Boston, we are here...

When a horror like Newtown, CT or the Boston marathon bombing of today or the Colorado movie theater shooting happens, I feel compelled to watch the news coverage. I can't, almost won't turn it off (when my children aren't around, One Philly Kids are 1 and 3. They have enough life ahead of them to confront these heady issues.)

Given my overall life philosophy and goal is to avoid negative, painful, violent, angry and evil thoughts, feelings, events, images and information, I've often wondered why that is. I barely watch the daily news because its too depressing, but this, this I feel compelled to watch.

Why do I not turn it off?

I don't feel the icky rubber-necking feeling from gawking at accidents and other people's pain.

I don't feel a rush of anger, or desire for vigilante justice.

I do occasionally find myself overwhelmed with disbelief, sorrow, and tears, but I do not feel an overwhelming disappointment in humanity. I, as many are, am struck by the bravery and courage of those rushing forward to help, to protect, to comfort, to serve.

Unfortunately I've had plenty of opportunity to reflect on this is recent history.

In a twist of fate, I found myself in PA, glued to a television, in horror, during the Colombine shootings, when a loved one lived in Colorado, minutes from the high school. A few years later, I lived in Colorado, and awoke to the horror playing out in New York on 9/11, hours from those I loved, and thousands of miles from the horror. In both cases, I felt bizarrely displaced, not where I should've been, not where I'd been all along. And all I could do was watch.

So why don't I turn it off?

Quite simply, because 113 families will never be able to turn off this horror show. As of this writing 3 families will be forced to remember this as the anniversary of the day they lost their loved one. Countless first responders will wait days, weeks, months before they are able to tend to themselves, as they put the safety and survival of others first. Every person who lives and works in Boston will be dealing with this reality, for days, weeks, months, years to come.

I can not save a life. I can not comfort a victim. I can not find those responsible. I can not provide relief for those who can not escape this reality.

The only thing I can do, right now, this minute, is not turn a blind eye.

All I can do is not avert my eyes, cloaking myself in the dark comfort that at least this isn't my reality, not today.

I watch, not to give undeserved glory to those causing the pain, I watch to say to those affected : you are not alone.

I can not fathom your pain; I do not presume to know an ounce of the burden you now carry.

But you are not alone.

I offer my strength, love and peace, by not pretending this isn't happening.

I offer my condolences by refusing to look away.

I acknowledge your new reality by not ignoring it.

I offer my fervent hope that you will find what you need to carry you through this unspeakable experience by watching, paying my respects by being here in the only way I can.

My thoughts, and prayers are with you, I wish you peace, strength, love, and all that you need.

You can't turn it off, so for now, neither will I.

I'm still here, I'm still watching.

"He makes me laugh"

I think One Philly Daddy is funny. He says I'm easily amused.

We're a good match like that.

Have you ever seen "Roger Rabbit"? I remember the scene when Jessica Rabbit is asked why she's with Roger, a goofy rabbit, and she answers "he makes me laugh" in that sultry voice.

That has stuck with me - as a reminder that the reasons of love may not be obvious from the outside looking in, that what a person needs and wants in a partner may not be what is expected. And that joy and laughter will end up being more valuable than looks or money.

One Philly Daddy is crossing something off his bucket list, and took a stand up comedy class at a local theater. He's been writing and asking me "is this funny?" for weeks. He's taking his funny business seriously.

The class culminates with a showcase of performances by the class for friends and family.

I can't wait to see him perform.

No matter how it goes I'm proud of him for doing something he's always wanted to do, impressed by his dedication and work, and inspired to do the same with my dreams.

Knock 'em dead babe, they'll be rolling in the aisles.

You know you're a parent of toddlers part TWO

When you stumble on one child messing with the other child's meticulous toy set up, you find yourself panicking, frantically trying to set it right and muttering "no, no, no, he's going to be so mad!" under your breath.

