Mother's Blues

Three years ago, the famiglia de Ravioli really struggled.
We threw our hands up in the air.
We huffed and puffed.
We shook our heads in resignation.
We wondered What in the hell is going on? What did we do wrong? What can we do now?

Connor was struggling and as a result we were struggling too.
I knew before I knew that this was beyond us and we'd have to get help.
And we did.
And things were good.

He finished kindergarten without major incident.
And he is barely receiving any "extra" help or services.

We've seen some old behaviors/issues peak out of old, long forgotten places.

And we've seen some new things come up.

The summer has been rough.

And now he's heading to 1st grade.
Where he'll be expected to sit at a desk.
I well up with tears and feel a sneaking claw of panic grip my throat and chest.

Because we have to start over with a new teacher.
She has to figure out Connor.
He's a complicated fellow.
And yet at the same time, so easy to figure out.
Which makes it even more complex and complicated in the difficult simplicity of his personality.

I panic because a lot of his own family and friends don't understand him.
Do not understand that his lack of physical/eye contact isn't a personal affront.
They don't understand how full his mind is. And how when it gets too full he bursts at the seams.

They don't understand that his desire to hide when entering a new social situation is not
because he doesn't want to see them, it's because his body processes commotion and change
much differently than the rest of us.

My heart still breaks for the kid, my kid, our kid
that many people will not get to know.
Because they leave his aloofness at the door and handle him at arm's length.
Simply because they just
don't understand or try to.
Or pretend to.
But we see the difference between true, genuine love and acceptance
and the feigned.
Parents can tell the difference.
And so can the kids.
He can tell.

And I just want to scream and cry and thrash on the floor and kick people in the shins
because it's just so unfair and damned frustrating.

Fear

I thought I knew what it was.
I mean, what it really was.
Looking back, I see that I was a fool and that I had very little understanding of the true meaning of the word.
I was a fool to think that the pounding in my chest and the wide-eyed, deer-in-head-lights look equaled fear.
I thought that the whole numb feeling in my limbs was a sign that I was truly afraid.
Afraid, for instance, to be alone in the dark, afraid of what it meant to have a step-parent, afraid of a sub-standard test grade and what consequences were in store when I would come home from school, afraid of being found out.
At the time, it seemed legitimate.
Now I know better.

Something I read brought the visuals back to me.
Reminded me of my fear of losing him - losing either one of them.
It once was a distant thought. Just out of my reach. Something I never thought I'd have to face.
But the fact that one day, he came so close to being gone, rocks me to my core.
The words I read - words belonging to someone else - brought back the images I thought I had somehow managed to forget.
How naive and egotistical of me to think that?
How could I possibly forget?

How could I, his mother, forget that I turned my back, or that I was that stupid, that I would take such a chance with something so precious?

Why on Earth would I think, for a second, that I would be able to block out of my mind the look on his face - the fear and desperation in his eyes?
Or worse yet - what he was probably thinking, during those water-filled moments.
Things like Why is it taking so long? When will she notice that I am submerged and come over and get me?
I imagine that those moments must have felt like an eternity to him.

Is that part of our mother-son bond now?
The fact that we both now know what fear really means?
If so, it is not a glowing testament on my part, as a mother.

I wonder if that is the day my creativity, my words, got left at the side of the pool?
Because looking back, I haven't been the same since that day.
I even feel silly saying that, because I - we - were blessed with a happy ending.
But the guilt, the images, the fear just won't go away.

Writing about this makes me feel guilty.
Self-absorbed
and even throw in a dash of
self-pity.

I feel like writing it out like this, makes it sound as if it is all about me, how I feel, how I can't shake the images that repeat themselves in my mind's eye. How terrified they make me feel. Even now that it has been almost 8 months ago...It's a vicious mental cycle I am in.
Shouldn't it be about him?

I guess I just want him to know I'm better than that horrific moment in our history.
I guess I just want to know I'm better than that horrific moment in our history.

Of Kindred Spirits and Hunting Mice

I have a new ally in Beck.
Her story of finding a mouse carcass sent me into sympathy gagging.

I absolutely, hands-down, with out a doubt would love to rid the world of all mice.
That may sound horrible of me.
But they really are about the nasty of all nasty beasts.
They just plain old skeeve (spelling? anyone?) me out.


I have called Rav home in the middle of his work day because I saw a mouse who thought himself so bold as to go prancing through my diningroom in the middle of the day.
The set on this guy (the mouse), I'll tell ya.
To think it is OK to just go sauntering through my diningroom like that.

One evening, I fell asleep on the sofa (Rav was upstairs). When I woke up to go to bed, a mouse decides to play chicken and run right out in front of me.
I hauled ass back to the sofa and had Rav come downstairs and give me a piggy-back ride across the livingroom floor and over to the steps.


Why am I telling you about all of this?
Well, the other night in soc. class, we got to talking about germs. And how some people are extreme (though they might not think so) about hand-washing and touching things.

The instructor said she just does not think about germs the way that a germaphobe does.

And I agree. I mean, I am mindful to wash my hands. I try to hover over public toilets, I use my foot to flush public toilets. But I'm not completely paranoid in public places.

And we began a discussion about how everyone has their thing.


I couldn't think of what my thing was.
Because I'm not a freaky-deaky person.
I'm above obsession.
I have it all together.
Ha!


Slowly it came to me that my thing is mice.
When the weather starts getting colder, I have a keen sense of the almost inaudible
scratch, scratch, scratch in the walls. If I hear the slightest sound of a teeny, tiny squeak I become alert.
Hyper-alert.

My pupils dilate. My breathing becomes very slow and quiet. I sit very still. I turn in the direction of the sound.
When I hear it again, I know the game is on.


