today.

At the end of the long day, I am thankful for these friends, and for mine as well, who called, texted, phoned and did not glaze over, and who stood alongside us when life was difficult and sad.

Top 20

I have been challenged with the task of creating a playlist of my top 20 favorite songs of all time by a friend. Initially I scoffed at the notion, thinking I would never be able to conjure up 20 faves. I didn't intend to compile a list. But as with many things I intend, I found myself succumbing to the idea of ferreting through my past, and began to look for songs that had struck chords with me over the years!

The first song I ever remember hearing on the radio came immediately to mind, as did all the sights, emotions, smells, and relationships attached to the memory. In the summer of 1974 I was 9 years old with a killer bright green polka dot cotton bikini with a little ruffle; my first. Camping and laying on the beach for hours on end with my family and close friends, we listened to CKLW out of Detroit and the song we cranked up was Billy Don't Be a Hero by Bo Donaldson. 7 girls on a beach singing into our blow pops like microphones and rocking our first two piece bathing suits! I can see every face on the beach that summer, and hear our laughter. Wildfire and Shannon were in our top 5 for that summer as well, and without fail, when I hear any of those songs today (which thankfully, is a rarity) I look back on those summer days with a smile and a bit of sadness for the friendships that have waned, and those lost forever.

While listening through songs, I have decided it would be prudent to sub-categorize my list. I could surely fill it with 20 songs from eras or phases of my life or even genres of music. It would come as no surprise to anyone who has known me long that "Taking Care of Business" by BTO is hands down my favorite dancing tune! Duh...how many pitchers of beer I won doing the alligator I will never be able to recount, nor get back the $l00 bucks I had to pay the DJ at my wedding to play it, even though my mom had given him a 50 not too!!! "Respect" by Aretha falls into the same category, and again a wedding memory burned into my minds eye as my brother-in- law Todd and I danced my pups right out of the cups in my dress!!! These songs are fun, but most of my list is more toned down, and make the top 20 because they hit close to my heart in how I live and want to live my life.

"Every little piece of the puzzle doesn't always fit...perfectly" Sara Evans
"Home should be where the heart is, never were words more true." Beauty and the Beast
"Look inside my heart, and be amazed." Bethany Dillon
"She needs wide open spaces, room to make big mistakes." Dixie Chicks

....lines from songs stick in my head and I find that it is small portions of a whole that hit close to home for whatever reason, and with that, the tune has made my top 20 list. Some lines and some songs leave me ragged and drained with emotion, and some still buoy me with hope and the Pollyanna outlook that generally umbrellas my life. The compilation is not yet over, but for today I am finished. This was a far more introspective endeavor than I anticipated, and I am full with memories and emotions and as I have moved through the years dredging up songs I have noticed a very clear pattern. Songs that have stayed with me, or moved me in some way have strong relationship memories attached to them, or speak of longing for relationship of some kind, some human, some with the God who created me to love him first and then others.

Mirror images

January 8th 2009....and February 24, 2011....777 days apart...but mirror images!

I started running again on both of these days. I don't remember how long I kept at it in '09, and I am not sure about this go round, but the similarities in the conversations in my head, that seem to happen more frequently on the treadmill than anywhere else is a bit unnerving to me. I don't remember the details of life 777 days ago, I barely remember last week, but today, in this span of time, my mental conversations are mostly with myself. I am not sure if that is good or bad, and there are more questions than directives or plans. Which currently, I think is gonna have to be ok.

Today I am wondering how I got here? To this place, to this person who I recognize sometimes, but other times, not so much. I am a little jaded about lots of things, a wee tad cynical in areas I never dreamed I would be, and at the middle of it....I wonder how much of that is because of my complacency and inaction in areas I need to be diligent and intentional. I guess I don't really wonder...today on the treadmill I knew...I answered that question...it's just the plan of action to change it that is a little sketchy at present.

Questions about Girls

Tonight Noah and I had some stolen time alone. It has been a really busy week filled with volleyball games, lacrosse games, practices for both sports, early am music rehearsals, appts., and general end of the year mayhem. Anyway...Noah and I came home while the girls all went to the Y, and quickly snuggled into bed to read a chapter or two of Harry Potter. After closing the book Noah said, "Mom, I have a few questions about girls OK?"

I will admit, there was a pit in my stomach...he's eight, but he has 4 sisters...and I tend to answer honestly, which usually backfires on me.

Question l. How come girls don't get pee on the seat when they go?
Answer: ahahhahahahh, snort, ahhaha, ummm, cuz usually they sit down. So no spraying.
Response: He nodded as if he agreed and it made sense.

Question 2. How come the girls always say they are fat, but they eat everything in the house, then get mad if you have the car and they can't go to the Y? (3 in 1 question)
Answer: (Desperately trying to school my features) I think its because of the media's influence on them, they feel like society only values thin women and girls, and they starve themselves all day, and then binge at night, because, honestly, they haven't had a ton of self control modeled for them! (just being honest here) And they go to the Y because that makes them feel better about eating everything in the house, plus I think they feel cool!
Response: "Mom, seriously, do you think I even know what the media is?"

