win-win

The other day I must have been feeling hopeful.
I also must have been feeling like I had some time to spare.
Because when I got to school I saw a beautiful rainbow and I decided to take a picture of it.
Notice, if you will, that I am the first car in the lot,
always am.

That must have been just a few hours before I decided to go on and get married in 5 months.
Emotionally I am ready.
YEEHAW!
Mentally,
woah.
There are a lot of people to coordinate to get together on one day,
did you notice?
Goodness me. This thing can really get out of hand.
BUT that's why 5 months is better than 12 months. Do you see? Just cram it all in THEN enjoy it after the fact. I mean, during. Right, this is fun. During. And after, too.

Did I tell you that while trying to coordinate dresses and photographers and musicians x3 and
peacocks and priests and family and invitations and accessories and friends and lodging and pre-cana weekends and, and, and...
I am also left to coordinate how 23 6 year olds and 1 5 year old should co-exist in a hot sweaty classroom to learn and also to pretend that each-other is not farting their way through the day?
They do. It's gross.

So when I get an email that someone is bored.
Bored.
I can't help it. I just can't.
All of my planning. My 10 hours at school a day. My poor dog that I leave at 6:30am and come home to at 5:30pm. My water bottle that sits empty because I know I can't fill it because I don't have time to go to the bathroom.
All of those factors go... excuse me? Excuse me?

Don't you know?
Don't you get it?
Don't you see?

I've got a wedding to plan.

Oh, but I know. I signed up for it. All of it. From the job to the toots to the reception. I took it on. It's all mine.

So maybe. I can let him lick some envelopes?
Win-win.

Is That A Shin Splint I Feel?

Musings from the afternoon jog (not to be confused with the morning jog)

Is that a shin splint I feel?

Could that car drive any closer to me?

Did the rain just get harder?

Why does my pony tail feel fuzzy?

Jacket off.

Since when did my chest size triple?

This sports bra is begging for retirement.

Is this what a shin-splint feels like?

I think those horses are laughing at me.

Can I really run a 1/2 marathon in 5 days?

Jacket on.

Good song - run faster. F-A-S-T-E-R.

Too much jiggling.

Why haven't I been training?

I think I'll take a tub when I get home.

Did I need to say that I'd run 12.5 miles today?

Uh oh, which way do I go?

Dame was right - I'm gonna get lost.

I guess I'll go left.

More horses.

These ones are definitely laughing at me.

Wrong turn.

I should have asked that car for help.

Too bad this jacket isn't breathable.

Jacket off.

Rain stopped.

Who slipped "Your Body Is a Wonderland" onto my jogging playlist?

I wonder if they ate dinner without me.

Yup, I just added an extra 1/2 mile to the run.

Great Blue Heron by the stream - great excuse to stop and breathe.

Ah, this hill looks familiar.

A car just drove past really slow - are they trying to race me?

Or mock me?

Blister alert.

Is it starting to rain again?

Wow. Refreshing.

Uhhh change that. It is pelting the backs of my eyeballs.

Who's idea was this running thing anyway?

What's up with the .1?

13 miles I can do. But 13.1 might put me right over the edge.

This is it - home stretch.

Wave to neighbors heading out to dinner.

Tuck head down.

Grit teeth.

There are no excuses.

Just 1 more mile to go.

Straight up hill.

Damn these hills.

There are no excuses.

Round the corner for home!

Rain!

Am I imagining the smell of pizza?

Did I really just open my mouth and try to get a drink of rain?

Is there a warm bath waiting for me?

Is that sweat or rain? I think it is sweat.

Legs want to keep moving.

Just one more step - home sweet ho-

Is that a shin splint I feel?

I Come Into The Peace.

THE PEACE OF WILD THINGS

When despair for the world grows in me

and I wake in the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting with their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

— Wendell Berry

fall day chronicles

We had a perfectly lovely fall day today highlighted by a hike and pumpkin picking.
Other than that there isn't anything fall about it other than my smartwools and fleece sweatshirt with some football on in the background as I type.

The hike was super lovely because Drake only tried to bite one dog (good job, Drake!) and from the top we could see the lovely colors of autumn.
I also ate 3 peanut butter crackers (and gave 1 to Drake) and peanut butter crackers make a hike even better than it was before the peanut butter crackers.
Poor Gran schlepped all the way up here last week and wouldn't you know the leaves start to turn right when she heads back to NY. Next time, Gran.

