Waiting for my Walker

So, my little sister went into labor this morning. I will find out in about an hour if they decide to take her to C-section, and I am wrestling with so many emotions as I sit and wait for the phone call.

I can barely contain my excitement at being an 'Auntie'. There is something completely different when you are welcoming a baby into this world that is of your blood but not your responsibility...something purely joyful. I can sit back and not worry about a thing except loving this little miracle that we will welcome into this world today.

I know that my mind should be on nothing but the health of this little one, but I am more concerned, right now, with my sister's health. Fortunately, we live in a world today with such medical advances and technology that allow for many more successful outcomes for both mother and child. This does not give me comfort because this is my little sister.

I will wait, pray, and find my faith that all will turn out beautifully.

Happy Birthday little Walker, and Happy Birthing Day my Bristol.

Stories Untold

My grandmother died two years ago today. It still hurts. She was the most intelligent, strong, creative, and elegant woman. She had the softest hands and made opening a can look sophisticated. She had cheekbones so high that they brushed the rim of her lower lashes. She raised four children and sent her husband off to war two times.

Are you there...looking down on me? Are you dissapointed in me or do I still make you smile?

Stories Untold

Experience has been a task mastered long ago
You have tales to tell than remain untold
Memories filled with countless riveting images
Yet you see the future in my eyes

Never pressureing opinions or judgement
Only soaking in the present
Casual acceptance and understanding of passing ideas
Yet you see the future in my eyes

Abounding knowledge fills your mind
Only to be freed when asked in earnest interest
I want to know all you know
I want you to know what I know
I want to emit your presence and love
Yet, you see the future in my eyes

I see it in yours.

nahw-1997

Grandma, I love you.......

This Made Me Laugh

Mom song

The Mom

I know, I know...most of my posts have centered on being a mom. But...hey, that's what I am. Anyway, I thought that this summed it all up in regards to my week thus far. Trey started his month long trauma rotation at Shands, the civilian hospital in town, and my children may be visiting thier father at work soon, as patients. In short order:

- Jack has learned how to Marine crawl out of his crib...Yes, his matress is already on the lowest setting.
- Cole has discovered the fun of running on the tile floor is socked feet. I see a trip to the ER for stitches coming.
- Jack can climb to the top shelf of my linen closet in .2 seconds.
- Cole cannot climb to the top of a stack of precariously arranged chairs to retrieve his dinosaur game from his closet.
- Boomer stinks.
- I need to purchase a second Little Tykes coupe car...becuase every child I know loves these silly little cars that they must push around like Fred Flinstone...and there is room for only one of my children in these cars. Sooooo, both boys have taken to screaming and pushing to make it clear to the other that it is thier respective turn in the car.
- Jack is perfectly content to attempt summersaults on any surface hard or soft.
- Cole's soccer cleats are definitely too big as his left heel is now covered in blisters for which I have been required to use 1 whole box of band aids over the course of 2 days.
- Naked boys right out of a warm bath + slippery kitchen tile = mommy on her bum
- Washable paint is really not all that washable out of cream duponi silk
- Jacks food paintings on my kitchen blinds rival some of Jackson Pollack's best works

LYLAS

LYLAS! My friend Megan wrote a post on this topic last year. I laughed when I read the little acronym because I truly had almost forgotten about those cheesy sign offs for many a girls' notes to their girlfriends. Love you like a sister. (I wonder...is this now used in the texting world?)

Well, I have a sister, so to use that term with a girlfriend is not done so lightly. Yet, I have used it...with Megan. Megs has been my most loyal and faithful friend since the eight grade (that is 19 years if your counting), and today is her birthday. It is my job every year to remind Megan that no matter how you slice it she is older than me. Older than my by three little days, but it does make a huge difference now that age is more of a reminder of our gravity driven mammary glands rather than obtaining a driver's permit.

