Picking Daisies

2011-11-09T16:02:00.001-05:00

A Second Journey Toward Healing- The Speech

2011-07-20T02:10:00.004-04:00

"That I Would Be Good"
that I would be good even if I did nothing
that I would be good even if I got the thumbs down
that I would be good if I got and stayed sick
that I would be good even if I gained ten pounds
that I would be fine even if I went bankrupt
that I would be good if I lost my hair and my youth
that I would be great if I was no longer queen
that I would be grand if I was not all knowing
that I would be loved even when I numb myself
that I would be good even when I am overwhelmed
that I would be loved even when I was fuming
that I would be good even if I was clingy
that I would be good even if I lost sanity
that I would be good
whether with or without you ---Alanis Morissette

To the souls who worked alongside of me in Florida this weekend:

Many of you asked if I would post the words of my closing statement, so that you could print them out and read them to yourselves, perhaps holding them as some of your own truths on this journey that you are undertaking right now...Let me just say, first, that I am humbled before you all. Please know that the power and energy behind what I wrote, comes directly from your presence there, in that most sacred space, and from the courage that is reflected in the eyes of each and every one of you. You are some of the most amazing people I have ever had the honor to be around. And I treasure your love.

The four reasons why I do what I do--
Lily, Liam, Benjamin, and Seth Sombar

I would like to add, however, that it is important for you to know how much pain I felt, not only during the preceding days (which you witnessed), but in the very moments prior to me sitting before you, in that seat of honor, with the microphone and my notes, on Sunday. You need to know that while I may have appeared comfortable and content in that chair, I cried, long and hard, from the moment my feet touched the floor of our meeting space that morning. You need to know that my "breathwork" was profoundly disappointing...that I pondered whether or not I'd make it back to my family in one piece...that I questioned if I'd accomplished anything in these two phases that I've participated in since May. I, like you, and everyone else really, am a work in progress. The more I repeat these truths to myself, the more they will feel like my reality. If they resonate with you, and affirm your life as well, than my work to get to you, this weekend, and the weekend before, and to persevere through what felt like the depths of hell, was worth it. You are worth it. I have breathed your breaths, and sat in your stillness, felt the gravity of your pain, and I believe in the goodness, possibility, and hope of every one of you. So here is my [slightly edited] version of our assignment:

Changing Old Beliefs Into New Beliefs

When asked to name all of my old beliefs, I can put pen to paper and come up with at least a dozen, in mere seconds, it seems. The bad stuff is so easy to access, sitting right in the forefront of my memory or on the tip of my tongue, ready to be channeled into any part of life that I may be living at this moment. "I am too damaged to improve....destined for failure...a mess...a loser...fucked up beyond measure...crazy. I want to be invisible. I am going to spend the rest of my life in pain, fear, and anxiety. Its not worth it. I am not worthy of love, money, beauty, fulfillment of any sort, or success. I can't get it together... I don't have a clue who I am or what the hell I want to be...I am a terrible mother.

Ya know the real kicker here friends? Those are all lies. And they've served their purpose. But I don't need them anymore, because here is the truth:

I have worked hard and I hold the power to be my best self everyday. I am already a success and will continue to be successful for as long as I want to. I already have everything that I need, and a lot of what I want. All that I have lost, and it is a lot, is a part of my story, but it does not define who I am. I want the world to see all of my potential and greatness, because it is there and a gift to others. I am highly evolved and inspiring. I spend MOST of my time without pain, fear, and anxiety, and know that those things are found in the root of my thoughts and can be relieved when I am ready to let them go. IT IS SO WORTH IT. I am worthy, and I have the love, money, fulfillment, and success that I desire. I AM NOT CRAZY. I have suffered traumas in my life which have affected certain patterns in my brain. As a highly intelligent person, who is more of a "thinker" than anything else, I relive those old patterns, which can make me feel crazy, but it is not who I am. I do have it all together and must walk forward with the belief that greatness is before me. I know EXACTLY who I am- an amazing woman- "Judy"- a fabulous girl, writer, artist, storyteller, lover of silliness, and happiest when moving my body. I am a vessel of laughter and joy that is contagious to those around me. I am a lover- a fighter for goodness, compassion, grace, and wholeness. I am a mother of the children that I created and wanted, and I breathe life into them with my intentions and love, every single day.

Where In The World Are Those Silly Sombars: Days? Who Knows....

2011-07-19T01:22:00.000-04:00

I've lost track of the days at this point....this has already been such a whirl-wind trip and we're really just getting started. I underestimated how much technology it would take to post, daily, about our journey- we have lacked internet access much of the time, and sometimes there hasn't been electricity either. Then there's also the part about how I flew out of Denver last Thursday morning, for a scheduled healing trip to the center in Florida, and just returned this evening.....really, what family, in their right mind would do this? I have no clue.

We are in COLORADO SPRINGS, COLORADO, where we plan to spend the next day and a half.

We have tons of photos to upload, of course. And lots of funny stories.

For those of you following along, sorry this is less than organized- but we'll get it together at some point....when there is a free hour or two....

Where In The World Are Those Silly Sombars: Days #2, 3, and 4

2011-07-14T00:45:00.000-04:00

Let's see: Pennsylvania to Ohio to Indiana to Illinois to Wisconsin to Minnesota to South Dakota to Wyoming to COLORADO.....where we landed this evening. I'd love to tell you more- I've promised that much, but I'm wiped out from two thousand miles of driving so I'm going to sleep and get back to you tomorrow....which will be an unbelievably crazy day.

WHERE IN THE WORLD ARE THOSE SILLY SOMBARS? DAY TWO

2011-07-12T00:30:00.001-04:00

Sioux Falls, South Dakota! Just 5 more hours of driving until we reach destination #1!

Winding Through The Windy City

2011-07-10T22:25:00.001-04:00

why hello there Chicago...its been a long time...you're lookin' good...sorry we can't sit and chat....we're going to see about a mountain...

Where In The World Are Those Silly Sombars?

2011-07-10T22:16:00.001-04:00

ILLINOIS........and relieved, after 8+ hours of driving.

WHERE IN THE WORLD ARE THOSE SILLY SOMBARS?

2011-07-10T12:09:00.001-04:00

On our way.....years of planning and dreaming....a gift of memories for our children, who fill us with gratitude everyday......Day One...where in the world are we? LEAVING OUR HOUSE IN MT. LEBANON, PA.....

FIVE MINUTE FRIDAYS- Grateful

2011-07-08T21:32:00.001-04:00

Joining the blogroll over at The Gypsy Mama for today's Five Minute Friday...Here is my unedited stream of consciousness on Grateful:

I was driving my kids to the pool today when I noticed an envelope in my purse, addressed simply to "Judy" and sealed. Slightly befuddled and taken aback, I opened the card, at a stop light, to find lovely words from a good friend- snuck into my purse, at some point, when I wasn't looking, just because...and I've learned to recognize those "little happys", as I call them, as God. I smiled as I thought of how blessed I am in my life- how full my days are with love, surrounded by souls who care very deeply for the path that I am trodding and their place on it with me.

My faith in God waxes and wanes, especially when times are tumultuous and full of pain. Lately, though, what I'm finding is a God who hangs out in the muck and the mire, who stalks me until I acknowledge his presence, mostly in the darnedest places, and at such unsuspecting times- in Giant Eagle three weeks ago, in the eyes of an old friend, and at the hair salon, yesterday, in an oddly clairvoyant conversation with my stylist....it leaves me weepy and in awe- that for all of the times, in the last few years, where I have felt isolated and alone, I have been guided by a force beyond my comprehension.

Tonight, I am astoundingly grateful.

FIVE MINUTE FRIDAYS- Welcome

2011-07-01T21:52:00.002-04:00

Meandering over to The Gypsy Mama, joining the blogroll for FIVE MINUTE FRIDAYS: here is my unfettered, unadulturated post for the evening:

"Mommy and Lily Camp"-shake
tasting at local coffee hubs.

Liam, our lacrosse player- the "midi" position

Gymkhana Summer Camp! Trampolines, Zip-lines and
Climbing Walls, oh my!

Seth chose "Fwies" as his sole dinner request for his 4th birthday

Welcome.... to our summer- the season that felt like the prodigal son- having abandoned us for a long time- leaving me a little lonesome and bitter. Summer in Pittsburgh is a rouse really- it exists to fool us into thinking that we might be able to stick it out just one more year...those five month winters, where the sky is endlessly grey and seasonal affective disorder is so much a reality to everyone that it is not really a disorder at all- just a state of being here in Western Pennsylvania- Summer makes us forget all that. Splashing in pools, making new friends, learning new and exciting non-schooly things at camp. No bedtimes. Glorious family living.

Summer fun is falling asleep watching
a movie and getting an impromptu mask
courtesy of your pesky brother with a marker

Welcome to our summer.

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The Bulb

2011-06-27T22:56:00.001-04:00

I am a garden enthusiast- actually a garden obsessive/compulsive, if I'm really being honest. I get all tingly in nurseries, like some folks do while eating Godiva or trying on shoes. I've had to avoid spending much time investigating my landscape, this summer, in order to resist the temptation to blow our vacation budget on hundreds of perennials. And I totally would- in a heartbeat.

Today, in a conversation with my therapist, I likened myself to a bulb- filled with life and beauty-but desperately in need of planting in fertile soil, in order to thrive. We only had about five minutes left in our fifty minute session, but she fervently pulled out her easel, art paper, and paints, and demanded that I draw this- this image of me- a horticultural specimen of sorts-longing to bloom.

At first I painted using long strokes, with a wonderful new brush, but as I got lost in my work, I found that I needed to be more intimate with the medium, enthusiastically forming the rest of my rendition, using only my fingertips.

With the enchanting melodies, of a meditation CD in the background, bringing harmony to my artistic endeavor, I began to feel a deep gratitude for the opportunity to, at once, and without premeditation of any sort, get messy and whimsical and creative. We forget, or downright refuse, to give ourselves permission to live that way in adulthood-why is this? Which then begs the question: Is it really any wonder why so many of us are on anti-depressants?

So here I am: "The Bulb"

Fathers Who Love Their Sons

2011-06-21T23:44:00.003-04:00

I heard a story today, on the radio, that nearly moved me to tears, about a father who quit his job so he could be in Omaha, this past weekend, to watch his son pitch in the College World Series.

But tonight I'm going to tell you about a father who inspires me even more. At 10pm, my husband, who was waiting at the gate for his very delayed flight home to Pittsburgh, cancelled his ticket, ran out of the airport, got back into the rental car he had just returned, so he could drive thirty-five minutes to comfort his anxiety-ridden and homesick eight year-old son, who is staying with his grandparents for "Granny Camp" this week.

There are many, many hours, in my almost fourteen years of marriag

e, where I would like to strangle this man with whom I share a life. At the end of the day, however, it is love like this- this most selfless and palpable, unconditional caring for our children, that makes me feel nothing but awe and overwhelming gratitude for him.

Journey Toward Healing Part VI- I AM Powerful

2011-06-14T20:34:00.004-04:00

Now I won't deny

The worst you could say about me

But I'm not defined
By mistakes that I've made
Because God says of me

I am not who I was, I'm being remade

I am new

I am chosen and holy and I'm dearly loved
I am new

Too long have I lived in the shadows of shame

Believing that there was no way I could change

But the one who is making everything new
Doesn't see me the way that I do
Who I thought I was
And who I thought I had to be
I had to give them both up
Cause neither were willing
To ever believe
I am not who I was, I'm being remade
I am new

Lily had gone ahead of me on the trail yesterday, so lithe and wonderful, determined to run all that was left of the four mile path we'd chosen. Every once and a while she'd stop and look back, encouraging me to push myself beyond what I believed possible....and this song, "I Am New" by Jason Gray, began, and washed over me...reminding me of all that I have worked toward this last month, and all the potential that lay ahead of me. I smiled and took off toward her, with gusto, meeting her at the half way point with arms toward the heavens, filled to the brim with joy.

I am inclined to wallow in the shame of having gained back all of the weight that I lost, last summer, when I was so strong and confident. I could list, here, all of the reasons that this has happened-breakdowns, break-ups, sorrows, medications, the Pittsburgh winter.... Some of them may even be compelling. But, in the end, it matters not because I am going forward-

Lily and I rewarded our toes with a pedicure, after our
4 mile run/walk.

its the only choice I have.

We created affirmation statements during my weekend intensive at the "healing center." After looking over my dream board, and pondering what I had written throughout the day, regarding my dreams and my truths, I decided that what I most needed to hear and BELIEVE was that "I AM POWERFUL." So often I whisper words of weakness, over and over, to myself, feeling destined to repeat patterns of loss and defeat, when the reality, for me, is that I am not weak.. Evidence abounds, to the contrary, in fact, when I am willing to look for it and own it.

We "performed" for one another that first evening, in groups, coupling our affirmations with song and movement. Despite my trepidation to participate in what appeared, from the outset, to be a goofy, if not potentially humiliating exercise, I heard the beat of the Black Eyed Peas' "Imma Be", which I'd suggested to my cohorts at the last second, and I found the girl in me who knows exactly who she is...and I broke out on the makeshift dance floor like a fiend- forgetting all of the self-consciousness and loathing that usually surrounds me.

"Imma be takin' them pics, lookin' all fly and shit

Imma be the flyest chick, so fly

Imma be spreadin' my wings

Imma be doin' my thang; do it, do it; okay"

The Logo for the Center where
I am finding myself again.

"Imma Be" ended up being the theme song for the entire weekend, and we danced together, several times, after that night, to that tune. Its lyrics are fairly irreverent, and listing it in the same post with "I Am New" may seem odd, and, perhaps, to some of you, offensive. But I make no apologies. My writing, as is my life, is a compilation of many ideas, feelings, and truths, none of which fits any mold. Its me. And yes, I am powerful.

"Mommy- Dis My Fay-writ Birtday Ever"

2011-06-11T20:52:00.000-04:00

Seth's Firetruck birthday cake, made by Lily and Liam, last night.
Clearly somebody got a little carried away with the candles- he is
only FOUR afterall!

Seth loves trashcans, especially
the kind which can be opened with the
touch of a foot. He's had quite
the obsession with them
over the years, at doctors' offices
and hospitals. He got a lot of exciting
gifts today, from friends and family, but
this was his all-time favorite-picked out
by his sister and brothers. He is one
funny kid.

Seth, and his girlfriend, from preschool, "Cole" (Nicole). We
were so glad she was willing to attend his party, given that
the last time she came over to play, Seth beat her over the
head with a piece of train track.

Scenes from Seth's favorite birthday ever!

A Letter To My Four Year-Old Son

2011-06-11T02:19:00.003-04:00

Dear Seth,

Just minutes old-such a wonder-so pensive and quiet

You turned four years old about thirty minutes ago- you came flying into this world (literally) at 12:17am on Monday, June 11th, 2007. Daddy had to catch you, mid-air, as you were taking a nose-dive toward the delivery room floor. Nothing in our lives has been the same since- but we wanted it that way- the YOU part, that is. We wanted you with every ounce of our beings- all five of us. From the moment you came into existence, as a line on the five pregnancy tests I took, we were your biggest fans.

Four years ago, right now, I was frightened to my core that you weren't going to make it. You had been induced a month early, because the sonogram said you were already 9 and 1/2 pounds (technology can be sketchy like that). The high-risk team of obstetricians, who'd been following your development, along with our mid-wife, feared that you might suffer a similar fate to your brother , also a very large baby, whose collar bone had been broken in the birth canal during delivery. But you were only 7lbs. 8oz- a peanut compared to ol' Benjamin, and you weren't crying or moving at all really. You just stared. I kept thinking you might be dead. There were all of these doctors and neo-natal specialists surrounding you....and nobody was saying anything. I remember yelling, over and over "what's wrong with him? is my baby going to be okay? I just want to hold my baby...please let me hold him...please let him be okay!!!"

You shouldn't have been born on June 11th, 2007. My body knew that, and fought to hold onto you for two days after the induction first began....You knew you weren't ready either. Together it felt like we barely made it through that birth- my allergic reaction to the epidural, our blood pressures plummeting....I felt like I was dying at one point. Maybe you did too...Maybe that is why its been such a harrowing start in your short life, for you and for me. Maybe that is why it seems like something may have happened there, in that hospital room, with all of those drugs and hormones and stress....for all of those days.

Seth the trash man, Spring 2011

The very funny boy

If you are old enough to read this, I hope that you are happy- living up to all of your potential- doing as you were created to do....maybe you are a trash truck driver or a fire fighter. Maybe you changed your mind, somewhere along the way, and decided to play hockey (in which case, I hope you are good because we are probably broke), or go to med school, or become a bass player in a rock band. Perhaps you are a starving artist or a missionary or a teacher. Whatever brings you joy- that is all I want for you. Its all up to you, my son. From the moment I met you, during those first exhausted exchanges, you seemed to have a plan- and you've been following that path ever since...we were always just trying to keep up.

If you are old enough to read this, I hope that you have forgiven me for all of my short-comings- for the days, during your early years, when you could feel my anxiety, as I held you, and it made you scared, or insecure, and for the days that you missed me, when I was trying to get help. I hope that you have forgiven the times when I grew impatient with you while you demanded more of my time and energy than I could possibly give. I hope that you feel all of my good intentions that I poured into you, every moment of your life...

