Parenting 101

March 31st -- wow...three whole months of writing every single day on this blog.  has it changed me? yesnomaybe.  I joined a gym.  Started spinning.    Started lifting weights.  Stopped weighing myself.  (completely.  I have not stepped on a scale since we joined.)  Signed up for a teaching workshop at a college in another state.  Became a better parent.

Okay.  One of the above statements is false.  Guess which one???  And truly, I am not going to give this blog any credit for inspiring the others.  Maybe it did.  Maybe it didn't.  I don't think it matters.  But it sounds good anyway.

As for the false statement, the fact that my oldest son is like psycho child and I am psycho mom is a BIG clue.  He is absolutely starting to stress out and his way of showing it is kind of spooky.  I don't know if it's a guy thing or what but he will seem totally calm and we will be having a conversation (like how I found this person at a college he sort of wants to go to who can give him a day tour) and he goes from all calm to suddenly snapping my head off.  I swear.  The other night he came home from work and I called to him from the family room and asked him if he wanted a bowl of soup.  And he got this snarly, intense voice and said, "Mommmmm, Stop. Nagging. Me."  I was like, whoaaaaa.  Okay.  No soup!  Tonight when we were talking about college and a potential visit he suddenly went kind of postal.  "I will visit, whenever.  Not. Now.  I have too much to do right now!"  Then he got all twitchy with his list of "to-do's" for tonight.  It's just weird because only seconds before he was calm and responsive.  What I think is that in his boy brain, he actually forgot what he had to do tonight and suddenly remembered in the middle of our conversation.  And then he panicked.

Either way, I probably shouldn't be photographed for "mom of the year".  Not that I would anyway but I just feel like anything I do -- and I mean anything (like offering food) -- sucks.   Today, I was talking to Tessa.  Just talking!  And in the middle of her "story" she was sharing with me, she suddenly stops, looks at me and goes, "what are you doing?!!"  (i was actually kind of imitating her because she was doing this weird thing with her hand and I was trying to figure out what she was trying to do)  She paused, mid-sentence, flipped her hair and then stalked out of the room.  "I can't talk to you!" she shouted over her shoulder.  I was like, completely befuddled.  This parenting thing is getting harder and harder.  I just want them to be happy.  To be excited about their lives.  I completely get that it's normal to not always be happy or excited but...I do want to help.  But how to do that --  I truly have no idea.  I can't listen to them, feed them, or offer my love and support?  Really?!  Bah.  So I stink at parenting.   But I have decided.  I am not giving up on the food.  No way.  Food rocks.  Besides, it was an awesome soup.

Pass

March 30th -- I am very tired, very overwhelmed and very angry at life.  Not a good night to write a blog entry.  I would make myself too vulnerable.

Tough day.  Time for a glass of wine.  Or two.

Race To Nowhere

March 29th -- I went to see Race to Nowhere, the documentary about education in the United States and the problems inherent in the system.  It's late and I am really tired but my quick assessment of the movie is that it was very good and thought provoking.  It made me want to ask my kids a lot of questions.

The movie was dedicated to the memory of a young 13 year old girl who committed suicide because she had failed an Algebra test in 8th grade.  This was a child who excelled at everything but when she took advanced math, she started to slide.  And apparently, because her parents saw absolutely nothing else wrong, this one bad grade put her over the edge.  I guess her dad had thought she was changing as a child but the guidance counselors at the school said she was just "behaving like a normal 13 year old."  But deep down, where nobody could see, the F she got on her test was unacceptable in every sense of the word.   It's every parent's worst nightmare.

The movie is based on the stress level in education, the pressure on kids to be the best, to take the most AP courses, fill out the resume with the most activities, etc.  It was interesting to watch because with Luke in his senior year, we are in the thick of that kind of pressure.  It is hard.  Really hard.  Are we guilty of pushing him?  Yup.  But what I have realized -- and this is huge -- is that in all of the hubbub of college seeking, applications and whatnot, I have never EVER heard of a student who has not been accepted by at least one school.  Not one.  So if a kid doesn't want to join a club, or a sport or work in the community, so what?  If that stresses a child out, back away.  They will get into a school, somewhere.  It won't be Harvard but who cares?  They will get into a school.  And if they flourish in that school, albeit one with a less prestigious name, maybe they will go on to bigger or better.  Or maybe they won't.  In the long run, they will be fine.

If I got one thing out of that movie, it's this -- we all have to stop being so afraid of being the last person in the race.  After all, it's just a race to nowhere.  We will get to where we are supposed to go when it's time to get there.  For God's sake, (and ours) let's just try to enjoy the trip.

Did Britney Write Her Songs? I Guess I Don't Care

March 28 -- I just clicked on msn.com to get onto this blog.  I was also searching the home page to find any information about Obama's speech tonight regarding Libya.  Luke said he listened to it in the car on his way home from his tutoring job.  He said it was excellent.

So as I was looking for the Obama article, I saw even more important news which received top billing on the home page for msn.com -- apparently, sources say that Britney Spears hasn't written the bulk of her own music or lyrics.  Critics are calling her a "puppet."  Wow.  I am not sure I will be able to fall asleep tonight now that I have that incredibly revealing information.  I mean, goodness, my vision of her is now shattered irrevocably.  Oh wait a minute.  I never had a vision about Britney Spears.  So I guess this revelation leaves me safe and mentally intact after all.  Whew.

I guess what does bother me is the question -- do people really care?  Should I care?  Because I have to be honest here.  I don't.  But like a man flashing in front of me, I didn't invite the information into my life but now I have seen the vision.  And I am kind of grossed out by it.  Largely because I can't help but wonder why this information is so important for the public to know.  If people like her music, they like her music.  As for who actually writes it?  Does it matter?   I mean I am certain her family cares.  And maybe Britney does.  After all, this is how she makes money and if it comes to light that she really doesn't have any musical talent after all...gosh, it's just crazy to think about the ramifications this public undressing (no pun intended) will have on her future musical (ahem) artistic efforts.    It makes me think of that poor guy several years ago who was caught lip synching his music while someone else actually sang it.  See?  I can't even remember his name.  Somehow, that actually makes me happy.  I didn't care back when his fake music issue was publicly revealed either so I apparently (and fortunately) deleted his name from my personal hard-drive.