From our hike we headed to the Z's house where we had the pleasure of eating TZ's precious bread.
I wonder if she hmphed at us as we made sandwiches.
I didn't notice, I was busy eating.
Her bread was pretty tasty.
I also managed to have some cupcakes and pie and left with a full belly as I often do.

One quick trip to the pumpkin patch to pick up 3 pumpkins.
Guess what?
There are four steps in front of the house. Who knew?
Next time, pumpkin.

We also got to see Mrs. and Miss Z's prized pumpkin on which Miss Z then sat on for the next 15 minutes singing row row row your boat.
And skate skate skate your skateboard.
And anything else she could think to belt out for the crowd of onlookers and photographer taking her picture.
Of her.
Rowing her little arms on her big prized pumpkin.

I intend to enjoy fall for approximately the next 8 days until the leaves crumble to the ground and the snow starts to appear on the mountain tops.

It was fun while it lasted.

When Daddy Comes Home We All Become Show-Offs.

I've noticed something.

When Daddy comes home we all show off.

Big time.

Dec hoots and hollers, grabs library books to read, and jumps about with lightening speed.

Nonie says, "my daddy, my daddy, my daddy" over and over and over again.

She follows him up to his closet and shows him where to put his shoes.

All the while Dec leaps about trying to squeeze into his frame.

"My Daddy."

Leap. Leap. Leap.

"My Daddy."

Leap!

"Look Daddy - Mommy (the show-off) made cookies for you. Taste one!"

And Daddy? Oh, he moves about, trying his best to put his things down and sort through the closet to find the coziest clothing he can find. He weaves around the kids. He is clearly happy to be here...

He smiles.

He tells them he's missed them.

He really listens when they tell him things about their day.

Like, really listens.

He'll sit down. Look them in the eye.

He'll respond to every 1/2 sentence and stumbled word with his heartfelt "oh really" and "tell me more".

And they eat it all up.

Nonie will perch high on Daddy's lap and savor the moment with a big cheeky grin.

Dec? He'll wrap his tiny arms around Daddy's neck and smooch him again and again on his face.


When Daddy comes home we all become show-offs.

Because our day is suddenly sweeter . And completer.

Fill me up

I am not a mother like you are.
(Have I said this before?)
I have no human baby.
I am not stashing away my pennies for college tuition.

But my boy gave me a hug tonight.
A real hug the best way he knows how.
And my heart melted.

He often slaps his paw onto my shoulder
or across my legs.
A possessive teenager. Hey ma.

Oh but tonight, he gave me the hug
of a little boy in love with his mom.
Before he knows that other girls exist.

He put his arm over mine
and his cheek next to mine
and I sat there wishing that someone would come catch us in our hug.

In that moment I felt like he was telling me
he will never get sick again,
or tinkle on the couch.
That he will never run away from us
or hurt another dog.

Of course the moment passed.
Something caught his attention,
and as quickly as he was entwined around me
off he went.

I am not a mother like you are,
but at the end of the day
a hug is a hug.

And his love fills me up again.

Never What You Think It Is.

Here is a quick quiz to start your Thursday.

Who doesn't love a quiz on Thursdays?

See if you can figure out the title to each picture.

A.

B.

C.

The Answers:

A. Ants on a FERRY. Not ants on a log (and you will be corrected).

B. Nonie's personal seesaw. Not Daddy's legs.

C. Finny in his bathing suit.

(Not a naked fish.)

Mt. Kisco

Saturday morning cartoons.
Sleeping bag races down the stairs.
Kara dancing during the dishes.
Falling through the chairs in the kitchen.
Awesome space trolley.
No sugar cereal with the whole sugar bowl poured into it.
Pizza from Leonardi's, Giovanni's, (insert Italian name here), restaurant EVERY friday.
Wearing baggies with rubber bands under boots.
5 gallon ice cream tub in freezer in garage.
Sick days with Mom's special toast and tea (always tastes better when made by mom).
Christmas stockings on the staircase.
Gretel.
Mac.
Marley.
Piper.
Trooper.
Dalmation.
Goldenrod.
Bunker.
Rosie.
Ranger.
Guinea pigs 1-5.


Been feeling not so hot and craving a








FRIBBLE.

Now nothing says Kisco like a good ole coffee fribble.

I don't even know of a Friendly's round here,
might have to a make a trip down memory lane.






photo of fxo cleaning our metal dog whilst in his birthday suit. he then went out the front door where a passerby LOL'd at his nakedness trying to escape

Your Name Means Honor

Tomorrow you are TWO.

Two and terrific.

(Not two and terrible.)

Lately you've gone around the house wearing your underpants as your hat.

