It's All About Character

My New Year's Resolutions... I have thought about this for a few weeks, and even made a list of things I want to accomplish - both little and big. Yet, those are just the trees - I want to see the entire forest. So, my resolutions are a bit general, but I think if I achieve them, I can do anything this year. So, from the book The Four Agreements, here they are:

1. Be Impeccable With Your Word - Speak with integrity. Say only what you mean. Avoid using the word to speak against yourself or to gossip about others. Use the power of your word in the direction of truth and love.

2. Don't Take Anything Personally - Nothing others do is because of you. What others say and do is a projection of their own reality, their own dream. When you are immune to the opinions and actions of others, you won't be the victim of needless suffering.

3. Don't Make Assumptions - Find the courage to ask questions and to express what you really want. Communicate with others as clearly as you can to avoid misunderstandings, sadness and drama. With just this one agreement, you can completely transform your life.

4. Always Do Your Best - Your best is going to change from moment to moment; it will be different when you are healthy as opposed to sick. Under any circumstance, simply do your best, and you will avoid self-judgment, self-abuse and regret.

Don't Shut Out the Light

Throughout this entire journey, something has been nagging me, and I realize now that I couldn’t get over the emotions and struggles of the divorce because I was working on a puzzle with missing pieces, and I knew they were missing but I thought that I could complete it with my imagination and ingenuity. Yet, it doesn’t work that way. I kept praying that God would guide me along the path, yet I kept coming full circle to the same missing puzzle piece. It has been nearly two years and I keep struggling through it again and again. Last night, I prayed and said, “I’m here again. Why can’t I get through the first betrayal?” Why was that nagging me? The answer I heard this morning is that I was going through it again and again because I never got beyond it – because I haven’t allowed it to teach me what I didn’t want to learn.

Before me, today, is the missing puzzle piece and it is the root of the problems in my marriage. Over four years ago, I sat nine months pregnant with my second child, and without my knowledge, the foundation of my marriage was crumbling. And I was made aware of this truth four days before Christmas. A gift? Perhaps. I think it is fitting that I learned of this information before the end of 2008. It gives me hope that in 2009, it is certain that I will begin fresh.

It is strange to know that I have been wasting time fighting for a lie, blinding myself with a shield of false compassion, failing to recognize problems. And we all know that failing to recognize the problems – the root, the truth – leaves the door open for tragedies. It’s good to know the truth, and it doesn’t hurt as much either given that I’ve had over four years to prepare for what I knew was true in my heart all along. It’s kind of sad, but I realize that in order to have faith in my own path, I needn’t prove that someone else’s path is wrong. It’s just different, but you know, I feel like I’ve come home in a way. I have forged a relationship with my heart, and I trust it now. When I am silent and listening, my heart tells me the truth.

Yet when my heart is silent with the truth and I am in need of inspiration, I read the lips of my neighbors, friends and strangers to discover what my guardian angel is trying to tell me. They are telling me that I cannot grow alone. They are telling me that I need to make room on this path for them so that we can move forward together, and they can veer off onto their own path when the timing is right.

I’ve made mistakes. I am not perfect. But, I was a wife and I took it seriously – perhaps too seriously? Perhaps. Yet, in all this time of self-discovery, I have come to know a few things. I will never lose hope of being better than I am. I will spend many days talking to my heart. I will not respond to insults or lies because they do nothing for me. I will look at my mistakes as a beacon for further growth.

It’s difficult to allow the truth into my mind because I have fought it for so long, and it is difficult not to feel sadness and complete disappointment.

I am reading a book/”Manual” by Paulo Coelho and he is such a wise man, sharing his wisdom as a Warrior of the Light. In it, he writes the following:

A Warrior of the Light always keeps his heart free of any feelings of hatred.

When he goes into battle he remembers what Christ said, “Love your enemies.” And he obeys.

But he knows that the act of forgiveness does not mean that he must accept everything: a Warrior cannot bow his head, for if he did he would lose sight of the horizon of his dreams.

He accepts that his opponents are there to test his valor, his persistence, and his ability to make decisions. They force him to fight for his dreams.

It is the experience of battle that strengthens the Warrior of the Light.

I think that trapping the demons inside is tragic. The outcome is certain darkness of the soul, and in time, it takes the light out of one's eyes. Without that light, every step is mis-step because it's impossible to see the path before you, and at some point, an obstacle or a big rut, will take you down.

It takes courage to face the truth.

I have chosen to keep the light on, so that my own worst enemy doesn't come unexpectedly.

Don't Kill the Bird

I am still working on the mental list of New Year's Resolutions. Every time I think about what I'd like to accomplish this year, I can think of nothing beyond the moment. I guess that's pretty healthy, but I think that it probably has something to do with the fact that I just don't want to start blowing air into the hope balloon only to have it popped by the poking needle of the shit sandwich that life sometimes feeds us.

Yet, isn't that inviting failure into my life?

If I continually try to protect myself from the downs in life, I am sure to miss the opportunities for the ups. I'm not game for that right now because I'm a believer... in miracles, in people, in goodness. If I become intimidated by silence, indifference or rejection, haven't I failed, even though I have chosen do nothing?

Tori Amos sings a song and there is one line that plays over and over in my head everytime I think of making my list of New Year's Resolutions: "There's just an empty cage if you kill the bird." It seems to be a reminder to me that if I neglect moving forward with my dreams in order to thwart pain, then my heart is dead, like the bird and I am simply left with an empty cage. Do I defend this empty cage? Do I keep it unlocked and hope that the bird returns when the shit sandwich has been handed over to someone else?

I'm not quite ready to make that list, but I will indeed make it. I just need to strengthen my wings a bit more so that when I am ready, I can fly away from the cage, alive, and return to it as a resting place, as a spot to relax and refuel between conquests.

Carry in Your Memory...

For the first time in months, I have been afforded the opportunity to have such clarity in my mind that I can indulge in dreaming, fantasizing, and envisioning triumphs. I have learned that thoughts mark the path and that every step forward is another step away from the pain of the past, an opportunity to "concentrate on the joy of having passed yet another of life's tests."(Chico Xavier) I think, now, it's most important to concentrate on the good that comes out of difficult times - a renewed confidence, an unmoving strength, and a tolerance for the little dramas that used to shake the very core.

It is blizzarding in Buffalo right now. The air is so, so cold and the wind is blowing hard across the familiar hill on which my parents' house rests - the house I grew up in with four brothers, one sister and usually a couple of dogs. It is a lot easier to weather the storm outside when the warmth of memories and the stability of family protect me. It's a lot easier to weather the storm inside too.

It is getting close to the end of yet another year. This was a year of tests and truths and discipline and tears and confusion. Yet, I am emerging from this long period of darkness. Here's the ironic part, I am grateful for it. I am grateful for it... yes, the divorce - I am grateful for it because after all this time of wanting to keep my marriage and fighting it's end, I suffered. I suffered through the illusions, the thoughts of reconciliation and like Sara Bareill sings in one of her most excellent songs, "defending good intentions if he fails." I put on my armor to defend an untruth.

In the stillness of this winter day, I was able to shed the armor and look at it clearly. I did what I always do when I have a few extra minutes without the kids in the car, I drove past my parents' house and into the hills of my small town. I rode familiar hills, looked at familiar houses and let the past kind of slip under my skin - memories of good days that have passed. Because this is life, I am sure I had very difficult moments as I grew up. I remember mourning the loss of a boyfriend as I drove those hills; I remember worrying about getting enough financial aid for law school; and I worried about the imperfections of my family on these roads. Yet, as I drove today, my thoughts were void of those worries - the past made me who I am today. I like who I am today. I like who I have become, and I anticipate the dark valleys and sharp peaks with curiosity and courage. That is something I never would have realized before this divorce. How can I not be happy? How can I not be excited about my future? How could I have allowed the loss of those moments of fantasizing and daydreaming - they were available for me this whole time!

Tony taught me a lesson about fear of the future a couple days ago. He has been (literally!) bouncing off the walls for weeks now because of the excitement of seeing his cousins in Buffalo and of course, Santa Claus coming to town. On Thursday, he was jumping around, screaming at the top of his lungs. I gave him two warnings to no avail. I finally pulled out the topper of all lines during this Christmas season. I said, "Tony, Santa Claus is watching you right now!" You know what he did? He raised his arms above his head, jumped up and down and screamed in the loudest voice, "I want lots of presents! Bring me lots of presents!"

Even in the face of sure reprimand and suffering from Santa, he knew what he wanted and made it known. He knows more about himself than I ever did.

Until now.

If you're gonna walk... walk tall.

I had a bad day today. (I know, "a day is a day" but today was one of those days). Every few days it seems that there is something or someone who has to interrupt my reasonably happy existence and muddy the waters. Work is busy these days; the kids have me running around like crazy; but those two things are only 10% of the cause of stress in my life. I guess one can imagine where the other 90% comes in. But alas, I've learned that the sadness/pain/stress, etc. is just a wave and I have to jump up on the board, find my balance and ride it into shore. I'd say 95% of the time, I can ride it into shore just by picking up the kids from school, cooking dinner and sitting down to eat with them. Usually, that is all it takes. But today was different for some reason. I couldn't let go of the thoughts that were stressing me out. The anxiety was winning. After dinner, I sent the kids into their playroom to play "school" while I tried to let it go while cleaning up the dishes and making lunches. I was stressing but I knew I couldn't control how to decompress, so I had to let it go! I cleaned the dishes and started on the lunches... then Tony came into the kitchen and said, "I want to hear the guitar and piano." I had no idea what he was talking about until he said, "Bruce, Mommy." (Like, "well, duh!")

"You wanna hear Bruce?" I asked and he nodded.

