Act 1

Every day, I go to job where I take care of other people's children.
I take it way too seriously.
I thought I took it way too seriously. 
I stress and I plan and I drive my husband nuts and I work too much at night and on the weekends and I go to my classroom on Sundays and I spend money on ink and laminating paper because I just have to do one more thing before I go to bed or else they might have 5 seconds where they don't feel stimulated and engaged and then I will be the worst teacher ever.
I worry about my kids. I worry that I will say the wrong thing and be the teacher they tell (bad) stories about 20 years later. I worry I will miscount and leave one of them outside after recess. They eat too much sugar at snack. Their parents didn't pack them mittens for recess.
But this week was a whole new kind of worry. On Wednesday, when one of them asked to go to the bathroom, I watched her leave. I watched her go and thought "Please God, just let her make it there and back".
That's when I knew I was scared.
It is a terrible feeling. It is a responsibility that is so much greater than I ever realized and it is nothing I ever learned in school or read in any book.
I like to selfishly think that being a teacher can be life changing for others. But am I prepared to be a life saver as well?
Do I have the capacity to do what those ladies did? Do I think that quickly? Do I love that much?

It's a raw feeling. I feel open and exposed.
I feel helpless.

I felt helpless.
Two days ago I read about #26Acts of Kindness. Do one act of Kindness for each teacher and student horrifically lost in Newtown, CT. This. This resonated with me.

Let me explain the feeling. Before I deliver my goodie with the note attached that reads "This random act of kindness is in memory of the 26 children and teachers lost in Newtown, CT. God Bless" my heart starts thumping. I get nervous. Excited. Alert. It is an active feeling. It is so little. It is SO little. But it is something and something, right now, is better than nothing. Nothing is sadness. Nothing is fear. Nothing is don't leave the house. Don't go in the building. Don't unlock the door. Don't let them leave the room. Don't show that you're scared.
Nothing is not a choice today.

These Acts of Kindness are completely selfish acts for me, disguised at selfless. Each act is done because it could have been my school and my classroom and it could have been me and it wasn't. How do I give thanks for that?
That pounding in my stomach and my chest, that is for me. And it is for them. It is for good and it is for hope. It is for the gift of today and my God do I hope it is for the gift of tomorrow, too.

Act 1: Gatorade for the next person who came to the gym.
Act 2: Olive Garden gift card for the next person in line at the drive-thru. 

Part of me wants to see the reactions. But I know, there are new angels in heaven watching this story unfold.

NYC and all that is Good

An ubelievable NIGHT IN NYC last night celebrating all that is GOOD in NYC - thanks to Garrison Keillor for this amazing song. 


In my mind I'll always know the grins and smiling eyes that Mom and Dad had while he sang it live.  Magic.  One of the purest magical moments I've known.

* Song begins at 25:26

Check the box

As I sat in the warmth of my home, lights on, TV and internet feeding us coverage of Super Storm Sandy, I thought what can I do to help? Looking fresh from a hot shower I looked around my apartment to the extra people we had staying with us and thought, "Oh I am doing something, I have sheltered a family", so "check the box" and order take out and let your (power) guilt subside.

• Did I feel fortunate and lucky? check, check
• Did it bother me that so many so close were still without power? Big Check
• Did it bother me that people were cold, tired and hungry? BIGGER CHECK
• Did it bother me that my daughter's school only raised 11K for the school secretary who lost her entire house in the Rockaways? Cheapskate check
• Did I think how could I help, all my time away from work is spent with my children? Guilty Check
• Did I read an inspirational email from a coworker who volunteered a day and made a difference in an 80 year old couple's life. INSPIRATIONAL CHECK
• Did I rally my peeps in the spirit of Thanksgiving and this holiday season to give it true meaning. Boy does it feel Good Check

So we checked a mental box to feel better about ourselves, but what we could not help checking was the difference we made in a stranger's life. We started the day as seven wanna be do gooders, and we succeeded in doing good. We succeeded in clearing out a water logged basement that would make a horder proud. We succeeded in giving hope to a stranger who had hope swept out to sea. Dennis, barely knew our names, but he bear hugged us like family.

Photographer: Mugsy

These Days

 My dream has come true during these days.


