It's time

It's time...

Readers, I abandoned you.  I have many reasons.  Too many to list.  So many that they would make your head swim.

As many of you who used to follow this blog knew, my uncle and godfather had a health crisis two years ago and my sister and I took on him and all his medical care.  For the last two years, we battled doctors, hospitals, dialysis and death, tooth and nail.

Last week, it all came to a head.  And Death won.

I cannot describe what is was like to watch him come to terms with his own mortality, when he had managed to escape it REPEATEDLY over the course of 35 years.  His biggest victory was 19 years ago, when after being told that he had 6 months to live if he didn't get a liver transplant, he managed to squeeze out almost 2 years AND receive one of the first liver transplants the University of Miami ever completed.

As I watched him listen to Pavarotti in his last few hours last Sunday, he smiled with pleasure.  He lived a good life; filled with adventure and excitement.  He got to say goodbye, he got to tell people how much he loved them, he had my grandparents come and escort him to Heaven's gates.  He turned in his 80 year old body battered and bruised.  He truly put it through hell as he sucked the marrow that life gave him.

For me, it has been hard.  Even though my sister and I did all that we could, we couldn't keep him healthy enough to creak out another 5 years.  We have been second guessing ourselves for the last week, wondering what we could have done differently.  Even though we lost our dad eleven years ago and should know that there is no negotiating with God's will, it doesn't make it any easier the second time around.

My uncle kept his life very compartmentalized.  It was easy for him to do it.  As a single man with no responsibilities, he pretty much answered to no one and did as he pleased.  It was hard for him to give up that independence two years ago, when we took over his affairs and clucked at the amount of Coke he consumed and how many ramen noodles he had stashed under his kitchen sink.  We reprimanded him on the effects of too much sodium, too much soda, on his dialysis and failing kidneys.  He would smile, tell us he would stop, and continue to do whatever he pleased.

We met some of his closest friends the day before he died.  They flew cross country to be with him in his final hours.  They stood shoulder to shoulder with my sister and I as he breathed his last.  They came back to his apartment and told us which of his paintings should get us the most money.  They told us of the man they knew, one who once decided that for a whole year, they should always have a bottle of champagne whenever they got together.   The man who traveled to all the corners of the Earth and never gave a rat's ass about what other people thought.

Today, I picked up his ashes.  We will be having a funeral Mass and interment sometime this week.  As I peered into the cardboard box that held his ashes and saw the toe tag that undoubtedly hung from his foot, I wondered what he would make of being contained in such a plain box when he had such a colorful life.  I wonder how my mother and my aunt, his sister will hold themselves together later this week, when they will see what is left of someone they loved so much.

I find myself being stoic at times, afraid of unleashing the sadness that is welling up in me.  My oldest son seems to sense that underneath all that strength, there is a very sad little girl who misses the uncle who would show up with extravagant, unpractical gifts and would disappear for month, years at a time.  My boys and husband are cautious around me, afraid that I will break.  And that worries me.  And it makes me very sad.

It has been a hard year.  My mother continues to deteriorate.  Yesterday, my sister and I went to get her a wig, as the chemotherapy has ravaged her head.  All this in preparation for a funeral.  Now, her head looks better, but her body continues to turn on her, robbing her of movement, denying her comfort.  I wonder how much this will break her spirit when she watches the urn that holds her favorite brother go into a wall, near her husband, near where she one day will be.

When we were leaving yesterday, my nieces spotted a small little store that had just the kind of impractical, extravagant items that my uncle would have been drawn to.  I saw a pink kitty umbrella that had caught my oldest niece's eye.  My younger niece found a mermaid one. 

And I did as my uncle would have wanted.  I bought them those umbrellas and smiled.  Because I knew that somewhere in the clouds, surrounded by beautiful things and clutching a champagne bottle in each hand, singing along with Luciano, he was nodding in agreement.  But I won't disappear for months, years.  I will surround myself with the joy that these two girls and my three sons give me, and hope that I get to say goodbye, listening to beautiful music, surrounded by love.

Hold

Matthew, January 2002- Where has the time gone?

My mercurial boy is growing quickly.

Mood swings threaten, take us under.

You yearn for freedom, I ache.

My heart wants nothing more than

to hold you in my arms,

as you sleep, make everything better.

Your bed barely holds you now,

as you change before my eyes.

Your existence still holds me enchanted,

and my heart holds every smile,

like a priceless treasure carefully guarded.

A call to action; a call for hope

After the rain, after the destruction

The sun peeks from behind clouds.

Dark skies part to make way

for the tomorrow that must come,

for people to rescue, comfort, mourn.

After the rain, comes the sun,

bringing new life, new beginnings, hope.

Let us be the rays of sun

to light the dark days ahead.

