Buttercup Barf Lips

I had a gift certificate for the best retailer on this planet - Barnes & Noble.  So after Tony's dentist appointment (he has grown-up teeth growing behind his baby teeth), we headed for the book store.  You would think that taking a five and seven year old to the bookstore would be a chore.  And you're right.  They discovered the kids section and ran toward it.  Fortunately, my purse was wrapped around my body and both hands were free and I got both of their shirt collars at the same time.  "Uh-uh, no running.  We need to be quiet and walk in here.  Got it?"  "Got it!" They both chimed.  As we walked down the center aisle, I grabbed about four books off the best seller table where the cover looked interesting and we settled ourselves in the children's section.  By the time I could look up, Paige had about twelve books in her arms - Junie B. Jones.  She looked at me and I began to shake my head and she said, "I know I can't get all of them, duh.  I just want to look at them and choose while you drink your coffee."  Smart kid.

I went to the 3-5 grade section and plucked off a book called Captain Underpants and the Perilous Plot of Professor P. Poopypants.  I read the title out loud and looked down and found that both kids were standing next to me looking at what I held in my hands.  "How about we get this book and I'll read a chapter to you every night until we're all done with it?"   They nodded their heads vigorously.

On our way to get our "coffees", I jaunted through the bargain book section and grabbed books off the shelf.  All three of us had our arms full.  I set them up at a table and got in line to order two hot chocolates and a skim mocha, no whipcream, extra shot of espresso.  As I stood waiting I watched them.  Paige was thumbing through a Frog and Toad story and Tony was looking through a book on Sharks.  Each, in turn, animatedly showed the other what they were looking at - the excitement in their whispered voices was contagious because I noticed a few of the patrons smiling in their direction - even caught eyes with a cute one.  (And they say puppies are an attraction!)  In the end, we each got three books and one to share - the poopypants one.

Last night both kids begged to watch Spongebob before bed.  Amidst their pleas and cries, after we had settled into my bed, I began to read the first chapter of Poopypants.  Silence.  Giggles. Rapt attention. 

When I finished the first chapter, I said, "Do you want to watch Spongebob now and we'll read more tomorrow?"  Nope.  They wanted more.  And more.  And more.  The way we giggled at some of the parts was just awesome and created more of a bond.  Their favorite name of all the silly names in the book was:  Ivana Goda de Bafroom. 

We read sixteen chapters of the twenty-five chapter book.  Then it was lights out - no tv.  The kids were happily settled with their minds replaying the story.

First thing this morning, both kids jumped up and said, "Let's finish Captain Underpants!"

I groaned because the dogs had me up three times throughout the night.

"Mommy, go put on your coffee, feed the dogs and let them out and when you're done you can bring your coffee up here and we'll finish the book.  Okay?"

I was brushing my teeth at the time and didn't answer right away.

"Okay???"

"Okay."

We finished it and I am now under strict orders to get the rest of the series so that we can read them in order.

How can I say no?

Oh, my silly name happens to be the title of this blog.

Fun stuff.

Mud and Writing and Perseverance

I submitted the excerpt to my Writing Workshop classmates two days ago.  I spent hours going over every sentence and then scrapped it all, and began again.  The crunch time was on me and I sent it in.  It is much better than the first draft and probably much worse than what the final shall be. It is done though and I am not allowed to make any more changes to it until after the workshop.

There is some satisfaction in beginning a task and seeing it through to completion.   Just yesterday, the sod around the pool was put down and watered.  The muddy pit that it was has been replaced by beautiful grass that clearly does not match the rest of the weed-infested lawn.  I never thought that I would be able to keep my floors clean again given Enzo's propensity to hop around in the mud puddles and streak throughout the house. But, alas, it is done.

I look at the challenges that I have faced in my personal life (not quite as personal as many, considering I've been venting on this blog for three years) and I see how the perseverance has paid off time and time again.  Yet, the trials do not seem to be going away. It seems that as soon as I start to get back on my feet from a blow (e.g. going to court to defend this blog for no apparent reason), I am attacked again, and thrown down for a while.  I let it happen to me last week and it is frustrating.

