Ignorance Is Bliss

If I knew what the Fiscal Cliff is, I'd probably be really nervous.

Money issues and heights really freak me out.

What's Your Hurry, Sweetness?!?

Natalie wants a Facebook account "so we can be friends, Mommy!"

Don't we get enough of each other in real life? Seriously, I don't even get to pee without her checking me out.

When I told her that people under 13 aren't allowed on FB, she said she'd say she was 20.

Ummmm, what's this now? You are telling your mother you will bold-faced lie to bend the rules?

Make that a double NO, sweetness.

What a Difference a Decade Makes...

20 years ago after too much to drink, I'd have been crashed in my dorm with the room tilting alarmingly while I obsessed over whichever boy was my current obsession.

10 years ago, I'd have been thinking of all the ways Tom could pamper me and my hangover the following day.

Tonight, after a bottle of mediocre red varietal, I'm laying in bed, feeling the room spin slightly and plowing forward with my grocery list which I will slog through a few short hours from now.

Forward progress or more of the same?  It's anyone's call.

Bedtime Negotiations

Fifteen minutes after I filed her in bed, Bonnie came strolling down to the family room.

"Mommy, the trees keep waking me up!"  

"Hon, I don't think you were asleep yet.  What trees???"

"The trees outside."

"The trees outside???  Are you kidding me?!?"

"Ummmm, no."

"Are you faking?"

"Okay, yes."

"Come on, you have school tomorrow.  It's time to sleep.  No more coming downstairs."

"TicTacs help me sleep."

"No,  they don't.  That's crazy talk."

"Why?"

"Because you could choke.  No TicTacs until morning."

"Okay."

(Notice the TicTac in her mouth which I didn't see until I downloaded these pictures.)

It's a good thing she is so cute or I'd have sold her sassy little self to gypsies long ago.

My Little Flower

Natalie is going to be a flower girl in Tom's sister's wedding this May.  She couldn't be more excited about it.

Today we went to the bridal salon so that she could try on the dress her aunt chose for her.

Here she is seeing herself in the dress for the first time.  

"Mom, I'm like a grown-up princess!"

There were mirrors everywhere 

and she posed in front of every single one.

Once she over came her awe, she whirled...

and twirled...

and swirled...

and at one point, she actually took flight.

It was a very sweet moment for me,
seeing my precious girl look so big and yet so little.

Someday, I hope, we'll be back at a bridal salon
while she tries on her own wedding gown.

I hope she'll still be so thrilled with herself.

I know she'll still be fancy,
from her head down to her pretty little toes.

Toy Tempest in a Teapot

When I was a kid, I loved LEGOs.

LOVED THEM.

Lincoln Logs, too.

I spent hours in our basement, building villages which Jon would smash to bits with his GI Joe tanks.

I didn't mind.  It gave me an excuse to rebuild, always bigger and better.

Jack loves LEGOs, too.

I have two complaints with the LEGOs and Lincoln Logs they make today.

The first is that they almost always come in sets.  You get just enough pieces to build a Jedi star fighter, a fire station, whatever.  Yes, you can buy a big tub of LEGOs but they don't come with all the figures and cool pieces that the sets have.

Way to stifle the imagination and create generation after generation of inside-the-box thinkers, toy manufacturers.

My second complaint is that until recently, most LEGO sets were marketed to little boys.

SpongeBob.  Ninjago.  Star Wars.  Cars.  Pirates of the Caribbean.

Yes, yes, I know.

Girls can like those things, too.  I know that because I loved Star Wars as a child just as much as my son does now.

Still, if given the choice between building a fortress that is being invaded by knights or a house where little LEGO girlfriends can tend a garden, I know what I would have chosen most days and I know what my daughter would choose.

Natalie enjoyed building and playing with the police paddy wagon set but man, a park café set would light her up!  The Madam is nothing if not a typical (stereotypical?) little girl who loves sparkles and frills.  After all, this is the girl who chose to rock the field in a hot pink soccer skirt.

So, when I came across a display of LEGO sets geared towards little girls and their interests, I was thrilled.

