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.  

Check out what drives Melissa and Six Word Fridays!

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.

An explanation to the long absence...

As you have noticed if you frequented among these parts, things have been amiss for the past few months. While I have posted every week through Six Word Fridays, even that has been difficult and has, often times, alluded to all that has transpired since late last spring.

Life happens. And usually not in the way or shape we would like it to.

And because all that has transpired in these past months has been difficult and painful, it would have made sense to write about it here; to make light of it, to poke fun at the situation I found myself in. To be witty.

But I couldn't. For the first time in a very long time, it was just too painful to write. I had no way of expressing all the sadness, frustration, and fear I was experiencing.

And if I put it in writing, it would be real. I desperately wanted it not to be.

As many of you know, my beloved mother in law spent nearly a year battling breast cancer. Our family weathered the storm of the complications, the chemo, seeing her frail and warrior-like. Little did we know that we were in for more. We had another scare in the summer, but by now, we were also seasoned warriors.

My uncle, who has no children and is a liver transplant recipient, had a MAJOR health crisis. In early May, he was whisked away by ambulance in the middle of the night, and began an extended stay in the hospital and later rehab (and later the hospital again) before he took up residence at the assisted living center where my mother lives in mid-August.

The process of dismantling a life is an arduous one. So much to become acquainted with, so much paperwork and legality, to make repairs on a home, pack it up, put it for sale. So much to be made responsible for, when you are already responsible for so much.

My boys and I, along with my sister and my aunt (my mother's older sister) spent our summer cataloging my uncle's items, making piles for the dump or charity, and packing his things to be moved into his new apartment. I cannot tell you what a comfort it was to see my boys helping us in any way they could. Whether it was trudging down the stairs laden with books, to packing and sealing boxes, to making lists of things to be done, my two older sons were workhorses last summer.

And it quite literally broke my heart to see them so hard at work, peering curiously at me as I often stood, bewildered with worry and anxiety in the middle of my uncle's rundown house, wondering how the hell I was doing this again.

That flurry of activity was during the day. At night, my sister and I would go see him at the hospital, often wondering what his prognosis was going to be, wondering how in the world we were going to handle all of this new responsibility when school started back. Somehow, we would manage.

We emptied his house, made it sellable, sold it, and breathed a heavy sigh of relief when he moved into his new place, somewhat healthy and begrudgingly happy.

In the midst of all this, my mother's physical therapist was concerned at the pain she was experiencing during therapy. She ordered a routine MRI and uncovered a huge mass on her stomach.

Welcome to Round 2.

We had no sooner finished dealing with the immediate needs of my uncle when my mother was diagnosed with a somewhat rare cancerous tumor on her stomach. Her surgery was successful in that it removed a 13 centimeter tumor. However, she spent the better part of a week in ICU , unconscious, when she experienced difficulty breathing on her own a day after the surgery.

More tests.

More worry.

Another tumor was discovered on her larynx.

One that was seen and commented on by three different doctors.

One that miraculously wasn't there when they went to biopsy on Halloween Day.

The hell that went through was nothing compared to the generosity of spirit of our family, friends and coworkers. I have never felt so much love and support in all my life.

I am happy to say that things have somewhat returned to normal. We had a peaceful Thanksgiving.

We had so much to be grateful for. So many lives saved during a course of 365 days.

I had my "normal" Christmas. The one I so longed for last year when my world was collapsing around me. I had all my folks. My mother in law. My mother. My uncle and my aunt. They were all alive. My handsome new nephew, my brother and sister in law. My sister and her family. Every single person who weathered the storms of 2011 with us. They were all smiling; happy and healthy; under one roof. My roof. Even writing this now, the words blur through the tears.

So you can imagine why I couldn't write. Too much. Too fast. It was exhausting to live it, overwhelming to even think about putting it out there.

The prognosis are pretty good all around now. My mother in law is doing better than fine. She is back to doing her thing, on her own terms, and the mischievous gleam in her eyes has returned.

My uncle in is dialysis three times a week, but now he has to deal with my sister and I. I think he is slightly pleased that things fell into place as they did. He seems happy and has adjusted well, considering.

My mother's latest PET scan came back clean. She is on a chemotherapy that was originally given to leukemia patients. Imagine my surprise when I discovered it was funded by the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, whom I have fundraised and run for since 2010.

I hope that I am back to this, my writing in my space, more regularly now.

I hope you understand my lingering absence.

I know that soon, I will be laughing again. And taking you along for the ride...

True to myself

Aways armed with my moral compass,

I stand here; in the moment.

True to myself, to my heart.

And that is all I need.

What rings true?  Visit Melissa's blog and find out more about Six Word Fridays.

Saving myself…

Once upon a time, long ago,

a little girl grew up with

poverty and sadness; a dizzying combination.

She promised herself an ever after

that included copious amounts of happiness

and never having to worry about

how to pay your doctor’s bills.

She worked hard, found Prince Charming,

and her happily ever after that

included a roof over her head,

food on the table, bills paid.

Saving for rainy days became something

that would guarantee a safety net

in case the dream was broken.

