Saturday, July 26, 2014
The Present
All in all, I LOVE summer. I LOVE the warmer weather. I LOVE the longer days. I LOVE the sunshine on my shoulders. And yes, I am quoting John Denver. That guy knew exactly what time it was.
I mean, there are definite perks to this slower, lazier, paced time of year. Mainly, lack of rushing in the morning, because no one has to be anywhere. Like, all day long.
This lackadaisical schedule means less interrogation at our breakfast table. For example, you most likely will not hear me ranting and raving at 7 AM on a summer morning, "Have you brushed your teeth? Have you made your bed? Did you remember to pack your bike lock? Do you know your address in case you get lost?" If you're super duper lucky, and you happen to be a fly on the wall in Walsh Land during the school year, sometimes you will hear this song and dance repeat itself, oh, um, about FIVE times.
So many. We have made them. Like a small Army. And it's all my fault.
But as with anything, there can also be a downside to summer. Like kids not having to be anywhere alllll day looooong. Kids, because there is no rush, will rise up, well rested after a full 10 hours of uninterrupted slumber, and are ready to "do something fun".
"MOM!!!" they yawn, upon waking, with a perky smile, and a fresh attitude, rubbing their eyes, "What are we going to DO today?" These offspring are hoping I'll say something that will completely blow their mind like,
"We are going to Disneyland!!!! Can you fucking believe it? WE ARE! Daddy and I won the lottery, and because that is how much money it costs to go to Disneyland, that is the fun thing we are doing today! We opted out of saving the lottery winnings for new shoes, or our mortgage payment, or college tuition, because Daddy and I are CRAZY like that!"
Sadly, my answer is more like this: "Survive the day, sister."
Enjoying a walk through The Glen, with some lovely friends the other evening, one said, "I think I do better with the school schedule. There is more of a routine for my daughter and me."
And I thought about this for a minute, and I concurred with that point of view. But as I am "getting older", I am beginning to fully understand how fast time goes. And I immediately thought of my girls. And how many more summers I have with them.
Not many. Not enough.
This has been the summer of watching twin bookends sprouting up like beanstalks, to the point of practically surpassing me in height.
This has been the summer of Emma wanting to start babysitting, because she is great with little ones, and run track because she really and truly enjoys it.
This has been the summer of Cosette, asking if a friend can "join us" on any, and all day trips, but also thanking me profusely for just about everything, from making pancakes in the morning, to washing her hair in the tub at night.
This has been the summer when Charlotte, who's still wee yet, will tumble down the hall in the early morning, with a head full of red hair going every which way, and climb into bed for a little snuggle.
How many mornings do I have left of this lopsided preschooler bed head, who climbs into my bed, to literally burrow into my body?
Not many. Not enough.
As I drove over the hill to take the girls to the beach yesterday, Holy Cross Church came into view. Sixteen years ago, on that very day, I married the most kind hearted and gentle man on the planet, in that very church.
In all honesty, I think it's sort of a good thing that most of us have absolutely NO idea, of what we are in for, when we choose to marry our beloved.
Dating is fun. Planning a wedding is fun. Having children is "fun". Having to watch a sick parent suffer at times throughout the illness and at the end...not fun.
Difficult times will either draw you toward, or away from your spouse. And although Tom and I are far from perfect, I truly love him so very dearly. And I started to reflect on many things about my wedding day.
My sweet Mama riding in the fancy Bentley next to me, on our way to the church. Foxy and my Dad walking me down the aisle, each with a megawatt smile that could power a small city. Father Mike blessing Tommy and Katie during the ceremony, because now, we were officially a united family. And my Auntie, sewing me into my wedding dress on the way to the reception. Mainly, because when you're built like The Hulk, and bend over to release doves, there is a distinct possibility of your wedding dress ripping down the back, like not in a good way.
And then the tears came. All at once. It was such a blessed day. And it is one that I'll never be able to relive again. Foxy won't be riding shot gun with me anymore. And Tommy and Katie are married and each have beautiful babies of their own. And Auntie? Well, she is still kind enough to sew for me...and keep Charlotte alive most days while I am working.
Passing that church was a concrete reminder that there is no going back...only forward. It was a reminder that I so dearly yearn to hug my Mom one more time. And it was a reminder that in times of struggle, I can feel her around, proud that I am her daughter.
And all it makes me think of is this: how much time do we have left here?
Not much. Not enough.
But I'll tell you what...when I see our grand daughter, Ella, tomorrow, I will smooch on her, and love on her, and pick her adorable bones clean.
And our family will have an amazing visit in San Diego with Tommy and Molly. And when it is time to leave them, I will bawl. That's just how I roll. And as we drive away, my heart will swell with pride. And I will embrace that moment.
Because nothing is promised. Nothing.
Thursday, May 8, 2014
The Fox is Not in the Box
I found myself consuming large quantities of food mindlessly yesterday. That's code for: emotional eating.
Pancakes in the morning. Bites of pizza in the mid afternoon. A half eaten brownie from one of the girls, who left it unattended. Bites from Charlie's P B and J sandwich. Stealing M and M's from the Redhead's Potty Reward Jar on top of the fridge. Charlotte gets one M and M for pee, three for poop and pee. I didn't even take them after I used the toilet. I cheated. I ate them anyway. All. Day. Long.
Yep, here's one thing for sure: I am a Weight Watchers Leader, but I am surely not "fixed". In fact, I feel like my name tag should read, Michelle Walsh lost 90 lbs in 2003, "Leader" in air quotes.
Who am I leading exactly? A lot of times I would love to start my meetings with, "Who wants to go eat Apple Fritters? Who's with me? Good! Screw this...let's go!"
I have learned that I am (gasp), an emotional eater. So, maybe yesterday doesn't seem like such a big deal to most folks, who don't battle their weight. I've heard of people like you...curse you!
But to me, it was a distinct sign that something else was going on. I stopped myself around 5 pm that evening, when I was out of points for the day, and started divvying into next week's allotment, when I had an a-ha moment.
Mother's Day is Sunday. And I'm anticipating that first of many holidays without my sweet Foxy Mama. And I'm eating everything that is not nailed down because...well, apple fritters are the answer sometimes.
No, not really.
Six weeks ago my Mama went Home. And I can assure you she is sitting at the table with all of her friends and family that have gone before her, and they are having an Italian pasta extravaganza! And Jesus is pouring the wine. And Foxy is enjoying herself, free from pain, and the memories of her frail and weakening body confined to a hospital bed for the last 4 months of her life, are history.
Because in Heaven, I believe time doesn't exist.
The real work is for us to do down here, where my Dad, brother, their wives, and our children attempt to go on with joyful hearts.
And I have found that I am doing a fairly okay job in the day to day: working out, "leading" at Weight Watchers, being a Mama who pulls their kid early on a Friday to go to the beach, keeping up with laundry (although Emma was out of clean underwear yesterday), fixing dinner, and so on.
However, sometimes, a wave of grief will come out of nowhere, and takes my very breath away.
Here is what I know. My Mom has visited us. She has come. And however, you choose to believe in the afterlife, this gives me comfort.
In fact, my brothers and I joke around, by saying, "The fox is not in the box." Meaning, Foxy is not where we laid her to rest.
The Saturday before Foxy passed away, the amazing, gentle and kind hearted Hospice Nurse, Nancy, was cleaning my Mom in her room. When she looked up, there was a grey fox perched on the garbage cans right outside the window. Startled and thinking, it was my mom, in spirit form, Nancy quickly took Mom's pulse, but found Mama was still with us. Shortly after that initial fox sighting, my Mom "came to", and while Dad, Paul and Steph, Matt and Samantha, were gathered at her bedside, expressed, ever so faintly, "I love you."
The morning that my Mom passed, my brother Matt, stood looking out the back sliders into the backyard, delivering the news to neighbors of her death, on the phone. A hummingbird flew right up to the glass, hovered for what seemed an eternity, but was a few seconds, and then darted off. When Dad had asked Mom what to look for to make sure she crossed over, she answered, "Hummingbirds."
The Sunday after my Mama passed away, that grey fox made another appearance in my parent's backyard. In fact, it basked in the sun, relaxing in front a plant that Dad and Paul had just planted in my Mom's honor, and an angel statue that she absolutely loved. That crafty fox, sat, and waited patiently, while my cousin Andria, snapped a picture. That picture was put front and center, in Foxy's program. And I don't know about you, but that story gives me immeasurable comfort.
About a week ago, Abigail and Isabella were quizzing their little sister, Charlie, "What's your name? Where do you live? What's your phone number?" Then they asked, "When is your birthday?" Charlotte knows her birthday is October 20th. She has told more people than I can count, that her birthday is October 20th.
Do you know what she said? August 14th. That is my MOM'S birthday. And I can assure you, she did not know that. I know that message was meant for me, as I sat there, dumbfounded at the kitchen table. I even asked Tom that night, "Babe, what is your take on that?"
Clear and concise, he answered, "Honey, there are too many months and days in the year, to get that date." And he's right.
Six weeks she has been gone, and yet, it is more clear to me than ever, she is actually walking right beside us.
Three days ago, just happened to be "one of those days", when I was missing my Mama. Crazy as it may seem, I talk to her while I am driving sometimes. "I miss you, Mom," I had told her that morning, as I drove to work to "lead" a meeting.
That night, I collapsed into bed, Foxy heavy on my heart and mind. No longer had I pulled the sheets up over my shoulders, than Tom began calling down the hallway, where all the girls had gathered,"Michelle, I think you should come here. I think your Mom may be visiting."
I ambled my way to the living room. Now, there is one corner of the sectional, where Foxy always sat comfortably. And in that very same corner, the lamp was turning on, and off. On and off. On and off. By itself for at least 2 minutes.
Hmmm. Me thinks the Fox is not in the box.
And so I will leave you with a piece of my euolgy from Foxy's Mass, which I believe expresses my heart, at this tender and emotional first Mother's Day without her:
"When my initial 3-4 day visits would come to an end, Mom was almost commanding me out the door...'Michelle, you've got to go now. The girls need you. Tom needs you. GO!!'
And yet, my final visits ended much differently...with free flowing tears, tender cheek to cheek smooches, and Mom whispering, 'I love you so much. I miss you already.'
These tender moments of nothingness and everything. These tiny moments will forever be ingrained in my memory...they are small, and simple, and humble. How incredibly blessed am I? This courageous woman brought me into the world, and I was lucky enough to witness her leaving it.
Foxy, thank you for being my Mom. Thank you for loving me, even when I was lost and broken, and wasn't sure I would find my way. You have changed me forever for the better. I love you, Mama."
Happy Mother's Day, all. May light, love, and abundant blessings rain down upon you and your loved ones. If your Mama is here, hug her tight. Thank her for letting you live. Tell her how much you love her.
Do it for those of us, whose sweet Moms have gone on before us. Please do it for us.
Pancakes in the morning. Bites of pizza in the mid afternoon. A half eaten brownie from one of the girls, who left it unattended. Bites from Charlie's P B and J sandwich. Stealing M and M's from the Redhead's Potty Reward Jar on top of the fridge. Charlotte gets one M and M for pee, three for poop and pee. I didn't even take them after I used the toilet. I cheated. I ate them anyway. All. Day. Long.
Yep, here's one thing for sure: I am a Weight Watchers Leader, but I am surely not "fixed". In fact, I feel like my name tag should read, Michelle Walsh lost 90 lbs in 2003, "Leader" in air quotes.
Who am I leading exactly? A lot of times I would love to start my meetings with, "Who wants to go eat Apple Fritters? Who's with me? Good! Screw this...let's go!"
I have learned that I am (gasp), an emotional eater. So, maybe yesterday doesn't seem like such a big deal to most folks, who don't battle their weight. I've heard of people like you...curse you!
But to me, it was a distinct sign that something else was going on. I stopped myself around 5 pm that evening, when I was out of points for the day, and started divvying into next week's allotment, when I had an a-ha moment.
Mother's Day is Sunday. And I'm anticipating that first of many holidays without my sweet Foxy Mama. And I'm eating everything that is not nailed down because...well, apple fritters are the answer sometimes.
No, not really.
Six weeks ago my Mama went Home. And I can assure you she is sitting at the table with all of her friends and family that have gone before her, and they are having an Italian pasta extravaganza! And Jesus is pouring the wine. And Foxy is enjoying herself, free from pain, and the memories of her frail and weakening body confined to a hospital bed for the last 4 months of her life, are history.
Because in Heaven, I believe time doesn't exist.
The real work is for us to do down here, where my Dad, brother, their wives, and our children attempt to go on with joyful hearts.
And I have found that I am doing a fairly okay job in the day to day: working out, "leading" at Weight Watchers, being a Mama who pulls their kid early on a Friday to go to the beach, keeping up with laundry (although Emma was out of clean underwear yesterday), fixing dinner, and so on.
However, sometimes, a wave of grief will come out of nowhere, and takes my very breath away.
Here is what I know. My Mom has visited us. She has come. And however, you choose to believe in the afterlife, this gives me comfort.
In fact, my brothers and I joke around, by saying, "The fox is not in the box." Meaning, Foxy is not where we laid her to rest.
The Saturday before Foxy passed away, the amazing, gentle and kind hearted Hospice Nurse, Nancy, was cleaning my Mom in her room. When she looked up, there was a grey fox perched on the garbage cans right outside the window. Startled and thinking, it was my mom, in spirit form, Nancy quickly took Mom's pulse, but found Mama was still with us. Shortly after that initial fox sighting, my Mom "came to", and while Dad, Paul and Steph, Matt and Samantha, were gathered at her bedside, expressed, ever so faintly, "I love you."
The morning that my Mom passed, my brother Matt, stood looking out the back sliders into the backyard, delivering the news to neighbors of her death, on the phone. A hummingbird flew right up to the glass, hovered for what seemed an eternity, but was a few seconds, and then darted off. When Dad had asked Mom what to look for to make sure she crossed over, she answered, "Hummingbirds."
The Sunday after my Mama passed away, that grey fox made another appearance in my parent's backyard. In fact, it basked in the sun, relaxing in front a plant that Dad and Paul had just planted in my Mom's honor, and an angel statue that she absolutely loved. That crafty fox, sat, and waited patiently, while my cousin Andria, snapped a picture. That picture was put front and center, in Foxy's program. And I don't know about you, but that story gives me immeasurable comfort.
About a week ago, Abigail and Isabella were quizzing their little sister, Charlie, "What's your name? Where do you live? What's your phone number?" Then they asked, "When is your birthday?" Charlotte knows her birthday is October 20th. She has told more people than I can count, that her birthday is October 20th.
Do you know what she said? August 14th. That is my MOM'S birthday. And I can assure you, she did not know that. I know that message was meant for me, as I sat there, dumbfounded at the kitchen table. I even asked Tom that night, "Babe, what is your take on that?"
Clear and concise, he answered, "Honey, there are too many months and days in the year, to get that date." And he's right.
Six weeks she has been gone, and yet, it is more clear to me than ever, she is actually walking right beside us.
Three days ago, just happened to be "one of those days", when I was missing my Mama. Crazy as it may seem, I talk to her while I am driving sometimes. "I miss you, Mom," I had told her that morning, as I drove to work to "lead" a meeting.
That night, I collapsed into bed, Foxy heavy on my heart and mind. No longer had I pulled the sheets up over my shoulders, than Tom began calling down the hallway, where all the girls had gathered,"Michelle, I think you should come here. I think your Mom may be visiting."
I ambled my way to the living room. Now, there is one corner of the sectional, where Foxy always sat comfortably. And in that very same corner, the lamp was turning on, and off. On and off. On and off. By itself for at least 2 minutes.
Hmmm. Me thinks the Fox is not in the box.
And so I will leave you with a piece of my euolgy from Foxy's Mass, which I believe expresses my heart, at this tender and emotional first Mother's Day without her:
"When my initial 3-4 day visits would come to an end, Mom was almost commanding me out the door...'Michelle, you've got to go now. The girls need you. Tom needs you. GO!!'
And yet, my final visits ended much differently...with free flowing tears, tender cheek to cheek smooches, and Mom whispering, 'I love you so much. I miss you already.'
These tender moments of nothingness and everything. These tiny moments will forever be ingrained in my memory...they are small, and simple, and humble. How incredibly blessed am I? This courageous woman brought me into the world, and I was lucky enough to witness her leaving it.
Foxy, thank you for being my Mom. Thank you for loving me, even when I was lost and broken, and wasn't sure I would find my way. You have changed me forever for the better. I love you, Mama."
Happy Mother's Day, all. May light, love, and abundant blessings rain down upon you and your loved ones. If your Mama is here, hug her tight. Thank her for letting you live. Tell her how much you love her.
Do it for those of us, whose sweet Moms have gone on before us. Please do it for us.
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
Re-Birth
Has "Let It Go" , become like every child's theme song since the movie Frozen, came out in the theater?
In the shower. Every. Single. Night. Anyone else? Please tell me I'm not alone.
Don't get me wrong. I enjoy hearing the unbridled, untamed, exuberant gusto in which the song is sung, but I had to agree with Abby last night, as she pounded on the wall, pleading with her twin sister, "Bella, PLEASE STOP!! ANY song but THAT one."
However, I'm pretty sure, that Bella can not and will not be stopped. This is the same kid, who just last week, after being offered to go watch Captain America at the movies (which I highly recommend, strictly, for the story line, of course), explained to me, "Well Mom, I'm really feeling like I would rather stay home to paint. Yesterday, I started a painting at counseling, and I would like to work on that."
You see, Monday is "Mental Health Day" in Walsh Land, as we have been so blessed to get in with counseling through Hospice of the Valley. I continue to be humbled and amazed at the support that we have received on this journey. The girls have been quick to recognize that there are several perks to therapy: getting pulled from school early, making a memory box for Nana, painting, or playing with sand (depending on your age), and of course, the contemplative one on one time in the car, as Mama drives you to and fro.
On a glorious Wednesday during Spring Break, the sun shone high in the sky, beckoning us to the beach. As we drove over the summit on Highway 17, I asked Cosette, "Baby, what is your favorite part about the ocean?" She contemplated for a good 30 seconds, and answered, "Well Mama, you know how the waves hit the shore? It sounds like music to me. Do you know what I mean?"