Finally, LEGO was making a product for little girls (and profiting from an untapped market whose well-manicured little fingers are reaching into Mommy's wallet on shopping trips far more often than their brothers' grubby hands.)

At last, my girls wouldn't have to make do with ninjas and knights.

Imagine my surprise when I was trolling Twitter (how bored was I?) and came across a rant from Grey's Anatomy's Shonda Rhimes in which she spewed hate for the LEGOs we love.

You could have knocked me over with a feather.

Preferably a pink one, thankyouverymuch.

There is a protest against the new LEGOs complete with online petition.  People are furious that LEGO is forcing little girls into gender stereotypes, pink boxes versus blue boxes, blah blah blah.

Huh?  Is LEGO refusing to sell the Star Wars sets to anyone without a penis now?

I think not.

Gender equality, a hard-fought battle that rages on, is not about neutralizing our femininity.  It's about having the CHOICE to do whatever you want as if gender is irrelevant.

Which, in most cases, IT IS.

Especially with toys.

Having LEGOs that look like themselves or their mothers isn't going to force little girls back into the dark ages where women were the property of their fathers and then their husbands or the nunnery.

No, having those LEGOs as an option says, "Have fun however YOU want to play and do it now before you have to go to school and get a job just like the boys only you will make less than they will for doing the same thing."

Hey, I didn't say LEGO solved all of the world's gender issues, did I?

So, LEGO, neutralize the color of the packaging (what group would get in a snit over a green box, I wonder?) and keep doing what you are doing well now.

*sigh*

What do I know?  I'm "just" a housewife.

And a huge THANK YOU to my foremothers who fought for my right to choose to be one.

You Get What You Get and You Don't Get Upset

Sometimes I see my girls together and I think,

 

WOW.  I wish I had a sister.

But then...

MOM!!!  You HAVE to get this princess kitchen out of here!  I need to write in my diary in my room ALONE!!!

And I think,

Yeah, NO.  

I got exactly what I needed.

And so did they.

Too Close for Comfort

I made myself breakfast at 2:00 p.m. today. A little later than usual but not much.

I was starving, cranky and exhausted becaused I skipped dinner last night in favor of going to bed at 8:00. It was a long week of back-to-school adjustments after our lovely Christmas break.

The kids have been all over me today which is part of the reason I hadn't eaten and part of the reason I was cranky.

I microwaved some soup since that was the quickest option and eagerly sat down to eat it. Seeing the steam, I knew it was too hot to eat so I pursed my lips to blow on it...

And realized there was already a cool stream of air aimed at it.

What the HELL???

Oh.

Silly me.

That was just Natalie, silently posted behind me, cooling off my soup when she saw that it was too hot.

I am so loved. Stalked like the latest Hollywood It Girl. But so, so loved.

I'm working really hard on always appreciating the powerful affection my children have for me even if sometimes I want to bury my face in my soup just to have a moment alone.

Someday, I will sit in this house by myself and there will be nobody to cool my soup for me because they are all off doing their own thing.

I wish I could trade places with that future self for an hour. Then we'd both get a taste of what we think we want.

You Down with CRE, Yeah, You Know Me...

C:  Come on, Jack.  We have to work on your Reconciliation book because you have class in a few hours.


J, panicky:  I do?  Am I making my Reconciliation today???


C:  No, bud.  It's just prep class.  You don't make it until December.


J, relieved:  Oh that's good.  I really don't feel prepared.

*sigh*

I have the world's most neurotic 8 year old.

I knew when I very reluctantly signed the kids up for CRE (Catholic Religious Brainwashing Education) that I was opening a can of worms since a.) I don't believe any of that hooey anymore and b.) we don't go to church which is kind of a huge thing for Catholics.

Mr. Jack Tobin is nothing if not a big fan of rules and going to church is a big fat rule.

Still, I signed them up anyway, mostly to get my very Catholic and very vocal Gram, very Catholic and quietly vocal Aunt and very-Catholic-at-least-on-paper and very-vocal-without-actually-saying-a-word Mom off my back.