Seth-finally walking at 19mos.

If you are old enough to read this, I hope that you are not wrestling with a label that tries to define you as inferior or lesser than your peers. I hope that for all of the ways that you were slower to develop than the experts said you should be, that you have defied the odds and soared with amazing possibility. I hope that, what were once considered your weaknesses, are now your gifts to the world- your stunning sense of direction and memory; your perseverance through pain and defeat; your stubbornness and passion for the ideas which you hold as your own. I hope that for every milestone you didn't meet on time, there are two that you've conquered ahead of the class. I hope that you feel good about where you are and what you have accomplished- I guarantee it is something spectacular- It already seems that way to me.

Thank you for choosing to enter our lives four years ago today. Thank you for accepting us as your family, with all of our strengths and our flaws. Thank you for adding to our joy and to our glory. Thank you for bringing a little piece of heaven down to earth and reminding us, everyday, what real faith in God looks like.

Jesus loves you. THIS I KNOW. And so do we- your lifeblood- your biggest fans. So do we, Seth. So do we.

~Mama

Journey Toward Healing Part V- The Eyes of Love

2011-06-09T22:53:00.004-04:00

Could a greater miracle take place than for us to look through each other's eyes for an instant?
Henry David Thoreau

No one can lie, no one can hide anything, when he looks directly into some one's eyes.
Paulo Coelho

Sometimes you can't see yourself clearly until you see yourself through the eyes of others.
Ellen DeGeneres

Matthew 18:3 (New World Translation)
"Truly I say to you, Unless You turn around and become
as young children, you will by no means
enter into the kingdom of the heavens."

Though seemingly simple, the work that I found to be some of the most gut wrenching, during the weekend intensive, was to look into the eyes of my fellow classmates, for more than the usual millisecond. After making the typical introductions, we were asked to walk in a circle, some of us clock-wise, others counter clock-wise. As we passed one another, we were to do so very slowly, stopping to look deep into the eyes of the person opposite of us, saying nothing. I was surprised by how difficult this exercise became for me, how I almost immediately needed to look away, refusing to allow anyone to see what I, myself, disdain- wanting to retreat to the comfort of staring at the walls or the floor, instead. I found myself giggling at times or blinking a bit much. I was always happy when it was over. I was content with being unseen, though it wasn't really getting me anywhere in my life at home in Pittsburgh.

Adults in our Western culture don't spend much time making eye contact with strangers. We pass one another on the sidewalks or the streets, at most saying "how are you doing", but generally, not even seeing the person whose lives, for a brief moment, are intersecting with ours. For those of us who are survivors of trauma, who, as a result, also live lives ensconced by shame, eye contact can be very uncomfortable, if not unfathomable. I believe that the eyes are pathways to the soul, where unconditional love travels deeply into our most hidden truths, envelopes them in a way that we can hardly comprehend. To open ourselves to this love, we must trust that we are safe and that we are truly worthy of such a gift. As children we take for granted this worthiness- we presume that we are lovely and deserving, then, somehow or another, it becomes foreign to us, and we shun such vulnerability.

I never conquered the unsettling feeling of this exercise while I was in Florida. I believe that

My weary green eyes, ready for sleep
Saturday night, in my hotel room, about 11:45,
shortly after finishing the day's "work",
after 13 hours of wading through
a torrent of emotions, psychodramas, and, finally,
some breathing.

much of what I took away with me were lessons that will take a tremendous amount of practice to integrate into my life. I am making strides, everyday, to move forward and stare into all that is mighty and loving. I am beginning to see a softer reflection looking back at me- one of a child who believes that she is as she was made to be- powerful and lovely beyond measure.

I challenge you, dear readers, to spend time in awareness of your eyes- what they admire and where they settle, if they settle. How does it feel, to you, to behold another, in silence?

My comfort zone resides beneath the clutter of "white noise", where dialog or music or chatter detracts from what might exist, otherwise, if my eyes were allowed to quietly and intentionally, inhale, then exhale- acceptance.

Journey Toward Healing Part IV- Baring It All

2011-06-08T20:35:00.006-04:00

There's a girl in the corner
With tear stains on her eyes
From the places she's wandered
And the shame she can't hide
She says, "How did I get here?
I'm not who I once was
And I'm crippled by the fear
That I've fallen too far to love"
But don't you know who you are?
What's been done for you?
Yeah don't you know who you are
You are more than the choices that you've made
You are more than the sum of your past mistakes
You are more than the problems you create
You've been remade
Well she tries to believe it
That she's been given new life
But she can't shake the feeling
That it's not true tonight
She knows all the answers
And she's rehearsed all the lines
And so she'll try to do better
But then she's too weak to try
But don't you know who you are?
You are more than the choices that you've made You are more than the sum of your past mistakes
You are more than the problems you create
You've been remade
You are more than the choices that you've made
You are more than the sum of your past mistakes
You are more than the problems you create
You've been remade
'Cause this is not about what you've done
But what's been done for you
This is not about where you've been
But where your brokenness brings you to
This is not about what you feel
But what He felt to forgive you
And what He felt to make you loved
You are more than the choices that you've made
You are more than the sum of your past mistakes
You are more than the problems you create
You've been remade- by Tenth Avenue North

When I told my daughter that I would be flying to Florida to attend a workshop, of sorts, on anxiety, she said "you are so lucky-you get to go to Florida to take a class? Are you kidding me?" Six months of the

one of the few pictures of me in a tank top-
neighborhood moms-first day of school 2010

Pittsburgh winter blues had left us all pretty jaded and desperate I'm afraid. Myself and the kids, alike. Ironically, however, the intensity of the work over the weekend did not allow for any real free-time to enjoy the Southern climate. Most of the hours I was at the center, I was indoors, with the exception of our lunch outings and when working on our dreamboards in the backyard.

Friday morning, when I stepped out of my hotel room, toward the parking lot, to meet my ride, I was nearly knocked over by a wave of heat- it was already ninety degrees and it was only 9:30. I was wearing a sweater (A SWEATER, PEOPLE) because I'd been warned that the center, where the workshop was held, could get pretty chilly. Honestly, though, I was happy to cover up my arms- they were flabby and jiggly and embarrassing to me. Most people who are overweight don't wear tank tops. We hide ourselves, clothed in self-loathing, and in attire unfit for the warm weather.

An amazing thing happened though, shortly after I arrived and began my "work." I took off the sweater, because, while everyone else in the room was covered in blankets and freezing, I was sweating. As a result, I spent the rest of my time there in tank tops. At first it was because I was uncomfortably warm, but eventually, it was a conscious choice- a movement of my mind toward freedom. I was completely free of the prison of self-consciousness that normally plagues me. I stopped caring about my body because what I was experiencing and learning there, and what I was contributing to the group, had nothing to do with my outward appearance. My beauty and value ventured forth from within, as did that of everyone around me. The sweater never left my suitcase after that.

God is really kind of funny, such a distinguishable sense of humor. Not only did he ensure that I wasn't disturbed by the chill in the room where I spent most of my time, he also distracted me long enough to allow me to forget my bag of make-up at home. I had nothing to hide behind for three days. I wasn't going to be allowed to sulk beneath the web of shame that normally surrounds me- like he knew I'd come too far to hold anything back.

I needed to be naked in my flaws in order to heal them and I felt nothing but love.

I Support Gay and Lesbian Civil Rights

2011-06-08T19:43:00.000-04:00

A friend of mine posted this story, from CNN, on her Facebook page today. It filled me with sadness to hear of the horrors perpetrated on children, such as Kirk Murphy, believed to be too masculine or too efeminate. One day, when accounts such as these, are put to page in history books, future generations will be sickened that our culture could have once been so cruel.

What a wonderful world it would be if parents would love their children unconditionally and if those children could grow up to be as God designed, without shame.

I support gay and lesbian civil rights.

Journey Toward Healing Part III- Dream Weaver

2011-06-04T18:04:00.007-04:00

My infamous neon dreamboard, that I'm certain knocked over
a few old ladies, on its trip home to Pittsburgh.

Liam's Dream Boards

One of Lily's FIVE Dream Boards

"Oh my life is changing everyday
Every possible way
Though my dreams, it’s never quite as it seems
Never quite as it seems

I know I felt like this before
But now I’m feeling it even more
Because it came from you

Then I open up and see
The person fumbling here is me
A different way to be

I want more, impossible to ignore
Impossible to ignore
They’ll come true, impossible not to do
Impossible not to do

Now I tell you openly
You have my heart so don’t hurt me
For what I couldn’t find

Talk to me amazing mind
So understanding and so kind
You’re everything to me

Oh my life is changing everyday
Every possible way
Though my dreams, it’s never quite as it seems
’cause you’re a dream to me
Dream to me" - The Cranberries

Had you been a fly on the wall in the West Palm Beach Airport, or in the Charlotte Airport, or on either jet that took me home to Pittsburgh, you would have wondered at the blond girl carrying the fluorescent green poster board, all banged up, crazy things hanging off of it....Of all of the items I was toting North, my dream board was the most important cargo of all- not because of its tangible value (it has none), or even because of its intrinsic meaning to me, but because I knew that the lessons carved into the spirit of that poster would have an enormous impact on my children. Somehow this ridiculously bulbous piece of paper had to get to them intact. Its that "Trickle Down Effect" made famous by that ever-so-popular, though not my favorite, Republican President of my youth, Ronald Reagan. I spent the money, I made the trip, I did the hard work and weathered the tumult of emotions, but Lily, Liam, Benjamin and Seth would get the wisdom in spades.

I showed up for the initial day of the weekend intensive with some trepidation as to what the experience would be like for me. The night before was dicey- a shabby hotel room, a marginal part of town, dicey food alternatives, and zero cell phone reception. I could only hope that things would improve from there. My first impression, when I ambled through the doors was that the place smelled like diarrhea and that I was in big trouble. I have an amazing, though sometimes exquisitely annoying, sense of smell. Perhaps changing diapers for the majority of the last thirteen and a half years has done me in...I don't know. But I immediately wanted to jump on a plane and head home. My therapist, I'd decided, was a ding-bat, and could not possibly be trusted any longer. She sent me all the way to Florida to be steeped in the pungent odor of rectum. And then I saw the Buddha on the floor of the gathering space. "Oh, man, I am so going to hell..." I thought. Then there were all these people streaming in who seemed to know one another already. They looked normal enough, nobody was chanting or wearing superhero costumes or weird hair...but they weren't gagging at what I believed to be a leaky sewage pipe in the office- so I thought surely their senses had been brainwashed out of them. Everyone was cheerful...while I was filled with remorse. "I am never doing this again...Never...Ever...Where's Jesus? Jesus, get in here now and save me....I'm so sorry about the Buddha...If there is purple Kool-Aid, I promise I won't drink it. I'll run." Now I can laugh about this. The odor I smelled was sage, which had been burned prior to my arrival. There was nothing but water to consume and Buddha was Buddha....he was not mentioned nor did he make the attempt to convert me.

To begin " the process" we gathered in a circle, all eighteen of us, or so, and received our first assignment. We were to journal about our desires for ourselves (physically, mentally, emotionally, with regards to relationships, career, money, and what we thought was our mission and purpose). After which, we were to head outside, to the backyard, to build our dream boards. And that is all she wrote, folks. I was hooked. This girl loves to collage- always has. I spent hours cutting and pasting and building memory books as a child, and then again once my children were born. To be given permission to do this, as part of my healing process, in the middle of the day on a Friday- unthinkable.

I am a dreamer of big dreams. I always have been. I remember a friend of mine telling me, about ten years ago, that she didn't understand all these dreams I spoke of- she "didn't dream" she said- she just did what was practical. Mind boggling as it was, to me, somehow I bought her mindset, hook-line-and-sinker, and lost my ability to believe in the fantastic. I forgot what it was like to want the impossible and believe it possible. I threw away the wonder of what I could become and held tight to my resignation that I was damaged goods- treading water- getting through my days- sometimes happy, sometimes bewildered- but most certainly washed up. You don't dream when you are forty, married, four kids, junk-in-the-trunk, swallowed up by the mundane in life. That is child's play-those days were over.

One of the gems of my journey toward healing was my renewed faith in possibility and my own potential. I put those dreams, in words and in photographs, to paper, and made them come alive again. I spoke them out loud and heard the voice of my soul saying that I was steeped in greatness and all that lay ahead could be whatever I worked toward. Then I carried the beauty of that energy to Pittsburgh with me, stowed away in the over-head bins on two crowded airplanes, then onto my kitchen counter, at three in the morning, when I finally arrived home, with a sign "hea kids- look at Mommy's dreams!!" to inspire them that Monday morning. (Hours later, they crept into my room and woke me up, before leaving for school, saying "Mommy- we like your collage. Can we make one too?")

Lily and Liam have spent hours, over the last two weeks, since my trip, walking back and forth to the library's used book shop, to purchase magazines, with their own money, to cut and paste onto their dream boards. Benjamin bought a board but immediately tried to sell it to his sister because he was too busy living his dreams to bother putting them on paper (you have to laugh) and Seth cut out random pictures but lost the energy to glue them anywhere. But they have all been empowered to keep dreaming and to believe that they can achieve anything they can put into words. To be able to impart this kind of wisdom into the minds of my children is priceless. And to know that it is never too late for possibility takes all of the hopelessness out of anxiety and fades it into the past, one dream at a time.

And so it is.

Journey Toward Healing: Part II- The Kindness of Strangers

2011-05-31T21:38:00.003-04:00

"If you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want to be happy, practice compassion." - The Dalai Lama

I arrived at the West Palm Beach Airport, to the sight of an amazing and welcoming woman, holding a sign over her head, that read, in bold, handwritten letters, "JUDY S." I instantly forgot how tired I was from the flight, which had been delayed, during my connection in Baltimore, for over three hours. I paused, there in the terminal, for a moment, pondering the wonder of this stranger, who came there, just for me.

Over the years, several of my friends have taken service oriented trips to third world countries. A common thread woven through all of their stories is how generous the people of those places are...often giving up all they have, even their most prized possessions, for the sake of demonstrating kindness to someone they'd never met. This from the poorest of the poor on the planet.

I remember having a heart for giving, like that, as a child. In the early years, when I was in elementary school, there were always an abundance of refugees in class with me. I can recall, clearly, a number of instances where I would bring gifts to them from home, with no expectation of receiving anything in return. It was altruism in its purest form. I believe we are most like God when we are young- our faith in goodness and love abounds- our willingness to pour out all that we have is instinctive and requires no forethought or mathematical figuring...Then, somewhere along the line, the materialism and selfishness, of our Western culture, invades our spirit, and we lose at least some, if not most, of that sense of generosity. The very living of the scripture "'tis better to give than to receive" gets lost in the "getting" of more. These days, I spend a lot of time thinking about, working toward, the very self-defeating act of "getting more." I am as guilty as they come.

Every so often, though, I am offered kindnesses, by folks I've never met, and it is awe inspiring to me. Getting rescued from the side of the road, in college, by a mother and her daughter, when I blew a tire on the Beltway in Maryland, getting change when I didn't have enough for a subway ticket on one freezing cold morning when I'd forgotten my wallet, and when I was sick a couple of years ago, and people, many of whom we did not know, brought us amazing meals.

Fast forward to now, and I feel compelled to include, in this series of posts, the story of the woman with the sign. One of the many obstacles I needed to overcome, in order to attend the weekend intensive workshop, was to find a method of getting from the airport in West Palm Beach to my hotel, forty-five minutes away. I pondered renting a car, except that I would be driving in a place where I'd never been, alone, possibly emotional, and tired from a day of changing planes. Hiring a taxi was another option, though exhorbitant by our calculations. Out of the blue, about a week before my trip, a married couple, who sometimes volunteer for the "Center", offered to pick me up at the airport, in West Palm Beach, which is over forty-five minutes from their home, and drive me to my hotel. I might have ruined their evening, getting in at night instead of during the afternoon as promised, but they showed nothing but grace toward me. Me, whom they didn't know. Me, who had nothing to offer but chocolate covered pretzels from Sarris' Candy, and gas money (which they wouldn't accept). Worse yet, and laughably, Me, whose company they had to be in, for an awfully long drive, which they may have found torturous ( I talk quite a bit, ask a plethora of questions, and have a really vivacious sense of humor, just for starters). But they did it all for nothing. Nothing. And they came back to pick me up on Sunday, in time to get me to the airport for a late flight home.

On my journey toward healing, it was good to know, that in a world that can seem oblivious to the personal lives of the people living in it, where terrible things can be inflicted upon us at the hands of others, you can still count on the fact that there are people who really do care, just for the sake of caring. And it was a most heartwarming beginning to three days of very difficult work- knowing that there were these souls, seeking my best, placed on my path, by the very creator of kindness. They were vessels, from God, to remind me, despite the painful circumstances which I've endured, that love and kindness, as he designed them, are unfailing.

And that, my friends, has healing power, all by itself.

Journey Toward Healing: Part One

2011-05-28T23:02:00.000-04:00

I went to see my therapist the other day. She walked out to the waiting room to get me and said "Oh, my God. OH...MY...GOD." . By the look on her face, I thought she might cry or, perhaps, explode. Down the long hallway to her office, she repeatedly turned around, watching me intensely. We couldn't get inside the room and shut the door fast enough. I knew what she was responding to. It had worked, and this declaration was oozing from my pores.

