Ramona Had an Escort

We get books on CD every time we head out on long car rides. In fact, last time we

went to Stowe we listened to Ramona Quimby Age 8. Admittedly an interesting pick, considering the audience was a 6 year old boy and 3 year old girl.

I introduced the CD with a preface that started, "WHEN I WAS A LITTLE GIRL... I read all about Ramona...."

And then I could see in the rear view that Dec and Nonie had lost all interest in what I was saying.... So, I paused for a second.

I thought for a moment.

And then I RE-introduced the book on CD a different way:

"Nonie, Dec, we've got a long car-ride ahead of us and I'm going to pop a CD in now that I think you'll like. It is about a girl who always has band-aids on her knees. Her name is Ramona."

And without further ado,

They CLUNG TO EVERY SINGLE WORD.

Just so happens that this morning at 9:27am - I get a call from Dec's school that he has gotten sick in class.

Within minutes (no more than 10) I fetched Dec at the nurse's office. From the school's office, I could see into the nurse's room - his legs were stretched out on the cot. I saw his feet before I could see his face. It was then that I noted that his sneakers were covered in vomit splatter.

I entered the nurse's room with a parental guilt level of 100 on a scale of 1-10. I observed Declan was wearing clothing that we did not own.

Nurse's replacement clothing 2 sizes too small.

He looked so, incredibly awkward in these clothes.

Dec looked up at me and said without hesitation, "Mom - it was just

like in the book Ramona Quimby Age 8, I threw up. Then my teacher told all my friends to move to the caterpillar rug while I went to the nurse. Except that when I walked to the nurse, my teacher didn't ask one of my friends to walk me there."

He finished his statement and looked surprisingly relieved. As if, his story had been told and now he could get on with feeling awful.

I made eye-contact with Dec's school nurse at that point. Just wanted to acknowledge that she was there, and listening to his emotional update.

Clearly, he would have preferred to be escorted to the nurse with one of his wide-eyed, and anxious to leave the vomit smelling classroom friends. But this didn't happen for him.

And amazingly enough (I thought to myself), this is what he will remember about this day.

"Do you remember that Ramona's teacher had a friend walk her to the nurse?" Dec asked.

"Yes Dec, I remember, that was a nice part of the story, wasn't it?"

And I put his backpack on my back, and I signed him out of school. I said thank you to all who had helped care for my baby 6-year-old boy in my absence. And then I held his hand and I walked him out of school. I opened the car door for him, watched him crawl inside and closed it afterwards. Once I was inside, I told him that I was so sorry that he felt so sick.

And I told him

that

I love him so much.

How Could I Not? I Laughed.

He may remember that no one escorted him to the nurse. And Ramona had an escort.

He will remember being cheated out of a friend to guide him.

But, I will remember being his guide.

Brain Fart

I am not sure of the statistics but I am pretty sure I am losing brain cells with every feeding. That and my ravenous appetite make for longs days while on maternity leave. When I am not feeding the baby or feeding myself I am staring off into space or watching the real life desperate housewives of any given city. Yup. That's what my last 2 brain cells can handle. Housewives drinking copious amounts of wine and wearing the most outrageous clothing screaming at each other about whose life is worse. WHAT?

Some hours are spent playing Star Wars vs Army Guys vs Firemen. In an attempt to quell the blood shed I like to lighten things up, like telling X that Darth Vader likes to drive the firetruck and he always needs his coffee before he battles anyone.

Another couple of hours are spent kissing and staring at these faces. I mean, how can you resist? Kell loves to snuggle. So far that is his best quality. I am sure we will figure out more in these coming months but I pretty much spend my "free" time cuddling him. X is onto us that we do this most of the night too...

And this one can't get enough of his baby bro. He always wants to kiss him and I am pretty sure that is 99% of the reason that Kell has greasy hair. He is constantly being touched, caressed, cooed at and occasionally manhandled.

It's been fun.

Writing this is my first step at building my brain cells back.