Let us be hope personified, that

our Japanese brothers, sisters turn to

like sunflowers turn to the sun;

to grow, to blossom, to live.

For every comment left here today, I will donate $1 to Save the Children for the littlest victims of Japan's earthquake and tsumani.

Will you heed our call?  The American Red Cross and Save the Children are currently taking donations for Japan's earthquake and tsumani victims.

 

Want to learn more about Six Word Fridays?  Visit Melissa at Making Things Up.

A life, as told in pictures

Monday night, my husband and I had my sister come over to watch the boys. The reason? One of our closest friend's grandmother had passed away.

Normally, I am this family's official representative at funerals. John, squeamish about the whole business of death and funerals, will stay with the kids.

But these are our closest friends. I have known D since I was thirteen years old.   We went to junior high together.  We went to high school together and managed to hang out during breaks from college.  D met M at college.  They moved down here and we become inseparable. They came to our wedding, we were part of their wedding party two years later. I found out I was pregnant with Matthew the day before M's first baby shower. I baptized M two and a half years later. Our kids consider themselves family. Because we are.

D has lost all four of his grandparents within the last four years. His mother, whose mother died, is an only child. She bore the responsibility of caring for her aging and sickly parents alone. She has now buried them.

So, Monday night, we drove in the bitter cold and went to sit with our friends. To hold their hands. To hug and whisper small words of comfort. To help lighten the burden of mourning. Again.

As the priest quietly said Mass, I held John's hand. I looked down and saw how much are hands have changed as they lay intertwined. How much they have stayed the same. I wondered what life has in store for us, how we will handle all the unknowns that lay before us.

After the funeral Mass, we made our way to see D's family, especially his mother, to offer our condolences. We noticed that they had made a display of pictures. Pictures that chronicled the life that had now passed from this one. A young woman. A bride next to her uniformed groom. A mother with her daughter. The first picture of the day they arrived to the United States to live out the American dream.

In viewing those pictures, I recognized some of the events, chuckled at how young we all looked, smiled at good times that are now memories. The life of this eighty four year old woman, reduced to photographs gleaned from a lifetime of memories. Of the happiest moments shared with her family, captured for all time.

I thought of all the other moments.  The ones we carry imprinted on our hearts.  The countless other moments that have no image other than the one deep within our souls. The ones we carry and browse through in the dark moments of sorrow.

It got me thinking.

How will our children display our lives when we pass? What conversations will come about as they glance at a picture of their father and I, captured in a moment of happiness? What will they remember of their own childhood? What stories will be told?

What kind of mother will they remember?

The week has been a blur. I have been short-tempered, tired, anxious. It has been too cold. The mornings have been hard. I haven't been able to run. I have been able to shake the creeping anxiousness.

Too many sad anniversaries are coming up. My aunt has been gone for a year. My grandfather has been gone for twenty two. Our dog has been gone for four years. My sister in law's mother passed on my sister in law's birthday, the very next day.

And yet, within that sadness, we will celebrate Susan's birthday. And our anniversary next week. And Christmas ten days later.

And there will be more pictures to chronicle this life together. As a family. As individuals.

To remember. To revisit. To comfort.

Women: The Cockroaches of Emotional Nuclear Holocaust?

I know, catchy title. But when you think of it, aren't we, as women, just about the hardest creatures on Earth to crack? Are we not the human equivalent of cockroaches when it comes to getting back up when there should be no possible way that we could or should?

From the get go, there is drama. I see the difference between my boys and my nieces. With girls, everything is about the drama. I think it is a warm up exercise to what we go through as adults. And while this might sound cynical, I am truly not mocking. I think that women, particularly mothers, put themselves aside for the well being of others. And often, it is more than any heart should have to bear.

Broken hearts. Everyone has a couple of these lurking around. Whether it is puppy love or a bitter divorce, women converge to help the afflicted along. Armed with Ben and Jerry, Grey Goose or both, your girlfriends, sisters, etc. will be there to hold you up, tell you are justified, to you to just F*** Him. Just what we need, in the right dosage.

Friendships betrayed. This drama usually finds its peak in middle school and high school. Intrigue and soap opera antics never fail to deliver the bemoaning and the fledging alliances. But sometimes, these new friendships will pass the test of time, and more often than not, they will be the ones that support you through some of the hardest stuff you will encounter in life.

Infertility. One of the hardest things I ever dealt with. And I consider myself extremely lucky. My problems were resolved with minimally invasive procedures. I ended up Fertile Myrtle by my mid-thirties. I often think that if I survived that, I could survive anything.

