To Give God by Maureen Locher

The Incredible Painter

2011-09-16T18:57:00.000-04:00

You know how sometimes when you are in the midst of an event you instantly realize it will become a family moment in years to come? Well, such an occurrence happened to me about an hour ago. For months I have been painting every room of our downstairs. I have become quite the good painter, the tired painter, the I-never-want-to pick-up-another-brush-as-long-as-I-live painter, and today my oldest son described me as The Incredible Hulk painter. I got a little mad. What’s wrong with that? We all have to blow off steam, right?

I suppose I did more resemble a tanker of explosives hit by a grenade than The Little Engine that Could. But it really was the last straw. Room after room, sore knees and arms, blisters even, and finally I have come to the end of my summer painting stint. I had one long wall to go in the dining room. I had cut in already. (For you amateurs, that’s the brushwork around the ceiling, windows, etc.) The easy part was all that remained. But I was REALLY tired. It’s been two days of non-stop, except for sleeping, painting. Last night I Saran-wrapped my brush, gave kisses and was out. This morning I awoke, unwrapped the brush and took off. So at that moment in time I wanted to be The Little Engine that Could but I was The Little Engine that Couldn’t.

I took a break. I wrote. I got my mind off all things paint. An hour later I returned to the easy last wall. One roll of the roller and I go postal! (That’s probably not politically correct to say but you can all picture me, I bet.) I start yelling. I can’t believe it has happened. “What? What’s wrong?” Three of the males of the house were home at the time. What would be worse than what was happening would be to have any of them attempt to appease me. I do believe I screamed that everyone had better stay away from me. They did. All but one – the bravest of the bunch.

You’re probably wondering what happened. When I left my plastic paint tray for that hour of restful writing the enemy called Air dried the thin layer of paint on the plastic roller pan just enough so that when I began rolling the wall teeny little flecks of hardened paint colored my wall. This had occurred one other time when I was painting my first room here and it drove me nuts. I couldn’t find the source of the never-ending flecks. I blamed the paint, the roller. It took a long time to decipher the culprit.

I knew I had to act fast. I poured the uncontaminated paint back into the paint can and washed the plastic tray. About this time in my tirade my oldest asked if he could wipe all the flecks away. Yes, please. Although, perhaps I didn’t sound so sweet. Next he re-rolled the part I’d done but more flecks came to the party. Of course they did. The incipient air-made creatures! Already they inhabited the roller. I wiped the roller with napkins, poured paint into my freshly washed pan, and finished the wall. I now have a beautiful dining room although a bit of the love-hate-love relationship between me and the dining room exists at the present moment. I need some rest to see it in all its glory.

Afterward my son said, “Do you know you were shaking? Holding the roller up in the air and shaking?” I wouldn’t be surprised. It was then that he likened me to The Incredible Hulk going from mild-mannered me (Oh, wait, that’s Clark Kent, but same principle) to lunatic in the span of a few seconds. But the beast has now quieted, we made a memory and now I have a funny new nickname. He called me The Incredible Painter, right? That's how I remember it.

Have a great weekend, my readers. Stay away from paint. I know I will.

~ Maureen

Serendipity

2011-09-06T12:00:00.000-04:00

For the past decade summer holiday weekends have come and gone. My husband and I sit at home at the end of them and wonder where the days went. This Labor Day weekend was different. Friday we went out with our boys and had a lot of fun. Saturday we sweltered in 95 degree humidity at a pig roast and had a ball. We ate, we visited, we watched our boys play in a cornhole tournament. Sunday brought a family picnic where I made a special point to talk to every single person. I mean - what's the point of having a family picnic if you don't talk to your family?

Yesterday my husband and I braved the dark skies to go to the county fair. We basically went there for lunch. Started out with a funnelcake, followed by a corndog, chocolate covered banana, washed it down with a root beer float. Next added a veggie to the gastric delight in the form of a buttered corn ear. Yum! Slushed that with a lemon shake. And then we went home. It cost a fortune but it's once a year.

For the first time in forever I actually hosted a little picnic after I went out somewhere in the day. That never happens because I am always a crazy person running around getting the house and food ready. I would never entertain the thought of leaving my house to have some fun. However, with all the lovely home improvements we have made to our home in the last few months I have gained much more confidence and feel much better in my home. It's a wonderful feeling.

Two hours before company arrived I whipped up a batch of chocolate chip cookies. That would never have occurred in past years. The day was leisurely and when company arrived we all had a good time eating and visiting.

My dad used to call it serendipity. You just don't know what will happen unless you try. So I tried and I succeeded in enjoying a very fun long weekend. Now it's back to reality and painting my dining room. Ugh! This morning I looked at every item in the room and asked myself, "Now where can you go instead of being in the dining room?" And then I lugged them all wherever. The dining room is the last major room which needs painted. Back to the grind but with happy memories behind me.

~ Maureen

God, What Do You Want of Me This Day?

2011-09-02T09:07:00.000-04:00

The past two days have been quite peaceful and one reason exists for this lovely outcome: I started writing again. It may sound silly but throughout this remodeling project which began in May my primary focus had shifted. I no longer wrote. My excuses were many. No place to write free of drywall dust and noise. I could not gather my thoughts. I had no words in my head. Well, that last one turned out to be a lie because since I told myself that I would write I have miraculously pulled words from my brain each day. And it feels good. Writing is now my primary purpose. Every time I try to go away from it, consciously or not, God gently nudges me back. And thank You, God for that!

I give credit where credit is due. Without the little pushes from God where would we all be? Left to our own devices I shudder to think what our familes' lives would be like. We kicked God out of schools - can't pray - separation of church and state, don't you know - and look what's happened to our schools. If God is not welcome why should He stay? Don't get me started on all the ways our great country's so-called leaders have shoved God aside. If we feel unwelcome somewhere do we stick around? If we are made to feel like the outsider we find somewhere else that welcomes us.

So it is with God. He gives everyone plenty of time and resources to look his way. He's waved red flags right in front of my face many a time. Sometimes I listened; sometimes I didn't. And whenever I didn't listen I suffered in some way. We all do. The smarter ones realize it and do something about it.

I wish you the peace and quiet to hear God's voice today. Ask Him what He wants of you this one day. It's going to be something that you can handle. I promise. Give it try. It's as easy as "God, what do you want of me this day?"

~ Maureen

Smell-o-vision

2011-08-11T20:15:00.000-04:00

Hello Everyone - that is, if anyone is still checking my blog! It has been over a year since I have written. Many reasons. None of them really all that great. But here I am again. In cyberspace with you. My site is in need of an overhaul. I know that. The other blogs associated with this site are hopelessly out-of-date. Don't bother clicking over there unless you're in the mood for retro fun.

I have had one of those "Why did this have to happen to me?" moments and wanted to share.

First of all, me and mine have been living through a complete remodeling of our first floor. And we are doing the work ourselves. So far we have demolished our kitchen and bathroom and put up new drywall. We have only one bathroom. Truth in disclosure compels me to write that someone else did do the drywall. However we are all so sick of living in an unfinished house we can hardly stand it.

About three weeks ago we saw light at the end of the tunnel and are now on the downside. New kitchen, new paint, new windows, new carpet. Which brings me to this afternoon. I have been a bit of a slug lately. I am tired of painting. The painting belongs to me exclusively. Why? Because I don't trust any of my men to do it as neatly as I do it. Not conceited - fact! So this afternoon I tell myself I must paint. Another day cannot go by without my painting something.

I get the supplies and settle in the bathroom. And I do mean settle - all more-than-120-pounds-of-me (Writer's license, don't you know!) I choose to paint the woodwork on the floor all around the toilet. It's the most difficult and I am going to tackle it. So down I go onto the floor. Sometimes I paint with my left hand because that's the hand that can reach whatever spot needs slathered with paint.

And all the time I am doing this I smell pee. Why can't the grown men in the house have better aim? I mean really! This is a brand new bathroom. Let's step up - literally and figuratively. I continue in my contorted fashion until my paintbrush finds what I will call a short curly hair. I wanted to puke. On I went careful to paint as neatly as I could. The linear feet of painting was less than 11 feet but it took me at least an hour.

I struggle up and go into the kitchen to check my dinner. It's all burned up, billowing smoke inaugurating my new kitchen. How freaking special! I have not been cooking very long in my new kitchen and never once have I remembered that I now possess a range hood with an exhaust fan. I think I'm going to make a sign. Maybe that will register in my brain. "You have fan, Moron. Use it!" So I turn on the fan and open the windows. And I look at the 12 burned up brats that really are a favorite of ours accompanied with sauerkraut that's been simmered in the pan drippings. No pan drippings here. Chunks of carbon.

I simply give up. There may be a Plan B but I'm not instigating it. Pizza Hut $10 carryout sounds good to me. Hubby can do that. I come in here to complain to my friend Julie via e-mail. Everyone should have a Julie friend. I don't know what I would do without mine. As I write to her I think of you, and want to share my ridiculous tale with you. I nearly forgot my password it has been so long since I've written. I finally remembered it and was good to go. The fingers are typing, the smoke is filtering out of my house. But from where is that strong smell of smoke emanating? Oh, it's me. My clothes and my freshly cut and washed hair all reek of smoke. But at least I don't smell like pee!

~ Maureen

Well-loved Faces

2010-06-09T15:56:00.001-04:00

If God has a purpose for every one of His creations, what is His purpose for me? Sometimes I wonder. God has definitely opened up a whole new chapter of my life forcing me out of my old routine and into a new, dealing with the day-to-day worries associated with my parents’ recent move into assisted living. It consumes me. My parents are always on my mind, and when I sleep I often dream of them. It’s hard to get away. But maybe that’s because God doesn’t want me to get away. He knows how much time my parents have left on this earth; He knows what’s coming. And He knows how much I will miss them when they’re gone. So maybe, just maybe, He’s pushing me to spend as much time with them as I can – while I can.

God knows my heart. He knows I can’t say no to the responsibility. Everybody tells me to visit less frequently. My husband, my friends, even the facility staff wonders why I feel the need to stop by nearly every day. But none of them knows what my parents have done for me my entire life. My parents have given me unconditional love since the second I was born, sacrificing, working hard, to form the kind of environment where love flourishes in abundance.

And now, there they are in a new, confusing environment. No matter how attractive I try to make their surroundings, when they wake up each day they’re not waking up at “the farm,” the home they’ve loved for 38 years – the home they found one day in 1972. I was in the eighth grade and I hated the place! I didn’t want to leave the only home I’d ever known. I had no vision; my parents had immense foresight and the energy to make their dream a reality. Remodeling took one solid year, but once it was complete and we moved in, it was positively a lovely place to live. The farm was home.

As much as I know my parents are where they need to be, they are not “home.” In times to come, perhaps they will begin to feel at home in their two connected rooms, but until then they need family around them whenever possible. If they are no longer able to see well-loved treasures, they need to see well-loved faces. And so, they will see mine as often as possible no matter what. My purpose is clear.

Trust - A Two-way Street

2010-06-05T17:53:00.003-04:00

I wonder if moms fully comprehend the immense power they hold in their hands. Once a child is born a mother lives for her child. Her reason to be is forever altered – tipped toward the best interest of the child. No decision is made without considering the welfare of that child. I really can’t remember what my priorities were during the brief B.C. (before children) years. I wanted to get through school, marry and have kids. I guess that was about it back then.

And BOOM…five children in six years, the death of one, and life with four remaining boys followed.

I was never a casual mom. I took the responsibility quite seriously. My boys were my world. And they knew it; they felt it. They were my gift from God, and I treated them accordingly, perhaps because I knew they were only on loan – mine for a short while. God could reclaim what was His; He’d done it once.

We five were like one entity for many years. My husband orbited at work providing the necessities of life, but my boys were mine. A great pleasure and an awesome responsibility. I never asked why God took one child back so soon; I never quite understood what I’d ever done to deserve the other four.

Looking into my boys’ eyes I saw love and trust shining back at me. My sons knew that they could count on me no matter what throughout all phases of their lives. They shared their joy, and came to me in times of trouble. And I thought that was about the best feeling in the world. Until today.

This afternoon one of my brothers and I attended a family meeting to chart the progress which my dad has made since entering rehabilitation after a debilitating fall. My dad is a week shy of 90 years old, and very “with it,” so he, too, attended the meeting. All therapists praised his efforts and detailed his on-going goals to regain the life he had pre-fall. Back and forth we listened and talked for nearly an hour. The goal uppermost in my dad’s mind is to join my mom, his wife of 69 years, in assisted living. This is why he works so hard at therapy. Toward the end of our discussion the therapists asked my dad what he thought would be best. Without hesitation, in a strong clear voice Pop said, “I trust my son and daughter completely to decide what is best for me.”

A definite Kodak moment.

My mind has not completely wrapped itself around the immensity of trust proclaimed in that one short sentence. It’s one thing when day-by-day we gain the trust of our own children. They’re little. Babies are born as trusting beings counting on their parents to care for them. So if we moms do it right, we do gain our children’s trust. But to have the man who gave life to his children put his life back into his children’s hands is the greatest gift he could ever give us. As with my boys, I can’t seem to figure out what I ever did to deserve such a father. Pop is my gift from God, and I will treat him accordingly because I know he is on loan – mine for a short while.

Blessing vs. Burden Mindset

2010-05-31T15:59:00.002-04:00

The Monday after Mother’s Day, I hit a wall. I couldn’t wake up and stay awake – I just couldn’t do it. I had been running on empty for so long visiting my parents at their new “home” every day, talking to nurses and aides and therapists of all sorts. Running everywhere; doing everything. Signing papers I never wanted to think about let alone sign. DNR were merely three letters to me a month ago. But oh the difference a month makes. Do Not Resuscitate…two people I love most.

Family meetings, dispersal of a lifetime of memories as well as the garden variety of possessions and plain old junk. How long will this take? It boggles the mind. Never have I been more grateful that I’m not an only child. And never have I been more grateful that my parents took the time and made the sacrifices to make their family what it is today. The part of me that is them is getting me through this difficult time.

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday I just couldn’t seem to get it together. My reserves were clean spent. My burden mindset held me tight within its clutches. How could I keep going? I couldn’t do it anymore. And I wasn’t very happy with God. How could this be happening? What did He expect of me? How much does one person have to take? I wasn’t exactly Pollyanna before all of this.

I’ve never quite mastered the mom-of-four-men role yet. The mom-of-four-boys was my forte for years – my reason to wake up in the morning. But then they all grew up. And as they grew their messes grew proportionately. Their little problems were bumps in the road of life 10 years ago; now each is responsible for their own life-altering decisions. And I can’t help them. Letting go is my primary mom role right now.

And letting go is my secondary role with my parents. I know it. And I hate it. Every time I think of my mom alone in her new room I want to cry. Yet every time I visit my dad he is remarkably improved. Pop is working his hardest at physical therapy each day because he is thinking first of his wife’s well-being. He knows that once they can be together in one room that my mom will feel better. He’s probably right. After all, he’s known her since she was 16 years old. For 74 years she has been his best friend.

With all these emotions swirling around in me it’s a wonder I kept it together as long as I had. But long about Thursday I knew I had to rejoin the land of the living – somehow. God knew I was kind of mad at Him. But still I asked His help. No amount of sleep or running away would do the trick. I needed God’s help. And, of course, He gave it to me.

Even though I had been an ungrateful child whose family and friends had bombarded heaven with prayer requests which God had graciously granted, apparently that wasn’t enough for me. How soon I’d forgotten what God had done. My dad didn’t die when he conked his head on concrete. My dad is getting stronger. My parents are as together as they can be two halls away from each other. They are safe and well cared for, seeing each other every day.

And I think I have it rough! But that’s me. I require reality checks, and never once have the checks been pleasant. It amuses me to realize how much I complain to God about my boys-turned-men. Who does God complain to about me?

I needed the blessing mindset. Walking through my parents’ house I spied so many treasures that mean the world to me. But where on earth will they fit in this already bulging house of junk? Lack of storage has been a much-preferred lament for years. Suddenly the light bulb brightened above my head. God showed me the way. He gave me the guts to tell my dear darlings that they WILL comply – or else. And He gave me the needed energy to devise and begin implementing the plan. I feel differently because it’s not me against them; it’s me and God against them. I know God’s not against my kids, not really. He’s just “for” what’s right. And part of what will make this whole situation better is working together to improve this house. The “ending” of my parents’ home is a new beginning for my home.

I’ve always felt that I’ll never truly grow up until I don’t have my parents any longer. They’ve been my rock since Day One. So I can’t reject these last lessons of maturing even though I’d rather fly away to Never Never Land with Peter. So I stay and plan and do and take one day at a time recognizing all the small as well as great blessings God bestows on me even during my most troubled times.

Nice to Be Back

2010-05-29T17:21:00.003-04:00

It's been such a long time since I have written on my blog. Thank you to all who have prayed for me and mine. My dad has steadily improved, and both parents have moved into Assisted Living. My Marine is doing great. The past month has both flown and dragged. Falling into bed each night hasn't left much time for writing but a couple weeks ago I started my column back up at CatholicMom.com and would like to share with you those columns.

A was going strong writing on this blog every day until the big derailment. So now I shall write when I can but I know it won't be every day. Thanks for reading.

Is Honesty Always the Best Policy?

Where do I begin…to tell the story of how strange a time it’s been? These last four weeks have been a blur. It all began one afternoon when my almost 90-year-old dad fell and cracked his head open on the concrete. How my almost 91-year-old mom had the presence of mind to phone my brother is still beyond me. Yet she didn’t think to call 911 or punch the button on her own I’ve-fallen-and-I-can’t-get-up-bracelet. There my dad lay in a pool of blood.

Since then our family has seen a hospital stay for my dad, and round-the-clock care for my mom, followed by THE MOVE for my dad into a skilled nursing facility, and my mom into the assisted living side. We knew the day would eventually come. And now it’s here. Luckily, we were somewhat prepared after having toured a place we all liked a few months ago – as much as the word “like” can be used in these circumstances.

So for the past weeks my life has not been my own in any conceivable way, shape or form. I have another life. What I once did, I no longer do. My house is a shambles. We eat out nearly every day. My writing consists only of daily e-mail updates to friends and family.

This is early May when my flowerbeds should all be cleaned out. I should be shopping at nurseries for colorful flowers to stick in the ground. Instead I am hit full force each day with the fragility and mortality of two people whom I love most in all the world. I realize my mom’s forgetfulness is so much more than mere forgetfulness; I watch my dad struggle to raise a two pound bar in physical therapy.

Sitting next to my mom at dinner on Mother’s Day, she turned to me and asked, “Is anything new with you?”

“No, Mom, not much.” Sometimes you just have to lie.

Prayers, Please

2010-04-14T22:44:00.002-04:00

Could try to be witty, but am too tired. Please pray for my dad who was admitted to the hospital today after a fall on Monday; for Micah, the Marine about whom I've written whose truck ran over an IED yesterday in Afghanistan leaving him with a head injury; and a little girl in San Diego who is having a medical procedure on Friday. More later, but no idea when.

When it rains, it freaking pours!

Hot Off the Presses!

2010-04-12T21:52:00.002-04:00

From the first all-MAMAZINA issue ~ launched online 4/11/10

*Women's Voices Unite*

Just Another Manic Momday
Recapturing the flag
by Moi

Brightly colored ribbons tie up my childhood memories; heavy black damask suffocated my morning. It began so innocently. Did I really want to eat oatmeal for the umpteenth day in a row? No, I did not, but I dutifully boiled the gruel in hopes of raising my HDL. Just needed the finishing touches of Splenda® and yummy fat-free milk. (She said dripping with sarcasm.) Not one drop of milk in the house. The thieves drank every bit. It’s bad enough my dear darlings suck down every ounce of liquid within hours of restocking, but milk for my oatmeal is sacrosanct. Or so I thought.

