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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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!"

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?

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."

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?

I Hate Having My Eyes Dilated...and Other Things.

After an undisclosed amount of time since my last eye visit (4 years), I successfully made an appointment for the Optometrist.  (applause)  Next, I actually went to the appointment!  (more applause)  The appointment ended with me getting my eyes dilated (BOO...HISS), and weaving out of the parking lot, looking much like Stevie Wonder.

So I met with Dr."Personality of a Chair" in the Optometry Department at Kaiser, Santa Theresa, yesterday.  But not before having this epiphany at school 20 minutes prior to my appointment:  children and my vision needs would most likely, NOT mesh well together.   Why I didn't think of this like, yesterday, I have no idea.  So I did what any ill-prepared mom in my position would:  farmed them out to my amazing friends.

Because there is this unspoken thing that happens when moms go to our "appointments".  We LIVE for the  5 minutes where we get to read Family Circle magazine in the waiting room.  This, in and of itself, is like a mini-vacation.  We sit, resting, idle, caught up in the latest Mac and Cheese recipe that PROMISES our kids WILL devour this meal, that (GASP) even has VEGETABLES hidden in it.

We sit, gathering our thoughts, with NO ONE needing us, or pulling on our coat strings.  We sit, waiting patiently for our name to be called.  All the while, we mindlessly flip though a magazine that MY MOM, and all the MOMS of my AMAZING friends used to subscribe to.  A magazine that was clutched by another worn out and exhausted mom, probably just minutes before hearing her name.

See...that's the part where the mini-vacation ends.  Our name is called, and one of the following ensues:  getting drilled on at the dentist, having our cervix prodded with a speculum, or feeling like we may go blind from the stinging drops that go into our eyes before they are dilated.

Dr. Personality of a Chair: "Michelle Walsh?"

Me: "Yes, that's me."

Dr P.O.A.Chair:  "Come right back here," he said, shuffling slowly, with no hint of excitement, whatsoever about me being there.  "Have a seat, put your chin here.  Look at the hot air balloon in the picture."

I followed directions, knowing full well, that Kaiser docs like to stay on a SCHEDULE.  Code for:  next patient is in 15 minutes.  No problem, I thought.  I appreciate the "in and out" mentality most days.

Dr.Shuffle Shuffle:  "Look at the green-yellow light..."  I stared, and before I knew what hit me, a puff of air hit my left eye like a ton of bricks.  I wanted to yell out, "Well, God Damn Dr.Shuffle, you could have warned me!"

But see, I was ready for the other eye.  In fact, I was so ready, I kept blinking, anticipating the horror of the air puff.  He waited patiently, until I could blink no longer...PUFF.

I started to remember why I hadn't been to the eye doctor in a really long time.

Dr. Air Puff: "Stand up, and make your fist left into the room.  Sit down, cover your left eye and tell me how low can you go?" I almost started singing "how low can you go?," but saw Dr.Chair meant business, when he turned out the lights, pointing to the eye chart.

For most folks, this would be no biggie, right?  But my left eye is my lazy eye, and I feel BLIND when I cover it.   If it gives you any indication of how much it sucks having lazy eye as a kid, I wore a patch for, well, far too long.  As if I wasn't a big eough DORK wearing glasses.  I also donned a patch.  That, my friends, is a vision of loveliness. There...I admitted it.  Now we're BFF's.

I was yearning to make a real-live human connection with this man.  It appeared he hadn't laughed, much less smiled, in YEARS.  I would be the one to make him laugh or smile!  It was my mission while in his care.  It's ON Dr.Serious Shuffle, I thought to myself.

Dr.Air Puff:  "What's better, 1 or 2?"  he asked, clicking the ginormous eye machine that was placed over my face.

Me: "1,"

Dr. 1 or 2:  "This one or that one."

Me:  "this one," And on it went like this for awhile.  I made sure to really focus, so that God Forbid, Dr. Air Puff wouldn't have to ask me twice.  I was not seeing ample opportunity to make this man smile in the near future.

Dr.Dread: "I see here that you haven't been to have your eyes checked in 4 years.  When was the last time you had your eyes dilated?"

Me: "Um, well, I really hate having my eyes dilated.  Do we REALLY have to do that today?  I need to drive home, and..." grasping for straws.

