Sad State of Anna

Anna is sick this week. And so am I after her continuous coughing on me for several nights straight, followed by a side of no sleep as she coughed herself into throwing up four days/nights in a row...there will not be any posts this week other than this one.

I will return next week with many posts already under construction.

Right now I am off to get a shower as she is finally asleep in her own bed!

Weekly Zen ~ Wisdom from the Bathroom Stall

To exist is to change, to change is to mature, to mature is to go on creating oneself endlessly.

~Henri Bergson

Anna Fashion Statement of the Week

Do you like my latest? I call it, "play into evening wear."


This are my "knock off" Crocs. My Pops knows a guy (Ma says that's the only way I'd be sporting 30 dollar rubber shoes) so I got spoiled by the real ones. I love them so much that I couldn't wait for a pair to "fall off a truck" this time so my Ma got me some for 5 bucks! She says that they are handy for outdoor play because you just wash them out, but she sometimes has to put them away because I won't take them off and well....rubber shoes do have their down side (stinky feet!) I can't believe my own ma says my feet stink. Geesh!

Thumbs up on the ensemble so far but....




I find a need to soften the girly side so let's try this!




So....now you's like?



What?
Naw?!? You want I should come over there and explain why this is the next big fashion trend? Maybe I'll just send cousin Timmy or Nicky from Jersey to take care a' ya!



I thought you'd see it my way! You know it ain't easy bein' a trend setta.

Happy Mother's Day!

For Anna

I gave up ever having you
Though I always felt you near
Keeping company with other souls
Til mine was ready for yours here

Your laugh lites up my day
I can sooth most any tear
Your smile is contagious
And can melt away my deepest fear

I don’t know why you chose me
Though my gratitude is clear
As precious moments turn to memories
And days fly into to years

Zen
Mother's Day 2008

My New Favorite Pastime (Turns out America was right all along!)

Last night I took Noah to his baseball practice. The field is only half a mile from our house, but is across a busy street with no sidewalks. Noah is not very astute at noticing cars when crossing the street yet, so we don't let him ride his bike there. Usually, I drop him off and come back later, because I'm not that into baseball (I know, I'm not being considered for mother of the year any time soon anyway) and practice is forever long- 5:30 to 8pm. Also, on any given evening all our kids have practice at three different places, and I am usually irritated by the interruption they have on our nice spring to summer evenings. What's that? By "they" do I mean the practices or the kids?

Hmmmmm....

YES.




Now before you think I'm the worst mom in Little League history, allow me to explain.
In previous years my experience with the little league coaches were that they seemed a bit obsessive and would say that practice ended at 7:30, but keep them hitting or running til dark.




The last year the boys were in Little League I was pregnant with Anna. And here is the tale of how I became infamous among coaches, and a legend among Little League parents.

It all started when I would show up at the time practice was supposed to end, and patiently try to wait until the coach was ready to end it.

I would be hungry since practice started at 5, and ended at 7:30, therefore we hadn't had dinner yet. Now I admit, that this, combined with my ever growing obvious prenatal state, had me behaving with somewhat less patience and grace then I normally bestow on such activities. I would very politely, pointedly ask the coach to release Tanner. This was, of course, crossing a time honored Coach's and parent's tradition, which had Rick gently questioning my motives more than once. Though toward the end even Rick was becoming annoyed at this particular Coach's lack of respecting our parental rights to our children well after practice was to have ended. But, with some patience and careful training, in time, this Coach came to see my waddling up from the parking lot as his cue to check his watch and wrap things up.

Then the games began and all claims of pregnancy induced etiquette were off.

I have found some coach's wives to be equally over zealous, and that coach's wife in particular. On the last practice I was told to be back at 7:30, which I clarified about 5 times before leaving. It was at this same field about five minutes from my house, so if they wanted him later it would be fine, but I didn't want to keep driving back and forth.

Have I mentioned I was in my second trimester?

So I pulled up in the van and could tell they were not going to be finishing up anytime soon. This was the last practice, the night before they started tournaments. This team barely won any games. They played on all corners of my very large county, and I would drive all over only to see my son sit out all but two innings of the game, in the hot sun with his red-headed self frying away.