Sometime at the beginning of May, I began experiencing the frighteningly familiar waves of anxiety that had paralyzed me last fall. I was terrified, that I was, again, heading down a very dark road, with no other path to trod but the one leading to the inevitable imprisonment of my being by the warden of fear. If you have never experienced severe anxiety/panic attacks, this may seem to be a bit melodramatic. I get that. Three years ago I would have thought the same thing. Until you've battled the terror of losing control of your nervous system, you cannot imagine how devastating this is, and how the most basic of tasks becomes nearly impossible to complete.

At that point, my therapist looked deeply into my eyes and said "Judy, this is a spiritual issue, and all of the meds in the world aren't going to solve it....a colleague of mine has a weekend intensive healing program...and I need you to trust me and go."

So, on the morning of May 19th, I boarded a flight, bound for West Palm Beach, Florida- the first airplane I've been on, alone, in fifteen years. I'd had only about ten days to make the arrangements, and with the anxiety and the issues of daily living, and parenting four children, I didn't have the time to ponder the details of the trip, or how petrified I was of flying. I packed twenty minutes before I left for the airport- the smallest of duffel bags, containing nothing more than the most necessary items- 2 pairs of leggings, 2 shirts, undergarments, my favorite necklace, books, and enough pharmaceuticals to sedate a horse. I remember crossing the threshold of the gate, onto the jet, grasping all of the courage I could muster. Then letting go- knowing that this was it for me- this journey. This was my hope.

This was all that I had.

Gearing Up For Summer

2011-05-28T13:27:00.000-04:00

We are taking a trip of a lifetime this summer. I am home cleaning today while Tom and the kids practice their climbing skills at McConnell's Mill. These are the times when we are the happiest, though the look on my ten year-old's face clearly does not convey this. Stay tuned for more.

Back To The Hilarity of Humanness

2011-05-25T22:46:00.000-04:00

All those concerned will be relieved to know that Seth has returned to the life of a human being. He is now a police officer- specifically Officer Buckle (from Officer Buckle and Gloria by Peggy Rathman).

My crazy bunch...almost 4 years ago....

Tom is on a trip so I was doing the nighttime routine with three boys at once this evening. As we laid in Ben's big bed, each of us took a turn giving thanks to God, praying for others, and praying for ourselves. Liam is thankful for the summer we have planned, and he is very concerned about a friend of mine who is very, very sick (as are all of us, it turns out). Ben is thankful for his bedroom, though he spent about fifteen minutes screaming at me, for the mess on his floor, which is "all Seth's fault." But Seth- he stole the gratitude show: "Dear God, Thank you that dinasaurs don't eat me, my bed, and Dee-zuts (Jesus)..."

Amen.

Go, Dog, Go.

2011-05-25T14:48:00.004-04:00

I've had some frustrating times parenting my three year-old lately. He is a lovely boy, really. Yet, he has this temper...and sometimes he's weird. Not unlike the rest of us, I guess. But spending nearly twenty-four hours a day with that temper and weirdness can leave me a bit unraveled.

Today was no exception. He has speech therapy every Wednesday, and has for almost a year now. And he loves his speech therapist. She's good at her job. She also gives him candy... He wanted no parts of this appointment this morning, however. And I used all manner of soft voices, loud stern voices, ultimatums, bribery, removal of privileges. Seth did not care. Running late, I was forced to scoop him up and stagger to the van. This may seem like a normal task- carrying one's child to a vehicle. But you must understand- Seth is rather exceptional in stature- a virtual gigantasaurus, as we call him. Taller than 100% of all three year-olds, according to the pediatrician. And built like a line-backer. With his father's head (in case you don't know my husband...he has an unusually large head). Clearly he is destined for some sort of rugged life in the future....perhaps the NFL or a career in the logging industry...or Deadliest Catch...So taking him, in arms, anywhere, is excruciating. On the way, I sang all sorts of made-up tunes, to get him to cooperate, which, in the end, along with the scent of a gumball reward in the air, worked.

He changed his mind, fervently, twice, about what he wanted to do with the rest of the morning. He finally settled on pretending to be a parking enforcement officer (or meter maid), and he ticketed our van, over and over, and forced me to pay an excessive amount of invisible cash to him, on the spot- (he loves the show "Parking Wars" about the Philadelphia PPA). I weeded for a while and he chided me that I was getting booted.

I had to change gears, though, and go to the mall, to attempt to exchange my cell phone for one that works. I am not fond of malls, especially when toting young'uns....Seth decided that he would cope with the boredom by pretending to be a dog. There are days when my energy level would not tolerate such shenanigans. I don't know why, really. But I tried a new tactic and just went with it. I let him be a dog. I told him to "sit" and to "stay" then"come". He could not have been more delighted. So surprised at the fun mommy appearing in the moment for him. And we went with this scenario until we reached home. Then I really lost my mind and gave him water in a big bowl, to drink on all fours. Well, I'll be damned if this kid didn't perk up and fall in love with me something fierce!

He let me order him up the stairs for his nap- and wrap him in a blanket- and read books (this doggie loves to be read to- go figure). He giggled and giggled when I told him to bark, instead of talk....then I rubbed his paws, pet him on the head, and sang him to sleep.

Everyday, my children teach me how to be a better parent to them. Today, Seth taught me to lighten up.

Go, Seth, Go. Good Dog!

Gutsy Girrrrl

2011-05-19T14:45:00.001-04:00

In some ways it has been a difficult year...I don't hide that fact on here...But in a few, very significant ways, it has been a year of courage and strength for me....

Today, thanks to my husband, who is also my number one fan, championing my best life, I am on my way to gutsy....again.

Details to follow when i'm there.

Totally gutsy girrrl- ME!

Standing Ovation

2011-05-18T01:32:00.001-04:00

We've had this coughing flu thing going around our family the last couple of weeks. My husband is just getting over pneumonia- he's been sicker than I've seen him in the almost 17 years I've known him. Now i've got a milder version of the same thing and I've felt wiped out for days.

This morning I had to take my three year-old for an evaluation that I'd been dreading and it was tough being at this place because I had to stare certain realities in the face that I would rather not deal with now. I left the appointment feeling pretty down, only to have Tom call with the overwhelming news that our dishwasher had flooded our kitchen twice and we had some significant dry-wall damage to the basement ceiling, as a result. Then there was the fight between my teenage daughter and her eight year-old brother, where they were screaming during my husband's conference call and smearing icing into one another's hair...

But something inspiring happened when I arrived home, sullen and ready to cry....Tom came upstairs, gathered all the kids around, and told me how they had come to his rescue, despite the previously noted ill-behavior, and cleaned up all the water, using every towel and throw rug in our house, allowing him to keep working, and making the damage far less severe than it would have been without their quick-acting and efforts. So he and I, and Seth, gave them a standing ovation, and I felt the renewed hope that maybe, just maybe, things are going to be okay.

Finding the good in your children, when they are driving you to the brink of insanity, not only makes them feel worthy, but it also helps to ground you in your parenting and validate in your heart all that is lovely and unique in the beings you have brought forth.

On His Knees

2011-05-16T23:20:00.001-04:00

Tomorrow is election day, and thus, tomorrow school is CLOSED.....And no greater evidence of this exists than in my home, where tonight, my 8 year-old son, Benjamin, fell asleep, watching T.V. like this......

He appears to be praying...and Lord knows he should be...as should his mother....

Hilarious kid.

A Spoonful of Sugar

2011-05-15T20:28:00.001-04:00

Yesterday, we took the kids to Zielienople, Pennsylvania, almost an hour from our home in Pittsburgh, to Balldingers candy store. We had read about the place, some years back, but had never gotten around to making the trip.

Despite a flat tire, and a gripping half-an-hour on the side of I 79, waiting for AAA, we trapsed with disbelief, around that heaven of sweets, until we made our selections and headed home....

A spoonful of sugar goes a long way to bringing temporary peace to my crazy brood....and to the kid who still resides in my own soul.

Boogers

2011-05-15T13:43:00.001-04:00

Seth, my three year-old, woke me up at dawn the other day, and, with great fervor, pleaded "Mommy, I can't get dis booger out my nose.....I can't get it out, Mommy....you help me Mommy? You get da booger out of dere, Mommy?

Have I mentioned, friends, that I am not a morning person? But sometimes the mothering instinct overrides that fact.....so I did what a good Mommy does...I mined that large ball of green alien-like mucous, out of his nose...and like the perfect preschooler that he is, my son said "thank you, Mommy"....then he ate it.

So Much For Catchy

2011-05-09T23:24:00.003-04:00

It is a little after 11pm. The articles, on wellness, that have caught my eye, recently, have all suggested that the use of electronic devices should cease about an hour before bedtime. And bedtime should be early and consistent.

I realize that I am breaking all of these rules tonight. Just like last night. And the night before that...and the night before that. I really am going to turn over that new leaf...

I've wanted to tell the tale of today, though, for about an hour, and the idea of sleeping on it was troublesome- mainly because I know that I won't remember what it was that made me so giddy with laughter this afternoon. I will get caught up in breakfast dishes and driving and sweeping and homework....

And you really must hear this, friends.

Three of my children set about the business of a "Kool-Aid" stand, around 4:00. Once things had begun to pick-up, and they realized they could make some cold hard cash from the blue liquid they were pouring, Liam came flying back into the house for some music to play in the background. "Mommy, do you have a CD player we could borrow? We need some music to draw a crowd. Something catchy, you know, like what the ice cream man does." So I directed him to the old boom box next to my bed, which he quickly set about plugging into the outlet on the front porch. All of a sudden I hear him screaming "Mommy- Mommy! This isn't even good!- We can't use this- its some guy talking about letting go of stress!!!"

And that is my life in a nutshell, people. So much for catchy.

To My Children

2011-05-08T23:16:00.000-04:00

To my children who call me "mother"- I am in deep gratitude to you today. I whispered this to you, though you were too busy being my kids to acknowledge such sentimental banter- playing tag, running the neighborhood, shooting hoops, punching a sibling...This holiday is really about you, dear ones, because, without you, I would not be who I am today- in this role of a lifetime...the one thing I would not change about my life, for all the money in the world.

FIVE MINUTE FRIDAYS: Motherhood Should Come With....

2011-05-06T22:17:00.001-04:00

Conspiring with all the other followers over at The Gypsy Mama, to bring y'all five minutes of motherhood inspiration- without labored editing, pregnant pauses, regrets or burdensome obligation:

GO

My Mom-"Granny"- with Lily, Liam and Ben-2007

One of my favorite photos-Seth-3mos.-bathing
in the kitchen sink

the pregnant belly I miss so very much-the epitome of optimism

forgiveness- for the human raising a human; a human flawed and fluttering about in the muck and mire of life, most of the time having no clue what "right" looks like; for the generations of sorrows and sickness we may carry into yet another being; for not being perfect.

peace- that we are good enough; that every minute we spend with our children in acceptance and love is as motherhood is designed- how life is sown and made rich in the blessing of unconditional freedom.

timelessness- to hold still in the joy that we breathe in naked newborn bottoms, wrinkled feet fresh from a bath, mud pies, dandelions, finger paint, homemade cards, magic kisses for boo-boos, the first "I love you Mommy", the faint drawing of breath of a child snuggled on your chest or your armpit

STOP

Left Foot, Right Foot, Left Foot, BREATHE

2011-05-01T22:58:00.004-04:00

I've had a difficult day. I aimed to spend my weekend deep cleaning my home, which seems to have gathered a lifetime's worth of filth, around every corner, every surface....I have yet to find the balance between keeping a decent house and being a mindful parent, taking care of my marriage and taking care of myself.

I got an amazing amount of work done yesterday- piles of laundry the size of Mt. Everest, stain-treating and bleaching our white couch slip covers (and replacing them- a total miracle), rearranging the livingroom furniture and beginning to add back in some character that we were forced to remove once the house went up for sale last year.

I woke up this morning with the old familiar nag of anxiety- like a nasty old school teacher, droning on about how useless I will be if I don't get my work done. How I will fail, as I have failed before. I fell prey to these thoughts and ended up taking a mid-morning xanax to attempt to calm down. The post-traumatic stress of major panic/anxiety disorder, and hitting rock bottom with them both, this past fall, overwhelms me....I fear going back there like nothing I've ever feared in my life....but in these moments, these hours...I feel it coming....

Anne Lamott and I- An amazing night for me - just being
in her presence was hopeful

Tonight I bought a tibetan bowl meditation CD and attempted to relax to its melodies. I wasn't all that successful.. So I tried a bath of 3 parts epsom salts and 1 part baking soda. I scrubbed my skin with organic citris salt glow. I laid back in the claw foot tub and tried to turn off all of the negativity floating around in my soul- blaring its lies on a megaphone in my brain.....I found I couldn't hear any of the good stuff anymore- I had so quickly lost my perspective.

I lit a candle, took my meds, and sat down with an old stand by "Part B- More Thoughts on Faith" by Anne Lamott. I had a front row seat to a talk she gave in Pittsburgh several years ago and I am bonded to her voice and her truths, like a friend. When her life gets tough, and she doesn't know where to begin, she says "Left Foot, Right Foot, Left Foot, BREATHE." And this wisdom is what I shall be taking with me tomorrow morning.

FIVE MINUTE FRIDAYS: If I knew I could I would...

2011-04-29T21:53:00.002-04:00

GO
I would live life in the present, without regretting the past, or romancing the past; I would focus on today- this moment- all I have- and I would run with it. I would buy us all one way tickets to a vast expanse on the water and we would just stop what we were doing and we would go- no doubts- no worries- no "what ifs". I have had enough of those, you know- the "what ifs." they plague me like a cancer in my soul. they follow me...and I'm sick of them. the "what ifs" that force me to leave this moment.

I would take us to a beach- deserted of all but the soliloquies of seagulls and the tide coming in- and I would watch them run- the kids- and fly kites- and skip stones. And none of us would have labels or files or medical histories- nothing to say that we were anything but whole and wondrous and blessed. And I would run after them. Once we tired, we would collapse in a pile on the sand...laughing...smiling...

If I knew I could I would not be afraid. I would not be afraid. I would live

STOP

Meditating on The Crucifixion

2011-04-23T23:46:00.000-04:00

In years past, on this blog, I have posted a description of what the human body endures during a crucifixion. I first heard the horrors, of this barbaric practice, some years ago, during a Good Friday service, at a church in Virginia. It was a sermon I shall never forget, and whose point, of Christ's suffering and love, became imprinted on my brain forever.

As a reminder to all of us, of the amazing sacrifice made on our behalf, meditate, for a few moments, on the suffering Jesus endured, here.

Marriage

2011-04-22T23:29:00.000-04:00

Tom and I have been married nearly fourteen years now. If I stand back from our relationship and gaze upon it, as a whole, I would call it "real"- not "good" or "bad" but real. We are two human beings, with two different perspectives on life, two sets of baggage, two sets of needs, two sets of expectations, two dreams...Some days I would like to drive slowly by a ditch and toss him out of the car- he just gets under my skin and I lose my ability to see him from an objective point of view. Other days, I feel grateful and blessed by his presence-like we are pieces of a complex puzzle that somehow find a way to fit.

Given statistics, there is always the wonder if we can go the distance. On the "ditch" days, I stop wondering because of my four kids. On the "grateful" days, I stop wondering because of my four kids. We enjoy life much better in the presence of each other- the six of us- than when we are separated. And for now, that is our truth.

We drove to the little portion of beach where we said "for better or for worse" in 1997. I felt twinges of happiness watching our children walk up and over the dune, as I had, in my dress, with my parents in my arms. These human beings complete us- they make all of the "worse" a little more palatable and give strength to our sometimes wavering commitment.

Togetheritis. Still the best thing going.

NORMAN ROCKWELL...LAUGH OUT LOUD

2011-04-21T23:32:00.002-04:00

A woman approached our family this evening, on the beach, and asked permission to photograph us for her clinical practice with young children. She said she was so moved watching my kids running in the sand, flying kites, and flocking into the cold waves....while Tom interacted with them by doing the same things and I snuggled with Lily, who wasn't feeling well. She commented that we looked like a modern-day Norman Rockwell painting...Silently I had to chuckle....if she only knew the depths and compplexities of the individuals of our little unit, and our sometimes dysfunctional dynamics, maybe she would have reconsidered her subjects....or perhaps she would say that our participating as a unit, in spite of our flaws, is what makes us worthy.

Learning...Naturally

2011-04-20T23:54:00.001-04:00

I home schooled my daughter for a couple of years early on....she's since been enrolled in local public education, which suits her....and me, but I have to admit that there are many things about those days that I miss. We travelled a lot then, and we all learned so much from our experiences- much more than what work-sheets and text books can provide.

Today I took my four children to the Philadelphia Zoo for the day. I was surprised and secretly delighted at how enthusiastic they were about learning, about the animals and other more indirect knowledge, naturally- without coercion, or even suggestion from me. Lily decided she would photograph all of the animals while Liam wrote each species down in his notebook (accumulating over 70 names). Benjamin took on the self-appointed task of "map reader", guiding to the different locations and the all-important restrooms, while we all helped Seth to distinguish between herbivores and carnivores, the characteristics of the big cats, the differences between the genders within a particular species....

This isn't about me being a stellar parent because my kids enjoyed a day with lions and tigers and bears.. its validation of the belief that human beings are always learning- naturally.

