Dreaming of a memory

I took Emme to see the Nutcracker this past Saturday. It has become an annual tradition and some of you faithful readers of this blog may remember that I'm not a huge fan of the Nutcracker. Why I decided to go again this year, I don't really know - but a friend was taking her daughter and suggested we go together. And because I have trouble saying "no" - we were set for the Saturday afternoon performance. But, this year I didn't review the ballet with Emme as I did last year. And much to my surprise and thanks to her public education of "learning through the arts", she had a firm understanding of the ballet. She knew what to expect and anxiously awaited the dancers' venture into the Land of the Sweets. I am almost ashamed to admit that I think she knows the ballet better than I do. I was amazed at what she remembered from her Kindergarten class in which they were learning about the Nutcracker. Her command of the ballet let her ask good question - one which I am pondering even tonight. She asked if you could "dream of a memory". When I asked her what she meant, as we enjoyed intermission and our quest for a bathroom, she said that she wanted to know if it was okay to dream about something that already happened or do dreams have to be of something that doesn't exist. I wasn't sure how to answer her at the time in part because I wasn't sure how best to answer and in part because I was afraid if I said "yes" outright that she may grow up to be like me and be too afraid to dream of possibilities and instead end of dreaming of days gone by instead of days yet to come. I cherish my memories - at times they are the only things that warm my heart when the days seem cold. But at other times, dreaming of memories can be painful because you long so much for them to not exist in the past that it can paralyze you from dreaming or from creating any more memories. And yet, Emme is so full of life - so full of what could be that I can't ever see her not dreaming. It would go against who she is and who she is meant to be. She is my beautiful dreamer and my beautiful daughter who tonight, will help me dream of a memory of a hand slipping into mine and a soft voice saying "I'm happy to be here with you" ... and I will dream of another time when this might happen again.

Thanks - giving

It was a crazy Thanksgiving weekend. As is our recent tradition, we went to my sister's house in St. Louis to celebrate Thanksgiving with family and friends. And as has become tradition, the weekend became, as my husband joked, "all the work of being home, but the discomfort of someone else's ...". I don't completely agree with him, but I do understand his sentiment - holidays are to be a time to relax and enjoy. But it never seems that way for me. And yet, somehow, I am okay with that. My kids had - as they would tell you - an awesome time and as a Mom, you do whatever you can to make sure your kids are well and happy. For me, I've come to understand my place in this life - one that I have carved and crafted - both consciously and unconsciously. And more importantly, I've come to find the time - amidst the craziness - I so crave as I wash the dishes and prepare meals. It is the time I crave to think about my life and the blessings that are in it. This Thanksgiving, I thought a lot about my friendships and how precious they are to me.

The Dad of a good friend of mine once said that you are as much defined by the friends you have as by the choices you make. As a mom, I take great responsibility in helping my children learn how to make friends and be a friend and how to make good decisions about friendship. By all accounts, I try hard to be a good friend, but admittedly, there are times, that I have failed a friendship. Because of this, sometimes, it is hard to know how to help my kids be thankful for the friends they have made - even in the short time they've been on this Earth.

Matthew's buddy Jaxson will be moving soon. They've been friends since Kindergarten - and although it has only been two years since they've known each other - they've come to consider each other best buddies. When you're seven, you have a lot of best buddies, but as you get older, you realize how the decisions you make start to define those who really are your "best buddies". There are those friends who make you laugh, those who make you think, those who make you want to be more than you thought you could be, and then there are those friends who will hold you hair back when you've had too much to drink, those who will look you in the eye and tell you the truth - even when it might hurt, those who will help you remember that you are beautiful, and those who will hold your hand as well as your heart. The choices we make in friends may define a lifetime of pleasure and a lifetime of pain. But, the choices are ours and we come to learn that if we stop making friends because they may move away, we stop learning how to live and how to love. My friend's Dad had great wisdom. In a simple statement, he made his children - and me - think about the consequences and the blessings of friendship. What are we willing to give and give up for the sake of friendship?

Matthew's heart will break when Jaxson moves away this Spring. Kickball won't be the same, his birthdays won't be the same, summer camp won't be the same, and play dates won't be the same. But, I tell Matthew that we come to know what makes a friend by how our heart hurts when they are gone and how our heart smiles when we remember the times that we have shared. And for that, we give thanks.

The Melody of Motherhood

In the past couple months, I've had a few friends announce their pregnancies. I'm thrilled for them and for the journey they are embarking on - either as first time parents or in expecting their second child. Both present equally rewarding challenges. Life will reframe itself with each new heartbeat that will soon wrap their family with love. It is exciting to watch as my friends grow - both physically and emotionally. For me, I understand that my time to expect a child is done not due to physically limitations, but emotional ones. Four children is my limit. Each of my children is a blessing to me as they have uniquely taught me so much about life, love, and laughter - about seeing the beauty amidst the clouds because even on a rainy day a well and loudly sung rendition of "sun, sun, mr. golden sun" can brighten the day. But, we all have our limits. And as my friends' families grow, I am content in knowing that my family is complete. And in this completeness, I have come to learn that my role know is to support my friends and to impart wisdom when asked about raising children.