So this last practice...after checking and triple/quadruple checking when it would be done, I left my air conditioned van, waddled up, at seven forty-five, and was met by Coach's wife, who I didn't know was such, but apparently knew who I was...as such.

"They are playing a scrimmage, "she announced to me. I irritatedly responded with, "Well...I sure wish someone would have told me that when I dropped him off. I was told to be back no later than 7:30."

Her next, rather offensive response caused me to realize I wasn't dealing with just any parent (especially the way the other parents were regarding me with a super hero pregnant mom status, sent to fight the powers of evil, egotistical little league coaches and their wives for them.)

Coach's wife proclaimed,

"We didn't know that when you dropped him off. The other team was nice enough to offer. This is the last practice and they need it if they have any chance of winning the tournament!"

Well, a Coach and his wife can dream I suppose.

Carefully, I assessed mine enemy, and realized she wasn't worth my blood pressure going up. Nope, I was going to wait to get my digs in, to the man who sent his woman to attempt to avoid me one last time. I stood there in the hot June sun, no supper, very pregnant, waiting. Watching. Biding my time waiting for the right opportunity.

(Insert the music from the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly here.)

At 8:15 the scrimmage ends. Tanner's team loses the scrimmage. (Is anyone else sensing a pattern here?) Oh and have I mentioned that the Coach is fond of having them run laps after the other team leaves when they lose (or win!)?

So at 8:15, a full 45 minutes after I was told my son would be finished....

The coach decided they should have a pep talk. After they run laps of course. They have been here since FIVE O'clock. There is a collective sigh of discontent among the parents.

Then a voice rings out from the crowd. It's mine. Quiet, pleasant, inquiring.

"Hey coach?"
He turns and I can almost see him flinch at the site of me, pregnant....sweaty....HUNGRY....

And knowing my probable cause he pleads, "Can I just have him a few extra minutes?"
I say, "You've had him forty-five extra minutes already."
The other parents are smirking, enjoying, silently cheering me.

Except coach's wife who simply humphs! again.

Needless to say, there's no winning for the coach when faced with such a super hero pregnant mom. He knows he's finished. He forfeits...defers...to my awesome prenatal prowess.

Tanner is embarrassed. He pleads in the van that I never do it again.
I promise him I won't if...

he lets me sign him up for YMCA ball the next year. I heard a rumor that it's a positive, non-competitive experience, and said experience meets, practices, and plays at the same field, only two times a week, for one hour timed games. That in said experience all kids play every inning, all kids are cheered on, by all parents and coaches (and their wives if they show up) of both teams. Sounds lovely.

He doesn't answer.

The next spring Tanner says he would like to try Y ball instead.

His dad says, " I don't think Y ball is very good."
I say, "But they only play at the fields five minutes away instead of all over town."
His dad says, "Y ball isn't competitive."
I say, "Well then. Perhaps in addition to not driving forty minutes to games we will actually get to see Tanner PLAY in them."
His dad says, "I really would like him to stay in Little League."
I say, "Ok...then can you take him all the time? Because I spent last year miserably pregnant driving all over the county only to see him warm the bench."
His dad says, "He can try Y ball."

But Noah was set on Little League, and his dad agreed to take him all over the county to do it. We said fine. That we would gladly pay for and cover Y ball.

Rick offered to coach and the coach was thrilled. Then, since Noah was done with Little League in time, he got to join the team as well. AND, Ken (Tanner's dad) offered to coach too, that is if Rick was ok with that. (We are an awesome blended family, don't you think?) And Rick responded, "Of course...they're YOUR sons."

And that's the year that my sons had their DADS both coach. I have pictures to prove it. Now Y ball was pretty sad. The coaches pitched. To 10-12 year olds. Some kids didn't even know to run to the bases when they accidentally made contact with the ball.

BUT...my sons helped their Dads coach the other kids. For once both Tanner and Noah were the BEST players on the team. They had such a good time they opted to ONLY play Y ball the next year. And Rick and Ken opted to be the coaches from the start. Together. Adrienne even joined the team.

