God bless his heart, One Philly Daddy is trying to teach One Philly Son patience, communication and tolerance for One Philly Daughter's destruction of the beloved trains and their tracks.
This, Daddy's of the world, is the dozen red roses of your pre-parenthood lives.
Carry on.
sky's the limit
"And you? When will you begin that long journey into yourself?" - Rumi
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
And a happy Easter to you!
This past weekend One Philly Family went to a local park for a candy scramble sponsored by the local Kiwanis club.
It was great, and, I thought, well organized. There were different age groups so the "hunting" (to be honest, it was a field covered in candy and Hershey kisses) was fair, and there were small chocolate bunnies as a give away for each participating child sponsored by local businesses.
To add a competitive edge to the fun, there were 3 eggs hidden for each age group, and the children who found these eggs won a larger chocolate bunny.
All in all, a great family outing, and I wouldn't change a thing.
They did make one small request though.
"This is for the kids" they said. "Parents, please let the children find the candy and look for the eggs themselves, this is their time."
A simple request, thoughtful and touching,
I thought. But, I also thought, maybe unnecessary. I didn't suppose there'd be Mom's and Dad's elbowing 4 year olds to get to the last Werther's. I mean, this is Easter, right?
But, I was wrong. Boy, was I wrong.
I "hunted" with One Philly Daughter in the under 36 month category and watched when One Philly Daddy took his turn hunting with One Philly Son, who "competed" in the 3,4,5,6 year old category. He's 3 so I just wanted him to have fun; One Philly Daughter managed to capture 6 Hershey kisses, I was proud of that.
As I watched my boys make their way to the starting line and wait for their fellow hunters to gather at the line, I felt a certain giddiness for them - the excitement of the hunt!
Then, I heard next to me :
"Push to the front! Tell him to PUSH to the
FRONT"
"Behind that rock, in the middle! An ORANGE EGG! PUSH to the FRONT! Get the EGG!"
"God! Tell him to push to the front!"
Ahem.
Please, revisit with me the facts of the day:
1. Free
2. An event organized for children
3. Guaranteed candy
4. Guaranteed "prize" regardless of performance
5. A stated, specific request to let this be about the kids having fun
The patriarch in the family (not the chanter) next to me went on to recount how he and his friends devised a plan to cheat the egg hunts when he was a child, in order to guarantee winning a prize.
So it's a family tradition, then. Tradition is important.
I don't want to rant or climb on a soapbox, but cheating and publicly encouraging a child to cheat don't exactly say "Easter" to me.
Geez!
So, Happy Easter to ya. I'm sure this is just what Jesus had in mind...
It was great, and, I thought, well organized. There were different age groups so the "hunting" (to be honest, it was a field covered in candy and Hershey kisses) was fair, and there were small chocolate bunnies as a give away for each participating child sponsored by local businesses.
To add a competitive edge to the fun, there were 3 eggs hidden for each age group, and the children who found these eggs won a larger chocolate bunny.
All in all, a great family outing, and I wouldn't change a thing.
They did make one small request though.
"This is for the kids" they said. "Parents, please let the children find the candy and look for the eggs themselves, this is their time."
A simple request, thoughtful and touching,
I thought. But, I also thought, maybe unnecessary. I didn't suppose there'd be Mom's and Dad's elbowing 4 year olds to get to the last Werther's. I mean, this is Easter, right?
But, I was wrong. Boy, was I wrong.
I "hunted" with One Philly Daughter in the under 36 month category and watched when One Philly Daddy took his turn hunting with One Philly Son, who "competed" in the 3,4,5,6 year old category. He's 3 so I just wanted him to have fun; One Philly Daughter managed to capture 6 Hershey kisses, I was proud of that.
As I watched my boys make their way to the starting line and wait for their fellow hunters to gather at the line, I felt a certain giddiness for them - the excitement of the hunt!
Then, I heard next to me :
"Push to the front! Tell him to PUSH to the
FRONT"
"Behind that rock, in the middle! An ORANGE EGG! PUSH to the FRONT! Get the EGG!"
"God! Tell him to push to the front!"
Ahem.
Please, revisit with me the facts of the day:
1. Free
2. An event organized for children
3. Guaranteed candy
4. Guaranteed "prize" regardless of performance
5. A stated, specific request to let this be about the kids having fun
The patriarch in the family (not the chanter) next to me went on to recount how he and his friends devised a plan to cheat the egg hunts when he was a child, in order to guarantee winning a prize.
So it's a family tradition, then. Tradition is important.
I don't want to rant or climb on a soapbox, but cheating and publicly encouraging a child to cheat don't exactly say "Easter" to me.
Geez!
So, Happy Easter to ya. I'm sure this is just what Jesus had in mind...
Friday, March 22, 2013
Losing our minds...
In the very recent past, One Philly Son has started throwing some wicked tantrums. At least, that's the best word I can use to describe what happens when he is a room, or an entire floor away from me and begins screaming "Mommy! Mommy! Come help me! Mommy I NEEEEEDDD YOU!!!!!!"
He cries. His face turns red. His nose runs.
Because his train has fallen off the tracks.
Or worse, one of his trains is just. not. fast. enough.
When One Philly Daughter (darling that she is, walking and starting to talk) dares enter the invisible force field that must surround One Philly Son's room, he begins to shriek "No, don't break my tracks! I don't want you to touch my trains, NOOOOOOOOO!"
Even though she remains feet away from said tracks and trains.
Now, lest you think One Philly Son is all freak out and no fun or love, this is not 100% of the time. He just seems to go from 0 to 100 in no time flat, if you know what I mean.
I've tried reasoning with him. "It is not nice to talk to Mommy like that."
I've tried ignoring him. "I'm not talking to you until you speak nicely." Followed by 5 minutes of "Mommy, I NEEEDDDD YOU!!!!" and eventually leading to "Mommy, can you please fix Thomas?"
I've tried matching him. "YOU CAN NOT SPEAK TO MOMMY THAT WAY!"
I've tried modulating and modeling calm, slow, even tones. "how can i help you? what is wrong?"
I've considered all possibilities: I'm giving too much attention, not enough attention, too much sleep, not enough sleep, too many boundaries, not enough boundaries, his diet lack balance, he's jealous, he's tired, he's bored, he's mad, he's testing me, he thinks he rules the roost, and a few others.
For the most part, I feel good about how I handle it. I'm trying to provide him the tools to learn, handle and express his emotions, while also learning to consider those around him. I fear that my occasional losses of temper "Just STOP IT!" will scar him for life.
But its a far cry from the list of expletives in my head "What the BLEEP is wrong? Don't BLEEPIN wake up your sister again! Are you kidding me? You're this freaked out cause a BLEEPIN, BLEEPITY BLEEP BLEEP train ran out of batteries? Oh BLEEP!"
I don't, won't, and wouldn't want to lay any of that on a 3 year old who is obviously working through something, particularly as my job, as I see it, is to guide, teach, love and protect him. Even from becoming a little b-r-a-t.
But it certainly ties my insides up in knots. The anxiety of not knowing how to help, of feeling such frustration and anger myself, and worst of all - the sensation of not liking a part of a person I would die for, is not so fun.
Did I make it sound fun? I didn't mean too.
I'm not sure what the story is. I don't know if the answer is to just let One Philly Daughter annihilate the Island of Sodor, reduce the Steamworks to a pile of rubble and mangle Thomas, Victor, Percy and Toby beyond repair and force One Philly Son to just deal or to scoop her up and distract her with something else and give him his precious space.
When all she really wants is anything. her. brother. touches.
Clearly, something is frustrating my darling little man, I'm just not sure if this is one of those developmental stages that will magically clear up with no apparent cause, beginning or end. Or if this is something I should be doing something deliberate about.
I do know, eventually, the answer will become clear, and everything will be sorted out and One Philly Son will have a surer footing under himself.
Until then, I'm on the look out for some Valium-laced, chocolate-peanut butter treat to help me cope. Fat-free of course. I have no idea how long this is going to take.
He cries. His face turns red. His nose runs.
Because his train has fallen off the tracks.
Or worse, one of his trains is just. not. fast. enough.
When One Philly Daughter (darling that she is, walking and starting to talk) dares enter the invisible force field that must surround One Philly Son's room, he begins to shriek "No, don't break my tracks! I don't want you to touch my trains, NOOOOOOOOO!"
Even though she remains feet away from said tracks and trains.
Now, lest you think One Philly Son is all freak out and no fun or love, this is not 100% of the time. He just seems to go from 0 to 100 in no time flat, if you know what I mean.
I've tried reasoning with him. "It is not nice to talk to Mommy like that."
I've tried ignoring him. "I'm not talking to you until you speak nicely." Followed by 5 minutes of "Mommy, I NEEEDDDD YOU!!!!" and eventually leading to "Mommy, can you please fix Thomas?"
I've tried matching him. "YOU CAN NOT SPEAK TO MOMMY THAT WAY!"
I've tried modulating and modeling calm, slow, even tones. "how can i help you? what is wrong?"
