Dragonflies

With the close of the summer, the beginning of school (for me and for Jimmy), the planning for a big third birthday, and the unfortunate dropping of daily naps, finding a moment to capture our comings and goings in the More Seasoned Then Blog was nothing short of a challenge.

Tonight, I sit, with the drone of white noise beside me on the baby monitor, watching on tv what looks to be the last Cubs game of a magical season.

The Magic for me really was on Sunday, August 23rd, the last official day of my summer, while in Section 4, row 11. Seats 1-4. Jimmy's first Cubs game at the most magical place in my heart.

When I think of Wrigley Field, I think of the hopeful, most dedicated fans, year after year, visiting the Mecca of Baseball, casting wish after wish, throwing the ashes of loved ones into the Ivy (I've seen this first hand), and cheering on those lovable losers and inevitably pissing off the Sox fans for our unwavering optimism, our believing in goat curses, and our singing of "Go Cubs Go..."

When I think of Wrigley Field, I think of being seven years old, riding in the back of Grampa's Grand Marquis, listening to WGN 720 while riding on the Kennedy, knowing we were getting closer to my happy place with each interruption in the broadcast from interference while under the tunnels.

When I think of Wrigley Field, I think of my Dad, hot dogs, peanuts,  the "Ball or the Beer Moment" (the beer won) and the creepy Cubs hand puppet I begged him for after he told the guys in front of us to "Shut Your Mouths" because at the end of each side, they would stand up and use profanities in front of his little girls.

When I think of Wrigley Field, I think of the time each year my Dad, while working at the Chicago Tribune, would be able to take us in the "President of the Tribune's seats"... and every year, it would rain and I would put my head on the dugout and cry.

But now, when I think of Wrigley Field, I will think of this:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t3xhNniN96M

My son will have so many opportunities that life never offered me... And this is one of them. And it was one of the best, one of the proudest moments of my life. There he was... two months shy of his third birthday, running the bases in the World's Greatest Ballpark after a Cubs win. By himself...Amidst the dragonflies.

When we found our seats we befriended a lovely usher named Mary. A cancer survivor, the retiree took on the job as an usher at the tender age of 78.

Mary let us walk down to the field to watch the warmups and the National Anthem ("Go 'Merica!") and we noticed swarms upon swarms of dragonflies abuzz over the field. Watching them dance about the infield was mesmerizing. And something I can't recall noticing in my countless Wrigley outings. I asked Mary about the dragonflies, and she said it was "something that they've never seen before, probably because of the excessive rain in June..." but I knew it was something better, something more meaningful, something just magical. 

If you're the type who believe in signs and symbols, you'll know dragonflies are sent by loved ones to let you know they are thinking of you, that they are there... I kinda like to think it was a Field of Dreams moment. "If you build it, they will come..."

I like to think those Dragonflies are just breezy hellos from all of the ones we have loved and lost in the 107 years we have waited for a World Series. From tonight's outing, it looks like we will be waiting a little bit longer. 

But the dragonflies will be back...and so will this little guy. 

And as for the team, those Cubbies, for whom we bleed that Cubbie blue, they'll be back...and they'll be More Seasoned Then, too.

'Til then, Hope Springs Eternal...

The Last Onesie

As some busy Moms do, I don't waste my time folding the kids' clothes before putting them in the drawer, fresh from the weekly laundry. Why? Because inevitably, the times that I have taken 5 to fold said clothes are the times I turn right around and find Maddy with brother's underpants on her head... amidst a frenzy of once freshly-folded, now strewn about jammies, shirts and pants. 

And the last onesie.

I came across the last onesie in Jimmy's dresser after the above scenario played out last laundry day. The last onesie. Size 24 months. Orange. "Daddy's Champ". 

The. Very. Last. Onesie. I get a tug in my heart just thinking about it.

He is now 34 months. 

Prescribing to my Ma's old adage: "Don't look at the size, just try it on!" I stretched and pulled and yanked the last onesie down my almost 3-year-old's long, skinny torso and struggled to connect the last of the snaps. It was too small. My boy was too big for the last onesie. He looked ridiculous. I knew it. He knew it. But it was the last onesie he would ever be in. I had to savor the moment. He let me.

For five minutes, I watched him run, jump, play, sing, dance, somersault, flop on the couch and gallop about the house in the last onesie. I know my boy has grown, but nothing has made the leap of time and space more palpable than seeing him wearing the last onesie.

Stop it, Jimmy. Stop growing up so fast. 

Ping!  There goes a snap. And just like that, I realized it was time to move the last onesie to the Salvation Army donation pile. * Life can be so bittersweet sometimes.