During practices their teammates found the situation curious. Once a girl asked Rick, "Are you Noah's dad?"
Rick said, "No. I'm Noah's Stepdad."
The girl then inquired, "Well then who's that other guy over there?"
Rick answered, "Noah's Dad."
The girl gave a very strange, puzzled expression and stated, "THAT'S weird!"

Surely it is. But it's our weird and we're sticking to it.

So this year we leave Y ball behind. Noah is back in Little league and the coach, as I said, practices WAY long. But...he usually finishes within ten minutes of the scheduled end. Tanner has opted for a church team, complete with learning versus. We just tell him not to mention what church mom heads to every week and he should do just fine.

I have been running them to practice and dancing the complicated how to pick them up at the same time at two different fields dance, BUT they ONLY play at those fields! Whooopeee!

And then last night I had an epiphany. I don't know why it didn't happen sooner.

I discovered the joy of baseball.
For mom's anyway.

The weather was horrible, blowing, raining, looking like thunder (whatever that looks like since thunder is a sound!) So I brought a good book and read it while my youngest son got drenched practicing while the heavens opened upon him. After the rain ended the coach called them into the covered dugout (interesting choice of order there) for a pep talk after the previous night's loss. I sat there thinking, "Why doesn't this irritate me? This practicing through terrible weather, only to seek coverage After it stops, never considering calling it due to weather.

Then it hit me.

I was enjoying my time reading in the car!

And once I get my new little laptop...I could spend practices writing in the car.

No WONDER my mom drove us to rehearsals non-stop and classes every Sat at the Guild. She either did some volunteering there herself, went to the store alone, or read. Alone.

When you have four kids...alone time is reverent.
Healing.
Soulful solitude.

Now....Now I get it. What was I thinking before?

My kids are allowed to go to any practices for any sport they like. I will gladly transport to all. But I'm not leaving my car!!!!.

Since the dawn of human consciousness, religion has been the mightiest force driving humankind toward an unknown goal. It has allowed the teeming millions to experience a greater joy and a creative fervor; it has furnished them with the strength and the courage to achieve imperishable cultural feats and enabled them to reach unimaginable spiritual heights.
-Muhammad Asad Loepold Weiss, "Islamic Sufism" From "The Bounty of Allah," translated by Aneela Khalid Arshed.




beliefnet.com

Another Milestone

When I turned 10...


Gosh at first I didn't remember much about that milestone into double digits. My initial thoughts conjured up a three tiered cake with a golden ballerina on top. That ballerina still exists somewhere in my father's house, as well as in this badly fading photo. But after I started digging through my childhood photo album I discovered that cake was in fact, for my ninth birthday.


My tenth birthday was the year I had a huge sleepover for my best girlfriends in my fourth grade class. You turn ten in fourth grade right?


Standing behind me are (L-R) Beth, Lana, and Michelle. Sitting are Sherry, me, Raquel, and Renee.
Wow...fourth grade. We had a miserable crabby old teacher named Mrs. Street who, due to what I now know was an extreme case of Strabismus (wandering eye) could see you doing something bad without seemingly looking your direction. She often confused me with Renee, which I now attribute to what must have been amblyopia (as in lazy eye, as in vision, likely caused by the Strabismus- wow- can't take the ophthalmogy out of the assistant even four years later!)

That sleepover was a wild time.


Looking at these photos for the first time in years, I realized that thanks to joining my class reunion committee, I have had a chance to either see or email Beth and Raquel.

I always thought Renee was so pretty and glamorous that I didn't understand why Mrs. Street got us mixed up all the time. Looking back we did favor each other, and were almost sisterly in that we actually shared the same birthday, as well as hospital room when we were born. I wonder what my "twin" is up to now.


Sherry moved away during elementary school.


Sadly, Michelle, never got past the milestone of thirteen. She became ill with leukemia the same year these photos were taken. She passed away in seventh grade. That loss is the first I remember of someone so young that I knew so well.


Turning twenty was bad. So bad in fact I couldn't find a picture of celebrating it. This one is from turning 21. Much more important milestone than twenty after all. Legal. Grown up. By the time this picture was taken, I was well on my way to dropping out of my first stint at college. One of the first of many twenties regrets.


When I turned thirty, my life took off.