What I want to do is hurl the pan out the window. Instead I storm upstairs to write. Settling in front of my laptop I connect to the Internet. I connect to the Internet. I connect…$@&%!!!!! Oh, this is too much. Is the problem with the desktop? Plod. Plod. Plod. Down the steps. Unplug the modem. Count to the end of my patience. Plug it back in. Nothing. I glance at the clock realizing a group of friends will be gathering for breakfast at a familiar spot. I dash out the door; I throw off the damask.

Visiting my friends brightens my mood, albeit a temporary measure at best, scratching the surface of a deep set desire to be anywhere but here. Here at home? Here at this stage of my life? Yes and yes. But where to go?

“In ’69 I was 21 and I called the road my own. I don’t know when that road turned onto the road I’m on.”

But I want to know. I’m tired of running on empty. So Jackson Browne and I drive – reminded of a time eons ago, pre-GPS, when I chose a road, any road, and cruised my ’63 Chevy Super Sport convertible for hours until I felt like turning around. Doesn’t take a mental giant to realize that if you stay on the same road you never get lost.

Or do you?

I may not be sure where I’m going, but I do know where I’ve been. And that’s where my car steered me – on a trip down memory lane. 45 minutes later I’m driving past abandoned rubber factories. Goodyear, Goodrich, Firestone, Seiberling, General Tire. No production for years. No more flashing “Go Go Goodyear” sign visible from high atop the bridge. Skies clear of the black, billowing smoke. City clear of jobs and people.

This is my exit. This is my street. OK, I’m getting close. Slow down. Almost there. Girard? Girard! My Lord, I missed my own house! I double back down the alley. The alley I’d crossed a million times running to Mrs. Sutherland’s house to water her endless display of dazzling flowers standing proud in their built-up brick flowerbeds. All the lovely flowerbeds are ripped out. Every one. A big brown fence separates her yard from the neighbor’s.

On my left is the ride-your-bike-all-day-long-in-the-churchyard church. Me and my 10-speed cruised every inch of the gargantuan lot. Surely I wasn’t three inches tall as a child, was I? What other explanation could there be to explain this miniscule blacktopped strip? This is not the churchyard of my dreams. But here’s where Mrs. Starcher’s garden bordered the lot. A child took her life in her hands attempting to retrieve a lost bouncy ball clumping through the prized veggies.

I drive all five car lengths into the churchyard. Yep, it’s still standing – the five foot high “thing” I used to be able to jump up on if I tried really hard. And the forbidden steps leading up to the forbidden church. Some grown up must have gotten smart over the years and blocked the clandestine rendezvous spot of curious 10-year-olds. But the big wide steps in front of the church are exactly the same as I recall. Identical. They look just as they looked for all those slides down the banisters. They must be the exact same banisters.

Five houses made up my little block. And not a fence in sight as I was growing up. Sadly, I barely glimpse my backyard for all the fences this day. I drive around to the front. What happened to the beautiful white porch with the porch swing? And the bushes? And how on earth did the front lawn shrink so much? I played statue tag for hours on the sprawling grass in my bare feet. Do my eyes further deceive me? This cannot be Mrs. Reed’s driveway. Or Mrs. Reed’s house or lawn or porch about which I have written so many stories of my youth. One word comes to mind: Travesty!

Undaunted, I drive to my grade school, past the park where the Cinderella coach used to be. A boy carved his and my initials in the paint. How terribly romantic. Long gone. Junk yard scrap. Boo hoo. Here’s the parking lot where I played kickball. I loved kickball. Happily, this looks the same with only the addition of handicapped parking signs. Come to think of it, I had volleyball practice on this very lot in 7th and 8th grades. Go Tigers!

The windows of the school are boarded up. The little alcove on the playground where Monica, Lorraine and I sought solace from the fast runners, Tom and Jerome, is no more. Enormously tall slide also vanished. I was a chicken, but when I finally got up the nerve it was such fun bulleting down. A two-way street is now one-way, but I persevere to drive the exact route I’d walked home from school every single day for eight years. Like riding a bike, I don’t forget a single turn. Those big condos can’t fool me either. This is really the big vacant lot I cut through to save time. My footprints are imbedded under the foundations. I’m halfway home.

Hoover’s Pharmacy. Did you know that “pharmacy” is a fancy name for candy store? I don’t believe I ever walked past Hoover’s once; I always walked in. Walked in to peruse the cornucopia of penny candy back when a penny bought something. The old man behind the candy counter (He was probably 16 years old!) was incredibly patient with the afterschool crowd of persnickety penny-toting, penny-loafered babies. Sixlets were my favorite.

Past the cleaners was Patterson’s Hardware store. Still selling hardware, but not owned by my dad’s friend, Harvey, any longer. I bought my first bicycle license from Harvey, or more precisely, Mister Patterson. You know, back when being an adult garnered respect from children? Of course, not one establishment remains the same today. Vacant or different enterprises. Asian markets seem to be a big hit. And fences. So many fences.

On I walk…I mean drive…home from school. The special twistyturny bushes are still there. Each day I’d wander off the beaten path, onto the twisty path and back out again. Such fun.

Where is my sister’s handprint illegally squished into the cement sidewalk? I’m close. I know I’m close, but how can I see it from the car? I park and get out searching the small stretch of sidewalk…to no avail. But most of the break-your-mother’s-backs are snow-covered. Another trip for a spring day? I think so. It would mean so much to me to see my sister’s handprint.

Almost home, I pass the Watts’ house. I cannot begin to relate the endless fun enjoyed within those four walls with my best friend, Judy. Here’s the big brick porch we jumped off in the fall – straight down into the soft pile of fallen leaves.

And I am home.

It took forever to walk this mile as a child. As an adult, in a car, I can practically see my house from school. Again I say, I must have been a three inch child.

Two more stops in my looking glass: library and pizza place. The library where I selected my very first library book – Finders Keepers. How I hope the library will be open. I will go in and find the book smudged with my fingerprints. Unfortunately, the library is a daycare center with very high fence all around. Ever the sleuth, I make out the rusty residue from the removed metal letters: James H. Chamberlain Branch. Yep, this is really it; my young mind remembered correctly. How often had I walked through those doors?

Final stop: A Gild Pizza – the best sausage pizza in the entire world – bar none. They haven’t altered their recipe in all these years. My whole life I have been ruined for any other sausage pizza. I make do with pepperoni when I must. You really can’t screw that up. But my first and only pizza love will ever be A Gild Pizza. Today I ordered a medium double sausage pizza, and ate half of it in the car while driving home to my grown up home as overflowing happiness flooded my heart.

I captured the flag! Retrieved my ribbons once more. So what if there are fences everywhere. I’ve been in all those places. Those places belong to me, and I to them. Fences may keep others out, but not me. I’m in every room, all over the churchyard, in the school cafeteria, up in Judy’s attic, and dancing through the puddles in Mrs. Reed’s drive – memories locked in my heart forever and always.

Hey, want to know a secret? Want to know what’s better than a piping hot piece of A Gild sausage pizza? Four pieces of cold sausage pizza for breakfast. LDL be damned!

***Check out the rest of the mag! Many more columns, essays, profiles, poetry, reviews and a special feature on Antigone Rising. www.mamazina.com - formerly Mom Writer's Literary Magazine.

Happy Reading!

Day Three in the Windy City

2010-04-11T14:03:00.000-04:00

Day Three in Chicago:

What a lot of food! Last night we had dinner at Ditka’s Steakhouse. When the menu listed “Sides to Share” we should have taken the “to share” part a little more seriously. Very big portions and so tasty! Another bonus was our waiter. Very personable guy who made the experience even more enjoyable.

This morning Mass in the cathedral after another helping of the unsurpassed breakfast buffet at the hotel. Lowkey so far here in Chicago. Hope to actually sight-see later this afternoon and tomorrow. Otherwise I’ll go home, people will ask what I saw, and I’ll have to say, “Not much!” Did see The Bean today – a huge shiny stainless steel structure sculpted by Anish Kapoor. Pretty cool! Odd but cool. PR name is Cloud Gate, but I sure see why it’s nicknamed “The Bean.” Looks just like a huge shiny bean.

I keep taking my life in my hands each time I hail a cab. And I thought I was a city girl! Ha! Not a “big” city girl, that’s for sure. My husband thinks that maybe when we arrive back home I won’t complain so much about leaping up into his truck anymore. I hate to admit it but he is right. His truck is just too darn high, but I will definitely be happier and feel safer behind the wheels of our familiar vehicles on our safe roads without crazy drivers who seem to love to take chances with other people’s lives. Perhaps I have some of the Cowardly Lion in me as well as Dorothy! But better a live chicken than a dead duck!

What will this afternoon and tomorrow bring? Only time will tell.

Windy City - Day Two

2010-04-10T12:00:00.001-04:00

Day Two in Chicago began with the most delicious breakfast buffet. Individual ready-to-serve Eggs Benedict huddled to keep warm beneath silver domed serving trays, as well as a chef at-the-ready to concoct any omelet my little heart desired. Smoked salmon, brie, salami with more actual meat than fat, every breakfast mainstay imaginable, as well as fruits and danishes. I had to remind myself that I can return tomorrow to prevent gastric overload today. Mmm…so good.

And now what? A leisurely day ahead. I could read, write, watch TV, people-watch. I could do anything I “wanted” to do as there’s nothing I “have” to do. I’m not used to such leisure. I’m usually doing or going. This empty expanse of time seems foreign. When I left for breakfast the marvelous maid sneaked in, made my bed and cleaned my room. Fresh towels, empty wastebaskets. That doesn’t happen at home.

I can only imagine the hours it would have taken to prepare a fraction of the foods on the breakfast buffet. And the clean up? I am further in awe that all these many buildings with sky-touching floors are filled with people. I’m looking out as I sit on the 11th floor to see three more buildings reaching ever higher. And I see directly into their curtain-less windows. I’m fascinated. Must have a bit of Hitchcock/Jimmy Stewart in me. Rear Window, remember? Voyeur, but in the more cleaned up sense!

This world is so different from mine. As delectable as breakfast was I was not impressed by the surroundings. Too big, too open and too noisy. Every time someone moved their chair in toward the table or pushed themselves back, squeeeeak. Every single time. I was reminded of similar stools in high school. The smart teachers asked the children to bring in tennis balls. Cut the tennis balls in half, secure one on each leg and – voila – no more squeaking. Chicago could learn a thing or two.

I am staying in a ritzy hotel; it’s no Red Roof Inn. But the room, like the restaurant this morning, is cold and stark. Too much chrome, glass and black for my liking. But that’s me. I’m sure others find it chic. I guess I’m more old-fashioned. Which leads me to believe that while taking everything good into consideration so far – buffets, maid service, leisure – I’m with Dorothy: There’s no place like home. And I’ll be happy to return, but, while here in the Windy City I will enjoy all it has to offer such as museums, the aquarium and restaurants to name just a few. More tomorrow…

Must-a Got Lost!

2010-04-10T11:53:00.002-04:00

Don't know what happened to yesterday's post. I posted it. Oh well. So I'll post two new ones for you to read today.

Yesterday's:

I’m in Oprah’s backyard tonight. Flew into Chicago this afternoon. I positively love flying on airplanes. Haven’t done it very often which is why it hasn’t lost its appeal, I suppose. How can men shut their eyes, put in earphones and go to sleep? Don’t they realize what they’re missing?

The greens and tans and browns of the earth below. The skinny winding roads. All those boxes of varying sizes called houses and businesses so far away. And the clouds! I can’t decide if they look more like marshmallow or snow. I think this may be why I am not afraid of flying. It’s surreal; Take your pick: either fluffy mounds of marshmallow crème or mountain after snow-covered mountain. What’s to spook?

And I trust the pilot – you know, the total stranger I’ve never met before in my life. I trust him. I place my safety in his hands without worry.

The cabbies, however, are a different story. So far, three rides today, and tomorrow I think I shall do much more walking. Yikes! It’s a free-for-all. Whose got the biggest, shall we say, nerve, wins the road. Now this is spooky.

As I was gazing out the airplane window incredulous at the sleeping beauties I realized that in my everyday life I take just as much, if not more, for granted. The sky at home is no less awesome; I’m just looking up instead of down. The birds that fly by don’t usually get but a passing glance from me. Why don’t I feed them? Why don’t I welcome them into my yard?

And what about the wonder that is found in my children’s eyes? So what if they’re 19-24 years old now? Does that matter at all? Why aren’t they still the daily miracles they were when they were younger…and I was younger? One of my sons has a fleck of gold in his right eye. When was the last time I searched for it? This particular dear child is also the exact height to make it possible to hear his heart beat perfectly when I lay my head against his chest as I hug him. Why don’t I hug him every day come rain or come shine? Why do I let stupid stuff get in the way? Why do I let days pass without experiencing the wonder that is motherhood?

I made these kids (with a little help from their dad) and I know them better than anyone. When and why did I allow the magic to fade away? Much to think about.

How To Find God 101

2010-04-08T19:13:00.001-04:00

Psalm 102: 1-3

“The prayer of one afflicted and wasting away whose anguish is poured out before the Lord.

Lord, hear my prayer; let my cry come to you.
Do not hide Your face from me now that I am in distress.
Turn Your ear to me; when I call, answer me quickly.”

I love the last few words of this excerpt: “Answer me quickly.” How true is that? That’s what we want. We want our answers given quickly, painlessly and usually in the affirmative. But that isn’t always the case, now, is it? Sometimes our answers are years in the making, and when we finally get the answer it is a big resounding, “No!” And then we must rely on the belief that God knows best. He must, in His all-knowing, all-seeing manner, know that a “yes” would hurt us, would not be right for us.

Hard to believe at times, but true. So on we plod along the path of our journey…toward Him. And as we move forward in this life our eyes mustn’t be focused on God to the exclusion of those around us, or we miss the God in everyone we see, everyone we hear. And we lose the opportunities to touch, to reach out to those in need. We become loners neither helping nor receiving. No man or woman is an island. Those who try to be are the saddest of sad. Miserable and lonely.

The fastest cure if we feel ourselves slipping to the dark side is to help another person in need. Find someone to raise up, to hold up, to praise, to love. Find another person who needs God and you will find God.

Let Go and Let God

2010-04-07T21:58:00.003-04:00

Sometimes as moms we just have to let go. And trust God.

We used to think sleepless nights with newborns were hard. How did we survive the sleep deprivation? And juggling two kids, then three or more every waking moment. How hard was that? Going to the grocery store week after week keeping track of them all. Being on pins and needles quieting children during Mass. Visiting everywhere on holidays. Scheduling, ferrying them all here and there. Attempting to be in two places at once when children had special, yet conflicting, events.

How did we survive the school years? All those rules. Then the older years when rules seemed to fly out the window. I don't remember opening the window, but away they flew. We take so much from our children all in the name of love. Yet they take more from us. Just when we think we have a good handle on this thing called motherhood, we are thrown for a loop.

We can't do a thing...and we know it. For the first time in our lives, The Supreme Mom Authority, can do nothing to alleviate our child's pain. We have to sit back and watch. We have to let go. How do we survive it?

Do we survive it?

Quick Hi

2010-04-06T17:07:00.001-04:00

Time only for a very quick hi. Hi! I hope all is well with you. More tomorrow.

Happy Days Make Happy Lives

2010-04-05T20:30:00.000-04:00

And how was your Easter? I had a great one! Sadly, I am not a person who usually happily anticipates holidays. A bit of a skeptic. Many tiring, long holidays under my belt in the past 20 some years. But from morning Mass, through three house visits to the leftovers before bed, all went well. Unexpected pleasures. Start of a good week I hope!

Happy Easter

2010-04-04T10:10:00.000-04:00

Easter Blessings to all!

Food for Thought

2010-04-03T18:30:00.003-04:00

Why is it that the dinner we work so hard to make takes our family only minutes to consume? My family and I just finished our Easter meal a day early. And it was good if I do say so myself! With a goodly amount of leftovers. Yum!

Gearing up for the Easter Vigil - all two hours plus of it. Although this Mass is mighty long it tells our story - a story we need to hear every year. I am looking forward to it. Ritual is important. Helps us remember who we are. Just as it was important for me to have my family around our dinner table, it is even more important to sit around God's table and partake of the Food He offers - the Food which took a lifetime to create. And at such a high price! I'll think of that tonight as I receive Commnunion.

Don't work too hard tonight, Easter Bunnies!

Triduum Thoughts

2010-04-02T09:40:00.001-04:00

Oh my goodness – not many winks of sleep last night at all. And you know why? Because I’m torqued about the Triduum. Of all things! What is happening to me? It’s become so special. One long Church feast. I like thinking of it in that way. Sadly, I am the only one in my house who feels this way, but one is better than none, right?

Last night’s Mass was lovely. Growing up I never had experienced the washing of the feet, so it’s extra special to me now. I will always remember who washed my feet and whose feet I washed last night. There is a closeness among friends who choose to be at Mass – who don’t feel like they have to be there, but want to be there.

Today is much of the same. I’m watching a Passion mime this afternoon put on by 8th graders that is special beyond words, and then, of course, The Passion is this evening which is probably the most moving thing I have ever witnessed. So I am accomplishing all the many Easter chores today – cookies, pies, salads and more to come – all on way too little sleep. Maybe I can catch a cat nap somewhere in this busy day.

But as I experience the dragging feeling that always comes with diminished sleep, as well as the dull headache which attaches itself to my brain, I gladly accept these tiny inconveniences – especially on this day – this day when Jesus suffered and died for me…and for you. My aches aren’t from nails, and my headache’s not from thorns.

May God bless you today.

Happy Holy Fooling Day!

2010-04-01T09:04:00.002-04:00

Happy April! Happy Holy Thursday! And Happy April Fool's day! Am I missing anything? I wish you a Happy Holy Fooling Day! :)

My posts may be short for the next several days. Much to do and many meaningful events at church. I hope you get all your preparations for Easter finished and stay sane in the process. That's always a prayer of mine.

'Til tomorrow...

Lazy Day

2010-03-31T17:13:00.001-04:00

Can you say: lazy day? This day was peaceful and quiet. Two of my sons are on Spring Break and one of them remarked how great it was to do nothing. And you know what? It is! I haven’t set the world on fire today, but I have made two pies, and cookie dough is chilling in my fridge as I write. I could have driven to town for a haircut. I could have folded clothes or cleaned the bathroom. But I didn’t. As far as I know the Clean House Police have given up on me. I don’t expect a raid from them today. Consequently, all that “stuff” can wait. My house is clean enough to be healthy, and dirty enough to be happy. I have that phrase written on a wooden plaque which my mom gave me years ago. It’s so true.

I’m not comfortable in spotless houses – never have been. Maybe when all the boys have moved away I will find the time to care about such things, but I highly doubt it. Time will tell. As it is now, I feel I have successfully balanced the line between yelling at my sons 24/7 about their endless messes, and ignoring the mess. In other words, if company unexpectedly dropped by (which by the way, I hate!) I would not fall dead of embarrassment. The house would pass inspection. That’s a good thing.

Today one son grilled hotdogs outside for the first time this season. And afterward he took it upon himself to clean up some winter debris, and rake in the backyard – without being told. This is a very good thing! Mom is happy. I figure that if we all pitch in a little when we can that that is good enough. Everyone has busy schedules. My guys aren’t babies anymore. They all have their own lives and priorities.

