Downsizing

I'm down 26 pounds and I'm stalled.

Ok, well not stalled exactly. I've been down 26 for the past two weeks and don't get me wrong, I'm THRILLED with my progress but I'd like to try for about 10 or 15 more pounds.

My past few weekends haven't exactly been "healthy" eating so I'm pretty sure that's why I've stalled. And believe me, I'd much rather be stalled than gaining.

So, I just reaffirm myself and I keep going. I start anew each day and I'm right back on the horse.

In the midst of losing these 26 pounds I'm running out of clothes. Nothing fits.

Shirts I can deal with. I can shrink them a bit or work with their bagginess.

But pants and skirts are an entirely different story.

I am at the point where I put something on and I have to worry about whether or not it's going to stay on the lower half of my body.

And that's wonderful.

But I am fearful.

All of the books I've read say that I should get rid of my "fat" clothes. I should throw them away because their sheer existence in my closet gives me permission to gain all of my lost weight back at some point.

I understand that.

But, what if I do gain it back? What if I get pregnant and I can use those clothes for the first few months instead of maternity clothes? (THIS IS NOT HAPPENING) What if, well, I don't know but what if I wake up one morning and those 26 pounds have magically reappeared on my stomach and ass? (If they appeared on my chest, I might not have such a problem with it!)

I fear the downsizing of my closet.

I'm not so sure I'm ready to let go of those items that really are a crutch to me. I'm not so sure that I am ready to say, "I am never gaining this weight back again."

To put it quite plainly, I'm not so sure I have the confidence in myself to believe that I won't gain it back.

And that sucks.

Maybe it needs to be done in baby steps.

About a month ago, I unloaded bags and bags of clothes. Maternity clothes. REALLY "fat" clothes. Old clothes. Just tons of clothes went to good will.

Maybe now I need to unload a few more things. Maybe it's about taking it one or two pairs of jeans and an XXL sweater at a time.

Maybe it's about believing in the moment of myself and saying, "Right now, I won't allow this weight to come back."

I really don't know.

I just know that I fear the downsizing because I fear that I may fail even after so much success.

Early Memories

I have always assumed that my children will remember very little from these early years of their lives.

I have always thought that those moments that I care not to remember, because my behavior deserved a time out, would not be ingrained in their little memories.

I have always counted on the fact that I don't really have memories from before my 5th birthday so, of course, my children would not either.

Apparently, not the case.

After what can only be described as an off the freaking wall kind of day I rushed home to get the kids from daycare since the husband is working late tonight.

I hate picking up at daycare. I hate dropping off at daycare, too. It's just not fun, coming or going!

I grabbed all of their junk and bags and everything else. I made sure they had cleaned up their toys. And I just wanted to get home, make their dinner and get them into bed.

We were making the 5 minute drive home when from the back seat comes the boy's voice, "Mommy do you remember when we moved all your stuff into this car?"

"What?"

"Do YOU REMEMBER when we moved all of your stuff into this CAR?!"

"What do you mean boy? We never moved anything into this car."

"YES mommy! You had a car before this. REMEMBER?!? We had a car accident mommy. And then we got this car and we had to move your stuff into it."

Holy shit.

"I do remember buddy, you're right. What else do you remember about the car accident?"

This went on for a minute or two more.

He remembered the air bags. He remembered the police. He remembered it was raining!!! And then he remembered that we hit a bump and that's why our car got hurt and why mommy got hurt.

I redefined the bump for him and explained the reality to him. And then I was silent.

He was not.

He had so many questions. He had so many more memories. Clearly, his little memory was a lot bigger than I ever realized.

And my little bubble burst.

I lived in this bubble where I was the only one who any type of clear memory about that.

I lived in this bubble where my child did not carry with him the images of that rainy day.

I lived in a perfect bubble where I was the only one who relived the moments before and after hoping for closure.

And today it burst.

I drive past the site of the accident on a fairly regular basis and it's only been recently that I have gotten to the point where I don't always go back to the seconds where I was on the phone with my mother crying hysterically while some random EMT's hands were bracing my head and neck.

It's only recently that I can drive by it and not grip my steering wheel so incredibly tightly that my knuckles turn white.

It's only recently that I've stopped being able to feel the freezing cold rain on my face as they pulled me from car while my kids watched from the safety of their father's and a random police officer's arms.

The events of that day cannot be changed. I really just hope for my son's sake that they can be forgotten.

Opportunity Answered and Diarrhea Days

When my dad worked in corporate America he used have what he would affectionately refer to as 'diarrhea days'. These were the days where he had a big meeting or presentation to do and his nerves were getting the best of him.

I've never really had diarrhea days but I do, on first days of new beginnings, sometimes allow my nerves to get the best of me.

Today was one of those days.

Last week I was approached by the Athletic Director from the school where I am currently working. I had been talking with him about a coaching position for next year and I figured he wanted to talk about that a bit more.

Nope.

He pulled me aside and asked me to be the head coach for one of junior varsity teams this season. As in SPRING season.

I was shocked and really quite flattered.

I told him I needed to think about it.

I have been coaching, or helping to coach, an independent girls' rowing team and I loved the girls I was working with. I was not a huge fan of the head coach or her methods but she was an Olympic rower and deserved respect for that. Plus, she was technically sound with her teaching she just didn't know how to reach the girls and it was becoming problematic.

I spent a day or two going back and forth between the two positions. I talked with anyone and everyone I could about.

I prayed about it.

I asked for guidance.

I looked for someone to make the decision for me.

This was a head coaching job. Sure it's JV but it's still a head job and it could open a lot more doors to me in terms of coaching.

It's a team that I would see the girls on a daily basis in and out of the classroom.

It's in a place where I am very happy working and I enjoy the people I work with.

And it came with a paycheck that was significantly more than what I was possibly going to make as a rowing assistant coach.

The job had been offered to me last Monday. I walked into school on Wednesday unsure of what I was going to do. I was still looking for that sign that told me that this opportunity was for me.

