At A Loss For Words

This is still so very weird to me.

And it is so not about me.

I find my days are not really occupied with thoughts of the murder or who committed it.

But at night my brain and my heart race.

I put my children to bed and I kiss them goodnight. I think that because of a choice Jose may never be able to do this with his children again.

I lay in my bed and I try to put myself in his shoes. I cannot. What made him so angry? What made him break?

What made him become someone I never, ever, knew?

I see that horrendous picture of him and it is not the man I knew. Except for the glasses. Jose ALWAYS had glasses that never really "sat" on his face correctly.

It occupies my quiet time.

It surrounds my mind.

It breaks my heart.

I try to describe the man I knew. I try to tell people about the Jose who I met as a 12 year old and who asked about me and my children consistently.

I want to tell them about one of the kindest souls I knew.

I want them to understand that this man was good.

I want them to see the man I saw that night at the Easter Vigil with my friends. The man we supported when he chose to become Catholic.

But I cannot find the words.

They are there but I am trying to come up with words to convince people that the Jose I knew was NOT a murderer.

Except he is.

And this is not about me but I cannot get it out of my mind and my heart.

Unfathomable

I really debated about whether or not to write this or how to. I'm going to try and see where it goes.

I grew up in an idyllic town. Not perfect but far from dangerous. So when things go wrong in that town- where my parents still reside- it makes the news.

This weekend was no different.

If you are in North NJ you have most likely heard about this. If not, here is the story link:
http://www.nj.com/news/index.ssf/2009/10/arrest_is_made_in_killing_of_p.html

I knew both men.

Fr. Ed Hinds was not someone I knew well but I had interacted with him many times over the years. Being a former parishoner and being a Catholic high school teacher, our paths would cross from time to time.

He helped to bury my grandmother when she passed away.

He was behind the scenes at my wedding making sure things were taken care of and going beyond his "duties" as a pastor and priest to help make the day wonderful.

He has been at mass at my school more than a handful of times over the past year.

And he was mercilessly killed by another man.

There are no words to express the shock and sadness that this death has brought to the community in which I was raised.

There is very little that is clear right now. There is very little that provides any type of answer.

There are so many questions and so much left to be figured out.

There is so much pain and confusion.

And so much loss.

I knew Jose Feliciano. I did not know the man that murdered Fr. Ed Hinds. Sadly, it appears they are one in the same.

I met Jose as an 8th grader. As I grew, I came to know Jose as a compassionate and quiet man who was giving and welcoming. I worked with him during the summers. I joked with him after school with my friends.

I was there the night he became a Catholic.

I knew his wife and his children. He had met my son when the boy was only a few months old. Jose was there on my wedding day, as well. He had helped to get the church ready and then helped to clean it up.

Were we the best of friends? No. But Jose was the person who always asked how you were doing and was willing to talk and listen and help in any way he could.

That is the Jose I knew. This is also the Jose that will be prosecuted for murder- a murder he confessed to committing and will be tried for.

Tonight I sit here and I cannot begin to fathom how this comes to be. I cannot begin to understand how this man who worked tirelessly for his family and loved to be around people and joked with us could commit such a heinous crime.

But he did. He waved his Miranda rights. He confessed to this disgusting crime. And he is behind bars tonight.

I don't know when the Jose I knew "died" but clearly he did.

There is so much loss tonight and it will not go away easily. It cannot be packed up or ripped down as the police tape and command center will be.

The pain will not get washed away with the rain storms we are living with right now.

The sadness will dissipate but it cannot be blown away as the leaves are blown off the trees.

The idyllic place that provided me with cherished memories of childhood, my teen years and college homecomings is no longer all that idyllic.

We mourn the horrible death of a man who was quietly kind and showed his faith and dedication in simple ways.

We question how this all could have happened and we look for answers in any and every spot possible.

And really, right now, there is nothing.

There is loss and sadness and it needs to be embraced and dealt with. It needs to be accepted in order to even consider moving forward.

There are no words. To be quite frank, I'm surprised I got all of the above words out.

I used to laugh when people would talk about feeling like they were in a nightmare and they wanted to wake up. I keep thinking that this is all a horrible nightmare.

And any minute, we're all going to wake up and life will be idyllic.

But we won't and it's not.

Life does not have to be perfect to wonderful but a little less sadness right now would be appreciated.

Bribery for the Big Guy

I am not above bribery.

I use it on my kids. I use it on my husband. I use it on my friends.

I have no shame and I have no problem admitting that I use it freely and openly.

That being said, I have some of the most wonderful students around.

Teenagers are TOUGH. I thought that an almost 5 year old and an almost 3 year old were difficult, they've got nothing on teenagers. Especially teenagers who have no blood relation to me whatsoever.

I think teenagers want to please. They want people to praise them and recognize them. They want to be appreciated and have attention paid to them but more often than not they don't want to ask for it or do much for it.

I get that.

I work with very typical and very a-typical teenagers and for that I am BEYOND grateful.

I teach at a Catholic high school and I am a Theology teacher. To be quite frank, I'm usually the last class that kids want to take but one of the only classes they HAVE to take for four years straight.

I start off the year, sometimes, with the deck stacked against me.

Over the past few years, I've had some awesome students and some not so awesome students- both academically and personally. I count myself extremely lucky to be where I am with the kids that I'm with.

One of the big "pushes" that we're doing this year is to get kids to come to morning mass. Each morning we celebrate mass in our school chapel at 7:15am. It's early and I admit that I don't make it everyday. But it's really a very nice way to start the day.

Calming. Unifying. Energizing.

