When I Dance, You Dance.

This evening I put my headphones on, turned the Ipod up and chopped veggies in preparation for the big soiree tomorrow. With the hubby glued to the Michigan game, I blasted my eardrums and became absorbed in melodies.

Then, her tiny hands wrapped around my legs and I felt Nonie hugging me from below.
Up. She was up. (Not sleeping). Way up. And it was 10pm.

I carried about with my work as she dragged her stool across the kitchen. She placed it in front of the sink, hoisted herself up on it and sat. She was fascinated with my slicing, dicing, peeling, scooping - though I never really looked straight at her - I watched her peripherally. Is that a word? It is now.

I wasn't thinking about vegetables - I was actually thinking about Mom and her halloween birthday.

More specifically I was remembering the card Chris got for her when we were little that had a picture of a lost kid talking to a police officer on the front with the quote,

"Have you seen my mother?"

And on the inside of the card the police officer is scratching his head and saying,

"I don't know, there are so many places she could be hiding."

At some point during all this, I clearly started dancing to the music funneling into my head. And when I'm chopping veggies - boy, can I drop a beat. And so can Nonie.

Nonie, when I Dance, You Dance
(even when you can't hear the music).

And before long I was back to thoughts about Mom and her Halloween Birthday.
With Mom I laugh, hope, cry, learn, complain, love, question, and dream.
With her I explore the "Whys" and the "Hows" and find the strength to believe in the "What ifs".
And my mind raced with memories and highlights, all the times I turn to Mom for the missing piece...

And as I replay my childhood memories I see that:

When I Laugh, She Laughs.
When I Cry, She Cries.
When I Question, She Questions.
When I Dream, She Dreams.

And of course Mom,
When I Dance, You Dance.
Because, you are my music.

Happy Birthday.

I Now Pronounce You....

When we were in the pre-cana process of getting married we were told that marriage was a sacrament that we gave to each other. The priest and our family and friends were all witnesses as we exchanged our vows to one another. It was a beautiful, life-altering moment. And when you took the time out of the craziness that a wedding can be, thinking about that moment is grounding.
The priest, chaplain, minister, presider over the vows "pronounces" you as a couple. For better or worse, richer, poorer, sickness, and health. But the pronouncement was not for us. We had lived the moment. The pronouncement was for others.


Today I was the presider, the official, the witness. Today I made the pronouncement.


I watched a husband die, and a wife greave. I was witness to what might have been their most intimate moment. I heard words whispered that were loving and heartbreaking.
"I love you." "You are the best husband." "What will I do without you."
I pronounced him. After she had hugged and kissed and cried over his body.
After his son had a moment to hold his hand. After he had his moment with God and his wife, and his family.


I was not new to this. Not death. Not loss or sadness. Not the love of family.
I was to be there as the official.
I was trying not to cry, and mourn and breakdown.
I tried not to cross certain boundaries, but show my empathy at the same time.
And I did. For a brief period of time. Before I lost it.
As soon as I signed my papers and finished my "official" business I got in my car and wept.
And I picked up X and wept.
And I drove home and wept.


And I don't have any answers, and I don't have reassurances, but I feel blessed to have witnessed what I have.
And it brought me back to our wedding. And our "official" beginning. In the church.
And our other beginning, on the top of a mountain where we got engaged.
And our real beginning, on 9/11/01 when our lives merged. And how love grows into something so amazing and complex, it is atsounding and awesome and overwhelming.




And my brain reels with these thoughts as I drive to the gym to run, I hear this on the radio:














And that was my day.

"Hat Trick"-or-Treat Eating.

On Saturday, moments before his soccer game, Dec declared that he'd score three goals for Aunt Lily. It seems he's always trying to impress her.
Pretty aggressive chatter. But he did it. Scored One. Two. Three.
Hat Trick!

And on a remarkably similar note: Last Wednesday I bought 2 ginormous bags of candy and promised myself that I wouldn't open them until Halloween.
And I did it. I didn't open them. I just opened and ate one (entire bag). So far.
Treat Eating!

Nothing like setting goals to keep us focused, motivated and striving for excellence ....

* A note about the pic: this is Dec practicing his breast stroke, on the soccer field, while accomplishing his promised hat trick. He'll pretty much do anything to get Willy's attention.

Good vs trying to be good but falling a little bit short of goodness...

I really love Saturdays. I try to relax, but mostly I use my time at home to clean and organize places in the house that have NEVER been cleaned (sorry closet under the stairs, you are scary and full of spiders and I only go in you if absolutely necessary).