When her children arrived, she realized

that saving for rainy days now

meant providing a net for them.

Saving for rainy days today means

putting a little extra money away

to help with surprises: good, bad.

But more importantly, to help me

get myself through those tumultuous days,

my heart’s snapshots always remind me

that the greatest fortune to save

is the love of your family.

Got something worth saving?  Check out Melissa's blog and Six Word Fridays.

Crossing the finish line

It all started with a dare.

Endless training: early mornings, late nights.

Calloused feet, sore legs, rickety knees.

Questions, answers, gear, fuel, hot showers.

One cold January morning, I waited.

Nervous, anxious to start, heart pumping.

The gun, the rush, the race.

My face greeted by cold air,

my feet effortlessly doing what I

could never do as a child.

My boys waiting at Mile Ten,

cameras in hand, tears flooding me,

the end so very near now.

As the sound of pounding drums

greeted my last turn, I rejoiced.

I caught my breathe, geared up

and made my legs go faster.

Thirty-seven years. Six months. Three hours.

The sight of that finish line

is something I will never forget.

I will never underestimate myself again.

Ever crossed the line?  Tell us about it!  Visit Melissa at Making Things Up to find out more about Six Word Fridays!

Kind of odd query...

What kind of person am I?

A person who accommodates others incessantly?

Or is an agonizing push over?

A person who is eternally optimistic?

Or one who masks her sadness?

A person who can overcome anything,

but feels so ridiculously overwhelmed lately?

Maybe I am a kind of challenge,

one who is, who can be...

A labyrinth of ideas, of potential,

full of flaws, motivated to change.

A person conflicted, but somehow fulfilled.

And is kind of at peace

with being at odds with myself.

In the end, aren't we all

kind of a juxtaposition of ideas?

Aren't we more beguiling that way?

Kind of confused?  What kind?  Are you kind?  Visit Melissa at Making Things Up and find out more about Six Word Fridays!

Jumping back in...

It has been a while since I was faithful to this blog. It seems that the pressures of motherhood, work and family responsibilities have swallowed up whatever energy, inspiration or ability to write these past few months. I have felt a constant struggle to force myself to sit and write, yet, what would be the point if what was out there was crap.

The last day of school was last Thursday. Life has not slowed down. But enough is enough. I have all but abandoned writing. And it's not fair.

But the writing isn't the only thing I abandoned.

Five years ago, I decided to face my greatest fear: learning to swim. My two older boys were learning how to swim. Andrew thought it was the most unfair thing in the whole world, especially since his mom didn't know how to swim. At 33 years old. With two kids. So the sass of my son made me get out of my comfort zone and learn. For a while. Until I got pregnant with Joshua and found my out.

My parents never thought my sister and I really needed to learn. Neither one of them were strong swimmers. For a short time, when I was about 3 or 4, my mother would let me go with an older neighbor to his neighbor's pool. I was terrified, but eventually, I looked forward to going. Until he got sick and eventually succumbed to lung cancer. My sister was the daredevil. When our next door neighbors finally had completed their pool, Angie got on the slide, and just began to swim. She was a fish.

When I had my boys, I was always fearful of them being in the water. Because deep down inside, I knew that if they were in distress, I would not be able to save them. They fought me on those swimming lessons. I stood my ground. They are excellent swimmers and now take lessons to improve their endurance and strokes.

Now, I am not learning to swim because my children need me to. Now, I am learning for me. Because it's about time. I am 38 years old. It's time to jump back in.

There are no more excuses.

I have run two half marathons in the last six months. I teach. I have dealt with a wide range of fail issues and caring for elderly family members. I have THREE boys, dagnamit. I can do this.

So yesterday, after dropping the older boys at their tennis lesson, I got back in the pool with an instructor. All decked out in my swimmer's cap (just because I'm doing this doesn't mean I have to have bad hair at the end of the summer), surrounded by toddlers learning to swim with another instructor.

Much like last time, there are two other ladies learning to swim with me. We smile at each other, encourage each other, talk about other challenges we have overcome in between learning how to breathe and kick underwater. There is a certain camaraderie in knowing that you are not alone.

Yesterday was not as hard as five years ago. My memory of almost drowning sixteen years ago seems far away, a lifetime ago. That scared girl cannot live within the body of this woman who has overcome so much.

Yesterday, I put my head under the water, and clenched my eyes, fumbling towards the surface to breathe, terrified as I opened my eyes as I surfaced, gasped, went back down.

Yesterday, as the instructor stood in the pool, coaxing what he knew I could do, I caught a glimpse of Joshua, standing near the pool, looking at me. As I looked at my son, I saw my husband. I was surprised, as I thought he would not be home until after the 30 minute lesson, in time to pick up Matt and Andrew from tennis 30 minutes later. He sat, watching me overcome my fear.

Yesterday, when I slid underwater, I opened my eyes and saw the clarity of the water. I turned my head, took in air, and stuck my head back under. I felt my body glide, arms rotating, legs kicking. When I reached the wall, I saw my son's smiling face and knew I was back.

Have you ever had a fear that seemed insurmountable? Were you able to overcome it? How do you cope with it?