My 3 year old son wants to hear Bruce? My 3 year old son wants to hear Bruce!!!

I skipped over to the stereo, put on "Rosalita" at full volume and picked him up to dance. We danced and laughed. When it was over, he said, "Again!" So I put it back on and started singing. The dogs got in on the action, jumping around and barking, Paige came in from coloring in the other room, grabbed Tony's hand and started spinning around. I belted out the words:

"Windows are for cheaters,
chimneys for the poor,
closets are for hangers,
winners use the door!"

And it hit me. My bad day was over. I rode the wave into the shore. And rather than use the window, climb through the chimney or hide in the closet until it passed, I used the door.

People escape by drinking - I've done it. I used to make love to the Grey Goose martini an awful lot after the kids went to bed and my husband got on his computer or zoned out in front of the TV. People escape by sleeping - I've been there. Sometimes the sadness is the best sleep aid around. People escape by cutting off friends and hiding - I've done it. It just makes the booze and the sleeping the only other options. And friends, family - they're the answer most of the time. Tonight, tonight was about me, and the kids, and the dogs, dancing. And it was about my best friend Bruce. "Rosalita, jump a little higher! Rosalita come put out my fire!"

Seeking Synchronicity

Early on in my separation, I felt as though all the pieces of my life were synchronized. For example, my college roommates and I planned a two-day trip to the beach. We hadn't seen each other for over ten years. Two of them backed out due to family responsibilities, and so it was just me and Jo. A week prior to our scheduled beach day, he left the house - we were officially separated. Rather than cancel, we went ahead as planned, and it had a profound healing affect on me. I met strangers at the beach bar and talked with them as though they were my oldest and dearest friends. Ironically, the six people I spoke with were of a different variety in terms of marriage. One was divorced, his sister was married but not happily, myself, my roommate, and another couple who had been happily married for nearly 30 years and they were marriage counselors for their church. I let loose on that day. I revealed everything about my marriage, I cried, and at end of the night, knowing I'd never see them again, we hugged and bid a warm farewell. It has been six months and I still send kind thoughts to all of them. And I think, no I know, that I will meet at least one of them again, and we will hug and catch up. I don't know when, but it will happen at time when they need me as I needed them.

Shortly after that trip, I received a phone call from my old boss asking if I'd like to help him out with some work. Sure. That led me into the job I have now. Then, people just started coming out of the woodwork - friends I didn't know were friends, and they started saying things that clicked. The homily at church was directed toward me, the sunshine was on me, and all the information I needed to initially accept the demise of my marriage came to me piece by piece. I went to talk with my Deacon and told him about this and he said it was a psychological theory by Jung called Synchronicity. I finally understand Sting's songs.

I am seeking synchronicity again because work, kids, personal life, church, friends and family are all compartmentalized now. I had to do that because I couldn't juggle all those things at once. But now, I am ready for the melody. I am in tune for the harmony and I want synchronicity.

I believe firmly that no two events are coincidences, although without the knowledge, I can't understand the causal relationship of some of them yet. The people you meet in your life, even if only briefly, are there for a reason.

I met a man on the airplane when I was traveling solo to be at my sister's side when she had her mastectomy. We started talking about the hospitals in Buffalo. I mentioned my nephew Jake and his surgeries done at Children's Hospital. And he asked, "Who was Jake's doctor?" When I answered, he started to cry and he said, "He performed surgery on my daughter and saved her life." I still think about that man. I was torn up on that airplane ride, and our common bond comforted me, and I would like to believe, comforted him. Coincidence?

A friend of mine had a similar situation. She wasn't sure if she wanted children. She sat next to an older woman who had three adult children and had just lost her spouse. And she told my friend that without her children, she would be lost. She told my friend in no uncertain terms to have children with her husband. My friend still talks about that woman as she holds two unbelievable happy babies on her lap. Coincidence?

Synchronicity, in a way. Imagine everything that happens in your life, synchronized like a beautiful symphony. I felt pieces of it for a while. I want it again. Perhaps it is just being open to finding meaning in everything. Perhaps it just happens. Perhaps I think too much?  I'll let you know when it happens again.

Who Are You?

I am thinking about my Aunt Carolyn tonight. She's in the hospital again, fighting with that sense of humor she has. My idol. Truly, the woman I admire and try to emulate - she's that great. I am also confused tonight. I cannot put my finger on the exact cause of my confusion, but it will come. As I write this, I know it will come.

I am doing well at work - making a name for myself, creating a reputation of honesty and accuracy. Yet, my manager told me that I needed to be a little more confident; that I over-analyzed things; and that I just need to step back and do the "Carrie" thing. I thought I had a handle on the Carrie thing!

I've always had a certain degree of insecurity, and I've always done things to prove, to others, that I was beyond those insecurities. Maybe that is what I am doing now, by writing this, by telling everyone I'm okay, by spewing words of hope... I think it's because I want to believe what I say. And I do believe it, but there is a little voice in my head that sometimes obliterates the uniqueness that is me just by throwing out "other" alternatives as to who I truly am.

I am not kidding myself here. If I want to be like my Aunt Carolyn, I truly have to step back and acknowledge the wisdom I am gaining; I have to do it in such a way that I am humble in that acknowledgement; and I have to keep my sense of humor (which, by the way, is finally, finally starting to re-emerge!)

I am amazed with the realization that being married can change a person... sometimes it is in a good way. In my case, I changed in an unfortunate way. I lost my "Carrie-ness". I gave in to things that meant something to me for the sake of keeping my marriage peaceful. You might ask: how? I didn't write! When I was in the 3rd grade I started a journal... I wrote in it through high school, college, law school, and when I moved to Maryland - creative writing, poetry, personal essays. When I got married... I stopped. I was done. I wrote only every once in a while. It was deemed unworthy - by him and ultimately by me. He didn't understand. I can't blame him for taking that away, after all, I was the one who stopped writing. There is a shame factor here - I am now ashamed that I stopped doing what was essentially one of the biggest parts of me. Why? I don't know. It just didn't seem so important so it "vanished right into the air..." By stopping it, I stopped part of myself. How many other men and women have done this? Why? If you like to write, or fish, or cook, or sing... why stop? Do it. It is part of who you are.

Now that I am back into it, I feel so much better. I still question myself. I still over-analyze my worth, but at least I have somewhere to go to when I need to vent. Again, this blog is about me... it is me. I've left nothing hidden, nothing guarded and the people who love me, love me despite my insecurities and revelations.

And that is awesome.

I don't know if I'll ever make it to "Aunt Carolyn" status, but I doubt that I'll ever stop trying. That goal: to be a woman with wisdom, character, a sense of humor and kindness... what a goal! She did it! She did it, and I love her for it. She once said a cliché to me that I had never heard (and it's a common one). She said, "a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush." My hand is reaching, reaching for that bird. When I catch it, all the birds that are still in the bush won't even matter. My insecurities are my own, despite who set them in motion. I have to let them go; free them from myself because being confused about things, over-analyzing things, disregarding who I am and questioning who lives inside me, that's an obstacle in my way. An obstacle that will hinder my progress. One obstacle (of many) that I might have just avoided... just by writing again, by being who I am. And I am thinking that's Aunt Carolyn's secret. Be humble, be kind, be who you are.

I'll Miss You, Buddy

I was still dating my husband when I was allowed a snapshot of Sebastian that has stayed with me for over eight years. I was washing my car outside, soaping it up, rinsing it off. Sebastian was enjoying the sunshine as I cleaned, basically finding sticks and dropping them at my feet so that I could throw them, and he'd fetch, I'd throw, he'd fetch... he could have put in a full day with that activity. While I was scrubbing my wheels, he dropped the stick at my feet. I stood up, stretched and looked down at him. He stared in my eyes, looked down at the stick, back up at me and then down to the stick again and back up, beckoning me to pick it up. I smiled at him and let him do it a few more times, until he was practically begging me to pick the stick up and throw. I bent down, picked it up, poised my arm in the air to throw and then saw Sebastian. A dragon fly had landed on the tip of his nose. It was the first time and the last time I had ever seen a dog cross his eyes. He stared at the dragon fly on the tip of his nose for a good five seconds, not moving. When it finally flew away, Sebastian nodded his head toward the stick in my hand and we resumed play.

Sebastian was a premarital asset, belonging to my husband, and so along with the furniture, he was taken away from the family household today. He was his dog, but I was his mommy for over eight years. It's like mourning his death today because I know I'm not likely to ever see him again - he'll be 13 in November - and the stress from changing households cannot be good for him. But he's a premarital asset, so he goes. He'll always be my boy though.

I'll miss you, buddy.

Brothers and Sisters

For the past couple of days, I've been thinking about my brothers, sister, brother-in-law and sisters-in-law. What a wonderful time in our lives - we are passing on the torch for a new generation! We wake up now with aches in our backs, worries on our minds, and sometimes dark thoughts in our souls, and fail to realize that we are the new "Uncle Jim", the new "Aunt Carolyn", the new generation for our nieces and nephews to reflect upon when they hit our age. And we've done well. We've done really well! Keeping the family together, breaking windows and doors and toys, but keeping it all together in the process. Spending Easter at Mom and Dad's amidst all my playful nieces and nephews made me so proud - so proud to be the Aunt of these wonderful children! So proud to be the sister of such wonderful siblings. We've emerged from in-law vs. blood into a sometimes-cranky-sometimes-frustrated-always-ready-for-a-laugh-or-food-or-drinks-rolling-our-eyes-at-the-absurdity-of-certain-situations kind of family! How perfectly imperfect we really are, and I am writing because I appreciate it so much.