Question 3. How come its funny if the girls call their private parts a "chooch" but if I call mine a "dick" its a naughty word?
Answer: (Laughing openly) I have no idea, it just is buddy.

Question 4. How come they get mad so easily, even when they seem happy?
Answer: Hormones and genetics, plus I think it makes them feel powerful.
Response: I think they are mean and stupid and they don't need anymore power, they already get the car!

Questions 5. Do you think they wish they had..you know...nuts?
Answer: I've never wished that, but I don't know about other girls, you should ask your sisters.

Question 6. Boys and girls both have nipples right? So how come girls have to cover theirs up?
Answer: You asked me this once before dude, are you just wanting to say nipples again?
Response: No, I still think its dumb, I think Olivia does too! (ahhahaah)

I realized after tucking this kid in that life with 4 sisters might be troubling and confusing at times. I love that he feels like he can ask anything, while at the same time I cringe at what he sees and knows and observes. I also cannot help laughing hard, and I am powerless to hide it. I am also praying that I don't mess him up, that growing up with 4 sisters and a mom won't make him some kind of freak.

For now, I think he might be a pretty normal 8 year old boy who pees all over the toilet seat, I think just to gross his sisters out!

The Tightrope is LIVING!!!!

Waiting. Currently, I'm having a difficult time with this verb; or action; or more accurately, this IN-action.

Over the past few days, I have become increasingly restless, emotional, and frustrated. Maybe I've written this before, I don't really know, its been so long since I've sat here, but anyway, here I am with this giant on my back, and I don't know how to shake it, or more importantly, why it weighs so heavily.

Until a few minutes ago that is. After a phone call where I was barely able to hold it together, I hung up and started to break into pieces. Even while it was happening though, I was struggling to understand why, why now, why so intensely is this waiting so hard? Why am I so frustrated by it? Why does it feel so familiar? That's where the truth revealed itself. The familiarity of the waiting. The things I'm waiting on, and waiting for are in large measure out of my control. I am ready to get on with life. I am ready to be doing whatever it is that I am designed to do, or just do SOMETHING. I'm tired of school, and the preparing to be productive. At this point in time, I could do any of the things I am wanting too with the skills and education I have now. I'm sick of the preparation. I just want to scream and get the hell on with life.

And, then there are the other parts of my life where I'm waiting. These areas I have even less control over, and my frustration is even keener. Tonight I realized that I spent a lot of years waiting for someone else's time table to be right. Trips were put on hold until after I wasn't nursing, and then put on hold longer in hopes that I might look better in a bathing suit(not my mandate), and that cycle continued for years....due to the five kids! Then there was waiting to host holidays until the house was perfect, or waiting to make time for others until Jupiter aligned with mars...waiting to connect until......you get the idea? I'm sick of waiting. I waited the first half of my life away, and there are lots of things I regret about that.

I'm tired of waiting. Waiting for the perfect timing, waiting for this person or that person, waiting for graduation....mine, kids.....there will always be something to wait for. But in the meantime, I want to LIVE! Fully, intentionally, and without waiting!

"The tightrope is living; everything else is just waiting!" ----Karl Wallenda

He said this about his life, about what he loved to do, which was first and foremost the acrobatic career he shared with his wife and family. Everything else was just waiting!

38 minutes.....HEAVEN AND HELL

The movie was titled "38 MINUTES OF TRAINS" . The title says it all. Some train junky got out his video camera and spent 2 DAYS in Lansing filming (without narrative mind you) 2 days worth of trains just driving along the east and west bound tracks. CSX's and CN's. I don't know what the frog CSX stands for but CN's are Canadian Nationals. At this point you may be asking yourself..."how does the laundress know this, and why?"

I live with a 7 year old train savant. I am not kidding you, the boy is totally focused on this one thing...anything else and he's like a cat with nip...all over the place...but show him trains, talk about trains...you name it he knows it. He freakishly morphs into a 73 year old railroad buff and starts using words that normal folks don't know, like gondolas, switch engines, sidings, loco's, diesels.... Today he went to a train show with his grandpa and dear old gramps picked up the treasured movie. So tonight when we got home the little would be savant engineer wanted to curl up in my bed, giddy with excitement, just the two of us watching his new movie. Insert here:(I fully recognize that I am selfish and had no interest or desire to watch 3 minutes of trains, let alone 38!)

I realized laying there watching his face beaming beside me on the pillow and listening to enthusiastic and knowledgeable narrative, that while I was thinking I was getting a small 38 minute glimpse of what hell might perhaps be like, this boy I love so dearly was experiencing 38 minutes of heaven. (Actually far more than 38 minutes, because he has already watched it 3 times and he wants to get up early to watch it again before school)

How different we are created. I realized tonight how blessed I am to be surrounded by such diversity of interest and lives. How self centered I can be at times only wanting to pursue and invest in the things that capture my interest. Thankfully tonight I was reminded that my 38 minutes in hell, were Noah's 38 minutes of heaven....and he wanted to share those minutes with me.