I went to Mass, as I do every morning, and I asked for guidance. I asked for anything.

I came out of Mass and headed for my mailbox and then up to my classroom and I ran into- literally- the Athletic Director.

And it was my sign.

Our AD generally does not come into work before 9 because he's there late with the teams. For whatever reason he was in early that morning and he was in my path.

And he stopped me. And he asked me.

And I told him I wanted the job.

And it felt right. It felt good.

I quit my rowing job and it was hard but they completely understood why I needed to take this opportunity.

I met with my new team. I met with the varsity coach. I began my weekend knowing that today, Monday, would be my first practice.

Today, was my version of a diarrhea day.

I am completely confident in my skills. I am confident in my teaching abilities. I am confident in my motivational and team building techniques.

But, my God, was I nervous today!!

I have a wonderful group of girls that I'm working with. I am supported by so many people, both in and out of the athletic department. I have everything at my fingertips that I could need to make this a success.

But I was so nervous!

All day long my stomach was in knots. All day long I agonized over how practice would run and what we were going to do. I worried about how the girls would react to a new coach almost mid-way through the season.

And then we got to practice.

It was shaky at first. My two oldest girls stepped up to the plate, literally and figuratively, and really ran the practice with guidance from me.

And then it was smooth. Not seamless, but smooth.

We meshed. We laughed. We learned about each other and we started fresh.

And the diarrhea day was over and I could laugh because there was very little reason for it.

Last week, opportunity came knocking and I was quite unsure about whether or not I wanted to answer it.

I am so glad I did.

Although, tomorrow will probably be another diarrhea day.

Cherish

It is right now 8:19am on Friday March 20th. In approximately 7 minutes my daughter will turn 2 years old.

2 years ago at this very moment, I had not started to push yet.

2 years ago at this very moment, I had no idea whether my daughter would be ok when she came out.

2 years ago at this very moment, I had only met one of my children.

My daughter was born on the first day of Spring and when she came into this world she brought with her endless energy, abounding laughter, occasional tears and incredible love.

She brought new life with her, just as Spring brings new life each year.

During the evenings before both of my children's birthdays this year I have been keenly aware of their birth experiences. Last night was no different.

I wanted my daughter's birth to be so very different from my son's. I wanted an experience that I could cherish because it would not be laden with medical worries and professionals.

That was not the case, but I continually cherish the experience.

As my husband and I prepared our children's lunches last evening I looked at the clock, it was around 11:15pm, and I said to him, "Do you realize two years ago at this very moment I was in the midst of a practically natural childbirth?"

"Yeah, except for that pesky pitocin." He replied.

He was right, both of our children were aided by pitocin. But regardless of that fact, I had a pretty incredible birth experience with our daughter.

I was induced at 5.5 weeks early due to major complications and I was convinced that my baby would suffer because of it.

I labored under the assumption that she would be quickly shown to me and then taken from me so as to be cared for in her preemie state. I listened as doctors and nurses talked about dropping heart rates and applied oxygen to help keep me and my peanut stable.

I heard emergency c-section more than once and neonatologist a handful of times.

There was no quiet in my room that night. My labor began at 8pm on March 19th and it ended at 8:25am on March 20th.

And in all of the chaos that was the last ten minutes of my labor (my OB was nowhere to be found and we had to pull a random doctor in off the floor to deliver my daughter) I found that the birth experience matters very little. I cherish every moment of it because it is mine and my daughter's, but in the end it is the final product that makes the difference.

My daughter was perfect. She was tiny and reminded me of raw Perdue oven stuffer, but she was perfect. She rarely cried those first days and weeks. She mostly slept and ate.

And she defied all odds placed against her.

Every single child is a miracle.

My daughter is no exception.

There are days when I want to take her little red head and put her in room, because life would be easier and, well, cleaner, but those are the days that, later on, make me laugh the hardest.

There are days when all I want is for her to crawl on to my lap and sit there with her head on my chest so I can feel her breathing fall in rhythm with mine.

There are days when all I can see is that teeny tiny chicken laying in her soothing motions glider, aka my LIFESAVER for the first few weeks, fast asleep.

My daughter and I are not defined by our birth experiences but we are joined by them.

For a very long time I could not fathom what life would be like with two children. I was not ready for my daughter when she came along.

Now, I cannot fathom life without her.

2 years and 15 minutes ago my daughter came into this world an scrawny little thing and I have tried to cherish every moment that I could since then.

Happy Birthday My Devilish Little Peanut!!

Opportunity Knocks

Do you always answer when opportunity comes knocking?

I've been offered an opportunity that I did not think I would be offered. Actually, I never even considered the possibility of it being offered so when it came knocking yesterday afternoon, I was quite surprised.

It's an opportunity to do something I would really enjoy doing.

It's an opportunity to be with people that I really enjoy being with.

It's an opportunity that could open a lot more doors for me.

It's also an opportunity that requires me to withdraw myself from something else that has been important to me.

It could mean letting people down and upsetting them.

It could mean anger and sadness.

Over the past day I've been thinking and talking and praying about this opportunity.

I made a commitment to this other thing. I gave my word but in recent weeks I've found myself unhappy and struggling with what it is I have to do. I dread the time that I'm there and I try to find ways to get out of it.

But I gave my word.

This new opportunity would mean opportunity for my family, as well as me. It would mean a lot of time put in on my part and compromise on my husband and family's parts. But I truly believe the benefits will outweigh the negatives.

I'd like to say that I've already made my decision but I'm not 100% sure.

Do I take the road that is best for me and my family and seize this opportunity or do I stick with the commitment that is making me unhappy and that I'm not moving forward in?

As I wrote that line above I could only think of one thing,

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
-Robert Frost

I'm not sure what road I'm taking just yet. I'm pretty sure I know what road I want to take.

I hear opportunity knocking, I'm just trying to figure out how to answer it.