You pile them on your head and then point to the pants and say:

Nonie's hat.

Did your uncle Chris teach you that?

He was the underpants hat trick expert.

I'd write more to you tonight sweetheart, but I'm just not feeling up to it.

Remember yesterday when we took you to the Bronx Zoo for your birthday.

Then we dined along Arthur Avenue checking out the sites? Fun huh?

Then, remember when you threw up all over me, my hair, and my jean jacket.

Remember throwing up on Mommy just as the waitress walked over with our tray full of dinner?

I remember it.

And now I'm the one throwing up.

On the eve of your 2nd bday, I'm sick as a dog.

But Nonie.

Your name means Honor.

And, since the day you were born, since hearing the first words of the doctor when she saw your tiny body "it's a girl", and since the tears flowed down my cheeks as I held you in my disbelieving arms for the first time...

It has been an Honor to be your Mother.

(Except when you throw up on me).

To my sweet blue-eyed girl on the eve of her terrific Twos!

Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I have to...

Plan, Un-plan, Re-plan

I made a lot of plans this weekend.
For better or worse.

I spent 2 hours at school planning my week and organizing my classroom.
I arranged where the spelling papers and materials would go.
I mapped out what to teach in Social Studies (poor Social Studies) and Science.
I bought supplies to make creation collages that will knock your socks off.
I meant to do my goal sheets for some of my students. Just remembering this now. I'll have to re-plan that for tomorrow.

I spent 1 hour planning and organizing my closet.
I moved the skirts and dresses to the darkest corners and then re-moved them to the darkest bin.
I made space for wool pants and sweaters.
I put away the sandals and moved the cowboy boots to the front.
I decided my Saints jersey will be my Sunday uniform.

I spent the rest of the weekend planning and unplanning a wedding.
I can't remember,
is this supposed to be fun?
I started thinking about how I am dreading to love, or loving to dread, or just dreading, the cold weather. As I packed up my skirts I saw several I hadn't even gotten to wear yet and not just because I have too many but because their late summer/early fall days are numbered and I forgot to remind them about that.
I was thinking about getting married this time next year and then about getting married in the summer and then I remembered how much I despised March last year.
I remember hearing the line "March is so that people who don't drink know what a hangover is like".
Oh, March.
Are you winter or spring?
And then I got to thinking,
I should plan on not liking March.
It has some rather unlikable qualities.
But should I plan on planning a wedding for March?
Would I then like March?
Or not like my wedding?

So my classroom is organized and my closet is rearranged and now I am left wondering about this wedding and about March.

Does it even matter? I'm sure Vegas is lovely any time of year.

Sashay

When the cousins kicked off their shoes,

and enthusiastically swung their hips from side to side

while walking the "runway"...

in one of the nicest hotels in all of Boston....

I laughed.

And, when the kids told the hotel staff (who were quite busy setting up for a fashion show),

that they were practicing for the fashion show...

I laughed harder.

(Yes, Connor is doing a high kick in that picture. BRAVO to the Auntie who taught him that!).

But, when Granny (unintentionally - or so she says... wink wink) sashayed down the center of their "runway"...

I cried

from laughing so hard.

Strike a pose Gran.

PDA

I don't hold hands with Bri in public.

I don't smooch in front of family.

I am modest.

Catholic school girl modest.

I change my undergarments under my shirt when at the gym or in the Loehmans dressing room (oh how I DREADED that place when I was younger, but that is for a whole different post/therapy session).

But in an attempt to clean up my hard drive (the red EXCLAMATION MARKS and DISK SPACE ALMOST FULL messages have been hounding me) I came across these gems on my external hard drive.

And they remind me that

a) I do like smooches


b) photo booth is HILARIOUS

and

c) Mads is a ham

But they're not scrubs

Are you a doctor?
The little boy asked.

Why?
I wonder...

Because I get band aids for your fingers?
Because I tell you to take care of yourself?
Because I make you put away your bag of marshmallows and eat your apple sauce instead?
Because I hold things together with strong surgical (read: duck) tape?
Because I triage your ailments right here in the classroom?
Because I am gogogogogo all day?
Because I do paperwork for hours after you leave the building?
Because I send you to wash your hands after you stick your fingers up your nose?
Because I tell you it is dangerous to lick the lead from your pencil?
And the crayons in your case?
Because I care about you and for you?

I didn't know you were a doctor.
The little boy said again.
Are you a doctor?

No.
I conclude.
I don't think so.

Then why are you wearing doctor clothes?