So, I've been trying to come up with ways to get kids to come to mass.

How do you get a 17 year old to school 40 minutes earlier AND get them to sit through a 20 minute mass?

This plagued me as I drove in each morning and home each afternoon.

This bounced around in my head as I lay in my bed each night and showered each morning.

It was everywhere.

And then it hit me like a ton of bricks. Or bagels, actually. (Either way it's 2000lbs)

I brought a bagel in for breakfast the other morning and as I was sitting at my desk one of my favorite- ok my favorite student- yes we have them- came into my room and we chatted. We chat almost every morning.

He bounces things off of me- emotions, thoughts, problems.

And I listen.

He watched me eat my bagel and I offered him half. He passed. Then a few minutes later, "Well, if you're really not going to eat it...." And he ate it. Saved me the calories.

And there it was.

Food.

Where there is food there is a teenager. Where there is a teenager there is food.

I don't give out extra credit points or grade points for going to church, I think it's a "conflict of interests". I am not above giving out food for going to church, though.

So, I gathered a small group of kids. Come to mass on Friday morning, I said to them.

Ok, they replied.

I didn't even have to promise food. They said ok, for me. Every Friday they promised to be there.

And then I promised food and their eyes lit up.

Today, was the first day. I got into work early. Hot bagels in hand. Orange juice. Apple juice. Cream cheese. Butter. A lovely little breakfast. I was worried.

Worried they would let me down.

Worried they wouldn't be there.

Worried I'd be "stuck" with bagels.

And then they filed into the chapel and my worries were erased.

I have some of the best students around and I am not above bribing them to join me in mass each week. There is a value to be found in spending some time in prayer and meditation first thing in the morning.

There is also value to be found in the time after prayer spent with bagels and juice and conversation. There is a recognition and attention that is given to even the smallest action- getting up early and coming to church- that is important.

I bribed my students to come to mass with me this morning, but I didn't have to. And for that I am grateful and lucky.

And I have every intention of doing it next week.

And Here is Where I become a Judgmental Bitch

Very rarely do I find it appropriate or necessary to comment on how other people parent their children. We are all doing the best we can and what is right for me and my family may not be right for anyone else's family.

So, I try my very best to keep my mouth shut in all instances.

There are exceptions.

I think it's ok for me to call the parent that beats the crap out their kid for any reason at all a bad parent.

I think it's perfectly acceptable for me to pass judgment on the parent that calls their kid horrible names and puts them down simply for the sake of putting them down. They are doing a shit job as a parent.

And today, I'm going to take a leap and be ok with myself when I say I witnessed some horrendous parenting today.

I took my kids to a party at a family member's house. It was mainly this family member's friends and their kids, with a few other family members thrown in. Honestly, it started out being a fun day. The kids were looking forward to it. I was looking forward to it.

Then Mother of the Year (MOTY) and her beast child showed up. Please understand this child is clearly a beast because her mother has allowed her to become one.

MOTY drops her kid inside with my family member and me and my kids and then proceeds to go out to her car and talk on the phone for 35 minutes!!

The beast child, who is bigger than my almost five year old son, will be three at the end of this month. She proceeded to pick up every knicknack and small object around the house and carry them on her person as if they were hers. When my family member tried to take them back, the beast refused and freaked out!

MOTY comes back inside and proceeds to demand coffee and sets up her Angel, or beast, with a juicebox while my children look on longingly. Never bothering to offer one to us.

The beast gets all up in my little one's face and tries to take her hot dog.

Now, anyone who knows my daughter knows that you do NOT take food from her. EVER. The beast didn't care- she wanted that hot dog.

And where was MOTY you ask?

RIGHT THERE.

The day went on. MOTY left again to take a phone call and never bothered to let anyone know she was leaving. Just walked away. Where was the beast? Taking glue and pouring it all over herself while she ate cheese balls and screamed at everyone to get her decorations for her pumpkin.

MOTY returned and grabbed her demanded coffee and plopped herself on the couch while the beast went in the backyard, in a nor'easter, with no jacket, no hat, no nothing, and my family member's full size German Shepard. Luckily, another mom was willing to go out there and supervise and offer the beast a jacket. I believe the beast's response was, "No, stupid!" MOTY handled that one by screaming at the beast 45 minutes later when the "caring" mom was able to talk with MOTY about the incident.

MOTY pushed everyone aside to get food for herself and demanded her child's juicebox when it was time to eat and then demanded a seat at the table for herself but wasn't overly concerned about the beast. Know why?

The beast was on the front porch, alone, pouring bubbles all over the floor. That was after she had tried to use the mini-pumpkins as bouncy balls.

MOTY disappeared again because it was time to talk about her extra-marital relationship or maybe it was her husband's or maybe it really didn't matter because at that point the beast was in the midst of mocking my daughter and taunting her with toys and candy that I wouldn't allow my child to have because, well, I don't want her to look like the beast.

It was time to go. I had to leave before I said something to MOTY about the fact that she basically dumped her beast on to people she barely knows so that she could go off and do whatever the hell she wanted all day.

Lucky for me, I was blocked in the driveway by, you guessed it, MOTY and the beast.

COME ON!

We said our good byes. We said our thank yous and nice to meet yous. We accepted cupcakes graciously and happily. The kids gave hugs and kisses and I apologized for having to jet before dessert. And then MOTY was asked to move her car.

And it seemed like it was going to be ok, she claimed she was leaving, too.