Megan and I became close after simultaneously realizing that we were drastically different than the other girls in the large pack of boy crazed cheer leading types in which we mysteriously found ourselves. I use the word 'close' because Megan and I are, in some ways, as different as night and day and in other ways more alike than sisters. It is those differences that I believe have helped our friendship survive over the years. When I am feeling lost and need a little reminder of who I am and what I am made of, I only need to cling to Megan so that she can be the Yin to my Yang.

There is nothing quite like a friend who's wiped your tears (and snot) away with her bare hands when your heart has been broken, a friend who eagerly blends into my fun, crazy, and dysfunctional family, a friend that can open your mind to different ideas and perspectives while genuinely respecting and listening to the dissenting opinion, a friend that loved you even when your hair was the color of a new penny, a friend that will sit fully clothed in the bathtub with you while you laugh, cry, plot and dream, a friend that will never be too old to Bogey board with, a friend with whom you can sit in comfortable silence, a friend who is wrapped and woven into so many of your memories that looking at her makes you feel like you have come home, a friend who makes you want to be a better person so that you can be more deserving of her friendship.

Megan and I have celebrated many of our recent birthdays together. I am not sure what to do without her this year. You see, my Megs has met an incredible man and has moved to frickin' Michigan to be with this new person who can make her eyes light up like the moonlight bathing the waves on the sand. I have plans to make the trip to experience her nirvana, but I won't be able to make it this year for our annual birthday get together. Our annual get together involves only Megan and myself, good music, better food (organic and humanely raised), and many trips down memory lane.

Happy Birthday my friend. I love you...always...like a sister.

Lost Leadership

Recently, my thoughts have been permeated with the art of leadership. Ever since I can remember I have been surrounded by natural leaders; people that instilled in others a sense of pride in doing for one's self while considering the needs and/or results of a higher purpose or goal. The leaders in my life range from a number of hardened and crusty military made men to the independent and constant women that stood as equals by their partners. Quite the dichotomy.
Naturally, I have spent a good deal of my life interested in the development of women as leaders. I was a girl scout for longer than, at times, I care to admit. I am a graduate, counselor, and past program developer for the Virginia Beach Public Schools Leadership Program. I devoted a number of my elective courses at college to women's studies and social feminist theory. I was a member of the Washington D.C. Women's Council for Equal Advancement. I come from a line of women 4 generations strong where the first child born of the family was a female. Basically, I felt like I had a good foundation from which to build leadership skills in my own family, that is, until I gave birth to two boys.
I now realize that I face leadership with a slightly different perspective. The goal is the same but the path that leads us there is quite different. More times than I care to admit, I find that I am not a natural leader of boys. My husband continues to prove himself as an invaluable resource, but I still find myself scratching my head on the reasoning and tactics that he employs. I also find myself acknowledging some of the injustices and prejudices that men face in our present day society. (I think my old college professor Dr. Kirkpatrick would probably faint if she knew I admitted to that today...and she may privately smile at her small success in my, finally, balanced perspective.) In my interest to gather important knowledge on the opposite sex I have recently come into a few incredible books that any mother of a boy should have in their library:

Legacy of Honor by Alvin Townley
The Dangerous Book for Boys by Conn and Hal Iggulden
Raising Boys by Steve Biddulp


Go to the people. Learn from them. Live with them. Start with what they know. Build with what they have. The best of leaders when the job is done, when the task is accomplished, the people will say we have done it ourselves.- Lao Tzu

