God Bless Stay at Home Moms

Day One 

Day One of being a temporary stay-at-home Mom was easy peasy!  In fairness, we opened Christmas presents on day one so the distractions were never-ending and everyone was happy and perfect in every way!  Plus, my partner in crime was by my side and handling four boys between the two of us is an equation that always seems to work out nicely.  My partner handed out endless batteries and untwisted those unmanageable ties used to keep things in their boxes while I cooked a ham and cleaned up the leftover twisty things wherever they happened to drop, which was seemingly everywhere.  Everyone went to bed happy and exhausted declaring this was the best Christmas yet…mission accomplished.

Day Two

My partner in crime headed to work and four still very happy boys woke up at their leisure.  They emerged to eat breakfast and retreated to different areas of the house armed with their electronic devices.  There was important stuff to do, games to download, music to listen to, statuses to update, and races to be won.  Everything went so smoothly I was lulled into a false sense of security and started the laundry and more clean up while giving them space to be kids.  When batteries needed to be recharged, literally, they all appeared again to plug themselves in and what ensued was a rousing game of poker.  None of the boys know the rules so in true form they made them up and changed them when convenient.  When the shrieks and yells got louder I decided to take a look and found four boys delightedly rolling all over the poker mat.  I have come to accept that since I am a girl I do not understand what boys love so much about rolling around on the floor.  Especially that floor which is littered with dirty clothes that never quite made it to the laundry basket, books, toys, and a discarded toothbrush.  I suggested lunch and having quelled them somewhat I went to make it.  I was barely out of the room before the craziness started again; nothing ill-natured, merely the shenanigans of an energetic bunch who probably should be made to go outside and expend some energy.  Lunch was served and what followed was the rowdiest, noisiest, silliest meal I have ever witnessed.  These four boys quite literally laughed at anything, the goofier the better; if it didn’t make any sense at all it was hilarious! These four boys had somehow multiplied exponentially and had become like handling ten.  I could not fathom these creatures but placed my hope in the fact that I admire several men, my partner in crime, my Dad, some good friends included, who have turned out well and they were probably like this once.  After lunch we headed to the YMCA where they swam for over an hour quite contentedly while I turned up my music and ran and rowed their craziness out of my bones.  In the lobby I saw a good friend I hadn’t seen in a while and we sat and caught up while the boys were getting dressed.  Eventually I had them all in my sights and we chatted a bit longer and when I looked up they were all looking at me with that lack of understanding I had at lunch when looking at them.  It’s true; men and women are from different planets.  I chuckled and bundled them into the car.

Day Three   

  

At 10 on the nose I announced that electronic devices would shortly be shut off and they would be exiting the building.  There were no arguments and I think they were as ready as I was to do what comes naturally to them.  It took a while for the plan to be finalized but eventually they were heading out the door clad in snow pants, jackets and boots.  When they returned at noon they were filthy, covered in mud from head to toe.  I had made soup and sandwiches and baked muffins since I was pretending to be a pro at this sort of stuff and everyone settled down to lunch.  They were back to their normal selves, which should probably be defined as ravenous punctuated by telling a story which was picked up by the next boy whenever a bite was taken or chewing was required.  We went swimming again and I was affirmed that the key to boy happiness and my sanity was mud, water and food.  Too much time in the virtual world was not good for any of us!

Day Four 

I went to get my hair done while my partner in crime took over.  I can only imagine that in the life of a true angel, a.k.a stay at home Mom, this day is eagerly awaited every few weeks.  The chance to not repeat oneself or have every conversation somehow end up with references to bodily functions is priceless.  When I returned to the tribe I was called Missy, in a semi-accusatory manner, by a teenager as if I had abandoned them.  I think that was a way of welcoming me back and missing me while I was gone, one can never be too sure with this crowd.  What I do know is that stay at home Moms are truly underestimated.  They must have the patience of saints, and the ability to ignore at least fifty percent of what they hear and not be as literal as I am about the other fifty!  I have several days left as a temporary stay at home Mom and I’m a work in progress so hopefully I will continue to evolve.  Most importantly, I do love these boys so if I run into my husband’s arms when he comes home it’s because I love him too  ;o)  

Twelve Promises of Christmas

Unbeknownst to her, my friend Karen inspired this piece.  She is a wonderful writer and a more faithful blogger than I!  I respect and admire her skills both as a writer and as a person who humbly tries to be her best everyday.  I love reading her posts and this week she has mentioned the angel made by little boy hands that went missing from the top of their tree in 2007 in her series called The Twelve Days of Christmas.  At the same time as wondering where that paper angel went I have been grappling with a theme for my blog this week.  Typically I play with a couple of ideas and one feels more “right” than the other and I let my feelings give my fingers the orders.  I had not hit upon the right fit until I read Karen’s Twelve Days series.   Here I offer you my take on a borrowed theme.  Karen – please forgive me and believe in the old saying that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery!