---

*Okay, okay... truth be told... in the middle of this scene, big Jim came home and saw his boy in the last onesie and said, "Hon, he has a wedgie"... 

It was just a little wedgie.

See? Sometimes taking the time to fold the laundry can be harmful to your health, to your heart, or even to your little bum. 

Savor each and every moment... it goes by in a snap.

Time for Your Checkup...

If you have littles in your life under the age of five you just sang the title of this entry: "Time for Your Checkup..." to the irritating little Doc McStuffins cartoon theme song. 

Well, today, it was "time for our checkup"... and while I sit and contemplate the last hour and a half of my life, I'm cracking open a Summer Shandy. Don't judge.

Scheduling both wellness checkups (2.5 years - yah, I'm a little late, oopsies, and 15 months, also late, but just fashionably) at the same time was not by choice...but the summer days have started to get away from me, just as they do around July 15th or so, every year.

I went into today with good intentions, although anticipating the fucking chaos that was to become of my morning.  I was armed and prepared (to bribe): with cake pops... and copious bulleted-point notes on each child so the nurse, the doc, and I had to do as little talking as possible.

Why? Because trying to get two kids under 3 examined at the same time is like trying to have a meaningful life-altering conversation in the middle of a moshpit at a death metal concert. On a 100 degree day. With wet, humid mudpies flinging left and right past you- the remnants from a steady rain.

Once we got through the semantics...the percentages and growth curves...blah blah blah and the "tisk, tisk" that Mads still takes a bottle and that J still takes a "blue" (pacifier) and that potty training took a hiatus (don't judge)-- the pandemonium began.

Jimmy proceeded to open every cabinet, drawer, garbage and cubby just to slam each one in a sequential order (See what happens when you move to a toddler bed? You give up naps and quality sleep and become an overtired little person). For some odd reason his ears weren't working today when he must not have heard me say "Knock it off!" seventy-two times.

Maddy, not to be outdone, began screeching "smooshy" (which is what we say when we put sanitizer on our hands - again, don't judge) as she pointed to the soap dispenser. No stopping this episode until I helped her wash her hands. Water everywhere and who knew she didn't care for brown paper towels?

J rolled endlessly on the germy floor (build that immunity, buddy!) only to settle under the chairs to try to go poop. 

J wanted water. 

M wanted water; well, not her water but her brother's. From a cup. She doesn't know how. Proved me wrong. Again. She grabbed it, raised it one-handed (I'll show you, Mom) to her lips, took a giant gulp (daintily), then spit it all over the floor. Par for the course.

All this while J shouted on repeat: "Toyota: Let's Go Places" in various spokesperson-tones. Sometimes emphasis on "Go"... othertimes emphasis on "Places..." Clever.

And this was all just while the nurse was still trying to measure head circumferences. 

Once the doc came in, forget it. You may as well have let loose a hundred hungry sharks in shallow water loaded with plump, tan, oblivious vacationers. 

J's turn first. All played out well for the most part until she got to checking in his pants. "Watch out for the Golden Eggs and Beanstalk," he warned.. followed up with the gem: "My wang!". In the meantime, Mads, vehemently displeased she didn't have the doc's full attention, began to cry the silent "Oh shit, what's-she-gonna-do-next?" cry, which was merely a segue into full-blown bloody murder screams accompanied by an almost-needing-a-paper-bag hyperventilation act. For no reason. Then she began the reaching. For J's Beanstalk. Such a scene the doc had to avert her eyes.

Once J was done he was held at bay by the promise of the cake pop in the car while we waited "just a few minutes longer" for Mads' turn. Although "at bay" at this point meant sitting on the floor behind the doc while she was reviewing notes on the computer from the wheeley-doctor's stool. "SSSSSHHHH" puffs of air filled the infrequent milliseconds-long silence as the depression of the lever which controls the stool's height is at the hands of a 2.5++year old madman. Doc sank down about 6 inches -- but didn't mind. She has two under three of her own. Thank God. Any other doc would've suggested I attend a parenting course. Or that I go on meds.

As for Mads, status quo bill of health, yay! ...until the two shots, at least. 

Speaking of shots, I may go pour one right about now. Yah, that sounds about right. I won't be saying "Let's Go Places" tonight... staying put with another beer and a cake pop sounds like just what the doctor ordered.

Another Candle

This week, I will light another candle on my imaginary birthday cake. Errr.

My birthday was always a special "holiday" each summer that would serve as an excuse for a boy/girl party, a swimming extravaganza, a Wah-pa-ghetti's pizza and a card containing X amount of dollar bills from Ma, marking my age in singles.