Its late....

2011-04-19T23:16:00.002-04:00

I am learning the hard lesson of what becomes of a mother who doesn't take care of herself.....life is a great teacher...here is my bedroom tonight....in a Residence Inn....much better....if only the rain would stop...

Space

2011-04-18T22:37:00.002-04:00

Its hard to know what to title a post like this....cute and cliche doesn't really fit....

Tonight is a hard one.....I got very little sleep last night and there are six of us in one hotel room with two beds. You do the math....I realize that there are people all over the world, tonight, who are sleeping in much worse conditions. This is a four star venue with beautiful fountains and nice down comforters, bountiful pillows, a large flat screen t.v. with a plethora of channels.

Peace

But, to be honest, I feel suffocated. Not only by my current circumstances but by some of my life choices....and without purging details which are private, I cannot adequately convey to you, dear readers, just how painful this is...in this moment. All the lingering doubts and frustrations; the guilt and the rage; the grief; the loneliness....the conglameration of all of this negativity weighing heavily on me right now.

In one word, I feel trapped. I put me here. Tomorrow, it is possible, that I will wake up, glowing from rest and ready to face my world with vigor. It is possible that I will not recognize these words as prose from my own heart. It is possible that I will discover that the other woman took my place, at the computer, and spilled her guts all over the web- the other woman who sometimes forgets that she is loved and determined and gifted and passionate and worthy and safe.

What I know right now is that I need space. I desperately need space and sleep.

Nothin' Can Be Better Than Somethin'

2011-04-17T23:55:00.000-04:00

It is springbreak for my kids right now. Tom and I have had many thoughts as to how we would spend our time together with them, this weekend, when he didn't have to work. We had planned to take them into the city, today, to explore, and to visit some historical sights. But here's the deal folks- they didn't want a "plan." All four of my kids just wanted to play- to hide and hunt Easter eggs until they were too pooped to pop, ride their bikes around the block- racing to see who was the fastest, teaching their little brother to pedal and laughing with him as he continously drove off of the sidewalk. They wanted to watch T.V. and play card games with my Dad, until they were so tired they fell asleep in the livingroom.

So we nixed the big picture and focused, instead, on the joy of pure, unadulturated, play. We middle-class adults, in the twenty-first century, often forget what that is like- we want to provide fun for our kids that they really don't want or need.

I am again reminded that nothing is often better than something. Hands Down. Thanks kids. You are forever my best teachers in the class of parenting and life..

Lies We Tell Our Children

2011-04-16T22:50:00.005-04:00

The Pittsburgh MothUp has another event coming up on April 27th. The topic of the evening will be "Lies We Tell Our Children." I have had the great privilege of getting picked as one of the storytellers each month, since its inception in January, and despite my great fear of public speaking, I am hoping for yet another opportunity in two weeks.

I have quietly pondered the topic of lying to my kids....trying to find an anecdote, to fit the theme, that is lively and, of course, as per the MOTHup rules, TRUE (rather ironic isn't it? a true lie?). I don't lie to my kids. I try very hard not to lie at all, actually. But I don't lie to my kids. I love them too much. And they trust me. Sometimes, though, I find myself answering inquiries of theirs, with less than accurate information, because I don't know the right response, or because they aren't of an age that is appropriate for more complex detail, or, sadly, because I am in a hurry.

Yesterday morning, Seth came trotting into our bedroom, wanting to talk about "Sam", my parents' dog. "Mommy," he said "Sam dead?" "Yep, he died, babe, about a year ago." "Why he die, Mommy?" "Because he was old, honey." "Where is he?" ummmmmm....."He's in heaven with God," I said, pretty confidently. "How he get there, Mommy?" "Uh....Well...his spirit went to be with God but his body stayed here (then, I silently prayed he wouldn't ask where his body went)." "Mommy, where God and heaven?" "Um....well...um...HE'S IN THE SKY, SETH...HEAVEN IS IN THE SKY." I don't really believe that heaven is in the sky, though I do think of it that way, still...at forty years of age. I don't know how to describe where heaven is located....I am certain it exists...I believe that God is hanging out there...But I'm not so evolved, spiritually, that I can pinpoint a definitive place or space or new agey kind of area that souls reside. And I haven't memorized enough scripture to remember whether the Bible points to the geographic location of this most sacred paradise, either.

Apparently satisfied with my explanation, Seth went running off to his big brother Ben, to repeat my words of wisdom, then, with great fervor, he shouted "BEN- GOD IS IN THE SKY...IN HEAVEN....WHEN WE GO TO GRAMMA'S HOUSE, DO YOU THINK SHE LIVES NEAR THE SKY?"

Five Minute Fridays: Going The Distance

2011-04-15T22:44:00.003-04:00

Inspired by prompt over at The Gypsy Mama's place, here is my five minutes of unedited, stream of consciousness, musings about going the distance:

literally speaking, we have gone a great distance today, on our first roadtrip in over seven months. all six of us in the van, loaded down with suitcases and lacrosse sticks, enough junk food to sink a ship, and a cooler of bottled water. as usual there was a lot of laughter and some fighting...interesting conversations...the last two chapters and epilogue of the book Hatchet by Gary Paulsen- read aloud by yours truly...my tooth cracked on a piece of ice and fell out...we talked of the upcoming Royal Wedding and Ben wondered how Princess Diana is going to get married if she is dead.

Tom, my husband of nearly 14 yrs.
My Best Friend and rock- going
the distance for me, every single day

figuratively, I am encouraged that I have come a great distance in my life, seven months after being hospitalized for anxiety/panic attacks. I am forever in the debt of many honorable and loving human beings who have gone this distance with me- my parents, my husband, my kids, and some incredible friends.

STOP

God's GPS

2011-04-14T21:25:00.002-04:00

Goofy and "the lion"- undaunted
by the cancellation of their fun
evening...

Thoughts for the road tonight:

Life can be so infuriating sometimes....it seems like there is always something that causes a seemingly smooth day to go awry. Tonight Tom's car ran out of gas (no comment), which caused the plans of everyone in our family to be completely ruined. We had a paper route to complete, swimming, a play date....My first inclination was to be very bitter with him, but over the last year I have begun to see the obstacles on our path as less random than what they appear. I have been trying, every time I get stuck in traffic, or the keys get locked in the car, or we get lost on the way to our destination, to view these frustrations as ways in which God steers us away from more difficult circumstances, even danger. Maybe my plans are simply not what He had in mind. Maybe there are people whose paths we are to cross, whom we would otherwise never know, if our schedule went as we had designed. Perhaps, more seriously, we would have met our demise from a reckless driver or a downed tree or a deer in the road....we may never know this side of heaven, but it seems like a reasonable explanation to me. It is possible that life really is just a lot of set-backs or coincidences, that my faith is planted firmly in a bunch of hooey, but, by taking a different perspective from the usual stance of the victim, I find that I am better able to cope and be at peace with situations which, in the past, have caused me to feel immense stress or to lose my composure all together.

I guess God's GPS is better than my own, which, in the end, is a good thing.

The Big Boy Picnic

2011-04-13T18:53:00.004-04:00

Enjoying cantaloupe on a nicer day, two weeks ago, in
the outside cafe.

Mothering is a hard job but these are some of the moments that I enjoy the most-so I thought I'd share them with you.

I started a tradition, when my ten and eight year-old boys were younger, of having lunch together, once a week, in the cafe of our local grocery store,. We called it the "big boy picnic." I would allow each of them to choose a fruit, a vegetable, an entree, and a dessert. We would then pile onto the bar stools or "the big boy chairs" and enjoy our a la carte meals.

Sethy with his Italian Wedding

Soup (which I knew nothing of

until we moved to Pittsburgh

five years ago) and salad, today, in his

"big boy" seat.

Seth and I headed over to Giant Eagle, this morning, after his speech therapy, which is conveniently located across the street from the store. He loves to do anything that gives him the feeling that he is not three years old- so his new favorite activity is to go up to the salad bar, select the fruits and vegetables he wants, and scoop them into a container, without any help from his mother (in fact, he wants me to stand as far back as possible). It takes him awhile, as he is rather height challenged and the food tends to slip off the spoon, but he is always very proud. After bringing his items to the register and we pay for them, he picks where we sit- (always the bar stools, just like his brothers). It is very funny to watch him because he incorporates a lot of role play into his dining experience. Today he was a firefighter, so he took a couple bites of soup or salad, then jumped out of his seat, with fervor, and ran around the perimeter of the cafe, putting out pretend fires. Once I'd had enough of worrying that he was going to tip over his chair or pummel an old lady- we packed up the left-overs and went home for a nap.

These are the memories that I'll always be fond of- and hopefully they will too.

Distracted By Longing- A Night At Steel City Improv Theater

2011-04-12T23:07:00.005-04:00

The first of three troupes to perform
last night

I spent last night with Alison Peebles, the passionate organizer and warrior of Pittsburgh's MothUp, at Steel City Improv Theater. There is something karmic in supporting local artists- the talents of whom do not lie on the pages of People magazine or on cable T.V. - in return you get to behold people with amazing skill and, in this case, laugh yourself silly.

What I'm finding, however, is that I am profoundly distracted by self-loathing, these days. Even in the best of situations, like being out with a friend, in the city, I am having a difficult time forgetting how unhappy I am with my body. As we sat in front of the stage, yesterday, I couldn't help but notice how tight my clothes fit, and how focused I was on my own feelings of shame and torment. The judgement was all mine- even if the place hadn't been in the dungeon of a building on a dark street, there wasn't anyone performing or in the audience who cared about the size of my pants or the bulge in my belly. Though, I must admit that the poor soul next to me must have felt like he was getting a lap dance from my butt, which was squeezed awkwardly against his side. The theater is unbelievably small, and the seating is cramped. I apologized, in a self-deprecating way, to the fellow, offering that these hips had birthed four babies, one of them enormous....I left out the part about how I'd really worked hard last summer and lost an impressive amount of weight and was lookin' good.....but that I have some kids with some worrisome issues and, in a fit of panic, that lasted six weeks, I'd been hospitalized and was put on a plethora of psychotropic medications, all of which boast the side effect of weight gain. I didn't explain that the Dr. has decided that those drugs were a mistake...and how I'm now being weaned off of all of them. I didn't go into how depressing it is to be at a comedy club, of sorts, and not really feel the release of laughter on the inside. I wanted to mention all of that, into the abyss of that tiny arena, in a really loud voice so that everyone could hear, but I whispered it to myself instead.

Deep down, I long to feel content so I can get on with life, all the while, laughing.

diapers

2011-04-11T15:07:00.002-04:00

my funny kid

This morning, as I was getting Seth dressed to go out for a while, he went into our linen closet and pulled out a pack of maxi pads and said "Mommy, what ARE dese?" "Uh....um....I'll tell you later, babe, we gotta get going..." "Mommy, dey you diapers?" "No, Seth, come on." "Mommy what are dey?" "MOMMMMMY WHAT ARE DEY?!" "Mommmy, I wanna wear dose diapers...I wear dem Mommy?" "You put one on me, Mommy?"

So, later, at the store, Seth shouts "MOMMY- YOU WEARING A DIAPER! MOMMY WEARING A DIAPER!"

prayers

2011-04-10T23:11:00.002-04:00

Bedtime prayers are a constant source of hilarity and a view at the personalities of my children. Tonight, Liam was thankful for his lacrosse game (though his team lost). He prayed that the opposing team had fun too (amazing sportsmanship- don't you think?). . Seth grunted while sucking his thumb and pulling my hair through his prayers with me. Benjamin was thankful for the pizza he ate today and prayed that his parents would drive him to 7-11 tomorrow to buy a treat

Amen!

What I Thought I Was Looking Forward To This Weekend

2011-04-09T19:24:00.001-04:00

Cold, cold heart
Hard done by you
Some things look better, baby
Just passin' through
And it's no sacrifice
Just a simple word
It's two hearts livin'
In two separate worlds
But, it's no sacrifice
No sacrifice
It's no sacrifice, at all- Elton John

Inspired by the prompt on NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month), I decided I would talk about the grand plans I'd concocted for my weekend and how I changed my mind.

Yesterday, my husband made a reservation for me to stay overnight at a new hotel near the Pittsburgh airport. A couple of times a year, when I am particularly overwhelmed or in need of a break, I take a night off one weekend and escape. I have a lot of projects in my lap right now, that need time dedicated to them that is not in five minute spurts, with every other five minutes being interrupted by a little human. I was looking forward to accomplishing some goals with my writing and planning out the rest of my year in terms of classes and conferences. I was also hoping for some healthy meals- nothing fancy, just a nice spinach salad, where I could enjoy every bite....in peace.

What was I thinking- turning it down? And a glass shower
to boot! Crazy? Maybe...

But, alas, my tender and perhaps wayward heart broke through and I found, as the hour approached for me to skedaddle, that I really just wanted to spend some good, mindful hours with my kids. The morning had been riddled with upheaval and was, at times, rather unpleasant. Once there seemed to be a lull in the strife, and the relief of freedom washed over me-the realization that there were no lacrosse practices or games, no classes, no fighting, no play dates, I wanted to just enjoy the day- just the six of us, digging in the yard, playing games, laughing- having living room picnics. When you experience stress to the magnitude with which we have, in the last year or so, you relish the opportunities that arise, somewhat unexpectedly, to be together as a unit that is thriving and loving and at ease.

But I chose this- and its no sacrifice at all.

I will face criticisms over this decision- that I need more balance; that I need to make time for myself...I know these platitudes well. And I am painfully aware that I haven't mastered the art of self-care quite as nicely as I need to....But I also know the cravings of my inner-most being, to be with these children that I helped to create, in a meaningful way. I will not always have this privilege- they will grow tired of snuggling with their mommy- of holding hands while skipping down the street, of going to the candy store with their parents in tow or taking in a family movie or reading books, out loud, at bedtime.

So, right now, I'm looking forward to just being- at home, doing nothing, enjoying the goodness of our little existence-together.

Five Minute Fridays: If You Met Me

2011-04-08T08:48:00.001-04:00

Inspired by today's topic from The Gypsy Mama, here is my five minute stream of consciousness-no editing or lingering, about what you'd behold if you met me:

Ready, Set......GO!

If you met me on the street, on most days, you would see a woman who hasn't yet showered, who is dressed in sweats, who may not make eye contact because she wishes she'd showered instead of running out of the house with one kid or four, and she's feeling a bit ashamed because she's gained back nearly all of the thirty-two pounds she lost, last summer, because of her damned meds- which she takes so that the anxiety and panic attacks, that wrecked her for a long time in the fall, don't return....and this makes her depressed and discouraged.

Upside down prologue to my story
MOTHup Pittsburgh, Feb. 2011

If you met me at the MOTHup storytelling event, once a month, on the South Side, in Pittsburgh, you'd see a woman who looks put together, hair done, make-up on, nice clothes, super slutty high heel boots, doing a respectable job of telling tales of her life with her husband and kids, sometimes self-depricating, but always honest to the core, and connecting with her audience in ways that totally rock her world. She would have a fantastic smile because she made you laugh.

If you met me and we somehow got to talking, you would notice my compassion, my empathy for human kind, my willingness to be vulnerable to a fault, my lack of inhibition and my contagious sense of humor and love for laughter. You would get that I love my kids and that I've had some trying times, which you'd probably already know if you live in my town, but you'd see that I'm not really scarey or crazy and maybe I'm a lot like someone you know who is normal and fun or maybe like you.

STOP

Nothin' Honey

2011-04-07T22:37:00.001-04:00

This will be short and sweet. Or maybe just short. Not so sweet...

My New Favorite Mommy Treat

I've recently been turned on to the wonders of Greek yogurt. It is ever so creamy and rich, not to mention that it has twice the protein than regular yogurt. My all time favorite brand is FAGE, pronounced Fa-yeh. Their cherry flavor is out of this world, almost as good as an ice cream sundae (but let's be honest- yogurt is so not ice cream), AND, most remarkably, it has no high fructose corn syrup or food dyes- so consuming this delight will not shorten my life span or ruin my brain. It is a bit on the pricey side at $1.79 a cup, but as a "mommy treat" it is totally worth it.

Last week, in my haste to save some money, and cash in on some coupons I'd come across, I purchased a competitor's "Greek Yogurt", in "honey flavor" for about a third of the price of FAGE. Imagine my disappointment, tonight, however, as I peeled off the lid- to find that 1) it is rather sour and leaves a sort of chemical taste on your tongue and 2) IT CONTAINS NO HONEY. Now how does one market "honey" yogurt then just decide to omit this major ingredient?

Lesson learned- you get what you pay for and leave the Greek yogurt to the Greeks (even the ones in the U.S.)

****FAGE U.S.A. did not pay me to write this post or solicit my advertising with the promise of free product, though if they did, I'd be ecstatic****

It Ended Well

2011-04-06T22:40:00.002-04:00

Seth, at The Children's Museum

I lost my keys in the great unknown
And call me please 'Cuz I can't find my phone
This is the stuff that drives me crazy
This is the stuff that's getting to me lately
In the middle of my little mess
I forget how big I'm blessed
This is the stuff that gets under my skin
But I gotta trust You know exactly what You're doing
It might not be what I would choose
But this is the stuff You use
45 in a 35
Sirens and fines while I'm running behind
Whoa
This is the stuff that drives me crazy
This is the stuff that's getting to me lately
In the middle of my little mess
I forget how big I'm blessed
This is the stuff that gets under my skin
But I gotta trust You know exactly what You're doing
It might not be what I would choose
But this is the stuff You use- Francesca Batistelli

Today was an exceptionally difficult day....I barely slept last night, with several interruptions by several members of my family. Single parenting is not for me, which I kindly mentioned to my husband, who is away on a business trip this week. I didn't sign up for this, really, though when I signed up, I did check that proverbial box stating "for better or for worse." Today would be "for worse."