16 years of Catholic school taught me to say yes and go along with anything except boys.  Well, mostly.

Anyway, I knew it was important to them that my kids be indoctrinated so I very begrudgingly handed over a wad of cash and presto-chango, my little pagans are now on the road to being nominal Catholics just like their dear old Mom and Dad.

Natalie was an easy sell.  All I had to do was tell her that she'd get to wear a fancy white dress and veil and she was in like Flynn.  What I neglected to mention was that she wouldn't get to wear it the first night.  She was pissed but got over it when she found out an old friend from preschool was in her class.

Her big takeaway from CRE thus far:  Mom, did you know that the devil can come in all different shapes and animal types???

No, sweetie, I didn't know the devil was one of the Wonder Twins.  How fascinating.

It was tougher to convince Jack to go.  He hates his long school day and was not in love with the idea of tacking more classroom time onto the end of every Monday.  He caved when I explained that it was important to Grammy (God forgive me for playing on his gentle heart) and that it wouldn't be forever, just a few years.

Once he got into class, he liked it.  I have no idea why since neither of them will tell me anything that happens in class but they are both happy and seem unmolested so far so I'm not pressing them for info.

Reconciliation may be a game changer for the boy.  I hoped that the beginning years of CRE would focus on Sunshine-and-Rainbows Jesus for a while but second grade is the time for making Reconciliation and First Communion and I guess there's no way to avoid sin talk.  Can't be forgiven if you don't own up to what you did wrong.

Jack is now obsessed with sin.  It's kind of cool that he's self-correcting, freeing up a bit of my time I'd normally reserve for reminding him not to complain or yell at the girls, but completely uncool that he's fixated on his "wrongs".

Seriously, he's 8.  How much can an 8 year old do wrong?

A lot, apparently, at least in his own eyes.  He's drawing up lists of what he will confess when he gets in the booth for the first time.  I've tried to explain that he has done very little wrong in his life and that he only needs to hit the highlights.  He doesn't believe me.

They say confession is good for the soul and if that's true, The Boy's soul will be feeling very, very good.

All I can say is, I hope the priest hits the bathroom before he gets to Church that night because he's going to be there for awhile.

What a Feeling Indeed

Lately, I've been thinking about getting a part-time job because, regardless of how much I feel my family has benefited from me being home all day, the fact remains that it's a huge financial sacrifice, not to mention the weight it puts on Tommy Boy's broad shoulders as the sole earner. Kids are fricking expensive. With Bonnie in preschool now, our budget is streeeeeeched to its limit.

So, I've been thinking about getting a job even though Tom doesn't love the idea. Is it because he's very traditional? It wasn't part of our deal? He thinks I'll be an exhausted cranky pants? Could be any or all of the above.

The job would have to be nights or weekends. Things aren't so tough that I'd be willing to put Bonnie in daycare. No judgement on daycare, it just isn't what I want to do and thankfully, we don't have to do it. That limits my options though. I really don't want to work retail because I am not a fan of people and after bringing in the kind of money I used to make, minimum wage hardly seems worth the difficulties a retail job would create for our family dynamic.

A night job that brings in good money...Sounds like a pipe dream. But I heard Flashdance (What a Feeling!) twice while tearing around town in the MomMobile this morning. Is the universe trying to tell me something?

Yeah, I didn't really think so either. I'd have better luck selling a kidney. Hmmm, now there's an idea...

Only in My Dreams

Last night, I dreamed I was taking the El train through West Philly with my brother.

I don't know why, that's not something we ever did when he was alive.

Anyway, we were on a semi-crowded car but we still got seats together.  We rode along, holding hands with my head on his shoulder.

I don't remember the last time I held his hand.  It was probably in grade school with me dragging him home for lunch.

As the train plowed forward, the neighborhood got worse and worse but I wasn't scared.  I felt very peaceful.

He looked like the man he would have become if he had lived.  I looked younger and more carefree like the girl I was before he died.

Eventually, the train morphed into a bus and Tom got on.

