godmother.

"For Serious."

I fell in love with Dec across the checkerboard this afternoon.

It wouldn't have happened if he didn't come bounding down the staircase

asking in his sweet little boy voice if I would play a game with him.

When I agreed, he had the checkers set up in an instant.

I sat down and we played. I don't really want to call him a cheater - but really,

the kid cheats at every chance he gets. One of his double jumps today was so, so

creative and so, so incredibly illegal, that I had to call the Hubs in to witness it.

Later on in the game, I tried to jump one of Dec's checkers and he insisted that it

wasn't in the box that I'd jumped.

His quote (and yes, I wrote it down the minute he said it, out of mad-mother-fear that I'd forget it):

"Mommy, my checker was in the middle of those two boxes. For serious."

As if, having your checker reside in the middle of two boxes, actually means that you can

choose to have said checker jumped or not jumped by your opponent.

As if?

For serious.

When a missing toothed AND adorable freckly faced 6-year old smiles at me with that, "I'm just so happy to be playing a game with you on this snowy and cold afternoon" heart warming grin....

Maybe sitting on the line of neither here nor there (neither boxed in, or out), does count for something.

Something VERY special.

Thank you my incredibly awesome Dec, for kicking my butt at checkers this afternoon.

I love you so, so, so much.

For serious.

For all of you for all of I.

Will you stand with me?
Stand on sand aside of me
as we see stood by the sea
the dream of what will be.

The crashing waves come in between
the soles, the souls and then the dream,
and all will be as this will seem;
A moment where we’ve been.

We share the water in our hands,
a sip, a sup upon the strand
and watch the tide displace the sand
from the rock on which we stand.

Hand in hand and eye in eye,
a hold, a hold before the sky
we’ll swap a clasp by oceans sigh;
For all of you for all of I.
- Declan McHenry Dreams & Tidings

Happy Valentine's Day

You’d be a Fool to Turn Down a Pizza

So tonight, we’ve crashed Papa’s one-man party.

And we've crashed it old-school and downright hard.

HE THOUGHT, he’d be in bed by 6:30 PM.

To which we say: BOOOYAH.

Here we are, it is 4 hours ’til bedtime, entertain us Papa, entertain us!

HE THOUGHT, he'd watch Wall Street Week In Review in silence.

and we've said

Have you seen Rudy? Dec is dying to see it!

He THOUGHT, he’d eat leftovers from the fridge - but instead we stroll in with extra large “Roni Pies”......

Tonight, we expected Grouch but got Grace. We were warned about gray but got gold. Hard-shelled was replaced by soft-shelled soul. Sour skeptic replaced by cheerleader.

And I sat back, watched it happen, and wondered why I felt surprised..

On our way over this evening I asked Dec if he thought Papa would be mad that we

were bringing food with us.

To which Dec responded, "why would anyone be mad if you brought them a pizza?”

and as I drove along I realized that I had no response, he was right. You’d be a fool to turn down a pizza.

So tonight, with Roni Pizza, we came and lifted and propped the leg, told stories of Chicken Soup With Rice skits at school, and of PlayDates with Hive Camp Friends.

We told Papa that the weather was cold, dark, and windy. We talked of nothing really. But looking back on it all, it was everything.

And during it all, we shared and savored the roni pies. For a split second, I was home again - a twelve year old girl - on Friday Night, Pizza Night. That is how comfortable, warm, and good it all felt. Tonight, a kind and pizza-loving soul opened to us. And we were happy to be there for it all.

It Takes A Moment in a Mid-Town Hospital

There has been a lot that has made me cry in the last few days.

Not the least of which is a short visit to a Mid-Town Manhattan Hospital to see dad

recovering.

It takes about a minute (and not much more than that) in the waiting room of an NYC hospital to put your life into perspective. I'm talking about really big, eye-opening perspective. And also, changing my perspective to see simple, little things differently. Like Dec's lego men as he sees them. In his mind, his lego men are larger and more powerful than they are in my mind.

On Sunday, I had my own gentle reminder that if we were all to throw our most dreadful problems into a large pot, we'd quickly scoop our own problems back out after taking a silent glance at the problems that our neighbors had thrown in.

