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.

Happy (birthday)

Marking another trip around the sun:

looking back on the lessons learned,

looking forward to new dreams, experiences.

Wondering what the next trip around

will bring as I mark my

thirty ninth year on this Earth.

Reasons...

July 2002:  Matthew, age twenty months.

 Beyond anything the human mind comprehends,

Further than any great distance covered,

I awake each morning: rise, prepare

for another exhausting day of mothering.

June 2004:  Andrew, age fourteen months. 

And yet, without reservations, without hesitation,

I would (and) do it all,

again and again; day in, out

for all the millions of reasons

every other mother does what's necessary.

October 2008:  Joshua, age eighteen months. 

Our relentless love for our children,

and the light in their eyes,

as they experience a precious moment.

That light goes against all reason...

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Drive...

If you are a parent, there is nothing carefree about this stretch of road...

The action of driving: impending dread

(for oh-so-many reasons in South Florida!)

and what will bring our family

to the brink of bankruptcy when

we have three additional males insured

under our policy.  God help us.

But only if the grocery bills

don’t drive us there first. Seriously.  

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Grow...

June 2009: Daddy and the boys in Naples, Florida

Almost twelve years (yikes!) into motherhood,

I am growing in this role.

I no longer quiver when faced

with a bleeding (or vomiting) child.

I no longer tremble when challenged

by hungry, filthy, bored , warring boys

that seem to gain monstrous strength

with each and every passing  second.

No.  I have grown in mothering

just as my boys flourish with

each passing milestone,  every grown inch,

each hard won, exhausting, monumental,  accomplishment.

I stand in wide mouthed awe,

amazed that, in spite of myself,

their growth leaves me behind, small;

but oh, so very much beloved!

And someday, rather soon, I suppose,

they will tower over me: souvenir

of time's passage; my own growth.

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Bring...

Sunscreen, towels, chairs and gossip rags.

Toys, food, drinks, umbrella and kids.

Sunny days, rainy afternoons, hazy laziness.

Hoping the calendar brings summer soon...

Charge

Permission slips signed. One field trip.   

Distant destination: Orlando. Parental nerves frayed.

One new, fully charged cell phone.

Just what the anxious mother ordered

as Matthew goes on his own,

for the very, very first time.

So she doesn't go completely crazy,

letting her baby test his wings.

Find out more about Six Word Fridays at Melissa's blog!

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.

Five for Five: Age

I heading towards the big 4-0 in a little over a year.  I know I should not be too worried.  Forty is the new thirty.  I have over a year to get over it.  I understand all of that.  Really, I do.

But I have a son who is going to start middle school in the fall.  I have a son who will begin Kindergarten in the fall.  I can't be young and have a middle school-er, can I?  I mean, do you remember what your parents and your friends' parents seemed like when you were twelve?  I'll say it for you: ANCIENT.

Somehow, the idea of a middle school aged kid and a Kindergartener shouldn't go together.  I mean, they are both monumental milestones.  Forty: a monumental milestone.  I am a little freaked out.  

Really. 

And I kind of feel sorry for my husband.  

Can you imagine what things are going to be like?  Mommy is turning forty and running from a midlife crisis in sensible (read: old lady) shoes while her baby is starting school for real and her oldest is going through pre-teen, emotional, pre-adolescent bullshit. 

Yeah.  Life will be grand.  Please note that this statement is oozing in sarcasm.

So I have done what any sensible woman would do (besides wonder how the hell I got to here).  I booked a cruise.

I know what many of you who have followed my blog for a while and remember last year's ill-planned cruise are thinking.  But I was smart this time.

I know no one in my household will be making a major religious sacrament.

I know that everyone will have testing in April. 

I know when the last day of school is in 2013 (no eye rolling, please.)

I made sure we leave two days AFTER the last day, making it virtually impossible to screw this up.

Except that we won't be celebrating my fortieth on the ship, because my big day is the day before.

Nor will we be celebrating my husband's fortieth (as he is quick to point out, I am eleven days older), because we get back before his big day.

And I'm okay with that.  I want to be in the comfort of my own home, frantically packing for five when it hits. 

I wonder if it will hurt.

I guess my biggest problem is that my mind cannot accept this.  I don't feel older than 25, at most. And maybe there is the crux of the issue.  In my head, I am 25.  My body says otherwise if I carry too many groceries at one time or I try to scoop my sleeping five year old to bed.  My body screams: NO!!  You are not 25.  You are there.  Where you thought you would never be.  You are arriving at middle age.  Shit.