I've considered all possibilities: I'm giving too much attention, not enough attention, too much sleep, not enough sleep, too many boundaries, not enough boundaries, his diet lack balance, he's jealous, he's tired, he's bored, he's mad, he's testing me, he thinks he rules the roost, and a few others.
For the most part, I feel good about how I handle it. I'm trying to provide him the tools to learn, handle and express his emotions, while also learning to consider those around him. I fear that my occasional losses of temper "Just STOP IT!" will scar him for life.
But its a far cry from the list of expletives in my head "What the BLEEP is wrong? Don't BLEEPIN wake up your sister again! Are you kidding me? You're this freaked out cause a BLEEPIN, BLEEPITY BLEEP BLEEP train ran out of batteries? Oh BLEEP!"
I don't, won't, and wouldn't want to lay any of that on a 3 year old who is obviously working through something, particularly as my job, as I see it, is to guide, teach, love and protect him. Even from becoming a little b-r-a-t.
But it certainly ties my insides up in knots. The anxiety of not knowing how to help, of feeling such frustration and anger myself, and worst of all - the sensation of not liking a part of a person I would die for, is not so fun.
Did I make it sound fun? I didn't mean too.
I'm not sure what the story is. I don't know if the answer is to just let One Philly Daughter annihilate the Island of Sodor, reduce the Steamworks to a pile of rubble and mangle Thomas, Victor, Percy and Toby beyond repair and force One Philly Son to just deal or to scoop her up and distract her with something else and give him his precious space.
When all she really wants is anything. her. brother. touches.
Clearly, something is frustrating my darling little man, I'm just not sure if this is one of those developmental stages that will magically clear up with no apparent cause, beginning or end. Or if this is something I should be doing something deliberate about.
I do know, eventually, the answer will become clear, and everything will be sorted out and One Philly Son will have a surer footing under himself.
Until then, I'm on the look out for some Valium-laced, chocolate-peanut butter treat to help me cope. Fat-free of course. I have no idea how long this is going to take.
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Ghosts, grandfathers and guardian angels...
I've never been a die-hard believer in ghosts or an afterlife, but I also freely admitted there were unexplainable phenomenon that could be attributed to an afterlife. I didn't have strong opinions about what happened after death, though I didn't believe we ceased to exist.
I've seen a few episodes of Long Island Medium and have been touched by her common theme, her repeated plea to us all - the love you feel doesn't go away, be open and aware of the signs, and believe them when you see them.
Ok, a touching moment, a sweet thought but there wasn't a someone I was hoping to connect with from "the other side", even if there are stories woven into our lives about it.
When I was pregnant with One Philly Son, my husband lost his grandfather. I didn't know Grand-pop very well, but I know he was salt-of-the-earth people and greatly loved. I cried at his funeral for the great grandson he almost got to meet.
When Grand-pop passed, he left something to be opened by his family after his services. Amazingly and unknowingly, it was the passage that had been selected for the cards at his funeral. I know I felt his presence that day.
Prior to his passing, Grand-pop gifted us with a collection of the Winnie-the-Pooh stories, for us and our soon-to-be kid(s). The collection is not necessarily a "kid" version full of bright, colorful pictures, but a nicely bound, high-quality hardback book with a few black and white sketches to illustrate the story. An heirloom.
So imagine our surprise when, at just over a year, at a time when nothing held his attention and he never stopped moving, One Philly Son started spending time looking at these books. Not a brief glance, or a cursory examination on the way to something else. No, 45 minutes at a time, happily flopped on his chair, pointing and babbling away in baby-speak no one could translate. He was calm, focused, and quite happy. Even now, at 3 years old, there are days he takes these books down and spends an inexplicable amount of time "playing" with them. Even more astonishing, is the care he uses when moving, stacking, "reading" these books.
We've taken to saying "Hi, Grand-pop!" or "tell Grand-pop we say hi!" when he pulls these books out.
So when Robert passed, I involuntarily, greedily, selfishly hoped and looked forward to the day, moment when a simple unexpected something made me think of Robert, and made me think of his love, still here.
Yesterday, I rode the train to the city for work, only the third or fourth time I've done so in the past 2 years.
As I entered the train, I broke the cardinal commuter rule for a comfortable ride (and I know, I commuted to the city by train for nearly 5 years): I sat behind the two strangers talking about, of all things, guns and politics, across the aisle from each other.
I sat through rantings about the government and gun control and 9-11. Still, I wasn't bothered, I felt a pull to sit there, so I did.
And then it happened. The woman mentioned Robert's nephew, a prominent Judge in the Lehigh Valley, in a conversation that previously had zero relation to him, Robert, me, or anything that even slightly related to us.
That was enough for me to smile, to remember. A mention of a loved person we held in common, in a place I rarely am, overhearing a conversation that had zero reference to me, or Robert, or even his nephew.
When I returned home in the evening, a gift of a potted plant with a note of condolence acknowledging Robert as one of my Guardian Angels clinched the deal for me.
This was on the program at Robert's funeral:
I've seen a few episodes of Long Island Medium and have been touched by her common theme, her repeated plea to us all - the love you feel doesn't go away, be open and aware of the signs, and believe them when you see them.
Ok, a touching moment, a sweet thought but there wasn't a someone I was hoping to connect with from "the other side", even if there are stories woven into our lives about it.
When I was pregnant with One Philly Son, my husband lost his grandfather. I didn't know Grand-pop very well, but I know he was salt-of-the-earth people and greatly loved. I cried at his funeral for the great grandson he almost got to meet.
When Grand-pop passed, he left something to be opened by his family after his services. Amazingly and unknowingly, it was the passage that had been selected for the cards at his funeral. I know I felt his presence that day.
To those I love and Those Who love me
When I am gone, release me, let me go.
You have so many things to see and do.
You mustn't tie yourself to me
with tears. Be happy that we
had so many years.
I gave you my love, you can only
guess, How much you gave me in
happiness. I thank you for the love you
each have shown, but now its time I
traveled on alone.
So grieve a while for me, if grieve
you must. Its only a
while that we must part.
So bless the memories within your heart.
I won't be far away, for life goes on.
So if you need me, call and I will hear.
Though you can't see or touch me,
I'll be near. And if you listen with
your heart, you'll hear, All my love
around you soft and clear.
And then, when you must come this way,
I'll greet you with a smile
and say "Welcome Home."
Prior to his passing, Grand-pop gifted us with a collection of the Winnie-the-Pooh stories, for us and our soon-to-be kid(s). The collection is not necessarily a "kid" version full of bright, colorful pictures, but a nicely bound, high-quality hardback book with a few black and white sketches to illustrate the story. An heirloom.
So imagine our surprise when, at just over a year, at a time when nothing held his attention and he never stopped moving, One Philly Son started spending time looking at these books. Not a brief glance, or a cursory examination on the way to something else. No, 45 minutes at a time, happily flopped on his chair, pointing and babbling away in baby-speak no one could translate. He was calm, focused, and quite happy. Even now, at 3 years old, there are days he takes these books down and spends an inexplicable amount of time "playing" with them. Even more astonishing, is the care he uses when moving, stacking, "reading" these books.
We've taken to saying "Hi, Grand-pop!" or "tell Grand-pop we say hi!" when he pulls these books out.
So when Robert passed, I involuntarily, greedily, selfishly hoped and looked forward to the day, moment when a simple unexpected something made me think of Robert, and made me think of his love, still here.
Yesterday, I rode the train to the city for work, only the third or fourth time I've done so in the past 2 years.
As I entered the train, I broke the cardinal commuter rule for a comfortable ride (and I know, I commuted to the city by train for nearly 5 years): I sat behind the two strangers talking about, of all things, guns and politics, across the aisle from each other.
I sat through rantings about the government and gun control and 9-11. Still, I wasn't bothered, I felt a pull to sit there, so I did.
And then it happened. The woman mentioned Robert's nephew, a prominent Judge in the Lehigh Valley, in a conversation that previously had zero relation to him, Robert, me, or anything that even slightly related to us.
That was enough for me to smile, to remember. A mention of a loved person we held in common, in a place I rarely am, overhearing a conversation that had zero reference to me, or Robert, or even his nephew.
When I returned home in the evening, a gift of a potted plant with a note of condolence acknowledging Robert as one of my Guardian Angels clinched the deal for me.
This was on the program at Robert's funeral:
An Irish Funeral Prayer
Death is nothing at all.
It does not count.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
Everything remains as it was.
The old life we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.
Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no sorrow in your tone.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effort.
Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was.
There is unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near,
just around the corner. All is well. Nothing is hurt, nothing is lost.
One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting, when we meet again.
One Philly Son bears both Grand-pop and Robert's names for his middle names, and I know they will look out for him, and us, and it gives me great comfort.
Grand-pop and Robert, we love you and miss you. But you already knew that, didn't you?
Monday, February 4, 2013
A life well lived
The single most positive influence in my life passed this weekend.
We don't share a family bond so it's hard to explain what he meant to me and my family.
He's always just been "Robert." And that was everything.
I shed a lot of tears the past few days.
Tears for my sorrow, that I'll no longer be able to touch, hear, or see him.