I never thought much about what I would be like as a Mom. In truth, I never pictured myself as a Mom. I babysat growing up, but I knew I was always the last resort on the block - Mrs. Colpi would call me when my sister or Julie were unavailable. And I think for about fifty cents an hour, I would deal with her six kids for most of the day. I'm fairly certain I potty trained two of them, and I know I taught Danny how to read - but I never thought about my own kids. I did what I did for the Colpi's because I went with the rhythm of the household. I didn't try to change who the kids were or who I wanted them to be - but instead, I was who they needed me to be. As I reflect now, I realize I do that with my own kids. They each have their own way about them - Matthew is the analytic, Emme is the creative spirit, Nicholas is the humorist, and Lucas is the charmer. Each complete my soul in a way that I need to get me through each day. I know there are days when I wish Matthew was more of a free spirit and Emme could be more intellectual - but that isn't who they are - it isn't how they see the world or their place in it.

My friends have asked me how I manage to raise my kids as I have - and it wasn't until tonight as I watched my kids - all four of them - trying to teach each other how to dance as they watched the hip hop number on "Dancing with the Stars" - that I realized what it is about motherhood. Motherhood isn't about crafting your children to be who you want them to be, but empowering them to be who they are at their core. It is knowing that the best we can do for our children is to let them grow into the person who they are meant to be and to teach them to love who they are and the beauty that their difference bring to the world. I can't imagine what dinner would be like if Matthew didn't ask at least five questions or Emme didn't create a story about her day that captivates you with its details and her own knowledge of "mom, you know this is fiction", and Nicholas telling jokes that have no purpose - or punchline for that matter but bring us all to a common voice of laughter - and Luke - he combines his sign language for "more" with his ability to say please as he grabs the last of the bread off my plate. Yes, there is a lot to motherhood - a lot that you can read about in books - but in the end, your children are the notes that fill the music of your soul and when you listen to their own rhythms, you know without hesitation how to be their Mom.

So, to my friends who are embarking on a new stage in their life - I say to you - embrace the music that will fill your heart and know that it was composed as a melody to your motherhood.

Good Mornings

Life comes at your fast sometimes and those things that we love to do the most, seem to get pushed aside. For me, it is my writing - something that I love doing, but find little, if any time to do. But, in trying out a skill for the undergraduate technology course I'm teaching - I decided to share a short tale from my morning. In a sense - getting me back to my blogs. I hope you all can hear it okay. It's a little echoey, but I didn't have a good microphone. Enjoy!

Day is done

I am so tired that my body aches. The first week of school always makes me feel this way. But this year between teaching two classes - one of them with 150 students - soccer practices, cub scouts, playdates, and general life I am exhausted. Or at least I thought I was - I thought I would barely be able to make it home, much less pick up my kids. But as a mom, you find that reserve energy and you get things done. For me, I figured I'd put the kids in front of the t.v. while I made frozen fish sticks and then just let them sit while I lamented in my mind about my drained energy. But the kids didn't want that - they want to play - play outside. So, while I put the fishsticks in the oven, I let the three older ones go outside. Lucas shrieked until I finally brought him outside, too. He immediately went to the wagon and as he gingerly climbed in so as not to drop the blueberry bagel he snagged on the way out, his crying fit ended and he seemed to throw his head back as if to breathe in the last few days of summer. I circled block several times as I watched my kids playing with the neighborhood kids. The bikes - the scooters - the chalk - the laughter - the strategy as two jedi knights protected the culdesac ... all combined to take my own breath away. This moment - that was strictly orchestrated by ten children just being kids - the youngest being 15 months - the oldest 9 years old - was exactly what any mom would need to believe that life doesn't get much better than this. The fish sticks could wait, the peas would reheat - but this moment - was what summer was all about - no video games, no tvs ... no fatigue - simply friendship that framed the end of the day.

As I stood looking at these kids, I began to think of my own friendships and how precious they are to me. How there are days when your friends bring you the peace you so deeply needed - although they may not have known it - or how there are times when the right song evokes a memory of days passed and for a moment you are transported to a time and place where life embraced you. I think about how the beauty of friendship strengthens my soul.

And so it was tonight as all the Moms began to call their kids in for bed that I noticed the sun setting. My kids and I walked to the end of the block to let the richness of the orange hues paint the end of our day. And as we slowly turned to walk back home and Nicholas slides his hand into mind, he notices the stars. "Look Mom, they are following us" - "yes, baby, they are - the stars will always follow us, when the day is done - and sometimes, it is wonderful to take the time to let them guide our way home." With that, we turned into our driveway - blessed by another day and the night in which we may dream.

Freedom is ....

Last week I travelled to Ohio for a conference. This was my first trip for work in over a year. Situations in my life limited my travel for work so when the opportunity arose to travel to a conference in Ohio that dealt with digital media's ubiquity in higher education - I took advantage of it. As "geeky" as it may sound, the conference would give me the chance to think about how digital media is transforming the way we think, the way we learn, and the way we come to expect what it means to be a lifelong learner. The conference also would give me a chance to be free. I would be free from the responsibilities of my life as a wife, a mom, a co-worker ... and would free me from the guilt I tend to feel if I haven't lived up to my responsibilities. The trip meant freedom - if only for three days.

Thursday night of the conference, a reception was held at the Freedom Center. I was so excited to attend the reception because I was so curious to see what constitutes a "freedom center." I was humbled by the evening. The Freedom Center was a tribute to slavery and those slaves that found their freedom through the rivers and terrain of Ohio. One of its main exhibits was the "shelter" that housed captive the slaves in the evening. As I walked within its walls, my heart saddened by humanity's ability to self-impose entitlement by controlling others. Along the walls that framed the house was a pictorial history of the slave trade. My eyes and heart were drawn to a small picture of a faceless female slave as she was entering the slave shelter. Beneath the picture was a saying "I am tired, but tomorrow I will go on." Those words echoed in my soul as I imagined her life and the courage she showed waking up each morning. I don't believe that I will ever forget thinking that being weary can strength our character as long as we faced another day - no matter what it may entail.