Messed up families. How do you reconcile relatives that often make you wonder how on God's green Earth you could possibly be related to them? You love them, but can't expose yourself or your kids to their ways, bringing sadness, denial, unwillingness to accept. But the ability to look at a situation truthfully, and be able to walk away without regrets takes some serious gumption.

Work related drama. Both yours and your spouse's. If it is heart-wrenching to experience it first hand, it is even harder to hear about it happening to your spouse. The conniving evil that some people spout off is just unbelievable. I often wonder why some people choose to make so much trouble, cause so much harm. What's wrong with them?

Becoming the parent to your parent. It is so hard to be able to gauge how your parents are doing. After all, parents can be the master of disguise. They will appear to be fine, yet small things set off alarms in your head. Making decisions about their care, particularly if there is a degenerative disease, is never an easy one. It is usually wracked with guilt and uncertainty. And yet, as time passes, and they adjust, you see that even though it was incredibly difficult, it was the right choice.

Parents getting really sick. Having gone through my father's battle with prostate cancer is nothing I would wish on anyone. There is something debilitating in watching someone battle so hard and courageously for so long. My father's outlook, however, was not a positive one. It was hard to play cheerleader to someone who was willing to fold, and yet, I cannot judge. I cannot pretend to know what helplessness he felt at diagnosis, over the countless chemotherapy drugs and radiation he endured. He battled, we cheered. When an illness like cancer comes into play, we get pissed off and we get marching orders. We rally, we cry, we go on. Because we know others depend on us, particularly those who are afflicted. And when all else fails, we walk for the cure...

Motherhood. Nothing piles up the emotional arsenal like motherhood. The hormones, the sleep deprivation, the worry. Am I doing it right? Are they okay? Will I mess them up too much? Motherhood breaks your heart like nothing else. After all, these children are a piece of you. Your body grew them and sheltered them for nine months. The first two years of these children's lives are spent assuring their survival, marveling at their growth and newfound skills. Their elementary years are filled with making sure they know right from wrong; their adolescent years spent making sure that they practice it. Then, they leave. As they must. And with them, they take a piece of you. If you've done your job right, you get to enjoy them in a different capacity.

I think that the common thread here is that women have hope. They have hope when the odds are stacked against them. They have hope when everyone else in the world is ready to call the game and head home.

That hope is born from love. Love of our families, love of our friends and love for making sure that wrongs are righted, that justice prevails, that the happy ending happens. In spite of the odds, is spite of the difficulties.

Rest assured, when an emotional holocaust is omnipresent, there will be a group of women who lead the way, to help support those who need some wind in their sails, to hold the hand and comfort those who need it, to tell a raunchy joke and alleviate the tension. In spite of a broken heart. Finding the strength where there might be none. Because it is in our nature to be indestructible like no other creature.

We are there.

The cockroaches, and us.

Things you never thought you'd hear

Did you know that John likes you?

Want to go see a movie?

Can I call you later?

I think I love you.

I love you.

Your father has cancer. It's bad.

Will you marry me?

You're approved.

Congratulations! Here are the keys to your home.

Your father is too sick to walk you down the aisle.

Your father is too sick to sit in the church.

I do.

Mrs. E.

Congratulations! You have received a full scholarship to the University of Miami.

You're approved.

Here are the keys to your home.

Your house sold.

You might not have kids.

You don't smoke or drink and you're under 35. You'll be pregnant within 6 months.

We don't know your lab results. We've lost your blood. Call back tomorrow.

+

Yes. The blood test confirms you are pregnant. Congratulations!

It's a boy.

Mama.

Congratulations! You won teacher of the year.

I'm sorry. He's gone.

Is Abu in heaven now, Mama?

Congratulations! You have achieved National Board Certification.

It's a boy.

Mama.

Abu is right here with us, Mama. Don't you see him?

I wanted to let you know, the job is yours.

They don't do things over there, the way we do things here.

Your child bit another child.

Another child bit your child.

Your child called another child a**$%#.  Please speak to him about it.

It's a boy.

Mama.

Your baby's floppy.

If he doesn't make some major improvements, you might want to see a neurologist.

Mom has Parkinson's.

You're going to be an aunt.

Tia.

Mom fell.

You can breathe. Your baby does not have a tumor.

You're going to be an aunt again.

Tia.

You need to think of home care options.

You're in charge.

He did great. Is he always so quiet?

You are the best teacher I ever had.

He's a trooper.

He's a fighter.

Can't really say what's going on with him. We'll just have to wait and see.

Mommy, I love you.

Mommy, I missed you.

Thanks, Mom, for doing this.

It's not your fault.

You have a renter.

You made me love math.

I am going to miss you SO MUCH.

I love you.

Pink eye was in this room.

We've deloused the school.

You did a great job.