Not until she took 16 pictures of the cupcakes that she and the beast would be missing.
Not until she got another cup of coffee.
Not until she forced the beast to the bathroom.
Not until she argued with the beast to get her to put down the bubbles and put on her coat.
Not until she took another phone call.
Not until she got everyone to help her out to her car with the beast and their bag o tricks.
Not until she made my blood pressure go up so high that I was reminiscing about being on bed rest and seeing spots during my second pregnancy.

I had to hold myself back from getting out of my car. Thank God for text messaging, Mobile email and the DVD player in my minivan, otherwise you would have been hearing about me on the news tonight.

I drove home and I could not help but think about how this was something I had never ever experienced before. I had never been around a parent that was that lackadaisical. When I take my children to places where I know there will be a lot of unknowns, especially people, I take extra care to make sure I am with them constantly. I do this for their safety and comfort and also because it is no one else's responsibility to care for my children.

Did MOTY know that she had basically dumped her child on everyone else? Did she know that her child was misbehaved and rude? Did she know that her child was a bully and mean? Did she know that she left such a sour taste in my mouth and the mouths of my children that it still makes me sick to think about the events of today?

Does she have any idea that her crappy ass parenting is making her child a total raging beast and she's creating problems for herself more than anyone else?

Probably not, I think she's on the phone.

Random Shit

Let's go for some randoms...haven't done those in awhile and I need to get some shit out of my head.....

* I am in loathe with my primary care doctor's office staff right now. This is nothing new. They are incompetent and lazy. And inevitably make me cry everytime I talk with them on the phone. Today was no exception.

* My son has some sort of cold/flu coming on and I am PRAYING it's not the swine flu.

* If it is the swine I'm hoping God is not "punishing" me for telling my son if he doesn't wash his hands he'll get the pig flu and his nose will turn into a snout

* My daughter is almost potty trained and I am hoping that this weekend will seal the deal.

* We have open house at work tonight for prospective students and parents. This is one of the longest days of the year.

* One of my co-workers wore sweats and sneakers to work today and has no intention of changing for the open house tonight. He's a history teacher.

* I have been in a cast and on crutches since Friday and I have managed to get myself dressed in professional clothes and NOT wear sneakers because I thought it would be inappropriate.

* I had planned on arriving late to work this morning, even called in and got coverage for my homeroom, but one of my co-workers happened to be behind me on the winding single lane road we both take to work and she tailgated me the ENTIRE way.

* I am still furious with the liar in my last post but they stepped up to the plate and have been beyond helpful this week. Although last week they didn't want to know me because I wasn't in "crisis" mode.

* This stupid ankle has put me in such a funk that all I want to do is go home each day and sleep.

* I've been sleeping on my couch because I can't do the steps in my house more than once a day and children can't join me on the couch and kick me in the leg.

* I'm going to a wedding on Sunday and I now have nothing to wear because not much goes with ankle casts and crutches

* My students decorated my crutches for me and I thought that was one of the sweetest things to happen this week

* My friends at work have been unbelievably helpful with anything I need and I could not be more grateful

* I was given two Xanax for my MRI on Friday but now I realize that I won't be in the tube completely so I really don't need them. I may hang on to them anyway.

* I feel like I shouldn't get to complain about this injury because I did it completely to myself.

* I just realized that unless you know me personally or on Facebook you probably have no idea what I'm talking about

* I broke my ankle Friday night at the Springsteen concert while dancing on the arms of a chair- I'm an idiot, I'm well aware.

* I would get right back up on that chair a million times over the show was that good and that worth it

* I have stopped drinking from Monday to Friday- alcohol that is

* I refused all painkillers from my doctor and I am just doping myself up on 800mgs of Advil- it doesn't help

* I was up until 3am in pain last night

* I really want to take my kids pumpkin picking and had planned to last weekend but as stated above, I'm an idiot and I dance on chairs and slip off of them

* I am just so tired

* I hate feeling like I'm invited or included as a second thought

* I hate feeling like things are my fault when someone else's conscience is guilty

* I really wish it was Friday

* I am so looking forward to happy hour on Friday after my MRI- I'll definitely need it

* My husband has been wonderful through all of this injury crap

* I can complain until the cows come home but in reality I am unbelievably lucky and have been shown that through my family and close friends who have really stepped up to the plate this week

And I've vented....not everything but enough so that when my next class walks through the door I don't explode at them as much as I may have.

Don't Tell Me Sweet Little Lies

What do you do when someone has lied to you?

What do you do when you find out that lie and it's thrown in your face with no regard for your feelings?

What do you do when the lie was pointless and stupid?

What do you do when it hurts so much that to look at the person every day makes you angry?

Nothing.

The friendship is over. The lie- the stupid stupid lie- sealed that deal.

The camaraderie is destroyed. The inability to be mature and honest killed that.

The hope of continued laughter and fun times is gone.

All over a lie. A stupid lie.

It's funny when I found out I wasn't surprised. It was like I had known all along that the lie had been told. I just figured that it would be covered up for longer, and in a better way.

It's only now, the day after, that I'm finding the hurt and sadness that comes along with the ending of a friendship. It's only now that I'm seeing the authentic nature of someone whom I admired and respected and, wrongly, trusted.

I hate lying in all forms but, really, if you're going to do it- do it up big and lie about something better than what was lied about.

I cannot even stand to look at you. I cannot stand to be in your presence. I cannot stand to hear your name. Just the thought of you, right now, makes me angry and hurt.

Why should I mourn this? I have a wonderful husband and family to go home to. I have incredible friends who have been there through good and bad and who do not lie to me. I have a support system outside of you that I can rely on for anything and everything.

