Five for Five: Listening

Listening to your three rambunctious children

shouting their goodnight's and love you's,

whispering in bed instead of sleeping,

the sounds of their cascading giggles,

is a beautiful lullaby for mothers,

and one I would not trade

for any golden treasure on Earth.

Wishes...

Three wishes granted.

Three boys cherished.

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Silence...

On days filled with endless chatter,

I long for silence, quiet , peace.

Barraging giggles, loud whispers, conspiratory voices

easily overwhelm the balance within me.

Deep within, my inner voice questions

if I will readily, willingly embrace

the eventual silence that will come

when my nest is empty, silent.

Then I remember, "I chose this."

This haphazardly controlled chaos of life

that this mom with three boys

lives, balances, treasures and fights against,

is something she chose willingly, wholeheartedly

when her heart and soul were quiet

and not yet full of joy.

Longing for silence?  Want to know more about Six Word Fridays?  Check out Melissa's blog!

Motherhood: Trial and Error

Do this, with one child: success.

Try that, with another: epic fail.

Improvisation with child three: inevitable split.

Mothering is a series of experiments,

Some great, some small, some crazy.

But all carefully cultivated with love.

Familiar with trial and error?  Share with us!  Visit Melissa to find out more about Six Word Fridays!

"I didn't do anything..."

When that phrase is the first thing you hear, and it is often accompanied by an increasing decibel-ed wail, nothing good can follow.

If you really think about it, they did do something. Actually, lots of some things.

Like make you a mom.

They make you wonder if you are losing your mind on a daily basis.

They challenge you to be the kind of person they already think you are.

They force you to challenge yourself, try new things, just to be an example that puts their money where their mouth is.

They provide you with ample opportunity to stretch your physical limitations on a daily basis, sometimes, even down to an hourly basis. You never knew how strong you were, how much endurance you had until you had a kid. Double that with each additional offspring borne by you.

They make you question every manufacturer, teacher, assignment, food, additive, vaccination, decision you have ever made or are going to make. They make you think twice before ingesting your favorite sanity food (or drink), wondering how it will affect your longevity/health and their well-being.

They make you reprioritize, whether you want to or not. You just can't do the stuff you want to, even when you want to, 'cause you've got them. Everything is colored with the responsibility of their existence; their well-being.

And even though there are days when you feel like you can go no further, that you would gladly walk out and never return, you are a better person because of them.

When those words are uttered in my house, they often bring me a tremor or two (or three) of fear.  But mostly, I am grateful.  Mostly.

So, keep thinking you didn't do anything.

Nothing could be further from the truth. 

And hopefully, one day, when you hear those words from your brawling kids, you will have to smile to yourself before putting your game face on, and know what makes my heart keeping beating happily.

Yesterday's Lessons...

Yesterday, I did not know this:

I am more than the sum

of all my parts. I'm me.

I did not know how quickly

the days pass, one into another,

and how I'd yearn to be

back, reveling in the early days.

I didn't know my own strength,

my own endurance, my own speed.

I did not know I limit myself.

Yesterday, I was lost, map-less, hopeless.

I could not understand, acknowledge, internalize,

the twists and turns that lead

to Today. To a brighter me.

Yesterdays got me here; unscathed, wiser.

And today: tomorrow's yesterday, I am.

What does yesterday mean to you?  Check out Melissa at Making Things Up and Six Word Fridays.

Counting my blessings...

When I look at the images

that chronicle my life so far,

my heart full as I count

the blessings with ten fingers, toes.

Three strapping sons, two adorable nieces,

a new baby on the way

to add to this full list.

So, each day, I carefully count.

Each day, I call their names.

Grateful they are my glorious treasures.

Matthew, Andrew, Joshua, Alexandra, and Allison.

Awaiting a new niece or nephew,

witnessing the start of another family,

another already loved blessing to join

this giggle-ly, wiggly chorus of happiness;

the children of our blessed family.

Want to count with us?  Visit Melissa at Making Things Up for more on Six Word Fridays!

Craziness and another 365 days for Joshua...

This is a red alert, folks. For anyone who will read, it is important for you to know that Joshua is four today, and therefore, defying logic and a serious height problem when compared to his older brother, Joshua is big.