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me one heart to cherish forever.

On the second day of Christmas my true love offered to me two hands to hold for all time.

On the third day of Christmas my true love cycled victoriously with me up and over three mountain passes.

On the fourth day of Christmas my true love committed with me to four crazy, fun, wonderful fellas.    

On the fifth day of Christmas my true love dreamed with me the first five countries we will travel to together.

On the sixth day of Christmas my true love tuned up six bikes and off we went for a family ride.

On the seventh day of Christmas my true love hung for me seven strings of Christmas lights – not his favorite thing to do ;o)

On the eighth day of Christmas my true love sang to me eight 80s songs (and he danced too!)

On the ninth day of Christmas my true love and I painstakingly wrapped nine presents to ship.

On the tenth day of Christmas my true love held me close and gave me ten hugs to keep me warm.

On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me eleven smiles just by being himself.

On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me twelve kisses under the mistletoe and the promise of a lifetime of love.

The Spirit of the Gift

From a pretty early age I liked the idea of buying gifts.  I would save my pocket money in the weeks leading up to Christmas and until I was old enough to catch the bus into the big town, I would walk to the village of Lees.  Thirty-ish years ago Lees had a small library, a dress shop, a sweet shop, and on the corner a chemists (aka pharmacy).  All were small shops with glass cases and an array of merchandise that was dazzling to my eyes.  I remember most of my presents being purchased at the chemists because they sold a little bit of everything.  I could find a box of jellied fruits for my Nan, a model airplane kit for my brother, jewels for my Mum, and soap on a rope for my Dad.  Even today soap on a rope makes me think of my Dad and whenever one of the boys presents me with pretty rings or shiny bracelets I can hear my Mum’s sweet laughter that sounded like wind chimes brushed gently by the breeze.   

Over the years I graduated to colognes and desired books for my Dad and at the peak of my gift selections I gave him a moustache trimmer.  This gift was talked about for many years and became the gold standard of gift giving in our home.  My Dad loved gadgets and reading the instructions from cover to cover, laying out the gadget in front of him and mastering each of its capabilities, and intermittently saying “Watch this” excitedly was all part of the fun for him (and for us but we never admitted that).  This gift was an immediate hit as it had numerous settings and speeds.  Once he had gone through this ritual practice run he was eager to try it for real and headed upstairs to trim his moustache all the while murmuring to himself that this was the best present yet.  After a while we heard a meek voice calling for us, “Diane…Nic…can you come here for a minute?”  My Dad emerged at the top of stairs looking surprised and bemused as we rounded the corner.  My Mum and I braked, gasped and burst into laughter; half his moustache was gone!  He tried to look hurt when we couldn’t stop laughing but instead he started chuckling and in a matter of moments we were all doubled over.  In fairness to my Dad he had not seen the look on his face which was even more amusing than his uneven facial adornments.  Finally, weak from laughter, my Mum stammered, “What happened?” and my Dad, sounding bewildered, replied with “It’s a bit more vicious than I expected.”  Over the course of the next couple of weeks we alternately compared him to a certain political leader of the past who led a certain unpopular political party and Charlie Chaplain.  Fortunately my Dad was a somewhat hairy man and the moustache grew back quickly.  No greater love has a father for his daughter than he who doggedly stuck to his story for years that this was the best present he ever received!  Truly, he used it frequently and every other present after that was always compared to the moustache trimmer.

From this experience I learned that it is the thought that goes into gift giving that matters to those you love.  This year I think we have hit some home runs.  Thanks to my amazing husband we started thinking about each of our recipients early in November and consequently had time to plan, devise and find exactly what we were looking for; as an added bonus all shopping was successfully completed before the end of November, an absolute first in my lifetime!  If you are reading this and you are a recipient, please know that if your gift is not everything you wanted we thought about you lots and hopefully that helps ultimately!!  I still love to see the reaction of those I love when they open their presents and I’m optimistic we will have at least four gasps this year; rest assured that no-one is receiving a moustache trimmer ;o)

European Vacation

We are planning a European vacation!  We have been talking about when to take a family trip to England for a while now and next year feels right.  That is not a statement I can substantiate definitively but the fellas are great ages to really enjoy this; they are old enough to travel well and young enough to soak it all in and see it through the eyes that we sometimes forget we have when we are adults.  In our infinite wisdom we decided that since we will be in the general vicinity we should also visit France and Germany on the same trip.  We have always enjoyed a good challenge but we then realized that 2012 is the year the Summer Olympics will be held in London and the year that Brits will celebrate the Queen’s 60^th Jubilee.  Not everyone may be familiar with the latter but it is a big affair if you are British and closes schools and results in street parties and potential chaos for travelers.  We thought about 2013, we discussed going earlier or later in the year, we stared at each other disappointed for about 15 seconds and then we decided we should map it out and see just how impossible this could be, surely not impossible enough to thwart us?