I have been thinking a lot lately about higher level learning.  About teachers who motivate their students to think critically, to make predictions, to create solutions to problems.  In short, to use their minds to create a better world.  I am truly wondering where this information about Britney falls in the effort to inspire the children/adults in this country to become smarter and more productive citizens.  I guess it is up to them to ignore it or understand that it is not news per se -- it's schadenfreude.  (The act of finding joy in someone else's demise.) Hopefully they will read it and move on quickly to other topics.  I believe that too much focus on subjects that are personal in nature and truly not meant for public scrutiny is like eating sugar.  It's a quick and nutritionally empty high.

So on to more substantial stuff.  Tomorrow I will consider Plato's New Republic.  Critics say he never got out of the cave after all...I am pretty certain I read that on msn.com...

Haircut Fights

March 27th -- When the boys were little and I was a full time homemaker, I started to cut their hair to save money.  After I bought the razor with the different level combs, I watched the video a few times and before long, (and after a few minor mishaps) I actually got pretty good at it.

When they were little, it wasn't too bad of a job.   I was always delighted afterward because truly, we saved a lot of money over the years, especially after Brian became a steady client as well.  That was four free haircuts every 6 to 8 weeks;  everyone was happy .

But then the boys got older.  And we all got busier.  So now, when it's haircut day (like today) I have to put aside at least two hours for all of their cuts.  (speedy, I am not.)  Plus vacuuming and "fine tuning" and shaking out the shawl...it's a big chunk of the day.   So what ends up happening is I get a little cranky.  And inevitably, I end up arguing with one of the boys.  Usually, it's Luke.  I don't know why but he has had several hair cuts with me furious at him for one thing or another.  Today, it happened again.

While I was cutting Brian's hair, Lily started barking like crazy at something in the backyard.  Brian was like, oh, there might be a hawk going after a chicken.  I just wanted to finish the haircut so I didn't stop. I figured a squirrel was attacking the bird feeder again.  But when I went out back to shake out the shawl, sure enough, there was a hawk over by the coop, clearly working on a (now) dead chicken.  We all freaked out.  Luke had let the chickens out of the coop before he left for work and basically, with all of us holed up in the house, we didn't hear the birds start fussing when the hawk swooped in for lunch.

When Luke got home for work, I told him I wanted to talk to him.  He asked if we could discuss it while I cut his hair.  I was like, are you sure?!!  He nodded.  So, I read him the riot act (okay not exactly a riot act because I knew that deep down behind that teenager wall of his, he was really sad about the chicken) but I definitely let him know I was disappointed about how he non-chalantly let the chickens out and then left for work with them roaming around un-watched.  It was actually a pretty intense argument which ultimately ended up in a follow-up conversation (after the haircut was over) that was kind of upbeat.  And then he anhilated me in chess which only made me mad at him again.  Just kidding.

The bottom line is this -- even though I was really upset with him and he was totally furious at me, the haircut came out nice.  (if I say so myself.)  Nonetheless, I am kind of looking forward to the day when he has a real job and pays a hairdresser.  Let him argue with somebody else for a change!

iPad entry woo hoo

March 26 I am typing this entry on Brian's iPad and watching House at the sometime. so far I am moderately impressed although this isn't my favorite way to type an entry. I like the feel of a computer keyboard when I type. But I guess that word processing isn't the primary intention of this thing. (I am actually not really certain what the primary intention of this thing really is except to sell more computers and make more money for Apple.)

Anyway, since this is the first time I actually Touched this! I guess it is appropriate that I write in my blog. But now my fingers are getting tired. And House is trying to kick his vicadin habit. too much drama - I gotta go.

My House is Falling Down...So to Speak

March 25 -- The good news today (I think) is that my dad came home from rehab. I say, "I think" because I know my mother is freaked about caring for him alone.  VNA will be stopping by but she will be carrying the brunt of the workload.   I stopped over there tonight with trepidation because i have been fighting a cold all week and even though I feel better today, I didn't want to get my parents sick.  But I wanted to see him in his old stomping ground so Riley and I stopped by on our way home from IKEA (yes, third trip this week; I am disgusted with myself :)

Dad looked great.  Mom looked like sh*t.  Seriously.  The poor thing is exhausted.  When I hugged her and told her that, she whispered in my ear, "you look awful too."  I was like, gee thanks Mom.  But she's right.  I do look a bit fried.  But what can I do?  In the last three weeks, our dishwasher has died, our dryer has stopped drying, and our kitchen sink faucet broke.  Yeah.  That's right.  Six people in this house, and all of the basic cleaning elements have basically crapped out.  And Luke with the stomach flu...who knows when the next victim will fall?

So I raced over to IKEA to buy a new faucet after stopping to pick up the boys' new eyeglasses at Costco. (best deal ever, btw!!)   Then, after five hours of shopping and driving (mostly driving), I stopped at my mom's.  In addition to all the appliance/house issues, add in the fact that Luke was sick this week, I was sick this week, and Brian was totally stressed about work.  (And, might I add ever so quietly,  I was engaging in a lot of decorating projects this past week as well...yes, I guess I do feel a little bit guilty.)

So yes.  My mother was right.  I look like a picked herb that has been forgotten on the patio table in the middle of a hot summer day.  Pinched, wrinkled and limp.  Yikes.  That sounds terrible!

But on the bright side, I did pick a color for the back of my bookcase.  Vintage Wine, the "color of the year" for Benjamin Moore.   I am so excited to start the project.  haha.  But first I have to get myself a glass of water.  Or wine.  Hmmmmm.

PIcking A Paint Color with Squinty, Tired Eyes

March 24 --   As I always do, whenever I start a little decorating project, it always escalates.  I tell myself I won't do it, but inevitably, one furniture move leads to another, leads to new pillows, etc. ultimately ending with some sort of painting project.