Tonight I might even pick up a book.

Look out world.

I Sometimes Call You My Mama.

Tonight just might be the night the new babe arrives.

A tad tardy or right on time, depends on how you look at it.

To the hospital they went - after the pageantry and fueled by Sweedish

meatballs. Contractions came and went, then came again.

My hubs shouted out a stream of ridiculously silly baby names to them as they made their way down the path, to the car and onwards to labor and delivery.

And I? I was temporarily gifted their first born.

He stayed with me. Too late to head to the hospital,

but too early to go to sleep. It was time to treat him like a prince.

I tucked him into "his bed in Tar's house" upstairs and promised to stay right with him.

I sat quietly and folded the laundry that I had to clear off "his bed in Tar's house".

He squeezed his lucky reindeer and listened to the glowing owl play music just for him.

When he and I are together like this I often call him a sweet angel boy

because he is. I know he can run his own parents ragged, but for me - especially

on these kind of days, he is a sweet angel boy.

Tonight, early in the night, he half whispered to me, "I love you Tar". And I

didn't ask him to repeat it because my eye contact with him after his soft words met my ears

confirmed that he said what I thought I'd heard. And he meant what he said too.

But while I folded my t-shirt he whispered even more, "I sometimes call you my Mama."

And then he just looked at me with his hershey kiss eyes. And I looked at him for a long time -

And on this night - the night everyone in HIS WORLD had been talking about and planning for, his last night of being the baby in his family, and his first night of being a big brother - on this Silent and Holy Night, he didn't need to utter a single word more.

Because, I knew just what he meant.

So I whispered to him as his eyes slowly closed, "Goodnight my sweet angel boy!"

(Because he is.)

They Got Me.

Instead of their Mom last night -
they got me.

Because their Mom was in Michigan at the bedside
of her father who had quadruple bypass surgery the day before.

THEIR Mom stayed an extra day to be with her father
who happened to be celebrating his 72nd birthday.

So instead of her, they got ME.

And I was warned that they would be SAD, SAD, SAD that Mom wasn't home.
So I pulled out all the stops and we played and laughed and laughed and played.
(And managed to get all homework done, lunches made, and reading completed...)

But while taking care of them I realized that it is the subtle differences that make
a Mom a Mom.

And the way I Mom, isn't the way their Mom moms.

Like, my kids jump out of the tub and then I cocoon them in a big blue towel and
call them a burrito.

But, THEIR MOM lays a towel down on the lip of the tub, then they stand up on it
hold their Mom's hands and jump like a flying squirrel onto the slippery wet floor.
(Or, at least, this is what they told me usually happens).

When they are wrapped up nice and snug in their cocoon, it isn't called a cocoon.
Or a burrito.

So when I went to dress them in their PJs (which they call Jammies), we were missing
a key ingredient.

Underpants.

When I came into the family room with the wrong kind (?!) of underpants I went back
into their room searching. And searching.
And I knew they could hear me from their playroom because THEIR MOM still uses a baby monitor. So I kept chatting to them.

"Can you hear me, I'm searching for underpants la la la la underpants where are you????" I shouted into the monitor.

And I could hear their distant laughter from the other room. Far away. While they waited
for their underpants. Laughing at my antics.

For a moment, I think they were happy that they got me tonight.

So, when I came back into the family room waving my empty hands and telling them that I couldn't find any of the "right kinds of underpants". They laughed again.

Because the underpants were on my head.

And I'm pretty certain THEIR MOM has ever done that before.

Diagnosis.

I just love the one shoe on, one shoe off look.

*image not mine - i only wish i could be that clever

Pocket Notes

During the past few weeks getting out of the house has been a challenge in the morning.

Even though we have not started a new school and we did not have a nice long 2 month summer break from school, X has shown a major case of schooliosis.

The fits start when it is time to get dressed and don't end until I have calmed him down, pumped him up, and repeatedly reassured him in his classroom that I will return.