It seemed like they knew each other although they never did.  It seemed like they liked each other which they definitely would have.

Jon got up to give Tom his spot and they did that hand shake/clasp-y thing guys do.  Then Jon went to sit a couple of rows in front of us.

He sat sideways and spread his long legs out on the seat, resting his head back against the wall and staring off into space with a small grin hovering around the corners of his mouth.

Tom chatted and I heard his voice but not his words.  I was distracted by watching my brother who would occasionally look back and wave.  It was a familiar gesture, his wave, that I knew right away even though I haven't seen it in so very long.

I guess I woke up at that point.  I don't remember the dream ending.

I don't know where we were going.  I don't know why he was old or why I was young.

Where were my children and why did my subconscious leave them out when it's my greatest impossible wish for them to know their uncle?

I never dream about my brother.

I'm glad.

It's too hard to wake up to reality without him.

I never want to sleep again.

Random Observations

*sigh*

I actually deleted all of my observations.

They were kind of bitchy.

Totally true though.

To me, at least.

Which is all that matters here.

Funny how I'm a people pleaser when I don't even like most people, isn't it?

The Gardener's Daughter

Since my father died, there have been a lot of things that I have had to do, whether I wanted to or not, like

Stop crying.

Adjust.

Adapt.

Grow up.

There have been other things that I always dreamed of doing but that were so bittersweet without him there to guide me. Things like

Buy a house.

Build a resume.

Walk down the aisle to marry the love of my life.

Have babies.

I've done so many things without him, things that would have been easier with his advice and assistance. I've painted rooms that would have been neater if he'd painted them. I've hung pictures that would have been straighter if he'd hung them.

One thing I can't bring myself to do without him, though, is gardening.

My father had the greenest of green thumbs.

He'd happily get up early to putter around in our yard, a very large green space by city standards. It gave him pleasure to get his hands dirty and watch his efforts literally bloom.

He planted tomatoes using a t-square. (I don't actually know what that means but it's legendary in our family.) He grew the most gloriously delicious green peppers because he knew they were my favorite.

He would photograph my brother and me in front of his gorgeous zinnias, posing us so that we were in the shot but not blocking his floral finery. People thought the pictures were of us, his beloved children. My mother knew the truth, though; they were pictures of his beloved flowers and we were just props to highlight them.

I carried daisies in my bridal bouquet because he grew them in abundance every year. I think of him, his dark head bent forward while he carefully weeded the flower beds, whenever I see a carefully tended front yard.

He sanded and painted and spackled because that's what he had to do. He gardened because that's what he wanted to do.

I just can't do it without him.

We had a front garden when we moved into this house. Tom ripped out the shrubs because they were dying and I had a landscaping service put grass down in their place because every time I tried to pull the weeds and make something nice out there, I sat in the dirt and cried for my father.

When I pull up to the house, I can feel my father shaking his head at how barren it looks. I'm sure the neighbors roll their eyes and wish we'd do something to make it look better.

But I don't. I can't.

I wouldn't know where to begin.

And he's not here to tell me.

So I don't even try.

Jack and Natalie are begging to plant flowers and vegetables. I put them off with vague promises of a future date where we will go to the gardening store for supplies.

It won't happen though. Not without someone to help me, advise me, tell me what to do.

Like he would.

Sometimes, the hardest part of being an adult is no longer having someone who tells you what to do. There is a certain comfort in being given orders and following them to the best of your abilities.

My Dad would have done that with me and my yard. After an appalled silence while he surveyed all that is lacking outside, he would have made a list, dragged me to Home Depot and then dug right in while I brought him Piels Lights and liverwurst sandwiches.

Just thinking about it, I can almost hear him cursing the neighborhood cats for the brown spots on our lawn like he did back home. How I would love to watch him guide my children as they planted marigolds in perfectly symmetrical holds.

When you first lose someone, the thought of all the empty tomorrows stretched out in front of you makes it seem like there is no way you can go on without him. But you can and you do. You expect that life's Big Moments will feel cold and empty without that person there to put his stamp of approval on them. You can't imagine that many years down the road, something as small and seemingly inconsequential as a patch of dirt could bring you to your knees.