Yeah baby, I know exactly what you mean.
As I stepped out of the shower, still damp, and not completely dried off, Charlotte stood there in the foggy bathroom, examining my naked body. Pointing to my chest, she inquired, "Mom, how did you get those rubies?" I think she meant, boobies. But I couldn't help but laugh out loud.
Just yesterday, Charlie stood in the hallway, donning a new pair of flip flops, hand on her hip, and asked, "Mom, do these look okay with this outfit, or bad?" SHE IS 3!! Never mind, the fact, that just minutes later, Abby took her to the park, only to discover that Charlotte wasn't wearing underwear, as she slid down the slide. But she WAS wearing flip flops!!!
She is coming along, that one there. Being the fifth in line, I'm pretty sure that one day she'll rule the world.
I appreciate any prayers sent my way now, to prepare me for the endurance of Charlotte's teen years. I have done the math, and by the time Charlie is 17, I will be 56, so you will most likely find me lying in a heap on the floor, in the fetal position, mumbling awesome parenting advice, like, "If you drink honey, don't drive. Get a cab. And please practice safe sex, okay?"
Speaking of excellent parenting, Tom and I decided that Abby, Bella and Emma were ready to watch The Passion of the Christ, with us, the night before Easter. If that doesn't scar them, and put them into therapy as adults, I'm almost positive something else that we have done, will.
After discussing it at length, we both came to conclusion, that there are parts in the movie that are difficult to watch, at any age. However, The Passion, in particular for me, gave new meaning to the phrase I have heard throughout the entirety of my Catholic career. "He suffered, died, and was buried." Watching it, makes what he did, real to me. And because Foxy did suffer, and especially more so, at the end, it eased my burden, to observe what Jesus went through.
Easter was the first holiday without her. Honestly, I wasn't sure, how I would handle it. What would I wake up feeling? Would I be missing her terribly?
Yet, I woke up with a sense of new life. New hope. He is Risen! For you. And for me. For all of us.
I think a dear friend of mine, described it best, when she said, "Foxy is like an LSU Freshman at Mardi Gras right now! She is having a blast."
And being a party girl, myself, I find the visual to not only make me chuckle, but to give me comfort, hope, and renew my faith that my Mama is dining at the table of the Lord.
This is the day he hath made. Let us rejoice and be glad!
In the shower. Every. Single. Night. Anyone else? Please tell me I'm not alone.
Don't get me wrong. I enjoy hearing the unbridled, untamed, exuberant gusto in which the song is sung, but I had to agree with Abby last night, as she pounded on the wall, pleading with her twin sister, "Bella, PLEASE STOP!! ANY song but THAT one."
However, I'm pretty sure, that Bella can not and will not be stopped. This is the same kid, who just last week, after being offered to go watch Captain America at the movies (which I highly recommend, strictly, for the story line, of course), explained to me, "Well Mom, I'm really feeling like I would rather stay home to paint. Yesterday, I started a painting at counseling, and I would like to work on that."
You see, Monday is "Mental Health Day" in Walsh Land, as we have been so blessed to get in with counseling through Hospice of the Valley. I continue to be humbled and amazed at the support that we have received on this journey. The girls have been quick to recognize that there are several perks to therapy: getting pulled from school early, making a memory box for Nana, painting, or playing with sand (depending on your age), and of course, the contemplative one on one time in the car, as Mama drives you to and fro.
On a glorious Wednesday during Spring Break, the sun shone high in the sky, beckoning us to the beach. As we drove over the summit on Highway 17, I asked Cosette, "Baby, what is your favorite part about the ocean?" She contemplated for a good 30 seconds, and answered, "Well Mama, you know how the waves hit the shore? It sounds like music to me. Do you know what I mean?"
Yeah baby, I know exactly what you mean.
As I stepped out of the shower, still damp, and not completely dried off, Charlotte stood there in the foggy bathroom, examining my naked body. Pointing to my chest, she inquired, "Mom, how did you get those rubies?" I think she meant, boobies. But I couldn't help but laugh out loud.
Just yesterday, Charlie stood in the hallway, donning a new pair of flip flops, hand on her hip, and asked, "Mom, do these look okay with this outfit, or bad?" SHE IS 3!! Never mind, the fact, that just minutes later, Abby took her to the park, only to discover that Charlotte wasn't wearing underwear, as she slid down the slide. But she WAS wearing flip flops!!!
She is coming along, that one there. Being the fifth in line, I'm pretty sure that one day she'll rule the world.
I appreciate any prayers sent my way now, to prepare me for the endurance of Charlotte's teen years. I have done the math, and by the time Charlie is 17, I will be 56, so you will most likely find me lying in a heap on the floor, in the fetal position, mumbling awesome parenting advice, like, "If you drink honey, don't drive. Get a cab. And please practice safe sex, okay?"
Speaking of excellent parenting, Tom and I decided that Abby, Bella and Emma were ready to watch The Passion of the Christ, with us, the night before Easter. If that doesn't scar them, and put them into therapy as adults, I'm almost positive something else that we have done, will.
After discussing it at length, we both came to conclusion, that there are parts in the movie that are difficult to watch, at any age. However, The Passion, in particular for me, gave new meaning to the phrase I have heard throughout the entirety of my Catholic career. "He suffered, died, and was buried." Watching it, makes what he did, real to me. And because Foxy did suffer, and especially more so, at the end, it eased my burden, to observe what Jesus went through.
Easter was the first holiday without her. Honestly, I wasn't sure, how I would handle it. What would I wake up feeling? Would I be missing her terribly?
Yet, I woke up with a sense of new life. New hope. He is Risen! For you. And for me. For all of us.
I think a dear friend of mine, described it best, when she said, "Foxy is like an LSU Freshman at Mardi Gras right now! She is having a blast."
And being a party girl, myself, I find the visual to not only make me chuckle, but to give me comfort, hope, and renew my faith that my Mama is dining at the table of the Lord.
This is the day he hath made. Let us rejoice and be glad!
Friday, March 21, 2014
Acceptance
When do we finally come to a place of acceptance in our lives?
Is it when we feel accepted by our peers? Does it happen when we try out for a particular sports team, or the church choir, or the school play, and we "make the cut"? Are we accepted if we get picked first for the dodge ball game on the blacktop at recess? When exactly do we accept, with open arms, what our path holds for us?
Someone very wise once said, "Acceptance is when you stop resisting what is."
What I have discovered fairly recently, is that the road of acceptance is paved with a few little bricks of truth: trust, faith, humility, and grace.
Accepting is like when you do one of those group building activities, and you are being asked to fall backwards into the arms of someone else. In theory, is sounds simple enough. Just fall back, and someone will catch you.
But our logical mind screams, "DON'T DO IT!!!" Our palms become wet with perspiration, we start to second guess the situation. How is this a TRUST fall exactly? And what if my our worst fear comes true? What if, for a moment, our partner becomes distracted, and fails to catch us? (which by the way, has probably never, ever happened...in the history of the Earth...ever).
But we are HUMAN BEINGS. And we question, and speculate, and guess, and debate, and make graphs, and power point presentations. We want quantitative PROOF that we will be caught.
When all we need to do is one thing: fall back and trust that we will be caught.
A very dear friend taught me this: Honor Your Process. And by doing so, you are not only accepting yourself, you are accepting others where they are in their Process.
Let me give you an example: most of you already know, that my Mama was diagnosed with Cancer over 2 years ago, and she is literally in the last hours of her life.
This situation has affected my tribe, my clan, my people, in a variety of ways. We are all at different places in our Process.
Tom's just recently shared, "The severity of the situation is just now hitting me."
Isabella told me, "I have just never felt sorrow like this Mom. I can't see out of the darkness. I'm so grateful for so many things, but I'm also so sad. I'm just all mixed up."
To which Abigail replied, "I feel guilty that I'm not as sad as Bella is, Mom. I just have all of this stuff to do...the mile in P.E., a paper that is due in Language, a test in Science, basketball practice, and trying out for the Bunny Bowl. Oh, and then there's the LAUNDRY." (Abby is essentially me, incarnate, when I am caring for my Mom in Santa Rosa. All legit 13 year old concerns, right? The verdict is still out on the Bunny Bowl :)
Emma's reaction is that of a quiet storm to this huge debacle known as Cancer. She is my child who resists outside physical comforting, but is the first one of the five, to give a complete stranger a hug. True story.
Cosette, although only just 8 years old, her bond with Nana runs deep as the river runs wide. Cozy and Nana could often be found sitting together on the couch, snuggled up close, doing cross stitch, or playing a game of Crazy 8's. Her eyes rim red with tears at the mere sound of the word, "Nana". It is an inconceivable loss.
And then there is me. Sometimes my emotions well up from deep within, and I have to literally force myself to ride out a chasm of helplessness and frustration over this disease, that is taking bits and pieces of my mom, like a puzzle that will never be put back together again.
A few weeks back, those emotions hit me like a rogue wave at Mavericks. All at once, with such strength and force, leaving me struggling to come up for a swallow of air, but just as I could see the surface, it pulled me right back down into darkness.
It happened after a day that Foxy had a sponge bath, and all of her dressings were changed by the amazingly gentle and serene Hospice aide and nurse.
You see, purplish and red tumors have decided to take up residence on my Mama's frail and weakening body. Tumors that must be dressed with bandages, because, as they become larger, they break through my Mom's skin, and weep. And the bed sore below her bum...it requires my Mom to roll over on her side, enduring pain without complaint, to change the dressing on yet another raw wound that will never heal.
I had had just about enough. And in the quiet of the early evening, I began weeping at my Mom's bedside. Uncontrollable sobs emerged from deep within a place that I did not even know existed. My body shook side to side, my eyes and face and nose, wet with tears and snot running together into one ocean of grief. The dam broke.
And do you know what my Mom said to me? Calmly, she whispered, "It's okay...it's okay," with complete and peaceful acceptance and grace. She was consoling ME.
Not wanting her to see me so upset, I kept muttering, "I'm sorry Mom, I'm so sorry."
And she softly replied, "You help me." I looked at her, confused. "You hold me."
And I couldn't help but think, how many times she had cuddled me close as an infant, and now she was so grateful for this seemingly, insignificant act, the ONLY thing, I could do, due to circumstance. We had come full circle.
In these last precious days with my Mom, I realize what an incredible gift I have been given. I have been allowed the gift of time to laugh, cry, and get to know this incredible woman, who brought me into the world. How blessed am I? I am forever changed by this grace filled experience. We are tethered now, Foxy and I. Forever.
Her glove of a body, has done it's job. Her work is here complete. And all I can do now, is sit by her side and hold her hand, and smooch her cheek. She has one toe in this world, but the rest of her is already in transition to the Other Side. And what a gift she has bestowed on every single person who she has touched.
My sweet Mama. She has no problem with the Trust Fall. She knows she will be caught, and is not seeking definitive proof. She is more than ready to fall backwards, and go Home.
Is it when we feel accepted by our peers? Does it happen when we try out for a particular sports team, or the church choir, or the school play, and we "make the cut"? Are we accepted if we get picked first for the dodge ball game on the blacktop at recess? When exactly do we accept, with open arms, what our path holds for us?
Someone very wise once said, "Acceptance is when you stop resisting what is."
What I have discovered fairly recently, is that the road of acceptance is paved with a few little bricks of truth: trust, faith, humility, and grace.
Accepting is like when you do one of those group building activities, and you are being asked to fall backwards into the arms of someone else. In theory, is sounds simple enough. Just fall back, and someone will catch you.
But our logical mind screams, "DON'T DO IT!!!" Our palms become wet with perspiration, we start to second guess the situation. How is this a TRUST fall exactly? And what if my our worst fear comes true? What if, for a moment, our partner becomes distracted, and fails to catch us? (which by the way, has probably never, ever happened...in the history of the Earth...ever).
But we are HUMAN BEINGS. And we question, and speculate, and guess, and debate, and make graphs, and power point presentations. We want quantitative PROOF that we will be caught.
When all we need to do is one thing: fall back and trust that we will be caught.
A very dear friend taught me this: Honor Your Process. And by doing so, you are not only accepting yourself, you are accepting others where they are in their Process.
Let me give you an example: most of you already know, that my Mama was diagnosed with Cancer over 2 years ago, and she is literally in the last hours of her life.
This situation has affected my tribe, my clan, my people, in a variety of ways. We are all at different places in our Process.
Tom's just recently shared, "The severity of the situation is just now hitting me."
Isabella told me, "I have just never felt sorrow like this Mom. I can't see out of the darkness. I'm so grateful for so many things, but I'm also so sad. I'm just all mixed up."
To which Abigail replied, "I feel guilty that I'm not as sad as Bella is, Mom. I just have all of this stuff to do...the mile in P.E., a paper that is due in Language, a test in Science, basketball practice, and trying out for the Bunny Bowl. Oh, and then there's the LAUNDRY." (Abby is essentially me, incarnate, when I am caring for my Mom in Santa Rosa. All legit 13 year old concerns, right? The verdict is still out on the Bunny Bowl :)
Emma's reaction is that of a quiet storm to this huge debacle known as Cancer. She is my child who resists outside physical comforting, but is the first one of the five, to give a complete stranger a hug. True story.
Cosette, although only just 8 years old, her bond with Nana runs deep as the river runs wide. Cozy and Nana could often be found sitting together on the couch, snuggled up close, doing cross stitch, or playing a game of Crazy 8's. Her eyes rim red with tears at the mere sound of the word, "Nana". It is an inconceivable loss.
And then there is me. Sometimes my emotions well up from deep within, and I have to literally force myself to ride out a chasm of helplessness and frustration over this disease, that is taking bits and pieces of my mom, like a puzzle that will never be put back together again.
A few weeks back, those emotions hit me like a rogue wave at Mavericks. All at once, with such strength and force, leaving me struggling to come up for a swallow of air, but just as I could see the surface, it pulled me right back down into darkness.
It happened after a day that Foxy had a sponge bath, and all of her dressings were changed by the amazingly gentle and serene Hospice aide and nurse.
You see, purplish and red tumors have decided to take up residence on my Mama's frail and weakening body. Tumors that must be dressed with bandages, because, as they become larger, they break through my Mom's skin, and weep. And the bed sore below her bum...it requires my Mom to roll over on her side, enduring pain without complaint, to change the dressing on yet another raw wound that will never heal.
I had had just about enough. And in the quiet of the early evening, I began weeping at my Mom's bedside. Uncontrollable sobs emerged from deep within a place that I did not even know existed. My body shook side to side, my eyes and face and nose, wet with tears and snot running together into one ocean of grief. The dam broke.
And do you know what my Mom said to me? Calmly, she whispered, "It's okay...it's okay," with complete and peaceful acceptance and grace. She was consoling ME.
Not wanting her to see me so upset, I kept muttering, "I'm sorry Mom, I'm so sorry."
And she softly replied, "You help me." I looked at her, confused. "You hold me."
And I couldn't help but think, how many times she had cuddled me close as an infant, and now she was so grateful for this seemingly, insignificant act, the ONLY thing, I could do, due to circumstance. We had come full circle.
In these last precious days with my Mom, I realize what an incredible gift I have been given. I have been allowed the gift of time to laugh, cry, and get to know this incredible woman, who brought me into the world. How blessed am I? I am forever changed by this grace filled experience. We are tethered now, Foxy and I. Forever.
Her glove of a body, has done it's job. Her work is here complete. And all I can do now, is sit by her side and hold her hand, and smooch her cheek. She has one toe in this world, but the rest of her is already in transition to the Other Side. And what a gift she has bestowed on every single person who she has touched.
My sweet Mama. She has no problem with the Trust Fall. She knows she will be caught, and is not seeking definitive proof. She is more than ready to fall backwards, and go Home.
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
Unconditional
"You're so good. Such a good girl. And the boys...Stephanie, Sam, and Tom. You're all so good to me. I think I've learned my lessons - I really do," Foxy explained to me, as she was ready to drift off into a Percocet/Methadone induced sweet slumber, one night, a few weeks back.
I thought to myself, "Oh Mom, you are worthy and so deserving of all of that love, and so much more."
This is what I have learned about unconditional love in the past two years: it is primal, it emanates from the very core of your being, and allows you to give, share, and do things with no boundaries. More importantly, all while expecting absolutely nothing in return. This is how my Mama has loved me for the entirety of my life, and how sacred this journey has been, to allow us to return that love back to her. Unconditional love can heal all brokenness, and any unworthiness we may be harboring. Unconditional love builds a bridge, that no circumstances, not even Cancer, can destroy.
"I think we needed this time together," Foxy said, "I wish we could go back in time, and have a 'do-over'."
Here is the weird thing: I longed and thirsted for a deeper, more meaningful mother-daughter relationship for most of my young adult life. But things got in the way. We were both busy. I got married, and had way too many children. Mom and Dad retired in Santa Rosa. And I had accepted that maybe this is how it would be between Foxy and myself.
Then Mom got diagnosed. And as the Cancer took my Mom away from me - for the first time in my life, my Mom was really given to me...completely, vulnerably. If you have ever watched someone get sick, it's like watching a baby make their milestones of rolling over, sitting up, standing, and eventually taking their first steps - IN REVERSE ORDER.
In the beginning, we were hell bent on beating Cancer. During Chemo, Foxy and I would play Shang Hai Rummy, while eating all of the amazing snacks that were set out for Cancer patients. Foxy and I would take walks through her little neighborhood, and eventually we would shop for wigs online, preparing for the inevitable hair loss.
I will never forget the first time Mom ate a cannabis brownie, right before visiting the pantry ladies at St. Rose Church. I was thinking in my head, "We have 30 minutes before she's stoned. Let's make this visit short and sweet." The last thing I wanted was for Mom to feel paranoid in front of the church ladies. Well, 30 minutes came and went, and all of a sudden, I saw her sort of relax...like really relax. By the time we made it back to the car, she said, "Oh, I feel kind of squiggly." Mental note: eat pot brownies in the comfort of our own home to avoid "squiggliness" in public :)
The day would usually end with more cards, more talking smack while playing cards, and Mama listening to me spin the yarns of my life. All the while, she sat listening without judgement, but rather with acceptance and love. My Mom and I started to forge more than a mother-daughter relationship...I can say without hesitation that she is my friend. If I could divide my heart into 3 pieces: Tom has one, Foxy has one, and my girls have the last piece.
