Life has gotten the best of me again.
I like to think I "do" Life the right way. After almost 40 years, I think I've got it down: play. laugh. let things go. move on. have faith. work hard. reflect. notice the small things and make them more special. but most of all: love.
We are always up to something over here and these babies of mine are no longer babies. They say and do the coolest things. I try to make every day of value to them in some special way. Usually it turns out to be the other way around. We keep busy, like most young families. I often stop and think about writing another entry for More Seasoned Then; quickly that thought becomes a fleeting one as I'm being tugged on with a request of a snack, a book to be read, or for a hug. One day when I am old(er) and gray(er), I will look back and never regret not writing more because I will have raised happy, healthy children who, for the most part, have had my undivided attention, and all the books, hugs, and kisses they could ever want (and the occasional fruit snack, too).
Many of the moments I share with my children inevitably become teachable ones. I think I learned this from the best: my Ma.
Ma taught me that whenever you say "I'm the happiest I've ever been" it is usually followed by a period in life that could be described as the worst, most difficult time ever (that is, since that last time you proclaimed you were the "happiest" and stupidly didn't learn that you shouldn't say such nonsense). Ma much preferred the old Forrest Gump: "Just floatin' along like the breeze"... maybe next time, I will have finally learned to just stick with the damn breeze. What I do know is that we all know life is a series of peaks and valleys...I guess it goes without saying: we're in a valley...but I'm going to make it a teachable one.
Every day, I have a smile on my face, a positive attitude, and an unabashed love for my family and friends. I sleep little these days, but I still find myself awaiting the early-morning pitter-patter of preschooler feet to greet me, inevitably with a giant smile and a "Good morning, I love you"... accompanied by a "squeeze hug" a genuine zest for life and anticipatory excitement for what the day may bring. I look forward to when my daughter then awakens and says, "Hey, Mom, morning. Where's Brudder?" I may be exhausted but when these two ask to dance, we dance. If they ask to sing, we sing. And again, those hugs? Always hugs. Their smiles and laughs and giggles keep me (us) going. They make us laugh even when the gravity of reality tries to pull us down. We are stronger, smarter and more in tune because that is who our children have helped us become. With that, another one of Ma's faves: this, too, shall pass, floats across my mind at least thirty times a day - kinda like that breeze she was fond of.
...
"Thank you, God, for all of my blessings. God bless Daddy. And God bless the Chicago Cubs"... My son's nightly prayer is so poignant, so honest, and so reminiscent of how I must stop the daily few minutes of feeling sorry for what we don't have and make sure we don't miss out on what we do. The most important thing we have right now is Love. Love from our children, from our family, and from our friends. It's right in front of us. And that's more valuable than anything money can buy.
Even more than a World Series ticket.
So I guess it's little Jimmy who owns this teachable moment. We have a lot of blessings, even in a valley. We have each other. And we always have those Cubbies.
Saturday, October 29, 2016
Monday, July 4, 2016
This Blog Sponsored By...
1986.
"What does 39 and holding mean, Mom?"
It means I won't get any older than 39 years.
"I don't get it"
Someday you will.
...
Someday.
July, 2016.
"Wow, you're going to be 39 this year, Da"
Shut up, Dad
"HA HA HA"
For the record, this was the first and last time I have ever told my father to "Shut Up!"... in the almost 39 years I have been on this earth. Couldn't help it, though. It came flying out of my mouth before I even realized what I had said. Good thing Pops has a sense of humor.
...
Wow, 39. 39 and Holding. Finally, I understand. I'm pretty sure if I dug into my Dad's closet, I would be able to find the original "39 and Holding" t-shirt I had inquired about so long ago (after all, he still has an original teal Members Only jacket that he wears on occasion and I beg him to sell for "big bucks" on eBay. I'm talking ORIGINAL, people. Teal. From 1985).
39 and Holding. As I write this I think of the little gem my Dad often says, "Getting old sucks, Kid." Can't help but smile at some of the truth to that.
...
