Love Connection

Sometimes I would go to the office late and we'd steal an hour for breakfast and a chat.  We'd use a free Friday night to hire a sitter and have a casual dinner before a movie.  We knew what was up with the kids and each other and we were CONNECTED.
That was before fall.

 

He's coaching a baseball team.  Soccer practice and games take Friday evenings and Saturday mornings.  Fourth grade is harder than we all expected.  My days of slipping  into the office a little late are over.

If you ask me how he's doing all I can say to you is "he is wonderful".  And he is.

He is a wonderful Dad.

He is a wonderful Coach.

I'm honestly not sure right now if he is DOING wonderful, but he IS a wonderful man.

We had a chance over the weekend to spend a little time together and it was nice.  We inevitably talked about family and deadlines and the stresses of impending adolescence, but we talked.  We held hands on the sidewalk on the way to the restaurant.  We weren't just their parents or the coach and the team mom.  We were Mr & Mrs M.  Just us trying to connect.

And I told him that above everything else that is piling onto our shoulders right now I am grateful for him.  I am grateful that we are happy.  I am so lucky he is mine.

I am pouring my heart out with Shell today about how blessed I feel to be in a happy marriage with my E.  When we've done all we can do for our children and we send them into the world the only thing we'll have left is each other. That will be wonderful.

For My Kindergarten Graduate

Dear Princess ~

Oh my baby girl. . . to even think of you and how deeply I love you tightens my chest and threatens to break me.  My love for you is so intense and you are so untouchable sometimes.  I have to force myself to remember that your genetics cannot be denied.  There is no malice in your strength and independence and I know that it's my job to love you exactly the way you are.

You graduated from Kindergarten today and were a star in the Kindergarten performance. You sailed right through the school year and continue to impress me with your poise and intelligence. Daddy and I were so shocked and proud in your teacher conference when Mrs. Bennett told us that you are such an eager learner and her star student.  In fact, her only complaint was that you finish your work too quickly. Okay then.  I can live with that.

Your favorite things about school are reading and art.  It's so sweet to see you lounging on your bed reading to Nana or listening to her read your favorite stories to you on the phone. You are a remarkable reader and love to sneak books out of your brother's room. I love the work that you put into the cards you make for your friends and family.  I know there's a sweet pea in there somewhere and enjoy watching you express that in your writing and art.

The school year did nothing to diminish your love for flip flops, swimsuits, Hawaii and your boys.  We are certain that you'll never go to college anywhere that snows because you are definitely a warm weather creature.  I am so grateful that you wear a uniform to school every day because I just can't even imagine the pain we would go through every morning while you tried to indulge your inner fashionista.  But I love that you will forego your sparkly sandles and sundress any chance you get to go in the backyard with your lavender baseball glove and play catch with your Dad and The Athlete.  You are the MOST unpredictable girl ever.

You love candy, soccer, swimming pools and your American Girl doll, Josephina.  You run fast, dance like a lunatic and take forever in the bathroom.  You wear my high heels around the house any chance you get, steal all my lip gloss and beg me to stay in bed and read one more book with you.  Please don't ever stop. 

You scare me to death, but I get you.  My job on this earth is to make sure you know that I need you as much as you need me and I will never judge you for being yourself.  I've always got your back, Lulu.  After all, you are my girl.

With Too Much Love, Mama

Protein, Prayer and Perspective

I am pouring my weary heart out with Shell today.




If life were school and I were being graded right now I would be failing these three "P"s.  All of them.  Miserably.  And failing is not in my vocabulary.  Imagine the dismay.

PROTEIN

Meal planning, healthy eating, calorie counting, empty calories . . . All of it eludes me and I am an epic failure.  My BFF and I talked recently about being positive role models for our kids and choosing the right times to talk with them about healthy eating and making good choices.  I'm pretty sure I don't want to tell them that I washed down a box of Jr Mints with a truiple venti latte at my desk this afternoon.  Not positive role model stuff, ya know?

The Princess is 6 years old, closer to 7, and she weighs a whopping 42 pounds.  That is not a typo.  She is teeny tiny.  Always has been.  My philosophy with her is that if she's willing to eat it then she can have it.  That's not getting us very far right now.  She is having some pretty significant digestive issues and her pediatrician has suggested that we cut out all simple carbs and sugar.  Sounds easy enough until you try to feed a teeny tiny child edamame and wheat germ who only wants a bowl of pasta with butter.  Salads and lean protein seems simple enough, but somehow it's really just not.