He started calling me "mama", and Bri "dada" again, and drop offs have been peppered with sobs and intermittent wails of, "don't LEAVE me MAMA". If any words could ever fracture a heart for real those would be it.

And then I start my day, already a little beaten down.

I sit in my car, in the driveway of my patient's house, stalling. I don't want to go in. I know the questions that are coming, they are the same ones she asked me two days, two weeks, and 2 months ago. And I know my replies are the same. I try to come up with different ways of answering, so she has no reason to ask again, but alas.

She lives alone, 91 years old, and is slowly dying. She refuses aides, showers, help with shopping and driving. She wants to know why she is tired. What can she do?

Finally this morning, after watching George, eating french toast on homemade white bread, laughing and joking while getting dressed, we were ready for school. I try to make the mornings relaxed, not a constant rush to get out the door. There had been no tears yet as we grabbed our bags. At the last moment I grabbed a piece of paper, and wrote I LOVE YOU in big letters. I told X what is said, folded it and put it in his pocket. On the way into school I asked what was in his pocket, and what it said. He remembered. As we walked into school a group of classmates commented on how cool it was that X had a batman shirt on, he let go of my hand, found his place on the carpet, and said "bye, bye, mama".

I walked out of the building like I was floating.

Once again I sit in the car. Once again, I know what awaits me. A lonely lady who seeks my advice, my wisdom, my expertise. I am frank. Again. You have X disease which has Y symptoms which need Z treatment.

Or you could sit here. And let yourself be tired. And wait to die.

In not quite those words, that is what I say. And she seems accepting.

And as I walk to the door once again, she asks me what I "have" for her.

Should she got to the store for some groceries?

And so I tell her something that sounds so easy.

Do whatever you CAN do, and ACCEPT the things that you can't.

And I am gone.

We will see what tomorrow brings. I am prepared for tears, tantrums, hugs and smiles. Whatever it brings, I will try to heed my own advice, keep it in my pocket for the day, and try not to forget it.

All She Keeps

In the kitchen of a modest house in Tipperary, there is a beat up and cracked old toy.

Few would think it is worth keeping, especially with space at such a premium.

The kitchen is the heart of this home, and any who come to visit - rarely leave this space.

It has a huge and always piping hot old stove, a table bursting with seats, and a handful of scattered armchairs. Once your eyes have gotten beyond the pastureland, the Galtee Mountains stand tall in the distance outside each rear-facing window.

We come to this kitchen for stories, for warmth and of course, for the incredible food. Hot apple pies, traditional Irish breakfasts, and soul-warming cups of tea. Despite the close quarters, there is magically always room at the table for one more.

In it's prime, this house was home to 2 energetic parents and 9 children.

Eleven people in total, shared just four bedrooms. Well, three actually, since one room was always reserved for special guests. Today, far less frequently of course, it is the grandchildren who bustle through the doors.

I walked slowly through the house this time, it is simply bursting with memories of kittens at the back door, siblings swinging from bunk beds, and walking the family herd of cows to pastures on the way to and back from school. There are religious figurines and crosses visible at every turn. There are tables filled with pictures of beloved grandchildren in America. And, there are closets that ooze worn-out wellies in every shape, size and color imaginable.

Look at all she keeps.

This visit I couldn't help but focus on a haggard old water-filled toy. How had I not seen it before? I used to play with the same toy when I was younger. Pushing a button shoots rings through the water and the skilled handler shifts the toy around to catch rings on the hooks.

I learned that this faded orange gadget was the youngest child's toy. She played with it during her battle and ultimate surrender to leukemia. It was her hospital toy. It was her home toy.

As her mom kept caring for her and comforting her day in and day out - as she watched her little girl's hair thin and eventually fall out....the water-filled, ring-toss toy was played.

And her mom kept watch. Over her. And her toy.

Now, 25 years later - her mom keeps watching over the toy and the mirky water that fills it.