Yet, I am up again - much sooner than the last time.  It took me three months, at least, to recover completely from the blog debacle and the lies surrounding it.  Yet, this time, after the insults and blows to my self-esteem, I am up and back at it, trudging forward to get through and beyond and into my life.  Perseverance.

It is so much easier to see the light when I am surrounded by the light.  These kids - Paige and Tony - are electricity through my veins, the sparks that ignite my soul.  We have spent the past four days bonding.  The pool is our therapy and it is causing us to fall, exhausted, into a comfort zone where we lounge on one of our beds (yesterday it was Tony's car bed) and read nonstop.  This morning, instead of tv or video games, we played at the kitchen table, imagining a life for the toys in our hands. My conversations with Paige have been incredible - she opens up as a friend would, confiding in me about her feelings regarding the divorce and switching houses - asking me to please keep it between her and I.  We pinkie swore on it and crossed our hearts and I intend on keeping her confidences because I need her to trust me.  Tony, on the other hand, has no fear in telling me his feelings.  He says them, seeks a solution with his eyes and when I cannot give him a satisfactory answer, he asks for a solution in a different way.

I realize that I cannot completely change our circumstances, I can only react with love, and give them love and show them how to love - even when the answers aren't satisfactory.  I can only hope that one day, things will change for the better.  I can only hope that the tools I give the kids to handle their life will equip them with perseverance and understanding.

In time the kids will look back and appreciate me for who I am.  In time, they'll understand that the cards they were dealt didn't give them the fairest hand, but that they can hand them back to the dealer and demand something more from this life.

I cleaned up the mud. I got through the rough draft. Now, I simply have to maintain the lawn, and keep editing the writing.  It'll never be perfect.  But in time, I will be able to look back on all the work and be assured that I succeeded the best I could.

The Golden Rule

I am sitting here listening to Paige tell her friend May that she will make her First Communion next year.

"What's that?"

"Well, I get to eat the bread in church and drink the wine. And we're going to have a party afterward."

It is peculiar to me that many of my friends in Maryland are unaware of what a first communion is and that bread and wine is part of the ritual in church.  I mean, Catholicism is still the most popular of all the Christian religions, isn't it?  I'm not judging anybody on their religious ritual because Jesus Christ is Jesus Christ and I can tell you that the Vacation Bible School the kids went to at the Evangelical Presbyterian church had to be the greatest show of praise that I have yet seen. 

On Friday night, I sat in the back of the church and watched my children laugh when Pastor Bob, dressed as an astronaut, explained the sacrifice that Jesus made for all of us.  Tony sat beside me in rapt attention and it was the first thing Paige mentioned when I met up with her after an hour and a half of songs and praise.  And the songs were unbelievable!  The kids were jumping up and down, "I got the joy, joy, joy, joy, joy, joy.... down in my heart...."  Unbelievable.  Both Paige and Tony sang that particular song, clapping their hands in the right places the entire walk through the parking lot and to our truck.

I find it hard to believe that my five and seven year old get the concept of Jesus dying for our sins and granting us redemption and sanctification in one fell swoop, when a significant number of adults have no idea what any of it means.  Even if you don't believe in God, isn't a social responsibility to at least be aware of who Jesus Christ is?  Which leads me to the shock that this teaching, along with any other religion that seeks kindness and consolidarity among people isn't taught in schools.  How can Buddha's teachings be bad in any way shape or form?  How can God's edict that we treat others as we would want to be treated not be a socially responsible thing to teach?

I suppose that coming off a week of my children telling me the story of Adam and Eve, and Cain and Abel, and their complete understanding of it, coupled with me, during that same week being treated like dog crap, led to this diatribe on religion.  The concept is so entirely simple - be kind, give love, be charitable/generous, be slow to anger - that my children get it, but so many adults do not.

We all have our moments of frustration and anger, that's for sure.  Yet, when I lose it, I am quick to apologize (especially if my anger/frustration caused the misunderstanding) and I suppose that is the positive aspect of the "Catholic guilt".  Why not apologize?  Is being angry really worth it?  It's tough to see when you're on the front lines with it, but hopefully, on the next go 'round, I'll be more aware.  Maybe I'll just ask for some advice from my five and seven year old.

