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.

Sounds of healing...

The blood pressure monitor whirs,

the life-giving oxygen machine hums.

Outside, nurses rush to and fro

caring for so many, including Mom.

Over so many years, different hospitals,

different patients, different diagnosis, same fear.

Seeing your parent become frail, sick,

never gets easier, just less unexpected.

The silence of healing: miraculous, incredible,

is a welcomed sound, however temporary.

What sounds warm your heart?  Visit Melissa's Six Word Fridays to find out about the buzz!

Migraines, caterers, deadlines = SUCKAGE

It has been chaotic in these parts for the past couple of weeks. My blog has been left to fend for itself, and all I have been able to manage has been stringing a few lines of six words to pretend that I am actually writing. But we all know the truth.

Last March, in the spirit of doing things on a whim (as much as any mother of three who works full time could do) I booked our family for a Disney Cruise. Although a bit apprehensive, my (very wise) husband figured it was easier to go with it than to fight me on it. The two younger boys birthdays would be celebrated with the world's most famous mouse, and this family of five would take their very first voyage on the sea (for three nights, anyways).

When I made these plans, I assumed several things. First, and foremost, I believed that our State Mandated test from hell would have been administered in March, as it has been since its inception.

I assumed that Andrew's First Holy Communion would be in late May, as his older brother's was two year's prior.

I believed I had another year before I would have to begin the renewal process for National Board Certification.

I also believed that it would be a relaxing trip.

Fast forward to the beginning of the year and the release of the State's testing schedule. Yeah, you guessed it. The test was scheduled for the Monday after we docked. As a bonus, we also had a short week the week we left, thereby cutting my instructional time as I crammed as much review as I could for my poor students.

When I received the schedules from the Church for the Communions this year, I was SHOCKED that Andrew's would be scheduled for the Saturday of the week that we returned. A mere 6 DAYS after we returned. During a testing week. In which two thirds of my offspring would be required to partake of.

But better yet, the first year I was eligible to renew was this year. And the box is due to San Antonio in a mere 10 days.

A sign of the Apocalypse. And very poor planning.

Maybe I am not cut out to be spontaneous.

But I digress.

The week leading up to the trip was hectic, at the very least. There were orthodontist appointments, birthdays, packing, reviewing, writing and MAJOR picking up and preparing for the party after the Communion, 'cause really, who goes on a trip the week before a major religious sacrament.

After marathon packing into the wee hours of the morning, we departed. The weather was perfect. The food was delectable. And for the three nights I was on that ship, I didn't think about all that I had left behind.

I was reminded as soon as we arrived and got to our car, only to discover that the battery was dead. Some nincompoop (me) left an interior light on the whole time we were gone. Or rather, until the car's battery went dead. After a good 45 minutes and endless attempts of getting jumper cables that were functional, we were on our way home. Clearly, God had other plans than for me to spend Monday morning explaining to my principal why I was still 2 hours north of my school.

The week of testing was endless and harrowing. The children managed not to throw up or have nervous breakdowns in school. There were endless appointments that some nincompoop (me) had scheduled for dentists and such. Oh, yeah, I forgot. The Communion was supposed to be in MAY!!

Our Church decided that the children who were to receive the Sacrament on Saturday needed a lengthy (as in almost 3 hours) rehearsal after religious class, on the night before even MORE testing. Andrew and I had dinner at 8:30 p.m., after they locked the gates to where our car was parked.

Finally, testing finished. The week finished and it was the night before. My late period decided to make an appearance the night before the Communion. John and I shoved stuff in boxes to store in the garage, went out for a last round of stuff we needed for the party, set up tables, chairs and floral arrangements. I prepared platters of food and left them in my neighbor's refrigerator. I ironed (as I muttered silently to myself) the after the ceremony clothes, showered, shaved and blow-dried my hair. I went to bed at 1:30 a.m.

I rose at 6 a.m., fixed the salad, put on my dress (it fit!) and headed to weigh in for Weight Watchers. I did a little gig as there was no change in weight (yippee!!) and headed to the local grocery store to pick up the cake and the mother lode of food for the party.

Here is where we ran into a problem.

The deli department had NO RECORD OF MY ORDER! I had to be at church with dressed children and looking like a person by 9 a.m. At 7:15 a.m., I wanted to cry. And swear. And curse. Except I had gone to confession the night before. I didn't want to blacken my soul before at least 12 hours had passed, you know?

I handled myself with as much grace as I could muster. The deli manager promised to have my platters ready within an hour. I had her draw up a much reduced bill for my inconvenience, paid said bill, and left to put my face on and dress some boys.