It took me most of my life to finally be comfortable in my own skin.  I have a better clue of what I am doing now in most areas of my life.  I can live in my own head now; the noise has considerably gotten quieter.   I have finally found the courage to be the person I thought I could be.  I have challenged myself physically (6 half marathons in a year, yo!).  I have pushed myself to do the impossible (have you tried to keep three boys clean, groomed, fed and entertained while holding down a full time job?) and still manage to want to try new things (like assisted handstands in yoga or getting up each morning and doing it all again).

How can it be that the calendar says what it says?

I suppose that it is the amount of milestones that we will be celebrating in early June 2013 that has me grasping.  A son finishing his first year of middle school and inching towards 13.  A middle son ready to start his last year of elementary school.  A baby boy finishing his Kindergarten year.  Mom AND Dad reaching middle age.

Any of these, by themselves, are enough to have you reeling, even just a teensy bit.  If broken up into chewable pieces, you can savor each one separately, brace yourself for the next one.  But all of them simultaneously is a lot to get used to in a short amount of time.

This passage of time is relentless.  You don't get to just stop at your favorite part and linger for a while.  It goes by FAST and furious.  Good and bad.  All of it.  The photographs chronicle.  Looking back, it seems like 5 minutes ago.  And that's the cruelty.  There is no time to lament.  Enjoy it NOW.  Or it will seem so five minutes ago, but really be five years ago in the blink of an eye.

And, really, that's all age is.  Time.  Time your ticker has been ticking.  What you have done with the time you have been allotted.  What you have done with the body you were assigned.  What you are going to do to make up for the things you wish you had done differently. 

Age means that you know the difference.  You have the wisdom to discern, to change tactics, and make it okay.

In the end, the extra little lines that make their debut slowly on your face, you've earned.  I would rather have earned them smiling, laughing my ass off (if ONLY that were true!), and etch them deeper in my face by continuing to live on my terms.

I mean, 40 is 30 with ten years experience, right?

Five for Five: Pictures

Scraggly circles with wriggly smiles.  Hair sticking straight up, reed-like arms and legs.  Bodies made of round circles and noses that take up half the face.  Oddly shaped rainbows, the Earth the size of the Sun and families where Mommy is stick thin.  For an added touch, the artist's name is scrawled in capital letters, nearly overtaking the space around the picture.

A house full of pictures that chronicle a lifetime of memories.  Smooth skin and curly hair, clavicles that stick out and thin thighs that are long forgotten. A blushing bride with a poufy veil.  Bright smiles of a honeymooning couple.  Round, pregnant belly awkwardly posed in front of a mountain of welcoming gifts.  Brand new screaming babies.  Proud, anxious parents.  Grandparents in awe of their grandchild.  First toothless smiles.  Wobbly first steps.  Vacation shots at the beach, mountains, national monuments. Children with lost teeth. 

There are haphazardly framed photographs in every corner of my house.  Carefully chosen, they reflect moments that linger within my heart.  They chronicle the evolution of my life,  motherhood: from fearful first-time mother to more at ease mother of three.

For some, a picture might be a way capture an image of an event, now forgotten.  For me, they are a reminder of how far we have come as a family, how far we still have to go.  Pictures of John and I during our Senior Year of high school, as engaged college students, as married homeowners.  They help concrete the reality of things that have been buried in the recesses of our often overloaded minds.  They remind us of a simpler, more innocent time; one without the many responsibilities that shackle us in adulthood, that serve as a reminder that we were once younger and thinner.  Maybe even cooler.

The pictures that mean the most, the ones that I treasure the most are the ones made by the subjects of many of my photographs.  My children's pictures line bulletin boards in the kitchen; hang proudly, framed in our bathrooms; serve as inspiration at school, where they are displayed next to phone lists and emergency procedures.

The pictures that my sons have drawn throughout the years serve as a measure of how far they have come, and how far they have yet to go.  The ingenuous depictions of our family, rendered in pencil, crayon, marker or finger paints hold a special place in my heart.  No matter what day I have been dealt, what crisis I am wading through, a quick glance at Joshua's parade of smiley faces, or Andrew's freehand Mickey's or Matthew's latest blueprints for a new invention is sure to put a spring in my step.