So here I am standing in the living room, now turned study, squinting at the book case and the 20 some odd color swatches stuck in various spots.  I had to repaint the back of it anyway to fix a spot our contractor messed up but while I was considering that repair job, I thought of this new awesome decorating idea.  Brian thinks I am crazy.  I have so much going on right now, my head hurts.

But I told him the truth -- decorating calms me down.  It makes me happy.  It's like a drug.  I am not spending exorbitant amounts of money on shoes I already have or clothes I won't wear.  I am feathering my nest and trying out creative urges.   If I didn't do my "duties" like apply for new jobs (which pay more money!) or do the job I am hired to do right now, or take care of the kids and so on, then yeah, I shouldn't dream about this new decorating project.  But I get my responsibilities done.  With a few minutes to spare for daydreaming about creative ideas.  It all works.

So I continue to squint but I am exhausted.   I will think about this some more...tomorrow.

Stomach Bug in the House

March 23 --  I am not happy.  Luke started with the stomach flu tonight.  I am seriously hoping he doesn't have what I had three weeks ago -- the same virus that landed my dad in the hospital.  I was out of it for three or four days.    Anyway, the poor kid is asleep on the bathroom floor and has been there for the last four hours.  Every time he stands up to go to bed, he gets dizzy and gets sick again.  Ughhhh. 

All things considered, I have been a very lucky mother of four kids who rarely get stomach viruses.  I mean we certainly have our share of war stories about one stomach illness or another but for the most part, we always seemed to avoid the majority of them.  But honestly, it was Luke and Tessa who had at least one episode each which almost landed them in the hospital.    Gosh, they were soooooo little then.  And it seems like just yesterday. 

Okay.  I know I am tired when I start to wax poetic about the kids' stomach bugs.   Time to end this entry.
I am just hoping this isn't a long one like mine.  And that it is not contagious.  Ha.  We'll see.

Snow, Again??

March 22 --  Every day, the superintendent of our school system sends the staff members a four day weather forecast.  It's quite entertaining actually.  Either he missed his professional calling or he was a weatherman in his past life because, quite frankly, it's a very detailed and quite prolific forecast. In short, he is obsessed with the weather. Sometimes he sends color coded maps.  Other times he provides definitions for complex weather forecasting terms.  It's amusing and bizarre and actually helpful all rolled into one email.

Either way, today he sent a really sh*#ty one.  In bright blue letters, he warned that not only are we getting more snow (ha, I typed "snot" first before I fixed my typo.  a subconscious typo for sure...);  apparently we are supposed to get more snow TWICE in the coming week.   Since we have just passed the numerical/monthly marker of spring, I find this information ridiculous and flat-out unacceptable.

But, as I explained to my indignant daughter tonight, Mother Nature cares not what we want or how we feel.  For God's sake, look at Japan.  I guess, on reflection, we can handle a little more snow after all...

Dr. Dad and Channel 4

March 21 -- I just watched the video of the young dad who delivered his baby girl on the floor of his garage.  It was a great story because everything turned out fine.  The baby was healthy, the mother was fine and the big sister was appropriately adorable in her "Big Sister" t-shirt.

What cracked me up though, was the news announcer's voice when the camera focused on a snapshot of the mother and baby taken shortly after the baby was born.  In the background, the viewer can see the tire and part of the car parked behind her.  In the video clip,the announcer dramatically tells the listener that the husband took the picture and that it can be seen "exclusively on Channel 4."  Seriously?  Did he really need to say that?  Are television stories in Mars (PA?) so scarce that stations battle over the airing of a photo of a mom with her baby?  Do viewers really care?!  Like, are they going to watch more of Channel 4 news from now on?  I mean, okay, hooray, they convinced the dad to not let anyone else shoot video of the picture.  Big whoop.  It's the scoop of the day for Channel 4.  The dad probably has like, four other pictures of his wife and baby he is selling on the side...

As for me, above and beyond the remarkable delivery story, I was very impressed with the mom's excellent skin tone.  She was like, totally glowing.  After giving birth on a concrete floor. Now there's a story.

Sadness and Decorating

March 21 -- Lately, with all the stuff going on with my parents and all of the anxiety around Luke's college applications (still waiting for two answers), I have found myself in a veritable stew pot of conflicting emotions.  But one of the more predominant emotions is grief.  I have noticed that on several occasions, I have been feeling profoundly sad.  Change is underfoot -- I know.

 The other night, when we drove Connor to lacrosse, I felt a pain in my chest.  I was thinking how it was the beginning of the last sport season for the school year and it suddenly hit me that it will be Luke's last sport season in public school.  Again, I felt a huge wave of sadness.  It all goes by so fast; it really does.

So I spent the weekend making myself feel better.  I went on a crazy decorating binge by cleaning out the old and bringing in a few new pieces.  The couch in the family room drives me crazy.  It's a slip cover and with all the kids, it is constantly in need of adjusting.  The awesome "comfy" couch was losing its allure with all of its huge pillows for the back of the couch.  Every day I had to go over and re-arrange them.  It seems like nothing but it was one more thing to do and it had been driving me nuts for a long time.  So out went both couches.  The comfy one is now in the kids' hang out room downstairs.  And I will sell the other one on Craigslist.  (It's in great condition if you don't have four kids flopping on it and...over it.)  Then, because I moved out the couch, I needed a new one, right?  Ha.  And when I moved a piece out of the living room and into the family room, then I needed a new chair for in there.

It sounds like I went crazy but really, I didn't.  We had the other couch for nearly 13 years.  And I went to my favorite, very reasonable and funky store -- IKEA -- to get the chair.  So now I have made some progress to clean out clutter and start fresh.  Am I sad still?  Hmmmm.  Of course I know that buying a new chair won't bring me lasting happiness.  But it sure will be a great place to escape to when things get too heavy -- a place to cuddle up with a book, a cozy blanket and a glass of wine... that sure sounds like joy to me!