Tie Dye Tourniquet

Every week at my son's pre-school they highlight a particular color. This week it is purple. Purple is a great color, but not one that frequents the boy's clothing departments. You see, on Wednesday of each week the teacher asks that the children wear the color of the week to school.
I explained to Cole this morning that he does not have a purple shirt, but he does have a few shirts that have purple somewhere in the shirt: the wheel of a car, the nose of a dog, a simple yet subtle stripe. All of these suggestions were a complete 'no go' with Cole.
"I have to have a purple shirt mommy, it's the rule!" bellows Cole.
"I think that it is more of a guideline, not a rule. Let's be flexible and creative as we try and solve this problem.", I reply.
"No. Purple shirt or no shirt.", retorts the clever Cole.
So, I spent the morning purchasing a white tee and a purple tie dye fabric kit. I decided that this would be a great way to fulfill the 'rules' and have a little craft project fun on the side.
This little kit was so cute. It came with gloves, dye, and all kinds of various sizes of rubber bands. We had a wonderful time with the project from wrapping the rubber bands all over the shirt to squirting the dye up and down the shirt.
However, tie dying is very messy. So, upon the completion of the project I set out to tidy up immediately. I took the shirt to set up in the laundry room and left the remainder of the mess out in the breakfast area.
I swear it was only 2 minutes that I was gone. I swear I am a mom that usually pays attention to all sundry items that are left within reach of my children...but, today I totally screwed up.
Cole came running to the laundry room screaming. I turned to see what the new calamity could be only to find my son outstretching his perfect little arms to sky. These outstretched arms were alarmingly purple from the elbows down to the wrists...this was because Cole had taken the remaining rubber bands (all 55 million of them) and shoved them on both arms at the same point directly past the elbows.
I almost fainted.
Mommy adrenaline kicked in and we proceeded to quickly and efficiently remove all the rubber bands.
Now, I am trying to develop an age appropriate lesson plan on circulation and blood flow.

Resolutions

I started this year out with a definite plan to do more for myself. I am not denying the importance of selfless giving in my plan, but I am hoping to establish a firmer grip on my own self-identity.

As September rolls around, I realize that I have not done too much to help move forward in this self-acutalization process. I seem to let the normal worries of life immobilize me into inactivity and a bit of self-pity.

I will not be a slave to my own weaknesses. I will live the life I have been given.

I Need To:

*Paint again - truly paint. for myself and no one else. not for aesthetics, for inner peace
*Let my children be who they are- i am here to guide, not mold
*Write, write and write some more - life is too short not to record the beautiful words of our soul
*Go see "A Prarie Home Companion" live - i have been saying it for years, do it!
*Sit outside and watch the stars - take the important and poingant memories from my own childhood and pass them on.
*Oral tradition is not lost - tell stories, lots of them...to my children and anyone willing to listen, so that they too will remember
* Kill our television - this will be hard as college football season has started
* Fall asleep holding hands with my husband more often if not all the time

So, I am off to the store to buy a canvas and some paint. I think I will be able to find my old brushes somewhere in my menagerie of crap (as my dad so lovingly puts it).

Live your life. No one can do it for you.

I am officially a Soccer Mom...

Free Car Wash

Yes, it is that time of year where my husband creates a mental checklist of all the things that need to be accomplished around the house so that he can actually sit back and relax when he is at home. The top of his list for quite some time has been to wash and wax the cars. As he had the day off today, the entire family set out to help old daddy'o check the box next to one of his housekeeping items.

Lessons learned:

1.) 4.5 year old boys are only interested in the hose and dousing all surrounding items other than the car.
2.) 1.5 year olds are only interested in eating the sponges or running madly from parents with the cleaning sponges only to launch the clean sponges into a flower bed once the parent gets too close.
3.) Moms should not wear any white clothing while helping with car wash.
4.) Dads should take Valium before attempting to direct family in the car wash basics.
5.) Explain to drenched children that the appropriate place to strip down to your birthday suit is in the home and not outside when all the neighborhood children are returning from their first day of school.
6.) Cleaning cars with children takes approximately 2 hours longer than it should.

I'm back....

Well, I have been on a bit of a hiatus. To be honest, there has not been that much to gripe about (smile), so I have not needed to take my issues to cyberspace.

So, in light of the fact that there is nothing too major to bitch about I have decided to use this time, space, brain fart area, to log some recent happenings at our humble abode.

My son Cole (now 4.5 years old, and the self-proclaimed Mensa member of our house), and my son Jack (17 mos. old future tight end) are on a mission from God to make their mother break down in an hysterical fit of laughter.