When your children get the stomach flu, you reach out to catch the vomit with your bare hands.

The morning bathroom routine that used to take 45 minutes has been whittled down to 12. Brushing your hair and teeth is now considered your "routine". Bonus points for deodorant with a pretty scent. Lose points for using Daddy's Old Spice because yours never made it to the shopping list.

Every surface of your house is now fair game for toys and fingerprints. This includes the dining room table, bathroom sink, and hallways. The stairs will be a hard battle to win, but stick to your guns. If you have metal framing and magnetic toys, even the walls are fair game. (See photo)

In addition to the previously mentioned urine aroma, you'll likely have crumbs and the occasional aroma of spoiled milk. This will occur regardless of how strict your food-doesn't-leave-the-kitchen policy is.

When greeting your child in the morning, after a nap, or a long play date, you subtly feel the seat and crotch of their pants for leaky diaper wetness.

You carefully coordinate meal and nap details in the mere hopes of obtaining 5 solo minutes in the shower. Despite careful planning, your dogs lose their sh*t as you are in a state of undress and mere seconds from turning on the water, waking one baby and infuriating the other. You may or may not have fantasies about mute dogs, sound proof bedrooms and hiring a nanny for half an hour a day.

You know you're a parent of toddlers when...

The poopy diaper falling off the changing table and landing face down on a pile of books is merely annoying, instead of Haz-Mat suit gross.

You stop wondering why your house has a persistent urine aroma.

Your own clothing becomes an acceptable place to wipe runny noses, ketchupy faces and sandy hands.

On the first day of Spring, you find yourself driving in the warm sun with the windows down and Elmo blaring.

You pull the car over to take off your child's shirt because he is hysterical that he spilled chocolate milk on it. You don't argue when he asks to remain shirtless.

Singing the "A,B,C's", "wheels on the bus" or "B-I-N-G-O" while at a restaurant for dinner isn't embarrassing. Nor is congratulating your child on his pooping in the potty.

You wake up after 4 hours of sleep, even if no children are awake, because your body is convinced this is enough.

Having enough time to complete the simple task of loading the dishwasher, going to the bathroom, brushing your teeth or folding a load of laundry is both rare and exhilarating.

You love every minute of it.

Too cool for school

One Philly Son's nursery school (which we l-o-v-e love) has a fundraiser in the spring, which consists of the classroom parents constructing an obstacle course in the community room, and inviting friends and family to attend and make a donation to support the programs that they offer.

And the programs include a Whale Watching program, music from an outside music teacher, visits from a local theater, 4-H chicken hatching, and a dog visit from the ASPCA. So the funds, in my mind, are well spent. These are programs at a nursery/pre-school. I know elementary and high schools that don't offer extra programs like this.

Since I have a flexible, work from home schedule (thank you!) I am one of the classroom parents for One Philly Son's class, so I was charged with creating an obstacle that reflected his class, the Rainbow Fish.

In our parent meeting to brainstorm, I was told other parents had done a "pond" with "fishing" - a kiddie pool with a net and some plastic or cardboard fish. So I gathered that, as well as my contribution to the "filler" obstacles - tunnels, riding toys and a small trampoline.

I didn't think I was knocking one out of the park,but I figured I was making a full, classroom parent contribution.

But, an over-achiever, I am not. Apparently.

There were parents with carefully, hand-crafted and hand-drawn ponds, turtles, bees; obstacle courses with multiple steps and parts.

Uh-oh.

I had a brief "oh. shit." moment.

Crap. My stupid kiddie pool and fish were nothing compared to the hours and effort put into these other obstacle courses. I was falling short.

And yet. There were classes who's parents didn't contribute an obstacle at all. 

And I find myself reeling in the urge to make a "at least I'm not as bad as..." speech.

Mind you, I have no desire, nor will I ever, to stay up all hours of the night to hand craft art for a school of 2 - 5 years old to tromp on. But I also don't want to be the Mom who is just phoning it in either.