Growing Words

"Life is like a game of cards. The hand that is dealt you represents determinism; the way you play it is free will."
-Jawaharal Nehru

Sandi over at A Widow for One Year wrote about her job the other day. She's a middle school teacher and people often ask her how she can work with that age group. She loves it.

I teach sophomores in high school. People often ask me how I can teach high school. How do I deal with teenagers all day long? I love it.

Sophomore year in high school was the hardest year for me. Sophomore year was about chemistry and geometry. I barely left my room that year because I was grounded so much for grades- or lack thereof. It sucked.

I start off the year talking to my students about the fact that I know this will be the hardest year for them. I share my experiences with them. I look at them and I wonder how many of them 'get it'. I wonder if these young people, that were just a few short months earlier freshmen in high school, understand the enormity of the months ahead of them.

Each day in my classroom my students receive a quote on the board. They are to write a reaction to that quote. They can write about how they don't like the quote or how they like the quote. They can reflect on what the quote says or how it applies to their life somehow.

When I began reading the reactions I was disappointed by what I was seeing. The kids were simply writing about how they did not understand the quote. They wrote about the superficial and the simple. Even the most simple quote ("We secure our friends not by accepting favors but by doing them." Thucydides) came with a reaction such as, "I do not get what this quote is saying."

As time as gone on I have become continually amazed at how my students have changed. They have come to see the words on the board and on the page as something more than just words. They have come to see the power of the meaning behind the words. I am reading reactions that knock me off my feet. They are coming to understand things that they can only know because they are learning and growing with each passing day.

People constantly ask me how I can stand teaching high school. How do I deal with teenagers all day?

When I walk into my classroom in August and September and I see these young people in front of me I wonder if I'll be able to deal with them for the next 10 months. I wonder how I am possibly going to be able to teach them anything.

When I walk out of my classroom in June I am in awe of the transformation that my kids have gone through with very little help from me. I help them learn. I introduce them to new information. I help them in any way that I can. And they run with that and become awe inspiring individuals that I am proud to have known.

"The most important thing in life is to learn how to give out love, and to let it come in."
-Mitch Albom

Playing Dress Up

For the longest time after my son was born, I kept waiting for his "real" mom to come and pick him up or come home. I waited, like the babysitter at the window at the end of a long night, for the parents to come home and relieve me of my childcare duties.

I'm not quite sure when it happened, but I did eventually come to realize that I was NOT this child's babysitter and he was staying with us forever. But it took me quite a long time to think of myself a "mom".

This past weekend I went out with an old friend of mine. We went out for drinks and dinner and good conversation. We were going to a new-ish bar/restaurant that another friend of ours just recently opened. It was nothing fancy but I knew I wanted to look nice, not a sweatshirt and jeans type of place.

I chose my outfit carefully. I really only have one or two pairs of jeans that fit me now (yay, me...22 pounds gone!!). So, I chose the pair that I thought was dressier and a shirt and a nice sweater, all paired with a fabulous pair of pumps that I got on sale at NY&Co. for Five bucks!! It was a mix of things I would wear to work and things I'd wear out. Honestly, it was a nice outfit...I knew it would look good together and look good on me.

I took the kids to my parents, my dad was going to watch them for the evening, and I dressed there. I blew out my hair so that it was mostly straight. I put on my makeup- a little bit more than I do for work. And finally, I put on my clothes.

I looked really nice.

I looked good. Like good enough to go and pick up a guy at a bar good. Like what I would have worn had I been single and going out with my single friends for the evening.

And then I looked in the mirror a little deeper and chuckled to myself, "I feel like I'm playing dress up."

I go out with friends and family and my husband on a regular basis and I try to look nice but generally I don't dress myself in a way that reminds me of my bar hopping college days. The other night, I reminded myself of that former person.

I felt like, in my tighter than normal jeans and my tight black t-shirt and black pumps, I was playing a part that was no longer mine to be played. I was playing dress up just as I had years ago with the clothes in my mother's closet.

And I didn't know what to feel beyond that.

Part of me felt really good that I did look so good.

Part of me felt like a fool.

Part of me was just happy that none of my outfit had stains on it.

It was weird.

It was a strange feeling to be standing there in my parents' bathroom and come to the realization that it didn't matter how I looked to anyone else- I wasn't dressing to impress anyone or catch anyone's eyes. What mattered was that I was happy with how I looked and it made me feel good.

But I felt like I should have been wearing something different.

From the moment I realized I was not my child's babysitter I have fought against every "mom" stereotype there is. I did not want the "mom" haircut or to wear the "mom" jeans or drive the "mom" car. Two out of three isn't bad, right? I just felt like a part of me did not have a right to dress that way. That I should have been wearing something else.

My mom-voice told me that I looked like I was dressing up for that part that would never be mine again but my 29 year old woman voice told me I looked good.

I listened to the latter.

Is Anyone Else Tired?

I was having a conversation with someone awhile ago and they made a comment about working parents and how they (the person I was conversing with, not the working parents) did not feel that working parents were "Full-Time Parents". The fact that working parents, and when I say working parents I am referring to parents that work outside of the home or work from home (stay at home parents are absolutely working parents, as well!), have their kids in daycare or school and are not with them for the majority of the day made this person feel as if their (the working parents) parenting was only done part-time.

I have had part-time jobs. I've had part-time jobs as a teenager and as an adult. If this is a part-time job then somebody re-write my job description because I'm WAY into overtime pay right now!

My kids are in daycare three days a week. I work a full day as a teacher, my husband works a full day as a manager, I coach for two to three hours in the afternoon and then at night I have grad school work to do and papers to grade. My weekends and days off are spent with my kids because my husband works and even if he didn't work they would be spent with our kids!!