I was a stay at home mom in an unhappy marriage. I had two children, then about to turn 4 and 1. I felt unfulfilled and in need of change. The milestone of thirty propelled me into realizing that I had not even begun to figure out what I wanted to do or be when I grew up. And I was evolving toward an understanding that the current path I was taking, wasn't one I would look back on one day and be proud of. I was "getting by" "making do" "content". But far from happy.

The year between thirty and thirty-one was a metamorphosis of sorts. A cathartic awakening. And shortly before my 31st birthday, I decided to listen to a quote I heard...one that haunted me every time I was afraid to take a risk for happiness.

"Leap and the net will find you."

I felt my first husband couldn't join or even follow me on that journey. So I left my safety net and filed for divorce. I went back to work and school. Life was stressful, but for the first time it seemed heavier on the "Full" than the "stress". By my 31st birthday, thirty pounds of emotionally fed layers melted off as easily as a Hershey's kiss on a summer day in Miami. Or Hell...whichever's faster.


Today, as I turn 40, I find myself full circle in many ways. I now have a total of four kids. I am a stay at home mom with a toddler. I am now happily married, and know that my husband of three years will not only follow, or join me on my journey toward fulfillment, but...

Encourages me to stay on the path.

However, I am still struggling with unhealthy relationships, both with teenagers, and chocolate. The chocolate I can walk away from. The teens I cannot, and that makes it hard to leave my friend, cocoa behind me either. Teens definitely challenge the art of unconditional loving. The difficulty lies in the fact that they see themselves as mature and full grown. You know they are not. Therefore you as the parent, the grown up, must attempt to let go just enough, so that you don't all go down in a cesspool of contempt and bitterness, while still finding ways to teach them, guide them toward responsibility and self sufficiency. Knowing that reaching that place took me til the age of thirty...well, lets just say it seems a daunting task.

Every angst filled glare, baiting of arguments, every eye roll or questioning of my right to request anything of them and...

I just get that jonesin' for some cocoa, mocha, bittersweet, tollhouse, fudge. And unfortunately, when I go into denial about my chocoholic tendencies, well....as Shakira says, "My Hips Don't Lie." Neither does the full length mirror in my bathroom, or candid photos at family events. The same emotionally fed thirty pounds are back to haunt me.

This year for me is about finding that balance. How do I find that thirty year old woman who was so unbelievably certain in her path that she leapt for the proverbial net, knowing that it would find her? Where did she go? Did I wear her out the five years I was single-mothering, working, schooling?

I hope not.


I did have an incredible week I am still trying to sort through. I had a lovely time with my friend Lorie, my mom, her friend Stella, my cousin Amy, and so many wonderful friends I have come to know through the Company of Women retreat. One, as I posted earlier this week, we lost the day after returning home, and that is still sitting with me as well.

Then I barely had time to exhale when I was off to Meadville Lombard in Chicago. Spent three days (on top of the past year) pondering a Masters of Arts in Religion. Knowing it's the next step, but not being able to take it due to other obligations is hard.

Something is still holding me back, still waiting to show itself in the next year.

I have a feeling....

That soon my dear old friends catharsis and metamorphosis will show up at my door once more.

I am anticipating their arrival. We have a lot to discuss over a cup of mocha java....

Decaf with a double shot of fat free cream.

A Loss for Words

I am just now winding down after an AMAZING writer's retreat, yet gearing up for my trip to Chicago for Meadville Lombard's prospective student conference. I am trying to remain in the moment of each experience, soaking up every minute, all the while wishing they were a few weeks apart so I could savor all the more.

The weekend was full of inspiration, reflection, catching up with my old high school friend, as well as many familiar returning faces. My friend Lorie and I both turn 40 this year and celebrated at the retreat (my 5th, her first) by bringing wine, chocolate and presents.


I learned many wonderful things (of course!) as I do every single year, and have decided to devote different posts to each lesson (there's that stretching out the savoring thing again.)

So this post, I want only to focus on the most poignant part of this years retreat for me, well, likely for us all. It is a bittersweet reflection.

