It's amazing to me how fresh memories can be. If I let them.
It was early Sunday morning and my three-year-old got up at his normal six-ish something with his normal wake up call which is opening up our door and exclaiming, "I'm a fireman!" As if we didn't know, of course.
I'm guessing my husband was already kind of awake and just laying there like he sometimes does because he bounded cheerily out of bed saying, "Why don't we snuggle on the couch and watch Fireman Sam!" to which my son squeeled with delight.
I thought, Sweet. He's got it covered. I'm just gonna close my eyes then, for just a few minutes.
Two hours later...
At 8 o'clock, which is totally sleeping in these days, I wake up in my own homemade Folger's commerical, smelling that coffee that's been brewed (my elixer! Yay!) And my 22 month old Mini, who recently learned that not only can he now reach door knobs, his tiny hands are now capable of turning them and opening them (to my chagrin), flings the door open yelling, "Mama!!!" and runs toward the side of the bed where I could only see the top of his head and one hand reaching up at me.
I've still got the sleepies in my eyes and my hair is like Medusa but knowing I have the happiness that is a full cup of coffee in my future, I pull him up and he nestles his head into my armpit and snuggles me and for a moment I close my eyes and remember those very first days. The sleepless ones, where he would wake me up around 7 to nurse and afterward, he'd fall asleep on my chest and I'd struggle with whether to chance waking him up by putting him back down in the bassinet or snuggle until he woke up again to eat. On the weekend, when my husband would be home to watch the other one, I'd choose snuggle.
I would feel his tiny breaths on my chest, feel his chest moving up and down next to mine, the soft flutter of his heart and the softness of his babyskin. I'd lay there with my tiny son as the sun would start to creep in through the white curtains in my bedroom, the birds would begin their morning songs, and I'd gently rub one tiny foot that would poke out of his little sleeper gown.
On this morning, that memory was so fresh I could just feel the autumn upon me despite the still 90-degree Augustness that it really was. There was a stillness to those mornings, a peacefulness that was a new morning after a sleepless night, where for just a couple hours, there was a satisfied, sleepy baby with a full belly and a safe place next to his mama. Ahh. Heaven.
Those were wonderful mornings and I remember them so vividly that I actually feel like I am there, in that moment again fully, if I just close my eyes.
Later that very same day, as I was reading one of my very favorite blogs, a post stirred more memories of something entirely different. It was late and my husband had already gone to bed. I was about to shut down but I read her post about how she and her husband are going to help support parents with children in the NICU through an organization they founded.
I left my comment, and began to read the comments of the 200 others before me (yes, she is a very powerful writer and blogger who has found such meaning through tragedy and quite a following to say the least), most of them talking about their own experience in the NICU and for a few minutes, there I was, right back there myself. I hadn't gotten through but three comments of other mommies before the immediacy of everything, the terror of giving birth to a baby too early, the unknowing, the crying, the alarms, the rushing, and the panic, all set in.
I closed my eyes and decided I would let it sit in my mind for a minute because it was a memory that was mine and I should never rush to put them away. Then I thought about how wonderful everything turned out, how happy everyone is, how healthy my son is, and how the only real problem with my son being born early was how difficult it was for me. Physically, everything was fine. It was me who couldn't seem to get past it at the time. And with that, I put it away, logged off and went to bed.
But I lay awake, finding my mind cluttered and wandering and before long, I found myself in my bed, home without my baby, the one night I had decided to leave the hospital to get rest because I had been sleeping at the hospital even after I was discharged (they had let me pay each night to stay there if there was a room available). Oh the emptiness that is leaving the hospital without your baby. The failure. The sadness. It all rushed back and blanketed me. Just as if it were really happening. Three and a half years later, so vivid. So fresh. And overwhelming. Crocodile tears started flowing from my eyes, uncontrollably, silently overtaking me. Even though, across the house, a healthy three-year-old was asleep soundly in his bed.
Right at that moment, Mini, who never wakes up at night, started whimpering. His whimpers turned to cries, and I wiped my tears and checked the monitor. He was up for some reason, and really upset about something. So I went to his room to check on him and it was really much ado about nothing. He was bothered by something but I never did figure out what, so we snuggled for just a little while in the rocking chair until he fell asleep and I put him back in his crib.