Yet, the lie you told sucked the wind from my chest and broke my heart.

And it was just so stupid.

And final.

My "New" House

Do you remember that scene from "It's a Wonderful Life" where Donna Reed, aka Mary Hatch Bailey, is fixing up the old Granville House after she and George have settled there?  She's hanging wallpaper, she's painting, she's got kids hanging off of her yet she's able to do it all- and more.

Yeah, that's been me the past few months.

Minus George Bailey.

Minus the giant old Victorian home.

Minus the gaggle of children.

Minus the wallpaper.

Plus lots more paint.

Plus do it yourself hardwood floors.

Plus lighting fixtures.

Plus a full time job and grad school.

Mary/Donna did it all while George went out and played with other people's money and built Bailey Park.  

I do it while my husband supplies people with the booze that I usually need after a night of painting.  

Mary/Donna did it during the day in between children napping and sending other kids to school and starting dinner.

I do it at night and on the weekends after working a 10 to 12 hour day while two kids under 5 BEG me to let them help me.

And I'm still not done.

The majority of our house is done.

New floors.

New master bedroom.

Bathrooms finished.

New furniture.

New colors almost everywhere.

And, yet, we are not done.  But we are done enough.

For now.

When I tell people about all of our renovations and redecorating the question I ALWAYS get is, "So, when are you putting the house on the market?"

I get that.  I understand that most people do all the work we've been doing so that they can get top dollar for their home.  I know that most people do all of this stuff, clear out their clutter and them promptly put their home up for sale.

Believe me, the thought has crossed my mind more than a few times!

But...there's always a but....the market SUCKS.

And as much as I would KILL to move, I also want to live in my "new" house for a little bit.

I want to enjoy my hardwood floors as I relax on my new couch.

I want to lay in my bed and enjoy our new bedding as I admire my handiwork on our walls and watch our new TV.

I want to look at the pictures, newly arranged, on our freshly painted hallway walls and admire the colors that come out now because of the new shade behind them.

And I want to make as much money as possible on this place as we can!

I'm no Donna Reed or Mary Hatch Bailey but I know the satisfaction of turning a house into a home and now I want to live in a little bit.

Then we'll move.

Sooner than later.

Mortality in the Midday

I had a meeting yesterday about my benefits.

I don't take medical from my job because my husband's is better and it would be silly to pay for a family plan at his work and not be on it.

Still, I had a meeting yesterday about my benefits. My dental. My health and my choice to waive those. My life insurance. And my newest one, my Critical Illness insurance.

Sounds like a fun and positive meeting, no?

No.

Really, I thought it was going to be me going in, meeting with the rep, declining my health insurance and then signing the paper giving them permission to deduct for my dental and life and disability.

Not. So. Much.

First, I found out that I cannot add on medical next year if we decide to have another kid. Well, I can but I have to add on the premium, not the POS plan where I wouldn't have to pay. Ok, scratch secondary medical off my list.

Then, I come to find out if I ever want to add on medical- AT ALL- I have to prove that I'm the primary breadwinner. Duh, I'm teacher. Scratch that off my list.

Then, we start going through all of the questions and luckily my rep, whom I've never met before and really I wasn't too fond of when she forced me to take notes during the meeting, knew everything about my history and was kind enough to answer all of the questions without actually asking me them.

"Uh, yeah, that question about long term and lifelong illnesses and cancer- you might want to go back to that one."

*Blank look*

"I had radiation treatments two years ago. I have a lifelong illness that will require daily medication fo-eva."

*Blank look* followed by, "But you're not even 30."

Can I get a hand to the forehead?!?!

"Um, Cancer and diseases don't actually discriminate by age anymore." Not that they ever did but clearly this woman was not firing on all cylinders.

"No, no of course not. I just..."

"Yeah, I know."

"Ok, we need to go way back. We need to introduce you to a few different insurance products."

"I don't want medical benefits. I just want life insurance above the basics."

"Let me tell you about Critical Illness coverage."

Oh crap.

And there it was, my death. Laid out in front of me in a lovely packet with the tagline "Financial Protection for the Unexpected".

Awesome. And all before lunch.

After we discussed that and added that option on we moved on to Life Insurance which should really just be called "The Worst Way to Get Money, EVER!"

Currently, we get a base plan for life insurance. A standard number that equals a little bit more than our salary. Nothing spectacular, but still better than nothing in the event of the unexpected.

I went above and beyond that.

My family will be taken care of in the event of the unexpected. My children will have a sufficient amount of money to live on if I pass. My husband will have some funds there to make sure they are all able to live the lives they are accustomed to.

But they won't have me.

Call me crazy but I'm betting they'd rather have me. I hope.

I know.

I had to know if my co-workers had this same conversation. I had to know if there were others with this critical illness option.

Not many. We're a "lucky" few.

I walked into this meeting ready to sign a few papers, double check some names and social security numbers and confirm choices made three years ago when I was first hired.

I walked out of this meeting holding on to benefits that will keep my family safe and secure in the event of the unexpected that really is not so unexpected.

And all before lunch.

Mortality in the midday is never a good thing, I don't care how much the benefits pay out.

Two Way or No Way

I had a wonderful night tonight.

I had a wonderful night last Friday night.

You are not going to ruin this for me.

I'm sorry we are not next to one another.'

I'm sorry I'm enjoying myself.

I'm sorry that I am going out and have good times and staying in and having good times.

You could be a part of it.

You don't call.

You don't make contact.

You don't make the effort.

I cannot do it all and I won't.

I will not stop enjoying myself simply because you're upset that I am.

Life is good.