Ever wonder what your words mean to others? Sometimes, what you say and how you say it leave a lasting impression on people's hearts and minds. The list above is in some sort chronological order, but each statement above has shaped me. These statements have made my heart soar, my pulse race, my soul ache, my heart break.

Words have power.  Power to heal.  Power to strengthen.  Power to weaken.  Power to destroy.

How have other's words shaped you? What statements have stayed with you throughout the years, making you chose your own words carefully? Share.

Liar, liar, pants on fire...

I have one major pet peeve. There are very few things that send me over the edge, but the one thing that always gets me is when someone lies. To my face. Like I am stupid.

Unfortunately, in my line a work, the lies abound and come fast. A teacher can spot a lie a mile away.

So can a mother.

However, children often think that they are much more intelligent than their parents, and often, when feeling particularly bold, will make an attempt to make their point.

The worst is when adults tell lies in a weak attempt to deflect controversy, problems, or conflict. The problem with that theory is that usually, when the lie is discovered, the consequences are much worse.

It seems that there has been a whole lot of lying going on around here. And frankly, I am sick of it.

Our laptop's charger died about a week ago. I called our extended warranty and order a new one under our policy. It was to be delivered today.

My husband was home early due to a rabid migraine. I stayed at work later than usual to keep the children away, since nothing makes a migraine worse than having a house full of loud school aged boys. I picked up Joshua, headed to the local market for some tomatoes and headed home.

We unloaded the car, got in the house. I checked email, paid some bills online and decided to track my package. Imagine my surprise when it said it had been delivered almost 2 hours earlier! I stepped outside, checked the front of the house, the back of the house, called my neighbor to see if they had delivered it by error there. Nothing.

I called the shipping company and was promptly informed that I needed to contact the shipper so that they could initiate a claim. I did just that.

After being passed around to three different departments, and put on hold for 20 minutes, I started to give the man my information when I noticed a box in the playroom that my boys were attempting to restore to order. Shipped today. Open with a packing slip out, confirming what I was now suspecting. With said cord out.

I hastily hung up, mortified. Did what I think just happened, happen?

No one admitted to it.

So no one is allowed back in the playroom until someone 'fesses up.

It would have been easier to spot the liar with the smoking arse, though.

I interrogated everyone in my house under the age of 37. Everyone pleaded innocence, ignorance and shock at being considered a suspect.

There was a lot of finger pointing and prodding mom into thinking that a box can just walk into a house, clear it, and open itself.

I am mad.

But more than that, disappointed. Disappointed that they didn't trust me enough to tell me the truth. Disappointed in myself for badgering them with relentless questioning. Disappointed that I can't uncover the truth.

And the worst part is that I know that I could have handled it differently. I know that I should not have been so irate at being on the phone, telling the man on the other line that the shipping company had most surely NOT delivered what was in my plain sight.

Tonight, I feel like a liar. Because a good mom would have trusted that her kids were telling her the truth. Because I felt like crap when my middle son started tearing up, wondering how to trust me when I was clearly not showing him that I trust him.

Because I alone have made it that much harder for them to tell me the truth.

Truth: I think that damned box did just sprout some legs and walked right into our house, parked itself in by far the coolest room in the house, and decided to disrobe, letting all its cords hang out.

Either that or UPS has gotten a little too efficient in their delivery techniques, you know?

A heart to heart...

The saying goes that the apple doesn't fall to far from the tree. In my case, my middle son not only looks like me, but apparently, suffers from the same "what-if's" that have afflicted his mother her entire life.

The older boys have been attending Vacation Bible School at the church where Joshua attends school throughout the year. This has been a long standing tradition each summer and it allows me a little alone time with Joshua while they are gone. Yesterday was the first day and it will continue for the remainder of the week. Although the theme is High Seas Expedition, it was not all smooth sailing today for Andrew.

It seems that amongst the many activities that the children participate in during the few hours they are there, singing and dancing is one of Andrew's least favorite. And apparently, it was enough to send him over the edge and to tears.

When I went to pick them up, Andrew's leader pulled me aside and told me he had gotten very upset, but couldn't really tell me why. I was concerned. Andrew is all about the drama at home, but he puts up a good front when he is away from home. I decided against talking to him right away, and opted to speak to him before he went to bed.

Of my three sons, Andrew is the most sentimental. He is very hard on himself and tries not to disappoint his father and I if he can help it. That is not to say that the desire to please his parents deters him from arguing with his brothers, but he is easily embarrassed if he thinks that he has not done his best at school or in extra-curricular activities.

Andrew is also incredibly self conscious. He likes to goof around, but he does not like to be the center of attention. Particularly if he thinks he is not good at something. And apparently, he doesn't think he is good at singing and dancing to a VBS song and dance DVD.