I'm amazed that she even lets visiting children touch it, but she does. They delight in the simplicity of it - bubbles, gurgling water, colorful rings. It requires no batteries, just attention.

Do my children remind her of her courageous little girl when they pick up the toy to play? I wonder.

When the children lose interest or turn careless with the toy - she removes the toy from tiny hands and returns it to the place of honor very near her kitchen sink in the back corner of the room. The taped side faces out.

In this cozy house the mom keeps watch over the wellies,

the homemade pies,

the statues of Mary,

the memories of bunk bed wars,

the dairy cows mooing in the distance,

the picturesque mountains,

the kittens at the back door,

her courageous baby girl's water-filled toy....

and me.

This is all she keeps.

Today so far...

You serenaded me with an unrecognizable song.

You did downward dogs on Granny's mat on the front lawn...

shouting "Namaste" to neighbors and the house sparrows who fluttered by.

You've asked for an icey pop about 30 times. For the record, it is 2:02PM and

I've yet to give in to your demands. Go me.

When coaching you in gymnastics, I convinced you to sit on my lap for a few

fleeting moments, and I called you my baby and the prettiest girl in the world.

You got dressed for the day at about 11Am. It was a cute button-up dress and remarkably,

you put it on with the buttons up the back, not the front.

I'm still not sure how you succeeded in doing this.

Then, you ate your lunch naked because we didn't want to ruin your pretty dress.

Now your body and mouth are both stained in tomato sauce red.

So, to compliment the face stains, I painted your toes hot pink.

No hairdo yet - it is wild and free, just like you.

You waved goodbye to the big schoolbus driver this morning.

And didn't welcome Dec off the bus this afternoon. Instead, when he dared to touch the cup

of chocolate milk on the outside table on the way into the house after school, you

greeted him with an enthusiastic and fierce: "my chocolate milk, Dec that is MY CHOCOLATE MILK PUT IT...DOWN DECKY!!!!"

and you tried to hit him in the head with a red wooden block (but missed, thankfully).

Oh Nonie.

Oh Nonie.

Nonie Nonie Nonie.

So far

today.

Holy....

Sometimes it amazes me what come out of Xave's mouth.

A lot of the time it has to do with baseball, but the other things that he picks up on and spurts out at random times always catch me by surprise.

As we watch the news a picture will flash on the the screen and he'll either scream "Obama, mommy look, Obama" as if his best friend was on t.v., or he'll say in his low serious lispy voice, "thats a bad guy right there" as a photo montage of Bin Laden plays.

The other day he lifted up his dinner cup and started signing "holy, holy, holy- look mom I'm the priest". Apparently he does pay attention through the cheerio flinging and squirming.

And I do try hard not to swear. Especially around X.

But sometimes it either just slips out. Or something (someone) happens to get on the couch (or takes a ball point pen and draws on the couch) and a curse may accidentally come out.

So I shouldn't be all that surprised when he picks up on those words too and spews them out at random intervals, like every time he hits a baseball "oh sh.., oh sh.., oh sh..".

That's when I so cleverly swoop in from the other room and laugh, "oh shoot? what are you shooting? oh shoot oh shoot...but we don't shoot things, do we?" Oh dear, here we are jumping from one disaster to the next.

So today I was delighted as we were driving around and I pointed out the airport way over there. Not even sure if he could even see the planes, but just hearing that we were near the airport illicited a big shriek and a

HOLY GOSH

whew...

We'll see what happens when he actually sees the plane next time.

When A Mother's Laugh Rings True.

The end of a good mother's day. I was offered tea and breakfast in bed. I was even wished a happy mothers day by both children without them having a reminder whispered in their ear. For some reason, this thoughtfulness stood out today.

We brunched with family in a cool new spot - blue blazers and khakis as far as the eye could see. We took a meandering stroll in the Res with two Grandpeople. I watched Dec score a goal "for me" on the soccer field. Equally as important, I snuggled with Nonie on the sidelines.