Later that evening, representatives from Apple Computers showed the winning video of a contest they hosted for college students. In less than a minute, students, through the use of digital media, were to answer the question "freedom is ...". In 45 seconds, the winning team shared their vision and their soul getting us to understand that "freedom is coloring outside the lines." The saying is simple, but its understanding is powerful. As a society, we try to force coloring within the lines - but those who are truly free are brave enough to color outside the lines and to face another day within a society that may have other expectations for them. Coloring outside the lines allows us to be free with our movements - physical, emotional, and soulful. The images were powerful in their simplicity and their brevity. For me, I have been trying to figure out how I would answer the question. When I began my trip - I thought I knew - freedom is freedom from responsibilities. But tonight, I realized that true freedom is riding without the training wheels.

My husband and I have since May tried to teach our first born, our Matthew, how to ride his bike without training wheels. All the neighborhood kids - some younger than he - all ride without training wheels. But Matthew struggled. His sense of balance was off, his pride was shattered with each fall, his excuses were numerous as he looked at his failure to ride his bike. One of the more poignant moments for me as a Mom was finding him crying at the kitchen table as he had been humbled by his inability to succeed in something - when for him - up until now - everything came easily. He is bright - his intellect is impressive - he never had to struggle to learn. But this bike riding was challenging him and for the first time in his life he realized that he may fail. It is a lesson we all learn at some point in our own lives, I was just ill-prepared to deal with it with my six year old. And so I did what every mother would do. I hugged my son and I told him he wasn't a failure - that failing has to do with not trying, not believing in yourself, not wanting to keep trying when things get hard. I promised my Matthew that by summer's end, he would be riding his bike, if only he believed he was not a failure. And so tonight, after several (and I do mean several) long, hot hours holding the back of his bike - we let him go free and he took off. He soared down the road without care, without fear, without failure.

And so it was tonight, I understood that freedom is riding without the training wheels. Freedom was his not because he could go around the culdesac with the other kids, but because he didn't stop believing in himself - no matter how tired he was - both physically and emotionally - he went on for another day. Freedom was his because he came to learn that there is a balance of his soul that supercedes his physical balance. Freedom was his because he realized that a promise was kept because we both believed in the power of his determination. Tonight I learned that while I may have thought freedom was about letting go of responsibilities, it was really about understanding the power of my responsibilities and strength of getting up for another day to embrace those responsibilities.

Swinging

A few weeks back, I made the statement that "I wanted to swing". My good friends (and you know who you are!) teased me as only good friends could as they inquired if I meant adopting the unconventional lifestyle of the 70's . It was funny to think that this Mom of four would think about "swinging" in that manner. I'm typically so exhausted by the end of the day (hell, I'm exhausted by the beginning of the day!), that the thought of swinging seems best left to a well spun, but perhas short-lived television series.

No - this Mom of four - simply meant that she missed swinging in a swing. I had spent the afternoon pushing my kids on the swings. Each had their own style for swinging - but each wanted to swing high enough to touch the sky. Even Lucas just 15 months old loved the freedom of swinging. His huge smile as he kicked back his head to catch the breeze told me that he realized - even at a young age - how precious it was to swing. It was as if he, like his siblings, understood the power of the swings. He understood the power of freedom. He was free to fly - free to dream that you could reach heights you never thought possible. As I watched all my children swing in a row, I prayed that they would never forgot that feeling. The feeling that the impossible was possible and that no matter how high you might go, there would always be solid ground below you to break your fall - no matter how hard it may be. That's the power of the swing. It is the belief that you can soar and know there is a solid foundation below you. And sometimes it is about knowing who is next to you on the swing - breathing in the same moment and understanding the simple beauty of the swing and the freedom - even for a moment - that it brings.

[NOTE: this was drafted in July ... not sure why it was never posted!]

The Kindness of Strangers

My tooth is killing me. I've been needing dental work for a while, but just keep putting it off. Like most mothers, I equate my pain threshold to child birth. So when at about 3:30 this morning, I started lamenting the fact that I did not know a drug dealer to get me some heroine -- a drug that I am told is closest to nubane - which they give you during childbirth - I realized that I needed to see the dentist. It was either a visit to Dr. Johnson (whom I see regularly for cleanings) or I call my "acquaintance" ST whom I have the suspicion would know how I could get some heroine .... I decided on the former. But, Dr. Johnson could not see me until tomorrow. So today, I spent the day nursing my tooth ache with Advil and Darvaset and some peace as the house was quiet and I could try and rest.

But the silence was soon broken when the kids came home and Brian had had it. He had a bad parenting drive home - something he rarely does - he doesn't usually drive the kids. Tonight, they got the best of him and I realized that my dream (yeesh - I guess I do dream) of staying in my pajamas, and watching Betty White on the new version of password was short lived (a reason why I don't dare to dream). I had to get the kids out of the house.