The week has been beyond crazy. The following week offers no reprieve. More on that later.

Right now, we will return to regular programming, including another frog birthday cake and the excitement only a four year old can have on his birthday.

Seconds...

It seems I live my life

in a series of moments that

are reluctantly, inevitably, "seconds from..." something.

The next catastrophe, or great accomplishment.

The next moment of infinite joy.

The passing of debilitating self insecurities.

The mothering moments in which I

could very easily lose my mind.

But the happiest hours I spend

are always with all my boys.

Regardless of how endless it seems

these hours seem to be disguised.

They unavoidably pass as fleeting seconds

within my ever watchful, timekeeping heart...

Got a second?  Want seconds?  Visit Melissa at Making Things Up for this week's Six Word Friday!

What I needed most...



Image by Christopher David Ryan


Today was a regular day. Not too much going on. But for some reason, as the day wore on, my own insecurities, anxieties, and other emotional dredge threatened to take me under.

I stood under the hot water for a long time tonight. I wondered when I would ever get my painful childhood out from under me. I wondered how much of that childhood taints my children's every day.

I wondered where the time has gone. Matthew, in spite of being so big, still was incredibly emotional about something seemingly meaningless this afternoon. My big boy, who often scurries from me when I try to hug him, let me hold him today when he cried. I wonder how often he needs my arms for comfort, and I don't offer them, because he scurries, because he is so big.

Because our timing is off. When I offer, he doesn't need. When he needs, I don't offer.

I know he is asleep now. My ever growing boy, who will too soon be too big for his bed. He is already too big for me to fold into my arms and hold him completely. The pages of his childhood are flying rapidly...Am I missing it?

I put on my pajamas and shuffled out of my bedroom to a final kiss goodnight sweep for three beautiful boys. I was welcomed with the sight on Andrew, asleep on the couch. When I gently rustled him ( I cannot even begin to think of carrying him anymore) he made a face that took me back to when he was a infant, sleeping in my arms. I walked him back to his room, tucked him in, gave him another kiss goodnight.

Joshua started talking in his sleep. Exclamations that only my little Buzz Lightyear would utter. Drunk in his sleep, he smiled. I walked over to my littlest boy. His small little hand found the crook of my neck and pulled me closer to him.

"I love you so much," he said, words slurred with sleep.

"I love you too," I whispered. "Have good dreams," I said.

"I wish I could fly," he sighed, eyelids so heavy.

Oh, little one. I wish you could.

I wish you could fly to me when my arms miss you the most. When I am with other peoples' children. When I should be with you, holding you close. Trying to hold on to you as you are right now.

I wish you could fly to me, as you did tonight, with your sweet voice, your inviting little arms, to save me from myself.

"I always miss you," he said. His sleep, breaking down whatever restrictions a three year old could have; his heart speaking the truth within it.

My heart broke. I always wonder if I am doing the right thing; working outside the home. In the lowest moments, I fantasize about how clean and organized my house would be. What the wondrously nutritious and inviting meals I would make for my family. That fantasy ends rather quickly during the summer months, when I am home, having fun, being lazy with my boys.

Nonetheless, I wonder how badly I am messing up when I hear things like this.

In the same breathe, I hear, "I love you so much Mommy," sleepily sighed. He is already far into the dreamland he is creating behind closed eyes.

It is exactly what I needed tonight. A reminder that in spite of all the bad, I have these three shining rays of light, that are surely guiding me out of darkness.

Warming my days...

Your little hand within my own.

Your sparkling eyes speak volumes, baby.

Nothing makes me feel more loved

Than the sight of you running;

Arms outstretched, smile radiating, eyes aglow.

The music of your contagious laughter

Hopelessly shames the summer sun's warmth.

You and your brothers; my everything.

You boys, the source of my existence.

I am irrevocably devoted, completely humbled

By the magnitude of this love.

What warms your heart?  Check out Melissa at Making Things Up for more on Six Word Fridays!

Relief, and worry

When my boys started school at the same place I teach, I made a vow to keep out of their world as much as I could. I didn't want to be one of the overbearing parents I had had to deal with in my many years in the classroom. I wanted them to have as "normal" an education as they could, in spite of the fact that I am a teacher. Don't misunderstand. I love being able to see them during the school day; their shy smiles or secret signs for "I love you" make the rest of my day go that much faster.