Subsequently we have been search engine fiends looking for killer deals, short listing places to visit and then adding three more, and being creative about ways to get from here to there and back again in about two weeks.  When I announced that I was making a spreadsheet my delighted hubby chuckled and said “Sweet, now I know we’re really going!”  We have to make sure everyone has finished the school year and we want to be certain we can make our annual trip to Iowa to visit family at a different time next year without throwing everything into disarray.  Then there are passports, arrangements to meet friends that I haven’t seen in years, plans to see friends that are temporarily living in Stuttgart, an uncle to be introduced, and reserving rooms in the Bed & Breakfast that used to be my parent’s home.  My hubby and I have a list of things we want to do that has to be culled and places to add that the fellas have suggested, not the least of which is the tallest Ferris wheel in Europe.  As an adult I am appalled that we would travel all that way to ride a big wheel but as a child I would have understood it unequivocally and this is their trip too so it has been added to the list.  The problem is not where to go and what to see, it is where to stop and we keep adding to the list rather than subtracting.  It seems like a wonderful problem to have and I realize how fortunate we are to be contemplating such an adventure together.

As a self proclaimed over-thinker my mind has wandered and tried to determine if the fellas will be remotely interested in visiting the school I attended and how we manage to visit the local pub with them in tow.  Will they appreciate the beauty and respect the serenity of Notre Dame and what to do if they say that the food that has been prepared for them is awful?  We’ve discussed and over-analyzed how to mentally prepare them for each day as it will be packed but we do not want to feel rushed.  There is so much fun in planning and anticipation and we want to plan the days and then let them flow, be spontaneous and drink in the experience, every delicious new moment.  For now I lie down with a picture of us huddled together having our picture taken at the top of the Eiffel Tower and it’s a great way to fall asleep!

Girlfriends

I underestimated the value and the strength of female friendship for a long time.  I went to an all girls’ school from the ages of eleven to eighteen so there was no shortage of female friendship and I may have taken that for granted.  I actually loved going to a Girls’ School because it removed all pretension of having to be cool, calm and collected around boys.  We were able to be silly and girly and we had the freedom, which I believe was the intention of our parents, to focus on our studies without the distraction of boys.  It did however serve to fuel a curiosity about the opposite gender that had to be satisfied largely on the bus ride home.  Some rather curious girls, who shall remain nameless, even propagated a stunt that was supposed to involve three members of the Girls’ School infiltrating the Boys’ School which was separated from us by a big wooden door.  As to how this was going to satisfy the mystery that are boys was not an integral part of that plan but as news of the plot spread there was increasing interest in its outcome.  In my memory that door is twenty feet high, about two feet thick and creaked loudly on the rare occasions it was slowly opened.  It was also right by the teachers’ lounge so no-one in their right mind would have chanced walking through it without clear and specific instructions from someone with authority. 

Therefore, it seemed perfectly logical at the wise age of about fourteen to think that a grand heist could be pulled off by crawling through one of the windows that was on a level with the driveway that passed the Boys’ School on the way to the Girls’ School.  Entry was discussed and planned with great detail but it appears that there was no escape plan; luckily that fell into place ultimately.  The first one in was the only one in because at the very moment of infiltration a teacher from the Girls’ School appeared nonchalantly around the corner.  Of course theories have since been exchanged about this perfect timing and the apparent unperturbed manner with which this teacher headed towards the small crowd by the window.  So pull her out or shove her in was the only choice and they shoved her in and the window slammed shut.  Feeling quite triumphant for a moment that one lone girl in a classroom of boys soon found out that she stood out like the proverbial sore thumb and consequently the next teacher that passed which was shortly thereafter, also with alarmingly good timing, escorted her back to the Girls’ School.  She did at least get to go through the door or the Iron Curtain as we called it, which gave her some credibility but then she had to explain what on earth she thought she was doing.  