If you tell me a date, say 1982, I place myself toward the left in my mind, as if my life is a timeline found on the chapter introduction of a Social Studies textbook. 2000ish, I move toward the middle and 2016, I move all the way to the right of my memories, leaving blank space even further beyond that for what's to come. I do the same with the yearly calendar. In thinking of October, I move toward the right of my yearly timeline and if we are talking about spring break, the timeline leans left, indicating the end of March.
When you tell me 39, I see it as the dead middle of my life's timeline. I'm hopeful to live to 78 (or better) but somehow I have always thought of 39 as the absolute center of my existence.
And 39...could there be an uglier number? Almost old enough to check the next box when they send out the Publisher's Clearing House survey but too old to shop in the Junior's section. 39...should I be driving a minvan now? 39...should I feel "old"??? 39... am I now the "middle-aged teacher??? - Good God, please no" 39... What have I learned?
39 and Holding should be "39 and Growing"...
39 years. Wow, am I ever lucky? I have lived, loved, learned, taught, laughed, cried, failed, succeeded, and have found peace. I have done more than some people do who live to age 78 and I am still growing every day. If 39 is the absolute center of my life's timeline - I still have a lot to live and do and see and just BE.
...
39. Now I'm inching closer to the right of my life's number line. Ouch. With that comes aches and pains and age spots and stupid adult problems like money for taxes and preschools and the f'ing vacuum repairs and the dumb dryer that eats my socks. And the dishwasher. Could someone please invent one that loads and unloads itself already?
Sometimes I wish I could just rewind time like we used to on the old VHS videotapes that seemingly took forever. I would park myself in the middle of the couch on Waverly Road, turn the tv dial to some Sesame Street and eat Crispix Cereal and Five Alive juice for a snack. I would put myself at the beginning of my timeline, snuggled in close to my Ma and Dad and sister, and not have a care in the world.
So with that, this blog entry is brought to you by the letters "F and U" and the numbers "3 and 9"...
Kidding.
Kinda.
As for now, I will hold on to my Dad's gem, just as he does, with a smile: "Getting Old sucks"...or at least until he dumps that teal Members Only jacket.
Wednesday, June 29, 2016
Caterpillar Park
They say a picture is with a thousand words.
This is my Maddy. My feisty, playful, doting and (at times) my Moody Maddy. I could think of a thousand ways to describe her (just as someday she will be able to do for me - most likely when she is about 15)... but the single word that defines her is Resilient.
Never would you know by looking at her now what a struggle the first few months of her life were for her (or for me). What I see now is a vibrant, healthy, happy little girl who is physically and inherently strong. I'm pretty sure it's "Maddy's World" and everyone around her is just living in it.
This photo was taken at one of our favorite spots, which we've come to call "Caterpillar Park"... The kids love to try out all of the equipment and climb through the caterpillar tunnel- hence the nickname. At the close of this trip, the Mads decided she was going to tackle the uneven terrain of the drawstring-type bridge on the bigger piece of the playground. I watched closely as she moved with intention. This bridge was hers! She cautiously took a few steps while quietly whispering "Easyyyy" to herself. She almost made it across on the first attempt but her sure little feet became a little unsteady and she slipped. I tried to capture the moment of her crossing the bridge all on her own; instead, I captured the moment in which she landed haphazardly on her hands.
Snuggled in the tight hug I had waiting for her, I asked, "You okay, my baby?" to which she replied, "Yes. I try a'gin, Mom" with a tear and a wiggle out of my arms, she jumped right back onto the bridge to give it her best shot.
Resilient.
I know of five year olds who would have taken that tumble and would have called it a day.
But not my Maddy. My resilient little girl.
I choked back the tug at my heart that reminded me how very blessed I am to have her in my life. These moments are what it's all about. Resilient.
To this little girl, this bridge was her hurdle to conquer. Nothing was getting in her way. Needless to say I didn't capture attempt #2 because I was too busy admiring her with pride and awe. She made it, by the way, shot a smirk and an "I DID IT!" in my direction that made me literally laugh out loud.
Resilient.
Funny, I didn't realize it until just now that that is how I would also describe a butterfly. No wonder she loves pointing them out.
...
So with that, my dear, resilient Madelyn Marjorie: watching you from caterpillar to butterfly is a privilege of my life. Thanks for reminding me what it's all about.