Dr. Evil: "Lean back, this is going to sting a little."

WTF?  Now I KNOW why I haven't been here in 4 years.

Dr.Burn in Hell:"You will lose reading vision.  I will call you back in shortly."

I pulled out my iphone, and thought, this game isn't over, Dr.Psycho.  You may have successfully put those damn drops in my eyes, but I am going to play Words With Friends, Mother Trucker.

By the time, I pulled the phone out of my purse, I couldn't even read the screen.  I picked up Family Circle.  I think there was a hand make crocheted afghan on the cover, but can't be sure.  The rest is a blur.  I couldn't even take advantage of picking out new glasses with no kids, because I could no longer SEE anything.  I stumbled out of the building, stunned, blinded, and somewhat pissed off.  But at least I checked the eye appointment off the list, right?

BTW, you will be happy to know, I show no signs of Glaucoma.

Not Enough Time In the Day

I have been feeling a lot of pressure lately.  Pressure to get it all done...from putting a hot breakfast on the table in the morning, to fitting in a work out, to attending basketball for the twins, to helping Emma make sure she has her Science Fair project completed.  Throw in the extra holiday festivities, food shopping, laundry that never ends, and taking on 2 new meetings at work.  Yep, I'm feeling it.

Speaking of work, Weight Watchers moved to a brand new facility in El Paseo, and guess who led the VERY first meeting there?  Yours truly.  And guess who was there watching my every move?  My boss.  And  you know what?   I bombed!  And that's being polite.  I floundered around the meeting room, unfamiliar with my new surroundings.  I struggled with the lesson information.  At one point, I even said, "I feel a bit dizzy.  Is it hot in here?"    I couldn't even fake it.  I just had an off morning.  I left feeling defeated, and beating myself up.  "That was stellar, Michelle.  She's probably wondering if you're even qualified to do this job.  You should have been more prepared.  You KNEW that stuff."

Fatigue.  Pressure.  Anxiety.  Shit, I need some Antivan...isn't that the happy pill that takes the anxiety away?  That's what I need!!  Or am I just making up medication names?

Anyhow, raise your hand if you feel like there's never enough time in the day.  


The topper of today was this:  I dropped my iphone, and it smashed into a thousand pieces.  MY FAULT.  I misplaced the bottom of the case about a month ago, and thought, "It'll be fine.  Pay 40 bucks for another case?  The phone is mostly protected...it'll be fine."  After talking to the nice Verizon phone insurance person  for 45 minutes, I was informed that my new phone will arrive via UPS, tomorrow.  I will be purchasing a case for it, pronto.  Lesson learned.

I know I should be "in the moment"...and thankful...and non-stressed. But sometimes, well sometimes, my perspective needs some fine-tuning.  Which is exactly what happened tonight.

Usually on Tuesday evening after I work, I go out and watch a movie.  All by myself.  And eat a medium sized  popcorn with butter in the middle AND on top.  All by myself.  But please don't ask me how many Points it is, because I don't have a clue.  But I can assure you:   it's A LOT.

Indeed, going to a show and inhaling a God-awful amount of buttered popcorn is a guilty pleasure.  But tonight, no movie.  Mama too tired.  Too many chores at the homestead calling my name.

As I walked through our front door, I found Tom finishing up with the dinner dishes.  I hadn't quite made it alllll the way into the kitchen,, when Emma came bounding in.

"Mom, you know the Adopt-A-Family for my class?"

In my mind, I was processing this information but kept my mouth shut. I thought, "Hey man, I got a gift for Cosette's Adopt-A-Family, so we're covered here.  Don't ask me to BUY anything else, or DO one more thing."

"Well Mom," Emma continued, eyes beginning to mist over, "the baby died, Mom.  The baby that was growing in her tummy, died, Mom.  It was their 4th child."

For a moment, I couldn't breathe.

"Oh honey, that is just so sad.  Come here Em."  She sobbed into my chest as we embraced.  I whispered, "Emma you know that their baby is with God, now.  It's okay.  But it is really sad, huh?  We can pray for their family Em, ok?"

"Okay Mom," she said, looking sad, and worried.

As Emma hobbled out of the kitchen to brush her teeth, I looked at Tom and said, "Well THAT sure puts it into perspective, doesn't it?"