Epic failure. Again. Fat is a choice that I make for myself.  She deserves someone who will make the right choices on her behalf.  Failing her hurts so much more than failing myself.

PRAYER


It's proven that life is better around here when we're going to church all the time.  "The family that prays together stays together" really speaks to me.  My only excuse for not dressing my children and taking them to mass every Sunday morning at 9 AM is that I am tired.  Down to my bones I am tired and tell myself that God will understand.  That's lame and I know it, but it is the absolute truth.

On mornings that we don't have to rush to school or the office, or soccer, baseball or a track meet I just want to leave my pajamas on and eat scrambled eggs at the counter while the towels are in the washing machine.  And I am disappointed in myself for feeling like that.

PERSPECTIVE

The last 30 days have added 12,000 miles to my frequent flyer account and I can't think of anything positive about that.  Last week brought a diagnosis of a sinus infection for my sweet Athlete who I knew in my heart just wasn't himself.  I have no perspective.  The minutia constantly crowds my mind and overtakes any hope of clarity.

One morning last week I drove the Athlete and four of his classmates on a field trip to the Ocean Institute in Dana Point. On the way back to school the kids couldn't talk fast enough about how great it was.  Their teacher sent home this photo of what they saw.  An entire school of common dolphins were racing their boat in the Pacific Ocean.

We are good. Our home is cozy. My planes keep landing safely and my son holds his sister's hand in the parking lot.  Not enough protein.  Not enough prayer.  But enough blessed perspective to know how good life is.

Class Dismissed

Pour Your Heart Out: Wacky or Worried??

Adult Male: "What's your name?"

The Princess: "Bob"

Adult Male {smiling}: "Nice to meet you Bob.  Do I know your parents?"

The Princess {deadpan}: "I don't have parents.  I am an orphan."

Adult Male {smiling wider}: "Oh really now?  Well who brought you to the party?"

The Princess {deadpan}: "I was in the neighborhood.  I came for the food."

Is she funny?  Mostly she is REALLY funny.  She can be unbelievably dry and alternately wild and hilarious. 

But sometimes I worry that she uses humor to cover up insecurity.  And sometimes she's not funny at all.  She can be mean.  And intentionally hurtful.  And I worry that she's hurting and doesn't know how to ask for help.  She's only 6.

Concerned Adult:  "She is really developing an odd sense of humor lately."

Me {feigning ignorance}:  "Oh, really?"

Concerned Adult: "Someone asked her today where The Athlete was and she said he was dead."

Me: "Oh.  Oh.  Really?  Oh.  Really?"

I don't exactly know what the appropriate response is to that but I am starting to worry about my girl.  A lot.

Butterflies and rainbows.  Frilly dresses with matching hair ribbons.  Patent leather mary janes with ruffled ankle socks and a bonnet on Easter.

My idealized vision of a little girl is NOT what my daughter is and I am mostly OK with that. I want her to be bold and confident and witty. But not creepy. Not alarmingly morbid.  Not someone who I have to worry about where (or who) she's going to turn to for attention when she feels like she's not getting enough from us.

I lay awake at night wondering if I should let it go and just keep doing what I'm doing.  Is she just feeling out her place in the world and she'll be the next Tina Fey?  Or is she hurt and I am failing her horribly and all she knows how to do is cover it up with words and wit?  Maybe I should be wrapping her up with all the love I can stand and begging her to share her darkest secrets with me.

If I had the answer I would pursue it whole heartedly and wouldn't need to Pour My Heart Out on my blog.  But I don't.

Pour Your Heart Out

This week will mark the 9th birthday of my son and I am not quite sure how I feel about this one.  It feels as if we are rapidly hurtling towards him selecting a college I am so not OK with that idea.  To lose my grasp on him terrifies me and makes me miss him.  Long before he'll actually be gone.  And then I think - what if we don't make it that far?

Please don't judge me and don't say I am crazy.  Shell's Pour Your Heart Out is part writing exercise and part therapy for me.  And there is no truer fear in my heart than losing my son.  I hope and pray that if I can "pour it out" I can move on from it.  Or at least stop fretting over it for a while.

There's something buried in me that absolutely, genuinely believes that if something looks too good be true then it probably is.  I don't believe in perfect.  I cherish those sweet, sunny days that have a ring of perfection to them but even then I almost expect to have a car accident on the way home.  Twisted, I know.