Because how would he, how could he, know his mother was sad, thinking about what was once, right at that moment? How did he know that his needing comfort was really the comfort his mother needed right then?
But it was. It was perfect. His timing, really was impeccable.
Sigh.
So many memories are put away, tightly wrapped, zipped up and locked only to resurface when we least expect it, aren't they? Some of them we try to forget, others just fade away like the seasons. I am sad to think they could be lost if I let them. What if nothing comes along to open the safe? They might always stay there right where I put them.
Even the pain of a memory is sometimes a good memory, to me. It reminds me to feel or that I once felt. It reminds me of who I am today and why. It reminds me of how blessed I am in every way, even if it's just knowing that I am able to feel. Because to feel something, anything, is so much more than feeling nothing. And I think, despite how painful some of my memories are, I'd so much rather feel something.
Monday
Fresh
Friday
The Week In Review, Followed by an Open Letter
I feel like it's been a busy week so I feel the need to review if only for my own records. Because here it's more than a blog, it's record-keeping.
This week I appropriately repeated (as necessary) the mantra, "Serenity Now!" from the inaugural Mantra Monday, which came especially handy when the little one somehow wrestled free an entire piece of floor molding and the older one followed suit by swinging it around like a giant lightsaber and coming dangerously close to hitting everything in an 8 foot radius (it was quite perplexing: from the stove I see this giant piece of flange flying around and could only identify it by moving closer...) or when I saw my little one trying to drink out of the cat bowl or putting all of his fridge magnets in it. Or when the older one almost knocked over the booster chair WITH THE LITTLE ONE STRAPPED INSIDE OF IT (heart attack. heart attack. heart attack. Motherhood is made up of a string of tiny little heart attacks.) You know, normal things like this.
But we ate corned beef and cabbage because it was St. Patrick's day, and we drank green beer, and I made green shamrock jello jigglers (that actually came out right! but they're smothered with green whipped cream so they don't look like it in this picture) with the older one's class,
and we saw the shuttle Discovery lift off from our backyard, 
and I came dangerously close to neglecting my beautiful new plants (I was going to take pictures, but instead, I used the time it would have taken to take the pictures to actually water them this time. Oh and before I forget, Happy First Day of Spring, everyone!!) And I performed all of my scheduled triathlon workouts ("the fly" was out in full force) and I ended the winter softball season with two flyouts (better luck next time!). Oh, and he's just shy of 16-months old, but you can just call him "Business Giver." Because the little one has hit several developmental milestones recently that I thought would best be described in a monologue.
So, in closing, I leave you with what can only be called a fictional work, entitled:
Hello, Brother. Remember me?
Your little brother? The punished, the tortured, the victim, the baby? The one you hit, knocked down, pushed over, ran over with your motorcycle, car and train, bit, slapped, kicked, poked and punched?
Yeah, him. Well guess what? I've got one word on my mind and it's this: revenge.
Because sometime over the last week or two I found my voice and doggone it, I'm using it!
Sure, I'm short. Sure, I am still bald. And sure I speak only a few words that the human ear can recognize. Like "Peesh" (please), "Gank Goo" (thank you), "Ay-uh" (princess leia), "Kee Ka" (kitty cat), "I Loo" (I love you) "Num Num" (yummy) and the normal baby rubbish like "Mama" and "Dada"...
And sure, I look all cutesy when I do things like sit around in my diaper wearing your fireman hat.
But don't let my baby cuteness fool you. Like it fooled the lady at Panera Bread who saw me grab two fistfuls of your hair with my tiny angry hands and refuse to let go. I heard her; She told you I didn't mean it. But we all know better.
This baby facade I got goin' on is perfect and I'm going to ride this as long as I can. And don't think I won't.
Because I may not speak words (that you understand), but I have a voice now. And I stand over you (while you're sitting down) and I yell, "RAH RAH RAH RAH RAH RAH RAH!!!!!!" while standing 2 inches from your face. And I follow it up with some angry-looking babypointing with my tiny finger and yell some more "RAH RAH! RAH! RAH! RAH!!" in my angriest raspy babyvoice and you hear me. Finally. And you give me back that toy you just took.