Ma always had a knack for making my birthday special. She would remind me I was her "miracle baby," for whom she had hoped for years and years. It didn't occur to me until my mid-teens that my birthday was as much of a day of importance for my Ma as it was for me. After she took me to get my license on that 16th birthday morn, I made my first trip, alone, driving, in a car, ha ha, to the flower shop, to pick up some flowers for the woman who never told me how many hours of labor she endured or of the heartbreak some of my childhood illnesses caused her. 

I have brought her flowers every year, on my birthday, since.  Only these days, I deliver them to what my son lovingly refers to as the "Flower Park". 

...

So many wonderful memories have been made on the day of my "glorious birf"...

• 1984 - Ma put sparklers in our Cubs themed birthday cake (Deb and I used to have a combined family party).

• 1985 - Dad picked up 20 burgers from McDonalds and we celebrated on the deck of the old house on Waverly with Gramma and Grampa and AJ. I had never seen so many burgers* at one time and I found it to be hilarious. (*Please note that at our wedding, we upped the midnight snack order to 500 cheeseburgers!)

• 1987- Grampa showed up with a boy Cabbage Patch Doll which was dressed like he was in the Navy. 

• 1990 - Pool Party with all of my TMS peeps, which Ma still made enjoyable even though it was cold and rainy. This is the beginning of the warm blankets...those of you who were a part of this know what I'm referring to.

• 1993 - Got my driver's license and went to pick up Meg and Jen that night... I realized I had never driven in the dark before and I didn't know how to turn the headlights on. Oopsie.

• 1998 - Turning 21 with fifteen "gooeys" and a keg at my parents' house to share in the celebration.

• 2005 - The Cubs game with Tiffany, Heather, Jules and Rob... the day we all got lost and I found a bottle of mustard in my purse. Hmmm.

• 2006- Howl at the Moon. Fish Bowl Drinks. No Bueno.

• 2009 - Continuing the flower ritual, meeting Ma in her "smoking corner" in the garage, and showing off the shiny, new, sparkling engagement ring I had received about a half hour earlier. I called my Dad to tell him he was now the Father of the Bride, but I had to tell my Ma in person what was to come. It's a memory that I can close my eyes and feel and will always be one of my all-time favorite moments.

• 2010 - Celebrating the day while in Aruba on our honeymoon.

• 2013 - The second birthday without my Ma. Spent the day in the hospital and learned I was expecting Maddy. The day ended by telling my Dad he was to expect another miracle grandchild while we were dining on a gourmet dinner of Jersey Mike's Subs.  I think he thought I was kidding. Happy tears that day for our Happy Accident.

...

A birthday celebration is hardly a celebration after you've lost the woman who brought you into this world. I just want to hug her and thank her with the words I would repeat every July 16th: "Thank you for having me; I have a great life. I love you." I'll just have to write it on a balloon and send it straight up to Heaven.

Big Jim and Dad and the babies and aunts and friends try hard to make it a day still to celebrate, even though they know how heavy my heart can be. I DO have a great life, and I'm happy to be adding this candle. Its glow reflects all the joyous moments that have occurred on this particular day and every day in-between; none of which are ever to be forgotten. As I move further to the right on the imaginary timeline in my mind's eye which marks the moments of my life, I find happiness and comfort in those surrounding me as I open my birthday card and count the X amount of dollar bills, marking my age in singles. 
With love from Dad. 

In Memoriam

Cheers.

 Cheers to a life well-lived, well-loved, and well-fought. 

June 24. (2012, 2013, 2014) 

I sat down today to write an "In Memoriam" for 2015 and the words have escaped me but the tears are as fresh and as present as they were the day we said goodbye three years ago. You always said "Life must go on," and it has: 2 babies, 2 family vacations, 3 Mother's Days, 3 Christmases, 3 birthdays, and 1,095 sunrises and sunsets without you, physically here with us...but know that we feel your guiding presence on good days and bad days and everything else in between. We love you and we miss you...more.

....

When Ma was sick, a hospital chaplain paid a quick visit and asked her, knowing the days ahead were few, "What gives you strength?" - to which, she responded, "My family, my past experiences, and the Man Upstairs..." 

I think we can all take something away from that. 

So with that, from this June 24th to the next...Cheers. Cheers to the life we were given and to those who have taught us how to do it right: Live, love, and fight hard when given no other choice.

I Hope You Dance

"Turn it up, Mommy"

Not a day goes by that I don't hear that phrase out of the little man's mouth. The request sounds a little like "please..." but has an edge to it that I know a full-on meltdown and a repeat ask, ask, ask is brewing if I don't, in fact, turn it up. 

That's okay. I don't mind. I love music. Always have, always will.