I am beyond tired. I don't parent well when I am tired. I feel especially burdened with the choices I've made when I lack adequate sleep...the choice to become a parent, the choice to parent full-time, the choice not to drive off the nearest bridge (and there are SO MANY here in Pittsburgh)...every question from Seth today (and I think there were 500 of them) was like nails to a chalk board. "Why, Mommy? Why that trash truck doing that? Why I have to wear a coat? Why?" or "GO MOMMY- LIGHT IS GREEN-GOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! (when the light was red)"....

I had to laugh at Ben, in the

parking lot of Giant Eagle, with
his tank top, shorts, and snow
boots. This isn't a great picture-taken
with my cell phone, in not-so-great
conditions, but I wanted you to see
the hilarity of this kid of mine...

But, at the end of the night, tonight, while at the grocery store with my 8 year-old son, an employee swept in, like a good Samaritan, and made me think twice about the personal pity party I was throwing for myself. We'd gone up to the cafe to order a sub (which Ben had been waiting patiently for before and after his gymnastics class), only to find that they had closed fifteen minutes earlier. The kind gentleman, behind the counter, who appeared, at first glance, to be an escaped convict, offered to make my son the Italian Cold-Cut (with lots of onions), anyway. Then he gave it to him for free.

On the whole, it was a rotten 24hrs. The little "gifts" of light from a couple of friends, my daughter (who made my bed tonight- just because) and the generosity of a stranger, wrapped the day up in a package that was easier to take in the end. And for this, I am ever so grateful...and blessed-so big.

Stream (Sprout) of Consciousness

2011-04-05T21:53:00.002-04:00

Exhaustion settles in...husband on a trip for a couple of days...I felt done before I begun...the house is trashed but I am learning to pick my battles and today the house was not one of them...peanut butter and jelly rescuing my weary soul tonight...as I lay here...cold...hair wet with chlorine from an evening of swimming with four boys (three of my own, one who could be my own but he's not) and my daughter...trying hard not to be grouchy...but I'm tired...absorbed in the laughter of these kids heading down water slides and dunking one another in the pool..hearing the whistles of the lifeguards and knowing who they were for and not really caring because they were having fun and I love to watch that and nobody was drowning...rocking Seth tonight, lifting gratitude whispers to the heavens for splashing and courage and silly brothers and little friends we love and prayers of grace for the mother of his classmate who has stage three breast cancer, no hair, and four children...exhaustion settles in...

hoping to sprout with my littlest sprout

2011-04-04T17:17:00.001-04:00

This afternoon, Seth and I explored the ingenius idea of using cracked eggshells for planters to start our seeds. We filled each eggshell with good soil, inserted seeds (sunflower, daisy, and purple coneflower), and sprayed each with water.

With any luck, we'll be planting seedlings soon (if spring ever gets to Pittsburgh).

Working Together

2011-04-03T16:26:00.005-04:00

Our van blesses us in many ways...and I've found myself in gratitude for it, including it in our prayers before bedtime. It is easy to take for granted such a convenient mode of transportation-how often do we meet families, here in America, without a car these days? Growing up, there were several years that my mom and I didn't have access to a vehicle very often, forcing us to walk or ride the bus to where we needed to go. I don't resent that time- I learned, at a very young age, the wonder of public transportation, of meeting people from all walks of life, and taking a slow but serene route through the day. There was no rushing to get to such and such- buses work on their own schedule. As a student, then a working young adult, then a mother and a homeschooler, I depended on the Metro (the Washington, D.C. area subway system) to get me to museums or to work and back. I've gotten lazy, however, since we moved to Pittsburgh, and it is just in the last two years that I've tried to be more cognisant of our "road time." We have lived with just one vehicle, for the last eighteen months, by choice. This has mostly been fine, except for one day,six weeks ago, when my husband took our van to work and I had to learn, quickly, to use the trolley to get Seth to speech therapy, then to the grocery store, and back home. All in all, the ride and walk took about four hours out of my afternoon (partially because we got lost). Three days ago, though,with much trepidation, we decided to put our second car back into the mix- in order to avoid a lot of the chaos which has ensued from having several

kids working side jobs or taking classes in the evening.

Today our family chores focused on caring for our vehicles. During the week, despite my best

efforts, our van quickly begins to look like a landfill (or a food bank), with ample amounts of food particles on the floor to feed a third-world country, and enough trash to load up a full-size recycle bin. So, this afternoon, Tom and I drove the van and car to an inexpensive car wash in nearby Bethel Park, Pennsylvania. We divided our family in half, with two children and one adult working on each vehicle. The vacuums are free, which saves us a ton of money. We split the tasks of

floors/seats, using Armor All on the non-fabric surfaces, and spraying/wiping the glass with Windex. As a treat, after about an hour, we drove through the car wash, which is only $3.00. Thankfully, I remembered to put up the driver's side window this time!

Working together in a directed fashion has helped to improve the attitudes of the workers in my home and having a clean van to drive improves my mental clarity as well. And, Lord knows, if it improves my mental clarity- its worth it!

**to read other writing on the subject of house cleaning and family organization, check out these other All In A Day bloggers:

1. Brooke Woody 3. Nicole
2. Nicole

Wondrous Sprouts

2011-04-03T10:31:00.003-04:00

Benjamin's Carrot Seeds Sprouting

When I was around five, or six years-old, I remember shopping in the grocery store with my mom and begging to purchase a pack of marigold seeds. The picture, on the front of the packet, was so beautiful- the bright orange, gold and yellow blossoms- I couldnt wait to grow some of my own. I also remember the profound disappointment of learning that marigolds don't thrive inside an apartment- which is where I spent the majority of my growing-up years.

Lily's Hollyhock Seedlings

Fast forward thirty-five years, and you will find all four of my children enthralled by the growing of their own seeds. My window sills have been devoured by pots filled with soil and the seeds of carrots, watermelon, pumpkins, tomatoes, and flowers.

Sprouts, wondrous sprouts!

Lily's Lupines

Bean Sprouts

2011-04-02T23:30:00.003-04:00

One of the many Wondrous Holes In The Wall In Pittsburgh

One of the blessings that came to pass, in the fall, shortly after I began an intensive outpatient program for anxiety/panic attacks, was our approval, by a local non-profit organization, to receive respite care for our children. Though hours are hard to come by, Tom and I have gotten some much needed alone time, about once a month, since November.

Today we chose to spend our hours, sans children, in the city, starting with a visit to The Spice Island Tea House in Oakland. If you were to wander by this delightful spot, on a whim, you would surely keep going, as all appearances suggest "herein lies a dump..." But as most of us culinary enthusiasts are aware, some of the best eatin' to be had is camouflaged by less than spectacular surroundings.

I stumbled upon this joint, in the company of a fellow urban girl, in the middle of a work day, having to brave both parallel parking a mid-size family vehicle, and the narrow walls of this hole in the wall of Thai cuisine. After one bite of their Pad Thai, however, I was hooked and knew my hubby would be too.

Spice Island Fried Tofu with Bean Sprouts-yummy

For starters we dined on Burmese Squash Fritters (I am no fan of squash, but these were sensational) and the Sumatran Corn and Shrimp Fritters. As an entree, I chose the Spice Island Fried Tofu, with sate peanut sauce and bean sprouts while Tom inhaled his curry chicken.

We spent the rest of the afternoon looking at tents....where we will sleep with our children, under the stars, some day, eating nothing as yummy as what was on today's menu......

Hungry?

Five Minute Fridays: A Few Of My Favorite Things

2011-04-01T20:02:00.002-04:00

Veggie Sushi- Yum

Silliness-Liam and Ben meditating

Wasabi! The more the better!

Inspired by today's topic from The Gypsy Mama, here are a few of my favorite things:

Ben's dimples and watching him do flips on the trampoline thinking that he'll probably be in the olympics one day or some extreme sporting event because he has incredible natural athletic talent;

Looking over at Liam this afternoon and seeing how tall and handsome he has gotten and noticing how gentle his spirit is

Saying yes to my kids, when I'm tempted to say "no" and I don't really know why I'm saying "no" except we mothers often say "no". I like when I take a risk on something new and say "yes."

My friends who are attached to my spirit with strings and who love me no matter what

Seeing birds after a long winter, even the one here that is not ending

Veggie Sushi, Lots of Wasabi, and time to myself, even if it is in the cafe of our local grocery store

Silliness

STOP

Blogs Of Note

2011-04-01T16:44:00.002-04:00

If you are a mommy blogger and wish to get on the "Blogs of Note" list, click here:

Funny Friday With My Three Year Old

2011-04-01T16:05:00.003-04:00

Swim trunks and snow
boots: gotta love
Pittsburgh in April

I took Seth swimmng this morning, at the gym. To encourage him to continue to put his face in the water, I bought him his first set of goggles- the frames of which are shaped like frogs. Due to his exceptionally large head (inherited from his father), the straps had to be maxed out, and his eyes still looked rather smooshed together.

Seth, the goggle-eyed trash collector

In the shallow end of the pool, there are several small geysers that the little ones can play in or run through. At one point, Seth sat on top of one and seemed to be straining a bit. I thought to myself "Oh, man, he is going to poop in his diaper and that is going to ruin this whole experience..." With dread, I asked him what he was doing and he announced, so everyone in the pool could hear, "I trying to plug up my butt with the water, mommy." I had to laugh at that one.

He was so excited about his new eye wear that he wore them home. Once we arrived, Seth decided that he was going to pretend to be a trash man and bring our trash cans back from the curb into the garage. "Mommy, garbage mans wear goggles they go swimmin'?" "I bet they do, babe," I said

Then he walked into the house and asked to use the potty, which he hasn't been willing to do in a long time. He demanded that he use the "big boy potty" and, with an impromptu lesson on aiming the penis, he proceeded to pee like a champ.

Bum From Bayma

2011-04-01T00:29:00.001-04:00

When I was a little girl, my grandmother used to send me cards, for my birthday, filled with a penny for each year I was celebrating (I was one of thirty-two grandchildren, so cash was never flowing out of the envelopes), balloons, and Fruit Stripe Gum. My favorite item, out of all of these things, was the gum. First and foremost, because I loved (and love) gum. Also, Fruit Stripe gum contained sugar, which I was prohibited from consuming on my mother's dime, making it all the more enticing.

Now, many, many years later, my mother is the Grandma who sends the envelopes to my kids. Seth squeals, each and every time he sees the mail man, thinking that all letters contain "bum" from "Bayma" (gum from Grandma). "Seth, honey, that is the gas bill. I'm afraid there's no gum in there" I explain. Tonight, when I arrived home from a very long day of one thing after another, two of my children came running to announce that there was a package from Granny that smelled like mint gum.. and could they open it. Even Lily, my teenager, was chomping at the bit...like a vulture encircling road-kill, sniffing the package...begging to get to its contents ( And, believe me, she buys plenty of her own gum, people!)

Every once in a while I see Fruit Stripe gum somewhere, and I think of my Grandma, and how such a simple thing, like an envelope with gum, packed with such good intentions and love, can mean the world to a kid. They did to me and they sure do for the four who reside under this roof.

So here's to Grandmas and Gum.

If A Picture Speaks A Thousand Words....

2011-03-30T22:16:00.003-04:00

Lillian Marie Sombar, Age 13

We haven't had portraits taken of our children, professionally, in a long time. Most parents with multiple children will tell you that there is nothing more arduous than trying to get a bunch of squirrely kids to smile all at once, or at least sit still. Then there are the coordinating outfits and waiting for the pictures to be ready. Next there is the inevitable disappointment when, out of two hundred shots, only one really rocks your world, and even then you are probably just exhausted and missing the fact that your son has a booger and the photographer didn't crop the picture correctly.

Seth Paul Sombar, Age 3

Liam Michael Cleveland Sombar, Age 10

My children behaved in a miraculous fashion, as if Christ himself was taking the pictures. Though, Seth, my three year-old, did see fit to strike up a conversation, out loud, with himself, using just the word "booba" (vulva), over and over again. The college age photographer, having no idea what my son was talking about, said "booba? what's a booba? I don't know dude....Okay, say booba!!!" f-l-a-s-h. Tom and I just stared at one another, silently wondering how we ended up here, then fell over laughing.

Benjamin Thomas Sombar, Age 8

Things were so much easier when you just plopped your babies on a blanket, then bought every darn picture, because,...well,...you were in love...with your gene pool. Today everyone had to play the peanut gallery when it was time to choose which poses to purchase. There was no shortage of boasting about how good they thought they looked. "Oh, yeah, I totally look hot there, mommy. Buy that one." (quote from child who will go unnamed).

So, if a picture is worth a thousand words, here are my FOUR THOUSAND WORDS. Enjoy!

The Hard Work Ethic

2011-03-29T21:58:00.009-04:00

...Spend yourself on the work before you, well assured that the right performance of this hour's duties will be the best preparation for the hours and ages that will follow it.
Ralph Waldo Emerson

Since its inception in January of 2011, I have been participating in a
monthly, live, story-telling event, for adults, here in Pittsburgh. During my first performance, I told of my sons' paper route, and the circus-like drama of learning the ropes, on a dark and very cold, snowy, winter night the week before. Afterwards, and since, I have been asked, repeatedly, by a fellow story-teller, who was born and raised in a different culture than ours, why I feel the need for my children to have jobs (as if I am breaking child labor laws). The answer is always the same and simple: because they want to work (human beings are wired to perform manual labor...my youngest child would do it all for free) and I want them to become self-sufficient human beings who do not feel entitled because they are (fill the the blank here) ______ (white, middle-class in an upper middle-class neighborhood, educated.....). My parents, along with my husband's parents, raised us both with staunch work ethics, as they had also been raised. Speaking for myself, I "worked" from the time I was very young, doing extra chores, ironing my father's police uniform, hemming my mother's clothes, babysitting, working retails, office jobs,etc., in order to earn money to save, as well as purchase items that I wanted.

When Tom and I bought our home here, in Mt. Lebanon, Pennsylvania, almost six years ago, we both were elated- we felt we had finally "made it" - being able to provide our children with a single family home in a family-oriented neighborhood, which offered the feeling of safety, well-funded public schools with enthusiastic teachers/support personnel, and a close knit community with a large majority of at-home mothers (crucial to relieve me of the isolation of our former residence). For me, it was the first time in my life where I had any of the aforementioned opportunities. I felt blessed beyond measure. But, as someone who has walked on both sides of the fence, lower-income-higher income living, I can tell you that an enormous misconception exists, amongst many of the more affluent in our country, that children who are provided with everything are happier than those who must work to afford them. While, as a child, I may have preferred the lifestyle of my fantasies, the reality is that a great majority of my wisdom and intelligence was directly derived from my experiences, both in the paid and unpaid workforce. From my perspective, many young people growing up in this neighborhood, where we live, are robbed of the opportunities of the "real world" by spending all of their spare time playing sports and participating in leisure activities. On so many occasions, when we (and many of our friends) have wanted a babysitter, all of the adolescents, whom we solicited, nearby, were too busy skiing or going out with friends, to be available, and frankly, didn't have the motivation to work because they didn't need the money.

I read this article today, which, unfortunately, is poorly written, but expresses a similar sentiment.

So, yes, all four of my children, ages 13 down to 3, have jobs to earn money, every week. Whether by delivering newspapers, raking leaves, shoveling snow, selling lemonade and brownies, or babysitting, my kids are learning the simple but profound lesson that hard work is a part of life, and should not be avoided. Hard work is to be relished, as a means to endurance, self-respect, and the experience necessary to be a well-rounded individual, young or old.

The Smallest of Steps

2011-03-28T21:10:00.007-04:00

"The central struggle of parenthood is to let our hopes for our children outweigh our fears." (Ellen Goodman)

My three year-old son, Seth, has several ambiguous diagnoses, and has since he was about twenty months old. He doesn't meet milestones when he "should," and for that, he has received two years of therapy from various specialists, and now attends a preschool for children with special needs.

If you have never been a parent to a child with a "label," you have no idea the fear that can hold captive a mother or father, when they must head, blindly, into the horizon, having faith that whatever circumstances they are presented with, they and their children will have the strength to persevere. There is a grieving that takes place, for parents, when their kids don't fit the criteria that the world, or themselves, define as "normal" or "thriving" or "healthy" or "good" or "successful" or "able"....And I'm not talking about wanting perfect children- just beings who have a chance in life.