Due to circumstances, there were times my Mom was the go-to Mom, heading our Girl Scout troops and attending school functions, taking care of classroom parent duties. And there were times we were the ones perpetually without permission slips and gym clothes on the right days. These things happen, and good-Mom's everywhere have different skills, aptitudes, abilities and life circumstances in the 20-odd years of parenting.

The only person I want to compare myself to is myself (sounds easy, doesn't it?) - so I'm trying to avoid the "oh, poop, I'm not the Martha Stewart of pre-school obstacle courses" and "can you believe the so-and-so class didn't do anything!?" reactions.

Cause neither feels nice, productive, relevant, or something I want One Philly Son or Daughter to learn.

The point is, I want to do my best, and strive for improvement, but accept who I am. I want to be the Mom contributing, but not at the cost of my or my families happiness or well-being (or sleep). But, I don't want to be the Mom bringing in the bare minimal requirements of involvement.

Next year, I'm gonna step up my kiddie-obstacle course game. Look out!

Until then, have fun fishing, kids!

The landmines of Motherhood...

The plan is that we're "done" having babies. And I'm thrilled with it. I'm not old, but I'm not young enough to want to do "this" (i.e. conceive, house, create, birth,and, oh yeah, raise another person) again. I want to love, giggle, laugh with, chase and revel in the two glamorous little beings we've already created.

My sister is expecting, and I, rather tentatively, took in the news. Would this shake my resolve? Would I get the itch? Would I get baby-envy? Would I suddenly have the secret desire to create another life?

Gladly, I did not, and my resolve stood firm. I'm thrilled with my family, just as it is. Should we be blessed with another, we'd welcome him/her with open arms. (Though I am out of "One Philly" Monikers. That would take some thinking. Hmmmm.) But I'm not in the business of baby-making any more.

I gleefully packed bags of items for my sister, and sorted the items she didn't / wouldn't need into a "consign" pile. I've never consigned before, so this is the grand experiment, is this worth the time/effort? Or will I just donate the stuff going forward?

So I've already sorted through the stuff once, in a gleeful Sister / Sell exercise. Now, I'm just tagging and preparing the items for sale to be sold.

And then....the memories started coming, perhaps because this is meant to be the final pass before they go on to live with someone else....

the one silly shirt I bought proclaiming the obvious to the world.

followed by........

Also obvious.

A few short weeks ago, these were items I was joyous to be getting out of my house. Less than 18 months in this house, I'm eager to get the space back from all the baby items we're no longer in need of. Excer-saucers, highchairs, bouncy seats, bassinets, activity mats. 

Necessary, all of them, but bulky and used for such a tiny short window of time. 

Even so, some of the items brought back memories....

Our positive pee-sticks, both planned and still a surprise. One Philly Daddy and I (8 months pregnant and sweating in the July heat) trying to install our car seats. One Philly Daddy filling a baby pool in the yard to make an oasis for his hot and cranky pregnant wife. Me insisting One Philly Daddy take belly shots, and them turning out amazing, and meaning so much more, because it was him taking the pictures.

 The odd sensations of my body not being my own. The mind spinning of trying to figure out just how this was all going to work. The decision to try for One Philly Daughter, and the rainbow we saw the day we found out she was on her way. The joy they bring us. The sleep we lose for them. The stress of wanting to do it right. The fear of frightening medical news. The pride in their first steps, their first words, first jokes, first friends, all the firsts to come. The time we give them instead of ourselves, and each other. The overwhelming love and the yearning desire that it be enough. The beauty and blessing of it all. 

See, I'm just trying to make some room in the garage, and now we're all weepy. 

Be warned, Mommy's-to-be hunting for consignment bargains, these gently used and greatly loved items priced at a discount are going to find a place in your heart, even after you need the space back in your house. 

Viva la Daddy!

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.

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...

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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?

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.

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?