The Time of My Life

Looks like Life got in the way of the best intentions of keeping up with "More Seasoned Then." Each day is a whirlwind with these little ones always on the move: laughing, loving, learning, and dancing.

I wrote awhile back about how my Ma loved to  dance.  In secret, of course. I find it just awesome that every day Jimmy, Maddy, and I find a moment to fall in time with the music, probably country in nature, and dance. Watching those little feet bouncing, kicking, and tapping makes me feel happy, lucky, and proud...and it gives my heart a tug all at the same time. Life really does come full circle.

The other day, Jimmy was listening to his "iPot" (as he calls it), and found our wedding song: The Luckiest. I honestly have only heard it a handful of times in the years since we married. Each time I hear it, I can close my eyes and be right back to June 26, 2010. It was the happiest day of my life, I hope Big Jim's life- ha ha, and of my parents' lives... I know this because they both told me so.

.............

In the summer of 2010, once we arrived home from Aruba, my Ma had asked if I had "watched the wedding video yet?"... To which, I answered, "Nope..." I knew this disappointed her but I explained: "I have a memory of that day in my heart and in my mind that I don't want to change. I will watch it when I'm ready...sometime." I'm pretty sure she hung up on me with a "yah, whatever,"... but it's the truth.  

..............


So, here we are, close to six years later.  Finally, I was ready to watch the video. Ready to see if my memory served me right. Ready to see if my happiness was captured on video. I was ready. And I had my two little loves there with me, ready to see it, too. 

What I wasn't ready for was my reaction to seeing her.  There she was. Ma. So radiant, so beautiful, so happy. And I cried. A hard, ugly cry.

Little J looked at me and said:  "Mommy, don't cry. There's GeeGee. She is happy. And they're (pointing to the people on the dance floor) happy, they're dancin'..."

And he was right: There's no reason to cry. Ma lived her life the best way she knew how: happy. That's how she chose to spend the Time in her Life. And that's how we all should. 

And just like that, the memories I have of her last 13 days, spent in the hospital, were instantaneously replaced with this one.

She would be very pleased with that. 


After all, nobody puts Margie in a corner.

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.