Yoga Lesson of the Day

March 19 -- I got up early today to go to my yoga class.  The teacher, John, is really intense about yoga and always works us really hard.  I love it.  Anyway, on the way to class, I was sitting at the traffic light and I noticed the cars driving by.  I mean, I really noticed them.  And what I saw was that most of the cars were either beige or white.  And grey.  A ton of neutral colors.  I thought to myself, wow...I am glad I went with a color when we picked the mini van.  But it was kind of a choice made by accident.  The one I was originally leaning toward was beige.  Anyway, as I sat at that intersection, I made a judgement;  I decided that what I was reading lately about color was true.  With a shaky economy, people tend to pick "safe" colors...i.e. neutrals.

And then I went to class.  And John, as he always does, started the class with a verbal, life yoga lesson.  He talked about a story from Eckhardt Tolle's "The Power of Now".  In the story, a poor beggar asks for money every day.  And every day, there is this guy who walks by.   Finally, one day the man stops and asks the poor man, "what is in the box you are sitting on?"  They open the box and there inside is a million dollars.  The moral of the story is that everyone's treasure is within.  It's a great connection to yoga.  Doing a pose, your objective is to try not to judge it as good or bad.  To try and look at it without judgement.  Very, very hard to do, especially when the position is a difficult one.  But I gave his words a lot of thought.  How quickly we look outside of ourselves to define our world instead of remembering all of the wealth within.  If you do downward dog and you feel good and you are trying your hardest, good for you.  If you happen to look at the person next to you and see his heels touching the     floor...yipes...suddenly you aren't so good right?  Your stomach sinks in disappointment and you make a quick (not so nice) thought about yourself.  It happens all of the time.

For some reason, I thought about my observation of the car colors.  Did I judge them as good or bad?  I guess I did make an assessment of sorts.  Weird.  We really do make judgements...all the time.  John's words really resonated with me.  I hope I can remember them as I continue along my path.  It's hard.  But I will try.  For now... :)

Window Peeping

March 18 --  Tonight, we drove Connor home from a lacrosse team bonding event at a local healthclub.  He had a couple of friends in the car along with a neighborhood boy whose mom had emailed me in the beginning of the week to ask if we could give him a ride home.  I laughed when I read the email because it is a known fact on our street that they all go to bed really, really early.  I just figured she was looking for an easy out so she wouldn't have to stay up late on a Friday night.

So I teased N about it in the car.  I was like, "oh, your mom just wanted to go to bed early, I know."  And he said, "nooo, I think she was going to a meeting for my sister."  I told him I was just teasing.  He laughed and then acknowledged that in fact, they do all go to bed early.  We talked about how this makes a lot of sense because his dad, who is in construction, has to get up really early in the morning.  "How do you know their lights are out?" asked Connor.  "Why are you staring at the neighbor's houses?"

I thought about that for a moment.  I do have the habit of looking inside people's houses at night when we are driving by.  Not intently really, but if I am in the passenger side of the car (which is where I often am when we are driving late at night), I will certainly observe and make note of the room colors, the tv layout, the lighting.  I know rooms in certain homes that have gone from blah cream to bold red.  From light colors to neon yellows.  Or rooms that just don't work with night lighting;  they are too crazy.  I wonder if the owners are able to relax in there.  Or if they avoid the room.  It's the interior decorator in me, I can't help it.  Does that make me bad?  A peeping Tom?  I don't think so.  I just like to make up stories about the people in the homes, that's all.  And give them silent suggestions.  Maybe it's weird, but it's not like I go creeping back later at night with a step stool in hand to climb up and look in the window.  It's a drive-by snapshot I take with my mind  to briefly leave the world I am in and to momentarily live in someone else's life -- I just love seeing how other people decorate.  And then my mind wanders, fills in the details.  And then...in the flash of a second, or two, or three, we have moved past the house and I am suddenly back in my own very full, very real world.

Squirrel Beats Fat Robin

March 17 -- St Patrick's Day.  And I am not Irish so, oh well.  But my kids are.  In respect to their heritage, my token to the Irish holiday was a spinach salad for dinner.  No corned beef and cabbage...that's just disgusting.

Anyway, speaking of eating, my topic of the moment is this little red squirrel which is kicking the sh*t out of the big, fat robin.  I asked for a bird feeder for Christmas.  A few years ago, the squirrels decimated my feeder and I was missing the birds.  So I begged for a squirrel proof one.  Ha.  Brian and Riley came home with your basic garden variety feeder that was so easy for a squirrel to eat out of it was like giving away free ice cream to a group of second graders.  But I was desperate to see my little birds again so I said, thank you very much and filled it up with food.

Needless to say, I see more of this little red squirrel than any bird.  It's a cute squirrel I guess but...it's a tough little guy.  Whenever there are birds nearby, it just ignores them and jumps right on the feeder. No fear.  I realize that if watching this squirrel is a highlight of my day, I might need to find a new hobby (or two) but I guess I find some inspiration in watching its dogged determination to get food.  Speaking of dogs, the squirrel is driving Lily insane.  

It's all testimony to the fact that clearly, I need to get a life.  There seems to be just way too much observation of the animals going on...

My Desk is a Mess

March 16 -- As if my life isn't chaotic enough, it looks as though there has been a paper explosion on my desk.  Since I am one of those people who loves to be organized, every time I look at my desk, my stomach turns.  I keep trying to make a dent in all of the piles of paper but whenever I clear a space, another pile appears.  This is largely due to work.  Because the school stores the students answer sheets to the state test in my office, it is locked to all school personnel until the sheets get organized and sent to the state for scoring.  It's all very official -- only one person is allowed in the room.  And if i have to go in to get anything, I need to be supervised.

The upshot is that I have to grab all of my files and bring them home to work at my home office.  And then back again when I have a meeting.  And then home again.  Since I am out of there for at least two weeks, I have to take EVERYTHING.  Thus the mess on my desk.  But my hope is to make a huge dent in organizing tomorrow.  Except I just heard that I might have to go in to organize a mailing.  And so the mess will stay.  Or not.  We'll see.  All I know is that right now, I feel like I can't control anything.  Not one thing.

Control is an illusion anyway.  Or so they say.  The way I see things right now, I think "they" might be right.