What I have found the most rewarding of all is to sit and thumb through my old childhood pictures, usually flanked by my boys. Their laughter at long and thankfully forgotten fashions and hairstyles, their wonder as they see that their mom was indeed a child herself, their surprise at seeing their grandparents and great aunts and uncles much younger is an experience.  Seeing myself, through their eyes, is necessary.  They don't see the baggage that I carry: the worry if I am doing a good job mothering them, the sadness I feel when I look at myself in some pictures, remembering a day long gone by, another lifetime ago.

It gives me an opportunity to reflect as I sit and look at my own children's multitude of digital shots over the years.  The wonder of how much time has gone by.  How much they have grown and learned.  The bittersweet knowledge that this leg of the journey is fleeting; they are become independent individuals. 

It makes me wonder why there are so few pictures of me with them?  Is it that I am always the recorder of the moments that make them giggle, frozen in a snapshot for all time?  Am I participating enough, yet always hide behind the lens?

Yet, in the moments of self doubt, when I wonder if they are okay, a small, or medium, or large hand will quietly slip unexpectedly into mine. 

Yes, they are okay.  I have the photographic evidence.

Without a camera, my eyes focus on the owner of that hand within my own.

 

And my heart snaps the picture.

Five for Five: Words

From the day I strung my first sentence together, it seems as though I have never been at a loss for words.  It was the words of the countless books I read as a child that kept me from going mad within my desperate surroundings.  It was the enchanting tales of other children, stuck in situations far worse than my parents’ unhappy marriage, that allowed me to dream that everyone deserved some happiness in their lifetime.  Some got their happiness in steady drips throughout their lives; other got a jolt of it in the later half. 

As I got older, words- lots of words, kept my mind busy.  It helped drown out the vicious voice of my ever critical subconscious forever chastising me.  If my words made you laugh, your laughter soothed me.  If I made you laugh, I couldn't be all that bad.

I know that the ability to communicate is an incredible gift.  But in my life, there have been times when words have been inadequate, at best.  Walking down the aisle and seeing my smiling groom waiting for me.  Finding out I was pregnant.  Seeing a tiny blip that was my unborn child's heart.  Seeing my firstborn son for the first time.  Witnessing my father passing from this Earth.  Finding out I was pregnant a second time. Seeing my second son for the first time. Finding out I was pregnant a third time.  Seeing my precious last baby's face for the first time.  

The list is endless...

How can you put into words the emotions that threaten to pull you under, both in good and bad ways?  In that raging sea of emotions, words are like flotation devices; they help keep you above water, but they will not swim you to shore.

But what good are words if they are mindless sounds that escape bodies, with no real purpose?  What happens when there is no feeling, no meaning behind them?  What is the point?  Yet, I have been responsible for more noise pollution than I am comfortable to admit.  I am not proud of myself.

Perhaps it was having children, but I began to look forward to the brief instances when there was a bit of quiet in the house.  Granted, too much silence (is there such a thing if you are a parent?) would put me in panic mode.  Surely, anyone who has a child knows that too much quiet usually means a hurt child, a super-clogged, overflowing toilet, or an unauthorized masterpiece on pristine walls. 

Still, silence amongst adults was incredibly uncomfortable. 

And then, a gift.  I was assigned a single classroom to myself.  No teaching partner to share the space.  Planning time with no one in the room with me.  I was forced into quieting myself.  I learned to cope.  I used the time to acclimate myself to just being. 

It became a spiritual exercise, and one that would come in handy.  Observing.  Listening.  To listen to my own heart.  To trust myself with my own decisions.  To finally become comfortable within my own skin.

I had finally found the silent Ying to my loquacious Yang.

And, in that silence, I finally found my voice.

I found that words are powerful.  You don't forget the throb when someone's words cut through your soul like a knife, so I choose my words cautiously.

You don't forget the delight when someone makes mention of something you have done with no intention of recognition, so I make a point of reminding people of the good within them.

You don't forget the joy you feel when you hear "I love you" from those you hold dear, so I make sure I say those words as often as I can, while I can.

And in the meantime, I listen.

And the words will come, as they always do. 

Five for Five: Change

It seems like an eternity since I sat here, in this place, writing about my life.  A year ago, I was working on recertifying for National Board for Professional Teaching Standards and was knee deep in the aftermath of birthdays, a cruise, a communion, state testing and finishing up that damn box to send away.  But I had no idea how many things would change in next 12 months.