As the disease progressed, Foxy lost the ability to do certain things: instead of coming into a store with me, she was too exhausted, and would rest in the car. She literally would save ALL of her energy to attend Mass on Saturday night at St.Rose. She would start by getting up and taking a bath, and then taking a nap. She would do her hair, and then rest. The final step was getting dressed right before leaving. No sooner, were we back home from church, she was in her Pajama's again. Such a trooper. I have witnessed tumors growing on my Mom, that started as the size of an almond, and are now the size of a lemon. And I can't do anything to stop it. Nothing.
And yet, like most mixed bags, there are so many fond memories. Being sick, never stopped my Foxy Mom from shopping online for material (when she was still sewing), or purchasing yet more pajamas (which she has at least 15-20 different sets, many with tags still attached). I know exactly where my inheritance went!
Cancer has given me permission to love my Mom in a way, that I couldn't before...in a way, that I didn't have access to before. When my Dad would leave for baseball, I convinced her to apply an anti-stress bright green, gooey, facial mask. In the beginning, she would fight me on it. "Oh Michelle, that's okay. I don't really want to do that." But then, just as quickly, she would relent, participate, and end our "spa day" by saying, "Oh Gosh, that was fun."
And as time wore on, my Mom became confined to her hospital bed. I would turn on relaxing music, and massage her hands and feet...my Mom, who had done for others her entire life, now was able to sit back for a minute, and with full acceptance and grace, let us love her.
It is very common for someone who is close to crossing over, to get that "one last little burst of energy". During one of these "up" days, my brother, Paul, ever so carefully picked Mom up, and placed her gently into her wheelchair, and rolled her out front to sit in the glorious sunshine, and breathe the fresh air.
And it was during one of these days, as I sat next to her bed, our hands intertwined, she said, "I just want to make these days last. Going outside today was a dream come true."
These tender moments of nothingness and everything. These tiny moments that will forever be ingrained in my memory... they are small, and simple, and humble.
This morning, when I walked in, I observed that she was contemplating something, "What are you thinking about Mama?" Without hesitation, she answered, "Hopping out of this bed."
I played along, "Oh, that sounds great, Mama. Let's have an adventure." And the more suggestions I made, and the more she agreed, we imagined having a pretty terrific little day for ourselves."Should we start with a walk around your neighborhood? Now we're back, and you take a tub, and I'll take a shower. (Mind you, a bath is my Mom's FAVORITE indulgence, and she hasn't been able to do that for about 3 months now). And then maybe take a ride to Bodega Bay, we can walk along the cliffs at the ocean, being that it's 70 degrees and all. Should we stop by to see Uncle Jim and Auntie Nancy? Oh man, Auntie Nancy made her amazing popcorn, and Uncle Jim cooked up some of those delicious vegetables from his garden. Now it's 6:30 Mom, and Dad may be getting worried because we forgot to leave a note. We get home to Dad Barbequing out back, and we sit and watch the sun go down. Let's go inside now and sit by the fireplace and talk. That was a pretty awesome day, Mom. Hugh?"
"Yup," she said with a grin.
And so, as my Mama lies very close to ending her life here, but beginning her Eternal life, she continues to teach me.
Love with grace, be present, acceptance comes with prayer, and that we are all worthy of unconditional love. A love that can only come from each other, and Him.
I love my Mom so much. But I have this feeling, that she will come to me even after she has left this place. And that gives me comfort.
I thought to myself, "Oh Mom, you are worthy and so deserving of all of that love, and so much more."
This is what I have learned about unconditional love in the past two years: it is primal, it emanates from the very core of your being, and allows you to give, share, and do things with no boundaries. More importantly, all while expecting absolutely nothing in return. This is how my Mama has loved me for the entirety of my life, and how sacred this journey has been, to allow us to return that love back to her. Unconditional love can heal all brokenness, and any unworthiness we may be harboring. Unconditional love builds a bridge, that no circumstances, not even Cancer, can destroy.
"I think we needed this time together," Foxy said, "I wish we could go back in time, and have a 'do-over'."
Here is the weird thing: I longed and thirsted for a deeper, more meaningful mother-daughter relationship for most of my young adult life. But things got in the way. We were both busy. I got married, and had way too many children. Mom and Dad retired in Santa Rosa. And I had accepted that maybe this is how it would be between Foxy and myself.
Then Mom got diagnosed. And as the Cancer took my Mom away from me - for the first time in my life, my Mom was really given to me...completely, vulnerably. If you have ever watched someone get sick, it's like watching a baby make their milestones of rolling over, sitting up, standing, and eventually taking their first steps - IN REVERSE ORDER.
In the beginning, we were hell bent on beating Cancer. During Chemo, Foxy and I would play Shang Hai Rummy, while eating all of the amazing snacks that were set out for Cancer patients. Foxy and I would take walks through her little neighborhood, and eventually we would shop for wigs online, preparing for the inevitable hair loss.
I will never forget the first time Mom ate a cannabis brownie, right before visiting the pantry ladies at St. Rose Church. I was thinking in my head, "We have 30 minutes before she's stoned. Let's make this visit short and sweet." The last thing I wanted was for Mom to feel paranoid in front of the church ladies. Well, 30 minutes came and went, and all of a sudden, I saw her sort of relax...like really relax. By the time we made it back to the car, she said, "Oh, I feel kind of squiggly." Mental note: eat pot brownies in the comfort of our own home to avoid "squiggliness" in public :)
The day would usually end with more cards, more talking smack while playing cards, and Mama listening to me spin the yarns of my life. All the while, she sat listening without judgement, but rather with acceptance and love. My Mom and I started to forge more than a mother-daughter relationship...I can say without hesitation that she is my friend. If I could divide my heart into 3 pieces: Tom has one, Foxy has one, and my girls have the last piece.
As the disease progressed, Foxy lost the ability to do certain things: instead of coming into a store with me, she was too exhausted, and would rest in the car. She literally would save ALL of her energy to attend Mass on Saturday night at St.Rose. She would start by getting up and taking a bath, and then taking a nap. She would do her hair, and then rest. The final step was getting dressed right before leaving. No sooner, were we back home from church, she was in her Pajama's again. Such a trooper. I have witnessed tumors growing on my Mom, that started as the size of an almond, and are now the size of a lemon. And I can't do anything to stop it. Nothing.
And yet, like most mixed bags, there are so many fond memories. Being sick, never stopped my Foxy Mom from shopping online for material (when she was still sewing), or purchasing yet more pajamas (which she has at least 15-20 different sets, many with tags still attached). I know exactly where my inheritance went!
Cancer has given me permission to love my Mom in a way, that I couldn't before...in a way, that I didn't have access to before. When my Dad would leave for baseball, I convinced her to apply an anti-stress bright green, gooey, facial mask. In the beginning, she would fight me on it. "Oh Michelle, that's okay. I don't really want to do that." But then, just as quickly, she would relent, participate, and end our "spa day" by saying, "Oh Gosh, that was fun."
And as time wore on, my Mom became confined to her hospital bed. I would turn on relaxing music, and massage her hands and feet...my Mom, who had done for others her entire life, now was able to sit back for a minute, and with full acceptance and grace, let us love her.
It is very common for someone who is close to crossing over, to get that "one last little burst of energy". During one of these "up" days, my brother, Paul, ever so carefully picked Mom up, and placed her gently into her wheelchair, and rolled her out front to sit in the glorious sunshine, and breathe the fresh air.
And it was during one of these days, as I sat next to her bed, our hands intertwined, she said, "I just want to make these days last. Going outside today was a dream come true."
These tender moments of nothingness and everything. These tiny moments that will forever be ingrained in my memory... they are small, and simple, and humble.
This morning, when I walked in, I observed that she was contemplating something, "What are you thinking about Mama?" Without hesitation, she answered, "Hopping out of this bed."
I played along, "Oh, that sounds great, Mama. Let's have an adventure." And the more suggestions I made, and the more she agreed, we imagined having a pretty terrific little day for ourselves."Should we start with a walk around your neighborhood? Now we're back, and you take a tub, and I'll take a shower. (Mind you, a bath is my Mom's FAVORITE indulgence, and she hasn't been able to do that for about 3 months now). And then maybe take a ride to Bodega Bay, we can walk along the cliffs at the ocean, being that it's 70 degrees and all. Should we stop by to see Uncle Jim and Auntie Nancy? Oh man, Auntie Nancy made her amazing popcorn, and Uncle Jim cooked up some of those delicious vegetables from his garden. Now it's 6:30 Mom, and Dad may be getting worried because we forgot to leave a note. We get home to Dad Barbequing out back, and we sit and watch the sun go down. Let's go inside now and sit by the fireplace and talk. That was a pretty awesome day, Mom. Hugh?"
"Yup," she said with a grin.
And so, as my Mama lies very close to ending her life here, but beginning her Eternal life, she continues to teach me.
Love with grace, be present, acceptance comes with prayer, and that we are all worthy of unconditional love. A love that can only come from each other, and Him.
I love my Mom so much. But I have this feeling, that she will come to me even after she has left this place. And that gives me comfort.
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
Cloak of Grace
"This whole dying thing...it's such a bother, isn't it?", Foxy sighed in exhaustion, as she lay in her hospital bed.
I sat, legs folded underneath me on the floor, next to my Mama, contemplating what this meant to her.
"Bother" in Foxy terms, means:
"I am sorry this is taking so long."
"I am such a burden."
"I am taking you and the boys away from your families."
"I can't even do anything to help you."
And all I could think of was this: nothing could be further from the truth.
If you know anything about my Mama, it is this: Foxy wants to be a bother to no one. In fact, when my Mom was first diagnosed with Cancer, she was hell-bent, on being in "a Home" in the end. This would ensure in her mind, that she wouldn't be a "bother" to anyone.
And while my Dad, my brothers, and I, gently coerced her, that taking care of her throughout this process, and especially in the end, would be a blessing, a pleasure for us to do so, she insisted that she didn't want that. She would rather have a Health Aide bathe, dress her, and change her sheets.
Of course, no one could have predicted the amazing Cloak of Grace that my Mom dons, that has changed all of that.
As I think about how the last two years have played out, I realize exactly how lucky and blessed, I truly am. I view my brothers, their spouses, my nieces and nephews, my husband and my girls, but especially my Mom and Dad, in a completely different way.
While we each have different gifts, the tapestry of how we are connected, binds us to each other. And without that connection, we would each just be loose threads, lifeless, stranded, and without purpose.
Lovingly, I refer to my brother Paul, as a Prayer Warrior. Being the eldest, so much responsibility has rested on his shoulders. He brings warmth, peace, and comfort to both my Mom and Dad. He helps my Dad with "technical" stuff, and sits next to Mama, to pray with her. Meanwhile, my amazing Sister-in-Law, Stephanie, cleans whatever needs to be shined up. And I'm not just talking, a once-over. In true Foxy-fashion, she will clean like no other. Having lost both of her own parents, she truly understands, and empathizes with my brother's needs on this journey.
Matthew, the second eldest, has his own gentle way of loving my folks. If you have ever read the book called The Five Love Languages, it is clear to see that Matt's primary Love Language, is that of giving gifts. There isn't a week that goes by, when Matt doesn't send my folks something via mail. Whether it is pears from Harry and David (one of Foxy's favorites), or a DVD on visiting Italy, because that's the only way Mom will be able to get to Europe now. Matt thinks of the little details, that most of us forget. Like filling Mom and Dad's stockings for Christmas. And although my Sister-in-Law, Samantha, is busy being a full time Mom, wife, and professor, she always makes time to call "C", as she lovingly refers to my Mom. She is calm, thoughtful, and organized, taking time out of her schedule to visit my folks, knowing a stack of papers to be graded, awaits her.
And then there's my Dad. After being married for 51 years, he attentively hovers around Mom, asking always, "How you doing, kid? You need anything? What can I get you?" If Mom is craving an apple fritter, Dad's in the car to go buy it for her. If Mom has to go potty, Dad is there, helping her into her wheelchair. Mind you, my Dad has one leg. So, if Mom has a nightmare, Dad grabs his walker in the dark, and makes his way to my Mom. My folks are by far, the most prominent example in my life, of unconditional love, that I have ever witnessed.
And then there's my Mom. Who wears a Cloak of Grace. Who's presence makes the Holy Spirit tangible, to anyone who comes near her.
"I'm so glad we have had this time together," she told me, last night, "I think we needed it,"
And again, the tears started to gather from the pit inside of me, that comes from missing her terribly, although she is still here.
"I know that I wasn't the best Mom, I know there are things I could have done better," she trailed off.
I just looked at her and said, "Mom, we do the best we can with where we're at. Look at my brothers and I. We are a reflection of the love that you and Dad have for us. We are a reflection of the love that you and Dad have for each other."
She looked down at me, starting to get glassy,
"Don't worry," I said, "Out of our five, I'm convinced at least one will end up in jail. So you have done a tremendous job with us."
"Oh Michelle! Don't SAY that!" suddenly, finding strength to yell at me.
We rented a hospital bed for Foxy for Christmas, but making that bed was the easy part. Although I had Abby and Emma help me, it took about an hour, because we wanted it "just right" for Nana.
My Mom is the one who had to "rally" to make that two hour road trip from Santa Rosa to San Jose.
My Mom, who is dying from Cancer. My Mom, who wanted the Francois family, to participate in the "Adopt A Family" organization, so we could help make someone else's Christmas more memorable. My Mom, who chose that Adopt A Family, herself, and specifically chose a family with an 8 year old who had Cancer. My Mom, who complains about nothing...not the pain that seizes her, not the meds she swallows on a regular basis, not the left leg that is now crippled by the disease.
My Mom had to rally for that trip.
Best. Gift. Ever.
I sat, legs folded underneath me on the floor, next to my Mama, contemplating what this meant to her.
"Bother" in Foxy terms, means:
"I am sorry this is taking so long."
"I am such a burden."
"I am taking you and the boys away from your families."
"I can't even do anything to help you."
And all I could think of was this: nothing could be further from the truth.
If you know anything about my Mama, it is this: Foxy wants to be a bother to no one. In fact, when my Mom was first diagnosed with Cancer, she was hell-bent, on being in "a Home" in the end. This would ensure in her mind, that she wouldn't be a "bother" to anyone.
And while my Dad, my brothers, and I, gently coerced her, that taking care of her throughout this process, and especially in the end, would be a blessing, a pleasure for us to do so, she insisted that she didn't want that. She would rather have a Health Aide bathe, dress her, and change her sheets.
Of course, no one could have predicted the amazing Cloak of Grace that my Mom dons, that has changed all of that.
As I think about how the last two years have played out, I realize exactly how lucky and blessed, I truly am. I view my brothers, their spouses, my nieces and nephews, my husband and my girls, but especially my Mom and Dad, in a completely different way.
While we each have different gifts, the tapestry of how we are connected, binds us to each other. And without that connection, we would each just be loose threads, lifeless, stranded, and without purpose.
Lovingly, I refer to my brother Paul, as a Prayer Warrior. Being the eldest, so much responsibility has rested on his shoulders. He brings warmth, peace, and comfort to both my Mom and Dad. He helps my Dad with "technical" stuff, and sits next to Mama, to pray with her. Meanwhile, my amazing Sister-in-Law, Stephanie, cleans whatever needs to be shined up. And I'm not just talking, a once-over. In true Foxy-fashion, she will clean like no other. Having lost both of her own parents, she truly understands, and empathizes with my brother's needs on this journey.
Matthew, the second eldest, has his own gentle way of loving my folks. If you have ever read the book called The Five Love Languages, it is clear to see that Matt's primary Love Language, is that of giving gifts. There isn't a week that goes by, when Matt doesn't send my folks something via mail. Whether it is pears from Harry and David (one of Foxy's favorites), or a DVD on visiting Italy, because that's the only way Mom will be able to get to Europe now. Matt thinks of the little details, that most of us forget. Like filling Mom and Dad's stockings for Christmas. And although my Sister-in-Law, Samantha, is busy being a full time Mom, wife, and professor, she always makes time to call "C", as she lovingly refers to my Mom. She is calm, thoughtful, and organized, taking time out of her schedule to visit my folks, knowing a stack of papers to be graded, awaits her.
And then there's my Dad. After being married for 51 years, he attentively hovers around Mom, asking always, "How you doing, kid? You need anything? What can I get you?" If Mom is craving an apple fritter, Dad's in the car to go buy it for her. If Mom has to go potty, Dad is there, helping her into her wheelchair. Mind you, my Dad has one leg. So, if Mom has a nightmare, Dad grabs his walker in the dark, and makes his way to my Mom. My folks are by far, the most prominent example in my life, of unconditional love, that I have ever witnessed.
And then there's my Mom. Who wears a Cloak of Grace. Who's presence makes the Holy Spirit tangible, to anyone who comes near her.
"I'm so glad we have had this time together," she told me, last night, "I think we needed it,"
And again, the tears started to gather from the pit inside of me, that comes from missing her terribly, although she is still here.
"I know that I wasn't the best Mom, I know there are things I could have done better," she trailed off.
I just looked at her and said, "Mom, we do the best we can with where we're at. Look at my brothers and I. We are a reflection of the love that you and Dad have for us. We are a reflection of the love that you and Dad have for each other."
She looked down at me, starting to get glassy,
"Don't worry," I said, "Out of our five, I'm convinced at least one will end up in jail. So you have done a tremendous job with us."
"Oh Michelle! Don't SAY that!" suddenly, finding strength to yell at me.
We rented a hospital bed for Foxy for Christmas, but making that bed was the easy part. Although I had Abby and Emma help me, it took about an hour, because we wanted it "just right" for Nana.
My Mom is the one who had to "rally" to make that two hour road trip from Santa Rosa to San Jose.