He nodded in agreement, while saying nothing.  It was too much to take in.

 Life is precious.  So why am I so fucking worried all the time about getting it all done?  Big picture:  Appreciate my blessings.  Love deeply.  Recognize the nuggets of wisdom and joy as they are sprinkled on my path.  Pick them up.  Hold them.

And REMEMBER them...especially when I feel like there's not enough time in the day.

Haters Need Not Apply

Call it coincidence...or not, but I've been meeting a lot of really angry 50 something year old women lately.  I don't know why, but they want to let me know how much life sucks after 50.  They tend to look at me with disdain, like I'm really much too young at 39 years old, to even comprehend these horrors of which they speak.  50 and after bites in every way, shape and form, and I better get ready for it.

The following statements and the like, are usually being projected my way, "It's all downhill after 50.  Just wait, you'll see.  Losing weight is nearly impossible now that I am in my 50's.  Oh, and menopause doesn't help."

I mean, if we're talking boobies that touch yer knees...GOT EM!  If we're talking crow's feet and wrinkles...GOT EM.  If we're talking peeing your pants while laughing...happens more than I care to admit.

Maybe one day, I will be just as disheartened and pissed off.  But right now, right in this very moment, I believe that attitude and life perspective is INDIVIDUALLY based.  Is the glass half full?  Or half empty?

Oddly enough, I usually appreciate my life the most, when I hear of someone else's TRUE unfortunate circumstances.  Someone's husband has been diagnosed with cancer.  Someone's child is battling a mystery illness that has taken a toll on the entire family.  A mama of 3 young children is having health issues.

It is in these moments, I thank God for a loving husband, cheerful and healthy children, and an extended family that loves us more than I will ever understand.

 I am grateful for all that is right in my life, and the very little, that is wrong.

Every year, I enter a contest online to win dinner out and a limo ride through Vasona's Faaaaantasy of Lights.   If we want to continue being friends, you have to say it like I do...Faaaaantasy of Lights. Anyone who's experienced the Faaaaantasy, understands what a colorful Christmas light filled spectacle for the senses it truly is!

So anyhoo, there I am online, checking the times and dates for the Faaaaantasy, and there's the contest entry for dinner for 8, and a limo ride.  Every year, I type my name in, and I manifest positive thoughts, "This year, we're going to win."  And for 3 consecutive years, we haven't won Jack.  But it also hasn't kept me from re-entering.

Well guess what?  This year, WE WON!  The girls have NO idea, so Tom and I will be surprising them in the next few weeks with it  And I guarantee they will PEE their pants.  I will probably pee MY pants.

Positivity works!  But it is a conscious choice.  It doesn't happen by osmosis.  We must call it into our presence for ourselves, and those that we love.

 But most importantly, we must call it into existence for those who are angry and disgruntled with life.  It's a lesson I learned from my older brother just recently.

 Pray for those, for lack of a better term, you hate.  Or find really difficult to like.  Or have wronged you, and you just can't seem to forgive.   Pray that their hearts will turn to love.  Pray for them to be blessed. And in the process, your own heart will grow.

So I guess I better start now...praying for all the angry 50 year old women.  I'll do it, if you do!

Staying Afloat

I was the "Old and Haggard Mom" at the park last week.  Being the old and tired care-giver, who doesn't get a shower on some days, isn't for wimps.

One must be okay with her own ripe, and distinct scent of dried sweat from the work out from earlier in the morning. One must also be okay with the scent of caramelized onions and garlic that permeates skin and hair from the mid day cooking that took place to make spaghetti sauce for dinner that night, cause there's never time to actually MAKE dinner, AT dinner time, with a baby climbing up my leg.

Most days, I  feel self-confident without a shower, even if I smell like dried sweat.  And most days, I even feel okay reeking of garlic and onions.

 But some days, I'm also human.  Which leaves me feeling a little self-conscience.  Which is EXACTLY what happened last week. I meandered down to the park with the youngest 3 kiddos, to provide a happy and outdoor experience during Charlotte's witching hour.  Basically, I was trying to get to bed time, and keep my sanity, without anyone calling CPS on me.