When I sat to talk with him, I told him the story of a little girl who always thought she was dumb, didn't think she could do anything right, and all too often, that worry about doing the wrong thing took the joy out of just about everything, along with her self esteem. I explained that even though this little girl wasn't necessarily dumb when dealing with math and science, her intense worry and dislike for those things MADE her perform poorly. Andrew listened intently with wide eyes. Then, the big reveal. That little girl was none other than Mommy.

"Mommy, you worried about stuff, too?" asked my little boy.

"I still worry, but not so much. I try to do the best I can, and it has to be enough. That is all that I can do," I replied.

He seemed to ponder this point for a moment. Then he asked, "But what if they laugh at me?"

"Then you have two options, sugar. You can either feel awful because someone is laughing, or you can join them. And I guarantee you that if you laugh, you will feel better," I said.

We talked a little more. It seemed as though my little boy was holding a lot inside. And I was grateful for the opportunity to let him unload all that worry.

He worries that he is not good at certain things. He worries what people think. I wonder how much worry is genetically linked. Because my heart broke listening to my little boy. Because I felt as though I was talking to a much younger version of myself. And I wondered if I can help him overcome this anxiety, before it consumes the best years of his life, like it did me.

After a few pointers of what to do when he got nervous, he smiled and snuggled as we talked about all the things he is good at. And how much I love him. And how proud his father and I are of him, simply because he is our son, and he never disappoints us.

My little boy beamed.

Today, as he walked into the church with his still small hand tightly enclosing my own, he seemed to walk with a renewed purpose. He seemed to be okay.

When I went to pick him up, he still hadn't danced and sung, but he seemed okay with it. He smiled when he said goodbye to his group and his teacher. No tears. No worries.

But I know better.

The self doubts will linger, but hopefully, not forever. He will find self solace in his own way, in his own time.

And I will be there.

To hold his hand, to offer support, to help him in any way I can.

Because I am helping my son grow some mighty strong roots that will hold him upright throughout his life.

And because I want him to spread his wings and soar as I never did when I was younger, but am so desperately trying to do now.

I know him.

He is my own apple from my tree.

Like the Cowardly Lion, I want Courage

Momalom's Five for Ten: Courage

I am a coward. For too long, I have kept quiet and played the game that I was taught as a little girl. Put on a brave face, smile, and no one knows.

But I know. And there comes a point when you cannot lie to yourself any more.

Courage comes in many forms. For many, the very word conjectures images of service men and women, fighting shoulder to shoulder on foreign lands, to protect others. The images might be of local police and fire men and women.

But courage is not limited to those images.

Courage is taking off the bandages from over your eyes, and seeing for the first time. Courage is waking up one morning and deciding that you will no longer sit in denial. Courage is sitting in front of a stranger, telling your story, asking for help, and then doing it.

Courage to not continue on the merry-go-round of dysfunction. Of stopping the cycle of manipulation, verbal abuse and alcoholism. Of trying out happiness instead of continuing to drown in sadness.

Courage is then living with the consequences. The silence. The anger. The reality of what happens when you no longer are willing to play the brave face game. The consequences of courage.

Sometimes, you do the most growing up as an adult. When you are responsible for the lives of your children. When you know that your decisions will have real, lasting effects on those lives you would do anything to protect.

So, in my case, courage has meant that I have had to finally face the inadequacies of my life. Of how my parents' decisions shaped me, how those scars were created, how they healed, and how I cannot erase them. They are there to remind me.

Courage has meant silencing the mindless chatter that insinuates that I am not worthy of happiness, as defined by me.

Courage was saying "yes" to a life with a man I love, and trusting that my outcome would be different than the one I had experienced in my young life.

Courage has meant seeing the beauty that my husband and I have created in our life together, in spite of having no role model to go by, in my case.

Courage has meant realizing that living a fantasy for others is something I cannot continue to do at my expense, and have my husband and sister to support and comfort me.

Courage meant becoming a mother, because my heart wanted it so, even though I was terrified of the mistakes I would make.

Becoming a mother put a whole different spin on courage. Because mothering isn't for sissies.

Mothering requires courage from the get-go. Being wheeled into an emergency cesarean. Watching your child struggle against their own physical limitations. Praying for God's mercy when sitting in front of pediatric specialists. Praying that you are doing the right thing.

Courage has meant venturing out of my comfort zone, putting myself out there, so that my limitations do not become my children's limitations.

Courage has meant putting my fear of water aside, and learn how to swim as an adult, with my sons at the edge of the pool, cheering me on.

Courage has meant holding a snake, in spite of the horror on my oldest son's face, so that my fears are not his fears.

Courage has meant facing my own limitations, knowing when I can "fix" things, and trusting that I don't have all the answers.

