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.

The Right Choice for Us

Allow me to reiterate. I love my job.

I love working.

I am not cut out to be a Stay At Home Mom.

The more and more I do it, I believe that I was meant to be a teacher.

All of that, plus more, does not mean that I don't question my choice to put my children in daycare/pre-school.

I don't question the choice my husband and I made, on a frequent basis, because if nothing else, I work because I HAVE to.

I don't question our choice when our son comes home with new additions to his vocabulary such as, 'shut up' or 'that's cool' or 'you're freakin' me out'. (Ok, that last one MAY have come from me!)

I don't question our choice when my daughter comes home in clothing that does not belong to her because she had an accident at school and was out of extra clothes.

I don't question our choice when my son's teacher pulls me aside and lets me know that there is lice in the school.

I question our choice on days like today.

I got a text at work from my mom, who had the kids today, that my daughter's eye looked pink and maybe I should consider taking her to the pediatrician.

OYE! (We're doing 'Fiddler on the Roof' as the Spring Musical at work...this word is now permanently in my vocabulary!)

My daughter did NOT have pink eye. NO WAY!

I was waiting for the text that told me that she was having flu-like symptoms and maybe we were experiencing the Swine Flu.

I left work early and met my mom and the kids at the doctor. I took the kids in and waited to see one of the extremely capable women who run the pediatric practice that we use.

The kids were actually quite good. Surprisingly for the pediatrician's office. Usually they are like wild banshees set loose at the zoo when we go there. Today? Not so much.

That should have been my first clue.

We got in to see the on-call sick doctor. Who, incidentally, was rated as one of the top pediatricians in NJ.

Not even 10 seconds into her examining my daughter she stopped and looked at me, "Uh, yeah, she has double pink eye."

WTF?!?!?!

She proceeded to examine the rest of my daughter's head.

She stopped again.

Oh, crap.

"Has she been acting differently? Is she teething?"

"No......"

"Well, she has a double ear infection, as well. And her right ear is quite bad."

Seriously?!?! WTF, DOUBLE?!?!?!?

In a matter of moments I went from feeling like this was the most ridiculous doctor's appointment ever to feeling like the worst mother ever.

How in the world did I NOT know that my daughter had a double ear infection (raging, mind you) AND double pink eye?!?!

I could blame it on the fact that my child, my children are in daycare/school three days a week.

I could blame it on the fact that I work my ass off everyday teaching over 100 teenagers and then coaching well into the evening.

I could blame it on the fact that I'm convinced my daughter has the attitude and personality to match her fiery red hair.

But I won't.

My daughter showed no signs of any type of illness. She has not been sick. She does not have allergies. She has not slowed down one bit.

Yet, I questioned the choice that my husband and I made when we decided to have children. That choice to work and send our kids to daycare/school.

I questioned it because there are days when I am convinced that my daughter wouldn't end up with double ear and eye infections if she were not in daycare. There are days when I truly believe that my son would not have landed in the hospital for a week last year if he were not in daycare. There are days where I think it would be easier to be home and not work.

And then my daughter cries when I tell her we won't be going to school tomorrow. She wants to see her friends.

My son asks me what is going to happen to all the of the stuff he was supposed to learn tomorrow at school.

And then I know that the choice we made is right for everyone. It doesn't matter that the choice, for the most part, is based in the need for that second paycheck.

My kids love school.

I love my job.

Our choices are exactly as they should be.

And tomorrow, I get to stay home and sleep in and spend the day with my kids. And we'll have fun and enjoy our day together.

And by Monday, I'll be ready to go back to work and my kids will be ready to go back to school.

And that's ok. Our choice is right for us.

Even if it does mean Antibiotics and Eye Drops sometimes.

Incredibly Fearless

My daughter is incredible.

We rock her before she gets into bed each night. We have been doing this since she was about 6 months old. Once she was able to get herself to sleep, we started rocking her.

Backwards? I think not.

So, each night either my husband or I (usually my husband since she is the biggest Daddy's girl I've ever encountered) get my daughter ready for bed and then we sit in her rocking chair and we sing some songs and when she's ready, she points to her bed and that is that. She's out in 10 minutes or less.

Last night I had the privilege of being allowed to be chosen to put her to bed.

Those moments are my favorite.

She ran into her room and stood in front of her chair and said, "Rock with me mommy."

We sat down and I asked what she wanted to sing. At first it was clap hands. I put the kibosh on that song pretty quickly. Clap Hands leads to dancing and dancing never leads to bedtime! We did the itsy bitsy spider and I watched in the dark as my daughter sang along.

Her tiny mouth, that can seem so large at times, formed each word with perfection. She sang along with perfect inflection. Her voice getting softer as she became sleepier.

We did Twinkle Twinkle next and she sang along with that, as well.

We only made it halfway through the ABCs before she pointed to her bed and asked to sleep. She was asleep before I made it downstairs.

My daughter is incredibly fearless.

We have been taking the kids to the park and having dinner there most nights. It's been nice. The kids eat and then run off all of their energy and by the time we get home we do baths and head to bed. It works out quite nicely.

My daughter adores the swings. She chooses the "baby swing" over the grown up swing. She does this because she can go higher in the baby swing than in the grown up one. She constantly asks to go higher and higher.

With each new height she laughs harder and becomes more excited.

With each new height my heart skips another beat.

She is incredibly fearless but I am full of it.

Fear, that is.

I pushed her the other day and as I watched her climb higher and higher it was all I could do to contain my anxiety. All I could think of was, "If I can barely deal with her on a swing, going a touch too high for my comfort, how in the world am I going to deal with her in sports and going out with friends and as a teenager!?"

I used to wonder how I could or would deal with two children.

I would hear stories of parents dealing with their child in the hospital and I would question whether or not I would ever be able to handle that.

Along the way, each obstacle and bump in the road that we have encountered, we have met and conquered.

I often talk about fear because I think it is the one emotion that, for me, is overwhelming at points.

My daughter is incredible and fearless. She throws her body in every which way and lives life to the fullest. She seizes moments, as a two year old, that I am afraid to seize as a 29 year old.

I may live with fear. Fear of overwhelming everything, but my daughter she makes up for what I cannot do.

Isn't that what we want as parents? Don't we want our children to go above and beyond what we have done and cannot do?

While my fear may be overwhelming and frightening to me, I often wonder if it is what guides my daughter. She conquers that which we tell her cannot be conquered and amazes me at every step.

My daughter is incredible and fearless and has been since she was conceived.

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.