Now, most of you know I'm not much of a singer. Let's just say my dance moves are on par with my singing ability.

That's okay. I don't mind. I love to dance. Always have, always will.

I am definitely not the first one on the dance floor at weddings or parties... but I make my way there eventually. Usually after 3 or 10 Bud Lights. Somehow, though, I think that'll change at the next opportunity because my children LOVE to dance.  

Every day we listen to music. Every day we dance. I may have to drop whatever I'm doing to join in... but that's okay. I don't mind. I love to see my children happy.

And then, my sweet, high-maintance Maddy...Our "happy accident"... she, well, has some moves of her own:

Currently on repeat is "Homegrown," by the Zac Brown Band, and"Raise em' Up," by Keith Urban and Eric Church. Both songs contain takeaways that make you think. The first..."I've got everything I need, and nothing that I don't..." and the latter - which are quickly becoming some of my favorite lyrics of all time...

Raise em' up

Trophy high

Raise em' up

To the sky

Raise em' up

Show everybody that new born smile

Raise em' up

Tall and strong

Raise em' up

Right from wrong

Raise em' up so damn high they can hear God singin' along

I hope these little loves grow and thrive and continue to share with the world their happy, spunky spirits. I hope they dance. I hope they have everything they need and nothing that they don't. I hope they raise up their arms so high they can hear God singing along. I hope they find the beauty of music in their everyday world.

The next time that little voice from the backseat asks "Turn it up, Mommy," I will, happily. Tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that. Life moves along at such a quick clip, we all have to stop sometimes, turn it up, raise em' up, and dance before it's all over.

That's okay. I don't mind. I love my life. Always have. Always will.

Detention

I have had two detentions in my life. The second awarded as a sophomore in high school (note: the "Fifteen Minute Rule" really isn't a thing). 

The first, the most memorable, the most traumatic, and the most unnecessary came during the fall of fourth grade. 

I got a detention for singing. 

Those who know me well can stop laughing. Any. Moment. Now.

I am the first to admit that I am not a good singer. I'm not terrible, but I'm not good, either. 

It was toward the end of the day in Miss Weissman's class. She was pretty old-school, even down to the fact she would smoke cigs in the classroom while we were outside at recess after lunch. Took me awhile to catch on that on those rainy or inclement days that we had recess in the classroom after eating would prove for long afternoons. Teech' was irritable if she couldn't take a drag.

On this day,  a cold and rainy November Thursday, we were stuck inside after recess and Miss W. missed her date with the Marlboro Man. And that afternoon sucked.

We had times test after times test, silent reading after silent reading and NOBODY COULD TALK.  Ouch. 

I vividly remember her becoming a little more cordial as the clock ticked its way toward 3:30... At 3:25, she actually cracked a smile and we felt comfortable enough to engage in small talk with our tablemates. 

All afternoon I had "Danger Zone" by Kenny Loggins stuck in my head. I didn't realize how ironic my song choice was until just now as I type this. Anyway, for the last few minutes of my school day, I started to hum then sing the famous tune from the movie Top Gun: "I went to the Danger Zone... Gonna take a ride in to the Danger Zone..." It must have been the "biddue, biddy, boo, bop" sounds I was uttering to mimic the synthesizer in the background that sent her over the edge. 

As all chairs were placed upside down on the desks to signal the end of the school day, I heard "Dana, have a seat..." 

WHAT? What was that supposed to mean? Have a seat? My Ma is waiting outside in the Caprice Classic station wagon! Did my sister have a radiation appointment that afternoon? Was I supposed to see the dentist today? Was I going to miss Scooby Doo? All of these thoughts ran throughout my head in the eternity that I had to sit there and shoot eye-daggers at Miss Weissman. 

Once I got to the car, Ma asked "What's wrong?" to which I burst into tears and told her I had a headache and I didn't "feel good"... 

And I didn't go to school the next day. 

And, come to think of it, I didn't say much the rest of that school year. 

I'm not sure how long my detention was, but I do remember that I never sang in front of anyone after that... well, until I was 27 and fist-pumping Bon Jovi after a few too many beers. 

Miss Weissman silenced me for a long, long time. Sad.

Only in the last few years have I been comfortable singing in front of anybody. I was practically forced to - to sing to my Spanish classes my silly made-up songs to help them remember whatever vocab we were learning. 

But they liked it, or politely pretended to at least, and it helped them learn... And giggle... Just. A. Little.

I sing to my babies all the time. "Who's Got Gassies, Who's Got Gassies," is a Hackett-family classic. The "Good Morning Song" is also pretty popular around these parts, too. I know I'm not good, but the smile that lands on their faces is priceless. 