Oh.

My pants.
I look down.
They're light blue,
maybe a touch baggy.
My shirt.
It's crisp and white.

Go sit down.
I say.
And soon, I all but forget about my clothes.

After all, I've got patients to see.

when i get old tired and grey....

When I get old tired and grey I hope that someone takes a picture of me.

And I hope I look as good as that truck does up there.

Through all my rust, dented chrome, and warn-out tires....

I hope I sparkle and gleam and leave people wishing they knew more.

*I didn't take this picture but was emailed it by a friend who knew my boys wold love it. She was right.

a story about pickles

when honey asks if I can pick up pickles at the market,

i snap.

"pickles aren't necessary, they are extras. we don't buy extras."

hmph.

and away i go. marketing only for necessities.

boring.

and still expensive.

he comes home from work later that night

with a jar of pickles. neatly packed in a small paper bag.

i can just picture him.

"would you like a bag, sir?" the young clerk asks out of habit, fully expecting a "no thanks".

and instead, "yes please, and make it paper" .

hmph.

so i begin to berate, and belittle.

preaching about extras, and money,"we're not rich" i say-

and "what kind of an example are we being to bugsy?".

who is sitting at the dinner table-

waiting patiently for a pickle.

we eat our soup.

honey toasts two pieces of bread.

bread i already have mentally budgeted for school lunches,

and i continue to fume.

"isn't soup enough?"

hmph.

i'm ugly.

and i recognize myself.

yuck.

but i can't stop.

so when they determine there is no desert,

they announce,

in unison,

that they will be going to the shack.

for a cone.

A CONE!

"a CONE???"

okay, rockefeller.

and "no, of course i don't want to come".

what, come and partake in some fun?

you must be kidding.

there are dishes to do,

and loads of laundry,

oh, and i am not done fuming.

i will fume while you are spending money

on extras.

hmph.

"mama" my darling yells as they pull into the driveway-

"mama, it was soooo much fun".

"mama, i played with mia, she was there, and we went down the slide"

"mama, she had a cone too. she gets a cone whenever she wants".

"yes, bugsy. i know. her mommy and daddy own the shack. she works with them. she is 6 years old too, and after school they pick her up and bring her to the shack".

and robotically i say, "hands, face teeth time, and bed. no story tonight. you were out too late with dad. "

hmph.

and as honey avoids eye contact in the hall, he says that greg, mia's dad says hello. "where's your mom, ?" he asks maddy as he twirls her cone for her just so-

"doing dishes" she replies.

hmph.

and the next afternoon, last friday, honey tells me that

mia found her dad's body in the kitchen

late that same night.

twirling cones one minute

and dancing in Heaven the next.

with his baby still here,

only bugsy's age.

extra

time

a gift for only the very very rich.

Sidelined.

So Dec's first day is tomorrow.

We had our very, very, very lovely back to school dinner soiree this evening.

Yes, the children wore their crowns. They used the sterling silver and the Wedgewood plates.

More pics to come. I promise. Including the theme for the 2010-2011 school year.

But as I tuck away to bed tonight, it isn't Dec my heart is breaking for

(well it isn't just Dec)

Because it isn't just me he leaves behind tomorrow.

For two years she hasn't taken her eyes off him.

His biggest fan in the world will be there to watch him roll away too.

I wonder who will cry more....

An Emergency Revelation

I know
that the Good Lord only gives you what you can handle.

I know
that you all know that, too.

I know
that 4 years ago when Rosie got sick
and she went to the vet
for her final hours
I should have been there.
But I couldn't be there.
Because I didn't want to see her like that.
I wanted to remember her running, licking, hugging.
I didn't want my last picture of her, in my head,
to be her sick
hurting
dying.

I know
that when I cried my tears into Drake's fur today
they were tears for him
and her.
They were tears that I should have let drop onto her body
so that she knew I was with her
and that I loved her
and that she would always
always
be my girl.

I know
that as I watched my dog today
I thought of what it would have been like to be with Rosie
as she breathed her final breaths
and looked up to the faces of my mom
and sisters to say her sweet goodbye.
Maybe searching for mine.
I thought about her feet on the cold floor
and his.
I thought
please God.
Not again.
Please don't take my dog from me.

I know
that He listened.
And He is kind.
And he will always, only, give me what I can handle.
Even when
I don't know
what that is.

I know
that Drake has been saved
again.
And that I am probably,
after some thought,
not the one who is saving him
at all.

Bookends

I had an interesting day.

It started with a cryptic message from one of my students.