Recently, Matthew's teacher commented on the academic prowess of my two older boys and said, "it must be such a relief to know that your kids are smart." I was kind of taken aback by the comment. I mean, I know my kids are bright (and I am NOT bragging. I have scientific proof to back up that statement). But I don't know that I would exactly say that I am relieved by this fact. There are times I am actually concerned.

I taught for a solid five years before the birth of my oldest son. I would marvel at the intelligence of some of the students I had the pleasure of teaching. I thought, naively, that their parents had it easy. I mean, a smart kid doesn't hassle you to complete tasks, right? Well, that might be true at school, but it might not necessarily transfer to home assignments. I would have challenges of my own in the classroom for children that were way above the curve. How could I keep them challenged throughout the day? How could I meet their needs?

Fast forward to Matthew. Matthew who started Kindergarten reading. Matthew who could read beginner novels at the beginning of first grade. Matthew who would get so frustrated with the children in his class who would misbehave and interrupt his learning. Matthew who was reading four to five grade levels above his current grade level.

Andrew could add and subtract at age three. He was soon following in his brother's footsteps, albeit with less "look at me" fanfare that seems to follow Matthew. Andrew was reading Harry Potter in first grade, people, movies yet unseen. (House rules are that you must read the book BEFORE watching the movie.) Andrew could conduct a detailed conversation about the novel's nuances with no difficulty.

And what to say about Joshua? With two older brothers, he floored his Pre-K 3 teacher this year with his ability to name a hexagon with no problem. The other kids in his class could name three shapes tops. Letter names and sounds, out of order? No problem.

Here is the clincher. Some parents sit with flash cards from the time their kids can sit up. I never did.

Not with the oldest. Not with the middle. Certainly not with the youngest.

Why? Because as a teacher, I knew that would get plenty of that sort of thing when they got to school. Because I wanted to just talk with my kids, with no kind of pressure to actually learn something. I wanted to show them cool stuff, just because it was cool.

Blessed? Absolutely. Worried? You bet.

Why? Because placement for children like this is impossible. Because regardless of what their academic age might be, there is still the emotional component of all this knowledge and having it come WAY to easy. Because they rarely struggle.

And I want them to struggle. I want them to learn what it's like to really have to study to learn something.

At the beginning of third grade, Matt was having trouble with Spanish. Regardless of the fact that I am a native speaker of Spanish and am a fluent reader and writer, I had a hard time keeping the Spanish only rule my parents implemented while I was growing up. I married a man that can speak and write it, but found it to be difficult to switch from one language to another while the kids were really little. The only time the Spanish flows in our house is when Mama is ticked. Not the best way to learn a language.

Now, I never heard a peep from his Spanish teacher. But by the second week of school, he was begging me to pull him out of Spanish. His reason for determining he was "failing" Spanish? His teacher had asked him the same question twice. And he knew, from prior experience, he told me, that when the teacher asks you the same question twice, you are not doing well.

Well, it took a lot to convince him that he was not "failing." That certain things might not be come as easily to him. And that took him aback.

"Why?" he asked.

How to answer? Because most people have to work hard to learn things. Because a strong mind is only as strong as the lessons learned. Because not everything can be easy.

The best things in life are not necessarily the ones that are easy to come by.

So, yes. There is some relief in knowing that my children love learning. That they have been blessed with wonderful teachers who value them as students, who challenge those minds every day, who make learning so much fun for them.

But there is worry, regardless. Because in order to succeed, you must learn to fall. You must learn to get back up.

And I know that they will. Hopefully. And not too painfully.

Happiness is watching our boys grow...

 

 

Happiness equals thirty fingers and toes.

Wrinkly noses lightly dusted with freckles.

Bright, crinkly eyes, long curved lashes

That rest on smooth, innocent cheeks.

Gap toothed smiles, tooth fairy visits.

Mom snuggling boys on the couch,

Nestled warm, sharing a fuzzy blanket.

Lanky, growing legs wrapped in pajamas.

Loud laughter echoing throughout our home.

Every single day of the year.

But most especially, during magical Christmastime.

The daily routine of modern motherhood

Day in. Day out. Time scheduled.