My Mom, who is dying from Cancer. My Mom, who wanted the Francois family, to participate in the "Adopt A Family" organization, so we could help make someone else's Christmas more memorable. My Mom, who chose that Adopt A Family, herself, and specifically chose a family with an 8 year old who had Cancer. My Mom, who complains about nothing...not the pain that seizes her, not the meds she swallows on a regular basis, not the left leg that is now crippled by the disease.
My Mom had to rally for that trip.
Best. Gift. Ever.
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Humbled...
Foxy sat on my couch, sort of propped up like a person who's body is riddled with Cancer, and said, "Honey, can you help me with something?"
I answered like any daughter would, "Of course, Mom. What is it?"
She replied, "Well, I've been thinking about getting gift cards for the grand kids for Christmas...you know, so that it's all taken care of for Dad. I'm thinking I should get them from Safeway, because when you buy a certain amount there, Safeway gives you money off of gas. That would be nice for Dad, don't you think?"
I just sat across from her, stunned with silence, tears welling up from a pool deep within my soul. My thought bubble said, "We don't need gift cards, Mom. We don't want anything from you. Can you please just stay?"
I can't ask her to do the impossible, nor would I want her to, based on the amount of pain she is in. But I have these moments, where I feel lost when I think about life without her. She grew me with her own body. She loved me before she even knew I was going to have a gigantically huge mouth. She loved me, and has continued to love me, with all of my many imperfections, without judgement. Unconditionally. I am already missing her, and yet, she's still here.
"Yes Mom. I can do that. We'll figure that out, okay?"
I have learned so much from my Mom in the last two years. She has been so full of God's grace, that I respect her more than I will ever be able to express with my words or actions. She has literally been through Hell and back: several rounds of invasive Chemo and Radiation, not to mention, half of her lung was removed. And all the while, she has never complained. Not once.
She has endured, suffered, and has done so, with dignity. I look up to her as my Mom, but more importantly, a dear spirit, that completes me, and makes me want to strive to be a better person every single day that I wake up.
This last weekend, I drove to Santa Rosa to visit with her. When I arrived, she was resting in bed. I climbed in beside her, and we just talked about nothing and everything. I tell her what's on my heart, even if it's too much information.
"Lately Mom, my Crock Pot has seen more action than Tom...I gotta work on that," because although it's true, if I can make her laugh, it's like the Best.Thing.Ever.
I pulled up a video on my phone of Chris Hemsworth, so she too, could experience the magic of Thor. Foxy agreed, when I said, "I swear to God, if I was married to this guy, I would have like 15 kids. I'm going to start calling Tom, Thor."
My Mom saves up all of her energy to go to Mass on Saturday night, at a parish that my folks have fallen in love with, St.Rose. As Mom and Dad entered the church, several parishioners embraced my Mom, saying things, like "Prayers and strength for you Carol."
I stood humbled, by how many other lives my parents have touched. And how very much, they are loved. I could barely make eye contact, with these kind strangers, for fear, or breaking down into sobs.
Each time the thought, that this could be the last time at church with Mama, popped into my head, I pushed it away before it could consume me. I am working really hard on just "being in the moment". But I continue to struggle with it.
And every time I tuck her into bed at night, I start to cry. Foxy says, "Now don't do that, Michelle. Don't do it."
What I want to tell her, but can never muster because I'm a sobbing train wreck, is, "Thank you for being my Mom. Thank you for loving me, even when I was broken, and wasn't sure I would find my way. You have changed me forever for the better. I love you, Mama."
But I think she knows.
In fact, I know she does.
Monday, October 21, 2013
The Happiest Place on Earth
Some folks just love Disneyland.
These are the people who make quarterly trips to the Magical Kingdom utilizing their yearly passes, even though they live in let's say, the Bay Area. They meticulously map out the best route of WHEN and HOW they will ride Indiana Jones, and then swiftly move onto The Haunted Mansion, without waiting in a line. These Disney aficionados know parade times, have fast passes, and know EXACTLY what you are talking about if you refer to "Pixie Hollow".
You may find them sporting their Micky Mouse ears, while they are buying garden tools at OSH. These enthusiastic folks hold one belief steadfast, and that is this: Disneyland is THE most fantastic time you will EVER fucking have in your life. And if you, my friend, haven't consumed the Magical Kingdom Kool-Aid yet, why are you taking up space on the planet?
I fought Disneyland for a long time. Clearly, there are plenty of Cons:
1. THE COST - be ready to hand over your first born, because the nice, polite Disneyland ticket takers, will happily barter with you, and put them in some sort of costume for a parade.
2. THE DRIVE - OMG, I can barely handle making a trip to Costco with my kids in the car, let alone a 7 hour car ride, where the traffic conditions through LA, are anyone's best guess.
3. THE MELTDOWN - it is not IF it's going to happen, it's when. And after the cost, and the drive, well, I was convinced I just would not handle the inevitable meltdown very well.
But then I remembered they sell wine in California Adventure, and I started to rally.
As we began our journey down south, I decided that Wheat Thins and Cheezits would suffice for dinner for two nights, but that our 3rd night would probably require us to actually sit down at a table. I called Disneyland Dining Reservations.
Me: "Hi there, I am interested in making a dining reservation at Ariel's Grotto for seven."
Nice Disney Phone Lady: "I would more than happy to assist you with that. I'll put you right through to Ariel's Grotto. (pause for effect) Have a magical day."
ME: "Excuse me?!" In all honesty, I had not heard the last comment. Pause, for effect, yet once again, for the hearing impaired.
Nice Disney Phone Lady: "Have a magical day."
And with that, I knew there was no turning back. In fact, upon entering Main Street, what do you think we saw? All the characters spaciously spread out for photo opp's...I'm talking Mickey, Minnie, Donald, Goofy, AND Pluto, all in one location. As soon as Pluto wrapped his paws around Charlotte, all of my initial Disney resentment totally disappeared. I had done drunk the Kool Aid.
At one point, we got caught up in a parade that was, well, plainly put: magical. Tom hoisted Charlie up on his shoulders, so she could have a clear view of any Princess making an appearance. And I was right there next to my 2 year old, screaming, "LOOK CHARLIE!!! LOOK!!! There's Ariel! Hi ARIEL!!!" as I frantically waved not one, but both, of my arms to get her attention.
I totally transformed into being a little girl. I guess that's what happens, after you pay the same amount of money that could have transported you to Europe for an extended vacation.
We spent the entire day in Disneyland. And by the time we moseyed over to California Adventure, it was dark. As Cozy and I were about to board the roller coaster, California Screaming, she started to express anxiety. I couldn't blame her: this ride was fast, loud, and it was night time. I assured her that I would keep her safe.
Nothing could be further from the truth. As that ride flung us into the atmosphere, I screamed my head off, and forgot that I was supposed to be coddling my 8 year old. It was a "save yourself" scenario, for sure. But you'll be proud of me when I say I did remember that I was a Mom...when the ride stopped. By that time, Cozy was enthralled, "Let's do it again Mama!!!"
After taking in Fantasmik (a show in Disneyland where Mickey totally kicks A**, and the water is set on FIRE, yes FIRE), Tom was ready to pack it up for the night.
I'm like, no way Mister. We paid a lot of money, and we are going to shut this Mother down. Poor Tom.
Borderline child abuse resembles saying things to your 2 year old, like, "Buck up, Charlotte. There's no line for Dumbo. It's now or never!! All the other responsible parents have their kids in bed. This park is mine! MINE!!"
And that, explains, why we were the last family escorted off of "It's a Small World" at Midnight.
Disneyland is magical. It is. But if you see me, trolling around, sporting Mickey Ears while I'm standing in the Safeway check out line, please set me straight.
These are the people who make quarterly trips to the Magical Kingdom utilizing their yearly passes, even though they live in let's say, the Bay Area. They meticulously map out the best route of WHEN and HOW they will ride Indiana Jones, and then swiftly move onto The Haunted Mansion, without waiting in a line. These Disney aficionados know parade times, have fast passes, and know EXACTLY what you are talking about if you refer to "Pixie Hollow".
You may find them sporting their Micky Mouse ears, while they are buying garden tools at OSH. These enthusiastic folks hold one belief steadfast, and that is this: Disneyland is THE most fantastic time you will EVER fucking have in your life. And if you, my friend, haven't consumed the Magical Kingdom Kool-Aid yet, why are you taking up space on the planet?
I fought Disneyland for a long time. Clearly, there are plenty of Cons:
1. THE COST - be ready to hand over your first born, because the nice, polite Disneyland ticket takers, will happily barter with you, and put them in some sort of costume for a parade.
2. THE DRIVE - OMG, I can barely handle making a trip to Costco with my kids in the car, let alone a 7 hour car ride, where the traffic conditions through LA, are anyone's best guess.
3. THE MELTDOWN - it is not IF it's going to happen, it's when. And after the cost, and the drive, well, I was convinced I just would not handle the inevitable meltdown very well.
But then I remembered they sell wine in California Adventure, and I started to rally.
As we began our journey down south, I decided that Wheat Thins and Cheezits would suffice for dinner for two nights, but that our 3rd night would probably require us to actually sit down at a table. I called Disneyland Dining Reservations.
Me: "Hi there, I am interested in making a dining reservation at Ariel's Grotto for seven."
Nice Disney Phone Lady: "I would more than happy to assist you with that. I'll put you right through to Ariel's Grotto. (pause for effect) Have a magical day."
ME: "Excuse me?!" In all honesty, I had not heard the last comment. Pause, for effect, yet once again, for the hearing impaired.
Nice Disney Phone Lady: "Have a magical day."
And with that, I knew there was no turning back. In fact, upon entering Main Street, what do you think we saw? All the characters spaciously spread out for photo opp's...I'm talking Mickey, Minnie, Donald, Goofy, AND Pluto, all in one location. As soon as Pluto wrapped his paws around Charlotte, all of my initial Disney resentment totally disappeared. I had done drunk the Kool Aid.
At one point, we got caught up in a parade that was, well, plainly put: magical. Tom hoisted Charlie up on his shoulders, so she could have a clear view of any Princess making an appearance. And I was right there next to my 2 year old, screaming, "LOOK CHARLIE!!! LOOK!!! There's Ariel! Hi ARIEL!!!" as I frantically waved not one, but both, of my arms to get her attention.
I totally transformed into being a little girl. I guess that's what happens, after you pay the same amount of money that could have transported you to Europe for an extended vacation.
We spent the entire day in Disneyland. And by the time we moseyed over to California Adventure, it was dark. As Cozy and I were about to board the roller coaster, California Screaming, she started to express anxiety. I couldn't blame her: this ride was fast, loud, and it was night time. I assured her that I would keep her safe.
Nothing could be further from the truth. As that ride flung us into the atmosphere, I screamed my head off, and forgot that I was supposed to be coddling my 8 year old. It was a "save yourself" scenario, for sure. But you'll be proud of me when I say I did remember that I was a Mom...when the ride stopped. By that time, Cozy was enthralled, "Let's do it again Mama!!!"
After taking in Fantasmik (a show in Disneyland where Mickey totally kicks A**, and the water is set on FIRE, yes FIRE), Tom was ready to pack it up for the night.
I'm like, no way Mister. We paid a lot of money, and we are going to shut this Mother down. Poor Tom.
Borderline child abuse resembles saying things to your 2 year old, like, "Buck up, Charlotte. There's no line for Dumbo. It's now or never!! All the other responsible parents have their kids in bed. This park is mine! MINE!!"
And that, explains, why we were the last family escorted off of "It's a Small World" at Midnight.
Disneyland is magical. It is. But if you see me, trolling around, sporting Mickey Ears while I'm standing in the Safeway check out line, please set me straight.
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
Where's the Manual?
You know, the Manual on: Having a Happy Marriage, Surviving Life, Raising Empathetic and Independent Kids, Staying Sane While Being Healthy, and Staying Balanced, Zen, and Positive.
Wait...you don't have a copy either? I guess we're just supposed to like, figure this all out. Geez, it kind of seems like a lot of work, though. Sigh.
So I found myself at Kaiser last week, having four vials of blood drawn. I HATE NEEDLES, so it only took me a year to pony up, and geterdun
"You are going to do a stellar job. I can just tell that you are amazing at this. I won't even feel it," I say to the Lab Tech. She proceeds to nod and smile, as I'm squeezing the hell out of the ball, with the blue tourniquet tightly wrapped around my arm, taking in posters of waterfalls and majestic mountain scenes.
Charlie, had been observing this entire process of blood-letting, which I'm convinced resembled some sort of Mayan ceremony, except that the Mayans had it easy: they didn't have to FAST.
Before I even stood up to leave, she said, "Oh Mama, you were such a BRAVE girl."
It made me kinda wish that Charlie would have been my co-pilot, when I was at Kaiser the day before. The Dermatologist was checking me for any indication, of any suspicious, anything.
The Derm visit is always particularly awkward: there I am standing in my underwear, but wearing shoes, because God knows what it on the hospital floor. And there is some random Derm, sort of poking and prodding. Usually, I'm a very willing participant in this gentle form of torture. But not this time.
As soon as the Derm Doc walked in, "Wellllll, it looks like you have some sun damage..." trail off...judgemental tone.
I politely replied, "I wear sunscreen everyday."
My medicine cabinet has: special Facial Sport sunscreen, Sport spray sunscreen, and lotiony sunscreen with glitter: ALL 50 SPF or higher. I can't make up for slathering baby oil on when I was 17, but I feel pretty good about how I take care of my skin now at age 41.
Derm Doc: "Well, you need to reapply more often. You shouldn't be tan," judgemental tone continued.
In my head, I'm thinking, I'm fucking ITALIAN. How many WHITE Italian's do YOU know? I'm also Cajun/Creole/Native American/Possibly Black French. So yes, I'm BROWN. I can't prove any of that, but it's the Oral Tradition of Genealogy in my family that has been passed down.
Instead, I took a deep breath, and said, "Okay, I'll make sure to do that." Smiley face.
I was really proud of myself for staying calm. Because what I really wanted to say to her was, "Do you realize that YOU have a suspicious looking mole on YOUR face?"
And I'm not kidding, she did. But according to my previous blog, I am old and tired, so I just let her win that round.
The girls and I are participating in an online class together, in which we create art projects for one another. Honestly, I have a lot of anxiety over doing anything artistic.
Ironically, it has been extremely therapeutic. Who knew decoupage held that sort of power over me?
In our first project, we created books for each other. On the first page, you cut out a paper doll of your mom or daughter, and then dress it however you want.
When Bella and I exchanged books, I immediately said, "Oh Bella, I love the dress you chose for me."
Without hesitation, she replied, "Yeah, well, I had to cut it much shorter...you know, to make it look like you."
Touche.
I'm not sure why I think that Midnight is like the BEST time to fold laundry. You know how that insane time sucks you in, right?
Quiet house, peaceful atmosphere, everyone sleeping...no one needing us, asking for anything, no papers to sign, or dinner to be made.
Folding mountains of laundry just seems so much more, manageable - enjoyable, even. Until, 6am the next morning...when there THEY are.
Needing signatures. Wanting breakfast. Expecting clean underwear.
"Yesterday at CCD it was horrible," Cosette explained at the breakfast table, the morning after I had folded laundry at Midnight.
Yawn..."Why baby? What happened?"
"I couldn't even fit our entire family in my picture, so I had to squeeze us altogether," she says, eyes wide, with a can-you-believe-that? expression.
It reminded me of those family stickers people proudly display on their car windows...which we'll never have, for the reason Cozy so eloquently stated earlier :)
"Mama, it's picture day," Cozy then reminded me, pointing to the payment envelope.
About two years prior, we had fallen on extremely hard financial times, and I couldn't purchase school pictures. I felt distraught...something so basic, a school picture, had become a "want", not a "need". I even cried, realizing that for the first time ever, the girls wouldn't have them.
The habit just sort of stuck, and now I just purchase the Class Picture in the Spring. I can find about 1 million other ways to spend $100, than on Bud White portraits.
"Cosette, we're not going to buy pictures right now okay?" I explained. Long pause... "Does that make you feel sad?"
Spot on, she said, "Not at all, Mama. Because every time that flash goes off, I blink. It makes me look hideous."
Finally, something we agree on. Saweet.
Wait...you don't have a copy either? I guess we're just supposed to like, figure this all out. Geez, it kind of seems like a lot of work, though. Sigh.
So I found myself at Kaiser last week, having four vials of blood drawn. I HATE NEEDLES, so it only took me a year to pony up, and geterdun
"You are going to do a stellar job. I can just tell that you are amazing at this. I won't even feel it," I say to the Lab Tech. She proceeds to nod and smile, as I'm squeezing the hell out of the ball, with the blue tourniquet tightly wrapped around my arm, taking in posters of waterfalls and majestic mountain scenes.
Charlie, had been observing this entire process of blood-letting, which I'm convinced resembled some sort of Mayan ceremony, except that the Mayans had it easy: they didn't have to FAST.
Before I even stood up to leave, she said, "Oh Mama, you were such a BRAVE girl."
It made me kinda wish that Charlie would have been my co-pilot, when I was at Kaiser the day before. The Dermatologist was checking me for any indication, of any suspicious, anything.
The Derm visit is always particularly awkward: there I am standing in my underwear, but wearing shoes, because God knows what it on the hospital floor. And there is some random Derm, sort of poking and prodding. Usually, I'm a very willing participant in this gentle form of torture. But not this time.
As soon as the Derm Doc walked in, "Wellllll, it looks like you have some sun damage..." trail off...judgemental tone.
I politely replied, "I wear sunscreen everyday."
My medicine cabinet has: special Facial Sport sunscreen, Sport spray sunscreen, and lotiony sunscreen with glitter: ALL 50 SPF or higher. I can't make up for slathering baby oil on when I was 17, but I feel pretty good about how I take care of my skin now at age 41.
Derm Doc: "Well, you need to reapply more often. You shouldn't be tan," judgemental tone continued.
In my head, I'm thinking, I'm fucking ITALIAN. How many WHITE Italian's do YOU know? I'm also Cajun/Creole/Native American/Possibly Black French. So yes, I'm BROWN. I can't prove any of that, but it's the Oral Tradition of Genealogy in my family that has been passed down.