So there I was, pushing my babe in the swing when I noticed a phenomenon.  A cult, if you will, of young moms who DID get a shower, and DID NOT smell like sauteed garlic and onions.  These other cute moms even had applied make up, flat ironed their hair, and were donning the latest trends.  There seemed to be a group of about 6 of these "Elle" moms, who all had kids the same age...16 and 1/2 months.

 I remember when people would inquire, "How old are your twins?"  And I would actually reply, "16 and 1/2 month old, (or some other obscure, but oddly accurate number)."  The best is when folks would ask how far along prego I was, and I would give WAY more info than they probably ever wanted to know. "I'm 23 weeks along, but I'll be 24 completed by next Tuesday at noon."

REALLY?  Is having all of those ages/numbers/gestational dates, REALLY important? I have concluded that these details are important when you're 29 years old, and you still have some of your brain left working to maximum capacity.

If someone asks how old Charlotte is now, I pause, trying to buy some time,  to actually remember.  The fact that I EVEN know how old she is, is a testament to my clarity!

 But even 5 years ago, I would have answered, "Well, she turned one on October 20th, so she's one year and one month.  She's 13 months old."  NO ONE CARES THAT THE BABY IS 13 MONTHS OLD.  It does not matter if they nod their heads politely, and ACT interested...WE ARE NOT.  Did I just include myself in that category?  Oops.

So anyhooo, here I was at the park with all these Victoria Beckham moms.  Not only were each of them looking good, their adorable 16 and 1/2 month olds were clean, cute, and seemed extraordinarily content.  In the back of my mind, I was sort of wondering if these toddlers had been drugged with happy pills.  I was waiting for a tantrum, or a fight over a Bob the Builder sand shovel.  Nothing.  I'm sure their rounded little tummies were full of goldfish, and juice.

Another astute observation was that each and everyone of these moms was sporting an adorable little baby bump, which meant they were about 23, almost 24 weeks along, next Tuesday at noon.

As I sat there, taking it all in, I couldn't help but eavesdrop on the conversation.  They talked, and talked, and talked.  Never once did they even LOOK at me.  No way.  I was the old and haggard mom, who obviously didn't get a shower, and certainly was not channeling her inner Victoria Beckam. These moms were not interested in me in the least.

I wanted to yell at them, "10 YEARS AGO, I OWNED THIS PLAYGROUND, LADIES.  When you were planning your High School Graduation trip to Costa Rica that your parents paid for, I OWNED THIS PARK."  But I held back, figuring that my angry pep talk, but fall on deaf, Juicy Couture, ears.

So it didn't help matters, that my doctor ordered an EKG for me last week at Kaiser.  Yes, you read that right.  There I was, trying to "take care of myself" by banging out a Physical, and Pap all in one day.  The nice, but rushed nurse, was taking my blood pressure, and heart rate.

Then she cocked her head sideways, and sort of looked at me funny.  "How are you feeling?"  Was this like a trick question?

 "Um, I feel good," I replied, eyebrows raised.

 She paused, looking me up and down, before saying, "Ohhhh-kay," with a look of suspicious concern on her face.  

I proceeded into the room, where I waited for my doc.  That's when the bomb dropped.

 "Michelle, your heart rate is 40, which is low.  It has always been low, but it's dropped even more since your last visit."

"Ohhhh-kay."  Now I was the one sounding like the nurse.

"You know most doctors would never even worry about this, but I'm going to order an EKG just to rule anything out.  You're not having symptoms are you?  Pain in the chest?  Shortness of breath?  Fatigue?"

"Um, no.  I mean, I'm fatigued, but I don't think it's due to my heart rate, you know?  Those kids will kill ya," I joked, trying to lighten the mood.

As I walked down the hall for the EKG, I had a little pity party.  I thought, "I can't fucking win here.  I work out 5 days a week, I eat well, and something is wrong with my God Damn ticker!!!!  I'm going to eat an entire gallon of Haagen Dazs ice cream right fucking now!"

The nice EKG tech instructed me to take off my shirt, and put the paper gown on.  Next, she put little stickers on different places on my body that had tubes connecting them to the machine.

 I asked, "A heart rate of 40 is okay, right?"

She assured me, "You're active right?  This is probably nothing.  Lance Armstrong has a heart rate of 34."

"Ohhhh-kay," I replied.

 Next thing I knew, I was walking back down the hall to my doc's office with a copy of the EKG clutched in my fist.