When I am at work my kids do not cease to be mine. I do not stop worrying about them and being concerned about how they are acting or doing. I check my cell phone 59 times a day to make sure daycare hasn't called to tell me my child is sick or hurt. No, I'm not home with them all day. I can't be- it's not who I am, nor is it who I want to be. But just because I'm not does not make me a part-time parent. My husband and I are doing what we feel is best for our children and I think that, more than anything else, makes us full-time parents. My choice to work and send my kids to school does not make me any better or worse than the parents who choose not to send their kids to school. We are all doing what is best for our kids. And that makes us all full-time parents.

When I sit down and consider all of that, I don't see part-time written on any of that or fitting into any of that.

And I'm tired.

No, I'm sorry, I'm exhausted.

Seriously, I am dead on my freaking feet.

And unfortunately, I feel like my parenting and everything else is suffering because I am so damned tired!

I'm really not willing to give anything up and in reality, I can't give anything up. I love my job and we need my job- for money and sanity. I love coaching although I'm hoping for a new coaching job in the next few months. And I, of course, love my kids and my husband- they are my priority.

But, GOD, I AM TIRED!!!

Maybe this week has been particularly exhausting. We've had some big shake-ups at work and I've been pushing for this new coaching job and the kids have been extra off the wall crazy and the husband's work schedule has just been a pain in the ass lately. Maybe I'm just at Friday and I need to sleep for 42 hours undisturbed.

Anyone think that's going to happen?

No? Me neither.

I'm not tired of being a parent. I'm not tired of being a wife. I'm not tired of being a teacher or a coach. I am just plain, out, tired!!

And to top it all off, this weekend we lose an hour. Sometimes I wonder if God is playing a cruel joke on me with this whole "time" concept. I just need an extra hour or two...and I'm sure you do, too. 120 minutes in the grand scheme of things doesn't seem like a lot...I mean really, he doesn't even have to pay me that part-time wage I've been getting for only being a parent when my kids aren't in school.

Welcome Love

My cousin had her second baby, a boy, two weeks ago. It was a dramatic birth. She had planned to give birth in a tub, in her living room. They had their first child that way and were hoping for the same thing this time around.

She and I spoke at least 2 or 3 times a day leading up to the birth of this baby. The last few days before the birth she had been having contractions on and off, nothing regular. I heard from her around 9 am and then again around 11am and then that evening I got an email announcing that her son had been delivered by her husband at 1:41 that afternoon!

It was fast.

She sent the birth story along. She sent pictures along. Adorable shots of her new son. Precious moments between her daughter and the new baby. And, of course, the shots of her new 9lb 9oz baby boy with chubby cheeks all alone.

As can be expected she has been busy the past two weeks. Busier than any of us realized. She and I chatted briefly in the past few days but nothing much. Last night I received an email that I'm sure was significantly harder for her to write than for me to read.

Their precious little boy has Trisomy 21, Down Syndrome, and a heart defect that will need to be repaired with surgery in a few months. They received their confirming test results on the same day that they celebrated their little boy's bris.

My first thoughts were of sadness and compassion. The thought of any little baby having to go through major heart surgery, any kind of surgery, is painful. My heart went out to them in every way possible.

My next thoughts were of guilt.

When I explained this to my husband and a friend of mine they both kind of looked at me as if I was a little crazy. I did not wish any malice on my cousin or her baby, it was not that kind of guilt.

I felt guilty because of my own children. I thought about our son, born deaf, who can now hear perfectly well. Who, after 2 surgeries, is doing wonderfully and thriving. I thought about our daughter. My precious little red head who really probably should not have made it after radiation exposure and the levels of medicine she took in while I was pregnant. I thought about the fears I had in those months of pregnancy knowing that every time I took my medicine to keep my body running and functioning, I was slowly strangling her.

And I felt guilty.

My cousin is an all natural, holistic type of individual. She does things very, very differently from how I do things. She chooses a different path for how to raise her children. But she and her husband love them fiercely and that is the most important thing.

I thought about the different hands we get dealt. I had no idea what long term effects my son's deafness would have for him. Nor did I know if my daughter would have compromised health because of all of the exposure, and I still worry about that.

In an instant my cousin's life changed and life has taken on all new meanings.

She wrote in her email that she and her husband are a mix of emotions, of course, but they are so incredibly lucky to have their new little boy and believe God truly sent them this soul to love and their little boy chose them.

I firmly believe that, as well.

We are handed unexpected things so often and rising to the occasion and dealing with what lays ahead of us can be daunting. But I truly believe that what we are handed is handed to each of us, specifically, for a reason.

I have had a hard time finding the right words to say to my cousin. I have tried to put myself in her shoes but I cannot. I can only speak from what I know and empathize with what I do not know.

The moment that a child is born everything changes regardless of anything else. In an instant our whole world transforms into something it never was before and never will be again because this person, that once wasn't, now is.

There is a reason we each go through what we go through, good and bad. This little person has come into this world for so many reasons and is undeniably loved by all of those who know he exists, and he would be no matter what.

Music Makes It Right

I love music.

I love musicals, classical music, classic rock, really any type of music- I'll listen to it.

When I was pregnant with my son I played classical music to my growing belly. I played Baby Einstein's CDs and The Boston Pops and the Beatles. I would lay in bed and just let my CD player go while my headphones were wrapped around my baby bump. I really never felt any reaction from the life inside. I know now it was because he couldn't hear it. I thought it was because he wasn't going to be a musical baby.

When I became pregnant with my daughter, even though there was a chance that she could also be born deaf as her brother was, I pulled out the CDs and the headphones. With my daughter, I played EVERYTHING! She listened to everything from Bach to Billy Joel to Barenaked Ladies to the Grateful Dead in utero. And she moved.

I vividly remember the moment I realized that Barenaked Ladies CD I had been playing was actually lulling my unborn child to sleep. It had been a week of listening to the same CD, their greatest hits, and the music would start and within a minute of it playing my daughter would start to move. She moved to the beat for a bit and by the sixth song she would have stopped. It was the same every night.