Yes, I am the little sister with some apparently skewed choices, but the choices I made were something we all had to get through. And we are all getting through this together - all of our judgments were skewed, in a way. I realized that this weekend - we loved and got burned. The little sister is going through a divorce! But it's just one more thing to teach the nieces and nephews, one more thing to get through together. Hell, we made it through Jake's surgery and through Corinne beating breast cancer, this is nothin'!

As the years pass us by, more quickly now than ever, I want to hold on to our youth, but at the same time revel in the gifts we have to pass on. Think, for one moment, think of the day Andrea was born; the day we all met Adam for the first time, and how we've grown since then! We are a family, a wonderful, perfectly imperfect family, and there isn't another family out there like us, although the Switala's are pretty kick-ass too! The Fuzzy's living on Shirley Road, ducking the flying plates of pasta, the mash potato food fights, the laughter, the laughter, the laughter...

May God Bless all of us - we are still young, still the same kids inside, reflecting it off ourselves and onto our nieces and nephews... pride, vitality, humor, wit and the occasional sophomoric slur.

Bitter Fruit

During all my philosophy classes in college and among some discussions I've had with my law school friends, there was always a few people who defended a man or woman's right to pay for sex, to be able without moral judgement against him or her, to pay for sex. After all, sex is enjoyable, and like massages or pedicures, or even gambling, it is up to the person who wants to enjoy the activity to pay for it. The fact that prostitution is illegal was never a factor, in fact, it was because it was illegal that many people defended it as a right, stating that "the man" should not put its head into it, especially when it is as "innocent" as a massage. Governor Spitzer's head was in both! As a government leader, he is a proponent of the laws, and prostitution is illegal. As a man, he was obviously a proponent of the act itself. And now, he is a hypocrite.

I don't think the argument one way or another has any affect on who I am in this society. If you want to pay for sex, go ahead, it doesn't bother me as long as you're using your own money and any diseases you pick up are left to rot on your privates and not on anyone else's.

What gets me about this is the betrayal. Take prostitution out of the picture - the fact that he paid for it is big, big news. But what if he hadn't paid for it? What if he had just been cheating on his wife and kids? Is cheating somehow less morally reprehensible than paying for sex? His wife has to go through all the emotions of the betrayal. His children have to consider the fact that daddy broke his vows to his wife so he could engage in sex with someone else! And the fact that he came home every day in his mask of hypocrisy is something that will haunt these girls for the rest of their lives. Do you think they're going to have trust issues? Damn straight.

Shame on him for putting his governmental/hypocritic head into something he should have stayed out of; and shame on him for being such a lousy husband and father. I think the fact that he paid for it is a non-issue, but the act itself in light of all the good things he had in his life is a direct affront to all of us - and it is disgusting.

"The seed of betrayal is bitter fruit - it's hard to swallow any time of day - the taste on your tongue don't easily slip away." {My best friend Bruce}.

Flicking the Flickering Images

The daytime hours have been great lately. I wake up focused, usually a half hour or so before the kids. I make my coffee and sit on the back deck, when it's not raining, to drink it with nothing but the melody of nature surrounding me peripherally. When I hear little feet pattering upstairs right around the time I sense their awakening, my mind switches into mommy mode... big hugs and kisses, stroking the messed up hairdos, bartering cereals or breakfast choices with them. We sit down to eat and I tell them what to expect for the day. Then I shower while they watch Blues Clues and we all get dressed for school and work. We are out the door, and spend the ride to school chatting, talking about the low clouds, the buds on the trees, and the types of cars on the road - they love school buses and punch bugs, but when we see an El Camino they both exclaim, "An El Camino mommy! That's your car!" We go into the school and take their coats off and when I give them their good-bye hugs, my heart crumples in a little, and a wave of sadness rolls through me. Once out to the truck, I am sad, but elated with the thought of making Paige laugh one last time before we begin our respective days. I drive slowly past her classroom window, and there she is, standing and looking outside, her forehead to the glass. I roll down the window and cross my eyes and bob my head back and forth. And her laugh, although I cannot hear it, echoes throughout the day.

On the drive back home or to the office, I become the divorcee. It is the only time during every day - approximately 12 minutes - where I allow my thoughts to go over the details of this divorce. The thoughts are sometimes financially oriented, sometimes logistically oriented (kid pick-up times, contents of house exchanges, etc.), but mostly they are emotionally charged - anger, sadness, shock (still!). By the time I've reached an emotional climax, Springsteen is blaring on the I-pod and I am either wiping a way the trickle of a tear or I am pounding the steering wheel from complete giddiness.

After that, work is my focus, and I am balls to the wall into it... spinning off emails, reviewing and writing documents, or taking phone calls. Around late afternoon, I realize that although I have had two pots of coffee to drink, I have yet to eat. But I am suddenly happy because I know that in less than two or so hours, the kids will be back in my life. And I will not lie, I sometimes pick them up very early from school just so I can spend more than two hours with them before dinner, bath and bedtime rituals begin. As soon as they are in the car, I am "mommy" again. My boss once called me at 5:02pm and I told him he'd have to hold his questions for the morning, Carrie was unavailable. The joke went over, but part of me was serious!

By the time the kids are in bed, Mommy is exhausted, and the focus is a big blur. I slip into bed as they are still falling asleep, and I am out.

Two hours later, I wake up in a cold sweat, images of my husband on our wedding day or his left hand sporting his wedding ring jump into my head and I see them clear as day, and my heart starts to pound and I am in complete shock that this is my life now.

I went to my acupuncturist tonight and explained this to her. She worked on me for a while and as soon as I got relaxed, I saw his hand again, the meat of his thumb and it turned and the wedding ring was no longer on his finger but in the palm of his hand, and I was so mad. She walked into the room just as the image faded away and asked how I was doing. I said "I am mad, really mad." But then I started to cry because all this control, all this focus, all this power I feel in my conscious hours falls prey to the workings of my subconscious mind, and the cold sweats, the sweet images, the sneaky images are riding bareback across my mind, causing a great deal of havoc! She worked on me a little more, and after ten more minutes of treatment, I began seeing my fingers flicking the images like boogers from my hands. When one would come in, I flicked and the image fell from my fingertips like droplets of water. After several minutes, I opened the door and let the images come in faster and faster, and I kept flicking - waving good-bye to them, welcoming them so that they no longer had the shock-value. Yet, at the end of the session a random thought entered my head, "I should put our wedding video onto a cd so that we can keep it in better shape." Yeah. You see? What is the point of doing that? To share with the kids? If they want to see it badly enough, they'll find some old out-of-date VCR and play it.

My acupuncturist gave me a sympathetic smile and said the images would probably keeping coming but to just ride with it because they have to be discarded. Then she told me to go to the gym and run it off. And I did. I went to the gym and ran for 35 minutes straight, hard and fast, and when I stepped off the treadmill, the only thought on my mind was contemplating whether I should move toward the workout mats so I would have a softer landing when I passed out. But it worked! I haven't thought of his ring-less finger since.

Damn. I just did.

Bedtime Story

Every few nights before bedtime, Paige, Tony and I will sit on my bed and take turns telling stories. I usually begin with a short story like:

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Paige, and she went for a walk in the woods with Tony and Mommy. One day they came across a deer eating grass. They walked up to the deer and said, "Hi deer, how are you?" And the deer looked up at them and said, "Munch. Munch. Munch." The End."

Then Paige tells her story and hers is much like mine, except she'll have the deer say, "Munch, I'm fine, how are you? Munch."

Tony, however, is loving all the new words he's learning, so he elaborates and uses his hands, his eyes and his evolving vocabulary, and his stories go something like this:

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful, beautiful sun (his arms are spread wide above his head) and big clouds in the thunder sky, and all the people felt warm and the clouds felt soft, and, and Lightning McQueen and Sebastian raced the fan on the ceiling (it is within his line of vision) and tripped over the curtains, and Mommy said, "awww..." And that's the end of the story."

Tonight we shared our stories. I told two, Paige told two and when it was time for Tony's second story, he didn't want to tell a story. I pushed out my lower lip and asked him to please tell his story because he's so darn cute (and I'm so self-indulgent). After a few seconds of my pleading at him with puppy dog eyes, he rolled his eyes like any good three year old, sat up in bed and said:

"Once upon a time, there was a book and the pages had no story. And that's the end of the story."

The End.

Just a Thought

I read this line this morning: "When you truly realize the miracle of the sunset, you will no longer cling to the remains of the day."

It's about endings... letting things end so that you can get on with a new beautiful beginning. Or maybe it's about letting the stress of the previous day melt away from the new day before you.

Maybe it's both. It's pretty. It's comforting. A miracle. A sunset. We know who helped me find this pretty, comforting thought... the same guy who made the sunset.

An Attempt at a Poem

I am writing it off the top of my head... the only line I know is the last one.

The money gets sorted,
the kids do too,
pieces to me,
pieces to you.

A legal decree that says good-bye,
signed and initialed on the bold-faced line.

The laughter faded long ago,
the tears still crawling,
heaviness and sadness,
in the bags you're hauling.

What remains you ask,
the crowd silent and listening,
answers on the horizon,
and solitarily glistening.

Love remains...
Love remains...
Love remains...

Flat Lined

I am standing at the edge of the water, the waves breaking at my ankles, coming from the distance, heavier and faster. I stand, the wind wrestling with my hair, my hands in my pockets, a chill crawls up then scurries back down my arms. I stand and brace myself against the wind, brace myself against the waves, and wait for the brunt of it to hit, to hit me head on, to slap me silly. I wait. I wait until the sky grows dark, then light again, and dark and light. I search around me, behind, beneath me, above me and beyond you, waiting for the wave to crash against me. My eyes stay steady on the horizon, anticipating the crash, bracing myself, waiting, tightening my fists in my pockets, tensing my shoulders, waiting without armor. I wait. I brace.