And so it was after a quick dinner, I took the four kids to Meier to get a birthday present and grocery shop. I realized after about two items in the cart that this was a mistake. Lucas was tired, the older kids were not interested in groceries, but toys. And so I gave in - I figured, I'd just let them look at toys while I picked up to large tubs on wheels - which are conveniently located across from the toy aisle. This seemed to work. And that's when my second mistake occurred. I locked into getting pasta sauce and ground beef to make meat sauce for dinner next week. As I navigated the kids and two large tubs through Meier looking for the pasta sauce aisle, I realized that most folks shopping on a Thursday night have no patience for an overworked, overtired Mom trying her best not to knock over displays. When I finally reached "ethnic" aisle for my pasta sauce, a stranger was kind. One of the employees stocking the shelves engaged me in conversation. He admired how I had my hands full - and offered help when the two large tubs fell off the bottom of the cart. But his help came in a form that I wasn't expecting ... which ironically is how most of the help I receive comes to me -- he offered a suggestion of letting the kids ride in the wheeled tub while one pushed them -- a suggestion that my six year old took to heart. Matthew promptly placed Lucas, whom he had been walking through the store, a top the tub and sent him sailing down the aisle. Nicholas soon followed self propelling himself down the aisle. I stood there paralyzed, watching my children quickly fly pass Mexican, Asian, and Middle Eastern foods -- Lucas squealing with delight. I snapped out of my paralysis at the sound of Emme's voice "looks like I'm the good one now ..." and yes she was - as she laid there across the bench part of the cart (the reason why Lucas and Matthew were walking - she was being stubborn and not letting them on) - she realized that her stubborness was no match to the fact that my boys had now turned the corner and all I saw was a glimpse of Nicholas' butt and all I heard was Matthew yelling "use the force Luke" ....

And so it was as I tried to muster what little dignity and grace I had left, to run through the Meier after my boys, who much to their dismay had to stop their wild ride. And while I appreciate the kindness of strangers, I understand why the stock boy said what he said - he knew the boys would have fun - but what I can't understand is why no other shoppers thought to stop a one year old who was gliding down the center meat aisle followed joyfully by his brothers. I mean, did they honestly think that I said "hey kids, have at it?" - and not want to get involved? Our exit from the store was as graceful as expected. My stubborness (gee, I wonder where Emme gets it from?) made me force the kids through the checkout lane. I was buying those damn tubs if it killed me. Lucas was wailing as if it were severing his arm, Emme was insisting on candy because she was the "good one", Matthew was trying to see how fast he could spin the bag area, and Nicholas was trying unsuccessfully to get on the mechanical horse ... and I was pretending like this was perfectly normal for my life. And sadly it was ... which is probably why even now at 9:40 p.m. I still won't call ST to alleviate my tooth ache .....

Sixth Place

"Tell me again what's good about being second?" - it was a fair question that Emme asked, it just took me off guard. We were traveling back from her t-ball game and as I was trying to explain to her that even if she knew the ball traveled farther when she rolled it to first base (like you would a bowling ball) - it wasn't the way the game was played. But, this was Emme and the t-ball game was in the past - albeit five minutes in the past - and she was on to more serious issues - like how Matthew - who is first - gets all the cool playdates. Last Saturday he got to go to Knights Action Water Park and tonight he went to dinner and a movie with a friend much to Emme's dismay. According to Emme, being in second place was a bad place to be in because you didn't get any fun. My attempt to alleviate her angst by telling her it was better than third place failed miserably as it put my very smart three year old into a tail spin as he realized he was now in fact third in line for all the fun. Parenting is hard - just when you think you have figured out the game, the rules change or more players are added or more clouds appear when you think you are bringing some sunshine to the day. My attempts to have Matthew be more of a kid and less of a 6 year old going on 40 ... is working for him, but for the others - it is failing.

And yet, I have to wonder - what is my place? I mean if Matthew is first, Emme second ... you get where I'm going - given my family dynamics I could find myself in 6th place. And clearly, if second and third place is no fun, imagine sixth place. And so I did. I imagined sixth place for the rest of the drive home. I realized that my son has a better social life than I do, that my daughter is better able to convey her feelings than I am, my three year old is swift enough to get what he wants out of a conversation - which is a playdate with a friend that he'll make "tomorrow" ... even Lucas in fourth place is sitting - err - sleeping pretty well as he was able to crash in his car seat on the way home from the t-ball game. And then of course, I wondered if I could I be in fifth place and came to the conclusion that at my core, I'd never let myself take fifth place - that would be for my husband. So then - who would tell me what was so good about sixth place?

And as I thought about it - this past week, most of my close friends have told me what is so good about being in last place. In last place, your friends cheer louder so that you finish the race. In sixth place, your friends remind you that you are not alone as you run the race. In sixth place, your friends will tell you that you aren't mean and selfish if you do things to make your life easier. In sixth place, I realize I have the opportunity to watch the others finish their race - one whose course is never really well-defined because life's adventures may change the path. In sixth place, I realize that it isn't so important that you are fast at finishing your race, but that you can see the direction in which you and those you love are headed.

And so to my dear Emme, as I pulled into the garage, I was able to tell her that she was right - that sometimes the fun is being in sixth place....

Mom's birthday

My birthday is tomorrow. I've never liked birthdays. I don't know why - I just never have and now that I'm a Mom it is a source of conflict. My kids can't understand why I'm not excited about it and I can't get beyond the fact that I really am not a birthday person. I don't think there is anything wrong with not being excited about a birthday. Perhaps to me, the person who should be celebrating is the Mom who gave birth. I mean when you think about it, the person who really should be honored is the woman who gave birth. What did I as the child do - take a trip down the birth canal, live comfortably with all the food I wanted for 9 months ... really - I think it should be "happy you gave birth-to-day" and for that, I'd be more than happy to celebrate a day for each of my kids.