Right now, Baby Jimmy's favorite song is "Homegrown" by the Zac Brown Band. It takes exactly 3 and a half times through it each day to travel to Antie's house. It's all he will listen to - to and from. 
He calls the song "Nothing, Don't..." and I must hear "Nothing, Don't...A'gin" fifteen times throughout each day. 

The other day, I wasn't singing along with him and "Nothing...Don't". This sweet little voice from behind me says, "Try, Mommy, Try..." So I did, I tried. I sang along with him and he was happy. 

And I was happy. 

Take that, Miss Weissman.

The Checkered Flag.

Mother's Day sucks...when you've lost a baby or your Mom.

Even though I now have babies who look to celebrate me on Mother's Day, I keep looking around for the one who brought me into this world. And she's not here. And it sucks. 

Some days I'm allowed to feel this way, and Mother's Day is one of them.

But then those little eager smiles on the babes' faces provide hope for me to make it through another Mother's Day; after all, they made me a Mom. 

Still, I can't help but get a tug of anger when the Mother's Day cards invade the Hallmark aisle. Or when "Mother's Day Brunch" banners pervade every restaurant window in town. Or when my friends and their moms go out for a Mother's Day pedicure. Just. Can't. Help. It.

But eventually I will get over it; I always do. 

My Ma wasn't fond of Mother's Day ever since my sister crossed the rainbow bridge. Who could blame her? Then, five years later, when she lost her own Mom, she REALLY wasn't a fan. But hey, I was still there... and Dad wanted to honor the mother of his children; he was still there. We did the best each year to make a sour day a little more sweet than bitter. 

So, in that spirit, I will carry on the tradition we have established since my first Mother's Day. In 2012, while pregnant with Jimmy, we all celebrated by taking Dad to drive a NASCAR. What a thrill! Little did we know that would be Ma's last Mother's Day on earth. Having known that, I don't know if I would change a thing. We laughed. We smiled. We ate. I guess, truly, the day was pretty symbolic about what the future would bring.

In the years since, instead of Dad driving circles around the NASCAR track in Joliet, we have established a ritual that I lovingly refer to as the "Cemetery Circle Tour"... Dad dislikes this expression, by the way, but it is in essence the nature of the day. 

We take flowers to the cemetery in the city where we pay our respects to my Grandparents. We make sure we have enough flower arrangements for every family member in the two rows to have. It brightens up some of the oldest of headstones. Even the random, unrelated fellow who happens to fall in line with our family gets an arrangement. I don't like asymmetry. 

Then comes my favorite part.

We picnic. No, not in the cemetery. But at Gene & Judes.

Yep, we load Jimmy (and added to the festivities for the first time last year, Maddy)  into the back of the car and we picnic. We eat hotdog after hotdog until our bellies ache. 

And it's my day, so calories don't count.

Once we're thoroughly stuffed, we load up and head on to Des Plaines, to visit the Hackett family sites. It's important to me to make sure my children aren't afraid of death and that those who have gone before us are a part of who we are, forever. With this in mind, I laminate and affix a picture of all 8 Hackett grandkids to the flowers for Papa and Gramma Hackett. They are just as much of a part of who the babies are as the rest of us here, living, raising them.

Quietly, we take the final leg of our tour to visit Ma and Deb. By far, for me, the hardest part of the journey. It kills me that my Ma came SO CLOSE to seeing her first grand baby... to know that she didn't see a doctor weeks earlier because she didn't want to worry her pregnant daughter with stress over a sick mother. She didn't say that but I just know it. Although, in her case, it probably didn't matter, anyway.

We find our way to the little quiet area around the tree where PREZEMBEL adorns the earth, set our flowers just so and relive it all. 

My, does Mother's Day suck.


But then, I have to remember...
My Ma lived for me. And Deb. And Dad. 
Like I live for my babies. And Jim. And Dad. 
And if she taught me one thing, it's that Life comes full circle. 

NASCAR track or Cemetery Circle Tour. 

In the end, I guess it doesn't really matter which one.

Life...According to Jim

Insightful. Poignant. Charismatic. Soulful.

That's my little guy, Jim... 
aka: Jimmy, Jimmers, Jim-o, Bubba, Gooners...

At 2 and just a half, this kid takes my breath away... Every. Single. Day. His joyful disposition and charming nature are surely characteristics a Mama can take pride in, no matter the age of her baby, although some of "his ways" are just so far beyond his years. 

Jim teaches me something new about Life that I haven't particularly noticed or paid attention to in my almost 38 years on this planet. In so many ways, his 30 months on earth have enlightened me tenfold. Oftentimes I stop and think about Life... According to Jim.