In a moment, the wind shifts. A friend holds a mirror to my image and says “Look, look at yourself! Look at what you are doing to yourself. You are lost. You are better than this. You are better than this. Your reflection is distorted! You are reflecting an image of his interpretation. You are more than this.” She leaves, not knowing what she has done for me. When I look back toward the horizon, the ensuing wave, the ensuing trauma is gone. The water moves swiftly toward my ankle and then stops. Stops. Placid. Clear. Uninterrupted tranquility. It has flat lined.

I stand on the edge of the water and wait for the waves, and wait for the heavy, fast waves. I wait for the wind to move through my hair. I take my hands from my pockets to feel the air. It is placid, clear, unmoving. Silence strips me of doubts now. Voices sing to me in harmony – euphoric symphonies, a symbol tickles in the background and it is over. It has flatlined.

Hate, love, sadness, pity, and fear all rolling into apathy. Flat lining into nothing.

In the distance I see the town where I was born. It’s going to be a long walk home. I turn and take another step forward.

Thank you, Aim.

Hand in Hand with Hypocrisy

"Be the change you wish to see in the world..." Gandhi said this and as I perused through a bookstore in downtown Annapolis last night with a great friend of mine, this quote slapped me across the face and said, "remember me!" Be the change you wish to see in the world...

I am thinking of it on a real simple level, and obviously when I begin any kind of thought process, my children are always at the forefront. Their image is suctioned to my forehead, protruding outward on a flat screen before my eyes so that every move I make is noticed by them. So, in my little world, I wish to teach my children. I realize that if I want Tony to stop calling me poopy head, and stupid, I should probably temper my habit of swearing under my breath. If I want the children to pick up their toys after play time is over, I should really straighten the mounds of paper, folders and envelopes scattered on top and around my desk. Instead of preaching to them as a hypocrite for these things (and believe me, there are plenty more!), I should change my ways first.

The same concept applies at work. I am fortunate in that I get to work from home on most days. I am safe behind the computer, sending only words to my coworkers via email. It would be rather easy to demand my requirements, and sign off. Yet, I enjoy being thanked, I enjoy a little humor and a personal touch, even if I cannot envision the face behind the words. Be the change you wish to see in the world... it's easy. I sign off my emails with a thank-you; when I screw up (which is very rare), I fess up, and usually it is with a sense of humor. That's how I would want people to be toward me. It's real easy to get bogged down in the details and drama of work - to constantly feel overwhelmed. But, think about it, it's work. It is work that has been there before you, and will be there tomorrow. At five o'clock, I clear my mind (if not my desk) and I focus on my family.

What about with strangers? You don't want to be treated rudely, so smile.

On a universal level, I have plans. Big plans. I can't do it alone though. But I can change myself, I can pull people in and maybe, just maybe, I won't be a hypocrite when I say, "they should do this... they should do that..." I am going to try and let go of hypocrisy's hand, and walk alone in this great big world. Anyone care to join me?

Spring Has Sprung!

Jake, a great friend and I took the kids to see the Cherry Blossoms in D.C. yesterday. Stepping out from the darkness of the Metro tunnel and onto the sidewalk of the Capital Mall, I was hit with the smell of Spring - clean, fresh, crisp. The swarms and swarms of people were ignored because the blue sky and bright clouds were welcoming kite flyers - Dora, Diego, Lightning McQueen, butterflies and lady bugs adorned the skies. When we walked toward the Monument, the American flags were dancing, and more kites adorned the sky. I was looking up, holding the hands of my two beautiful children - ready to skip because the world seem so aware of my need for newness, and cleanliness and the need to fly like those kites - free and breezy.

Pulling into the driveway, I noticed that the Daffodils had bloomed, and the purple and white Crocuses I planted last year were beginning to sprout. Paige and Tony also discovered the Daffodils. They are now are sitting in a vase on my kitchen table. I also noticed the brown leaves from fall that, if I had a working leaf blower, would be somewhere else. Looking at the mess of my front yard, I am excited and eager to begin making it look like a home again - a welcoming, summer site! Up until last year, my thumb was black, but after one weekend of pulling leaves, throwing down dirt and planting flowers, my thumbs started dancing, shaking off the black, and now they are just a light brown, but they're getting there and by the end of summer they'll be a pale green, I am sure of it! And the day I purchase my very own leaf blower is going to be a day I'll always remember because of all the things that I could possibly buy with any spare money I have lying around, it is what I most want. And it's going to be good, powerful and useful, and I will put shield glasses on and a hockey mask and pretend I am Chevy Chase in Christmas Vacation coming out of his garage and pulling the string on his chainsaw. My neighbors will love it!

Speaking of neighbors, I have one that has a little yappy dog that, about twice a week, comes over to the house and poops on my driveway. The other day I saw it wander over and I tried to get Gracie to bark at it. I pointed out the window, and Gracie got her nose against the glass and started sniffing it. I said, "No, outside, out the window!" and pointed. She looked around. In the meantime, the yappy dog is dropping his pants on my driveway. So I opened the window and started barking for Gracie. The dog looked at me like I was nuts. I said, "beat it!" and the dog continued. Finally, finally, Gracie saw her and barked. By that time, the dog was done. So I shook my head, and barked in Gracie's face again. She clawed me down the arm, thinking I was playing.

In any case, spring has sprung... dog poop and all. I can't blow the poop from my driveway, but I can blow that little dog across the lawn. Can't wait!

Roll the Tapes

Right now it is nearly sixty degrees outside; the winds are soft against my skin as I sip my coffee and wait for Gracie to finish her business. I keep glancing at the bright pink sky, airbrushed today - the backdrop of a huge poplar tree standing tall above all the surrounding trees. I tried to take a picture but alas, the batteries in my camera are dead. I am sitting here thinking about my day ahead. The morning routine wears me out by 9am - the kids are reluctant to go to school in the mornings, they'd rather spend their day with mommy, playing with all their toys and pretending to be the "mommy and daddy" all day. Ironically, they get along their best when they're in those roles.

As I look at the sky, I feel my body relax. It's Tuesday and I am tired again. It would be nice if I could sit on this deck the entire day and listen to the children laugh as they play on their swing set or discover the various types of leaves that I shall never rake. But in five minutes, I have to guzzle the last of my coffee and head up for the showers, pleading with the sleeping gods to keep the veil over the kids' eyes for the ten minutes it takes to rinse, wash and rinse again. I've only been awake 30 minutes, and I want to close my eyes for another eight hours. Tired.

In come the geese. I just spent the last two minutes watching nearly a hundred geese in various V formations fly over my head, cackling, crowing, tweeting (whatever it is they do) as they head for their destination. As if the brilliant pink sky wasn't enough! I can just imagine God saying, "Okay, are the geese ready? Now wait, she's looking up, okay, let the geese go. And... action!" Then suddenly, they are at the forefront, the poplar still stands tall and the pink illuminates their fluttering wings - their cackles an alarm clock that wakes me up. My thoughts are no longer on the chores I'll face this magnificent Tuesday morning and afternoon - they're on absolutely nothing. The sky is gorgeous, the temperature is perfect, my coffee tastes great, the birds are singing and Gracie has finished her job.

In comes the gratitude. And... action! Thank You.

The View from the Inside

Standing in the center of my life, I begin turning, arms outspread, head held high to the sky, eyes closed with a smile on my face. The warmth I feel on my skin soothes me today, the cluster of disillusionment compartmentalized in its own slice of pie, gray and vast, but there is a distinct end to it, and I see it. All the other pieces of the pie, although slightly smaller are hues of pink and yellow and blue - pastels and soft, soft, soft.

My hair reflecting sunlight, my smile radiating happiness, my back turned today on the darkness. I hold my breath and close my eyes, and I feel Hope's arms embracing me. My children stand beside me, their hands in my own now, and we spin around, dancing, smiling, happy. The darkness is illuminated by all the good beside it, touching its edges, but nowhere near where we've placed our feet, and it is manageable, and it is temporary and it is completely separate from who we are, and who we want to be. It exists as a mere chore to trudge through, nothing more, nothing less. But the rest of the circle - our life! My life! Unending slices steadily streaming forward from the center, un-ending and swirling into a tapestry of life filled with communal sharing and unity. Gorgeous. This view is gorgeous.

Pork Chops and Positive People

The first bite of pizza when the hunger pangs are folding in on themselves in your stomach was always something I appreciated and recognized as a source of happiness. Or how about a sip of rich coffee after a bite of cheesecake has melted on your tongue? Delicious, satisfying and something that makes you fall back in your chair and relish.

When I was in college, my roommates and I made a list of all those things that made us sit back and relish, even if it was only a 2 second recognition. I forget many of the things, but here is what I remember:

1. Putting on a warm pair of pajamas (straight from the dryer).
2. The pain in the apple of your cheeks after a full-blown laughing fit.
3. The cashmere silence of a morning snowfall.
4. The dividing line between hard laughter and appreciative crying - that moment when it can go either way.
5. A compliment.

Those are only five things I can remember, although after we posted it on our dorm room door, we found that the girls across from us (who were kicked out for partying) had written their own comments on ecstasy. The three additions to our list of 25 were as follows:

1. The first hit of a bong.
2. Puke and rally.
3. An orgasm with someone you know.

To each his own, I guess. Our list was a hit and we ended up taking the moments of all of our dorm buddies and making a comprehensive list. (I have it somewhere and as soon as I am done writing this, I know I'll be going crazy trying to find it).