Tears of love and relief, that his 95 year old body can rest.
Tears of joy and gratitude, that his presence in my life showed me honesty, love, truth.
Tears of amazement, at the enormity of his life, all that he accomplished, and all those he loved.
I am honored and blessed to have known this man, and hope to make my life a fitting tribute to the gifts he bestowed.
Thank you, Robert, rest in peace.
We don't share a family bond so it's hard to explain what he meant to me and my family.
He's always just been "Robert." And that was everything.
I shed a lot of tears the past few days.
Tears for my sorrow, that I'll no longer be able to touch, hear, or see him.
Tears of love and relief, that his 95 year old body can rest.
Tears of joy and gratitude, that his presence in my life showed me honesty, love, truth.
Tears of amazement, at the enormity of his life, all that he accomplished, and all those he loved.
I am honored and blessed to have known this man, and hope to make my life a fitting tribute to the gifts he bestowed.
Thank you, Robert, rest in peace.
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
Silence, sweet silence.
I love my kids. I chose to be home with them when lay-offs happened at my job waaaay back in March 2011. God, March 2011? Can it really be almost 2 years already? And, wow, what we've packed into those 2 years!
Anyway. I love my kids. But sometimes, a moment happens when one or both are asleep. Or one's asleep and the other is mesmerized by a toy or book or Elmo. And it is quiet. I quite enjoy the quiet.
We're having one of those moments right now.
Aside from sleep, moments of stillness are what I miss most from my pre-Mommy days.
Course, I didn't have raucous laughter, joyful giggles, made up sing-songs or the pitter-patter (more accurately thunder and lightening) of kids playing.
The quiet I miss could never replace the joy that fills my heart when I hear my kids playing and laughing or One Philly Daddy reading stories. And a few years from now, when they've moved on to another stage of life, I expect I'll yearn for the noise and laughter and mess and chaos with an ache in my heart.
But right now, for these 5 minutes, I'm enjoying the peace.
Anyway. I love my kids. But sometimes, a moment happens when one or both are asleep. Or one's asleep and the other is mesmerized by a toy or book or Elmo. And it is quiet. I quite enjoy the quiet.
We're having one of those moments right now.
Aside from sleep, moments of stillness are what I miss most from my pre-Mommy days.
Course, I didn't have raucous laughter, joyful giggles, made up sing-songs or the pitter-patter (more accurately thunder and lightening) of kids playing.
The quiet I miss could never replace the joy that fills my heart when I hear my kids playing and laughing or One Philly Daddy reading stories. And a few years from now, when they've moved on to another stage of life, I expect I'll yearn for the noise and laughter and mess and chaos with an ache in my heart.
But right now, for these 5 minutes, I'm enjoying the peace.
Sunday, January 20, 2013
How strong is your heart?
Every once in awhile life, the universe, God gives you a chance, a reminder of just how strong you are, and can be.
My cat died today. She was somewhere around 20 years and was a cranky, ornery cat. Always has been.
I hate revisionist historians, you know, the ones who go on and on about how great so-and-so and such-and-such was? Even though when it was going on it was all bitch and moan?
Well, this cat was not friendly and cuddly. But she had been with my family around 20 years and with me for almost 10 of those. She's moved with me 7 times alone. She's been there through break-ups, marriage, and kids. She defended me from mice, shed copious amounts of hair on every surface of my life and house. She's woken me up with hungry meows more times than I care to remember. She was the inspiration for One Philly Son's first word beyond Mommy and Daddy. One Philly Daddy, though highly allergic , referred to her as our "first" baby, even though I had her ages before we even met.
But the last few days she couldn't stand or eat. I hope she wasn't in pain. I'd been spoon feeding her and using a dropper to give her fluids. Still, she steadily declined.
She started not doing well after a few flea treatments. She's old. I'll never know what caused her to fall ill, or if this was her time all along.
In the midst of this One Philly Daddy had a health scare bad enough to warrant an ER visit on Sunday morning. Luckily, most importantly, way more than my cat, he checked out 100% ok and he's fine.
But, there's been a lot going on before all this went on.
Our car needed an unexpected repair Friday afternoon.
A recurring issue with our bathroom drains meant a recent visit from a plumber.
Following the recent hurricane, we replaced the fence in our yard.
Just days ago, we sent our deposit for our summer rental in Wildwood.
My brother-in-law deploys today.
I've cried. A lot, in the past few days. I've also felt joy, elation, excitement, love, regret, guilt, despair, hope, resignation, concern, relief, and full on fear (nothing quite compares to a wife running through the halls of an ER to find her husband. I pray that's not an experience we repeat often. Or ever.).
To say my heart, mind and soul have had a work out the past few days is an understatement.
And yet.
There is a sense of solidarity. Of strength. Of acceptance. Of love. Of peace.
Lacey, love, you weren't the perfect cat, and I wasn't the perfect cat-mom. But I hope you know you were loved, and will be missed.
My cat died today. She was somewhere around 20 years and was a cranky, ornery cat. Always has been.
I hate revisionist historians, you know, the ones who go on and on about how great so-and-so and such-and-such was? Even though when it was going on it was all bitch and moan?
Well, this cat was not friendly and cuddly. But she had been with my family around 20 years and with me for almost 10 of those. She's moved with me 7 times alone. She's been there through break-ups, marriage, and kids. She defended me from mice, shed copious amounts of hair on every surface of my life and house. She's woken me up with hungry meows more times than I care to remember. She was the inspiration for One Philly Son's first word beyond Mommy and Daddy. One Philly Daddy, though highly allergic , referred to her as our "first" baby, even though I had her ages before we even met.
But the last few days she couldn't stand or eat. I hope she wasn't in pain. I'd been spoon feeding her and using a dropper to give her fluids. Still, she steadily declined.
She started not doing well after a few flea treatments. She's old. I'll never know what caused her to fall ill, or if this was her time all along.
In the midst of this One Philly Daddy had a health scare bad enough to warrant an ER visit on Sunday morning. Luckily, most importantly, way more than my cat, he checked out 100% ok and he's fine.
But, there's been a lot going on before all this went on.
Our car needed an unexpected repair Friday afternoon.
A recurring issue with our bathroom drains meant a recent visit from a plumber.
Following the recent hurricane, we replaced the fence in our yard.
Just days ago, we sent our deposit for our summer rental in Wildwood.
My brother-in-law deploys today.
I've cried. A lot, in the past few days. I've also felt joy, elation, excitement, love, regret, guilt, despair, hope, resignation, concern, relief, and full on fear (nothing quite compares to a wife running through the halls of an ER to find her husband. I pray that's not an experience we repeat often. Or ever.).
To say my heart, mind and soul have had a work out the past few days is an understatement.
And yet.
There is a sense of solidarity. Of strength. Of acceptance. Of love. Of peace.
Lacey, love, you weren't the perfect cat, and I wasn't the perfect cat-mom. But I hope you know you were loved, and will be missed.
Thursday, January 17, 2013
Too cool for school
Today, One Philly Son's pre-school teacher very artfully and subtly put me in my place.
As in most preschool classrooms, the young students have cubbies in which they place their coats and book bags.
Today, One Philly Son hung his bag, slid his name in the chart and went off to play.
I got his attention, and started to unzip his coat for him.
Cue teacher, stage left.
"Let's let him take it off himself, it's a new year. Go ahead buddy, just like we do when we come in from the playground."
Good idea.
I admit, on the parenting spectrum of "expects-too-much-of-the-kids to does-too-much-for-the-kids", I am camped closer to the does-too-much end of the scale.
So it's a good reminder that One Philly Son can 1) do more than I ask of him and 2) may even want to do more than I ask of him.
I know that I'm motivated by a desire for my children to feel supported and loved by me. But there are also the other gifts I want to impart.
Empowerment.
Self-reliance.
Confidence.
The guts to try something new.
The self-esteem to be bad at something for a time, work hard at it, and maybe gain some skill.
Ok kiddo, time to hang that coat up on your own. Momma loves you.
As in most preschool classrooms, the young students have cubbies in which they place their coats and book bags.
Today, One Philly Son hung his bag, slid his name in the chart and went off to play.
I got his attention, and started to unzip his coat for him.
Cue teacher, stage left.
"Let's let him take it off himself, it's a new year. Go ahead buddy, just like we do when we come in from the playground."
Good idea.
I admit, on the parenting spectrum of "expects-too-much-of-the-kids to does-too-much-for-the-kids", I am camped closer to the does-too-much end of the scale.
So it's a good reminder that One Philly Son can 1) do more than I ask of him and 2) may even want to do more than I ask of him.
I know that I'm motivated by a desire for my children to feel supported and loved by me. But there are also the other gifts I want to impart.
Empowerment.
Self-reliance.
Confidence.
The guts to try something new.
The self-esteem to be bad at something for a time, work hard at it, and maybe gain some skill.
Ok kiddo, time to hang that coat up on your own. Momma loves you.
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Oh, there you are!