Sunday, and some days, it all comes down to perspective:

Like that picture up there. It is a proud mother (I know this because she is me). But when I look at that picture, all I see is the smiling 7-year old who took it. She might just be President of the United States of America some day and, won't that just be amazing. Or, she'll be an owner of a deli that serves the most delicious cider donuts you've ever tasted. Either way, I'll love her to the moon and back.

And this picture?

He begged for that helmet kiss. He did! (despite what his shoulders might try to tell you).

And this pic below? This is not a jealous 6-year old, blocking his 3-year-old sister's spotlight. It is a proud older brother saying:

BOOYAH SIS! NICE SKIING!!!!!

I can't wait to ski the trees with you!

Oh, and in there somewhere you might just spot one cute dad in the background. Yup, my hubs works OVERTIME teaching his beautiful children about "perspective" and seeing the world from more than one view.

And this guy?

He's not just a nutty Giants fan.

He's a nutty Giants fan in my winter coat.

And that is something special.

Booyah.

AND THIS? It is NOT a snowy day mess.

It is snowy day brilliance.

And this pajama dancer below, she may appear self-sufficient,

confident,

and full of independence.....

But she still needs her Mommy.

There is one person in this world who she trusts to tie her ballet slippers.

And that lucky person is me. And I savor each tie.

Boy do I.

And this pic below? This is not just "cooking a chicken with Nonie one afternoon...."

(first of all, we cooked two - one was for leftovers...)

This was actually an afternoon of listening to her ask me "will the chicken bite me?", each time she brought the salt and pepper close to the chicken's soft flesh.

And in this skiing pic? Nonie is actually saying GO FASTER MOM!!!! (despite what you might think, given that temps were 100 below outside)

See this kid below? When he gets off the school bus, he's actually NOT an "I Have a Headache Today and All I Really Want To Do is Lie Down along" 6-year old. He is (second to me) the most snuggliest cuddle bug in our whole family. This kid needs a hug. Most minutes of most days, he needs a hug.

This child could sit on my lap for decades (especially while looking out the back window at the forest and in the early morning , with a cup of Earl Grey tea in his hands).

And I love him. Tea Cup and all.

Boy Do I Love Him.

And this picture - a family of four happy snowmen?

This isn't three happy snowmen with one crazy-haired snowman (second from left) melting in a mid-January thaw.

Rather, it is three happy snowmen surrounding one awe-inspired, lucky as lucky gets, super-grateful woman who feels like - even if she melted into the ground tomorrow, she's been blessed with the best of the best.

It Takes A Moment in a Mid-Town Hospital to realize that

life is far to short to take this serious world too seriously.

It Takes Just a fleeting second in a Mid-Town Hospital to confirm that

I'm blessed with the best, in more ways than one.

To "Papa", to my Dad,

Thanks for accepting the spice drops

I brought to you this evening with the grace of Sweet Toothed Man.

I love you for that.

And for so much more.

Let Your Acquaintances Be Many

First Reading

A reading from the Book of Sirach



Let your acquaintances be many,
but one in a thousand your confidant.

A faithful friend is beyond price, no sum can balance his worth.

A faithful friend is a life-saving remedy.



**** Just cleaning out files and came across a copy of the readings we handed
to all the readers at our wedding ceremony.
(Typed in large font, of course - I was way more detail-oriented back then).



Let your acquaintances be many, but one in a thousand your confidant.


To dusting off old file cabinets!

Thoughts from a lucky student.

Yesterday he asked me if the
box that I work in has a bathroom in it.

When I inquired about "what box"?
he explained, "you know, the small room with four walls that you sit in with your computer..."

And, after further reflection, the space is really best described as a box, though I've never viewed it that way.

Yikes! a box!
(It might be time for a change.)

Yesterday he declared that he knew what he wanted to be when he grew up.
Which, for the record, is a long way off since he is a sprightly 6 years of age.
Either that or he has already grown up cause the kid blasts me from reality with
age-old wise one liners on a nightly basis. In many ways, he is my spiritual guide.

Without further ado from behind the shower curtain,
he declared he would be an author. One day. He'd write great stories because he had
so many great stories to tell.