Instead, I took a deep breath, and said, "Okay, I'll make sure to do that." Smiley face.
I was really proud of myself for staying calm. Because what I really wanted to say to her was, "Do you realize that YOU have a suspicious looking mole on YOUR face?"
And I'm not kidding, she did. But according to my previous blog, I am old and tired, so I just let her win that round.
The girls and I are participating in an online class together, in which we create art projects for one another. Honestly, I have a lot of anxiety over doing anything artistic.
Ironically, it has been extremely therapeutic. Who knew decoupage held that sort of power over me?
In our first project, we created books for each other. On the first page, you cut out a paper doll of your mom or daughter, and then dress it however you want.
When Bella and I exchanged books, I immediately said, "Oh Bella, I love the dress you chose for me."
Without hesitation, she replied, "Yeah, well, I had to cut it much shorter...you know, to make it look like you."
Touche.
I'm not sure why I think that Midnight is like the BEST time to fold laundry. You know how that insane time sucks you in, right?
Quiet house, peaceful atmosphere, everyone sleeping...no one needing us, asking for anything, no papers to sign, or dinner to be made.
Folding mountains of laundry just seems so much more, manageable - enjoyable, even. Until, 6am the next morning...when there THEY are.
Needing signatures. Wanting breakfast. Expecting clean underwear.
"Yesterday at CCD it was horrible," Cosette explained at the breakfast table, the morning after I had folded laundry at Midnight.
Yawn..."Why baby? What happened?"
"I couldn't even fit our entire family in my picture, so I had to squeeze us altogether," she says, eyes wide, with a can-you-believe-that? expression.
It reminded me of those family stickers people proudly display on their car windows...which we'll never have, for the reason Cozy so eloquently stated earlier :)
"Mama, it's picture day," Cozy then reminded me, pointing to the payment envelope.
About two years prior, we had fallen on extremely hard financial times, and I couldn't purchase school pictures. I felt distraught...something so basic, a school picture, had become a "want", not a "need". I even cried, realizing that for the first time ever, the girls wouldn't have them.
The habit just sort of stuck, and now I just purchase the Class Picture in the Spring. I can find about 1 million other ways to spend $100, than on Bud White portraits.
"Cosette, we're not going to buy pictures right now okay?" I explained. Long pause... "Does that make you feel sad?"
Spot on, she said, "Not at all, Mama. Because every time that flash goes off, I blink. It makes me look hideous."
Finally, something we agree on. Saweet.
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Old and Tired
I was listening to the radio the other day, and Sarah and Vinnie asked the question, "Do you consider yourself old?" Before the thought even completely registered in my brain, I sighed an exasperated, "Yes."
So is 'old' a state of mind? Is 'old' when you get to a certain age? Is 'old' when you have to pay a mortgage? When exactly are you considered 'old'?
Is it when you amble to get out of bed in the morning, creaking your way down the hallway? Or when you pee yourself while laughing/running/coughing/jumping on a trampoline? Are you 'old' when you just don't care what people think anymore?
Sarah and Vinnie came to the conclusion that considering yourself 'old' is more a state of mind, than an actual age. All I know is this...I'm only 41, and I am EXHAUSTED.
So I guess I feel tired and old. Double whammy. I'm not sure if it's one thing in particular, or like, a whole lotta things coming at me at once. But I've noticed that my cat-like reflexes, have become sloth-like movements.
And then I start to play the "I used to" Game. It's a past time, that mainly consists of beating myself up for what I used to do, but now, no longer enjoy. The monologue sort of goes like this:
"I remember when I used to RUN 6 MILES WITH HILLS, AND LOVED EVERY MINUTE!!"
has since been replaced with a leisurely stroll around the Glen, followed by a nap on a cot.
"I remember when I used to DRINK SHOTS OF SOUTHERN COMFORT (eww) AND CARRY ON AT THE BARS UNTIL 1 AM" has turned into (GASP) watching Breaking Bad on Netflix.
"I remember HAVING NO WRINKLES, AND NO STRETCH MARKS, AND NOT BEING SO FUCKING TIRED ALL THE TIME" has left me holding a white flag, while in the fetal position, that says, "I surrender."
I blame that baby. Who is now a toddler. And almost a Preschooler. Number 5.
Don't tell Charlotte this, because she'll find out later in therapy and can actually read my blog, but often times, I find myself saying to no one in particular, "We were good with four. Four was good."
Charlotte has definitely been a game changer. And since I am 'old' now, I don't remember my other kids throwing tantrums, telling me "NO!!", having to man-handle them into their car seats, pooping on the carpet, or screaming AND kicking the back of my seat while I'm driving.
But they did. Of course they did. ALL kids pull those shenanigans, it's just that we selectively choose to delete those less than pleasant memories.
Which leaves me with a random thought: Did Jesus try to pull that stuff with Mary? Did he sneak out of the hut to go hang with the Disciples, when clearly, he had to be in the field with Joseph in the morning? Did he take an extra piece of bread when clearing the dinner dishes? Was he like, "Look what I can do?" and proceed to walk on water, to get the girl?
Sorry, these are the things I think.
There is a silver lining in all of this: Abby, Bella, and Em are at the Middle School. And you know what's sweet about that set-up? Those girls bike TO and FROM school everyday. And if that leaves me with more time to read People Magazine, then I'm all for it.
Bella and Emma have decided to try out for Cross Country. Although everyone makes the team, I don't think either of them really understood the concept of Croooooss Cooooountry...running...far distances...sometimes on the track...sometimes on trails...like Forest Gump.
We are officially 1 solid week into it...I'll let you know how it ends. When I asked Abby, why she didn't want to go out for the team, she answered, "Um Mom. Running is like SO not my favorite thing, ever."
Understood.
If I've learned one thing being a Mom, it's present something like it may be a cool "opportunity for growth", but if there is absolutely no interest...let it go, man. Just like that shit-head boyfriend you had in High School. Let. It. Go.
Foxy is hanging in there. She has decided to stop Chemo because, well because, frankly, it was killing her. And Hospice has started to visit on a weekly basis. This has left me feeling relieved, and extremely saddened that the end is more near than far.
I never knew this before my Mom got sick, but she has a dead pan sense of humor. Luckily, we have been able to keep each other laughing through this horrible mess, called Cancer. I will say stuff like, "You know Mom, that Oxycontin has a high market rate right now," and she'll look at me, and without hesitation say, "Get your own source." I'll start laughing, and she says, "And tell your brothers they can't have any either." Because with one being a cop, and one being a lawyer, that's exactly what they would want, right?
I still make her Cannabis treats for her, but I've more than screwed up the last 2 batches.
"Foxy, how are you on brownies and muffins?" I asked her last night.
"Oh, I'm fine. Although the brownies are a bit chewy. I like them a bit more done. And I'm not quite sure what happened to the muffins, but they are a bit..." she trailed off.
"DRY." And she's not kidding. I burned those to a crisp, "Mom, just promise me that you will NOT throw them away, ok?" I pleaded.
"Oh noooo, I would never do that." Pause.
"Geez Mom. You're making me feel bad. I know I really screwed up the last 2 times baking," Longer pause. "Well, you know what?" I ask her, starting to get punchy.
"What?" she says, starting to laugh.
"Well, it's your fault you're still alive. I didn't know I would have to do all this illegal baking. It's a lot of responsibility, you know."
And Foxy just laughed, and laughed, and laughed. And when your Mama has Cancer, and there's nothing you can do to stop it, but make her laugh, I'll take it. Over and over, again.
So I guess I may be old and tired. But I'm still here. And so are you. And man, I'm glad we're on this journey together!
So is 'old' a state of mind? Is 'old' when you get to a certain age? Is 'old' when you have to pay a mortgage? When exactly are you considered 'old'?
Is it when you amble to get out of bed in the morning, creaking your way down the hallway? Or when you pee yourself while laughing/running/coughing/jumping on a trampoline? Are you 'old' when you just don't care what people think anymore?
Sarah and Vinnie came to the conclusion that considering yourself 'old' is more a state of mind, than an actual age. All I know is this...I'm only 41, and I am EXHAUSTED.
So I guess I feel tired and old. Double whammy. I'm not sure if it's one thing in particular, or like, a whole lotta things coming at me at once. But I've noticed that my cat-like reflexes, have become sloth-like movements.
And then I start to play the "I used to" Game. It's a past time, that mainly consists of beating myself up for what I used to do, but now, no longer enjoy. The monologue sort of goes like this:
"I remember when I used to RUN 6 MILES WITH HILLS, AND LOVED EVERY MINUTE!!"
has since been replaced with a leisurely stroll around the Glen, followed by a nap on a cot.
"I remember when I used to DRINK SHOTS OF SOUTHERN COMFORT (eww) AND CARRY ON AT THE BARS UNTIL 1 AM" has turned into (GASP) watching Breaking Bad on Netflix.
"I remember HAVING NO WRINKLES, AND NO STRETCH MARKS, AND NOT BEING SO FUCKING TIRED ALL THE TIME" has left me holding a white flag, while in the fetal position, that says, "I surrender."
I blame that baby. Who is now a toddler. And almost a Preschooler. Number 5.
Don't tell Charlotte this, because she'll find out later in therapy and can actually read my blog, but often times, I find myself saying to no one in particular, "We were good with four. Four was good."
Charlotte has definitely been a game changer. And since I am 'old' now, I don't remember my other kids throwing tantrums, telling me "NO!!", having to man-handle them into their car seats, pooping on the carpet, or screaming AND kicking the back of my seat while I'm driving.
But they did. Of course they did. ALL kids pull those shenanigans, it's just that we selectively choose to delete those less than pleasant memories.
Which leaves me with a random thought: Did Jesus try to pull that stuff with Mary? Did he sneak out of the hut to go hang with the Disciples, when clearly, he had to be in the field with Joseph in the morning? Did he take an extra piece of bread when clearing the dinner dishes? Was he like, "Look what I can do?" and proceed to walk on water, to get the girl?
Sorry, these are the things I think.
There is a silver lining in all of this: Abby, Bella, and Em are at the Middle School. And you know what's sweet about that set-up? Those girls bike TO and FROM school everyday. And if that leaves me with more time to read People Magazine, then I'm all for it.
Bella and Emma have decided to try out for Cross Country. Although everyone makes the team, I don't think either of them really understood the concept of Croooooss Cooooountry...running...far distances...sometimes on the track...sometimes on trails...like Forest Gump.
We are officially 1 solid week into it...I'll let you know how it ends. When I asked Abby, why she didn't want to go out for the team, she answered, "Um Mom. Running is like SO not my favorite thing, ever."
Understood.
If I've learned one thing being a Mom, it's present something like it may be a cool "opportunity for growth", but if there is absolutely no interest...let it go, man. Just like that shit-head boyfriend you had in High School. Let. It. Go.
Foxy is hanging in there. She has decided to stop Chemo because, well because, frankly, it was killing her. And Hospice has started to visit on a weekly basis. This has left me feeling relieved, and extremely saddened that the end is more near than far.
I never knew this before my Mom got sick, but she has a dead pan sense of humor. Luckily, we have been able to keep each other laughing through this horrible mess, called Cancer. I will say stuff like, "You know Mom, that Oxycontin has a high market rate right now," and she'll look at me, and without hesitation say, "Get your own source." I'll start laughing, and she says, "And tell your brothers they can't have any either." Because with one being a cop, and one being a lawyer, that's exactly what they would want, right?
I still make her Cannabis treats for her, but I've more than screwed up the last 2 batches.
"Foxy, how are you on brownies and muffins?" I asked her last night.
"Oh, I'm fine. Although the brownies are a bit chewy. I like them a bit more done. And I'm not quite sure what happened to the muffins, but they are a bit..." she trailed off.
"DRY." And she's not kidding. I burned those to a crisp, "Mom, just promise me that you will NOT throw them away, ok?" I pleaded.
"Oh noooo, I would never do that." Pause.
"Geez Mom. You're making me feel bad. I know I really screwed up the last 2 times baking," Longer pause. "Well, you know what?" I ask her, starting to get punchy.
"What?" she says, starting to laugh.
"Well, it's your fault you're still alive. I didn't know I would have to do all this illegal baking. It's a lot of responsibility, you know."
And Foxy just laughed, and laughed, and laughed. And when your Mama has Cancer, and there's nothing you can do to stop it, but make her laugh, I'll take it. Over and over, again.
So I guess I may be old and tired. But I'm still here. And so are you. And man, I'm glad we're on this journey together!
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Riding on the Handlebars
As we were cruising down our street, and about to pull into the driveway, Bella spotted our neighbor walking with his toddler son right before an imminent downpour. The wee lad wobbled in his rain boots and slicker, while Daddy matched him step by step, clutching an umbrella.
"Oh," Bella cooed, "I just love watching him with his son. He's just so sweet with him." Long pause, followed by a direct and purposeful stare my way, "NO offense, to YOU, Mom."
"What?" I asked bewildered, "I'm not sweet with you guys?"
"Actually, you can be quite scary at times," Bella said.
Touche.
There are moments when I actually order these children that I've done birthed and raised, to organize their rooms. This daunting task usually requires the dumping of several drawers, containers, and boxes onto the floor and sorting through...well, piles and piles of shit.
The typical response from the girls resembles a moaning sort of wail, "Mom, do we have to do this right NOW? I'm exhaaaausted."
This is my cue to plop myself on the bed, with a bottle of wine and a tumbler, and respond in a loud and booming voice, "YES. Make 3 piles: KEEP, DONATE, and TRASH."
My friends have started giving the twins all of their cute Gap, Old Navy, Abercrombie, hand-me-downs. Because they are the same SIZE. Because that's what happens when you're daughters are 5'7 and a solid 120 lbs. I am so screwed. Everyday, I pray those little boobies, stay just that...little.
Which brings me to my point. Abby pulled on a camisole cotton PJ top, looked down with disappointment at her chest, and said in exasperation at the bunched up material,
"Well, they are sort of expecting A LOT here!!!"
I swear, not a day goes by, when these kiddos don't make me laugh out loud.
My Foxy Mama came down for a visit a few weeks ago, over St.Patrick's Day weekend. Sundays represent Family Day in Walsh Land. Tom and I usually just chill, drink coffee, move in slow motion, and decide what "special benchure" we will have that day. (That's Charlotte speak).
It was clear on this Irish drinking holiday, we needed to make a decision: Embark on a Pub Crawl with the girls and teach them young, or hit Natural Bridges in Santa Cruz.
Every year, I mark the calendar to see the Monarchs at Natural Bridges. And every f'ing year, without epic fail, I miss them. There's like this window of "Monarch time" and you must be some sort of "Monarch Whisperer" to view them.
Most years, they will take flight and be on their very Monarch way in March. You want to know when they left this year?! JANUARY!!! I never even stood a chance. CURSE YOU, MONARCHS!
But we decided we would take a little walk to the Lighthouse, and back. It was a picture perfect day. I mean, one of those days where the sun hits your face, warms you up, and you feel like it's the first time you've breathed deep in awhile.
It was also a day where the girls discovered their first naked man sunning himself. As Bella and Emma, walked towards the edge to look out at the ocean, they mumbled, "Is that? Ewww, is that?" Now the dialogue had become an astonished yell of disbelief, "Oh my gosh MOM, it's a NAKED MAN!"
Life's little lessons: aren't they sweet?
Tom decided to take the big girls down towards the tide pools, while Nana and I ventured on the path, with Charlotte parked in the stroller, and Bo walking alongside of us. Finally, we arrived at a dog friendly beach. Mom decided to rest up top, as my dog, my toddler and myself made our way to the ocean. I swear, between keeping Charlotte from swimming across the Pacific, and Bo from ripping my arm out of its socket from the leash , it was a good time.
The trip ended with a trip to Safeway to grab some ice-cream sandwiches. I was like the ONLY person in line buying food. Everyone else was holding a case of Guinness. A fleeting thought crossed my mind: it's not too late for the Pub Crawl. Alas, we made our way home.
But I made up for lost time at the annual Booksin Bulldog Ball: a fundraiser for the girl's school, where lots of normally well-behaved adults, drink too much, make poor decisions, and generally are left the next day feeling complete and utterly hung over. Oh wait... maybe that was just me.
It's a rare occasion that Tom and I actually get a lil gussied up, and go out. So when we do, we are sort of on a mission to have a REALLY excellent time. And you know what? Most of those nights end with Tom hanging out bonding with the dudes, and me thinking that I can actually dance.
After hobbling around like an elderly woman for two days after this event, I asked my dear friend, "What did I DO out on the dance floor?"
Spot on she answered, "Well, you pretty much did a squat/lunge work out for 2 hours straight. It was fun to watch."
Often times, after I've had a little wine, (perhaps a bottle or more), I like to ride bikes. It doesn't matter where Tom and I find ourselves: at a backyard BBQ, at a concert walking back to the car, between bars on our Pub Crawl...it never fails. I see the bike, and accost some nice, but frightened passerby with my ginormous stature, and they just like hand their bike over. I believe these nice folks, just want to appease me, and hope I'll shut up if they let me ride their bike.
I know, I know, you're saying, "Gee that's certainly not safe." Or maybe you're saying, "Poor Tom." Or you may even be saying, "How are you, Michelle, going to manage finding a bike at the Booksin Ball?"
Well ALL BE - when what to my mighty eyes did appear, but a souped up cruiser, being raffled off, with fenders on the rear? Can you believe it? I mean, how could this night get any better? Well, with me hopping on the handlebars in my very short skirt and stilettos, and ordering our very nice friend, who shall remain anonymous, to "RIDE!!!"
Poor guy. Seriously, I don't think he even saw me coming. But then again, it's not like I am a tiny leprechaun-type. When he didn't move, most likely, because I matched him pound per pound, I dismounted. He stood up, and I got on the seat. By this time, people were taking pictures.
When Tom and I were re-united shortly thereafter, the first thing he says, "I saw some pictures of you. You found a bike, huh?"
"Yep, I sure did."
"That's my girl,"
I love my crazy, simple, lovely little life. Thanks for being a part of it.