Victim? I take it no more.
Now I follow you around the house yelling in what could only be described by others as baby expletives as you run off carrying my truck. And I have the slightest bit of satisfaction when I see that you now "get it". Because you turn right around and hand it back.
Oh yes, I have a voice.
And when you're sitting there silently, watching Curious George or some other pre-school drivel that mommy puts on the tv for us while she blogs, I sneak up behind you and hit you in the head with your Bob the Builder hammer. Or I stand there smiling at you and then nail you in the face with the remote.
It's payback time.
Because no one thinks I am quite capable of this. Maybe you don't even think I'm capable of this.
Oh, no. So just remember, whatever you can do, I can do now. And probably even better. Like use a fork (what was that display last night with the fistfuls of spagetti? What are you, one?!) or use a straw or put your big boots on my tiny feet or wear your backpack as I follow you out the door to school.
I will no longer be bullied. Yes, Big Brother, it's officially on!
ps. I'm coming for you!
Wednesday
Being Present
Sometimes I just feel so selfish.
I (secretly) get angry when potty training goes bad, when one of the boys pushes down the other one, when there are dishes left in the sink overnight, when the house gets messy 5 minutes after I clean it...
I mean, things really get my goat. Stupid things. Inconsequential things. My face gets hot, my head starts to hurt, and I feel the steam building like Frankenstein and the bolts want to burst free from my neck.
And sometimes they do. I completely lose it. And I yell. And maybe a time or two, I've caught msyelf throwing things. We have three cordless phone bases and yada yada yada...only two phones.
Then when all is quiet, I sit down and I think, what for? Why do I let these stupid little petty things bother me? Isn't it ridiculous? I've been thinking (again) a lot about my life as I so often do. How I should worry less and cherish more. And about how things could always be worse. But how I'm not even in a bad place, I'm actually in a wonderful place! The most wonderful place I have ever been in my life! And with each annoyance, each sarcastic remark, I'm letting it all pass by me and losing these moments forever.
I think about things like watching my little boy standing at the sliding glass door making hand prints all over it while watching the airplanes go by overhead and how it's something I want to paste in my memory forever. Because it only lasts one second. And even quicker if I am jerk enough to mutter something like, "Stop that, don't mess up the glass..." and ruin it. (Which I don't, by the way. And I'm thankful I didn't because he just smiled at me while his hands made the squeaky sounds on the glass and then ran away in that toddler sprint to go get his cup of crackers.)
And so what if there's screaming and the house sounds like complete lunacy around 5 o'clock every night because that's when the system seems to break down (like clockwork)? The kind of madness that when someone calls, they sound distracted hearing all of it in the background, forcing them to ask, "Did I catch you at a bad time?" while I respond, "Nope, these are just the sounds of my house! Go on! (Put HIM down!) Sorry. What were we talking about?"
And when it's one in the morning and one of them wakes up crying, out of nowhere, because normally they sleep through the night. I remember there was a time when I wished they both would sleep through the night, but now I know a time where I miss rocking them to sleep and cuddling with them and having a reason to watch terrible infomercials at 3 in the morning. When time seemed to stop and clocks meant nothing to anyone. Oddly, I miss that.
It's not annoying. It's my life. And it all goes so quickly that it makes tears form instantly in my eyes and makes my chest so heavy and tight to think about just how quickly it really all goes. And how selfish I am to want it all to go even quicker sometimes. How could I?? To not stop and relish each moment as a memory, each waking, wonderful moment as something to be gripped on to tightly and held close to me. How could I?!
And the dishes? If I spend the 20 minutes doing them before the kids go to bed because I hate leaving them, then I miss bath time. Where my husband sits there sudsing up the kids in his underwear (because they always splash him when he's wearing his clothes) and they sing songs that make no sense and build things and splash each other and try to drink the dirty bathwater. And who's the winner there? (Not me...)
My house isn't a complete sty. But it's not immaculate. I have three bins of laundry (at any given moment) that need folding right now. But if I sat there folding it this morning, I would have missed out on reading an entire library of Einstein books with my little boy who brought them all out to the living room to read. Every.single.one. Or missed building a "crane" with them, which was really a giant wall of blocks. (And by the way the crane was a crane first, then a castle because of the giant block on top, then a birthday cake because of the way all the single blocks looked on top of the building.)