John went to pick up the food when they called. I hurried to dress children and make sure lipstick was somewhere in the near vicinity of my lips. As I was heading out the door to get to the church on time, John came back, one platter short.

It was hard, folks. Keeping it together. Not letting my raging hormones just take control and let myself become a sobbing, wet, hot mess. I drove to Church. I left Andrew with his group. I got a knot in my throat seeing my little boy looking so big.

And then, I remembered I hadn't had breakfast. And my migraine began.

I survived the ceremony, in spite of Joshua acting like he was crazy. The food crisis was averted and we got our money back for our trouble. Everyone had a great time. Andrew had a glorious day. It was worth all the craziness to see him smile as he came into the Church, gleaming in his white hand-me-down suit.

But my migraine was bad. I fell at home. With a house full of guests.

I couldn't eat later that night because I hadn't taken my prescription before the migraine got out of control.

I went to bed with bruised knees and a nagging question of where it all went wrong.

But next time, you'd better believe that I won't be so quick to fly by the seat of my pants. Calendars will be consulted. Arrangements will be made. Care will be taken.

I mean, it's simple math. Migraines+deadlines= MAJOR SUCKAGE.

April 30 and a FedEx confirmation cannot come soon enough!

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.

It's a wonderful life...

One of my favorite movies of all time is Frank Capra's It's a Wonderful Life, starring Jimmy Stewart and Donna Reed. Poor George Bailey thinks that his life is a failure, but fails to realize how many lives he has touched with kindness and love. Regardless of how many times I watch it, I always am overwhelmed at the end of the movie when George Bailey's family receives so much love and support from the very people they committed their lives to helping.

In his darkest hour, George got what he needed, not what he wanted.

The same could be said for us this Christmas.

* * * * * * * * * *

Every year, our little family gets together, to share in the revelry of the season. We eat, we laugh, we exchange presents. And save for a few scheduled absentees, we are all together.

This year was the exception. Kind of. And in spite of all the anxiety and sadness that it would not be like it always is, it was exactly what we needed. And certainly not how we wanted it to be.

Make no mistake. In spite of all of it, it was a gift.

John's mom had surgery a few days before Christmas. After much deliberation, John and I decided to cancel our "normal" plans. It was hard to do, thinking that our "people" would be disappointed.

When our "regulars" for our Christmas Eve get together found out the reason we were cancelling (only the second time in fifteen years, folks), they offered words of love and hope. My sister stepped up to the plate and hosted the dinner for the immediate family.

On the 23rd, I made my traditional dinner, on a much smaller scale. Because I was feeding only one person. My beloved father in law. I didn't care what was going on. I did not want Dad to have hospital food on Christmas Eve. John made the drop off and visited with his mom for a while. He met me at home, after the boys and I attended Christmas Eve Mass, and we headed over to my sister's.

My sister had a lovely meal prepared. We shared a quiet evening with our "extended" family. We came home early.

Christmas morning brought three little boys to our bedside, excited about Santa's visit the night before. We saw our children open their presents with the same happiness they always have. We made plans to head out to see Mom and Dad at the hospital. And bring food to share with Dad. To have Christmas dinner, together. In spite of this year's events. But more importantly, because of this year's events.

The happiest memory I will have of this Christmas was the joy on Mom's face as she viewed a special message from the boys on my cell phone. Of seeing her face as the older boys got to hug her. Of how normal they were, in spite of the abnormality of this year.

Best of all, Mom's stay at the hospital was pretty short once she recovered from surgery. She came home. And we came back to their house to celebrate Christmas and New Year's with them and my brother and sister in law who traveled to share the holiday with us. Dear childhood friends of John, in town from Alabama, made the trek two hours north to see my mother in law on New Year's Eve.

There were several important lessons learned this year. Traditions, as beautiful as they are, are not truly necessary in order to have the "perfect" holiday. What is necessary is to have an open heart. To love deeply and truly. To accept the good that inevitably comes back to you when you are true to your own heart and to those you love.

Mom learned that lesson this year. Emotionally.  Gracefully. Beautifully.
I learned that lesson this year. Wholeheartedly. Gratefully. Blessedly.

As uncomfortable as I am with some kinds of change, I learned that change is good. Even in bad circumstances. Especially in bad circumstances. That even though change scares me, I was open to this total upheaval. Because at the end of the day, you want to be with those you love most in the world. And you want to make them happy.

This Christmas will surely stand out as the year that...