I run around the house stuffing steel wool into every little nook and cranny.
I make sure every available electrical outlet has those sonic mice keeper-awayer things.
I put the poison pellets under appliance.
I hunt them. I can tell the paths that they are travelling. I am keen to their habits.
And it really does become this thing that just takes up my spare thoughts.


It occurred to me the other day just how insane I am about keeping these things out of homes.
We were at my mom's house getting ready to leave.
As I was standing by the door, I happened to look down at the baseboard trim.
I said to my mom, Looks like you've got some mice.
She said Oh, no! Why? How do you know?
I said, See down here at the trim? This little pile of wood and paint dust? They are running behind the baseboard trim and are digging out a nest or whatever.
She was like Oh, I thought it might have been from ants.
Could be. I said. But it looks more like mice to me.


What do you think?
A job in pest control awaits?


Or just plain old insanity?

Dignity In The Diner

Lately I've been thinking a lot about growing old and maintaining dignity.
I've been thinking about how I envision myself still vibrant and active when I hit my elder years.
I don't know if that is what will happen.
But that's what I hope for myself.

I've seen many an elderly person turn into a bitter shell of the young people they once were.
I listen to the lonely in their voice and think I'd probably sound just as scared and bitter when faced with this kind of lonely and/or this kind of pain on a daily basis. Who could stand to live with such physical pain?
Not to mention, feeling worthless and left behind.

I think each gender struggles with that worthless feeling, but in different aspects.
Males feel it after a life spent working and providing and no longer being able to do so.
And females feel it after a life spent working and caretaking and no longer feeling needed and valuable.

And of course growing old with dignity, I'm mindful of how our bodies and our minds can turn on us on a dime and we have no control over that either.
And again, just how scary that must be.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

On Saturday, we rolled out of bed early, threw on some clothes and took the kids to our favorite diner for breakfast.
And can I quickly just tell you how much I adore going out to breakfast on a weekend morning?
I LOVE it. I love sitting down to a cup of coffee made by someone else and being waited on.
The anticipation of the meal.....
Anyway...we all love this diner.

We walk in and there is a crowd by the door waiting to be seated.
Gracie is hanging out in my arms "being shy".
And Connor is dancing around the register counter waiting to pick out his lollipop (don't ask) with Rav.

Gracie and I head off to one side as the door/register/waiting area are very close together and we are trying to leave room for people to walk through.
And as we're standing there I look over to my right (where there is an alcove of sorts with about 6 booths and a narrow walkway to get to those booths) and there is an elderly gentleman with a walker. He is trying to make his way to his table and gets stopped by a fellow female patron who knows him. He apparently has been battling a cold and has stopped to ask him how he's feeling and just generally speak to him.
As they are speaking a waitress and a female buser (is it with 2 s's?) are waiting to get by.
The waitress gets huffy and walks away.
And the buser tries to scoot past and can't.
So she waits.
Another female buser walks up to her and they begin speaking in their native language and are most obviously talking about this gentleman.
The waitress then walks back and sees he is now making his way back to his booth, very slowly, but is making his way nonetheless.
And as she is standing behind him, she is shaking her head and muttering nastily under her breath.
The poor fellow gets the wheel to his walker stuck, which hinders his forward motion, and her agitation grows.
(Mind you, this woman - the waitress - is middle-aged. Probably in her late 50's).

I was so taken aback by such passively cruel behavior.
Never once did she offer to help him.
Never once did she try to move him along by simply talking to him and escorting him to his table.
And he didn't even know the subtle "cruelty" that was being pushed in his direction.
Which is probably for the best.
But I saw it.
And it bothered me.
And I did nothing.

I worry about elders and those incapable of caring for themselves being subjected to cruelty in facilities - let's face it, it happens - it's happening in my home state right now. Today.
And fret over what is being done to these people or not done.
And I can't do anything about it.
I'm one person who can't save the world.

But here I was in a public place and saw such a disgusting display of intolerance.
And I chose to do nothing.
Because I was waiting in line with my family to get served a $5.00 breakfast.
And I chose to not act.

This got me thinking about all of the times we choose not to act over things we think are "little" or "benign". And how they really add up.

We might not see how one action or inaction effects the other, but they do.

I again do my infamous projecting and wonder if I would want someone to stand up for me or help out if that were me or Rav in that restaurant.
And of course, the answer is yes.
Those of us who can, need to rally for those who can't for themselves.

Little kindnesses.
Little kindnesses.
Growing older and growing period, with dignity.

I'm still working on it.

First Day Jitters

Today is my first day at the new job.
Two weeks of training. And then, the real thing.
I'm working myself up to that point.
Right now, I'm just trying to get through today.

The past 3-4 years is flashing in front and behind me.
Endless questions.
And deep hope that I did the best I could do with the time that I had at home with my babies.

Yes, I know I did a lot.
I fear that it wasn't enough.
And now it's gone.

I hate that times are how they are and I'm forced, basically, to do this.
It's not a matter of choice.
It is have to.

I'm nervous and scared.
I'm surprised at myself and the fact that I slept last night & have been able to eat breakfast.
Usually those are the first two things that go when I'm nervous.
Though, I had a dream I was married to Christopher (Micheal Imperioli) from The Sopranos, and that while I was in the house with Gracie, the family took a hit out on him.
They spared us though.

Well, wish me luck.

I miss the kids already.

infinite love + unrelenting guilt = a mother

Lately, I've been grappling with the guilt and questions that come with being a Momma.
A momma who is struggling to hold herself & her family up in the middle of the biggest transition.
And I know other Momma's out there are facing similar things.

That guilt that creeps in.
The guilt that is the gift that keeps on giving when you become a Momma.
As endless the love is that we have for our children
so is the guilt.
The love for them is as vast as the sky. There is no beginning. There is no end. It simply is.
And unfortunately that guilt can be just as endless. It can be the giant rain cloud that covers up the beautiful blue sky. And we have to learn to navigate around it.
Not always an easy task.