This photo was taken at one of our favorite spots, which we've come to call "Caterpillar Park"... The kids love to try out all of the equipment and climb through the caterpillar tunnel- hence the nickname. At the close of this trip, the Mads decided she was going to tackle the uneven terrain of the drawstring-type bridge on the bigger piece of the playground. I watched closely as she moved with intention. This bridge was hers! She cautiously took a few steps while quietly whispering "Easyyyy" to herself. She almost made it across on the first attempt but her sure little feet became a little unsteady and she slipped. I tried to capture the moment of her crossing the bridge all on her own; instead, I captured the moment in which she landed haphazardly on her hands.
Snuggled in the tight hug I had waiting for her, I asked, "You okay, my baby?" to which she replied, "Yes. I try a'gin, Mom" with a tear and a wiggle out of my arms, she jumped right back onto the bridge to give it her best shot.
Resilient.
I know of five year olds who would have taken that tumble and would have called it a day.
But not my Maddy. My resilient little girl.
I choked back the tug at my heart that reminded me how very blessed I am to have her in my life. These moments are what it's all about. Resilient.
To this little girl, this bridge was her hurdle to conquer. Nothing was getting in her way. Needless to say I didn't capture attempt #2 because I was too busy admiring her with pride and awe. She made it, by the way, shot a smirk and an "I DID IT!" in my direction that made me literally laugh out loud.
Resilient.
Funny, I didn't realize it until just now that that is how I would also describe a butterfly. No wonder she loves pointing them out.
...
So with that, my dear, resilient Madelyn Marjorie: watching you from caterpillar to butterfly is a privilege of my life. Thanks for reminding me what it's all about.
Saturday, May 7, 2016
On Learning How to Be a Mom
Dear Jimmy and Maddy,
Someday.
Someday when you read this, I want you to know that I tried as hard as I could to be a great Mom to you. I played as hard as I could, loved and laughed as hard as I could, hugged as hard as I could. Cooked and cleaned??? Maybe not as hard as I could have. But that's okay. A crumb here or there never hurt anyone.
...
Everyday I wake up, I try to make each day right by you. I want more smiles than tears, laughs than sads, screeches of delight than screeches of toddler angst. I think of all the things we can do to fill our days, to keep you the giggling, healthy, active little loves you are. Sometimes we "go on an adventure" and sometimes we're just hanging out at home. It doesn't really matter where we are, as long as you know that my favorite moments begin and end with you.
Understand that learning how to be a Mom without my own Ma, your GeeGee, isn't always easy. But you two, being the great kids you are, make learning and life easier. Thank you.
People have joked since the beginning of time that "babies don't come with a book of instructions..." I beg to differ. The instructions come from your own upbringing and they're tucked away somewhere in your head. Not a moment of your lives hasn't been influenced by the Grandma you never got to meet. I try to follow what she did with me when I was little - everything that worked while tweaking the things that maybe I had hoped had been different.
So when you are tucked in with a "blue" (a pacifier) and a "friend" (frog or minnie mouse), know that comes from GeeGee. And the white noise machine? She always had to have a fan on. When I ask if you're "snug as a bug in a rug" know that was her phrase, too. Speaking of being snug, if that blankie was warmed in the dryer for you, know I learned that from the Best.
And when you hear music on all day, every day, know that was her. She always had to have background noise on. When I interrupt your cartoon to check the weather when the sky is dark or how I have to turn off Luke Bryan in the car to switch to 720 WGN to hear the updated forecast? You guessed it. Then after the storm has passed, going from window to window on a "Rainbow Hunt"... Yep, her too.
Or how about when you cry and I offer you water - it's because "crying just makes your face puffy and just makes you tired" she would say. If I kiss your knees or head after you bump them? A "cool rag" on your head for a fever? All my Mama.
An apple a day, dirt cake in the summer, and Monster Cookies whenever we can bring out the ginormous mixing bowl... All her.
How about the arts and crafts we love? GeeGee was pretty creative, too. The incessant picture taking (like even pics of both of you on the potty?) Yep, all your Grandma.