...

"Try 'gain"...
Not a day slips by without Jimmy uttering "Try 'gain"  in such a hopeful and compassionate voice... Kind of a question, kind of a demand, kind of a "You can do it," push... He could be asking me to sing the chorus to his current favorite song so he can sing along, or hit the ball with the bat so he can "Run! Run!" the bases. But, for this little guy, there is no giving up... Ever. Although, once he realizes how off-key I am, I'm pretty sure the "Try 'gain," will be replaced with "Please, don't!" Nevertheless, I hope J never loses the spirit behind this expression. For this little love, the possibilities are endless. 

"Love you more"... 
"Night, Jimmy, love you." 
"Love you more..." 
It brought me to tears the first time we had this exchange. Like time had reverted to 1983, when my Ma and I would have this back-and-forth game of "More" before bedtime. In fact, the word "More" was the last spoken word my Ma and I had before she moved on to the Next Place.  Does he know that? Sometimes I wonder... At any rate, it makes my heart skip a beat and reminds me that Life was meant to, and really does, go on. More.

"Thank you"...
A few weeks ago, after a fantastic swimming lesson where he ecstatically shared with me he went "under, splash-splash, kick, scoop" I hugged him and let him know that I was "so proud" of him. To which I was met with the following: "Thank you, Mommy." How he knew that that was polite, I will never know. I do know that he thanks me for everything from the ice in his water to changing his diaper. I hope this never changes. There are never enough "Thank yous" in the world. It's the sweetest, most pure expression because he means it. Before nap time today, he told me, "Thank you, You..." I like to think he was thanking me for being me but really, I should be thanking him for being him! 

"Help, please"...
Nothing makes you want to move as quickly from the comfy spot on the couch than hearing a sweet voice ask politely for "Helpeas"... "Queen" (McQueen) car could be jammed into the front seat of the big firetruck or his guitar may be out of batteries. It doesn't really matter what it is, just that it's a daily reminder we have to ask for help sometimes. Fascinating he knows this at such a young age and his mother has trouble with this one, and probably always will. 

"Oh no, fall down"...
Followed by a quick get back up again with an enthusiastic exclamation of "SAFE!" This one reminds that we all fall down sometimes and that it's important to get right back up. When he yells "SAFE," like he just stole second, he somehow knows that in the end all will be okay. Because if it's not okay, it's not the end, my Ma used to quote. 

"I'm going streaking!!"...
Because we should all get into a little bit of mischief sometimes. (Big Jimmy is my witness on this one and yes, it was in the correct context)!

"No donuts today"
Because I feed him donuts everyday? No, I really don't but I'm sure he was trying to reverse psychology me on this one.

"I got everything I need, and nothing...don't"
This is a Jimified line from his current favorite song, "Homegrown" by Zac Brown Band. If we all had this outlook on Life... we would all be better off. 

Oh, from the mouths of Babes. Such is Life, Jim... Such is Life. 

The Best Thing to Ever Happen to Me

March 16th. The eve of Madelyn Marjorie's first birthday. We've already celebrated with family and friends at a party suited for an Irish Princess. Tomorrow, while the world dances the Irish Jig, drinks green beer, and sings "Oh Danny Boy," we will also smile and laugh and sing and dance. Because Maddy is the best gift we have ever received.

Dear Maddy,

As I write this, I like to think about where you were exactly one year ago...still cozy in my tummy...and then where you were ten minutes ago, trying to take more than four consecutive steps... on the verge of turning one year old. The day before each birthday is a time to think about the last year before looking forward to the next 365 sunrises and sunsets.

Every night I tuck you in and keep your door open just a wee bit so I am able to peek in and watch you sleep. You sleep so soundly, so peacefully (now!). I have seen millions of your little cells heal. I have heard you sigh and watched you settle in comfortably. I have been blessed to witness the personality of the little life in front of me unfold. You have literally grown before my very eyes... Every night I whisper to you, "You are the best thing to ever happen to me..." I know when your Dad and brother read this they will say, "What about me?" --  but you, Madelyn, are the best thing to happen to ALL of us...

My little Love, you are a miracle. Your mere existence is proof that miracles do happen. Your heart makes us love harder, live deeper, have faith, and laugh. A lot. You have singlehandedly strengthened the bond of our family. You challenge us. You make us believe. And you make us smile. Each and every day. 

While fading from this world before departing for the next, your GeeGee told me that my "next one (baby) wouldn't be so easy..." "A girl?" I asked... "Yes, you'll be more seasoned then..." Undoubtedly, you had crossed paths. Undoubtedly,  she was cluing me in to your early days. Undoubtedly, she sprinkled some of her soul into the stars which brought you to us. Strong. Determined. Beautiful. Funny. Unafraid. That's our Maddy. Undoubtedly ours.