"These Days Are...."

the ones I haven't worried about Mom and Dad, because they have been with us....

AND, Wow do I love it,





"These are the days, ohh

 
These are days, you'll remember Never before and never since, I promise Will the whole world be warm as this and as you feel it
You'll know it's true that you are blessed and lucky It's true that you are touched by something That will grow and bloom in you
These are days, you'll remember 

When may is rushing over you with desire To be part of the miracles you see in every hour

 
You'll know it's true that you are blessed and lucky It's true that you are touched by something 
That will grow and bloom in you
These are days
These are the days you might fill with laughter until' you break  
These days you might feel a shaft of light make it's way across your face  
When you do you'll know how it was meant to be
See the signs and know their meaning 
It's true, you'll know how it was meant to be 
Hear the signs and know they're speaking to you, to you

Thank you Sandy

Thank you for These Days.

Walk Humbly

on the eve of Sandy - I can't help but think of sons and brothers... of your sons... and brothers...

and of my own.

walk humbly, all.
K

(a link to the best youtube version I could find this evening)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eiVONo4K6to

and to the lyrics:

Walk Humbly, Son

Walk humbly, son
Walk humbly now
And cherish every step
For a life well spent
On this earth we're lent
Will be marked by the void you have left

May you conquer not curse challenges
May you hold back the dark like a dam
May you lead your life with lion's roar
May you leave it like a lamb

Don't await rewards for your good deeds
A reward won't make them good
Don't await judgment of any foes
They'll receive just what they should

When you find the axis of this world
Don't tread too far inside
Run away as far as you think you can
Be well and enjoy the ride

Walk humbly, son
And store your pride
When you need strength later on
For your life's work will be judged if earth
Is saddened when you have gone

Walk humbly, son
Walk humbly now
And forget not where you are from
May you go further than those before
And provide for those to come

Will you walk humbly, Son

lost and found

When I told Annie that I had lost my patience tonight, she promptly replied in a very serious tone:

"Can I help you find it?" 

"Where did you last have it?"

In the sternest voice I could muster between stifling giggles, I said: 

"I am pretty sure I know where it is.." 

They sat in the back

The infrequent morbid blogger has a post.

About death.

Again.

Well, about life.

But prompted by a death.

Again.

Another patient.

This time it was the funeral.

I "squeezed" it into my schedule today.

In between my other patients.

Who are alive.

For now.

A long life lived.

Taken away from many friends and enormous amounts of family.

Grandchildren galore, children abound.

Nieces and nephews.

Great-grandchildren.

The pews were full.

Siblings.

Two of them.

Sat in back.

Of all the others.

Should they be up front?

Should they mourn the most?

Rare to see siblings alive at this age.

They know more.

I thought.

They are the family.

I know.

The ones who were there first.

I cried.

The ones who hurt the most.

Too many times a day goes by.

A week.

Or two.

Who have I talked to today.

Sometimes it is 3 or 4.

Sometimes it is none.

Rarely.

But sometimes.

The past will always bind us together.

While the present keeps us apart.

Physically.

But not emotionally.

Or spiritually.

That can not be changed.

By pews in the church.

Or death.

when the day is done

 

 

musings from a day well done-

buyer beware:

the pictures have nothing to do with the words...

and the words have nothing to do with anything...

 

 



today I asked my one and only why I was so lucky to have such a great kid...

she said it was beacuse her kid has a great mom...

well done...

 

I still hate my "barefoot" running sneakers. I'll be a cripple before caramel apple season if I continue to use them.

Just sayin'

 

speaking of caramel apple season, I have come to terms with my severe sugar addiction-

don't know what I am going to do about it- but at least we're on good terms.

oy.

 

 I used to wonder a lot more than I do now.

Wonder and question.

Now I try more to listen.

what?

 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

I think I am a cat person.

Don't tell my dogs.

 

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000

 

Italics are annoying. So are rising gas prices.

 

 

is it bad that my one and only yelled out

"real housewives of nyc"

while playing tv tag???

she's 8.

 

and while we're at it-

her feet are bigger than mine.

wahhhhhhhh!!