Overall the Deputy Headmistress took it well and I thought she may have actually smirked when I tried to make it sound like I had innocently tripped and haphazardly fallen through a window but she was rarely given to such facial expressions so perhaps I imagined it.  I must have been convincing when I said that no-one was involved in my untimely and unfortunate dive so sentence was passed and I was given the first “detention” ever in the history of the school.  In fairness it lasted about twenty minutes on the last day of school because none of the teachers were interested in staying a moment longer than the end of the school year required.  I was also the local hero for about an hour so at least longer than my detention lasted.  This innocent fun and other episodes I can come back to at a later date did not alert me to the camaraderie of female friendship.  I merely took it for granted that there would always be women who shoved you through windows and for whom you covered when necessary.  I did not truly value what women bring to another woman’s life until I was far away from my family, living in Okinawa, Japan and needing someone to be my sounding board so that I would not worry my parents.  Only then did I realize just how much women need women.  We women need each other to patiently listen to all the details of our woes, we need each other as a conscience sometimes, and we especially need each other to tell us that he’s not got enough for us; our girlfriends are the few we will actually heed in this arena. 

As women we bring warmth and understanding and lack of judgment to each others’ lives.  We seem to understand, even when we cannot explain it, why something made our friend irrationally insane and we share those hurt feelings and want to protect each other.  We want the best for our girlfriends and mine seem to put my best interests ahead of their own in a remarkably selfless way that demands no thanks or explanation.  Women need each other to tell us that we are not crazy or rotten to the core for feeling the way we do sometimes and this kind of understanding makes us want to be better people.  We can live without fixing it but we cannot live without talking about it.  If the women in my life did not know how much I value you and love you, I hope that now you do…thank you!         

Fifty Years!

This is dedicated to love and hope and being with the right person through thick and thin.  This is written in celebration not sadness.  This is my opportunity to recognize the rarity of true love and the miracle of commitment.  This is a confession that I never understood how uncommon the partnership my parents shared was until we faced the most severe of challenges together.  Even then that understanding was not truly cemented until I met my husband and had the opportunity to share that same gift; true love, deep respect, and friendship.  This is a commemoration of two lives brought together by chance.  Two people who barely knew themselves before they bound their lives together in marriage and shared their dreams.  They had two children together, lived in almost twenty homes together, and owned a business together.  On November 4^th 2011 they would have celebrated 50 years of marriage together.

When my husband and I were engaged and busy making plans for our big day and life after that with our new family I decided to read the letters my parents had exchanged when they were engaged.  The letters were a joy to read and showed them young and in love and planning for a life together.  My Mum was rather bossy at times in these letters and my Dad was tender, neither of which I saw very often when I was growing up.  It was a dynamic that I saw more of the older I got and came to realize that my Mum’s quiet strength complemented my Dad’s ambition and big personality.  Equally, men of my Dad’s generation were not demonstrative but his tenderness was always there and he respected my Mum and her opinion with all his being.

One of the most beautiful moments I have ever witnessed, and I say again that this is written in celebration, not sadness, was when my Mum asked my Dad to share with her what he was going to say at her funeral.  Despite him trying to hide it, my Mum had worked out that my Dad had been writing her eulogy. My breath catches whenever I think of it and the bravery they demonstrated, my Mum for asking and my Dad for honoring her wish.  He asked to wait until he felt he had it perfected and then one evening he quietly said, and he was not a shy retiring man, that he was ready.  He had written it down but he did not look at the sheet of paper in his hand, instead he looked into my Mum’s eyes and never wavered for a moment.  He spoke slowly and steadily and before long my Mum and I were holding each others’ hands and had tears streaming down our cheeks.  He soldiered on, missing his partner and friend already but wanting to pay her this tribute, wanting the opportunity to tell her what she meant to him and what their life together meant to him before she was gone.  He finished with a poem by Leo Marks he had found and read to her before:

The life that I have
Is all that I have
And the life that I have
Is yours

The love that I have
Of the life that I have
Is yours and yours and yours

A sleep I shall have
A rest I shall have
Yet death will be but a pause

For the peace of my years
In the long green grass
Will be yours and yours
And yours

I dedicate this blog to my Mum and Dad in celebration of their 50^th Wedding Anniversary.

Guy Fawkes Day

This past Friday we honored our annual tradition at work by inviting our families in to Trick or Treat.  Some years Halloween has been cold and snowy and this can be the best opportunity for our children to score the sweet stuff without contracting frost bite.  This year, despite a little bit of snow earlier in the week, the temperatures were warm and the kids came out in droves.  We hosted several princesses, a soldier, plenty of scary ghouls, Papa Smurf, Mario, and an adorable bumble bee.  That was just the children; among the adults we were honored to have Tina Turner on site, a caveman, a redneck and some very cordial witches.  Personally, I decided that I topped out as Trinity from the Matrix several years ago and decided to quit while I was ahead after that.  I wore my bejeweled Happy Halloween T-shirt to demonstrate that I am far from anti-Halloween but these days I leave the dressing up to those more creative than me (which is the vast majority of the population).