Today's log: Easter in August

Cole is not all that too keen on playing with his little brother. His little brother has no sense of order, does not mind disarray, and could care less if things are 'just so'. So, in order to keep the peace in my house I have purchased the equivalent of the Berlin Wall to successfully separate my family room from the rest of the house. Jack is trapped in the family room whereas my eldest has free rein of the rest of the house. To appease Jack's desire to be free, I decided to take the plastic Easter eggs down from the craft closet for him to play with. All mothers know of these eggs: they come in many crazy colors, are fairly difficult to actually get a bottom to match with a top, and tend to multiply like bunnies when put away until needed for the next season.

As suspected, Jack LOVED the Easter eggs. His squeals of delight could be heard from all over the house....those same squeals...attracted the attention of Cole.

Cole was drawn from the recesses of the house and ran to the family room to see what in the world could possibly be entertaining his little brother more than himself. His question was answered in short order as one perfectly purple Easter egg went whizzing by his ear.

Immediately Cole enters Jacks cage and proceeds to collect the Easter eggs in a small bin he has provided for the sole purpose of hoarding every single last one of these never ending plastic crap holders. Now. The race is on!

Cole collects all the eggs in an astonishing 6.5 sec. Jack sees the threat and knows that his chances are slim in gaining back the control of the eggs. BUT, all is not lost. Jack understands the intellectual pull at play and races with all his might to the basket in hopes of extracting one, only one, little egg. He reaches his goal and takes a shining yellow egg for his prize and runs like hell through the barrier gate that usually keeps him confined to his cage. Cole, sensing the loss of one of a million damn eggs, drops his basket and runs with equal fury to tackle his brother and make him relinquish the one yellow egg. Jack sees the threat. He pulls back the egg to a point behind his right ear and launches that sucker into next week. The crowd goes wild.

Cole dives for the egg, and while doing so misses that the crafty Jack has pivoted with superior speed and has started to dart back to the dropped basket of eggs. It is a race. A race for plastic eggs.

Jack runs for his life. Cole senses danger and heads back to his hoard. (picture, if you will, that the theme song from 'Chariots of Fire' is playing in the background)

The two brothers are racing to their goal. Each one trying to outstrip the other. Jack knows that Cole is on his heals and decides to do the only thing he knows he has mastered above his brother....yes, ladies and gentlemen...he throws himself a good 3 feet to land, full body, on the dropped basket...and proceeds to scream like a banshee.


Score stands: Cole: 2,500,000...Jack 4 (but getting craftier)
Lesson Learned: Don't drop your basket of eggs.

Alass..this is for you...

My computer has suffered a memory bug and a virus all in one. The bugs have been eliminated and now I am back to my blog outlet. In the interim, this meant that I had to find therapy in the form of my daily phone calls to my mother. My mother, by the way, ROCKS! She does it all and more, and she is there for anyone that truly needs her...however she doesn't do drama...at least...not too much. Not more than is healthy. Ahem.

Anyway, that great mother that I lovingly call every day is now here with me. She traveled all the way down to see me and her two crazy grandsons on at great Southwest Airlines ticket fare. Life is perfect with her here.

Isn't it funny that all things can be completely screwed up, but when your "Mommy" arrives it is all better. As we approach Mother's Day I am constantly wondering how I can live up to the standard that my own mother has set. She is independent yet loves to be in the company of others. She is a leader yet still recognizes when she can learn from those around her (regardless of age). She is hopeful...to a fault. She is feminine yet bold. She is beautiful and so real. She is intelligent but innocent. She is fun but cautiously realistic. She is loyal and morally grounded. She is my mom...and I want to be just like her.

Alass, I love you and love that you help my mom be the woman that she is...every good woman needs a true and loving friend to allow a woman to really live to her potential as a woman, mom, sister, daughter, and friend.

To all Mothers out there and to our Mother's best friends...Thank you!

Small Things...

My best friend recently reminded me of a famous quote I had once loved but had almost forgotten altogether: "There are no great things, only small things with great love." - Mother Teresa.