 

_____________________________________________________ 

 

 

tis the season for some significant dates.

terror-joy-births-

how blessed are we to remember, celebrate...

the alternative is well, grim.

 

***************************************************

 

 

crickets are cool.

they sing my favorite lullabys-

g'nite

 

 

 



Nine Invisible Months

Did I ever tell you my due date was supposed to be September 8th? I said "I think it will be the 10th" Eric said "Ok. That's your guess."

I laughed. "No, let me change it after a few appointments."

Silly me.

There were no appointments.

(from a journal entry to myself - 3/15/12)

I need to write this post. 
I need to write this post because today is the day I was supposed to become a mother.  

Instead, I cried. 
I have cried a lot the past months. As I have mourned the loss of life inside me and the milestones of a pregnancy that was never really mine. 

I cried for a baby that never got to be and I cried for the mother I am not. 

We planted a tree because I need this day to be about life, not death. About growing, and not disappearing. 

It rained as we dug the hole and it rained as we placed her in it. It rained as I took a family picture and it rained as I stood there crying. Looking at this tree that is, for many reasons beautiful, I thought she looked lonely. I cried about that, too. But, now she is here, and I can take care of her.

And before I left her, out there in the dark, I said to her "I hope you like it here." 

Her leaves made a heart against the dark stormy sky.

 I think that was her answer. 

They Must Be Cousins

It seems impossible to have a family refuge that allows me to truly enjoy life at a slower pace.

We come to The Island for a great salty-air sleep, a hearty meal (undoubtedly cooked on the grill), an occasional PortMac, and a healthy spritz of salt water from the shallows beneath the trusty alumacraft.

We come for laughter, for sandy sheets and for the irreplaceable sandy soap in the outdoor shower.
We travel great distances for that outdoor shower.

Long ago, we came to The Island to reunite with siblings and parents.  We came to make good money.  To make good money doing mindless work really: washing dishes, bagging groceries, stocking shelves, slinging donuts, rigging sailboats....

We came to laugh at the tourists - especially those on mopeds. And we laughed at the tourists who wore neon.  And nevermind the tourists who combined both activities.

For a while, we believed that after a few good hurricanes weathered on these shores, we could call ourselves natives.  Now that we're older, we've learned that the natives might not be the best crowd to run with on this Island.

For now, we'll just run with family.

For me, and for you - we came to connect: with the natural beauty that surrounds, with siblings who'd moved off to a new stage in life, with children who were growing up WAY to fast.  We came to connect with our deepest thoughts that always get lost in the gentle roar that is our  daily life on the mainland.

We now come to The Island  to watch the next generation discover that under Papa and Granny's roof, the terms cousin and friend are synonymous.  We come to have them learn that Aunts can be magical, crazy, a fountain of fun and that Uncles can be unpredictable, have endless games up their sleeves and seemingly boundless energy.  We come to The Island and our sense of "extended family" is quickly defined.

And we love it's definition.  And we want it to extend it even further.

This is why I felt more than moved today when I sat on the wooden bench nearest the ferry slip in Vineyard Haven and listened to Nonie describe every coupling of birds as "cousins".  Mom, look at those two - they must be cousins.

Even if they weren't the same breed, even if they looked nothing alike - she'd see two birds enjoying the same sandy beach, or same weathered railing, or same swaying row boat and she'd declare them cousins.

For a moment I am reminded of the time she asked if Aunt Lily was Mary Poppins.  Lils, can you fly?

.....Ms. Nonie has a tendency to be right....perhaps those birds are cousins.

While the avian cousins flew in every direction above VH harbor this glorious afternoon, I was reminded of how grateful I am for the opportunity to come to this place to let the sand rush in....

With my deep, deep appreciation to Granny & Papa, and to all the cousins, siblings and outlaws, for bringing their own magic to these sandy shores.

You are not rudderless

To a friend:

###

If I've calculated correctly - you're due to deliver Baby Girl # 4 pretty soon.

I hope that this nearing-the-end......approaching-the-beginning time is relaxing and has you counting your blessings.

I'm thinking that it probably has you wishing your Mom were here to meet Baby Girl #4.  I'm certain I'd be wishing the same thing.