Last fall, this worry and this grief overcame me and I lost my ability to stare my fears in the face and move forward. All I could see that lay ahead for us, as a family, was pain, and failure...defeat...sorrow...such sorrow. And, to be honest, though I've grown stronger since then, and stabilized some, there are still hours that I spend, paralyzed with anxiety, that my children will suffer....and sometimes the hyper-vigilance begins- where I cannot focus on anything but figuring them out or getting them better or getting some answers. Several weeks ago, I was struck, while reading an unrelated book, one night, that maybe my three year-old was retarded. There were some milestones he was still not even close to and I could not understand why, compared to his peers, and to his siblings at that age, he couldn't do things and wasn't even showing signs of wanting to do them. So, in a rather obsessive manner, I begged a friend that night for her opinion, then my son's teachers the next day, followed by a doctor. In the end, it is believed, that while he has global developmental delays, his cognitive abilities are in the average range.

Yesterday evening, while getting Seth ready for his bath, I leaned over to take off his clothes and he stopped me, yelling "no mommy- I do it!" And for the first time in his life he reached for his shirt and pulled it over his head. Chills enveloped every particle of my being and to this minute I am smiling and near tears knowing how much I have wanted him to achieve this. This smallest of steps amounts to so much joy for me as a mother, and for my son, who was so proud of himself- we both just stood there, in the bathroom, clapping and hugging each other.

Alone Time

2011-03-27T09:39:00.002-04:00

photo courtesy of Donna Morton, my fabulous photographer cousin

I am an only child. Despite the fact that I consider this a hardship that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy, I do believe that I garnered many skills from having to spend so much time, alone, with my thoughts, growing up. A lot of my creativity comes from hours spent frolicking about my apartment complex, in Hyattsville, Maryland, where I spent the majority of my youth, engaged in conversations with imaginary friends, and roll playing, with myself, all sorts of dramatic scenarios (surviving plane crashes, rescuing the hostages from the embassy in Iran...). When I lay with my children, at night, and they ask me to tell them a story about when I was growing up, my mind nearly always goes back to the mulberry tree, on Nicholson Street, that I would climb with my best friend, then alone, when she was gone. I would pass many an hour, up in those branches, eating the berries, and enjoying the silence, and my thoughts.

Research, just released, suggests that there are many benefits, both intellectually, and psychologically, for healthy alone time. In our Western culture, where children are constantly kept busy, being shuffled from one organized activity to the next, we would do well to ponder all that we are robbing them of, when they are never alone. You can read the article, from the Boston Globe, that sparked my thoughts on this topic, here.

I think I could use some alone time right about now. Seth spent half the night, laying next to me, in bed, holding my hair (which he does for comfort), then I was awakened by my overly gleeful eight year-old son, Benjamin, at 6am, who wanted to know if we had any spare Chuck E. Cheese coins, laying around, that he could take to a birthday party that he is going to today. Now, as I'm writing this, all four of my kids are singing, at the top of their lungs, "Crazy In Love" by Jay Z, as they stomp around the house like wild animals.

Yes, some alone time, in a mulberry tree, would be good.

RODRICK RULES- The Five Funniest Things About Today

2011-03-26T23:13:00.004-04:00

#5: Liam playing his first lacrosse scrimmage of the season and running like the wind in the wrong direction toward his own team's goal....you have to laugh about that....he's only 10. Unfortunately, I missed this guffaw because I was busy doing #4.

#4: Seth going to his first birthday party today for one of his preschool friends. All the kids lined up to play pin the number on Thomas (Tank Engine). When it was Seth's turn, he stood there with his thumb in his mouth, very chagrined, nose all scrunched up, and yelled "I NOT PAYING DAT BAME MOMMY!" He looked up at me, and I knew he was thinking "why would I want to humiliate myself in front of all these people, with a blind-fold over my eyes, in this crowded room, trying to put a sticker on a train? who invented this dumb game? you people are crazy."

#3: Liam and Ben being lead up the basement stairs, into our kitchen, by their father, to receive their punishment for cursing at one another: Tabasco sauce on the tongue. Lily nearly cried from the guilt of having tattled on them....but was assuaged when both boys came bounding back downstairs to announce that they liked the Tabasco. Ben thought it tasted like the Buffalo wings he had last night and Liam thought it tasted like salsa, his favorite condiment. Are you kidding me? Next time I will apply the sauce, and perhaps mistakenly pour it down their throats.

#2: Lily standing in the middle of the parking lot of the mall, this evening, crying uncontrollably, screaming at her father "....BUT DADDY, BEN SHOULD NOT EVEN BE HERE BECAUSE HE GOT TWO STRIKES AND WE VOTED TODAY, AT THE FAMILY MEETING, THAT TWO STRIKES MEANT A PERSON COULD NOT PARTICIPATE IN MOVIE NIGHT AND I KNOW HE GOT MORE THAN TWO STRIKES....HE HAD ONE BEFORE HE EVEN LEFT THE MEETING....sniffle sniffle...sob...YOU ALWAYS DO THIS, DADDY....YOU LET HIM GET AWAY WITH EVERYTHING!!!! My husband just stood there, quizzically, wondering where things went so wrong and how he ended up having to parent a hormonal teenage girl.

#1: Taking the kids to see "Rodrick Rules" from the Diary of A Wimpy Kid series. In keeping with the potty humor of the movie, I spread the rumor down the row of us that my 10 year old had peed his pants, after he spilled Sprite on his lap, during the second half. Lily, my 13 year old ever-so-gullible daughter, nearly laughed herself silly then demanded that she be allowed to walk to the car separately, so as not to be associated with her brother, whom she believed was soaked in urine. All the way home, Lily heckled and prodded Liam about his "accident",then became guilt-ridden and apologized profusely to him, thinking she'd hurt his feelings. Then I told her the truth and she yelled "WHAT? I FELT BAD FOR HIM FOR NOTHING? HE DIDN'T PEE HIS PANTS REALLY? I SAID SORRY TO HIM LIKE TWELVE TIMES!!! MOTHER!!!!"

It All Started With A Vacuum

2011-03-02T19:16:00.000-05:00

I love to vacuum. It relaxes me- the rhythm, the cadence of moving back and forth with the whirring of a machine which envelopes all of our daily dirt with one fell swoop. For others I know with ADD, this is quite common- the love for this particular chore- most likely because there is a clear beginning and end to the task and requires only that you plug in the vacuum and move. There is no organization that needs to be done, which might then distract you into another tedious task, leaving you with hundreds of unfinished projects, and chaos.

My precious vacuum suddenly stopped working three weeks ago, and I nearly fell into a very deep depression. We are partial to Dysons and they are, well, not cheap. And frankly, for this reason, my vacuum being out of commission is one of my worst nightmares. I put up with sweeping my tile and hard wood floors, which I do anyway, before vacuuming, but the dirt and crumbs embedded in the carpet in our basement were about to bring on psychosis, so I called a friend and pleaded that she take me to Costco to get another Dyson- I was done.

I was lucky to find one remaining Dyson, a floor model, and carried it out of there with a huge sigh of relief. On our way home, my friend's husband called to invite my family to dinner, so Tom packed up all the kids and met me at their house. Ten minutes later, drama encircled me, as Liam stumbled into the kitchen, his face swallowed up by buckets of blood.....the boys had been playing in the basement, filming a "stunt movie" (this is where you say "uh, that sounds like a bad idea, Judy"), and a stunt went awry, puncturing a hole in Liams right cheek, right into his mouth.

My friend drove swiftly to the Children's Hospital Emergency Room, where we knew he needed to go, because of potential scarring, wanting a pediatric plastic surgeon to consult about his injury. After about three hours in the waiting room, we were taken back where a doctor confirmed that his sutures would need a plastic surgeon, due to the severity of the wound.

Surprising myself, since I am normally squeamish of gross medical procedures, I remained in the room for the surgery and got to watch, very closely, a lot of blood and guts and needles and more blood. The surgeon pulled out a salivary gland for inspection, then showed the exposed layer of muscle inside the cut. I was almost daring myself to overcome this idea that I could never behold such a thing. I also didn't want to leave my son, though I was given that option. A hospital is frightening enough, choosing to leave him in a room that was cold and full of strange doctors and nurses with needles and bright lights, seemed abusive.

We arrived home about 2:30am. I was so grateful that my friend had chaperoned the ordeal- there is nothing worse than sitting in an emergency room for hours- I dread this to my core- and it has happened four times this year. FOUR TIMES. Twice, I have had wonderful friends by my side and it has made an enormous difference. Liam was probably mortified, but my friend and I passed the time by joking and laughing and seeing how crazy we are. At one point Tom called to see if I had the car keys, even though I didn't drive our vehicle. I did. Then my friend's husband called to see if she had his truck keys. She did. Both sets. So 8 kids and two husbands were stranded at one home together,with my new vacuum, late at night, searching for an extra key to any vehicle. You have to laugh about that.

Long story shorter, we were admitted to the hospital in the wee hours of the morning on Monday, after an exhausting eight hours in the ER, Sunday night, and have been here ever since, a second operation to attempt to drain an infection that quickly took over his face, performed yesterday afternoon.

Liam is getting better. His mood is normal- completely laid back and unfazed by anything. The nurses laugh because they have nearly been begging him to take pain killers but he refuses- says he's good. Even when he has appeared to be a close relative to the elephant man, due to swelling....

Harry Potter legos have kept him occupied.....we are sucker parents for sick kids....the hospital is beyond amazing, newly opened just a year ago, such a nurturing and beautiful environment for kids.

We are hoping to be home by Friday.....at which time I will feverishly VACUUM!

The Crazies-The Miracles

2011-02-24T21:37:00.001-05:00

"You are more than the choices that you've made, you are more than the sum of past mistakes, you are more than problems you create, you've been remade....this is not about what you've done, but about what's been done for you, this is not about where you've been but what your brokenness brings you to...."- Tenth Avenue North

"So Father, give me the strength to be everything I'm called to be. Oh, Father, show me the way to lead them. Won't You lead me? To lead them with strong hands, to stand up when they can't, don't want to leave them hungry for love, chasing things that I could give up. I'll show them I'm willing to fight, and give them the best of my life, so we can call this our home, lead me, 'cause I can't do this alone. Father, lead me, 'cause I can't do this alone..." -Sanctus Real

I went to see my son's therapist today, without my son, which in and of itself is rather funny. There is a trickle-down effect to therapy, though, so if she can help me with parenting, she is, in essence, treating my kid too. I count the presence of this woman in our lives nothing short of a miracle and have no idea how we could have come this far without her. This doctor can make sense of everything, even when I'm lost and stumbling around, headed down a dark road. I would liken her to a GPS for our lives, though less plastic, more soul.

Today was a long one for me- up at dawn, story gigs at the nursery school up the street, parenting, more parenting, and lots of hours in waiting rooms for various members of our family. So after some chit-chat, I looked at the Dr. and just said "I don't know, I haven't done so well this afternoon- I feel it coming....," the it being the pangs of anxiety I've become all too familiar with these last few months. We sorted through the muck for a while- and she took me to task about my "story." These words that I tell myself about my life, my days....she has advised me to move on from that story- its an old one- not actually my truth anymore, but one I've grown used to, and learned to believe over the years... Many, many years. So we worked on writing a new story- no pen or paper- just back and forth about the truth which lies before me, that I've learned not to see. And I've agreed to begin memorizing the facts better, for when the crazies come, and they will, like today, and I need to tell myself the truths of the "now Judy. "

Then, this evening, after a quick dinner, I took my son Benjamin to the pediatrician for an emergency visit. We waited an hour and forty-five minutes in an office the size of a closet, to be seen. You must believe me when I tell you that we both should have left with a trophy, as well as a substantial cash reward for that feat- being as no felonies of any kind took place (a little misbehavior, yes), despite both of us wanting to put our heads through the wall. There were so many moments, truthfully, when I got lost in silliness with him...where we played games with what few things the room had to offer, and found ourselves in hysterics together. First he weighed himself. Then he weighed my purse. Then he weighed himself with my purse. Then he sorted through my purse for gum. Then he weighed a stack of magazines and books, none of them the slightest bit interesting. Then we played the "lets see how fast we can spin in the Dr's. swivel chair" game. I being nearly emptied of all patience and energy, not only agreed to this, but actually spun him around with fervor. This took up about a half hour- counting how many revolutions with his feet up in the air, down toward the floor, arms at his sides, on his belly....Then I taught him a hand game we used to play on the playground at my "ghetto school"...except I took out nearly all of the inappropriate language...except for the "your butt stinks" part. Those three words were enough to ignite in him amazing belly laughs, from deep down in his gut, with his dimples flaring- he just fell over to the ground. Suddenly I didn't mind the wait anymore. I just enjoyed him- in all of his energy, impatience, and fidgeting. We had to be creative, but I learned how to love him by stooping to his level and remembering what it was like to be eight years old, and to be just like him.

The crazies went away, I had fun in a germ infested pediatric building, and now I'm going to bed to rejuvenate. All miracles.

The Climb

2011-02-23T20:45:00.002-05:00

I can almost see it

That dream I am dreaming
But there's a voice inside my head saying
"You'll never reach it"
Every step I'm taking
Every move I make feels
Lost with no direction
My faith is shaking
But I gotta keep trying
Gotta keep my head held high
There's always gonna be another mountain
I'm always gonna wanna make it move
Always gonna be a uphill battle
Sometimes I'm gonna have to lose
Ain't about how fast I get there
Ain't about what's waiting on the other side
It's the climb
The struggles I'm facing
The chances I'm taking
Sometimes might knock me down
But no, I'm not breaking
I may not know it
But these are the moments that
I'm gonna remember most, yeah
Just gotta keep going
And I, I got to be strong
Just keep pushing on
'Cause there's always gonna be another mountain
I'm always gonna wanna make it move
Always gonna be a uphill battle
Sometimes I'm gonna have to lose
Ain't about how fast I get there
Ain't about what's waiting on the other side
It's the climb, yeah!
There's always gonna be another mountain
I'm always gonna wanna make it move
Always gonna be an uphill battle
Somebody's gonna have to lose
Ain't about how fast I get there
Ain't about what's waiting on the other side
It's the climb, yeah!
Keep on moving, keep climbing
Keep the faith, baby
It's all about, it's all about the climb
Keep the faith, keep your faith, whoa
-Myley Cyrus

I haven't posted in a while. Mostly I've been living out my days without much time to ponder them- self-preservation at its finest, my friends.

There were moments, tonight, though, around the kitchen table, which caught my breath and lead me to you- thinking you might want to share in this story with me.

Its been a long day. Busy with stuff- all of it mundane, yet important. Lily and I were eating dinner, later than the rest of the family, and she says to me, without pomp and circumstance, "I gave my presentation in English today and you were my personal connection..." I was so tired and worn-out that I almost missed it...."I was your what?" "You were my personal connection....I was speaking about the Miley Cyrus song "The Climb" and I told my class that you were hospitalized last fall with anxiety and how you made it through and you are a great mom."

For a while I just stared at her, trying to absorb the wonder of her words, all at once. Trying to appreciate, fully, the fact that I am so imperfect, yet apparently making such an impact that my teenager doesn't care that all of the kids in her school know that I am kind of a nut job. This amazes me more than I can speak about right now. And moves me to the core.

I may just be the luckiest mother alive, which would make every moment that I've spent in total despair totally worth it. And without a doubt, I would do it all over again, go to hell and back, just to make an ounce worth of difference in this girl's life.

Images of Christmas Morning

2010-12-25T16:12:00.001-05:00

Seth and Lily- Snuggle Buddies. Lily herded the kids this morning
and woke me up in the early hours. She and her brothers had been
practicing for this morning all week long. Seth would get so excited when
Lily got home from school everyday, begging "plead Leely-plead pay
Pitmat Eeb Bame (please, Lily, please play Christmas Eve Game).

The Calm Before The Storm- Tom nails sheets over all the doorways,
every year, so the kids can't peek during the night. This creates a frenzy
in the morning, of course, with all the kids lined up behind the barricades.
Tom and I snuck into the livingroom. lit the fireplace, and enjoyed a few
minutes of peace before the stampede. We love Christmas through
the eyes of our children!

The Much Coveted Lego Harry Potter Castle....A total fluke to have
found it after many many weeks of searching online and in stores.
My mom discovered it, misplaced, on the bottom shelf in the Lego
section of Walmart. I nearly passed out. Liam is convinced that
he needs a longer Christmas break in order to finish building it.

The Tractor- Seth has wanted this and talked about
it for months. I was most excited about this gift because
I knew it would bring him so much joy. He has yet to
master the art of driving it without running into
the furniture and his family members, however.

The Droid- which again makes me far inferior in techno
gadgets to my 13 year old daughter. sigh.

The Zigs, which are too small. Unfortunately
the next size up is $25.00 more.

Upgraded DSi XL, to replace broken DSi- this got a squeal

concentrating hard on the Lego Power Miners- on top of
my kitchen counters, which would normally be a "no-no"

Freeing Dobby- first to be completed of castle components

figuring out the Droid- excited not to be using the 7 year
old hand-me down phone anymore

Tom enjoying his chance to sit and hang out with his family, even though
his wife crushed him at the Wii game we were playing..

Our new big screen TV, donated by a wonderful friend.

On A "Normal" Christmas Eve

2010-12-24T20:37:00.002-05:00

On A Normal Christmas Eve....
*Mothers would not be awakened by their 3 year old children, at the crack of dawn, demanding that they put on "Barney On Da Parm (Barney On The Farm)"
*Fathers would not be buying a Christmas present for their daughters at 7:05 am, in a crowd, at Best Buy (because they would have turned over a new leaf, by now, and had it done well in advance of today.)
*There would be a wholesome breakfast on the table, optimally including all food groups, but at least a protein, grain, and fruit. Twizzlers and Swedish Fish would not be on the menu.