It is so easy to get wrapped up in life's questions of self purpose, influence, and success. There is not a day that has gone by recently where I have not sat on the couch, looked around me, and asked those familiar questions. Is what I do going to make a difference in the world? Does it matter? Is there a purpose for me on this earth? With so many things still wrong on this planet we call home, how can I truly help make this place a better place to live. Hmmm...

Kind of a selfish way of thinking when you remember Mother Teresa's quote. Everything we do everyday matters if we do it with 'great love'.

Do what you can...everyday...with great love, no matter how small.

So my act of great love to any random readers is the following bit of advice from a girl that used to sell bathing suits to ridiculously rich women in an upscale boutique in Corolla, NC. Where I live bathing suits have already hit the stores, and you know this not by browsing through the stores, but by the look of defeat and depression that have rested on most women's faces. I hate that something as wonderful and simple as enjoying the water becomes a source of guilt and depression for women. SO TO MY FELLOW WOMEN:

Never, ever try on bathing suits in a store. Always order them from on-line, or buy them and take them home to try on....and only try them on after having at least 3 glasses of wine and while on the phone with your best girl friend.

A visit from the grandparents

My parents flew here last week to spend some vacation time down here with the boys. The wonderful thing about my parents is that when they come, they always melt so well into the family routine...and, believe it or not, pitch in and help out where ever needed.

It seems like both my boys have been sick for weeks, so the added help was very appreciated. My husband has been working crazy hours at the hospital (probably the cause of my kids' bouts of sickness), and has had little energy to help out at home. So, my parents could not have timed their visit any better. Let's not forget the fact that my parents are a 'hoot'.

I am blessed to have both of my parents alive, well, and still married, and I am so thankful that both of my boys will have many memories of my parents to treasure always. Just in case they forget I wanted to summarize the week here:

Tuesday: Cole spent most of morning at the window waiting for grandparents to arrive. Hard to say if he was more excited for the arrival of said grandparents or the rental car in which they arrived. (PS: It was a Chevy!)
Park with Grandma and a friend. Cole spent rest of the day trying to figure out what his special treat from Target would be (from Grandma and Pop-pop). This involved hoodwinking my mother to pace up and down every frickin aisle in Target only to come to the conclusion that he wanted an old Tom and Jerry video. Who would have thought? Jack spent day climbing on Pop-pop.
Wednesday: Zoo visit. All of us spent a good deal of time on the train ride at the park, and at the kids' play zones. The adults spent an equal amount of time trying to get kids to notice the quite impressive display of animals only to be shrugged at by said kids and asked to ride the carousel. Jack used Pop-pop as human jungle gym.
Thursday: School day. Pop-pop went with mommy to pick up Cole. Grandma went to Little Gym with Cole to watch her grandson's gymnastics abilities. Dinner at club.
Friday: School day. Home for grocery store play with Pop-pop and to play in grandparents rental car. Jack used Pop-pop as human jungle gym.
Saturday: Park with Grandma and a visit to McDonald's. Adults hired babysitter for the night and enjoyed an evening of great food out. It was heaven.
Sunday: Recovered from evening out. Puzzles, Wheel of Fortune, and rental car climbing for Cole. Jack climbed on Pop-pop. Adults watched Oscars. Pop-pop won the pool.
Monday: Park with friends in the morning. Jack climbed on Pop-pop,
Tuesday: Back to Target. Fun outside in rental car. Cole tries to help Pop-pop with washing the car, but is more interested in climbing in the car. Jack hangs out with Grandma (or Nana) on the floor to practice his yoga moves. Played new Wheel of Fortune game from Grandma. Early to bed.
Wednesday: Grandparents have to go back home for much needed rest from their vacation.

I Came, I Jumped, and I Learned...

In honor of Women's Heart Health Week, my son's pre-school invited parents in today to join the children's weekly gross motor skills class. Heart shaped invitations went out last week, and parents were gently reminded by teacher's that today was the big day. Parents were to show up in their workout clothes ready to participate in some heart healthy fun.