Throughout the course of the day, several people asked me if we celebrate Halloween in England.  When I was little we did not but I think that the American Halloween traditions have been adopted in England in recent years.  We do however celebrate Guy Fawkes Day which is very close to Halloween in terms of time, but quite different in terms of origin.  In the spirit of cultural exchange, it is my pleasure to educate you about Guy Fawkes Day if you are not already familiar with it.  I believe this will serve not only as an insight into that particular festivity but demonstrate how traditions are formed and baked into the very fabric of a country’s culture for seemingly the oddest of reasons.

Guy Fawkes Day, also known as Bonfire Night, is a commemoration of the infamous Gunpowder Plot hatched in the early 1600s.  A band of plotters intended to restore a Catholic monarch to the throne in England and given the times the most logical approach appeared to be to blow up the Houses of Parliament and assassinate King James I.  This required quite a lot of gunpowder and Guy Fawkes was put in charge of guarding the stockpile.  On November 5^th, 1605 after authorities received an anonymous letter, Fawkes was found with the gunpowder, questioned and tortured and eventually he revealed the plot.  Subsequently he was found guilty of high treason, a significant charge with extreme consequences, and sentenced to death by being hung, drawn and quartered, a barbaric practice and a very painful way to go.

As a result, an Act of Parliament designated November 5^th a celebration and Londoners were encouraged to recognize the King's narrow escape from assassination by lighting bonfires.  This evolved into making effigies of Guy Fawkes from old clothes stuffed with newspapers and sitting him atop the bonfires and burning his likeness throughout the land.  Eventually the celebration included roasting food over the fire and then grew further by letting off fireworks as the evening grew darker.  Nobody really seems to know why Guy Fawkes became the mascot for the Gunpowder Plot.  He was not the brains behind the machinations and while he served a key role, it was certainly not a role that could not have been performed by many others.  It is however his legacy and every year he is burned over again for more than 400 years now. 

I’m not sure if that makes us a violent nation, a collection of monarchists, or just like societies the world over, people who are drawn together by celebration, food and the desire to mingle.  We want to know our neighbors, we want to break bread together, and we like to sing and dance and sometimes dress up and this is as good a way as any to achieve this; however, I will admit the root of these events is nothing less than bizarre sometimes.  Please don’t think any the less of us and Happy Halloween and Guy Fawkes Day to all!

The Joy of Boys

Every week is a random week when you have four boys but last week was particularly random.  Certainly not in a bad way, just in an unexpectedly random way!  

The usual soccer game schedule is two practices a week and a game on Saturday.  This week there were two games on Saturday, the first of which the team played like a well oiled machine and our very own Pele scored a goal.  He then proceeded, as is his right as a goal scorer I think, to run around the field at top speed with arms flailing in delight.  It was but four short hours until the next game but somehow it was a completely different team that returned.  They saw the team that had soundly beaten them the first game of the season and it was all over at that moment.  Their opponents had the psychological edge from the start and it did not get any better.  What amazes me, in that random way life has, is that we were all ready with the speeches about having made a valiant attempt and being against a tough team and Pele walked off the field without a care in the world and said, “Can I go to Matthew’s now?”.  For us it was disappointing to see the team lose after such a great victory that morning but for him the game was merely a stepping stone to the time that he could go and be with his friend.  If only we could always shrug off loss so easily.

Our budding thespian invited us to his play and we gathered with the camera and our hands ready for clapping.  We tried to remember that it was not appropriate to cheer only when he said his lines (perfectly I might add), so we cheered equally for everyone and only a little bit extra for him.  The play itself was somewhat random in that it was a murder mystery at a pie contest and when the dead bodies appeared they were clad in footie pajamas.  The village crowd was also able to hold up signs as they pleased which instigated audience participation.  The actors did not seem to mind at all that during their lines there were random shouts of “Boo”, “Oh My Pie” and “Yummy”.  What struck me as random and wonderful at the same time was how relaxed our actor was among his friends and in his environment.  He was lighthearted and his face was glowing with enjoyment.  During his last stage appearance he did not look like he was having fun at all.  This is also the boy who was quite nervous about middle school and in less than two months he was at home and had a new found confidence among a peer group of sixth to eight graders, he being one of the younger players.  It was marvelous and warming and felt right all at the same time.