The year that Grandma was sick.

The year that we did things differently.

The year that we learned to let go of those things that hinder us. The year that we learned that Christmas is on the 25th of December, but it can really be celebrated any day, each day, with the same generosity of spirit.

                                                             * * * * * * * * * *

At the end of the movie, George is overcome with gratitude. Gratitude for his family and friends. Gratitude for the way he has lived his life; with honor and integrity. Gratitude for the multitude of blessings he was unable to recognize at one time, but now sees clearly.

This year, my greatest wish was to have my family together.

And I did.

Not in the loud, gargantuan way I have had them in the past.

But in small pieces.

To savor.

To enjoy.

And, most importantly, to recognize this blessing.

And to be grateful for it.

All I want for Christmas...

I have not made a list for Santa in countless years. When I was little, and things were bad at home, the thought of asking someone for anything my heart desired was comforting and thrilling. My sister and I would pore over the toy catalog and in our own minds, pick out every last thing our hearts desired. Our extremely edited lists for Santa were much more tame and less ostentatious.

As I grew older, the need for another person to get things for me seemed a little silly. I had a job, and if I saved, I could manage a little Christmas cheer for myself throughout the year. My lists consisted of what others might want for themselves. My job was to make their wishes come true. It was something I reveled in and still enjoy doing.

But this year, I have a list. It is not a big one. It is one that I think Santa would have trouble with. Not because of the objects I desire, because really, there are none. It is what I want that is so much more difficult to have right now.

All I want is for our normal to be back. A house full of people. A kitchen full of food. Minds free of worry.

This year, our reality is a little different from our "normal."

For the first time since John and I have been together, our family will not be able to be together for Christmas Eve.

In spite of having no adverse reactions to her chemo that is now nearly half complete, Grandma is back in the hospital, dealing with post operative recovery. On Friday, it will be a week since she was admitted. Her surgery yesterday was successful and I know that she will be just fine.

Grandma's reaction to the whole thing? "This Christmas is something we will look back on and be grateful for. That in spite of everything, we are fortunate."

That, friends, is grace under pressure. Of selflessness. Of making lemonade out of some pretty sour lemons.

But after knowing how wonderful it is to share Christmas with those you love, it is hard to give it up, even with good reason.

So, Santa, if my list contained several pricey items from Tiffany and Company, I am willing to bet that you would have no problem getting everything for me.

Santa, could you send some health our way? We have plenty of optimism, hope and love. We just need some extra helpings of health to enjoy the wonderful gifts we share every day.

But, in the end, it really doesn't matter what is under the tree. What matters most is who is there to share it with you.

Wishing each of you the joys of the season, and the warmth of your loved ones.

Chilly weather, a good cry and a bowl of chili

We had our first cold snap this weekend. For Floridians, the first sign of cold weather sends us into a frenzy. We blow out our arsenal of winter clothes at the first drop of the mercury. We are convinced that the colder weather will decidedly bring on pneumonia in our children, therefore, they walk around closely resembling Ralphie's little brother from A Christmas Story.

Seriously, folks. The low was 55°.

I was finally beginning to feel better after the crud, but I had not trained during the week because I had been feeling so lousy. Saturday, I feared, was a day of reckoning. And cold weather to boot.

For the most part, the run was good. It was short by weekend training standards. Only eight miles compared to the 10 of a few weeks ago. It was cumbersome to run with a light jacket wrapped around my waist, but I was okay.

Until the last 2 miles. My right hip started acting up. I don't know if it was the cold, the lack or runs during the week or if I hadn't stretched enough. We had a slight wind going on the way back on our route, so it felt as though I was working harder to move. I was miserable. I ran, but at shortened time intervals. I finished, happy to be back to doing something I never thought I would enjoy and stretched out, thinking about all the stuff that was waiting for me when I returned home.

On Saturday mornings, after the group reassembles upon returning from our run, our team captain holds a clinic about upcoming topics related to training. We go over our fundraising efforts in our fight to cure Lymphoma and Leukemia. We also have a Mission Moment, where a survivor comes to speak to us about their story in fighting blood cancer.

The Mission Moment did me in this week. This man had fought Lymphoma for four years. When he was diagnosed, he was at Stage 4, and given less than two years to live. As he related his journey, and his medically impossible recovery, the tears were flowing.

The whole weekend, I was in a heightened weepy state. I don't really know why, but this man's story, his subsequent recovery and renewed sense of his life's purpose was the catalyst for many a tear shed this weekend.