The doc looked at it, "This is all good.  This indicates that you have a strong and healthy heart."

I shot her a confident glance and said, "I'm channeling my inner Lance Armstrong."

So what if those young, cute park moms don't want to talk to me? On the days I don't get a shower, it means I took care of myself by getting in a hike in that day.  And on the days I reek of onions and garlic, I'm lucky to have a home to provide my family with a hot, home-cooked meal.

My heart rate may sort of resemble me on the verge of looking like I'm dead...but I'm NOT.  Oh no, Victoria Beckham-Park, Moms.  Watch out.   I got a lot of living left to do.

These Times...

With sadness, I will share with you that The Walsh Booby Cafe shut its doors permanently last week.  Although not premeditated, I nursed my very last baby, for the very last time.

It just happened to fall on the same day as her First Year Well-Check Up.  In roughly a little over a year on the planet, it seems that my lil peanut has grown from the 6% in weight to the 78%!!  And her height?  Shocker of all shockers: 90% and going strong.

Truth be told, I NEVER paid any attention to those numbers with my other kids because all of them nursed voraciously, slept well, and hit every milestone on schedule.   But when I pushed out Charlotte, who weighed just a little over 6 pounds, I said, "That's it?  She is tiny."  The twins weighed more at birth than this little nugget.

In the beginning, as Charlotte struggled to latch, and lost weight, she was considered "Failure to Thrive".  And as I was carting her to Kaiser every other day to have her weighed and measured, I looked to those percentiles for reassurance.

But with time and patience, Charlotte and I became rather savvy at this nursing thing.  So savvy in fact, that as she would finish nursing on one side, I would ask, "Other boob?" Upon which, she would gently pull off, and wait for me to switch her to the other side.  Sensing she would be close to finished on that side, I would ask, "All done?"  On cue, she would again gently pop off and look at me like, "Okay woman, I'm fed.  Let's party."  I guess I figured when Charlotte was done with nursing, she would let me know in her own way.

With all my other girls, the first birthday HAPPILY marked the end of Mama's Milk!  FREEDOM!  ALCOHOL in ABUNDANCE!!  I logically figured: I grew you, and I fed you for TWELVE months.  We're good.  We're bonded.  I love you.  How about a hug, or a smooch, or a graham cracker?  Let's read a book, or something.  Here's a pacifier:  plug up.

And so I just didn't really see it coming.  Which in retrospect, is a blessing.  Our doc appointment, that had been going oh so well, ended rather violently, with shots.  I f'ing despise shots.  I seriously blocked out shots with the twins: survival instinct.  Shots are rugged to watch, horrible to endure, and just plain suck.  As my lil Charlie howled with discomfort, I offered her the only thing I had:  booby.  Which brings us full circle...

While hiking with Abigail recently, I began to realize how quickly, these times are a changing.  My babies are in SIXTH grade.  In the blink of an eye, they'll be in college.  And then off, living their own lives...sniff, sniff.

Without wanting to entirely freak her out by bringing up the subject of boys, I wanted to seize the moment of she and I alone...which happens so rarely with our ginormous clan.  I asked her, "Abby, what qualities do you see in Daddy that you admire?"  She answered without hesitation.

"Daddy is really good listener.  It's like he understands how I feel.  He's very kind, and always thinks of others first."  My daughter went on and ON, for quite some time.  I was thoroughly impressed that she is so observant.  Many of the traits that Abby admired, were the reason I fell in love with Tom.   She turned, and said to me, "What about you Mom?  What do you like about Daddy?"  I answered, "In addition to everything you have already mentioned, I really admire Daddy's deep faith and belief in God.  I learn a lot by watching him."

I mean, how many men are comfortable enough in their own skin to gladly sport a pair of MC Hammer pants,complete with black 80's fishnet shirt for Halloween?  How many husbands would let you blow dry their coif with enough gel, so that it forms into Vanilla Ice looking do, and then proudly go out Trick or Treating?

Not many.  No ladies, not too many.  Tom Walsh, Super Genius is one of those few fine specimens.  When I showed him the horrible 80's get up, he didn't shout, "HELL NO!"

You know what he said?  "Babe, thanks for getting me a Halloween costume."   Now that's a keeper right there.

Dudes...take notes.