Whatever the case, I am heading up to the shower to get ready for Mass.  I am sure that Tony will be spinning on the seat beside me, whining to go home right about the time we get to the Our Father, but we will still go.  Because life is tough.  Life is so very difficult sometimes, and I know that because I attended church every Sunday as a kid, I had something to fall back on, and that's all I want for my kids.  That when they are fed a shit sandwich, they go to church and wash it down with some bread and wine.

Same Old, Same Old

I am finally willing to poke my little head out of the hole it's been in to take a breath of fresh air.  It sure has been a tough week.  Money is being siphoned from my bank account like there is an evil man with a straw on the other side of it.  The kids were without their mom for over five days because of the jacked-up summer schedule and neither myself or they are happy about it.  And trying to talk to the weasel in my life is like trying to walk on a tightrope with an elephant on my shoulders.

Same old, same old.

It gets very hot in Maryland during the summer.  I have been toying with the idea of a pool for some time now, and because my back yard slopes, none of the kiddie pools or blow up pools worked.  The slip-n-slide on the other hand, threw the kids face first into the fence after they dove.  Needless to say, playing outside in the hot sun lasted for a mere three minutes every day until one or both of them whined, "It's too hot..."  So, I bit the bullet and looked into getting a pool.

I researched pools, made the decision that I needed it to last for awhile and so went with a mid-range, above ground pool that had a warranty.  $ The cost was so-so.  Then I had to find someone who could install it. $  Before they could install it, the yard had to be leveled and so I had to get an excavator. $ After the partial installation (some of the pool pieces were missing), I had to get water delivered. $  They only filled it up half-way because I needed the installers to come back and finish the job.  They did, and now the water deliverers are scheduled for today.  $$  Around the perimeter of the pool is a five foot outline of the circle - all dirt.  So, to keep from getting mud into the pool, I need to get a two foot perimeter of pea gravel around it. $  I need someone to do the legwork for that because I simply cannot.  $  And then I need to put grass seed down on the other part of the dirt. $

Did I mention that we had a massive thunderstorm yesterday?  Oh yes.  What joy!  Enzo, the little bastard, likes mud and so rolled around in it at about 5am!  Because I had to run upstairs to get a towel to wipe the little bastard down, I kept the door closed.  He jumped on it to get in, whining.  He got the window, the door knob, the sides and the whole area in front of the door without about two inches of cakey mud.

The pea gravel is getting delivered on Friday.  The water is getting delivered today.  And the new water heater is getting delivered and installed today. 

Oh, did I forget to mention that the water heater went up amidst all the fun stuff about this pool?

It's lovely to be a homeowner.

But you know, despite the anxiety of the past few days (being without the kids having been the cause of most of it), I am proud of myself for getting through it without losing it.  I even made a cake yesterday.

We sang to Uncle Jeff yesterday, then we cut the cake.  I gave the kids a big helping each, staring at them as they both gobbled it down.  (I'm not a sweet-eater so I didn't partake but knew that it was good because of their enthusiasm).  When they asked for a second helping, I said, "Sure, why not?"  I gave them each another thin slice.  I went into the house to get napkins for their little hands and mouths.  When I returned to the porch, both of them had their heads back in the chair, and their hands on their burgeoning bellies.  I kid you not, they were moaning and said, "Oh... too much cake."  I had to laugh.  (They had only eaten a quarter of the second piece).

Oh, the things we do to indulge in the things we love!

So, the pool cost more than I could have ever imagined.  I have a 0% interest credit card, good for a year, that I can use to pay for it.  And so the water heater went up.  That's what my emergency fund is for.  And so, the dog loves the mud.  Who doesn't?

It's funny.  When I pull my head out from the darkness of the shadows, none of it seems so bad.  In fact, I feel kinda, sorta blessed.

Same old, same old.

June 22nd

On Jeff's 21st birthday, I sent him a check for $21, told him to get a few beers on me and have a great 21st.  At the time, I was a sophomore in college and $21 was like $500 to me.  But I wanted him to enjoy his day.  I suppose I wanted to be the one who bought him his first legal alcoholic beverage.

When I turned 21, some 18 months later, I received a very inappropriate card from Jeff and the exact same check I had given him.  (I still have it).

