Chat...

Our children busy, wrapped in imagination.

Breakfast dishes littering the kitchen table.

You and I, two coffee cups.

The aroma entices us to awaken;

a truth serum for the weary.

Long forgotten antidotes, reminders of events.

Our past, present and future whispered;

treasured on this rare, quiet morning.

My hopes spoken, worries finally revealed

to my faithful confidant, secret keeper.

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A life, as told in pictures

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It got me thinking.

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

What kind of mother will they remember?

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

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

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

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

To remember. To revisit. To comfort.

Back in the saddle again...

Unfortunately, the new school year is right around the corner. I hate to sound like a sourpuss, but, I am hesitant to be excited this year. I know once I get a whiff of brand new crayons and freshly sharpened pencils, AKA teacher crack, I will more joyful at the expectation of 38 new, eager little minds and personalities to match.

But I have been to work for two days already. Packing. Moving. Doing heavy lifting. Leaving my classroom and moving to a new one. One with little to no storage. One with a joke of a dry erase boards. One with tables so huge and heavy, it took four adult women to move.

I am grateful to God in heaven that I have been physically active this summer. Because if I hadn't, I would be in some SERIOUS pain. More than I am right now, as I clutch the aspirin bottle for dear life.

My co teacher is extending her maternity leave until November. A move I applaud loudly and joyfully. You only have your first baby once. Once the second comes along, you can't physically do all the things you did with baby two as you did with baby one. God bless her, she came in to help with the move. She has packed, shuttled, and escaped many a roach in the last couple of days.

My new co teacher is pretty awesome as well. She is a parent of a former student and was a full time teacher in a life before her three children. She is easing back into the maelstrom of education and I am thrilled that she was assigned to me. She and her kids, along with my two older boys and I, have spent the better part of two days hauling stuff into the universe's joke of a classroom.

Normally, I wouldn't care. But I am having serious issues. Placement of items, where to store books, if we will ever get to open the locked storage room that torments and jeers at us as we perspire and ache as we prepare.

It is funny. When school begins this year, I will have opened SIXTEEN school years. Every year, I feel the anxiety of the deadline of the first day of school as it looms. The unpacking, the sorting, the counting, the endless meetings and trainings, the relearning of colleagues names as we set sail into another year of adventure.

Regardless of how much time passes, the thrill never escapes me. It's as though all the bitching about the moving and changes is cathartic in a way that promises the gleam of my new crop of brains. Brains that I will mold and train, question and challenge, inspire and educate. That thrill of the first day, the eager but nervous smiles, the questioning looks to each other, combined with the heavenly smell of brand new everything is intoxicating.

And it will get me through the crap I will go through with my trusty entourage, the classroom fairies, if you will, to get everything just so for my new kids.

Another batch, another year, same saddle.

And although my legs, arms and back ache like hell, there is no place I would rather be.

Except, maybe, for my old classroom.

You lift me up...

Last night, I went out with my sister and two former co-workers who are just about the best friends anyone could ask for. We had been planning this much needed escape from reality for weeks, as we are all busy with families, friends, work and other commitments.

We had decided that we would watch Sex and the City 2. We decided that we would have dinner. We had decided that we would put some effort into our appearance for our outing. J researched options, and we finally settled on our local CineBistro, where you pick your seats in the theatre, select from a wide variety of appetizers, entrees and desserts. And an extensive drink menu.

Just getting ready was an uplifting experience. Getting to dress up, put on girly makeup and accessorize was fun and put me in the mood for a great time. I drove over to my sister's and for the first time in two years, the place was quiet. No little girls running around, yelling, screaming or crying. We waited for our friends and caught up without children interrupting. It was weird, but wonderful.

When our friends joined us, we were on our way. We had enough time to catch up, boost our morale, share our worries and joys. And I wondered, why is it that we don't do this more often?

I truly enjoyed the atmosphere, the dinner, the movie. Especially the movie. Because we can all relate. We all have girlfriends that carry us through our scariest moments, share the journey we are on, provide us encouragement, a shoulder to cry on, someone to share our happiness with.

Especially poignant for me was the scene when Charlotte and Miranda have a heart to heart as Samantha readies herself for her date and Carrie is out. For any of us mothers, we know how hard it is to admit to ourselves that motherhood is not at all what we envisioned when we were planning a nursery. And regardless of what your station in life is, how well off you are economically, none of us know what we are doing.

For the longest time, I have seen several posts from some of my favorite bloggers trying to increase their support system. While I always thought that I had a huge village, it seems as though it has been shrinking, or perhaps, it was never as big as I thought it was.

But in the last few months I have put myself out there. I have asked for help, I have opened up, tried not to be so anxious in social settings. I have pushed my own boundaries and have begun to test limits, physically and emotionally. It has been scary at times.

And I feel better for it.

It is hard to do when you grew up isolated, alone and without many opportunities (or parental encouragement) as a child to make new friends. Add to that the need to feel safe and not venture out too much out of the boundaries, and you can see where I can get a teensy bit anxious in some social settings.

In reality, we all want acceptance of some sort. We need it from our parents, our spouses, our friends. We think nothing of encouraging our children, yet, when we are confronted with the same opportunities, we shy away from them, make excuses of how busy we really are, of why we can't.

But for the first time in a long time, I have said yes when it would be easier to say no. I have begun to solidify acquaintances in hopes of creating lasting friendships. And in saying yes, I have begun to eradicate my anxieties and self doubts. I am slowly becoming the me I want to be.

Last night, with my friends, and in watching the movie, my belief in people needing others was reaffirmed. Humans are social creatures. We can live alone, but our best memories are embedded deeply within our souls when we share experiences with those who love us and whom we love.

And no matter who you are, a fictional character or a stay at home mom, far from family, we are all uplifted by each other's company.

We all need validation, even if it's over drinks.

Especially when you get to dress up and have your dinner brought to you...