You have a best friend in your brother...with whom you laugh and play and follow and look out for each other. When you cry, he comes running, "Oh no, Mah-dee," and when he cries, you crawl to him to offer comfort. You even sit in timeout with him! You conspire against me, thinking it's so funny to go into your rooms and close the door on me. Which it is, but I won't admit that until you're at least 17. You bring a softness to your father that only a daughter can bring. Although you prefer your share of tickles and gymnastics time on the floor with him. You also bring a smile to your Papa's face that only a little rascal can...it's almost like he is reliving his life from 45 years ago, when he first became a father to a baby girl. And to me, you are my gift straight from Heaven. While your brother healed my heart after I lost my Ma, your GeeGee, YOU have healed my soul. You are my most direct evidence that Heaven does exist. 

In thinking back to when we first found out you'd be joining our family, albeit unexpectedly, we were nervous, excited, and dumbfounded the world could bless us with another baby so soon after the first. And then the doctors warned us...numbers didn't look good; baby may not stick around. But you did. You have fought to be on this earth, a part of this life, this family. You have fought for us and we have fought for you. And we thank God for that each and every day. It's a testament to your personality, Maddy. Just like the Shakespeare quote that adorns your nursery: "Although she be but little, she is fierce" - and those words, my love, could very well have been written about you.

You are our Star of Wonder, Star of Night, Star with Royal Beauty Bright... We love you, Madelyn Marjorie...here's to the love and laughter and joy and beauty the next 365 sunrises and sunsets will bring. Cheers baby girl!

We love you...More.
Mama, Dada and Jimmy

P.S. Brother is very sorry for stealing your thunder during the Happy Birthday Song.

1,000 Days

My hubby and I share a Google combined calendar on our iPhones. For better or worse, richer or poorer, sickness and health... until one forgets to update the freakin' calendar...

I will inevitably say, "I need you to pick up the babies on April 10th..." to which he will respond, "I'm taking a class that day," or "I am working for so-and-so...," or the ever-so-subtle, "Did you put it in the calendar?" (keep in mind folks, the first two responses are NOT routinely inputted in aforementioned calendar!)

"Remember, the Calendar is not the final "final" word... the Calendar is not the Gospel... the Calendar is not updated... the Calendar doesn't make sense... the Calendar is filling up quickly..." and suddenly the Calendar is now a proper noun in the house which dictates our comings and goings. And, in case you were wondering...those quotes weren't coming from me...ha.

On the Calendar, I like to set audio alerts for events. Not only does this irritate, aggravate, and annoy my hubby because they inevitably ping at an inopportune moment but to make matters worse, oftentimes I don't take the moment to double check my alerts for proper timing. More than once, the alarm has gone off at 11:30pm to remind me to watch a segment on the Midday News that day or "Call Doctor" will beep at 2am instead of pm. The Calendar, nor I, seek perfection. 

But today, J had a legitimate question about the calendar. "What does 1,000 days mean?"

To which, I burst into tears.

On March 21st, the Calendar will alert me to the fact that my Ma has left this Earth for the Next Place exactly 1,000 days prior. One. Thousand. Days.  1,000 phone calls. 1,000 hugs. 1,000 "I love yous". 12 seasons. 3 Christmases. 2 grandchildren. Countless moments. Countless tears. Countless laughs and tugs at those heart strings. All missed. 

Maybe it's not normal to keep track of the days. But to me, it helps me live day-to-day in the "New Normal" - that's what Ma used to call Life after a big, changing event. The. New. Normal. And for 1,000 days I have found love and hate in that New Normal. 1,000 times I have sat and wondered how unfair and fickle Life can be sometimes. And for 1,000 times after I remembered Ma always quoting, "Life is what happens while you're making other plans..."

So on that date, March 21st, the Calendar's plan for me is to surround myself with the New Normal. Big Jim, me, Papa, Baby Jimmy and Maddy. All five of us. 

The Calendar will alert me, on that date, to the fact that life goes on, even if you're not ready for it. I guess in a way, keeping track of the days without my Ma may be not about what she has missed but the strength that I have been forced to gain to carry on. So we will plan to celebrate life, together, with 1,000 laughs, 1,000 smiles, 1,000 'I love yous', all for Ma. And maybe 1,000 beers, too.

I don't think she would want it any other way. 

Except for the beer.  Scratch that. 1,000 m&m's...those'll work just fine.