I wish you a happy last day of March. Time to hang Easter eggs outside!

Thanks for Listening, God

2010-03-30T20:36:00.001-04:00

Have you ever had one of those days when you felt you were right where God wanted you to be? Or been thinking about something and ~ voila ~ there’s your answer? That’s how I felt this morning. I began my day at Mass and Bible Study where there was so much to take in I thought my head would explode! Holy Thursday Mass, Good Friday’s Passion, the unbelievably long Easter Vigil and finally Easter Day. Our group discussed all of the aforementioned.

So many feelings rippling through me. Do I do enough? No, I don’t do enough. Sure, I do enough. What is enough? Who knows? But I do know that I always feel safe and content at Bible Study. For a couple hours each week I feel like an apostle – a disciple of Christ learning some of what all Christians should know. I listen. I take notes. I ponder.

I like learning. I enjoy exploring the facets of the Bible. Wherever I am on my own personal journey affects what I come away with each week. Today I was open to possibility. On Palm Sunday I told myself I would participate in all Holy Week church activities. Just knowing that I said yes to God has put me in a good frame of mind. I get up early, knowing what the day will bring, and have the energy to see my agenda through. There’s no wiggle room. At night I feel that good kind of tired that says “well done.”

After Bible Study I was this pathetic hungry woman desperately seeking a lunch partner. Called one husband and three sons to no avail. I gave up and drove to the post office to send a bill away. And up I look and walking right in front of my Jeep is my friend – my soon-to-be lunch partner. We had a wonderful time together both enjoying each other’s company.

I just love it when God answers my prayers before I even really put a voice to them. He knew what I wanted and gave it to me. Now, to be sure, God doesn’t always answer in such a favorable and timely fashion, but He does always answer. It’s just extra nice when He answers this way.

May God’s ear be especially inclined to your needs this week.

Oh Wouldn't It Be Nice?

2010-03-29T20:25:00.001-04:00

You know what I love? I love it when a fellow mom rants and raves to me. I really do. Because she knows I will understand; I’ve been there. A little while ago I came home from a very long but fruitful day to a classic mom rant from a friend. How many such rants have I written in my time to my friends? How many stars in the heavens? Actually half of my as-yet-unpublished book is full of them. I’m old enough to put some of these situations into perspective. My kids are older, and as corny as it may sound, I am wiser.

But even with my newfound wisdom you know what I’d really like to do? I’d like to go hit these stupid husbands upside the head and say, “Open your freaking eyes and see what that lovely woman does for you and for YOUR children. Stop being blind a.k.a. stupid!”

Without much thought at all I can think of five men to whom I’d like to issue the above statement. Each additional day that I live I am dumbfounded at the extreme differences between men and women. Why did God do it? Why did He put both sexes on the same planet? What was His grand plan? Merely for procreation?

Shall we go all the way back to Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden? If they hadn’t picked the fruit would all our relationships be rosy? Would men wash dishes and happily ferry the children to their many activities? Would they pick up their own socks and underwear? Would they turn on the washing machine? And would they say, “Thank you for all that you do, Honey, every single day – the things that I see, and the hundreds of things that I couldn’t possibly see. Thank you for taking the time to make OUR children be the best that they can be…Is there anything I can do for you right now?”

Yeah, I know, my blog has disintegrated to fantasy. But wouldn’t it nice?

Crucify Him? Really?

2010-03-28T14:02:00.001-04:00

Every Palm Sunday I wish the same thing: that during the Passion of Christ when it comes time for the congregation to chime in with, “Crucify Him,” that no one says a word. But that’s never happened and it didn’t happen again this year. I know the reading is a re-enactment, of sorts, but still I wish for everyone to simply remain silent. That would send a bigger message to the church – send a bigger message to God – an immense, yet silent, “I’m sorry.” Like if we had it all to do over again we would try to do the right thing. Maybe next year.

As I look forward to my week I have so much to do. All moms do. Dragging out the familiar recipes. Writing the grocery list, buying food for our own dinner as well as for the places we visit. Baking the cookies and pies. Tending to my parents. Tending to my own family and my own house while participating in the many church activities all week long. It boggles the mind. I wish my family attended these activities with me. But they don’t. And I don’t push anymore. It’s not worth the opposition. They’re doing their own thing these days. So add onto the anticipated work a dash of misplaced guilt at not being at home several nights this week. What’s a mother to do? A mother who especially during Holy Week, feels that her first duty is to God, over family.

But right now I feel I have some control over it. One week to go. If I plan well and organize diligently perhaps I can pull this off without repeating the Christmas fiasco. I sure hope I do.

It never fails that during Holy Week each year I feel as if I haven’t done enough. I feel I always come up short. Why is that? Perhaps it’s because as Good Friday approaches I realize that no matter what I ever do, it could never compare to what God has done for me by sacrificing His one and only Son. Or, perhaps it’s the nagging question: If I were there in Jerusalem that fateful day would I have stayed silent? Or would I have gone with the crowd yelling, “Crucify Him”? I’ll never know.

Happy Saturday

2010-03-27T18:36:00.000-04:00

Peaceful yet constructive day here today. Finally hauled down all the Easter decorations and took the time to clean my living room spic and span. It looks like bunny heaven. Accomplished much and will definitely rest on my laurels tonight. Been a week for the record books and I’m going to enjoy the night. I hope you do the same.

Turtle Day!

2010-03-26T16:33:00.001-04:00

About a year ago one of my sons fell in love with fish. He’s always loved fishing, per se. Having the patience of Job, he can sit or stand in a river or lake for hours on end waiting for that nibble. But last summer he came across a deal, probably on Craig’s List, for an aquarium complete with filters, nets, rocks, whole shot. He just needed to buy the fish.

Did I want a huge aquarium in the corner of my living room? No. Did I want to make my son happy? Yes. He set up the aquarium, was interested in it for a while, and like many new hobbies, the aquarium began to turn murky and green. And it smelled. In the living room. Mom was not happy. Finally my son cleaned it out.

And a rebirth of interest in the little fishies grew. For the past couple weeks adding fish, and discovering really cool rocks of all shapes and sizes has been his passion. And isn’t this 100% better than mindlessly playing the Call of Duty video game? He’s bought a new filtration system, shopped the local pet stores for baby sharks and crabs, and the other day he ran across an ad for turtles.

I love turtles! Always have. He placed the order and gave me strict instructions in case the turtles arrived when he wasn’t home. Yesterday was the expected date of arrival. At midnight our whole family was still awake and pretty bummed about some of the house developments (see yesterday’s post), but once the clock struck 12 I wished my little aquatic nut, “Happy Turtle Day.”

Around noon the six little cuties arrived. I opened the package and rescued them. Again I say that I love little turtles. When my son came home he was thrilled too. It’s amazing how happiness is infectious. And still we were waiting on those pins and needles about the house offer another of my sons had made days earlier. Tensions were high, collective family nerves were frazzled, but turtle happiness shown through the gloomy clouds.

And when we received affirmation that my son’s house offer was accepted the wild rumpus started! We were all so happy. Whenever good comes to good people it restores our faith, shining up our outlook on life.

My family will forever remember the day when the journey of acquiring a new house collided with the joyous arrival of little baby turtles! Sometimes we just know when we are on the cusp of good fortune. It’s here for me and mine. I can feel it. And it feels great!

There's No Place Like Home

2010-03-25T18:15:00.002-04:00

Earlier in the week I spoke of the whirlwind of activities as well as the many highs and lows which have bombarded me and mine. My head is spinning and I am tired. My whole family is tired.

How many of us experienced moms remember when our “big” ones were just “little” ones, and something happened in their lives that we couldn’t control? Perhaps it was after their first days of school when a tearful daughter returned home crying about the bully on the playground. Or the dear Cub Scouts who questioned the authenticity of Santa. Or a coach who was unfair. Unfortunately, the list of slights can be quite long when we’re talking, in my case, four boys times 20 years. As moms we remember them all. Like elephants, we never forget. I’ve forgiven, of course. But not forgotten.

As our little ones grow older I am reminded of the saying, “Little kids – little problems, big kids – big problems.” This was perhaps never as true as in this past week. We’ve lived through the gamut of mischief boys get into and most all it could have been avoided had my dear ones listened to their parents. But who always listens to their parents? I didn’t. Live and learn. We learn through our mistakes; they are the necessary evil of life.

But what happens when your older child comes up against a force which you know is not fair. Not a bully on the playground, or an unfair grade in science class. What do you do when your child-turned-man’s future is unfairly influenced by a total stranger? We couldn’t go punch the bully back then and we couldn’t go punch anyone now. But I wanted to.

We must continue to be the level-headed ones, the ones who guide without pushing, steer without forcing. And that is so darn hard. This week I just wanted to scream, “Do it this way! I know what I’m talking about. I’ve lived through situations like this. You haven’t. Trust me. Do it! You are too nice. ‘Nice’ isn’t going to win this one.”

Actually I did give pretty much of the above mentioned advice. The stakes were high. I needed to be heard. But my son was getting so much advice from so many people that his head was probably doing a Linda Blair.

And then I stepped back. Who knows what’s best? I don’t. Who sees around the bends and through the detours? I don’t. Who loves my children as much or more than I do? God does, that’s who. And He wants the very best for all His children. I’d spouted enough. It was time to let God get through. That was the best advice I could give my son: to ask God what He wanted for my son. And to ask God to help him achieve it. If it was meant to be, it would be.

And God came through! My son is purchasing his very own home.

I learned a few lessons myself through these difficult days. An added bonus was witnessing the solidarity of family and friends to the same end result: Everyone wanted my son to get this house. Everyone was praying and hoping and wishing for the “yes.”

And we got the yes yesterday. Apparently, I yanked the phone out of my husband’s hand when the call came through while we were eating lunch at a nearby restaurant. And apparently I was pretty loud as all eyes were on me. Oh, who cares? I was so happy! And I still am. Thank You once more, God, for lighting the way to make this possible. “With God All Things Are Possible.” Not just a cutesy saying, but fact.

Turtle Day was a very good day! More on that tomorrow…

48 Minutes Late!

2010-03-25T00:51:00.002-04:00

It must still be yesterday somewhere. Just returned home from a family dinner to celebrate my oldest son buying his first house. More tomorrow...which is really today now! What a week. And it's not over yet.

Say It Isn't So

2010-03-23T16:04:00.002-04:00

Until yesterday I’d never been to open-casket calling hours for a young person. It was horrible. Even though I have lost a child, I have always felt that the longer you have had a child the harder it would be to lose that child. The more the memories – the more the anguish. Such was the case yesterday when my husband and I paid our respects to the parents of a boy with whom one of my sons graduated just four short years ago. The accident involved his motorcycle and a car. Motorcycles never win those battles.

How could this child be lying in this coffin? Surely it was a hoax. Like in a movie. He would just wake up and be fine. If only that were true. But no, not so. His mom stood so near him, touching his chest often, standing, being brave. And he was an only child. Cruel fate? His time? I don’t know.

I remember substitute teaching one year at the local high school right before prom. The school coordinated the staging of a fake accident to warn soon-to-be prom goers of the hazards of drinking and driving complete with mock accident, paramedics and a life flight helicopter rescue. After the demonstration, students were ushered into the gym where we listened to a father relate the horror of answering his door in the middle of the night to hear the news that his son had been killed. The final shock for all in attendance came as each student walked single file past the coffin of the “victim.” But when the students peered into the coffin they saw their own face reflected in a mirror. Chilling. But highly effective.

That’s all I could think about as I watched the boy for whom I’d cheered throughout basketball and football right alongside my son. It’s fake. It’s a prom stunt. But, of course, it wasn’t. It was cold, stark reality for all who’d loved him. I can’t imagine what my own son, his friend, must be feeling. I hope he talks to me if he feels the need. Bottling up feelings never solves a thing. Writing now helps me a bit. Doesn’t make sense of it at all, but helps…a little.

My four sons who regularly drive me nuts have taken on a warmer glow in the face of this tragedy. You just never know. I hope my boys and their friends realize how very precious life is and treat it with the respect it deserves. We only get this one life.

My prayers go out to this young man’s family. May he rest in peace.

Teeter Totter Time

2010-03-22T18:40:00.000-04:00

Today was a day filled with varying emotions, but hopefully this day will end on an upswing. Waiting on pins and needles for what I hope shall be some very exciting news. Such a day can’t easily be written about. I need to, as my son says, “digest” it first. So it’s digesting time for me. More tomorrow. Goodnight all!

90-year-olds Unite

2010-03-21T20:12:00.001-04:00

How does taking your two 90-year-old parents to another’s 90th birthday party sound? Like tons of fun? Well, that’s what my husband and I did today. My parents have known the birthday girl their whole long lives – since the second grade. It’s actually quite sad when my parents read the obituaries each morning; they always seem to know someone written up in the columns. So celebrating a friend’s life at a birthday party is certainly preferable to attending their wake.

Even though it takes much effort to take my parents somewhere, the effort is well worth it. We just make our minds up to move slowly. Life is not hurried because it simply cannot be. Year by year my parents are winding down more and more. Their bodies aren’t keeping up with their aspirations. And it’s sad. About ten years ago my mom bought a pillow she keeps in the living room. It states: Screw the Golden Years. Funny to think my mom would have bought such a decoration but she did, and lately I understand why.

It’s disheartening to lose what we once had. To sit by and watch our capabilities diminish. To rely on others for so much. But it’s better than the alternative, right? At least my parents still have each other and we have them. This May they will have been married 69 years. Unbelievable! And they still love and care for one another.

My parents’ lives have been a lovely unfolding throughout the years. I can’t begin to relate all the ways in which they have taught me by their examples. May God always hold them in the palm of His hand.

Spring Is Here to Stay...I Hope!

2010-03-20T19:45:00.003-04:00

Another glorious weather day! What a way to begin spring. And especially springtime in the Midwest where we never know from week to week if we should wear boots or flip flops. I should have spent the entire day outside working in my yard which had been the plan, but then Plan B presented itself, so my husband and I went with Plan B.

Believe it or not we went shopping at a nearby mall. A favorite store of mine had every item of clothing 40% off. These particular sales don’t come around very often so when they do, I jump. Can you say shopping spree? Gee, it was fun. I’m set now, that’s for sure.

Everyone we encountered was in great moods because the weather was so lovely. Guys and girls were in shorts, tank tops and (seriously) flip flops. My husband and I enjoyed a delicious lunch and here we are back at home.

Two of my boys went fishing today and one fell in the river which could have ended much worse as water filled part of his waders, but he’s fine. He was stronger than the current, thank goodness. Friends of my sons are expected for a bonfire later. Everyone is thinking spring. And everyone is happy. Good riddance winter. Welcome spring!

Here Comes the Son

2010-03-19T16:51:00.001-04:00

I can’t believe how much happier everyone is in my house with the advent of this stretch of sunshine. Our temperatures are in the 60’s. I forgot just how much I missed the sun and warmth and going outdoors without a coat. And the snow this winter! Crazy! Finally we have not a trace of snow in sight. The largest plowed piles have officially disappeared. Mud has taken its place, but that’s OK with me, for as the sun shines it dries up the mud.

Today the sun is my best friend. Its very existence has spurred me on to accomplish chores inside my home so that tomorrow I will work outside. I have a few patches of pretty crocuses blooming with the promise of tulips rising up out of the ground. Of course, we also have some stray Christmas tree branches here and there, but that’s us; we’re not exactly on the ball when it comes to keeping things neatly in their places.

Until there’s an event. Then we go crazy working on things that should have already been done. This is a perfect example of me vs. my five men. I will never change this state of affairs. So I accept it. I have often said that no one cares what my house looks like. And if they do – too bad. Neat as a pin has never been me or mine. That’s just the way it is.

But hope springs eternal. I really had about given up on the inside of my house. It’s true that we have accomplished some decent home improvements in the past 15 years, but there’s so much more to do. I get quite impatient. I mean, what the heck! There are five men in this house who know how to do the things that need done. Slowly, slowly, everything happens so slowly.

I’ve written about my room upstairs which I jokingly call My Happy Place. Well, you should see that place today. 187-year-old plaster beaten off the walls awaiting blown-in insulation which, one son promises, will be done tomorrow. I’ll believe it when I see it.

I think with all things in life we must be patient and go along with God’s plan for us and acknowledge that God’s time is not our time. I complain like an ungrateful woman at times, but I am grateful for the good that God has given me. Sometimes I just have to take a chill pill and realize that God knows best. Some days I may have to swallow that pill several times a day, but then there’s a day like today when God has sent His sun. I must remember every day that God has sent us His other Son too for all our many trials – big, little and in-between. And when we talk, God the Father, His Son and Holy Spirit all listen to our pleas. And in God’s time They answer.

I wish you Son-shine in your heart today and always.

Let the Wild Rumpus Start

2010-03-18T15:59:00.002-04:00

How was your St. Patrick’s Day? Did you wear green and drink green beer? I surely wore green as I am half Irish, but I hate beer no matter the color. The plan had been to go out to a pub near us. I didn’t want to go at all. And God intervened again. Three cheers for God! First, one of my son’s drove to a nearby mall right before dinner – the traditional corned beef and cabbage which is his personal favorite. His truck broke down which meant a trip to an auto parts store and fixing it in the parking lot. Some time passed, but how would I know exactly how much time because right after he left home our electricity went out…again. Happened on Sunday too.

My dilemma: go to Mass looking like an absolute goof with poker-straight hair as I had washed it earlier but hadn’t used my curling iron yet. Life’s little decisions. After some thought, I went. Who would care? Who would even notice? The power was out there too, but at church it’s always kind of cool if the power goes out. More spiritual feeling.

Once home we finally ate our corned beef meal but the thrill was gone. None of us were too peppy. Two sons and husband. The delay kept one son from going out, and the other son didn’t want to go. Yay! We stayed home – no drunken atmosphere for us!

And guess what we rented to watch? Where the Wild Things Are. Oh, what a movie! I positively loved it. It’s a must-see. I was quite skeptical at first. I read the book to my boys when they were younger, of course, but it was a short book. How could someone possibly make a movie from that? Well, they did it.

At one point when all the wild things were jumping on one another I got up, ran across the room and jumped on my 20-year-old and just kept kissing him and kissing him! I thought he was going to die! It was so funny. I’m going to watch the movie again today. I have forgotten how to have fun. I really have. I’m a brooder too much of the time. I need to find the joy in the moment. Fellow brooders, rent the movie!

In these parts spring is finally showing its bright, warm face. It’s amazing how much happier people are when the weather is warmer. The general mood is cheery. So bring it on, spring. “Let the wild rumpus start!”

Happy Shamrock Day!

2010-03-17T08:12:00.003-04:00

Happy St. Patrick's Day one and all whether you're Irish or not! Wear that green. Drink that green beer. But watch those leprechauns. They messed up my living room, wrote backwards on our mirror and turned our milk green already this morning. Sneaky little fellas. May you find a pot of gold today. I suggest looking for it in a child's eyes.

The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

2010-03-16T21:17:00.001-04:00

The good, the bad and the ugly of my day:

The good – Mass and Bible Study, restocking our fridge and cupboards, going out for dinner

The bad – milky white liquid leaking from the garbage bag all over my dining room floor, persistent sound emanating from the undercarriage of my Jeep reverberating louder and louder

The ugly – youngest son getting his dad’s prized truck stuck in the wet (and now hopelessly muddy and massacred) yard

I think that last one is why God invented expletives which is why I am holed up in my room until the dust (hunks of mud really) stops flying around here.

Another good – the fact that it is dark outside for tomorrow is soon enough to see our horribly torn up yard and to deal with a husband’s wrath all over again

The last good – that I am me and not my youngest son! I know what he’s doing all weekend long…lots and lots of yard work!