And I do try to play and be FUN, but Xave also does a REALLY good job at being 2.

The morning cuteness and sleepiness wears off as soon as daddy leaves to go to the football game.

I try to ignore "batty", but as soon as he is standing ON my computer smashing "batty" into it I lose it. Batty gone.

And as quickly as it happened we are sitting together eating pancakes and syrup.

And so the day goes.

Cleaning windows and removing screens (i.e. more spider webs).

X playing golf.

Attempting to blow some of the leaves.

X in my arms.

Cleaning the garage/basement/organizing recycling.

X taking all the styrofoam inserts from the boxes and turning them into potty seats while removing all the clothing from his lower half?! (peepee here mom?) ummm sure, is this in the potty training books?

Cleaning the gross light fixtures I never would have purchased in 1,000,000,000 years but am stuck with for the interim.

X watching football on mute/listening to classical music.

Cooking dinner, waiting for daddy.

X chewing carrots/meatballs/sweet potatoes and spitting them back out.

X dancing to classical music.

X playing Connect 4 with us after dinner.

X wanting to be read every book in sight.

X falling asleep, head off couch, face down, completely comfortable.

BTW, "batty" was returned. He used it in the car to Declan's soccer game to turn the over head lights on.... and off.....and on.....and off......and on..........................

Feeling Blue.

I thought I knew blue
until I met my husband.


And then blue was defined.


Blue.
Defined.




In one man's eyes.

but I always take the long way home

I had a pretty freaky ride home from work today starting at the highway exit ramp because a cop car followed me from there through town. I know it's not a huge deal. I'm not 16. I get it. However, the speed limit goes from 40 to 50 to 40 to 30 in about a 1/2 mile span and that can be very stressful especially when you're deciding what you want to listen to the on radio.

But that's not even the really freaky part.
Get this.

Who's the genius behind this one?
This is the scarecrow outside the gas station.

Drake saw this the other morning on our run.
Picture this: 5:30 am. Pitch black. Cold morning. Throwing away our poop bag in the garbage can.
See absolute sketchiest scarecrow ever.
Drake barks.
So we turn right and head down the street and a newspaper delivery car shines its lights on a garbage can.
What would you do?
I mean...
what would you do if you were a dog and just had yourself freaked by a zombie gas-pump scarecrow in the pitch black?
Would you bark at the garbage can for a minute?
Yes, you would.

There is another freaky scarecrow down the street hanging from a tree. I think there are laws against that. I hereby declare that I no longer like scarecrows. Another simple-ton one down the street in front of a lovely red house is headless. I don't care if they are just harvesting their pumpkin. Don't put a headless, tree-hanging, zombie gas-pumping scarecrow in front of your home or business when I am being followed home by a police officer while trying to find a good song on the radio.

Look at the Stars.

The other night Dame came home from a school budget meeting - a budget forum. (Yawn).

He was the best parent to send to this district-wide meeting and it made me feel like we were doing our household share by having him in attendance.

Plus, the meeting was held in the cafeteria of his old high school so I think he secretly wanted to be there. Or at least, this is what I told myself as I sat wrapped in a cozy blanket and sipped a warm cup of de-caf tea. At home.

I was somewhat startled by the sheet that he nonchalantly dropped on our kitchen counter after the meeting.

One of the areas the district is scrutinizing is transportation (busing) and the document indicated that "NY State law governs the maximum mileage that a district may require students to walk to school is 2 miles for K-8."

It goes on to indicate that "the school district community voted to reduce the maximum limits to .5 miles for K-8."

WHAT?!?!

****

On the same day, I got an email from Dec & Nonie's dental practice about Halloween candy indicating that they will "collect unopened candy (no bites please) on Tues Nov 2nd from 8-5 pm. Candy will be sent to the Troops serving our Country. For every pound collected our Ghosts and Goblins will earn $1 per pound and receive an electric glowing toothbrush!"

I'm sorry but, WHAT?!?!

****

Then there was the silent Saturday Soccer notice we got about parents being discouraged from talking (at all. to anyone.) at their children's soccer games and practices. You know, out of respect for the players... this one Saturday was devoted to silence.

So, sidelines sat quiet while
Players scored on the wrong goals.
Confused corner kicks.
And silently played a game of quiet soccer.

Just that one Saturday though, the rest of the season parents are allowed to shout at the kids from the sidelines.