Life is No Accident

I'm sitting here eating a cupcake. Not just any ol' cupcake: it's a special cupcake my husband brought me as a treat to celebrate my "anniversary"... although the anniversary is not of our first date or our wedding.

It's February 4th, the eve of the 20th anniversary of "the accident" - the car accident that shaped my future, my life, my heart. On that day, the day that I almost died, I learned at the tender age of 17 what it takes some people a lifetime to figure out...how to really live.

Don't get me wrong: I don't live life perfectly...but life is just perfect, just for me. 

That cold Sunday morning, I cooked up a plan with a friend, to be somewhere with some people we probably shouldn't have been hanging out with anyway. I must have been feeling guilty about not being truthful about my plans with my parents, because for the first time in many years, I sat and chatted with my Dad as he shaved (and anxiously awaited the lil' bit of aftershave he would swipe on my chin, just as he did when I was little). And I watched my Ma, purposely and gracefully, put on her makeup (and teased her about the face she would make while putting lipstick on, just as I did when I was little). Before I left the house that day, I said "Goodbye" maybe ten times to each of them. The last hug I gave Ma was so that the corner of the island countertop we were standing either side of caught my rib in such a way as if to say, "Don't go"...

But I did. And it happened. The exact details of the accident are probably not all that important to share, bit by bit, but know that many people had a hand in putting this Humpty Dumpty back together. Literally.

I had a 1% chance of ever walking again. Knowing this fact, I made it my mission to live my life for the 99% of those who couldn't. To love, to give, to hope, to work hard, to give thanks and to laugh. A lot. At 17, I learned that everything certainly DOES happen for a reason, that the Man Upstairs had a design tailored for me, that the past has a plan for the future, that life has its peaks and its valleys, that there are some things you just can't control, that 'time' is a friend and a foe, that sometimes what you think is your path to take is really not an option in the end, that life just has to go on, that friends, true friends, will always lend a hand, and that family...family is everything. 

Twenty years later the sentiments are the same. I look around - if that accident didn't happen to me, so many things would have been different. Not better, just different. In looking at the smiles on these babies, I don't think things could ever be better than this. If, somehow, I could have known what my future would hold for me on that day 20 years ago, I would have still gotten in the car. 

The physical scars still visible pale in comparison to the life I have loved and enjoyed the last 20 years. 
Or to this cupcake.

Thank you for being a part of my life.

This Lil' Piggy...

My Ma used to look down at her feet on her birthdays and say, "These feet are ___ (insert age) years old. Isn't that something?" She always found it funny that feet, hands for that matter, aged, right along with the rest of the body. I would say, "But Ma, your eyes, nose, mouth, those are all ___ years old, too..." but that didn't strike her as interesting in knowing that her feet were now a year older than just the day before.

How ironic that just the other day I looked down and thought: "These feet are 37 1/2 years old"... While not the portrait of beauty, they've certainly served their purpose. They tell a life's story. They've been with me as I weeble-wobbled my first baby steps, as I pushed to pedal my pink banana-seat bicycle, as I made the game-winning kickball catch in 4th grade, as I gratefully hugged my orthopedic surgeon after my car accident, as I proudly displayed my summa cum laude cords at BU's commencement, as I stood in front of my very own classroom for the first time, as I traveled to various places and spaces on this earth, as I walked 117 miles for breast cancer, as Dad walked me down the aisle, and as I ran to a crying baby in the middle of the night. My feet have been there for me, even more so than some people I know. My feet. Carrying me through. Ten pudgy toes. And one pain-in-the-ass bunion.

Never thought of it that way before? I guess it's no coincidence that every vacation, I take a picture of my tootsies. After all, they earned the vacation, too.

Once Ma had left this earth for what comes next, I had an overwhelming urge to run. Just get on the treadmill, turn on my tunes and run. But with a giant baby boy in my belly and a painful toe, that wasn't happening anytime soon.

Fast forward. A new house, a new baby, a running toddler...

After a painful surgery last September to remove said bunion, after an awful recovery - ummm...nobody told me it would be THAT bad and believe me, I have had LOTS of surgeries... I was able to run just this last weekend, for the first time...embarrassingly enough, in years. My feet, which have always kept me going throughout the course of life's peaks and valleys, had been holding me back...for years. But now, I could run. Albeit a short run, it was a run, nonetheless.

So, I set a goal. Couch to 5k. Alright, maybe not for 2015, but for 2016, I would like to run the Pancan Purplestride 5k, for team Marchin' for Margie. (Check it out, here)

Until then, look for an upcoming picture of my piggies, soaking up the warm Arizona sunshine, taking in a baseball game, or chasing after those babies. I might even be sporting a lovely shade of green toenail polish. Green does mean "Go," doesn't it?