We are faced with this tremendously awe-inspiring task of caring for a totally dependent individual.
A constant vigil.
It never ends.
In fact, it happens so quickly and fiercely that you can't even see the point at which it started.
There is no definitive moment.

Some may say that this vigil, the watch guard post - and the guilt - begins upon finding out you are now carrying this new life within.
Some may say that it occurs when you've decided natural childbirth is archaic and the decision to opt out for a relatively pain-free delivery. And that is a relative term, mind you. Pain free delivery. Yeah, uh-huh, sure.
Some say that it begins the moment that new life is physically in your arms.

But it happens. And again, the process is so swift, so thorough that it really is hard to determine when it happens. But it does.

So as new mothers - or just mothers - we take on this monumental task of constant caring, nurturing, rearing, guiding, loving, empathizing, hurting, pining. You name it, we are i-n-ging it. But we're happy to do it. It's the greatest of works. The fruits of constant tending and work that cannot be compared to anything else.

The power we possess so raw, so carnal. The ability to alert or cloudy-eyed cubs of our presence by just walking in the room - because of our scent.
The power to soothe with the merest of hums in tiny, sweet ears.
The power to comfort and protect with the warmness of our breast and arms, wrapping our cubs in the thickest of fortresses.

But with that power comes awesome responsibility.
And with that responsibility comes questions, swift looks back and hoping that it went well.
We wonder quietly, if we did any damage on those days where we were weary from an all-nighter and operated on auto-pilot.
We wonder if those days where we are frazzled beyond oblivion when all we can do is bleat-bleat answers - not ever really hearing the questions. And realize as head hits pillow that they are moments that are forever lost.

But we try.
We work our hearts and fingers to nubs.
We never fully take credit for the wonders that we are responsible for.
Instead, we second-guess.
We think that it's never enough.
We think it's all wrong. We're doing it all wrong.
And certainly, it's never story-book.
But considering what we're up against, we're pretty damned good at it.

If we asked our kids who were the best mommies in the whole-wide-world, what do we think the answer would be?
And true, some day they may question our abilities, our actions, our intentions, or how well we did.
But in time, they do come around and see just how hard we tried.
How hard we did.
How much we loved
and still love.

Mistakes will be made.
Yes.
Absolutely no doubt.

But in between the mistakes, and the guilt, the brand new cub and the adult they grow up to be is the best of us. The best of us that we give to them. And that questioning and the guilt shows just how seriously we take this job. We want to do it just right.
And if we didn't question, if we didn't care - we wouldn't wear our guilt and worry like the hottest new skirt or shoes for all to see.

In that time -the in betweens - are the moments that rest on sleepy eyelashes, toddler giggles, and chubby-armed hugs, the dirty fingerprints on everything, the countless buttercups handed over to us, the campy arts and crafts, the pb&j kisses. Those moments are just for us.
And we work so hard for them. We don't ask for them. They are handed over so lovingly, so generously.

The guilt is an occupational hazard, for sure.
It's there to stay.
But.
They'll be OK.
And so will we. I think.
Yeah.
So will we.

Wrestling and Words

talking on the phone with the Administrative Assistant who is setting up the arrangements for the new employee orientation, questions were asked. Questions like:

when will we find out exactly what our schedule will be?
what is the attire for training? is there a "uniform" to be worn?

The answer to the 2nd question was: the dress is business-casual for training, but there are days where you will be permitted to wear jeans and there will be days you need to come in sweats. they'll let you know. the days you have to wear sweats are the days where you will be rolling around on the floor doing take-downs.

A Cheshire-cat-grin spread across her face upon hearing "take downs". Oh, she was familiar with them. She has seen her husband do quiet a few of them. She's even attempted a few take-downs during their mock wrestling lessons on the livingroom floor.

The call ended and she shared the information with him.

She feigned worry. i can't do this shit. really. i can't.

he beamed. yes, you can. i'm an all-state wrestler, remember? and you've taken me down plenty of times when we were wrestling. you'll be great. you'll do fine. you'll tear it up. just remember, if you're the best in the class you'll probably end up with the better schedule. and i know you'll be the best in the class. you've got it going on. you're awesome.

yeah. she said.
i know it's true. i just feels good to hear it sometimes.

he throws his head back in laughter. he takes her in his strong arms and kisses her on top of her head. he pulls back and looks deep within her eyes, with a sparkle in his and says

and that is why i love you.

The Girl With The Campfire Hair

This past weekend, we went on a family camping trip. Which means, our little family met up with Rav's family (his parents, their dogs, two of his brothers, and our nieces and nephew).

To be perfectly honest, I was not looking forward to a 5 hour car ride and camping with our two kids. I was not looking forward to this trip. But it was the only time we could get away & I thought the break might be nice.

I packed and baked goodies and made chicken salad with a heavy, heavy mind.
In fact, there was a breakdown thrown in for good measure.
A fit of crying, and questioning, and the throwing of hands up in the air.
All the while, Rav let me do it. He watched, he sat quietly, he let me air my crazies out.
And as always, he remained cool. Perfectly calm.
He knows how to ride out storms like a pro.

Once I purged my mental toxins, I felt a little better.
And upon piling in the car, I was even feeling happy.

The set-up of our Ravioli tent city went pretty smoothly considering there were 2 dogs, 4 kids under the age of 6 and one 8 month old.

The evening met with much throwing back of bottled adult beverages, a tidy campfire, and Rav & his brother playing guitar and singing.
And I just sat quietly.
Willing myself to shoo away anxious thoughts.
I talked to all of the kids as much as I could.
I sang to some of the songs as much as I could.
Because with stillness comes the dread, the fear, the questions, the doubt.