But, perhaps they've already met?  God does works in funny ways.  And by funny, I mean mysterious, powerful, mind-boggling... but you know what I mean.

Your newest little lady - I think she'll be a Princess of Peace.

Many positive thoughts to you and yours as you embark on this expansion of family and as you morn the loss of the one who guided your journey until now. 

Through the three lassies dancing around your legs and the one in your belly your Mother is still guiding you.  Steering you.

You, my dear friend, continue to be a beautiful and inspiring Mother due in large part to the fact that you learned from The Best of the best.

Your Mother is with you.  Today tomorrow and forever, you are not rudderless.

When I Am With You.

Our sneakers kick up the dry sand, as the sweat falls down our faces.
We are on our second run of the weekend and it feels like we
are doing what we should be doing.  At least to me it does.

We take it slow, a step at a time.  Not much more than that -
and certainly nothing less.  We're runners after all.  Aren't we?

We talk a bit.  Too much for you, but not nearly enough for me.
Together we cover the essentials and then, to distract ourselves from the heat, we chat
about a whole layer of fluffy stuff.

Mostly, my feet shuffle along and I'm enjoying being with you.
Running by your side
and I am with you.

Trailing behind
and I am with you.

Handing you the water bottle
and I am with you.

We take it slow, a step at a time allows us the chance to lift
our heads and enjoy where we are heading.
On occasion, but not too often,
we gaze back at where we've come from.

While our talking brings comfort, it is the silence that brings us even more.
The shuffling of our feet and the deep breathing from our souls provide the backdrop for what I enjoy the most of all... the passing of this time.  With you.

***


On this day, during this beautiful run with you, my thoughts shift to Uncle Vince.
How could he be gone?


How Can I Be Saying Goodbye to Uncle Vince, When I Feel Like I Just Met Him?

Into the depths of my throat I can feel the pain well from the inside.  It is that
burning pain deep in my throat that triggers the tears from the bottom corners of my eyes.
Here they come again.
Warm teardrops fill my eyes and fall to the sand as I run.

My feet swish rhythmically in the sand below.  My nose begins to drip.

You don't see any of this because it is far too hot outside
and we really shouldn't be running at this hour of the day anyway, and you're in front of me powering through it all... and because of all this,
I have the privacy I need to
say over and over and over in my mind:

Dear Vince, I discovered you too late.  

It is my Uncle Vince who reminded me just last week - days before he succumbed to cancer,
that he was taking each day - day by day, and that each day was a gift.

Perhaps, the most simplest of all life's lessons.

Was it not just yesterday that the kids and I hunkered down in our cozy bed on a "snow day" to chat with Uncle Vince on the phone and to spend hours coloring pictures to send to him to cheer him up? How could he possibly be gone?

Wasn't it just yesterday that he reminded me that "everyone needs a ' My Uncle Vinnie'."  (Just like the movie, My Cousin Vinnie ....



Tonight I sit alone thinking that everyone just might need a My Uncle Vinnie,
who is with them.

***

I soon shift out of my solemn thoughts to take note of the passing
driveways, songbirds, and occasional landscaping trucks.

With a sweep of my arm, I wipe my nose and my tears.

You run silently in front.  Once again and always my leader.

We are more than half way to the south shore.
We are doing it.
We are running
and I am with you.

Our sneakers kick up the dry, soft sand and the salty, saturated sweat falls down from our brows.
To replace the tears perhaps?
Even if for a few moments.

I breathe in the heavy sea air, the waves crash in the distance, and I find comfort in realizing that

these are the days my Uncle Vince spoke about.

These are the days that are the gifts to be treasured.

The gifts I enjoy the most of all, when I am with you....

and you

and you...

and you, beautiful...

and of course, you guys too.

What I See in my Kitchen Tonight.

When I look around my kitchen tonight... my favorite little boy is in everything I see.


There is the sign he made the other morning.  He observed two lovely turkeys walking straight down the center of our road (toward the lake) and rushed inside to make a sign to hang on our white picket fence - to alert the neighbors.

His summer journal was on our counter, with the first entry in clear view.

He sat captivated at the kitchen table, while working on his "Monkey Math"

He was responsible for so much of what went into these cookies.  The stirring, the licking, the measuring, the licking, the scrubbing of pots, the licking, the licking, the licking, the licking.