What?!?
****

That very same day I had my recurring thought that I have (no lie) every day. This is the one thought that grounds me and forces me to not take myself too seriously. It is clear as day:

I picture God laughing.
I can just see God laughing at the crazy world. At us.
Laughing.
At all of us here on Earth.
I picture God looking down from above with the thought:
Really?
That is what you've all done with the wonderful world I gave you?
You worry about walking too far, eating sweets, coaching kids from the sidelines, and spend hours with your heads focused on electronic gadgets.
Really?
That is not at all what I'd envisioned for you. My people.
You're zooming from here to there in the blink of an eye and barely connecting with the incredible people I've surrounded you with.
You're worrying about money, social status, houses, cars, vacations, and all the things I never comprehended when I set you all down on that magnificent planet in the first place?

Really?
That's what you've done with all that I gave you?


****
The other morning we woke the kids early to head to Vermont.

It was well before sunrise and Dec was the first I scooped to carry out to the car.
During my first few trips to the car with snacks, books, clothes... I'd noticed the sky was glowing with stars. I paused. For the first time in a long time a gazed at the night sky and marveled at it.

In the moments it took to get Dec wrapped in Ba-Ba, snuggled under my chin and down the stairs, I had told him once and then reminded him two more times to be sure to look at the stars in the night sky once we were outside and heading toward the car.

The night was brilliant. It was vast. And I had been suddenly reminded of how seldom I venture out with the kids to look at it.

Just as we stepped out the door and as the crisp air circled us, Dec immediately lifted his head and looked up.

And I relaxed and found peace because I just knew he was seeing what I'd hoped he would see.


****

It is a really different world they live in. My sweet children.
Far different from the one I grew up in.
I ate every last piece of my Halloween candy as a kid.
And I know I walked far to bus stops and friend's houses.
(That was part of the fun).
And I'm not sure how'd I've improved as a soccer player without my Dad embarrassing me from the sidelines during games.

Sometimes I feel so helpless because I know there is no turning back.
And I get caught up thinking that our systems (most of them anyway) are fundamentally flawed (For example, if we ask kids to walk 2 miles - that's great - but AT LEAST provide sidewalks.).

I often conclude that there is nothing I can do to turn things back to the good old days.

But then I turn to the stars - and am comforted.
I turn toward the stars and I know.

The same night sky that I would turn to as a child for answers, hope, and inspiration
will always be there for my own children in their search for the same.

I Look at the Stars.
And when I take time to do this simple, simple thing
I feel in my heart that

God's laughter stops.

Some girls

Some girls are as good as gold.
Some girls stick by you well in the good times and in the bad.
Some girls are all ears
to let you talk and vent and think and hope.
Some girls transition you through different parts of your life
and support you when you set off on various journeys
but they always like it best when you come back.
Some girls are good to share treats with
and some like to hop in the car and go for a ride.
Some girls give you unconditional love
and let you love them back with admiration and inspiration.
Some girls you pick
and some pick you
and others are picked for you.
By heaven and the angles.

Like my sister dear.My Sweet T!
May this year be as filled with joy as the joy you give
so easily to others.

The family joy

You are my sunshine.

You are my calm.

I call you to vent.

And give you more to worry about.

You remind me

to offer it up in balloon.

You are fair.

You are loving.

You are where I want to BE.

Not because of WHERE you ARE.

But because YOU are THERE.

I love you today.

And everyday.

Happy Birthday T!

XOXO

Mama Panda and the Family Joy.

To my sister The Family Joy
on her birthday.

We call you The Family Joy
Because you are.

And without you, I guess we'd be
The joy-less family.

And without you, we'd not have the role model
The doting big sister, the number one fan.

The support system we've all become so used to
and, frankly, so dependent on.

Nor would we have someone always suggesting that
We stand as a group and sing songs "sound of music style".

Or someone who likes to wear 8 pairs of wading shorts to the beach
and then beg anyone who passes to take her picture with the secret service in the background.

(But alas, those are different stories for a different day.)

More than anything else
You've taught me to laugh and find joy in the littlest of things
(oh and that I should always shave my armpits on my wedding day).

Oh and by the way, you are the glue that holds so many fascinating groups of people together.
You are a natural leader and motivator.
So respected in your community and vast circles of friends - hence the picky above.....
Remember that afternoon of JOY? I do.

I love that about you. You are mayor-like. (Is that a compliment to you?
It was written as a compliment.)

And you have showed me in your incredibly motherly ways.
That a mother's work is never quite done.

That's why I thought you'd enjoy this video.

Just when you let your guard down
Your wee one keeps you on your toes.

And yet, we seem to enJOY these moments.
And feel lucky to be blessed with them.