But oh, how it does.

My Eighth Mother's Day

Do I think it's ridiculous that one day is set aside to send mothers flowers and cards when they deserve their children's love and respect every single day?

Yes.

Is it, in my opinion, a cheesy-ass Hallmark holiday?

YES.

Did I enjoy every single minute of it today?

Ab. So. LUTELY!

Not because I love cheesy things although I do. Don't make me sing the entire Grease 2 soundtrack because I can and I will.

Not because of the gifts from Tom -- Although at times I may treat you as such, you are not my child but, baby, I'm so taking that gorgeous Starbucks gift card anyway!

Not because of the card from Natalie (oh how I miss the lovely handmade gifts the kids proudly presented in their preschool days! Ghetto public school doesn't bother.)

Not because of those things or perhaps it's not JUST because of those things. No, mostly it's because of the sentiment I'm allowed to express.

I love my kids! I LOVE being a Mom! (For reals. I know my last post may imply otherwise but I was having a really bad day that was actually unrelated to motherhood for the most part. Seriously! Okay, whatever.)

ANYWAY.

It is kind of uncool to declare my love of motherhood. Kind of like if I'd admitted to my classmates that I went to the library weekly and of my own volition back in high school.

I mean, of course, I love my kids. Most moms do. But I love them a little too enthusiastically sometimes. I'm like Mary Katherine Gallagher when it comes to being a Mom. I start talking about how Woohoo!!! There are only 3 weeks and 4 days left until summer vacation!!! and I see people's eyes widen as they prepare to take a step back from me since I am obviously deranged and maybe carrying a knife or something.

Except I'm not. I just have really awesome kids. And I love summer vacation.

Okay, part of that is because I HATE the epic morning battle of getting The Madam up and dressed for the bus and it breaks my heart when Jack tells me how long and boring his days are.

(I loved school. LOVED IT. That a child of mine is miserable in school stuns me whenever I think about it.)

I'm full of all these uncool thoughts and emotions when it comes to my kids and I try to tone it down and be all, I totally have other hobbies and interests that are more interesting than my children except I don't. Because, seriously, what could be more interesting than these 3 little people who only exist because of Tom and me? That's AMAZING.

We made them and yet we have no idea what they will want or who they will become. In that respect, everyday is like a surprise party (or sometimes, like an IRS audit.) How could I not get psyched over that?

So anyway, the point is that on Mother's Day, it's totally kosher to be all Yay, I'm a Mom!!! Nobody says condescending things like, "God, I don't know how you do it. I'd go crazy being home with my kids all day. How do you not get bored?"

Just like I've never answered that question out loud in an honest way, I won't share my thoughts on that asinine question here because I'm still on a Mother's Day high.

My kids are not my life. I will not fall apart when they grow up and leave home. Maybe I'll go back to work. Maybe not. If the past has taught me anything, it's that the future cannot be predicted with any real accuracy.

Knowing that, I feel happy and proud that my kids, while not my life, are my focus. They are all mine for such a short period of time and that is why I try to enjoy every minute.

Sometimes I don't. I can't see myself ever getting really worked up over a 30 minute discussion of the different types of Battle Droids in The Clone Wars. And the butt wiping...have I mentioned how eager I am to be past the butt wiping era?

But those are just little things to endure, nothing next to all of the joy and peace my children have brought into my world. That's why today, while they celebrated me, I celebrated them. I thanked them for making my Mother's Day so wonderful but also for making my life so rich.

Bonnie had no idea what I was saying but Jack and Natalie did. Jack beamed when I reminded him that he is the person who made me a mother and Natalie always puffs up with pride when I thank her for helping me take care of "our baby" as she calls Bonnie.

Eight Mother's Days since Jack was born...what on Earth did I do with my free time in the days before him? Slept more, read more, shopped more, laughed less. I really can't remember. I know I was happy but I wasn't complete. Now I am.

And to think I owe it all to one too many margaritas...