A few weeks ago I was given a picture of myself and One Philly Daddy when we were dating. Without thinking I blurted out "you can tell that was before kids, I was highlighting my hair"
Yeesh, who knew that was in my head?
Do not be mistaken. It was with great joy and honor I put someone (my unborn creation, whom I and my husband summoned into this world) ahead of myself.
I ate what was healthy (while totally and admittedly overdoing my ice cream quotient), avoided toxins - including hair dye and nail polish, cat litter and sushi. I took my vitamins, and thought, prayed and dwelled upon the well being of another.
My purpose became to provide the healthiest conception, gestation, birth and infancy I could. I was hardly perfect but my "checklist" ran to what was best for the fetus/nursing baby rather than what I wanted.
Some sacrifices were harder than others.
The ice cream was a nice perk.
But One Philly Daughter is nearly a year. (?!??!!? When did that happen?!?!)
What I do to my body no longer immediately and concretely affects the health of my child(ren). Sure, I still have to provide vegetables, reading, morality and table manners.
But if I subsist on crappy food there is no immediate, tangible harm to my offspring. (We can debate the value of example, and my health another time. You get the idea.)
Then, a few days ago I saw another picture if myself with a cute bob hair cut, post birth of One Philly Son.
Instantly I wanted it.
Last night I cut my hair. Tonight I dyed it.
I adore my one Philly kids. They are, unabashedly, the primary focus of my life.
But that doesn't mean I can't soak my head in toxins once in a while, just for me.
Yeesh, who knew that was in my head?
Do not be mistaken. It was with great joy and honor I put someone (my unborn creation, whom I and my husband summoned into this world) ahead of myself.
I ate what was healthy (while totally and admittedly overdoing my ice cream quotient), avoided toxins - including hair dye and nail polish, cat litter and sushi. I took my vitamins, and thought, prayed and dwelled upon the well being of another.
My purpose became to provide the healthiest conception, gestation, birth and infancy I could. I was hardly perfect but my "checklist" ran to what was best for the fetus/nursing baby rather than what I wanted.
Some sacrifices were harder than others.
The ice cream was a nice perk.
But One Philly Daughter is nearly a year. (?!??!!? When did that happen?!?!)
What I do to my body no longer immediately and concretely affects the health of my child(ren). Sure, I still have to provide vegetables, reading, morality and table manners.
But if I subsist on crappy food there is no immediate, tangible harm to my offspring. (We can debate the value of example, and my health another time. You get the idea.)
Then, a few days ago I saw another picture if myself with a cute bob hair cut, post birth of One Philly Son.
Instantly I wanted it.
Last night I cut my hair. Tonight I dyed it.
I adore my one Philly kids. They are, unabashedly, the primary focus of my life.
But that doesn't mean I can't soak my head in toxins once in a while, just for me.
Thursday, January 10, 2013
A grateful nation...
My brother-in-law deploys next week. He's a medic in the Army and this is not his first deployment. He and my sister have a darling 18 month daughter and a new-ish puppy.
This is not a post about politics, the Army or war. This is a post about family and perspective.
Regardless of the location, details, ease, or danger involved, those serving and their families sacrifice a great deal.
This deployment is scheduled for 9 months. That's about 270 days. 270 breakfasts, bedtime stories, and lunches. I'm guessing 40 - 50 loads of laundry. 3 seasons. 2 well-baby visits. A daughter's 2nd birthday. A wedding anniversary. Valentine's Day, 4th of July, Labor Day.
This family has to discuss things most of us are happy to pretend don't exist. They have to think about, anticipate and manage how a father's absence will impact a little girl. How to help her remember his face, his voice until he returns. A wife will become a single parent for a time.
And, they will do it with pride, honor and dedication.
And they do it to protect you, your family, your country, so that you never have to worry about what most of the globe worries about.
Recently, if I'm overwhelmed by keeping the house, undecorating from the holidays, finding places for all our treasures from Santa, working and raising my two babes, I can't help but think that thousands of people give up the privilege of being annoyed by their spouses or children's messes so that I can take for granted my freedoms and security.
I want to say that again, as simply as possible.
My sister and niece give up their husband and father for 270 days so many of us can blindly go through our days never realizing what they've given up for us, so we can take for granted what they voluntarily sacrifice.
If you pray, please pray for our Armed Services and their safety. Pray for their families and children, to give them strength and peace. Pray for the days at home to go fast, and the deployment to be safe and boring.
To all of you deployed or about to be- I thank you for your service. To the families, I am humbled by the sacrifice you make for the rest of us.
Be safe. Be well. Come home soon and safe.
This is not a post about politics, the Army or war. This is a post about family and perspective.
Regardless of the location, details, ease, or danger involved, those serving and their families sacrifice a great deal.
This deployment is scheduled for 9 months. That's about 270 days. 270 breakfasts, bedtime stories, and lunches. I'm guessing 40 - 50 loads of laundry. 3 seasons. 2 well-baby visits. A daughter's 2nd birthday. A wedding anniversary. Valentine's Day, 4th of July, Labor Day.
This family has to discuss things most of us are happy to pretend don't exist. They have to think about, anticipate and manage how a father's absence will impact a little girl. How to help her remember his face, his voice until he returns. A wife will become a single parent for a time.
And, they will do it with pride, honor and dedication.
And they do it to protect you, your family, your country, so that you never have to worry about what most of the globe worries about.
Recently, if I'm overwhelmed by keeping the house, undecorating from the holidays, finding places for all our treasures from Santa, working and raising my two babes, I can't help but think that thousands of people give up the privilege of being annoyed by their spouses or children's messes so that I can take for granted my freedoms and security.
I want to say that again, as simply as possible.
My sister and niece give up their husband and father for 270 days so many of us can blindly go through our days never realizing what they've given up for us, so we can take for granted what they voluntarily sacrifice.
If you pray, please pray for our Armed Services and their safety. Pray for their families and children, to give them strength and peace. Pray for the days at home to go fast, and the deployment to be safe and boring.
To all of you deployed or about to be- I thank you for your service. To the families, I am humbled by the sacrifice you make for the rest of us.
Be safe. Be well. Come home soon and safe.
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
One quick year later....
Eeee gads! Its been nearly a year since my last post. How...poignant. disappointing. surprising. stunning. And yet, not surprising at all.
This past year has been.... amazing, surreal, busy, high paced, blessed, trying, tiring, and, well, fast.
My daughter is nearing her first birthday and I couldn't be more proud.
At her 2 week check up, One Philly Daughter was diagnosed with torticollis. Barely in this world, she was confronted with a word One Philly Mommy couldn't spell and could barely pronounce. In one year I got laid off, got pregnant, found my dream home and listed, but failed to sell out first home. After all this, and moving into a new home when 8 months pregnant and becoming a reluctant landlord, I was hardly eager to take on another challenge. I think I wanted to hide under the covers. With Ben and Jerry. And Chardonnay. For a long, long time.
I agonized over my poor, sweet little girl and all she'd have to endure.
But it is a majorly MINOR issue with her neck muscles that has resulted in physical therapy, chiropractor visits, and even a few months in a helmet (to address asymmetric facial features as a result of her neck problems).
What started as scary and uncertain has become...normal. A no-big-deal-way of life. Sure, she gets physical therapy twice a week, and had to wear a helmet for 23 hours a day for her first summer on this Earth.
But, this girl, has she got a smile on her!
And that smile has been there through most of what I agonized over, worrying she would be in pain, unhappy, or at the very least uncomfortable. But she handled it better than I ever anticipated, and certainly better than I did. And no. She does not love her Physical Therapists. But we know when her cries are real and when she's being a "faker, faker, belly-acher." And we know she's working hard, a fighter, and progressing all the time.
It doesn't matter that she had this issue. It doesn't matter that this issue is supremely insignificant compared to those facing much harsher realities. Horrific diagnosis. Terminal diagnosis. Chronic diagnosis. Chronic poverty. Unforeseen catastrophes like Newtown and Colorado. Yet another deployment for a young family to defend what the rest of us take for granted :Freedoms. Opportunities. Safety. Security.
What matters is that we're together, no matter how bumped and bruised or shiny and new we may be feeling, we're together. If something bigger, scarier, "worse" had been presented to us, I have no doubt we'd still find a way to be us. To face it together, make it our own, put our spin on it, add our smiles and go on with our lives.
In many, many, many (did I say many?) ways, this life is so much more than I ever dared hope for, and in some ways it asks so much more of me than I ever expected to give. But, either way, it is mine, and I am blessed to the very last fiber of my very last cell and eternally grateful.
One Philly Daughter is nearly a year old, which means she's nearing the end of physical therapy. That we've survived a year of this new life in this new house. That nothing awful has happened, that we've been blessed with another year of relative health, happiness, love, laughter, joy and prosperity.
I wish for you, and all our sons and daughters, a year of exceeded expectations, granted wishes, dreams come true and rapturous joy.
And maybe it won't be a year 'til I write again.
All the best,
One Philly Mommy
This past year has been.... amazing, surreal, busy, high paced, blessed, trying, tiring, and, well, fast.
My daughter is nearing her first birthday and I couldn't be more proud.