The next morning everyone left for school except one…the one who decided that he had something on his mind.  I love that he talks to me and I am always touched when he starts out by asking my opinion.  In this particularly case he wanted my opinion on why teenagers (no-one was named but I can guess who) can be mean sometimes.  Without thinking I hypothesized that because teenagers have so much going on emotionally and physically and even psychologically it is a lot to balance and that makes them grumpy sometimes.  I only said physically once and it was buried in a long sentence but somehow it randomly led to me delivering the lighter version of sex education at 7:45am.  I believe in honesty and so under the exacting gaze of a 10-year old I did not flinch and did my duty quite beautifully I believe; diplomatically but no code words.  I even managed to get in the bit about waiting until you have found someone you cannot live without.  When I got to Starbucks that morning I happily accepted an extra shot of caffeine.

To top off my random boy experiences week, my teenager called me on Friday afternoon to inform me that from now on he does not need the help of his Stepdad and I anymore when playing Are You Smarter than A 5^th Grader.  We were summarily dismissed because, and I quote, “I score a lot higher without you.”!!!  If that doesn’t wrap up a random week, nothing does!      

Career Blues

I have decided it is time for change!  Not change for the sake of change but deliberate, purposeful change in my career path.  I want to get off this beaten path and pursue what I love to do, train to be the best I can be, and then do it everyday.  I want to be my own boss and I want to write and I want someone to pay me lots of money to do it!  There, that’s a start on the path to change; direction mixed with tenacity and a dash of ignorance equals endless possibilities.  It trumps being a defeatist and committing to sheer boredom for the rest of my waking years….that last statement may have been gratuitously dramatic but it is how I’ve been feeling.

The career blues crept up on me, a midlife crisis of sorts.  Not a fully fledged breakdown, more of a slow disintegration into self-pity and I’m not particularly a fan of self-pity.   Recently I started to wonder what I have accomplished.  I mean what have I truly done to make a difference, to save someone, to be the best at something?  Naively I thought that it would all miraculously fall into place because for a long time it seemed like the puzzles pieces aligned and the last step led to the next which was somewhere meaningful and fulfilling.  The trajectory made sense but it doesn’t anymore and I’m feeling better and better about demanding more.  For a while I have been searching and scrambling for any semblance of direction and asking myself that resoundingly hollow question “Is this it??” but now it’s time to stop asking and start doing.  The answer is “No, this is not it.  This is merely a stepping stone.” 

I became immersed in the story of Steve Jobs’ life this week; this isn’t a bad thing in my opinion.  Much of the world rightfully mourns him as a bright spot on a dusky horizon with innovation tucked in his pocket or under his arm.  I glommed on to that feeling of loss and connected to it and then realized that the healthier approach was not to mourn the demise of my career (definitely too dramatic) but to pursue the future.  I fear that for a time there I let myself succumb to what Steve Jobs warned against - being trapped, not just by the opinions of others but by my opinion of myself.  I have not retraced all the steps that took me to a place where I no longer believed I was more capable.  To a large degree I think I put things on hold while I was finishing my Master’s degree and have not jumped back in the game since then.  The obvious irony is that I embarked on that journey aspiring for more and by the time I graduated I didn’t know what more meant.  

I want to share the words that jolted me.  They felt like cold water being splashed in my face and a poke to the ribs.  They hurt because I had become ambivalent and expected success while exerting less effort.  They are widely quoted words from Steve Jobs’ Stanford commencement address but they bear repeating, “No one wants to die.  Even people who want to go to heaven don’t want to die to get there.  And yet death is the destination we all share.  No one has ever escaped it.  And that is as it should be, because death is very likely the single best invention of life.  It’s life’s change agent; it clears out the old to make way for the new.  Right now, the new is you.  But someday, not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away.  Sorry to be so dramatic, but it’s quite true.  Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life.  Don’t be trapped by dogma, which is living with the results of other people’s thinking.  Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice, heart, and intuition.  They somehow already know what you truly want to become.” 

Words to live by!