Who would have thought that 19 years later, I would be missing him so badly?  Who would have thought that on his 40th, me and the kids would be singing to heaven, rather than over the phone or in person? 

As I've done for the past four years, I am making him a cake.  The first two years, I would call him, tell him I lit the candles, we would sing and then the kids would blow out the candles for him.  Last year, we brought the cake over to a friends' house and celebrated with a half dozen other 4-5 year olds, singing loudly to the brother that I so deeply miss.  Tonight we will sing just as loudly, and the kids will have chocolate all over their fingers and mouths.  And we will celebrate his 40th without him.

Whoever said that the pain of his death would fade with time must not have known the kind of guy that he was.  It will be as sharp and poignant on certain days of the year (like today) as it ever was.  The key to get through it, I think, is to feel the warmth of his love shining down upon us. 

Happy Birthday Jeff.

Stranger Danger

The thought scheme-theme for the day has been focused on people.  Friends.  Potential Friends. Family.  Lovers.  Potential lovers.  Strangers.

How well do we know any of them?  Really.  How well?

I am 38 years old, fairly sociable, pretty honest, a little fragile, can tell a good joke if I have the right setting, intelligent but not necessarily filled with common sense, picky, wishy-washy and if you catch me on a bad day, can be very inflexible and some might even say: witchy.

In a nutshell, average. 

I've met a lot of people - from all walks of life.  I can laugh with the toothless truck driver and drink martinis with the powerhouse politicians.  I've met and come to know hundreds, even thousands, of people throughout my lifetime.  Of all those people, there is only one person - ONE - who utterly despises me and sees me as someone entirely different from who I really am. 

That would be my ex-spouse.  The ironic thing is that I don't despise him - I despise some of his actions, some of his moodswings (now and then) and some of the places his moral compass points, but not him.

How does one go from loving a person so much that they'd walk down the aisle in front of family and friends and have children with that person to despising that same person?  How does that happen?  Was it some cosmic working by Satan that put us together?

 I only explore this question because I know that many of my readers have gone through the whole divorce thing and hopefully, are struggling with this question.

Is it really because people change? (Because I truly believe that fundamentally, people do not change.  You lend a girl your pencil in middle school without expecting it back, you'll lend money to a friend without anticipating payment;  You break your back in physical labor for work, you'll break your back in physical labor for a friend;  You give a gift but don't expect one back; You love without question and so you always love without question).

So how did I become someone's nemesis?

How does anyone become a nemesis?

More importantly, how does the person you are supposed to spend the rest of your life with become your nemesis?

Seriously. 

You have those intimate conversations.  You bear your soul when you're in love.  You give your insecurities without worries that they'll ever be used against you.  You swallow those doubts down, deep down, because you figure that he/she must feel the same way that you feel.

And what happens?

Those very same insecurities are used against you in the divorce.  And you become the enemy.  The nemesis.

I once heard that the one who knows you the most, loves you the deepest and is the one who hurts you the most is the one that is hurt the most by you.  It's a paraphrase of something, but really...  you want someone to reveal themselves to you and they do and you love them for it... and then... and then...

What?

You celebrate your 10th anniversary.
You celebrate your 15th anniversary.
You celebrate your 25th anniversary.
You celebrate your 50th anniversary.

And you're miserably unhappy?

Regardless of how the marriage goes, you're still left in pieces.

Memories.
Prayers to God.
Pleas to God.
Pieces.

Someday.
One day.
Someday.
One day.

They're all strangers... after all?

Remarkable

We stepped into the hair salon... actually, I stepped in, Tony bounced in like a kickball.  His head, with all the hair on it, weighed more than his body and it was time for me to take him for a haircut because watching him fall head over heels every day was getting old.  We put in our name and sat down to wait.  A mother was there - she had two girls and two boys, all walking but certainly under the age of seven.  I watched her interact with the children who weren't quite bouncing as high as Tony, but bouncing all the same.  Besides, she had four balls to keep in check, I only had one. 

"You've got your hands full,"  I said, admiringly because she was remarkable in her actions.

"Yeah, it's a little easier because they're all around the same age."

"Twins?"