"Oh," Bella cooed, "I just love watching him with his son. He's just so sweet with him." Long pause, followed by a direct and purposeful stare my way, "NO offense, to YOU, Mom."
"What?" I asked bewildered, "I'm not sweet with you guys?"
"Actually, you can be quite scary at times," Bella said.
Touche.
There are moments when I actually order these children that I've done birthed and raised, to organize their rooms. This daunting task usually requires the dumping of several drawers, containers, and boxes onto the floor and sorting through...well, piles and piles of shit.
The typical response from the girls resembles a moaning sort of wail, "Mom, do we have to do this right NOW? I'm exhaaaausted."
This is my cue to plop myself on the bed, with a bottle of wine and a tumbler, and respond in a loud and booming voice, "YES. Make 3 piles: KEEP, DONATE, and TRASH."
My friends have started giving the twins all of their cute Gap, Old Navy, Abercrombie, hand-me-downs. Because they are the same SIZE. Because that's what happens when you're daughters are 5'7 and a solid 120 lbs. I am so screwed. Everyday, I pray those little boobies, stay just that...little.
Which brings me to my point. Abby pulled on a camisole cotton PJ top, looked down with disappointment at her chest, and said in exasperation at the bunched up material,
"Well, they are sort of expecting A LOT here!!!"
I swear, not a day goes by, when these kiddos don't make me laugh out loud.
My Foxy Mama came down for a visit a few weeks ago, over St.Patrick's Day weekend. Sundays represent Family Day in Walsh Land. Tom and I usually just chill, drink coffee, move in slow motion, and decide what "special benchure" we will have that day. (That's Charlotte speak).
It was clear on this Irish drinking holiday, we needed to make a decision: Embark on a Pub Crawl with the girls and teach them young, or hit Natural Bridges in Santa Cruz.
Every year, I mark the calendar to see the Monarchs at Natural Bridges. And every f'ing year, without epic fail, I miss them. There's like this window of "Monarch time" and you must be some sort of "Monarch Whisperer" to view them.
Most years, they will take flight and be on their very Monarch way in March. You want to know when they left this year?! JANUARY!!! I never even stood a chance. CURSE YOU, MONARCHS!
But we decided we would take a little walk to the Lighthouse, and back. It was a picture perfect day. I mean, one of those days where the sun hits your face, warms you up, and you feel like it's the first time you've breathed deep in awhile.
It was also a day where the girls discovered their first naked man sunning himself. As Bella and Emma, walked towards the edge to look out at the ocean, they mumbled, "Is that? Ewww, is that?" Now the dialogue had become an astonished yell of disbelief, "Oh my gosh MOM, it's a NAKED MAN!"
Life's little lessons: aren't they sweet?
Tom decided to take the big girls down towards the tide pools, while Nana and I ventured on the path, with Charlotte parked in the stroller, and Bo walking alongside of us. Finally, we arrived at a dog friendly beach. Mom decided to rest up top, as my dog, my toddler and myself made our way to the ocean. I swear, between keeping Charlotte from swimming across the Pacific, and Bo from ripping my arm out of its socket from the leash , it was a good time.
The trip ended with a trip to Safeway to grab some ice-cream sandwiches. I was like the ONLY person in line buying food. Everyone else was holding a case of Guinness. A fleeting thought crossed my mind: it's not too late for the Pub Crawl. Alas, we made our way home.
But I made up for lost time at the annual Booksin Bulldog Ball: a fundraiser for the girl's school, where lots of normally well-behaved adults, drink too much, make poor decisions, and generally are left the next day feeling complete and utterly hung over. Oh wait... maybe that was just me.
It's a rare occasion that Tom and I actually get a lil gussied up, and go out. So when we do, we are sort of on a mission to have a REALLY excellent time. And you know what? Most of those nights end with Tom hanging out bonding with the dudes, and me thinking that I can actually dance.
After hobbling around like an elderly woman for two days after this event, I asked my dear friend, "What did I DO out on the dance floor?"
Spot on she answered, "Well, you pretty much did a squat/lunge work out for 2 hours straight. It was fun to watch."
Often times, after I've had a little wine, (perhaps a bottle or more), I like to ride bikes. It doesn't matter where Tom and I find ourselves: at a backyard BBQ, at a concert walking back to the car, between bars on our Pub Crawl...it never fails. I see the bike, and accost some nice, but frightened passerby with my ginormous stature, and they just like hand their bike over. I believe these nice folks, just want to appease me, and hope I'll shut up if they let me ride their bike.
I know, I know, you're saying, "Gee that's certainly not safe." Or maybe you're saying, "Poor Tom." Or you may even be saying, "How are you, Michelle, going to manage finding a bike at the Booksin Ball?"
Well ALL BE - when what to my mighty eyes did appear, but a souped up cruiser, being raffled off, with fenders on the rear? Can you believe it? I mean, how could this night get any better? Well, with me hopping on the handlebars in my very short skirt and stilettos, and ordering our very nice friend, who shall remain anonymous, to "RIDE!!!"
Poor guy. Seriously, I don't think he even saw me coming. But then again, it's not like I am a tiny leprechaun-type. When he didn't move, most likely, because I matched him pound per pound, I dismounted. He stood up, and I got on the seat. By this time, people were taking pictures.
When Tom and I were re-united shortly thereafter, the first thing he says, "I saw some pictures of you. You found a bike, huh?"
"Yep, I sure did."
"That's my girl,"
I love my crazy, simple, lovely little life. Thanks for being a part of it.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
The Blue Hairs
As I was scrambling to clear the breakfast dishes, in order to get out the door on time, I said, "Hurry Cosette, you need to get your things for school, and hop into the truck with Daddy. I'm going to church."
She stopped dead in her tracks, looked at my directly, and replied, "Well, that's RARE."
I love it when my kids totally call me out.
Catholicism and I have such a twisted relationship. It is and always be home to me in so many ways. I dig the JC, and feel kindred with the Mother Mary. When I am exhausted at the end of the day, and saying prayers with the girls, I love how I can just mindlessly recite the Our Father, or the Hail Mary.
And yet, by the same token, in so many ways, I fight this religion tooth and nail, questioning EVERYthing. Sunday is FAMILY day, and I don't really want to go to church. Besides, I feel closest to God when I'm outside hiking, or running, or drinking wine. And this whole reconciliation thing: REALLY? Come on. Can't I just go directly to the source, and ask for forgiveness? Like, why do we have to have a Menage a Trois, with the priest?
You know who attends Mass religiously (no pun intended), smack dab in the middle of the week at 8 AM? Yeah, well neither did I until a few days ago: OLD people. Retired folks. Blue hairs. Single oldies and couple oldies. Nun oldies. Shawl wearing oldies. Trouser donning oldies. Not many people under the age of 70 were in attendance: unless you count me, and like one other dude, who was pushing 60.
There are some definite perks to attending at this time:
1) You are IN and OUT, having the body and the blood of the Son of God, in 30 minutes, flat. Yep, you read that right. No singing and going on and on like on Sunday. No "Lean to the left, Lean to the right, Stand up, Sit down, Fight, Fight Fight!" for 60 minutes. Mass during the week is extremely efficient.
And 2) While sharing the sign of Peace, the oldies don't even move from their spot to shake your hand. They just sorta make minimal eye contact, nod, and like wave at you, while whispering "Peace". I mean, I don't even have to move; this is a definite plus at 8 AM, I must say.
Let me explain by stating that I have felt off kilter for awhile. I have been hearing the call to return. Perhaps it's because in the past year, a few really shitty things have happened: my Foxy mama was diagnosed with Lung Cancer. After enduring 4 aggressive rounds of Chemo, and 1 extremely invasive surgery in which part of her lung was removed, the fucking Cancer came back. Can you believe that Mother Fucker, Cancer?
Right after this, I discovered more disheartening news. Do you have a friend who just always has your back? No matter what you were doing - legal, illegal, this person would be right there by your side, convincing the judge that you were both innocent? Well, my very good and loyal friend, who fits this description, and happens to be only FORTY years old, and happily married with 2 small kiddos, was diagnosed with Breast Cancer. Shortly after that, my other girlfriend got news while standing in my kitchen on a Friday night, HER Mama had Lung Cancer. WTF????
All of this news had left me feeling, hopeless, anxious, frustrated, and sad.
I've been threatening for awhile now that I'm going to write a book titled "Fuck Cancer" You open it, and the next page would read, The End.
So, there I was struggling, questioning, exhausted...I decided it was time to go back to church. That this thing, called "life" and all that goes with it, was just too much for me to bear.
I'm a pretty positive person, but I had gotten down. Like enough, to realize that I may be headed towards depression. Like, very close to calling my doc, and asking for the med hook up. Half of my family is medicated already, so what's one more, right?
I made a few vows to myself to try to turn it around:
1. Be honest with myself and Tom about my feelings.
2. Take care of myself by eating healthy, drinking moderately, getting 7-8 hours of sleep each night, taking my vitamins, and moving my body in some way, shape, or form at least 5-6 days of the week.
3. Giving up negative self talk.
4. Going to Mass with the oldies if I can swing it during the week. Not because I "should", but because I want to, to pray for Foxy, and my girlfriend. And pray for my Dad and my brothers and their families. Pray that we will endure what is coming next with patience and acceptance. Pray for my girls and Tom, that they accept and understand Mama is just a little lost, right now.
Last Friday, after Mass ended, we waited for the Father to walk out. That never happened; I'm not sure if he used a secret trap door to escape, or what, but he never walked down the aisle. And if you're Catholic, you know that you wait for the Priest to exit out of respect, and leave after him. So there I was, kind of waiting, when this group of about 15 die hard oldies, start praying the Rosary aloud.
There I was: caught with the oldies talking to Mary and such. "I can't get up and leave NOW. That would be awkward," I thought to myself. But let me tell you, after 30 more minutes of prayer, I was thinking, Mary would totally be down with me leaving and going for my run.
So I did. It was a beautiful day that the Lord hath made. He was telling me, "Michelle, rejoice and exercise!"
She stopped dead in her tracks, looked at my directly, and replied, "Well, that's RARE."
I love it when my kids totally call me out.
Catholicism and I have such a twisted relationship. It is and always be home to me in so many ways. I dig the JC, and feel kindred with the Mother Mary. When I am exhausted at the end of the day, and saying prayers with the girls, I love how I can just mindlessly recite the Our Father, or the Hail Mary.
And yet, by the same token, in so many ways, I fight this religion tooth and nail, questioning EVERYthing. Sunday is FAMILY day, and I don't really want to go to church. Besides, I feel closest to God when I'm outside hiking, or running, or drinking wine. And this whole reconciliation thing: REALLY? Come on. Can't I just go directly to the source, and ask for forgiveness? Like, why do we have to have a Menage a Trois, with the priest?
You know who attends Mass religiously (no pun intended), smack dab in the middle of the week at 8 AM? Yeah, well neither did I until a few days ago: OLD people. Retired folks. Blue hairs. Single oldies and couple oldies. Nun oldies. Shawl wearing oldies. Trouser donning oldies. Not many people under the age of 70 were in attendance: unless you count me, and like one other dude, who was pushing 60.
There are some definite perks to attending at this time:
1) You are IN and OUT, having the body and the blood of the Son of God, in 30 minutes, flat. Yep, you read that right. No singing and going on and on like on Sunday. No "Lean to the left, Lean to the right, Stand up, Sit down, Fight, Fight Fight!" for 60 minutes. Mass during the week is extremely efficient.
And 2) While sharing the sign of Peace, the oldies don't even move from their spot to shake your hand. They just sorta make minimal eye contact, nod, and like wave at you, while whispering "Peace". I mean, I don't even have to move; this is a definite plus at 8 AM, I must say.
Let me explain by stating that I have felt off kilter for awhile. I have been hearing the call to return. Perhaps it's because in the past year, a few really shitty things have happened: my Foxy mama was diagnosed with Lung Cancer. After enduring 4 aggressive rounds of Chemo, and 1 extremely invasive surgery in which part of her lung was removed, the fucking Cancer came back. Can you believe that Mother Fucker, Cancer?
Right after this, I discovered more disheartening news. Do you have a friend who just always has your back? No matter what you were doing - legal, illegal, this person would be right there by your side, convincing the judge that you were both innocent? Well, my very good and loyal friend, who fits this description, and happens to be only FORTY years old, and happily married with 2 small kiddos, was diagnosed with Breast Cancer. Shortly after that, my other girlfriend got news while standing in my kitchen on a Friday night, HER Mama had Lung Cancer. WTF????
All of this news had left me feeling, hopeless, anxious, frustrated, and sad.
I've been threatening for awhile now that I'm going to write a book titled "Fuck Cancer" You open it, and the next page would read, The End.
So, there I was struggling, questioning, exhausted...I decided it was time to go back to church. That this thing, called "life" and all that goes with it, was just too much for me to bear.
I'm a pretty positive person, but I had gotten down. Like enough, to realize that I may be headed towards depression. Like, very close to calling my doc, and asking for the med hook up. Half of my family is medicated already, so what's one more, right?
I made a few vows to myself to try to turn it around:
1. Be honest with myself and Tom about my feelings.
2. Take care of myself by eating healthy, drinking moderately, getting 7-8 hours of sleep each night, taking my vitamins, and moving my body in some way, shape, or form at least 5-6 days of the week.
3. Giving up negative self talk.
4. Going to Mass with the oldies if I can swing it during the week. Not because I "should", but because I want to, to pray for Foxy, and my girlfriend. And pray for my Dad and my brothers and their families. Pray that we will endure what is coming next with patience and acceptance. Pray for my girls and Tom, that they accept and understand Mama is just a little lost, right now.
Last Friday, after Mass ended, we waited for the Father to walk out. That never happened; I'm not sure if he used a secret trap door to escape, or what, but he never walked down the aisle. And if you're Catholic, you know that you wait for the Priest to exit out of respect, and leave after him. So there I was, kind of waiting, when this group of about 15 die hard oldies, start praying the Rosary aloud.
There I was: caught with the oldies talking to Mary and such. "I can't get up and leave NOW. That would be awkward," I thought to myself. But let me tell you, after 30 more minutes of prayer, I was thinking, Mary would totally be down with me leaving and going for my run.
So I did. It was a beautiful day that the Lord hath made. He was telling me, "Michelle, rejoice and exercise!"
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Spring Break
Cosette sleepily stumbled to the table on Monday morning after Spring Break. A stack of hot cinnamon french toast beckoned her to dig in, but not before she looked up wearily, and yawned.
"Mama, when's it gonna be Friday?" she asked. Not soon enough, baby.
Spring Break 2012 was fun, but the Walsh clan didn't do anything exceptional. We just sorta rode the wave, you know? Several peeps that I know and love, planned trips to the Magic Kingdom, beautiful Santa Barbara, and even sunny Hawaii.
The highlight of our week was when I took the Biggies to watch Titanic in 3D on the big screen. I mean, we've had "the talk" and all, but it's another thing to see Jack and Rose getting it on, ya dig? So when the camera flashed to the sweaty, panting, and amorous couple holding eachother after they sealed the deal, Bella leaned over and whispered loudly, "Mom...why are Jack and Rose so sweaty?"
I kept a straight face, and answered the way any responsible parent would, "They were intimate, honey." That was met with a blank stare. I followed with, "Jack and Rose made love." Bella sorta turned away in disgust.
The next day, I was determined to bring those girls out into the outdoors for a hike on Harwood, but Mother Nature was not having it. We loaded up the truck, and started to drive, as rain spattered against the windshield. Still, I remained hopeful.
"Mom, it's raining. We can't hike now!" Abby explained. It sounded like a chorus, all the girls chiming in, "Yeah Mom. It looks like it's just not going to work out."
Errrr. My offspring did have a legitimate point. But they had been indoors for 48 hours, and I was just a hair away from being institutionalized. I succumbed to Plan B: the library...on a Friday...during Preschool Story Hour.
Holy Mother of God. I can't believe I used to take the twins WILLINGLY to that story hour. Like I utilized free will, and enjoyed doing so in the process. I have never seen so many unruly munchkins in all my life. Well, I mean, unless you count my own kids. But who could blame them? No one had seen the light of day due to the rain in over 2 days, and well...the noise level, I'm convinced would rival a Metallica concert.
As we wandered back to the truck, half deaf, I thought, "It has GOT to be Happy Hour." Nope, as luck would have it, still only 10:30 AM. Damn.
We headed back home, and a window of clear skies opened up. I welcomed that warm sunshiney weather with open arms, by promptly yelling at my kids, "OUTSIDE NOW!!! Go jump on the trampoline. Or climb the Magnolia tree. ANYTHING...just do it outside." Now, that's what I call effective parenting right there. You won't read about that tactic in any book, but it works. The key: yelling really LOUDLY, while you furrow your brow, like you're on the edge. I don't even have to pretend anymore.
Speaking of effective Parenting 101...just recently I hopped onto the Parent Portal to discover that one of my children, who shall remain nameless, had failed to turn in several Reading Logs.
Tom and I agree on what we consider to be the most important value regarding education: we ask that our girls put forth their best effort in everything that they do. But our way of handling the situation differs a bit, as is shown by the following conversation that took place with our child.
Me: "I see here that you are missing several reading logs. This is not okay." Silence. I decided to try the yelling technique from earlier, "WHY? WHY AREN'T THEY DONE?"
Child: "I just didn't feel like doing them" Oh no, my head began swaying from side to side, anger seething out of me, "Oh no she didn't just say that."
Me: "Do you KNOW how many things I DO every DAY that I just don't feel like DOING?"
Tom: "It's really important to do things from the heart, honey. Because when you come from a position of love, you can never go wrong."
Wait a minute, I'm thinking to myself. I am very busy making a point here about how life is tough, and you better just get over it, and Tom is on a Love Train parable?
Me, butting in, and putting a complete and utter stop to his Unicorn and Rainbow talk: "Do you think I enjoy making a hot breakfast EVERY day? Do you think I enjoy doing laundry? Do you think I enjoy cooking?"
Tom: "See honey, Mama does these things out of love for you. She knows she has to do them, but she does it with love in her heart."
I do?
Tom continued, and I knew better at this point, than to shut up and listen to him bring his point home.