With less than 15 minutes until dinner was served, I created a new dessert with Nonie and Dec. It had butterscotch, dulce de leche, and german chocolate cookies as the top three ingredients. Mother's Day yum. Yum.

And finally, when the sun dipped below the horizon and the hubs began clearing the plates and glassware from our al fresco dinner - I strolled to the yard with the kids.

We quietly played our own game of "everyone's it" tag. We had three sets of bases, and I soon realized that Dec is almost as fast as me.

During a quick break, the sound of another mother's laugh came from the yard across the street.

What's that? asked Dec.

Oh, just a mom playing with her kids, I said. On Mother's Day, I added.

We continued our game.

At another break our heavy breathing gave way to sounds of another mom in the yard two houses toward the lake shouting to her kids at the swing set. Before long, we could hear the loud squeaks of the swings and we knew she was swaying along with her kids. Her laughter relayed this message quite quickly.

Before too much longer we could hear another mom closer to the forest. She was out tidying up her garden with her wee ones. She laughed then shrieked when they sprayed the hose too close to her shoes.

***

Tonight I found myself inexplicably in the midst of the magic of mother's day.
A day I typically chalk up to being just another hallmark holiday. Mother's Day moments are magical indeed, but aren't limited to one calendar day a year.

This evening I stepped away from the confines of our house and my post-dinner responsibilities. I gravitated to our yard and bee lined for our swing set, while the hubs bellied up to a large soapy sink and gravy-filled pots. And this phenomenon was happening up and down our road.

In the fading daylight hours, our quiet street came to life with mothers outside playing with their kids.

And I was reminded that:

Nonie and Dec love it most when I run, skip, sing, laugh, slide, sway,

and PLAY beside them.

On this day they loved their mother because she was playful, fun, silly, unpredictable and FREE

When A Mother's Laugh Rings True...

this is the way Mother's Day should always be (and this year it transpired as if on cue).

Move on over...

There's a new kid in town and Nonie's adjusting slowly.

She liked to be the baby cousin.

A title stripped from her in a moment's notice and two weeks early.

But I must say, having a new baby in town makes me really savor these days.

At 5 1/2, and 3 1/2 Dec & Nonie are still babies. My babies.

And most importantly - they still need me.

To tie shoes, pour milk, kiss boo boos, tuck them in,

rinse shampoo out of eyes, buckle car seats, cut pizza,

put on toothpaste, zipper jackets, open paints sets,

read the "hard words", make popcorn, give underdogs,

answer questions, comb their hair

my babies still need me

not quite, but almost as much as

I need them.

On: Asking for Help

I have never been good at asking for help.

Never. Never. Never.

But recently, I've had to.

As a full-day *important meeting* in the "middle of nowhere Massachusetts" lurked overhead, I swallowed my pride and asked a neighbor if she'd take Dec for the morning

(to play with her same-age-son) and stick them on the kindergarten bus together at noon.

Not only did she say yes so willingly and beautifully, she sent me the most adorable email after the events: Dec spent most of the morning at our house encouraging "T" to "tidy up each toy" before they moved on to the next activity. My response was: "Really?!? I wish he did that around here!@?"

Maybe I didn't need to make that extra trip to the grocery store the night before to make sure Dec had something snazzy to share during that neighborly lunch-session. Why do I make things harder than they need to be?

***

Yesterday we asked Uncle Ollie to help on another tricky scheduling day.

Dec was thrilled.

I tried to ignore the guilty pit in my belly but it was certainly there.

Ollie was to bring Dec from his morning activities to our house, in time for the kindergarten bus. And to wait with him until the bus came (of course). But you see, Ollie is a busy guy - with a business and children of his own.

In my eyes, this was a very big ask.

At work, I waited until approximately 30 seconds after Dec's bus should've picked him up and texted Ollie:

"Dec was excited to have you transport him to the bus today.

I hope it was smooth. Thank you thank you thank you. Thanks again....K"

To which he responded:

"It was an absolute pleasure. Any time. He's a cool polite fun guy to be around."