Sadly, one of my favorite instructors, a poet named Judi Beach, had to back out of the retreat at the last minute. She had discovered only weeks before that she had stage four liver cancer and her health rapidly declined.


She passed away yesterday.

Judi was one of the most generous writers and instructors I have ever known, and my only regret is that I didn't get to know her better over the years. She was such an amazing instructor that she was requested to return every year. You may read more about her on her website, which I discovered has not been updated yet. I found this to be completely poetic, as I still feel such energy from Judi I doubt she will ever feel gone to me. I almost feel like sending out an email to her and that, wherever she is, she will receive it and smile.

Here is one of my favorite poems of Judi's-

From...How far Light must Travel

Light

Sun comes in where it can, secure in its welcome.
The moon, too, trails through the house.
And if the sun or moon is not available,
we find comfort in the incandescence of lamps.
We take advantage of every bright source
to place our paintings and art, our photos of loved ones.
Houseplants collaborate for light from a single window.
We are never without it even on nights of no moon.
When the wind has blown electricity into the next county,
we reach for flashlight or candle, praise the domestication of fire.
In the presence of light, whatever the source, we do not feel alone.

There are times when we forget we can see in shadow
and times the heart's darkness forgets the sun is waiting to get in.
But even the blind know that light brings warmth.
A cold rock resting in a ribcage will find heat and beat again.

~Judi Beach



Ironically, the Jackie Greene song that is playing on this post, was the one I chose to use last week because of it's opening line, "I've been thinkin' bout some women." I thought that was a perfect song to accompany my retreat post. I had no idea at the time that Judy was ill.

I forgot it was on here today, until I was finished with the first draft of the post and tested it out. As I listen only one word came to mind- apropos. Please send loving thoughts to Judi's family as you listen to the whole song.

As I keep in mind the positive direction I'm headed on my own journeys this week, I am choosing to reflect on Judi's light. That amazing bright aura surrounded her and enveloped everyone she met. I will follow it as a beacon in the dark this week, toward my future bright and full of reflection.

Peace, love, and red wine

Ready to Retreat

I am headed off this weekend on my annual trip to the Company of Women Writers Retreat.
I am really swamped with printing up new business cards, working on my photo collage of Punderson State Park, which I am donating for the raffle. I am also putting together a slide show of photos I took for the retreat director last year, along with many others given to me from previous years. That's taking a lot longer than I anticipated (always the procrastinator.) My life long friend Lorie is going with me this year, and we are going to stay up late drinking some wine, eating some chocolate and chatting like we're still sneaking to get away with those kind of activities. Hmmmm...these days with four kids and a very busy extra curricular activity calendar (spread sheet on the computer actually) perhaps I do need to sneak away!

I am going to savor every moment. Well...except for the fact that one or two of the aforementioned four kids and/or my husband passed along a cold to me. I think I have one every second week of April for this retreat. But I'm not going to let it stop me!

So there won't be much posting this week.

Or next week actually, as I am off again, this time for a prospective student conference looking into returning for my MA in Religious History. Can't wait for that trip either!

It seems when it rains it really does pour. This week it feels as though I am under the skittle clouds and soaking up some candy!

Reclaiming My Life ~ Step One

We did it.

Five times since Wed.

For two hours a day.

In spite of me having a horrendous UTI on Sunday complete with a side order of painfully passed kidney stone.

I was determined-no committed to do it as much as possible this time. For once I refused to be deterred by my health from my goal of doing it more.

And, for the first time since Anna's was born, I am even starting to look forward to it and almost enjoying it. As a matter of fact Rick didn't want to do it yesterday and I was disappointed enough to do it all by myself!

NO! Not THAT! Geesh! The fact that I said Rick didn't want to do it yesterday should have been a clue it wasn't THAT ;)

We joined the YMCA on Wed and have worked out two hours a day ever since. I have yet to see any Biggest Loser level results though, as we also still continued to eat at our normal over consuming rate, but it has to be doing something right? Let's hope.

As I was walking into the locker room to put on my granny-skirted swimsuit, a very pregnant woman was walking out with a shirt on that said "Baby Fat". I told her, "Well I need a shirt like that one, but now that my 'baby' is two, I don't think I can pass it off as postpartum anymore." She laughed politely, and I detected an edge of pity for me, as though she was thinking "No way in HELL I'm lookin' like THAT two years from now!"