A mom's "you gave birth-to-day" day would come with a party bag that included sleep, dinner in a restaurant without 6 trips to the bathroom, toilet paper on the roll, and laundry that is clean and put away. The cake would come without frosting and ice cream, but have a silky, creaminess to it that just melts in your mouth - or maybe be made of vegetables like carrots! - the party games would be defined by a contact sport, the drinks would not come in boxes but in bottles - chilled, and the gifts would not be tangible, but uplifting to the heart and the soul. Yes, I imagine that if I got to celebrate "you gave birth-to-day" I'd be more excited and more inclined to honor the day.

But for now, I guess I'll get my few hours of sleep before I have to drop the kids off, drop off Brian, pick up the dry cleaning, sign the kids up for camp, check in at work, pick up cupcakes, pick up the kids, have lunch, take cupcakes to school to celebrate Nicholas' 3rd birthday (which by all accounts should really be my "happy you gave birth-to-day" , but i didn't get to pick out the cupcakes), defuse arguments from cranky kids, pick up Brian, and oh yea - celebrate the day for me .....

Saving Melodies

My good friend, Johnell, is hosting a garage sale to raise money for breast cancer research. She contacted me to see if I might have any children's toys to donate to the sale as she heard that toys in decent condition can meet a fair price. Without hesitation, I agreed to help her. I figured it was a win win - she'd have toys for the sale, and I'd be able to de-clutter our playroom. And in the end, if the money she raises gets us a step closer to a cure - then many of us win.

I was a Junior in College when my friend, Shirley, lost her battle to breast cancer. It was a time in my life that changed who I was as I realized that life wasn't fair -- that sometimes prayers were not answered --- that sometimes there just weren't answers to the questions in your head. I always felt - I still do - the need to do something to help the fight against breast cancer. But, I always feel paralyzed when I try to do something. The memories of that time in my life - although almost 20 years ago still are so vivid. My anger, my sadness, my hopelessness still linger despite the many blessings that have fallen on me throughout the years. I always admired that work my sister did as an OT working in a lymphodemia clinic with women with breast cancer. I felt that each touch she gave, each piece of knowledge she shared with these women honored the lives of those who lost their fight by giving strength to those still battling.

Tonight was my first attempt at giving something back. It may sound silly to think that four bags of toys, a double stroller, one twirling whirling garden, and a bouncy seat would mean much - but to me - it is a start of trying to help with something that is larger than any of us really know. Its impact is deafening with each beat of our heart as a woman who fears this fate not only for herself, but also for her young daughter who at five seems to have so much life yet to live.

It took me about two hours to go through just one side of our playroom. The recent acquisition of a WII allowed me a couple hours to do this task while my husband played with the kids before putting them to bed. I am not sure what Dr. Spock would think about the virtual boxing match between Dad and daughter, but I figured that there was no use in making it a concern seeing as Emme has a damn good left hook and was able to knock her Dad out. I am contemplating perhaps using the WII to resolve sibling disputes - you know - just have the kids box it out and whoever is left standing can decide if it is Jimmy Neutron or the Little Einsteins that they will watch on TV. I think Shirley would appreciate the humor that went into my thinking as I rationalized a clearly unorthodox situation until I was content with the outcome.

And so as I left the bedroom to take my time alone in the basement, armed with only my new iPod (thanks Kim!) and a desire to de-clutter, as I opened the door to our basement, I thought about the many trips down to Shirley's basement when I worked for her as an assistant iconographer. I could remember the smell of the paints and the incense, I could feel the tips of the paint brushes and the smoothness of their red handles. For a moment - I was seventeen again and everything seemed fine with the world. I could almost hear her voice. She her last smile. I remembered the importance of her holding her hand for one last, sweet time.

I turned on my iPod and I transported myself to a time and a place that existed for no one and yet for anyone that I let into my thinking. It was the music that saved my soul tonight from remembering too much and yet allowing me to imagine so much more. The could have been's, the should have been's, and the what will be's ....

I wrapped myself in that music thinking about the past. I could hear Matthew's laughter the first time he sat at the twirling whirling garden, I could see Emme swinging at the toys hanging from the gymini, I could feel dents in the books that Nicholas loved so well, and I could see the outlines of the kisses that Lucas left on his mirrored toy when he first learned to kiss. Children grow up fast, but the legacies that they begin to leave create imprints on our souls that help us defen who we would like to be. And tonight, those memories wrapped within a soundtrack of words not yet spoken, feelings not yet shared, left me wondering about the future - about what lies ahead and what good will come of it ....

If we're lucky - it will be a cure.

The Sound of Love

The words were startling to hear - "you don't sound like you love me - I mean I know you love me, but you don't sound like it". Those were the words that came out of Emme - so emphatically that I was sure that they had shattered part of my heart or at least made my soul cry a bit. I had simply asked her to go to her room and change her outfit. But, I was tired and I was wanting some peace - just five minutes to myself as I unloaded the dishwasher. So maybe it did sound different than I intended. And of course, as she usually does, Emme got me thinking. What is the "sound of love" - how do we know it exists when love on its own is such a hard concept to define? And how at such a young age could someone like Emme discern the sound of love and yet know that despite what she heard, the love still existed?