And then everything inevitably ends up scattered all over the house, the blocks and the books, everywhere. And at one point, I remember thinking, "No one needs this many toys." And almost being annoyed. But why?
Why!
My house shows signs of "family" in it. It's not a model home. It's not four stark white walls with glass tables and furniture with the plastic on it. My walls are painted pretty colors, but they're chipped where the cars have crashed into them a million times (and where I bumped it with the vaccuum...) My couch has crumbled Goldfish in the cushions and a few stains where the sippy cups that aren't supposed to leak, leaked. My floors are constantly covered in crumbs and macaroni despite constant sweeping and mopping, and the bathroom floor, the latest victim of my toddler's accident, needs cleaning. Again.
I'm not going to wish I had someone else's home, because that would be like wishing I had someone else's life. And I happen to like mine. Very much. I realize that life, my life, anyone's life, is just too short to waste on the small things. That getting angry about them really just makes me lose sight of the bigger things. And who can afford to do that? I like my life. Chipped paint, dirty floors, unfinished projects and all.
So if I could just bookmark this piece of very valuable piece of information to read over and over again when I forget as I seem to so often do... No, wait! I have a brilliant idea! I'll print it out, then put it in a little glass box on the wall with the words, "In Emergency, Break Glass!"
Then, it's like killing two birds with one stone! The next time I get mad, not only do I get to break something, I get a zen moment inside! Brilliant!
Then again, I'll have to clean that up. And glass really is quite dangerous for little feet. So nevermind. I'll just bookmark. It's safer for everyone. And in the meantime, I'll just try as much as I can to stop the inner madness for Pete's sake. And be present.
Thursday
Skeletons! Skeletons! Everywhere!
I am busting.
Someone at my old high school put together a web site that allows you (for free) to log in and create a page. The news of this seems to be getting around my graduating class quickly because I found out about it, logged on and bam! Everyone, and I mean everyone I used to hang out with in high school is on there. And they have been for weeks!
I swear, it is 15 years later and it is like not a day has passed.
Which is both good and bad.
There are different forums on there where you can let out your secrets of old, like your old crushes and your "indiscretions". And there's a story in there about little old me.
Apparently, a guy I had gone to church with, whose mother was my CCD teacher, who I sat in the back of my math class with and joked around with -- apparently he got detention in his senior year and, as he remembers it, it was because of me!
Me!
Me?
Nahhhh!
Now, you have to know that this kid, and most of the kids in my class including me, were pretty straight and narrow. So detention for them would have been a pretty big deal (especially because they were on the football team.)
And so it must be true that it still bothers him enough that he posted about it on the site. Or at least it is a memory that is burned in his brain! Even though he didn't name names. Which was nice of him.
The whole story just baffles me. I guess he and some guys were goofing around in an empty classroom next to the one we were filming a news story in (yes I was a newsgeek back then). And we got the audio of them goofing off on tape. He remembers me being the one who identified them-- but honestly?
I can't even imagine a world or a universe in which I would do that!
(BECAUSE -- I had the hugest crush on him. That all my friends knew about -- and still even joke about to this day!) So would I do that?
I wish I would or could remember even one iota about that day. But I don't. And I feel bad.
Man I wish I had that tape!
I know what you're thinking. And yes, this is the worst of the "bad stuff" we did in high school. In fact, I do remember hearing after graduation about some *gasp* partying but I had no idea about it whatsoever while I was actually in high school. My cousin once called me a goody-goody and I guess she was right. But you would be too if you had my mom! I had an "angel" on one shoulder warning me not to do it, and my mom's face on the other shoulder yelling, "That's right!Don't you dare!"
Anyway. So, as if blogging weren't addicting enough, now I am on this high school web site catching up on all the news, gossip and stories of all my former classmates. Including the boy who was my very first real boyfriend in the 7th grade and who wrote my name in the concrete on his street (I wonder if it's still there?) Who is now a school principal!?