As I write this, I realize that doing things like that are essential, and I have since started writing things down - things that catch in my throat. A great passage of a book, a glance that says something essential about the character of another person, the clean, pure knowledge of knowing who you are and exactly what you want in your life... finally!

In the last few months, moments have accumulated, but more importantly the accumulation has been of positive things. I seek and I receive happiness, and it's because I have opened myself up to people, revealed my insecurities as a fact but not a factor of who I am. This positive approach to life has magnetized me! I am wonderfully surrounded by positive people. This positive approach is the secret to happiness... because by staying positive, faithful and kind, I've found a greater happiness than I have ever imagined. Positive people - they recognize the tastes on their tongues, the sounds in their ears, the sights before them and the feelings inside of them. I am happy to have them in my life because I know on the days I'm not feeling all there, they'll provide the missing piece as I have and will try to do for them.

One more thing: Pork chops are the most underrated food on any restaurant menu. Next time you see them on the menu, order them - you will not be disappointed.

Cock-a-doodle-do

Last Thursday morning at around 6am, I sat in the quiet house, in the darkness of pre-dawn, sipping coffee at my kitchen table. I was still very sleepy, but happy to have a few moments of quiet before beginning another long day. After a mere three minutes, I hear "Cock-a-doodle-do! Cock-a-doodle-do!" The house is otherwise quiet. I get up, tiptoe to the bottom of the stairs, thinking that maybe I was just hearing things, and again I hear "Cock-a-doodle-do! Cock-a-doodle-do!" Then I hear little feet scurrying down the hall, opening a door and saying it again. I stand at the bottom of the stairs and wait for them to walk down the hallway and greet me from the top. They are whispering, and when they get to the top of the stairs, I see messy hair, sleepy eyes, both of them holding their stuffed animals, and warm smiles on their faces.

Paige says, "Tony woke me up." But she is smiling.

I say, "I know, I heard him, I thought a rooster got caught in the attic!"

They both laugh, and make their way down the stairs. I pull each of them into one arm each and hold them to my chest.

"Good morning babies." Paige snuggles her nose into my neck and says "Good morning Mommy!" Tony pulls back from me and says, "Cock-a-doodle-do! Arf!" (Apparently, he is unable to choose between careers now.) Every time I think about him waking us up with a "Cock-a-doodle-do", I smile. He's such a funny little boy, and they both know how to make each other laugh so well.

The other story that made me smile occurred on St. Patrick's Day - they were both dressed in green, not head-to-toe leprechaun like, but green. We had been talking about St. Patrick's day for some time, and the teacher's at school made a huge deal out of it. So I asked Paige before school if she wanted corned beef or ham and potatoes to celebrate the holiday. She said, "You know mommy, I thought about it, and well, I know we should have meat and potatoes, but I really want Rigatoni." Enough said, we had rigatoni and meatballs - the best Irish meal I've ever tasted.

There are so many more cute stories I jot down so I won't forget them, but it seems like I have been allowing my "bad" weeks to interfere with this, and that is the true reason why I just want it to be over. That, and because I am just sick of hearing my whining voice go over the injustices, the facts, the "guess what happened now?", the anger... it's tiring, and boring, and it requires too much of my time. I just want to sleep off the imbalance and wake up refreshed. Hopefully, to the tune of "Cock-a-doodle-do."

To All the Women in My Life

There are some conversations that men will never, ever, ever get - not if their life depended on it, not if their fortune and fame was staked on it.

I am currently in three book clubs - one of which is on hold due to baby production. The other two are exactly the same, but with different people. We drink an inordinate amount of wine and we talk about nonsensical things that actually make sense to us. For example, we talked about the positives of having our friends and family (i.e. well, they know) drink pineapple juice; and how pineapple juice and how it is applied, can actually clear up any facial skin irritations a woman might have. We talked about, oh damn, the pineapple juice conversation just takes the cake!

Shoes... and clothes... and exfoliation... and acrylic nails... and pedicures... a woman's world, all bound up in a discussion at book club!

Women, united in a small room sharing drinks and conversation. That is the key to success in life. You can have a wonderful marriage, beautiful kids, an unbelievable job... but what good is it if you have no one to bitch about it to, or better yet, show your deepest gratitude for it.

I've had conversations with women about religion, cooking, shoes, nails, clothes, vibrators, lavender, chocolate, cheating spouses, writing, happiness, sadness and songs. And I've laughed! Oh how I've laughed! Women rock. Men, well yeah, they're pretty cool too. But women? I love all the women in my life so much - pineapple juice, exfoliation masks and all!

Happy Birthday to Me!

I received a birthday card today from both of my parents. Here it is:

Ten Things to Keep In Mind

1. Trust your instincts. If it doesn't feel right, it probably isn't... fun, tempting... maybe, but not right.

2. Remember your manners. It doesn't cost you anything, but it speaks volumes about who you are. Having class starts with this.

3. Never let possessions "own" you. It's just stuff! The most valuable things in life - friends, respect, love, knowledge - don't cost money...

4. Nurture your friendships. The investment you make in true friends will pay huge dividends all your life - remember, you can't make an old friend.

5. Keep your hands clean. This is meant both literally and figuratively... it will save you lots of regrets later...

6. Believe in yourself. You happen to be the only you in existence, and you're also the only person in the world who can truly hold you back in life... think about it.

7. Be grateful. Don't waste all your todays in anticipation of some grand tomorrow. Now is all we've got. Live in it!

8. Treat others the way you wanted be treated. Just because you're smarter or richer or prettier than someone else doesn't mean you're better. It just means you've been more blessed.

9. Always keep playing. Who says adults have to give up toys? Keep the little kid inside you alive... it keeps your imagination primed. Silly is good.

10. No matter what, you will always be loved. You don't have to test this one... Just carry it around in your back pocket, and know that, no matter what, you can always come home.

There is no wonder here. I am who I am because I have parents like I do.

What Do You Want to be When You Grow Up?

It is March! My birthday month, and today is the start of my birthday week! I will be changing my profile soon, rolling the 5 in 35 over to a 6. Ah... on the heavy side of my thirties. My birthday has me thinking about what I want to be when I grow up. I realize that I am already a successful attorney and isn't that what we mean when we ask people what they want to be when they grow up? Over the years, I have struggled to free the essence of Carrie, and I think, when I grow up, I want to be that girl... free from insecurities, free from the cages of others words or deeds, free from the struggles of second-guessing who I am and I want to wake up each morning thankful for the love and respect I feel for myself. It doesn't seem like it would be that difficult a thing to do, yet, it might be the hardest thing in the world.

I'd also like to be a wonderful friend, an appreciative daughter, a fantastic sister, a hard-working philanthropist, a novelist, a spiritual director and the best mother to my kids that I possibly can be. And one day, I might even want to take another stab at being a loving wife.

I asked Paige what she wanted to be when she grew up and she said, "I want to be a Doctor." (Okay, that's awesome!) I said, "You have to go to school for a long time, you know that, right?" And she rolled her eyes and said, "I have."

When I asked Tony the same question, he answered without a split second's hesitation: "A dog."

Is that not the perfect answer? After I stopped giggling, I started re-thinking my aspirations.

Is Ego Driving Your Bus?

An understanding of pride and ego has been a copious notion over the past few months. I have sought wisdom on the subject and as a result I was given a lesson in humility. Yet, I am writing a blog that basically spells out my life and gives one a much deeper understanding of my psyche. Is it ego that is driving my bus with regard to this blog? Perhaps, it is. I cannot apologize for this because it is the best thing I have done in my life. And honestly, it's not the debilitating pride that is pushing me to write - it's self-pride, and the wisdom of knowing that I am who I am, perfectly imperfect, a product of God's hands, I suppose.

I am willing to bet that the demise of most marriages, the hatred of most jobs, the insecurities of our bodies, the disassociation of our dreams and real lives, and the little voice that we hear on a daily basis that feeds us information that is so not who we are or want to be, are sitting uncomfortably on a bus, struggling for more (or less) room, staring at the back of a bald-headed bus driver and this bus driver is ego.

How many women have had a night out to look forward to and spent hours changing outfits five, six, seven times because the extra ten, fifteen, twenty pounds they've put on in the past few years makes them think they aren't all that? After the seventh outfit, they stand in their bra and underwear staring at the pants thrown across the bed, the dresses hanging on the door knobs, the shoes, shirts, sweaters in various piles around their room, and then opt for the first outfit they picked out an hour earlier. Unfortunately, the pulling, pushing, removing, buttoning, and zipping has messed up their hair and make-up and made them a half hour late, and when they finally arrive at their destination, they have to take a shot of tequila right off the bat because getting dressed for that rare occasion out has stressed them out! Ego has driven them around the block and back, and done donuts over their self-esteem, and for what? Dammit women, love yourselves, and forget about what you're wearing. Beauty comes from within. Say it with me! Beauty comes from within!

Every one knows what it is like to start a new job. The first week is exhausting, isn't it? There are so many variables to learn, and so many personalities to understand. Ego drives the bus like a drunken idiot. The new employee wants so much to impress, and to know everything, and when it doesn't come instantly, ego drives over his head, backs up and does it again. Relax... it's just a job. It's just a job. Putting the career in its proper place on that long list of priorities is the only way to get the bus driver to stop driving like a drunken idiot, so that you can actually enjoy your job.