Every minute of every day; accountable.

Wake. Run. Shower. Awaken sleepy children.

Pack. Kiss goodbyes. Commute. Coffee. Teach.

Plan lessons. Grade papers. Encourage. Dismiss.

Commute. Pick ups. Drop offs. Errands.

Homework. Dinner. Bills. Clean up. Endless.

Children bathed, tucked in bed; finished.

Momma's tired. Momma's bathed. Momma's asleep.

Repeat. Every single day. Cheerfully. Tirelessly.

Every minute of every day; blessed.

What does your routine look like?  Join Six Word Fridays at Making Things Up!

Hand in hand...

As my husband and three children piled into the pew at Sunday morning Mass, I recognized an older couple who had renewed their vows after fifty plus years when we renewed our vows after thirteen. We had a magical evening that night two years ago, thinking back to the night we said "I do" and relating the story of us to our three children.

This Sunday, this couple sat a pew in front and to the left of us. The husband, after helping with the collection, came back to sit next to his wife. He promptly took her hand into his own, laid it on his knee, and with a single stealth move, covered it with his own.

My heart stopped.

I looked down at my own busy hands, intermingled in those of my youngest sons. I saw my husband's hands, they held the hands of our older sons. My heart ached, just a tiny bit, in longing for days gone by.

Days when it was my hand that was nestled in his, fingers intertwined, palms inseparable.

Those days gave way to days of holding newborns. Soothing their frantic, hungry cries; rubbing their bottoms to ease away gas, wiping dirty behinds and running noses of restless toddlers.

Now, these hands fold laundry, check homework, write checks for tennis lessons, afterschool activities, school fundraisers. These hands make dinner; whether a thoughtfully put together menu, or a quick warming up of the potluck of leftovers in the refrigerator. These hands wash dishes, load the dishwasher; clean up after the bounty is consumed.

These hands have held the hands of the sick as they recovered. These hands have held the hands of loved ones as they passed from this Earth. They have wiped tears of those who needed comfort; large or small.

They have been involved in covert operations: wrapping secret Christmas presents for their beloved, surprise birthday presents for sons who may have thought that their hints had not registered. They have addressed envelopes for invitations to share in joy, in sending well wishes to those far away in distance, but close in spirit.

These hands have seen so much. They have changed from those of a pudgy child, to those of a thin, well manicured teen. They have proudly worn a plastic promise ring, and have been graced by a hard-earned, modest engagement ring. They are slightly more wrinkled these days; desperately in need of a good manicure and pampering.

They treasure the moments in which they can be useful to someone. They are happy to lend themselves to whatever task lays ahead of them, to better a little corner of their world. They work tirelessly at whatever is there to be done. Filing, grading papers, praying, typing, washing hands, cleaning fish tanks, making beds, paying bills, bringing in groceries. So much to do. Only two of them for so much to be taken care of.

The biggest reward are moments like the one in church early Sunday morning. In feeling my youngest son's small hand within my own. Of seeing the remarkable growth of my middle son's hand as compared to my own. Of witnessing the gentleness in which John's hands held our oldest son's, with such ease and familiarity, that it made my heart break just a little.

And yet, as my eyes moved forward, back to that older couple, I got a glimpse of what lays ahead for us. Back to the days when there was no one else but me for him and him for me. When there was no race to see who would hold whose hands and the inevitable fight over who did. Back to just the two of us.

I suppose that there will be other little hands to take the place of those that are so rapidly growing. More little people to soothe, but in a different capacity.

But, what I most wish for is my hand on his knee, his protective, loving hand covering mine.

As it once did. As it will again.

A handstand, in spite of the crud....

It's official. I can now say with certainty that I am sick. I have been in denial for weeks, making excuses for the scratchy throat, the itchy nose, the watery eyes. But yesterday, I could no longer ignore the aches and pains. I had an earache.

On Halloween night.

Right before trick or treating.

I would have been perfectly content with staying home, curled up in bed, watching some sappy movie (I watched My Sister's Keeper yesterday afternoon; a sure sign of impending sickness...). But, alas, I have children. Boys who love to dress up on Halloween, and beg for candy that they don't eat, but will inevitably make my ass larger than it needs to be.