*Brothers and Sisters would love each other and not fight all day long.

*We would bother to tell the elderly employee at Chik-Fil-A, who appears to be wearing her late husband's watch, that we appreciate her for the rounds she has made through the restaurant, for five years, offering re-fills, mints, and warm smile.

*Nursing homes would not smell like urine...would not have forgotten mothers and fathers, grandmothers and grandfathers, so eagerly awaiting anyone to keep them company, even for five minutes...They would not have employees who are grumpy and underpaid. And the four people we visited today, including the woman who did not know we were there due to her Alzheimer's, and the man who didn't wake up when we entered his room and left him a gift, would feel a sense of purpose and peace, despite their grim surroundings.

*Nobody would need to run to the grocery store for last-minute items, so when the Sombar family had to, it would be a pleasant experience, one not involving demolition derby type of behaviors, with carts that resemble race-cars, and other Pennsylvania residents.

*A brother would definitely not be screaming at his sister, at the top of his lungs, in the organic foods aisle, that she is a "butt hole."
*There would not be at least a half dozen instances of folks passing gas, in front of you, in the store, then walking away, leaving you begging for an oxygen mask.
*Fathers would not curse and mothers would not lose their patience for the thirty-seventh time by 5 pm.

*It would not be a serve-yourself dinner of toast, water, and more twizzlers and swedish fish.

*Children would not leave their candy wrappers everywhere, after their mother has spent hours vacuuming and sweeping
*Youngsters, high on twizzlers and swedish fish, would not punch each other in the head, repeatedly, until everyone is crying, at bedtime.

Many times today, friends have phoned or texted, completely out of their minds or somewhat bewildered, that their Christmas Eve wasn't so magical and that life really sucked. They were feeling insecure and ashamed that this year they just couldn't get it together....

Somehow or other, I feel that way every holiday, every year. So tonight I have decided to try something new. Tonight I have decided that this chaos that we create, with our hustle and bustle, or the realities that we face that leave footprints on our souls and sadness in our hearts, the quarreling and bickering over things soon forgotten- THIS IS NORMAL. Every other scenario is a script out of Hollywood that we've been brainwashed to believe is how things "should be." (Though, I suppose that there is a distinct possibility that if we let all the materialism and consumerism go, and moved into the woods, with no technology or other modern miracles, we might have that "Little House On The Prairie" ah-ha moment. But even back then, Ma and Pa were probably trying to get some under the mistletoe when Pa had to grab his rifle and fend off a coyote and the kids were crying that the wood was running out and they were freezing to death....)

Ben, the non-conformist, who refused to wear the
matching Christmas outfit..and who had to be
threatened within an inch of his life to have his picture
taken in front of our tree. These are the things
you don't know when you get other people's
nice family photo cards....

May you embrace your normal, tonight, whatever that may be. May you give yourself the gift of letting go, tomorrow, when the kids have turned your home into a cyclone of wrapping paper, when your camcorder has stopped working, when nobody will smile on cue for your camera which keeps flashing "low battery", when your meals contain enough artificial food dyes and sugar to screw up everyone's brain chemistry for life, and when you lay on the couch, exhausted, and wonder, as your children become bored with their gifts or when their gifts far outweigh your own technology by centuries, if anyone even remembers the true meaning of Christmas. Or for all of you who will face your first, or one more, Christmas morning alone- may you know that you are loved in your letting go of "normal."

And may we call create new traditions of accepting where we are, just as we are, on Christmas morning.

Now I've gotta go kiss Santa Claus before he drinks one too many beers and begins snoring while assembling a tractor.

On a Lighter Note

2010-12-21T22:52:00.000-05:00

the two of us, doing a guided meditation? totally hilarious...
and necessary.

I took my 7 year old to the doctor late this afternoon. A half hour through our appointment, she asked if we would do a guided visualization with her...(Are you laughing yet?)....So we got comfortable on the couch and the music began. The voice on the CD declared that we should picture ourselves on an elevator and I immediately got very nervous- not because I personally have a problem with elevators, but because my son is terrified of them (I happen to love them, which, perhaps, is why I need to take the stairs more often). So I'm thinking that this is not going to be the relaxation the Dr. had imagined. But, surprisingly, things carried on without incident. About ten minutes into the exercise, I peeked over at Ben, thinking that since he hadn't uttered a word, that he must be in a coma, or dead-and there he was, playing with his eyelids, sticking his tongue out, and rolling his eyeballs around in his head with amazing speed. I just smiled and was completely impressed.

A Testimony To Brokenness and Hope

2010-12-20T09:18:00.001-05:00

.**To those in the blogging community, it is only with the expressed permission of my husband and daughter, whose lives are most affected by this public display of my personal struggles, that I am willing to share this with you.**

A Testimony To Brokenness And Hope

Today I am embracing courage, which I have learned is stepping out, not in confidence, but in fear. I have reached the end of my treatment in this program and I've been asked, as all patients are, upon graduation, to give my testimony to wellness. Wellness, in many ways, eludes me, so I will settle for simply telling my story, with the hope that it evolves into something meaningful to those of you who are listening.

Over the last six months, three of my four children have been diagnosed with "special needs.:" I immediately went about reading every morsel of detail I could find, making appointments with specialists, and shuttling each of these kids to doctor after doctor, wanting to find answers and make them "better." By the end of September I was so exhausted with anxiety and panic that their lives would be frought with difficulties and that I was not the right mother for them. At my worst point, I laid on the asphalt, just outside of my van, and wept, having taken my youngest son for one more evaluation. I was barely sleeping and no longer keeping what food I could eat, in my body.

On the morning that I arrived, in this place, I was completely incapable of sitting in a chair without shaking uncontrollably from head to toe. I was sobbing so hard that the Doctor insisted I be secluded in the office so that I would not scare the other patients. There was talk of a trip to the Emergency Room- and I had just left a twelve day stint in the hospital the night before. Fear gripped every cell of my being. My eyes begged everyone that met them for help. It was Friday, October 15th. In those frightening hours, I could not imagine that the limited time I would be given here, in this place, could undue my brokenness. I had hoped, though,, that when it was my turn to leave, to fly, it would be with wings that were completely healed; wings that remembered how to soar and could do so higher than they ever had before. I had hoped that I would know that I was ready and that there would be some sort of guarantee that I would not fall again. I had hoped that I would no longer feel pain. That my injuries would be fixed. That I would be whole.

I leave you here today with the reality that brokenness is a part of my life. If I were to choose to speak in the voice of the victim, I would tell of my flawed genetics, of times when terrible things were done to me, of how I will always be predisposed to feelings that may become uncomfortable, or unthinkable or unbearable. But in the voice of a warrior. I see the possibility that there may be a purpose here. That the very brokenness of my being is woven into the fibers of a universal plan, in order to bolster the fortitude of my spirit, and eventually the spirit of others. That if every hair on my head is numbered, the struggles which loom so much larger over me must also be counted, cared for, and made part of the larger picture. In this voice, the voice of "the glass is half-full," the brokenness makes me an artist of my own unique story-an empathetic ear to the weary and the lost-a writer who can communicate my horrific imperfections in a way that reverberates to those who most need to hear them-a sister to the hurt and to those who believe that the sun will never shine on them again-and most of all, the mother that my children most need me to be. Claiming this brokenness does not resign me or my family to a life of pain. It is not a self-fulfilling prophecy of doom. Claiming, in its most organic form, is an act of power- and by owning what is rightfully mine, this brokenness, I can somehow feel peace in the present.

I am not the Judy I was before I ventured through these doors. I am coming to accept that I can no longer be her. I am embracing the commitment that I must make to continue this metamorphosis. I am beginning to understand that in order to move forward, I must leave behind the very idea that I am in control of anything other than what I am doing in this moment. I must accept that for those of us who suffer with anxiety and panic attacks, the road is uncertain but the map of our lives can be filled with more direction if we work at recovery in the present. This is the recovery that takes place in the smallest of steps- crafted out of caring for our physical, mental, emotional, social and spiritual well-being.

Today is Monday, December 20th. And today is a celebration. Not because I am fixed. It is a celebration because I am renewed. I celebrate today because I am able to offer more of myself to others than what I am taking. And today what I offer you, dear friends, is hope.

For my mother and father

2010-12-19T23:55:00.000-05:00

who have made all of this possible....i love you more than you could ever imagine and i owe you debts that i could never repay....thank you.

My children, with all of their hearts and enthusiasm, baking treats for my very big day tomorrow.

A Rosary Of Gratitude

2010-12-09T22:37:00.001-05:00

When I was a freshman in high school, the gospel choir performed a song that I've never forgotten, and sometimes I sing it to my little boy, as I'm rocking him to sleep. "Count your blessings, name them one by one, count your blessings, see what the Lord has done, count your blessings, count your many blessings see what the Lord has done." Even during the worst of times, you usually can count at least one, though it may roll off of your tongue amongst sobs so palpable, you fear you may actually stop breathing as they fall from your lips. I am not Catholic but I own a rosary. There are days when it occupies a space in my nightstand, or its perfectly draped over my three year-old's lampshade Occasionally I look over and discover it around his neck when he wants to hold "Deezuts". But tonight this bejeweled version of Christ resides between my fingers, as I move over each bead and whisper one thing that I am grateful for. There have been many times over the last few months that I would not have made it even half-way down one side of this string, but, as I lay here in my claw-foot tub, soaking in a bath of minerals, I work through two full circles, speaking to God with abiding thanks for the people on my path who are daring to walk next to me, even as I stumble or seem to be out of courage. I stop to consider the bare necessities that I no longer take for granted. I praise him for chances to make a difference, even while my own needs can seem so great. And for Christmas-for the beauty of this season as seen through the eyes of my children, while they gaze at wonderous displays of lights, pack shoe boxes of toys to go overseas, compile lists for Santa, and getting excited over what they are giving to one another. Once the water becomes too tepid, and my heart is fully humbled, I raise up an "amen". Tomorrow night, its more of the same, with mercy and grace flowing over me, reminding me how far I've come, how I never thought I would feel my troubled soul rejoice again.

A Decade With Liam

2010-11-29T22:08:00.001-05:00

I have three sons. People often comment, when the boys are together, that they all look alike. I ponder this and silently disagree. As their mother, I view them through the eyes of my spirit- and it is through those eyes that I see the depths of their personalities- how each one was woven by God to be unique and gifted in their own way.

My first son arrived three years and four days behind his sister Lily. I'd been expecting another girl. During labor, I talked to my belly, encouraging it to be kind to me, "Maggie- its mommy- you can do this babe...let's make this a quick one..." And perhaps, out of annoyance for my lack of androgyny, he sat in my birth canal until I nearly collapsed from exhaustion. Seventeen hours and twenty three minutes after my water broke, I helped to ease him forth, into this world, and was shocked to discover a beautiful baby with the biggest testicles I'd ever seen (who will one day either love me for boasting of this or be completely mortified that I chose to announce such a thing on the web). A boy. Liam Michael Cleveland .

The first year was a bit rough, trudging through the muck that is food allergies and related ear infections, until I was eating only about five different foods so that my milk would be tolerable to his sensitive digestive tract. (Proof that a mother's love can endure most anything). Shortly thereafter, he was such a joy that his semi-retarded parents made the hasty decision that a third baby would be a great way to mix things up. Silly us. But that's a story for another month- another boy.

My husband's traditional gift to each of our children, upon
rising on their birthday, a breakfast item in the shape of
their age. This year, as you can see, we slummed it a bit

with the frozen waffles. But an honor nonetheless.

Right from the start, Liam was an "old soul." You could see in his eyes that he embodied the wisdom of a thousand years. At a conference, when he was in preschool, his teachers proclaimed that he was the most intuitive child they'd ever encountered- he just seemed to know how other children were feeling and how to help them when they were angry or sad. And today, this ten year-old is just as he was then- mature beyond his years- carrying a sixth sense in the shadows where he often works, shying away from the center of attention, preferring to stand cautiously in the background, taking in all of the world around him,while weaving with his stunning attention to detail, a web full of creativity and remarkable compassion. He holds the mind of an inventor, an engineer of spectacular objects and story lines. Liam is an artist, a lacrosse player, and a loyal friend, brother, and amazing child of mine. I cannot imagine my world without him. That I lived thirty years without his presence is mind-boggling. While there were indeed times, some years back, maybe around age two or three or four, when I envisioned him a serial killer, he has left those tendencies behind to be embraced by a younger sibling, who will go unnamed for now.

Happy 10th Birthday to you, Liam, a most treasured boy, for whom I hold hopes for a future of splendor- of endless possibilities and continued strength to forge a path capable of holding all of your dreams and the perseverance to see them to fruition. "I love you more than you love me...", every minute of every day.

A Letter To My Teenager

2010-11-21T17:13:00.001-05:00

My Dearest Lily,

In just a few short hours you will make a grand entrance into adolescence, with all of your intellect and beauty surrounding you. You are wise beyond your years, and a spirit unmatched by anyone I've ever met. The pride I take in being your mother is unfathomable- as you glide through your days with such grace and fortitude. There are countless moments when I marvel that a young woman such as you could have developed within my being and burst forth with so much potential- so much to offer the world....

At the start of the school year, this year, you had to write a piece about something you'd accomplished....and I watched, bewildered, as you struggled to name something- those which I can see so clearly as gifts of your spirit which set you apart- make you the wonder that you are. You wrote about modeling for Martha Stewart, back in kindergarten, and I hung my head....because, while that certainly is an interesting piece of trivia about your life, thus far, it says nothing of your brilliance- how everything you strive to do, you do with such passion and fervor, always giving your best. You don't recognize the gift you have at creating masterpieces with your writing and with your amazing culinary skills- all the cakes and pies you bake from scratch- with every last detail given all of your attention.

I sometimes sit back and stare at you- trying to absorb this daughter whom I love so intensely- love I could not imagine before they placed you in my arms and I memorized every detail of your face- how familiar you looked-how miraculous your life was to me. And every day of your life, since then, how I've ached for you, longed to be with you, poured all of my finest work into nurturing you.

I have often said that you are a girl I would have wanted as a best friend when I was your age. And you are a girl that I want for my daughter always. No matter what.

Lily baking her homemade macaroni and cheese for
Thanksgiving

As you celebrate your thirteenth year on this earth, my hopes for you are that you remain true to yourself, to your dreams. Don't settle for second rate anything. And know that your mother is wildly imperfect but loves you to the moon and back and there is nothing you could do better to make me love you any more than I already do.

Love,

Mama

Lily The Poet

2010-10-16T20:02:00.000-04:00

She's got her father's red hair and her great-grandmother's sea-green eyes, but she has inherited my passion for writing. This has been a difficult month for our family but I thought I would share Lily's piece because it amazes me.....

100% Me

by Lillian Sombar

If you happen to be looking for me

Here is where you can start.

I will be anywhere and everywhere,

Out in the open or in the shadows.

On the stage or behind the curtain.

You can find me anywhere and nowhere,

Any day or any night.

You can find me by an open fire

That warms me like melting butter on toast.

As the night cools while roasting marshmallows,

Watching them heat and catch fire.

You may find me here, then there,

Then back here, for a week,

There for a year.

Here, there, everywhere.

You may find me by the counter,

Mixing together a vat of chocolaty goodness.

As I wait for them to cool, the wonderful aroma of chocolate

Makes my mouth water, creating a tsunami,

Wiping out all of my taste buds.

I might be hiding down carpeted steps

Across the frozen wood floors, to the right, through the loud door

And under the covers being another side of

Me, worrying over something so small.

Loopy loops maybe for Lou

but you will never find me there

Maybe the next one over,

With the super speed, for a short second long.

You can definitely see me drinking steaming hot

Milk chocolate hot chocolate,

With a tower of whipped cream piled high on top of the warm mug,

As I sit lazily in the chestnut brown leather chair

With my eyes glued to the TV,

Wondering what will happen next.

You can find me in the cafeteria

at the long table full of chattering girls.

Wondering what's going on here, there,

What's going on in math or English.

Doing what friends do best, being true.

On cold winter nights, I will never shiver,

Never chatter with my silk-like throws,

with the warmth of the sun.

Or in summer, having a slumber party with friends,

Pinkie swearing everything we say will not leave the room.

And as the night creeps on,

our secrets bounce from person to person.

We sip Sprite and demolish potato chips,

As we all watch a breath-taking adventure

We'll never forget.

Unlike you, its all me

Never changing, never the same.

100% me.

Happys For My Weekend

2010-09-19T21:26:00.001-04:00

Ewan Eliezer Petermann
How Great Thou Art

Yours Truly at the Bankgkok Balcony
- courtesy of Tom

*laps around the stadium, in the dark, with a neighbor, bringing a whole new meaning to Friday Night Lights

*waterballoons

*Ewan Eliezer Petermann and the fact that every kid in my family cared that that kid made it into the world okay...

*Nanny McPhee, the original

*reading Diary of A Wimpy Kid, out loud, to my not-so-wimpy kid, and laughing hysterically, to the point where he thought I was very weird, and asked me to stop.

*the return of canned pumpkin to the grocery store, and the 48 muffins that followed, deliciously, from my oven. My children may have an overdose of vitamin A.