I hope your tomorrow is filled with an abundance of “goods.”

Just Gotta Love It

2010-03-15T19:49:00.002-04:00

What a day! Routine visit to parents' house ended up with my brother and I accompanying our mom to the hospital! Always fun! Hours later her wrist is NOT broken. Unless of course, it is, in which case we really won't know for sure for about a week. That is if the pain persists, we take her back in, wait hours AGAIN and a second x-ray indicates new bone growth which means it was really broken after all!

And the first doctor told us we should give her ibuprophen round the clock. Then he left. In came another doctor who said acetaminophen is the way to go - not ibuprophen.

I'm going to bed!

Faith First

2010-03-14T14:16:00.001-04:00

What must God think of us when we take so many of His blessings for granted? Usually it takes removal of a blessing before we fully appreciate its gift in our lives. Take for example, the gift of electricity. Driving past an electrical substation on the way home from Mass this morning, my husband and I saw the brightest, whitest light. Understanding electricity my husband warned me not to look at the extreme light. Something had blown. Just for having looked for that quick second my eyes hurt. That’s scary.

We came home to no power. Funny all that we take for granted, isn’t it? No lights, heat, water, Internet. Couldn’t do much that I’d planned to do. But an option presented itself: three of my four sons were home together waiting to drive up to Cleveland to watch the Cavaliers play the Celtics. Big game and all were excited. Goofy, in fact. Puffing up their macho-ness against one another in a playful fashion. Who could lift whom up in the air? Who was stronger? Lots of sparring. Our boys became my husband’s and my entertainment. That hasn’t happened in ages, and it was very fun. It never would have happened had our power been on after church. Just as one blessing was taken away another was given.

Nobody likes it when something is taken away from us, be it our electricity, our sight, our job, our child. All sorts of horrible things happen in the world that we will never understand. I don’t think we are supposed to understand. But these misfortunes and tragedies have a way of pulling us off our chartered course onto a different path – the path onto which God places us for reasons perhaps known only to Him.

We must have faith. Without faith life is a series of mishaps with no purpose. We must believe and trust God to take care of us. When He shuts the door we must set our sights on the window trusting that God will open it. Faith comes first. Then God acts.

Into the Light

2010-03-13T16:24:00.000-05:00

Ever felt like this?

How to be happy when most thoughts are sad
Pretending you don’t miss what you never had
Keeping going day after day
Staying afloat come what may
Making promises to myself to be true
To the dreams deep within, but what do I do
When pessimism and doubt cast shadows around?
Where is the Real to which I am bound?
Where can I find it? Where can it be?
This special love that’s calling to me
Out of the humdrum and into the light
Into a world that holds me so tight
So close to the heart where love’s at the core
With a love like this how I could soar
Out of the darkness and into the light
Away from the sadness I would take flight
To a world that is meaningful, special and true
Where I would exist to simply love You

Me, too!

The Tortoise or the Hare

2010-03-12T13:50:00.001-05:00

Have you ever had one of those moments in life when you want to crawl into your own little shell? Just call me turtle today. I don’t want to do anything. I don’t want to interface with anyone. I would like to fill the tank and drive far, far away. (But hopefully not lose my Jeep again – see yesterday’s post.)

Instead I am making the conscious effort to not make waves. Yes, I watched as my son was about to fry some sausage for breakfast. Yes, I knew it was Friday. Yes, I knew he’d slam down the pan if I told him. He’s old enough to know the day of the week as well deciding whether or not to adhere to the Lenten practice. As it turned out he was a little upset he forgot. Still, had I intervened it wouldn’t have been pretty.

There are so many things I wish that my sons would just do without being told to do them. The list is endless. I am tired of being Mom the Drill Sergeant. Yesterday I spoke with another mom with the same trouble; it’s universal. The snow has melted, the yard needs a clean up. Why can’t they see that and want to live in a tidy spot? They couldn’t care less. And I am quite tired of caring more.

But how to turn it off? I’m attempting a less hands-on approach as my young men grow older. I know they have to live and learn from all their experiences, but it’s hard to watch as they choose to live in a messy environment. Because I have to live here too! I wouldn’t care if they were messing up their own places. Towels draped on dining room chairs, underwear on the bathroom floor, dishes left unwashed. The list really is endless and quite depressing, so I am done dwelling on it.

I’m going out to lunch with my husband. We will come home to the same mess, but perhaps my attitude shall improve. I have been working on my small part of the house in my bedroom today. This serves a two-fold purpose: It keeps me away from the messy looneys and offers me a better atmosphere. I am conquering the many papers which have accumulated in my room. Then I shall re-arrange a few pieces of furniture. It may not shake the world, but it’s something – it’s an improvement of some kind, however small.

So like the tortoise, not the hare, I go…

Where'd I Leave My Brain?

2010-03-11T18:36:00.001-05:00

A public shoutout to the lovely woman who helped me find my car in the Wally World parking lot today. I came out. I walked to my car. I looked. I wandered. I worried. I felt like an idiot. My car was nowhere to be found. I was beginning to think someone had stolen it! When suddenly this angel of mercy shows up since it’s so obvious I’m walking around in circles.

She suggests I hit the panic button on my keys. Nothing. We walk around together. She offers me her phone advising me to call 911. I just can’t do that. It must be there somewhere. I call my husband instead. Like what could he could? But still, I called him. And lo and behold way off in the distance I saw a dirty old Jeep that looked like it could possibly be mine. But how’d it get that far away?

I tried the remote. Nothing. But we walked toward it anyway. As we neared the Jeep I pushed the remote once more and on went my lights. Geez, what an idiot! I went in the wrong door. I actually went in the wrong door! Or more precisely, came out the wrong door! I still can’t believe I did it.

But you know what else I can’t believe? How much easier it was to wander that parking lot with my newfound friend, rather than by my lonesome. It made all the difference. I had asked God to help me find my car. And He did, but He also sent me this reassuring stranger to ease my worried mind.

Lightening another’s burden is what we are all supposed to do. Thank you to this wonderful woman and to God. And maybe next time I won’t be such a dope!

MyFitnessPal.com

2010-03-10T21:44:00.000-05:00

Meet my new pal: a Web site at www.MyFitnessPal.com. If you knew me you would know how unbelievable it is that I would be recommending a fitness site. For those of you who don’t know me – trust me (said the spider to the fly).

Five babies ago I walked down the long straight aisle in the I-have-to-have-this wedding dress. I sold a car to buy my wedding dress. It was a size 9 and fit perfectly. Since that fateful day my path has wound along the long and winding road. With every pregnancy I gained weight, and silly me, I never lost the weight. My sons came quickly – four boys in five years with a sadness I don’t care to go into right here and now, but I also had a daughter for a short time. Five pregnancies really packed it on.

You’d think that scampering after four little boys would have run the excess weight off of me, but it never did. Oh sure, I had my stints of “Sweatin’ to the Oldies.” Me and Richard Simmons did OK for a while, but then I wandered away. I’ve joined gyms throughout the years, but losing weight has always been a personal thing to me. Sweating out in public among a bunch of hormone heavy iron-pumping teenagers never appealed to me. Once, the music one boy blared on the gym’s stereo sent me running out of the gym; I never returned.

I’m 50, not 20. I will never be a size 9 again. I will never proudly state on my driver’s license that I weigh 120 pounds. But I’m darn sick of being overweight. Just plain tired of it. I see Valerie Bertinelli toting around those sacks of potatoes, I’ve watched Oprah wheel out a wagon full of fat to simulate lost pounds, but I don’t want to go anywhere and talk about losing weight. I just want to lose the weight.

And I have found a FREE Web site that makes it crazy-easy to keep track of what I eat. I type in whatever food it is and MyFitnessPal.com offers brand name choices with the calories spelled out along with carbs, fat and protein. This site does so much of the work for me. When I’m on a diet I don’t want to be thinking about food all day – looking up calories, writing them down, adding them up. And with this site I don’t have to.

MyFitnessPal.com also tracks exercise. I say how much exercise I am willing to do each week and my new fitness guru tells me how much I can eat and lose the weight I want to lose. It’s a straightforward way of balancing food intake with exercise. Everybody knows we have to eat less to lose weight, but how much less? Starve ourselves? No. Our bodies will hold onto the fat if we eat too little. This is a balanced plan which I highly recommend for any women out there who need a little extra push to lose weight.

Spring’s right around the corner and we all know summer follows. Warm weather, shorts, and sleeveless tops. See, I’m realistic: I was never a bikini girl. Those ads on TV turn me off. I don’t need to lose those last seven pesky pounds to be able to cavort on a beach with a string separating my cheeks. MyFitnessPal.com is for real women who need some help, discreet help, found in the privacy of a laptop. Click over there – what do you have to lose, except weight!

God's Time

2010-03-09T20:00:00.002-05:00

Today I ventured out without a coat – first time since probably November, and it felt great. It’s amazing how much cheerier the world seems with a little hope in the air. One of my sons already wants to grill hotdogs outside. My first reaction was a typical mom response: “Not until the yard is cleaned up.” Where’d that come from?

That was basically his response: “What does that have to do with grilling?”

Nothing. Positively nothing. What it does have to do with is the fact that as the snow is finally melting, all the little “treasures” which had been hidden during the winter are beginning to show. Little things and big things which weren’t put where they should have been for the last couple months. I’m probably the worst offender of them all; I threw out a bunch of stuff while cleaning the upstairs over a month ago, and the handiest way to reach downstairs was straight out the back window! Then it snowed. And snowed and snowed. And that snow covered up my mess. But now my mess is becoming larger each day as the sun hits closer to the house. And the grill is right by the mess, my mess. Now do you understand the weird mom logic?

We all endure winter knowing that spring will come; we all endure trials on our life’s journey knowing that they won’t last forever – that good will follow the bad. Optimism keeps us going. God keeps us going. When difficulties come we need to go to Him – and wait for God to send His springtime to us. Sometimes the waiting may seem unbearable, but wait we must because life is on God’s time, not our time.

One Life to Live

2010-03-08T21:19:00.002-05:00

Do you ever want to curl up in a cocoon like a caterpillar? Spin a web around yourself to shield you from all that you don’t wish to deal with? Life isn’t rosy all the time for anyone. Whether you’re just starting out or been at this thing called life a while, we all have our up days and our down days with many days in between. As moms, however, we are also equipped with that super-strong radar when it comes to our children. So not only do we experience our fair share of down days, but we also heap on our children’s bad days much of the time.

I don’t know about you but I’m getting better at shrugging off my sons’ bad days. I think we call this progress. I have to remember that I am me; I am not any one of my children. I have my life, and that life is the life for which I am responsible to God. I have raised my boys. Now it’s up to them to forge their ways in life. I can advise, but I can’t do it for them. It’s sink or swim time. And I have to sit on the sidelines and watch.

I can only do so much now. And that’s OK, because I did so very much for a long time. I’ve given my boys the basics. What they choose to do with the knowledge is up to them. Now I’m allowing myself to take a breather from their worries. I’ve earned it. I’m happy I’ve learned to step far enough back to observe and not become embroiled in situations over which I really don’t have much control. It’s a freeing feeling. Don’t get me wrong – a kid needs me – I’m there, but I also realize when it’s best not to be there – best for them and best for me.

Watching the Red Carpet from My Green Carpet

2010-03-07T20:33:00.002-05:00

Happy Academy Awards watching! That's where I'll be. Looking for pretty dresses!

Refreshing Nothingness

2010-03-06T18:08:00.000-05:00

I’ve often spoken of my dad’s favorite expression: Keep plugging away. And most days that’s what we moms do. But this weekend instead of plugging away at responsibilities, I unplugged. My husband and I drove a few hours south where, remarkably and refreshingly, all snow had melted. We so enjoyed seeing grass instead of the dirty white stuff. And the sun shone for two days in a row. How lovely!

My biggest claim to fame was a much-overdue trip through Bath and Bodyworks. I tested scents and purchased three new ones. That’s my kind of fun, my definition of unplug. Not having to be anywhere at any certain time, not having to do anything. And here I am at home again just a day and a half later feeling much relaxed. Agenda tonight? Be a couch potato, that’s my plan. Next week will be here soon enough with all its “to dos.” But it’s not here yet! And I’m relishing every moment of nothingness.

He's Got All of Us Moms in His Hands

2010-03-05T09:01:00.001-05:00

In my part of the world the sun is shining and birds are singing as I begin my morning – this as opposed to the mountains of snow and freezing temperatures of late. What a refreshing glimpse of what’s around the bend: spring. Oh sure, we’ll have more snow and more frigid weather. Mother Nature always seem to make one last stand at the end of this month or near the beginning of April, but then she relinquishes her grip and allows warmth to fill our lives once more.

This weather description mimics life. We endure our trials until we feel we can’t possibly take another downturn. But then comes a spring for us. A time when maybe, just maybe, things begin to look up. Perhaps it’s a realization that our children are growing up and the acknowledgement that we haven’t done a half bad job at raising them. Or our efforts at work pay off in the form of a raise. Or maybe we’ve just enjoyed the first night of uninterrupted sleep after having brought our baby home from the hospital. Various points along the mom spectrum but the feelings are quite similar: relief – the Ahhh moments of life.

Relief that what we are doing is reaping rewards. We moms need encouragement, words of praise every so often, just like our children. So God sends sunshine to warm hearts, or smiles to melt our fears. God knows what we need before we know. Just like we know what our children really need before they know. As we watch, waiting patiently for our children to come around to what’s right, God watches over all His children – moms especially, I think – to come around to His way of thinking. God’s pretty smart – He knows who has the power to change the direction of a family, to whom youngsters run for advice. So God watches over “His” moms extra carefully. God keeps us moms in the palm of His hand. I can’t think of a safer place to be!

Many Thanks!

2010-03-04T17:04:00.000-05:00

Isn’t it funny how when we do our best to do God’s will in our lives, unexpectedly good things seem to find a way of happening to us? The feeling that all is right with our world. That’s not a coincidence. Some people may call it karma, or feel that the good is deserved because we’ve earned it. But I like to think that God is simply opening His big strong arms and giving us what any of us would give to our own children – the very best He can muster, not because we’ve ever done anything to deserve God’s love and blessings but just…because.

And for that, I thank you, God.

One Ringy Dingy

2010-03-03T22:35:00.000-05:00

I am sooooo happy! Amazing what one phone call can mean. It’s 11:00 p.m. here in the States, but way far away in Afghanistan it’s about 8:00 tomorrow morning.

I was already in bed. The phone rang two rings. Odd. It’s kind of late for calls and all my sons have cell phones, so what’s up? Then it rang three times. I wondered what was going on but, hey, other people were still up, so they could handle the phone.

And the next thing I know I’m talking to Afghanistan in the guise of a wonderful Marine I’ve known since he was in the third grade. I’ve written about Micah before. He was in my son’s grade all those years ago and they’ve remained best friends through all the little traumas of childhood and the big ones of adulthood, namely Iraq and Afghanistan.

Micah finished his tour in Iraq only to be deployed again. And now he’s where all that fighting has been in the news lately. It’s awful. I hate that he is there. I hate that any Americans are there. After 9/11 I was pretty gung-ho on revenge. No longer. I want our boys and girls home. Safe and sound.

Micah sounds good. He had his first shower in four months. Can you imagine! I can’t. Again, I hate everything about it. On the weekend I went to see the movie “Dear John.” Dumb choice; I thought of Micah the whole time. I pray he comes home safe, well and whole.

Now I am so torqued that he sounded so good I can’t sleep! I’m up here in my little sanctuary with the Beatles cranked! It’s a mini-Micah celebration for one. But it’s nothing compared to the BIG Micah celebration when he returns home in June.

Please keep Micah and all the other brave men and women in the armed forces in your prayers.

Chivalry is Alive and Well

2010-03-02T21:43:00.001-05:00

Each day is busier than the next! Why is that? Will life ever slow down? Today I took my mom to the doctor. At one point all seats in the doctor’s waiting room were completely filled and five people were standing around with no place to sit. But chivalry is not dead, for one man gave his seat to three different ladies. Just as the poor guy thought he got his seat back another person entered the room. It was kind of funny and very sweet that he kept getting up.

Something as simple as that restores my faith in the human race. I wrote about the domino effect yesterday in regard to bad occurrences, but I bet the next time any of the folks who were in that waiting room today are waiting somewhere where additional seating is needed we will think of this unselfish man and hopefully do the right thing.

It’s funny what you remember. My family moved out to the “country” my freshman year of high school. Until that time I rode the bus home every day from school. But on the very last day before we moved as I was riding on the bus for the last time the bus was very full and a lady stepped on the bus with no seat for her. I gave her mine. I don’t remember much about any other ride home but that day sticks in my head to this day. Doing something nice makes a person feel good. And I remember feeling very happy all the way home that last day…standing.

I know that as a mom since our very nature is give, give, give, sometimes we get tired of giving. I’ve certainly gone through phases of enough is enough. But when is enough really enough? Never. Not as long as God is watching, and He’s always watching. So maybe tomorrow I’ll go out of my way to do something nice for someone who doesn’t expect it. Maybe you can too.

P.S. Did you know today is 3-2-10…Blastoff!

But I Don't Want to Play!

2010-03-01T20:41:00.001-05:00

When a person, namely this person, has a bad day such as yesterday I can’t help but be reminded of dominoes. One by one, as in the child’s game, one domino begins to fall, brushing another, crushing the other, on down the chain until no dominoes remain standing. All are flattened.

Yesterday was bad. No doubt about it. And when a mom has a bad day it can’t help but affect others by the very fact that a mom touches so many lives. Like the rippling of a pond, a mom’s actions are carried out and still further out until the ripples are no longer visible. Unseen, they continue to spread.

These days it seems the hurrieder I try to go the behinder I get. And I’m not really trying to go so fast. I’m just trying to keep going – to keep plugging away as my dad so often has said. At times such as this I trust God to point me in the right direction, to tell me what’s important and what can slide. Important: my parents and my family. Sliders: the dishes and the laundry.

So my house is a mess. What else is new? But I made baked spaghetti tonight for dinner for my boys, and two of their friends unexpectedly came by. I was happy I was able to share. Now if all the men in this house could reciprocate and wash those dirty dishes I’d be one happy camper. I know…it’ll never happen…not in a million years. I’m getting carried away. So I will keep plugging away doing what I think is right, trying to absorb the bumps, not allowing them transfer to the ones I love.

Bad Day at Red Rock

2010-02-28T21:47:00.003-05:00

What a day! What would make this day even worse would be to forget to blog and wreck my streak since January 1st. So herein lies my stellar post!

Thank You, Moms!

2010-02-27T14:08:00.001-05:00

Years ago as I was raising my four sons another mom asked me if I sat around and watched TV all day. Seriously! With four boys under the age of 5! I should interject here – four sweet and well-behaved – boys under the age of 5. What this other mom didn’t realize is how very telling it was about her take on her own motherhood. She had two kids.

What we do with our time is our life. Our “life” isn’t this other-worldly place in which we are awaiting entry. That may be the after life in heaven, but here on earth the manner in which we spend our minutes is our life. It’s as simple as that.

I worked as a Catholic grade school teacher for three years before marrying and having my first child. The day I said good bye to teaching I never looked back. Never longed for a career in education. I had my career – the only career I ever wanted: I was a mom. And I loved being a mom. Were there things I’d change if I could? You betcha! But little things. Never the grand picture of motherhood.