Ego drives the lousiest when marriage is involved because although there are only two passengers, the bus is filled to the rooftop emergency exit with the past, present, and future of both of them. And their personalities are usually so entwined (did I say entwined? I meant knotted) that the ball of string tethering them together has no beginning and no end. Somewhere inside that ball is humility and compassion, and the marriages that are successful (did I say successful? I meant work), are those that leave that thread hanging loose. They don't allow the bus driver the opportunity to stop in the middle of their destination, put the bus in park, and climb into the backseat to start tying nautical knots on the those thick and thin pieces, those sick and healthy pieces, those better and worse strings until the knots get so big that the bus tips over and the passengers fall across the pavement with skin boo-boos and broken hearts, and broken spirits, and desperate notions, creating a heavier past, an illusioned present and a burdensome future. Always keep a thread hanging loose, hold onto it (and your lover's hand) and look through the bus window with your eyes on the horizon. It probably helps to keep the alcohol, drugs, sex, gambling and fears away from the driver because a lousy driver makes for a lousy marriage. And the bigger the driver, the tighter the knot, the greater the heartbreak.

That's just my opinion on ego and pride, but what do I know? I'm just trying to pass the time on this bus.

Working Mommmmmyyyyy!

I bought a half gallon of pineapple-orange juice yesterday. It was a special treat for the kids as they are usually stuck with water or milk at home. Although every once in a while I'll let them have a sip of my pop ("soda" for all you southerners -meatheads), and of course, they get juice boxes in their lunches at school, and occasionally they'll inadvertently slug down a sip of beer thinking it's pop but will spit it out, spewing, "That's beer! Yuck!" (They haven't yet realized the unbelievable healing effects of beer although I've noticed if I have too many I always get symptoms of the flu). Yet, I've digressed.

I picked them up from school, went over the usual, "What was your favorite part of the day" question with them. (My daughter's was "playing kickball" with her brother; my son's was "right now, Mommy." Awww... Mine was the moment they discover I've come into their classroom to get them. They yell "Mommmmmyyyyy!" and run toward me with their arms spread wide. We hug for a few seconds, exchange kisses and then proceed to the truck outside. The truck is only fifteen feet from the door, but it takes a good twenty minutes to get to it). And again, I digress.

I settle them at the kitchen table with crayons and note paper, or a puzzle, or a toy train set, or a dump truck as big as the table, or something else (like a bucket full of water that they've somehow snuck into the house from God knows where), and pour a glass of the pineapple-orange juice for them to drink while I get dinner ready.

"Yum. Delicious!"

I knew it.

We eat dinner. It is yum! Delicious! My son eats well past the time it takes a normal human being to eat. He eats, and eats, and eats, surpassing the amount I've eaten by about seven tablespoons (although 3 of them have gone from his spoon, to his lap, to the floor, to the dogs). When we get done, I clear the dishes, leaving them to "run around" until the dishwasher is full and the stove and table are wiped.

Okay. It took me thirty seconds to run outside to the front to get the recycle bin, walk through my mudroom to the back porch and put the bin on the deck. When I walked in the door, the remainder of the half gallon of (yum! delicious!) pineapple-orange juice is either on top of the dogs food (as the dogs are standing over it wondering why the hell the milk I usually pour over their dinner tastes like crap) and the rest of it is on the floor, a puddle in front of the stove, the sink and the refrigerator, with little feet marks all around it. (Mind you, I had given the kids a bath before dinner because it would save me time while dinner cooked in the oven. Oh, it was an Italian sausage, green and red pepper, potato and onion stew-like meal that tasted amazing!).

Anyway, my son's socks were soaked with pineapple-orange juice and when I came into the house and screamed, "No! Get out of my kitchen! What'd you do?" he proceeded to run away and onto the hardwood floors of the living room, crying. (Big baby!) "Ugh!" That was all I said after that, honest! He came back into the kitchen, crying and screaming over and over, "Mommy, I'm gonna tell on you!" He was so damn cute, but I needed to let him know that the pineapple-orange juice didn't grown on trees (well, technically, I guess it does) and that it's not okay to pour it all over the dog's food and the kitchen floor. I am saying this as I mop up the mess.

But he wouldn't listen! He just kept saying, "I'm gonna tell on you! I'm gonna tell on you!" So I asked, "Who are you gonna tell?" and with the meanest face he could muster he said, "Mommy!" And I said, "Well, I'm gonna tell Tony on you!"

It took a few seconds, but he got it.

He started giggling, and ran toward me with his arms wide open. We hugged and I stripped him of his pajamas and put him back in the bathtub.

That was my evening after a full day of work yesterday. So worth it!

My Best Friend Fergie?

My best friend Bruce hasn't spoken to me in awhile. I am not quite sure why that is. Is it because he hasn't quite gotten to the point where he can write a song about my shrinking bra size? Is it because he's never lost weight and known that a smaller butt means a bigger pair of jeans? Lately, the only song that has been going through my mind is the song "Fergalicious - I'm fergalicious, my body stay vicious, I be up in the gym just workin' on my fitness, he's my witness, I put the boys on rock, rock and they go runnin' down the block just to watch what I got." That has been the deep, meaningful mantra going through my head in the past couple days. Do you think I'm tired?

I am exhausted. Divorce is a full time job. Raising children is a full time job. My full time job is a full time job. It's amazing. All the little things, like my little boobs, like the little hairs growing above my lip, like the myriad of gray on the crown and within the part of my hair, and the smell of my skin after a night of nightmares... all these things are being noticed now. It's like walking down a long tunnel with nothing to see but darkness and then stepping into a room with mirrors and nothing to see but what I have physically become in the past few weeks. I looked into the mirror today and thought, "Oh my, that poor woman looks so worn down." And then I smiled because although I might be tired, I am still standing up straight, shoulders are back and I am looking into very strong eyes. My brown eyes reflect more than color in that mirror - there is depth there. I may look tired physically, but behind those eyes is a hive full of worker-bees... God, family, friends, and yes, perseverance standing up on tippy toes to allow for a glimpse of its forehead in the picture. And I realize that I am not alone. My gray hairs are gray, yes, but they can be shellacked and become shiny. My small frame is thin, yes, but that allows me to eat all the chocolate and double cheeseburgers I want for a while. And sad eyes, well, they never lie.

I'm happy, I'm doin' fine. Sad eyes never lie. Because sad eyes never lie... one day that something in the air that feels a little unkind, will someday slip my mind. And my gray hair, my shrinking chest and my exhausted eyes won't matter in the long run because essentially, I am Fergalicious.

love, ahem, LOVE!

In light of Valentine's Day, I thought I'd do my post on Love...

A good friend of mine sent me the following:

The philosopher Bertrand Russell once said, "Of all forms of caution, caution in love is perhaps the most fatal to true happiness." It would be easy to assume that the love to which Russell was referring is limited to romantic love. But love can and (on a good day) does inform everything that we do.

When we are not "cautious" in giving ourselves to the task at hand, when our duties and responsibilities are grounded in love, then our work-whether it only lasts until the next spill by our child or is destroyed after only 20 years like the liturgical translations of Cyril and Methodius-is an endless source of true happiness. Today is a good day to ask, "Am I too cautious in love?"

I can't help but think that we all fail in this endeavor in some ways. Think about the marriage that ends after twenty years, or seven as is my case. It goes along with the post I did some time ago where I quoted my best friend Bruce, "You can't shut off the risk and the pain without losing the love that remains." If you're too cautious, you are busy worrying and that leaves no room for happiness. I spent many, many days of my marriage worrying... how many others are doing the same thing?

It ties into commitment as well. For those who are married, you committed yourselves through thick and thin. If you're not happy in your marriage, it has nothing, nothing to do with your spouse, unless of course, you're being beaten and abused, or your spouse is a louse. But, on average, a marriage has ups and downs - normal patterns of life - and it is my opinion (and take it with a HUGE grain of salt) that happiness comes from within and is reflected upon the marriage. Do the things that make you happy inside - don't lose who you are because that disallows you to love fully. Of course, I didn't learn this until after I separated. I believe it now. And that is one of the good lessons I've learned in the past six months.

It's too late for me throw caution to the wind for this marriage - to love as deeply and passionately as I had once envisioned, but maybe on the next go 'round, I'll be wiser. It's sad that pride and ego have such a huge part in ending the romantic loves of our lives. If only we had Confucious or Gandhi or God whispering loudly in our ears to hear over the pounding beat of our own self-protective ego.

Certainly, I am not cautious when it comes to loving my kids and my family - it goes back to that "unconditional" love factor. But why is it that I don't "judge" them, but I did "judge" him? There are many, many, many other issues at play with the demise of my marriage, but this is one I come back to and reflect upon every now and again.

This same friend suggested that confession might be a sound replacement for years of therapy. I don't know about that because I am quite aware of my neurosis from this divorce and I'm not sure if confession will heal everything, but freeing myself from the guilt and the blame is certainly bound to help. In so doing, I might be able to find that "true" romantic love. Until then, I am quite content laughing and sharing with my family and friends.

I Changed My Mind

I have this terrible habit of changing my mind, not just about what I am going to wear for the day or make for dinner, but about big things - life dreams and such. It drove my father crazy, and when my husband asked him for my hand in marriage, he said, "Beware: she changes her mind every ten minutes." Perhaps, my problem isn't that severe, but I do change my mind. I tend to think it's because I think too much about things. There are some days when I wish I didn't consider every single factor of every single thing I am deciding. I think about my emotional situation, the financial situation, the time-constraints, the emotional status of the other players, what my horoscope said to do or not do (not really), and of course, I end up following my gut. But sometimes, my gut is slow in responding, so I have to change my mind, or having already given a reason, change it to suit what I really meant. I think this divorce has me in the midst of one of those ever-changing moments. Of course, there are thousands of factors to consider. Thousands! Yet, I find myself only considering four: myself, him, my daughter and my son. And you know, thinking about it this way makes it even more difficult! I am an emotional thinker, no doubt, and it seems that my intellectual thinking only comes after I've exhausted all the emotional thinking. I suppose I am in the midst of that right now.