Today, even bigger news. Our friend's daughter, who has been battling an incredibly rare brain tumor reached another incredible milestone. Her MRI came back clean. This precious three year old has endured brain surgery to successfully remove the tumor, months of chemotherapy, weeks of relentless radiation and her miraculous recovery continues.

What do these two stories have in common? Incredible human warrior spirits and immeasurable faith, in the face of insurmountable circumstances.

It was a welcome change to go back to work today, after the amount of exercise my tear ducts got this weekend. Somehow, working with my students, hearing their chatter, helping them through their obstacles is a really good way to get through whatever ails you. After a long day, I headed home to the cacophony of tennis lessons, cooking dinner, trading children in said tennis lessons, homework, antibiotics, baths and bedtime.

On the menu for dinner tonight? Turkey chili.

Because, sometimes, "chilly" weather, a good, long cry and a bowl of chili makes everything okay.

Welcoming Fall with open arms...

Over the last couple of mornings, there has been a slight chill to the air as I hustle with my sons to get to work on time, or when my neighbor and I meet to go for our four mile runs at 4 am. Please don't misunderstand. Fall in South Florida does not really qualify as Fall anywhere else. For Floridians, any drop in humidity automatically signals Fall.

Last year, my husband took me to Boston in September. I had never been to Boston, and immediately fell in love with the city and the scenery. The leaves, the hustle and bustle, the buildings, the history. I could have stayed there forever.

This morning, as I walked out to the car, the sky was the crispest blue I had seen in a while. The lines of the trees stood in contrast; so sharp against that perfect sky. It reminded me of ten years ago, as I waited for the birth of my first born. As those beautifully sky-ed days became more frequent, they never lost their magic. Every fall, I think back to those days of endless anticipation and beautiful skies, and my heart is full.

Fall has forever been one of my most favorite seasons. Although we don't get much of a change in seasons down here, that lack of humidity and ensuing "chill" signal a time of harvest. A time of thanksgiving. Of gathering close to the ones you love, creating new memories; reliving old ones.

On the mornings that I run, I love looking out at the twilight sky as we get home. The beautiful colors of fall on the giant canvas of the sky. Everything is right in the world when you look at that beauty first thing in the morning, lungs full of fresh air, heart pumping new life within you.

Gratitude

I have had a heavy heart and silent blog for the past few weeks. My family received some news about four weeks ago that has reshaped our lives and how we choose to live it, but by anyone's standards, is not the most exciting positive news ever.

As many of you have surmised over the content of my blog, my relationship with my mother in law is pretty spectacular. For many years, she has been an infinite source of comfort and support and for all practical purposes, I see her as a mother figure in my life.

About six weeks ago, she awoke with a pain in her breast and decided to get it checked out. She had a mammogram, that came back abnormal and required a biopsy. Four weeks ago, her biopsy confirmed she has breast cancer.

In spite of incredible circumstances, my mother in law has had EXCEPTIONAL luck. In the doctors that are guiding her treatment and care. In the speed in which accompanying tests have been scheduled and executed. In the way the world has responded to this circumstance our family now faces.

My mother in law has cancer. The cancer does not have her.

Frankly, when news like this hits you, it usually feels like a gut punch. Your knees get weak. You cannot keep a cognitive thought in your head if your life depended on it. But, the stronger part of you starts drumming up a list of things that need to be done.

Upon consultation with my MIL, I decided not to write about this for a while. And it has been hard to keep this within me, when it has colored so many parts of my life. But it is not defining us.

Because, in spite of the ugliness of the word cancer, the gratitude within my heart cannot be explained in any rational way. I am grateful that this cancer has a worthy opponent. My MIL is no shrinking violet. She fights like a girl: proud, courageous, with a fierceness that can overcome anything. Her heart and mind are determined to beat this, and, if the last 20 years prove anything, my money is on her, 2:1.

I am grateful to those whose prayers and good wishes have so often lifted me throughout these last few weeks. Your kindness, compassion and willingness to do for our family is worth so much more to us than just the mere words that have left your mouths. They have sustained us, given us strength, given us comfort.

I am grateful for those people who have been involved so far in her care. She is so positive because the people around her are filled with hope. She has doctors that have involved her in every decision and are positive that she will be around for a long time.

I am grateful to this cancer for giving my family the opportunity to fuel ourselves with the wonder of each day, the wonder of our family.

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.

!!!-Intentional Happiness for the week of July 16, 2010

After a whirlwind of cleaning up and organizing, I am as done as I can be. Every major closet is organized, months of bill statements have finally been organized, kitchen is in tip top shape, even the garage is cleaned up and organized. That is some serious !!!