As my heart flipped and then flopped, I immediately declared to him that
I would faithfully read, and then own, and then cherish each of his books.
Clearly.


I learn so much from him.

I learn so much from him.

These are just two of many Lessons from Him.

Oh what an incredible teacher he is.
Oh what a lucky student I am.

His Last Gift.

The usual calm after the storm had taken over Happy House yesterday.

Children played - fascinated with their newest toys.

Parents closed sleepy eyes and lazily flopped around the house picking at

leftovers. We had a few hours in between festivities.

We all seemed to breathe a collective and appreciative sigh for Christmas. For

each other. For Santa. For the leftovers calling to us from the kitchen.

But, the sun broke through the clouds in mid afternoon and the weather

became, simply put, too nice not to be outside.

Without thinking much about it, I said to the family -

"His last gift

is waiting for us in the back woods.."

And without further ado, the children

raced to that locale.... never asking who "He" is, and never asking what the gift could possibly be. They just took themselves there and the Hubs and I slowly followed.

Dec balanced, listened to a red-tailed hawk and used his new bow and arrow to aim and concentrate.

Nonie pointed her toes, transformed herself into an outdoor ballerina, and performed for restless squirrels and birds happening all around her.

Together, as the setting sun sparkled on the lake in the distance, we all discovered that

His Last Gift was waiting for us in the back woods.

And as I sat on the old stone wall cradling my camera, I lifted my eyes to the sun and marveled that our cup spilleth over on days like today. And, every day, really.

How could we possibly be given more, when we already have so much?

Perhaps a big part of being truly thankful, is taking the time to inventory all that we have for which we could be (and should be) giving thanks.

And how are our children not asking where the gift is right now - do they know that it is them?

And when I opened my eyes - I saw this. My angel. My beautiful Christmas angel.

I believe that our offspring somehow know what I'm just discovering as I sit here on the old stone wall basking in soul-warming Christmas sunshine:

His Last Gift,

is really

His Lasting Gift.

Of course they know this.

Of course I believe in His Last Gift,

and in so much more.

merry everything.

Opus.

Dearest Nonie,

On the eve of your third birthday I must say -

not a day goes by when I don't look at you, laugh with you, love you, and think...

you might just be my

Magnum Opus.

I think I know what it feels like to be complete.

You are my sweet, sweet girl. (Even when you pee in your bed 3 nights in a row).

Love,

Mommy

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.

On, Why We Relayed.

Three days ago, my family relayed.

Boy, did we relay.

And I'm happy to report, Nonie can relay with the best of them

We relayed for Stan and Nan, of course.

Two of the best of the best.

But, throughout the night, our hearts opened up. Our original tears for Stan and Nan, gave way to big, salty, stingy tears for Others.

Most, we'd never even met.

We relayed for all that we don't understand.

About cancer....

about life.

And, we relayed for the little boy

there in all the dusty and sunshine-filled corners of our world asking us to explain

that which we don't understand.

We relayed for friendship.

We relayed for those friends who don't have our matching shirt to morph them into our team.

And for those friends, who will wear the team shirt with oodles of pride if

only given the honor.

There is so much that we relayed for.

But as we flip through our pics from the memorable and emotional evening we realize that....

Above all,

we relayed for love.

And, we especially relayed for...

the mother-less children in the crowd

and the child-less mothers in heaven.

This is why we relayed.