I downed two aspirin and went trick or treating with Buzz Lightyear, and two Harry Potters.

The only treat I wanted was my bed and Nyquil. Not necessarily in that order.

I survived. I came home. My husband took one look at my pathetic carcass and commanded me to get a shower and go to bed.

Since he rarely commands me to do anything, I did just that and collapsed until this morning.

Flash forward to this morning. Body still aching, but not quite as bad, I decided to go to work. It was a Teacher's Planning Day. John suggested I stay home.

My husband doesn't understand the finer points of teaching. You NEVER take a day off on a Teacher Planning Day.

I went to work. I went to yoga. I did my first ever, assisted, hand stand.

Me. The girl who could not roll on a mat in elementary school because I would get dizzy.

Me. The girl that can run nine miles in under two hours.

And I can't wait to do it again.

By the way, I feel so crappy that I actually went to one of those clinics within the Pharmacy. And while they swabbed and tested, I do not have anything that antibiotics can cure.

Just plenty of fluids, a decongestant, aspirin every six to eight hours and rest.

The yoga class and an assisted handstand count, right?

I'd never known love like this before...

Ten years ago, I gave birth to my oldest son. Even though I knew that my life would be turned around, I never could have imagined in how many ways my life would be changed for the better. Those four words, "You have a son" made me a mother, and the last ten years have seen an incredible amount of growth and a love that knows no boundaries or limits.

My son. Words that I longed to hear for so long. Words that made me a mother for the first time. The last ten years have brought many first's. The last ten years have seen an infant come into the world, hold up his head, turn over, smile real smiles, sit up, crawl, eat real food, say words that meant something, say I love you, walk, run, and do all kinds of amazing things.

The most amazing? His ability to be compassionate. His love for his brothers and his family. How when he spoke to his Grandma (who just had her second round of chemo yesterday) this afternoon, the first words out of his mouth were "How are you REALLY feeling, Grandma?" The way he carefully read the incredible card his seven year old brother made for him and the way he didn't tell his brother the presents were all his.

Even today, ten years after he came into my world, scrunched up face, crying his newborn mewling cry, I stand in awe. I am in awe that I am a mother. I am in awe that regardless of the crappiest day I may have encountered, or how tired I am, or how much they suck the last dregs of energy within me, there is no other place I would rather be, or anybody I would rather be with.

I am in awe of how much I have changed as I brought home that beautiful newborn baby boy. I am stronger than I ever thought I was, weaker than I would like to admit, and know that there is so much that is out of my hands. Motherhood has made me challenge myself in ways I never thought possible, change aspects of myself I thought were engrained genetically, and constantly makes me want to be the person my kids already believe I am.

On the early morning my son was born, as I gazed into the eyes of this tiny creature whose survival depended solely on me, I knew I was in trouble. I knew that I was about to experience a love I had always heard about, but could only imagine. I knew. I knew that there would never be an enemy too great, a fear too insurmountable. I knew that I would do whatever I needed to do to make sure that this child (and the others that would soon join him) would never know fear, hunger, anxiety. In those brief moments, as the doctor showed my husband and I one of the greatest gifts ever bestowed on us from the other side of the surgical sheet, I knew I was a mother.

My dearest Matthew, you have taught me to believe in what I know exists but cannot prove. You have taught me that there is NOTHING that isn't possible when you seek it with a pure heart and pursue it with love. You have shown me that I am capable of being the person you know is there, the person I always knew I could be.

My darling boy, you have been a joy from the moment we knew of your existence. You have been an endless source of pride and joy, a source of happiness and amazement for your father and I. We are blessed to have you as our son, our firstborn. Rest tonight, knowing in your heart that your father and I love you as much as any person can love another; hopelessly, fully, truly, deeply. We love you to the moon and back. Happy tenth birthday, my love.

Bed Hopping

After a weekend of physical challenges and a myriad of tasks to be completed, my body was aching for rest this afternoon. After the merry-go-round of the day's afternoon activities and fueling of children, my older boys completed homework and showered and while they did their thing, I ran to get a shower myself, relieving my aching body of the day's stresses and junk.