My unmarried, childless uncle had a MAJOR health crisis that landed him in and out of hospitals and rehabilitation facilities for the better part of three months.  My sister and I, with five kids in tow, had to clean up his mess.  It took us from May through December to get everything straightened out: from housing to finances, legal aspects to just general " you're going to be okay, okay?" stuff.  A summer from hell would be a very pale description of what those months entailed.  In the midst of all these changes, I had no words for this space.  That was the hardest part of the change, and the one I found the most difficult to swallow.

In the fall, my already frail mother was diagnosed with an incredible rare form of stomach cancer.  Her successful surgery had major complications that landed her (and us) into ICU for a week.  The drain of this next challenge, and the physical changes my mother would now be faced with in her recovery made it impossible to sit in front of the computer and write.  Six words was all I could manage, some days with incredible difficulty.  Again, I would look at my blog, which had once been this source of incredible pride, as something I had abandoned because of life.  And if I wrote of these changes, they would be really real.  And even though I was living through them, I was not really ready to accept them.

The good news: everyone is okay now.  We've experienced some hiccups, but nothing more hair-raising than that.

The real news: Something in me finally clicked and made ME change.  Not in some wild, crazy, I am going to run away and join a circus kind of change.  But for someone like me, who changes at a turtle's pace,  this is BIG.

I've decided that getting older is fine.  It's better than the alternative.  And I want to be one badass old lady and give my kids years of endless  memories.  I want to get even and spoil the hell out of my grandchildren.  I want to get those kids riled up, sugared up and indignant that their parents don't let them get away with shit, and when it hits the fan, I want to climb into my two-seater convertible and drive off into the sunset, waving and blowing kisses to my angels,  planning my next visit.

I've decided to welcome the teeniest of wrinkles that now embrace the outer corners of my eyes when I smile or laugh too hard.  I will not find the grays that now spot more areas of my scalp.  I will thank the Lord above that I have never had to endure chemotherapy and hair loss at a young age like some of my friends.  I have earned every line, wrinkle and gray hair.  They are medals of honor.  The chest heading south is another story, but hey, that's why we have underwire, padded bras, no?

I am TRYING so VERY HARD to change my mothering.  By saying yes more when I can.  By living in the moment more.  By realizing that this is it.  My oldest is on the cusp of adolescence.  My baby is starting kindergarten.  THESE are the best times.  Right now. 

I am learning to be who I was meant to be, who I want to be.  Not a preconceived notion that I must act this way or another because I am a mother, a wife, a teacher.  I am authentic.  I should act as such.

The hardest changes are those affecting my children.  Each one of them is changing, morphing into these incredible people that can be alternately incredibly sweet or defying difficult.  Their physical changes as they mature are hard to witness as a mother who loved the tiny baby stage.  Their emotional growth is difficult to keep up with, as I alternate between goddess and devil's mistress.  Growing up is hard.  For kids.  For parents.  But oh, what a ride!

The biggest lesson I've learned this year is that change comes, whether you are ready or not.  It sometimes helps not to be so dead set against it.  It also helps immensely if you have people around you that love you and are willing to assist you.  It is extremely important to value the ones you love (and generally make you seven kinds of ape-shit crazy) when you have no crisis at hand, so you are ready for the crisis when it comes.  And people, it ALWAYS comes.  Trust me.

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.

Over

Your protective hand over my fragile one

Makes me remember that I'm loved

and that I can accomplish anything.

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Return

Like a boomerang,

you always return.

I am complete.

My heart full.

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Wishing all of my readers a very Blessed Easter and Passover!

Offering...

A tiny flower, a gentle heart.

His muddy hand carefully cradles

the delicate lace of purple petals.

My youngest son's eyes eagerly await

the smile that curls my lips.

I  whisper "thank you" to the Universe:

for him and his joyous offering.

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Sense

Trying to make sense of how

time has slipped through my fingers.

My boys stand at different thresholds,

ready to begin writing new chapters.

I witness; my proud heart photographs.

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Spring...

Break. Alone. Away.

Food. Wine. Snow.

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Wishes...

Three wishes granted.

Three boys cherished.

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Surrender

At the end of the day,

after homework, dinner and baths;

the battle begins; a hopeless dance.

Be productive in relative peace, quiet?

Drop everything , grab the neglected book ?

Run to undo the days dietary mistakes?

Or succumb to the inviting softness

of the freshly made, warm bed...

In hopes of a productive tomorrow

when I can read or run;

not surrender too quickly or soundly

as the white sheets beckon me tonight.

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