I have tried to stand back and look at this divorce, and all the occurrences with an objective eye, but I find that it is impossible for me. Someone said to me, "Think about it as though Paige is in your situation. What would you advise her to do?" I'd say, "It is what it is, move on, let go, and you will find happiness elsewhere." It's easy! Ha, I found the answer. I am healed! Alleluia!

But of course, it doesn't work. It is impossible to think objectively. It's not because I am self-centered, but because the topic is so subjective. But maybe I'll just pretend I am my own divorce lawyer, therapist and priest. That way I'll come out on top. Yeah, that's what I'll do. I'll give myself the essential legal advice, the best psychiatric evaluation and find spiritual awakening. It's easy!

No, it's not. Maybe it's that easy. It probably is. No, it's not. But it might be. But no. Maybe. I'll have to think about it some more.

RigaTONY and PAIGEYmeatballs

Ice-skating 2:

The rink was filled with smiling people, as it always is. People who choose to spend time ice-skating on a Sunday afternoon, with or without their kids, seem to have a sunny disposition. I am included in this category. I was dreading going since the morning began at 6:00am with two giggling children who had somehow snuck into my bed during the night without my being aware. I gave them both a kiss, turned on Blues Clues, brushed my teeth and then shuffled downstairs to enjoy a cup of coffee in silence before the breakfast demands began (Tony is now eating up to 3 bowls of cereal). They, of course, left Blue to hide his clues without an audience and followed me downstairs. It may have been my tiredness, but I swear they were skipping and singing. We did our morning thing, and then I put them back upstairs to tear my room apart while I showered, skipping the shampoo (conditioner only) and leaving the shaving of the legs for another day (it's been about 6 months now. Just kidding).

We were out the door for church by 9:00am. After church, in which I heard very little of the readings, but fortunately caught 6 seconds of the homily, we went to the grocery store. The grocery store was packed with meandering people, dressed in heals, coiffed hair and with a great deal of time on their hands. We sped through the aisles, and just had to get home so Tony could have another bowl of the newest cereal we chose (Pops). Incidentally, he had two bowls, an apple, some crackers and a few pretzels.

I began cutting up the onions for the sauce while Paige situated her stool by the stove and poured in the olive oil to sauté the garlic and onions. She pulled out the Oregano, Basil, Parsley, Lemon-pepper Spice, and Pepper (we, of course, put the Lemon-pepper spice back). She poured all the spices in under close supervision, and Tony pulled up his stool, grabbed the second wooden spoon and started stirring as I poured the tomatoes in. I grabbed my camera and started shooting pictures - they were eating off the spoons, saying "Mmmmmm..." while the sauce was still cold! About thirty seconds after everything was in, including the meatballs, Tony said in his sing-song voice, "It's d-o-o-one!" Let's eat, mommy."

By that time, I was worn out. I left out the pushing, pulling, biting and whining that went on between each event. It was time for ice-skating, but I was too tired. My back was killing me, and I just wanted to sit on the sofa while they argued and smell the sauce cooking. Then my cousin called and said "everyone" was meeting us there. So I had to go. And I'm so glad I did!

There were five adults and my two babies. This was only their second time, but they did so well. Neither of them fell (or cried, or whined) and they both skated the entire hour without complaint. There were kids wearing bike helmets, padding, etc., but Paige and Tony didn't even need it. They were surrounded by protective cousins (and friends). After the hour was up, I had to urge them off the ice by enticing them with hot chocolate. We walked into the "cafeteria" past a bunch of families, and ordered our hot chocolates.

The highlight of the day came when on our way to the table, Tony raced ahead and smacked some kid's hockey helmet as hard as he could. Unfortunately, the kid was still wearing it. I was shocked, but the kid just turned around, a little annoyed and said nothing. I apologized to the mother, she giggled and my cousin said, "He's truly a Fuzzy... the legend lives on." The lowlight, of course, was when I had to throw out a pair of Tony's big boy undies because he refused to use the potty, and instead, pushed one out while he was eating a cookie, and then told me about it later.

We came home, put on the water, boiled the "RigaTONY" and the "PAIGEY-meatballs" (they made it up and said it all day long...), and ate the best damn sauce I've ever had part in making. Life is good. My full belly and my overflowing heart tell me it is so.

The Artist

This is better than anything I could have done. Paige is almost five, and this was her final art project. I am so proud of her I could do jumping jacks for a week!

Ice Skating

I took Paige and Tony ice skating this Sunday. I haven't been on ice skates since I was 17 and that was the first time. So, I was really excited... yeah right. My cousin John - he's a hockey player - met us there. He took Tony and I was in charge of Paige. She did well. She held onto the wall and walked, but every once in a while, we'd be talking and she'd forget she was afraid and she'd skate by herself. What I liked the most about it was that the rink was so big and we skated the entire thing, talking. We talked about school, about the dogs, about how funny Tony is, and about going ice skating every other weekend until she's got a hockey stick in her hands and is shooting pucks. Then she saw John skate by with Tony, and wanted nothing to do with me!

So, I took Tony while John held Paige's hands and twirled her around. Tony and I lasted about 30 seconds before we were both on our butts. He cried so hard, and I felt so bad. But we got back up and made it another 30 seconds... I'm not such a good skater. He fell on his butt again and said, "I'm done Mommy!" John convinced him to keep skating (bribing him with a hot chocolate) but after he fell the third time he said, "I need more hands!" He promised to keep trying, so we're on for two weeks from now.

The cool thing about it was that Paige said, "Now this is perseverance, right? We have to keep trying and it'll get better?" And I gave her a big hug and said, "Right on!" Perseverance: keep going and it'll get better.

Mantra. Mantra. Mantra.

"There's a dark cloud rising from the desert floor
I packed my bags and I'm heading straight into the storm
Gonna be a twister to blow everything down
That ain't got the faith to stand its ground
Blow away the dreams that tear you apart
Blow away the dreams that break your heart
Blow away the lies that leave you nothing but lost and brokenhearted..."

Love your best friend,
Bruce

Pangs of What Exactly?

There is something in the mood, the air, the taste in my mouth that brings the past back to me, noticing images and faces and rooms long forgotten. The presence of a room,
the feeling of a moment, the sameness of emotions smothering me again.

A birdsong outside moves me back there – a chill through my bones, the brightness of the room where I sit writing, the sound of far off cars, airplanes landing, the breeze in the trees. The staleness of it all, the repetition of it.

Me? Perhaps it is me… reliving it again, the same emotion, unsettled, unarmored, unsure. Drinking black, bitter coffee, escaping for moments in sleep, twenty minutes at a time, captured by the past, awakened to now, to the hum of the abode, the rhythm of life, the drumbeat of my scribbling pencil, reliving, and rehashing, revealing regret. The sameness of the past.

Now, small footsteps on the stairs.

“Mommy?”

No, not the same at all. No regrets. Much, much better.

Long Time Comin'

Out where the creek turns shallow and sandy

And the moon comes skimmin' away the stars

The wind in the mesquite comes rushin' over the hilltops

Straight into my arms

Straight into my arms

I'm ridin' hard carryin' a cache of roses

And a fresh map that I made

Tonight I'm gonna get birth naked and bury my old soul

And dance on it's grave

And dance on it's grave

It's been a long time comin', my dear

It's been a long time comin',

but now it's here

And now it's here

My best friend Bruce wrote these words... amazing, huh? And again, it is precisely how I feel.

I woke up this morning after spending a fitful night tossing and turning, intermittently throwing prayers to God that I would have the strength and perseverance to get through another step in this divorce: mediation today. I didn't think much about my sadness, didn't give my unrest a second thought. I knew that I had to get through the day doing work before I could even begin thinking about mediation again.

[If there is one thing I've learned during this process, and it's a recent lesson, I need to start compartmentalizing things. My kids are separate from my work, my work is separate from my thoughts, my thoughts are separate from my feelings and my feelings are just a jumbled up mess of something entirely unfamiliar to me because there is no definitive emotion attached to them. Yet, every emotion is attached to them in some way.]

Last February (hard to believe it is nearly a year), I was having a tough time of things. I began getting headaches, backaches, heart palpitations that even Lance Armstrong on his last leg of the race has never felt, an empty tank of spirituality, depression and a couple of panic attacks here and there. I was lost, completely and utterly lost. I would look into the mirror and was unrecognizable to myself, nothing mattered but the kids and even then, I wasn't giving them enough - there wasn't enough of me to give.

I know I am being incredibly personal, but there is a point.

I was at my lowest and I had no idea why. NONE. But then I did. I woke up one morning and I heard a voice. It said, "Do something Carrie!" Now, the "do something" wasn't the part that got me, it was the "Carrie" part that got me. The voice contained the tenor of my father, my mother, my grandparents and my friends. It was a voice that spoke to the part of me that was lost - the "Carrie" part of me - or as Dupree would say, the "Carrie-ness" part of me and the voice that came out the strongest was my own. "Do Something Carrie!"

I thought about it the entire day as I cared for the kids, made dinner, greeted my husband, fed the dogs. When I settled into bed, I put aside the novel I had been reading, I closed my eyes and I prayed. It was the most fervent, heartfelt pray I have ever prayed. And it was simple: "Dear God, help me." I let the prayer settle into my bones and I felt it coming out of every pour because I was unhappy with who I had become, or rather, with losing who I was, that I couldn't pray for anything definitive - it was general. When I was done, I pulled out my journal and I wrote. I wrote until the panic ran away in fear of my strength; I wrote until my depression deflated into itself; I wrote until my headache pounded away on two feet; and I wrote until my backache was so crippled that it couldn't bother me anymore. It didn't go away for long, but it went away long enough that I could finally get a solid night of sleep without waking up in fear.