"No.  I adopted my sister's boy and girl and I have a boy and girl of my own.  It's been tough because I just moved here from Ohio and this is my first outing with all four of them."

"You're doing a great job."

"Thanks.  My son has autism so it has been a tough adjustment for him to share his sister with two other kids."

"Where in Ohio?"

"A small town outside of Columbus.  But my family is from here.  We moved two weeks ago and I got the kids 48 hours after settling into the new house."

"Wow."

She sighed, "Yeah.  God only gives as much as a person can handle, I suppose."

"Did you at least have some time to digest the move before the actual move?"  I asked.

"Six weeks.  My husband moved immediately, for work, you know?  Then I had to pack up our house, get it on the market, sell it and then move everything here."

"Wow."  I said and she laughed.

"Do you mind me asking what happened to your sister?"  I presumed she had died.

"She had a heroine overdose, if you can believe it.  She is now in rehab but the kids were really suffering."  She paused, took a deep breath and said, "I doubt you'll understand but I am one of six children and our brother died last year.  It was too much for my sister to handle."

The tears welled in my eyes and I said, "Oh, I do understand.  I lost my brother last year too."  We both swallowed the lumps in our throats and she went on, "...and so, it was hard for my sister to handle.  She had been clean for years..."

"I get you.  God bless you.  You are a remarkable person." 

She smiled and sighed and said, "God only gives me as much as I can handle."

I smiled and said, "Well then, you know enough to expect more than you think you can handle.  How is your husband with all this?"

As soon as I mentioned him, her face lit up.  Lit up!

"He's amazing!  He comes home from work and jumps right in.  He helps me with dinner, does the dishes and gives the boys their baths."

"He sounds awesome."  I said, smiling.

"Oh yeah.  He is the best.  I would be nothing without him."

This time, I swallowed the lump in my throat alone.

I wished her luck, sent another blessing her way and watched as she confidently ushered four, beautifully groomed children out the door.

Remarkable, indeed.

Walk On

As soon as we got home from our quick trip to Buffalo, we hugged the dogs, Tony hugged the couch and said, "I missed you couch!" and they turned on the TV and vegged out.  I unpacked the truck, put the Sahlen's hot dogs in the freezer and the BBQ chicken in the refrigerator.  When I opened the fridge, I saw an ice cold Heineken Light beckoning.  I cracked it open and sat on the back deck with my feet up.  (There is nothing like a cold beer upon returning from a long trip).  I raised it into the air, looked at the image of Jesus in the trees and said a thank you for another safe trip back.

Then I thought about the weekend and the purpose of the weekend.  I felt small for a moment upon thinking about the magnitude of the Susan G. Komen walk.  One sister dedicated her entire life to finding a cure for breast cancer because she made a promise to her dying sister.  I, along with 8,000 other participants, wore myself out on Saturday in order to partially fulfill that promise.  I love walking in the race.  I love that both Tony and Paige got to be a part of it.  I hope I never have to do it again.  I hope that the next time we walk that walk it's because we are celebrating the cure for breast cancer.  I hope that we can throw our Ford scarves in the air and say, "Yes, it is done!  The cure has been found!"

Wouldn't that be nice?

I got to spend some time with my mom.  It is tough to be in my parents' kitchen for a long period of time, especially when it is not my usual hang-out.  They have a full wall of pictures - each grandchild in an individual frame and serendipitously, a picture of the entire family with their spouses (minus mine - we weren't married when the picture was taken) suited up in dresses and suits.  My brother Jeff stands in the back, his hand on his hip, towering above all of us.  We are all smiling.  On the refrigerator, there are pictures of Jeff and a huge one above the refrigerator where he is wearing his chef's uniform with the background a smorgasboard of his work.

I glance.  I avert.  I glance again.  I avert.  Finally I stare straight on and the tears are inevitable.  The shock is inevitable.  I look at my mom, she catches me looking and her own eyes well with tears.  And so I avert again because sometimes her pain, her sadness, is too tough to take.

At one point, a moment like this occurred.  We didn't say anything because we both knew we were thinking the same thing.  We sat across from each other at the table, caught eyes and both kind of smiled at each other.  She moved to get up, and winced and touched her upper breast.