A few seconds later a picture comes through.

It was a picture taken from our driveway of the "little" bus with Dec's little cherub face looking out the bus window at him. The title of the message from Ollie was: "Proof."

Cue the mother's heart into mega-melt-mode.

So I replied (choking back the guilt.....):

"Glad the bus came !!!! Always an adventure figuring out which direction (and what time) it will come.

New driver almost every day. Thanks again - I'm certain he enjoyed every mili-second.

(He told Nonie this morning that "Ollie is a cool guy".)"

In response I got a message from Ollie with no title.

Just the following picture of Ollie's daughter (Anna) & Dec together:

"He wanted to bring Anna with him" Joked the message.

To which I laughed out loud.

Sitting at my desk, in an office full of people, I laughed.

Out loud.

And I knew that this laughter brought me one step closer to being okay with asking for help. Not all of the time. But some of the time.

Thank you Ollie & Leah and to the many others who make me feel okay about handing over my children: Some of the time. But not all of the time.

I'm not good at asking for help.

But I'm getting better at it.

P.S. Look closely at Dec's pocket in that picture and you'll see the note I scribbled to Ollie about not knowing which direction the bus would come from and thanking him a million times over. Wonder what the Kindergarten teachers thought when that popped out of Dec's pocket at school. Very "Please-look-after-this-bear ... in full Paddington-esque-style". Huh?

Scared Eyes.

I saw a little girl Nonie's age today, left in her daddy's BMW wagon while he ran into a CVS for milk.

I was walking out of work and I saw her little head in her car seat and noticed her eyes looking quite scared. Did she think I was going to steal her?

I walked past her car and smiled the warmest, sweetest, motherest smile I could muster and through my curved mouth I wanted her to see that I was telling her that she would be okay.

Then, I waited (by my car) while her dad scurried from CVS (which has no windows so he definitely couldn't see her while he was in there) with a gallon of milk. He hopped in the car and he handed her a lollipop.

She was scared. She was clearly scared while he had left her. And was relieved that he was now back.

Before he got in the car, he made eye contact with me and by the look in his eye, I knew, that he knew, that he had done a bad, bad thing.

I should've said something to him.

I should've said nothing to him.

I should've said something to him.

What I wanted to do was ask for his wife's phone number. Because if she had just witnessed the fact that her baby was left in the car in a vast parking lot all by herself while her husband ran in for milk - she'd have killed him when he got home.

But maybe he'd just lost his wife in a car accident.

Or maybe his wife had just left him for another man.

Or maybe the mother was curled up beneath the back seat hiding from daddy - in a fun and friendly parking lot game - and the baby wasn't left by herself after all - and I'd be the foolish bystander passing judgement on things I know very little about.

Maybe.

But probably not.

So that is why I waited by my car until her daddy returned to her.

***

Why does the world test me everywhere I look and every time I turn around?

Would this milk-in-one-hand Dad have responded to me: "I know my baby"

Just as I'd shouted from the hilltops in my post below?

Who knows.

***

All I do know is that I can still see her scared eyes in my head as I type.

I know my baby.

The other day Miss Nonie and I were driving out of NYC after a hoopla with Baby Annie Shea.

It was awesome - like a valentine exploded on the two of them...

Heart stickers, face painting, balloons twisted in miraculous valentine's shapes.

These two little girls partied, and then some.

What a fine way to ring in Valentine's Day which also happens to be my sweet goddaughter's bday. I might ad (Thanks you guys!!!)

Needless to say, the two girls were exhausted when the party ended.

While Marky ran (as in, jogged) the length of Manhattan, I zipped the birthday girl and her cute Mama home.

(Yes, that is right ladies, I drove in NYC for the first time in my life and I'm happy to report that I found the experience: enjoyable).