At her 2 week check up, One Philly Daughter was diagnosed with torticollis. Barely in this world, she was confronted with a word One Philly Mommy couldn't spell and could barely pronounce. In one year I got laid off, got pregnant, found my dream home and listed, but failed to sell out first home. After all this, and moving into a new home when 8 months pregnant and becoming a reluctant landlord, I was hardly eager to take on another challenge. I think I wanted to hide under the covers. With Ben and Jerry. And Chardonnay. For a long, long time.
I agonized over my poor, sweet little girl and all she'd have to endure.
But it is a majorly MINOR issue with her neck muscles that has resulted in physical therapy, chiropractor visits, and even a few months in a helmet (to address asymmetric facial features as a result of her neck problems).
What started as scary and uncertain has become...normal. A no-big-deal-way of life. Sure, she gets physical therapy twice a week, and had to wear a helmet for 23 hours a day for her first summer on this Earth.
And that smile has been there through most of what I agonized over, worrying she would be in pain, unhappy, or at the very least uncomfortable. But she handled it better than I ever anticipated, and certainly better than I did. And no. She does not love her Physical Therapists. But we know when her cries are real and when she's being a "faker, faker, belly-acher." And we know she's working hard, a fighter, and progressing all the time.
It doesn't matter that she had this issue. It doesn't matter that this issue is supremely insignificant compared to those facing much harsher realities. Horrific diagnosis. Terminal diagnosis. Chronic diagnosis. Chronic poverty. Unforeseen catastrophes like Newtown and Colorado. Yet another deployment for a young family to defend what the rest of us take for granted :Freedoms. Opportunities. Safety. Security.
What matters is that we're together, no matter how bumped and bruised or shiny and new we may be feeling, we're together. If something bigger, scarier, "worse" had been presented to us, I have no doubt we'd still find a way to be us. To face it together, make it our own, put our spin on it, add our smiles and go on with our lives.
In many, many, many (did I say many?) ways, this life is so much more than I ever dared hope for, and in some ways it asks so much more of me than I ever expected to give. But, either way, it is mine, and I am blessed to the very last fiber of my very last cell and eternally grateful.
One Philly Daughter is nearly a year old, which means she's nearing the end of physical therapy. That we've survived a year of this new life in this new house. That nothing awful has happened, that we've been blessed with another year of relative health, happiness, love, laughter, joy and prosperity.
I wish for you, and all our sons and daughters, a year of exceeded expectations, granted wishes, dreams come true and rapturous joy.
And maybe it won't be a year 'til I write again.
All the best,
One Philly Mommy
Saturday, February 11, 2012
It's all about perspective...
My new daughter will be 2 weeks old in a few days. So the story of her delivery is still fresh-ish in my mind. It is amazing how quickly those details fade when life is filled with new details about eating, pooping, the first smile, the first bath, the first field trip, etc. Life, it is amazing.
Anyway, when I had my son 2 1/2 years ago, I hurt my back during his delivery. Bad. I barely walked for 6 weeks following his birth, saw a chiropractor 3 times a week and lived 23 hours a day in a glider, the only piece of furniture I could get in and out of. It was bad.
My labor progressed so quickly that I wasn't able to get an epidural or pain relief of any kind. I pushed for over 3 hours and the pain was excruciating. But it was hard to tell what was "normal" labor and what was my back issues.
So when it came time to deliver another baby, I was hesitant. Nervous. Apprehensive. Ok, occasionally scared sh!tless.
I consulted with my chiropractor, a very capable woman who had a rough time delivering her 3 year old daughter and my midwife, a trusted source of baby delivering information. I knew both of these women were intimately (sometimes really intimately) aware of my situation and would have my best interest at heart.
So when both (BOTH!) of them advised against an epidural I was a little heartsick, but I took their advice.
For most of the delivery I was able to utter the words "still better than last time" to my husband and midwife. Because, it was. Yes, it hurt, but I was able to walk and talk and breathe through the contractions. I was pumped. I could do this!
Until I couldn't.
It eventually became apparent that my daughter was coming out with her hand and arm by her face. In a space barely capable of handling a round soft head, without the additional harsh angles of elbows and hands.
So, once again, things got painful. In my head I was thinking "I can't do this, what was I thinking not getting the epidural, I'm NEVER EVER EVER EVER EVER doing this again, OUCH!!!, I can't do this!" The pain was terrible and I screamed. A lot. I'm typically not the rowdy loud person, so I am shocked at the screams I am able to produce. But, yeah, it hurt. A lot.
One request I made of my husband during delivery was to say the words "you can do it, you can do it, you can do it" over and over and over again to me. I wasn't hearing that in my head and I knew I HAD to do it, so I just had to buckle down and do it. I relied on his believing in me and telling me I could do it when I couldn't tell myself.
But I felt pretty lousy. I was disappointed in myself for not being able to believe in myself. I was feeling guilty for not performing with more grace the second time around.
But when our midwife came to check me out less than 36 hours after our daughters birth (with zero back issues, thank you very much) she congratulated me on being tough and doing so well. I dismissed her praise but she continued "No, you hung in there and you did it. Not once did you say you couldn't do it. You (meaning my husband and I) make a great team."
Huh. Its true, I wasn't hearing my voice say I could do it, but I did the next best thing. Found a voice I trusted to tell me I could.
So in a moment when I was feeling less than strong and capable, other people were seeing me as strong, able, tough, resilient and part of a great team.
Sometimes, a different perspective can make all the difference...who's perspective will you consider today?
Anyway, when I had my son 2 1/2 years ago, I hurt my back during his delivery. Bad. I barely walked for 6 weeks following his birth, saw a chiropractor 3 times a week and lived 23 hours a day in a glider, the only piece of furniture I could get in and out of. It was bad.
My labor progressed so quickly that I wasn't able to get an epidural or pain relief of any kind. I pushed for over 3 hours and the pain was excruciating. But it was hard to tell what was "normal" labor and what was my back issues.
So when it came time to deliver another baby, I was hesitant. Nervous. Apprehensive. Ok, occasionally scared sh!tless.
I consulted with my chiropractor, a very capable woman who had a rough time delivering her 3 year old daughter and my midwife, a trusted source of baby delivering information. I knew both of these women were intimately (sometimes really intimately) aware of my situation and would have my best interest at heart.
So when both (BOTH!) of them advised against an epidural I was a little heartsick, but I took their advice.
For most of the delivery I was able to utter the words "still better than last time" to my husband and midwife. Because, it was. Yes, it hurt, but I was able to walk and talk and breathe through the contractions. I was pumped. I could do this!
Until I couldn't.
It eventually became apparent that my daughter was coming out with her hand and arm by her face. In a space barely capable of handling a round soft head, without the additional harsh angles of elbows and hands.
So, once again, things got painful. In my head I was thinking "I can't do this, what was I thinking not getting the epidural, I'm NEVER EVER EVER EVER EVER doing this again, OUCH!!!, I can't do this!" The pain was terrible and I screamed. A lot. I'm typically not the rowdy loud person, so I am shocked at the screams I am able to produce. But, yeah, it hurt. A lot.
One request I made of my husband during delivery was to say the words "you can do it, you can do it, you can do it" over and over and over again to me. I wasn't hearing that in my head and I knew I HAD to do it, so I just had to buckle down and do it. I relied on his believing in me and telling me I could do it when I couldn't tell myself.
But I felt pretty lousy. I was disappointed in myself for not being able to believe in myself. I was feeling guilty for not performing with more grace the second time around.
But when our midwife came to check me out less than 36 hours after our daughters birth (with zero back issues, thank you very much) she congratulated me on being tough and doing so well. I dismissed her praise but she continued "No, you hung in there and you did it. Not once did you say you couldn't do it. You (meaning my husband and I) make a great team."
Huh. Its true, I wasn't hearing my voice say I could do it, but I did the next best thing. Found a voice I trusted to tell me I could.
So in a moment when I was feeling less than strong and capable, other people were seeing me as strong, able, tough, resilient and part of a great team.
Sometimes, a different perspective can make all the difference...who's perspective will you consider today?
Saturday, October 22, 2011
When you get what you want...
Life is funny, isn't it?
We haven't sold our first house yet, in fact have not had much action on it at all. So we've done some preliminary research into renting the property. We're of course very lucky that this is even an option, and find the positive in either outcome.
Lately I have been struck by a very human reaction when we get what we wanted. We still mourn what we've lost. It's true that no matter what we get in life, it means giving up something else.
We love the street we live on. We love our neighbors. We love our house. But we've found our dream house, and expect to love that house, street and neighborhood as well. But it still means giving up something we've loved.
When we consider selling the house v.s. renting it out, we're again giving something up. Selling means some immediate cash in our savings, though not a lot, but it is definitely a simpler outcome. When we consider keeping the property and renting it out, we can foresee the possibility of greater financial return/ security in the long run, but it means less immediate security and more immediate stress and uncertainty.