The music was putting her to sleep. It was in those moments I came to believe that my daughter was going to be musically inclined.

About three weeks ago, the kids and I were at a basketball game and we were heading into the gym and my son started singing as we walked. I couldn't exactly make out what he was singing so I stopped him and asked him to sing it again.

"Roll Away the Dew.
Roll Away the Dew...."

He sang it over and over again in perfect tune and beat. I stopped, smiled and even teared up a bit. My son, my firstborn, was singing the Grateful Dead. He was singing "Franklin's Tower" from memory. He gave me a big smile and kept singing as we walked into the game.

My kids love music. They love music that is not on a Disney CD or a Wiggles DVD. Sure, they listen to that stuff and they are exposed to people like Laurie Berkner and Hot Peas 'N Butter from Noggin but not nearly as much as they hear things like Phish and Beyonce and Stevie Wonder and the Barenaked Ladies. And that makes me feel good.

It is important to me that my children play sports and do well in school and are kind to people and treat others with fairness and compassion. But it is also important that my children love music and develop a taste for all different types of music.

Today, I was in my kitchen and had put on a CD of music that I took off my iPod. Beyonce's "Single Ladies" came on and from the living room I heard my 4 year old son singing the words perfectly. I laughed. The next song was Jack Johnson and in a flash both of my kids were in my kitchen dancing like crazy fools.

There are days where I wonder if I'm doing this all right. Where I question if my husband and I are exposing our children to things that will make them well-rounded and intelligent human beings. When my kids can shake their little bodies in time to a song that I have loved for years or can sing the words of a song that I can remember my parents singing in the car, I know we're doing it right.

Taking the Technical

Read This.

This is what sportsmanship, humanity, and community should be about!

Answering the Why

I've been thinking about my self-imposed, unannounced blogging hiatus that recently came to an end. And I was thinking about why I stopped writing.

What stopped me from coming here to put my thoughts down?

Why?

Yes, I have been busy.

Yes, I have had internet.

Yes, I have thought about blogging and even had partial posts written in my head.

I just wasn't motivated. There was no burning need for me to expel my feelings and thoughts from my brain and heart and share them.

I have nothing to hide. I really don't. I am an open book, for the most part, and I don't mind sharing things that make me look weak or show my failures because those things are just as important as the things that make me strong and capable.

I started this place for so many reasons. I needed an outlet. I needed a community. I was hurting and feeling lonely. I was sad. I needed someone to listen and I needed that someone to be unbiased.

I used this place to share stories and thoughts and memories. I poured my heart and soul out through my keyboard and on to your screen. I used this place in ways that I had originally intended and in ways that I never even considered. Sometimes I felt bad about what I shared. Sometimes I felt I had written the most amazing piece of writing ever. Sometimes I felt like I wrote shit. I used this as an outlet, a therapy session, a weapon, a diary and so much more.

I changed. From the moment I began to write until even now I have changed and continue to do so. So much of what I wrote came from moments of sadness and loneliness and the words on the screen helped me to conquer those times. Both my words and yours.

Everything has changed. I'm not always teddy bears and rainbows but I am in a place that is so much better than before. Sadness does not overwhelm my days and nights. I am not constantly looking for approval and acceptance. I have a reached a place where I am more happy than sad, more calm than angry, more content than restless.

And I find that I do not need to write as much.

Except that I do.

I lay in bed at night think of endless things that have happened during my day and my week. Things that I want to share because they are funny and meaningful and common and I know that others will respond. And even if they don't respond, I still want to share.

I stepped back from the keyboard, from the words, from the community and I found that I was ok. Better than ok. I found that I no longer needed this place.

And then I found that I wanted it. And it has become important again.

It was never unimportant.

It just was. It just existed in silence without me for a bit.

My hiatus is over. It has been for a bit, now.

Some days the words will be full of teddy bears and rainbows.

Some days the words will still be heavy with sadness and loneliness because it still exists, it just doesn't only exist.

Some days will be filled with humor and common experiences.

And some days will be filled with nothing.

Each and everyday is important.

Each and every word is important.

Both mine and yours.

Each and everyday answers the why questions I have and will continue to have.

My WMDs

I have a very hard time thinking about leaving my job.

I am not planning on quitting. I am not planning on being fired (although, one never really plans on that!). I am not looking for another job.

I am very happy in my job.

I enjoy getting up each morning to come to work. I don't like getting up early but in the two years that I've worked at my current school there has only been one day that haven't wanted to come in simply because I did not want to be here.

I laugh every single day. I feel like I connect with my students and co-workers/friends ever single day. I feel like what I'm doing is making a difference in their lives.

And I'm good at it.

I will be done with my Masters' Degree soon. Not very soon, but soon enough. I will be an almost licensed counselor most likely within the next year or so. I will be well on my way to practicing counseling with women and children and families who are in need.

That is exciting to me.

But I do not want to leave my job.

I also do not want to be a guidance counselor.

I know I have a year and a little more to figure this all out, but right now I have no desire to take on counseling full-time.

All of a sudden, over these past two years, I have come to love the work I am doing and the people I am with and the kids I interact with.

I have come to realize that while I still hope and dream of becoming a counselor I do not want to sacrifice the teaching career that I am building up around me.

It is not about the fear of not being good as a counselor.

It is not about money, I certainly am not bringing in the big bucks as a private school teacher.

It is not about anything else except that I really love what I'm doing and I cannot see myself stopping it, right now.

I find myself thinking of ways to do both. Coming up with ideas about how to have it all while still being happy and not stressed.

There aren't many ideas about how to do that!

I find myself thinking of Jason Seaver from "Growing Pains". I envision an office attached to my home. My home in or around the the town where my current job is located. I see myself with clients in the evenings, maybe one weekend day, and during the Summers and school vacations.

And I wonder how realistic that is.

I wonder how it will all work out. I wonder what the picture will look like 10 years from now. Hell, I wonder what the picture will look like 6 months from now!