Gosh Darn I just love him.  He is such a beautiful and amazing little guy.
And I am one lucky Mom.

Crashing Ladies' Night....

First of all, he crashed ladies night.

Ladies night is the weekly evening to which a few chosen ladies are invited to attend with one minor prerequisite:
you must engage in some form of exercise prior to bellying up to the bar for a beer.  Bathing kids does not count.

My father in law insisted that he'd cycled earlier in the day.
So, we let him in for a pint.

It turns out that this non-lady shared the most compelling story of ladies night.

Not more than a day earlier he intercepted a very lost elderly woman on the side of the road near his office.  She waved him down in somewhat of a panic.  He noticed that she was a bit flustered so he encouraged her to pull aside, park the car, and rest for a bit under his watch.

She was lost.

She was very, very lost.

And, one of the first things she told my father in law is that she needed to use the restroom.  (That made my heart hurt a bit when I heard it the first time).

Once her car was parked, he escorted her across the street to his office and provided her with a clean bathroom, a cold cup of water and, most importantly, compassion.

To make a shorter story of a longer story, he drove her home in her own car (followed by his co-worker so they could get back to their office) and it was a 40 mile (one-way) excursion.  Perhaps, the most incredible part of the story is that - while she was intercepted 40 miles from her home... she actually had set out to travel only a few miles from the senior center and back to her home - in her home town.  Somehow she took many wrong turns and ended up in my father in law's shadow.

Gosh, I thought, as I listened to the details. 

How very sad, I thought.  Emah asked, "Did she know who she was?"

On the other hand I couldn't help but think
how perfect that my father in law was the one to intercept her.

In my mind, there could not be a more understanding, compassionate, caring, and attentive person for this elderly lady to have found.   It was a meeting meant to happen.

And so,  he can crash ladies night as often as he'd like -
if it means he'll come around armed with stories that make us pause, reflect, and regard him as an even more kind, incredible and compassionate man than we had the day before.

Caramel Brownies

Dear world,

My sister-in-law makes world-famous caramel brownies.

But, she has never shared her recipe with me.

So, the other day, I made brownies and then tried to deal with the caramel part after they were cooked.

Dear world,

Don't try that at home.

Sincerely,
Me.

P.S. Sister-in-law:  can you please share?  I got so desperate at one point I found myself handing out brownies with individually wrapped caramels to Granny and explaining that I just didn't have my sh%@ together.

This is not good.  Please help.

P.P.S  I'd have posted a photo, but I ate it.

slowing things down....

Been a whole lot of slowing things down lately.
And switching things up.
And it feels good.

                      

I Tried for You.

Today Sweet Nonie,
I tried for you.

In a few years, you'll look back on this time and you'll think -
"I did everything on the sidelines of Declan's games...."

And you'll be right.
You did your reading. You hugged your Mama. You collected flowers.
You filled, happily I might add, countless hours of "down time" as Dec
learned to play Lax, Gaelic Football and Soccer....

Today, You even got up the nerve to yell at the 43 boys on the field decked
out in full lacrosse uniforms, "Craddle Boys! Now Craddle! Don't you hear the coaches yelling
to CRADDLE?"

But tonight, I gave you a bubble bath and warm dinner of ham, potatoes, and carrots.
We were going to read together while the boys lacrossed. I was giving you (ahem, and me)
a "night off" from sideline duty. At least, that was my Motherly Plan.

Then the text came through:
"Running late. Will meet you at lacrosse".

Did I mentioned that Nonie and I weren't going to Lacrosse today, Coach?

Suddenly, your peaceful eve was over.

My sweet girl was sidelined once again.

Or, in your assertive 3-year-old eyes, my sweet girl was suddenly appointed assistant coach. I can't really tell which:

"Craddle boys, now craddle... Don't you hear the coaches yelling to...."

A Pocket Full...

Sometimes I come home, empty my pockets, and surprise myself with what I've collected.
Oftentimes there are paper clips, rubberbands, paper scraps, marbles, math tools, bracelets.
Things that were handed to me and things that I've taken.
Things, though, that are not totally out of place in a pocket.