The trips to the "flower park" to say a silent prayer and send up a balloon... To not be afraid to talk about death or heaven or what comes next. And the I love you...More??? All GeeGee.
And all your Mama. And now, all of it, all YOU.
Someday.
Someday when you read this, I want you to know that I tried as hard as I could to be a great Mom to you. I played as hard as I could, loved and laughed as hard as I could, hugged as hard as I could. Cooked and cleaned??? Maybe not as hard as I could have. But that's okay. A crumb here or there never hurt anyone.
...
Everyday I wake up, I try to make each day right by you. I want more smiles than tears, laughs than sads, screeches of delight than screeches of toddler angst. I think of all the things we can do to fill our days, to keep you the giggling, healthy, active little loves you are. Sometimes we "go on an adventure" and sometimes we're just hanging out at home. It doesn't really matter where we are, as long as you know that my favorite moments begin and end with you.
Understand that learning how to be a Mom without my own Ma, your GeeGee, isn't always easy. But you two, being the great kids you are, make learning and life easier. Thank you.
People have joked since the beginning of time that "babies don't come with a book of instructions..." I beg to differ. The instructions come from your own upbringing and they're tucked away somewhere in your head. Not a moment of your lives hasn't been influenced by the Grandma you never got to meet. I try to follow what she did with me when I was little - everything that worked while tweaking the things that maybe I had hoped had been different.
So when you are tucked in with a "blue" (a pacifier) and a "friend" (frog or minnie mouse), know that comes from GeeGee. And the white noise machine? She always had to have a fan on. When I ask if you're "snug as a bug in a rug" know that was her phrase, too. Speaking of being snug, if that blankie was warmed in the dryer for you, know I learned that from the Best.
And when you hear music on all day, every day, know that was her. She always had to have background noise on. When I interrupt your cartoon to check the weather when the sky is dark or how I have to turn off Luke Bryan in the car to switch to 720 WGN to hear the updated forecast? You guessed it. Then after the storm has passed, going from window to window on a "Rainbow Hunt"... Yep, her too.
Or how about when you cry and I offer you water - it's because "crying just makes your face puffy and just makes you tired" she would say. If I kiss your knees or head after you bump them? A "cool rag" on your head for a fever? All my Mama.
An apple a day, dirt cake in the summer, and Monster Cookies whenever we can bring out the ginormous mixing bowl... All her.
How about the arts and crafts we love? GeeGee was pretty creative, too. The incessant picture taking (like even pics of both of you on the potty?) Yep, all your Grandma.
The trips to the "flower park" to say a silent prayer and send up a balloon... To not be afraid to talk about death or heaven or what comes next. And the I love you...More??? All GeeGee.
And all your Mama. And now, all of it, all YOU.
Friday, March 4, 2016
Just the Way You Are
Two days ago, as we were in the throes of the "hat, coat, shoes" routine to get out the door in the morning, I watched as the Mads took notice of the small freckle that adorns her inner forearm.
It's a beautiful little mark, which just so happens matches one I have, in exactly the same spot.
But to the Mads, it was a mark. A tiny dot of imperfection, whose existence she stumbled upon just days shy of her second birthday.
Feverishly, she licked, pinched, rubbed, smooshed, smoothed out her skin, and then just stopped and stared at it. Damn thing didn't move.
It was if I could read her mind: "dot...dot"...
She looked up at me, her proud mama observing in awe. If you've never noticed someone take notice of something for the very first time, it's a charming moment that should be savored. After a long pause, she held up her arm and said, "Help, please"...
So I kissed it.
She giggled, reluctantly put her coat on, and pushed up her sleeve to look at it again.
"I love you just the way you are, baby girl..."
She gave me a look I couldn't help but think I've seen before. "More," she mumbled, and started off to the car to begin our day.
...
The moral of the story is simple: Take notice of what makes you different, embrace it, and your world will be a happier place.
The other moral of the story: freckles don't come off, even if you try to lick them.
It's a beautiful little mark, which just so happens matches one I have, in exactly the same spot.
But to the Mads, it was a mark. A tiny dot of imperfection, whose existence she stumbled upon just days shy of her second birthday.