It all goes back to that roller coaster I wrote about months ago from "Parenthood". Life is so very much like a roller coaster that we've never been on before. We wonder what that next hill or turn will look like. Will it flip us over? Will it take us to the highest point only to drop us and then pick us back up? Where is it going and who is going with us?

This all started off as some words about my uncertainty with my job. It started off about trying to find the realistic approach to making it all work. And it became about the roller coaster and life.

My job started off as an interim position until I finished my degree. It started off as a paycheck from something I was good at. And it has become my career, something I really love.

Each day my students write a reflection on a quote as a way of starting off class. Today's quote is quite apropos:
"Never let the future disturb you. You will meet it, if you have to, with the same weapons of reason which today arm you against the present." -Marcus Aurelius

The future does not disturb me. It excites me. It baffles me. It makes me wonder about what is around the next bend, the next loop, the next hill.

I have weapons of reason that are better than any WMD and the future is no match for me!

Happy Birthday

I was going through pictures last night just before falling asleep.

I wish I had them scanned in, they would add so much to this.

They were pictures taken 4 years ago this month. Actually pictures taken 4 years ago today.

4 years ago today I became a mommy. Well, not really. I became a mommy the moment the 6 different sticks showed a second line or read 'pregnant' in May of 2004.

But 4 years ago today, my son was born.

The pictures were taken in the hospital. There were shots of him still covered in vernix. Shots of him on the scale. Shots of him on my chest moments after being born. Shots of him with my mom and with my dad.

Each of them transporting me back to that VERY early morning.

Taking me back to the moments just before he was born when my OB told me that I had 15 minutes to give birth or she was doing a crash C-section.

Taking me back to the moments when my OB held him up, one hand under his butt and one at the base of his head, and said "It's a boy!"

Every single picture brought back the most vivid memories.

I turned to my husband and asked him, "Do you remember what we were doing 4 years ago at this time?"

I believe his response was, "I was sleeping in a hard hospital chair and you had a comfy bed all to yourself!"

And then he laughed.

We reminisced about that night. About driving to the hospital that morning at 6 am to be induced. About not being induced until 6pm that night. About watching my husband eat Burger King in front of me during my 6th hour of labor and my 24th hour of no food.

And we remembered the moment that we became parents. We were both so young. So scared. My husband was afraid to hold our son. I had to practically force him to do so. I had no idea what was going on.

We had just entered a new life and given birth to a new beginning. We did it so blindly and thinking we were so ready, so prepared.

It is four years later and most days we have no idea what we're doing. We're doing is blindly but doing a pretty ok job, I think.

As I got ready for work this morning (late) my son fumbled down the dark hallway of our house and stopped in the bathroom. I crouched down and whispered, "Happy Birthday, buddy! You're 4 today!!" His sleepy eyes looked back at me and sparkled as he beamed at me and asked, "Today is my birthday!?!?"

Ten minutes later I overheard my husband and son "arguing" about whether it was Tuesday or Sunday today. Sunday is the boy's party and he is still grasping the concept of his actual birthday and his birthday party day. I chuckled and listened as my husband tried to explain the difference and make the boy see. It didn't work.

So much of what we do as parents, from the moment we decide to try and get pregnant or have a child, is done blindly. So often, we think we know it all. We're prepared and ready. We can hit the ground running.

It almost never works that way.

4 years ago today my son was born and my eyes were opened to an entirely new world of beginnings and endings. And I blindly entered this world of parenthood.

My son is my guide. Each day I take his hand and lead him through supermarkets or the mall or to the car. But really, he has taken my hand and skillfully guides me through the minefield of parenting.

I may be blind but he knows exactly where he's going.

Happy Birthday, buddy! You're 4 today and each and every day has been unbelievably wonderful with you!!

Long Time No See

Well, hello...It's been quite some time...almost a month!

I have no real reason for not having posted in close to a month.

I've been busy with work, school, coaching.

The days are just too short.

Some days I think about tons of things to write about.

Other days, I think I have nothing to write about.

I haven't had the burning desire to get my words out there as I once did. I don't know why. Things have been very good. But nothing is pressing me to open up the blog and write.

Maybe it's the winter. All the snow. All the cold. Maybe with Spring on it's way (not really) I'll be more apt to open it up and write.

For now, some random events of the past month....

My husband received a promotion at work. Things are trending in the positive direction and I am ever so grateful for that.

My son will turn 4 tomorrow. I still remember the exact moment I found out I was pregnant with him as well as the morning my husband drove me to the hospital to be induced.

My husband and one my best friends threw me a surprise 29th birthday party. It was lovely!

My son has been doing wonderfully on ice skates and we're thinking about getting him some private lessons!

My daughter is almost completely potty trained and she's in a big girl bed. I am constantly floored by the fact that she is almost two and we never thought she would come to be.

I have been trying to get my house organized. Going through baby clothes and our clothes, throwing away things we just don't need anymore. It's not working.

I've lost close to 20 pounds and my clothes are nice and roomy and I LOVE it!!

My son has learned to sing the Grateful Dead and it makes me tear up when I hear him singing it!!

We are having my son's 4th birthday party on Sunday and it's going to be a madhouse...part of me is looking forward to it, the other part is quite nervous about it and not overly excited about it!!

I am working on a Little Einstein's Rocket cake for the big celebration and my son could not be more excited about it!!

I blacked out at work on Friday. Hopefully, the answer is simple and fixable. I find out tomorrow.

My daughter's hair has somehow managed to take on a brighter and deeper orange/red tone and it's quite cute.

I have become obsessed with Mario Kart and I can kick my almost 4 year old's butt like no one's business!!

All of these things are, for the most part, rather mundane and ordinary but they are the things that I count amongst my blessings and that make me grateful to be alive.

More to come...soon...

Thanks for sticking around!

Balancing Act

My son started skating lessons this week.

He loves it!