40 Reasons

To my husband who hit 40 this week, 40 reasons I am madly in love with you:

1.       You are a committed and loving Dad

2.       You are truly a role model for our boys

3.       You love your Mom (someone told me to always look for that in a man!)

4.       You adore your Dad – always have, always will

5.       You are a man who will do anything for his family

6.       You still know all the names of everyone you went to Kindergarten with

7.       You dare to dream

8.       Your rules are consistent

9.       Your values are admirable

10.   You are a man of integrity

11.   You believe in romance

12.   You look good in biking shorts

13.   You are fun to be around

14.   You take responsibility for your decisions

15.   You dance like we’re teenagers

16.   You sing with abandon

17.   You treat everyone with respect

18.   You are stubborn and determined

19.   You embrace a new adventure

20.   You do not assume you know more

21.   You are willing to learn

22.   You demand more from yourself

23.   You are not afraid to be silly

24.   You take the time to explain why (multiplied by four!)

25.   When you smile your eyes light up

26.   You treasure your friends

27.   You are intelligent but not arrogant

28.   You are encouraging and believe everyone has something to offer

29.   You listen to understand

30.   You are humble but know your own worth

31.   You question the status quo

32.   You hold my hand while we sleep

33.   You are willing to fight for what is right

34.   Even when you’re angry, you’re not scary

35.   You are firm and fair

36.   You hate to disappoint

37.   You love to travel and try new things

38.   You clean up goooood!

39.   You are not opposed to eating ice-cream on the couch together

40.   You are thoughtful and kind everyday

I love you in more ways than I can tell you!  Thank you for being my husband, my partner in crime, my lover, and my best friend!

Impulse and Improvisation

This week we celebrated with our friends as the last of the ladies in the circle gracefully stepped into the world of being 40.  We had a laughter filled meal and then headed to a comedy club for what we thought was going to be an open mike night.  We were escorted to the front row and I was immediately nervous because somehow I always seem to be the one that gets pushed forward or spotted in the crowd to come and help on stage.  It started when I was nine at a production for kids in Leeds when I was selected to go on stage and sing with with Fozzie Bear.  Years later and thanks to “well meaning” friends I found myself on stage with Thunder from Down Under.  If you do not recognize the name or the genre of their entertainment, please look them up online.  I’m not necessarily complaining about that appearance but simply recognizing that I have this uncanny knack for finding myself on stage.  The highlight may be my stunning rendition of Hey Jude accompanied by piano and a gentleman old enough to be my great-grandfather; the resort in Cabo San Lucas has not invited me back.  Given the already fantastic odds against me based on my history, being in the front row seemed to me to be a bad sign.

I moved to the furthest end of our row where there would be less attention in this tiny place and when the lights dimmed I took a deep breath.  Loud 80s music and five high energy people erupted on to the stage and I remember thinking that this was going to be worse than I originally envisioned.  The Master of Ceremonies moved into place and explained how Impulse Theater worked.  As I listened the blood started to course back into my veins and I relaxed and leaned in a little closer.  What was he talking about and what was Impulse Theater?  Where was the open mike, raucous jokes, people (me) being hypnotized and taking off all their clothes; was I safe?  As it turned out Impulse Theater was quite different from what we expected. The MC told us loosely what was going to happen on stage based on the audience shouting out one word answers to his questions.  It was chaotic and unusual in the respect that not only did the actors have to improvise every scenario, they were also given objectives and potential obstacles. In one exercise they were only allowed to speak in nonsense language, in another no words were allowed at all, and in another the MC randomly yelled “forward” and “back” and the actors had to reverse the improvised script or move forward just as would happen when hitting forward or rewind on the remote during a movie.  Nothing was rehearsed, there was no time to prepare, no-one knew what the audience would throw out, and the actors themselves did not know what to expect from each other. 

It was striking how creative it was and how frightening.  We all walked away saying that we could never do that, that we couldn’t think that fast and be as creative as the actors we had watched.  The truth is that we would not all be as entertaining or as funny as the actors we saw but in reality our lives are made up of scenes of improvisation.  Oscar-winning moments, times that we’d like to rewind and say it differently, times that we’d like to fast forward and skip the rough stuff, and times when we are trying to make ourselves understood but we seem to be speaking a different language.  There are times we have to take our best guess at what is going on and there are times when we flub our lines and life stops us dead in our tracks and says “Wrong”!  We get lots of opportunities to get the scenes of our lives right and perhaps it’s alright that perfection eludes us.  The spontaneity and the resourcefulness that we muster in those unexpected moments may truly be what living life is all about, not just delivering the well-rehearsed scenes.  When the lights dim we have survived.

Boy and Young Man

This week my boy was sick!  He eats poorly whenever he gets the chance and has still to master the importance of hydration, although he is getting better, however the result is that he seems a bit more prone than some to the usual nasty stuff that goes around when the seasons change.   I grew up missing very little to almost no school but in fairness also not getting sick very often.  I think it is for these reasons that when the boys are sick I tend to be more of the “soldier on” type as opposed to the “start pumping you full of medicine” type.  I have always believed that for the most part, the body can handle most of what is thrown its way and that it naturally gets more resilient if you let it fend off what ails it.   I am that mother that once received a call from the school nurse who said, and I quote, “this child should never have been sent to school today.”  She was right and I was wrong on that occasion.