Saturday met us with plans to hit a place in town called The Gorge.
Connor headed to Corning Glass with my one brother-in-law and his daughter (my niece).
That left Rav, Gracie & I to head to The Gorge with my other brother-in-law, my sister-in-law, and my other niece and my little baby nephew.
The Gorge was breathtaking.
And the place where I felt life melt away - just a little.
For there were views like this:

Gracie on the left. Cousin royal T. Ravioli on the right.

And this:

This one (above) is one of my favorite pictures that we took at The Gorge. The views were mind blowing.

The girls did such a great job at The Gorge. I was so proud. They did a 2 mile hike with rarely a peep or complaint. Cousin royal T. liked to be carried and Gracie just wanted to stop and look at the water. That was the only time you heard them complain. They took it all in and just had a blast. You could see between them a bond begin to form. A sisterly companionship that was truly spectacular to watch. And you can see it bloom in that first picture I posted of the two of them at The Gorge.

At one point during the hike, I had picked Gracie up and was carrying her. I leaned in and made the most of the moment - being there in this beautiful place with her - and I kissed her sun-kissed head. And as I did, I inhaled. And her hair smelled like campfire. She smelled like home. She smelled so beautiful. I know that I will never forget that moment with her as long as I live. The moment was quick. It was undetectable, really. No one knew. It wasn't marked by fireworks, squeals of delight, or monumental applause. It was for me and her. Though she doesn't even know it happened. I felt renewed there. My daughter who gives me so much - and she doesn't even know she does it.

It may sound cliche and hokey. But it was then that I felt peaceful. It was then that I felt back at center and back to myself. Surrounded by beautiful, natural cliffs, running spring water, and my girl.

My sweet girl with the campfire hair.

There's just one thing missing in this picture. I wish Connor had been there.

I'm A Doubting Tabba

Today I have an interview for a full-time job as a youth rehab. counselor at our state's juvenile detention center.
I'm nervous as all get out.
I haven't done this in years.

I know that, in a few short hours, I'll be picking apart my "look", my lack of skills (imagined or not), my lack of knowledge (imagined or not), and my lack of ability (imagined or not).

If they ask me about how many loads of laundry can be done in a day, I will dazzle them with my knowledge.
If they ask me how to make homemade soups or pasta sauce, I'd be offered a position of great import.
If they were to ask me how many times a day Dora is aired on Nick, Nickjr., or Noggin, I'll ace it. I can dazzle them with my knowledge of spanish learned from watching said Dora episodes.
If they were to ask me to sing jingles from LazyTown, Dora, Diego, WonderPets, Backyardigans, or Ben10.....I'm the girl for the job!
If they were to ask me what kind of ointment to use on diaper rash, I'd go on and on about not using any. To clean with water and apply Vaseline. Surely, their eyes would swim at my confidence and knowledge in all things related to the areas where bodily fluids are expelled.

As you can see, I'm doubting myself.
In my knowledge of things outside of the home.

Please wish me luck.
I think I'm going to need it.

oh, me of little faith...

Mind Games

Looking back, I should have known.
Because I've said before that there are times that I just "know" things.
And just about all week, I had this pit of doom in my stomach.
I knew something wasn't right.
I thought it was a million different things: the stress of that hamster-on-a-wheel feeling and being so damned sick of it.
I even went so far as to assign that feeling to what I detected as "problems" between Rav & I.

Looking back, I had deja vu about three times last week.
Surely that is a sign of something.
For, it's one thing to have deja vu once.
But three times in a week is excessive.

Looking back, there was an instance when they were standing next to the pool that I thought, This isn't a good idea today.
But then I just chalked it up to me just being a stick-in-the-mud.

All I can seem to do is look back. And then look forward.
Because the in-between is too scary to look at.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I woke up at 5:00 a.m. Saturday morning. An hour that is not fit for man or beast.
Instead, it's an hour that found me waking up from a most horrible dream.
A dream that every mother fears to dream.
A dream that consists of me standing on the edge of a pool.
I look down to see Connor completely submerged in the deep end of the pool.
And upon further inspection, Connor is looking up at me from the abyss of the deep end, pleading with me from beneath the surface, with eyes the size of saucers. There is a wild in his eyes I've never seen.
As I take in the look on his face and try to make sense of what I'm seeing, I see Connor's mouth open wide like a whale feeding on krill.
I try to move and I can't.
Something is keeping me from saving my child.
And in this dream everything is dark.
It's almost like looking through a peep hole.
All I can see is my child in the pool. Trying desperately to breathe.
And I am standing next to the pool unable to move.
I wake up, thankfully. Feeling sea sick from such a hellish dream. Relieved from the knowing. The knowing that he is upstairs in his bed. Dreaming of Star Wars characters, Legos, and the Solar System.

And while I realize that it was a dream and I exhale with relief.

Then I remember.
I remember that part of that dream actually happened.

And the more I digest it. The more I see the image in my mind, the bigger it all seems.
And the harder it becomes to wrap my mind around it.

Mind Trap

I don't know how to share what happened.
Because the outcome could have been so much worse.

I don't know how to share what happened because
I feel like I'm exploiting my son, my feelings.

I don't know how to share what happened when
it so desperately needs to be put out there. When something takes up every corner of my mind, the feelings, thoughts, and emotions so raw, it makes it even more difficult for me to put into words. You think it would be the exact opposite.
My mind becomes such a trap sometimes.

I don't know how to share what happened because
I feel like it would have to be broken down into at least three posts.
The before.
The during.
The after.
And again, with feeling like I'm exploiting something - namely my son.

I don't know how to share what happened because
I don't want to disturb anyone with my words, my description of events.