(interpret: I have a new name. Love, Avery)
She then tried to make everyone call her something else.

It ended when I taped all the desks together.
Take that!

Mom's Boy

Today was one of those days when the boy was golden, and delicious. If he had been hanging from a tree someone would have scooped him up and eaten him. The Xavy part shined bright and the two-year old (evil?) part slept the day away somewhere else. Thanks be to God.

Shared breakfast of homemade cinnamon raisin-toast with extra butter. Cuteness and songs on the way to school. Finishing nearly every sentence, word or question with mom.

Iddybiddybider mom? Wheredaddy, mom? Daddywerk, mom? Eatmoreapple, mom? rororoyorbo, mom?

We talked about all the big kids who got to ride the school bus today and didn't have a huge melt down when WE didn't get to ride the bus. We played baseball and I delivered pitch after pitch. And when I attempted to end the game on account of making dinner I got a brief shriek of no, then a flash of genius. "Your turn, mom." Huh? It has never been my turn. Ever.

We took an adventure to the high school to see his older cousin play football, shared homemade pizza and had lots of couch snuggles while daddy went to the Yankee game. And as I said goodnight I cried. My beautiful, precious, sweet, darling baby is my joy.

And if tomorrow everything from waking up to getting out the door is a battle I will reach into this memory for strength. I will know that he is good, and sweet and kind. I will read this again to remember this day.

As I walked around the high school with my baby on my shoulders I flashed forward 12 years and wondered if I would remember walking around answering to....

whatthat, mom?

lights

oh

whatthat,mom?

golfcart

oh

whatthat,mom?

baseball field

oh

whatthat,mom?

big boy got a booboo

oh, booboo mom?

yup

whatthat mom?

mommy

whatthat mom?

xavy

whatthat mom?

love

A day in the strife I mean life

I remember a few years ago after a night of dancing and weekend of walking around San Fran, Emmajane woke up with the most insane case of sausage toes.
(Mind if I share that story?)

(Too late.)

Well, I've got them. My feet are throbbing and I think I know why.

Imagine if the Cousins Club were all in the same class at school. That would be so fun right?
Wrong.
It would be tiring. It would,
my dears,
get old.
Even after just 3 days.

If their teacher was Ms. Me,
Ms. Me would say things like,
"When Ms. Me does this" (show: closed eyes, take a deep breath, open eyes to check if they are still there.... note: they are) "You know you have gone too far".
And
"Ms. Me does not DO wiggly teeth"
and
"Ms. Me does not LIKE the pencil sharpener"
and
"Ms. Me will TAKE those scissors AWAY if you can't walk with them.

There is something so exciting about being a teacher. It's such an unwanted (maybe?) power-trip.
It's a LISTEN TO ME and an OR ELSE and a SIT OVER HERE day in and day out.
It's a GUESS WHAT MS. ME? and a WANT TO COME SEE WHAT I BUILT? and a WHAT COLOR WILL SHE TURN IF I OPEN AND CLOSE MY LOCKER ONE MORE TIME? kind of day.
Have I told you I don't like lockers?

It's not so bad. I make it sound like prison. It's not.
We have our fun. I am the tagger in our "octopus" game.
I tie shoes. I put on bandaids. I don't give "time outs" (yet). I wait until Grandma comes to pick them up after school even though I am hungry because I didn't eat lunch today. I say "don't worry" when their star looks like a smoosh. I share my cucumbers and goldfish when their parents forget to pack a snack. I open milks. I count to 3 at the water fountain. I think of clever book titles like "How did I get glitter on my cheek?"

It is ups and downs. It has to be. I celebrate the highs and mourn the lows. It's just that it all happens so fast.
Like a rollercoaster.
All day.

Well when I got off today's roller coaster (read: came home) there was a surprise in my driveway.
I have to explain myself to the burly construction workers who don't understand why I have tied my dog to the tree in front of my house to take a picture of a tractor.
"I thought my nephews would get a kick out of this in my front yard. And the dog is just making it cute".
This is much easier than explaining why I have to ask you to go use hand sanitizer after I catch you with your finger up your nose during snack.
Or why I confiscate your silly bands and wear them home.

I wish I could explain myself as well as my plants can.
I'm just droopy.
You see?
Must I explain all day?

Well,
this all explains why my feet are STILL throbbing.
Not to mention,
but to mention,
about 1 minute after getting home tonight,
my shoes quit.
But I won't.

Because (as I told my kids)
Thursday is the day first graders come to school and listen and follow directions all day.
And who knows.
They just might.