I was on a field trip today with my class and one of my students had something in his hand he was shoving into his pocket.
Ooohoohoo that kid sneaking things around... I thought.
So, as I often do, I held out my hand to take, whatever it was, from him.

As I held it in my hand I had a horrible thought...
So I turned to the lady next to me and asked,
"Oh my gosh, do I have his mother's underwear in my hand right now?"

And without much more thought,
I took those undies,
and put them in my pocket.

Just keep going, just keep going

Wow. I am just...
Wow.
January and February slipped away from me.
Okay, March did, too.

I feel like I'm in some sort of dream where time is running out and there aren't enough hours in the day to do everything that needs to get done.
Except it's not a dream.
It's life.

Unfortunately, I am no expert a gifts such as "perspective" and "keeping one's cool".
And so my head is spinning, and my heart is racing. And time won't stop for me

so I've got to find a way to keep up.

I finally breathed a breath of relief around 4:30 this afternoon. I don't know who needed a romp around more, Drake or myself. But we both seem relieved after a few minutes of playing ball in the yard.

He holds nothing against me. He is patient and forgiving. He is resilient and playful.

Lord, may I be more like my dog tomorrow.

Watching them Grow.

The other day the kids followed me around the house asking the following question,

"what should I do now?"

"what should I do now?"

so much that I thought to myself, "who taught them that?"

At the time, it also seemed like such a bizarre question. I can't really think of a time in the last

decade when I've had the luxury of time - enough time to make me pause and wonder what I should do.

There is always something to do. Always. And by the time I get started with something, another "thing to do" usually catches my eye. Then I begin the new "thing to do" since the old "thing to do" was getting boring. This vicious cycle repeats itself throughout the day until I usually come face to face with the very first "thing to do" I started.

Somedays, that first "thing to do" was re-heating my tea in the microwave and I find the cup of ice-cold tea staring at me when I open the microwave door to heat up some soup for dinner. Oh yeah, I think to myself, I was going to drink tea today.

Other days, that first "thing to do" was gathering the library books & movies to return, and I'm reminded of this task when I'm sneaking into the kid's room hours after they've fallen asleep to quietly fill their drawers - when my hand finds a library book sandwiched between athletic shorts and hello kitty kat underpants. Oh yeah, I think to myself, I put that book in the basket 8 hours ago when I was heading downstairs with the dirty laundry.

And on and on and on.

There is always something to do. For me at least. And, with a house full of toys and heads full of imagination my children should always know what to do. Shouldn't they?

I usually have something horribly boring to suggest like, "brush your teeth/hair/elbows" or maybe "unpack the smooshed banana from your lunchbag". Sometimes I'll remind them of a toy they've forgotten - or hand them the library book I've just found in the fridge. Often though, I'll suggest the obvious, "how 'bout you come here and give the best mom in the world a big smooch!"

But, the other day we were out in the garden and I had tried to help Nonie rake around her strawberry plants. A little spring cleaning. These plants look so promising already, thanks in large part to the summertime temps we've had this March. I was left with little to do, since Nonie insisted on using all the garden tools we had with us (rake, clippers, shovel)... so I sat back on the soft grass, and I watched her work.

Shortly, she deemed the job complete (which it wasn't nearly) and came at me with those same words "Mommy, what should I do now?".

I didn't answer her.

I mean, we were outside on a 70 degree day with a swingset, sandbox, gorgeous rolling backyard and 300 acres of woods waiting at our toes. If she couldn't come up with something to do, I had failed as her mother.

I sat silently looking at the trees and her, from the corner of my eye.

What would she do with nothing to do? I wondered.

She hadn't spent 10 seconds waiting for an answer from me and she'd spun on her heal, walked to her tiny dora the explorer folding chair. She picked it up and carried it to her strawberry patch. The moss colored leaves must have looked promising to her too. Because all that she said (not even to me really but more to herself was), "I think I'll just sit here and watch my strawberries grow".

And I was proud of her because she had found a terribly important job that needed doing. She stepped up to the plate, made sure she'd be comfortable on the job by placing her folding chair just so. And she did it.

She watched the strawberries - and I watched her - grow that day.

godmother.