Life is hard.

Sometimes life sucks.

Sometimes I just want to stay in bed and watch sad movies all day.

Sometimes I want to be boring.

Tonight I had a really good time and I won't allow it to be ruined.

You want to be involved and be a part of it?

You make the effort because I just can't anymore.

It's a two way street but for a long time the sign has been facing ONE WAY.

No more.

Two Way or No Way.

Something New

I'm trying something new.

Check it out if you'd like.

We'll see where it goes.

Refreshing

Every so often I get the urge to re-do and redecorate. Normally, I can feed that urge with a new picture frame or maybe a new tablecloth or decoration.

Not so much right now.

We are in the midst of a major overhaul at the Mountain Momma household.

Currently, it's disaster central. Crap. Is. EVERYWHERE.

My free time? Non-existent. I'm either painting, putting something together, hauling something out, bringing something new in or at Target or Home Depot.

And I love it. And it provides me with some great stories. Target and Home Depot are like sociological petri dishes.

Currently, I have 22 cases of hardwood flooring in my dining room, eagerly awaiting installation.

I have random pieces of furniture all over my house because they are either waiting to be picked up or I've just picked them up from one of my Craigslist finds.

I have paint cans in different rooms waiting to be shaken, poured and rolled onto my walls.

And plastic bins. Tons of plastic bins with little boys and little girls clothing in it waiting to be put in the attic.

Freecycle.org has become my new BFF and Craigslist is singlehandedly, along with a former MTV VJ, responsible for providing me with all new, custom, furniture for my living room.

And I love it.

Why the change?

We decided to do the floors because our rugs are G-R-O-S-S courtesy of our two children, numerous parties and lack of a good stainfighter. From there, it just grew.

We're at the point where we are no longer in survival mode constantly with our kids. We are starting to look at things as more than just functional and how can our kids destroy it. We are captives of the housing market but we refuse to allow it to keep us from being comfortable and happy in our own home.

So, we redecorate.

There is a sense of comfort and calm that overtakes me when I think about our new floors and our new furniture and our new bedroom. Like we are shaking off the past few years. We are moving forward and not starting anew but refreshing.

It's time. It's exciting.

But, God, my house is a disaster and all I want to do is make is stop being a disaster.

Patience is a virtue. I do not possess it.

But I do possess a number of good stories that involve Hipsters and Home Depot. And, of course, that former MTV VJ- seriously.

Exclusion: Size 2T to 3T

My evenings this week are being spent at soccer camp.

This has very little to do with the fact that soccer is not one my favorite sports.

This has very little to do with the fact that my son is LOVING soccer camp.

This has very little to do with the fact that soccer camp the week after vacation is somewhat of a letdown when you've spent the previous 6 days on a sunny beach down the shore.

This has EVERYTHING to do with little girls who can be bitches at any age- apparently.

As a child, and even as a teen, I was never really part of any one group. I was excluded and it sucked.

It sucked not being invited to birthday parties or random sleepovers.

It sucked having to hear about said parties and sleepovers on Mondays and beyond.

It sucked being picked last for certain gym games. (Rarely ever basketball because I was GIANT in grade school)

It just was not fun being excluded. As a result, I'm very sensitive to it now both towards me and towards others.

I try very hard not to exclude others, ever, regardless of anything.

I make sure that I teach my children the same thing.

I will not permit my children to be the kids that exclude other children.

To be quite frank, I'd rather my children be excluded than exclude others, or be part of a group that exclude others.

But I hate to see my own kids excluded- especially intentionally.

So, at soccer camp there are moms and dads and siblings that sit on the sidelines and watch as these mini aspiring Beckhams and Peles run around after each other and after soccer balls. They are having a ton of fun.

On the sidelines we sit and play with our cellphones, we munch on snacks and sip on bottles of water and juice boxes. We snap photos and send them along to dads who can't be there or grandmas who love getting pictures of their soon-to-be soccer stars.

And we try to entertain the siblings on the sidelines.

My daughter is unique. Every child is. My little red head will approach just about any little kid and say hello and then do a little dance or sing a song. It's really quite cute.

Last night there were two little girls who were right around the girl's age who were playing together- having a great time. I encouraged the girl to head over and say hello, and she did.

She walked right up to them. She gave them a big wave and big hello. She did her little dance. She smiled. She giggled.

The little girls?

They literally turned their noses up and walked away hand in hand.

I picked up the girl who began to follow and had her come and sit with me and her dad.

I was in shock.

I wasn't aware that bitch came in size 3T, but apparently it does.

We went back to camp tonight and I thought it would be different. Maybe these little girls just needed to warm up or something.

Tonight it was 'Ring Around the Rosie'. These two little girls- the same from last night- came over to the tree where the girl was playing and began to sing this little song/game. The girl turned to her Pop-pop and told him the girls were playing and she began to sing the song.

Logic dictates that the two little girls would turn to my child and hold out their hands and invite her into their little circle.

Uh, no.

The two pint-sized peaches did another round of the 'Rosie' and then the bigger of the two turned to the smaller and said, "We need someone else to play with" and looked right at my little red head eagerly waiting to play.

Then they walked away.

They walked over to their little brother, who was strapped into his stroller, and invited him to play.

I looked my mom and I believe my exact words were, "How the hell do they even know how to exclude someone at that age!?!? And so deliberately!"

"They have to learn it somewhere."

Exclusion is taught.

The only reason that exclusion comes in 2T and 3T is because it is learned from mommies and daddies who teach by example.

My dad, Pop-pop, and my daughter played a little 'Rosie' on their own and when the two exclusion twins came over and wanted to play they were welcomed.