Lily the Dog

March 15 -- Life continues to spiral in different directions.  The kids in one direction, my parents in another.  I am stuck somewhere in between, jerking toward whomever pulls the hardest.  When I spoke to my mother tonight she didn't sound right.  Sure enough, she is sick.  She has a cold but it is one that has affected her in the chest and for my mother, who is very sensitive with her breathing, this is bad.  So she didn't go visit my dad today.  Instead she went to see the doctor.  I cannot even believe she is sick.  Poor thing.  As if dealing with Dad in the rehab place wasn't enough.  We all told her that with Dad out of the house for a while, she could maybe get a few nights of good, solid sleep.  Unfortunately, that doesn't look like it's going to happen.

So in the midst of all of this, I am sitting at my computer thinking about my day, the kids' efforts, my parents' struggle and all the while, I am watching my awesome dog, Lily.  For the last hour she has been curled up in a deep state of dog sleep on her new funky purple bed which is tucked underneath Brian's desk.  She is completely oblivious to all that is going on around her. What I love most about Lily is that she is a constant source of affection, no matter what.  And she is consistent with her greeting.  I walk in the door and suddenly she appears, with a stuffed toy in her mouth.  Always.  There is something to be said about a loyal dog.  I think the word I am looking for is "joy."  Or maybe "joyful."  No matter what, that dog puts a smile on my face. Always.  And I am grateful for this wonderful, consistent, non-judgemental source of love.

Freefalling

March 14 -- I am so utterly exhausted.  Part of this is because of the time change.  ALmost everyone always gets messed up by the loss of that hour;  I know I do.  The other part is how I feel like everything is becoming unmoored.  I truly feel like I am just free-falling through space.  And it is a very, very uncomfortable feeling.

My kids are just growing up so fast it's like they are on speed.  Every night there a a ton of activities with more thrown in at the last minute -- just for fun.  Tonight Connor and Tessa had CCD.  But no.  Suddenly it's an early mass.  And class for one afterward but not the other.  But no, then I am told there is no class for either kid.  Then told yes.  Then told no.  Aggghhhh.  Luke gets a letter from a school.  Which is so oddly written, he has no real idea what it means.  Nobody is around to explain -- it's spring break.  And the craziness goes on.

I can't even begin to assess Dad's illness.  His dementia.  It's not even worth the energy right now.  So far I have been so strong about it all.  No need to diverge onto a road of sadness and despair.  Not tonight.  There is nothing I can do to make him better -- it's out of my control.  I can only pray for him.  And my mom who is bearing the brunt of it all.

I long for a moment of peace.  But not tomorrow.  Tomorrow, the schedule is PACKED.  Packed.  Something is wrong with us.  But the thing is, we are all moving around so fast, nobody can figure out how to fix it.  Like I said.  I am exhausted from just trying to keep all of the balls in the air.  And spring is just starting...

Daylight Savings Day -- Spring Forward

March 13 --  When I consider the expression, "Fall Back; Spring Forward" I have to admit, I cringe.  It's the 'spring forward' part that makes me question the validity of all of this clock maneuvering.  Spring forward to what exactly?  As if we aren't busy enough already with everyone's very full schedule...we have to leap toward more of it?  As the days get longer, the events pile up -- spring season is my family's busiest time of the year when all the kids' schedules just explode.  In addition to their seasonal sports there are all the traditional end of year activities -- dance recitals, band concerts, awards nights.   And to top it all off, this year we have two graduations.  Two.

As we wait to hear the final responses from all of the schools Luke has applied to, I feel like I am in this eternal waiting game but I am rushing forward all the same.  It's surreal actually.  So even though I do like more daylight, I am not welcoming this "springing forward" concept at all.  Sometimes, I feel like I am moving so quickly, I don't even have time to breathe.  And that's not good at all.

Neanderthals in France? Really?

March 12 -- Tonight Luke taught me something I never knew.  Or maybe I did learn it once upon a time but I definitely forgot this historical fact.  Apparently,  long, long ago, tribes of Neanderthals lived in France.  Spain too.  I find this information fascinating actually.  If it is really true and, according to Luke who is a European history freak, it is true;  I just find it so unbelievably hard to picture.  I mean, the image of a Neanderthal, the stereotype, is someone who is backward in culture and sophistication.  That just doesn't fit with my image of a French person.

Luke also told me that they discovered 'shrooms near the caves the Neanderthals lived in.  That when they wrote on their walls -- their profound life histories -- they were high on 'shrooms.  Now how on earth scientists were able to ascertain that the cave dwellers were stoned when they wrote on the walls, I have no idea.  (And quite frankly, I don't believe that part of Luke's information.  As a teenager, I find that he gets somewhat overly intrigued about drug induced moments in history...)

So here is my image of the whole historical scenario.  If there really were Neanderthals in Spain and France, I am absolutely certain that the French Neanderthals were far more sophisticated, with much nicer clothes and advanced bathing techniques to lend the air of panache which defines the essence of a Frenchman. (or woman.)   Their cooking and baking had to have been far superior with sublime cheeses and grapes.  Maybe they learned to twirl their hairy mustaches far ahead of the Spanish Neanderthals.  Or invented much nicer footwear.  I am sure they had the most fashionable and vogue capes to fight the cold vs. the burly animal skin worn by the Neanderthals of other countries.

The "shroom hypothesis has me wondering. I think the scientists are barking up the wrong tree, so to speak.   My image of the culturally advanced French Neanderthals, however, I think is a brilliant hypothesis.  Worthy of major scientific analysis for sure.

Friday Night Blues

March 11 --  I am so sad.  Tonight is one of those nights that will go down in history, at least in my mind.  I stupidly hit the wrong button and erased a voicemail I had saved for at least six years on my cell phone.  In fact, I loved it so much, I had transferred it from my first cell phone to my next one.  But when I played it for the kids, everyone was laughing and I accidentally hit erase instead of save and it was gone.  I feel bereft;  I really do.  In the scheme of things going on today -- Japan's 8.9 earthquake and tsunami, and all the loss in that country, I suppose my little voicemail of Connor begging me to come home and Luke in the background telling him to shut-up is nothing.  But it was a huge part of my phone, a huge talisman so to speak.  I had Tessa on there too, announcing Riley's lost tooth.  When I erased Connor's nine-year old voice, I erased Tessa's too because really, I couldn't keep one if I lost the other.  It's weird.  It's just a voice mail but since we never took videos of the kids I was always so proud of that voicemail.  I loved listening to it.  I just did.