(I do want to point out that Mama Panda returns to her biscuit consumption quite quickly.
She ain't no fool.)

The First French Braid.

Of many braids.
*I hope*

Thanks for an especially delicious day sweet Nonie.
I loved most, our leisurely stroll.

I love counting on you to bring me joy.
Because, you always do.

Things that Simon Doesn't Say

I carry props.

Cars.

Colors.

ChooChoos.

Money for video games.

I am prepared to entertain my little one when venturing out to a restaurant.

But when there are 8 children. That takes on a whole new bag of tricks.

So I called out to start a game of Simon Says.

To entertain the little ones and keep them from running amuck in the restaurant (no matter that some of their parents own the place, still need to have a sense of decorum).

Apparently either I NEED to be SIMON for all the rounds,

or kindergarteners who ride the BIG bus aren't allowed to lead the round.

Cause Simon NEVER says...

I missed it.

Down at the church tonight I heard the hippies screaming.
Oh, I thought, those hippies will holler at just about anything. Actually, they usually keep to themselves, except for their overflowing pumpkin stand and yard full of chickens. So what's all the hoopla?
Upon further investigation, I discovered that they were admiring what I can only describe as the most unbelievably beautiful rainbow I have ever laid eyes on.
I felt like I could reach out my hand and touch it. Standing on the hill of the church, the rainbow looked to start on the town green, arch over the picturesque Vermont bridge, the quintessential red barn and land somewhere on Bolton mountain which was ablaze with foliage. I wanted to holler with them.
I admired it for a minute or so and then I thought, I must go get my camera.
No, I'll ruin in.
Yes, you'll capture it forever.
No, it will be too long.
Yes, you will never remember how lovely this is.
No.
Yes.
So one more blink of the eyes to lock into memory, just in case, and off we ran to the house.
Getting a funny look from some young father, carrying his baby on his back, who did not appreciate me telling him where he should be standing for the best view, down the street to the house, wet shoes on the floor, grab camera, run back to see...
I missed it.
The rainbow was there in name only. Its beauty, I found out, was fleeting. And I spent the best part of the rainbow running away from it to get something to help me remember it.
I missed it.

I wonder why my memory of things is not enough. Why I need shiny or digital proof to know that something existed at all. That I need a picture of something to see how beautiful it is. In running off to capture these moments, I'll miss them.
Lesson learned, from the hippies.
If you want to remember something, hoop and holler at it. And then it will be, like, remember that awesome rainbow that we screamed through the town about? Instead of, remember that amazing rainbow that I went inside for?

In The Shadow of Cowboys.

The other day (the night before I was to spend two days shuttling myself back and forth to hartford for a national convention of "tree huggers", I had an idea:

It was as clear as a neon sign against a black sky, and it flashed the words:

"2-DAY SPA"

What's that you say?

"2-DAY SPA"

You see, with childcare assembled for a solid 48-hour block, the idea of jetting off to a two-day spa danced in my mind and tricked the corners of my mouth to rise slightly. Slightly Mischievously, I might add.

Do It!! Just do it. You never do crazy things like that.

For a few moments (of bliss) I could just feel the white robe on my skin and the cushioned slippers soothing my 13.1-miled-feet. And, I could hear the distinct trickle of water over silky rocks and I could just welcome the warmth transferring to my hands as they wrapped around a cup of herbal tea.

"2-DAY SPA"

Did I do it?

Of course not.

(You Loser)

I did what I was supposed to do. I left my children, my husband and all homely responsibilities and...

Drove to Hartford.

And back from Hartford.

And drove to Hartford. Again.

And back from Hartford. Again.

And for most of the conference I thought:

What am I doing

• With my career?
• With my calling in life?
• With my interests in protecting the environment?
• With my talents?
• My time?

But then, in the very last workshop on the very last day I found myself in the shadow of two cowboys.

When they entered the room with big dusty hats and big dirty shoes, I knew some spark was going to fly.

It was an hour and a half into the workshop when one of them stood to speak. He spoke of family histories being embedded in the very ranches we're talking about saving. He spoke of love for the land and love for these lifestyles as the most important and effective conservation tool. He spoke about respect.

While he spoke, stunning photographs flashed on the big screen: of canyon lands, mountain regions, kids Dec & Nonie's ages standing in vast prairies with cowboy hats on checking out the endless landscapes with their grandparents off in the distance.

I was captivated, inspired, humbled and motivated.

How different he is from me (I kept thinking)!

Oh my word! How similar we both are!
(I kept thinking)!