Possibly one of the hardest trials of motherhood could be delayed gratification. We put countless hours into raising our children from the second they are born. And nobody pats us on the back, or hands us a blue ribbon for a job well done. We don’t receive a gold watch at retirement…because we never retire! Just like we never worked only 9-5. We moms just keep going day after day, year after year, doing what we think is right for our children. And hopefully what we have instilled in them IS right.

I’m very happy with how I raised my sons. Sure there was never enough time, the house was always messy, and retaining my sanity is still in question, but more and more I am witnessing the fruits of my labor. And I like it. It gives me a great sense of accomplishment. They’re good kids. Not exactly “kids” anymore, but always my boys in my heart. They are good people. I remember thinking when other people, usually women, would ask me about returning to “work” I would think, Why? From an early age my dream was to put good people into the world. I’ve done that. Self pat!

Every year it becomes more difficult to raise good, caring people. The “world” fights us at seemingly every turn – TV, movies, song lyrics, mainstream media in general, toys, clothes. Here’s an example of how old-fashioned I am: My sons attend college, and one day the discussion around the dinner table was how one of their teachers cusses in class. And it bothered me! And I am happy that it bothered my sons. I realize that my boys hear and say way worse. However, this teacher is in a position of authority and with that authority (and paycheck) ought to come the sense to keep one’s swear words out of the classroom. The very fact that my boys discussed this teacher means that they know it isn’t right. And that’s a good thing. Another little pat!

Before I get carried away with myself, I better wind this up. If you are a young mom reading this column struggling to raise your child or children in a Christian fashion, I commend your efforts. I know how hard it is to do. And so does God. He sees every attempt you make to mold young hearts and minds. He stands right beside you when you lay down the rules and turn off the video games. He hears you when you pray.

So here’s a great big THANK YOU for your part in putting more good little people into our world. C’mon now, nobody’s looking except God – raise that hand and give your back a pat!

The Smiling Eyes of God

2010-02-26T16:25:00.002-05:00

A good Lenten reflection:

May I have a ride?
Will you spare a few bucks?
How will I get over her death?
All questions needing an active response
All gifts given by God
Gifts sent directly to you from God
Accept God’s gifts or He will ask another
And you will have lost God’s gift of giving

To those who have much
God will give more
To those who reject God’s requests
God will turn away
Seeking the cheerful giver

As God scans the earth will He see your light shining?
Or will He see the lump of you hiding under the covers -
listless, lifeless, dark -
Missing opportunities to give?
Missing opportunities to live?

Be alert
Be awake
Be aware
Of all the needs around you

The more you look
The more you see
The more you see
The more you do
The more you do
The more you shine
The more you shine
The more your light’s reflected
In the smiling eyes of God

This and That

2010-02-25T21:04:00.001-05:00

So…what’d you do fun today? Hmmm? C’mon, what’d you do? I had lunch with a friend. Kept me in a good mood all day long as I accomplished much today. Mundane errands take on a cheerier outlook when we’ve had a little fun. Grocery shopping isn’t such a chore after a delicious and chatty lunch. Paying bills goes more quickly. Even putting away all the food takes on a lighter air. I do believe this is called happiness. Fancy that!

And talk about happiness: You never saw a happier woman than when I opened the door and yelled up the steps to see if my youngest son was home. My little pack mule! He carried every bag, every jug and every sack of dog food into the house. Small pleasures! I love them.

Hey, it’s 10 months until Christmas. How’s that going? Is there something small you could do to make its arrival a little less hectic? Sorting recipes? Organizing addresses? Just a thought. Every little bit helps.

Moms "Just" Want to Have Fun

2010-02-24T19:41:00.001-05:00

Remember Cyndi Lauper’s song, “Girls Just Want to Have Fun”? When said girls grow up to be moms the only part of the song title that changes is “just.” Moms have a million new responsibilities. They no longer “just” do anything anymore. That luxury is history. But the “fun” part doesn’t change – or it shouldn’t. In order for fun to be removed from your life you have to send it packing.

I did. Years ago. I wish I hadn’t, but I did. Once the babies began arriving that was it; they came first. Their needs and wants. Mine got lost in the shuffle…because I let them. Any fun I had was mostly with my boys.

Now, however, I am re-introducing fun into my routine. I need the escape. I need to turn off my brain. To let go of worry. Or more accurately…worries.

Once you start, it’s easier than you may think. Try it. If you’re a woman who has relegated fun to the back burner, throw that crazy thinking right out the window – off the burner and out the window. Ask yourself, “What do I like to do?” And do it!

Trust Yourself

2010-02-23T11:37:00.001-05:00

Do you trust yourself? It may sound like a silly question, but do you? Chances are if you have found, and keep coming back, to this Web site you just may be a mom like me who has raised her children and is looking for more for her life. Searching. That was me several years ago. Lost. Another apt adjective to describe me. When moms’ children grow up and walk out the door so goes the mom’s primary function out the door too. Alone. A third word to describe this time of a mother’s life. It is not a pretty time. We think back to our own mothers and others who would warn, “Enjoy this time. It will go by so quickly.”
Yeah, yeah, sure, sure. I wished the diaper phase and the no-sleep phase would speed right along. But then, just as the wise ones knew, the time was quickly gone. Over. Kaput. The bad parts are gone, but so are the good ones. And a mom is left alone – alone physically as well as mentally much of the time. If you’re like me you forged such a bond with your young ones that you find yourself missing their company around the dinner table, at church, around the living room.

But we go on. We moms are a resilient sort, aren’t we? Back to my original question: Do you trust yourself? Do you trust yourself to forge ahead? Do you trust yourself enough to let go of the past knowing that there is a future not only for your children, but for you? Years ago I didn’t have a clue what my life would be like now. My purpose had grown up…and left. Only in the past year or so have I begun to get a handle on this new phase of my life. Before that, there was constant soul-searching with many tears of sadness, frustration and anger.

So if you are in the time of life I just described, take heart, because a different life awaits you. My different life has all to do with words – my writing. Yours may go in that direction or in another direction. Take the time to trust yourself, to begin to figure out your new place in God’s world. Because we all have a purpose in every stage of our lives. Take the time to question and listen. Do lots of knocking on God’s door. Beat it down if you must until you get an answer. Be patient. Don’t give up.

A Favor, Please

2010-02-22T20:19:00.003-05:00

If you have found this Web site and like what you've discovered in my daily writing, I have a favor to ask of you: Tell one friend. That's it, just one. Maybe it's another mom who can also see the light at the end of the mom tunnel like me - someone who has raised her kids and may be wondering, "What now?"

I hope to grow my readership in several ways, but word-of-mouth is powerful, so if you would...just one friend, please. Thank you.

Enjoying the Sabbath

2010-02-21T15:00:00.001-05:00

This day, this Sunday, I think I am experiencing the meaning of a Sabbath day. I don’t always feel this way on Sundays, but I have a friend who always remembers “to keep holy the Lord’s day.” She tells me how she begins her day with Mass and reads and works on a puzzle and takes a nap. Sounds heavenly, doesn’t it? She doesn’t do chores on Sunday. The resemblance to my Sundays and my friend’s Sundays end after morning Mass.

But today was different. It has felt Sabbath-like. All of my sons are home, which is a rarity, so I stopped at the grocery store after Mass and bought some ingredients for an extra-special dinner. I watched one of my favorite all-time movies, I Remember Mama, amid the voices of my family, but for once I wasn’t bothered by their chattering. We were all in one room enjoying each others’ company. Again, a rarity, as all my boys experience more and more of their own lives away from the old homestead. We even discussed our upcoming summer vacation. Who knows how many will go? But they all know they are welcome.

And that’s a major life shift in the past several years. The birdies are flying out of the nest. I’m adjusting; all moms do. But I savor a day like today when all birds are roosting here. And what speaks to my five men more eloquently than a good dinner? So…time to go. Time to cook and maybe read or watch another movie or…the Sabbath possibilities are endless.

Fun Can Happen in Lent

2010-02-20T08:06:00.001-05:00

In today’s “Little Black Book” (see yesterday’s post) I received a much-needed little pat on the back – a confirmation, of sorts. The passage has to do with giving things away – realizing that all things we have come from God anyway, so it is our job to be sure they are distributed properly.

Of course, as is the case with any and every project attempted in this house, cleaning up our upstairs and giving what we’ve discovered to those who could use the stuff is an on-going process. In my reading this morning I received affirmation for my efforts. And I sorely need that in my life.

This is not a good time with my parents. They are 89 and 90 with all the accompanying problems associated with such a ripe old age. Yesterday I had a mini-meltdown. Not major like at Christmas, but about a 4 on the Richter scale of meltdowns. I hate what is happening to my parents. But it’s better than the alternate of not having them. However, God has been slowly walking me down the realization path preparing me for the inevitable. But I still hate it.

So today is a day of fun. I am forgetting sadness – casting it aside for lunch and wandering through some junk a.k.a. antique shops. My husband and I walked through an antique show last weekend and I’d forgotten how much fun it could be. And happily, I spent only a meager $10.00. My purchases? Two items each two inches tall: a Planter’s Peanut red whistle and a Coke bottle that’s really a lighter. My tastes are simple…and juvenile, but it’s better than expensive and flamboyant, right?

I wish you some fun today. Spread some joy!

Who's in Your Little Black Book?

2010-02-19T14:12:00.001-05:00

Have you ever read the “Little Black Book,” a Lenten booklet based on the writings of Bishop Ken Untener? I wish I had the time to explore all facets of the Bible; I don’t, not at this stage of my life. While it is true I call more time my own than I had when raising my sons, I cannot yet devote the chunk of time needed to dive deeply into Scripture. That’s where this wonderful little book comes into play.

As the introductory page states, the book is divided into “240 ‘six minute’ packages.” It is so very easy to read each morning. It takes longer for my laptop to turn on than it takes me to read these short insightful passages. The “Little Black Book” begins the Sunday before Ash Wednesday and continues through Easter Sunday.

It’s one of those books I think my boys may actually take the time to read, and whether they do or not, I know I will. I really should get another copy and I know right where I should put it for the best chance of reading: in the bathroom! Sounds a bit crude perhaps, but that’s where men do their reading much of the time. I tried this tact with another Bible-type book, and it worked. I go with what works even though it may sound silly.

I highly recommend this book for busy people who may need a little Lenten jumpstart every morning. It’s a great way to focus on the season of Lent. Happy six-minute reading!

Here's the Web site: www.littlebooks.org.

A Joyful Lent

2010-02-18T10:50:00.000-05:00

Lent: a joyful season of the Church. But fasting and giving things up that you like doesn’t seem too joyful to me. So I am making these next 40 days joyful. Just making it happen. I can’t tell you how many Lents I’ve struggled through in the past several years questioning most every choice I’ve ever made – wanting those “do-overs” about which I’ve written so often.

But here I am: mom of four sons; wife to one husband. I’m not struggling through another Lent. I’m not allowing it to happen. I’m smarter than that. And I credit God with my mini-conversion because He has done something inside of me; He has enlightened me to the joy of the life I have right now, this very minute. So I’m going with it – not fighting it any longer.

Wherever you are right now on your journey, I wish you the strength to emerge on the other side a stronger, more joyful person. Good luck to us both!

Peace and Quiet

2010-02-17T19:30:00.000-05:00

What I wish for you this Lent:

Peace and quiet far away
No distractions - only time
Time to think
Time to feel
Time to do what God deems Real

Where smiles meet eyes
Before a warm embrace
Where love kindles hearts
Like sunshine warms the face
As we fulfill His plan
Doing all we should
To care for one another well
If we but only would

The Friendship that Is Life

2010-02-16T20:46:00.002-05:00

I wrote a column two years ago that I have tweaked a little bit for today. It’s timely for the start of Lent.

Will you feel the crunchy ashes glide across and down your forehead tomorrow? Will you be a visible reminder to all you meet that we Catholics have begun a very special time of reflection for the next 40-something days? Will you be giving up things this Lent or giving more?

When I look at the many and varied people in my life I can be in their presence for a very short time before knowing precisely for whom they are living at any particular moment – themselves or others. I look at my own children. There is a life I want for each of them. But I can't force it on them. They must choose it. They are all old enough to choose. I hope that tomorrow they will all receive those crunchy ashes, but will they? I’m not sure. I can’t troop them to Mass anymore. It’s their choice.

Ash Wednesday is so much more than being smeared with the burnt palms. It's a solid beginning to a time of reflection. In today's non-stop pace I wish for my sons and for all you readers to take the time to slow down. If one doesn't avidly seek a slowdown it will never come. Unless perhaps God decides to intervene to seriously slow us down, and in my experience that's usually a little scary – until we fully realize God's purpose for our lives.

So what is God's purpose for our lives right now? Do you think you have a pretty good handle on it, or are you clueless? Well, everybody must start somewhere, so clueless is OK right now, if that's where you truly are. Sadly, I think that way too many people don't have any notion as to what God wants to do with their lives. And many more simply do not care. They don't ask Him. I sincerely hope that during these next 40 days we all may find that quiet time to reflect with God. A few minutes are better than no minutes.

Ask God what He wants you to do, and look and listen all day long for His answers. You will be amazed at the ways in which He replies, and how frequently, if you’re really paying attention to the details of your life. It's scary and freaky and fun and awesome all at the same time. Do it and you'll begin a friendship for life – the Friendship that is life.

Goodnight :)

2010-02-15T20:22:00.002-05:00

What a day! Up at 5:15, took my mom to surgery, all went well - thank God! - spent day at hospital, took my mom back home, finally getting back to my own home a little while ago. Too tired to write. Goodnight!

Going, Going, Soon-to-be Gone!

2010-02-14T16:44:00.001-05:00

I am simply amazed at how most everything happens around this house at a snail’s pace. Yesterday I related my long overdue errand experience as well as the happiness I felt when finally accomplishing it all. Why is it that certain chores take us so long to do? Why can’t we be better motivated?

I always blame it on my five men. I do. I know I do. In one way or another I can pawn most responsibility off onto one or more of them:

If they would only pick up the house as they should, I would have more time and inclination to accomplish more meaningful projects around here. I wouldn’t be cleaning up the same messes over and over again, day after day, decade after decade.

If they would take a sledge hammer and smash to smithereens the Call of Duty video game, the stress level in our house would drop by at least half. An abundance of time would be freed up to…study, build those closets, hang that drywall.

If the most technologically advanced of my five men would help me with my Web site, I could accomplish so much more toward the advancement of my writing.

My life of ifs.

Guess what? I’m done with other people’s ifs.

It’s been a slow, tedious and oftentimes, disappointing process, but I am beginning to realize I must stand on my own two foot to do the things I want to do – and not let anything or anyone get in my way. Today I called the local high school my sons attended, and where I substitute taught for many years. I have a call in to the guidance counselor asking for a smart computer-literate girl to tutor me of the ways of Web sites and all things computer. Everything I have learned up until now has been mostly self-taught. And I get so frustrated! Those closest to me hear my pleas, and when they don’t help me I want to clobber them. Really hard! So far, I have not. Last night, however, I did have a major blow-up. I had had it! When the dust cleared I knew nothing would change. Definition of insanity: Doing the same things over and over expecting different results.

For years we followed this insanity plan when it came to handling our weekly trash. Every week the critters would get into the trash. I would buy new, better, stronger, smarter-than-raccoons locking lids, but my dear darlings would never consistently attach the lids. Most times “taking the trash out” was somehow heard as “throw the bags next to the cans.” It is an embarrassment to admit how long this ritual continued, until one day the good old insanity definition entered my mind. That day I called the trash company, and the next day two mega huge trashcans were delivered to our door. Everything fit easily. No cramming. Lids swing down. Problem solved. And easy to roll to the street to boot!

Weeks ago my family and I began the Great American Clean Up of our upstairs. The hallway is a hideous sight, but the bedrooms have greatly improved. Why? Because I think my sons finally realized that if they didn’t clean it up nobody would. Doing the same thing over and over netted the same results: living in squalor. It is true we have no closets in our 1823 home, but cleaning up the mess was the first step. My sons have way too many clothes, many of which they never wear. Time to give them away. Get rid of the stuff. Free up the floor space and let’s get busy on those closets.

But that’s mom talking. Not a teenager or young adult. It’s the weekend! Must go out. Can’t stay home. Must have fun, fun, fun. I know it’s slow-going, but it is going.

And living as a computer-challenged adult is another situation that is going away, maybe slowly, but it’s going bye-bye…eventually.

P.S. Happy St. Valentine's Day to all!

Check!

2010-02-13T08:28:00.000-05:00

Today was a day when instead of merely writing a “to do” list, I actually checked off all items on my list. And it feels good. That simply never happens. After getting some things in order here at home I was ready to head out into the big world. But hubby wanted to go lunch. Hubby LOVES restaurants. Instead of fighting it anymore, I go with the flow. It was noon. Food sounded good, so OK, we can go.

Mooch son #2 just happened to call exactly at noon. What a coincidence! Then Mooch son #4 also wanted to go. But in the meantime hubby realized he must be here at home at 1:00 to participate in a conference call. I didn’t want to eat out in the first place; I said yes to be nice to him. And now two sons were counting on it. We three met at Pizza Hut and did had a lot of fun. Mooches talked. Always enlightening to glimpse their worlds.

Then I was off on my own. I have been driving around with bags for Goodwill in the back of my Jeep for over a month. Throwing grocery bags on top of and around them has been quite a challenge each week. But now they’re gone! Check. Wandered through Wally World next, picking up some trinkets for Valentine’s Day as well as several much-needed household items. Check. Check. Then I finally went to the cable store. My son bought me a TV for my bedroom at Christmas and it has taken me this long to get the cable box. Added bonus: I get to pay $18.00 more every single month just for the privilege of having the DVR box. How special! Triple check.

Next I came home and checked off some phone calls from my “to do” list, e-mailed a few people, and the laundry is whrring away. Chalk up a good day.

Just Stuff

2010-02-12T00:51:00.003-05:00

A son returns from work at 11 p.m. Knock, knock. A mom is .567% away from Dreamland. As much as mom wants to say, “Be gone with you!” the words do not form.

“Sure, you can come in. How was your work?”

“Crappy.” Now there’s a shock – a young guy complaining about his job!

“Oh, that’s too bad,” says mom.

Little by little mom wakes up as “stuff” is shared. Mother/son things. Nothing monumental. No earth-shattering revelations. Just stuff. The stuff that lives are made of.

Baby cries; mom feeds.

Toddler trips; mom rescues.

Youngster questions; mom answers.

Teenager rebels; mom waits.

Son talks; mom listens.

No matter the hour.

And it ever will be so.

Me - Plain...and Simple?

2010-02-11T16:17:00.001-05:00

What makes us like (or not like) something?

As Valentine’s Day approaches why do I sincerely hope I don’t receive red roses on the big day? Because I don’t like red roses, that’s why. Why don’t I? No deep set trauma associated with them, so why do I prefer yellow or peach or pink? Why isn’t the gift of the roses enough? Why am I so persnickety about the color?

Why do I hate the taste of dark chocolate, but enjoy milk chocolate? Why does the raspberry flourish swirled on a dessert plate to complement the sweet treat make my mouth pucker in a repulsive reflex?

Why would I rather sit around all night long drinking iced teas until my bladder busts, rather than try the latest exotic martini? Why do I adore kittens, but not cats?

Why do I despise nearly every single perfume on the market, yet prefer lilac-scented candles? Why do I smile at the sight of a lawn brimming with dandelions when most others despise the yellow beauties?

Why do I think that adding vegetables to Jell-o is the stupidest thing ever? Doesn’t everyone know that Jell-o was made for fruit and Cool Whip – not veggies? Why do I love cocktail sauce, but wince to the point of holding my breath around horseradish? Horseradish is a main ingredient of cocktail sauce. I know this, yet still feel as I do.