The next day I made an appointment with an acupuncturist. I had never thought of going to an acupuncturist - ever - until I woke up that morning. I went to her and said, "I don't know if you can help me, but I hate who I am becoming." I told her about the past three years, I told her about hating my husband every few weeks, about how I felt as though I was failing as a mother and as a professional. I told her about my personality before falling into the pit - my smiling, my wit, my intellect and my compassion. All those things I had forgotten about in myself, I suddenly remembered - like I was reflecting not upon myself, but upon an old college roommate that I once loved. But who I was, was not within my reach. Not yet. She worked on my for two hours and asked me to come back.

I started going to church more regularly, and like a good Catholic (another attribute I had disregarded), I began to pray and recognize the Lenten season. I read a meditation every night, I wrote in my journal every night and I slowly started to stop hating myself. I began writing, making plans with friends, and absolutely, unequivocally loved going to acupuncture. It was "me" time. I began getting to know Carrie again, and more importantly, I began to like her.

This morning, it was still snowing a little. I had to get a shower, get the kids up and dressed, feed them, feed myself, feed the dogs and get out the door so that I could rush back here to do work - more work! I go the kids down at the table for breakfast and went outside to start the truck and clean it off. As I was putting on my boots, I glanced at my truck and saw on the flat hood of the SUV, there was a pattern. It wasn't just a flat surface of snow like it was on every other vehicle in the driveway - there was a distinct patter of four triangles in a half circle - like the sunrise. I called my cousin over and told her to take a look. She said, "Wow, that's so cool. How did that get there?" I shook my head. I had no idea, but I stood and stared at it for a good few minutes.

[My friends and I discussed this during one of our book clubs (we don't just drink wine and get silly). Basically, we all agreed that there were signs, evidence of something greater than us, out there for us to cling to every day. We just had to be open to them, acknowledge them and believe in them].

Earlier this week I wrote of a quote I had read: "When you truly realize the miracle of the sunset, you will no longer cling to the remains of the day." That sunrise on my car this morning helped me to realize the miracle of the sunset. Initially, I had thought that the sunset was a metaphor for the ending of my marriage; that the sunset was something that I should consider when trying to let go of my daily stresses. But I was wrong. I didn't truly realize the miracle of the sunset. Do you?

I think the miracle of the sunset was God's answer to my heartfelt prayer. I can hear his voice, not booming like James Earl Jones, but whispering like the sweetest melody I've ever heard. He is saying, "It's over - you wanted your "Carrie-ness", well here it is. You wanted help. You prayed to Me, you did something for yourself, for Me, and here it is. Your pain, your lack of recognition of yourself, your sadness, your insecurities, all of it, it is over. Let the sun set on that person. Here is your miracle."

He answered my prayer! I am going through a painful divorce. I am going through the most stressful time of my life. I am worrying every day about my children. But I am doing it as Carrie. I am doing it as Carrie because He answered my prayer. This had to happen in order for me, well (not to get too philosophical), but for me to be. And it's been a long time comin'.

I'll close now. It's late and I have to get birth naked, bury my old soul and dance on it's grave.

Grandpa Fuzzy (January 25)

Today is your birthday and I think of you still.

Your age showed in your eyes,
in the weakness of your walk,
or as you sat in your favorite chair
and complained about the television shows where
they left nothing to the imagination anymore.

My age showed in a fleeting kiss upon your cheek
and in the way I traveled and unraveled through adolescent school days.

Now, as an adult, I miss those moments.

What I wouldn’t give to smell your hair tonic
as I bend down to give you a kiss on the cheek.
What I wouldn’t give to have you whisper “Grandpa loves you”
after I tell you I must go.

There are times when I look at my father
and I am reminded of your laughter and wisdom,
and I pray that all the grandchildren will understand
and embrace the love of a grandfather
while they still have it within their grasp.

Sometimes I cry for a chance to go back in time,
a chance to understand your outspokenness,
your life experience;
to seek your advice about my life,
my homesickness,
my slow slipping loss of youth;
I cry sometimes for that!

At night I take my rosary
and say a prayer for all my grandparents,
all of you at once,
and I find that when I most need your consolation,
it is there.
There is unconditional love coming from above,

it is constant.

You are in my memory,
you are in my blood,
you are in my heart…
a heart that soars with love above
and beyond the problems I face
and I miss you many times.

But I feel you beside me,
guiding me,
many,
many more times.

Happy Birthday Grandpa.

Truth

A great friend of mine told me that I must go through the grieving processes of this divorce; that I must dive into the grief and find comfort in what it reveals to me. He also told me that I must do this in faith, and that I must struggle for the truth of things because it leads to something greater than "just existing." Sound advice, since perhaps for the first time in this process, I am feeling fantastic about facing the truth.

I was down and out for a few days with the flu, and being sick does things to the psyche. It's hard not to fall into self-pity, it's difficult to see the positive when you're feeling lousy, and it's very difficult to take care of two equally sick children and not lose your wits. I did it. I felt myself falling into despair, struggling with the notions that 2008 was going to be different. How could I not become saddened? My first five days of the new year were spent cleaning and wiping up diarrhea and vomit or hugging the toilet to relieve myself of the pain in my stomach. But another good friend of mine said that maybe I am purging the bad things right off the bat in this new year. I must say if this is the worst of my new year, I'll take it.

Back to my point. Truth. I looked at my relationship (purely the relationship, not the marriage, not the kids, dogs or house) and the truth was revealed to me. It was not a good thing for me. He's a nice guy, had high hopes but we didn't expand each other in positive ways - we were not a good match. I still think we could've made it work - I may always think that because I am from the school of thought that you can achieve anything if you work at it - but would it have reached the level of happiness we both deserve? I don't know. We were on top of some peaks at certain points in the marriage, but we often spent time at different altitudes, looking down or up at each other, but never straight on. That was revealed to me subconsciously as my body struggled to bring itself back to health, and I woke up this morning and the sky was just gorgeous... the air cleaner... the attitudes of myself and my children so grateful in our good health. The truth revealed freedom. And that great friend of mine revealed the truth just by being there for me. God exists in everything we do - even in our sickness, even in our most desperate moments and he reveals the truth to us everywhere. I feel better - inside and out.

Early Morning Sunrise

Shifts of air found the tiny air pockets of the wood in my house this morning and made for a makeshift cottage on the beach, creaking and replacing the subtle movements of its frame. I was awake at five, wide awake, refreshed even though I had anticipated a full eight hours of sleep. Satisfied with a mere five, I opened my eyes to look up at the shaded ceiling of my bedroom. My mind was free of the turmoil that has plagued me lately, the myriad of competing stresses of every day life. For once, it was void of thought and even more importantly, it was bare of any pressure. It was five o’clock in the morning and the house was beckoning me to move, but the peace of solitude made steady my thoughts. After some time, again void of thought, void of to-do lists, I lay there staring, not willing myself back to sleep nor exasperated that I didn’t get a full night.

The coffee was warm on my throat and I sipped it in the shadowed kitchen. I leaned against the kitchen counter, resting my lower back against it, my feet crossed in front of me; the coffee cupped in both hands. I stared hypnotized at the floor with nothing on my mind but the delicate sighs of the flexible house. Not even the dogs stirred up this solitude; they just slept on, allowing me to reflect without reflecting, to think without thought.

Bracing myself for the cold slap of wind against my bones, I stepped out onto the back deck, a cup of coffee in hand. Immediately, I was pleased by the freshness of the air and the obscure reminiscence of the beach at sunrise. I sat on the deck chair and propped my feet on the table in front of me, resting my cradled coffee on my chest. The shifts of wind weaved through the trees, and with my eyes closed, I felt the air and tasted it and smelled it. Its movement through me became a lullaby, a mother’s caress as it held me in its hands and rocked me to peace. The subtle waves whitewashed against the shore as I sat on the sand, hugging my knees to my chest and stared at the horizon; the only knocking on my door of responsibilities was from the beckoning waters before me. Life moved in slow motion, my mind as well, as the ocean flowed back and forth, waning and waving. My eyes steadied themselves on the horizon as the sun rose above glimmering waters. The vacation I’ve longed for was granted to me and time had no place in this pleasure before me.

The coffee, having done its job, allowed me to stand and face the day, embracing it. This short span of being in the present, of being in my imagination, of being in peace, is a gift. A gift that delights me because I know that I will continually repackage and unwrap it throughout the entire day.

A Day is a Day

A man walks down the street, he says why am I soft in the middle now?
Why am I soft in the middle? The rest of my life is so hard.

This is the first line from a song by Paul Simon called 'You can call me Al'. I laughed when I heard it. Why am I soft in the middle? The rest of my life is so hard.

I picture this balding man, a beer belly, a sloppy outfit and an unhappy demeanor, and he's thinking everything is wrong in my life, and I'm fat too! It's not fair. Life is not fair!

How many people have heard this statement? How many have said it?

I've also heard the statement, attitude is everything. I believe this much more than I believe life is not fair.

I heard in a cartoon that my children watch every day. The show is called "Little Bear." And in one episode, little bear wakes up, jumps out of bed and steps on his toy wooden ship, breaking it. When he reaches down to pick it up, he smacks his head on the bed frame and says, "ouch!" We see him going through little things like this throughout the morning. His mother kicks him outside because he is knocking into everything and is just miserable. He meets up with his friend the frog and the frog asks him to climb over a log and across the stream to sit down next to him. Little bear says, "I'd better not, I'm having a bad day." And the frog says, "Days aren't bad. A day is just a day."

Why am I soft in the middle now? The rest of my life is so hard. Life is not hard. Life is just life.