On the way home however, we hit traffic on the WSH and this would be exactly when Nonie lost it. She wailed, she screamed and admittedly, to my mothering ears it was difficult to listen to, but I knew it only meant one thing:

It meant that in less than sixty seconds (*yes, I've timed it*), she will pass from a screaming-her-head-off two-year-old...to a completely-zonked-out-unable-to-lift-her-head-peaceful-sleeping-baby.

And I knew this in my heart so from the front seat I rubbed her leg to let her know I'd be near her during this glorious transition from dog-tired to sleep.

But then a honk, and another honk. (Mind you, we're in traffic on the WSH).

My first thought was: "Are they honking at me?" (There is a little attitude in that sentence in case you didn't catch it. Go ahead, re-read it with a little 'tude)

And then I glance up and see a perfectly coifed couple in their black beamer, slowly idling along my passenger side. The driver (the husband) took his pointer and his middle finger and pointed them too his eyes and then toward my eyes. (Much like the hand gesture in the "circle of trust" that we all know and love so well).

While he hand gestured, he mouthed the words "Watch your baby, she's crying....".

Furious and enraged I thought for a few seconds. I know she's crying. I can HEAR her crying.

I'm in traffic on the WSH and it is my very first time driving into and then out of Manhattan and I have a 2 year-old- wailing in the back seat. As long as she doesn't have to poop (and she didn't), things right now, at least in my book, are perfect. She has her cozy blanket, her strawberry milk, her shoes are off - just the way she likes them when she falls asleep in the car, and her favorite CD is playing...... Plus, she's about to fall asleep, just give her a.....

And damn the circle of trust man in his beamer...damn that he was exiting off the right lane to the George Washington Bridge and couldn't see my baby a mere 20 seconds later 'cause I would have driven right up to his driver's side window and mouthed the words:

"Watch my baby now.... she's sleeping...you A**hole". Because she was (and because he was). And I'd have given him the thumbs up and not the finger cause that is what my big brother told me to always do.

'Cause I know my baby.

Good God sir, after 5+ years of interrupted sleep, mountains of laundry, excessive driving to and fro - I'll admit that I don't know much at this point, but that is all because I do know my baby.

My sweet baby girl.

No More Secs.

Yesterday, while we waited for Dec's afternoon bus to roll on up, I figured I'd chip away at the ice on our driveway and walkways before more ice arrived (falling as I type).

I needed Dec's help to hold our swinging gate while I got rid of the ice immediately under it. He really didn't want to help, but did it for a few minutes. Then he let go and the gate closed on my legs. Without realizing it I must have said: please just hold it open for a few more secs. No, no more secs Mommy I don't want to hold on for any more secs!

At first I hadn't even realized that I had said the same phrase to him. I just whipped around with a "What-do-you-mean-any-more-sex-And-who-taught-you-that-word-anyway?!?" look on my face. And then I remembered I'd asked him to hold on for a few more secs. Uh-oh.

But instead of making an issue about it, I just dropped it and started to chip away at another section of the driveway.

But then, all I hear is Nonie is a secser, Nonie is a secser! coming from his mouth.
So I ask politely for him to never say that again.

It sounded like "Nonie is a sexer" and I don't even know what that is but I didn't like it.

And then, because God is Good, the little bus pulled up and Dec jumped aboard.
And simultaneously....because God gives me what I can handle and no more or no less -
Nonie slipped on the ice and banged her head.

And so then I blew kisses to Dec on the bus as I held the bellowing Nonie in my arms.
And next, I smooched Nonie's sweet little head.

The bus roared on up the road and as it did I laughed, because Dec didn't want to hold on for any more secs.

And that was just funny.

I bet God thought so too.

Good to Each Other. When I'm Gone.

Sometimes I wonder if my children will be good to each other when I'm gone.

You know, when I'm not here to keep the peace?

Because sometimes a peacemaker is necessary.

Actually, a peacemaker was needed about 2 dozen times today. But who's counting?


Tonight and twice, I was reassured that they will be. (Good to each other when I'm gone.)