Why? Why? Why?

Perhaps I am just weird – plain and simple. Well, plain maybe, but not so simple. Never simple with me. Yet even my explanation is a paradox because I think in my heart of hearts I am quite a simple girl.

P.S. I’ll keep you posted about those roses!

Snowy Domino Effect

2010-02-10T11:14:00.001-05:00

Where’s the snow? The new snow? The foot of additional fluffy white stuff expected last night to join the already fallen 18 inches on the ground? No snow, but the dominoes have surely fallen…

1. “The snow is falling. The snow is falling,” Chicken Little forecasters predict.
2. Around noon yesterday the snow begins its chilly and persistent descent.
3. Exhibiting prudence, schools close for today – big kids as well as the little kids (meaning my dear darlings are home from college).
4. Weighing the daunting prospect of engineering my 90-year-old mother to the hospital for possible surgery at 9:00 a.m. this morning, I call the doctor yesterday afternoon. We postpone.
5. Which necessitated five more phone calls and two e-mails.
6. One of which was the caregiver for my parents. I had cancelled her for today. We wouldn’t be at home, so wouldn’t need her services.
7. Tried to get her back.
8. Schools are closed. Snow is coming. Her kids home. She can’t come.
9. Agency attempts replacements.
10. Schools are closed – snow is coming – no one can come.

So, it appears that everyone is home with their children today. Not a bad thing, I guess. This “hump day” is quite the “rest day” for many. Moral of the story: Some days you just go with the flow – or lack of snow flow.

Snow Ice Cream Anyone?

2010-02-09T18:29:00.002-05:00

Last week we had 18 inches of snow, and tonight through tomorrow weather forecasters are predicting another foot or more. Perfect day to post my recipe for snow ice cream! My sister made this ice cream for me when I was younger, and I’ve continued the tradition for my boys. They love it! If you think the atmosphere has too many contaminants filtering through making it down to us here on earth, then you shouldn’t venture this recipe. Personally, I’ve never seen the harm in it. But I also lick beaters with or without raw egg!

Here goes:

Snow Ice Cream

½ cup heavy cream
¼ cup granulated sugar
½ teaspoon vanilla
1 quart fluffy white snow – Best to set out a chilled tray to catch the snow as it’s falling.

Stir cream, sugar and vanilla together. Pour mixture over snow and stir.

I always double or triple the recipe! Yum!

Here We Go Again

2010-02-08T07:16:00.001-05:00

Well, I wasn’t too impressed with the commercials – how about you? The e*trade babies are always cute and Doritos continued their funny offerings. I enjoyed the ad where the men all talked funny like they were using a synthesizer. But is that a commercial where the product sticks out in my mind? Nope. Can’t remember what the ad was for. And what’s the deal with the commercial for the 2010 census? Really??? The United States government felt the need to spend all that money for a cutesy ad…for what? Are more people actually going to respond because they saw a few actors tell them to? Highly doubtful. OK, there, I’m done – off my soapbox.

Back to the reality of my life, my upcoming week. It’s going to be a busy one. That’s why I got up extra early. I thought if I got into the proper frame of mind to tackle the week that’d be half the battle. So here I am bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to face whatever is thrown my way in the next seven days.

How’s your week shaping up? Anything important? Same old same old? Or a combination there of? Whatever comes your way this week I wish you the energy and inspiration to face it, tackle it, endure it – whatever you may need. Happy Monday!

When Enough is Enough

2010-02-07T17:23:00.001-05:00

Are you ready for some football? How ‘bout some commercials? That’s more my speed. I don’t care who wins today at all, but I will be disappointed if the commercials aren’t great. We’re having just a few people over. Super Bowl Sunday is a big excuse to eat a lot of fun food, I think, and we will do our share. I tell you, I am so tired right now I think I could lie down and sleep until morning. But that’s not possible.

I have, however, discovered the luxury in doing less, taking time to smell the roses, so to speak. That’s why I’m up here typing away to you right now instead of starting something else downstairs. The food that’s prepared is enough. My house is clean enough. Recognizing when enough is enough is important. And that’s much easier now than it once was. I used to run around like a chicken with its head cut off before parties in the past. I’m happy those years are behind me. Nobody is coming to visit my house; they are coming to visit me and my family.

Whatever you’re eating and drinking at your party, enjoy! And let’s all hope for some funny commercials.

Heavenly Solitude

2010-02-06T16:35:00.002-05:00

My dad has so many favorite expressions I could fill a book with them. Here’s one: “Youth is wasted on the young.” Sounds silly at first hearing, but think about it. All that energy and exuberance. Wow! My 22-year-old son shoveled a foot of snow off our porch, steps and down our long walk – in record time. I’d have a heart attack just thinking about doing it. I would never attempt it. But there he went, did it and is no worse for the wear.

Harnessing that energy at my age would be remarkable. But would I really want to go back and do it all again? I used to think I wanted to. I longed for a life do-over. To be able to go back with the knowledge that I have now. As youth diminishes, wisdom increases. That’s not a coincidence. And with the wisdom I have been accumulating of late I am sure I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to start over. I’m smarter than I was. A lot smarter. I can step back from situations and not get broiled into circumstances that don’t concern me. I can walk away in my mind – just disassociate. It’s a pretty neat trick actually.

I wouldn’t want to be a young adult these days. And I have four such creatures living under my roof! Lately though I truly have been able to step back to give my sons the needed space to succeed or fail. And I understand why I am able to do that: because I have a life of my own separate from theirs. I’m not “Mommy.” I’m Mom. I’m Maureen. I’m me without four little ones hanging on.

I like it. I’ve written about the niche I’ve carved for myself – my home within my home – my Happy Place upstairs away from the video game fighting and juvenile banter. Maybe this would have occurred earlier had I had girls. I’ve missed that side of life. But I’m not crying over spilled milk; I’m happy for what I am discovering these days.

Every week I buy myself a new bouquet of flowers and choose a vase from my extensive and dusty collection which for years has lain dormant 99.999% of the time. And I put those flowers right in front of me on my desk. They are mine. I’m big into mine right now. I really am. Maybe that sounds selfish, but that’s how I feel. For how many years had my primary concern been my children? 25. That’s right, 25.

Yesterday is a prime example of extracting some time for myself. My day had revolved around my mom and the pre-testing she needed done at the hospital. Returning home my sister-in-law and I noticed my dad’s dilemma. He had had something frozen off his forehead two days earlier. His eyes were red and swollen and he looked miserable. We got him squared away and we left, she to her house and me to mine. But mine is 45 minutes away on a sunny day.

We were just beginning to get the forecasted foot of snow. The temperature hovered right at 32 degrees. All that water on the road was about to turn to ice; it was just a matter of when. “When” happened to be at the exact time I was driving…crawling…toward home. I am not a wimp in the snow. I’ve lived in the Midwest my whole life. I have four-wheel drive. Nothing seemed to matter, except for the fact that I was smart enough to know I had to go 30 MPH if I wanted to get my Jeep and me home in one piece. Oh what a hideous drive! But I arrived safe and sound. Had to spend some time with my hubby even though all I wanted to do was climb to the solitude of my Happy Place.

At 8:30 I finally came up here and I must have subconsciously breathed a huge sigh of relief. I could finally do what I wanted to do, and that was write. I have a column due tomorrow. After about half an hour my son came home with his girlfriend. I went downstairs. I said hi. And I ran right back up for hours. I’m sure hubby thought me crazy and possibly rude. Too bad. Would I have wanted my parents hanging around my boyfriend and me when I was 24? I don’t think so!

I wrote and wrote and wrote. And writing makes me happy. I wish you the courage, because sometimes that’s what it takes, to do something that makes you happy today. The heck with everybody else. Make the time…for you.

The Hurrieder I Go the Behinder I Get

2010-02-05T20:36:00.004-05:00

Just time enough for a quick hi today. Hi! Very busy - too busy - and much yet to do tonight. If the snow is coming your way I hope you are warm and cozy with a marshmallowy cup of hot chocolate to sip. Cheers!

With God All Things Are Possible

2010-02-04T17:31:00.002-05:00

A poem for you which I wrote a few years ago. I hope you like it. Sometimes friends really do the trick!

With God all things are possible
In dreams that’s also true
We close our eyes and float away
To all those loved ones who
Know just the words to make our day
As our hearts’ wishes soar
Above the ordinary everyday
Where we are so much more
Because we have each other

God put us here for one another
To do what we must do
To ease the burden, share the joy
To build a life that’s true
With ups and downs and turnarounds
And times we’ve had enough
For as we hold on tight
Our road seems not so rough
Because we have each other

So hold on tight and don’t let go
Of all those you hold dear
Treasuring the love you feel
Whenever they are near
Wish for them their heart’s desire
And God’s protection, too
As all the time that we do share
Becomes that life that’s true
Because we have each other

A Run-of-the-mill Wednesday

2010-02-03T14:22:00.002-05:00

First I burned my finger on the hot wooden spoon I haphazardly let lay across the pan. Next I cut my thumb opening a can of kidney beans. Once the profuse bleeding subsided and I was bandaged by my helpful fellows who happened to be home today, I began stirring the chili again, dropped the spoon and spotted the floor with onions. Is God trying to tell me something? Like get-the-heck-out-of-the-kitchen?

Wouldn’t it be great if God’s signs were so simple? I’ve often lamented the need for a neon billboard with specific directions addressed solely to me. Kind of like that big Jumbo Tron screen we’ve heard so much about in Texas this football season. But I’d settle for a message directly from God on the screen at the Super Bowl in Miami this weekend. Dear Maureen, Divine blah, blah, blah… Love, God. No, I haven’t lost all my marbles. Not yet, anyway. Perhaps some are jumping overboard though.

Hasn’t God given us a book chock full of words of wisdom, history, parables and eye witness accounts? Yet still we long for the tailored-just-for-me answers. Maybe it’s because we’ve gotten lazy. Too lazy to read the Bible. To lazy to search for the meaning behind the words in our own lives. We want to be spoon fed like babies. Yet we don’t want to be treated like babies. We are plain never satisfied, are we? I suppose I should speak for myself.

I’m trying to unplug these days. To realize that I can only do so much. I go with the flow hoping the current doesn’t wash me and my marbles downstream. Believe it or not, it’s another learning time for me. I’ve graduated from little boys with little troubles to big boys with bigger, more life-altering concerns. And I have to grow up accordingly. I can’t do this thing called life for my sons. I’m not sure I’m doing such a great job of it for myself! However I have stepped back to let my dear ones sink or swim many times in the past year. By now they all know I’m around with the life preserver if they really need saved, but for life’s little bumps my boys ride out whatever storms they encounter.

And I’m weathering my own storms. Life’s made up of the many little moments, don’t you think? It really isn’t lived on the peaks. Life’s lived in the valleys. Striving toward something or away from something. I’m not quite sure where I am yet. But I do know where I’m not. And that’s half the battle.

At this Sunday’s game I’ll catch a glimpse of the huge TV screen, but I won’t be seeking divine intervention. I’ll just be watching a football game with my five men. Building another little chunk onto my life.

Less is More

2010-02-02T12:17:00.001-05:00

Last night my family and I had the rare occurrence of sitting down together around the dinner table. All six of us. Earlier in the day I had enticed them with the menu: roast chickens with stuffing, whipped potatoes, biscuits and glazed carrots. The carrots they could take or leave, but the rest…yum!

So as I shoveled the dishes onto the table I thought I’d been given the perfect opportunity to discuss serious pressing matters:

1. Tuesday’s trash night. We have so much junk to get rid of from our ongoing cleanup of our upstairs. We can’t all selectively “forget” to haul the trash to the street.

2. More words of wisdom concerning plans upstairs.

3. Why did no one do one single chore today?

And then I’d surely get on a roll!

I called my dear darlings to the table. We ate and talked and actually looked at each other for a whole 15 minutes. And I said none of my aforementioned thoughts.

Sometimes, less is more.

I'd Like to Thank...

2010-02-01T17:44:00.001-05:00

Raise your hand if you are sick of awards shows. I know I am. Who really cares? The Golden Globes, The Screen Actors Guild Awards, The Academy Awards – all honoring basically the same actors in the same movies. Accolades are fine, but isn’t this overkill? I was perfectly content watching Oscars presented to deserving recipients. It was rather exciting to see the stars of the current flock of movies in their finery while listening to them accept their prizes with gratitude. Once a year.

Now it’s this red carpet and that red carpet and who is wearing the ugliest dress? Who’s snubbing whom? How much did the jewelry cost? Who cares? is what I ask. Isn’t this just a little too much back-slapping?

Sometimes I look at these shows through the eyes of a little child who doesn’t have enough to eat. What must she think? The sheer indulgence. The waste. I feel the same way when I watch certain commercials on TV. One year I remember a commercial where a woman basically demanded a diamond for Christmas from her husband. She didn’t even ask! She expected it. What does that say to the woman struggling to keep food on her family’s table? We live in a weird time. No two ways about it.

I suppose every age has those who take more than they give, who think of themselves before others. It’s moments like this when I am proud of families who sacrifice for one another. Where they make due with less. They aren’t me-oriented. They know what’s real, and don’t have to ask, “What would Jesus do?” because they just do it. Day after day. And nobody hands them statues of naked gold men. Well, OK, maybe Oscar’s not naked. But you get the idea.

Look what Jesus did. And look what happened to Him. He didn’t receive much praise in His day, just as we moms don’t receive much praise in our day, but we all know where Jesus is now. And isn’t that where we’d like to be at the end of our days? It’s where I hope to be. So let’s do as my dad says, and “keep plugging away.” No fancy dresses, no walks down the red carpet, no statuettes. Just grocery shopping, cooking, cleaning, tending, loving. God sees all that we do. When we think we can’t work another second at that job, remember that God is watching us, applauding us for our efforts to help others, and is writing our names down in that big book of His. Remember: It’s God’s opinion that counts. Better start rehearsing that acceptance speech!

I've Got to Change

2010-01-31T07:13:00.002-05:00

As a mother of four sons, ages 19-24, I found Sean McVeigh’s book, I’ve Got to Change, invaluable. Moms always want to help their kids, but as those “kids” grow older and begin to think that they know it all, it is much harder to reach them, much harder to influence their actions. This becomes the time when most Catholic moms buff their rosary beads more diligently, praying more fervently to Mary, God and guardian angels to watch over their could-be-rebellious children. Praying often takes the place of doing.

Most of what teenagers and young adults see is mass marketed to them through the Internet and video games. The average young Joe does not watch EWTN. The average Joe listens to his peers. And we all know how scary that can be.

I first met Sean McVeigh at a Catholic marketing convention. Here was this young man with a mission: to see to it that others would learn from his mistakes and turn from their risky behavior, thus becoming closer to God.

His spiel sold me; I bought his book. I set it on the coffee table telling my four sons that I met the author, and would very much like them to read his book. The book sat there. A few ruffled its pages. It sat there some more. Then I put I’ve Got to Change on a shelf. I’d wanted to ram it down their throats, but they were having none of that. So I waited.

And then one day one of my sons’ world shattered. I knew he’d be fine, but he didn’t believe it. Why would he believe me, his mom? I couldn’t possibly know what he was going through.

But I knew someone who did! I trotted out I’ve Got to Change and put it on the table next to him. He sat on the couch all day long reading Sean’s book. I let Sean do the talking. I was thankful that his words did what I couldn’t do at the moment. I’ve never been a guy! How do I know what guys feel? Sean used a tragedy in his life to begin his conversion, and felt passionate enough about his changes to want other young people to know that they, too, could choose the right path.

Buy I’ve Got to Change by Sean McVeigh, available at www.catholicguestspeaker.com, read it and “carelessly” leave the book under your child’s cell phone, next to the gaming system or on his or her bed. Praying is great, but doing is better. Do this for your son or daughter. It’s another tool in your mom arsenal. You’ll be glad you did.

Bubbles Burst

2010-01-30T18:53:00.001-05:00

Many years ago as a 14-year-old freshman in high school I played a part in our school’s production of Fiddler on the Roof. Oh, how I wanted to land the part of the youngest daughter. I sang “Matchmaker” over and over, practiced my pantomime and rehearsed a reading. And I got a part! As a lowly freshman I was not cast in a prime role, but I did get a role, that of Mirala. Thus began my love of musical productions.

This afternoon Fiddler played on TCM and I had the entire living room to myself. Not quite sure how that happened, but I loved it and took full advantage of it. I dusted everywhere and arranged my knickknacks that I’d hidden away since before Christmas putting them all back onto my shelves. As I was doing so I thought of another movie – The Quiet Man with John Wayne and Maureen O’Hara. Remember when Maureen O’Hara longs to have her things about her? I felt happiness as I looked around and saw mine. A woman needs pretty things about her. Living with these five men hasn’t exactly given me a frilly lifestyle, but some touches I do enjoy and, quite possibly, crave. I feel better knowing that my things are “about me” again.

Back to Fiddler. I adore the songs and found myself singing along to most. I remembered every word to "Matchmaker," feeling like a teenager once more. And then toward the end of the movie my teenaged bubble burst. Tevye and his wife began singing “Do You Love Me?” You know, old Tevye and old Golde singing about life together after 25 years. I’ve been married 26! Do I feel as old as they look? Yikes!

Where did the time go? Life seems to spin by. Why is that? What made it so? I have no answers – just questions.

Wuthering Heights is on in a couple of hours. I’ll fancy myself as Cathy pining over Heathcliff until I see some old maid or housekeeper who’ll be portrayed as so very old, you know, like 50, all wrinkled up with her hair in a bun, her life nearly over. Ugh! I want to be Cathy in the pretty ball gown. I do. I do. I do.

Inspiration

2010-01-29T15:41:00.002-05:00

Webster’s New World Thesaurus defines “inspiration” as “a stimulant to creative activity.” I would have to agree. I just hung up from a CatholicMom.com Writers’ Roundtable – a conference call where Lisa Hendey, founder of CatholicMom, corralled her columnists for an hour. We introduced ourselves, and shared a little about our writing and future aspirations.

And it was great!

I have often sung the praises of the Internet’s ability to unite moms. Lisa informed us that CatholicMom.com reached mothers in 100 countries last year. How awesome is that?

Awesome and exciting! And I was a part of it.

Let’s face it, as moms we don’t exactly garner applause for our efforts. Our rewards usually come to us more subtly. Likewise for aspiring writers. A comment here, a review there. So when I had the chance to hear fellow Catholic writer moms (and one dad) voice their opinions I felt nestled among kindred spirits. Some of these writers are just beginning. One woman referred to herself as “just a mom.” CRINGE! But I know exactly how she feels; I’ve been there. But no matter where we all are we know we are among friends.

To end the call we voiced our special prayer intentions. And I got choked up! I really did. An hour earlier, most were total strangers. Suddenly I am praying for others' intentions, fervently hoping that God keeps each one safely in the palm of His hand. Now I continue down life’s continuum with not only the names and headshots of aspiring and established Catholic writers, but their voices as well, to inspire me along my own journey.

*A special thank you to Lisa Hendey for all her efforts.

Comfort Food

2010-01-28T15:03:00.001-05:00

The snow is “falling” sideways, the temperatures inside the house attest to what’s coming in the forecast for the outside, and I have stuffed peppers simmering on the stove. Comfort food. Such desperate times call for comfort food. Stuffed peppers, whipped potatoes and corn – direct menu handed down from my mom all those years ago. Others of her favorites, consequently our whole family’s favorites, were beef stew, meatloaf, and apple pie. Yum! I think every bit of food my mom ever made was comfort food; it sure was comforting to my sister, my brothers and me – and I shouldn’t forget my dad! Oh, how we loved dinnertime.