When I was about Emme's age, I think I knew the sound of love. It stayed with me through my high school years. It was my parents' footsteps down our hallway. When we were little, I could hear my Mom coming down the hall for one last check on her girls before she herself went to bed. And without hesitation, on her way back to her bedroom, she would stop and click on the light in the hall closet so that we wouldn't get scared. I remember my father and his footsteps coming down the same hallway - the ritual was the same - except Dad always lingered a bit longer in the doorway as if he needed a moment to take in the peace. Like my Mom he, too, would turn on the hall closet light for his girls. I didn't recognize it at the time - but, in thinking about it now, I'm fairly certain that is the sound of love. Something unspoken, words not shared - but the feeling the would warm me as I turned in my bed - safe for the night.

So tonight, maybe it wasn't so much what I said or even the way I said it, but the feeling Emme knew existed in my own soul. A feeling of being tired, of being scared, of needing peace - and for a moment she knew that the sound of love was deafened by all these other emotions. And yet, some how as it always does the sound of love prevails - because she never doubted that I loved her. I realize now that sometimes the sound of love has more to do with a hug, or a look, or the soft touch of your hands - than it has to do with saying those three little words. The sound of love is about what you do for those that you love. The sound of love is orchestrated by your own soul and those who hear it are those who truly love you unconditionally.

One first step

Lucas is one today. It seems like I blinked and a whole year of his life has passed. I remember so well the day he was born - how I was up most of the night before watching reruns of NYPD Blue, never imagining that I was in labor. How I casually woke my parents, who had driven down in anticipation of Lucas' arrival, to let them know we were on the way to the hospital. How we slowly, but deliberately walked into the ER to wait to be escorted to Labor and Delivery. I remember thinking that because this was my fourth time in labor, that I somehow needed to make it seem unimportant or ordinary. As if somehow I was a seasoned mother and as a result, I didn't need to make a scene or be worried about the deliver. Instead, I needed to just act as if this perfectly normal for me. The truth was - it was normal for me - labor was labor - I knew what to expect, I knew the protocol, I knew that labor could take a whole day or it could take two hours - so really -it was a normal time for me. And today, as I watched Lucas analyzing his cupcake that we managed to bring to the daycare - squeezing in a small party for him and his classmates - I realized that this whole entire year I've made his life normal - and yet it has been anything but normal.

Lucas' life - all life - is extraordinary - especially when we think about the first year of our life. Although we remember very little of the first 365 days of our lives - they are the most pivotal parts of our existence. We measure our abilities in milestones - rolling over, sitting up, sleeping through the night, holding your own bottle, first words, first steps - all combine to make us able to thrive in a our world. The normalcy of life is so dependent on so many firsts and yet for me, I let a whole year go by and neglected to truly appreciate how impressive it is for my son, my Lucas, to be able to laugh, to smile, to eat solid foods, to play paddy cake with Yiayia, to give me his first kiss ... and to be the first to let me know that my heart is big enough to love four children equally and uniquely.

This year has been a magnificent year for my Lucas - despite my attempts at normalizing the world around him and me - Lucas made extraordinary accomplishments without wanting any fanfare or praise. Tonight as I write this, I reflect on the two hours I sat yesterday in my faculty / staff college award meeting as I was forced to clap for the accomplishments of my colleagues. I wonder how it is that as adults we find that we need these public displays of recognition, but as children we take more monumental moments in stride. I wonder if these same individuals would sit for two hours and clap as I told them all that my 1 year old son had done this past year. I wonder how they would think it measured up against their efforts. All too often our egos prevent us from understanding how the simplest of things make the greatest impact. How no matter what we accomplish in our life, it all begins with one small step, and a huge amount of fearlessness. No matter what we do in life, there comes a time when we must let go and move forward without the safety of something to fall back on - and as we begin to see that we can stand on our own - we begin to see the world in a whole new way. I think we all should be recognized not for what we have accomplished, but for the fact that we are willing to keep taking a step forward - even a small step, and especially when sometimes we are unsure of our footing.

So today, as you took your first uncertain step - I say - Happy Birthday, my fearless one ... be brave and be bold all the days of your life.

Happy Birthday, my dear Lucas ...

Lessons from a five year old

My Mary Evangeline - my Emme - is five today. Five - it seems like such a small number, but when I think of all that my Emme has learned and what she has taught me, I am amazed at how time can have such a huge impact, despite a relatively small number. Emme was born with determination. She arrived unexpectedly on April 15th - about 1 hour of labor and two pushes later - I was holding my darling little girl ... who exceeded our expectations as we were expecting a baby boy. Yes, our Emme was to be a boy -- at least that's what we were told by the ultrasound technician. I was okay with another boy - the practical side of me figured that another boy would be easy and cost effective in terms of a family. I did very little in preparing for the arrival of our baby - our Peter - because I figured we already had everything we needed. So - from the start - Emme was a surprise to us. Peter soon became Mary, much to the delight of her Yiayia. And for the past five years, she has continued to surprise me. She has surprised me with her confidence, with her creativity, with her beauty, and with her strong-willed love. Emme will always exceed expectations. Emme will show you that she is more than just a pretty face, more than just a sweet voice. She is Emme - proud, secure, and beautiful.

I'd like to say that she takes after her mother, but the realist in me understands that she epitomizes all that I wish I could be. She has a sense of self that is beyond words. She is okay with who she is and she knows what she wants and is not afraid to ask for it -- something I have never, despite my age, been able to master. In just five years, Emme has come to understand that what we expect in life is by our design what we want in life. And for us to achieve our wants and desires, we need to meet our own expectations, and not wait for others to rescue us. I knew this as she argued with the waiter at El Toro about not wanting to wear the sombrero because "really some kids just don't like it" ... she knew what she wanted and wasn't afraid to state her mind. In that moment, I was so proud of her - albeit I was so wishing that she would just put on the damn hat ... so I could take the gratuitous picture ... but, I was quickly appeased by my Lucas who decided that the sombrero was exactly what he needed to amuse himself after being scared by the six Hispanic busboys who decided to loudly sing to Emme "happy birthday"... and yet in that moment, I realized that my Emme will always continue to amaze me by all that she can teach me.