But bigger than that is what the organizing and purging has done for my soul. For the last couple of years, my summers have been consumed by the needs of others, leaving little time for my own needs, let alone wants.

Three summers ago, I had a newborn. Although we did some traveling with our newly expanded family of three, caring for three small kids left me drained of any energy to tackle things such as closets and unfiled bills. I was barely surviving.

Two summers ago, my sister had a newborn. And was pregnant. So we tackled everything that needed tackling, together, with four kids.

Last summer, my mother's failing health forced whatever plans I had to the back burner. My sister now had two babies, 13 months apart. Together, with our now five children, we put my mother's affairs in order, and set on unchartered territory: caring for an elderly parent with a degenerative condition.

This summer, I reclaimed my freedom. In the midst of all that cleaning and organizing, I seemed to remember and find my way back to who I used to be and who I am trying to become.

And so this week, the French celebrated Bastille Day, commemorating the beginning of the French Revolution that eventually dismantled the Monarchy.

Twenty one years ago, on Bastille Day, a sixteen year old Cuban girl FINALLY got her driver's license. And with it, she opened a whole new world for herself. Major !!!

And now, twenty one years later, I am learning to fly by the seat of my pants, charter into new territories and relearn how to have fun. Case in point, a day trip to Sanibel Island to see my husband's aunt and uncle from Atlanta and their grown children and young grandchildren. Totally spur of the moment, total !!! to see the next generation of cousins play and have fun! Plus beach time is always worthy of !!!

Continued success with the potty training!!! A clean AC condensation line thanks to my wonderful main man!!! A sisters only movie night to see Eclipse!!! No children with us at the movie theater and swooning over Jacob's abs; double !!!

That being said, sometimes the greatest !!! comes from standing outside our comfort zone, confronting our fears and looking them dead in the eye and realizing that they hold no longer hold power over you.

Sometimes, those lessons take a very long time to be learned and understood. But once they are learned, they are your license to happiness...

Walking away from it all...

30 for 30 on ESPN premiered a documentary on last month titled Run, Ricky, Run. (Yes, I watch ESPN with my husband, at times, when he is REALLY, REALLY good). The documentary was on Ricky Williams, who is a running back for the Miami Dolphins.

Ricky Williams is famous for being a great football player.

But Ricky Williams is most famous for flunking drug test after drug test, and basically, walking away from football, a multimillion dollar contract, and leaving everyone scratching their heads, saying, "Huh?"

I was one of the hundreds of thousands of people who just couldn't understand how someone as talented as him could basically, in the eyes of others, just screw up their life because of marijuana. That was the story the media, the Dolphins organization and players put out there.

Ricky's version was slightly different.

Ricky had a rough upbringing. He played football. He was good. He tried to fit the mold. And he found that he couldn't do it.

The documentary chronicles his time after leaving the Dolphins and the National Football League. He spent some time in Australia, he studied yoga and holistic healing. He was trying to find himself.

Unlike the majority of the NFL players out there, he was not willing to sell his soul for money. Instead, he walked away, chose to work on himself, as he said, "Get my head straight."

And everyone rushed to judge, to condemn.

How many of us would walk away from seeming happiness, to the ridicule of others, to better ourselves? To walk the long windy roads into the dark part of ourselves, to work out those issues that have left us emotionally stifled and unable to enjoy the prosperity of our talents?

How twisted have we become as a society that we can feel qualified to pass judgment upon others, regardless of how little or how much we know of others?

And yet, I was one of them.

I thought he was ignorant. A druggie who couldn't control his addiction.

He was fighting his demons.

As I watched the other night, I came to understand this man's journey back to himself. At the beginning of the time chronicled, his voice sounded devoid of emotion, just dead. As the documentary continues, and he makes progress, you can see the light return to this man's eyes, life back in his voice.

And I wonder how many of his critics have ever chosen money over themselves. How many have sacrificed their families and happiness to get ahead?

Is the victory really worth the lives you destroy on the way to the top? How many will be cheering for you if you are not genuine with yourself? How can you be honest with anyone, if you cannot stand to look at yourself in the mirror?

How can you love anyone if you cannot love yourself?

Perhaps, I am an old softie at heart. Perhaps, I am too easily swayed by emotions and claims of renewed lives. But I was swayed.

At the end of the documentary, we have watched this tormented man reach within himself, dig himself out, and DONE something FOR HIMSELF.

He is a yogi.

He has studied holistic medicine.