Courage has meant that I heal myself, love myself, change myself, so that this mother's inadequacies do not scar her children. So that she can be an example that she can be proud of.

Courage has meant crossing over into the fantasy of a little girl, who would often dream of the life this woman now claims as her own.

It takes courage to unchain yourself from a painful past, one that limits your capacity for inner peace and happiness.

Maybe, I am not a coward after all...

Forgiveness

Why does one word bring so much baggage? Why does this necessary part of humanity get lost amongst pride and inability to vocalize it?

As children, it is a hard concept to grasp. Matthew, my oldest son, seemed to be permanently mute when it came to saying he was sorry for an inappropriate action or word. Andrew had the most difficult time of all, and finally learned the lesson when he began preschool at age 2 and did not like when children bit him as often as he bit them. Joshua was quicker to jump on the bandwagon, perhaps it was seeing two older siblings express the words to each other and others.

As adults, we all know someone who is as stubborn as my former two year old biter. Regardless of what wrong they have committed, the words never flow like the excuses for the hurtful behavior. There is always an instigator, there is always an argument, there is never redemption.

I don't know why this strikes a such a chord with me lately. Perhaps it is the bitter taste on my tongue when I witness the frailty of humanity, when someone is so outside of their right mind that seeking forgiveness is unthinkable. Or, how some are so eager to apologize and seek redemption, that it shames when that I am not always that eager to soothe my own soul.

But what keeps us from forgiving and being forgiven? Are our egos so grand that we cannot be reminded of the frailties that make us human? The pill is not so bitter that we cannot do it, and really, the relief we feel when we are truly forgiven is all encompassing, especially when we have wronged another by accident, not knowing how our words can be such sharp knives that can so easily hurt those we love.

As my children get older, I wonder how our relationship will develop as they need me less for survival. As my own relationship with my surviving parent teeters between being a caregiver and daughter; it has always been hard to set boundaries and be comfortable with them. I imagine it is part of growing older, seeing your parents get weaker in mind and body.

I watch how many lives are affected when true forgiveness occurs, or when it doesn't. And more than redemption, forgiveness is a gift you give to yourself. Carrying around resentment and anger requires more energy than I am willing to give up for such negativity. Freedom comes when you are no longer bound by the things that prevent you from being all that you can be.

Please don't misunderstand. I can hold a grudge like nobody's business. But what good comes of it? It darkens the edges of what makes us good. All I am left with is a feeling of heaviness, unhappiness and the grudge. Not good friends to be around, I assure you.

You might wonder why the solemn topic. I guess, all too often, we dismiss hurtful behavior as being justified. But there is nothing worse than seeing someone trapped in a prison of their own doing, and then refusing to take responsibility.

Happiness is not necessarily having everything your heart desires. It is about being true to yourself. A being true to yourself requires examining your actions. Are you truthful without being hurtful? Are you as forgiving to others as you want others to be with you?

Happiness comes from a heart light with no emotional baggage. It comes from freeing yourself from those things that weigh down your spirit.

As for me, I practice forgiveness as often as I receive (or would like to).

Forgiveness to others who have wronged me in some way, whether intentional or not.

And mostly, to myself.

For making mistakes in my mothering, for my frailties as a human being.

And it makes my spirit light.

Not enough time...

Have you ever thought that there is never enough time to be with the ones that you love the most? That there are days when you would like to just stop time; linger in the moment that you are in, with those you make you feel the most whole you could ever be?

Today, when I was with my sons, I wanted to stop time. I did not want them to age another second. I wanted to hold on to them, just as they were at that particular moment.

It's not that we were doing anything particularly special when the urge seized me. Just an ordinary day, running errands in the morning, doing normal stuff. But there was something about that moment; the three of them in such perfection, such sweetness, that I could have been lost in that moment forever.

Later on during the day, I cleaned out clothes that no longer fit the boys. As I discarded items that had been handed down the line, my heart ached. I remembered buying the jacket that Matthew wore to the hospital when we brought home Andrew from the hospital. And now, Joshua has outgrown it. I literally caught my breath. As tears formed I thought, "Has that much time really passed?"

It's is very easy to be caught in the day to day reality. In that reality, we really don't see the passage of time. It's when we are doing something as routine as clearing out outgrown clothing, especially those that have been passed down from sibling to sibling, that the reality grips us.

Tonight, we skipped Good Friday services, much like the year Joshua was born, since it is kind of difficult to be in the operating room having a cesarean section and hearing the Good News at the same time. But as I sat and read the Gospel of Matthew to my sons, I took a mental picture of my greatest loves. I tried to memorize, as much as I could, every expression, every detail that I could absorb to hold on to today. To this moment. To my boys.