Emme has taught me that it's okay to wear a tiara and your best jewels on your birthday because if you don't treat yourself well, no one will. She has taught me that our creativity is one of the greatest gifts we are given by God and instead of being afraid of what our mind conjures up, we should embrace it and be empowered by it. Emme has taught me that birthdays are less about the wrapped presents and more about the fresh air and sunshine and flying a kite with a friend. She has taught me that even when there are "like a gizillion pieces" to the Polly Pocket swimming pool, patience and a kind word "I'm so proud of you Mom" will help build it. My Emme has taught me that it is okay not to be like everyone else or to worry about what everyone else thinks ...

But, probably the greatest lesson that my Emme has taught me is that life isn't always about what you expect, but about loving the unexpected and loving the way it warms your heart and stays in your soul - even when you say must say good-bye to another year.

Happy Birthday, my darling baby doll ....

10 minutes for me

I've been up since 6 - which may not seem that early, but if you consider DayLight Savings Time, I've really been up since 5 a.m.. Again, this may not seem that early to some, but considering I get up at 5 a.m. every morning - which now is really 4 a.m. thanks again to DayLight Savings time - it makes for a tiring day. 6 a.m. is when my oldest son, Matthew, got up. He's always been an early riser and insists on letting me know that he is up, although he doesn't necessarily need me to get up with him. But, I do. I know that while he doesn't need me, he wakes me because he likes having company. His sister got up shortly after I did and soon they had convinced me that it was time to make "sticky buns" - a favorite of theirs. And so I did. The day continued on that way as I got Matthew to basketball practice, did the grocery shopping, made lunch, got the kids ready for a movie, ran errands, folded laundry, made dinner, wrote thank you notes, washed laundry, hung laundry, cut out boxtops for Barkstall, bathed kids, dried hair ... the list goes on - what I did all day long for everyone. At dinner, I was up twelve times gettting things for the family. And somewhere - perhaps during trip 7 or 8 to get milk and a second taco for Matthew - I realized that my life is not my own. Or rather - 23 hours and fifty minutes is not my own. Because today, I did take 10 minutes for me. To just sit. Sit on the floor and remember what life use to be like and perhaps what life will be like -- someday -- maybe tomorrow, maybe 18 years from tomorrow -- maybe never. I remember what it was like when there was less expected of me, less responsibilities, and less worries about meeting those expectations and living up to my responsibilities. About a time when I was taken care of, instead of being the care taker. I remember beautiful days - where I would just breathe. And while I may periodically lament my new found priorities and responsibilities, as I watched my 10 month old, Lucas, roll the ball on the floor - I realized that most days were still beautiful. That while I may no longer have the chance to freely breathe - my breath, my heart, my soul - were still alive and dreaming of so many tomorrows -- tomorrows that my children create. And thankfully, their tomorrows have less to do with lunches, and laundry, and writing thank you notes, and more to do with just sitting on the floor and just being ...

When you wish upon a star

I had a date tonight. Not your conventional date - but a date with my four year old - my Emme Bear. Her best friend, Lauren, has a birthday next week and in much anticipation for the party, Emme has asked since last week to go get Lauren a present. We had settled on going out Monday night for a present, but a bout with some unanticipated intestinal distress (for me!), I cancelled the trip to WalMart. Instead, we decided that waiting until Wednesday would be good - and maybe even then we could go to dinner - without the boys ... Emme's idea, of course. She even cleared it with her Dad, asking him if he could "handle the boys" while we went out. In my distressed state, I agreed to dinner and shopping. I figured Emme typically forgets - so this was probably something that she would let pass.

But she didn't. For a day and a half, all she could talk about was her night out. When we picked her up at daycare this afternoon, all the teachers know this was her special night out with Mom. But, because as a Mom you tend to worry about everything, I did worry that tonight was less about spending time with me and more about getting to do something that her brothers didn't get to do. My worries were calmed, however, when we got home and as I got dinner ready for the boys, Emme went upstairs to change. Using her own fashion sense, she came downstairs dressed like me. We left the house both wearing our scarves and with big attitudes. This was our night out.

And as we drove to dinner, we listened to my Favorites13 Mix CD. As she rocked out to Bon Jovi's (I'm such a child of the 80s!) "It's Okay to Be Broken", I asked her what she thought the song meant. At first, she didn't know. But, I kept prompting her until she finally decided that the song told her that it is okay to be who you are - even if you are different. That people can be sad, happy, or mad and it was all okay. I was proud of my Emme to understand that and to know that songs have a meaning beyond the words.

From that discussion, as we sat eating pizza and black bean burgers at Chili's, Emme starts talking about E.T. - an audio book she has been listening to that her friend Emma gave her. She decided that it would make a good movie and that when it came out maybe she and I could go see it together. Just us - without the boys. "You know - like friends go to movies." My heart danced. She saw me not only as her Mom but as her friend. (And, admittedly, my mind raced thinking that she might have the same insight as Steven Spielburg...). I told her that it already was a movie and Yiayia and Pappou owned it. But, that we would have to wait to see it because it might be hard for her to understand. And in the way Emme only could, she looks at me and says "oh, I didn't realize some of it would be in Spanish ..." The tears rolled down my face as I laughed. A good laugh. A much needed laugh. The kind of laugh you share with a good friend.