But then.
Something inside says that I need to acknowledge each and every emotion that I'm having.
Avoidance is not the answer here.

Maybe this post is just Step 1.

Not Yet Time To Fly

Weighty things have been on my mind.

I find myself worrying about William on particularly steamy evenings.

I find myself wondering if my new girlfriend will show up on my doorstep again. Though I know she must be telling her coworkers that this is a friendly neighborhood, because I've seen quite a few in here lately, bumming rides, work, money, telephone calls.

I find myself worrying about funds and the stress of that worrying making it's mark on my face. To the extent where I don't even recognize it anymore. The lines, the deep crease in my brow from furrowing.

The growing number of people murdered in the city of Philadelphia.

The list grows.

It's the other things, though, that hit you right between the eyeballs like a lawn dart you did not see coming.

The things that sneak up on you while you're trying to pick up the pieces of your broken blog - that you inadvertantly dismembered. Hours spent huddling around the glowing box putting the pieces back in place. The amount of time that you realize you've spent making this thing what it is. What it was.

Rav comes downstairs and stands next to me. He recalls what transpired between himself and Connor just a mere seconds before. Because I ask him why Connor was crying like that. That being unusually sincere crying. Rav tells me that Connor asked him what would happen when I'm older - when I'm a grown up?

Rav tells him When you're a grown up, you'll go and live in your own house, doing grown up things.

At this, Connor becomes distraught. And he begins to sob. But then I won't remember you!!

Rav assures him that he will remember us. That we'll still see him.

At this, Connor calms down a bit.

And Rav tells me that Connor wanted to talk to me for a minute.

But I didn't hear that.

Because I was so engrossed in getting my blog put back together.

From upstairs, I hear my son wail. More than just a few minutes have passed since this conversation between my first-born and my husband. I look over at Rav and say in an irked tone What is he crying for???

Rav says He wanted to talk to you for a minute. I told you that.

And as I bound up the stairs, I feel oh-so small.

I sit on Connor's bed. I take him in my arms. He is now getting sweaty from crying so hard. I ask him to please tell me what's wrong.

He says as he sobs I don't want to be a grown up. I don't want to move away from you and Daddy. I want to stay here.

I tell him that You'll be with us for a looong time. You won't be a grown up for a very long time. That you'll stay with us until you're a grown up.

This does not soothe. And thinking about it after I said it, it's really not comforting news at all.

It's quite lame, actually.

He looks at me with those dark chocolate eyes and says, still sobbing But I don't want to leave. I want to stay here with you and Daddy.

Then the best I can come up with is Connor, you can stay with us as long as you want. Until you are ready to leave. You don't have to go anywhere. No one is leaving. Gracie isn't leaving, you're not leaving, I'm not leaving, Daddy's not leaving. We will all be together. And you don't have to go anywhere until you are ready to.

In this, I have flashes of my 40 year-old son taking that piece of information to heart and thinking of it warmly as he settles in bed under Rav's & my roof.

Purely for amusement purposes on my part - in my head....to ease the tension.

The tension of having realized just why you are here right now. What your purpose is right now.

The tension of knowing you are the whole world to someone right now. The noose that we try to avoid for much of our late teen to early adult lives. Then becomes something we couldn't bear to live without.

The tension of being taken down a notch. Of wanting to do anything to help my son not feel any sense of being left to his own devices for survival, well-being, and security.

The tension of knowing that my son, at 4 and 1/2, is just as anxiety-ridden as I am.

He worries of weighty things.

The tension of wondering if I'll ever get this right. At times, I feel so good at it. Being a mom. And other times...

like when I'm so engrossed in my blog....

that I don't hear my husband....

telling me my son needs me....

That heady feeling of being a good mom bursts like a balloon. The loud pop!

It hurdles you back into reality so suddenly.

He is mine for a reason. And I am his for a reason.

And I do the best I can with this fragile boy that we have to mold into a man.

A man who I know will carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.

A man who I know will probably be insanely loyal.

A man that can be proud of his mom.

Even when she can't always hear him.

But feels his every move, his every breath, his every tear, his every smile

With every fiber of her being.

Reeling

The other night, Rav & I watched that movie, Jesus Camp.
Wow.
Whoa.
Holy Moses, Batman. That's scary, scary stuff.

In fact, I'm reeling from it. We both went into this knowing that we'd have issues with it. And quite frankly, we were expecting to have to shut it off 1/4 of the way through it.
We were strong.
And we watched the whole freaky thing.

There are simply not enough words to describe the fear and astonishment upon watching this.
Despite the fact that I have a close family member who belongs to that branch of faith.

I don't want to risk offending anyone who may (or may not) be reading this.
And I certainly don't want to give anyone the impression that I denounce religion all-together.
I guess I shouldn't really care what anybody thinks. At least, that's what people tell me. But the thing is, I do.
Really the fact of the matter is, I'm so scared by this documentary that it has temporarily paralyzed my mind. Rather, my ability to speak. Because my mind races with several hundred thoughts, but I just can't find a way to get them out.

All I know is this: Based on what I saw from this thing, this documentary.....Global Warming is the last thing we should be worried about (though it is something that I feel is of utmost importance, so for something to bump that is pretty big). There is a large - very large group of people out there that are doing here to our children what we claim to be defending ourselves and the world against in other countries. And they are hell (or heaven, not sure after seeing this) bent on spreading a pretty un-Christian message, of recruiting children pretty damn early, and brainwashing a huge amount of people.
We are and will be forced to fight an irrational, self-righteous, and tenacious soon-to-be enemy within. I shouldn't use the word enemy, because that makes it sound like War.

We've been on a kick of watching documentaries.
Supersize Me freaked me out a bit.
Fahrenheit 9/11 got me thinking.
Born Into Brothels made me want to fly to India and rescue children in droves.