From what I've been told, he takes them while I'm at work, he's very good at it and took to it naturally.

That makes me very excited.

We are a sports family. Both the husband and I played sports throughout our childhoods and into our teen years. I continued to play sports in college and even play a little bit now.

We love sports.

I am extremely excited by the fact that our son is taking to a sport- any sport- at this age.

I'm not going to lie, I am pushing for these skating lessons to turn into hockey lessons and NOT figure skating lessons. I don't have anything against figure skating, I did it for a bit when I was younger, I would just prefer that my son play hockey.

You can call me sexist. You can tell me about the numerously talented and athletic men that do figure skating. You can even site the movie "The Cutting Edge" to me. I want my son to play hockey.

Bottom line.

Ever since all of this began I've been thinking a lot about how far do we push this. How much "pressure" do we put on him? Do we let him quit if he falls a lot in one lesson and doesn't want to do anymore? Where do we draw the line and how do we know when to stop?

He's young. Just because he may not want to continue skating doesn't mean he will never want to play any sports. And we do want him to explore all sports and try whatever he wants.

But how do we know?

I have a friend whose son is a swimmer. He is no Michael Phelps. He actually passed up basketball to swim. He was moving quite quickly through the ranks in basketball. In other words, he was really great. Swimming is not his forte but he tries exceptionally hard and it appears that the coach recognizes that. His teammates see that. His parents see that.

If my son were not good at skating would I discourage him from doing it? Would I try to introduce a different sport and distract him from skating?

I don't know.

I think I'm afraid of entering that world of parents that end up being more invested in their child's athletic life than their children are. I'm afraid of becoming that parent who pushes so much that their child grows to hate the sport. I'm afraid of being the parent that gets thrown off the football field or out of the gym because they are just too loud.

I highly doubt I would become that parent. I just wonder where the line gets drawn. How much pushing it too much? How much is too little? If there is real athletic ability in my child do I push enough so that they could get scholarships and such?

Like everything else in parenting it's about the balance, I guess.

I want my son to love sports. I want my daughter to love sports. If they love band or theater or something else more I will encourage those just as much as I would sports. But even with those it's about determining the balance.

Although, I've never heard of the parent who gets tossed out of the art show for being too critical.

So, as I search for the balance and try to figure out how hard to push or guide my child through the world of sports we've started lacing up our own skates and looking at junior size hockey sticks. We've jumped ahead about two lesson levels, in our heads, and I'm finding that I need to reign myself in. My son, and my daughter eventually, will guide my husband and I. He will be our marker, for the most part, of how hard he needs to be pushed. He will be the scale by which we determine if we are balancing everything correctly.

Deep down inside I do hope that the sports stick around for both of my kids. I also hope that they fall in love with the activities that they are good at and passionate about. And I hope the husband and I grasp this balancing act before we get thrown out of the ice rink or off the football field!

You Gotta Know When to Hold 'Em, Know When to Fold 'Em

I enjoy gambling. Seriously.

Give me a slot machine or a blackjack table and some "extra" money and I'm having fun.

I do not enjoy losing when I gamble.

I think I've found a way to win even when I lose.

I have this friend and we bet on football games. Regularly.

Every Sunday. He won't bet against the Giants, I won't bet against the Eagles.

The winner each week wins some form of alcohol- beer, wine, Bailey's- and usually some other equally pleasing item or action.

I'm not gonna lie, I've acquired a pretty fair amount of alcohol during this season.

The past week or so the terms have changed. With the passing of our friend and co-worker the terms of the bet took on a new meaning and it's something I'd really like to share.

I cannot take the credit for this idea but I will absolutely carry it on.

Each week the loser has to donate $10 to a charity of the winner's choosing. It's completely win-win for all involved.

We add in bet sweeteners. Things like a drink at happy hour or a batch of chocolate chip cookies. But the real value is found in that donation.

The real value comes from the fact that each week a charity of one of our choices will receive a donation because we decided to make a friendly wager on a game.

This week the Eagles beat the Cowboys. No. Wait. I'm sorry. This week the Eagles trounced the Cowboys and then, while they were down, stepped on their face masks and smashed them into the turf.

Yeah, the Eagles won. And now they are in the playoffs.

This week the Alzheimer's Association of America also won. That was my charitable choice. That horrendous disease slowly killed my grandfather. We are so close to ending this disease. I firmly believe that. We are so close to preventing this disease. We are moments away from it and any penny that can be thrown their way helps!

This week, because it's the season of giving and our friend and co-worker passed away a week ago today, the American Heart Association also won. Donations were made in honor of our co-worker and in honor of my friend's nephew who both died way too early of heart related problems.

I really enjoy gambling. I don't do it often, especially in a casino setting. I really hate losing- at anything. In this case, when the terms are as charitable as they have become, I don't mind losing so much because I know that someone, somewhere, is winning.

Tonight, in the spirit of giving and with the upcoming playoffs I am encouraging each of you to place your own bets and learn to love gambling in the way I have.

The Moments of Mess

Christmas day has passed and it was wonderful.

It went fast.

I feel like we just put out tree up and that was weeks ago!

Today is the first day that I am home for a full day and not running off to a family party or some place else.

At some point in these past 5 days my house was clean. At some point in the last two days my house was cleaned, again.

Today, my house is not clean.

Today, my house is a mess of new furniture and Diego trains and Mickey Clubhouse. It is a mess of dolls and strollers and play-doh. It is a mess of Christmas presents and Christmas joy.

I hate the mess. I loved sitting on the couch last night and looking around at everything nice and neat- except the furniture mess since we're still putting that together! I loved seeing the toys neatly arranged around the tree and looking at my floor and being able to see a clear path to my kitchen and dining room.

Now, I sit on the couch and I watch my son play a new Wii game from the comfort of his sister's new Dora chair and I watch my daughter wander aimlessly through the sea of toys looking for just the right one to entertain her and also piss off her brother at the same time.

And I love it.