Missed Signal

I'm pretty sure I missed a signal today. An opportunity with someone who is dear to me. We don't talk often, usually in passing, a hug and cursory "how are you", but this is the second time in a week that I have been sought out. Last week I was driving in ice on horrible roads and our conversation was cut a little short, today, customers came in and I got busy.

Tonight I am convinced that my friend wasn't really checking on me. I dropped the ball. I didn't pick up on the vibe until a few moments ago, when the friend came back to my mind. Now I am praying (literally) that tomorrow whatever it was that needed saying or listening too today will not be too late.

I also wonder how often I miss opportunities or signals from people who just need to talk or who are hurting but can't put it into words. I pick up on a lot usually, but other times I am convinced that my own verbosity
and exuberance thunder over others quiet needs. I wonder too how often those things override the quiet voice of the One who loves me and I miss out on His direction and prodding. I am certain that happened today. And last week.

Tomorrow....well, actually even tonight, I am endeavoring to be still...and listen!

COMING HOME

For the past few months I have been longing for a good book. Something that I could lose myself in. A life separate from mine, yet somehow still connected to me. I haven't found a book...but alas...tonight...the longing was quenched.

JACK IS BACK!

The new season of 24 started tonight, and as Liv and I (and Savannah by phone) began watching with anticipation....I queerly realized that I felt like it was Thanksgiving or some other holiday, and long lost friends and family were all gathering again...reunited!

Disclaimer: I fully realize that this is a TV show. I fully realize that I might as well be 14 again watching Luke and Laura's wedding, or the Cassadines freeze Port Charles. I also fully realize that in this one wee small area...I am a damn pantie throwing groupie. For some, Rick Springfield brings this out, for others its artists like Tristan Prettyman or Joshua Radin. I fully admit, this is an indulgence and foray into a world not my own. AND I DON'T CARE!

For one hour every week (four this week, with the kick off nights) I can live in a stress free world of international terrorism and global war, with no one to save America from complete and utter destruction but Keifer Sutherland! BLISS!

So tonight, in the hours after the 2009 debut...I sit here relaxed and smiling...and think...welcome home old friend, welcome home!

In my head

Started running again today. Loved it. Hated it. Need it. I'm still trying to ascertain whether its a good thing for me mentally or not though. I tend to over think a few things sometimes, and then put me on a treadmill....and BLAMO! Things rush in and out.....and then I find myself having conversations in my head or writing emails in my mind....and then well, I get kinda ticky.

This is kinda how it went:
Walking, walking, 321...running....SIDESWIPE....thinking...conversation begins, blah, blah, blah....walking again...(lull in mental conversation) 321....SIDESWIPE...conversation picks back up, more heated, more determined, blah, blah, blah....back to walking.....321.....switch to email....typing, typing, typing...blah, blah, blah....

...and things continued like this for me the whole time I ran/walked.

I have two theories on this phenomenon...
l. This is totally healthy and normal and everyone does it, but they never talk about it.(Which in an of itself is neither normal or healthy)
2. No one does this ever and I'm a freak!

Anyway, now I'm home and my mind is mush, my legs are burning, and I am falling in love with my new best friend "the stick", which Penny sold me yesterday to use to "roll out my muscles" instead of stretching.....for $7.95 that little pup is a wee slice of heaven!

STARTING NOW

For the most part, I've never been a big New Years resolution maker. The whole idea seems kinda dumb to me, similar to the "new diet starts on Monday" mantra. In my mind, I have always just thought, hmm..if you want to do something, DO IT! Don't talk about it, put it off, procrastinate and set a point "sometime in the future" to begin. If it's something you want to pursue or attempt START NOW!

So tonight I have been thinking about some things. Things that I want to do "at some point in the future", but they require advanced planning, and maybe a wee bit of dedication and training, and that all important item.....CABBAGE! These items on my list will require some discipline on my part, both in the saving and carrying thru on the plans. These are not two of my strongest areas. Actually, in these areas I suck big time. (Hence my disdain for new years resolutions I'm certain). Anyway....here's my list.

l. Camp in Pentwater with kids for l WHOLE week without technology!
2. Run l 5k race.....possibly the Flushing Road race, but not necessarily.
3. Take RV trip with Barb and Bob and some teens to Cincinnati area..aka Kings Island, The Beach!
4. Take college girls to lunch or dinner at least once each during winter semester.
5. Take some kind of road trip with Fiona....(she's an amazing DJ and great in shot gun for long distances...also doesn't require expensive meals!
6. Get B+ in Spanish, and A's in all other classes.
7. Pass the Basic Skills Test.
8. Write more intentionally at least 3 times a week.
9. Take kids skiing at Nubs Nob with Dad.(which will require teaching Noah to ski)
10. Go to Sleeping Creeper Trail and bike it.
11. Stop rationalizing
12. Learn to ride a motorcycle.

That's it....for now...I think there will be more "places to go" that I want to add....and some that are just part of life....and maybe some more mountains to climb myself, but for now....this is my start. I'm planning and starting and setting these things in motion NOW!