Anyone who knows Tom, understands that he is a kind and gentle soul.  So kind and gentle, in fact, that he almost let an elderly Vietnamese woman climb into our Yukon with us on Sunday.

Let me back up a bit.  Our family had just finished a glorious hike at the Santa Theresa Bernal Ranch.  75 degree Fall day...perfection.  The girls were tired, but content.  As we loaded into our truck, Tom began the process of folding our Jogger down to load it.  This is where elderly, Asian woman saw her opportunity to join us.

 A plastic bag acted as her purse, and hung on her arm like a tree supports a branch.  With her other hand, she kept handing me the magazines that she carried:   a Woman's Day, and a Family Circle.  She thought she was part of our family, I suppose.  When in reality, she was just disoriented and a bit lost.  She was well dressed, complete with purple crocheted hat, black winter coat, and white socks with blue flip flops.

 After locating an address label in her "purse", we realized that she had drifted 2 1/2 miles from her home...if this was even, indeed, her home.  To ensure that she would get home safely, Tom and I decided the best thing to do was call the police.  We waited.

 I took our Tommy Bahama beach chair out of the truck and placed it on the pavement.  Tom gently held onto her, as she lowered herself to sit down and rest.    That sweet little, old lady had more Jade jewelry than anyone I've ever met in my life.  Gladly, she handed beads of jade to Charlotte.  She reached for Charlotte and I was reminded that all of us, despite how old we will one day be, we all start out as sweet lil, chubby, happy cherubs.

So here were these two beings, Charlotte and this elderly woman, interacting and communicating without saying a word.  Exchanging jade necklaces and smiles back and forth.

And if you ask me, this is as close as we can get to God while we're here.  Because one little peanut, was JUST with him before she joined our family.  And the other sweet little old one, will be with him soon.

For a moment, I felt completely filled up, and content.  And it was good.

An Apple A Day: Total BS

Remember when Rocky Balboa was training to fight the Russian, Dolph Whatever the Hell His Last Name Is? I'm talking like, Rocky IV.  The Italian Stallion was "getting stronger" while running beside draft horses in the heart of the Cold War.  Rocky did some CRAZY-ASS training in that movie.  The visual of Sylvester Stallone pulling full grown trees behind him through 5 foot snow drifts sticks out in my mind.  And we hated Dolph's movie wife:  Briget Nielsen.  With her short, blond pixie cut, and perfectly sculpted Iron-Woman shoulders.   Those damn Russians.  But Rocky won!!  And after becoming victorious, on Russian soil, I might add, he belted out from the ring, "ADRIAN, ADRIAN...I did it for you ADRIAN!"  Even though, all the while, Adrian was back in America.

Don't fret:  I am going somewhere with this.  I'm Rocky and I'm doing battle with The Russian, ie: all of my health stuff.   I feel like I'm training for the fight of my life.  Along with all of my regular "Mama / Wife / WW Leader" responsibilities,  I am supposed to keep myself healthy.  Where's the time, man?  Where's the time?

You probably get your teeth cleaned every 6 months, right?  Not me:  I have receding gums.  I have tooth sensitivity.  I grind the hell out of my niblets.  Therefore, I have a regular dental cleaning every 4 months.  I bet your bottom dollar, by the time I'm 45, I'll be in there every week.  I love my dentist, but when she puts that damn camera in my mouth so I can see what she sees up on the big screen, I seriously want to cut her.  I want to shout out,"YES!!  I BRUSH TWICE A DAY!  YES!!  I FLOSS TOO!!  I don't know why there's so much plaque and tartar build up...(sniff, sniff) I'm just so tired, Dr.Ra.  I'll see you next week when you fix that CRACKED tooth 'cause I GRIND."  I should just leave my check book at that place.

Exercise?  No problemo!  But going to see my O.B. for my regular pap smear?  Not so much.  Don't get my wrong:  I love Dr.C.  But I can think of about 1 million other things I could do with my time, than having her inspect my cervix with her gigantic eyelash curler-looking, speculum.  I mean, I JUST had a BABY a YEAR ago.  Didn't they do I Pap while I was in labor?  C'mon, let's knock this stuff out people!!

I also need to have my skin checked.  But Kaiser make you see your regular doctor FIRST, so that doctor can then refer you to a Dermatologist.  I feel like I need to go into that initial appointment with an Oscar worthy performance, convincing her I have Melanoma.  All... so she'll refer me.