brothers are good, too

I missed my brothers this morning as I watched them holding hands in the gym. Interlocking their fingers, his pale and freckly, hers chocolatey brown.
They are siblings and it doesn't matter that she is a little girl and he a budding boy and all that terrors that entails.
They are siblings and it doesn't matter that she is 4 and he is 9.
They are siblings and it doesn't matter that she was born in Africa, adopted to a loving family in Vermont a year ago, when she could not speak a word of English, and he has been born and raised as small-Catholic school royalty.
Their love for each other transcended their gender, age, or birth. It was a love so pure between two siblings in an early morning game of sharks and minnows. As the thunder and lightning roared outside they held hands and crisscrossed the gym floor. She a step or two behind. Her little pre-k legs struggling to keep up and his growing third grade body seeking protection for his little sister.
As I watched I could feel the connectedness in their fingers. I imagined it was my hand wrapped around Trip's as he drove me on summer visits to colleges I never had a dream of being accepted to. I'm sure he knew. But he pulled me ahead anyway. I imagined I was in Boston this past September, crying tears of joy that my big brother Chris was so happy. How can you not rejoice in your brother's love? I imagined I was in the blue suburban with Mark. Dropping him off at the Mt. Kisco train station the day he moved out of Gray Rock and embarked on his journey in the city. I cried and I cried because who would I watch Dawson's Creek with and sit upstairs and giggle with throughout my awkward teenage years with him a whole hour away?
I was her this morning. I was the little girl. Being tugged behind her big brother with the freckles all over his face. I felt his hand dragging her to safety. I watched his back as he pulled her with him, ensuring they got to the other side as one. I felt the love she was feeling, because I have felt it, too.
What an unbelievable way to start her day, and mine.

And I knew, even as the tagger came at them
and he let go
zagging away from her zig
leaving her on her own,
to get himself to safety,
I knew she would be okay.
She would make it safely, too.
Because he showed her how.

And she did.

... beneath my feet began to crumble.

Earlier today, just after Nonie was dropped at school, Dec and I made our way through my early morning "To Dos".

One of the items on the list was find our darn video camera cord so that I can be certain to capture my sweet 2.5 & 5.5 year-olds on film.

Their voices are so high, their words are so cute. And, for the life of me, I can't find the cord to charge our camera. It has been driving me bonkers. I must record their cuteness.

Dec and I removed two big drawers from the living room chest and rifled through a tangle of cords - none of them belonged to an electronic device I recall owning. He couldn't take his hands off them. This only made my work harder. But boy, do I love him.

Suddenly two words caught my eye and I quickly dropped everything that was in my hands.

A VHS tape that read "Rehearsal Dinner" had made its way to the top of our pile.

Rehearsal Dinner Wha? Who's? Ours?

My mind raced to our rehearsal dinner. I didn't recall anyone taping it at the time.

I simply had to pop the video in to see.

(And yes, as Emah constantly reminds me, I'm the only one left in the world who still owns a VHS player. See how handy it comes in Emah?)

Two images flash before my eyes immediately:

Me as a 3 year old. Then, seconds later, the Hubs as a five year old.

We're both in photos taken at the beach.

The next shot is me on a big wheel at the age of 6. Then, the Hubs on his dirt bike flying high through the air. Age 10.

The video plays on, the photos alternate between the soon to be bride, and soon to be groom.

Dec is shouting behind me, "Who IS that?" "Who is THAT?" "Really Mom, WHO is that?"

Then his questions morphed into "Is THAT Daddy?" "Is that GRANNY????" "Is that LILY?Look at Lily, she was such a cute little NUGGET!!!" (I kid you not, he said that Lils - and, you were about ten in the picture, wearing the pink Laura Ashley dress).

We watched it twice. I cried both times.

The photos were set to this tune (which I can't get out of my head, eleven hours later)...

We were so young.

The pictures of us when we were dating simply took my breath away.

We were so young.

Did I mention that I cried for the duration of both viewings?

But, I managed to pull myself together to answer Dec's pressing questions:

A picture of the Hubs circa 1995 (college years, before I entered the picture)...

"Why was daddy wearing a dress?"

I don't know sweety, you'll have to ask him when he gets home.

And, of the picture of the Hubs as a 10-year old rockin' this insane jump on his dirtbike...

"Why didn't daddy jump higher than that?"

I don't know sweety, you'll have to ask him when he gets home.

Thank goodness the image of me as the Montessori Christmas Elf next to the Hubs as the Montessori SANTA CLAUS, only elicited a shriek of "SANTA, MOM, LOOK SANTA!".

Phew.

While the tears flowed, beneath my feet began to crumble....just like in that song.

And I let myself enjoy the reminder of where and when that music and the magic began.

*** Due to the emotionally exhausting jaunt down memory lane, No, I did not find the darn video camera cord..... maybe tomorrow.***