I truly debated on whether to attend this event as it meant that Jack, my youngest son, was going to have a delayed nap...and, that I would be jumping with his 21 lb. frame attached at my hip. However, the decision was made for me when I pictured Cole's sad and rejected face in my head when he was the only kid with a parent that did not show up. (I know, all of you statistic people out there are a laughing at me as the odds of every child having a parent attend is unlikely. Laugh away...it gets better.)

I went to said "Jump and Learn", and here is what I learned:

1.) Cole could have cared less that I was present.
2.) He spent more time with his friend's moms than with me. I can't believe I am already the un-cool mom.
3.) Listening ears fly out the window when mommies are within site of school activities.
4.) Teachers, parents, and kids running in circles (no matter how organized) is a very bad idea.
5.) I should probably not be a room mother. (See #1 and #3 above.)
6.) Cole cries more than Tammy Faye Baker.
7.) Preschool teachers are valuable, needed, and a gift from God...but they are human.
8.) I can spend 4 hours worrying and analyzing one harmless pre-school event.
9.) Jump and Learn with parents is stupid.

Never again will I feel the pressure to attend a school event unless that said pressure comes from my child. In the words of Cole, "Mommy, you are not a kid. School is not for you." I am sure that having me at school was almost as weird as when I saw my high school teachers out at the grocery store. Collision of two worlds.

Someone continue to remind me that it should not matter what other people think of me. I should not look for their approval. And, no matter how in touch I think I am with my intuition, I cannot read people's minds.

This is just pre-school. How frickin' neurotic am I going to be when he gets to high school?

Be My Valentine! Nix the Asparagus.

My husband and I have been married almost nine years (gasp), and prior to our marriage we had been together for 7 years. You can do the math, but basically at 31 years of age, I have been with my husband in life longer than I have been without.

On the eve of Valentine's Day (a day I could do without), I decided I did not want to cook dinner as I would probably do something semi-special for dinner the next night. I opened the freezer and fished out some Mulligan Stew that I had made about a month ago. After I finished washing up Jack, my youngest son, and getting Cole ready for bed, I popped the rubbermaid into the microwave to start the elaborate re-cooking process.

Dinner at my house is sort of a joke lately as my husband is working pretty long days at the local hospital's pediatric ward. For us adults, dinner gets eaten when he gets home. Sometimes that is at a normal hour, sometimes it's at nine o'clock.

Last night he rolled in about 7 o'clock. I had the crackers and the stew ready to go. He took one look at it and scowled. The conversation that proceeded went like this:

Husband: "Is that the stew you made last month from whatever we had left in the refrigerator? What did you call it again?"
Me: "Yes, and...I called it Mulligan Stew. Why?"
Husband: "Hmm. Well, I used my meal chit to eat free at the hospital, so I'm good."
Me: "Okay, what did you have?"
Husband: "Chicken salad....why?"
Me: "You're good??" (I ask this because my husband was the original "stove top" stuffing poster boy. In high school he could score at least 2 complete dinners a night by cleverly scheduling visits to selected friends' homes.)
Husband: "Well...I mean...Yeah...well, maybe I will have a peanut butter sandwich."
Me: "Why not stew? There is plenty."
Husband: "Yeah, I remember. Does it still have those asparagus stalks that you had saved in it?"
Me: "Yes, unless they mysteriously jumped out of the stew sometime between last month and now."
Husband: "So...No, I don't want that stew. Don't be offended [clear indicator that I will] but the stalks were pretty stick-like. They kinda hurt."
Me: "Okay, I get it. Next time I will puree them before I add them in."
Husband: "I don't think that would have helped. They would just be littler sticks."

I am not cooking dinner tonight either.

There is still some stew left.

Money can't buy happiness, but it can buy a Rolls.

Yesterday was a banner day for me and my son. I am only recording this as I have a tendency to focus on the negative, so what better way to remind myself of the positive than to record it here.