And now it's gone.  I feel like such a jerk.  I don't know why I am making this mean so much but I am just really sad.  Dumb I know but it is what it is.

Dishwasher Shopping -- omg

March 10 -- In the midst of all of this "taking care of parents" craziness, I have been trying to keep on top of one household "to-do" which is becoming more and more of an emergency.  Our dishwasher is totally crapping out.  I hate that expression but honestly?  It's perfect for the situation.

Last weekend, before the call came about my dad's need to go to the hospital, Brian and I were planning to head out to a few appliance stores and do some research.  Since the day's plans obviously had to be aborted, the dishwasher hunt was postponed.  But i NEED a dishwasher!!  Whenever i have had a few spare seconds, I have been scanning the internet for reviews about dishwashers, trying to make a decision.  And quite frankly, at this point, I am even more confused than before I started the research.

There are an unbelievable number of model numbers and product line features and comments and reviews and price variations (it's amazing how much cheaper appliances are when you buy them on the internet!).  I even read a review where the consumer got so intense with his descriptions about the complexity of the installation I clicked out of it in mid sentence.  (I am assuming it was a guy, don't know too many women who know to use an elbow copper pipe to vary the installation angle of the water line in the back of the wall...)  It was like watching a scary movie.  I had to change the screen.

God willing, we will have time to go shopping this weekend.  I cannot continue procrastinating this search.  And I certainly am sooooo tired of re-washing the dishes.   But mostly, my exhausted brain cannot process any more letter/number product identification codes.  It's absolutely bizarre.  If we ever have an alien invasion, I say we just print out a bunch of codes from various appliances and tell them it's a secret combination to lots of wealth.

See?  I really am losing it.  Yipes.

Dad's New Home -- For Now

March 9 -- My father finally was moved to a rehabilitation center in a nearby town.  That is good news.  I think.  I mean, now he can get the one on one physical therapy he needs to get stronger so he can come home to be with my mom again.  I guess the bad news is that he is NOT happy.  He just wants to go home.

But it is what it is.  I have not been there yet but my sister says it is newly renovated, clean and small.  And it is nearby to my mother.  All great things.  We are hopeful that their service is good as well.  I will go over to visit him tomorrow so my mother (who is still battling the stomach virus) can rest.

Apparently, when my sister and mother got their tonight to visit him in his new 'digs', he was playing with the cards.  Slapping them on the table, I guess.  Whatever.  Glad he is practicing.  At this rate, I may never beat him.  We'll see.

War Games

March 8 -- When I got to the hospital today to visit my father, I could see him in his room while I was walking down the hall.  My mother had already called to tell me he had a quieter night although  we strongly suspected he had been given drugs to knock him out.  So when I saw him sitting up in a chair, I was relieved.  Awesome, I thought.  He's up and at 'em.

But then I came into the room.  He was sitting alright but he was sleeping, his head drooping down and his glasses still on.  When I came into the room, he lifted his head and  looked at me.  And then he started whispering.  In Polish.  "Dad," I said.  "I don't understand a word you are saying."  He just stared at me blankly and then fell asleep again only to wake up a few minutes later and resume his Polish whispering.

This went on for maybe half an hour until finally, I had had enough.  Annoyed, I reached into my bag and grabbed a pack of cards I had quickly taken from the junk drawer when I had left my house.  Somehow, I had gotten the idea that maybe while I was hanging out at the hospital, we could play a simple card game.  Where this idea came from I have no idea because my father and I never, ever played cards together while I was growing up.  I guess he used to play with his friends and my mom before we kids came along but during my childhood it was a rare occasion to see my father shuffle the ol' deck.

I slapped the cards onto the food table.  His eyes grew wide.  "Dad," I said firmly, "Let's play a game."  He watched quietly while I counted out the cards and explained the game of War.   I flipped the first card over.  It was an eight.  Then I flipped one from my pile.  A two.  "Which card is higher?" I asked him.  I really expected that he wouldn't know.  But there was this glimmer of light in his eyes, excitement maybe?  He gave me a look that was part humor, part annoyance.  And he slowly, slowly pointed to the eight.  "The eight, " he said, in perfect English.  From there the game took off.  He still fell asleep from time to time but he kept coming back to the game.  It was awesome.  Best game of War I ever played, and lost, in my life.

It's amazing how losing can seem like winning if you have the right perspective.

And the Craziness Continues...

March 7 --  Spent the night and day battling the same stomach virus that landed my dad in the hospital.  So did, apparently, my sister.  And my mom.  But somehow she got herself to the hospital anyway.  My father is not doing well at all.  Completely unfamiliar with his surroundings, scared and exhausted from lack of sleep, he is sliding further and further into a deeper state of dementia.

Today, he started to do what has been my mom's lifelong fear -- he spoke only in Polish, his native language.  None of us can understand a word he is saying.

Tomorrow I hope I will feel better, well enough to go back to the hospital and be with him.  If he is discharged, my mother is not strong enough to pick him up if he falls.  And right now, he can't walk.  He is so weak, and with the Alzheimer's, he has forgotten how to walk.  If he goes to rehab, it will be more of the same.  More disorientation, more fear, more stress on his mind.  I have no idea where this is heading, but it doesn't look good.

But we have no choice.  It is all part of the journey.

Sick

March 6 -- Suddenly, I do not feel very well.  Am going to bed.  Shortest entry ever.

Yoga and Dad

March 5 --  I went to yoga class at the gym this morning.  It was an excellent class and the instructor worked us really hard.  When I left there I was like, yessss!  Great workout!  I was even more excited for the empty schedule for the remainder of the day.  Besides Riley's basketball party, there was nothing on the books.  And we had plans to go to the movies tonight.  I hadn't had a Saturday like that in ages.  Woo hoo.