*Thai with my husband-alone.
*Lily and Liam Sombar
*getting to watch the Redskins, here in Pittsburgh, because their game went into over-time, and the network switched over in the last few minutes (I will not mention how they lost in a most stressful way).

Sometimes When We Give To Others

2010-09-19T21:07:00.000-04:00

Sometimes when we give to others, the blessings flow back to us in such abundance that it takes our breath away. Such a thing happened to me this weekend- my sons bringing me an envelope filled with old newspaper clippings, prayers, and inspirations, from a neighbor, who had been collecting them on my behalf- knowing that, right now, amongst my many moments of joy, are times of deep, deep worry. I read this one over and over. Maybe you could use it too.

Enjoy.

How Much More Will The Father Give

1) Only for today, I will seek to live the livelong day positively without wishing to solve the problems of my life all at once.
2) Only for today, I will take the greatest care of my appearance: I will dress modestly; I will not raise my voice; I will be courteous in my behavior; I will not criticize anyone; I will not claim to improve or to discipline anyone except myself.
3) Only for today, I will be happy in the certainty that I was created to be happy, not only in the other world but also in this one.
4) Only for today, I will adapt to circumstances, without requiring all circumstances to be adapted to my own wishes.
5) Only for today, I will devote ten minutes of my time to some good reading, remembering that just as food is necessary to the life of the body, so good reading is necessary to the life of the soul.
6) Only for today, I will do one good deed and not tell anyone about it.
7) Only for today, I will do at least one thing that I do not like doing; and if my feelings are hurt, I will make sure that no one notices.
8) Only for today, I will make a plan for myself: I may not follow it to the letter, but I will make it. And I will be on guard against two evils: hastiness and indecision.
9) Only for today, I will firmly believe, despite appearances, that the good Providence of God cares for me as no one else who exists in this world.
10) Only for today, I will have no fears, in particular, I will not be afraid to enjoy what is beautiful and to believe in goodness. Indeed, for twelve hours I can certainly do what might cause me consternation were I to believe I had to do it all my life.

Blessed John XXIII

Please Pray For Baby Ewan- He is on his way

2010-09-18T09:59:00.002-04:00

http://www.team-ewan.com/

Pajama Day

2010-09-16T10:31:00.001-04:00

Today is "Pajama Day" at the elementary school where my two oldests boys attend. My fourth grader, Liam, has decided that this tradition will be going on without his participation-"Yeah, I am NOT wearing pajamas to school, MOMMY!!" Benjamin, however, who is in second grade, could not wait for this privilege, donning a comfy yet cool red thermal Star Wars get-up.

Once we began walking, Ben got a little nervous, though, and kept asking me to assure him that it was indeed pajama day- the obvious embarassment he would face, given some mistake on my part, beginning to concern him.

Ben has quite a few friends in the upper grades, which he normally thinks is fantastic, especially when they include him in their football games on the playground. But this morning, upon his arrival in front of the school, they laughed at him and his p.j.'s- and we all know how that feels, friends...so he ran after me- crying his eyes out.

I held him for a minute, promised that I'd go back home and get his regular clothes if I needed to, but first I asked him to be brave, hold his head up, it is "pajama day" and who cares about all of the party poopers who didn't want to participate- so he and I, and his little brother Seth, marched into the school, and to his class, where we found all of his seven year-old buddies, and the teacher, all decked out in sleepwear, just like him.

Whew!

A Letter To My Husband

2010-09-13T22:47:00.000-04:00

Dear Tom,

How do I begin? This isn't what we planned, is it? Our scrapbook of days begun with passionate words and open hearts, thirteen years ago-on a beach, in Delaware-me in the white dress (off-white, custom-fit for a very pregnant bride), you in the tux... It isn't quite what we bargained for- that "for better or for worse" stuff seemed more benign when we said it back then- more "in theory...."

Had we seen the life that lay before us, would we have taken the risk or run screaming in the other direction ( or worse, in two separate directions)? Would we have bothered? Or would we have cut our losses? Losses...Losses.

Right now there are times when it seems that we are coaching a team that has no chance of winning. And we can't replace the players...even if we wanted to. We have moments where we're going down at the line of scrimmage- and I want to just walk away. I want to take the bonus from another franchise- give it a shot somewhere else- where my dirt isn't layered on the field, where my record can be expunged- wiped clean, where I haven't fumbled and missed so many plays. To punt and start over and over and over seems so arduous- so hopeless.

But here's the thing- when I go to bed at night, when I wake up in the morning, and when I go through the dailiness of my life, with the beings we have created, I want you there. I want you there like I wanted you there when we were younger, thinner, more adventurous, reckless and wonderful, financially comfortable, fun....when every moment of our existence didn't have to be poked at, prodded and planned, the very minutia of details discussed and disected- when there was freedom around every corner- freedom we took for granted... Even in the depths of the ditches, when nothing seems to be going as it should, it is you and your face and your quirks and imperfections that I long for- it is you that I want to call when I have something exciting to share or something goes right in my day. It is you that I want to cry on when there are so many disappointments and I feel I can't go on any longer. It is you that I want to navigate with, through this storm, to calmer waters- one day...It is your greying hair, amongst the peach fuzz, that I want leaning close to me- right now, and thirteen years from now, then thirteen years more, and then some....

Being with you, on any given day, at any given hour, at any given moment, when the going is good, and when the going is bad, is still better than any other story-line I may have conjured up, since the minute I fell in love with you, so long ago.

So here I am- beat up, worn-out, exhausted, junk-in-the trunk, self-centered, self-indulgent, full of grief and anger sometimes, nearly out of my mind all of the time, but with the same hopes and dreams, the same affection, the same contagious sense of humor, and the same drop-dead determination that I had when I was walking down the sand- that morning- September 14th, 1997. But now I stand before you with a much deeper love- one with more maturity, more grace, more wisdom- one that has been tried and tested and battled and won, over and over again. Today this love is less of the fairy tale and more of the real.

And today, of all days, I choose you, all over again.

With everything I have,

Judy

23rd Place

2010-09-09T22:15:00.001-04:00

In the land of parents who take credit for their kids' first place ribbons, honor roll membership, and accelerated status, with bumper stickers who will proudly tell you all about it, I'd like to offer an alternative post of sorts. My daughter's cross-country team had their first scrimmage today, with an opposing school district. As I picked her up, so to speak, with Seth in the jogging stroller, she came running towards me- "Mommy, guess what? I came in 23rd!" For many of you, this would seem to be some sort of ill-placed pride. Maybe laughable. But here is what 23rd means tonight. 23rd means that Lily, despite all of her anxiety and fear, did join the team, never having "run" a day in her life. 23rd means that for the last ten days, she has practiced, every day, after school, for at least an hour, running in some of the hottest weather we have had this season. 23rd means that not ever did my daughter utter one negative word, one cry of defeat, one morsel of woe. 23rd means that she did not quit when her legs were sore, when her head was pounding, and when she was beat up, beaten down, and drenched with sweat. 23rd means that this girl of mine gave it all the guts she could muster which also means that she's got more going for her, right now, than most of the rest of us. 23rd means that she was not last- the worst case scenario that we discussed, as I encouraged her for two hours, in our living room, almost three weeks ago ("but what if I'm the worst?" she cried. "Well," I said "so you are the worst, but you keep practicing and one day you won't be." I think there's some law of physics or philosophy that says that, right?)

On any day of the week, right now, I've got at least 22 things I could write about that scare me to death- things I'm dealing with, losing at....Just ask my mail-man, who was rather dumbfounded upon finding three women, including me, in front of my house this morning, in athletic gear, in a huddle, crying together...

But 23- now that is the sweetness that made all of the hours after I heard it, tolerable and hopeful- my arms around her- inhaling that courage- giving up all of my love in one breath- "you, my wonderful baby girl, you AMAZE ME and I think 23 is fantastic."

Harriet Tubman Part 2: Only In The Life Of A Sombar

2010-09-05T23:47:00.001-04:00

Okay- I just have to tell this little story....as a side note to my ramblings about ol' Harriet, earlier today.

My children were playing some carnival games this afternoon. You know the ones- you spend an absurd amount of cash to maybe go home with a stuffed animal, or a blow-up machine gun, most likely made in some sweat shop somewhere....but these are the moments our kids will remember....so we do it anyway...

Well, Lily had popped a balloon in the dart game so she got to choose a framed picture....and here is where the story gets dicey....My daughter is not the most decisive human being on the planet, and there was a line, and the dude behind the counter was beginning to look unamused....so she grabbed something....

Oh boy....you know this is going to be good, right?!

She turned around and handed me a Confederate Flag. A CONFEDERATE FLAG, PEOPLE!!! (AND ONE WHICH SAID "GET 'ER DONE", to make matters worse)....I nearly collapsed in horror, immediately forcing her to return the prize for a more appropriate replacement (her choices were rather slim- a playboy bunny silhouette, a John Deere tractor...your basic nightmare).

In her defense, of course, Lily had no idea what that flag represents- she knows about racism, from a historical perspective, but she's grown up away from the kind of folks who might find the display of such a symbol to be a nice decorative touch to their homes or their mudflaps or their bandannas. She was a bit confused by my negative reaction, though not after the impromptu civil rights lesson we had on the sidelines, a few minutes later.

Yesterday, when I first glanced over at this particular game booth, and saw the picture of the flag, I quipped to my husband "who would want that? don't they know this is 2010 and Confederate Flags are hateful? what is wrong with people?" And here we nearly ended up with one.....
Lily is now the proud owner of a Robert Pattinson (from the Twilight series)photograph, which she claims not to like....but I think I know better than that.

Moses

2010-09-05T10:32:00.001-04:00

I am an avid reader of children's books. Over the years, I have amassed a rather nice collection of them. One of my favorites is Moses-When Harriet Tubman Led Her People to Freedom by Carol Boston Weatherford. I'd bought it a number of years ago after seeing the cover from across the room at our local Barnes & Noble- the beauty of it gripped me and was unlike any I'd ever seen (Kadir Nelson is, in my opinion, one of the most gifted illustrators....everything he paints is breathtaking).

Benjamin found this book, in a random stack, the other night, and asked me to read it for his bedtime story. I thought this request rather unusual, given his other choices (like T is for Touchdown, or the current issue of Sports Illustrated for Kids), but I obliged. And in the fifteen or so minutes it took me to read it, with about eighteen different interruptions, I uncovered some solid, if not mind-boggling, inspiration.

When I was in elementary school, Harriet Tubman was one of just two (just two....) black people that we learned about in history. Every year it was the same summary- she was from Maryland, she escaped slavery and led other people to freedom via the Underground Railroad....blah blah blah.

But- friends, I have got to tell you- when you read the details of this woman's life, you are not only humbled into a pile of dust at your feet (my aforementioned anxiety holds not a candle....) but you are utterly dumbfounded by her will to accomplish feats so incredible that the rest of humanity may as well hang it up.

Harriet Tubman was born into slavery, in the early 1800s, and, at age seven (SEVEN!), she was forced to rock her master's baby, day and night. If the baby cried- she was whipped. I could just stop there. That's enough. She's a hero- if I'd been whipped every time one of my babies cried, I'd have died, though the baby may have died first because at seven years old, I would not have been that capable (I barely felt capable at 27). But I digress.....A short time later, Harriet Tubman, after refusing to tie-up another slave who had attempted to run-away, sustained a blow to the head by a two-pound weight, as punishment, leaving her with a lifetime of severe headaches, dizzy spells, fainting, and bouts of speechlessness....And we haven't even gotten to the part where she walks nearly ninety miles, barefoot, to Philadelphia, then turns around and makes the trip, with a $40,000 bounty on her noggen, eighteen more times. She helped to free over three hundred human beings- uh huh...yep.

So there I was, laying beside ding-bat #5 (our term of affection, sometimes, for our third born), trying not to assault him in any fashion as he is standing, on his head, on the bed, making fart noises, my patience wearing thin, and I'm hearing myself, repeat, several times, "Benjamin- BENJAMIN- are you paying attention? Ben- BEN?- are you listening to this story? because this woman was great and if you and Mommy could be even a little bit like her, we would be doin' somethin'. Benjamin- BENJAMIN!!

So, in your spare time...if you are needing a good boost...and you can't decide between eating a bowl of ice cream or going to the gym...read about the life of Harriet Tubman. It will renew your faith in the human condition, in women, in our ability to persevere through even the toughest of circumstances and strengthen the idea that if you put your mind to something- you really can change the world.

Baby Ewan

2010-09-05T09:29:00.000-04:00

If you haven't already done so, please read this and pray.....

Whispers at Dawn

2010-09-05T01:19:00.004-04:00

My therapist told me, during one visit early this summer, that in order to bring peace to my mind I had to focus on the "what is" rather than the "what if." Little did I know how much I would need that gem of wisdom so soon thereafter-

As I am writing this, my neutral-ground..
my rock.sound asleep, right now, across
from me,with our 3 year-old son,\
in our hotel room.

Anxiety has been my companion now for over a week, triggered almost entirely by my worries about certain of my children- worries that are consuming me, that frighten me to my core. At worst, worries that cause me to weep, wringing my hands together, pressing my face against the walls of my shower, the water pouring over me in an impromptu baptism- "please, God, please...please...I'll do anything, God, anything you want...just please let my kids be okay...please...."

After a particularly rough night, this past Monday, I woke up Tuesday morning, before sunrise, to my husband snoring at my back. My heart was running a marathon, the tingling had begun, and my mind was speeding by me so fast that I couldn't catch what it was saying- except that we were in trouble. It was still dark outside of my bedroom window, but the sky had begun its chameleon shift into shades of lighter blue, pink, maybe lavender. And, in that moment I knew what I had to do- I knew that there was no way I could face the day ahead of me unless I got a hold of those thoughts and changed them. So I kindly nudged Tom- "Baby.....Baby.....Baby...I need you....Baby...I need you to tell me what is..please just tell me what is? baby.because I can't remember and I need to know right now- right now." "Judy- we have a good family- the family we wanted. we love each other and we are good together. We've got issues to overcome but they are easier than they seem right now. You are a great mother- Are you perfect? No. But you're great- and you can't see that when your mind is spinning- but I can and the kids can. We chose these children. And they are going to be fine. Some of them have problems-no doubt. But you are working hard on getting them reasonable solutions- and right now, that is all you can do. Judy- I love you, and we are going to be okay. We are already okay-better than okay, in fact. We are strong when we are together, we love our kids and they know that- and everything else we are going to figure out. "

Armed with that, I got up and made it through my Tuesday, though almost every day since then I have had to stop and ponder "what is?" or ask my husband to remind me again.

I keep telling this ball and chain- this anxiety- that it must move on now, but it is rather stubborn and is loitering, surprising me around a corner, or showing up somewhere on the path that I walk everyday....it meanders into my consciousness and offers very unhelpful information-the kind I call the what ifs. But I'm learning, without the assistance of medication, to be with those uncomfortable feelings, and to talk them out of sticking around. I hear my husband's words, from my heart, and I whisper to my racing mind- "listen, up...here is the truth- this is what is." And then somehow or other, I know, that I'm going to be fine.

Scenes From Back-to-School 2010

2010-08-30T14:11:00.016-04:00

The oldest three Sombar children were rarin' to go this morning- well in advance of most civilized human beings, and their mother- eager to start back to school. Lily is now a seventh grader in middle school, Liam is in fourth grade and Benjamin is in second grade. It was a near perfect morning, sunny and warm. The throngs of parents in front of the elementary school rivaled the crowds at a U2 concert, I believe, and the boys were gone before any embarassing kisses or "I love yous" could be delivered by yours truly. Tom, Seth, and I, did venture into the building to peek into their classrooms- and then it was "goodbye."

Seth and I miss the big kids- I always do, though it is nice to be back into a groove...

Laps With Lily

2010-08-24T23:37:00.002-04:00

Um...yeah....TOTALLY PRICELESS....took my incredible daughter to the high school track to start her running career. She's thinking of joining the cross-country team. And she's never run in her life, really, at least not as a sport in and of itself. This was a fairly last minute decision on her part, the first practice being next Monday.

I added the "bonus" of running the
bleachers, which is part of my regular
routine these days, when I do my
"long haul" on the weekends. She was
not amused- and I'm surprised, once she
realized that people were in the stands,
that she didn't bail on me...you know,
being twelve, and having to be seen
in public, running with your "not so
athletic"mother....gotta give her props
for that.

So I agreed to the pricey shoes (Tom, that husband who was breathing with some pain over the gluten-free grocery bill, will need CPR tomorrow night, from the shoe bill). Then I lost my mind and agreed, like a good mother, to provide the necessary encouragement- i.e. running along side of her (and despite my recent exercise phenomena, this is still laughable). And of course, friends, this encouragement, just had to start tonight. So there I am, exhausted from my day, 8:30pm, looking like a dump truck had just run me over- hauling my sorry self, around that track, either shaking my head at the fact that she was going too fast and was going to burn out, or telling her to pick up the pace as she slugged it behind me. And all this in front of a crowd watching a soccer game- like I really needed an audience for extra humiliation.

In the end, though, I love this girl and I'd humiliate myself all over again to be her sidekick. I couldn't help but smile- knowing that she's the exact age that I was, when I first wanted to do what she's doing, and I didn't have half the guts that she's got, so I didn't.

'Guess there's no time like the present....and no better reason than her.