Lately, my eldest son, Cole, and I have really butted heads about everything from rules of sharing to how to spell certain car makes and models. (My four year old is a bit of a car buff and can stop most adults in thier tracks with his knowledge, however I do believe that I am the better speller.) Anyway, yesterday we had a day where the stars were aligned and fun was had by all. We worked on counting skills, had a scavenger hunt, pretended to be ambulance drivers, and acted out Wheel of Fortune.

The last activity had me belly laughing as Cole has really nailed the nuances of Pat Sajak's insincere attempts at empathy for those that have lost a turn or the like. He also has perfected the reaction of most winners, which if you are at all familiar with any game show is usually a bit over the top. Cole's priorities are a bit whacked as he only thinks a winner is a winner if they happen to win a car. Any old car will do. Money, on the other hand, is no biggie.

Yesterday, I made it to the final round, and Cole had me pick my card from the wheel of prizes. (See picture above.) I picked my card and handed the card to my son, (aka the faux Pat). He cocked his head in a gesture of pity, and proceeded to tell me, "I'm sorry Ms. Mommy, you won fifty million thirty dollars." I was pretty psyched, and started to do my best crazy winner impression. Cole shook his head and corrected me, "You should be sad. You coulda won a Silver Ghost Rolls Royce." Oh, silly me...

To my ancestors, I give thanks.

Yesterday, we rounded up the whole crew and headed to church. We hadn't been since Christmas, and both my husband and I were feeling some guilt that we had let time get away from us. I ventured out in my Sunday best with my typical trepidations and usual 'church heartburn'.

You see, I have some pretty out there religious views. Maybe they are not as bizarre as I think, but let's just say I don't sit around with many other people and discuss my views on spirituality, worship, religion, and reincarnation. Yes! I said reincarnation.

My 'church heartburn' evolves from a complex web of Catholic guilt. My mother is from a strict Roman Catholic background and my father is a Southern Baptist. From the beginning, I was born into a clash of beliefs. Please don't misunderstand. My parents are huge proponents of spiritual self actualization. My father vowed to raise his children in the Catholic faith just to be allowed to wed my mother in the church, and to this he held true. My mother also deserves accolades as she introduced us into the Catholic church, but left it up to us, once we came of a certain age, to worship as our heart saw fit.

I love the Catholic religion for it's ritual and unity. My grandmother, a woman I aspire to be like, was a faithful and devoted Catholic. My husband was a dutiful altar boy and is now a potential Knight of Columbus(the only chink in his armor being he married me.)

Alas, being a social feminist, I have a hard time coping with the patriarchal approach of the Catholic church. None of this is a big deal when I am at home praying to my deceased ancestors (like my friends the Buddhists), or directly to my God (who looks a helluva lot like the Virgin Mary in my mind's eye...you know that whole Earth Mother thingy), but when I sit in church all of my heart's comforts give me a bit of heartburn. Remember, this blog is written by the world's biggest worrier, and a mother.

Anyway, my heartburn dissolved as soon as we entered the worship space. The church was incredible. The people were diverse and welcoming. The music was inspiring. The priest was thoughtful, intelligent, well spoken, and devoted to his parish. I loved it. The entire homily was about listening to the whispers of your own heart which I immediately took as a "get out of purgatory free card" to worship as I see fit. To top it all off, both of the boys were on their best behavior. It was my idea of a small slice of heaven.

So, I spent the car ride home praying to my deceased grandparents and ancestors. I thanked them for the renewal in spirit, for the gentle reminder of the importance of family worship, and I prayed once again for them to help mend the rift between their children that has grown since their passing.

Well, miracles do happen. My overly prideful uncle had called and left a message for my mother the night before, and my stubborn mother actually returned the call promptly on Sunday evening. I am not sure what will come of the phone calls, but it is a start. This humble grand-daughter bows and give thanks to her watchful ancestors.

Birthday Bashes for Babes

Today we attended a birthday party for one of my eldest son's pre-school classmates. This birthday was not just any ole' kids birthday party with some balloon animals and a store bought cake. It was a premiere social event.