It reminded me of a "Baby Fat" post I wrote last year about my determination to get back into shape and reclaim my

"Stacy's Mom" status once more!

A year has passed since that post...

And I'm still the same weight. Still fluctuating. Still tired and worn out at 39.

THIRTY-NINE! For only a few short weeks. Then I will turn....

FORTY.

I weigh 152 pounds. Four years ago when I met my dear husband I weighed...

124 pounds.

When we got married about a year later I weighed .....

134 pounds.

Then when I got pregnant with Anna....
ok, well ....you don't even want to know what that total was.

I wasn't too worried because, even though I started out higher than I wanted to, I put on the same I did with the boys and actually weighed less at delivery than I did with Noah.

So I should be able, two years later, to be the same weight I was after Noah right?

Well, actually I AM. I didn't lose my postpartum weight with Noah until he was two, I started smoking, and I left my then husband/now EX-husband, friend and co parent.

One new husband, baby girl now toddler, Deep Vein Thrombosis, and Toxic Multi-Nodular Goiter later-

The "Lose Weight Fast!- Get a Divorce, Work 44 Hours a Week, While Going to School Full Time, and Chain Smoking" diet is not an option this time.

So WHAT to do?

Introduce Anna to daycare gently, by having her play at the Y-babysitting room a couple hours a day (which by the way she is NOT interpreting as a gentle introduction. More like abandonment. She shrieks at me when I leave like a child in war torn Europe being ripped from it's mother's arms.) She does love the pool though. So I reward her with that when I'm done working out.

I do 25 mins on the elliptical followed by 35 mins on the treadmill. Then, put on the Granny Skirt suit and head to the pool for a half hour of laps, after which I put on an "inefficient" cover up to run up and give Anna her pool reward for allowing me to abandon her for an hour and a half.

That d@mn Granny suit. I bought it when PREGNANT with Anna. It's not a maternity suit per say, but since I'm still so out of shape every time I sport it I feel like relaxing my belly and pretending I AM pregnant, so I won't have to be too sad when the eventual question comes from the other Granny Suit sporters (the ones who are actually GRANNIES) who are in arthritis exercise class in the pool while I'm doing laps. At least I can take 'em on lap time so I can escape from their good natured conversation about my matronly belly.

I have been disparately shopping for a new one piece, but even a year after nursing it's the only one that fits me right in the boobs. If I try on a 10 or 12, they fit til I try to hoist them up over the mountainous chest I still sport. If I go to a 14 it's so loose there's no support. So I continue on with my White Stag cross backed skirted granny suit, generically labeled size Large, with a unique t/cross back that really actually supports me nicely. If only I could find that fit up top without the damn skirt (or a smaller more trendy version of the skirt...ech-hem...if one does in fact exist that could be labeled trendy.)

And Stacey's Mom? Well last night the former title holder watched as my ten year old tried to get into the hot tub by the pool, and the life guard yelled at him- no kids allowed. Then I got in without a glance from her, of course. A young couple joined me and the same lifeguard jumped up and ran over to the tub demanding, "Are you two eighteen????" Well of course they said yes, then admitted to me later that the girl was only sixteen. We laughed about how silly it was for the lifeguard to ask her that question that way, instead of, "How old are you?" She must be a rookie dealing with teens. Then I said, "Hmmm....why didn't the life guard ask ME that question????" They laughed....nervously. OBVIOUSLY she wouldn't have asked ME that...now.

But you know, there was a time not many years ago when she might have :( A time when even though it was obvious that I was over 21, the waiters always carded when I was out with my much younger theatre friends. Now? The waiter would probably assume I was THEIR mother.

I really hope I'll get there, sans cigarettes and over scheduling.

It's so much harder with four kids, two of whom are THIRTEEN, going on "giving me gray hairs."

BUT....

The Y has brought one immediate change. In the way the kids see our house. We used to be the mean and boring parents, with more rules and expectations than they have elsewhere.

But now? We're the cool parents with the fun Y membership.

I guess in this case membership does have it's privileges.