And my heart was full. I cannot stop the hands of time. It would deprive me of other magnificent moments with these exceptional people. It would stop them from becoming the people that they are destined to be.

And truly, I cannot wait to see how their stories develop. What they will decide to do with their lives, who they will be most like, how their interests will grow and blossom.

And even though I cannot make time stop, in my heart, I try to slow it down some. To savor the moments that bubble into beautiful memories; relish in the moments when their love for John and I overshadow whatever worry we may have in tomorrow.

Because there is never enough time.

Wishing each of you a joyous Easter!

Ten years ago today...

Ten years ago today, a phone call and a second pink line totally turned my life upside down.

And for the last ten years, I have been trying to put it right side up again.

That second line brought the news of impending motherhood.

Even as I sit here and write these words, I am still in awe. Of how a dream became a reality, that would grow into a person, with ten little fingers and ten little toes.

Ten years ago, I was so busy. I was completing my Master's Degree, I was pursuing National Board Certification for Teaching. I had a full time teaching position. I had a husband and family and friends.

For someone who had always been successful at every under-taking, getting pregnant was not as easy as it should have been.

My husband and I tried for over a year to get pregnant on our own. After realizing that things were not progressing as they should, we finally consulted a fertility specialist. Our doctor was very optimistic. "You're 26, you don't drink, you don't smoke, you'll be pregnant in six months." I would not ovulate. I would not menstruate. Tests were conducted and it was concluded that I had polycystic ovarian syndrome.

Here was a person who had a five year plan, with everything checked off, except for a baby. I could do just about anything (I mean, I am a teacher, for goodness sake!) and I could not make my body do what it was supposed to do.

And I was sad. I felt like a failure as a woman. This was what my body was designed to do. And it was out of my hands. And it felt like the whole world was pregnant... But I was stubborn, and I continued to believe that it was something that I could control.

I went to my office visits and had my blood drawn. I took my medication (OH. MY. GOODNESS.) and scheduled my "romantic interludes" as though I was scheduling dental cleanings. And waited. And nothing happened.

On Ash Wednesday that year, a group of us from school skipped class and went to Mass at the Catholic Church across the street from the University. As I knelt, I realized for the first time that this was something completely out of my hands. As I prayed, I asked God to choose for me.

I realized that I could not have it all.

I knew that the process for both National Certification and overcoming my infertility were complicated. I knew that it was going to be one or the other. And I knew that I could not decide. I remember praying, "You choose, and You help me be okay with whatever You decide." A huge wave of relief washed over me.

I continued to do what I needed to do in order to complete "the Box" as the Certification papers were known. I continued to follow my doctor's orders. But now I did it, knowing that this was something bigger than me; and I was okay with that.

A few weeks later, it was my beloved sister's 24th birthday. We went out to celebrate and my dinner did not set well. I still felt cruddy the next morning, but thought nothing of it. A couple of days later, when my period was a no-show, I called the doctor's office and was told to come in for blood work, which they promptly lost when I called for the results.

I am by nature a pretty impatient person. I don't really like surprises, and I don't like to be kept waiting if the answer to something was promised on a particular day and time. So I took matters into my own hands, so to speak.

I bought a pregnancy test, went home, peed on the stick and waited. When the second line turned the faintest of pinks, my heart leapt with joy. And my stomach flipped with fear.

Joy, because, for so long, this is what my heart had longed for. Because a precious life was underway.

Fear, because I knew at that moment that nothing would keep me from protecting my child. And the ability to recognize that is incredibly frightening. Fear, because my mind was clouded with questions and concerns.

What kind of mother would I be? How would I be able to do all that would be demanded of me? How would this change my relationship with my husband?

Ten years and three children later, my heart still leaps with joy and my stomach, at times, still lurches with fear.

The moments of fears and questions and doubts are different now, I suppose. You navigate through those fears and doubts with love and hope like hell you are doing the right thing.

You still struggle with the kind of mother you are, or are trying to become. You manage to do all that is demanded of you. You find that this new label of parents brings you and your spouse closer, on a united front, against anything or anyone that threatens to hurt your child.

And most days, when you stick with your gut and trust in something bigger than you, you ARE doing alright.

On the difficult days, I think of that early February evening, when I prayed for guidance and comfort. I trusted once, and received the best answer I have ever gotten.

Incidentally, I did not achieve National Board Certification that year, or the next. My perseverance paid off on the third try. While I was pregnant with my second son.

One phone call and a second pink line...What a ride it has been...

Judgment Day...

Over the past few weeks, I have noticed a particularly disturbing pattern in the circles I find myself in. There is a constant need to judge those around us, particularly mothers and their parenting choices and/or their children.