A dinner “time” is lacking in too many families these days. To sit down and share the day’s activities is very important, but most don’t realize just how important until it’s gone. And those who’ve never had the pleasure of sitting down with family around a table don’t know what they’ve missed. I may lament the fact that we six rarely are home at the same time anymore, but that’s the direction life has taken us. We do remember and on occasion we are all together – on the best occasions.

Tonight around the Locher table it shall probably be only three or four, but that’s better than one or two. I count my blessings these days. I think I’ll set the table with cloth napkins (how very June Cleaver-like!) and set a pretty candle in the middle. We can be the warmth in the cold as we eat and tell each other all about our days. Time to stir the peppers or they’ll burn.

Pockets of Joy

2010-01-27T08:14:00.002-05:00

Pockets of joy. Similar to silver linings, I suppose, but more prevalent in day-to-day living. Take yesterday. Really, please take it. Keep it. :) Yesterday did have its unexpectedly good moments – the pockets of joy sprinkled here and there.

Like the very fact that I didn’t have to take my 90-year-old mother to the doctor by myself. My mom can walk only a short distance without getting terribly out of breath. At home she’s on oxygen but can manage without it for a few hours. However, her legs have given out on her. We walk from seat to seat to get to our destinations.

So, how positively wonderful when my sister-in-law first offered to accompany us! Of course, the first mom-ingrained thought when offered the help was, Oh no, I can do it alone. You don’t have to miss work. But she persisted and I accepted. And thank God I did. It was just such an immense burden taken off my shoulders. A burden shared doesn’t seem so heavy.

My mom and I were dropped off at the doctor’s door rather then searching for a parking space and walking more than was necessary, and we were picked up afterward. All good. Having a second set of ears listening to the doctor was invaluable. My last pocket of joy was when we three enjoyed a much-needed lunch together. My mom ordered her favorite drink – an orange blossom – probably her sole pocket of joy of the day!

Today we repeat yesterday with different destinations – mammogram and ultrasound…and maybe lunch again. Who knows? Today, moms, I wish you all pockets of joy in your overly scheduled mom lives. Cheers! (An orange blossom is orange juice with gin, in case you’re wondering.)

Prayers, Please

2010-01-26T18:14:00.000-05:00

Have you ever had one of those days when all you want to do is soak in a hot tub? Or fly somewhere warm and cozy? How about time traveling backward or forward? Today would be one of those days for me. An anywhere-but-here-and-now philosophy. Although there were good parts to this day the underlying fact is that I took my mom to the doctor and tomorrow they have scheduled her for a mammogram and ultrasound. Yeah, tomorrow. Definite urgency involved here. So we’ll see. Prayers, please.

11 Months Until Christmas

2010-01-25T10:30:00.002-05:00

Christmas overwhelms. And by the time it does, it’s too late to do much about it. So we place a Band-Aid on the gushing wound, hope for the best and smile throughout December 25th. We unearth what happiness we can find falling to sleep exhausted. If this rings true, now is the time to do something about the Christmas chaos in our lives because in exactly 11 months we will be Merry Christmasing once more.

When I began writing this 365-day blog I had just endured Christmas. “Endured” is not the cheeriest word to characterize Christmas now, is it? But it’s honest, at least for me. (For more details see my January 13 blog entitled “I’ll Just Whisper It…Christmas.”) I did many things wrong last year, but a few things right. Something I need to remember next Christmas is that our basic family dynamic is not going to transform overnight on Christmas Eve. Pie-in-the-sky expectations hurt everyone. Overcompensating with presents is not the answer.

I feel that one answer to enjoying the holidays more fully is to begin enjoying every day now, working up slowly to experience the joy of Christmas. A more joyful family will bring more joy to the season. It’s not supposed to be about getting; Christmas should be about giving. I’ve said more than once in my writing that perhaps I haven’t taught my children the best ways to give. I’ve taught them how to receive by giving so much to them. Don’t get the wrong idea – my sons all have generous souls, but if I had it to do over, I would take my boys to the soup kitchen regularly instead of going alone. I would see that my sons chose a gift card from the giving tree at church and bought presents for someone in need instead of taking charge and doing it alone “in all our names.” I would give more to the needy and be sure that my kids did the same. Kids learn best hands-on – we all do.

A happy memory just popped into my head. For several years before Thanksgiving when my children were small, I would give them each $10.00 and we would walk around the grocery store searching for as much food as we could get for those less fortunate. Each boy was responsible for his own $10.00. And they loved that! I remember the careful thought each put into his choices. Then on Thanksgiving morning we would take the bags to morning Mass. I miss that time. But maybe by remembering I’ve hit on a clue. It’s never too late to give. We’re never too old to give. I think we just get lazy, complacent with our own lives forgetting that if we would share with others our own lives couldn’t help but be enriched.

Right now my boys have so many clothes they never wear it’s simply ridiculous. All over the place. I’ve surely lamented about lack of closets in our 1823 beauty of a house, right? I walk into their rooms and cringe. Yesterday I sorted through all kinds of junk in the space I’ve reclaimed for myself, and found that some of it wasn’t junk. Some of it could definitely be used by others which means that a Goodwill stop is in my future this week. Giving it away will make me feel good. Funny how that works, huh?

So for me, 11 months before Christmas I am not specifically thinking about the big day. I am thinking of all the little days that make up a life, that make up my family’s life. I am thinking of ways to make my family better, more giving. Today when my sons return from work and/or school they will be greeted with yet another chore list. But this one will have a two-fold purpose: Besides straightening a mess, let’s see how many clothes we can give to a person in need who would truly appreciate them.

My boys have already seen how I’ve cleaned up my bit of space upstairs, my Happy Place, as I jokingly refer to it. Leading by example seems to be a prerequisite for this mom job. I’ll talk it up at the dinner table, I’ll ask the boys to carry the bags to my car so they see and realize. I know my boys give. But I want them to give more, and not just around holidays. I’ll remind them of our pre-Thanksgiving shopping trips and go from there. It’s a good start. Wish me luck.

Time to Reboot

2010-01-24T08:54:00.001-05:00

Why do I feel like spring is just around the corner? It’s not. It’s January in the Midwest. And it’s not just me. My friend who lives an hour away let her son play outside without a coat only realizing later it had been 36 degrees. I had to laugh when she told me. Are we kindred weather spirits? I couldn’t bear to don a coat today. A sweater did the trick; I wasn’t cold at all.

So what’s up? Mental global warming? A welcome optimism that my living room is back to its pre-Christmas state? Needles swept up, inch thick dust whisked away. Furniture re-arranged. I do love that real Christmas tree, but I also love it when the real tree goes bye-bye. Similar to owning a boat or a pool table. They serve a fun purpose, wear out their welcomes and sit in the yard, in the case of the boat, or hold piles of laundry, in the case of the pool table. We’ve had both boat and table.

As I’ve often said, I thrive on quiet, crave solitude. That Happy Place of mine upstairs (see January 15th Wish I May, Wish I Might post) is coming along. I have a definite maybe from my son to hang the drywall on Wednesday. Until then I must sort, sort, sort. The way I see it, everything I throw or give away leaves precious space for me, me, me. A little over a year ago, the roof was leaking terribly, hence the residual damage of recent falling plaster. After we replaced the roof I invoked eminent domain, and little by little this uninhabitable area exhibits more and more potential.

Like spring.

Mother Nature has cleared the snow. Tomorrow rain is forecast – a rejuvenating mask in the dead of winter. Come April we’ll all be sick of the rain, but now it’s a welcome diversion. As is my room upstairs.

Moms need time to reflect without distraction, to re-examine and refresh periodically. Otherwise, we’re always running on empty. And that’s bad for everyone concerned. This week I can be found enjoying the rain’s pitter patter above my head as I reclaim a bit of space and restore a bit of me.

Mom to the Rescue!

2010-01-23T16:59:00.002-05:00

How many times have we moms been our children’s hero throughout his or her life? Kissing bruises, running forgotten lunches up to school, attending football games in monsoons? We feel special satisfaction when our children know exactly how much they mean to us and that we would do anything for them. What a feeling when our little one looks into our eyes with such love and gratitude. A definite perk of motherhood.

I haven’t kissed many bruises lately, my sons go to Subway now and sports are long gone. Do my boys still know I’d do anything for them? Do they know how deeply my love is rooted? Do they feel as attached to me as I to them? I wonder.
Or am I now simply the out-of-touch mom ready to be put out to pasture? The old-fashioned mom with the out-of-date values and beliefs? The disciplinarian who wrecks their fun?

“You’ve been playing that game for hours!”

“I don’t want to hear that word one more time!”

“Turn it down!”

“Where are you going?”

“Write down the phone number where you’ll be.”

Suffice it to say that none of them have registered a fan club in my honor. They love me. I know that, but at this time of our lives it’s more like ships passing in the night scraping hulls. And I have the loudest foghorn.

My son’s ship blew a gas line yesterday. He called to tell me what happened and that a co-worker had picked him up so he arrived at work on time. But his truck didn’t fair as well. I asked about towing which he said he could not afford. He’d “take care of it.” We hung up.

Hmmm…old Mom got to thinking…How? How are you going to take care of it? Are you going to fix the gas line lying in the road under your truck tonight after work when it’s dark? Maybe you can’t afford a tow, but I can!

I called three companies until I was quoted a reasonable price. I drove to my son’s work, grabbed his keys and met the tow truck guy who hooked up the truck and followed me home, depositing the broken down beauty in our driveway.

My ears nearly froze off, but I felt really happy. I like being needed. I liked giving more than was expected – surprising him. And my son truly appreciated it. This morning, in the light of day, in the safety of our driveway, my son fixed his truck and is good to go. And I got the chance to show him a fraction of how much I love him. I gave God to one whom God gave to me.

The Other Woman

2010-01-22T19:27:00.002-05:00

The woman eager to meet the day. The woman who carefully selects her wardrobe and leisurely applies her make-up. The woman who curls her hair just so. The woman with light in her eyes anticipating the meeting. The woman singing along to her favorite songs in the car. The woman who smiles as she recognizes the familiar car in the parking lot. The woman who gives her hair one quick brush before entering the restaurant. The woman who welcomes with a kiss. Who talks and laughs and listens. Who is fully present in the moment never wishing the moment to end.

The other woman is me.

Clandestine rendezvous? Hardly! Just the hours every month when I forget me the mom to remember me the girl, me the woman, me the friend. I become the me I want to be once a month sitting across from my lifelong friend. No pretense. Nothing’s off limits. Shared tragedies elevate to comedies. Quandaries are solved. Hopeless drops the suffix. I smile all the way home knowing that I am loved by another human being unconditionally. And I start anticipating the next meeting in thirty days, a different restaurant, a different outfit, but the same friend.

*****

Yes, today was my Julie lunch – my human Margarita! If you missed my post of January 9th you may want to scroll down to take a look. I wish you all a Julie in your lives. :)

TV Therapy

2010-01-21T00:24:00.002-05:00

I didn’t step out of my house all day long. Can’t remember the last time that happened. No make-up. No curling iron. Me à la naturelle. Hopefully, I didn’t scare my sons’ friends too badly this evening as they gathered here before going out. Oh, who cares?

What if “Who Cares?” were our mantra, ladies? I think I’d be happier. How about you?

I had but a few claims to fame today. I made dinner for no one. That sounds like I didn’t make dinner. I made dinner. For no one. Just me. No one was here. I knew it ahead of time, but I was hungry. Tuna Helper it was. Such a culinary masterpiece. I washed dishes and baked chicken for tomorrow. And I defrosted ground beef. Oh the exciting life I lead! However, my washer never stopped for 10 hours. Believe it or not, I do count the laundry as a major accomplishment. There was just so much of it.

By and large, I enjoyed a peaceful day (minus the blow-up and poison pen letter to my dear darlings). Ah the joys of motherhood. And at night all the men were gone. Do you comprehend the significance of that last statement? All the men were gone. Hip Hip Hooray! So I enjoyed all remaining recorded episodes of Being Erica and Gilmore Girls, culminating with the grand finale of the second season's premiere of Being Erica.

At one point in my night I sat at the computer thinking I really should be doing something constructive. “But what should it be?” I asked myself. Myself had no reasonable reply. I was chilly and beginning to think too much, which is a familiar trap of mine. Time to say, “Who cares?” When do I ever get the living room all to myself? Never.

I quickly abandoned the computer, cuddled under the afghan, and soaked in the wise words of Dr. Tom and Lorelai. I’m good to go for another day. TV therapy. Don’t knock it if you haven’t tried it.

Good Intention Gone Awry

2010-01-20T09:37:00.002-05:00

Good intentions gone awry leave a person feeling kind of stupid. Such was the case this morning. First of all, waking up early was impossible as my son and I had stayed up playing the new Beatles Monopoly game last night. So I missed morning Mass. But I didn’t miss Bible Study, and in the course of our morning discussion our fearless leader told us all that he would have to cut our session short to fill in last minute for another priest at a funeral. I think “funeral” and I think “Mass.” First mistake of many. Our priest was concerned that this may be a sparsely-attended service, wondering if there’d be more than one person there. How sad. I kept thinking of that throughout Bible Study – to die with only one mourner. My friend Martha thought the same thing. So we hatched a plan.

After Father left Bible Study to get ready for the service, Martha and I decided we’d go to the church to fill up the cavernous space. This would take some of the sadness out of such a small showing as well as give our friend a bigger “audience” to address with his remarks. Now tell me, doesn’t that sound like a good idea?

Martha wanted to change her coat to look more presentable. No problem. Her house was nearby. I was wearing a sweatshirt under my coat so I borrowed a scarf to camouflage my casual attire. Neither of us had attended Mass that morning, and were looking forward to our little adventure together. We were off!

Since I wasn’t exactly sure where the church was I called one of my sons. He gave me directions. We arrived in plenty of time, but there were absolutely no cars in the church parking lot. Not a one. Not even Father's van which meant we were in the wrong place. Mistake #2. Is there another Catholic church in this small city? I didn’t know. Martha didn’t know. Back on the phone. Good old Google told us that yes, in fact, there was. But how to get there from where we were? My son talked me through the directions until we found church #2. With five minutes to spare.

No cars in this parking lot either. Oh geez! Mistake #3. What to do? What more could we do? We had tried. We’d tried our best. Sally would have only that one mourner. We headed toward home.

Why, oh why, did I have to recognize our priest’s van? Why didn’t I just keep my mouth shut and keep driving? But there it was - big as life. So we drove into the parking lot of a funeral home – not a church – which meant – not a Mass.

At a little past noon we ruminated in the parking lot. We were late. I didn't want to go in, because, let me tell you, there were many cars in this parking lot. Sally had friends and family. Plenty of them. So I began to drive out of the lot. An iced tea at a nearby restaurant sounded good to me. We'd found the wild goose at the end of our chase and she had a gaggle of geese about her. But nooooo, Martha said we may as well go in since we were already there. May as well go in since we were already there? To a funeral service in a small room, not a big church, for someone we don’t know at all? At that moment a root canal sounded more appealing.

But Martha is older than I. And she really thought it best to go in. Refusing would have been like saying no to my mom. Reluctantly, and I mean extremely reluctantly, we walked in. I made Martha go first. Ever the chicken am I!

We were late, our friend was eulogizing, and in we walked to a gathering of total strangers. What must Father have thought? Thank God there were two seats in the back right as we entered the room. I plunked down seeking invisibility. Short and sweet and soon it was over. But not completely over. Can you guess what’s coming? The last goodbye walk past the casket. There was no way I was doing it. I was not risking a mistake #4. As it was right then, no one else but the two funeral directors really noticed our untimely entrance. What would we say if family or friends stopped to inquire as to who we were? “Oh, we’re just funeral crashers. We were afraid no one would be here so we came.” Lame. Lame. Lame.

Of course, the final procession began from the last row, but as dignified as possible, we ducked out the door. Martha wanted to wait to speak to our friend, but I wanted to run out of there as quickly as possible. And I won this one. We left and headed to the restaurant to drown the day's memory with that iced tea.

Oh, my gosh, what did those funeral directors think? We came late and refused to walk by the casket. What great friends of Sally we must have been! I hear that hell is paved with good intentions. Finally, the cherry on the sundae of this day was when I called our priest friend, feeling the need to explain the circumstances of our unlikely presence at a funeral for someone we had never before seen. If “stupider” is a word that, my dear friends, is how I felt as I rapid-fired my explanation.

Live and learn. As God as my witness, I will never crash another funeral, no matter how well-intentioned.

Predictable Hope

2010-01-19T15:30:00.001-05:00

Isn’t the beauty of nature phenomenal? Mother Nature surely wreaks havoc as headlines proclaim, but luckily the beauty trumps the destruction most days. God must have had a blast creating the world, don’t you think? From little baby hummingbirds to big fat ostriches. How fun! Elephants have been a favorite of mine since I was a child. They fascinate me.

The oceans, the stars, the flowers and trees. We take so much for granted. We believe the sun will rise tomorrow and tomorrow’s tomorrow. We count on it. We expect it. Spring shall follow winter in my corner of the world with rain showering away the dirty clumps of snow pushed from roadways. Birds begin to sing, start feathering their nests.

I know I’m thinking spring a little early. We’re not out of January yet, but it’s a hopeful notion. Something better is coming. I think it says something about how good our God is when we remember that the lovely, the awe-inspiring facets of nature are the ones that are predictable. What if every single day we had an earthquake, a forest fire, a flood? Who would want to wake up knowing destruction was coming?

But that isn’t how our world is. The good is predictable; the bad is sporadic. And the bad always brings out the good in God’s people. Relief efforts to Haiti are overwhelming. People open their generous hearts when faced with such an in-your-face catastrophe. I wonder if these earthquakes, hurricanes and tsunami aren’t a wake-up call from God. The press is all over them. Our eyes are opened to the urgent need. We send money. We pray.

I think that God may set these larger than life tragedies before us because we have become numb to the child who goes to sleep hungry each and every night with an empty belly. One hungry child is no less tragic than thousands of hurricane victims. God wasn’t kidding when He said, “Feed My lambs.”

The reality of people on this great earth going to sleep hungry each night has been increasingly disturbing to me. I know I must do more to help. God is nudging me. Volunteering at a soup kitchen or filling food baskets at church alleviate some of the hurt, but the need is so great. I want to make a difference. I want to be part of an answer. I want to be a source of hope for a hungry person. The “mom thing” was my first calling. Maybe helping those less fortunate than I will be part of my second calling – my writing. I hope so.

We Are Our Choices

2010-01-18T07:16:00.001-05:00

Are you a list maker? Or do you fly by the seat of your pants? Do you dot all your i’s and cross your t’s or do you dance to the beat of a different drummer?

A week or so ago I told you how much I enjoyed the TV show, Being Erica. Lucky for me the network ran a marathon and I recorded the first season’s offerings. We are the sum of our choices. How true. Words of wisdom from episode one. We sure are the sum of our choices. Good, bad or somewhere in between our lives are formed by the big and small choices we make every day.

I wonder if we realize how important our choices are. What was cannot be changed. But tomorrow can be! We can alter our perceptions. We can serpentine. Granted, many of the dots of our lives are already drawn, but it’s up to us how we connect them.

The biggest and most positive realization for me is that the only person I can change is me. My windows of opportunity with my sons closed years ago. They are who they will be. I have never been able to change another person – and not for lack of trying! Not children or husband or anyone else. Because that is not my job. My job is me and only me.