I put on my oldest most favorite pair of way-too-big, but oh-so-comfy pajamas. I have had these pj's for over 10 years. I bought them on clearance and wore them through each of my three pregnancies. I dug them out Saturday night, after running 9 miles that morning, running all kinds of errands with the three boys, attending Mass, and braving the Saturday night dinner crowd.

I was beat.

I needed an old friend.

This evening, it seemed as though the day had gotten the better of me. I was drained after a long day at work. I had practice for our school's Hispanic Heritage Show, in which the teachers will be performing a semi-traditional Flamenco dance routine. I ran to get Joshua, get milk, get the older boys to their tennis pizza party and awards ceremony.

The comfort of the scalding shower and comfy pj's beckoned me to do something I had not done in a long time. I laid in Joshua's twin bed with him. My littlest boy wrapped his arms around me, his still small hand on the back of my neck, as if to soothe me, his fingers tangled in my long, dark hair. He stroked my hair and I felt his breathing relax, his eyes starting to get heavy with sleep.

My heart ached to know that he is my youngest. That there will be no more sons borne of this woman. No more babes to feed with my body, to nestle and soothe when they are fitful. No new babies to run with arms outstretched, smile as welcoming as those arms, to make me forget about the troubles of my day, to fill my heart with joy. As I rubbed his wavy haired head, I shut my eyes, trying to engrave this moment in my heart and mind, so that I may bring it back when this boy no longer fits in this bed, when he no longer depends on me as much as he does now.

I glanced over to Andrew, laying in his bed, feeling left out, as I imagined he might be. I quietly crept from Joshua's bed and awkwardly folded myself into my middle son's bed. As I held him in my arms, he lay quietly, his big brown eyes searching mine. My boy, who sleeps haphazardly, who fails to catch slumber for an entire night, who has inherited the bitter enemy of insomnia that haunts his mother. I looked at my son, trying to memorize his face.  To recall what his face looked like four years ago, seven years ago, when he was a tiny, hungry babe at my breast; same large brown eyes searching mine, understanding me, knowing me. As I stroked his smooth cheek, I admired that beautiful olive skin. A face unobstructed from creases and lines: evidence of worry and sorrow. I wondered, as sleep overtook him, if he will remember this night, when his tired mother crawled into bed with him, invited sleep into bed with us, and let him have his fill of rest. I wondered what he will remember most of these busy days, often filled with mundane chores and uneventful tasks.

And now, I wait for my oldest. As he showers and prepares for bed, he is the one slipping away from childhood so quickly.

Next week, he will be ten.

Last night, I found a picture of him, when he was six months old. My eyes filled with tears, remembering that chubby miracle. His round face, his bright cheeks and smile. The dimple on his cheek that always reminds me of bright sunny days. As I hold him in his bed, his arms and legs are too large, too lanky for me to envelope like his youngest brother. It reminds me of how quickly time is passing through our lives now, how little time I have to hold on to him in this way. My heart is full to know that he still smiles and enjoys these moments, but, I wonder, for how much longer.

It is hard to be a mother. We give birth to our own hearts, tend to their care and growth as we would a precious garden. We weed, we nurture, we water, we hope. And then, we must harvest. We must part. We pray that all we have done will be good enough.

I am not ready yet. I know that they are growing. I know that it is difficult. There are days when I could walk out and not look back. There are many more days when the ache of this mother's heart is too much. When I know that the work being done is good, regardless of the weeds that threaten.

I want to hold on to these moments forever. Freeze them into photographs in my heart. Keep them, just as they are now.

Faces smooth from worry and sadness.

Under my roof.

Warm and safe in their beds.

A hop away from my own bed.

Running towards base: Intentional Happiness for the week of October 1, 2010

As children, when playing freeze tag or hide and seek, there was always a free zone or home base. Once you reached and touched it, no harm could come to you. Unfortunately, as adults, we don't always have a tangible base to get to when things get tough.

Last night, my night crawler, Joshua, was up to his old tricks. Prior to the nasty cough from two weeks ago that settled into his chest, Joshua was sleeping through the night in his own bed. However, when he is feeling under the weather or has a bad dream, base is right there between Mommy and Daddy.

But he is going to be 3 1/2. When he comes into bed with us, none of us get a decent night sleep. My husband and I closely resemble zombies of the scariest kind: parents with severe sleep deprivation. It also does not help that my head, face and kidneys are his personal target practice for kicking. I am sporting some fierce bruises, people.

