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.