And so I work on me. If no one in my house understands me at times, that’s just too bad. I don’t understand them either. Life goes on. I do my best. I try. And that’s going to have to be enough. Sometimes I wing it while at other times I’m a stickler. It just depends. Maybe I am hard to understand by those closest to me in proximity. I don’t know. But I do know I just don’t care anymore. And that’s a freeing feeling. After all, there’s really only one Guy I’m trying to impress. And He seems to like me just fine most days.

I Believe

2010-01-17T17:30:00.001-05:00

Here I sit in my Happy Place. Writing about it made me miss it terribly. I thought, A messed up Happy Place is better than no Happy Place at all. So I began to resurrect my space once more. Even more fallen chunks of plaster didn’t daunt my spirit. “If I don’t do it, nobody will” was my motto. I cranked the radio and an hour later the smell of orange-scented Pledge and lilac candles filled the air. Believe it or not, it’s a good combo. Better than plaster dust, that’s for sure. I still have much to do as half of the room is home to piles of junk, but it’s do-able. And I am definitely in the mood to get rid of stuff that others could use.

Happily, the electrician has come and gone so I won’t freeze to death once the cold snap hits; I’ll plug my handy dandy heater in and be warm as toast. Rain tapping on the roof above me right now is much more pleasant than listening to squabbling boys. I bought a lovely little bouquet of purple flowers for my lovely little space today.

Today was a day for the record books as far as the men in the house go. Sometimes I just look up and ask God why. I don’t get it. I really don’t understand. Maybe I’m not supposed to understand but supposed to keep going on in faith. Faith that God won’t let me completely lose my mind. Faith that my sons really have learned more from me in the past 20 years than they’re letting on. Faith that one day they too shall grow up and act like adults in front of me. I have seen them do it; I know they are capable. If nothing else, I am happy that in about five hours sleep will come. I’ll latch my faith onto that hopeful morsel. And will stay as far away from the men in this house as it humanly possible tonight…in my own place.

Remember, moms, in Cinderella (the real one with Leslie Ann Warren) when she had her own corner where she could be whatever she wanted to be? She dreamed. She had hope and faith in something greater, something better. I do too.

And the Beat Goes On...

2010-01-16T08:44:00.002-05:00

In the words of Sonny and Cher, “And the beat goes on…yeah the beat goes on.” My distractions of yesterday continued through the remainder of the day. I think we moms live our lives between distractions. Before we have children our time is mostly our own. Our thoughts. Our dreams. But as soon as we know we are pregnant life suddenly is not about us anymore. That’s when we truly begin to live for the other. And it never stops. Once a mom always a mom.

Before I had children, which in the grand scheme of things was about one second in relation to the zillions of seconds with children, my dad asked me a question one day: “Do you know how to relax?” To do nothing. To unplug. And at the time I answered yes because it was true. And that was about the last time that statement was true.

Yesterday I so wanted the day to be a no-makeup-Who-cares-what-my-hair-looks-like kind of day, but then my son called wondering what his parents were doing for lunch. Translation: He wanted us to take him to lunch. One-on-one time with a child still remains precious – no matter how old they are or how weird they act. My son lived up to his reputation. Has he ever matured past 5? I picked him. I wasn’t doing what I wanted to be doing, but I’m not complaining. It is what it is. Choosing for the other.

Once back home I tore into my bedroom which has needed significant attention since Christmas. Made good progress. Happy with my efforts. And then the nagging thought which has plagued me since my oldest popped out, reared its ugly head once more (not ugly head of child – head of child lovely!): Am I doing enough?

Why do I always wonder if I am doing enough? Especially after such a day? Why? It is stupid. I am quite sure that no other person in my house has ever in their lives asked themselves that question or even had the feeling.

Being a mom broadens one’s horizons in a special way as our capacities to give are increased exponentially. We give ourselves completely to our children. In one way or another we are always giving. And that’s good. But it’s also good to know when, in any given day, to say that enough is enough. Tomorrow is another day to give. We can hang a closed sign on the giving tree knowing full well we will resume the practice bright and early the next morning.

Can we do this? Can I do this? I will try. To unplug. Every night. To retake the living room. The gunslinging gamers’ scores on Call of Duty are high enough already! To read a magazine just for fun. A friend bought me four subscriptions for Christmas. Four! Can you imagine! I never read magazines for fun. I will start. Or to do what I did last night and go out to a movie with my husband.

Close up shop tonight, moms. And have some fun!

LIVE FROM YOUR OWN CITY…IT'S SATURDAY NIGHT!

Wish I May, Wish I Might

2010-01-15T11:25:00.002-05:00

I must remember my own words of only one day ago. I must. I can’t see all the turns in my life – little ones or big ones. I woke up with a plan. A good plan. Not selfish. Not me-oriented at all. I wanted to make this weekend count for something. My house needs attention, the decorations haven’t walked their own selves up the steps yet, and I awoke with a firm commitment to begin eating right again.

First derailment: As the last bite of oatmeal slid down, a son laid a bombshell on me. OK, maybe not exactly a bombshell. Too dramatic. Let’s just say that his school plans for him and my plans for him didn’t jive. Now, how politically correct is that? Not too much info to be a blabbermouth but enough to get my point across to other moms.

How can children not see what is best for them? It’s perfectly clear to me. So I put my whole soul into our “discussion” this morning. My bright and sunny energy of the day completely zapped…by 9:30.

I hauled myself back up onto the track beginning with the battle of the dishes. Good thing we have Corelle. Like Timex, “It takes a licking and keeps on ticking." No broken casualties so I soaked another sinkful. Son apologized. All was good. My mood had improved; I decided to write a little bit.

Hubby comes home! Second derailment. Oh joy! Walks into the bedroom and starts talking. Pen and paper mean nothing. I barely answer thinking he’ll get the hint. Can you spell “clueless”? I leave. Back to my friends the dishes. And my thoughts wander to my Happy Place – my unoccupied, yet beckoning Happy Place upstairs. In the interest of full disclosure I shall cut and paste a copy of a column I wrote a while ago for my magazine. And perhaps you will understand my intense need for my own space among the males of the Locher species. Here goes:

WELCOME TO MY HAPPY PLACE

Here I am needing to write again. And it is a need for me, like breathing, food and love – it’s one of the must-haves in my life. When I pick up my pen I am transported out.

Out of: bickering boys, work-at-home husband, endless laundry, mountains of dishes, book revisions, Web site updates, copy editing. I am gone from all these places to my mythical Happy Place. If only for a little while, I tune everybody out. But soon the sheer unadulterated pleasure of peace and quiet is obliterated.

“Mom, he’s been playing that game all day. I want to pick on TV.”

“I’m not bringing Max in. I took him out.”

“Don’t hang up. This is not a sales call.” Yeah, right. Click.

And the ever-present husband who simply can’t, or won’t, see my laptop when he enters the room. I see myself. I am there sitting on my bed, fingers flying, eyes fixed, brain concentrating. But my computer must have a cloak of invisibility to it. I do not look up. I do not speak. But it’s coming. I know it’s coming.

“Whatcha doing?”

“Brain surgery, Sweetie. That’s what I’m doing. Want a free lobotomy? I can fit you right in.”

Concentration wrecked. Constant replay of this broken record is not healthy as I am not exactly sweet-as-sugar when interrupted. Atmosphere tense, tempers erupt. I just want to scream, “This is my new life. Sons grown. Maid gig over. Writer-life emerging. Get used to it!”

A huge contributing factor to the inner turmoil is that I have no place to call my own in this 1823 farmhouse. We had a little pantry; our dog, Max, woofed his way into that. We had a small room upstairs; my youngest son settled there. No livable space left. Full up. Except…one spot – our red room. Ridiculous name. It’s not even red. Plaster chunks hang from the ceiling, no electrical outlets, one rickety hanging light fixture, no heat, and piles of useless junk crammed from floor to crumbling ceiling. Dismal to most, but lovely to me because it is the absolute last vestige of possible sanity without mailing change-of-address cards.

My years of idealistic home improvement aspirations have deteriorated worse than my ceiling into a resigned realism. Cold, stark, in-your-face realism. This space is my only option – my final frontier. Either claim it or check into the looney bin sooner or later, most likely sooner. This large Federal style home has only two closets, next-to-no cupboards, and few drawers. But six people’s junk has to go somewhere, so everything was thrown into the red room.

Last week I couldn’t safely walk into the room. Couldn’t actually see a glimpse of the floor. Just junk upon junk. But basket by basket, bin by bin, beginning at the doorway, I hauled our discarded treasures into the hallway to sort. Very little made the Keep Me cut. One quick glance told me all I needed to know. If someone else could use it, I white-bagged it; otherwise, black-bagged for the dump. No vacillation. No, Maybe someday somehow someone may want this Bingo game. Highly unlikely my sons, ages 18-23, will ever become so mind-numbingly bored as to ask the question, “Where is that Bingo game Mom bought years ago that we’ve never even opened? We have a sudden urge to play.” Whoville-opoly as well as Hunting and Fishing Trivia white-bagged with Bingo.

In a matter of an hour and a half, I sorted down to the floor clearing a skinny path to the window – source of light, heat and hope. I charted my week’s progress with photographs. I want to remember how horrid it looked. Not sure why. But I do. Our grand sum of purged clutter stuffed the bed of a pick truck; Goodwill loves me.

What mom out there isn’t familiar with the childhood favorite, If You Give a Mouse a Cookie? Such was my encounter one gloriously fun day, only I dub it, “If You Give a Mom a Refund Check.” What a pretty desk. Pretty desk needs comfortable chair. Desk and chair must sit atop plush rug. Let there be light – once electrician comes – shining on this writer’s trio. Enter charming lamp. Spare twin bed stolen from son aches for frilly, girly sheets. Sheet set screams for pastel quilt as the lilac scent of candles begs to fill the air.

Now for my hopeful decorations – Picture, if you will: a brightly colored pillow adorned with the words, “Believe. Create. Inspire;” a plaque aptly summing up my life, “Yesterday a beautiful reflection. Today a new beginning. Tomorrow a limitless possibility;” a six-inch diameter ball, “Believe in Miracles;” and by far, my favorite acquisition is “Welcome to My Happy Place,” painted simply on a small piece of wood.

Ironically, this cheery open-arms greeting is for one woman and one woman alone, and that would be me! No one else in the house is going to be welcome. Welcome to my Happy Place, writer mom. All others keep out. Beware. No trespassing. Offenders will be shot with a volley of dirty looks and “About face” commands. I have set up writer’s shop away from the clueless. Boys lugged furniture upstairs. Floor washed. Rug laid. Sheets fluffed. Candle lit. Mom happy.

I’m making my dreams come true one lovely thought at a time. If I can do it, you can too. Make the space. Take the time. And keep the rest of the world out!

*****

Optimistic thoughts, huh? I thought so. and I was happy there until the ceiling fell down splatting all over my pretty things. It was more a blow to my spirit than anything. Eventually I cleaned it up but then the frigid temperatures hit. I hauled up a heater and blew a fuse. Electrician encountered a problem: our big fat super thick oak beams used in 1823. Supposedly he is returning this weekend. I hope so. My gosh, I hope so. So I wait. Down here where everyone and anyone mills about not at all concerned with peace and quiet.

Calgon, take me away. Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty please?

God's GPS

2010-01-14T03:30:00.001-05:00

I am in one hellaciously bad mood. Is hellaciously a word? Who knows? The people in my house seem happy; I am not. Why aren’t I? And why do I care so much? I feel like I’ve been on this journey for years and I don’t feel any closer to where I’m supposed to be. Where am I supposed to be? Where do I belong?

A revelation of sorts happened to me earlier: There is no prize. No brass ring. No gold star or coveted blue ribbon. It’s all illusion. You can’t get there from here. I told you I was in a bad mood. This life just keeps us humans occupied. We are supposed to belong to God. He didn’t have to make us. He didn’t need us; we need Him. So why did He make us? What’s the purpose of people? What’s the big plan? I opened the Bible to find an answer, being a firm believer in the open-it-to-a-random-page philosophy, expecting God to speak to me. He never disappoints.

There I was reading along. Knock. Knock. Knock. In came my son with his usual sixth sense when it comes to yours truly. I warned him of the volcano brewing inside – enter at your own risk kind of thing. A lesser man would have retreated. He shut the door and lay down on the bed. And listened.

I don’t know where I fit anymore. I joke about being the lone woman in a world of men, but most times it really sucks. I love these guys. They’re my guys. I’ll always think of them as mine. But they drive me nuts. Not all of them all of the time, but, truthfully, at any given moment if one of my four sons is here at home, chances are, he’s bugging me in some way.

It’s the trash, the dishes, the messes. It’s “You’re never here anymore” or “You’re here too much and I’m never alone.” I understand the paradox; I do. And the cell phones! C’mon. Every waking second?

Am I a fuddy duddy? I’m only 50. But am I? I’m out of the loop. I remember the loop. The invisible barrier between parent and child. I remember it well. There were just certain things that were best left unsaid. Best for all concerned. And now I’m out of the loop. This is their time.

However, I’m not one to sink slowly into the sunset. This evening I asked my dear one, “So, on a scale of 1-10, how weird do you think I am?”

“Which way is weird?”

“10.”

“11,” he says without missing a beat!

And then he says, “You’re not the same as everybody, but you don’t want to be. That’d be boring.”

Oh my gosh. The insight. It’s uncanny. He gets the essence of me. I love him. Thank You, God for turning him to my page.

Yes, life’s a journey. But maybe the prizes serve a purpose after all. Hope. Plain and simple. We human beings need doses of hope along the journey if we’re going to make it to the end. And at the right end of the scale is God.

When we think we can’t get there from here maybe it’s because there’s a turn in the road we can’t see. But God sees the complete picture. He’s holding the roadmap. He knows where we’ve been and where we’re headed. I guess I better put a little more faith in God’s GPS. Look Ma, no hands. God’s at the wheel.

I'll Just Whisper It...Christmas

2010-01-13T08:10:00.002-05:00

Enough time has elapsed since my Christmas meltdown to share it with you. I think if the Grinch had slunked down my chimney I would have been relieved. Take it all away. I’m sick of it, had been my thoughts before Christmas. I felt as if I couldn’t do one more thing for one more person; I’d hit overload. And it wasn’t pretty. I felt like Atlas with the crushing weight of Christmas on my shoulders. Crazy Christmas mania barreling down on me and I had nowhere to go. I couldn’t run away. I’d drop Christmas World!

One morning before leaving my house for yet another errand, I cried. “Why do I have to MAKE Christmas for everyone? Make it for us. Make it for my parents. Make it for friends.” I was in a bad way. But happily, I gained a bit of perspective after I’d survived yet another December 25th.

Earth to Maureen! God made Christmas – not I. But I was exhausted, as most moms are at Christmas. I let the hype get to me. I let it dictate my mood. No one “makes” me do what I do. If I bite off more than I should chew, that’s my fault. I have set the expectations; I can modify them to preserve peace and sanity. I’m a big proponent of sanity for moms, in case you hadn’t noticed.

My biggest and most stealthy thief of holiday cheer has always been the dreaded Christmas cookie. This may sound quite silly to a non-baker, but I know many of you are nodding your heads right now in agreement. I just know it.

Long years ago I baked a certain type of apricot cookie which one of my brothers absolutely adored. It became a tradition. I swear, everyone who’s ever eaten this cookie is smitten with it. And oh how the cookie circle has widened! Of course, it’s a labor-intensive cookie. Or so I thought until I learned how to make Lebkuchen and Springerle – German recipes from my husband’s grandma. These are killers! So much time. And now that Grandma’s only baking for the angels guess who’s the only person here on earth who makes the cookies? Oh the guilt! The ridiculous self-inflicted guilt. This year I didn’t make either kind. And instead of baking six batches of the favorite apricot cookie, I made two. And the sun didn’t fall out of the sky. Remarkable! I said no to several kinds of cookies this year, and we are all the thinner for it. So next year I either start baking early or reduce the quantity. Simple.

Believe it or not, I did a few things right this year. My Christmas cards were mailed early which left me the time to address cards for my parents’ friends. This second batch got a little hairy as the holiday edged closer, but then I thought, Who’s ever going to know? If someone’s changed address was difficult to find – oh well – no card this year. The earth didn’t open up and swallow me.

Here is a public shout-out of thanks to my husband who wrapped every single gift to our boys this year. Another load off.

As Christmas ended and New Year’s Eve preparations began, I felt the same tugs. Everyone expects the familiar treats around here: sausage rounds, stinky feet, spinach dip, cheeseball, on and on. New Year’s Day brings similar concerns as my in-laws visit for the traditional good luck pork and sauerkraut dinner. Tradition! Tevye started something in Fiddler on the Roof. Something that drives women crazy. How about pizza next year?

Rethinking a few ideas right now while Christmas is fresh in our minds is a good way to ensure a little less lunacy 11 months from now. What worked? What didn’t? And what are we going to do about it? Let’s start a new tradition, ladies. Let’s get rid of the guilt, and let’s start now. Let's practice throughout this upcoming year. Trial runs for the big event, shall we say. Anything on the horizon that is making you needlessly nervous? Super Bowl celebration at your house? Birthday party for someone? Set realistic expectations for yourself. You are not Superwoman. (Well, really you are, but let's keep that our little secret, OK?)

Happy Wednesday, Superwoman!

Card-carrying Child of God

2010-01-12T07:01:00.002-05:00

If my teenybopper memory serves, “When Jupiter aligns with Mars then peace will guide the planet.” Mars must be playing hard-to-get with Jupiter today because many goofy things kept happening to me. I dropped papers repeatedly, miscounted money, and the food on my fork jumped off before connecting with my mouth, all before my morning hit noon. This did not bode well for the remaining hours. But onward I drove to my parents.

Weirdness there too. Not so much with me as with my mom. At 90, I’m accustomed to my mom forgetting more than she remembers, but she was remembering things that haven’t happened. Now that’s freaky.

Have you ever felt like you’ve hit an invisible brick wall? One minute you’re OK, but the next your energy’s zapped. Struggling deep down all afternoon long, wishing that my mom were the mom she always was, I worked at a snail’s pace. Finally all was accomplished.

Driving down the long plowed driveway toward home, all of a sudden my Jeep slid to the right as if dancing to a whole other song than the one I was playing. Nearer and nearer to the big ditch alongside the busy road my Jeep and I went.

I couldn’t believe it. The drive was plowed. I wasn’t even in 4-wheel drive. Hadn’t needed to be. Tried 4-wheel drive after the big slide. No go. Into lo. No go again. I tried to rock it. Wouldn’t budge. Tires spun. And there I sat stuck to my axles in the fluffy white crap.

Who’s going to help me, as cars whizzed by? My 89- and 90-year-old parents? Or my family who’re an hour away? Gee, I think I’ll toss a coin! I was feeling more and more like little Ralphie in A Christmas Story when all the lug nuts went a-flying into the air as I thought of Someone else. Actually, He and I had had a running commentary since the big slide began.

One last plea, feeling pretty darn alone, I said, “Please, God, get me out of here.”

And He did. Just like that! God pushed my car out of the snow. More like lifted it out. I hit the gas and drove nice-as-nice-can-be toward the road, not the ditch. It felt as if I weren’t in snow. For all I know, maybe I wasn’t. Maybe I was riding on air.

What a rush! I talked to God, and He answered me right away. None of this, “I’ll get back to you when the time is right.” The time WAS right. Jupiter aligned with Mars. How great is that? Better watch out, AAA. Looks like God’s moonlighting – cutting in on your action. Good thing I’m a card-carrying child of God! And no yearly fees to boot!