But this. This just has taken hold and won't let go. This group, this movement has grown to numbers I had no idea, so quickly, so silently - almost undetected. And maybe it's me with my head in the sand. I knew it was out there, as I've said someone close to me is in it.
I don't know how this nation can do a massive deprogramming.
I just don't how we could find a way to stop this thing.

Baby Mine

When I was very pregnant with Connor, I remember being startled awake by a bad dream. (I had many a bad dream when I was pregnant). I remember waking up to the feeling of being totally unsafe. And that my unborn baby was unsafe. I remember rubbing my big, swollen belly as I was coming down from the adrenaline high of the nightmare. And fear, dread, worry, anxiety, and reality fell upon me like a concrete rain.

This world is a harsh, cold, scary place sometimes.
And as much as I wanted to meet my baby and see his precious, innocent, little face...
I knew how safe he was
nestled all snug and cramped in my den de utero.
I wanted him to stay in. Where I could keep him safe forever.
Such was my intense desire to protect my unborn cub.

Obviously, I can't fight natural processes and biology.
He came to us in a flurry.
In all of his pink, wrinkled, wide-eyed glory.
And my fears were forgotten.
Momentarily.

But mostly I delighted in my baby boy.
We played.
We laughed.
We, scratch that, I sang.
We toddled.
We messed about.
His entire mode of entertainment was wrapped up in mommy and daddy.
Yes, he made friends and joined school. Where he, very awkwardly, made his way through social interactions.
And that was all OK. It was within my safety zone.
Playdates have been highly supervised, they are somewhat within my control. I set the course, to some extent. All of Connor's friends live far away. We don't really know anyone in our neighborhood. So, it has made this whole safety thing a little easier.
I had tricked myself into thinking that I found a way to keep my baby safe, even though he's baby stepping his way through the world.

One of my favorite pictures. Gracie was only about 1 month old or so.

Sunday afternoon, reality came a-calling.
Something so innocent, a milestone I had not even thought about & was not yet prepared for came knock-knock-knocking on our door.
Our neighbor's 8 year old son, and his 6 year old stepbrother asked Connor to come out and play.
Come out and play?
What is this crazy talk you speak of, child?

I instantly perked up and thought that was so nice. I hadn't yet begun to think clearly.
Rav told the boys Connor wasn't feeling well. Maybe another day.
You nasty, white-liar, you. I first think to myself.
Rav shut the door.
We had a brief discussion about the kinds of kids they are.
And that was the end of it.

Fast forward a few hours & Connor sees the kids outside & wants to ride his bike.
OK. I tell him. But I'll stay outside with you.
Rav & Gracie join us.
Connor is doing great staying on the side walk with his tricycle.
While this miscreants have the audacity to scoot down the street on their scooters with wild abandon. Wild, I tell you. Wild.

Connor is pedaling his little heart out to keep up with his new friends. But his tricycle is no match for the speed of these scooters. (And remember..his scooter was stolen.)
**I'm not insinuating they stole it. I know they didn't. I was just saying that because Connor now has no scooter himself.**
His handle bars begin to thrash wildly, the front wheel is gnashing to and fro. He begins to veer off into the street, then NO! it veers back onto the sidewalk and crashes in our yard.
He's OK & no worse for the wear. In fact, he probably enjoyed it. He probably got a rush.

But our sidewalk is so close to the road.
Cars drive like maniacs down our street.
And remember how bad I want to protect my wee one.

I want him to have friends. I do.
I want so for him to be outside on beautiful 80 degree, sun-filled days.
I want him to ride his bike.
But the thought of something happening to him is almost more than I can bear.

I don't consider myself to be a recluse or one of those nutty people who is completely consumed by fear.
That was until the day that little boy came into my life.
And my everyday existence, while filled with many meaningful things, is now wrapped up in the caring and loving of these not one, but now two precious,little beings that I had a hand in creating.

How did something as simple as playing outside become such an ordeal?
Are mothers hiding in their homes thinking the same thing? Or are they not even aware that the time will come when kids will come knocking on your door. Requesting the presence of your child. To play. And you look out toward the immediate world...the cars, the streets. And know that your baby is growing up. Things are changing.
Or am I totally bonkers (wait, maybe you shouldn't answer that - even though I know the answer)?
I don't want to keep him from community.
Or from living life.

I want to give him strong wings to fly & soar.
But his mommy is trying so desperately to hold on.
I can almost feel what it was like to hold him on my chest and know that I would lay it all down for him.
I guess for now all I can do is hold my breath.
Hope for the best.
And watch my babies as they are just...

beginning to fly.

Push, Pull

Lately, I've been thinking about things we want to do versus things we are supposed to do.
And I mean in a grand scheme. Not in terms of we want to eat ice cream, but we're supposed to eat dark greens.

This same theme has been recurring throughout different aspects of my daily life. I heard a dear blogger friend of mine refer to what career path she would have taken if she had it to do over, it has been a recurring theme on a few TV shows I've been watching, and it has been something that I long have struggled with.

I remember feeling so panic-stricken in high school because I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. And the idea of following suit with every one else freaked me out. On many levels. The idea of locking myself into something for four years & then spend the rest of my life doing it freaked me out. I had done a work study with MBNA my senior year in high school - and corporate life scared the living piss out of me. I'm sorry, but nothing - and I mean nothing is scarier than corporate America. So, I knew that sitting behind a desk for 40 years was out of the question. I was constantly plagued with what it was I should be doing, what I wanted to do, what I was supposed to be doing (i.e. my "calling").