I was never taught to exclude, I'll be damned if my children learn that.

Exclusion is not a phase. It is not something that little girls do because they don't know any better. It is not something that little boys do when they don't like the cartoon character on another little boy's shirt.

Exclusion is taught.

Exclusion is learned.

Exclusion is a family tradition that was never passed on to me and will never be passed on to my children.

Pain and...

I won my lawsuit from my car accident. I won a settlement for the damage done to my car, my family, my children.

All of it.

None of the money I won will give me back the months that I lost.

None of that money will give me back the hours spent in an ambulance and a hospital. Surgery and physical therapy. Painkillers. Crying. Days out of work. Pain to lift a container of milk.

None of it will take away the images or the memories.

None of it will give me back the moments that I lose every single time I drive that curve and see that car coming at us.

None of it will give me back the months I lost holding my baby daughter, comforting her, cradling her, rocking her.

The money was rewarded for many reasons, one of which was pain and suffering. The amount we received, I don't believe, equals the pain and suffering we actually endured at the hand of the other driver.

I rarely complain about my shoulder. I rarely talk about the ache that I feel when I carry one of my kids for too long on that side or on my shoulders.

I rarely complain about the pain that I feel when I put my purse or my briefcase on that side of my body.

I almost never talk about the pressure and pain that I have when it rains or snows or is humid and the weather changes so drastically that I have to pop 3 or 4 Motrin to help me deal.

The pain is real and I hate to think about it.

*****

So, I've lost 35 plus pounds. I love that I've been so determined and driven to be able to do this. I love that I am in the best shape of my life. I love that I've wearing and shopping for clothes that I would never have dreamed of wearing before. I am just happy.

But I am in pain.

There is one pain that I will not discuss.

Until now.

My knees.

Leave if you want.

My knees are my weakness.

They are shot. Years of sports took care of that. Years of being overweight sealed the deal.

I had my worst knee reconstructed when I was 20. It was horrendous. Close to a year of physical therapy. Horrendous pain. Worrying about whether I'd walk again, let alone play sports. Horrible depression.

And the pain has returned. In both knees.

When I had my first done my ortho made it clear that once I was done having kids I needed to have both knees replaced.

REPLACED. I am not 75 years old.

I vowed never to return to him unless ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY. (I love him. He is an AMAZING physician.)

Tomorrow, I am calling him.

It hurts when I stand.

It hurts when I sit.

It just plain hurts.

And I am completely fearful of what he is going to tell me.

I would relive my car accident.

I would tackle severe PPD all over again.

I would do just about anything to not have to worry about what he is going to tell me.

I love running

I love exercising.

I love being an athlete again.

He doesn't take those things away without good reason.

I am fairly certain my knees will present him with good reason.

I'm not done having children.

I'm not done running or shredding or doing jumping jacks.

I am just so afraid of the replacement.

I am just so afraid of what comes next.

But the pain.

The pain is just too much and for me to admit that lets me know that something is really wrong.

So, tomorrow I make my appointment. Then I go on vacation and I run.

I run on the streets.

I run on the sand.

I ignore the pain. I pop the pills. I pretend it's not there.

Nothing can make up for what could be lost if he says what I have a feeling he will say.

But I can no longer ignore the pain.

I'm facing it and dealing with it and I'm not even close to ready.

Defining My Husband

Before we had kids of our own my husband had really never interacted with children on any type of level. He would spend time with my extended family but his interests never were surrounding the babies or little kids at the parties we would attend.

Since having kids, he has shown that he is an amazing father and provider and loves his children unceasingly and unconditionally.

There are days when he will be angry and frustrated with our kids and it shows. We both have them. But we always come back to the fact that he adores them and loves being able to spend time with them and play with them.

One of the things I have found since becoming a mom, and even for some time before that, is that I am constantly aware of children around me no matter where I go.

I see that child in the shopping cart who has managed to wriggle out of her seat belt and is reaching for the Oreos on the top shelf while her mom is bending down getting the whole grain organic graham crackers.

I spy out of the corner of my eye the child who has escaped his father's hand at the zoo and is now running straight for the penguin exhibit but doesn't see that the tram is coming right through that same path.

I notice the toddler who has managed to undo the lock on their front door and has escaped into the driveway in nothing but a pj shirt and a pull-up. Wait, that's my kid......

Anyway, I seem to have become more aware of kids around me because I have kids or maybe it's a mom thing or that nurture instinct.

I don't know.

I just know that I was convinced that my husband didn't have it because he never seemed to catch those things.

Last night we went out for ice cream and we were coming out of the ice cream parlor walking towards our car, our kids grasping our hands, when all of a sudden- literally split seconds- my husband handed me my son's hand and was chasing after a little boy sprinting across the parking lot.

All I heard was, "One second, hold on buddy, be careful." And then I looked my husband had put his body in between this little boy and the path of a car backing out of a spot.

The boy's parents were steps away but I guess didn't see the car or didn't realize their son would take off like that. I'm not really sure. But they smiled, grabbed their son's hand, and walked in to get ice cream.

And we got in our car and left.

I didn't say a word to my husband. There was nothing to say. He did what any parent would do.

Hopefully, what any decent human being would do.

His action, though, showed me that I haven't given my husband enough credit.

I often wonder if fatherhood has affected him in as great a way as motherhood has affected me. Everything is different because I'm a mom. Almost every choice I make and every step I consider I put my kids' and their well being first. Almost.