Tom: "You know how I have all that paperwork upstairs, and I HATE doing it? I would much rather be with you, or your sisters, or your Mama. Well, it's part of my responsibility so that you can have a house to come home to, a bed to sleep in, and a Mom who can be home with you. So even though, I don't like doing it, I try to do it with love in my heart. And it's your responsibility to get your school work done."
Child: "Oh, so even though I may not want to do something, if I do it with love and a good attitude, it makes life a lot better, right?"
Shit...he's good. Listening to your child with an open heart, and disciplining accordingly? Yep, I'm pretty sure you will find that chapter in the parenting book. Tom Walsh Super Genius strikes again.
And we sort of balance each other out. Me yelling, and following through with an action plan. Tom, singing Cumbaya, and leaving our girls with a sense that he really "gets" them.
It all works out, right?
"Mama, when's it gonna be Friday?" she asked. Not soon enough, baby.
Spring Break 2012 was fun, but the Walsh clan didn't do anything exceptional. We just sorta rode the wave, you know? Several peeps that I know and love, planned trips to the Magic Kingdom, beautiful Santa Barbara, and even sunny Hawaii.
The highlight of our week was when I took the Biggies to watch Titanic in 3D on the big screen. I mean, we've had "the talk" and all, but it's another thing to see Jack and Rose getting it on, ya dig? So when the camera flashed to the sweaty, panting, and amorous couple holding eachother after they sealed the deal, Bella leaned over and whispered loudly, "Mom...why are Jack and Rose so sweaty?"
I kept a straight face, and answered the way any responsible parent would, "They were intimate, honey." That was met with a blank stare. I followed with, "Jack and Rose made love." Bella sorta turned away in disgust.
The next day, I was determined to bring those girls out into the outdoors for a hike on Harwood, but Mother Nature was not having it. We loaded up the truck, and started to drive, as rain spattered against the windshield. Still, I remained hopeful.
"Mom, it's raining. We can't hike now!" Abby explained. It sounded like a chorus, all the girls chiming in, "Yeah Mom. It looks like it's just not going to work out."
Errrr. My offspring did have a legitimate point. But they had been indoors for 48 hours, and I was just a hair away from being institutionalized. I succumbed to Plan B: the library...on a Friday...during Preschool Story Hour.
Holy Mother of God. I can't believe I used to take the twins WILLINGLY to that story hour. Like I utilized free will, and enjoyed doing so in the process. I have never seen so many unruly munchkins in all my life. Well, I mean, unless you count my own kids. But who could blame them? No one had seen the light of day due to the rain in over 2 days, and well...the noise level, I'm convinced would rival a Metallica concert.
As we wandered back to the truck, half deaf, I thought, "It has GOT to be Happy Hour." Nope, as luck would have it, still only 10:30 AM. Damn.
We headed back home, and a window of clear skies opened up. I welcomed that warm sunshiney weather with open arms, by promptly yelling at my kids, "OUTSIDE NOW!!! Go jump on the trampoline. Or climb the Magnolia tree. ANYTHING...just do it outside." Now, that's what I call effective parenting right there. You won't read about that tactic in any book, but it works. The key: yelling really LOUDLY, while you furrow your brow, like you're on the edge. I don't even have to pretend anymore.
Speaking of effective Parenting 101...just recently I hopped onto the Parent Portal to discover that one of my children, who shall remain nameless, had failed to turn in several Reading Logs.
Tom and I agree on what we consider to be the most important value regarding education: we ask that our girls put forth their best effort in everything that they do. But our way of handling the situation differs a bit, as is shown by the following conversation that took place with our child.
Me: "I see here that you are missing several reading logs. This is not okay." Silence. I decided to try the yelling technique from earlier, "WHY? WHY AREN'T THEY DONE?"
Child: "I just didn't feel like doing them" Oh no, my head began swaying from side to side, anger seething out of me, "Oh no she didn't just say that."
Me: "Do you KNOW how many things I DO every DAY that I just don't feel like DOING?"
Tom: "It's really important to do things from the heart, honey. Because when you come from a position of love, you can never go wrong."
Wait a minute, I'm thinking to myself. I am very busy making a point here about how life is tough, and you better just get over it, and Tom is on a Love Train parable?
Me, butting in, and putting a complete and utter stop to his Unicorn and Rainbow talk: "Do you think I enjoy making a hot breakfast EVERY day? Do you think I enjoy doing laundry? Do you think I enjoy cooking?"
Tom: "See honey, Mama does these things out of love for you. She knows she has to do them, but she does it with love in her heart."
I do?
Tom continued, and I knew better at this point, than to shut up and listen to him bring his point home.
Tom: "You know how I have all that paperwork upstairs, and I HATE doing it? I would much rather be with you, or your sisters, or your Mama. Well, it's part of my responsibility so that you can have a house to come home to, a bed to sleep in, and a Mom who can be home with you. So even though, I don't like doing it, I try to do it with love in my heart. And it's your responsibility to get your school work done."
Child: "Oh, so even though I may not want to do something, if I do it with love and a good attitude, it makes life a lot better, right?"
Shit...he's good. Listening to your child with an open heart, and disciplining accordingly? Yep, I'm pretty sure you will find that chapter in the parenting book. Tom Walsh Super Genius strikes again.
And we sort of balance each other out. Me yelling, and following through with an action plan. Tom, singing Cumbaya, and leaving our girls with a sense that he really "gets" them.
It all works out, right?
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
The Christmas Letter...March 2012
Life in Walsh Land just continues to roll. Well, unless you consider that there was an attempted kid-napping of a 16 year old girl by some asshole using a Tazer gun on MY street last Friday. Yep, you read that right.
While most parents were left feeling scared out of their minds by this, I was filled with complete and utter RAGE. I felt violated. I felt that MY children were hurt, because of this child's physical harm. That 16 year old belongs to HER folks, and ME and YOU! Because they are ALL our babies. No matter if we grew them in our wombs or not. And I'll be damned, if I will let some asshole (who's 5'7, hispanic, 200 lbs, and driving a small red compact car) take my girls childhood from them! Simply put, I refuse to live in fear of what "may" happen, and I pray for protection over all children to keep them safe.
I did what any Mama would: scared the ever loving shit out of the twins with the story. These girls need to know what's going on in our hood...especially because they bike to and from school everyday together. It left me thinking...should I start driving them? Should I get them cell phones? Should I start home-schooling? Okay, so I never really had that last thought because I'm far too selfish, but it made me sound like a really invested parent, didn't it?
But after discussing the situation with Tom at length, we came to the same conclusion: life in our home shall remain the same. Riding bikes out front, climbing the rope on the Magnolia Tree, and jumping on the trampoline. Because before I know what hit me, my girls will be gone. And I don't want them to miss out on any of it.
That cute, big headed, red haired baby, is quickly approaching toddler hood. She walks, swaggering side to side, her noggin often dipped down into her chest, barely dodging the occasional passerby or piece of furniture. She sort of resembles a drunk person, who's on the verge of passing out. In fact, just the other day during pick up at school, as Charlie swayed her way across the black top, a 5th grade boy weighing at least 110 lbs, ran right into her. That poor kid, he never even saw her, and felt horrible. As Charlotte howled the injustice of having her head smack the pavement, I assured the boy, it wasn't his fault. My leash with Charlie is a bit long, And truth be told, I give that baby 6 months before she has the run of the place.
I even speak to her now just like she's an ACTUAL, real live person. No more baby talk.
"Charlie, you want to help me make smoothies for snack?" I ask.
"YAY!!! YAY!!! YAY!!!" she shouts, followed by her boozey side step towards the fridge to gather the necessary goods. I just keep adding healthy stuff to the girls after-school snack-smoothies, and my kids have like NO idea: protein powder, flax meal, and some Emergen C going on, camouflaged by juice and frozen fruit. I sort of feel like a chemist...but I failed Chemistry in high school. Rut Ro. I hope I don't kill my offspring with possibly posionous, "healthy" combinations. Charlotte sucks down those smoothies through the straw like it's crack.
Speaking of crack, I do believe I should invent an "adult" smoothie. Why should we limit THC solely to lemon pound cake and brownies? Foxy, watch out. Next time I come up after your Chemo, I'm going to concoct a loaded smoothie. You will also start speaking like a Rastafarian and wearing tye-dye. Yeah mon.
Charlotte "communicates" by verbalizing the following phrases over, and over, and OVER again:
"YAY!" which is usually followed by,"Oh Wow!," and then "Wat happened?" and finally, "MOM????!!! MOM?! MOM?!!!"
Initially, I thought my baby was just looking for me in the house, and so so my reply, "What baby???? What? Mama's right here." By the way, I'm still confused as to why we refer to ourselves in the third person when talking to our children.
After she finds me applying make-up in the bathroom, cooking dinner in the kitchen, or simply hiding out from her behind the Lazy Boy chair, she continues, "MOM??? MOM???!!!"
I scream back, "WHAT?!! WHAT?!!!" to which she says, "MOM!!! MOM?!!"
That's when I start "pretending" I no longer hear her...just kidding.
Not really.
Charlotte is stingy with her smooches, but displays her affection in the oddest way. She will place her head on my lap, again somewhat resembling a drunkard, and nuzzle that large dome in between my legs. And let me tell you ...I'll take that love any way I can get it. Sweet, growing up fast, lil baby.
Cosette is plugging along, while successfully driving me to drink more everyday. Cozy has a lot of energy, no boundaries, and a ton of love to give out. And she will gladly deliver it to anyone who's in her path whether they've asked or not: family, friends, and on occasion, complete strangers.
Most of you already know that we decided to have Cosette repeat Kinder this year, as she just turned 6 in August.
I don't know if you've had a kid in Kindergarten lately, but I swear they are hazing these kids. You will only graduate with the OTHER Kindergartners, when you complete reading, and write a dissertation on Jane Eyre, can solve various equations using 3.14, and drive a car on the freeway without killing ANYone. Oh, and you have to know how to cut and paste too. Sharing is also important.
Seriously, Kindergarten is NOT for wimps these days. Tom and I along with the guidance of her teacher, felt that another year would give us more indication if she was immature, had a learning challenge, had ADD, or ALL of the above.
It's just like Forest Gump said, "Life is like a box of chocolates...you never know what you're gonna get."
Fast forward to March 2012, Kinder Chapter 2: Cosette is not grasping concepts like she should at this point in time. And her attention span? Little to none. Like Zilch. Nada. I try to keep my cool, but I feel a bit frustrated and frazzled, when I tell her no less than 28 times to finish her dinner...brush her teeth...flush the toilet after she has had a BM. You may think I'm exaggerating. But if you've ever set foot in my house, you know I'm speaking the truth.
After meeting with Cozy's current Kinder teacher, we both agreed that she will definitely need "extra support" in first grade. That's code for: an IEP or 504 Plan. For those of you not familiar with these terms, an IEP and 504 Plans are code for: accomodations and modifications to help my Cozy learn more easily. Which is really just code for: GOOD TEACHING METHODOLOGY that should be going on in the classroom for ALL kids anyways.
With that being said, I find it completely unnecessary to have her tested through the district to put this in place for several reasons:
1. I have to fight tooth and nail to have it done because it costs them money. Been there, done that.
2. The testing process, itself, is long and arduous. Surely, it will exhaust, an already, exhausting child.
3. Even with testing completed, Cosette will most likely test low, but not LOW enough to actually determine she needs services.
Having prior experience with this scenario, I'm placing my money on a medical diagnosis. This is what SAVED us with Isabella. Recognizing that Cosette will most likely be diagnosed with ADHD, I'm game for getting her medicated, and getting her plan in place for school in that fashion.
Before anyone goes casting stones, I have seen first hand how much, and how far Bella has come with the drug known as Adderall. She is able to focus, and try new things. All of this, while still pushing her sister's buttons....amazing.
In all seriousness, I often wonder how many adults, who never got properly diagnosed, have gone their entire lives by self-medicating with drugs and alcohol. When maybe, they just needed some extra support, and the correct meds to help them balance out?
And quite frankly, I can totally see the future with Cosette in prison. We need help NOW.
It is WEIRD to recognize how much I have changed regarding the meds in the last 2 years, but it's true. And I'll say it loud and proud: medicate my kids if will help them learn, aid with focus, and keep their self-esteem intact. Believe me, I tried hugging trees and singing Cumbaya, and it didn't work. More deets regarding Cozy to follow.
Emma is rocking 4th grade. She is extremely studious, totally on it, and I'm convinced, she will one day be the President of the United States. Often, I look at Emma and wonder, how did YOU come out of ME?
Emma and I are participating in Girls on the Run together, where she is training to run a 5K in May. On my very first day coaching, we sat in our circle, making introductions. I took in 27sweet, little faces: Booksin girls in third, fourth, and fifth grades, who in just 10 short weeks, would be completing a 3.1 mile run. I mean, HOW COOL IS THAT?
But the program is not solely about the running. The lesson plans revolve around issues like: positive self-talk, recognizing and knowing what to do with emotions, and visualization. Yes, you read all of that right. I mean, this is stuff I'm teaching ADULTS at Weight Watchers. Who knows? If Girls on the Run would have been around in the 70's and 80's, I would have saved thousands in therapy. I highly recommend this program to ALL girls to teach them simply this: Power to the She. And yes, I totally stole that mantra from Athleta...who is a sponsor of GOTR, by the way.
Abby and Bella have come into their own in Middle School. They have become quite responsible by riding their bikes to and from school, completing their homework without me nagging them, and helping out with Charlie.
Just recently, the twins were contemplating playing Spring Basketball. After both completing try-outs, Bella came to a life-altering decision at the breakfast table:
"Mom, I'm just not feeling it right now. I don't really want to play basketball. I've got too much going on."
I wanted to be supportive of her choice, "Okay Bella, I will send Coach an email. But today you need to explain that this is your last practice." I am trying to teach the girls the importance of verbalizing their feelings, "Just tell Coach how you feel, and see what he says."
By this point, Abby had ceased eating her pancakes. This was a news flash to her. Recognizing that she was processing this new information, I asked,
"Abby, how does this make you feel?" (Can you tell we've had lots of counseling?)
"Well, I just feel really... alone... knowing Bella won't be there with me," she answered with an almost inaudible voice, "I mean, we just know what the other one is going to do. She passes me the ball, and I pass it to her."
Silence. What does a Mama say to that? My heart broke a little.
"Abby, I can see why you feel a little anxious and scared to play without your sister. But this is one of those times, when you guys are going to choose differently, and that's okay. Does that make sense?"
"Yeah," long pause,"I guess," she said, not completely convinced that I knew what I was talking about.
Long story short, we ended up opting out of Spring Basketball. Practices are held Mondays and Wednesdays SMACK DAB in the middle of the afternoon during the fun-filled, responsibility-free, months known as June and July. After explaining this, I assured Abby that we would do it if she wanted to, but this was really going to screw up our fun. Just kidding.
Not really.
Abby, with a maturity not quite fitting her age just yet, replied, "I totally get it Mom. Let's just chill this summer and relax. I really like not having to be anywhere. I'm actually totally fine with it. I'll play basketball in the Fall."
Sometimes when my kids say stuff, I have just learned to shut up, and listen.
As Charlie would say, "Oh Wow."
While most parents were left feeling scared out of their minds by this, I was filled with complete and utter RAGE. I felt violated. I felt that MY children were hurt, because of this child's physical harm. That 16 year old belongs to HER folks, and ME and YOU! Because they are ALL our babies. No matter if we grew them in our wombs or not. And I'll be damned, if I will let some asshole (who's 5'7, hispanic, 200 lbs, and driving a small red compact car) take my girls childhood from them! Simply put, I refuse to live in fear of what "may" happen, and I pray for protection over all children to keep them safe.
I did what any Mama would: scared the ever loving shit out of the twins with the story. These girls need to know what's going on in our hood...especially because they bike to and from school everyday together. It left me thinking...should I start driving them? Should I get them cell phones? Should I start home-schooling? Okay, so I never really had that last thought because I'm far too selfish, but it made me sound like a really invested parent, didn't it?
But after discussing the situation with Tom at length, we came to the same conclusion: life in our home shall remain the same. Riding bikes out front, climbing the rope on the Magnolia Tree, and jumping on the trampoline. Because before I know what hit me, my girls will be gone. And I don't want them to miss out on any of it.
That cute, big headed, red haired baby, is quickly approaching toddler hood. She walks, swaggering side to side, her noggin often dipped down into her chest, barely dodging the occasional passerby or piece of furniture. She sort of resembles a drunk person, who's on the verge of passing out. In fact, just the other day during pick up at school, as Charlie swayed her way across the black top, a 5th grade boy weighing at least 110 lbs, ran right into her. That poor kid, he never even saw her, and felt horrible. As Charlotte howled the injustice of having her head smack the pavement, I assured the boy, it wasn't his fault. My leash with Charlie is a bit long, And truth be told, I give that baby 6 months before she has the run of the place.
I even speak to her now just like she's an ACTUAL, real live person. No more baby talk.
"Charlie, you want to help me make smoothies for snack?" I ask.
"YAY!!! YAY!!! YAY!!!" she shouts, followed by her boozey side step towards the fridge to gather the necessary goods. I just keep adding healthy stuff to the girls after-school snack-smoothies, and my kids have like NO idea: protein powder, flax meal, and some Emergen C going on, camouflaged by juice and frozen fruit. I sort of feel like a chemist...but I failed Chemistry in high school. Rut Ro. I hope I don't kill my offspring with possibly posionous, "healthy" combinations. Charlotte sucks down those smoothies through the straw like it's crack.
Speaking of crack, I do believe I should invent an "adult" smoothie. Why should we limit THC solely to lemon pound cake and brownies? Foxy, watch out. Next time I come up after your Chemo, I'm going to concoct a loaded smoothie. You will also start speaking like a Rastafarian and wearing tye-dye. Yeah mon.
Charlotte "communicates" by verbalizing the following phrases over, and over, and OVER again:
"YAY!" which is usually followed by,"Oh Wow!," and then "Wat happened?" and finally, "MOM????!!! MOM?! MOM?!!!"