As we continued our evening looking through Toys R Us and then WalMart until we found the perfect gift ... the very last Jasmine Princess Barbie on the shelf ... Emme asked me if I remembered the Saturn star we had seen through Daddy's telescope. I said "yes." And she says, "well, I think that maybe that is where shooting stars come from" - I told "maybe, Em - could be". And she says, "well, if I ever saw one, I'd wish that my friends would stay close forever ... even past kindergarten"

And with that wish, I understood that whether you were four or four plus thirty-four, we all have the same wish. That as life changes, our friends would always stay close. And as I now sit in my Emme Bear's room listening to her breaths slow in pace as she falls into a deeper sleep, I realize that not every night will be like tonight - that someday my four year old will, at fourteen, probably hate me - but, I have 10 years for her to see a shooting star. And if she is lucky enough - the moment will be magical for her and her wish will transcend what we know about the reality of life changes and her friends will stay close.

I know at least one that will - even past kindergarten.

Plan Your Work ... Work Your Plan

I don't have many friends. I know a lot of people and I enjoy the company of many people, but there are few people whom I call true friends. But in college, I met three of my best friends. If you knew us individually, you could never imagine any of us being friends, let alone best friends, but sometimes it is the differences that we share that make the strongest of friendships. So - after twenty years, Julie, Kim and Azeen are three of the most beautiful women I know and who I have the privilege of calling best friends. I thought that was enough - and then my Emme was born. And I've spent the past four years wondering if she and I will ever become best friends? I worry about this because she seems so very different from me. She is my free spirit. She is my risk taker. She has her own courage and self-confidence. She is Emme. I am the planner. I am the list maker. I need order in my life while she thrives on the chaos that she creates. I knew Kim and I would be friends in college - after I met her dad. He left our dorm room saying "plan your work, work you plan". A year later, he wrote the same saying on the red paper which we had adorned our dorm room walls with ... which we later learned was a fire hazard and almost got us evicted. I loved that saying and I loved the fact that one of my roommates had a Dad who knew the importance of a plan. Of course, I thought Kim would be a planner, too.

But she wasn't ... at least, she seemingly wasn't a planner. She was a free spirit. She got me to do things I never thought I'd do. She had a lust for life that made you want to breathe it all in and enjoy the moment. She has experienced so much in her life - because I thought - she wasn't the planner, but would just take things as they came. Kim is now getting married in April. I receive her inviation the other day and was in awe of its simple elegance. In fact, I've been impressed with everythign she's done for her wedding. The details she has honed in on - the compassion she shared with me when I had to decline being a bridesmaid - everything seems so very well planned. It dawned on me then that Kim was ... is ... always has been a planner. She's planned her work and worked her plan ... she just didn't need a list or a set order of things. She had confidence in who she is to know she'd get done what needed to get done and along the way - she'd have fun and make a memory.

Yesterday, as we were leaving her preschool, my Emme announced she had a plan. A life plan. I was so shocked I stopped in my tracks as we walked to our van. "You, Emme Bear? Have a Plan?" "Yes, Mama ... a life plan". Hmmm ... interesting ... I"m not even sure I have a life plan - me the planner - without a life plan - and yet my free spirit, my creative energy has a plan. "So - what's your plan?" "Well, my plan is this ... I go to Kindergarten next year, then I'll do second grade, then high school. And when I'm 17 I'm going to buy some makeup. That's my plan". "Emme - that's a pretty good plan. You know when you're 16 you'll learn to drive". Emme looked at me after I said this as she was getting in the van. She didn't say a word. As I drove, I glanced in my rearview mirror as I often do - gazing at my kids. Emme sat pensive, looking out the window. As I often did, I tried to think about what might be going on in her head. I wondered what made her so pensive. We got home and Emme sat in her seat a bit longer. "Mama - I had to change my plan." "That's okay Em, you can change plans" - "Well, you see, now that I can drive, I think I'll need to buy myself a van with a big TV in it so that I can have somethign to do while I drive myself to WalMart to get makeup. So my plan changed a little.... "

At that moment, I realized that my Emme was not that different from me. I was always changing my plans - just a little - just enough - and more importantly, she was a lot like Kim. She has an amazing strength and beauty, like all my best friends, that make the differences we share the very things that make us who we are - as individuals and together. My Emme Bear, will plan her work, and work her plan ... and along the way, she'll make some memories .... and if I am lucky, I'll be a friend in many of them.

Teaching an old dog ...

I learned a new trick today ... how to import video into my blog. As an educator, I love the fact that I can play with technology so that I know what my students will need to do for their assignments. I probably shouldn't share that sometimes I agree to assignments without knowing what exactly is involved with it - but, part of learning is exploring ... for both the teacher and the student. My students have their first assignment this Monday - an about me video blog. So ... here is a bit about me and my video. I'm a working mom with four kids. I rarely sleep. I can build the Sears tower out of mega blocks. My son thinks I'm cool. My daughter wants to be a ballerina PowerRanger when she grows up. Nicholas is ... well Nicholas. Enough said!

Here's an insight into my crazy life.

Okay - so my Dad saw the blog and said I needed to include Lucas. So here's a picture of my big baby boy! Lucas is 8 months old.