Obviously we have little control over the situation, as we can't will a buyer with deep pockets out of thin air (I've tried), nor can we use a crystal ball to predict real estate values in 5 or 10 or 20 years. So we're doing what everyone does: making the best decisions we can based on the information we do have, trusting it will all work out, and trusting our ability to roll with whatever happens.
Still, whatever happens, I know there's a part of us that will wonder about the promise of the other outcome.
We haven't sold our first house yet, in fact have not had much action on it at all. So we've done some preliminary research into renting the property. We're of course very lucky that this is even an option, and find the positive in either outcome.
Lately I have been struck by a very human reaction when we get what we wanted. We still mourn what we've lost. It's true that no matter what we get in life, it means giving up something else.
We love the street we live on. We love our neighbors. We love our house. But we've found our dream house, and expect to love that house, street and neighborhood as well. But it still means giving up something we've loved.
When we consider selling the house v.s. renting it out, we're again giving something up. Selling means some immediate cash in our savings, though not a lot, but it is definitely a simpler outcome. When we consider keeping the property and renting it out, we can foresee the possibility of greater financial return/ security in the long run, but it means less immediate security and more immediate stress and uncertainty.
Obviously we have little control over the situation, as we can't will a buyer with deep pockets out of thin air (I've tried), nor can we use a crystal ball to predict real estate values in 5 or 10 or 20 years. So we're doing what everyone does: making the best decisions we can based on the information we do have, trusting it will all work out, and trusting our ability to roll with whatever happens.
Still, whatever happens, I know there's a part of us that will wonder about the promise of the other outcome.
Monday, October 10, 2011
I'm really big time now!
I'm about to get my corner office and a parking space with my name on it.
Many of my dreams are quite nearly filled: healthy family, great marriage, ability to take care of my family, sense of fulfillment. About the only thing missing is the bi-weekly PTA meeting.
I'm wildly blessed to be so near accomplishing so much so soon. There was a time any and all of these goals and dreams seemed impossibly out of reach. These dreams were no less lofty than a Nobel prize, Oscar, Emmy or President to me. Not once did I suppose these dreams were "settling" or doing what I was "supposed" to do. And I still don't. To accomplish the family and life I have took a tremendous amount of work, education, practice, self-awareness and effort. I'm very proud of what I've accomplished and those accompanying me in my journey.
And I'm sort of excited for the next step too.
The next step is unplanned, uncertain, wide open. Yes, I'll raise my children, date my husband, and put my all into it and love every second of it. My goals of being a great, loving wife, Mom, sister and friend remain.
But the rest is a blank canvas. Job, career, self improvement. Where will I go? What will I learn? Who will I meet?
I can't wait for adventures with my family. Seeing the world, growing together, learning about each other, ourselves.
I expect I'll find causes to be passionate about. I anticipate finding something in the professional world that I can pour myself into and succeed. I can see us sharing vacations around the world, enjoying each other as we explore. And I can't wait.
I may be at the end of this portion of my life's "to-do" list and have a great sense of peace and accomplishment. I also have a sense of newness and excitement and anticipation for the next phase too.
Who knows what it will bring?
Many of my dreams are quite nearly filled: healthy family, great marriage, ability to take care of my family, sense of fulfillment. About the only thing missing is the bi-weekly PTA meeting.
I'm wildly blessed to be so near accomplishing so much so soon. There was a time any and all of these goals and dreams seemed impossibly out of reach. These dreams were no less lofty than a Nobel prize, Oscar, Emmy or President to me. Not once did I suppose these dreams were "settling" or doing what I was "supposed" to do. And I still don't. To accomplish the family and life I have took a tremendous amount of work, education, practice, self-awareness and effort. I'm very proud of what I've accomplished and those accompanying me in my journey.
And I'm sort of excited for the next step too.
The next step is unplanned, uncertain, wide open. Yes, I'll raise my children, date my husband, and put my all into it and love every second of it. My goals of being a great, loving wife, Mom, sister and friend remain.
But the rest is a blank canvas. Job, career, self improvement. Where will I go? What will I learn? Who will I meet?
I can't wait for adventures with my family. Seeing the world, growing together, learning about each other, ourselves.
I expect I'll find causes to be passionate about. I anticipate finding something in the professional world that I can pour myself into and succeed. I can see us sharing vacations around the world, enjoying each other as we explore. And I can't wait.
I may be at the end of this portion of my life's "to-do" list and have a great sense of peace and accomplishment. I also have a sense of newness and excitement and anticipation for the next phase too.
Who knows what it will bring?
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Happy Thanksgiving! What's for dinner?
I've come across a lot of articles recently about poverty, the disappearing middle class and the continuing depressed economy. They aren't easy stories to read.
I've been poor.
When I was young, 4 or 5 years old, my parents declared bankruptcy. I remember the 5 of us sleeping in one bed with little or no heat in the house. Food was scarce, sharing one box of macaroni and cheese for dinner, rarely having fresh fruits or vegetables. When I was 12 my parents divorced, and my mother who hadn't worked in 16 years was left to raise 4 children with no income. We lived on food stamps and received food baskets from local churches, which one year supplied us with Thanksgiving dinner. I'll never forget that basket. It looked like months worth of food to me, and we probably stretched it out for weeks.
I remember the time a neighbor had us over for dinner and served spaghetti WITH meatballs AND garlic bread. She told me years later that my comment "this is like two dinners at once!" brought tears to her eyes.
We did not get new clothes, except for holidays when our grandmother would buy our Easter or Christmas outfits. Otherwise it was all second hand from neighbors or cousins.
Going to the doctor was often a luxury we couldn't afford, and we didn't have health insurance for years at a time. We would go to the clinic to get our shots and physicals so we could register at school.
Things many consider inexpensive luxuries were not present in our house. Paper towels and tisssues were for "rich people" and, there were honestly times we did not have toilet paper.
When inspection was due on our clunker cars, my mother would ask the mechanic to show her how to make the necessary repairs because she couldn't afford to pay him to do them.
Birthday parties and extra curricular activities weren't even discussed. We knew we couldn't afford them.
My point is not to gain sympathy, but rather to point out how pervasive and perilous poverty is. Especially for children. There is an innate lack of security when basic necessities of heat, food, and health care are lacking. How can they worry about letters, numbers, hopes and dreams when all they can dream about is a warm full meal? This lack of security is not something that goes away when the refrigerator is full.
I just read an article on CNN about a new character named Lily that Sesame Street is introducing in a new one hour special. Lily is struggling with "food insecurity" (inadequate access to food for a healthy lifestyle). Hooray for Sesame putting a face to a problem so many children are facing. But how sad that it is a problem needing a face.
I feel incredibley blessed and aware of the fact that One Philly Daddy and I have never had to worry about feeding our family. We've never had to choose between food and medicine, and if there's no milk in the fridge, it's because we haven't been to the store yet, not because we can't afford it.
These things are not a given for me and I truly appreciate being able to provide milk AND juice AND snacks AND meals AND anything else my family may need. It is a blessing I do not take for granted.
So when the envelope came in the mail today, asking for donations to feed people Thanksgiving dinner at a local shelter, I wrote a check, instead of just thinking I should.
What good are blessings if they aren't shared?
I've been poor.
When I was young, 4 or 5 years old, my parents declared bankruptcy. I remember the 5 of us sleeping in one bed with little or no heat in the house. Food was scarce, sharing one box of macaroni and cheese for dinner, rarely having fresh fruits or vegetables. When I was 12 my parents divorced, and my mother who hadn't worked in 16 years was left to raise 4 children with no income. We lived on food stamps and received food baskets from local churches, which one year supplied us with Thanksgiving dinner. I'll never forget that basket. It looked like months worth of food to me, and we probably stretched it out for weeks.
I remember the time a neighbor had us over for dinner and served spaghetti WITH meatballs AND garlic bread. She told me years later that my comment "this is like two dinners at once!" brought tears to her eyes.
We did not get new clothes, except for holidays when our grandmother would buy our Easter or Christmas outfits. Otherwise it was all second hand from neighbors or cousins.
Going to the doctor was often a luxury we couldn't afford, and we didn't have health insurance for years at a time. We would go to the clinic to get our shots and physicals so we could register at school.
Things many consider inexpensive luxuries were not present in our house. Paper towels and tisssues were for "rich people" and, there were honestly times we did not have toilet paper.
When inspection was due on our clunker cars, my mother would ask the mechanic to show her how to make the necessary repairs because she couldn't afford to pay him to do them.
Birthday parties and extra curricular activities weren't even discussed. We knew we couldn't afford them.
My point is not to gain sympathy, but rather to point out how pervasive and perilous poverty is. Especially for children. There is an innate lack of security when basic necessities of heat, food, and health care are lacking. How can they worry about letters, numbers, hopes and dreams when all they can dream about is a warm full meal? This lack of security is not something that goes away when the refrigerator is full.
I just read an article on CNN about a new character named Lily that Sesame Street is introducing in a new one hour special. Lily is struggling with "food insecurity" (inadequate access to food for a healthy lifestyle). Hooray for Sesame putting a face to a problem so many children are facing. But how sad that it is a problem needing a face.