It had escaped my conscious that she had just gotten an operation not too long ago for the cancer in her breast.  At the time, I was thumbing through a signed copy of Jill Kelly's Messages for Hope book and I must have given my Mom a sympathetic look.  She said, "I don't know how people do it.  I feel weak and tired since Jeff died and this,"  she gestured to her breast, "feels like a cruel joke.  I don't have the strength."  The sentence in the book that I had just read and was going back and reading over and over again was that sometimes things happen because we are required to see the face of God in it.  I shared it with her and said, "You are not weak Mom.  You get up every morning, put on your clothes, plan your day, buy things for the grandchildren, talk to your kids and laugh.  Every day you laugh.  You are strong."  She was indulging in a little self-pity (and rightly so) and it just so happened that I was there to help her through it.  (If it wasn't me, it would have been someone else). "If you were still in bed, cradling yourself in pain, then I might be worried, but you're not.  You're sitting here with me."  I could tell that at that point she was hanging on my every word and that they were giving her even more strength.  (I know the moment so well because I have been there many times). 

She was crying, and that sadness in her eyes is unreal, indescribable and like a vice on my heart, squeezing out my own tears.  We silently cried together.  We cried for what was, for the memories of laughter and wholeness, for the inevitable length of each moment stretching into days, stretching into weeks, stretching into months, and for the anticipation of when it will all be okay again. I think we both concluded that it would never be the same again.  But we also got through another moment of darkness.  We helped each other through it and found that upon stepping away from it, we were both a bit lighter again.

And that is life.

I am sure that Nancy Brinker (Susan G. Komen's sister), who created this unbelievable life force toward the cure for cancer, steps back from all her accomplishments and still aches for the sister that she lost.  What is she to do in those moments?  Give up? 

No.  She'll get up every morning, put on her clothes, find laughter in a day and anticipate visiting with her loved ones.

She'll walk on... walk on....

And that's all we can do.  Walk on and try to find the face of God in every moment.

Tanagra

I can breathe.  Aaaaahhhhhhhhhhh....  There is still a hint of pain, but all in all, I can breathe without wincing.  I can also write.  It's not even 8am on this Monday morning and my writing - rough drafts, fragments of paragraphs, great books of quotes and scribbles on paper - are all before me.  Today is the day that I will finish the rough draft of the manuscript and send it in for the workshop in July.  You all with me on this? 

Yesterday, I made it to church, trekked through the dreaded grocery store and then spent the rest of the day horizontal, and unfortunately I wasn't positioned in that way for fun, but rather because I was so tired and worn out that I couldn't do much but work the remote control on the tv.  I suffered through endless weird movies, snippets of comedians and then fell into the chick flicks that in the past ten years I failed to watch.  Bored.

To tears.

I felt sorry for myself.  The tears came due to the sickness, the isolation and the feeling that I stepped into another rut, unnerving me and the transformation I embarked upon so long ago.

As happens to me, a poem came to mind.  This one written by Rainer Maria Rilke entitle Tanagra.  This poem talks of transformation through the hands of a woman kneading and forming clay from the earth - using that which is in front of her to make something.  (At least that's my interpretation).  As I stood outside on the back deck and looked at the horizon, realizing the reality of the tears for what they were (nothing more than sickness and exhaustion), I did a full circle and looked around.  I looked at  my house, my deck furniture, my garden, my dogs playing, the kids play yard and took as deep of a breath I could take without wincing, and silently recited the poem.

Tanagra

A bit of baked earth,
baked as by a mighty sun.
As if the gesture
that a girl's hand makes
had suddenly remained:
without reaching for anything,
leading from its feeling
toward no object,
only touching itself
like a hand raised to a chin.

We lift and we keep turning
the same few figures;
we can almost understand
why they don't perish, --
but we're meant only
more deeply and wonderingly
to cling to what once was
and smile:  a bit more clearly
perhaps than a year before.

I'm a clinger, I suppose.  Yet, my grasp is pretty weak because there is a constant revolution of the objects I grasp.  The standard staples remain (friends, family, truth, God), yet the illusions are constantly turning and transforming.  I cling to those illusions.  Over time however, the reality of what they truly are allows me to smile more broadly.  And breathing it all in really, really helps.