My grand desire - my ultimate life goal would have been to become a photographer with National Geographic (hardy-har-har - like that would ever happen). So, I settled on becoming a Marine Biologist. I spoke with a teacher at my high school who had worked within the field & he basically told me that the jobs were hard to get, funding was always a problem. In other words: pick something else. And then the realization that I would have to move away from a cancer that I was dating at the time - and I can call it a cancer now because I'm not in it - stopped me from pursuing the Marine thing.

I knew that I had something itching, screaming, fighting to get out. But whether or not I was ready to handle it, or just didn't have the extra support and confidence I needed to listen to these screams that were inside of me, I don't know. I just know that I was afraid. I was hiding. I was afraid of thinking that these things I wanted could be mine. I was afraid to show people how passionate I felt about issues, I was afraid to let people see how other people & their struggles would bring me to my knees. That kind of stuff wasn't cool.

I've lived aimlessly. I've wandered with the tides, but never roaming too far. I've tried many different jobs, I've had tons of life experience, I've been in & out of college. And never knew what it was exactly that I had to offer, where I would fit, because everything (almost) lit my fire.
Here I am, approaching my third decade and trying to pick up where I left off at 17. I now feel ready to listen to what I've been hearing inside my head for years. Sometimes, it's freakishly scary. And other times, it's frighteningly exciting. I can't wait to see what the road is ahead.

But the questions begin to arise about what I want vs. what is meant for me. Am I forcing something that I want, but not necessarily what is meant to be? And how do we listen for it? How do we know when we're pushing a bunch of useless boulders uphill with no progress or we're actually moving those mountains? Why is it so hard to stop, to listen, to hear, to see what the signs are that are right smack in front of our nose?
And then the trap of all traps: measuring ourselves against others - our peers.

I wish I knew the answers to the questions. I wish I had peace of mind.
I hope it's not too late for me - or any others out there. Who do feel a push, to give in to the pull, and find where it is they should be and......get there.

What's The Story, Morning Glory?

I've finally decided to take action. Actually Rav & I both have decided to take action regarding medical "stuff". I'm not really allowed to discuss his form of action. But I'm ecstatic about it.

I have been struggling with a couple of things. One is that my hair is falling out. I mean, I run my hands through my hair and I get fistfuls of hair. If anyone reading this actually knows me, you know how thick my hair is. And I'm not prone to shedding. The only time I lost hair like this was a few weeks after I gave birth.

I've made mental notes regarding this problem for the past few weeks & have dealt with it by merely complaining about it to anyone who will listen & merely shrug my shoulders at the same time.
But...
I've been feeling weird. I'm very achey, my sleeping patterns are all wonky, I'm tired all of the time and I always look bloated. I know that my weight fluctuates, especially ever since having Gracie. But something is just.not.right.

On top of which my cycle is all F!#$ed up too. I get sick. And I mean sick - among other symptoms. I won't get into details, but something is, again, just.not.right.

The first step of action was I walked into my PCP and asked for a script to check out my thyroid, as I have had a goiter in the past (about 10 years ago). With that test & a few others he threw in for good measure, maybe we'll be on to something.
Then I finally called the GYN & am going to talk her ear off next week about all things cyclical and probably be made to feel quite uncomfortable, but it must be done.

That being said, I've sat on my arse regarding these things for way too long. I mean, all kinds of things could be running wild & rampant and I've been so concerned that it's taken me months to pick up the phone to make a couple of appointments.
That being said, if any of my friends or any of my sister-cousins called me & told me this, the mother-hen, big sister, pushy - but concerned Tab would come out & they'd get the old You better go get that checked out Better be safe than sorry, why not get it checked out right away before it becomes anything really bad speech.

Why do I think so little of my own health and well-being. Why am I content to let myself suffer rather than be pro-active. And really, this is unlike me. Not saying I'm a hypochondriac. But I'm pretty good at listening to my body & if sumpin' ain't right, I'm usually on it.
So, what's my deal?

This Just In....The Bottom Line

I have been slapped in the face the past few days with the following headline:

"Hollywood's latest accessory: Babies."

WTF!?!

Maybe I'm too sensitive. Maybe I'm making a mountain out of a mole-hill. But somehow, someway it seems beyond wrong and sickening to compare human life to an arm/neckful of bling, the latest designer bag or the latest designer shoes. I mean, really. C'mon. It was bad enough when the latest accessory for a celebrity to carry were dogs. But now we've debased life even further by this outrageous, stupid headline.

I guess what bothers me about this, and it bothers me on many, many levels is that a) it's true. and 2)this is what "we" think of human life. I've done a few posts on humanitarianism and trying to think about each other and where we all are in the grand scheme of things. But this is demoralizing and despicable. It has just confirmed all of my worst fears: That human life is no more important and is just as dispensible as Dior's Fall Fashion line. The fact that life is something that will last only a season - a minute thought for a minute second. It is in today and out tomorrow. An innocent, completely insecure, totally dependant-upon -others- for -survival human being is now, merely, a decorative ornament.

It is just that novel of an idea. A precious, human life.

I don't think this country can sink any lower.

Not only does it confirm all of my worst fears about our society, culture, country. But it confirms the worst fears for those people out there in the rest of the world and what they think about Americans as a whole.

And that my dear friends, is

the bottom line.

I can't even begin to wrap my mind around this. It's frightening, frightening stuff.

Givin' Him Something He Can Feel

Some answers to questions are so clear. And my answers are eloquent & to the point. For instance, when Connor hits me with this:
"Why doesn't Gracie have a penus?"(that's how he says it, so I spelled it like that on purpose).
"Because she's a girl."

"Why does Daddy have a gun?"
"To protect himself from bad guys when he's at work."

"We don't have a chimney. How can Santa come in our house?"
"Santa is magical & he always finds a way. If he can't fit into our little chimney, Daddy will let him in the front door while we are sleeping."

"Do I have school today?"
"YES!"