I feel incredibley blessed and aware of the fact that One Philly Daddy and I have never had to worry about feeding our family. We've never had to choose between food and medicine, and if there's no milk in the fridge, it's because we haven't been to the store yet, not because we can't afford it.
These things are not a given for me and I truly appreciate being able to provide milk AND juice AND snacks AND meals AND anything else my family may need. It is a blessing I do not take for granted.
So when the envelope came in the mail today, asking for donations to feed people Thanksgiving dinner at a local shelter, I wrote a check, instead of just thinking I should.
What good are blessings if they aren't shared?
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
No news is....well, it's no news
I continue on my quest of positivity, though with a few trips, stumbles and spills along the way.
I'll admit, the house has only been listed 2 weeks and 4 days, so a bite already would've been pretty damn shocking in this market. I know that, I get that. It would just be really, really nice to be moving forward with the packing/moving portion of this experiment. The keep the house clean so strangers will want to buy the house portion of the experiment is already tiresome. It's like living in limbo or something.
I'd be happy to live in a sea of boxes, cook on 2 pots, eat off paper plates, and remove all artwork from our walls. Alas, this does nothing for the "buy me and live in me" quaint charm we're aiming for.
So I'm trying to make progress on the ways I can: packing up and giving away baby items no longer needed, purchasing moving boxes and tape, planning our get away. We did a December move once before. Minus one dog and two (one and a half?) babies, and it was stressful. Once October gets going, everyone's schedule fills up with shopping, parties, baking, decorating and the like. So I know time is of the essence here. Oh yeah, and this belly ain't gettin smaller anytime soon.
One Philly Daddy is gracious and tolerant of my stress, trying his darndest to calm and reassure me.
So I'm going to take a breath, focus on what I can for now and let everything else "be."
But, hey, if you're in the market for a charming twin in a fabulous school district - let me know!
I'll admit, the house has only been listed 2 weeks and 4 days, so a bite already would've been pretty damn shocking in this market. I know that, I get that. It would just be really, really nice to be moving forward with the packing/moving portion of this experiment. The keep the house clean so strangers will want to buy the house portion of the experiment is already tiresome. It's like living in limbo or something.
I'd be happy to live in a sea of boxes, cook on 2 pots, eat off paper plates, and remove all artwork from our walls. Alas, this does nothing for the "buy me and live in me" quaint charm we're aiming for.
So I'm trying to make progress on the ways I can: packing up and giving away baby items no longer needed, purchasing moving boxes and tape, planning our get away. We did a December move once before. Minus one dog and two (one and a half?) babies, and it was stressful. Once October gets going, everyone's schedule fills up with shopping, parties, baking, decorating and the like. So I know time is of the essence here. Oh yeah, and this belly ain't gettin smaller anytime soon.
One Philly Daddy is gracious and tolerant of my stress, trying his darndest to calm and reassure me.
So I'm going to take a breath, focus on what I can for now and let everything else "be."
But, hey, if you're in the market for a charming twin in a fabulous school district - let me know!
Saturday, October 1, 2011
I'll be the first person to preach the importance of positive thinking and the idea that you bring things to yourself and your life by what you think. In short, what you expect is typically what you get.
I've even asked One Philly Daddy to not say things like "One Philly Son is so great, our second child will be terrible!" and " our luck is bound to change."
I. Don't. Believe. That.
And I'm not interested in welcoming negative expectations in my life.
I've seen this in action on both the positive and negative end. Sure, sometimes "life" happens but there seem to be those people who are "lucky" and things go their way (in my experience, they are also seeking a way to find the positive in whatever happens, so which comes first?) and those who are "cursed". You know the ones who "never" catch a break or for whom "everything" goes wrong.
My point is that, poop happens to everyone, but what you do with it, how you think about it, how you think about life and yourself makes a big difference in how happy or unhappy you may be.
But I have to say, selling our house is putting my positivity to the test!
I'm realistic, but expecting things to work out, and doing everything in my power to make that happen. That means accepting every request to see the house, whether with a week or 10 minutes notice, staging the house, working with a trusted realtor, keeping my house clean, etc.
But all that doesn't do any good if the people requesting the showing DON'T SHOW UP.
Inhale. Exhale.
Argh! It has happened to us twice already this week. While I understand life happens and things come up, this really seems disrespectful and rude, on many levels.
But I'm clinging to positivity. At least trying too. The right buyers will come. Soon. And they will love our house. Our move will go smoothly. We will happily welcome New Philly Daughter to a happy (if not totally unpacked) home.
I'm positively sure about it!
I've even asked One Philly Daddy to not say things like "One Philly Son is so great, our second child will be terrible!" and " our luck is bound to change."
I. Don't. Believe. That.
And I'm not interested in welcoming negative expectations in my life.
I've seen this in action on both the positive and negative end. Sure, sometimes "life" happens but there seem to be those people who are "lucky" and things go their way (in my experience, they are also seeking a way to find the positive in whatever happens, so which comes first?) and those who are "cursed". You know the ones who "never" catch a break or for whom "everything" goes wrong.
My point is that, poop happens to everyone, but what you do with it, how you think about it, how you think about life and yourself makes a big difference in how happy or unhappy you may be.
But I have to say, selling our house is putting my positivity to the test!
I'm realistic, but expecting things to work out, and doing everything in my power to make that happen. That means accepting every request to see the house, whether with a week or 10 minutes notice, staging the house, working with a trusted realtor, keeping my house clean, etc.
But all that doesn't do any good if the people requesting the showing DON'T SHOW UP.
Inhale. Exhale.
Argh! It has happened to us twice already this week. While I understand life happens and things come up, this really seems disrespectful and rude, on many levels.
But I'm clinging to positivity. At least trying too. The right buyers will come. Soon. And they will love our house. Our move will go smoothly. We will happily welcome New Philly Daughter to a happy (if not totally unpacked) home.
I'm positively sure about it!
Friday, September 30, 2011
I'm sorry, now THIS is crazy
Yesterday I posted that our pace recently has been fast and furious.
I didn't know $#%* yesterday.
Thursday started with my cleaning the upstairs. We have a showing scheduled for Saturday and an Open House Sunday. We've been hoping for more showings and try to be prepared all the time, but there are things like washing sheets, making beds etc that need to be done. And, as much as our house is "staged" day to day, there are items essential to daily life (dog food bowls, trash bags, high chairs, toys) that need to be cleaned, hidden, moved for an actual showing.
Around 10:20 I got a call for someone who wanted to see the house at 11:15. Like in an hour. Ahem. Luckily One Philly Daddy was able to rush home and we put away the microwave and toaster, the high chair and toys. Swept the floors, wiped the counters, turned on the right lights, made the beds, arranged flowers and ran out the door with One Philly Son and our two dogs. Thank god for my sister-in-law who let's us crash at her house for an hour with our dogs.
We returned home at 12:30 to realize NO ONE showed up. Argh!
One Philly Daddy returned to work, One Philly Son took a nap and I pulled a few things out to return to living. Toys out, pretty flowers away.
Fast forward to 5:30, One Philly Family is gathered in the kitchen about to eat our dinner, like literally, food on fork, headed to mouth. Phone rings. An agent is in town and wants to see the house. Now.
As calmly as I can, I ask for 10 minutes. We re-hide high chairs and toys, leash up the dogs, throw One Philly Son in a stroller, hide our dinner in the oven, put out our sell sheets and run out the door.
One Philly Son wants to be held during these stressful high energy moments, and we have a dog who likes to escape so it can be hectic. But we went for our walk and an hour later we were all back in the house smiling, laughing and finally eating.
One Philly Daddy and I have different responses to these situations: I get uber-focused and a bit manic in my single mindedness. One Philly Daddy says "what should I do next?" and "this is awesome"! Both are certainly valid reactions, but we're certainly not on the same page for about 20 minutes. The good news is that we usually are at about minute 22, when my "get-it-done, get-it-done" adrenaline wears off and his "yay-yay-yay-yay" dials back a notch. Then, the fun starts!
Do you think they like the house? Will they put in an offer? When? For how much? They'll love the house, right, WE loved the house! Remember when we saw this house and we wanted it so bad, and we were so nervous? Remember how we knew right away we loved the house? Gosh, isn't our new house great too, can you not wait to get in there?!? So cool!
In short, our story takes over. We re-read the chapters we've already finished, reveling in the plot twists now that we've been to the last page. We share our joys, fears and hopes. We slide to the edge of our seats, staring unblinking into the future to see what it will bring, feeling eager and excited.
Now, this, this is exciting.
I didn't know $#%* yesterday.
Thursday started with my cleaning the upstairs. We have a showing scheduled for Saturday and an Open House Sunday. We've been hoping for more showings and try to be prepared all the time, but there are things like washing sheets, making beds etc that need to be done. And, as much as our house is "staged" day to day, there are items essential to daily life (dog food bowls, trash bags, high chairs, toys) that need to be cleaned, hidden, moved for an actual showing.