My son is perfect to me.  I am sure if you asked someone else they would say he's too small, or we should really address orthodontia sooner than later, or something that would point out a minor imperfection.  But I think he is perfect.  I remember sitting on the side of the bed in our sunny guest room the day I found out I was pregnant with him and sharing the good news with my Nanny.  I was over.the.moon.  That feeling for him has not changed even once in the last nine years.

God blessed us with the kindest, funniest, smartest, most considerate child in the world.  He is a wonderful student and a gifted athlete.  He works hard, listens eagerly and doesn't question authority.  He has slept all night in his own bed since he was 7 weeks old. He is kind to his sister and loves God and his family.

Is he somehow not human?  Of course not.  I do not love his "all boy" approach to housekeeping or hygiene.  I would like for him to spend less time bulding trains out of Legos and more time reading books that challenge him.  I am not impressed when he brings home a test that is below his ability because he wanted to finish and go to recess.  Our relationship is real, but my love for him is beyond anything I ever even knew was possible.

He seems to good to be true.

And if that's the case then surely I will be smacked in the face with the grim reality of the world any moment now.  The harsh unforgiving world that doesn't let perfection linger.  The world that knows I have done nothing to deserve something so pure and ideal.

A few years ago I was hysterical quite often because he was not well.  He complained constantly of terrible headaches and fatigue.  He wasn't eating and when he did he wasn't digesting well.  I was convinced that my exposure to perfection was done and he was terminally ill.  My fear was absolute.  We pursued some testing and counseling and came to the conclusion that his focus on the "right thing" really didn't permit him to accept anyone who was doing the "wrong thing".  His anxiety manifested in a very physical way.  There was a lot of the "wrong thing" going on in kindergarten and we learned how to help him work through that.

Crisis averted.

I've not had any real fear like that since then, but it's always there.  Always threatening me.  The more I love him the more I fear that his fate has been determined.  I think about all of the the beautiful children that are tragically taken from their families by illness, or meanness or tragedy.  You hear it over and over again.

"She was just the brightest star in  the universe."

"We were lucky to have him for even a minute."

"God had better plans for him."

Recently I was ordering something from an acquaintance, who was referenced on her sister in law's blog, who referenced her friend who had a perfect son, with a perfect name who was in perfect health.  Before he tragically died at the age of 9.  Her first born bundle of vibrant perfection is gone forever. Be still my heart.

There is absolutely no reason that I should have been connected to this woman who I don't know.  None.  I was buying a gift for my brand new niece and there she was talking about "her Max" and how they had to fly home from vacation without him.  My heart shattered in a million pieces for her family and makes my hands tremble when I think about my own perfect son.

But I felt a little bit like it was a reminder.  A reminder that even if something is too good to be true it should be cherished all the more.  To celebrate clean laundry and fish sticks.  To stop digging for perfection and linger over bedtime prayers.  to be sure and tell everyone you love how much you mean it whenever you get the chance.

If our life is too good to be true I want it to end knowing that we took full advantage while it was here.



Pour Your Heart Out

We don't fight at my house.  I mean fight for real.  My kids pile on each other and express themselves too loudly and I have been known to tell my husband he's an idiot.  That's not a fight.  It's just life.

But last weekend I think we had a fight.  And I didn't like it.  At all.

I left without saying goodbye {I never do that}

He slept on the couch {He never does that}

We are both completely worn from the struggles of business and the pressure filled cycle of competitive sports and parenting sick kids who need more than we can easily give. And we took it out on each other.  That was a bad choice.

When there's a need for a truce I always back down first.  Harmony in my home means a lot more to me than proving whatever point I am hung up on at the moment.  Saying I'm sorry is never an issue for me.  But this time it was a little different somehow.  Sorry didn't come, because I wasn't.

I left home on Sunday before he woke up because I had already planned to spend a quiet day in the office to catch up.  I worked all day and missed my family.  When I called home to say goodnight The Princess had a fever again and I was just so deflated.  I wrapped up my last pass at a project and headed home with a cloudy mind and a heavy heart.

As I walked through a very quiet and still house a little blonde streak came running down the hall.  I kissed her hard and carried her the rest of the way back to where she came from.  The master bedroom was spotless and filled with the smell of baby girl shampoo.  Her Daddy had given her a tepid bath in the big tub to help quell her fever and washed her hair for her.

::: big sigh :::

There was no grand gesture or a giant "I'm sorry".  But there was a little girl who was getting all the love and care she needed from someone who was just as hurt as me.  And that may have been enough.  Little girl shampoo and clean sheets is all I need sometimes. 

Love you, E <3

In the end, who among us does not choose to be a little less right to be a little less lonely. ~ Robert Brault