The list goes on & on. Relatively simple questions. Relatively simple answers. Answers I feel comfortable giving. Sometimes they are white lies that I hope I can forgive myself for telling at a later time. However......

Connor's question of Heaven.
Makes me want to run & hide.
Never to be seen again.

It means that I can't lie. But I think I do. I think.
I hear myself, as if I'm in a tunnel or a cave, regurgitate an answer. I feel my lips forming an answer something about angels, death.....long time from now.....very old......God.

It means that all of my doubts regarding my religion are placed before me. It means, in some respect, that I have to make a choice. A choice I've not yet fully made as an adult. And place my choice before my moldable, knowledge-hungry, answer-seeking child. And watch as he digests my answer, willingly. I suppose I am to feel satisfaction that he takes my answer as acceptable & walks away. As I wipe the sweat from my brow & calm my trembling hands and just thank God (if there is one) that the conversation is over.
For now.

It also means, as a mother, that I have to face my mortality. And my children's eventual mortality. It is an impossibility. It's something you can't begin to wrap your mind around & begins your descent down this twisting, spinning, sickening vortex.

And the only thing that can bring you back is to throw yourself at this innocent little being and cover them in kisses, squeeze them so hard that they squeal in pain & delight. And hope for the best.
And if you're really lucky, you have a clear-cut faith that is unfaltering that can lift you up & carry you through.
I don't think I'm that lucky.

Excellent Notion

First, let me say that I'm sorry I had to forego the 'Sunday Morning Song of the Moment' segment of my blog today. It's probably my favorite posting day. I look forward to sifting through the songs that are on repeat inside my noggin & sharing them with you. My devoted readers. My bloggy love-kins. I will make it up to you. I will. I've barely had the will and/or the energy to sit up-right today. I am fighting one nasty beast of an upper respiratory something-or-other. And I thought I would purge the following Christmas Eve thoughts & post a song post tomorrow or Tuesday.

I have been running through the drug-induced (OTC drugs) checklist in my mind. Everything is wrapped. Some stockings stuffed. The carpet cleaned. And two batches of so-so cookies baked. But I got to thinking about the gifts I have bought for my nieces and nephew. I got one practical gift, one toy gift and one book for each child. And then I got to thinking about the book as a gift. And how it probably is a crappy gift. That it'll probably get a few weird looks. I think back to the story that Rav has told me about how his Aunt gave him & all his brothers some hieroglyphics set or something. They all still joke about that gift & how horrible it was. Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn't. But what if the book-as-a gift garners myself as the 'Aunt who gives us books every year'. Is that bad? See, I have this think about books. Especially children's literature. Books of all kinds speak to me now. And they spoke to me as a child. And though my love of this may not be shared yet by my own children or my neices and nephew, wouldn't it be cool if, in years to come, I am remembered as the 'Aunt who introduced me to some really cool books.'? I guess I feel it is my duty to spread a little book-love. Just as I feel it is my duty to spread a little music love on Sundays (usually).

So, I don't know how the whole thing will go. I guess to some, a book is a lame-o gift. To me, there is no gift better than spreading a little book-love.

Head Full of Lightning and A Hat Full of Rain

Lately I've been on a journey. As I've said before, I don't really know where I'm going. I don't know where the road is leading me. But I have this scary, awesome feeling that it's taking me somewhere thrilling. This blog, relaying some of my stories, returning to school - all of these things are part of this bigger picture that is being pieced together for the evolution - the metamorphosis, if you will. It's exciting and scary.
Today I got to thinking about how cowardly I had been for so long. About how strong I felt on the inside, but was too worried about others to really be myself. I still feel scared at times. Most people, I think, can't handle me or what I have to say. They see me, often times, as argumentative, intimidating (this one shocks me, but apparently, I am), negative, bitter, uptight, etc. But really all that it is, is that I feel strongly about things that mean something to me & I am animated. I enjoy a good debate. But what I don't enjoy is when you have to take a low-blow just so you can leave the debate feeling like you've accomplished something. If you can't stand on the merit of your own thoughts, leave the cheap shots out of it.
Anyway, I get passionate and feel passionately about women and women's issues. I feel passionate about being kind, human-to-human. I am not wired to feel passion in a quiet, demure way that is pleasing to everyone. I wish that I were wired that way. Instead, I'm wired to be loud and firm and steadfast.
It has taken me quite awhile to come to grips with this. Because I think people that are afraid to face their own ideas on norms and aren't willing to listen or be in a passionate discussion, aren't going to like me. People are afraid they're going to 'set me off' or get me 'riled up'. Who cares? I enjoy hearing where people are coming from & I enjoy in engaging them as well. I don't want to fight. But I just feel that it's ok to be passionate.
So, back to my cowardly ways. I got thinking about how I want my children to be passionate. To be aware and take part in making a difference. I want, my daughter especially, to be aware of what it means to be a woman. To see the double-standards and inequalities and stand up for them. Or scratch that, stand up for anything that she feels is right. I don't want her to be afraid to open her mouth, I don't want her to feel like she has to shed her personality like clothing and wear only certain articles of it for certain people. I hope that they can stay true to who they really are.
As I'm standing in front of my closet, dusting off the parts of my personality that I've long ago hung up and neatly put away, I'm no longer concerned about whether people are 'ok' with it. I'm on a mission to do the work and fight for things that need to be fought for. I'm ready to be scared and happy doing it. It'll be a wild ride. But I'm ready.
What better message can I send to my children? If I just do, then they will see and learn and be.
The other day, Bill Clinton was on Ellen. Ellen asked him about Hilary running for office. His response was, "Whatever she wants to do is fine with me. I'll suit up and play."
Bryan, Connor and Gracie.....suit up. Mommy's on a mission, come along for the ride.