Around 10:20 I got a call for someone who wanted to see the house at 11:15. Like in an hour. Ahem. Luckily One Philly Daddy was able to rush home and we put away the microwave and toaster, the high chair and toys. Swept the floors, wiped the counters, turned on the right lights, made the beds, arranged flowers and ran out the door with One Philly Son and our two dogs. Thank god for my sister-in-law who let's us crash at her house for an hour with our dogs.
We returned home at 12:30 to realize NO ONE showed up. Argh!
One Philly Daddy returned to work, One Philly Son took a nap and I pulled a few things out to return to living. Toys out, pretty flowers away.
Fast forward to 5:30, One Philly Family is gathered in the kitchen about to eat our dinner, like literally, food on fork, headed to mouth. Phone rings. An agent is in town and wants to see the house. Now.
As calmly as I can, I ask for 10 minutes. We re-hide high chairs and toys, leash up the dogs, throw One Philly Son in a stroller, hide our dinner in the oven, put out our sell sheets and run out the door.
One Philly Son wants to be held during these stressful high energy moments, and we have a dog who likes to escape so it can be hectic. But we went for our walk and an hour later we were all back in the house smiling, laughing and finally eating.
One Philly Daddy and I have different responses to these situations: I get uber-focused and a bit manic in my single mindedness. One Philly Daddy says "what should I do next?" and "this is awesome"! Both are certainly valid reactions, but we're certainly not on the same page for about 20 minutes. The good news is that we usually are at about minute 22, when my "get-it-done, get-it-done" adrenaline wears off and his "yay-yay-yay-yay" dials back a notch. Then, the fun starts!
Do you think they like the house? Will they put in an offer? When? For how much? They'll love the house, right, WE loved the house! Remember when we saw this house and we wanted it so bad, and we were so nervous? Remember how we knew right away we loved the house? Gosh, isn't our new house great too, can you not wait to get in there?!? So cool!
In short, our story takes over. We re-read the chapters we've already finished, reveling in the plot twists now that we've been to the last page. We share our joys, fears and hopes. We slide to the edge of our seats, staring unblinking into the future to see what it will bring, feeling eager and excited.
Now, this, this is exciting.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Nothing is forever...
So we're initiating a lot of changes in our world right now: One Philly Son has started nursery school, moving to a new bedroom and moving out of the crib and into a big boy bed. In the even bigger picture we're expecting our daughter in January and are moving in December. The home we live in now is currently listed for sale.
We've had a crazy pace the past month, starting with reconsidering the dream home we chose not to go for while in the midst of Hurricane Irene to having our offer accepted, listing and showing our home. The pace has been fast and steady.
But given the stresses we're under, I am proud of the "little" things we've managed to focus on and accomplish in the midst of that storm: One Philly Son knows all letters but Q (how often is that used anyway?), can count to 10, is loving nursery school (he's the only boy in his class!) and is successfully transitioning to his role as a "big kid". We couldn't be prouder.
We've also thrown in the random midwife appointment, 2 ultrasounds (stubborn girl wasn't cooperative the first time, and the professionals felt it was worth another look), a host of family and social events.
I feel like One Philly Daughter is getting lost in the shuffle a bit, but since the end of the first trimester, she's made it pretty easy on me. Our dogs are responding to the stress by leaving "gifts" so I'm also attempting a daily walk for them.
Sigh. I just made myself tired!
But I am proud that we've only had a few meltdowns, mostly brief and contained. Everything that needs to get done is getting done, occasionally even with some flair and grace.
Every task we successfully complete, every milestone we reach even in the midst of all this proves to me that we're on the right path.
We've had a crazy pace the past month, starting with reconsidering the dream home we chose not to go for while in the midst of Hurricane Irene to having our offer accepted, listing and showing our home. The pace has been fast and steady.
But given the stresses we're under, I am proud of the "little" things we've managed to focus on and accomplish in the midst of that storm: One Philly Son knows all letters but Q (how often is that used anyway?), can count to 10, is loving nursery school (he's the only boy in his class!) and is successfully transitioning to his role as a "big kid". We couldn't be prouder.
We've also thrown in the random midwife appointment, 2 ultrasounds (stubborn girl wasn't cooperative the first time, and the professionals felt it was worth another look), a host of family and social events.
I feel like One Philly Daughter is getting lost in the shuffle a bit, but since the end of the first trimester, she's made it pretty easy on me. Our dogs are responding to the stress by leaving "gifts" so I'm also attempting a daily walk for them.
Sigh. I just made myself tired!
But I am proud that we've only had a few meltdowns, mostly brief and contained. Everything that needs to get done is getting done, occasionally even with some flair and grace.
Every task we successfully complete, every milestone we reach even in the midst of all this proves to me that we're on the right path.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
I am again faced with the question of how MY choices will affect One Philly Son, and how I hope I'm doing right by him.
Oh, yeah, not to mention there's soon going to be a New Philly Daughter who will have her own sets of needs, wants, and desires to be considered.
But, back to the case in point: in the next 5 months One Philly Son will experience some massive changes in his world. Starting nursery school, new baby, new room. And, just for kicks, we've decided to throw "new home" into the mix as well. So he's currently experiencing a fair amount of home turmoil as we prepare to show and sell our house.
Buying a house now was not the plan. But, as I've learned, even the best plans need to be flexible when circumstances warrant it. And the opportunity we have right now is worth the turmoil of uprooting our family in the midst of my pregnancy. (Even though a short time ago my opinion was different http://onephillymommy.blogspot.com/2011/07/if-youve-been-to-my-house-since-may-you.html?m=1 )
In addition to trying to manage the paperwork and deadlines of purchasing and selling a home, packing and staging our home and praying for a swift sell, I am really focused on One Philly Son. I've read the best way to prepare a toddler for a new sibling is to understand feelings of jealousy or resentment, to explain as best you can, to keep stable the things you can, and to give some undivided attention each day. I'm hoping the same techniques will apply to the other changes we're initiating.
Even though my head may be full with details and plans for packing, selling, moving, and baby preparing I want to spend some time each day reading or playing with One Philly Son. Not mindlessly "uh-huh"-ing him, checking it off my list, but REALLY focusing on him.
If anything, I consider this a gift, not a burden. For one thing, it reminds me of what is important and "why" we're doing all this in the first place: we believe all this is in the collective best interest of our family in the long run. But more than that, being a mother has forced me to take a hard look at getting overwhelmed, scared, stressed, aiming for unattainable perfection and being full of doubt. These things never really served me, but now that I can see the ramifications reflected on a 2 year old face I see how truly detrimental they can be.
If I hope for One Philly Son to be resilient, calm, trusting of his abilities and willing to live life, I need to exhibit these skills myself. The words and actions I choose need to support and strengthen my family rather than fill them with worry and dread.
Indeed, being pregnant makes the ramifications of that stress more important too. My ability to cope and roll with the punches has immediate and physical impacts on my daughter.
All these changes are really forcing a hard look at some baggage, and I'm making smart decisions about what to take and what to leave. In the boxes and my head.
Oh, yeah, not to mention there's soon going to be a New Philly Daughter who will have her own sets of needs, wants, and desires to be considered.
But, back to the case in point: in the next 5 months One Philly Son will experience some massive changes in his world. Starting nursery school, new baby, new room. And, just for kicks, we've decided to throw "new home" into the mix as well. So he's currently experiencing a fair amount of home turmoil as we prepare to show and sell our house.
Buying a house now was not the plan. But, as I've learned, even the best plans need to be flexible when circumstances warrant it. And the opportunity we have right now is worth the turmoil of uprooting our family in the midst of my pregnancy. (Even though a short time ago my opinion was different http://onephillymommy.blogspot.com/2011/07/if-youve-been-to-my-house-since-may-you.html?m=1 )
In addition to trying to manage the paperwork and deadlines of purchasing and selling a home, packing and staging our home and praying for a swift sell, I am really focused on One Philly Son. I've read the best way to prepare a toddler for a new sibling is to understand feelings of jealousy or resentment, to explain as best you can, to keep stable the things you can, and to give some undivided attention each day. I'm hoping the same techniques will apply to the other changes we're initiating.
Even though my head may be full with details and plans for packing, selling, moving, and baby preparing I want to spend some time each day reading or playing with One Philly Son. Not mindlessly "uh-huh"-ing him, checking it off my list, but REALLY focusing on him.
If anything, I consider this a gift, not a burden. For one thing, it reminds me of what is important and "why" we're doing all this in the first place: we believe all this is in the collective best interest of our family in the long run. But more than that, being a mother has forced me to take a hard look at getting overwhelmed, scared, stressed, aiming for unattainable perfection and being full of doubt. These things never really served me, but now that I can see the ramifications reflected on a 2 year old face I see how truly detrimental they can be.
If I hope for One Philly Son to be resilient, calm, trusting of his abilities and willing to live life, I need to exhibit these skills myself. The words and actions I choose need to support and strengthen my family rather than fill them with worry and dread.
Indeed, being pregnant makes the ramifications of that stress more important too. My ability to cope and roll with the punches has immediate and physical impacts on my daughter.
All these changes are really forcing a hard look at some baggage, and I'm making smart decisions about what to take and what to leave. In the boxes and my head.
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