I know that my husband works hard, very hard, to make sure he can provide for our family. And I know that we are at the forefront of his mind. But I wonder if being a father is one of the first characteristics that he mentions when someone asks him to tell them a little bit about who he is.

I wonder if he says, "Well, I'm Mountain Dad and I've got two kids."

I wonder if he defines himself by his fatherhood status. Because sometimes, most times, I find that I'm defining myself by my motherhood status.

Last night I saw that fatherhood has affected my husband in a way that is different from what I had initially thought or expected. I saw that he, too, has become aware of other children and has emotionally opened himself to something that I don't think he ever thought he would.

It was a positive change that I saw in my husband last night. A refreshing one. One that made me love him that much more and made my respect for him grow that much more.

And it also made me feel good to realize and know that he is a dad all the time, not just when he needs to be.

Childproofing 101

I made my first trip in Babies R Us yesterday in probably more than a year.

The husband and I are finally getting around to childproofing our home. Our son was only born 4.5 years ago and our daughter 2.5 years ago.

The boy never really got into much of anything. Don't get me wrong he made messes and we had to put certain things up higher than others but true childproofing was almost unnecessary.

Then we had our daughter.

Oh. My. God.

If it is there, if it is available, if it can be gotten into, there is a very good chance she will get into it.

The weird part is that there is almost always a purpose. It's almost never just for shits and giggles that she does things.

Examples:

She loves to go into the fridge That's probably he most favorite place to be. She always has a purpose in going into the fridge. 9 times out of 10 she's going into it to get something to eat. The other one time, she's looking for something to tempt her taste buds and just doesn't find it there. Inevitably, though, she leaves the door wide open and things in the freezer will melt or food will get left out. It's frustrating.

We bought a fridge "lock". This could work out well for my weight loss endeavors, too!

The garage is her second favorite place to go. We keep our juice boxes and older toys in the garage. We have plans for the garage but right now it's just storage. Many days I will find her sitting in the garage playing with a random toy that we haven't had out in months, or years, while sucking on a juice box.

We got a special lock specifically for the garage. I know either my husband or I are going to have problems figuring out how to work the stupid lock!

Her final favorite place? The bathroom. This child LOVES the bathroom and all that comes with it! She plays with the soap and the lotion. She's enamored with toilet paper. But what do I find her doing in the bathroom more than anything else? Going to the bathroom!!! She's sending me a message- It's potty time! How can I mad at a child who is effectively potty training herself?!?!

We have a lock for the bathroom doors and we use them but we're now moving forward with potty training boot camp. We go on vacation soon and it would be a lovely present to all involved to have all children OUT of diapers!!!

As I stood in front of the safety center at Babies R Us, with cribs and bedding to my left, I thought about the extreme differences in my two children. I thought for sure that we would of had to babyproof everything for our son and when we didn't I sat back and was certain that none of our other children would require babyproofing.

Boy, was I wrong!

At least we're prepared for the next one to come along because if number 2 has been like this I can't even imagine what number 3 will bring along!

Under a Bushel

Tell me a story.

Tell me your story.

Write me your words. YOUR words. Not the words you think I want to read or the words you think you're supposed to write.

Write your words. Simple, but expressive.

I don't need veiled language. I don't want extensive and overly dramatic metaphors. I don't want you cover your story in bullshit.

I want to read what you have say. I want to hear what you want to share but I can't.

You want to share your story of your sordid past? Share it, but put it out there. Don't hide behind the words.

You want to tell me about your children and their lack or manners or their extensive achievements? Tell me and make it clear. Don't make me dig through piles of extra letters and phrases that only hide what you really want to say.

You want to express your undying love for your husband or your deep seeded anger and resentment towards him? I want to know about it. But make it real. Make it palpable not covert and confusing.

We are simple, at heart, yet complex in every single way. We have these stories to tell and we want to share them. Why do we cover our stories with drawn out words and phrases that only serve to mask the true story we are looking to share.

I have a story to tell. It is ever changing and developing.

You have a story to tell. It is complex and unique.

Do not hide yourself behind your words and your complexities. The stories need to be told and shared.

We want to hear them.

Baby Got Back

Been awhile, hasn't it?

Not much to talk about, I guess.

I could talk about the end of my school year and how it was welcomed but bittersweet because I do enjoy my job and my co-workers so much.

I could talk about my kids and how my daughter is off the wall but hysterical and my son is becoming more and more like a little boy than a toddler each day.

I could talk about my 35 pounds gone off my body and how I feel really good and how I want to keep pushing forward.

I'm just busy. I'm out there living it all and more and enjoying it. I want to write and I will. It's forthcoming.

But for now, tell me what have you been up to?

Breaking My Husband

What do you do when you realize that your husband works too hard?

My husband works two jobs and is in school full-time. On his days off he's normally with the kids because I'm at work or at practice or a game or taking care of something for myself.

This past weekend we had a garage sale and I strong-armed him into taking the day off. That meant that the kids were in daycare an extra day last week but that really didn't matter. I wanted him home for his muscle and also because he hasn't had a Saturday off in months!!

He helped us set up and dragged things down from the attic and then he went inside and hung out. He cleaned. He played some PS3. He hung out with the kids- especially when they were in time out. He actually had a chance to relax.

This past Monday he played golf for the first time since the beginning of last summer. The kids went to daycare, again, an extra day. Again, doesn't matter- they'll be home with me tomorrow.

Monday night he was in such a good mood. He wasn't tired. The kids didn't frustrate him. He willingly and excitingly took them up for a bath. He was just so freaking pleasant to be around!!

It was nice to have him back.

