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.

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.

Missing

Name: egg salad sandwich on 1/2 pita pocket
Birthday: 6:30 am 3/8/12
Last seen: on kitchen counter, possibly in lunch bag or work
Places I'm not: still on counter, in garbage, fridge, freezer or bathroom at house, still in lunch bag, in someones belly
Reward if found: clean smell from hiding place