Then I got home.  And then I got the phone call from my brother.  My dad was sick and the doctor on call told my mother to get him to the hospital immediately.  So she called the ambulance.  Fifteen minutes later my sister was in the driveway to pick me up.  And that was how we spent a good part of the day with my mom and dad in the hospital, waiting to hear what was wrong with my dad.

It just goes to show that being a member of the 'sandwich generation' is unbelievably challenging.  When I told Brian I had to go the hospital, he shot me a look of sympathy.  I was like, "this is life.  What can I do?"

But my dad stabilized and stayed over tonight for observation.  And I went with Brian and friends to see "The King's Speech".  I am so grateful those plans still worked out because it was an awesome movie with an amazing message -- push past your fear, no matter what limitations you might perceive you have.    I love that message because truly, as I watch my elderly parents struggle with illness and old age, I become even more acutely aware of the fact that fear never goes away.

 The same message was one of the themes in yoga class this morning -- recognize the fear, see the fear, embrace it...and move on.  And so I am.

Friends -- they make it all easier

March 5 -- After the events of this week, I suddenly saw myself at our new favorite wine and beer store, shopping for, wait for it...wine and beer.  Brian and I spontaneously invited some friends over tonight and we needed to stock up.  (Due to the fact that stress drinking had basically decimated our supply...)

Anyway, when I got to the store, there was nobody there.  I had some time so I wandered throughout the shop reading wine labels.  I talked to the manager for a while, picking his brain about bargain wines.  At some point, the back door opened and an older man walked in looking fairly bedraggled and worn.  He was unshaven and his hair was a mess.  He was in and out of the store within minutes but for some reason, after I left the store I couldn't get the image of him out of my mind.  The contrast between us was so distinct -- I was there with my running pants and gym clothes on doing wine research and thinking about what else I needed to host the gang coming over tonight.  And he came in, grabbed his six pack and left.  At two in the afternoon.  I don't know why but I suspected he wasn't going to share that beer with friends.  Or maybe he was.  But I doubted it.  Not when I considered the look of sadness I saw quickly pass over his face before he turned and shut the door behind him.

I thought about him again tonight after everyone left.  It was so much fun to catch up with friends Brian and I haven't really seen during this unbelievably long winter.  Swapping kid stories...sharing parenting insights.  Somehow, as the evening wore on, any leftover stress I might have had about Riley and the baseball saga or any of the other current issues with the other kids just abated.  I wondered to myself -- did that man have someone he could call?  Someone who might offer him solace, or advice or make him laugh?

I don't know.  But I pray that he does.  Because having friends is, indeed, an amazing blessing.  Right up there with beer and bargain bottles of good wine.  (kidding.)  Okay.  Not kidding.  No really.  Kidding. Sigh.

Little League Issues Part 2

March 3 -- To continue from my entry last night, remember that Riley went to bed without knowing -- for sure -- that he was on a minor's level baseball team.  I know that even though I explained the likelihood that this was how it would turn out for him, I am certain he still held a tiny speck of hope that he might be called by a coach at the major level.

So I went to bed knowing we would tell him in the morning.  I tossed and turned all night, dreading the inevitable conversation.

And this is where I have to say that one of my most profound and grace filled experiences as a parent is when I recognize that often, it is the child who is the teacher, and not the other way around.

Riley came into our bedroom when he got up.  Brian and I were sitting there, quietly drinking our coffee.  When Brian told Riley he was on the minors, Riley's facial expression didn't change.  He just looked at Brian and said nothing.  And then Brian told him the coach's name. And that's when Riley smiled and did a small fist pump in the air.  "Yesssss!" he hissed.

I was in shock.  I mean, I like the guy coaching but I couldn't believe Riley's joyful reaction.  It was totally amazing!  I think he was just relieved to finally have something of an answer, even if it wasn't what he had most hoped for.  We talked about the pros and cons of playing with the younger kids while most of his friends would be at the major level.  "You know what?" he said, "I will be having so much more playing time.  That's a really good thing. "  And he walked out of the room to get ready for school.    Brian and I looked at each other and were like, alright!!

Later this afternoon, I checked my emails when I got home from work.  Ping, ping, ping, the emails tallied up on the screen.  Several moms whose boys had made the major level sent emails titled, "Re. Majors Teams" communicating what team their son had been assigned to.  Needless to say, my stomach turned.  Didn't they think of the people whose kids might not have been so fortunate?  Apparently not.  Oh well.  I wanted to respond but I didn't.  It just wasn't worth the time and effort. I'm sure they were proud of their kids and happy.  And truly, I am happy for them.  But my number one dude was standing next to me and that's why I was bummed.  There it was again -- my kid was the only one on the mailing list who didn't make the majors. Of course it hurt to see those emails.  How could it not?  When Riley asked me what the emails said, I  told him.  And he spun into a little funk again.  "Really?  How were they better than me?"  I shrugged my shoulders.  "I don't know honey," I said, "but apparently they are better. In baseball, that is."

We sat on the couch together for a few minutes while he processed this information.  And then he asked his brother, "wanna go throw some balls outside?"  Once again, he was squaring his shoulders, standing tall and pushing himself to move on.

Honestly?  I couldn't be prouder of him.   I still don't like the idea that he has to pose the question in the first place -- asking himself why or how he was he lacking in his tryout.  I mean, sure, there will be plenty of times -- school teams, college applications, break-ups with girlfriends etc. --  when dealing with public rejection will be an important life lesson.  But at age 10?  Really?  I go back to my question raised yesterday.  Why is this necessary in baseball?  Even Riley pointed this inequity out to me today when he said, "if they had extra kids, couldn't they have just made another team?  Like in rec basketball? Why can't kids in the same grade all play together?"  Again, I have no answer.   Nonetheless, it is what it is.  When we let Riley try out for the major level teams, we opened the door to this possible result.  So we live with it.  And we learn.  A lot.  From all perspectives.