You'll be proud to know I set up both my OB and Oscar performance for the same day next month.  It only took a year of me thinking about it to actually come into fruition.  During that year, by the way, yet another health issue has presented itself: a varicose vein has seemed to  pop up on my OTHER leg.  So guess what?  I had an ultrasound for that yesterday.

I have an appointment to find out the results of that ultrasound with Dr.Hot next week.  And I'm hoping to God he says that there's a blockage or something life threatening.  Well, not really.  But I want that sucker GONE, and Kaiser doesn't do "cosmetic" surgery.  CURSE YOU Kaiser!  I may just have to go for 2 Oscar worthy winning performances.  I must convince Dr.Hot that my life is in jeopardy so he removes that vein.

Which reminds me, I need to have my eyes checked.  Maybe I can knock that out on the same day.  I'm just so tired, (sniff, sniff), so tired.

One Perfect Moment in Time

I was parked on the couch, Charlotte nursing lazily before her mid afternoon nap, and I had this moment of clarity:  THIS is what life is all about.

It was like one perfect moment of time, when I was aware and fully present to what was happening around me.

As I gazed out my front window, I watched our two little Japanese Maples sway in the warm,, September breeze.  Have you noticed the slight difference in the weather these days?  A bit cooler in the morning and evening, but still warm and pleasant in the afternoon.  No, Fall hasn't arrived quite yet.

 But Summer is starting to pack up, like most of us do after a full day at the beach.  First by collecting and shaking out sandy towels, then by clearing the garbage from the cooler, next searching aimlessly for flip flops, before finally, gathering exhausted, but content, kids to hit the road for home.

Yes, Summer is on its way out.   And the Earth smells like hope. A fresh beginning.  A new chance.

I held that babe tightly, knowing full well, she won't want or need me in this physical way for much longer.  With my feet propped up on the coffee table, I observed Cosette swinging back and forth, methodically on our tree swing.  Pumping herself forward, feet pointed out strong and stiff, and then back,  feet pulled towards her bum.  Back and forth, back and forth.  How many times has Cozy swung like that, and I haven't noticed? Today I noticed.

Emma sat at the kitchen table, sucking a strawberry smoothie through a straw for snack, while contemplating her homework.  Emma, with glasses perched on the tip of her nose, and loose braids dangling at her shoulders, which had been tight that morning.  Self-motivated Emma, wanting to get it all correct, and leave no answers blank.  How many times has Ms. Emma been overlooked by the sheer size of our family?  Today she  was not overlooked.

We have invented this thing called "Family Fun Fridays".  But what it should really be called is "We're Too Tired to do ANYthing but Lay in the Fetal Position Fridays".  It turns out that the girls are just as exhausted, if not more so, come Friday, than Mom and Dad.  It's like, we all let out a collective sigh of relief.  Whew,  "we made it through the week."

On Friday, there is no rush through homework, to get to dinner, to take a shower, to read, to get to bed, because we have to do it again the next day.  No.   Friday represents, eating a leisurely dinner, while watching Charlie try to catch those darn rabbits out back as they scurry just out of her reach.  We have been ending our Fridays cuddled up on the couch, taking in a movie together, while munching on home made popcorn.

Last Sunday, we took an amazing hike through Henry Cowell Park in the Santa Cruz mountains.  As we descended beneath the protective Redwood tree canopy, and hit the trail that follows the creek, full of gorgeous green ferns, and rocks that have been there since the beginning of time,  Bella blurted out, "THIS IS WHAT I NEEDED, MOM.   I just needed all this...GREEN."

I looked at her, nodding my head in complete agreement, and said, "Me too, babe.  Me too."

It got me to thinking, this one moment of clarity, it did.

How much time have I wasted in the past planning, talking, or worrying about the future: which could be the next 5 minutes or the next 5 years?  And how much time have I wasted spent in regret over what didn't go right in the past: which could be the past 5 minutes, or the last 39 years?  So I've come to a decision:  ENOUGH OF THAT WASTING TIME, BUSINESS.

God whispered into my ear today, and do you want to know what he said?  "Pssst...hey Michelle, pay attention.  THIS is what it's about."