He is a better father.

He is a husband.

He has made something out of himself, and can now share it with others.

He has proven to everyone that sometimes, you just need to walk away from it all before you can come back to it.

That takes courage.

It takes faith.

And it is always worth it, if you find what you are looking for.

Rare indulgences and being Lost...

This weekend was a rarity in my life over predictability, routine and rules. Since Mother's Day weekend, I have been ignoring the fact that my refrigerator and garage freezer were reaching dangerously low levels of nourishment.  You would think that the cobwebs in the pantry would have been a tip-off.

On Friday afternoon, after a "quick" (was there ever a bigger oxymoron?) run to the bank, I picked up Joshua and headed to the grocery store. I knew what I was up against; three tired and hungry children, hundreds of people with the same task at hand, but, I had nothing to serve my family other than frozen sausages, frozen basil, American cheese slices, and milk.

I was also starved, as I had lunch at 11:00 am. It was a bad combination. Very bad.

One hundred dollars later, I had frozen lunches, breakfast foods and fresh veggies to add to my pantry, refrigerator and garage freezer.

I also bought Haagen-Dazs ice cream. I have not been intimate with Haagen since Pregnancy #2. Damn lunch at 11:00 am and no snacks in between.

After a quick stop home to drop off perishables, I went back out to the "fancy" grocery store and decided to indulge in blue cheese burgers, stuffed shrimp and other curiosities. I also picked up miniature roses, that just happened to be on sale. They were glorious, fragrant; just the indulgence my eyes needed on this weary Friday afternoon.

I got home, fired up the grill for the burgers,  indulged in a glass or two of wine, and watched Finding Nemo. There is something incredibly soothing about the underwater scenes, about the message every young child needs to hear: your parents will go the ends of the Earth for you. As I watched the movie, I was surrounded by the loves of my life, and my heart indulged in the moment.

Saturday brought a hair appointment in the never-ending battle with gray and later on, the opportunity to babysit my two nieces. Take out Thai and sushi with even more fabulous wine. Five babies asleep, the right seating arrangements and the acquisition of the remote assured me chick-flick heaven (He's Just Not That Into You and Julie and Julia), accompanied by a torrid tryst with Haagen, as my husband lay sleeping blissfully unaware on the couch nearby. The only evidence of what transpired; an empty carton, a forlorn spoon and the inevitable 5 pounds that moment of weakness with Mint Chip will cost me...

Sunday brought a day of work for hubby and intense negotiations with three children to ensure a couple of hours at the Outlet Mall...Final arrangements for delivery of negotiated goods to be handed over upon completion of said shopping trip, with no signs of Jab, Poke and Whine. Mommy got HUGE discounts on some summery looking clothes and some peace while acquiring them. Children got super soaker weapons and an impressive looking water apparatus that will entertain them for the duration of summer vacation, and with a coupon to boot! Sunday brought much needed and heavily discounted retail indulgence.

As the evening wound down, we rushed through The Witching Hour at warp speed so that we could indulge in FOUR (!) hours of Lost. Although I have not been religious about watching it (seriously, how could I commit to another thing when I barely can remind myself that my bladder needs to be emptied every once in awhile), I have thoroughly enjoyed the twists and turns that it has brought into our family room over the past six years.

The mental challenge of watching Lost last night was invigorating and breathtaking...Without revealing too much, the ending was beautiful. The connections all of these people had made me think of the connections we all have within our lives. Sometimes, the more difficult the situation, the tighter the bond we have with the people we share the experience with.

And that is really it. After watching the finale last night, there were several moments that were immensely spiritual in nature. How people are connected, how our actions affect all of those around us. How we need others, emotionally, physically, spiritually, in order to live.

How we cannot do it alone.

Anyone who is a parent will tell you how much harder it is when your spouse or partner is not available to help you. And sometimes, it isn't even about all the things you have to do physically. It is about having a sounding board, someone to share the incredible joys, and someone to play rock, paper, scissors when there is a sick child and work to go to. Someone to share.

When I think about my life, I know that my existence would be completely different had it not been for certain people, certain circumstances, certain experiences. If I had my own Lost, I am sure that I would have a parallel reality floating around somewhere.

But I am certain that it would not be better than the reality I live every day.

And I think that that was the beauty of Lost. That, in our own way, we are all lost. We are all finding our way, making our own reality, regardless of the smoke monsters and polar bears that might roam our uninhabited island.

But were it not for those who are our constant companions, those that we can rely on and who we help in their own troubles, we would truly be lost.