Little League Issues

March 2 -- My kids have always done sports -- soccer, baseball, lacrosse, cross country, crew, football...it runs the gamut.  Needless to say, Brian and I have had a lot of experience with the various sports rules and expectations.  As a result, I have gained a decent perspective of how various sports go about  putting teams together.  And that's exactly why I question the logic of little league tryouts.  Why does every other rec league sport segregate their teams by age and baseball is the only sport, the only one, which separates by skill?  Why?

I posed that question tonight after I found out that Riley did not, in fact, make the "majors."  After two days spent checking emails and running for the phone every time it rang, Riley finally went to bed.  An hour later, his coach from the minor leagues called, a lovely man whom Brian likes a lot.  We both agree he will be a great coach.  He talked about Riley "taking the lead" for the team.  Riley is, after all, one of the only fifth graders on the team.  Apparently, many other fifth graders "moved up" to the major level leaving a small percentage of "undesirables" to play with the fourth graders at the minor level.  So yes, Riley will be the "big man" on campus.  But at what cost?  He is old enough to understand that on some level he was judged and rejected.  And he is sensitive enough to feel the pain of knowing that nearly all of his friends were accepted into the higher level.  And he was not.

I get the whole thing about teaching our kids about overcoming adversity.  We are actually quite good at it.  And our kids are faring pretty well for the most part.  Riley will be fine.  I truly believe that.  In fact, because he is athletic -- he just finished an amazing basketball season where he went from being somewhat timid on the court to being one of the strongest defenders with steals and blocked shots in every game -- I do believe he will become a stronger player this year.  And maybe, like his brothers, he will ultimately decide he doesn't like baseball after all and he will join the growing number of kids in our town who play lacrosse.  If he decided to go that route, I wouldn't blame him one bit.

I don't know.  For now, I do know that this leveling of skill creates a sports caste system -- those who are better and those who are not.  Parents who know their kids are better and parents who know their kids are not.  Parents who care an awful lot about this and parents who kind of ride it out, knowing that life has a way of ultimately evening things out again.   With the exception of my current heartache for my son -- which I know will pass eventually --  I guess I kind of fall into this latter category.  Sometimes my kids are up.  Sometimes they are down.  It all evens out.

Having watched many kids (not just my own!)  go through elementary, middle and high school, I have witnessed, over and over again, how this leveling starts at such an early age with the travel teams and the Little League baseball team rankings and continues straight into high school.  But the good news is that it ends there.  It really does.  These "super athletes" who reign above the others in junior high and high school go on to college and, with the exception of the tiny minority who play college sports,  poof! -- their magic is gone.  They are, once again, on the same playing field along with everyone else.  And here is the interesting part.  Often times, it's the kids who were not the sports superstars, the kids who pursued non-athletic activities as well, who are in a stronger, more confident position when college begins.

In the long run, I know Riley will be fine.  I actually kind of expected this outcome.  But for now I know he is very disappointed in himself.  He shouldn't be.  He is  a lot younger than many of the other kids in his grade and he is, in fact, a slow bloomer in the testosterone department.  But it's coming -- the male intensity. I saw it this winter on the basketball court.  It's starting,  I can tell.  As his mom though, I just hate for him to feel lousy about himself.  Especially since so many of his friends are stronger athletically right now.  But friendship is based on many, many fronts.  His true friends will stick by him.  And if they don't?  He will make new friends.  This, I taught him at an early age.  My kids have never, ever, ever stuck by kids who are mean to them.  That life skill is very important to me.  Their ability to reject mean kids and make friends with nice people -- cool or not -- will take them far in life.

In the meantime?  I still don't get it.  I still don't understand why Little League baseball picks their teams by skill and not age and all the other sports don't.  Maybe somebody can explain it to me.  But something tells me they won't be able to.  And that's why, despite my inner vibe that all will be well, I am still kind of pissed off right now.  And maybe a little lonely.   I don't like being the only one who, by virtue of my kid's current experience, has to contemplate this apparent inequity.

But I will be fine.  It is whatever I make of it.  And the same goes for Riley.  We will deal with this together.  We are, after all, a team.  One forged not by athletic skill, but by God's grace and love.

Unearthed

March 1 -- I have discovered a new album by E.S. Posthumus that I really like a lot.  It's called "Unearthed" and I found out about it, in all places, my spinning class.  The spinning teacher used the track "pompeii" two weeks in a row and I just fell in love with it.

So Luke put it up on my itunes listing on my computer and as I write this entry, I am listening to it with its haunting singing and inspirational beat.  The combination is awesome, almost majestic.  I love it.  But what I almost like more is the album title.  It kind of describes how I feel these days -- heaved out of the ground and yes, unearthed.  As though I am raw and exposed.  One would think it is this blog which makes me feel so vulnerable but it's not.  It's my kids and everything they are going through.  It's my parents and the act of watching them hold onto each other for dear life as they navigate each day, forging through the challenges of dealing with my dad's illness.  Watching everyone I love so much deal with their ups and downs -- my heart just aches from my feelings of helplessness.   Sometimes it's all I can do to hold back the tears.

Don't get me wrong.  There is so much joy, so much hope and pride in all that they do.  My son trying his hardest at his Little League baseball tryout and then waiting, anxiously, by the phone and computer to find out if he made the majors.  So much stress for a game that he will probably only play for a few more years, at best.   I know already he is not destined for baseball greatness.  Destined for many other wonderful things, yes, but I would not put my money on baseball.  When I think of the positives in my life I see my mother, reaching out for my father's hand as he desperately tries to remember what it was he started out to say only seconds before.  I see the love, the ambition, the hope.  So why does it hurt so much to watch?

I want to fix it all.  I want everyone to be happy.  But I know only too well that life is filled with ups and downs.  Rejections from colleges and good news from others.  It's the waiting that is unearthing me.  The act of trying to figure out how things will turn out combined with the reality that in this moment, I know nothing.  Nothing except for what I told Riley as I tucked him into bed.  He is a little boy who is loved very much.  Life is long.  As long as we make the most of each day, as long as we reach out and support each other, all is well.  All is well.