I didn't go to my 10 year reunion. I was living in New York and couldn't travel home for it at the time (I can't remember why -- but I remember thinking I would be embarrassed if I went because I gained weight, but what a laugh that is now! I was at least two sizes smaller than I am now! Oh if I could just turn back the clock...)
In sum, I don't know whether to log on to the site feverishly to find out more or shut the computer down and never come back! I wonder what other stories are out there..
Tuesday
Around the House
I, yes I, am at a loss for words today. Not for any reason. I'm just tired or something. So I was sorting through my photos of my crazy house. I like it here. So this is life in the crazy house. Just me and my three boys and two cats.
And about to have his tail handed to him.
And the other boy with his "happy" face on.
And the other boy, with his crazy-goggle-face on.
And of course, Superbaby. Have I mentioned he's crawling? Not the hands and knees kind. More like a Marine-in-the-mud-type of crawl. He gets places. It's impressive.Saturday
Crisp White Hankie
I can find inspiration in a mudpuddle. Seriously.
Or at least in the soda aisle of the supermarket.
You know how they hang random items in the aisle that don't really go with the rest of the stuff in the aisle, it's just a random product? Like catfood lids in the cereal section, on its own hangy thingy? When I was grocery shopping, there I saw hanging off one of the shelves, was a bunch of white "crisp folded hankerchiefs" nicely folded as the label said, in a plastic package of three.
It made me miss my grandfather so much I became dazed and confused and lost my train of thought, making a trip that should have taken a half an hour, an hour. I was weaving around the aisles with my cart, completely blank.
I've been missing him so much lately. I don't know what it is, but so much I see reminds me of him. He had multiple sclerosis. He was in crutches when he was my age, and soon after, a wheelchair. He always carried around a cloth hankerchief and when he would blow his nose, he would honk. He would also reach up there with an entire finger with his hankie wrapped around it but he would do it as a joke and make faces and show us the contents of the used hankie and we would all yell "Ewwwww!"
Gosh, he was such a clown. Later on in his life, he lived in a nursing home because he needed 24 hour care and he gave all the nurses a hard time. In a good way. He'd tease the heck out of them and they all loved him. He was in so much pain so much of the time, but he never failed to make us laugh until it hurt.
He would use the word, "beast." As in, "You beast!" And it used to crack me up and I am laughing with teary eyes thinking about that as I write it.
Beast. Who uses that word?
He would open his mouth and let his dentures fall halfway out of his mouth and show us his gums. He loved his music so much, he used to make tapes all the time of his favorites. And he got a kick out of Peter Sellers, especially the movie "The Party" where he sat down on the toilet and pulled the toiletpaper and it just unraveled and unraveled and unraveled.
I guess what started me thinking of him was how he owned a race car and I thought my two-year-old son would just be beside himself if he knew that. It was a #6 midget racecar and we would go watch it race in Riverhead, New York and eat french fries with vinegar and the ride out there and back my cousin and I would sit all the way in the back of the station wagon facing the cars behind us and make faces at them. I have a picture of the car and I want to blow it up and frame it and put it in my son's room, which is all cars. I must remember to do that.
He loved his dogs. When he lived in New York, he had a white poodle named Whitey (because why not) and a blind Pekinese named Poo and he always said they both had terrible "halitosis". He took my cousin and I to the store one time when we were ten and bought us purses, stationary, pens, and $40 worth of candy. He'd take us on rides on his motorized wheelchair all the way down to the block and back and my cousin and I would ride up and down on his wheelchair lift at his house for hours. Then he'd buy us ice cream from the ice cream man (chocolate eclairs) and we'd run around outside his house and catch fireflies. He used to be an ice cream man himself, my mom told me, but his business had to fold because he kept giving away free ice cream.
He was one of the most loving men I've ever known and you know I have a few of those in my life. But he was infectious. He knew everyone and everyone loved him. He passed just before my wedding. I think he knew it because he made a comment one day at dinner that I'll keep to myself. But I think he was tired.
I wish I visited him more often, but I think he knows that because I think about him all the time and talk to him. Once I thought I saw him in his wheelchair and when I turned around he was gone. I am sure my mind was playing tricks on me and that a shadow fell in such a way, but I think he is still around us, secretly calling me a "beast" and flashing his dentures around and digging in his nose with his white hankie.