Yes, I'd love for all of this to be put away. I'd love to have already gone through all of our old toys and given them away- which is the plan for this week. I'd love to have my new dining room set completely together and our hutch filled. I'd love to have the floor vacuumed and the living room and kitchen looking neat.

I don't think it's realistic. Or maybe it is and I'm just not ready or willing to do it right now. I'm tired. Christmas and a co-worker's death all in the same week can take a lot of out of a person. Maybe it all comes back to that.

Is cleaning the mess really all that important? My kids are loving playing with all their new toys. I'm enjoying getting to watch them do it and help them. Isn't that how it's supposed to be? Isn't it supposed to be about enjoying this time? Loving these moments and worrying about the mess later?

It is.

It is about enjoying the laughter. Enjoying the smiles. Enjoying the sharing and the sometimes not sharing.

The mess will get taken care of- it has to. The furniture will be complete. Everything will get done. Right now it's about the mess. Right now it's about the fun. It's about enjoying and remembering that these moments are not going to always be and when we have them we have to seize them.

Sometimes the messy moments are the best.

My daughter just put Dora in time out- I can't imagine why or where she would have gotten that from!!

Heavy Hearts and Heads

We lost a teacher at work yesterday.

He was a gym teacher and a coach.

It was sudden and tragic.

It happened in school, after hours, while he was alone.

It was an unbelievably sad day today.

We spent the day talking with the kids and praying. We celebrated a mass in this teacher's honor. We did all we could to keep the kids together and calm. We did all we could to keep ourselves together, as well.

I spent a good amount of time with a number of girls that I used to teach and currently teach. They were upset- as they should have been. Devastated. They were working through their emotions. Their tears brought on my own tears. They opened themselves up to me and shared their emotions and feelings and hurts. They trusted me and for that I am honored.

My shoulders were soaked with tears. My heart heavy with sadness and hurting for my lost co-worker and for those of us left behind and for the pain of each of our students.

I am a firm believer that those who pass from this Earth go somewhere exponentially better than what we have here. I believe in heaven. I believe in God. I believe that things happen for a reason and we may not always know or understand that reason but there always is one.

Death sucks. Big time.

It sucks for those of us left behind. It sucks for those of us who mourn and cry and deal with our loss. It sucks.

I firmly believe that our loved ones that pass are in heaven finding joy greater than anything we can experience here. While we cry and mourn and sit in sadness, they are enjoying all of those things and people that they loved here on Earth.

Death sucks for those of us left behind. I said those words over and over again today.

One of my former students put her head on my shoulder and released her pain and sadness. She cried. I cried. It was silent except for tears. Her head heavy on my shoulder.

I wanted more than anything to take her pain away. I wanted more than anything to tell her that tomorrow she will wake up and this will all have been a horrible dream.

I couldn't.

It's hard. It has to be. It get easier. But right now, it's hard and sad and it just plain sucks.

I put my daughter to bed a few minutes ago. I hugged her a bit tighter tonight. I sat in the rocker in her room, as we do every night, and she put her head on my shoulder. On the same shoulder that had accepted so many tears earlier in the day.

Her head was heavy. Heavy with sleep and love.

All I could think of was the day that her head became heavy with sadness and tears. I ached to be able to make sure that she never experienced what the kids did today at my school. I ached to be able to assure her that her heart and mind would never be full of sadness and anger.

It's impossible. The pain has to come . It has to be hard. It sucks but it has to be that way sometimes.

I try to remember that without the sadness we may not be able to realize how wonderful the happiness is.

I try to remember that sometimes it's the sadness that lets us know we're alive and human.

I try to remember that sometimes it's just going to suck and those are the times that we must lean on each other, no matter how heavy our hearts or heads may be.

Tossing the Time Away

In the midst of falling snow and the smell of fresh cookies I did something that I have been putting off for quite some time.

I threw away all of the baby bottles in my home.

My daughter has not used a bottle since she was roughly 10 or 11 months old. The bottles have been sitting in our kitchen cabinet since the weeks before she was born. I had no problem ridding myself of the nipples for said bottles but I could not bring myself to toss the bottles.

Until today.

I don't know why. I'm not really sure what compelled me to hurl each and every single one of them into the empty garbage can. I just know that when I was done- a mere 20 seconds after I began- I wanted to cry and I had to hold myself back from diving into my garbage can to dig the bottles back out.

I piled more garbage on top them to make sure that I did not fish them out. I baked more cookies. I took my kids out in the snow (THAT was an experience!!). I talked to friends on the phone and online. I straightened up a bit. I did all that I could to keep myself away from the garbage can.

I did not have to throw them away. I could have put them in a box and put them away until the next baby comes along. I could have tried to donate them. I could have just left them.

Something made me throw them away. And then immediately question it.

What if we have a third baby? What if I just jinxed myself and I end up pregnant? ( SO NOT GOING TO HAPPEN!!!) What if someone else really needed them?

And the other side.

Why didn't I do it sooner? What was I waiting for? We may not have another baby. People don't want used bottles, even if they were just to hold the liners. Why was it such a big deal?

I don't think it had anything to do with a third baby. I don't think it had anything to do with the fact that any time I see a newborn or a picture of one my ovaries actually skip a beat.

I let go of the last piece of my daughter's babyhood. Well, ok not really, but kind of. Those bottles made me think of those early days. They reminded me of how far we've both come. They made me smile each time I opened the cabinet and sometimes they even made me a little misty.

Next week we're potty training the girl. It's time. I would love to be able to start the new year with two kids out of diapers. After that the crib will go. She's been speaking in full sentences and is growing at an incredible rate. The months have flown by and yet at points seemed to go so slowly.

She has gone from my teeny tiny preemie to a toddler and before I know it, a little girl. Today, I threw away her bottles and I felt like I was throwing away a little piece of myself and her. I guess the reality is that I wasn't throwing away a piece of either one of us, just making room for the new stuff to come.