In the shadow of these cowboys I found perspective on the world around me and my role in it.
I saw more clearly where I am going and how best to be an inspiration to others in the face of the adversity I am certain to find along the way.

In the shadow of cowboys
I concluded my "2-DAY NON-SPA" and rejoiced in the rejuvenation that came from them.

Right here, actually.

For some reason or other, I have had a million things on my mind lately.
After a 12 hour day, I came home and cut out construction paper pumpkins for 30 minutes. Then I cut out orange strips. Tomorrow, we'll make pumpkins.
Then I stewed for a few minutes about the parent-teacher (+principal for backup) meeting I had today. I thought I should write my principal an email about the thing I was stewing about before I forgot what it is that had me stewing so hard. But I figured if it was bad enough to stew on I would remember it and if I didn't in the morning then one less gray hair for me.
Then I looked at the pooch. He had been slapping me (he's a slapper) with his big hairy paws all night. I had pushed him away. Because even though he was by himself for 11 hours, I had pumpkins to cut, and stew to make.
On my way to the computer I decided to give Drake a minute of my time. So kind, I know. I laid down on his bed, and he snuggled right into me. I am often the one to break these moments. Got to keep moving, got to do this. Oh, and that. But tonight, he put his paws up on my side, and his chin down. And I thought of a question I ask my students all day long... "Where should you be right now?" As in, not inside your locker, or walking backwards down the hallway, or getting a drink without asking.
And I imagined someone asking me that question.

And I took a deep breath.
And Drake snuggled in.
And I knew.
Right here.
Actually.
I'm exactly where I should be.

V is for...

"we cheer each other on, and we celebrate the effort, more than the victory" -c.h.

i loved those words as soon as i heard grace's voice saying them on the coolest video ever.

but yesterday was proof of effort and victory. anyone who can put themselves out there for 13.1 miles is amazing!!

The Tree. And My Baby Who Will Always Be.

Despite the heavy rain and strong wind of late, this morning my Baby Tree looked healthy, happy even.

I checked on her as I do most every morning. Sometimes I don't even venture outside.

My wondering eyes peer at her through the front window. Does she know I love her?

Other times we do rock painting, bug catching, worm racing - right in her very shade.

I thinks she likes these days the most. I know I do. Can she feel me thinking about her?

It was three years ago I selected and planted Baby Tree. Just there up in front, by the white picket fence. She deserved one of the most prominent spots I could find in the yard.

It was three more days after her roots hit the soil that I went back to the nursery in pursuit of the perfect Mother Tree to stand guard in the garden behind her. When Mother Tree was in her place with ample water and plenty of soil steadying her, the ache that had hijacked my heart -my world really, finally subsided to the point where I could inhale.

Inhale. Deeply.

Though three years have gone by, I still wonder.

Every day I wonder.

Oh! How I wonder....

Though three years have gone by, I hurt.

Who would have guessed it would still hurt?

The ache fills my heart as I type....

Inhale. Deeply.

And, though three years have gone by, I still love.

My heart overflows with love -

For the baby I never got a chance to see -

- my baby who will always be.

Maireann croí éadrom i bhfad.

Stratton Blue

As soon as I my head hits the pillow I am out.
Sleep comes easy after a long day.
And as I drift off I could imagine that I am sailing through the sea, rocking off to a peaceful night's sleep.
Surrounded by an ocean of blue.

Or I could be up in the sky, on a cloud of whiteness (only white sheets and blankets on my bed). Blue skies and puffy bed, it is surely a good way to go into lala land.


But I hate flying. I really do not like being up in the air. I panic. I have taken drugs to get from here to there without freaking out. For me pretending to fly is about as relaxing as listening to a soundtrack of nails on chalkboards or baby cries.

And boats, well they bring on panic too. Especially the little ones. The loss of control, the role of mother nature, the fear of not seeing land....well pass the brown bag and bring on the Xanax.


But my blue walls bring peaceful nights and happy thoughts for different reasons.


I purposely chose Benjamin Moore Stratton Blue from the Historical Collection for the name.
And every time I look at the walls I can't help but remember the day we painted the room.
Being 6 months pregnant I was given a by.
And Bri and I had to get to Sears to pick out a new fridge for the pad.

So we left the task of painting our bedroom to mom and dad.
I don't think dad has ever painted a room in his own house.
But with his work clothes on he got to business and relayed the story of his summer painting houses.
And when I Bri and I returned our room was blue.

And as I lie in bed I see their work. Their beautifully painted blue room that brings me peace, and happiness and comfort.
Despite its imperfections. I know I am home. And it makes me happy.