Feverishly, she licked, pinched, rubbed, smooshed, smoothed out her skin, and then just stopped and stared at it. Damn thing didn't move.
It was if I could read her mind: "dot...dot"...
She looked up at me, her proud mama observing in awe. If you've never noticed someone take notice of something for the very first time, it's a charming moment that should be savored. After a long pause, she held up her arm and said, "Help, please"...
So I kissed it.
She giggled, reluctantly put her coat on, and pushed up her sleeve to look at it again.
"I love you just the way you are, baby girl..."
She gave me a look I couldn't help but think I've seen before. "More," she mumbled, and started off to the car to begin our day.
...
The moral of the story is simple: Take notice of what makes you different, embrace it, and your world will be a happier place.
The other moral of the story: freckles don't come off, even if you try to lick them.
Monday, February 29, 2016
Leap of Faith
February 29th.
I have an unusual fascination with dates and anniversaries and where I was or what I was doing on a certain date. It's enough to drive me (and those around me) crazy sometimes.
The last time the calendar turned to February 29th was four years ago today, in 2012.
When I think about how much life has changed for me since the last time I wrote February 29th on the board in my classroom, my head begins to spin.
It was the happiest time right before the saddest time of my life.
Ma was still here. I was only a few weeks pregnant with Jimmy. We were all beside ourselves with joy. A miracle baby. We lived in different house, we drove different cars, we had different expectations of what the future would hold.
So much has changed in those mere four years...and it's gone by in the blink of an eye. Terrifying.
When I think about the next time the calendar will mark February 29th, it will be in 2020.
Wow. 2020. Seems so futuristic, doesn't it?
Seems like light years away, but the truth is, it's just around the corner. Jimmy will be 7 and almost a half...and the Mads will be turning 5. If J can do addition now, will he be working on Algebra then? (He certainly doesn't get the math gene from me)... Will M be loving Irish dance or will she prefer to swim instead? Will Mickey Mouse and Chik Fil-A still be favorites or will those loves be things of the past? Will I be in my 20th year of teaching and will Big J still be on days at the PD? Will we be lucky to have our loved ones close and in good health and not endure the pain of losing more? Will I finally have a clean car? Doubt it. Holy smokes, I just realized I will be 42 years old. F*ck.
February 29th, I love and hate you for making me reflect on all of these things.
But today, I will take a Leap of Faith, and know that the Universe has a plan for all of us... and that sometimes it's okay for a date to come and go and not get so weepy.
After all, it's just one day. And a Monday at that.
I have an unusual fascination with dates and anniversaries and where I was or what I was doing on a certain date. It's enough to drive me (and those around me) crazy sometimes.
The last time the calendar turned to February 29th was four years ago today, in 2012.
When I think about how much life has changed for me since the last time I wrote February 29th on the board in my classroom, my head begins to spin.
It was the happiest time right before the saddest time of my life.
Ma was still here. I was only a few weeks pregnant with Jimmy. We were all beside ourselves with joy. A miracle baby. We lived in different house, we drove different cars, we had different expectations of what the future would hold.
So much has changed in those mere four years...and it's gone by in the blink of an eye. Terrifying.
When I think about the next time the calendar will mark February 29th, it will be in 2020.
Wow. 2020. Seems so futuristic, doesn't it?
Seems like light years away, but the truth is, it's just around the corner. Jimmy will be 7 and almost a half...and the Mads will be turning 5. If J can do addition now, will he be working on Algebra then? (He certainly doesn't get the math gene from me)... Will M be loving Irish dance or will she prefer to swim instead? Will Mickey Mouse and Chik Fil-A still be favorites or will those loves be things of the past? Will I be in my 20th year of teaching and will Big J still be on days at the PD? Will we be lucky to have our loved ones close and in good health and not endure the pain of losing more? Will I finally have a clean car? Doubt it. Holy smokes, I just realized I will be 42 years old. F*ck.
February 29th, I love and hate you for making me reflect on all of these things.
But today, I will take a Leap of Faith, and know that the Universe has a plan for all of us... and that sometimes it's okay for a date to come and go and not get so weepy.
After all, it's just one day. And a Monday at that.
Monday, January 11, 2016
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.
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.
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