Fast forward to Tuesday afternoon and the school was calling saying he had a slight temperature but did not need to be picked up unless we decided to do so; nothing alarming about that.  When I arrived home he was covered in blankets and was my little boy rather than the teenager and emerging young man of late.  He wanted his Mum and the hugs and comfort she brings and it was nice to be needed by him.  I thought I should get him moving around and get his mind off being sick (remember Me, the mother who says “soldier on”) so I announced that since the weather was getting cooler we needed to go and check out the latest fashions and get jeans.  Being in 8^th grade and at a critical point in terms of what he wears and what others think of it, this boy enjoys a good shopping trip.  It was not a good sign when he turned it down and I immediately knew we might be dealing with something more serious than a cough.  Between Tuesday evening and waking up on Wednesday morning his temperature had spiked.  At least he was sleeping soundly so I let the school know that they would have to muddle through without him that day.  He slept the day away but mustered up the energy on Wednesday afternoon to go to the Health Fair with us so I thought we were past the worse.  I was so gladdened by the signs of recovery that I offered Subway to this sweet loving boy with no energy.  This is another relative rarity carried over from my childhood.  We didn’t eat out every week and when we did it meant something.  In most ways I think I have turned out alright despite the lack of dining out in my childhood so we tend to make dinner for the boys and enjoy the family time around the table.  One day when I have the stamina I will document meal times at our house!  Again, the offer was not met with enthusiasm so I knew we were not out of the woods yet and even though I didn’t want him to be sick I was enjoying this boy who needed me to care for him. 

Impressively, the next morning he got himself up and out the door at his usual incredibly early time to start the learning day at 7:25am.  The call from the school came an hour later and I scooted over there to collect a boy who was shivery and pale.  He walked listlessly into my arms and I helped him to the car and fussed over him.  I had arrived at the crossroads and decided to call the doctor’s office and describe his symptoms which now also included headache and frequent full body evacuation (if you know what I mean).  They suggested bringing him in since we apparently have an outbreak of listeria in Colorado and some nasty viruses going around.  Once we stepped foot in that office, while the energy did not return his independent streak did and he answered every question maturely and honestly without any help from me.  There was no exaggeration to get sympathy and if he didn’t understand the medical terms he asked.  I was looking at my little boy but I was hearing someone on his way to becoming a man.  It was such a twilight zone in his growth.  At the same time as being proud of my young man, once we got back in the car armed with a prescription for a virus that would run its course in 7 to 8 days, I was happy that he is still my little boy. 

I Am

Have you ever seen the project that many children do at the beginning of the school year where they draw a picture of themselves and describe who they are and what they like beginning each sentence with “I am…”?  It helps the teachers and students learn about each other and perhaps it helps our children think about who they are and what matters to them.  It helps them see themselves in their different roles; son or daughter, sibling, cousin, grandchild, player of sports, lover of music, and so on.  I thought I’d give it a try; it’s random but aren’t we all ;o)

I am a little girl and a grown woman

I am a daughter and a daughter-in-law

I am a mother and a stepmother to our four fabulous boys

I am a wife and I am madly in love with my husband

I am proud of our family

I am an orphan but I am not alone

I am a best friend who needs her friends more than they know

I am a sister, a sister-in-law and an aunt

I am a colleague and a student and I want more from life

I am strong and I am weak

I am angry that my parents had to miss so much

I am thankful for a family that welcomed my sons and I in with their open hearts

I am a cyclist who feels a bond with other cyclists and checks out their bikes

I am excited and sometimes cry when others cross the finish line

I am aware of the beating of my sons’ hearts

I am a Steelers’ fan

I am awed by the mountains and I am inconsequential

I am hurt when I am excluded

I am addicted to my morning coffee and the welcome of my Starbucks

I am a reader who gets lost in the moments of other lives

I am a writer because it helps me understand myself a bit better

I am a drinker of wine and beer, but not at the same time

I am finally confident enough to dance and sing aloud (even though I am terrible)

I am shy and it surprises me that others find me intimidating

I am sociable and love to laugh because it connects me to others

I am thrilled when my husband walks through the door

I am happy in company and need time alone

I am at peace with a good book and chocolate

I am organized but I want to be less controlling

I am trying to write something meaningful that will one day change a life

I am Nicola