The first time I re-tucked Nonie into bed I made her cozy in a sea of flannel bedding with skiers on it. I kissed her forehead, complemented the ornament she hung on the tiny Xmas tree in their room and told her I loved her. Twice.

"Mommy kiss Dety", she ordered before I tiptoed out of the room.

So I did. For a second time this evening, I found his smooth forehead tucked in to his bed - asleep for a good 15 minutes already. And I kissed it - nice and loud so that Ms. Bossy would know I obeyed her.

******

But the second time she needed to be re-tucked in (do the math, this is her third time being kissed goodnight - darn those late-day naps) - I found each of her sleeping pals, tucked them in cozy under the hand-knit blankets and smooched her on her forehead.

We rubbed noses for a while and I tried to find her big blue eyes in the glow of their Xmas tree lights but I couldn't.

So I giggled. And got up to leave.

Halfway to the door I heard it again.

"Mommy kiss Dety", she reminded.

So I went to Decky's bed, found his smooth forehead and smooched it again.

******

There is a bond between my children that I get glimpses of but do not fully comprehend.
I guess that's to be expected, because the bond hasn't fully established itself.

Many days, all I hope for is that my children will be good to each other when I'm gone.

And tonight. And Twice. I was given a glimmer of how it will be.

And it looked comforting and good. And full of love.

Sunday Silhouettes & Big, Salty, Tears.

The biggest melt-down of his life (to date).

Followed by an exchange between two crying kids and one sick-as-a-dog mother.
And for the cherry on top? I cried too. Big salty tears.
Yup, I'm chalking them up to just pure exhaustion.

Sunday afternoon plans threatened to be canceled
(by me, the feverish mom).
Then Sunday afternoon plans most definitely canceled (by me, the feverish mom)
egged on by another tag-teamed tantrum.
Those are the events that lead to our (unscheduled) Sunday respite at the lake just down from Happy House.

And while we were there:
1. The kids forgot all about me being there.
2. I forgot about their tantrums. (Not quite as easily or as quickly as the kids forgot all about me being there - but I did my best to let it all go in a balloon - is that what we say sisters? I'm new to this balloon lingo)


3. My blessings became as clear to me as two beautiful silhouettes against a fading sun.

(oh, and Dec grew a halo and I spiked an even higher fever).
The End.

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 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.

A song that they sing of their homes in the sky.

it had been close to 6 years since i'd listened to "Rockabye Sweet Baby James".

far too long, if you ask me.

the other night - the eve of July 24 (Dec's birthday eve)... the song came on loud and clear.

the tunes bellowed out from the wooden stage set up on the shores of the lake.

the entire neighborhood was out listening - dancing.

the riviera was The place to be. and There we were.

the american flag blew in the breeze.

the moon was full. and the sun set across the pond. just over the montessori school.

it was the end of a perfect day and I enjoyed it.

i was dancing by the edge of the lake with the hubby and kids. and all our neighbors.

it was late. there were moonlit treetops. really beautiful.

it was 100% summer.

and during all the commotion and dancing and sweet baby james

i couldn't help but think back to the "fun run" we had earlier in the day...

my memories of the morning were of families together. happy.

families. barefoot. in a river. together.

and there is a young mom with us (in my memories).

she is smiling. of course.

she is happy to be there enjoying the run and the small stuff with her boys.

illness tries to take her from her sweet babies. from these barefoot river moments.

but still she smiles.

and here i am. now.

following her humble lead.

smiling too. of course. at the small stuff.

so here's to sweet babies everywhere

and to parents who feel honored to spend moonlit nights with them

....There's a song that they sing when they take to the highway

A song that they sing when they take to the sea

A song that they sing of their home in the sky

Maybe you can believe it if it helps you to sleep

But singing works just fine for me

Goodnight you moonlight ladies

Rock-a-bye sweet baby James

Deep greens and blues are the colors I choose

Won't you let me go down in my dreams

And rock-a-bye sweet baby James...

James Taylor