The adults that attended this party outnumbered the kids by 2 to 1. Yes, some of you would say this is how all childrens birthday parties should be; adults should outnumber the kids...but, I disagree. Gone are the days when a child calls over the nieghborhood kids for some cake and ice cream. Birthdays today include coordinaters, fun time counselors, and enough rides and activities to put some of the best known theme parks to shame. I could and probably will devote an entire blog entry to the lavishness of birthday parties nowadays, but today I am focused on the antics of my four year old at the said birthday party.

First off, let me state the following: Yes, I love my child. I love him with my whole heart. I want the best for him. I understand that he is only four, and that his actions don't always speak of my love and/or my parenting skills, but, man, that child can try my patience.

The birthday party was for a boy from my son's class with whom my son has had problems with in the past. I am, of course, speaking of four year old problems like bossing each other around, purposely picking on each other, and generally making the teachers' life a living hell at preschool. Have I mentioned that my son is also a bit of a drama whiz. He can take a regular situation and make it into an Oscar worthy performance.

Anyway, this boy is fairly new to the class and immediately took to my son. From what the teachers have told me, he followed my son everywhere and was always seeking my son's attention and personal space. This apparently annoyed the piss out of my kid who is particular about his own space and does not like to be told what to do by any other kids (unless they are obviously older and then he will fold up like a cheap tent for thier approval).

I have tried everything I can think of to ease this situation. I have set up one on one playdates with this other child to see if we could help work through thier differences. I have read books to my son, until I am dry-mouthed, about the importance of being kind. I have tried to model good friendship skills as an adult.

I digress. Today upon leaving the party, my son refused to tell the child "good-bye" and "thank you". My son had the time of his life and he has pretty good manners, so I could not figure out what the heck the problem was. I quickly made my apologies and extended my own thanks and then whisked my family to the car. I proceeded to tell my son that his behavior was rude and unacceptable, that he needed to think about why he chose to behave this way, and how he could correct the problem. I was particularly proud of how I summed up the issues, and expected an epiphany from my four year old. (Even as I type, I know that I am insane.) All of this, and my son tells me with as much innocence as he can muster up, "Mommy, it's because I just don't like him".

I know now that I can't make him like this other kid, and this was probably my first mistake with the situation. I am now working on explaining to my son, that even if you do not like another child you must not be rude and unkind....especially after attending a birthday party that, I am sure, rivaled the per head cost of my own wedding. And, for that matter, why the hell did we go to this party?

I know, they are four. I expect too much. This is all normal. Nothing to get my knickers in a wad over. Right?

In the beginning

I never thought I would be a 'blogger'. Up until this point I would call myself a 'blog wannabe'. I spend an inordinate amount of time, of which I do not have much to spare, religously reading other people's blogs. In fact, I have become so personally involved with a few of my regulars that by the time I have made my daily reading rounds, I feel as if I have had coffee with my closest friends. Of course, these faux friends have no idea I am stalking them via thier blog as I am too chicken to leave any comment.

Now, here I am, the author of my own collection of personal, yet now public, musings. As a perpetual rule follower, I feel like I should state the intent and purpose of this little blog as one would when writing an essay for a college literature course. So, here goes. I am the world's biggest worrier! If I don't have anything to worry about, I create one. We are not talking about world concerns here, however those sometimes creep into my overall worry menagerie. My main focus tends to be on my children, my ability to parent my children, how others measure me up, and, in general, many things, most of which, I truly cannot change.

You would think armed with this knowledge of my weaknesses I would be able to tackle the endless worry and move on. Wrong! I suck at it. I worse than suck at it. I am pathetic. Everyone in my life knows that no matter how hard I try, I cannot stop myself from over analyzing almost every daily situation.

Ahem. So, back to the purpose and intent of this blog. I hope that this blog provides some humor and catharsis for me, and a break for my friends and family. They can only take so much.

Here's to a new beginning...