Initially, I thought my baby was just looking for me in the house, and so so my reply, "What baby???? What? Mama's right here." By the way, I'm still confused as to why we refer to ourselves in the third person when talking to our children.
After she finds me applying make-up in the bathroom, cooking dinner in the kitchen, or simply hiding out from her behind the Lazy Boy chair, she continues, "MOM??? MOM???!!!"
I scream back, "WHAT?!! WHAT?!!!" to which she says, "MOM!!! MOM?!!"
That's when I start "pretending" I no longer hear her...just kidding.
Not really.
Charlotte is stingy with her smooches, but displays her affection in the oddest way. She will place her head on my lap, again somewhat resembling a drunkard, and nuzzle that large dome in between my legs. And let me tell you ...I'll take that love any way I can get it. Sweet, growing up fast, lil baby.
Cosette is plugging along, while successfully driving me to drink more everyday. Cozy has a lot of energy, no boundaries, and a ton of love to give out. And she will gladly deliver it to anyone who's in her path whether they've asked or not: family, friends, and on occasion, complete strangers.
Most of you already know that we decided to have Cosette repeat Kinder this year, as she just turned 6 in August.
I don't know if you've had a kid in Kindergarten lately, but I swear they are hazing these kids. You will only graduate with the OTHER Kindergartners, when you complete reading, and write a dissertation on Jane Eyre, can solve various equations using 3.14, and drive a car on the freeway without killing ANYone. Oh, and you have to know how to cut and paste too. Sharing is also important.
Seriously, Kindergarten is NOT for wimps these days. Tom and I along with the guidance of her teacher, felt that another year would give us more indication if she was immature, had a learning challenge, had ADD, or ALL of the above.
It's just like Forest Gump said, "Life is like a box of chocolates...you never know what you're gonna get."
Fast forward to March 2012, Kinder Chapter 2: Cosette is not grasping concepts like she should at this point in time. And her attention span? Little to none. Like Zilch. Nada. I try to keep my cool, but I feel a bit frustrated and frazzled, when I tell her no less than 28 times to finish her dinner...brush her teeth...flush the toilet after she has had a BM. You may think I'm exaggerating. But if you've ever set foot in my house, you know I'm speaking the truth.
After meeting with Cozy's current Kinder teacher, we both agreed that she will definitely need "extra support" in first grade. That's code for: an IEP or 504 Plan. For those of you not familiar with these terms, an IEP and 504 Plans are code for: accomodations and modifications to help my Cozy learn more easily. Which is really just code for: GOOD TEACHING METHODOLOGY that should be going on in the classroom for ALL kids anyways.
With that being said, I find it completely unnecessary to have her tested through the district to put this in place for several reasons:
1. I have to fight tooth and nail to have it done because it costs them money. Been there, done that.
2. The testing process, itself, is long and arduous. Surely, it will exhaust, an already, exhausting child.
3. Even with testing completed, Cosette will most likely test low, but not LOW enough to actually determine she needs services.
Having prior experience with this scenario, I'm placing my money on a medical diagnosis. This is what SAVED us with Isabella. Recognizing that Cosette will most likely be diagnosed with ADHD, I'm game for getting her medicated, and getting her plan in place for school in that fashion.
Before anyone goes casting stones, I have seen first hand how much, and how far Bella has come with the drug known as Adderall. She is able to focus, and try new things. All of this, while still pushing her sister's buttons....amazing.
In all seriousness, I often wonder how many adults, who never got properly diagnosed, have gone their entire lives by self-medicating with drugs and alcohol. When maybe, they just needed some extra support, and the correct meds to help them balance out?
And quite frankly, I can totally see the future with Cosette in prison. We need help NOW.
It is WEIRD to recognize how much I have changed regarding the meds in the last 2 years, but it's true. And I'll say it loud and proud: medicate my kids if will help them learn, aid with focus, and keep their self-esteem intact. Believe me, I tried hugging trees and singing Cumbaya, and it didn't work. More deets regarding Cozy to follow.
Emma is rocking 4th grade. She is extremely studious, totally on it, and I'm convinced, she will one day be the President of the United States. Often, I look at Emma and wonder, how did YOU come out of ME?
Emma and I are participating in Girls on the Run together, where she is training to run a 5K in May. On my very first day coaching, we sat in our circle, making introductions. I took in 27sweet, little faces: Booksin girls in third, fourth, and fifth grades, who in just 10 short weeks, would be completing a 3.1 mile run. I mean, HOW COOL IS THAT?
But the program is not solely about the running. The lesson plans revolve around issues like: positive self-talk, recognizing and knowing what to do with emotions, and visualization. Yes, you read all of that right. I mean, this is stuff I'm teaching ADULTS at Weight Watchers. Who knows? If Girls on the Run would have been around in the 70's and 80's, I would have saved thousands in therapy. I highly recommend this program to ALL girls to teach them simply this: Power to the She. And yes, I totally stole that mantra from Athleta...who is a sponsor of GOTR, by the way.
Abby and Bella have come into their own in Middle School. They have become quite responsible by riding their bikes to and from school, completing their homework without me nagging them, and helping out with Charlie.
Just recently, the twins were contemplating playing Spring Basketball. After both completing try-outs, Bella came to a life-altering decision at the breakfast table:
"Mom, I'm just not feeling it right now. I don't really want to play basketball. I've got too much going on."
I wanted to be supportive of her choice, "Okay Bella, I will send Coach an email. But today you need to explain that this is your last practice." I am trying to teach the girls the importance of verbalizing their feelings, "Just tell Coach how you feel, and see what he says."
By this point, Abby had ceased eating her pancakes. This was a news flash to her. Recognizing that she was processing this new information, I asked,
"Abby, how does this make you feel?" (Can you tell we've had lots of counseling?)
"Well, I just feel really... alone... knowing Bella won't be there with me," she answered with an almost inaudible voice, "I mean, we just know what the other one is going to do. She passes me the ball, and I pass it to her."
Silence. What does a Mama say to that? My heart broke a little.
"Abby, I can see why you feel a little anxious and scared to play without your sister. But this is one of those times, when you guys are going to choose differently, and that's okay. Does that make sense?"
"Yeah," long pause,"I guess," she said, not completely convinced that I knew what I was talking about.
Long story short, we ended up opting out of Spring Basketball. Practices are held Mondays and Wednesdays SMACK DAB in the middle of the afternoon during the fun-filled, responsibility-free, months known as June and July. After explaining this, I assured Abby that we would do it if she wanted to, but this was really going to screw up our fun. Just kidding.
Not really.
Abby, with a maturity not quite fitting her age just yet, replied, "I totally get it Mom. Let's just chill this summer and relax. I really like not having to be anywhere. I'm actually totally fine with it. I'll play basketball in the Fall."
Sometimes when my kids say stuff, I have just learned to shut up, and listen.
As Charlie would say, "Oh Wow."
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Foxy Trot
Hmmm, quite a lot has happened since the last time I creatively vomited all over the paper as a cathartic outlet. Blogging is like the cheapest form of therapy on the planet. I constantly have all of these unbridled thoughts whizzing around in my head. It's like watching a tennis ball in Serena/Venus match. But when I spill my thoughts out in my blog, the pinging stops. For a moment in time, Serena and Venus embrace in a bear hug. Until new thoughts take their place. And then it's game on.
After it had been raining for the better part of the day on Monday, I saw a possible window of clear skies for a walk. I checked the weather on the end all-be all of knowledge: my iphone = 30% chance. You know what that means, right? 70% chance of NO rain. "Bring it. We'll totally make it back in time," I thought. Besides, I hadn't gotten a work out in that day, and I was more than ready to move and get outside by any means possible.
As I bundled up Charlie girl, and threw her in the jogger, Cosette rolled out her bike, and Abby laced up her shoes. "Let's go!" I said, and we headed out.
As we walked side by side, Abby asked, "Mom, what's your favorite holiday?" about a mile from home. Cozy shouted out, "I love THANKSGIVING because we get to EAT!!" as she navigated her bike between puddles. "Oh Gosh babe, I'm not sure," I answered, tired from the day, and not really wanting to think. So I turned to her and said, "What's your favorite?" What she said, still amazes me. "Well, I love Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Easter. But I really love the parent days, like Mother's Day and Father's Day. Because that's when I really get to see you and dad happy." Oh my. I didn't expect my daughter to say that. I was stunned. Perspective is an amazing thing, isn't it?
It's funny how my perspective has changed over time. Cause see, for those of you that don't already know, my Mama was diagnosed with Stage 3 Lung Cancer a little over a month ago. That kind of news puts your shit in perspective, man.
Tom's work truck, which was parked on the street, got totaled by a hit and run driver. When we found out, we both sort of had the same reaction. "BFD." Like, my Mom... she has CANCER. Nothing is more important than the people in your life that you love.
When I found out that my mom was having a biopsy, I did what any daughter would do: waited out traffic, got in my car, and drove up to my folks house, un-announced, and un-invited. Quite honestly, I didn't know what their reaction was going to be, so I waited to call them...til I was basically standing outside the front door.
"You're WHERE? Oh Michelle, we don't even have any information right now. It's just a biopsy," Foxy explained, trying not to worry me. "Well, that's okay Mom. Because The Love Train is coming. And I can guarantee that you will be spending more one-on-one time with my brothers and I, than you ever dreamed possible. Mom, this is how I'm choosing to love you today. Take my love, and run with it."
That was Tuesday. Wednesday she had the biopsy. Thursday we found out it was cancer. I stayed for a week. How could I leave?
In just a month and a half, the world, as I know it, has changed dramatically. Foxy has a tumor that is growing in her right lung; it's bigger than a golf ball, but smaller than a tennis ball. Although the cancer has not spread to her brain, it has traveled to a lymph node in the center of her chest, that just happens to be located next to her windpipe. And so the treatment plan looks like this: 2 rounds of Chemo, 3 weeks apart to shrink that GD tumor, and eradicate the cancer that has spread. After another PET Scan, we faithfully pray that Foxy can then undergo surgery to remove the tumor. If the Chemo fails to do anything, it doesn't make sense to operate. But we don't go THERE!
The most difficult times for me, was knowing when my mom was in pain. I grieved the nights when she slept fitfully, changing positions constantly throughout the night, trying to ease the pressure of that stupid tumor. The day of the Pet Scan, when she had to be absolutely still, and they couldn't give her anything to ease the discomfort. And the MRI....torture. I have never felt so utterly helpless and useless at the same time.
But do you want to hear something crazy? During most of this difficult time, I have felt oddly peaceful. I can only attest this calm to one thing: God's love.
Maybe you haven't felt God's love recently, or you feel as though he has forgotten you. Or maybe you have just never been taught who he is, and are a bit skeptical, but a little bit curious. I'm standing beside you today, to say GOD's love for us is REAL.
Have you ever been outside somewhere, and felt teeny tiny? Seen something and it absolutely takes your breath away? Met someone, and felt lighter just being with them? That's when we say, "Man, there is something bigger than me that is responsible for this greatness". No matter if you call it a him or a her. No matter if you're Christian or Jewish. No matter if you believe in Buddha or Jesus. No matter if you don't have a name for it at all.
God's love is unconditional and real. And it is the ONLY thing that gives me comfort when my world is spinning out of control. So I've learned to be still, shut up, and listen to the whispers that come to me, as God's guidance and direction. And one of those voices told me to pack differently for my second trip.
My second visit was more planned out, prior to Mom's first Chemo treatment. And I was fully prepared with the following: 2 changes of clothes, work out clothes, toiletry bag, smutty magazines, and pot brownies Hey man, don't knock it, til your mom has pain and has been diagnosed with Cancer. Besides, chances are, if you're reading my blog, you've tried dope. And if you haven't, you really should....responsibly!
Respectfully, Mom and Dad wanted to get the "okay" from the doctors to use THC to ease the nausea, aide with pain, increase her appetite, and help Foxy induce sweet slumber. And I am here to tell you this: when I arrived, mom was taking 4 pain pills per day. Fast forward 2 weeks, and she's off all pain meds.
She's high as a kite, but who can blame her? JUST KIDDING, MOM!!! In fact, I told her before I left, "Mom, if you're thinking about applying for a new job right now, don't expect to pass the drug test." She laughed. My mom who has NEVER done any drug in her life. My mom who has a glass of wine when she's feeling "crazy". My mom who is going to kick Cancer's ass...
This is what I know: nothing is promised. Each moment we have is a gift. I'm blessed beyond words with my family and friends. I love the time that Foxy and I have spent together. And I look forward to styling her wig, rubbing her achy feet, and possibly sharing a brownie or two.
By the way, for those of you who are interested, I will be organizing a "Foxy Trot" walk in the near future. I was thinking all finishers should receive a brownie. Who's game?
After it had been raining for the better part of the day on Monday, I saw a possible window of clear skies for a walk. I checked the weather on the end all-be all of knowledge: my iphone = 30% chance. You know what that means, right? 70% chance of NO rain. "Bring it. We'll totally make it back in time," I thought. Besides, I hadn't gotten a work out in that day, and I was more than ready to move and get outside by any means possible.
As I bundled up Charlie girl, and threw her in the jogger, Cosette rolled out her bike, and Abby laced up her shoes. "Let's go!" I said, and we headed out.
As we walked side by side, Abby asked, "Mom, what's your favorite holiday?" about a mile from home. Cozy shouted out, "I love THANKSGIVING because we get to EAT!!" as she navigated her bike between puddles. "Oh Gosh babe, I'm not sure," I answered, tired from the day, and not really wanting to think. So I turned to her and said, "What's your favorite?" What she said, still amazes me. "Well, I love Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Easter. But I really love the parent days, like Mother's Day and Father's Day. Because that's when I really get to see you and dad happy." Oh my. I didn't expect my daughter to say that. I was stunned. Perspective is an amazing thing, isn't it?
It's funny how my perspective has changed over time. Cause see, for those of you that don't already know, my Mama was diagnosed with Stage 3 Lung Cancer a little over a month ago. That kind of news puts your shit in perspective, man.
Tom's work truck, which was parked on the street, got totaled by a hit and run driver. When we found out, we both sort of had the same reaction. "BFD." Like, my Mom... she has CANCER. Nothing is more important than the people in your life that you love.
When I found out that my mom was having a biopsy, I did what any daughter would do: waited out traffic, got in my car, and drove up to my folks house, un-announced, and un-invited. Quite honestly, I didn't know what their reaction was going to be, so I waited to call them...til I was basically standing outside the front door.
"You're WHERE? Oh Michelle, we don't even have any information right now. It's just a biopsy," Foxy explained, trying not to worry me. "Well, that's okay Mom. Because The Love Train is coming. And I can guarantee that you will be spending more one-on-one time with my brothers and I, than you ever dreamed possible. Mom, this is how I'm choosing to love you today. Take my love, and run with it."
That was Tuesday. Wednesday she had the biopsy. Thursday we found out it was cancer. I stayed for a week. How could I leave?
In just a month and a half, the world, as I know it, has changed dramatically. Foxy has a tumor that is growing in her right lung; it's bigger than a golf ball, but smaller than a tennis ball. Although the cancer has not spread to her brain, it has traveled to a lymph node in the center of her chest, that just happens to be located next to her windpipe. And so the treatment plan looks like this: 2 rounds of Chemo, 3 weeks apart to shrink that GD tumor, and eradicate the cancer that has spread. After another PET Scan, we faithfully pray that Foxy can then undergo surgery to remove the tumor. If the Chemo fails to do anything, it doesn't make sense to operate. But we don't go THERE!
The most difficult times for me, was knowing when my mom was in pain. I grieved the nights when she slept fitfully, changing positions constantly throughout the night, trying to ease the pressure of that stupid tumor. The day of the Pet Scan, when she had to be absolutely still, and they couldn't give her anything to ease the discomfort. And the MRI....torture. I have never felt so utterly helpless and useless at the same time.
But do you want to hear something crazy? During most of this difficult time, I have felt oddly peaceful. I can only attest this calm to one thing: God's love.
Maybe you haven't felt God's love recently, or you feel as though he has forgotten you. Or maybe you have just never been taught who he is, and are a bit skeptical, but a little bit curious. I'm standing beside you today, to say GOD's love for us is REAL.
Have you ever been outside somewhere, and felt teeny tiny? Seen something and it absolutely takes your breath away? Met someone, and felt lighter just being with them? That's when we say, "Man, there is something bigger than me that is responsible for this greatness". No matter if you call it a him or a her. No matter if you're Christian or Jewish. No matter if you believe in Buddha or Jesus. No matter if you don't have a name for it at all.
God's love is unconditional and real. And it is the ONLY thing that gives me comfort when my world is spinning out of control. So I've learned to be still, shut up, and listen to the whispers that come to me, as God's guidance and direction. And one of those voices told me to pack differently for my second trip.
My second visit was more planned out, prior to Mom's first Chemo treatment. And I was fully prepared with the following: 2 changes of clothes, work out clothes, toiletry bag, smutty magazines, and pot brownies Hey man, don't knock it, til your mom has pain and has been diagnosed with Cancer. Besides, chances are, if you're reading my blog, you've tried dope. And if you haven't, you really should....responsibly!
Respectfully, Mom and Dad wanted to get the "okay" from the doctors to use THC to ease the nausea, aide with pain, increase her appetite, and help Foxy induce sweet slumber. And I am here to tell you this: when I arrived, mom was taking 4 pain pills per day. Fast forward 2 weeks, and she's off all pain meds.
She's high as a kite, but who can blame her? JUST KIDDING, MOM!!! In fact, I told her before I left, "Mom, if you're thinking about applying for a new job right now, don't expect to pass the drug test." She laughed. My mom who has NEVER done any drug in her life. My mom who has a glass of wine when she's feeling "crazy". My mom who is going to kick Cancer's ass...
This is what I know: nothing is promised. Each moment we have is a gift. I'm blessed beyond words with my family and friends. I love the time that Foxy and I have spent together. And I look forward to styling her wig, rubbing her achy feet, and possibly sharing a brownie or two.
By the way, for those of you who are interested, I will be organizing a "Foxy Trot" walk in the near future. I was thinking all finishers should receive a brownie. Who's game?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)