Perhaps I am a little jaded in my views of the world, but I like to tell it like it is...I am appalled that some people feel the need to constantly judge mothers for the choices they make in their lives or parenting styles. Maybe it is because I have been a teacher for so long, maybe it is because I have three children of my own...I don't think it's right.

First of all, we have all been subjected to the parenting of our parents, and that seems to have a lot to do with how we parent , ourselves. If you had incredibly overprotective parents, then you might tend to be a little freer with your own children, establishing opportunities for them to gain some independence and make safe choices when they are young. If you had incredibly strict parents, then you may be a little more lax with certain circumstances and be more permissive of things that you were not allowed to do as a child.

I think what bothers me the most is the perfected looking down your nose at someone when your parenting or life choices don't coincide with your own.

I cannot tell you the looks I have received over the years at Parent Teacher Organization Meetings in which stay at home mom's look at each other when I mention I teach full time. "Oh, you work..." like I have a terminal disease or a philandering husband...What the heck? I don't judge you for staying home...I am not less of a mother because I choose to help my husband carry the financial load of our household. ARGHH! It doesn't make me a better mother either...Can't we find some common ground? I mean, really, we have the TOUGHEST job around...Can't we be supportive of each other because we share the commonality of motherhood? Because we all love our children, regardless of whether we stay at home or work outside of it?

And the worst judgment comes from the parents who automatically take the side of a child who has gotten themselves into a heap of trouble, and you have merely followed through with what you have promised as a consequence. "Oh, you really did that? Don't you think it was a little too much?" Um, no. I am trying to raise men...Men who understand that actions have consequences, whether they are good or bad. Men who are respectful, and will lead productive, happy lives.

I don't care what your prerogative is. I expect this from my children; that they are honest with me, and they do what is right, regardless of what anyone else is doing. Most of the time, it is a thankless job to be their mother. Getting to the joyful part of being their mother has its share of bumps. Perfect children don't just fall out of our uterus'. They are nurtured, they are reprimanded, they are molded. Please don't insult my hard work and my children's ability to learn from their mistakes with a comment like, "You are so lucky. Your children behave so good." Yes, I am blessed, but we have had to work hard for it.

Sometimes, we need to carve our own way as parents. We need to forget what the distracters will say or do, because at the end of the day, you didn't take a poll to decide whether or not you should bring your children into the world. There were two people who made that decision.

In an effort to be efficient, you would not take a poll for every last decision you make as a parent. Because you alone are responsible for your child. You may ask for the name of a good specialist if Johnny has an allergy problem, but you don't poll your friends to decide if you punish Johnny for cheating on a test. You hope and pray that you are doing the right things, saying the right things and that those things will take root in your child.

Judgment day in parenting doesn't come at the end of elementary school or middle school. It doesn't arrive at high school graduation or with a college diploma.

It comes in waves; when your child does something out of second nature; holding a door for an elderly person, standing up for someone who is being taunted. You see it when they become the adults that you knew they could become; honest, kind, hardworking and full of convictions that they live by on a daily basis.

Judgment day comes when they become parents themselves and their parenting style seems awfully familiar. Judgment comes when you become the example they use to raise their own children. And really, isn't that the greatest compliment from the most important source?

This too shall pass...

It has been one of those days...the teaching of equivalent fractions has given me a sound beating and my oldest child has been practicing his litigation skills to justify a lack in effort that has resulted in a lower grade. Nothing major, but what has transpired because of it has me fuming...

My husband and I would like to think of ourselves as pretty laid back with minor stuff in the discipline department, but there are several biggies that cannot be ignored: disrespectful actions to another human being, lies, and lack of effort. Somehow, these three met up in one fell swoop and the "punishment" was handed out. Consequences were in line with the offense.

Except that, to a nine year old, it was unfair...it was hurtful, it was mean...and he is trying. Hey, buddy, we all are...

Unfortunately for us parents, they don't take us aside and teach us how to hold it together when your child is on the defense, fighting to keep you from taking away what they so want. They don't teach us that these sweet, lovable babies learn to use their words, often with such skill and eloquence, that they can break our hearts with just a few simple words, strung together without too much effort...simple words that with the accuracy of a silver bullet, pierce and wound this heart...

And then, the unexpected. A thoughtful, contrite child returns, with tears in their eyes, at the true realization that they have hurt you. They return with a sincere apology, delineating where they have gone wrong, and what they need to do to make things right. They demonstrate what you so often pray for: maturity, impulse control, holding their tongue to avoid the hurt of others. They say this to you, and for a brief moment, you have a glimpse of the man they are to become. A righteous, honest man, who apologizes with all his heart. A man, who is still a child at heart, whose heart skips in happiness at the thought that his apology is accepted, and the bad moment has passed, and the healing begins...And that part, to witness that transformation, right before your eyes, is priceless.