So last night, when he came around and my husband attempted to put him in bed with us, I lost it. I sent Daddy back with Joshua, to his room and bed. It did not go well.

For close to 45 minutes, Joshua wailed and approached the bedroom door, but did not come in. It quite literally broke my heart. Finally, he was howling. I got up, and found him. His tear stained face mumbled something about having to go potty. As he went, I stood, waiting, sleeping with my eyes open.

I tucked him in bed. I went back to bed and lay awake, trying to go back to sleep. And the thought of how we each need a base when things go bad came to mind. And how I took that away from him.

And yet, this morning, he awoke with a smile on his face, eyes bright with rest. His little arms pulled me close to him, fierce in his love for me.

As I looked at each of my sons this morning, I thought of how regardless of what messes life throws at us, this is my base. This is where I long to be, with whom I want to be with, when I need everything to be right.

My mother in law got a taste of that this past week. She had what could have been a MAJOR setback. She underwent emergency surgery and when she awoke later on that morning, she was surrounded by the men she loves the most: her husband and sons. The original four. The original base. And that did wonders for her recovery as she begins anew, working towards healing, gearing up for the fight.

And where she has been our base for a LONG time, it is nice to be that for her and my father in law. Because that's what families do. We are the touchstone, the roots, the wind that carries those who cannot.

As my sons grow older and my role changes as their mother, I imagine that they will always be what I most cherish, what brings me comfort when I am sad. I suppose that the image of them I call to mind will differ as they get older. But for now, those lanky legs and arms, wide eyes and smiles are the most welcoming base that I have ever known.

Wrong again

After many a sleepless night, courtesy of my youngest son and his unwillingness to stay in his own bed, last night I collapsed. Too much drama in Florida last night and today, y'all.

The news made it seem like there was going to be some great flood today. I mean, the Today show had a correspondent in Ft. Lauderdale this morning. Were they expecting Noah to make an appearance with the ark?

Parents, students and teachers alike waited with bated breath to see if school would be closed today.

No such luck.

No such weather.

It was just a rainy day. But nothing gets Floridians in a tizzy and glued to their TV's faster than the thought of a tropical depression or storm.

We had five hurricanes in a two month period FIVE years ago. The news people need to eat, yo.

It must have been a REALLY slow news day.

Regardless, the storm never materialized. The traffic was nightmarish, particularly because when it is raining in Florida, people can actually get out and PUSH their cars faster than they are actually accelerating.

Traffic around the school? More of the same. God forbid that a child get wet, especially since they are not wearing a rain coat!

All day, in spite of the fact that I actually slept a full night's sleep, I just wanted to be home. In my bed. Watching movies that were not geared for children.

I missed not going out for my run/walks with my neighbor, as we train for a half marathon in late January. My legs, amazingly, ached for lack of exercise.

I have been a little bitchy. Little things have irritated my beyond belief, and I have found myself marveling that such stupidity abounds on Earth. For example, people who seem to forget the function of the right pedal in their car when it is raining outside.

But much like the Little Engine That Could, I did. I survived the craziness of this morning, watching my son struggle with what must surely be the strangest way a person has ever put on a raincoat. Survived running back out to the van to get Joshua's lunch with my broken crap-o-la umbrella and coming back to find Andrew still struggling. I survived crazy mothers driving their children to school, parent phone calls and emails. I even survived Math today (none of you will truly appreciate what a feat that was today) and rainy day dismissal, even finding four students that decided to do their own thing.

I even managed to get the kids to CCD (Catholic studies) on time, only to find it cancelled. And I was NOT even upset. And for you foodies that have been following my struggle to manage to recreate the Red Thai Curry from our favorite Thai place, I came pretty darn close tonight.

After all, tomorrow is another day. And just because I was pretty much wrong in my assumptions for what today would hold, I will not let that stand in the way of progress.

Tomorrow, I WILL run/walk my 4 miles at 4:30 am; I will get back in my groove, regardless of what the weatherman says.

'Cause really? What other job could you have and be wrong about 90% of the time and STILL be employed and listened to?

Oh, I forgot.

Motherhood qualifies for that category, no?