Please don't misunderstand me, my husband is not a bad guy. He's not mean. He's not angry. He's just stressed. He's overworked. He's pushed quite a bit.

We all are.

I've come to the realization that maybe, just maybe, he's working a bit too hard. There is very little I can do about that, though. We need the extra money from his second job. We can't afford to put the kids in daycare full time. The second job is with his family and getting out of the family business is harder than it seems. And really, he enjoys working with his dad and brother.

I, so often, talk about taking time for myself and getting a break. But I've been so lax in recognizing that my husband needs the break just as much! He needs a true day off- no kids, no work, no nothing!

I wish there was more I could do to make that happen. I wish that he could have every Monday off to sleep in and play golf or go to the movies or simply lay on the couch and relax. It's just so hard to give that when we're spread so thin.

I think ahead to the coming weeks. Summer means a break for me, although I will be working part time. Summer means I am home much more. Summer means that we can finally relieve ourselves and break one another.

My husband was relaxed and calm and not stressed for two whole days and it was wonderful! He needs that more often. I need that more often.

I see Summer as my vacation and my chance to recharge. This summer it will also be his chance to relax and recharge, as well!!

Mother's Day

It's 20 minutes to midnight on Saturday night, May 9, 2009. My youngest child just ran the length of our hallway upstairs and climbed into bed with my husband. Tomorrow is Mother's Day and I am so looking forward to it.

We're not going to brunch.

There won't be any breakfast in bed.

My husband actually won't be home tomorrow morning. He has to work.

Tomorrow morning I plan on finishing things that my kids and I started today. Gifts.

I also plan on planting all of the Summer bulbs and plants that we've been collecting for the past few weeks.

Then my husband will be home and we'll join my parents and sister and we'll enjoy a family day.

Mother's Day.

Today, I spent my Mother's Day eve with my kids and it was pretty great. I can't lie, there were moments where I was ready to send both of my kids into the stratosphere because they had worn away my last nerve and were creating new ones for the sole purpose of wearing them away. But, for the most part, it was wonderful.

We ran a TON of errands.

We started and finished gifts for the mothers in our lives.

We spent the day together, just the three of us.

We ate lunch out.

We played.

We picked out flowers.

I disciplined. They ran off in random directions in the store warranting said discipline.

We spent the day as mommy and children and it was great.

My daughter woke up when my husband got home from work tonight, around 11pm. She came downstairs and sat with me and in those moments that she laid her carrot "red" head on my chest my heart swelled and then skipped a beat.

This is being a mommy.

My son did the same thing, and still does. He has those evenings where he cannot sleep or wakes at a respectable hour for us but terrible one for him. He will curl up on the couch or in bed with us and it is precious.

It is perfect.

Tomorrow is officially Mother's Day and I am so looking forward to every part of it. But today was Mother's Day for me and I loved all of it!

I'm not going to lie...sleeping in tomorrow would not be refused!

Happy Mother's Day to Everyone out there that deserves it! May your day be filled with wonderful moments of love and happiness!!

I Run For Life

So, I've been running.

There's a backstory.

Isn't there always?

~~~~~

When I was little I adored my grandparents on my mother's side. I would have rather been with my grandmother than with anyone else in the world. My grandfather used to pick me up from school sometimes and I loved it. For a period of my life we lived just blocks away from them.

Then we moved to NJ.

Then they moved to FL.

Many of my Summers were spent in Florida. It was fun. Coming home was horrible. I still adored them.

My father's parents? I loved them. It was nice seeing them. But they were different. It was a different relationship with them.

As a young child I saw them as less fun and the "B" grandparents.

All of that being said, there was something special between my grandfather, on my dad's side, and I.

There still is.

It's hard to describe. It's hard to put into words.

My grandfather is a craftsman. He builds things. He creates. When I was child, my grandfather created a doll cradle for me. It was, and is, gorgeous. He put my name on it. He decorated it especially for me.

And then my grandmother told him he had to make one for each of his granddaughters, not just me.

My daughter inherited that cradle and uses it in the same manner that I did, for her dolls.

I would venture to say that I was my grandfather's favorite. And, I'm not going to lie, I love that.

I came to appreciate my "B" grandparents as I grew older. I came to view my father's side of the family as something different than what I had on my mother's side and I came to see them as more than before.

I also came to recognize my grandfather as a wealth of knowledge, strength, and, most of all, love.

My grandfather, before I was born, battled colon cancer. He lost a large part of his digestive tract. He beat cancer.

My grandfather, when I was a teenager, battled breast cancer. He had it removed. He beat cancer, again.

My grandfather, during my mid 20s, battled the beginnings of lip cancer. He had cells removed from his lip. He beat cancer, yet again.

I have been running for my grandfather.

I have been running for the man that made me a cradle and has showered me with love and stories and friendship.

I have been running because he has battled cancer and beat it, three times.

I have been running because my grandfather is one of my idols and I want to show him that his strength is what pushes me on.

And I want to run to honor the life he has lived and the life he has given to me through my parents and his love.

~~~~~

June 14th I will be running my first 5k to benefit the American Cancer Society. A friend and I will be running over the George Washington Bridge.

I'm scared out of my mind but my strength and my determination come from the man that I bonded with before I was born.

My strength and my motivation were born in his fight for his life the first, second, and third time around.

I am excited to be able to do this for my grandfather and for everyone else that has battled and won.

And especially so that those who battle always win and never lose.

If you can support me I would be eternally grateful. Your thoughts, words and encouragement in any way, shape, or form, is beyond appreciated!

I am running for life, and for my grandpa.